This One Does

Part One


“You don’t . . . dammit, I keep tellin’ you, you don’t have to do this! I got this soddin’ thing in my head, right?” Spike writhed again as Giles tightened the bonds around his hands and ankles.

“I don’t know that, Spike. I don’t know that anything that you’ve told us is true,” Giles said. He sighed and stood, walking over to the counter dividing the kitchen and the living area and pouring himself a drink.

“The redhead told you!”

“Oh, that’s right, she did, didn’t she? Said you couldn’t ‘perform,’ correct? A shame, that. Happens to a lot of men, or so I’ve heard.” Giles bit back a smile as he took a sip of his whiskey and sat on the couch with a grateful sigh.

‘YOU KNOW BLOODY WELL THAT’S NOT WHAT SHE MEANT! ” Spike bellowed, and Giles turned his face away and put a hand over his mouth to cover a grin.

“Listen here, Rupert! I can’t bite anyone, can’t hurt anyone! Bloody soldier boys took right care of that, didn’t they? So just untie me and give me a fuckin’ drink!”

Giles leaned back into the sofa and rubbed at his forehead wearily. “I’m not wasting good whiskey on the likes of you, Spike.”

“Likes of me, yeah, right. I am what I am, Rupert. Or was,” Spike muttered bitterly. He clenched his teeth and the muscles in his jaw bunched and then he lurched back violently, causing the chair to slam against the wall. “Oh, fuck all! Can’t eat, can’t fight, tied to a fuckin’ chair or in your fuckin’ bath, constantly surrounded by the Slayer and her little friends, all of you pokin’ at the caged lion and laughin’, and I can’t even get a bleedin’ drink?” He slumped in his chair suddenly, his fury evaporating. “Just do it, Watcher,” he said wearily, his eyes closing and his head falling forward. “Please.”

Giles studied him carefully, wondering if the despair he heard in Spike’s voice was real or simply more posturing. “Do what?”

“You know what,” Spike mumbled, jerking his head in the direction of the trunk where Giles stored his weapons.

Giles leaned forward, frowning. “You’re serious.”

Spike met his eyes. “Well, yeah. What’s the fuckin’ point? I’ve no intention of spendin’ eternity tied to a chair, drinkin’ pig’s blood from a coffee mug. You know, Watcher, I’d thought I’d lost everything when I lost Dru, but no, there was more to lose. It’s gone, all of it, everything that made me who I was, and all that’s left is this shell.” He looked down at himself. “A rather good-lookin’ shell, I must admit, but . . .”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Giles sighed in disgust. “Stop it, Spike. Trying to get me to feel sorry for you isn’t going to work,” he said, hurriedly tossing back what was left of his whiskey. “I’m off to bed.”


“Eric Clapton is not better than Jimmy Page, you stupid git!”

“Bloody hell, Spike, do shut up!” Giles bellowed and turned up Disraeli Gears as loud as it would go.


“Watcher. Watcher. Watcher. WATCHER!”

Giles finally popped his head around the door and glared at Spike in silence.

“Feelin’ a bit peckish, help us out, would you, love?”

Giles rolled his eyes and sighed a long-suffering sigh and disappeared, returning a few minutes later with blood in mug and a straw, sitting on the floor by the tub and holding it up just out of Spike’s reach.

“Funny,” Spike said. “Slayer learned that trick from you, eh? You gonna make me beg?”

“The thought had occurred to me, yes,” Giles said, moving the mug back and forth under Spike’s nose.

“Bastard. Please?” Spike said, rolling his eyes.

Deciding that was all he was going to get, Giles acquiesced and held the mug closer to Spike’s mouth, his fingers brushing against Spike’s chin as he placed the straw between his lips. Giles’ eyes narrowed as he felt Spike jump at this accidental touch, and they locked eyes as Spike began to drink, sucking on the straw with long, frantic pulls.

Giles wondered what Spike was thinking, his eyes dark and unreadable while he stared at Giles as he fed, and then the mug was empty and Spike yanked away, sighing, a bit of blood trickling slowly down the side of his mouth.

His head fell back. “Thank you,” he sighed, and Giles reached out to wipe the blood away just as Spike swiped out his tongue to do the same thing, and his tongue slid over Giles’ fingers.

Now Giles jumped and yanked his hand away and again they locked eyes.

“Nice,” Spike finally murmured.

“Quite,” Giles said, and slowly got to his feet and left the bathroom.



“Tea? Right and proper? Thank the bloody gods!”

“Of course it’s properly made, I’m the one making it.”

“And you’re a right and proper twit what knows how to make a good cuppa. Oh, and channel 7, Watcher, time for ‘Passions.’”

Giles sighed.


He tried to wait it out, but after suffering through five very loud and deliberately off-key renditions of London Calling, Giles threw back the bedclothes, grabbed a handkerchief out of his dresser and stomped down the stairs to the bathroom.

“Well, well, what’ve we got here? Rupert sleeps in the nude?” Spike said, smirking.

“No, Spike, I stripped off my nightclothes before coming down here just to give you a bit of a thrill,” Giles muttered, twisting the handkerchief into a serviceable gag.

“Well, if that was your plan, it ain’t workin’,” Spike said, snorting. Then he regarded Giles for a moment. “Well, maybe a little. Anyway, just gimme a drink, all right? Set it here on the side of the tub, long bendy straw thingy and I’ll shut it.”

“You’ll most certainly shut it,” Giles muttered, still fumbling with the handkerchief.

“You know,” Spike said, suddenly coy, his eyes traveling up and down the length of Giles’ body. “There are other things you could stick in my mouth. Ever been sucked off by a vampire?”

Giles sighed in exasperation, pretending that the brief thrill that shot through him hadn’t happened. “No, but I’ve buggered a few in my time.”

There was a moment of shocked silence. “You’re joking,” Spike said.

“No, I most certainly am not,” Giles said, hiding a smirk of satisfaction at the look on Spike’s face.

“What is it with you lot? First you got the Slayer beddin’ down with bleedin’ Angel, and now you? How in the hell did that come about, a Watcher shagging vampires?” Spike’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t fuck Angel, did you?” he asked disgustedly.

“I did not and nor ever shall I, fuck Angel. I was young, it was a . . . thing,” Giles mumbled, the lack of sleep decimating his vocabulary to the point where he had to resort to Xander-speak.

“A ‘thing.’ Right. And did you enjoy the . . . ‘thing?’” Spike murmured, his eyes now focused on Giles’ cock.

Giles forced the gag into Spike’s mouth and tied it a little too tightly, and then grabbed him by the jaw, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Yes, I enjoyed it. Quite a lot, actually. And so did they, until I got off. Because after that I killed them.” His grip on Spike’s jaw tightened and his voice hardened. “Listen to me, Spike. You’re here not here because of my good graces, but because you might prove useful. And if you don’t, I will kill you. You’d best take care to remember that.”

Something flared in Spike’s eyes, either fury or desire or both, Giles couldn’t tell, but he turned on his heel and trudged back up to bed, falling asleep finally and dreaming of cool skin rubbing silkily against warm.


Giles had his face buried in the area rug in front of the fireplace, laughing so hard he couldn’t speak. Spike was behind him, doing the same. Giles wondered fuzzily if getting high with Spike first thing in the morning and then listening to tales about Angel so ridiculous that they had to be true had been a good idea, and then decided he didn’t care.

He sighed heavily and hauled himself up on the couch, wiping away tears.

“Oh, oh, Giles! ‘Passions!’” Spike nudged him with his bare feet.

“Dear Lord, Spike, please,” Giles moaned.

“Come on, what else have I got to do? What else have you got to do? Channel 7, Watcher, now!” Spike demanded and then fell over sideways with his head in Giles’ lap.

“What in the hell are you doing?” Giles asked, after staring at him in shock for what felt like an eternity.

“It was an accident. Shut up and channel 7, you git!”

Giles continued to stare at the back of Spike’s head even after he’d changed the channel, knowing that he could shove him away if he wanted.

He wondered why he didn’t.


“Don’t do that, Watcher. Either gimme or get ‘em away from me, even you ain’t that cruel.”

“Why, Spike, I’ve absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” Giles said, mouth full of Jaffa Cake.

“You right bastard!”

“So I’ve been told. Mostly within the past three weeks,” Giles said, stuffing another Jaffa Cake in his mouth.


“Oh, bloody hell, very well. You do realize you’re going to get me evicted going on and on like that.” Giles proffered a Jaffa Cake, holding it between his fingers until Spike had finished and pointedly ignoring the teasing touch of Spike’s tongue against his fingers and the sly look in his eye as he fed Spike one after another.

“That’s it. They’re all gone. Except for this one,” Giles said, holding the last one up teasingly before popping it into his mouth and brushing the crumbs off his hands.

“Bastard,” Spike muttered.

“So I’ve been told.”


Giles tried to fight it, to distract himself with his books and his music, but day after day of it and it soon it became unbearable, an addiction, a battle he was no longer able to win.

With a sigh he gave in and got up from his desk and plopped down on the sofa next to still-bound Spike.

“Bout time,” Spike smirked. “It’s about to start.” Then he deliberately toppled over until his head was resting on Giles’ thigh. “Oops. Sorry ‘bout that. Accident. ‘Passions,’ channel 7, please and fuckyouverymuch.”

Sigh. “Why do you insist on doing that? Lying in my lap like that?”

“Why do you insist on letting me?”

Good question, Giles thought, and one he didn’t really have an answer to.

“Channel 7, hurry, you ponce!”

Giles changed the channel and then clapped a hand over his eyes in embarrassment as he actually watched ‘Passions’ through parted fingers, while his other hand moved to rest on the back of Spike’s neck, who rubbed his cheek against Giles’ thigh with a contented sigh.


“The Beatles.”

“Oh, sod off! The Stones!”

“The Beatles!”


“Jesus Christ,” Giles said wearily. “This is the third time in as many days that we’ve had this discussion, if you could actually call it that, and I refuse to talk about it anymore.”

“Fine. Gimme a drink and play your bloody Beatles.”

Giles looked at him speculatively. “Will you be quiet?”

Spike sighed and rolled his eyes and nodded.

“Will you answer my questions?”

Again Spike sighed. “Now how in the hell am I supposed to be quiet and answer your stupid questions?”

“You know perfectly well what I mean.”

“Why do you even wanna know? What’s the point?”

“A Watcher’s curiosity. Will you or not?”

Spike huffed and squirmed against the ropes. “Oh, bloody hell. Fine. But it better be the White Album and an entire bottle of whiskey. Two bottles of whiskey.”

Abbey Road.”

“Ponce. Fine, whatever, as long as there’s whiskey.”

Giles knelt down in front of his record collection, flipping through them until he found Abbey Road which he then put on the turntable, then he lodged a cheap bottle of whiskey in the crook of Spike’s elbow, complete with straw.

“Now,” he said, lying back on the sofa with his own drink and regarding Spike with narrowed eyes. “Tell me about Angelus and Drusilla.”


Several hours and several drinks later, Spike had finally finished his story, and Giles regarded him appraisingly. “It actually sounds as if you loved them. Angelus and Drusilla.”

Spike frowned, confused. “Course I did. Dru, I still do.”

“Vampires don’t feel love.”

“This one does, and if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll kill you, even if it makes my head explode. And how the hell would you know anyway, you a vampire? Or did all your musty old books tell you that?”

Giles looked at him curiously. “What else do you feel?”

“Thirsty. We done playing psychiatrist and patient? Little help, here?” Spike asked, indicating the two inches of whiskey still in the bottle that the straw couldn’t reach.

Giles sighed and got up and moved to stand beside him, tossing the straw aside and holding the bottle to Spike’s lips. “What would Angel say?” he asked as Spike drank. “About how he felt, about the three of you, when he was Angelus?”

Spike wrenched his mouth away from the bottle, coughing, whiskey spilling down his chin and throat and glared up at Giles with furious eyes. “I don’t fucking know and I don’t fucking care,” he snarled, voice low and hard.

Giles pulled his handkerchief from his back pocket and started wiping away the whiskey dripping from Spike’s chin and down his neck, noting that Spike’s hard gaze never left his face. “Why do you hate him so much?” Giles asked quietly.

“Because he left me,” Spike spat.

Giles stared at him, eyes narrowed, then brought one hand up to cup Spike’s chin, running his thumb across Spike’s lips, marveling at how his expression softened from one of pain and fury to one of vulnerability. Absurd, the notion that this loud, childish, beautiful, attention-seeking creature was still nursing a wound left by Angel over 100 years ago. Ridiculous, he thought, vampires can’t feel, not in the manner that humans do.

. . . this one does . . .

He continued the slow strokes of his thumb over Spike’s mouth and watched as if from a distance the way Spike’s eyes darkened and his mouth softened, and then he was physically jolted when Spike’s tongue darted out and moved along his thumb in a wet, cool slide. Giles froze, hand and body, and stared as Spike tugged his thumb into his mouth and started sucking on it, his eyes closing, his tongue whirling around it and then the whole of his mouth pulling on it hard.

Giles shuddered and pulled his hand away, then knelt beside Spike for a moment, staring up at him with eyes that spoke volumes, and then stood.

“I’m going to bed,” he murmured.

“You do that, then,” Spike said, eyes dark and knowing.

Spike watched as Giles’ walked slowly up the stairs and his fingers clenched tightly around the handle of the knife that was now in his hand.


He didn’t say anything when he felt the dip of the mattress as Spike climbed into bed with him, he simply rolled over and pulled Spike to him, their mouths hard and hungry against one another. Spike groaned and thrust up against him, already naked and already hard, and Giles rolled him over on to his back and pulled Spike’s legs up high and rammed himself up between them.

Jesus,” Spike hissed, fingers tight on Giles’ shoulders.

“Ropes didn’t hold?” Giles whispered, planting a hand on the mattress on either side of Spike’s chest. Spike reached up and kissed him again, mouth softer this time, and Giles moaned and met the cool wet thrusts of Spike’s tongue with his own.

“Got loose somehow,” Spike whispered, reaching down to stroke him. Giles gasped and pulled away.

“Wonder how that ever could have happened,” Giles said hoarsely and then thrust into Spike roughly.

God!" Spike muttered through clenched teeth, head falling back. “Fuck me, Watcher, long and hard.”

“Only way I know,” Giles said, breathlessly, and started pounding into Spike, long, hard, fast strokes that rattled the bed frame and rammed the headboard against the wall. Spike clawed at him, cursed him, bit and sucked and licked at him, and Giles groaned loudly, head swimming at the feel of Spike so tight around him and at the thought of this beautiful yet ancient boy in his bed.

Fuck,” Giles groaned, moving faster. “So long . . .”

“Harder, always harder,” Spike whispered, eyes closed and hands wrapped around Giles' neck.

“If I fuck you any harder I’ll send us both through the goddamned wall,” Giles muttered, fucking him harder anyway, panting heavily, both bodies rocking frantically at the rhythm he was setting.

“God, yes,” Spike murmured, and reached down to stroke himself. Giles moaned as he felt it start to build and then he came, suddenly, a white hot wave of sensation slamming through him and he shuddered, crying out loudly against Spike’s neck, and gradually his thrusts slowed and then stopped, and he lay across Spike trying to catch his breath.

“This is where you kill me, then?” Spike whispered, running his fingers through Giles’ hair.

“In a manner of speaking,” Giles murmured, sliding down the length of Spike’s body to take Spike’s cock in his mouth, and soon Spike was groaning, fingers tight around Giles’ neck as he fucked Giles’ mouth, hips pumping furiously as Giles played him with his tongue, and then he arched high off the bed and thrust deeply into Giles' throat, and Giles moaned in satisfaction and swallowed as Spike came, cold fluid fire on his tongue and down his throat.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Spike whispered, reaching down to haul Giles on top of him. They stared at one another for a long while.

“What in the hell are we doin’?” Spike murmured, the softness and vulnerability back, his eyes searching Giles’ face.

“I have no fucking idea,” Giles whispered, his fingers running lightly over Spike’s mouth.

“So am I the first vampire you ever shagged that you didn’t dust? At least not yet?”

Giles smiled slightly in spite of himself. “Yes,” he whispered. “At least not yet.”

“Good, then. Makes me feel special,” Spike said smugly, rolling over on to his side and pulling and tugging until Giles was wrapped around him completely, and then he fell asleep.

Giles stared at him a long time. Spike ‘felt special.’ Impossible, in spite of all of Spike’s insistence and evidence to the contrary. Vampires do not feel.

. . . this one does . . .

Giles sighed and pushed all thoughts away and nuzzled against the back of Spike’s neck. He’d fucked up, he knew, but right now he didn’t care. Right now was all touch and scent and taste in a bed that had been too cold and too lonely for too long and a bed that was now, oddly, warmed nicely by a vampire whose skin was cool to the touch.

. . . this one does . . .

The refrain echoed through his mind as Giles drifted off to sleep.


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