Fruitful
Title: Fruitful
Fandom: BtVS and Free Agents
Rating: FRM
Timeline: Post Season 7
Characters: Giles/Stephen implied, Andrew, Emma and Helen. Alex mentioned.
Summary: Stephen and Giles meet. Inspired by a particularly hilarious interview with Anthony Head over Free Agents on E!
Disclaimer: I own nothing; everything goes to their respective owners.
Giles fidgeted with his glasses, frowning into the gleaming surface of his still empty plate.
“…Mr. Giles?”
“Ah, yes?” He looked up to meet the woman’s sparkling grey eyes, her eyelashes batting against her skin.
Helen grinned, her red hair bouncing lightly on her shoulders. She brushed a strand back, smiling flirtatiously. She pouted her lips a bit more and leaned forward a bit to lower the plain, dark blue and fitting dress to expose even more of her fair chest skin.
His eyebrows rose slightly at her advances.
A smaller, younger and less… ‘friendly’ woman sitting next to Helen, Emma, snorted. She flipped her bronze curls back with a flick. Crossing her lightly tanned arms across her own plain, bright red dress, she turned to the woman beside her with a look that hadn’t changed for their whole appointment.
“Obviously, Helen, he isn’t taking to your flirting. Stephen, you were wrong. I told you he was either gay or married. A man this attractive isn’t a bachelor long,” she said bluntly, turning to face Giles yet again.
“All right, here’s the thing, Giles. We want your patronage. We don’t need to know what product you sell or why you’re trying to attract young ladies with special abilities, we just want to advertise for a price. It’s fair. You can do whatever you it is you do with those ladies, we won’t ask questions, hell, we’ll even cover for you when all those girls come rushing in to be treated for STDs. A bite out of the budget is worth ourservices,” she undid her crossed arms to take a sip from her glass.
Giles blinked in surprise.
He hadn’t heard that type of straight forward, clear cut logic since… Anya.
Stephen chuckled, and Giles’ attention was drawn to the man in the pink sweater, grey hair swept neatly to the one side.
“Charming, isn’t she? Stubborn women like her are my favourite… Their stamina is usually quite impeccable,” he gazed off into the distance, a slightly proud and dazed smile retained on his features.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Emma answered. The words themselves implied a flirtatious nature, but came out as anything else she said; flat.
Helen turned, a frown accompanied with an exasperated look aimed toward Emma.
“Okay, do you remember what I told you earlier? Listen to my words and HOW I SAY THEM. ‘Y o u d o n ’t k n o w t h e
h a l f o f i t,” she exaggerated the inflection, her voice dipping and raising ridiculously, stares gathering from other tables.
Apparently, Emma had had this conversation before and launched right into it with frustration, the both of them tried to talk over each other with indignation.
“Okay, I feel I’m saying what I’m hearing-“
“You really can’t hear the difference, can you?”
“…And I don’t know why you keep getting on my back for this.”
“This is pathetic! Makes me wonder how you survived high school.”
“I doubt you even remember high school.”
“You keep saying how old I am, but at least I’m not emotionless and can get dates-“
“I can get dates. It’s just not always with the right people, like how you date.”
“Don’t even-“
“I mean geez, ever since you’re your fiancé died-“
“Stop while you can-“
“Just because someone’s heart stops beating-“
“Emma!”
“Look at Alex. He’s practically throwing himself at you-“
“Do NOT bring Alex into this-“
“It clear he likes you-“
Giles gaped a bit.“Sir,” Andrew drew his attention, “I don’t have to be taking notes right now, right?”
“No, no of course not.”
“Good, because the speed these two are going at could put even the Flash to shame.”
He didn’t bother to ask; he felt he had a pretty good idea of what kind of character Andrew was referring to.
The boy- young man, Giles reminded himself-- at Giles’ side nervously cleared his throat, swallowing nervously as the rest of them sitting around the table gazed at the boy with the spiked blonde hair.
“Erm, I think we should go over this with Will, Xand, and Faith before accepting, Mr. Giles. Would you like me to make a call to South America? After all, they have a right to know…”
“Of course, Andrew. We’re all meeting in Cleveland tonight to discuss the He-circumstances. I thought I might have the basic facts before presenting this to them. It’s a new concept and I wouldn’t go through with it before consulting our various counterparts.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It was quite obvious this meeting wasn’t going to achieve anything tonight.
“Cleveland? South America? Your company is world wide?” Stephen sat up a bit straighter, Emma’s eyes widening as if Giles had become a big, juicy hambone steak, a look he was not unaccustomed to after all that time in the Magic Box with Anya.
“Y-yes. Have I forgotten to mention that?”
He could practically see saliva dripping onto the table, the only words flashing through their minds being “World wide= money.”
“We can make your company huge, Mister Giles, costumers will be coming in by the thousands,” Helen promised, nodding vigorously.
Giles and Andrew shared a quick look, the both of them blanching.
“P-Perhaps we should reconsider this whole thing, Mr. Wells.”
“Maybe we should,” he nodded gravely.
“Or maybe you should just meet up with Alex, eh? You’ve had a long day, and you did a good job, fruitcake,” Stephen intervened smoothly.
Helen faltered, crushed. She sighed in defeat and pushed her chair back, cell phone already in hand.
They were insisting on his patronage. Dear lord, this was going to be a long night.
Giles found himself on a plush bar stool, Stephen at his side as they laughed heartily, downing shot after shot with Andrew and Emma long gone. He didn’t drink, not usually, so when Stephen had suggested it, he had been tentative and hesitant. The last time he’d gotten drunk one-on-one with a ‘friend,’ he woke up with two horns sticking out of his forehead, and not the metaphorical kind, either.
‘Come on then, don’t tell me haven’t had shots before! What are you, some sort of high school librarian with a knack for little blondes and red heads, so up-tight he can’t even have a couple of drinks?’
Was. Not anymore, though, he thought amusedly as he stood to make his way to the bar.
And so there they were, empty glasses tipped over and rolling, the previous (and continuing) sloshing making his hand sticky. The bartender eyed them wearily; this was a well-to-do restaurant with no room for moneyless drunkards, his glare practically screamed at them.
“You’ve got quite the stomach for spirits… One after the other, eh, Rupert?” Stephen chuckled, throwing his own head back for another.
“As do you. Tell me; is this an acquired talent, then?”
“Alcohol does for loose women, willing to do things sober women won’t,” Stephen winked. “What about you?”
“I didn’t need alcohol when it came to that apartment,” he answered, a bit more darkly than he perhaps intended. He looked up sharply to his companion’s face, unready to face the questions that would surely follow his cryptic response. Stephen merely shrugged it off.
Silently sighing in relief, he proposed a mock toast to all the women who refused a man’s offer of obligation-free fun, to which both had snickered.
The bartender had had enough, and the stodgy man with a clean shaven face and horn-rimmed glasses trudged over.
“This is quite a debt you’re building. I do hope you intend to pay it off,” his unspoken warning hung in the air.
“Don’t worry, mate. I run a world-wide corporation; I’m not going to leave you hanging,” he slurred slightly, raising the small glass slightly before inhaling its contents.
The man simply twisted his face into something that resembled a disapproving frown and obvious disdain, leaving the inebriated men.
“…Poor boy didn’t even know about the Flying Dutchman; thought he’d made it up,” Stephen snorted, sending both men into a fit of snickers.
“You weren’t kidding when you said he was inexperienced. And you say you toy with every one of them? Does that include…” Giles trailed off in modesty.
“Tying them to my wooden headboard? No… Well, not yet at least.”
“Pity,” he chuckled, “that Helen is quite… Proportionate. Not to mention Emma,” he toyed with the edge of his empty glass, twirling its mouth with his long fingers.“And you? Have you a particular favourite young lady I could borrow?”
Giles blinked once in confusion, a frown quirking on his lips.
“No mean to intrude,” Stephen cocked an eyebrow, misreading his client’s expression.
“What… Oh! You mean my business!” Giles stared very seriously at Stephen; his hard green eyes seemingly evidence to a sobered state.
A frown was added to Stephen’s cocked eyebrow, a second eyebrow raised as Giles burst into noises that could only be described as giggles.
He laughed for a good, long while; a new, vigorous string of merriment created whenever another seemed to die down.
“Perhaps, Rupert, you’ve had one too many shots,” Stephen’s eyes twinkled.
“No- no, not at all. My company is not anywhere near what you think it is. I don’t have nightly entertainment, nor do I have weekly or even monthly. I haven’t the time for meaningless pleasure. I could be a monk and not even notice.”
Stephen was teasingly shocked, a frown settled on his lips before Giles had finished.
“We must fix this! Tell me, have you any plans tonight?”
“No, I cleared my schedule because of this appointment. Why?”
Stephen’s fingertips lightly brushed the outside of Giles’ wrist, a touch that could be dismissed as accidental if one so chose. Instead, Giles grabbed Stephen’s retreating hand, placing light, feathery kisses on his middle knuckle, their eyes never leaving each other.
They stood to leave when the bartender rushed over and asked them their choice of payment.
Sighing, Stephen went to his back pocket to grab his wallet, but Giles stopped him and retrieved his checkbook.
He didn’t even bother to ask the amount, simply signed his name at the bottom, tore it off and handed it to the man.
He took Stephen’s arm and led him to the restaurant’s double doors.
Perhaps this wasn’t such an unproductive appointment, after all.
Fandom: BtVS and Free Agents
Rating: FRM
Timeline: Post Season 7
Characters: Giles/Stephen implied, Andrew, Emma and Helen. Alex mentioned.
Summary: Stephen and Giles meet. Inspired by a particularly hilarious interview with Anthony Head over Free Agents on E!
Disclaimer: I own nothing; everything goes to their respective owners.
Giles fidgeted with his glasses, frowning into the gleaming surface of his still empty plate.
“…Mr. Giles?”
“Ah, yes?” He looked up to meet the woman’s sparkling grey eyes, her eyelashes batting against her skin.
Helen grinned, her red hair bouncing lightly on her shoulders. She brushed a strand back, smiling flirtatiously. She pouted her lips a bit more and leaned forward a bit to lower the plain, dark blue and fitting dress to expose even more of her fair chest skin.
His eyebrows rose slightly at her advances.
A smaller, younger and less… ‘friendly’ woman sitting next to Helen, Emma, snorted. She flipped her bronze curls back with a flick. Crossing her lightly tanned arms across her own plain, bright red dress, she turned to the woman beside her with a look that hadn’t changed for their whole appointment.
“Obviously, Helen, he isn’t taking to your flirting. Stephen, you were wrong. I told you he was either gay or married. A man this attractive isn’t a bachelor long,” she said bluntly, turning to face Giles yet again.
“All right, here’s the thing, Giles. We want your patronage. We don’t need to know what product you sell or why you’re trying to attract young ladies with special abilities, we just want to advertise for a price. It’s fair. You can do whatever you it is you do with those ladies, we won’t ask questions, hell, we’ll even cover for you when all those girls come rushing in to be treated for STDs. A bite out of the budget is worth ourservices,” she undid her crossed arms to take a sip from her glass.
Giles blinked in surprise.
He hadn’t heard that type of straight forward, clear cut logic since… Anya.
Stephen chuckled, and Giles’ attention was drawn to the man in the pink sweater, grey hair swept neatly to the one side.
“Charming, isn’t she? Stubborn women like her are my favourite… Their stamina is usually quite impeccable,” he gazed off into the distance, a slightly proud and dazed smile retained on his features.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Emma answered. The words themselves implied a flirtatious nature, but came out as anything else she said; flat.
Helen turned, a frown accompanied with an exasperated look aimed toward Emma.
“Okay, do you remember what I told you earlier? Listen to my words and HOW I SAY THEM. ‘Y o u d o n ’t k n o w t h e
h a l f o f i t,” she exaggerated the inflection, her voice dipping and raising ridiculously, stares gathering from other tables.
Apparently, Emma had had this conversation before and launched right into it with frustration, the both of them tried to talk over each other with indignation.
“Okay, I feel I’m saying what I’m hearing-“
“You really can’t hear the difference, can you?”
“…And I don’t know why you keep getting on my back for this.”
“This is pathetic! Makes me wonder how you survived high school.”
“I doubt you even remember high school.”
“You keep saying how old I am, but at least I’m not emotionless and can get dates-“
“I can get dates. It’s just not always with the right people, like how you date.”
“Don’t even-“
“I mean geez, ever since you’re your fiancé died-“
“Stop while you can-“
“Just because someone’s heart stops beating-“
“Emma!”
“Look at Alex. He’s practically throwing himself at you-“
“Do NOT bring Alex into this-“
“It clear he likes you-“
Giles gaped a bit.“Sir,” Andrew drew his attention, “I don’t have to be taking notes right now, right?”
“No, no of course not.”
“Good, because the speed these two are going at could put even the Flash to shame.”
He didn’t bother to ask; he felt he had a pretty good idea of what kind of character Andrew was referring to.
The boy- young man, Giles reminded himself-- at Giles’ side nervously cleared his throat, swallowing nervously as the rest of them sitting around the table gazed at the boy with the spiked blonde hair.
“Erm, I think we should go over this with Will, Xand, and Faith before accepting, Mr. Giles. Would you like me to make a call to South America? After all, they have a right to know…”
“Of course, Andrew. We’re all meeting in Cleveland tonight to discuss the He-circumstances. I thought I might have the basic facts before presenting this to them. It’s a new concept and I wouldn’t go through with it before consulting our various counterparts.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It was quite obvious this meeting wasn’t going to achieve anything tonight.
“Cleveland? South America? Your company is world wide?” Stephen sat up a bit straighter, Emma’s eyes widening as if Giles had become a big, juicy hambone steak, a look he was not unaccustomed to after all that time in the Magic Box with Anya.
“Y-yes. Have I forgotten to mention that?”
He could practically see saliva dripping onto the table, the only words flashing through their minds being “World wide= money.”
“We can make your company huge, Mister Giles, costumers will be coming in by the thousands,” Helen promised, nodding vigorously.
Giles and Andrew shared a quick look, the both of them blanching.
“P-Perhaps we should reconsider this whole thing, Mr. Wells.”
“Maybe we should,” he nodded gravely.
“Or maybe you should just meet up with Alex, eh? You’ve had a long day, and you did a good job, fruitcake,” Stephen intervened smoothly.
Helen faltered, crushed. She sighed in defeat and pushed her chair back, cell phone already in hand.
They were insisting on his patronage. Dear lord, this was going to be a long night.
Giles found himself on a plush bar stool, Stephen at his side as they laughed heartily, downing shot after shot with Andrew and Emma long gone. He didn’t drink, not usually, so when Stephen had suggested it, he had been tentative and hesitant. The last time he’d gotten drunk one-on-one with a ‘friend,’ he woke up with two horns sticking out of his forehead, and not the metaphorical kind, either.
‘Come on then, don’t tell me haven’t had shots before! What are you, some sort of high school librarian with a knack for little blondes and red heads, so up-tight he can’t even have a couple of drinks?’
Was. Not anymore, though, he thought amusedly as he stood to make his way to the bar.
And so there they were, empty glasses tipped over and rolling, the previous (and continuing) sloshing making his hand sticky. The bartender eyed them wearily; this was a well-to-do restaurant with no room for moneyless drunkards, his glare practically screamed at them.
“You’ve got quite the stomach for spirits… One after the other, eh, Rupert?” Stephen chuckled, throwing his own head back for another.
“As do you. Tell me; is this an acquired talent, then?”
“Alcohol does for loose women, willing to do things sober women won’t,” Stephen winked. “What about you?”
“I didn’t need alcohol when it came to that apartment,” he answered, a bit more darkly than he perhaps intended. He looked up sharply to his companion’s face, unready to face the questions that would surely follow his cryptic response. Stephen merely shrugged it off.
Silently sighing in relief, he proposed a mock toast to all the women who refused a man’s offer of obligation-free fun, to which both had snickered.
The bartender had had enough, and the stodgy man with a clean shaven face and horn-rimmed glasses trudged over.
“This is quite a debt you’re building. I do hope you intend to pay it off,” his unspoken warning hung in the air.
“Don’t worry, mate. I run a world-wide corporation; I’m not going to leave you hanging,” he slurred slightly, raising the small glass slightly before inhaling its contents.
The man simply twisted his face into something that resembled a disapproving frown and obvious disdain, leaving the inebriated men.
“…Poor boy didn’t even know about the Flying Dutchman; thought he’d made it up,” Stephen snorted, sending both men into a fit of snickers.
“You weren’t kidding when you said he was inexperienced. And you say you toy with every one of them? Does that include…” Giles trailed off in modesty.
“Tying them to my wooden headboard? No… Well, not yet at least.”
“Pity,” he chuckled, “that Helen is quite… Proportionate. Not to mention Emma,” he toyed with the edge of his empty glass, twirling its mouth with his long fingers.“And you? Have you a particular favourite young lady I could borrow?”
Giles blinked once in confusion, a frown quirking on his lips.
“No mean to intrude,” Stephen cocked an eyebrow, misreading his client’s expression.
“What… Oh! You mean my business!” Giles stared very seriously at Stephen; his hard green eyes seemingly evidence to a sobered state.
A frown was added to Stephen’s cocked eyebrow, a second eyebrow raised as Giles burst into noises that could only be described as giggles.
He laughed for a good, long while; a new, vigorous string of merriment created whenever another seemed to die down.
“Perhaps, Rupert, you’ve had one too many shots,” Stephen’s eyes twinkled.
“No- no, not at all. My company is not anywhere near what you think it is. I don’t have nightly entertainment, nor do I have weekly or even monthly. I haven’t the time for meaningless pleasure. I could be a monk and not even notice.”
Stephen was teasingly shocked, a frown settled on his lips before Giles had finished.
“We must fix this! Tell me, have you any plans tonight?”
“No, I cleared my schedule because of this appointment. Why?”
Stephen’s fingertips lightly brushed the outside of Giles’ wrist, a touch that could be dismissed as accidental if one so chose. Instead, Giles grabbed Stephen’s retreating hand, placing light, feathery kisses on his middle knuckle, their eyes never leaving each other.
They stood to leave when the bartender rushed over and asked them their choice of payment.
Sighing, Stephen went to his back pocket to grab his wallet, but Giles stopped him and retrieved his checkbook.
He didn’t even bother to ask the amount, simply signed his name at the bottom, tore it off and handed it to the man.
He took Stephen’s arm and led him to the restaurant’s double doors.
Perhaps this wasn’t such an unproductive appointment, after all.