Summary: For the Fic/Art Exchange on nekid_spike - caelieth wanted "a fic where Giles gets kidnapped by a evil git type monster and the boys rescue him. No BDSM, no het, no Mary-Sues. I’m perfectly okay with non con, violence, action/adventure. No death-fics please. I can write ‘em but I can’t read ‘em :P" She asked for some combo of Spike/Giles/Angel, "preferably with Giles in the role of nervous seducee." This fic takes place mid-season 4, some time shortly after A New Man. And this is about as fluffy as I've written thus far
He wasn’t anywhere near as good at this as Angelus. Not that it would be wise to tell him so. Not that Giles could tell him so, with a filthy rag stuffed in his mouth and another tied around his head to keep the gag in. But Giles could still think it, and know that he’d survived worse, and it gave him strength as he wiggled against the ropes that held him to the chair. Unfortunately, not enough strength to actually free himself.
The demon glared at him from his own chair. He was large and wrinkly, with skin like an elephant’s hide. He was bald, too, and his eyes were large and oddly flat, like a fish’s. He was wearing a badly cut brown suit and his breath smelled horrifying.
“I ask you last time, human. Where is Slayer?”
The demon was, apparently, incredibly stupid. Giles hadn’t told him Buffy’s whereabouts when the demon had showed up at his flat and demanded to know where she was. He hadn’t told him when the demon had grabbed him and dragged him out his front door and shook him like a ragdoll. He hadn’t told him when the demon had batted him about the head until he lost consciousness. He hadn’t told him when he’d regained consciousness in this abandoned house and found himself tied to a chair. So he sure as bloody hell wasn’t about to tell him with his mouth sodding gagged.
The demon had tried torture, actually. It wasn’t his strong suit. He’d broken a couple of fingers, which was a good start, but then he seemed to have run out of steam and simply yelled instead. His breath was horrid, but not enough to make Giles talk. He threatened to kill Giles, but then Giles pointed out that then he’d never be able to tell the demon where Buffy was—not that he would in any case—and the demon became angry and jammed the cloth between his jaws.
In truth, Giles didn’t even know where Buffy was. He seldom did, these days. Somewhere with that boyfriend of hers, no doubt. Perhaps at her dorm room or his, or at the Bronze, or perhaps even out patrolling. But if the demon was too dim-witted to find her himself, Giles certainly wasn’t going to give him any assistance.
Now they were at an impasse of sorts. Giles expected that soon enough the creature would give up and simply kill him. But not quite yet, it seemed.
Suddenly, the demon stood and stared at him with narrowed eyes. “You no gonna tell me where is Slayer?”
Giles gave him the look he had always reserved for the very thickest of students, such as the ones who hadn’t sussed out the Dewey Decimal system by their final year of high school.
“I maybe can make you tell me with these—“ the demon waved a pair of ham-sized fists in his face “—but this take more time. I think this work more better.” He walked to the side of the room and rummaged around in a large cloth sack. After a moment, he made a small sound of triumph and returned to Giles’s side, clutching an object in his hand.
“I trade, you see? You tell me where is Slayer, I give you this.” He held the object practically under Giles’s nose. This was probably just as well, as Giles’s glasses had been lost at some point in the abduction process, and his vision without them was poor. It was a talisman, a thing made of metal and shaped like—well, like a phallus. It was a very tiny phallus, though, smaller than the first joint of his little finger.
“You know what is this?”
Giles shook his head.
“Is love charm. Very strong. You wear, and girls want you very much.” He looked Giles up and down. “I think you need this for the girls, yes?”
Somehow, the implication that Giles was incapable of attracting others on his own offended him more than the kidnapping and beating. He frowned as threateningly as a bound and gagged man could.
The demon laughed. “Yes. You tell me where is Slayer, I give you charm.”
Giles had an idea. He yelled into the gag until the demon removed the cloth around his face. Giles spat the rag out. “How do I know the charm works?”
The demon smiled, displaying a double row of crooked, yellow teeth. “Oh, you smart human! You need demonstration?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I need.” Perhaps this would buy him more time, and allow him to find a means of escape.
“All right. Here.” The demon shoved the charm into the breast pocket of Giles’s shirt. “You stay here. I come back quick.” And he replaced the gag tightly before he left.
As soon as he was gone, Giles renewed his attempts to loosen his bonds. The demon might not be very smart, but he was certainly quite talented at tying knots. So he tried to move the chair around, hoping he could break it against a wall, but he only succeeded in tipping himself over. He lay helplessly on his side, cursing silently, and then he realized that his bladder was quite urgently full, and unless he was released soon he was going to disgrace himself. Lovely.
Perhaps someone would realize he was missing and come rescue him. Not likely. Buffy was occupied with Riley, Xander with Anya and whatever job he’d taken this week, and Willow with school and her witchcraft. Nobody else was likely to check on him anytime soon, which might have depressed him if he hadn’t been trapped in a demon’s clutches and needing badly to urinate. Well, if he survived he could always fret over it later.
He tried to think dry thoughts. He wished he hadn’t drunk quite so much tea that afternoon.
A door slammed. There were loud footsteps and a scraping noise, and a moment later the door to the room flew open. From his sideways position, Giles saw the demon dragging a girl. She was young—most likely around Buffy’s age—and pretty and terrified. Her hands were tied behind her and she was gagged quite like Giles himself.
The demon saw Giles’s position and growled. “I tell you stay here!” He shoved the girl hard, causing her to land in a heap in the center of the room. Then, with seemingly little effort, he righted Giles’s chair. He stomped a few steps to the girl. “You scream, I kill you, understand?”
She nodded tearfully.
He roughly yanked the cloth out of her mouth and she began to sob. She didn’t yell, though.
The demon pointed at Giles. “You see this man?”
She sniffed and nodded.
“You want this man? You want have sex with this man?”
Her eyes flew wide open and she scrambled to her feet. She tried to run for the door, but the demon easily caught her.
“I asked, you want have sex with this man?”
“N-n-no! Please!” she cried.
The demon frowned. “Maybe she need be more close.”
He dragged the unwilling girl until she was next to Giles in his chair. She had a red, tear-stained face. Her hair was brown and curly, and she was wearing a short skirt and low-cut blouse. She only had one shoe. She looked dressed to go out, and Giles wondered if the demon had caught her near The Bronze.
The demon maneuvered her until she was facing Giles and only inches away. Giles could smell her floral perfume quite clearly.
“You like this man? You think he handsome? You want have sex?”
“N-n-no!” she snuffled.
Giles rolled his eyes. Not only was the talisman clearly worthless, but this was quite humiliating as well.
The demon scowled. “Why this not work? Magic guy told me it work.” He pointed at Giles with his free hand. “This you fault!”
Giles shrugged and raised his eyebrows. He just hoped the creature didn’t decide to kill the girl.
The demon was thinking, and Giles could just about see the rusty gears creaking in his head. But he’d never know what solution the demon would have come up with, because suddenly a new voice said, “Well, this is a pretty picture!”
Three sets of eyes turned at once to the door.
“Rupert. Seems you have some kinks you haven’t shared with us. Do the kiddies know about this?”
The vampire was slouched carelessly against the doorframe, a smirk on his lips and a cigarette between his fingers. As usual, he was dressed all in black, with his duster draped around him.
“Who are you? What you want?” bellowed the demon.
“Just an innocent bystander, mate. Go on. I’ll just enjoy the show.”
The demon growled and let go of the girl, then ran at Spike. Spike laughed delightedly, flicked away the cigarette, and changed to his demon face. The girl shrieked and ran to the far corner, where she hunched, cowering. Giles yelled into the gag, hoping she’d take the hint and untie him while the monsters were distracted, but she was too busy having hysterics. Honestly, these children really ought to know better.
The fight was loud and bloody. The demon was stronger, but Spike was faster. And smarter, too, because he was easily able to dodge most of the creature’s clumsy lunges. It was clear that he was dragging things out, and Giles wished he’d hurry up before Giles wet himself. At last, the demon got in a lucky blow and a loud cracking sound came from the vampire’s chest. Spike howled and sprang for his throat. He tore away a great, bloody chunk of flesh, which he spat onto the floor. The demon roared, and then Spike seized his opponent’s head in his hands and wrenched. There was a sickening snapping noise and a moment later the demon fell from Spike’s hands, dead.
Spike grinned through a mouthful of sharp, red teeth and sauntered over.
“Looks like rescuing you is becoming a regular habit of mine, Watcher. What do you have to offer this time?”
“Oh. Right. Demon got your tongue.” Spike reached over and untied the gag with hands sticky from gore.
“Untie me at once!”
“Doesn’t really seem to me you’re in any position to be giving orders, are you?” Spike lifted one eyebrow.
“All right, all right. I promise I’ll pay you two hundred dollars, just like last time.”
Spike shook his head. “No, mate. That was just an introductory rate, like. Fee’s gone up. Five hundred.”
Oh, for Christ’s sake. “Fine. Five hundred.”
“You have the dosh now?”
“Back at my flat. Let me go and I’ll get it.”
Spike gazed at him for a long minute. Giles was about to resort to begging when the vampire nodded. “All right. I expect you’re good for it.” Spike tugged and worked at the ropes for a bit, and then Giles was free. Without stopping to say anything, he lurched out of the chair, stumbled past the demon’s corpse and out the door, and then fumbled open his flies. With a hiss of relief, he voided into the corner of the empty hallway.
He tucked himself back in, buttoned up and turned in time to see Spike leering at him. “Marking your territory, Watcher?”
He sighed. “Let me just see to the girl and then I’ll get you your money.”
“Oh, the bird’s gone. Took a runner soon as you were out of the room.”
Giles expected that she’d be all right. It didn’t appear that the demon had actually hurt her.
Spike followed him down the hall and out of the house. They were on a quiet street, deserted under the night sky. Giles looked about and tried to get his bearings.
“Your flat’s about a half mile that way,” Spike pointed. So Giles set off in that direction, the vampire tagging behind him.
“You do get yourself in some scrapes, don’t you? Ought to be more careful who you hang out with.”
Giles said nothing.
“You’re awfully lucky I came around when I did, aren’t you?”
“Yes, well, how did you find me?” That question hadn’t really occurred to Giles until now.
“Went around your place to see if you had any blood left.” Giles shot him a look. “’M running a mite short now, is all. Thought you might have a pint to spare, yeah? But when I got there, your door was wide open—any thief could have come along and nicked everything, if you had anything worth nicking—and the only blood I found was yours, splattered on the floor.”
Giles put a hand gingerly to the back of scalp. Ah. There was some amount of matted blood there, and now of course it began to ache.
“Didn’t see any Scoobies handy to ride to your rescue, so I thought I might find a way to earn myself enough for some blood and fags.” He shrugged. “It was a simple thing to follow your scent and that demon’s. What did he want with you anyhow?”
“He wanted to know where Buffy is,” he replied shortly.
“I’ll wager she’s with that soldier wanker somewhere, yeah?”
“I don’t know, Spike. I don’t have to watch over her every minute.”
“That so? I thought you might, you being her Watcher and all.”
Giles didn’t reply, and they walked the rest of the way in silence. When they reached Giles’s building, he saw with mild surprise that his door was shut. He hadn’t expected Spike to bother.
They went inside. The small table just near the door had been upset in his struggle with the demon, sending papers flying all over the floor. Giles righted it and scooped up the bills and other assorted things that always seemed to accumulate there. When he was finished, he saw that Spike had settled himself on the sofa, sprawled there as if he owned the place and tenderly feeling at his ribcage.
“You can tidy later, Rupert. I don’t fancy spending all night here. I’m getting peckish.”
“There’s a bag or two in the freezer,” Giles snapped impatiently. He was tired. “You can get it while I fetch your money.”
“Ta,” said Spike and rose and ambled into the kitchen.
Giles went upstairs to his room. He shrugged off his blazer and tossed it onto the chair by the bed. It was dirty and bloodstained and he hoped he’d be able to get it cleaned properly. Then he rummaged in his closet until he found his safe. He unlocked it and pulled out the cash inside. He counted it and sighed. This was going to take half of his reserves. He was going to need to withdraw more from his accounts soon. Or find another position, because surely there were scores of open positions for middle-aged high school librarians with demon-fighting aspirations.
Back downstairs, Spike was slouching on the sofa again, a mug in his hand, and a tumbler of amber liquid at his side. He’d found the Scotch. Brilliant.
Giles set the small wad of bills on the couch next to him. “Cheers,” Spike said, and shoved them in his trouser pocket. How he managed to get anything in those pockets was rather a mystery, as tight as they were. Not that Giles would notice such a thing.
“You have your money, you have your blood. You can go now,” Giles said.
“Anxious to get rid of me, are you? Not so nice, after I saved your life again.”
“Spike, it’s late. I’m tired. I’ve spent half the day with that demon—“
“The demon I killed for you.”
“Yes. And I’m rather banged up and I’d just like to get some sleep.”
Spike put the mug down and Giles winced as a bit of blood slopped out and onto his end table. Instead of heading for the door, though, the vampire walked up behind him.
“Let me have a look, then,” he said, reaching for Giles’s head.
Giles hopped away. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
“Just having a look. I’ve seen a bashed head or two in my time, you know. And you can’t very well see it yourself.”
Giles had to admit he had a point, although he couldn’t imagine why Spike was bothering. But he stood still as Spike came close again, and he felt the presence of that small, muscular body just behind him, and then fingers brushing surprisingly gingerly at the back of his head.
“It’s not too bad,” Spike announced, and Giles had to suppress a shiver when that deep voice sounded so close to his ear. He could even feel the puff of Spike’s cool breath against his skin. “Got a bit of a bump. I expect you knocked into something a bit sharp.” Like the edge of that table, perhaps.
“Fine. Thank you.”
But Spike didn’t move. Then he did, but only to place a hand on Giles’s shoulder. “I expect you must be lonely,” he purred. “All the kiddies all grown up, off doing their own things, you without even a library to look after.”
For just a moment, Giles was nearly tempted to lean back, to enfold himself in what he was suddenly certain would be a welcoming embrace. But only for a moment. Instead, he skipped away like a skittish pony. “I appreciate your concern, Spike, but I’m fine,” he said as sternly as he could manage.
Spike wasn’t fooled. He grinned and ambled back to the sofa, onto which he collapsed with very little elegance. He drained the mug all at once, and Giles found himself mesmerized by the working of that long, pale throat. Then Spike put down the cup and reached for the glass. Dear Lord, Giles thought, he needed a drink, too. Quickly.
He went into the kitchen and took down a tumbler and the bottle of Scotch. He plunked a couple of ice cubes into the glass, then filled it nearly to the brim. He started to put the bottle away, and then thought better of it. With a sigh, he carried his things into the living room. He set the bottle on the other end table and then sank gratefully onto the opposite end of the sofa from Spike.
“You should get that head seen to,” Spike said.
“I’ll just numb the pain a bit with this, thanks,” he replied, waving his glass slightly. He took a large gulp, and he imagined he felt the burning liquid soothing him even as it passed his tongue and slipped down his throat.
For a long time, the only sound in the room was their breathing—and why did the vampire even bother, anyway?—and swallowing, and the clink of glass against glass when they poured refills. Spike drank more, of course, vampire constitution and all, but Giles had enough that the thud in his head receded to a dull throb, and the emptiness in his heart faded a bit. Just a bit.
It was Spike who finally broke the silence. “You going to stay here, Watcher? Or perhaps you’ll toddle on back to Old Blighty now.”
“I don’t know,” he replied, and that was honest.
“You have family there?”
“No.” He didn’t. He was an only child, his parents had died years ago, his sole aunt had recently passed away. There was only him.
“What about that bird, what’s-her-face….?”
“Olivia,” he nearly whispered. “She’s…moved on.”
“Know how that feels,” said Spike quietly, and Giles felt an unexpected pang of sympathy for the vampire. He tried to imagine what it would be like to lose a love after a hundred years. For it had been clear, despite being a soulless demon, Spike truly did love Drusilla. He passed the nearly empty bottle to Spike, who dispensed the last of it into his glass. Spike swirled the liquid, staring at it thoughtfully, and then tossed it back.
Giles expected him to leave. Why shouldn’t he? He had Giles’s money, he’d polished off the blood and Scotch. No reason to stay. He rose slightly, but instead of departing, he merely scooted down the seat until he was thigh-to-thigh with Giles. Giles tried to shift away, but he was trapped against the sofa’s arm. He could feel Spike’s hard muscles, even through the fabric of their trousers and of Spike’s coat. This close, the smell of him was nearly overwhelming—leather and alcohol and cigarettes and hair gel and the coppery saltiness of blood.
“Been a bit lonely myself,” Spike said in his rumbling voice, and he placed a hand on Giles’s knee.
The sane part of Giles’s brain screamed at him to get up, to expel Spike from the flat and disinvite him for good, to gather his things and head for LAX and get on the next plane to England. He was a Watcher, for Christ’s sake, and this was a bloody vampire! In fact, it was the bloody vampire, William the Bloody, about whom he’d been hearing horror stories nearly since he could walk.
Unfortunately, the rest of Giles’s brain wasn’t listening.
He hadn’t always been a middle-aged, unemployed librarian, swathed in tweeds and scorned by teenagers. He’d been Ripper. A rebel. With plenty of girls and, on occasion, boys happy to climb into bed with him, thrilled to help keep a bit of the loneliness at bay for just a while. Nobody knew or remembered that anymore except for that bastard Ethan Rayne. Hell, sometimes he nearly forgot it himself.
So when Spike moved infinitesimally closer so that they were pressed together from shoulder to ankles, Giles didn’t budge. His breathing caught and his heart felt like it might hammer out of his chest, but the rest of his body was still.
Spike bent his head and purred throatily into Giles’s ear: “We could give each other a bit of company, Rupert. When is the last time you got your end away, huh?”
Giles swallowed thickly, but his voice was steady when he asked, “Why are you doing this, Spike? Some new game of yours?”
“Told you. Lonely.”
“Yes, but why me?”
Spike shrugged. “You’re here, I’m here.”
“I wasn’t aware that you…fancied men.”
“Then you haven’t been reading your journals very carefully, Watcher. True, I generally prefer birds, but I’ve had a leg over with a bloke now and then. You live long enough, you tend to expand your horizons.”
Giles thought about that for a moment. “All right, yes,” he said. “But still, why me? Surely you can find someone younger, and—“
Spike laughed. “Younger? Are you forgetting that I’m 90 years your elder? I’m practically robbing the cradle, I am. Besides, there’s something especially delicious about you tonight.” And he put his soft, full lips against Giles’s ear and sucked lightly on the lobe.
And just then, when Giles’s cock twitched in his lap and began to awaken, he realized what was going on. The bloody talisman. It might not have worked on the girl, but it was certainly working on the vampire. These things generally had to be worn close to the body to have their intended effects. If he removed it from his pocket now, Spike would come to his senses and go away.
He didn’t remove it from his pocket.
Instead, he turned his head slightly and then his lips were meeting Spike’s, and Spike tasted of blood and his good Scotch. Spike reached up and ran his long fingers through Giles’s hair, and Giles hissed when he brushed against his wound. Spike hissed, too, as the chip punished him for accidentally causing pain.
“Right. Sorry,” the vampire panted. “Didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“No. I expect you didn’t.”
“Let’s go upstairs. I’ll help clean you up, get your head sorted out.”
Giles had to laugh. “I doubt very much that you can do anything to sort out my head, Spike. But you can come help tend to my scalp.”
They walked up the stairs side by side. Giles noticed that Spike was wincing with every step, and remembered that he’d most likely broken a rib or two in the fight. He could help with that; it certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’d taped someone’s chest.
They went straight for the loo. Spike glanced angrily at the bath, and Giles was surprised to feel a pang of guilt. He probably hadn’t really had to chain the vampire there. He’d already been neutered at that point, after all. It had been bloody inconvenient too, especially when Spike had leered and made filthy comments every time Giles had had to use the toilet. Neither of them mentioned it now, though. Instead, Spike said, “Get your kit off and I’ll draw you a bath.”
Honestly, a bath sounded quite nice. But then he’d have to take his shirt off, and, well, he didn’t want to, just yet. So he simply sat wearily on the closed toilet. “No bath tonight. Can you just clean it with a towel?”
“Suit yourself.” Spike grabbed a towel and ran some water in the sink. Once again he stood very close as he dabbed at the back of Giles’s head. Giles winced a bit, but actually Spike was quite gentle. He wondered where a vampire had learned to be so tender in his ministrations. All those years with Drusilla, perhaps.
The warm water against his skin was actually quite soothing, and he soon found himself closing his eyes and leaning back a bit into those strong hands. Spike was humming something under his breath as he worked—ah, The Clash. Spanish Bombs —and Giles started humming along with him. Spike paused for a moment as if he were surprised, then laughed, and they sang quietly together.
Soon enough, Spike was finished. He threw the towel on the floor and Giles didn’t complain. Giles stood and turned to face Spike, who was grinning at him. Not sneering or leering, just a warm smile. Giles couldn’t help but smile back.
“Hand,” Spike said, and it took Giles a moment to remember what he was talking about. Then he held his left hand up, and Spike examined the three broken fingers. “You’ll need to get these splinted,” he concluded.
“Fine. Tomorrow. Now take your shirt off,” he said.
“You want to shag in here? Kinky bugger.”
“No, I want to see to your ribs in here.”
Spike looked surprised, as if he hadn’t expected Giles to notice or care about his injury. That was a reasonable assumption; on any other night, it would have been true. Spike shrugged out of his duster and peeled off his t-shirt, grimacing a bit as he moved.
“Yeah, that’s a nasty bruise,” Spike said, looking down at himself. “It’ll be gone in a day, though.”
Giles nodded and reached for the first aid kit, but although the wound was huge and a purple so dark as to be nearly black, that’s not what caught his breath. No, it was the pale, sculpted perfection of the undamaged portions of the vampire’s torso. The hairless, alabaster skin stretched over lean muscles; the hardened pink rosebuds of his nipples; the slight concavity of his belly between the hipbones that jutted from his low-slung jeans.
Giles blinked himself back to rational thought and removed a large, rolled bandage from the plastic bin that served as his repository for the things that treated the gashes and sprains and contusions his charge and her friends frequently sported. Spike lifted his arms obligingly and Giles wrapped the bandage tightly around him, choking back a hiss whenever his fingers brushed against that cold flesh.
Just as he finished, Spike lowered his arms and captured Giles’s face in his palms, then leaned in for another long, soft kiss. Then he pulled slightly away and tilted his head, and he pressed his lips against the vulnerable skin of Giles’s neck. He sucked lightly.
Giles should have been afraid, chip or not. If he wanted to, Spike could probably get in a nasty bite before his electronic leash disabled him. But Giles wasn’t afraid. Instead, his knees went weak and his cock sprang to attention and he moaned.
“I’ll make it nice for you, Watcher,” Spike murmured in his ear. “I’ve had over a century of experience.”
And Giles didn’t protest as Spike guided him out of the loo and into his bedroom, and sat him on the bed. Still, that sane bit of his brain was trying to rally enough power to put a stop to this nonsense. But then Spike knelt in front of him and started to pull of Giles’s shoes, and all rationality was quickly and efficiently silenced.
Spike removed Giles’s socks and then reached up to unfasten Giles’s belt and trousers, and Giles simply sat there, his hands at his sides, drinking in the beauty of the figure before him. Thinking, for just a moment, how easy it would be to capture this creature, who was, after all, helpless before humans. There was, Giles knew, an odd vulnerability to this vampire, a fragility hidden beneath cockiness and bluster. It would be a simple matter to put a collar around that white neck, to place his mark upon that body, to bend and break him. To make him his, forever.
Spike reached for his shirt button and Giles caught his wrists. “No. My shirt stays on.”
Spike frowned at him in puzzlement, his head slightly tilted, and then smiled. “You afraid I’ll see that you’re no longer twenty, Rupert?” He laid his palm flat on Giles’s chest. “A bit of wear and tear doesn’t bother me.”
Giles smiled wryly. “Yes, well, it does bother me.”
Spike shrugged. He stood and toed off his boots. Then, in one smooth motion, he unfastened his trousers and let them slide down his hips. With a vampire’s grace he stepped out of the jeans, then stood before Giles, naked save for the bandage. His cock was long and pink and fully erect, the foreskin retracted and the tip shining slightly. It was nestled in a base of golden curls and his bollocks hung beneath like ripe fruit.
“You like what you see?” Spike purred.
Giles blushed, which was ridiculous for a man of his age.
Then Spike slowly turned and he stood with his back to the bed, his hips slightly canted, the pale globes of his perfect arse parted just the tiniest bit. He looked back over his shoulder at Giles, and his pupils were widely dilated, the blue of his irises smoldering with cold fire. Then he turned back, and took a step closer, and once again sank to his knees beside the bed.
Gently, Spike pushed back against Giles’s belly until he was flat on his back, and then Spike drew his opened trousers down over his thighs and knees and finally off altogether. He repeated his actions with Giles’s boxers, stopping only to smile broadly at what he uncovered. Giles couldn’t suppress a smug little grin of his own. He had nothing to be ashamed of in the tackle department.
Spike set his palms on Giles’s thighs and the coolness of them felt good, like a cold cloth on a fevered brow. He spread Giles’s legs apart and then scooted himself between them, still on his knees, and blew softly onto Giles’s groin. Giles hauled himself upright because he desired very much to watch this, wanted to see the blond hair and the pale, bare shoulders and the knife-sharp cheekbones.
Spike rolled his eyes up at Giles and blinked, then shifted his hands to the topmost, inner portion of Gile’s legs. And then he parted his full lips and stuck out a tongue that was almost shockingly pink, and licked carefully along the tip of Giles’s cock.
Sanity made a final stand. What the bloody hell was he doing, sitting here half-naked with one of his favorite—if lately neglected--body parts in a vampire’s mouth? And what was he doing to Spike, who might be a soulless demon but was still a feeling, sentient being, and who was now controlled by that bit of metal in Giles’s breast pocket?
He had to put a stop to this. This was wrong on so many levels. Yes, he was definitely going—
Oh, dear Lord.
Spike had opened his mouth wide and engulfed Giles, swallowing him to the root. His lashes fluttered, Giles wasn’t sure with discomfort or pleasure, and his throat vibrated with what might have been another Clash song.
Giles’s hands clutched spastically at that crinkly hair, and he wondered what it would feel like ungelled, perhaps just out of the shower, with sparkling drops of water still caught in it like precious jewels.
Then, with a loud slurp, Spike pulled his head away. He leaned back a bit and Giles saw that the vampire’s cock had been trapped between the bed and his abdomen, and now the skin beneath his navel was painted with glistening fluid. “Slick?” he asked, and his voice was as rough as sandpaper, deep and resonant enough to send a thrill through Giles’s marrow.
“Bedside table,” he said, pointing. It had been some time since he used it. He wondered if it had an expiration date.
Spike uncapped the little bottle and poured a bit on his fingers. And then, to Giles’s utter astonishment, he inserted two of those fingers in his own opening and began to thrust them in and out.
“Not enjoying?” Spike asked, his voice slightly mocking.
“Yes, of course, I mean—“ Giles sputtered hopelessly and then took a deep breath. “I’d rather expected that you’d—“
“Yeah, well, that would be brilliant, but I might hurt you a bit. Not too keen on getting zapped while in flagrante, you know?”
“Oh. Of course.”
“You’ll enjoy topping, though, won’t you?”
“Yes,” Giles said. “Quite.”
Spike smirked a bit and moved his fingers faster. He was panting now, his lower lip caught between his teeth, and rocking his hips slightly in rhythm with his fingers. Giles thought that his white face looked a trifle flushed.
After a few more minutes, Spike withdrew his hand and picked up the bottle of lubricant from where he’d discarded it on the floor. “Scoot,” he said, pushing lightly at Giles’s legs.
Obediently, feeling as if he were in a very strange dream, Giles swung his legs onto the bed so that his head was on the pillow and his legs were pointing toward the foot of his bed. Spike stood and poured more slick on his hand, and then used that hand to caress and stroke Giles’s rigid organ.
Spike climbed on the bed and straddled Giles’s hips. He grasped Giles in one hand, positioned himself so that the head of Giles’s cock pressed at the cleft of his arse, and then, with a look of intense concentration on his face, sank slowly down.
The two of them moaned in unison. Spike’s tight, cold channel gripped Giles in a delightful way, like a soft glove made of silk. Spike stilled, and they looked at one another, and it seemed to Giles that the vampire was truly seeing him, in a way that few others ever had.
“’t’s nice,” Spike whispered. “Been a long time. Never had a Watcher before.”
“I never had a vampire,” he countered. “And it is nice.”
Spike beamed happily at him, like a small child who’d been given praise, and leisurely flexed his thighs, moving himself up and down. Giles gave in to the temptation before him and wrapped a hand around that stiff cock, earning himself a grateful hiss from Spike.
They writhed like this for a time, Giles arching his hips upward to meet Spike’s downward plunges, Spike with his head thrown back slightly and his eyes half-closed. They spoke only in a chorus of grunts and groans and sighs.
And then, as Giles felt himself nearing the blissful precipice, Spike bent forward. Giles withdrew his hand and Spike’s cock jabbed urgently between their bodies, rubbing against Giles’s shirt as the vampire captured Giles’s mouth in a hard and demanding kiss. Giles grabbed Spike’s arse with both hands, forgetting about the mangled fingers, and the feeling of those muscles bunching and tightening under his palms was nearly as pleasurable as the friction that surrounded him.
Spike howled into his mouth and Giles’s chest was bathed in gushes of cold fluid that soaked through the cotton of his shirt. Spike’s passage clenched tightly around him and Giles came, too, spasming sharply against and into the beautiful demon.
Their movements slowed and stopped, and after a time their breaths evened out, and Giles’s heart stopped racing fitfully. But Spike stayed where he was, and Giles had the sudden impression that Spike enjoyed the closeness, the warm embrace, as much as the actual sex.
He could have fallen asleep like that. But at last, Spike stirred, and he cautiously peeled himself away, then stood beside the bed. He looked down at Giles and his face was…at peace, Giles thought.
“It’s getting close to sunrise. Time for all good little vamps to toddle off to bed.”
“You…you can stay, if you wish.”
For a split second, an expression of mixed gratitude and sorrow flitted across Spike’s face. “Nah. Gonna get back to my own crypt. Wouldn’t do for the Slayer or one of her lot to find us like this, would it? She’d stake us both.”
Spike gathered his clothes and pulled them on. Giles remained where he was, just watching. As Watchers often did.
Spike paused at the doorway and looked back at him. The exaggerated swagger, the mask of brashness had faded with the night. “Ta, Rupert,” he said softly.
“And thank you for the rescue.”
Spike smiled again, that genuine warm one, and then was gone.
Moments later, Giles heard the front door click shut. Almost immediately, he fell asleep.
When Giles awoke, the alarm clock informed him it was nearly noon. He was surprised to find his head barely painful. Perhaps the mild concussion and the hangover cancelled each other out.
His shirt was still on. He reached into the pocket for the talisman and found…nothing. He looked around in the bed, but there was no sign of it. It must be caught up in the bedding somewhere. He’d search later.
He got up and stretched and stripped off his remaining clothes. He wandered into the loo, grimaced at the bloody towel in the corner and the open first aid kit on the counter. He had a long, hot shower and then got dressed.
When he got downstairs, he headed for the kitchen and made some tea and toast, which he consumed leaning against the cupboard. He washed up and headed for the door.
Sitting on the little table, the one that had been upset the day before, was a pile of green bills. Five hundred dollars’ worth, if he wasn’t mistaken.
He went outside.
Alongside some bushes a short way from his flat he found his glasses. Fortunately, they hadn’t been damaged, and he polished them clean and slipped them on his face.
It was a warm day. Typical southern California. He passed a few neighbors as he walked, and they nodded politely. Soon he came to the rather decrepit house where he’d been held. The front door was unlocked.
The hall smelled strongly of urine and he wrinkled his nose in disgust.
Inside the room, the demon’s corpse still lay, brown suit jacket bunched under its armpits, too-large mouth gaping open and flat eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. There was no further sign of the girl, so Giles hoped she truly had made it home safely.
He walked around the nearly empty room, wondering what the demon had wanted with Buffy in any case. But he found no clues. Just the demon’s cloth sack, which turned out to hold only a few changes of clothing and a pair of huge shoes, and the chair and the torn ropes that had bound him.
And, just there, right where he’d fallen when the chair tipped over, there was something else. Something small, nearly buried in the carpet but glinting dully in the light that shone through the bare window. He bent and picked it up, held it between his thumb and forefinger.
It was a tiny talisman, shaped like a phallus.
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