***
“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?”
“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.
“WATCHER!”
“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!”
“Stones!”
“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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Part Two
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Buffy and Angel Index Page
