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Chapter Fifteen

"So you've been here before?"

William glanced back at Dare. The blond appeared to be taking the hallway in, looking from one painting along the wall to another. His blue eyes turned back and he slipped his hands into his pockets. "A few times, yes. Why?"

"You seem to know here you're going."

He smiled a little at that when Dare came up to walk next to him. "I usually know where the library is in every home I stay in, if that home has one. Even if I've never been there before I find out from one of the footmen or maids."

He could see a smirk form on the other man's face. "You are a book worm, aren't you?"

"I love reading."

"I don't think I read enough," he heard him admit.

William laughed softly at that.

"What?"

"I'm just wondering why you came along with me if you don't read very often," he said with a grin, once again glancing at him. "Seems a waste."

"That's easy," he said. "I don't think I'm ready to spend an enormous amount of time with either of your siblings yet."

"Still worried Reg is going to try and convince you to marry her?"

Dare sighed long and hard, but there was laughter in that sigh. He watched as the American dug his hands into his pockets, tugging the gray material of his suit coat up. "No, no, I think I'm safe on that front." He shrugged. "I'm not really tired right now and I'd rather spend time with you than listen to them gossip."

"They're not notoriously bad about that, but I understand." He looked up and then stopped before two double doors before simply opening them. He could feel Dare right behind him as he stepped in and turned on a switch.

"A lot of places seem to have electric lighting," he heard him say.

William nodded. "It's gradually becoming more popular. The last time I was at Aniston's they were only starting to put it in. Certainly better than candles." The room was large, bigger than his own library in London. Though, the one in their country estate was bigger. His father had loved books as much as he did, and, his grandfather before him.

"Do you want me to close the doors?"

William turned to look at the other man. "If you like. I prefer the quiet, but it's late so I'm sure it won't matter either way."

He shrugged and shut them. "Aniston seems to have a flare for decoration. But, this room looks more…"

"Robust?" he offered, looking over at him as the door clicked into place. He smirked and glanced back up at the shelves. The room did have that quality, something entirely more masculine. The colors were browns, deep burgundies, and stained woods. It gave the impression of a man's study without the desk. There was one table with a few chairs, but the room was mostly littered with comfortable chairs and a couch. A fireplace sat along one wall, separating the shelves.

"Manly," he offered.

William laughed at the slang-laden single word. "That's a creative way of putting it.

"Tell me Dare, what do you like to read when you do?"

He was quiet for a moment and William imagined he was thinking about it, which made it all the more curious.

"Truthfully?"

"Indeed."

"Fiction mostly. I'm not one for classics and never have been. If I have to read I like to feel as if I'm in the story—transported. So, anything that does that is usually a good book for me."

"I suppose that makes sense," he said as he stepped forward and ran a single digit across the spines, looking at titles and trying to find something interesting. He could feel Dare following him and he squinted in the dim lighting.

"By the way, I'm sorry about earlier."

"What do you mean?"

He heard him sigh. "I shouldn't have asked you about Cecily. She's obviously a sort subject for you."

That was putting it mildly, he thought as the statement washed over him and made him stop at a spine. After the pass of a moment he continued on. "Have you ever been in love, Dare?"

And then came another pause. William found himself stopping and turning to look over at his companion, who had stopped moving with him altogether. He almost regretted the question immediately because his green eyes were distant and one hand was on the shelf as if leaning in for support. It was hard to see his face, but there was enough light to tell he was troubled or deep in thought.

"Dare…?"

Those same endless green eyes looked up, locking on his own. The action made his heart jump and constrict, though he wasn't sure why. Perhaps the emotion laden in those twin pools caused the reaction.

The other man smiled. "Once." Dare turned so that he could lean into the shelves behind him, gaze turning upward. "You remember the poem I recited when I first met you?"

"I do."

His eyes shut. "The man I fell in love with wrote it for me, trying to tell me how he felt. I was too stupid to see it, to see him."

"How so?"

"I didn't think he was good enough for me, or that's what I told him."

"Because he was a man?"

Green depths darted to his once more, as if startled from some sort of haze. And then it was gone, whatever it was in his eyes. "…Yeah, I didn't think we could be together."

"What happened to him?"

He smiled, lips twisted bitterly. "He left."

"I'm sorry…"

"Don't be, Will. It's my fault," he told him as he pushed away from the shelved books. "I waited too long to tell him how I felt and by then it was too late." Those bright greens locked on his again as he stepped up to him, close, perhaps closer than William should have felt comfortable with. And yet, he didn't feel the urge to step back this time and give them distance. He didn't even jump as Dare's hand came to rest on his arm and squeeze. "That's why you can't hate yourself for telling Cecily how you felt, no matter her response. It's much easier to be an ass than to be vulnerable with someone.

"Trust me," he whispered the last with a smile. "You're a good man, Will."

He felt his whole body still rather suddenly; time… stopped. There was something about those words…. That's voice… And then… that's all he ever wanted to hear, he realized with a start—like a light going off. That's all. His heart was jumping again, skipping and half slamming into his ribcage as his throat tightened painfully. He didn't understand it, any of it. He didn't grasp the way his blood moved at that voice, Dare's voice, telling him that; it triggered something; like turning on a switch or lifting up a veil to a time before that he couldn't visualize. But there was something to it, something more. He wanted to know, but he couldn't figure it out. Instead, all he could see was the expansive green as he stared directly into his eyes, the pain that echoed there—a pain he knew and understood; it was a pain he wanted to take away—from him, he realized next. He wanted to wipe it away; he wanted to fall into him and forget the world; he wanted…

His hand slid away from the bookshelf and he exhaled a breath he hadn't even known he was holding in. He felt like he was on the edge of something important, or, staring down the side of a cliff and unable to jump. His body, as if motivated by its own force, stepped closer. He could feel his own breath at his spread off of Dare's face and back to his. He swallowed—hard.

What in the hell was he doing?

And yet nothing about it felt wrong.

"Buffy..?" he heard himself whisper. The sound said so many things with one word, one name—yearning, want, fear, desire, pain, forgiveness... love.

Those green eyes widened under his scrutiny at that same sound—that name. He watched those pink lips part open to say something, but before he could William found himself capturing them and the words that may have tumbled forth. His hand came to the back of Dare's neck, tangling in the short blond strands as he slanted his face and closed his eyes in one fluid motion, exhaling in some sense of relief through his nose. Warm, so bloody warm, he heard his thoughts repeat over and over as his tongue tangled with his, as Dare returned it as if they belonged that way. Home, they said next. This was home; this was the sunrise; this was what he'd always wanted and looked for; this was what he'd desperately tried to write about. This—those arms wrapping about his neck, pulling him to that body pressing now against his own—tighter; his own hands, gripping those thighs through material, lifting and shoving his body up against the bookshelves to feel it further. All of it.

His heart bloomed, glowed, bathed in some light he couldn't capture.

It'd never felt this way before, and yet he knew it wasn't the first time; it didn't feel like the first time at all.

His hands were hot and soft as they slid up his neck, caressing and coiling into his slicked curls in a way that made Willaim shudder.

He pulled away, listening to Dare's gasp before returning to trail his lips along that cheek, his ear… never in his life had he hated neck cloths more than he did in that moment. But, the man before him was forcing his lips on his again, making the latter thoughts disappear as he then reached lower, between them, and cupped—.

He groaned in his mouth, hips bucking involuntarily and seeking out friction. It had to go, it all had to go. He released the blonde's thighs as desire wrapped him in heat, burned and boiled over. He pulled at Dare's coat, lips only parting to take a bated breath, to move as the man accommodated for him. The material dropped to the floor with a hush and tumble of cloth; however, by then his hands were moving to the vest, the neck cloth as Dare ripped at his own coat.

God, he couldn't get enough of whatever this was. It was all-consuming, as if this feeling existed all by itself and slicked them in some glaze of want, need, lust, and… more, so much more. It was instantaneous—whatever it was. Sneaking up and pouncing.

The neck cloth finally fell off the younger man and he couldn't stop his lips from traveling there, sucking, nipping, as he took him in his embrace again. He bit down hard at the same time. A cry carried on in the silence of the room at that little action; it maintained into a moan. Dare arched into him in further reaction, nearly falling. But, he pulled him tighter as they fell into the bookshelf again, upsetting it without notice. He could hear him crying out again, feel the bite of his nails and the blond tried to tug at his shirt. He pulled back, letting hands reach to pull at the buttons of his vest—.

Smack!

William jumped and pulled away—separating them—as the bang sounded in the room, cutting into the quiet he hadn't realized had been there. His breathing was heavy, erratic—as erratic as the hammer of his heart in his ears. He stared down at the heavy volume, pages open to the printed word and his eyes narrowed—confused. What…

It was then—instantly—that he came back to himself; he felt as if he'd been hit by ice water, cold and unforgiving. Cold blues slowly turned to look at Dare, as if he had some kind of explanation. The American wasn't looking at him though, rather at the ground. He had a hand clutched to his chest as he exhaled in inhaled slowly, obviously trying to get his bearings back as well.

He didn't know what to say, to do. Nothing made sense. His face burned with the implications of what had happened just then.

"Excuse me," he managed to whisper as he stepped back, hands shaking.

"Will…?" he heard him whisper in return.

But, he didn't look again; he left.

#

Buffy stared after the space he'd been in, hand still clutched to her chest. The heat gradually left her face as her heart finally went back to a normal rhythm, as her thoughts returned to something less harried and chaotic, and as what had just occurred at last washed over her.

"Oh god…" she whispered, eyes closing as she leaned back into the book shelf further.

Was it too soon? Had this happened too soon? Was this even supposed to happen? What had she been thinking?

Careful digits ran through blond strands as she stood up straight and looked around for her coat and whatever else had fallen off in their haste. Without thinking much on it, she picked up what was there and left. The lights were turned off and it occurred to her she'd need to slip back to her room without anyone seeing her. She had no idea how to tie that stupid thing back around her neck and she didn't want any gossip shooting around about her disheveled state.

Thankfully, when she made her way back to the stairs leading up to her room, the whole house appeared to be void of activity; just how long has they been in there? She decided not to second guess her good luck and made a beeline for her door, locking it behind her just before she leaned into it with a long breath of relief.

"You've been gone a while."

Her eyes popped open and locked on Ian's curious and questioning gaze. They narrowed as she watched him shut the door to her wardrobe. "Are you still putting things away?"

"I just finished. I got something to eat in between though, so don't worry." He grinned. "No need to wake anyone up on my behalf."

Idly, she nodded, but didn't move.

It was Ian's turn to narrow his gaze on her. "Do you want help undressing…?"

"…Yeah."

"Is something wrong, Buffy?" he asked softly, deciding to use her real name.

"I'm not sure." She finally pulled away from the door. On her way towards the bed she dropped the bundle in her arms on a cushioned chair. She stopped as Ian placed a hand on her shoulder. He came around to her front and began undoing her vest.

"You didn't get in a compromising position with a woman did you…?" he asked hesitantly as the vest came off, watching her carefully.

"Not with a woman, no," she muttered.

He blinked at that.

Buffy frowned. "William."

"Really?"

Buffy accommodated as he helped her slip out of her shirt. It felt odd that even though the person before her was a man, she could only think of her as a woman. Maybe it was like having a gay friend; you didn't care if they saw you naked because… yeah. Then again, she'd also never cared if Willow saw her naked either and she was a lesbian.

"What happened, if I might ask?"

"I'm not really sure," she admitted again as he began to help her out of her pants. She blinked. "You know what? This is silly. I can take the rest off. Just get me something to sleep in."

He chuckled and Buffy sat down so she could remove her shoes. "He kissed me."

"That's good though, right?"

"I don't know," she muttered, dropping a shoe and then another. She jerked at her pants before just kicking them off. Next she started on her binding, looking forward to being able to breathe easier.

"Well, what kind of kiss was it?" he asked as he went about pulling something out for her from the wardrobe, his back to her.

Buffy's thoughts instantly went back to it; to his hands, his lips, the pressure of him, the way he touched her… bit her. She sighed, looking down at her bare feet as the coil around her chest loosened. "Earthshattering…"

"It can't be bad then."

"But he left right after. I thought for a moment when he called me Buffy he remembered, you know? But, then, it's like he didn't know what he was doing when we stopped."

"Here." Ian handed her a nightgown. "It sounds to me like you need to stop beating yourself up. There's obviously something there or he wouldn't have initiated it at all. It's probably better he did anyway." He took away the bindings as she handed them to him.

"But what do I say to him tomorrow? Thanks for the kiss? Sorry it freaked you out? Feel like wrestling without the clothes next time?" she went on as she slipped the gown over her head.

Ian laughed.

"It's not funny," she grumped with a frown in his direction.

He sat down next to her and placed a hand on hers. He smiled still when she met his gaze. "Nothing ever worth doing is easy."

"That doesn't help me."

"Just see what happens and do your best not to let anger get the better of you. William is more than likely confused at this very moment and probably needs some time alone. He'll come to you; don't worry."

But she did worry. She worried a lot. "Maybe…"

"I'm going to go to bed. Lock the door behind me, will you? I don't want anyone slipping in here while you're… well… you."

She nodded and followed Ian to the door. She was a little surprised by the hug he gave her and the kiss to her temple.

"It'll be fine." Another smile and then he was gone.

Buffy grumbled again, but she locked the door and then just went to bed herself, blowing out candles as she did so. It really wasn't fair, she concluded as she curled into the comfortable bedding. She was wound up, and not in the good way. Some secretly evil part of her really hoped he was too.

This sucked.

In fact, it just donned on her how much it sucked—she was so wound up that she forgot to tell Ian about Hallie and Anya. She wanted to smack herself because it was too late to call him back to her room and she really needed to figure out how to get a letter to Kit.

He needed to know about this new development and she needed to know why they were there.

….Life really would be better if the things worth doing were easy.

AN :: I wasn't planning on updating this soon, but I got the writing bug and couldn't stop myself—I'm sure you don't mind. I want you to know I felt a little awkward about this 'heated' scene. Not because I'm unused to writing these kinds of scenes… but because it can be very difficult to balance how far it's going to go when writing with the Sweet Polly Oliver trope in mind. (Just google it if you don't know what it is lol.) Either way, I'm not unhappy with it and I hope you aren't either. I'd like to put out chapter sixteen as well, as it's done, but I think it'd be best if I saved it for next month. Consider this a bonus chapter because I know much you all were dying for some fluff.