This One Does

Part Two

“TURN THAT BLOODY NOISE OFF!” Giles bellowed from the shower.

Spike peeked into the bathroom and grinned suggestively as his eyes slid over Giles’ body. “And what if I don’t?” he asked.

“I’ve told you time and again, the Clash, yes, the Sex Pistols, bloody fucking no!” Giles said, glaring.

Spike disappeared and the Pistols became even louder.

Giles gritted his teeth and tried to think of a suitable punishment.


Harder, Watcher,” Spike groaned.

“No,” Giles whispered against the skin of Spike’s back, thrusting inside him with long, slow strokes and reaching around to touch him lightly, teasingly.

Fuck,” Spike hissed in frustration, rocking back against him hard, trying to spur him on.

“Yes,” Giles murmured, grinning, wrapping his arms around Spike’s waist and biting and licking lightly at the back of his neck. “But slowly.”

“Jesus fuck, it’ll take forever at this rate,” Spike moaned.

Giles ran one hand over Spike’s back, looking at him in wonder. “Fuck, Spike, but you’re beautiful.”

“I am, aren’t I?”

Giles smacked him hard on the ass and Spike snickered, and then he moaned as Giles rammed into him hard and fast for a few seconds before slowing down again.

“Jesus Christ, Watcher, please,” Spike groaned.

“Slowly,” Giles panted. “It will be worth it.”

The volume of Spike’s bellow when he finally came proved Giles’ words to be true.


“You’re bleedin’, I can smell it,” Spike said, stepping out of the darkness as Giles fumbled with the lock on his front door.

“Yes, someone or . . . something caught me in the side when we were in the Initiative,” Giles said, wincing and dropping his keys.

“Here, now,” Spike said, putting one hand to the small of Giles’ back to steady him and bending down to pick up the keys and unlock the door. “You all right?” he asked as he ushered Giles into the flat.

“I’m fine,” Giles grumbled, collapsing on the couch.

“Lemme see,” Spike said, hiking up Giles’ sweater to reveal a long, deep gash in his side. “Bloody hell.”

“It’s just a flesh wound.”

Spike snorted. “You know, that was bloody fuckin’ funny the first five hundred times I ever heard it,” he said, frowning and running his fingers gently along the gash. He stared at the wound and the blood seeping from it, and then up at Giles, and suddenly there was a thrum in the air that was almost electrical that made the hair on the back of Giles’ neck stand on end.

Spike started to pull away, looking somewhat frightened, but Giles caught him by the back of the neck. “You want to . . .”

“No! No, I don’t!” Spike said.

“You do.” Giles stared at Spike, eyes dark. “Go on.”

“No, I can’t, I don’t know if . . .”

“Do it,” Giles whispered, tugging Spike closer. Spike’s nostrils flared and he stared at Giles.

“You sure?”


“Why?” Spike asked, frowning.

“Watcher’s curiosity,” he said, smiling slightly.

“You know what they say about curiosity,” Spike murmured and then leaned in. At the first touch of his tongue on jagged flesh Giles jumped, the thrum vibrating through the air now singing through his body, and as Spike licked and sucked and made muffled noises of satisfaction Giles found himself, in spite of his exhaustion, wanting him, wanting him hard and wanting him now.

Suddenly Spike’s mouth was on his, the coppery tang of his own blood coming back to him. “Jesus,” he whispered against Spike’s mouth. “What does it feel like when you actually bite?”

“Very, very, good,” Spike whispered, sliding his hand down the front of Giles’ jeans. “And then you die.”

Giles laughed in spite of himself.

That night he dreamed, crimson-tinted images of death.


“Hang on, where the hell you goin’?” Spike mumbled, grabbing Giles’ arm as he started to slide out of bed.

“'Passions,’” Giles said, rolling his eyes at himself even as he said it.

“Oh, fuckin’ hell, you’re right,” Spike said and leapt over the railing and bounded on to the couch.

Giles shook his head and took the more usual route down the stairs, and wondered how it had ever come about that he would have a naked vampire leaping with such athletic grace about his flat. He sighed and sat down on the sofa and they both took up their regular positions, Giles with his feet propped on the coffee table and Spike’s head resting against his thigh, Giles’ hand on the back of Spike’s neck.

Giles propped his head against his other and ran his thumb lightly across the short hair on the back of Spike’s neck. It had been over two months since Spike had first crawled into his bed, and he’d very rarely been out of it since. What he’d been doing and why had been weighing on his mind for a long while now. Giles wondered at his own motivations; was he doing this because Spike could help, had helped? Had he used Spike as a weapon against Adam and the Initiative? Did he actually care for Spike, was it even possible to care for a vampire?

He thought about Buffy and Angel and decided that must be different, Angel was ensouled, after all. Spike was simply muzzled, and despite the time they’d spent together since Spike had escaped the Initiative, Giles was troubled to realize that he still didn’t trust Spike, at least not completely, and had no idea what might happen if the chip were removed.

Then he remembered that Spike had tasted him, licked at his blood, but had attempted nothing more.

And then again, there was the chip.

He stared down at Spike for a long time, thinking too much, confused and worried, wavering about what he needed to do, and the entire time he kept his hand on Spike, his thumb brushing across Spike’s neck and smiling slightly every time Spike shivered.

Absurd. Affection without trust? Yet here it was. He was dancing with the darkness, and he was enjoying it, and he was terribly afraid it was going to swallow him whole. It had tried before, when he was young, and he’d had to pay the price.

He hauled Spike across his lap suddenly and leaned down to kiss him hard.

“Hey, now,” Spike murmured, smiling up at him lazily. “What’s got into you?”

“You, I hope,” Giles whispered, kissing him again and deciding as he did so that he had to end this, and was startled to realize that just the thought of it hurt down to the very marrow of his bones.


“Olivia, my dear. Just wondering when you were arriving.”


“Why’re you pawnin’ me off on Harris, eh? Gettin’ rid of me? Company comin’? Some bird?” Spike spat, pacing angrily in front of Giles where he leaned up against the wall, arms crossed.

“Yes, Spike, she’s an old friend of . . .”

“You gonna fuck her?” Spike demanded, shoving his face into Giles.

Giles’ eyes hardened. “None of your goddamned business. Our little interlude is over, Spike.”

Interlude? What’s this all about, then? Provin’ your manhood?”

“This has nothing to do with my sexuality, Spike. It has everything to do with my humanity,” Giles said, voice low and hard.

Spike stumbled back a bit, looking hurt and angry and confused. “So that’s it, then? I’m soilin’ your precious, fuckin’ humanity? You sure as fuck didn’t seem to have a problem with it when you had me on all fours, now, did you?”

“Spike . . .”

“Shut up! This was never even about me, was it? Not me,” he shouted, pounding one fist against his own chest. “You were fuckin’ usin' me, keepin’ the vampire happy on the leash until the good guys won. Well, good on you, Rupert, worked real well, had me fooled but good.” Spike grabbed the small bag with his meager belongings and started to storm out the door.


“Tell Harris I’m makin’ other arrangements,” Spike yelled over his shoulder and disappeared into the night.

Giles almost ran after him. Almost.

Then he sighed and scrubbed at his face and looked around the flat. Too quiet. Too grey. All the color gone.

The right thing, he told himself. He’d done the right thing, no matter how much it hurt. No matter how much it hurt the both of them.

 . . . vampires can’t feel . . .

. . . this one does . . .


He enjoyed Olivia’s visit. She stayed for three weeks and they laughed and drank and reminisced and slid into his bed every night, and he tried his damnedest to hide inside her.

But after he’d bid her an affectionate goodbye, he realized nothing had changed. His thoughts were still elsewhere, somewhere out there in the dark and the dank.

Finally, after too many nights when the bed seemed too big and the flat seemed too quiet, he slid into his clothes and went out hunting in the darkness, for the darkness.


Spike sat in the blackness of the crypt, slouched down low in the single chair, cigarette in his hand and bottle of whiskey by his side. He didn’t look up when Giles entered, instead staring at the ground.

“What the fuck are you doin’ here?” he muttered, flicking his still-burning cigarette at Giles’ feet. “Come for a roll in the dirt, muck up your precious humanity?”

Giles stubbed out the cigarette with his toe, trying to fight down a wave of frustration and longing at the sight of him. “I owe you,” he said, tossing a wad of cash into Spike’s lap.

Spike snorted. “Well, if that doesn’t make me feel the whore, I don’t know what will,” he said bitterly, flinging the money back in Giles’ face.

“That’s not my intention,” Giles said through clenched teeth.

“What the fuck is your intention, Watcher?” Spike mumbled, lighting another cigarette.

“I owe you. For your help, with Ethan.”

“Ah, yes. Demon Watcher. Coulda killed you then, now I wish I would’ve.”

Giles was surprised at how much that stung. “You don’t mean that.”

Finally Spike looked at him. “Don’t I?”

They stared at one another for a long while in silence, each studying the other carefully.

“Join us,” Giles said finally. “Help us. You could prove an invaluable asset . . .”

“And here we go again, talkin’ about me like I’m some kind of thing.”

Giles sighed, frustrated, and rubbed at his brow. He was going about this all wrong. “Spike, I didn’t mean . . .”

“You say lots of things you don’t mean, now don’t you? Quite the accomplished liar, a bit like myself, hats off and all that rot.”

“Spike . . .”

“You want me, don’t you?” Spike asked suddenly, voice low and sultry.

Giles pulled up, surprised and struggling with himself over what to say. “Yes,” he whispered finally. “But that’s not the point.”

Spike laughed, an ugly sound. “Course it is. Sorry, old man, can’t have me.”

“Spike, for Christ’s sake . . .”

“Get the fuck outta here, Watcher, I can smell her all over you. And take your bleedin’ money with you.”

“Spike . . .”

“GO!” Spike bellowed, suddenly in Giles’ face. “Take your fuckin’ money and go!” He flashed the wad of cash in Giles’ face and then stuffed it down Giles’ pants pocket, deliberately sliding his fingers alongside Giles’ cock as he did so. Giles gasped and stumbled a bit at the rush of sensation and reached out to steady himself against Spike, but Spike shoved him away.

“Get out, Rupert,” he mumbled, turning and stalking with cat-like grace back to his chair. “Ain’t nothin’ for you here. Not anymore.”

Giles turned on his heel and stormed out.


For three nights he drank too much and thought too much, and then on the fourth night as he sat on the sofa he felt a surge in his blood and was on his feet and striding toward the door even as it slammed open, and he met Spike more than halfway, arms open and mouth hungry, and they struggled angrily against one another, fighting for more, more touch, more taste, more scent, and Spike slammed him up against the wall, ramming himself up between his thighs and he grunted in pain and in pleasure.

“Never again, Watcher,” Spike hissed, humping up against him frantically. “You’ll never do that to me again, never make me feel less than . . .”

“No,” Giles whispered, arms tight around Spike’s waist. “Never.” He slid one hand around Spike’s neck and pulled him close, running his mouth over Spike’s face and tasting tears, and something broke inside himself and he was mindless, hands and mouth running furiously over Spike in a delirium of lust and something else, something stronger, and Spike growled and responded in kind, and they fell into a graceless, frantic pile on the floor, lost in one another.

The thought came to Giles, unbidden and fleeting, as he struggled with his body to take all of Spike that he could take, that yes, this one does.


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