The Drunken!Giles-athon! FIC "You're Just a Figment of My Imagination" FRT/FRM G/?? 1/1

[helenkacan]

DRUNKEN!GILES-ATHON!

TITLE: "You're Just a Figment of My Imagination"
AUTHOR: Helena K.
RATING: FRT/FRM (just a titch naughty)
PAIRING: Giles/Surprise Character
WARNING: M/M Slash (mild)
LITTLE BRITAIN WARNING: Yes, *that* Sebastian!
SUMMARY: Answer to Drunken!Giles-athon! assignment. Written for joolzmp7, who wants slash, a shy smile and a Christmas cracker, but doesn't want angst, or an unhappy ending.
TIMELINE: About two years post Chosen. Giles has a condo in Cleveland which he visits from time to time. It is Christmas Eve but nobody of the Cleveland tribe knows he's in town. He gets a surprise visitor. But – first – he gets … (wait for it) … drunk!
NOTE: "Speech"
*Emphasis* in thought or speech.
DISCLAIMER: The characters belong to Joss and a whole bunch of alphabetical entities. I know the Polish alphabet. Not the same thing. Not for profit, just fun.
DEDICATION: To lostgirlslair for giving me another chance to make Giles happy. And somebody ::giggle:: else, too. Thanks, sweetie.
FEEDBACK: Lay it on me, but don't give me a hangover.
DISTRIBUTION: Posted to my LJ and GRB; anybody else, please ask.


Giles sighed.

Christmas Eve, again.

Another one spent alone. After the fall of Sunnydale. Although he admitted to himself he could be partially to blame for that. Nobody knew he was in town. But he was ignoring his own role in his solitude and was clinging to the pathetic notion that he was invisible.


He looked around his condo. Neat. Tidy. With no evidence of it being Christmas. Still, he had furnished it with a few mementoes, curiosities from England and objects some of the children (and he had to stop calling them that) had sent him from various locations around the world.

Some were on the wall. A fertility mask from Xander. He snorted. Not bloody likely.

A bronze cross from Buffy. He was gratified that she no longer resented him. Not that they were close – but he still hoped that trust would return with time.

Suddenly, feeling a touch of nostalgia, he rummaged around in the downstairs closet and triumphantly brought out a tacky musical snow globe. From Dawn. Even though she lived in the midst of such an artistically advanced culture, she had sent him this silly thing that had "Made in China" stamped on the bottom.

Beautiful girl. Even though she was on her way to becoming a brilliant and stunning woman, he hoped she would never lose that mischievous element.

Giles set the musical globe on the dining table and turned the key. Tinkling harp-like sounds. Which, of course, matched the figurine of an angel playing her harp amid the swirling snow and sparkles.

He nodded to himself, quite satisfied. There was his entertainment for the evening.

Now for a little – or should that be quite a lot of – libation. It had been a dismal, grey day and it was bound to be just as dismal an evening. Giles's condo was in a complex that catered mostly to older couples who tended to escape the rigours of winter to Florida, Arizona or California. As a result, there were few lights on and little sound of merriment.

So, back to the sideboard to consider the array of bottles. Not all were to his liking, but he had either purchased them for guests or had been gifted with them.

So, how to start? By colour? By taste? In alphabetical order?

He giggled.

It sounded good. So he giggled again.

And began bringing the bottles to the table, arranging them in said alphabetical order.

He carried a tray of glasses over. He'd decided on 1-oz for bitter or savoury and 2-oz for sweet, totally discounting the fact that many liqueurs were extremely potent.

Quite soon his connoisseur's palate had become dulled. And his analytical senses had degraded to the point that he was caressing a particular bottle and admiring its rounded curves. Then, letting it slip from his fingers to teeter atop the table before coming to a rest

Or picking up a long slim bottle to mold it against his own body, trying it on for size. As if he could do anything with a *tool* that long, even though it was damnably impressive looking in an erect state!

Soon, any semblance of informed analysis was abandoned.

As his giggles increased, he conjugated, grasping a bottle of Amaretto that was glowing from the amber nuances of the glass ("Amaretto, Amarettas, Amarettat," though that sounded too similar to "Amo, Amas, Amat" – and there was no one upon whom he could bestow such affection). He sighed. Momentarily sombered by his hazy self-reflection, he sang a snippet of an aria to a bracing Benedictine. What else but the Catalogue Aria from Don Giovanni. His mood elevated – but was now bordering on pompousness. The range of raw emotions grew wider as he continued to plunder his liquor cabinet, having already sampled all of the bottles and decanters on the sideboard.

He was in a dreadful state, still standing, but on the verge of becoming bored. So soon? He'd already gone back to the beginning of the alphabet. Absolut Vodka had not been absolute. And, truth be told, he had wondered whether spirits should have had their own sub-categories. So, this particular colourless liquid fire. Filed under V if Russian, W if Polish. More giggles ensued. Only he could derive merriment from the provenance of fermented tubers or grains. On a whim he skipped B, but repeated A again. This time a juniper Aquavit. Exquisite taste – more remembered than perceived. Next in line waiting for him were a Cointreau, and then a Drambuie.

This was terrible.
He'd run out of drinks.
And was still upright.

Perhaps he should just choose one – and concentrate on it.
F-u-l-l-y. He stretched the word out in his mind, imagined rolling his tongue around the letters.
Devote his undying attention to it.
His uncatalogued genius.

His pretentious attitude set off another gale of giggles.

Interrupted by the quite rude pounding on the door.

His … door?

What a revelation! He had … a door. He felt like a proud papa! He knew he would love it, no matter the mother had been born a tree!

However, he didn't remember where he'd put the door last. Perhaps he'd misplaced it. Dear Lord, that made him a neglectful father. Or was the door altogether a figment of his imagination?

But the door continued to transmit the same pounding that reverberated throughout his fuzzy cranium. He didn't know if he should follow the sound or flee from it. Now he thought he heard voices. Correction: a voice. One he had not heard for some time. Definitely a figment. He should also get his hearing tested, if he was going to continue experiencing hallucinations or auditory distortions. On a regular basis. Or just when he imbibed.

Finally Giles gathered his wits enough to stagger in the general direction where he perceived he had last seen his door.

Oh, what a blessed sight. The door. His door. He sighed in great relief. The door had been lost, but now was found. Amazing Grace. Indeed.

But, though the door had been found, it was still making a confounding racket. He would have to have words with the door. But, perhaps later. Now, he had to … answer the door. His face lit up like a small child's. He'd figured out the riddle. If the door is making a bloody noise, answer it and it will stop. His genius truly was uncatalogued. He reminded himself not to overuse that particular adjective. Others might not appreciate it. Much.

He lurched toward the door and grasped the handle to steady himself. Flinging the door open, he froze in astonishment. And started muttering to himself as he turned away from the door, feeling dejected.

"You're not real. Go away. They're making me see things I want. Again."

The apparition stepped through the open door and closed it. He then put his suitcase down and shook off the frosting of snowflakes that had dusted his touque, gloves and heavy wool coat before removing them completely and hanging them up on hooks near the door.

He passed through to the dining room where Giles had taken refuge – away from the rude and deceiving door. Once again in front of the previously catalogued bottles. As he reached for another one, a large hand grasped his arm, impeding his progress.

The hand apparently had the gift of speech. "Uh-uh-uh. I think you've had enough to drink, big guy, seems to me. Why don't we get you to bed? I'll bring you some water and ASA. Or else you'll feel like crap in the morning."

Giles was so taken by the suggestive powers of the hand that he meekly turned and walked, or more accurately lurched, in the direction of his bedroom. His visitor walked quickly behind him, turning off the lights as he went by. Spying the bathroom, he grabbed a large tumbler of cold water and a bottle of ASA. He'd probably have to refill the tumbler a few times, in order to get Giles's blood alcohol back down to merely a drunk level.

When he walked into the bedroom, Giles was entangled in his clothing. One arm was sticking out through the neck of his sweater, the other through the bottom. Giles grinned maniacally at his visitor, as if to say, "See what a clever boy I am!"

"Come on, let me help you get undressed."

Quickly, Giles was rescued from his Venus Fly Trap of a sweater. Once free of it, he pulled his sweat pants down his legs.

"Whoa, there, Giles. Those you can keep on." His pants were pulled back up his legs and he was pushed down in an undignified manner onto the bed. After his shoes and socks were removed, Giles was nudged to get under the covers. His visitor made him drink the entire tumbler of water, swallowing down two ASA tablets, and refilled the tumbler and repeated the dosage as he thought Giles would need twice the normal amount. When he turned to leave the bedroom, Giles's hand reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Want. Want teddy bear."

"Um, Giles, you don't have a teddy bear, not one that I know of." Oh, dear. He could see the pout forming, followed by the glare.

"Want.Teddy.Bear."

"Okay, okay, don't get into a tantrum. I'll get you your teddy bear. Now, where is it?"

Giles's grip merely became stronger as he pulled his visitor toward the bed. "You.My.Teddy. Can't sleep without my Teddy."

"But, Giles, I'm not…"

The pout had turned into a frown and there were tears in the green eyes.

"Okay, okay, please, just don't cry. Your Teddy Bear is coming to bed with you. See."

His visitor quickly stripped off his shirt, shoes and socks and, after unzipping his jeans for greater comfort, crawled into bed in front of Giles.

Giles sighed a happy sigh and snuggled around the visitor's form. "Good night, Teddy. Sleep well."

"Uh, you too, Giles."

*****

Giles groaned.
His insides groaned.
So did his outsides.
His belly.
His back.
His eyes.
His ears.
His skull.

What on earth had he done last night? Drunk an entire distillery? Apparently so. He rubbed his eyes before opening them to look about blearily.

And got the shock of his life. Xander's warm body was snuggled up to him – and neither of them seemed to have any clothes on. Dear Lord. Just what had he done last night that he couldn't remember? And could Xander really be here? Had the Fates actually given him what he wanted for Christmas? Now *that* could only be a delusion.

Still, Giles examined the beautiful sleeping form.

Yes, this was the Xander he remembered. A bit more tanned perhaps, weighing a few kilos less. The youthful pudginess of his face had melted, leaving behind a handsome man. Probably one Dawn would label a "hottie" if he were a stranger.

The hottie in question had opened his eye and was now looking at him, rakish eyepatch in place, but with a decidedly nonrakish, shy smile.

Giles thought it was no wonder, with the two of them waking up under embarrassing circumstances … whatever they were. "Good morning, Xander, if it is really you."

"Um, Merry Christmas, Giles. Are you feeling okay?"

Giles resisted the urge to pull the covers up to his neck or blush like a perennial virgin. "Thank you, Xander, I've seen better days." He took a deep breath and then broached the delicate subject. "I'll try to ask this in the most dignified manner, but do you know why we're in bed together and why we don't have a stitch on.”

He could see a flush rising from Xander's chest spreading to his face (and tried not to think about Xander's nude body next to his under the covers).

Xander gave him another shy smile. "Um, Giles, you really don't remember anything from last night, do you?"

"Except for deciding to poison myself in an academic exercise with the contents of my drinks cabinet, no. Would you care to enlighten me – if it's not asking too much."

"Oh, no, not too much of the asking – but I don't know if you'll like what I say."

"Go ahead. Give me the brutal truth."

"No, it's nothing like that. Actually, it was kinda cute." Xander saw Giles give a shiver of discomfort when he heard that word. "I managed to get you up the stairs and into bed and poured some water and ASA down your throat. But then you called me your Teddy Bear and refused to let go, unless I stayed and slept with you."

Giles was looking more mortified by the minute. "Be that as it may, that explains why we were sleeping in the same bed – but not why we were … naked."

"Okay, promise you won't yell at me, but it was all your fault."

"What? How? Why?"

"Well, you know I made you drink lots of water and one thing after another and …"

"Dear Lord, don't tell me I didn't …"

"Bingo! The G-Man gets the teddy bear. Oops, sorry about that, Giles. Anyway, yeah, you were darn near going to pee in your pants, so I had to get you to the bathroom as fast as I could. But, uh, you didn't quite make it. And, 'cuz I was holding you up, my clothes got wet, too. After I finally got you to sit on the john, 'cuz I needed to get the wet clothes off you – and me too – I made you take a shower with me, 'cuz we were both all with the stickiness. And I still had to hold you up. You're kinda slippery when wet. Anyway, I gave you some more water and ASA and got you back to bed. Took the wet clothes and did a load of laundry. By the way, you're almost out of fabric softener. Threw the clean clothes into the dryer and left them on a timer set at low and crawled back to bed. And I wasn't even thinking about the no-clothing factor, because I was too zonked. You know, what with flying in yesterday and everything."

"So you're not concerned that we slept in the same bed last night."

"Hell, Giles, I've slept in more crowded beds than last night – and with people who smelled a lot worse than you, with or without the booze. Sending me to Africa really made me grow up. But I needed a break. I needed to get back here. Needed to get back to you. Anyway, hold that thought, 'cuz it's my turn to go." And, with a nonchalance that seemed to be instinctive, Xander threw the covers off and jumped out of bed, not even caring to hide evidence of a semi-erect cock.

Giles just stared, unbelieving at what he'd just seen. Xander, unconcerned about his nudity, as well as the events of last night. He decided to copy Xander's insouciant manner, threw his side of the covers off and followed him to the bathroom, middle-aged body be damned.

After Giles had relieved his overly water-logged bladder – again, he turned to Xander who was washing his hands. "Xander, do you have any plans for tonight?"

"Wasn't thinking that far ahead. Just knew I had to find you. And, by the way, thanks for making sure that Sebastian *had* to tell any of us Scoobs where you are at any time. I nearly had to sit on him.”

Giles chuckled, apparently enjoying a private joke. "Pity. I think he'd have enjoyed that. Or a kiss!"

"Hey, Giles! It's not as if I knew the guy. Besides, he's a little …" Xander trailed off, not knowing how to describe the Council aide.

"Yes, I agree. He's a little … much! Now, the reason I was asking if you had any plans is that Robin left me an open invite, if I were in town, to come to Christmas dinner at the house. And to bring someone, if I wanted. Just with him and Faith and a few of the newer Slayers."

"Mmm. Can I sleep some more. My head's still not screwed on right. So, can we go back to bed?"

"I think I could do with a spot more sleep right now. And I appreciate the delightful company, Teddy." Giles giggled.

Xander's mouth hung open. When was the last time Giles had been so much fun. And he wasn't even drunk now. As if that were ever any excuse. Xander had first-hand evidence of how drunkenness was rarely funny. Wanted to be as far away from it as possible. But, he figured with Giles it was probably different. Giles must feel so lonely. Yeah, surrounded by the new Council and that Sebastian guy all over him. But that wasn't the same as being in a relationship and Xander could so understand that. No wonder he'd lined up a hot date with some bottles last night.

Xander quickly shook off the introspective analysis and pointed his arm in the direction of the bedroom. "Go to bed. Teddy will be back in a minute."

Giles merely looked at Xander's confident manner and nodded, walking back to the bedroom.

Xander went into the living room and rummaged about in a bag. Then went to the kitchen and returned with a tray holding two large mugs of orange juice.

Giles had already crawled under the covers, but they were loosely pulled up to his waist. He was lying on his back with his arms behind his head. He couldn't recall a time when he'd been so relaxed. And all because of Xander!

Xander set the mugs down on both side tables, then returned to bed holding something out.

"It's all I've got for Christmas, but I thought we could share it."

Giles smiled indulgently. "Of course."

He took the other end and they pulled the Christmas cracker apart with a loud bang. Perhaps a bit too loud for this morning, but it was over in a moment. Xander climbed back into bed and they examined their loot. Two silly paper hats. A whistle. A kaleidoscope. And other little bits and pieces.

Giles knew he'd better get Xander back on track, or else their sleep would be but an illusion. "Xander, we can play with the toys later. Now, let's have some of that wonderful juice, then get back under the covers."

Both drained their mugs, set them down and slid further down the bed.

Giles turned to Xander. "I'm setting the alarm for 2. It should give us enough time to shower and dress and get over there. Now, I'm reminding you that you felt you had to get back here, to be with me. Could you explain that to me, please?" Giles patted the pillow beside his, and pulled Xander closer to him.

Xander allowed himself to be pulled down, snuggling next to Giles.

In a so totally manly way.

"Not sure I can. Just knew I had to find you. Had to be *with* you this Christmas. You know how Christmas always sucked at my folks'. So it's not as if I'm so with the whole Christmas program."

Xander paused to take a big breath. He hoped courage would follow.

"So. Um."

"Yes, Xander?"

"So I just knew I had to be with you this Christmas. Couldn't be with anyone else. The reason I think is that I …"

He was cut off by Giles. "Are you sure of what you want to say right now, Xander?"

"Sure. The monster that ate sure. Very sure the director's cut. Yeah, I know. Enough with the tacky movie references."

Xander closed his eye for a moment and then opened it. "I … I like you. And … I'd like to get to know you better. Don't get me wrong. Not as a father-figure. Or a Watcher. Just as you. As a guy." Xander couldn't believe he'd gotten all those words out. He peered up at Giles's face through the comforting veil of his lashes.

Giles snaked his arm under Xander's shoulders and gave him an encouraging squeeze. "You know, Xander, you may not want to know everything about me. I've done some patently stupid things in my life."

"Huh. I'll match your stupid against my stupid any day of the week. So, anything else you want to warn me about?"

Giles's eyes were twinkling. He thought a spot of fun would lighten the atmosphere. "Well, you know, Sebastian and I …." He deliberately allowed his voice to trail off.

Xander choked back a laugh. "Can I just quote Buffy and say Ewwww? And you’re not fooling me or getting rid of me that way. 'Sides, Sebastian is so not your type."

"And you are?"

"Maybe. That's a firm maybe. And I don't think I should've said *firm*. 'Cuz that makes liking turn to wanting turn to taking turn to …"

"Stop already, Xander. All this hypothetical turning is making me dizzy. We have time for the wanting … and the taking. Just not right now. Now is for the sleeping. Please."

"Okay. See me shutting up now and sleeping."

Giles ran a tender finger along the rim of the eyepatch. "Are you sure you wouldn't be more comfortable without this?"

Xander's sudden intake of breath told Giles that this was still a source of stress. "I can't, can't let anybody see the scars."

"Not even me, Xander? After all, you've seen mine. I stopped feeling shame a long time ago when I realized that they signified my survival, my salvation. And there's nothing shameful in that, is there?"

Xander nodded mutely. Then slowly lifted the patch and slid the elastic off his head. He stared with hope in his good eye at Giles and only closed it when Giles brought his lips close to the empty socket and laid a gentle kiss on the scarred tissue.

Then, surprisingly, Giles's lips were upon his in a mind-blowing passionate kiss. Merciful Zeus! Where did this guy learn how to kiss like that? Xander made a note to find out.

Later.
Much later.
After they'd slept some more.

Maybe after they'd returned from SlayerCentral.
After they kissed some more.
Make that a *lot* more.

He had a lot of catching up to do.

In the meantime, this was going to be the best Christmas ever. With Giles. He liked the sound of that.

Until then, sleep. More sleep. Even happy dreams. No more apocalypse-y nightmares.

Xander snuggled closer to Giles who had already nodded off, but grumbled at the nudge. Xander smiled.
And slept.

END