Fic: In Trust and in Blood (Giles/Angel) NC-17, Part 1 of 2

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Title: In Trust and In Blood, Part 1 of 2
Author: chevron17
Beta/Research (Thank You!): will_conqueror1 and lilruca, any remaining oopsies entirely mine. Thanks also to katekat1010 for getting me started in S.O.G.
Pairing: Giles/Angel
Other Characters: Buffy, very briefly
Rating: NC-17 for sex and flashbacks to graphic torture
Text/Font Conventions: Italics represent one instance of ancient text, otherwise represent flashbacks, Bold represents emphasis.
Length: Approximately 12,000 words, 68,000 characters, or 34 pages in 12 pt Verdana, for total of Parts 1 & 2, including Author's Notes at end.
Timeframe: Sometime during the summer after Graduation Day Pt. II (S3 end) and before The Freshman (S4 start). Angel had left for LA, but . . .
Summary: Angel needs Giles' help. He knows it's more than he should ask for, and it may be more than even Giles can give.  Angst, rapprochement and hurt/comfort, with a positive ending.  An exploration of Giles' courage and compassion, and the power of forgiveness.
Disclaimer: Buffyverse and characters property of Joss Whedon, et al. This is a not-for-profit amateur work done with respect and intent of preserving and extending interest in the wonderful world of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Brief elements of dialogue taken from 0222, Becoming, Pt II, one scene description from 0217, Old Passion.
Warnings: Explicit M/M sex, flashbacks to torture.

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In Trust and In Blood (Part 1 of 2)

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“To forgive is an act of compassion, Buffy. It's, it's . . . it's not done because people deserve it. It's done because they need it.” – Rupert Giles

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Buffy turned at the sound of footsteps approaching behind her in the misty darkness of Restfield Cemetery. She pulled out a stake as the dim shadow came closer. It resolved into a familiar form.

“Angel?” Buffy gasped in surprise. “What are you doing here?” The vampire had left Sunnydale, supposedly for good, following the battle with the Mayor at Graduation.

“I'm sorry. I hadn't meant to come back, not so soon anyway.”

“You look terrible.” Angel was indeed paler than normal, eyes sunken, and seemed to be in pain when he walked.

“I need your help – actually, I need Giles' help.”

“What happened?”

“Ran into something nasty in LA. I guess I was kinda distracted – not paying enough attention. It attacked me, we fought, and I killed it. But it cut me with its claws. Since then, I've been sick, and I'm getting sicker.”

“Poison?”

“I don't know, maybe. I was able to identify the demon from some old sources I have. Based on what I found, I think it was sent to kill me specifically. I think someone didn't want me in LA. But even though I was able to find out what it was, I couldn't find anything about how to recover from its attack. I was hoping Giles . . . ,“ Angel trailed off.

Buffy understood his reticence. “He was willing to help you at Christmas, and he did help you before Graduation, so why wouldn't he?”

“That was before I almost killed you, Buffy, when you made me drink from you after Faith shot me. He wasn't exactly happy with me then. You didn't see the look in his eyes at the hospital. He'll view this as me going back on my promise to leave.”

“You didn't promise anything – not to him, and not to me. You just did what you thought you had to do. I understand that. He will, too.”

“I'm not so sure. I've no right . . .”

“Give him a chance, Angel. Yeah, some really, really, really bad things are between you two. But you also saved all our lives, including his, so many times. He hasn't forgotten. Do you want me to talk to him for you?”

“I'm not sure. I'm not even sure why I came to you.”

“Because you thought I might understand?”

Angel snorted. “Yeah.”

Buffy moved into the vampire's arms and hugged him fiercely.

“Look - Giles will still be up. He's been going through all the books he rescued from the school library. We'll go see him now. No time like the present. Okay?”

****************************

Giles was hefting a stack of books onto a shelf in his living room when he heard his front door opening. “Buffy,” he called out cheerfully, always relieved when his charge returned safely from the evening's patrol. He pushed the books into position and turned to greet her. “How did things go this . . .,” Giles voice trailed off as he saw who accompanied his Slayer.

“Giles,” Buffy began, holding up a hand to him. “It's not what you think.”

“I'm not sure what I think,” the older man replied neutrally. “Other than that I'm rather quite surprised.”

Buffy crossed the room to her Watcher. “Angel went to LA, but something attacked him. He's sick, and he needs your help to find a cure.”

Giles' eyes moved from Buffy to Angel, still standing on Giles' doorstep. Buffy followed his gaze and realized suddenly why Angel had not followed her. She turned back to her Watcher. “You locked him out?” Buffy's tone was accusatory.

It was Angel who answered in Giles' defense. “It was the right thing to do, Buffy.”

Buffy's expression disagreed, and she looked at Giles expectantly.

“Come in, Angel,” Giles offered, and Angel stepped inside, pushing the door closed behind him.

“Thanks for not getting your crossbow first,” Angel said mildly.

“I have Buffy,” was Giles' chilly return.

Buffy glanced between the two most important men in her life, and tried to cut through the tension thickening the air. “Can we get down to business here, guys?”

****************************************

Three days later, shortly after dark, there was another knock at Giles' door. This time, however, he was expecting his visitor. He opened his front door and stood back.

“Come in, Angel,” Giles said, his voice sounding tired and defeated.

Angel stepped through the doorway, but mindful of his relative state of welcome in Giles' home, he moved in only far enough to close the door. His eyes swept quickly over the Watcher's form, searching for subtle clues in the other man's expression and posture. Giles stood before him, body tense, holding a book in his hand, one finger marking a location. Angel glanced down at the book, then back up to Giles' face.

“You found something?” Angel prompted.

“Yes,” Giles answered shortly. He handed the book to Angel, flipping it open it to the marked location as he did so.

Angel took the proffered book and read.

. . . The sickness has but one remedy, had only from the Slayer's Watcher in trust and in blood. Perpetual torment shall be the reward of perfidy. The grant of trust shall be in the yielding of the Watcher's body. The blood of the Watcher freely offered at his climax shall provide restoration. Woe to him who thieves the cure, the blood of the Watcher shall stain his hands in eternal damnation.

Angel read the passage over and again, not believing what he was seeing. Surely Giles wasn't offering this to him – not with what lay between them.

“Giles, you're not . . .”

“I'm afraid I am. I said I'd help you find a cure. This is what I've found.”

“But there must . . .”

Giles began to pace agitatedly, running one hand through his already ruffled hair.

“I have searched and searched again, Angel. All my relevant volumes - I've followed up the slightest leads and cross-references. This is a cure. If there are others, I haven't found them, and you are running out of time. I can see you're getting weaker. At best, you have but a few days left.”

As he spoke, Giles pulled his glasses from his face with one hand, and moved the other to pinch the bridge of his nose. Although Giles was making every attempt to remain detached and objective, Angel could see easily beyond the Watcher's usual nervous habits. Giles' distress was obvious and Angel could feel it. It sickened him.

“Giles, I . . .”

Giles ceased pacing abruptly and raised a hand sharply, interrupting the vampire. “Angel, I am not interested in discussing this further. I have made an offer. You have only to accept or decline.”

Angel swallowed in a tight throat. He didn't want this. It was just another crappy twist of fate that this should be necessary, especially with a man he'd already hurt far too much. Yet how else was he supposed to make good on the divine reprieve he'd been given at Christmas? He had to hold on to the belief that he still had a purpose and a chance for redemption. He had to have time to find it.

At least he'd be working on the same side as Giles. Perhaps that would count for something.

“I accept,” he replied softly.

Giles sighed heavily in apparent relief at having the decision made, although the tension in the air between them and in the Watcher's body remained.

“Good,” Giles returned. “Given the severity of your condition, and the difficulties between us, I suggest we not wait long to begin. I am at your service.”

“Now?” Angel asked, hesitantly.

“I think that best. It's full dark now, and we have nearly eight hours until dawn. But I have one question before we start.”

“Yes?”

“At Christmastime past, you came to me for help, about why you had been returned to this dimension. But you left before we completed our discussion. You seemed . . . distracted. What was it?”

Angel shook his head slowly. “I don't think you'd appreciate hearing it right now.”

“I appreciate honesty,” Giles replied evenly.

Angel swallowed heavily. “It was haunting me - the First Evil. It was appearing to me as people I'd hurt, trying to convince me to kill Buffy.”

“It was here?”

“Yes.”

“In what form?”

“I think you know.” At Giles' unrelenting gaze, Angel continued. “Jenny Calendar.”

“I thought as much.”

“Giles . . .”

“Thank you, Angel, for telling me. I understand now.”

Giles began untying his tie. Angel could see the slight tremor in his hands. He wanted to reassure him, but before he could think of how, Giles spoke again.

“You understand that our success here, per the text, rests in the act of my surrender to you, not in the quantity of blood you take from me.”

“I got that.”

“If you are hungry, I have some blood here.”

“I'm not hungry - I made sure I had something earlier,” Angel returned. “Giles, this won't be like it was before, with Buffy after Faith shot me. It doesn't feel the same way at all.”

“If it should become so,” Giles countered soberly, “understand that I will die. I haven't Buffy's resilience. It would also most likely fall into the category of betrayal per the text, with attendant dire consequences for you.”

Angel reached out and gripped Giles' shoulder lightly, impossibly saddened when he felt the other man flinch beneath his fingers. “I won't hurt you, Giles, I swear it.”

Giles nodded, not meeting Angel's eyes. “I accept that to be your intent.” He finished unknotting his tie and pulled it from his neck. Angel took it gently from his hands, and placed it carefully on his desk.

********************************

Angel pulled the tie from around Giles' neck. “Hold him,” he said to his minions. The two vampires held Giles' arms in front of him while Angel tightly bound his wrists with his own tie. “Okay,” Angel said jauntily, “let's get him comfortable for this next part.” The two minions manhandled Giles over to one of the mansion's stone columns, stretching his arms above his head to hook his bound wrists over a high spike, leaving him struggling for balance on the balls of his feet.

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Angel reached his other hand to Giles' other shoulder, planning to turn the other man to face him, to meet his eyes. This wasn't going to work if Giles couldn't even look at him. “Giles . . .”

Giles took a quick step back away from Angel, removing himself from the vampire's grip. “I confess I'm feeling just a bit cowardly at the moment.” Giles stepped over to the kitchen pass-thu counter. “I think a dose of liquid courage is in order.”

Angel saw the tremor again in Giles' hands as he poured a sizable measure of Scotch from the decanter on the counter into a glass. “May I offer you something?” Giles inquired politely, trying to steady his voice as though he were offering afternoon tea to a friend, rather than a drink to a vampire who'd previously murdered the woman he loved, tortured him to within an inch of his life, and would soon be fucking him and drinking his blood.

“Giles, there is nothing cowardly about this. You're the bravest man I've ever met.”

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“You know, I can stop the pain. You've been very brave, but it's over. You've given enough. Now let me make it stop.”

“Please . . .”

“Just tell me what I need to know.”

“In order . . . to be worthy . . .”

“Yes?”

“You must perform the ritual . . . in a tutu - pillock!”

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“Yes, well, I suppose you would know, if anyone.”

While Giles' words were true and justified, Angel felt them like a blow. He couldn't do this. He turned to go without a word. Giles heard him, but did not turn around.

“Angel, please. It's my fear talking. Don't go.”

“I have no right to put you through this.”

“You are not. I am. Please - just . . . just give me a moment to collect myself.”

Giles took a hefty swallow from his glass, grimacing as the liquor burned its way down his throat. After a moment, he finished the contents of the glass. He continued to stand facing into the kitchen, his back to Angel, his hands on the counter.

Angel reached for Giles' shoulders.

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In a grotesque parody of a friendly embrace, Angel clapped his hands to Giles' shoulders, shoving the Watcher hard into the rough stone column before him. His glasses were forced up abruptly, cutting his forehead. A slow trickle of blood began to make its way down Giles' face.

“Well, Rupert – you ready to tell me what I need to know?”

“I think not,” Giles replied quietly.

“I can't tell you how happy I am to hear that,” Angel returned, slapping Giles' shoulders once again. He turned to one of his minions. “Get me the whip.”

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Ignoring Giles' flinch this time, Angel began to knead tense muscles, his large, strong hands massaging deep, working to free the tension.

Giles gasped, partly in pleasure, partly in pain, as his shoulder muscles began to give in to the firm massage.

“God, Angel, that feels good.”

“It's supposed to.” Angel took a moment to gently slide Giles' suspender straps off his shoulders and down his arms. He returned his hands to Giles' back, continuing the massage, continuing with his shoulders and then moving slowly downward. Giles hissed and groaned alternately as Angel worked. He leaned over the counter, his head drooping, accepting Angel's touch, his tired, tense body struggling to relax beneath it.

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The other vampire handed Angel a heavy hide flogger with a stiff handle and thick leather strips. Depending on the user, it could be a lover's sensory toy or it could cause bruising and intense pain, but it was not intended to break the skin. This was just as Angel wanted, and also why he'd stripped Giles of his jacket but left the other man his shirt. He wanted as much of Giles' blood remaining in his body as possible, for when he tired of playing with his victim, he meant to drink the Watcher dry. That would be sweet. But for the moment, he was thoroughly enjoying himself in other ways.

“Just gonna give you a little massage, Rupert, help you relax. Then maybe you'll feel more like talking.”

Giles didn't reply. He steeled himself for the blows to come.

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“I want this to be okay for you, Giles. But if it gets to be too much - if you need it to stop - you have to tell me, and I'll stop, no matter what. I owe you that. Understand?”

“Without this, you'll die,” Giles returned grimly.

“I know.”

Giles shook his head. “We'll see this through, together, Angel. I believe I am in your debt at least that much as well.”

Angel felt his emotions flutter at Giles' words. The other man's acceptance and commitment were a balm on his restless soul. He draped one arm across Giles' shoulders and stepped around to his side, leaning on the counter beside the other man. Giles straightened and turned to face him.

“Your back is still really tight,” Angel observed. “This would work better if you could lie down somewhere.”

“I suppose it would,” Giles replied flatly.

“Where?” Angel knew better than to presume they would move to Giles' loft bedroom.

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Giles mounted the stairs eagerly, heart beating wildly with anticipation, a smile he couldn't control spread wide across his face. There, in his bed, lay his beautiful Jenny, waiting for him, waiting to consummate their intimacy. So lovely. So . . . still . . . and unmoving . . .

The champagne bottle and glasses slipped from Giles' suddenly numb fingers, shattering unnoticed against the hardwood floor. His expression likewise shattered, to one of utter unspeakable horror.

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Angel felt Giles stiffen under his arm a moment. He knew full well why.

“Spare bedroom,” Giles replied, not unexpectedly. “Next to the bath.”

“Okay,” Angel agreed. He followed the other man down the short hall past the kitchen to the first floor bedroom.

There was a small lamp on a faded dressing table along one wall, and Giles turned it on, casting the room in a soft glow. There was a good-sized, comfortable-looking bed centered on the adjacent wall, which Giles had set up for those nights when one of his young associates ended up taking refuge at his flat for one reason or another. A small folding table stood nightstand duty at the head of one side of the bed. Angel noted it held a couple of small hand towels and a tube of lubricant. Most of the remainder of the space was filled with boxes of books stacked high, awaiting their new assignments on Giles' many bookshelves.

Angel found his eyes drawn to a simple but lovely oil landscape of the Bath countryside hanging on the wall above the head of the bed. “Did you paint this?” he asked.

“Hardly,” Giles snorted. “My grandmother.”

“The Watcher?”

“The same. It's one of the few things I have of her.”

“She had a good eye.”

“She did,” Giles agreed. “For many things.”

“For you?”

“I really don't know.”

Giles bent to pull down the bedcovers, effectively terminating the line of discussion. As Giles straightened once more, Angel moved in front of him, placing his hands on the front of the Watcher's shoulders, allowing them to slide gently upward to the sides of his face, cradling his jawline.

“Giles, I'd like to . . .”

Giles pulled Angel's hands from his face, holding them by the wrists.

“For God's sake, Angel, I'm not a bloody blushing virgin. I enjoy a firm touch from a lover and you needn’t be afraid of breaking me like some wretched piece of glass.”

“I just wanted to . . .”

“Then do it, and you'll find out soon enough what I think of it, I promise you.” Giles released Angel's wrists, then pulled off his glasses and tossed them lightly to the dressing table.

Angel didn't know whether to be annoyed or relieved at Giles' aggressive reaction. He could only guess its purpose was to maintain some degree of control, or perhaps to stoke his arousal. The vampire decided to take the invitation at face value. He reached for Giles' head again and drew him straight away into a forceful open-mouthed kiss which the Watcher matched with equal strength. The kiss continued long and deep for several moments.

“Well, I'm glad that's settled,” Angel muttered when they finally parted.

“Quite.”

Angel gestured vaguely toward Giles' chest. “I think I'm gonna open your shirt now.”

“I think it's high time you did.” The aggression was still there, but Angel also recognized a subtle added note of challenge and teasing that he had heard in the Watcher's voice before.

Angel proceeded to release the buttons on Giles' dress shirt one by one, and leaned in once more so they could resume their kiss. He drew his hands between their bodies so he could stroke up Giles' chest, running his hands upward through curling salt and pepper hair to the tops of his shoulders beneath his shirt, then back down his sides to his hips. He felt Giles shiver slightly beneath his fingers, and could sense his increasing heartbeat and respiration. Angel's nostrils flared slightly as the scent of Giles' fresh-running blood became evident. Craving more, he slid his arms around Giles' back again and pulled him tightly against his chest. He felt Giles' heart thudding rapidly against him as Giles' fingers slid into his hair and he pressed their kiss deeper still. Although Angel had no such limitation, Giles eventually had to come up for air.

“I see . . . we share . . .,” Giles managed between pants, “an interest . . . in kissing.”

Angel wasn't inclined just then to reply with words. Instead, he reached for Giles' belt.

Giles pushed his hands away. “My turn,” he said firmly, and reached to open Angel's shirt. As the buttons gave way, the sight made him grimace in sympathy. The craggy dark grey-green lines extending roughly radially outward from the demon claw wounds were now quite prominent and spreading further across Angel's chest and abdomen, and also around to his back.

Giles touched the lines gently. “That looks . . . quite painful.”

“It is.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be – you're the one giving me what will fix it.”

“With luck.”

“Not with luck – with you.” Angel pulled Giles into another tight hug, pulling down on the back of his shirt to expose the top of his right shoulder and neck, and leaning in to trail his mouth along the warm skin thus exposed. Giles responded by sliding his hands around the vampire's body, angling them downward to his buttocks and pulling them close at hip level as well. Each of their arousals was now more than evident to the other man. The contact prompted another question from Angel.

“Giles . . . have you ever . . .”

Giles cut him off sharply. “Yes.”

Knowing something of Giles' wild youth, Angel wasn't overly surprised.

“How long . . .?”

“Long. But I know what to expect, so you needn't worry.”

“If you . . .”

“Angel, do shut up,” Giles said curtly, his annoyance plain.

Angel suppressed a smile. “Yes, sir,” he replied. He closed his arms tighter around the Watcher, pressing their bodies and lips yet closer, running his hands up once again along the other man's back.

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“How you doin', Rupert?” Angel asked, rubbing his hand roughly along Giles' back, fully aware that Giles was in no condition to speak. Fourteen hits delivered rapidly and forcefully with the flogger had left Giles struggling to breathe. The wind had been knocked from his lungs, trapped as he was between the force of Angel's blows on his back and the unyielding stone column in front. The pain and lack of oxygen dangled him precariously on the edge of consciousness.

“Tell you what, I'll let you catch your breath, then I've got something else we can try.”

Giles struggled to control his breathing and pull himself as upright as possible. Angel could torture him and kill him, but he'd be damned if he'd let the vampire break him.

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Angel pressed his fingertips into the stiff muscles alongside Giles' spine. He broke their kiss to speak. 

“Giles – your back is still tight.”

“Occupational hazard,” Giles muttered in reply.

“We came in here so you could lie down and I could give you a proper massage with your shirt off.”

“To my knowledge, that plan has not changed – ooof!”

In a heartbeat, Giles found himself tackled supine to the bed, a smiling Angel leaning over him. He was surprised to also find himself relatively unalarmed.

Watcher regarded vampire with a raised eyebrow. “Would it not have been simpler for you to remove my shirt while I was standing?”

“Too easy. This way, I get to squirm all over you.” True to his word, Angel proceeded to rub every available sensitive part of his body over every accessible sensitive part of Giles', leaving the Watcher a bit of a wreck and minus a shirt when he was through. The shoes and socks went also.

“I concede your method . . . has certain . . . advantages,” Giles panted, still on his back, arms flung outward.

“Roll over,” Angel directed, giving the Watcher a gentle push. Giles gave him a stern look, but turned slowly over onto his belly.

Angel swallowed a sudden lump in his throat as his eyes fell on the thin, raised white scar running near horizontally across the center of the other man's back.

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Angel swung the rattan cane rapidly in the air, its unmistakable swishing and slicing sound carrying easily to Giles' ears where he still dangled from his bound wrists at the column. He knew Giles would be well aware of what the cane could do to the human body when used for more than old school discipline or consensual sex play.

“You British school boys are used to this, right?” Angel taunted. “I wonder how often you got caned, Rupert? But you were a good boy then, weren't you? You didn't go all crazy until University, right?” Angel swished the cane threateningly through the air again, the sound of menace clear. “Or did you like to act out so you got to lay across the Headmaster's pointy lap?” Another swish sounded. “Let's see, if I recall, bad boys got it here!” Angel brought the cane forcefully across Giles' buttocks with a sharp crack. Giles' head snapped back and he barely managed to stifle a cry of pain at the stinging blow.

“Nifty!” Angel said, “It really is effective even through clothes! I've always wanted to test that out. Guess you Brits had to come up with something that worked with your crazy prudish fashion sense.”

More blows fell, another to Giles' buttocks, two each to the backs his calves and thighs, four to his back. Intoxicated with the heady thrill of inflicting pain on the other man, Angel momentarily forgot his blood-free intentions and increased the force substantially for the last blow. The sound of the cane connecting with Giles' back rang out sharply in the stone mansion. Giles stiffened and his head snapped back again. He cried out in agony, unable to hold back this time, tears spilling finally from his eyes, streaming down his face. His vision swam and the world spun around him, leaving him hanging limply in his bonds. He silently begged for the blissful oblivion of unconsciousness, but it refused him, leaving him drowning in unimaginable pain. He felt his own hot blood welling up in the wound he'd just been given.

“Oops!” Angel exclaimed at the line of bright, red blood that appeared across the back of Giles' shirt. “Sorry about that! And here I've been trying so hard to keep all that blood inside you for later. But . . . I guess since it's here, I shouldn't let it go to waste . . .”

Angel shoved his hand beneath Giles' shirt and dragged his fingers roughly along the fresh wound, leaving Giles gasping in pain. He brought his hand out to his mouth and licked the blood slowly, noisily, off his fingers, making sure Giles heard. “Oh . . . damn that's good. But I guess I'd better stop now, cause I'm having just a little too much fun, and I don't want to kill you just yet.”

Angel's assistants stirred at the side of the room, excited by the sight and smell of the Watcher's spilled blood and the sight of their master partaking. “What are you lookin' at?” he snarled at them, and they subsided immediately.

“Cut him down,” Angel growled, “and don't touch his blood if you want to live.” The minions did as asked, and Giles was dropped callously to the hard stone floor.

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End of Part 1 of 2 (go on to Part 2 of 2)

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