This revised version of Behind Closed Doors owes a huge debt to Kindkit, who took on the task of beta reading it at a very late stage and made so many invaluable suggestions and comments. Thanks also to Kyllikki who gave it one last read through for me and Psychodragon82 for the beautiful picture.

Behind Closed Doors

Jane Davitt

Part One

He left me on the bed and told me not to move. He did that sometimes; never for long and it wasn’t a problem, not really. Staying still when he was in the room and I could see him, hear him, feel his scent in the air like – oh, like Giles, warm and strong and dangerous – that was trickier. He smelled like my coat looks and sliding into it always got me hard because it smelled of him. Should have done. He’d fucked me on it often enough.

Trouble was, while he was getting himself a drink (one glass of wine usually, that he drank slowly while he was getting me how he wanted me, so that seeing the glass ready to be washed, with the dregs lying like a puddle of blood at the bottom, made me remember, made me ready), the phone rang. Instead of telling them he’d call them back later, whoever the fuck they were, he started talking. Bastard. He knew I was waiting, knew I was lying there on the bed, his bed, our bed, arms by my side, legs spread just a little, nothing to stare at but the ceiling, nothing to listen to but his voice. He didn’t even sound impatient. Lots of long silences as he listened and then his voice giving instructions, orders...if I wasn’t already hard, that would’ve done the trick. So I waited, being good, well, being obedient, knowing if I was I’d get a reward and, yeah, wanting to please him, because that’s what it all came down to in the end.

He laughed.  Lying there with my cock stiff, my balls getting tight and he laughed as if there was all the time in the world to chat. Then I got to thinking. He left me much longer, I was going to come about three seconds after he touched me, three seconds after he brushed against me with that mouth of his or laid his hand flat, the way he does just before he – and if I came now, I’d last that much longer and that’d please him. He was still talking; I had time.

Never been too bright. I closed my eyes after my fingers curled around my cock. Had to. Just felt so good, wanking, listening to him, thinking about what he’d do to me...about to come and thinking that I’d have to be careful, clean up fast, using tissues so he wouldn’t taste it in my mouth...and the bugger walked in on me.

Vampire senses are handy, but just because you can hear something doesn’t mean you’re listening, and I was busy.

He stared at me, a flicker of anger in his eyes, and I shivered and went very still, not even daring to let my hands go to where they should be. He was holding the wine and it seemed darker tonight, almost black in the dim light. I waited, cursing myself, him, the jerk on the phone. But I’m stupid sometimes, and I liked to push him and watch him come back at me stronger, harder than ever. He never let me down. Oh, shit. That made me feel guilty.

“I’m sorry, Spike,” he said, his voice dry and quiet. “I hadn’t realised that extending the time you had to wait by, what, three minutes or so, would place such a burden on you. I do apologise.” Sarcastic bugger.

I shrugged, which was a mistake as my hands are attached to my arms and they moved when my shoulders did, which meant my cock got a nice little tug. Chalk it up to decades of practice in survival, but I managed not to come. “Was just making sure I’d last longer later on,” I said.

Will I ever learn to shut up? Doubt it. The spark of annoyance flared into temper, real, pissed off, irritated temper. Fuck. He turned and began to walk away, face cold and I called out. “Giles? Where are you going?” I wanted to follow him but I hadn’t been given permission to leave the bed.  

He paused, didn’t turn around and said, still in that fucking quiet voice, the one that rubs against me like his fingers do, “I’m punishing you, Spike. Finish jerking off if you like. Do whatever you want. I won’t be here for the next –” He paused, considering, and then said, “Twenty four hours.”

The indifference in his voice had me close to begging. Angelus could make me plead after torturing me for hours, but that’s not much of an achievement after all; Giles found out that I can put up with anything as long as I’m not being forgotten, ignored, left out...When he said he wasn’t going to be there, he didn’t mean he was leaving the house. He meant he was going to act as if I had. No touching, no talking, no eye contact. If I got in his way, he’d step around me; if I tried to touch him he’d add on an hour...he’d done it before, but never often and never for that long. I didn’t think I could do it, but what scared me the most was that I wasn’t sure he could either.

And that terrified me. He’d painted himself into a fucking corner here and it was all my fault. Guilt. Love and guilt. Go together so wonderfully fucking well they do.

I left the bed, knowing he’d make me pay for that; he never forgot anything and that was part of why I loved him, knowing he wouldn’t let me get away with anything, no matter how small. Left it, got in front of him, not touching him, held his eyes for a second and slid down to my knees. He was dressed, always was until he set the glass aside, and I wanted to take the clothes off him slowly, feel his body against me, feel his heartbeat thud gently against my chest, let my hands touch him, the hair on his chest tickling me, the muscles under the skin moving as he twisted and arched and said my name and –

Didn’t know what to do, just looked up at him and put it all into my face; the panic, the desperation and yeah, little bit of sorry, because, fine, I’d been...not good.

His face didn’t soften, not even a little, thank Christ. My Giles. Mine. No one ever knew me this well and he’s so fucking good at this.

“Isn’t this charming penitence a little theatrical?”

It didn’t matter what he said, as long as he was talking. I dropped my eyes so he didn’t see the relief and heard his breath hiss out angrily. Quickly I raised my eyes and didn’t hide it, any of it, saw him nod. “Better,” he commented. “So; you want a second chance? You want mercy and forgiveness and all that crap?”

“Want you,” I whispered and really, there wasn’t anything else to say.

His fingers drummed against his leg and the cloth of his trousers moved, brushing against my face. I swallowed then and clenched my fists, starting to shake. He let me stay like that, kneeling, wide open and then he jerked his head.

“Bed. On your stomach.”

He didn’t say ‘now’. Giles never bothered with the unnecessary words. But he told me he loved me every day.

And he left me. Left me with arms and legs spread wide, drifted a line of talcum powder around me so he could tell if I’d moved, and didn’t come back until he’d finished the whole bottle of wine.

And when he did he wasn’t carrying his glass; he was empty handed. All the better to spank me with. And he did, his hand landing with a crack, his voice whispering to me, telling me exactly what he was going to do when my arse was red enough to suit him and I lay there knowing that his hand would end up sore, but he wouldn’t use anything else on me, wouldn’t let the pain swallow up the shame. And when he was done, he rolled me over and wrapped that hot, stinging palm around my cock and I came then, came when he smiled at me, came when he kissed me.


The next night, we were in the graveyard patrolling, just us. It was always an adjustment, leaving the house; Giles let me say and do stuff outside or in company that would have got me in trouble when we were alone. I had to be careful not to push it too far though; it wasn’t like he wouldn’t remember it once the door was closed behind us and we were alone again.

We’d been discussing the rise in numbers of horned demons, and I was telling him about a clan of them I’d run into before he was born, just chatting, our version of shop talk, when he said, “I want you to come for me tonight.”

I stopped and swung around to stare at him. “You say that like it’s a challenge. Since when –”

He smiled and shook his head. “You’ll see,” he said mildly.

I narrowed my eyes and took a step towards him. He hesitated – which puzzled me a bit as there was no one lurking – and then let me get in close enough to kiss him. His lips were hard and hungry but he didn’t rush it. He kissed me up and ready, hands all over me, pulling me against him so I could feel his cock. He was rock solid. Knowing he’d been walking beside me like that and hadn’t let it creep into his voice made me feel wary and impressed all at once.

He let me go, grinned, pulled me back for one last kiss, bruisingly fast, his tongue arrowing inside my mouth, his teeth nipping at my lip, and then took a step back and nodded at the path. “Let’s keep going, shall we?”

We carried on walking and I waited. Ahead, I could hear voices. Xander and Anya. Fuck. I wanted to take Giles somewhere, take care of his problem, and let him take care of me. Giles leaned in, not touching me and said quietly. “Did I mention you’re going to have to come without being touched? By anyone or anything?” He let that sink in and then said casually as they sauntered up, “There’s a time limit of course.”

I just had chance to say, “How long?” through gritted teeth, before they descended. Giles looked at me, and his eyes were fucking twinkling. “That’s on a need to know basis, Spike, and you don’t. Just do your best.”

I was all set to argue but his eyes went flat as if he’d been waiting for me to try, and I looked away.

“Spike giving you trouble?” Xander said, giving me one of his glares. Demon world talks of nothing else around the campfires. Scary eyes they are. If you’re three years old maybe.

Giles smiled. “He wouldn’t dream of it, would you, Spike?”

I smirked at him. He hates that look on my face, but Christ, he’d asked for it tonight. Giles pursed his lips and told them to piss off. Didn’t use those exact words, which means it took twice as long, but same result. As soon as they were out of earshot, he put one finger on my shoulder and pushed down. It wouldn’t have popped a soap bubble but I went to my knees.

“Spike, are you under the impression that your lack of focus the other night pleased me? Or that I’ve forgotten you left a place you’d been told to stay in?”

Fuck. I fucking knew he’d bring that up. I shook my head. It was tilted back. He liked to see my face, didn’t like giving me anywhere to hide. He doesn’t switch the lights off until he’s ready to sleep and he doesn’t blindfold me unless he’s feeling kind.

“Good. Well then. This is an exercise in focus. Since you seem to be confused, I’ll repeat myself. I dislike that. It wastes time. You will come for me because this –” He raised his foot and pressed the toe of his shoe against me, not hard, enough to make my cock twitch and stir. His Master’s voice. Oh, yeah. “This is my toy, not yours. You played with it and didn’t ask me. That’s really not good enough.” He smiled. “It’s not easy to come without being touched, Spike. You know that. Visuals and imagination can do so much but your cock doesn’t really care about anything but my hand around it, squeezing tight, my mouth on it, sucking it hard, my cock against it.” The smile went almost prim for a moment. “Perhaps we can teach it to be a little less...dependent.”

I must have groaned, something, because his lips twitched and yes, the bastard was amused. The dew wet grass was soaking my jeans, my cock was hard but nowhere near coming and there was a clock ticking and I didn’t know when it was going to chime.

“Two questions?” I asked. He considered this and then nodded agreeably, motioning me up. “How long and what happens if I can’t?”

Giles sighed. “Do you really think knowing the penalty for failure will help to spur you on?”

I thought. I’m pretty good at stuff like this. Probably because he never asked for anything I couldn’t do and he knew what that was better than I did. That means he hadn’t had to punish me often for failing. I sometimes wondered if he even bothered to think the punishments up until he needed them – but this was Giles. Git probably had a list somewhere, in perfect alphabetical order. I started to think what would come first and drifted off a little. His annoyed cough brought me back and I smiled at him, being as charming as I could. It worked enough to smooth the irritated frown away but that was all.

“Tell me,” I said, trying for meek, settling for curt.

“The time limit is set. You don’t need to know it.”

“What the fuck-?”

He wasn’t going to touch me again, I knew that, but he wasn’t going to let me get away with that either. Giles caught in a dilemma. That’s a sight to see. Except I couldn’t, because he moved behind me, swung his foot brutally hard into the hollow behind my knee and brought me down, teeth clenched to stop from howling.

“You will mind your manners, Spike. Is that clear?”

A dozen snappy answers crawled into my mouth and lay there, bitter and poisonous. I spat them out – not literally; didn’t want him taking it for defiance – and looked up at him. “I’m sorry.”

Those words – and three others – fucking killed me to say them sometimes. Saved me this time from anything worse than not getting my questions answered, though. He walked off as the others came back, squabbling noisily about something so dull it’d send you to sleep if you listened for more than a minute, with an impatient flick of his fingers to get me moving, and I followed him to where Xander and Anya were waiting, still baffled.

Xander and Anya were ready to go home and I wasn’t going to stop them. I was still hard; Giles hurting me did that every time if he was doing it right and that qualified, but though I was concentrating I really didn’t think I could give him what he wanted. Wasn’t even sure what it was. They buggered off finally and Giles glanced around. “Quiet tonight,” he remarked.

Conversation? Well, OK. Talking I was good at. I opened my mouth and he smiled at me kindly. “That was more of an order than an observation, by the way.”


He set off, walking fast and I followed. That set up some nice friction, not enough to do the job but tight jeans can be your friend and this was one of those times. Giles caught on after one glance at me. He stopped dead, glanced down and reached for me, unzipping my jeans, and folding back the material until my cock was getting some fresh air. He nodded thoughtfully and then stopped me as I tried to huddle my coat around me. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

The December air was cool, tickling and teasing my exposed skin, but that was the least of my worries right then as I strode along, praying to assorted deities that we wouldn’t meet anyone I couldn’t kill very fast, as my arms were folded behind my back, holding my coat tucked behind me. Felt like a total wally but Giles looked smugly pleased and the look in his eyes when he glanced down at my cock was enough to make me feel warm, no matter how cold it was. He told me once that he couldn’t look at me without wanting me. About as poetical as he gets, but it stuck with me when I can’t remember past “mellow fruitfulness” after a century of reading Keats.

He took me to the last place I expected: my old crypt, and pushed open the door as if he knew it would be empty. He’d gone out earlier in the day without saying where. The place was a mess but it looked as if he’d cleaned out a nest. I recognised the signs of a fight. I turned on him, angry as hell. “Did you come here by yourself?”

His eyes widened. He’d told me to be quiet; I was already in deep shit and I was shouting at him? Then I suppose he saw the worry and I knew this once he’d forgive me. Well, that was the theory anyway. His hand lifted and for a moment I thought he was going to hit me and tried not to flinch with shock. It hovered and he stroked the air by my cheek, not touching me. I leaned into it like a cat, eyes closed and then snapped back to attention.

He pointed to the slab of stone I used to sleep on sometimes, back when this was my home. It was covered in a thick quilt. The one from our bed. “Strip and lie down over there,” he said, pulling up a chair and sitting in it. I did as I was told, wanting him, wanting this to be over with so I could hold him. Being kept away from someone who drove insane with lust by the way he turned the pages in his fucking books...that was more than I could take. I wanted to be by him, near him, able to touch him. Starved me when I couldn’t. He still hadn’t told me what he’d do if I failed but there was one thing I knew wasn’t on that list; he might punish me by ignoring me sometimes but he’d never made me sleep away from him. I’d spent nights lying next to a coldly turned back but he was still there, still breathing softly, still giving off heat and still with me. And his anger never lasted into the morning.

I lay there and he said softly, “Breathe in.” I obeyed him and the scent poured up from the soft material, rich and warm. Giles is fastidious and we get this quilt messy, but I won’t let him wash it as often as he wants. Sleeping surrounded by our scents is like being fucked all night. The scent now was mostly him though and I looked at him, my eyes widening.

“I stayed a little after I dispatched the vampires.”

Stayed and jerked off, thinking about what he was going to do. Stayed and came all over where I was lying. I pictured him doing it, trousers pushed down just enough, both hands moving fast, ruthless, impatient hands, his hips jerking, his face set and then he’d have made that noise, that gasp he does...


I looked at him in surprise as he spoke and realised that my hands were fisted in the fabric and my cock was quivering.

“You’re ideally suited for this. Senses honed, vampire enhanced abilities; really you’ve become terribly lazy, you know. You don’t need a helping hand at all.”

I couldn’t agree with that, but I had enough sense not to argue. I closed my eyes to concentrate and he began to talk.

“No, you don’t really need me at all. Don’t need my hands on you, sliding over your body, finding every place that gives you pleasure, remembering every place that gives you pain...don’t need my tongue and mouth and teeth dragging out even more sensation from that pale skin of yours, skin that marks so well but forgets so fast...” The marks faded, but he was wrong if he thought I forgot. “Or perhaps you do need me, Spike? You may answer that.”

I was so hard...his voice was driving into me like his cock did, every word a stroke, every sentence hitting home. “Need you, Giles. Always need you.” Thank God he never made me call him anything but Giles when we were doing this...saying his name filled my mouth the way fresh blood did, warming me, feeding me, making me feel alive. “Giles? Let me talk? Please, I can do it if you –”

I was pleading, not asking and he knew it. He came over, close enough to feel him surround me and knelt beside the stone bed so that our faces were level. “Talk to me,” he said.

I closed my eyes for a second and then opened them, looking at him. I never knew how hard it was for him not to look away, ever, but he never did, always kept his eyes on me. If he could do that, so could I. Not that he gave me a choice.

“I need you and you know it. Need you to touch me, hold me, but not just to come. Christ, Giles, that’s nothing! Last night I wasn’t bothered about coming - I was bored, I was angry, I didn’t want to share you. I’m not...I’m not good at waiting, sharing. I’m hard now, just like you wanted. You’ve made me this way, the things you’ve said, the way you’ve looked at me, controlled me. You fucking own me, you know? I trust you more than I’ve ever trusted anyone. I’d die for you; I’d die of fucking love for you if you sent me away. I’m yours, Giles.”

I was empty and I couldn’t see his face anymore so I blinked and felt cool wetness slip down my face.

He leaned in, so close that his lips were mine if I moved, but I held still.

“And you’re mine, Spike,” he said. “I love you.” He stared at me. “Come for me.”

I closed my eyes and I just couldn’t...quite... “Help me, Giles. Please? ”

He sighed with satisfaction and laughed quietly. “I thought you’d never ask.”

I was there expecting a touch, a kiss, now that I’d solved his riddle. Instead, he lay beside me, still not letting me feel him, and said, “I’ve been hard for hours thinking of you. I’ve been watching you, talking to you, hard all the time. It’s hurting me, I want you so badly. I’m aching, I’m hurting...and I’m not going to come until you do.” I stared at him in disbelief. “When you come, I’m going to be on you faster than even you can move. I’m going to be inside you while you’re still coming, going to bury myself in you and fuck you until you’re screaming out my name, and I’m crying out yours. Until we’re one. Now will you come, you stubborn, infuriating ...”

So I came and afterwards, as we lay there, with Giles’ shoulder under my head, I looked at the walls that used to keep me safe and remembered the last time we’d been here together and how this had started, and my hand clutched at his arm, just remembering how his blood had stained the summer-warm air.

Part Two

Never pegged Giles for suicidal. If I’d thought about it, and I hadn’t much; too taken up with chasing after his Slayer to see him as more than an easily jumped hurdle, I’d have admitted that he had a strength to him that made me wary, but that was all the more reason to expect him to be the one who held them all together after she was gone. I expected some weird reactions from them all once the shock of the Slayer dying wore off; was prepared for the Bit sobbing all over my shoulder, Xander raising his game from sarky comments to downright vicious jabs...expected all of that and got it. Not like it really mattered any more. I helped out with the killing, got drunk, picked fights – and spent more nights than I want to remember sitting in my crypt waiting for her to kick open the door and tell me I was a bastard and she needed me.

No one needed me then and yes, fucking self pity was just oozing out all over me, but I didn’t give a shit. Somewhere between the smashing stuff and the drinking – I knew how you mourned the dead, even if they didn’t - I’d realised what I’d lost when she died. Not a lover, no. I’d dreamed of that but would she have ever been weak enough to want me and if she did, would I have still wanted her? She was unattainable, a princess to my ploughboy, and I was long past believing in happy endings. I was stupid, yes, but not so stupid that I couldn’t see that I was repeating old mistakes. I always went for what I couldn’t have, moth to the flame, just waiting to smell the burning wings and feel the pain. Got off on it in fact. So, no, not as a lover that I missed her. Not even as a friend; don’t think she ever really trusted me enough for that. No, I’d lost a chance to change her mind about me. Wasn’t sure why it mattered so much what a Slayer thought of me, but it had and it did and now it was set in fucking stone and nothing would ever alter it. Beneath her for ever, just as she lay beneath the ground, and the longing for her changed somewhere in the endless nights to be a loneliness I couldn’t shake. Emptiness scared me. A century of being part of a group and these last few years I’d been so alone. The chip had sealed the deal. Now no one wanted me; not my own kind, not the humans.

Giles, though, he was always there, holding them together, doing the grown up act, making sure life went on, looking at me as if he couldn’t quite work out why I was there but he wished I wasn’t. That didn’t help with the feeling that I wasn’t needed and I’d have gone, don’t know where, if it wasn’t for my promise to Buffy that I’d take care of Dawn. Of all of them, really. She loved them and that came to mean I cared too, enough that irritating as Harris was, I wouldn’t have watched a demon take him apart on patrol, enough that I shoved back my own feelings and got involved with their plans, just as if she was still there, still in charge.

After a while, when the hints that they could manage fine without me got broader and the shoulders colder, I pulled back. I still watched them some nights to make sure they weren’t getting in over their heads, still stayed with Dawn until Tara took over and gently showed me the door. Wouldn’t have been surprised to have called by and found myself needing an invitation to get in one dark night.

Hurt a bit. Silly really. Buffy dying hurt more of course, but that was different; she’d died all heroic, done just what a Slayer should, and I couldn’t grudge her that ending. Going out killing a hell goddess and saving a million dimensions; that’s classy.

But I missed her and I felt guilty and I got drunk and I was lonely. Pathetic sodden heap of misery and no hope of things getting better in the near future. Not the only one in town with that problem though. On my way home one night in June, I ran into Giles. He was surrounded by vamps; must have been five or six of them, and he had a stake in one hand that looked like a splinter with delusions of grandeur and was only alive because they were laughing too hard to go in for the kill.

Felt something then, felt it break through the bubble walling me off from the world, suffocating me slowly. Anger. Disgust. Pity? No. He didn’t need pity. Needed bloody saving though and I waded in and did the job, picking up a nice collection of cuts and bruises, insults and curses. Mostly off him. Seems he didn’t want fucking saving and certainly not by me. Didn’t help to calm me down, though it was no more than I was used to from them all.

“Get up, Giles.”

He gave me a stubborn glare and shook his head, curling up, arms wrapping around his knees. I thought about just grabbing him and hauling him along but it seemed like too much effort. Wasn’t exactly sober myself, though the fight had cleared my head a little.

I tried being subtle. “Got myself hurt saving your arse. Least you can do is slap on a plaster or something. Back’s killing me and I can’t exactly use a mirror to see the damage, can I?”

He stared at me, sighed and let me help him up, guilt being a good motivator to a man like him – and I noticed the reek of whisky. Well, I wasn’t going to deny a man his poison of choice, and I was a long way from being teetotal myself, but –

“Giles, why the fuck are you out here, pissed out of your skull and with no more sense than to run into a pack of vampires?”

He looked at me as we went into my crypt. “You’re so smart; you work it out.”

Took me a few minutes, but I managed it. “You’re trying to off yourself without it being obvious.”

I was sitting cross legged on the stone slab in the centre of the crypt and he was dabbing at a nasty slice down my back with a wet cloth and making it hurt twice as much as it had been because he wasn’t steady handed enough to do it gently. Or didn’t care.

“I suppose I am,” he said.

Took me by surprise. Normally, he’d have shared his toothbrush with me sooner than admit that he’d given up. Made me realise that he hadn’t just been grieving these last few weeks; he’d been digging his own grave beside her. Eternal rest just around the corner. But I was thinking he wasn’t feeling all that good about himself either; it wasn’t just losing his Slayer that was getting to him. I knew who’d killed that doctor bloke. Helped drop the body down one of the cracks left by the opening of the portal and I’d seen Giles’ face when Xander wondered aloud why Glory had changed to Ben after Buffy killed her. Didn’t blame him – shouldn’t have thought any of them would, but it had to be troubling him, no matter how necessary it’d been.  

If he’d sounded angry or sad when he admitted he’d tried to kill himself, I’d have kept my mouth shut, but he laughed when he answered me. Fucker laughed and I turned around, grabbed him by the hair and tilted his head back. Done that so many times and then gone in for the kill; couldn’t use my fangs, but words work fine as weapons too.

“Why don’t you just let me bite you, Giles? How a Watcher should go, right? One on one with the enemy. Guess I spoiled that tonight, but I can make it up to you.” He didn’t even twitch. “Oh, Christ, at least look scared of me!”

Don’t know why I said that. I wouldn’t have bitten him if I could, not even then when I was angry with him for giving up and a little scared. If he went – I couldn’t watch them by myself, couldn’t take care of Dawn the way I’d promised. No; I wouldn’t have drained him, but I didn’t mind trying to jolt him out of it, the way seeing him close to copping it had jolted me.

“You can’t hurt me,” he pointed out. His hand came up and tapped the top of my head, the drink making his movements exaggerated and over-precise. “Chipped and rendered harmless.”

Even drunk, he didn’t mess around.

“Suppose I could?” I said, letting go of him. He was standing in front of me, between my legs, and I didn’t think I’d been this close to him before. Oh, fleeting moments, when he’d been chaining me up in his fucking bath, or the time he’d grabbed me and threatened me after Dru and I had taken Buffy ...but he tended to keep his distance from me. I hadn’t realised how worn out he was. Tired, sick eyes that told me he’d given up running. I’d seen them before, many times, but there was always one last little struggle, one final spark when I bit down. I wanted to see if I could get that out of Giles.
He frowned. “I don’t understand.”

He swayed a little, put his hand out to brace himself and ended up groping my thigh. Could have been an accident, but his fingers gripped and held me. I glanced down, said nothing, and smirked. “Always wanted to know if I could feed from someone who let me. Might end up writhing in pain; you might end up dead, because to be honest, if I started, I don’t think I could stop.”

Wondered if he’d buy that; I wasn’t lying exactly; I’d dreamed of it in the early days of the chip; finding a vampire groupie – plenty of them around in this town – getting them drunk, taking my time...never gone through with it though. Knowing for certain it wouldn’t work would have taken away the pleasure of imagining it. Stared at his neck, just where I’d bite, and smiled slowly.

He looked at me then, a question in his eyes, and I put my hand over his where it lay on my leg, not pressing down, because I didn’t need to, and answered the unspoken query. “Wouldn’t stop because you look fucking tasty, Rupert, you know that?”

He tried to move away but I followed him, step for step until his back hit the wall and he was out of places to run to. “Spike...please...”

Pleading and that wasn’t right. Giles shouldn’t – I saw him tortured and he didn’t beg then, no matter what Angelus did to him. I didn’t touch him; you didn’t interfere with Angelus when he was playing, but I watched. I saw. Took it all and still had enough guts left to stick two fingers up at Angelus and now he was giving up?  I felt anger rise and spill and let it out, enjoying it because it was real and raw and red and a world turned grey was no place for me.

“You coward. You fucking washed up, pathetic coward. You let your Slayer die and now you’re going to leave the rest of them to get along without you, too?” I don’t know when I started shouting but I didn’t care. He blinked at me, his face puzzled and defenceless and it was maddening. Giles shouldn’t have been like this; shouldn’t have been sad and defeated, shouldn’t have come that close to dying and –

“You could’ve been turned! Is that it? Not death you’re after but a chance to stop feeling the pain, stop caring? Look at me! Giles, don’t you fucking dare think about it! You’d go straight for them, you’d kill Dawn, you’d, oh God, Giles, tell me that’s not what you were going to do?”

Fuck. Sounded like a girl, but I was seeing them, seeing their faces, seeing what he’d leave behind when he was through with them. Not long since I’d have been smiling at that but things change. I’d changed. Not enough to be socially fucking acceptable and God knows I’d have given up a decade of existence to be able to thump Harris right on his sneering mouth before he died, but they’d stopped being prey a long time since. Wouldn’t have killed any of them, chip or no chip. Can’t say the same for the other billion people on the planet but, yeah, wouldn’t kill them.

Giles shook his head, horrified, stammering. “I never – never thought they’d do – never expected - Spike, how dare you!” Oh, right, I thought. Work it around to being my fault. “Be like – like you? Bloody wouldn’t. Never. Goes ‘gainst every, everything, every lesson – filthy, evil bloody vampire? Me?” He was sobering up. “You self righteous little prick!” OK, maybe not. “How dare you lecture me? How dare you take it upon yourself to save me? She’s gone and I have no place here. I’m not needed and I can’t – I don’t want to feel that way.”

“Just told you you’re needed. Try again. Something’s got you going. I get that you’re tired; been a hellish month. Get that you’re worried, trying to keep on top of it with just the robot and God knows, the ‘bot’s more trouble than it’s worth sometimes. Get all of that but you’re strong-” I reached out and stroked his cheek, feeling stubble scratch at my fingers, “– stubborn and too mean to give up the ghost to a pack of vamps so new they still had dirt under their nails. Where’s your pride, Giles?”

He stood still under my hand and I couldn’t help it. I kissed him, no warning, no build up, just leaned in and tasted him, wanting to see what he’d do. And I wanted to kiss him as well, though I wasn’t sure why. Because I’d just come close to losing him and that bothered me maybe. Because he smelled good. Because there’d always been this curiosity about him, ever since I watched him suffer every twist of Angelus’ imagination, ever since the nights I spent living at his place. Chained me, fed me from his hand, well, mug, walked around half undressed while he took a piss and cleaned his teeth in front of me as if I didn’t exist.

He never did a thing back then; never let his hands stray, never looked below my belt, but I wasn’t so polite. Started out teasing him for my own amusement, but by the end it wasn’t much fun, knowing he was hard every time he came near me but would never touch me, knowing if I tried anything, mood he was in he’d stake me. Spent hours lying there imagining him in bed, what he’d fuck like, how he’d taste. Thought about feeding from him, how his blood would be almost as special as a Slayer’s, watched him shave hoping he’d tear his skin just enough that I could smell it; fresh blood, human blood, Giles’ blood. If he had, I think I’d have snapped those chains and gone for him, but he was too careful.

He scared me too, just a little. Most vampires would admit to being wary of the Slayer if they were being honest but we older ones, we know who makes her a killer, beyond the power, beyond the instincts. The Watcher was in the background. Didn’t mean he was insignificant. This one, it was a miracle he hadn’t staked me with all I’d done. Wasn’t quite sure why he hadn’t. Though I knew he’d been bloody pleased I’d helped run off soldier boy. Not so pleased about me chaining Buffy up though...

So kissing him was dangerous, was risky and I realised I’d been wanting to do it for months – and I wanted to do more than kiss. I wanted to grind against him, wanted to feel his cock jump under my hand, hear him moan. Got a knee in the balls instead and a backhand that sent me spinning.

“You don’t ever do that without –”

He stopped and I filled in the blanks. “Without what, Giles? Permission?” I reached out and ran my hand over his cock, felt it stir under a layer of denim. “Think this is permission enough, yeah?”

He whispered, “Don’t...” and made it sound vaguely threatening. I did it again and this time got the moan I’d been waiting for.

“Giles – let me – Look, it’s bad for all of us, not just you. Stop fucking hiding it.” I tried to kiss him again and when he turned his head away I put my palm against his face and turned it back. He didn’t resist much and I kissed him, trying to be gentle but not doing it well. He smelled of blood and he tasted of tears and it was enough to make me push him too hard. For a moment his tongue met mine and he kissed me with an edge of desperation that stopped me cold – then he pushed me off him violently.

“Now what?” I said. “Going to pretend you’re not fucking hard? Going to add it to the list of things Giles feels guilty about and wishes he hadn’t done?”

Low blow, bringing up Ben but I was past caring about hurting his feelings. I watched his face, waiting for him to stare at me with disgust or hit me again. Either would have been better than the emptiness I saw.

He closed his eyes and when he opened them again his face was filled with a calm I’d seen before. It was what came after that final struggle, when the human I was holding sensed that the swallow I’d just taken had been the last I needed to drain them. He brushed past me as if I wasn’t there and made straight for a bottle I’d left in a corner.

“It’s empty, Giles and haven’t you had –”

I was getting worried. He wasn’t acting the way I’d expected. I’d wanted him angry, not still lost in despair. That’s what had got him in the graveyard, drunk, in the first place. Didn’t like him like this and he was scaring me. A Giles who’d kiss me back, even for a moment, wasn’t in his right mind, couldn’t be. Then I heard the bottle shatter and I swear I heard his skin rip open, heard the sound the glass made as he brought it across his wrist. Spray and drip, spatter and stain. The air was drenched in the smell even before I got to him.

I swore, cursing him, trying to get him to hold still, and he pushed me away as best he could, beyond speech, silent and determined, clinging to the pain as if it was all he had left. Eventually I stepped back and held up my hands. “Fine, Giles. Bleed to death. Mind dripping into a bowl so I can at least have a taste?”

He glared at me and shoved his wrist in my face, offering himself up. My fangs came out and I grabbed his arm, holding it steady. If I was careful...if I didn’t bite...then I sighed, drew back my fist and thumped him. We both hit the ground together but I got up first and he stayed down. Paid for it with a headache that stayed with me for hours, but I made the punch count and the state he was in I had time. Managed to get him bandaged up; the cut would need stitches maybe, but it’d stopped bleeding. He opened his eyes and looked up at me and then winced; his arm must have been throbbing and hurting like hell. Served him right.


“Should get you seen to, Giles. Think you can walk?” He sounded less like a sleepwalker and more like himself which was something.

“No – I mean, yes, but not just yet. Need to rest.” His face was a nice match for the grey, stone walls but I wanted to get him to a doctor. Didn’t have much on hand in the way of supplies.

“You can rest later,” I said, trying to sound firm.

I went to pull him up, but he stopped me. “You didn’t feed.” Not a question. “I thought you would. I even wanted you to. Why aren’t you letting me die, Spike?”

Simple question that I didn’t have an answer for, not then. “I don’t want you to die, that’s all. Be a waste. Besides, sort of used to you after all this time.”

He arched one eyebrow. “You’d miss me?” He laughed. “I must be hallucinating.” He glanced up at me. “I’ll do it again, you know.”

Shook my head, looked as bored and indifferent as I could manage. “Doubt it. You’d have regretted this in the morning, when you woke up dead, I’ll bet.” Not very funny but I was still shaken up. Blood and violence and sex. They went together too well for a vampire, even one like me. Especially one like me. Giles had offered me his blood and no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t forget that. Made me feel close to him, linked by more than grief and past hatred. Nothing mystical about it, just a bond of sorts.

 “You think?” He tried to stand up, made it and then leaned back against the stone slab. “Do you know the statistics on Watcher deaths, Spike? No, of course you don’t. The average life of a Watcher after their Slayer dies is five years. That’s useless as an indicator though. Simpler to say that we fall into two camps; those who shrug, take a desk job and forget and those, like me, who want nothing more than oblivion. We try to go out being useful of course. There’s always some way of dying a hero.”

The bitterness was there but he still sounded detached, distant.

“Forget dying for one minute, you morbid git. You’re just bored.” Not the right word but I was hoping he’d correct me and take an interest in what I was saying. Boredom was the least of it, though I sometimes thought it’d be the one thing that would drive me to step out into the sunlight one day.

“Want me to take up a hobby?” He nursed his arm to his chest, glaring down at it as if it’d gone off and hurt itself.

I considered Giles knitting for long enough to smile and then said casually, “How about a bet?”


“You need someone to give you an interest in life, Giles. You need to do some fucking instead of just getting fucked. You need to be aggravated, annoyed and pissed off on a daily basis.” I grinned at him. “And I need to be the one doing it, because you’re not dying before I’ve had you, Giles. No fucking chance.”

He studied me. “Had me? If you mean my blood –”

“You know I don’t.” Wasn’t going to let him get away with pretending. He’d been pretending he was fine for the last few weeks and look where it had got him.

“I’d lie and tell you I wasn’t interested but I suspect that would be futile.” I smirked at him and blew him a kiss just to watch him glare. More emotions, filling up the spaces...good to see. “What’s the bet? What are the stakes?” He grinned sourly. “If you’ll forgive the expression.”

I was used to thinking fast but I was definitely being put on the spot. Couldn’t tell him to come back another day though; if I let him leave here with nothing, he’d never make it home. So I thought about how to appeal to him, how to keep a Watcher from feeling he was useless. Put like that, the answer was simple. You gave him someone to train, someone to fight, someone to love. Or someone to fuck, because I couldn’t see him loving me. I was as strong as Buffy and as mean but I didn’t think I was all that lovable. Not given my past record. But if it was just sex, I imagined I could keep Giles happy without even trying after the dry spell he’d had the last few years.

“I bet in six months I can make you want to live again. If I lose, I’ll help you die; even fix it so you can go out against a real big nasty and I’ll lie to them all so they won’t know you did it on purpose.”

He nodded thoughtfully but I could tell he was just humouring me. “What if you win?”

“You let me have what I passed up on tonight; a taste of you. Might end up dead anyway if I take too much and then we can all have a good laugh, right?”

“Just how do you propose to make the skies turn blue and banish the rain cloud over my head, Spike?” He swayed slightly, but the stone he was leaning against kept him vertical.

“Oh, you’re feeling better. Sarcasm’s back. Old fashioned way, Giles. Show you a good time.” Shouldn’t have still been talking – he was getting paler by the minute - but I reckoned he was tough enough not to pass out on me. “I’m moving in with you,” I said.

“You bloody well are not!” That was automatic; his eyes told a different tale, sharpening with interest and making me smile to myself because you don’t need to be a fisherman to know when someone’s hooked.

“And we’re going to fuck the misery out of each other.” That shut him up. He gaped at me and I noticed that he still had enough blood left to get hard. Promising. “Now we can play this different ways but I’m thinking you’re not the sort to take kindly to being on your knees to me –” Flicker of interest but nothing else, “and we’re not equals, never have been, never will be –” and he could take that anyway he liked, “so that just leaves – this.”

Went to my knees, bowed my head and waited. Done that before, but never to a human. Felt just the same though. First there was the awkwardness, the fear that I would look like a total prat and he’d laugh – except I was ideally placed to see that amusement wasn’t his first reaction. Then came the struggle not to jump up, tell him to forget it, because the weight of it all was settling down on my shoulders and I wasn’t sure I could bear it, not the way I felt right then. I stayed on my knees though and Giles’ arousal, the knowledge of what me like this was doing to him, well, that was incentive enough to stay, stone bruising knees, as my own cock stirred and waited, remembering what came next.

Submission. The tension left me as the moments passed by without me being rejected, and I relaxed, waiting for an order. I could wait for hours if I had to. Done it before. Would he take it all from me, because he needed that weight of responsibility, was used to it in a way I never was and never wanted to be? Would he see what I needed and be strong enough to give it? How much did he still hate me for what I was and what I’d done?

How long was it before he touched my head, told me to look at him? Long enough for him to get his voice under control again, because it didn’t waver and he never asked if I was sure or if I wanted to change my mind, not then, not later.

I looked up, saw him for the first time if you like, and watched his lips shape one word.


And I smiled up at him, and wondered just what he was going to do with me.

Part Three

When we got back to Giles’ house, after getting his arm seen to at the hospital, I stopped outside. I had an invitation, sure, but it didn’t feel right to walk in, not now. It was different. He looked around, as if he was wondering why I wasn’t following him, and then smiled faintly.

“Good manners. I’m impressed.” He shrugged carefully out of his jacket, trying not to jar his arm and watching me the whole time. Then he said deliberately, “Come in, Spike. If you’re mine now, you stay with me. Is that understood?”

I nodded and stepped forward but he held up his hand to stop me. “Answer me properly, please.” First time we did that little runaround, but not the last. “’Is that understood?’”


He tilted his head a little as though he was testing the words, measuring their sincerity. I suppose they passed because he nodded, relaxed a little, and walked in, kicking off his shoes and heading for the kitchen. I heard water running and guessed he was getting a drink. I needed something with a kick to it – it had all happened so fast – and I could still smell his blood which wasn’t helping, but I decided not to push it by asking for a proper drink. Giles didn’t need any more in him either.

He came out, glass of water in hand, drank from it and set it down. Then he looked at me standing there, feeling awkward. He walked over to me and put his hand against my face, touching me for the first time since we’d left the crypt, his eyes serious. “You want me to make this easier for you?” he said.

I started to shrug, and then remembered he didn’t like that. “Maybe. I don’t know. Not used to easy.”

He arched an enquiring eyebrow. “Used to it hard instead?”

I grinned, looked down, checked him out. By the time I got back to his face, the eyebrows were both up and the temperature had dropped. “Spike, when I’m talking, I want your eyes on my face.”

He waited a beat until I answered him. “Yes, Giles.”

“You say that but I’m not sure you really mean it.” He looked at me, thinking aloud. “It’s late, and I’m more than a little tired, but still...” He told me to take off my coat and boots and showed me where he wanted them to go, making me line my boots up neatly but not making a big deal out of it. Then he sat down suddenly, looking paler than I did, and I almost wished he’d just bugger off to bed and start this in the morning. Course, if he had, I might not have been there. Might have had second thoughts. He knew it had to begin while we were both still wound up, knew it’d make it easier in the end. Giles was smart.

He sat on the sofa, leaned back and said, “Stand in front of me, Spike.”

There was a moment where I wanted to go, just leave him to it, pretend it hadn’t happened. I’d saved him; he’d be fine, no need to do this. Then I realised that he was watching me and waiting for me to do just that, his eyes wary. If he’d repeated himself I would have gone, but he didn’t. He waited and his face changed until it was full of a certainty and expectation that I’d obey him. Made me shiver, made me want him. I tried to believe it was curiosity that kept me there, but it wasn’t. He was stronger than I was right then; injured, tired and sad and he still had enough in him to keep me to my bargain, make me do as he said, hold me to that submission.

When I obeyed him, walking slowly, he didn’t let any relief show, just nodded and said, “Now strip and don’t look away.”

I started with my t-shirt, took hold of the hem and began to pull it up. He spoke again. “Work out how you’re going to get that off without it going over your head, Spike.”

I rolled my eyes, knowing that only left one option. Guess that counted as not looking, because he said, “One.”

Fuck. One? One what? Could guess, but I began to think no matter what I expected, Giles would come up with a twist. I grabbed the neck and tore it down the middle. Cotton’s hard to rip but this was old and worn; one of my fucking favourite shirts too. Let it slide away to the floor, careful not to watch it go.

“Obvious but effective,” he commented.

I wriggled my jeans down and wobbled just enough when they were around my knees that I lost eye contact again.


He sounded calm, almost bored. I stared at him. Didn’t mind being naked when he wasn’t. Didn’t mind being given stupid orders. Did mind having to look at him so he could see everything I felt, everything I was feeling. Exposed just about covered it. Kicked off jeans and socks and by the time I was done the count was up to five as it got harder and harder not to look away. The last one I got when I blinked slowly, just to extend that split second of darkness. Knowing he was so aware of me that he could spot something that small sent a shiver down my body.

He broke the eye contact and looked at my body, long and slow, not lingering on my cock, not avoiding looking at it either but I could tell when he did. His whole body shifted from relaxed to ready. If he’d crooked a finger when he looked like that I’d have crawled to him bare knees over gravel, but he didn’t. He just whispered, “Turn around,” into a silence that was humming in my ears, making me feel like screaming to shatter it.

I should have been glad to stare at the wall but I wasn’t. I heard him get up and come towards me, his footsteps slow. Standing still as he approached, not turning to look at him, nearly killed me. Turning your back on danger wasn’t usually a good idea and Giles smelled of blood but he didn’t smell like prey. Felt him wanting me, needing me and I swayed, trying to brush against him, just a little.

“Stay still.”

I tried, thought I could, but he ran his fingernail down my back, nape of neck to top of arse, and I cried out, arching my back. Wasn’t expecting that and I was so primed that even the thinness of a nail scoring my flesh felt like his whole body touching me. My skin ignited, one thin line of flame spreading out until I was burning. He hadn’t even broken the skin and I was burning. Fuck.

“For that, I double it. Ten.”

“Ten what?” I said. God, I sounded desperate. Hadn’t expected this; thought we’d have a quick shag to tie it down and go to bed if we hadn’t managed to make it up the stairs before we fucked. Even wondered if he had the balls to take it all the way and I’d end up fucking him. Stupid of me. Took a while to let myself trust him but he had me safe right from the start. My Giles.

“Minutes, of course.” He sounded surprised, as though I should have known.

“Heh. Thought you meant you were going to hit me ten times or something.”

He laid a hand flat against my backside and I bit my lip trying not to react. “And just what do you think I’ll be doing in those ten minutes, Spike?”

Oh. Good point.

His hand moved, sliding over my arse, moving up over my back, just his right hand, going to my neck, squeezing gently, down my side, the fingers wrapping around my hip, close but not close enough to my cock which was so close to coming I really wasn’t sure how much longer I could wait. He stood behind me and both hands came around and gripped my thighs, pulling them apart slightly. Think I gasped, whimpered, something, because he leaned in and whispered in my ear. “You want to come, Spike? Want my hands on you?”

Most pointless question I’d ever been asked. “Yes.” I hated to say it but I had to. “Please?”

“Next lesson. I come first and that’s in everything and every way, including the obvious. Think you can wait?”

His fingers dug in and I managed to say, “I’ll try.”

“Not good enough. Eleven. Try again.”

“I can wait.”

“’Giles’” he prompted.

“I can – oh God – I can wait, Giles.” The extra words were because he bit down just where my neck met my shoulder as he waited for me to get it right. Felt his teeth against me and his tongue and shuddered, wondering if I’d ever get to feel them around my cock. Shouldn’t have thought about that. Didn’t make it easier to concentrate.

“Well, it’s your lucky night, Spike. You have permission to make me come as quickly as you can. It won’t always be like that, but –”

I turned and kissed him, needing the taste of him, doing it so fast he was still speaking, so his lips moved against mine before I bit them to keep them still. Once he’d said I could do it, I went calm. I could come when he had. He hadn’t said that exactly but that was the way I took it. I decided that was going to be in under a minute if I could just...

I unzipped his fly while I kissed him, took his cock in my hand and pumped it fast. Then I paused. Could tell by the way he felt, the way he was moving, that he was as close as I was. I could get him to come just like this but it didn’t seem right. He’d been working for something and I wasn’t going to cheat him out of it. I broke the kiss, held his eyes for a second and then slid down slowly, kissing him through his shirt, undoing each button, taking my time. By the last one I was on my knees and his cock was waiting for me like a reward. Held him, took him in my mouth, tasting him, wanting him.  Felt his hands come up to stroke my head, just like he had done in the crypt a few hours before. Looked up at him and saw him open, waiting, mine. Kept looking as I cupped his balls, and worked him with my mouth. Watched him come, heard him cry out my name - and came a split second later, just from that.

Ended up in a tangled mess on the floor, wrapped round each other. Which ended up with me getting hard again and Giles seeing to me, using his hand, kissing me the whole time, not stopping until I came.

When we’d recovered enough to get up and clean up, he took me upstairs and pointed at the bed. “I take this side.”

“Fine.” Looked at him sideways. “Eleven minutes?”

He smiled, running his hand down my bare back to my arse and letting it stay there, warm against my skin. “You’re reminding me? Not wanting it to be forgiven and forgotten?”

“Would you? If I asked?”

He looked at me. “Not even if you begged.”

Why that made me happy, I didn’t know.

He yawned. “Remind me again, tomorrow,” he said. “I want to hear you beg anyway.”

I did, but it didn’t work. Said I wasn’t trying and made it twelve.

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