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seikilosTitle: The Kill or Cure Treatment for Loneliness
Fandoms:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
luceti, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Pirates of the Caribbean, Princess Mononoke
Genre: Crack
Rating: PG
Words: 982
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the above fandoms.
Summary: Any night involving drunken, forlorn pirates is a very bad night to be on patrol.
Author's Notes: The filename for this one is "what is this i don't even." I think that about sums it up!
Also, yes, yes I did have to go there and make a rum joke. At least I got it out of my system early?
The worst part about being on patrol isn't the late hours. It isn't the loneliness and it isn't the boredom.
It's when something happens.
Especially when that something is a pirate staggering out of Good Spirits at an unhealthy hour of the night.
Especially when it's clear that, if the rum is gone, it's only because it's gone inside the pirate. All of it. And the Romulan ale. And god knows what else.
And most especially of all, the very worst part is when Jack sees him.
"Former Watcher!" Jack bellows, alcohol having robbed him of volume control.
Giles doesn't pinch the bridge of his nose so hard, he hastens the onset of what he's certain will be quite the migraine. ". . . Hello, Jack."
Jack somehow manages to get closer without tripping or falling, by being on the verge of both but being too drunk to accomplish either. "Keeping the village safe from rascals and rogues, are you, Former Watcher?"
"Yes, that's—what I'm doing." Giles' nose wrinkles when he catches the full bouquet of Jack, and he manoeuvres himself upwind. Better. . . . Slightly.
"Seen anyone familiar while you're out looking about for some evil-doing types?" Jack leans in closer.
Giles leans back farther. "Aside from you, it's been quiet." He smiles faintly. "Peaceful."
"Nothing at all? No . . . Slayers, perchance?"
The smile is gone, and just like that, Giles is tired. "No, Jack. I've checked. She isn't back yet."
It seems Jack is tired as well, judging from the way he abruptly slings his arm around Giles' shoulders and leans what has to be most of his weight on him.
"Jack, get off. You're h—"
Jack turns dark eyes to him—eyes that are uncomfortably tormented, especially for a rum-and-everything-else-soaked pirate he doesn't even like. "You were supposed to watch her, Watcher. Hah. Watch her, Former Watcher. And now she's gone and poor old Jack is all alone."
"If only that were true," Giles says mildly, to cover the fact that Jack's muddled accusation is far too similar to his own guilt over Buffy's kidnapping. Knowing there wasn't a thing he could have done to prevent it is no help at all. Guilt conquers all, especially logic.
"And me—should have been there, shouldn't I?" Jack rambles on through Giles' attempts to dislodge him. "Supposed to be all lover-like and caring, and I can't even make it to one little kidnapping."
Giles grimaces and hopes against all hope he isn't about to be treated to a monologue on Jack and Buffy's relationship. He doesn't understand at all what she sees in him—a drunken, selfish outlaw closer to Giles' age then her own—and this is not how he would like to be enlightened.
"Jack, get—"
"Least I'm not all alone yet." Jack swings around suddenly to look him straight in the eye, and this situation has just tripled in awkwardness. "Still got you, don't I, Former Watcher?"
"Ah. Yes. Currently." Until he manages to extract himself, certainly.
"You're not a bad sort, are you? Could be worse—could be Smoker. Smoker." Jack's grimace is less than appealing this close, and for one horrifying, far too long moment, Giles is afraid Jack is going to spit.
The grimness smooths away and is replaced by an expression that was probably aiming to be speculative. "We're not all that different, you and I. Done a lot of things in our lives. Done a lot of things that might not have been the very nicest to do, haven't we." Jack leans so they're very nearly nose to nose, his breath almost a physical thing in his face, and this is the part where Giles is really becoming alarmed.
"Jack—"
"And the both of us, know what we are?"
Giles stops being polite about his efforts to get free.
"Lonely, mate."
And, quite suddenly, Jack smashes their lips together.
The first thing Giles notices, as his hands seize Jack's upper arms, is that Jack's mouth tastes indescribably foul. The only thing more vile than the taste of Jack's rum is Jack's rum second hand.
The second thing he notices is the oddness of another man's beard scratching his face.
The third quickly overrides the first two, and is this: Jack is a surprisingly good kisser.
Surprisingly good enough for Giles to forget himself for just a moment, just a short moment of lips and tongue and the warmth of another person against him, until Jack tries for an uncoordinated grope and Giles is shoving him hard enough to send them both stumbling backwards.
Jack looks up at him from where he had landed on his rear. In his current state, it didn't seem to have affected him much. "What was that for, then? Just trying to bring a little comfort and cheer into our lives what are a dark abyss of sadness and despair. And loneliness."
Giles' face is on fire—quite possibly literally, or so it feels to him. He turns around, removes his glasses, and polishes away the smudge marks from—not thinking about that. Not. Thinking. About. That. "Go home, Jack. Go home, sleep it off, and pray you won't remember this in the morning. I should be so fortunate," he adds in a heartfelt mutter.
"Suit yourself. Just trying to do my part and all that good person . . . whatsit."
Giles listens to Jack get up and stagger his way away, and decides on the next place to patrol. The forest seems like a good spot. The deepest, darkest part, where not a soul ever goes. That sounds best. And, if he's lucky, Moro will kill him for trespassing and he won't ever find out if Jack wasn't quite drunk enough to forget this when he sobers up.
Decided, Giles sets off again, and if he isn't exactly fleeing, he might be walking just a little faster than standard patrol speed.
Fandoms:
luceti, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Pirates of the Caribbean, Princess MononokeGenre: Crack
Rating: PG
Words: 982
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the above fandoms.
Summary: Any night involving drunken, forlorn pirates is a very bad night to be on patrol.
Author's Notes: The filename for this one is "what is this i don't even." I think that about sums it up!
Also, yes, yes I did have to go there and make a rum joke. At least I got it out of my system early?
The worst part about being on patrol isn't the late hours. It isn't the loneliness and it isn't the boredom.
It's when something happens.
Especially when that something is a pirate staggering out of Good Spirits at an unhealthy hour of the night.
Especially when it's clear that, if the rum is gone, it's only because it's gone inside the pirate. All of it. And the Romulan ale. And god knows what else.
And most especially of all, the very worst part is when Jack sees him.
"Former Watcher!" Jack bellows, alcohol having robbed him of volume control.
Giles doesn't pinch the bridge of his nose so hard, he hastens the onset of what he's certain will be quite the migraine. ". . . Hello, Jack."
Jack somehow manages to get closer without tripping or falling, by being on the verge of both but being too drunk to accomplish either. "Keeping the village safe from rascals and rogues, are you, Former Watcher?"
"Yes, that's—what I'm doing." Giles' nose wrinkles when he catches the full bouquet of Jack, and he manoeuvres himself upwind. Better. . . . Slightly.
"Seen anyone familiar while you're out looking about for some evil-doing types?" Jack leans in closer.
Giles leans back farther. "Aside from you, it's been quiet." He smiles faintly. "Peaceful."
"Nothing at all? No . . . Slayers, perchance?"
The smile is gone, and just like that, Giles is tired. "No, Jack. I've checked. She isn't back yet."
It seems Jack is tired as well, judging from the way he abruptly slings his arm around Giles' shoulders and leans what has to be most of his weight on him.
"Jack, get off. You're h—"
Jack turns dark eyes to him—eyes that are uncomfortably tormented, especially for a rum-and-everything-else-soaked pirate he doesn't even like. "You were supposed to watch her, Watcher. Hah. Watch her, Former Watcher. And now she's gone and poor old Jack is all alone."
"If only that were true," Giles says mildly, to cover the fact that Jack's muddled accusation is far too similar to his own guilt over Buffy's kidnapping. Knowing there wasn't a thing he could have done to prevent it is no help at all. Guilt conquers all, especially logic.
"And me—should have been there, shouldn't I?" Jack rambles on through Giles' attempts to dislodge him. "Supposed to be all lover-like and caring, and I can't even make it to one little kidnapping."
Giles grimaces and hopes against all hope he isn't about to be treated to a monologue on Jack and Buffy's relationship. He doesn't understand at all what she sees in him—a drunken, selfish outlaw closer to Giles' age then her own—and this is not how he would like to be enlightened.
"Jack, get—"
"Least I'm not all alone yet." Jack swings around suddenly to look him straight in the eye, and this situation has just tripled in awkwardness. "Still got you, don't I, Former Watcher?"
"Ah. Yes. Currently." Until he manages to extract himself, certainly.
"You're not a bad sort, are you? Could be worse—could be Smoker. Smoker." Jack's grimace is less than appealing this close, and for one horrifying, far too long moment, Giles is afraid Jack is going to spit.
The grimness smooths away and is replaced by an expression that was probably aiming to be speculative. "We're not all that different, you and I. Done a lot of things in our lives. Done a lot of things that might not have been the very nicest to do, haven't we." Jack leans so they're very nearly nose to nose, his breath almost a physical thing in his face, and this is the part where Giles is really becoming alarmed.
"Jack—"
"And the both of us, know what we are?"
Giles stops being polite about his efforts to get free.
"Lonely, mate."
And, quite suddenly, Jack smashes their lips together.
The first thing Giles notices, as his hands seize Jack's upper arms, is that Jack's mouth tastes indescribably foul. The only thing more vile than the taste of Jack's rum is Jack's rum second hand.
The second thing he notices is the oddness of another man's beard scratching his face.
The third quickly overrides the first two, and is this: Jack is a surprisingly good kisser.
Surprisingly good enough for Giles to forget himself for just a moment, just a short moment of lips and tongue and the warmth of another person against him, until Jack tries for an uncoordinated grope and Giles is shoving him hard enough to send them both stumbling backwards.
Jack looks up at him from where he had landed on his rear. In his current state, it didn't seem to have affected him much. "What was that for, then? Just trying to bring a little comfort and cheer into our lives what are a dark abyss of sadness and despair. And loneliness."
Giles' face is on fire—quite possibly literally, or so it feels to him. He turns around, removes his glasses, and polishes away the smudge marks from—not thinking about that. Not. Thinking. About. That. "Go home, Jack. Go home, sleep it off, and pray you won't remember this in the morning. I should be so fortunate," he adds in a heartfelt mutter.
"Suit yourself. Just trying to do my part and all that good person . . . whatsit."
Giles listens to Jack get up and stagger his way away, and decides on the next place to patrol. The forest seems like a good spot. The deepest, darkest part, where not a soul ever goes. That sounds best. And, if he's lucky, Moro will kill him for trespassing and he won't ever find out if Jack wasn't quite drunk enough to forget this when he sobers up.
Decided, Giles sets off again, and if he isn't exactly fleeing, he might be walking just a little faster than standard patrol speed.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-09-14 10:17 pm (UTC)Poor Giles. Yes, let us hope Jack does not remember it in the morning, because then there will be all the awkwards.
Also LOL JACK for being a good kisser. XDD And the purple prose. As much as Jack can manage.
Hey, it could be worse! ...Somehow. XD
LJ Login is failing, and thus you get Grune.
Date: 2011-09-14 11:19 pm (UTC)XDDD IT WAS THE ONLY WAY I COULD THINK OF TO HAVE GILES KISS BACK. /awesome
He could have been kissing Buffy?
no subject
Date: 2011-09-16 05:58 am (UTC)"You did what, Giles?"
no subject
Date: 2011-09-16 01:19 pm (UTC)