The Essential Spike - 3

Disappointment was too mild a word to describe how Giles felt when, some hours after dark, Spike had not appeared. Still, for the first hour or so, he continued to tell himself that this was all he was… disappointed. It was only as the fire died, and his empty paper started to mock him that he allowed his emotions freer reign. He felt played. It made him feel dirty, old, and naïve. He had toyed with the devil, and the devil had seduced him. He started to tidy his stuff away, trying to maintain his habitual reserve, but suddenly straightened, remembering a small piece of technology that gave him the upper hand with the devil. He grinned and left, slamming his door in a satisfactory way.

The cemetery was eerie but still and, although Giles kept a large stake in his hand, he made it to Spike's crypt unmolested. He looked at the stake for a moment before entering but left it at the door. No need to tempt himself too much. If he wanted it, Spike would not be able to prevent him fetching it. Although he knew he was invulnerable to Spike's unnatural strength and speed, Giles nevertheless felt a surge of tension course through him at the thought of the coming confrontation. It might not be the ripping he had been anticipating, but it had its charms nonetheless. Heedless of Spike's earlier annoyance at unannounced and unwelcome visitors, Giles pushed open the door.

The sight that greeted him was shocking. All his intentions, all his anger dissipated as he regarded the smashed tomb lids, the broken furniture, the scarred floor, and the smears of blood on the walls. He hurried down the stairs, following a trail of ripped and broken items. The lower regions were no better. There was little left that was recognisable. A whirlwind of destruction had decimated the crypt. Picking his way over broken glass and shredded clothing, he was immensely relieved to find Spike lying face down on the bed, unmoving, his hands buried under his pillow. He did not even bother to chastise himself for his rapid change of heart but, staking and punishment forgotten, sat beside him on the bed and stretched out a hesitant hand.

'Spike?'

'Go away.'

Spike's voice had none of its usual animation. It was flat and toneless, and this alarmed Giles almost as much as the destruction in the crypt. He was rather at a loss what to do. He had very little experience of giving comfort, but then he smiled slightly… what else had he been doing since coming to Sunnydale? He sat quietly on the bed next to Spike for a long time. Eventually, Spike repeated, 'Go away.'

It rather unnerved Giles that Spike could lie so still, tolerating his presence, and yet so deep in his own thoughts. A human would have reacted by now, moved, precipitated events, but this vampire lay… as if dead. Giles didn't like this thought, it reminded him too much of his earlier assumptions and somehow made him feel partially responsible for this state of affairs. He put his hand back to Spike's shoulder and began a soft circling of the tense muscle. Spike twitched him off and moved further away. 'Go away.'

'Wanting doesn't make it come true, Spike. Make me.'

'If I could, I would. Rub it in, why don't you?'

Giles was pleased. At least Spike was talking now. 'I suppose if I ask you what happened, you wouldn't tell me.'

There was no reply to this. Giles sighed and studied Spike. He appeared to be wearing the same clothes he had stripped out of the night before although, with Spike, this was rather hard to say with certainty. Suddenly, Giles saw a faint red stain on the pillow and, glancing down at the back of Spike's head, lifted the corner up. He winced at the injuries Spike had been hiding. His hands, so recently admired and delineated by Giles' pencil, had been smashed and broken to bloody pulps. The pain must have been extraordinary, even for a vampire, and, once more, Giles felt at a loss. Until this point he had assumed something else had done the damage to the crypt. He looked around, once more bewildered at the extent of the destruction.

After a few moments, Giles shifted so he was sitting against the wall and stretched out his legs. With a deep sigh of commitment to something he had not been looking for, he pulled Spike's slightly resistant head into his lap. He started a reflexive, thoughtful stroking of the surprisingly soft blond hair. When had desire been enhanced by caring? He did not remember the addition, but it was here now. He wanted to offer comfort and make right what was clearly so wrong, and the only thing he could think to do was this almost subliminal stroking of Spike's hair.

Once more a 'Go away' was uttered by a mouth now buried against Giles' thigh, but it was a much more hesitant and less certain command.

Giles only extended the length of his strokes so they took in Spike's neck and eventually his shoulders. Some time later, his hand moved down Spike's spine and, as he started to move it back up, Spike's tee shirt hitched loose. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for Giles' hand to slide inside and travel back up the distinct spine, warming the unnatural skin. He felt Spike tense slightly in his lap but did not stop his caress. He closed his eyes as his hand moved under the soft black material. He didn't need to be able to see Spike's back - every line, every curve, every ridge was fixed in his mind. As if he held charcoal once more, Giles started to shade in the muscles; he drew lines over the prominent shoulder blades; he highlighted the hollows of Spike's arms with his pale chalk. The cool skin seemed to warm under his hand as he had imagined it would, and he increased the friction. On one long stroke down, his hand connected with the waistband of Spike's jeans. Slim as the vampire was, it gaped, and it seemed even more natural than stroking Spike's back that Giles should slip his hand inside that irresistible space. Spike's backside was hard and almost flat. There was no sensation of movement from the cheeks as Giles caressed them. He smiled and realised he had made them slightly too fleshy in the picture and was glad he had been given this chance to feel them for himself. The crevice between the toned cheeks parted easily to Giles' probing touch. He hesitated as he felt the smooth valley that would run down to Spike's soft entrance.

Suddenly, Spike reared up. He punched Giles one hard, furious blow. Giles could not have said what shocked him more - Spike's attack, or that Spike's pain was clearly so much more than his - not only from the effects of the chip, but from the added damage to his hand. Spike seemed utterly heedless of either.

Alarmed, Giles half slipped, half tumbled off the edge of the bed, holding his jaw and replacing his glasses which had slipped. He staggered back against the wall as the vampire descended on him. The second blow connected with his stomach. Spike's cry made Giles wince more than the pain in his belly, and he tried to catch the vampire as he fell to his knees in agony. Spike only grasped the offered hand and bit it savagely. He tried to hold on and worry at Giles' flesh, but gagged slightly, and had to let go as the pain of giving pain made his gorge rise.

Giles came back hesitantly to the collapsed figure, and Spike placed one more, albeit weak, blow on his knee cap. 'Stop it!' Giles' voice was commanding, censorial, and it only seemed to reenergize Spike. He staggered to his feet and punched Giles once more, biting his lip half through as a new wave of pain hit him. Giles could not make Spike stop; he didn't want to leave, so he did the only thing he could think of... he hit back. Years of training Buffy had honed his fighting skills, and it was a hard, accurate, and extremely painful punch - but it was like connecting with marble, and he shook his hand angrily.

The blow was a waste of time; Spike took no notice of it, only punched Giles once more in the belly. Spike's scream of pain might have melted harder hearts than Giles'; it totally undid the bewildered watcher.

He saw another blow coming from the agonised vampire and had only one more tactic to try. He didn't allow any evidence of pain to cross his face, appear in his body, or leave his lips. Nothing; he made himself as if of stone and impenetrable.

It seemed to work. The light blow appeared to give Spike no pain so, unbelievably, the vampire tried it again, but Giles had now had enough. He grabbed Spike's fist and, straddling his back, twisted the strong arm up behind Spike's back.

Giles was strong and heavy and had the advantage of being able to bring a searing agony to Spike's brain if he wanted. Spike surrendered and lay face down on the floor, unresisting. Slowly, Giles stood up and sat on the bed, waiting for Spike to rise. It took a while, but eventually he gathered himself together and stood up, keeping his face averted.

'Just go, Watcher.'

'We've been here before, Spike. No.'

Suddenly, Spike turned, and what he had not been able to achieve with his fists, he achieved with his expression, for Giles felt fear and shock wash over him. Tear-streaked, agonised, Spike's face made Giles look down, ashamed.

The vampire's voice was quiet, but it was intensely accusatory. 'How could you, you cunt? What the fuck am I? An object? You come here, and see this....' He indicated the ruins of his home as if seeing it for the first time himself. 'You see this, and you fondle me?' He gritted his teeth, but continued as if against his will. 'I let you hold me... I reached out....' Spike glanced down at the bed where he had let Giles pull him into his lap. 'And you feel me up? I'm know I'm not human....' His voice caught and rose slightly in pitch, and he waited until he calmed. 'I'm not human, but I'm not an object. GET OUT!'

Spike shook with the frustration of not being able to make Giles go. He felt a killing rage descend on him at his impotence. That he should be brought so low in front of the food shamed him, but he tried to muster some dignity and turned away from Giles.

It was then he saw it once more... a piece of plaited leather in two-tone blue, bought to match a puppy's eyes by a friend who had seen a lonely vampire's attachment to a living thing. Ragged and strung out, it was too much for Spike. He picked it up and held in loosely in his hand for a moment and then, making a tight fist with one broken hand, he began to complete the systematic destruction of his home.

Overwhelmed by self-loathing, Giles could do nothing at first but watch helplessly.

Spike did not see Giles' eventual resolution of the problem, for, stomping and grinding some of his favourite books into the floor, he felt only the briefest of hard blows to the back of his head, before he fell into unconsciousness.

Spike woke some hours later to the knowledge that he was warm, comfortable, but that he had the mother of all headaches. He groaned, turned over, and found the overwhelming scent of the watcher permeating every inch of his soft resting-place. He cautiously opened his eyes and discovered that this was not surprising, for he was wrapped in Giles' bed in the soft light of an approaching dawn.

Even that tiny opening of his eyes caused his headache to sear further into his brain, and he pulled the sheet up over the pain and tried to go back to sleep. He didn't want to be in Giles' bed; he didn't want Fang to be gone; he didn't want to remember smashing up all his belongings and, most particularly, he didn't want to remember his rather effeminate, hormonal rant to Giles that he was not an object. On all counts, he had the distinctly nauseous thought that all he needed was to start a soddin' period and he'd have achieved the dubious status of being a total, fucking, bitch. He groaned again from his hiding place under the sheet and decided that he didn't really want much of anything, and that this was one of those times in his unlife when longevity held very little appeal.

Giles stood just outside the room, leaning on the wall to one side of the open door. He listened to Spike's awakening; he heard the unmistakable pain that he knew would be as much emotional as physical, and he longed to go in and offer comfort once more… but he knew he had lost that privilege now. He was a loathsome man. He had taken something that was in pain, and he had abused it. He closed his eyes to the memories of his hand slipping inside Spike's jeans and the feel of that silky skin under his palm. He had no right to think of it now, and he cut off the memories before they could give him any pleasure.

Giles' guilt had driven him to bring Spike back to his house; his concern had made him give up his bed, and his self-disgust kept him distant. He went downstairs and sat in the gradually lightening room, feeling old and tired. The eagerness and anticipation of only a few hours ago were all gone, and in their place came a weary depression of spirits he could not master. Eventually, he dozed off on the couch and did not hear Spike come down from the bedroom, or hear the domestic sounds of the kettle being switched on, and the fridge raided. He woke to the sensation of something hot touching his hand and opened his eyes to find Spike sitting next to him, grinning, holding a hot mug of tea on the back of his hand.

'Bloody hell! Ow!'

'Morning.' Spike's chirpiness utterly confused Giles. He sat up, rubbing his hair, and shifted some distance away, but he took the mug of tea with him. Spike stayed on the couch watching him closely. Giles did not want to look at him and kept his eyes averted.

'I'm sorry, Giles.' It was the last thing Giles expected Spike to say, and he could sense that the vampire was pleased with its effect.

'You're sorry? What did you do? I mean… why are you sorry, Spike? It's me.…'

'I lost it for a bit, and you were just there. I think I was a bit of a prat?' Giles had to smile at Spike's apparently fond hope that he might be contradicted on this. He shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment, leaning back in his chair.

'What I did was unforgivable, Spike.'

'By who?'

'Err, sorry? And whom, Spike, not who.'

Spike got up and began to pace the room in his habitual, restless manner. 'Whom can't forgive it? Not me… I kinda remember it in the spirit it was offered. So, forgive yourself, and it's over with… done.'

'But I didn't offer it in a kind or caring way; that's just the point.…'

'I never said you did, did I?'

To Giles' total astonishment, Spike came purposefully towards him. He took Giles' face in both hands, placed a hard possessive kiss on his lips, then pulled away, and said in an amused tone, 'You fancy me, and you just got a bit carried away… can't blame you for that, can I?' He grinned and walked jauntily back to the stairs. 'I'm going back to complete me vampire at rest impression. I'd love a cuppa if you feel like bringing me one in bed, ' and with that he sprung, two steps at a time, out of sight.

Spike made it to the top step, just out of sight, before he collapsed to his knees. He rested his forehead against the cool tiles of the floor, but this hurt his aching head too much. Standing up cautiously, one hand braced on the wall, he made his way back to the bedroom. He climbed into the bed and pulled the sheet up over his face once more. He half hoped that if he knew no one could see him, he wouldn't cry. He clenched his jaw, raised his eyes, and blinked.

It wasn't the bleedin' dog itself - not wholly anyway. It was what the dog had represented in Spike's 'life'. New beginnings, proof that he was more than the sum of his dead parts, someone to need him, something for him to practice needing… all this, none of it… anything… everything. Spike's feelings for the dog had been complex; he had not wanted to be forced to examine them like this… not when his head felt as if someone had filled his skull with a balloon, which they were blowing up inch by inch, the pressure increasing and the pain swelling exponentially. He was the Big Bad though, and big bad things did not feel pain, or if they did, they did not show it. He congratulated himself on his performance for the watcher and closed his heart to all emotion.

Giles tipped his head back and rested it against the old leather of his armchair. It was too much… too much contrast to the solitary life he normally led. He felt as if he were still trying to catch up to his conversation with Spike during the last sitting, let alone come to terms with the events in Spike's crypt. Just as he was coping with that, once again, Spike threw him a curve… and had he just been kissed? His mind registered suddenly that he had. How he wished he had not been caught so… unprepared. He'd had no time to savour it, no time to taste the vampire, no time to smell his unique scent, or to imprint all those impressions in his mind. He tried to recall them now, putting his tongue to his lips and licking delicately to capture a last remaining trace of Spike's lips.

Giles glanced towards the kettle and got up slowly to make the requested cup of tea. As he watched the steam rising from the spout, he raised his eyes in the direction of his bedroom. He thought about Spike; he thought about the vampire's kiss but, mostly, he wondered why Spike had made such an effort to fool him. He suddenly started to doubt the basis of the game they were playing. He had assumed that he had an evenly matched opponent, and that battles would be won or lost, but that the outcome of the war would remain uncertain to the last. He now felt very old, very wise, and so much more devious than Spike. Spike, it now appeared to Giles, had a streak of naivety and vulnerability he had never considered before.

He went over to his desk and took out the picture he had drawn of the naked vampire. He frowned as he looked at it. It could have been any naked man - albeit one in superb physical condition and with an unnaturally pale skin - but where was Spike? He had not captured the demon that had given him such a strangely endearing performance just now. He had drawn the very veneer he had wanted to crack open and explore.

Giles didn't destroy the picture, but placed it carefully back into the folder. It was a work in progress. He had captured the flawless shell; it was time to give it life and meaning.

Spike heard Giles come into the room and, surreptitiously, wiped his face with the sheet before emerging. 'Hey! Tea. Didn't think you'd have the balls, watcher.'

'I don't make tea with my balls, Spike, just water and milk.' Spike pouted and congratulated himself once more on his faultless performance. Giles sat beside him on the bed and put the tea onto the bedside table. He took off his glasses in a familiar gesture and pinched the bridge of his nose. Spike sipped his tea.

'Why are you putting on this front with me, Spike?'

'Eh?' Spike narrowly missed choking on the drink.

Giles pursed his lips, thoughtfully, and replaced his glasses.

'Why still the games, Spike?'

Spike turned to put his tea down, his mouth open to make a jaunty reply, when Giles unexpectedly laid a hand on the side of his pale face. 'Does your head hurt?'

Caught out, Spike could only nod weakly. Giles got up and went to the bathroom and took a handful of pills from one container, paused, took a large number from another, and returned to Spike. 'I assume human medicines work on you to some extent? Alcohol seems to.'

Spike took all the pills and crunched them as if they were sweets. He swallowed and swilled the remains down with the tea. Giles watched him closely. 'You should rest.'

'Why… you thinking I might need me strength later?' Never one to give up when he was losing, Spike volunteered what he thought was a lascivious look and winked.

Giles noticeably, and rather theatrically, shivered, slowly shaking his head in despair. 'Don't Spike. Quit while you're ahead, hey?'

Spike pouted a little. 'What?'

'You don't have to put on this endless bravado with me any more, Spike. We've both been… laid bare. You know things about me I would have kept private, and I know that you are so far from being the Big Bad now that….'

'Shut up.' Spike's voice instantly lost all its forced jocularity.

'Why? Afraid of the truth, Spike?'

'The truth! The truth! Oh yeah… what about the truth then, watcher! Had yourself a good feel, didn't you… like that truth?'

'Bravado then deflection, Spike. Clever.'

'Shut up!'

'Bravado, deflection, immaturity! Anything else?'

To Giles' intense embarrassment, Spike suddenly twisted his face away and blinked once or twice, tipping his head back. 'Please, watcher, go away, hey? I'm a bit shagged... head 'an all.'

Full circle, crossroads… could he get it right this time?

Giles reached out to try.

He laid a hand on Spike's face once more. 'Lie down, Spike… it'll be gone soon.'

Keeping his face averted and his back turned, Spike slid down the bed. His shoulders were tense and Giles longed to knead and work them. He risked a tentative touch, and Spike did not flinch. He made himself comfortable alongside the edgy vampire and started to soften the unforgiving back. In pain as he was, Spike clearly enjoyed the easing of his tension. He wriggled his shoulders lightly under Giles' touch and, eventually, turned on his belly to give Giles better access to his back. Giles stilled his hands for a moment and sat back on his heels. 'Do you trust me enough for this, Spike?'

They both knew he was referring to earlier exploratory hands. Spike turned his face to one side and gave a small, genuine smile. 'Can I?'

'Yes, Spike, you can.'

Spike gave him a quick glance over his shoulder. 'Damn.'

Giles laughed, and they both realised, with pleasure, that the game had resumed. Boundaries had been renegotiated, rules had been altered, and some cards had been laid face up on the table and shared.

'Just go to sleep, Spike. Oh, by the way, I've knocked a hundred dollars off your debt for my disgraceful lapse last night.'

Spike grinned. 'Huh. Cheers.'

Giles chuckled. 'Then I added ten back for each time you hit me, and twenty for the bite, so we're back up to two hundred again.'

'Hey! Two sittings.…'

'Yes, very well, one hundred and sixty.'

'I only hit you properly five times, so, with one bite, that's a hundred and fifty!'

'Head getting better I take it.'

'Enough to know when I'm being screwed, and hey… feel free to touch me up any time… for a hundred dollars, you can lick my arse if you want to.'

'Don't sell yourself cheap, Spike. Some people would pay… oh, at least a hundred and five to kiss your ass.'

'Yeah, well, I'm kinda tired… not at me best for… negotiating….' Good as his word, Spike fell deeply asleep under Giles' hands.

Giles watched him for a moment, wondering how long the sleeping pills would be effective. He gave Spike a tiny, fond pat and climbed off, making his way downstairs. He had a long day ahead.

Giles finally finished just before sundown and returned home pleased with his day's work, but anxious and distracted by his discoveries. He opened the door and thought for one minute that Spike had rained a storm of destruction on his possessions as well. He had in a way, but as Giles looked around in shock, he saw subtle differences to this destruction. The fridge was standing open and milk cartons were spilt and dripped onto the floor. The microwave was smoking slightly, and an indefinable object was burnt onto the revolving table. There was food scattered everywhere, and a trail of crumbs and split substances lead up the stairs. Like a child in a fable, Giles followed the trail warily. He stepped on something that crunched under his feet, and looked down to see small white objects randomly decorating the floor. Pills, whether pain relief or sleeping tablets (or something else) Giles could not immediately determine. Half way up the stairs, there appeared to be a sort of... he could only describe it as a nest. He kicked lightly at blankets, which were lying next to a cereal bowl half full with something mushy. A spoon lay licked and discarded next to the bowl, and cast off black jeans and a tee shirt were placed as if sitting on the stairs sharing the feast.

He continued into the bedroom and found Spike naked, face down on the bed with his head hanging off one side. He appeared to be trying to shake hands with something on the floor that was not there. Spike heard Giles come in and attempted to turn over, but he was twisted in the sheets and gave up the effort, lying with just his face turned towards the door. Giles could only describe him as... sort of awake. He was languid; his eyes were unfocused. Moving closer, Giles heard Spike murmur a quiet 'Hey,' but he continued to look bemused at his hand.

'What are you doing, Spike?'

'Why'd ya always reach out for me? Look.' Spike's voice was soft and slightly slurred. He stretched out once more, as if to direct something, then snatched his hand back annoyed.

Giles went in the bathroom and studied the raided medicine cabinet thoughtfully. He wasn't even sure himself what he had had in there... some of his old friends had interesting hobbies. There were pills and capsules scattered everywhere as if, like in a kid in a candy store, Spike had tried and discarded the range available. Giles sighed and went back to the bedroom to cope with a stoned vampire.

Stoned vampire had managed to turn over and was lying spread-eagled on the bed. Giles hissed slightly and covered Spike with a sheet before he had time to think, but the picture stayed in his mind as if he had looked at a light so bright it had burnt its image onto his retinas. He recalled it and studied it for a moment. The nest of curls had been as dark as he had pictured it; Spike's penis was pale - surprising really, for he was clearly erect - and that tantalising drop of precum that Giles had planned to capture with clever shading was as bright and as illusive as he had wanted it to be.

Spike giggled at Giles' manoeuvre with the sheet. 'Why'd'ya do that, watcher? I'm gonna shag ya.'

'Hmm…. ' Giles sat on the bed beside Spike and, laying a hand on the sharp cheekbone, turned Spike to face him. His eyes were utterly unfocused. 'What have you done, you stupid child?' Giles could not have rightly said why he called Spike that; it just seemed so appropriate, as he held the drugged face in his hands.

Tears pricked the corners of Spikes' eyes, and he tried to wipe them away, but missed, and his hand hit his ear. 'It hurt, and dey tasted good.' Spike put his hand up to Giles' face with more success. 'Kiss me.'

Giles pulled away fractionally but smiled. 'You are stoned and are therefore not in your right mind - if you even have one of those - so I most certainly will not.'

'Nah... this is me right mind Rupshet... Ruperd... Giles... he's the wrong 'un....'

'Who, Spike? Lie down, and let go of my face.'

Spike giggled, as he lay down and held Giles surprisingly tightly around the back of the neck. ''Im... the big bad... that fucker.... He's the wrong 'un... this's me. And me wants 't kiss ya.' Good as his word, he pulled Giles' lips down to his own and held them against him with the force of both hands. Giles was expecting a drunken, inexpert, rather slobbery kiss; he was shocked by his own arousal when soft, smooth, cool, and sweet-tasting lips brushed his in a deceptively platonic way. It deceived him only for the time it took Spike's tongue to slip out and lick across Giles' lower lip. Opening his mouth in an automatic response, Giles was claimed. Spike pulled him right into the bed onto his back and twisted so he lay over him. The slim, naked vampire draped across him, making no movement with his body, but possessing him with his mouth.

Spike opened his mouth wide to Giles, forcing his tongue in to explore the soft, warm, human walls. He took off Giles' glasses, and that small removal shed some of the watcher's reserve. He responded to the kiss and opened his mouth to the vampire's passion. Giles' hands crept around to Spike's backside and clamped on each hard buttock. He dug his fingers in, trying to grind Spike more to him. Spike lifted his face from the kiss and grinned lopsidedly. 'Yeah, baby, squeeze me.'

Rather ruining the mood Spike obviously thought he was creating, Giles spluttered… amused at the choice of words. Spike wrinkled his forehead, seemed to be trying to compose a coherent reply but finally shrugged and with a slurred, 'Whatthefuck, I cun still shag,' he returned to Giles' mouth.

Giles lay supine under the vampire, studying his own reactions with interest. He didn't feel committed emotionally to what was happening. He was enjoying it in a detached, observant way - even in a physical way, but no… involvement. He smiled into Spike's kiss, curious to see where this vampire would take his desire. He could see his sketch being filled in with intriguing highlights, as Spike's veneer cracked. He pushed Spike away a little, 'So, where is the big bad then - if he's gone?'

Spike giggled once more and rolled off Giles to prop himself up on his hand. He couldn't quite coordinate this manoeuvre, so laid his chin on Giles belly and peered seductively, if a little unfocused, up at him. 'He's not gone, lover, e's squished.'

'Squished?'

'Yeah.' Spike hit at his own breast. 'Under 'ere, with William.'

'Ah. So you're not William either?'

Spike gave him an incredulous look then tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially. 'Nah, but don't tell 'em all, will ya?'

Giles shook his head and let his gaze travel once more down the flawless vampire's body. He turned so he was lying on his side, displacing Spike's head. The movement made Spike turn onto his back once more.

With no sheet to cover him this time, Giles could not suppress a hiss of desire at the vampire's visible state of arousal. He felt Spike searching for one of his hands and forming it into a fist around the pale, thick shaft. He resisted, but realised with an amused self-deprecating smile, that the resistance was only in his head - his body responded freely and naturally to the intensely intimate moment. Spike folded his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling. 'S'good.'

'Really?'

'Well… do summit then. Wan' me ta show ya?'

Giles twitched up his eyebrows and taking his hand off Spike's penis replied 'Yes,' quite quietly, but with an intense, barely-suppressed desire. He sat back and watched as Spike's fingers took the erection lightly by the tip. Spike worked his foreskin expertly, rolling it off the cockhead, rubbing his thumb over the exposed soft knob. Without disturbing Spike's self-absorbed pleasure, Giles reached quietly behind him and produced a notebook and pencil from his drawer. Spike was irresistible. Giles focused on the erection, capturing the contrast of shadow and light from the hair and skin tones. He caught the strength and urgency, and the way the slim fingers worked their magic on it. He sketched only as far as Spike's nipples and down to his knees. The whole focus of the eye was on that exposed, worked penis. He knew this sketch would not add any subtle dimensions to his study of the vampire's character, but he wanted it nonetheless. He glanced up at Spike and felt a shiver trickle down his spine when he saw he was being watched.

'S'yer duster, luv.'

Giles paused. 'What?'

'Keeps ya 'way from everythink - like me duster. Ya shud let yer self go 'bit.'

'Like you?'

Spike chuckled. 'I'm swingin' on the moon, pet, but yeah… just close yer eyes an' go fer it.'

Giles laid down his sketch. 'Go for what, Spike. What exactly do you expect me to do?'

Spike put a hand gently to Giles' face and slipped his thumb into the warm mouth. 'How's about that tongue bein' yer pencil fer a change?'

Spike played idly with the tongue, rubbing his thumb on it, teasing the tip, and then gradually, inch-by-inch, he pulled Giles down so his face was on his smooth, cool chest. Giles found one small, soft nipple right under his tongue, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to shade it in. He swirled round and round, able to feel it harden and peak to the touch of his new, intimate pencil. He felt his detachment peeling away. His balls started to tingle, and he licked the skin over Spike's ribs tentatively. It was so cool, so flawless. He wanted more. He kissed down Spike's belly towards the soft hair. Spike put his other hand to Giles' head, guiding him lower. He murmured soft, incomprehensible, slurred encouragement to the exploration. Giles lifted his head up and watched, as Spike exposed the tip of his penis with each stroke of his fist. Giles decided it wasn't as deeply pink as he wanted it and ran his chalk across the tiny slit. Spike gasped at the heat on his cool flesh, and Giles added hard, experimental colours, rolling over the knob and its ridge, slipping in under the foreskin to add relief there.

Still detached, still remote, still not able to accept what he was doing, Giles was unprepared for Spike to give one huge shudder and send a load of cum against his face and over his tongue. He pulled back and watched as Spike writhed, milking the last drops of his orgasm, unconcerned about Giles' presence, unheeding of his audience - centred, focused, and relieved.

When Spike was finished, his hand stilled on his penis, and he let a smile play on his face. ''S'at's better.'

Giles was about to comment but saw, with fond amusement, that, once more, Spike had fallen deeply asleep. Giles sat back and put a hand to his face. He wiped some of the cum off, closing his eyes to savour it in his mouth. He had not tasted sperm for a very long time, and it evoked memories of such exquisite delicious pain that his whole body was suffused with the remnants of his dark power: pounding bodies, incantations, blood-rites he had indulged in… all evoked by the taste of the viscous, salty fluid in his mouth. There had always been pain; there had always been blood; there had always been the ripping of flesh, before the pleasure of release…. He took a deep breath. His hand crept down to his crotch. He released his own straining erection and, without any detachment, with full, intense concentration and desire, he opened his eyes, feasted them on Spike's body, and worked himself to the taste of Spike in his mouth. It had been so long. He was so tight and so ready for release. He put a hand on Spike's chest and leant over him. He felt the rush, felt the cresting over the edge of promised pleasure and, with a gasp, emptied himself over Spike's flaccid penis. He shuddered as he came and moaned from the intensity. He continued to pump out; the soft plops of cum landing on Spike, glistening on his dark hair and running off his slim flanks. Giles kept his eyes fixed on the tip of Spike's cock, imagining rolling it around in his mouth, bringing Spike off, pushing his tongue into the tiny slit... until he felt himself start to soften. As he collapsed back on his heels, he tried to make Spike cum in his mouth but could not extend the fantasy beyond his own sweet relief.

Giles staggered off the bed and went into the bathroom. He brushed the mess off the sink and bathed his face and hands. He did not look at himself in the mirror, but turned away and, with a sigh, went to clear up the living room.

He made a desultory attempt before collapsing in a chair. He tipped his head back and went through the events in the bed from finding Spike stoned to his own powerful orgasm. He smiled. They'd had a brief respite from the game, and it had felt good. Giles glanced sadly back up the stairs and briefly considered the contents of his bathroom cabinet. He wanted to let himself go. He wanted to be uncontrolled, uncaring of the consequences of his actions… but he was the watcher. It's what he did - watch.

He clenched and unclenched his fists for a while, trying to release the tension in his body. He still felt the old power and desire coursing through him; he could almost hear the ancient whispered magics taunting him. He let the voices stay, for he had need of all his courage, all his power now… wherever it came from. He could not afford to feel fear, so ignored the slightly sick feeling in his belly, and the tiredness behind his eyes. He got up and went to his coat, taking out a small slip of paper with a telephone number on it. Listening briefly to ensure that Spike was still asleep, he dialled the first of the numbers he had been given at Willy's Bar.