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Chapter 12

Giles pulled away and knelt alongside Spike. Spike, still twisted into the sheets, looked at him with fond tolerance for a moment, and then lifted his eyebrow with a small smile. 'So….' He turned over onto his back and folded his arms under his head. 'We've got a big comfy bed, nothin' to do, and us. What'd'ya reckon?'

Suddenly, Giles ripped the sheet off, exposing Spike from his folded arms to his toes. He yelped and flipped over onto his belly with an accusatory look. 'Jeez, mate, give a bloke a bit of privacy, hey?'

Giles looked down at his back in wonder. 'We've done pretty much everything, haven't we? I feel I'm beginning to know you - I think about you all the time - but I've never taken the time to really look at you, have I?'

'And yer not starting now.'

'No, I am.' Good as his word, Giles ran his fingers up through Spike's hair, lifting each soft blond lock at the roots then letting it fall softly back. He pressed his thumbs to the back of Spike's ears, bending them forward, and then ran the ball of his thumb over the cool ridges, pinching the ear lobe softly. Spike tutted and pretended to be annoyed, but the lazy way he stretched to the touch rather belied this and, with a small smile, Giles continued his exploration. As Spike stretched his arms up, his armpits were lifted from the mattress, and Giles placed the back of his hand into one, as if testing the temperature. He tugged on the hair, twisting it into small spirals. 'What colour was your hair before you bleached it?'

Spike shook his head in despair at this weirdness but answered, 'Nerdy brown, why?'

'Huh.' Giles assimilated this information and moved on. He lifted Spikes' arm back a little and watched, fascinated, as the socket moved. He extended the arm and examined the prominent veins down the skin, testing the musculature by flexing it at the elbow and extending it once more. He spent a long time on the fingers, each one examined and flexed. The nails fascinated him: their blackness an amusing counterpoint to the overall paleness of the body. 'Why do you do this?'

Spike, his eyes now fixed unswervingly on Giles as he underwent this intent scrutiny, chuckled. 'Cus it used to piss Angelus off.'

Giles paused and returned the look, surprising himself by smiling. In this house, in this bed, Angelus did not seem such a threat. Finished with Spike's arm, he let it drop softly to the sheet and began to run his hands down the prominent spine. Spike's back was flawless, and Giles could not take his eyes off the smooth, pale skin. He sat back on his heels for a moment, looking at the overall shape: the way the hips did not flare out, the way the backside did not swell, the way the muscles were hard and defined. He shivered slightly as he realised how much he preferred this shape to others, and wondered why he had never thought to look for it before.

He shuffled down the bed slightly and picked up one of Spike's feet. As he looked at it, a small giggle escaped him, and Spike twisted around with an amused glare, 'What, poof?'

'You've got feet.'

Spike didn't deign to reply to this and, with a superior huff, turned his face the other way. Giles flexed each toe for a moment, utterly unable to explain why Spike having feet was so interesting. They were perfect feet: feet that did not, or could not, exist on an ordinary person. He stuck one of his out and compared them. Bony protrusions, hair on the big toe, a small blister, and a generally rather shabby appearance were all in stark contrast to the perfection he held in his hand. Spike's ankles proved equally interesting, and he twisted them around, watching how the bones slid under the skin. He didn't want to think about the bright light of reality; he didn't want to shine it on this body. How real was that small anklebone? How did it exist like this when one piercing splinter of wood would turn it to dust? Giles frowned and banished these thoughts.

He knew he was moving in an ever-decreasing pattern toward the place he really wanted to examine and explore. He slid his hands up the backs of Spike's thighs, pressing him into the mattress until he heard a faint moan of anticipation. He parted the cheeks and exposed Spike's entrance to the bright daylight in the room. He wondered if Spike could feel the cold air on it and blew lightly, just to test the vampire's reactions. Spike put a hand around and tried to pull Giles' head lower, but Giles resisted with a smile, and dodged his head away.

He sat more comfortably and just looked at the hole for a while, noting how it was darker than the rest of the pale, preternatural skin. When his eyes had enjoyed it enough, he licked his finger and trailed it over the puckered skin, then around, following the circumference of the hole. Spike wriggled, and Giles' concentration was lost for a moment, but he took the opportunity to shift onto his belly, propped up on one hand. In this position, he pressed his face into the crack between Spike's cheeks, his tongue searching for the hole. He found it and flicked lightly over the space until Spike raised his hips and pushed back.

Giles rose to his knees and pressed in further, his nose crushed against Spike's skin, his tongue hot and urgent. He wanted to penetrate that hole and watch the slow entry, so pushed his finger in up to the knuckle. Spike hissed and reached up to hold onto the iron bedstead. Giles hooked the finger, probed with it, explored and stretched the entrance. It wasn't enough, so he forced in another finger and, with this increased power, pummelled the inner walls until Spike, moaning uncontrollably, lifted his backside up and bent low at the waist. 'More.'

Giles knelt closer and pushed in his middle finger, too, the urge to bend them and hook the ring of muscle down too overpowering to ignore. Spike's entrance opened up, and it was so easy to slip his little finger in as well. Spike thrust back as hard as he could and almost shouted for Giles to bring him off. Giles wriggled his fingers inside Spike's rectum as if trying him on like a tight fitting glove. Spike began to pant, and thrash his head from side to side. He stretched out his arms, locking his biceps, displayed to maximum advantage. The vampire crucified thus, Giles lost it completely. He yanked his hand out and drove his penis home, until he felt as if he should see the tip bulging out against Spike's hard abs. He wrapped his arms around Spike's waist and splayed his hands to those rippling muscles, just in case, and then began to push Spike inexorably into the wall behind the bed. Spike's face squashed against the faded wallpaper; his body slammed repeatedly into the rail, until the bed shook to the impact. Giles hissed out between gritted teeth, 'Clamp down more.' Spike did. He almost crushed Giles' cock as he squeezed his strong inner muscles and, on the next thrust in, Giles had to push through as if penetrating the very abs he held so tightly.

Spike jerked his head back at the sensation. 'Fuck…. Fuck me, Giles.'

Giles groaned and pumped himself empty into Spike's tight rectum. He felt something splashing against his hands and peered over Spike's shoulder to watch with wonder as the tip of the vampire's cock squirted pale, milky fluid up, bullet after bullet of cool sperm shooting onto his hands. Spike's belly was drenched with cum; the backs of his legs ran with cum. Giles tipped back and pulled Spike - slick and slippery - with him. He slipped out with the movement but was too spent to notice. Spike lay on top Giles awkwardly, his back to Giles' warm belly, and didn't care that it was uncomfortable, that he was too heavy, that he wanted to look at the human. He just lay there with the knowledge that someone found his body desirable. So desirable, that just looking at it had pitched the human over into this intense sexual activity. Bathing in such adoration, he grinned privately, stretched his arms up, and even more awkwardly slipped his hands under Giles' head.

Giles rued the need to breath and finally had to tip Spike off to one side so his lungs could function. Spike lay sprawled on his back, watching Giles with a look of satisfaction that made Giles smile. He lowered himself to Spike slowly, touched their lips gently then pulled away. Before Spike could react, he came back, longer contact this time, and a slight pressure against the lips for them to open. He pulled off, grinned at Spike's expression and came back once more, this time his tongue seeking an entry that was freely offered. Giles put his hands under Spike's head and kissed him deeply; the kiss returned with as much passion and pleasure as he put into it.

Finally, needing a respite, Giles rolled to one side and just lay still with his heart pounding in his chest. He turned his head. 'You've come a long way.'

Spike continued to stare up at the ceiling. 'Almost through the bloody wall there for a minute, yeah.'


'You're welcome, very welcome.'

Giles chuckled and sat up. 'I'd better make an appearance, I suppose. What are you going to do all day?'

'Dunno. Sleep?'

'I'll get the bags.'

This got no reply, as Spike was making himself comfortable for a snooze, so Giles took the robe once more and made his way to the bathroom. When he was dressed, he brought the bags into the room, despairing that they were all his except for a small, scruffy holdall, which could not have contained more than a few packs of cigarettes. He grinned at the idea of buying Spike some more clothes, now quite willing to admit that he found the thought stimulating.

Spike seemed to be asleep, and he left him, making his way down to show his face for lunch, squaring his shoulders and trying to shake off the person he now managed to be with Spike.

Spike woke some time in the afternoon and stretched contentedly in the bed. He felt like a shower but had no idea where he might find one so, after a cigarette, dressed back into the clothes he had worn the day before. He peered out cautiously at the unexpectedly sunny day and cursed softly.

Staying in the room wasn't an option, so exploring the house seemed the only alternative. He made his way to the end of one wing and started on the top floor. Most of the rooms were deserted, empty except for old, heavy looking furniture under sheets. Windowpanes were grimy, and the light in the rooms filtered in, streaking across the gentile shabbiness. He explored the whole of the wing from attics to ground floor, and then began on the second one. This proved only marginally more exciting and, despairingly, he began the final part of the house: the main, joining section.

Here he found some gems. He pushed open one large double door to discover a billiard table and small bar. Cursing in delight, he made himself a drink and messed around with the table for a while. He saw lots of possibilities for this room but moved on. He was sauntering slowly down a long corridor hung with family portraits, when Giles' mother came out of a room with a bunch of faded flowers. She looked at him, rather surprised, but said courteously, 'William. Good afternoon. Did you sleep well?'

Spike nodded, not trusting himself to speak. She began to walk slowly down the portraits, explaining some to him, pointing out key features in others. At the end of the line was Giles. Spike stopped up short and stared at the picture of the man whose face had so recently been a great deal closer to him. It was a good picture, although not a hint of a smile escaped the sitter's lips. The mother, however, did not seem to see this defect, for she looked upon the portrait with a possessive gaze.

Spike pouted and nodded at the space next to the picture. 'What's that left for?'

She glanced at him. 'For Rupert's son, of course.'

Spike's blood ran a little colder than normal. 'Oh. Course. Where does 'e live then?'

She turned to him with a look that would have frozen him, if he weren't already pretty chilled. 'He has not been born yet, of course. Rupert is not married.'

'Oh.' Slightly annoyed by her tone and just because he could, Spike asked in an amused voice, 'So, what if 'e don't wanna 'ave kiddies like?'

'Don't be ridiculous. He is the last of the line, and Gileses have lived in Abbotsbury Giles since this land was granted to us by the Conqueror himself. He understands his destiny and his responsibilities.'

'Uh huh.' Spike thought back to the thick shaft pounding him into the wall and somewhat doubted this, but it seemed to go some way to explain some of the things that still puzzled him about the man.

As if she realised she had said too much, given away too much passion, she turned to him and, with a slightly withering look, said, 'I am sure you would like to freshen up and change. Has anyone shown you to the bathrooms?'

'Nope. Thanks.' Spike turned to follow her, but she said, chillingly, without turning around, 'Wait here, and I'll send Margaret to show you.'

Spike almost laughed but did as he was told, and passed the time looking at Giles, who now seemed a lot sadder in his picture than Spike had at first thought.

He heard the housekeeper before she came into view, for she seemed to like talking as much without an audience as she did with one. She bustled into view, discussing the dust, and stopped when she saw Spike. She looked him over from head to toe with her hands on her hips then broke into an inexplicable grin. 'Well, my lovely, haven't I heard a lot about you today?'

Spike looked worried. 'Really?'

'He don't talk of much else, that's for sure.'

Spike was glad it was gloomy in the corridor. She chuckled and beckoned for him to follow her, pointing out the laundry cupboards, the bathrooms, and the dressing rooms. As she finally departed, she threw back over her shoulder, 'I'll put the kettle on; come down when you're ready.'

Spike was utterly lost by this time, could not work out which way to get back to Giles' room and certainly wasn't going to ask, so he washed and put back on the, by now, rather over familiar clothes. The promise of tea brought him down to a surprisingly warm, large, homely kitchen - the only room in the place where he had seen colour and life. Margaret was baking, her arms covered in flour, deep in some sort of dough. Spike straddled a chair and reached for his cigarettes then paused and glanced up. She shook her head. 'They'll kill you those things, but don't mind me if you've a mind to.'

Spike grinned and lit up, squinting at her through the smoke. She eyed him for a while then muttered, 'Don't be coming that look with me, laddie; I've seen all the charmers I need to at my time of life. I find more charm in a nice cup of tea these days.'

Spike laughed and dropped his act. She looked pleased and made him the promised cup of tea. They sat together contentedly, Spike watching her kneading the dough with a strange feeling once more in his belly. He tried to analyse it. It was almost the same as the one he'd had when he'd listened to Giles singing, but why this should be so, he couldn't say.

Eventually, Margaret put the baps into the oven and sat herself with a cup of tea. 'So, William, are you going to see your family while you're over here?'

Spike sipped at his tea, his face partially hidden by the cup. 'I don't 'ave much family these days.'

'Oh, I'm sorry for that. Friends then?'

'Nah, I kinda left for the States a long time ago.'

'Oh, funny, your accent is still strong. Rupert is so American these days.'

Spike spluttered. 'Is he?'

'Oh yes, he uses such odd expressions and the like.'

'Where is he?'

'He said he had some errands and went out.'

'When's he getting back?'

'Well, certainly for dinner. What are you going to do 'til then?'

Before he could answer, the door opened, and Giles' mother came in carrying an empty cup. She saw him and said pleasantly. 'William, in the kitchen?'

He almost felt he had to apologise.

'I'd have thought a young man like you would be out for a walk on a lovely day like this. Would you like me to fetch someone to show you around the grounds?'

Spike pursed his lips. 'I kinda thought I'd go out when it was….' Embarrassingly, he couldn't finish what he'd started and fished wildly in his head for suitable qualification, finally adding lamely, 'Darker.'

'How interesting. Well, you've seen over the house. Perhaps you'd like to take your tea to the library?' With a look that clearly indicated this was not a suggestion, she left.

Spike looked down and traced his finger though a small split in the old pine table. 'She don't like me.'

Margaret said evenly, 'She wouldn't like anyone Rupert brought home. No one is good enough for her precious son.'

'Huh, don't seem he's all that precious here to me. And hey! What'd'ya mean? I'm just 'is colleague, yeah? We work together.'

'Of course. That's what I mean. She's jealous of his work that takes him so far away. You come from that work, too, so she's jealous of you.'

Spike gave her an intent look, but she remained open and calm. He pretended to rise then looked back sharply and caught a small smile on her face, which was whipped quickly away. He huffed slightly and shook his shoulders. 'Where's this fu… bloody library then?'

Although he wouldn't have admitted it - even if threatened with paradise itself - he was in heaven for the rest of the day. The library was extensive and stocked with a surprisingly eclectic selection of books - fiction and non-fiction. He suspected who had had the major hand in choosing the books and spent some time collecting a small pile of good titles. When he was happy, he flung himself onto the couch and thus passed the remaining daylight hours.

When Giles returned, he had the odd experience, once more, of not being able to keep a silly grin off his face. He'd had a very productive afternoon, and the thought of seeing Spike - touching Spike - engrossed him. He went to his room and deposited most of his packages, stoked the fire until it roared, then began a slow search for the vampire. He looked in most of the rooms he thought Spike might have holed up in but with no success. It was only as he was passing down the long central gallery, that he heard the distinctive crack of billiard balls. He grinned even wider and pushed open the double doors.

Spike heard the doors and sensed it was Giles, but kept his back to the door, and stayed bent low over the table. He knew he was in one of his most favourable positions, so maximised it by lifting one leg, as if taking a particularly difficult shot. When the warm body pressed against him, he smirked slightly. 'Hello.'

'Hello.' Giles slipped one hand around Spike to lay it over his chest. 'Miss me?'

Spike paused as if thinking deeply, wriggled back so Giles' hard bulge was evident between them, and said slyly, 'Missed that.'

'You'll have to wait.'

Spike spun around. 'Now.' He pouted.

Giles raised one eyebrow and produced what he was holding behind his back. 'So, you don't want this then?'

Spike fell on the old milk carton, which was filled with fresh blood. He drained the four pints almost without stopping, and Giles watched, fascinated, as a faint flush appeared on Spike's skin. When he'd finished, Spike wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. 'Still hungry.'

'There's more upstairs. I didn't know… err… how much you usually have a day.'

Spike grinned. 'Usually two blokes, ya know. But diddy bints? Maybe three of 'em.'

Giles blanched. 'Thank you for that imagery.'

Spike frowned. 'I've never got human bloody disgust with what I do. At least I fucking eat them! Least I don't just kill cus I like it an' leave perfectly good bodies!'

'So, you advocate murderers eating their victims as well, do you? To lessen the heinous nature of their crimes? I like that. Yes, I feel a letter to The Times coming on.'

'Pillock. An' where you bloody been all day?'

'So, you did miss me?'

'No.' His hand undoing Giles' button rather belied this. Giles took hold of the slim, steel-strong wrists and shook his head. 'Not in here, besides, we have to dress.'

'Dress what?'

'Dress for dinner.'

'You are bleedin' joking?'

'I've been out all day, Spike; it's my first night home - of course I shall have dinner.'

'No! I wanna go to a pub an' get rat-arsed an' vomit on the way 'ome an' shag 'til I'm sore! I am NOT gonna sit around with polite fucking talk and dainty food I can't bleedin' eat anyway.'

'You can eat; the talk will be as boring as you let it, and you are.'

Spike shrugged and turned away to continue his solitary game. 'Okay, but I'm not. I got nothing to wear.'

Giles came over to him again and placed a hand over the cue, preventing the next shot. 'You have now.'

Spike trailed up to the bedroom - more for the promise of sex than seeing what Giles had bought for him, but he thought it only polite to at least look in the bags. For someone who had only once before bought clothes for another man, and someone who had only had Totnes for choice, Giles had done a remarkably good job. Basically, he'd bought only black and white: three pairs of black trousers in a soft, fluid wool, and three white shirts of crisp, smooth cotton. To these basics, he'd added some tight-fitting T-shirts in subtle shades of navy and purple. Spike pursed his lips and let the stuff fall to the ground. 'S okay. But I'm still not going to any fucking dinner, and where's the rest of me blood?'

Giles sat on the edge of the bed and waved in the direction of the window where he'd placed the other milk cartons outside in the cold. As Spike retrieved them, Giles began to undress, until he sat naked in the warm light from the fire. He knew Spike was watching him out of the corner of one eye as he drank, and he also knew that the blood was not the only reason Spike had a distinct flush on his skin. Spike tossed the empty cartons onto the fire then came slowly over toward Giles. Giles nodded in the direction of a small bag, overlooked until now. Spike grinned and ripped into it and, incredulously, held up a bottle of vanilla and chocolate-scented body oil. He flashed Giles a look through lowered eyelashes and began to unbutton his shirt, as he came slowly toward the human.

'Dinner is at eight.'

Spike stopped and stared at Giles.

Giles gestured complacently at the heap of new clothes. 'Wear a white shirt, please.'

It took all of Giles' strength not to giggle at Spike's expression. He could almost hear the gears churning in the vampire's mind: capitulate and get a shag? Hold out on principle and not get shagged…? Hold out and get steaming in the pub…?

The bottle of oil dangled from Spike's hand and didn't help his dilemma. He glanced at it as he did his rapid calculations. Giles suddenly wondered what he'd do if Spike turned him down. Would he end up begging Spike? He thought he might, so much did he want to touch that body.

'The blue T-shirt.'

'No, the white shirt.'

'One under the other.'

Giles held out his hand. 'I get to put them on you.'

Spike took the hand. 'You get to take 'em off, too.'

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