They looked at each other for a long time, small, frozen snow figures, until Giles suddenly shuddered - not a shiver, but a deep, body-raking, bone-wrenching, shudder. His teeth slammed together, and then shot apart. He opened his eyes wide and became aware, for the first time since leaving the house, of sodden clothes, snow in underpants and human frailty. He saw bronchitis, flu and death, only a sneeze away and tried to move. He was so cold and so tired that he could hardly move at all, the snow now piling up into deep mantraps.
Spike shook his head and hefted the human effortlessly over his shoulder. He began to stride toward the house. 'Please, put me down. This is undignified.'
'Yeah. Like stickin' yer cock in me arse ain't, I suppose? Shut up, poof.'
Spike carried Giles all the way up to the bedroom, but by the time they got there, they were laughing so much he had to drop him in a heap by the fire. Winded slightly, Giles winced, and Spike fell to his knees, clutching his head. Giles grimaced but gave the vampire some privacy by beginning to strip out of his soaking clothes.
It was almost tropical in the room. Giles stretched to the heat and began to feel he'd cheated death.
He felt naked arms slip around his waist and something hard press into his backside.
'You need warmth, Human, just like I do. Everything needs to be warm. Don't stay 'ere, Luv. You'll… catch a cold or summat; I'll worry.'
His fake concern for human illness made them both chuckle. Spike turned him by the shoulders. Both naked, they stood toe to toe in front of the fire. Giles glanced down. Spike nodded. 'Yeah. I want you again. I wanna do it slow, this time. It was so new, so quick, last time - couldn't take it all in.'
Giles blinked slowly and sank to his knees on the old fireside rug. 'Here. So we can both feel the warmth.'
Spike lowered gracefully to his knees and captured Giles' face, running his hands around on the warming skin, diving to his mouth, opening him up, probing with his tongue. Giles moaned softly at the feel of Spike's erection as it left a cool trail of pre-cum on his belly where it swayed between them. He reached down, unseeing and caught it in one hand, just brushing the pad of his thumb over the soaking tip. He brought his thumb up and pressed it to Spike's lips, then his own, and they kissed again on the shared taste.
Giles sat back on his heels and glanced shyly up at Spike. 'Can I… explore a little?'
Spike actually appeared to blush, but Giles allowed that it could have been the amber light from the fire warming the preternatural flesh.
He slipped a hand between Spike's legs and hefted his balls in one palm. He used both hands to probe them slightly then stretched them up and watched the wrinkled skin smooth. Spike bent double and put his forehead to the floor for a moment. 'Bloody hell.'
'Sit up again? Please?'
Spike did and watched with flattered amusement as Giles took his erection tentatively in his hand. The human took a deep breath then bent and, even more hesitantly, touched the tip of his tongue to the bubbling precum - as if testing particularly hot soup from a spoon.
Again, Spike murmured, 'Bloody hell,' but, this time, leant back on his arms; the position was favourable for explorations, and he knew it. Emboldened by the taste of the salty cool fluid, attracted by the almost edible look of the smooth red cockhead, Giles licked experimentally across the whole tip. He was rewarded by a new surge of precum, and he lingered over its source, probing and nuzzling into the tiny slit. Spike began to moan and pushed him away gently. 'I wanna be in you when I come. Enough already.'
'Just look then?'
'Bloody hell. Bit embarrassing?'
Giles ignored him and softly lifted the erection even further so he could see its underside; then he began to ease the foreskin up, as if wanting to see that, too. Spike chuckled and held his hand still. 'Lie down now, Watcher. Watching's over.'
He went to the bed and retrieved the oil. He stood over Giles, oiling his erection up and down languidly. Lying on his back under him, Giles felt his anus begin to throb. He smiled. 'It's now confirmed: this is a spell. Snow on Christmas Day, and I'm throbbing in anticipation in places that can't physically do that.'
Once more, Spike was all grace, all fluid movement, as he sank to his knees between Giles' legs. He slid his oiled hands down the warm thighs and cupped them under Giles' knees, easing them off the floor, pushing them up and over, spreading the human wide.
Giles made a faint sound he meant as encouragement but that sounded, even to him, more like fear. Spike blinked slowly. 'Don't be scared, Pet. I'll get you ready.' Using one arm to hold the thighs back, Spike used his other to spread oil all around Giles' perineum and anus. When all was glistening, he used a finger to ease more oil into him. The penetration was so minute that Giles hardly felt it at all. Before he could protest, Spike pulled his finger out and began deep, oily palm rubs over his whole groin covering his flaccid penis, stiff wiry curls and soft, wobbly sac. It felt so good; Giles spread his arms to the delightful sensations. As soon as Spike sensed this relaxation, the finger was replaced; all was now soft, warm and ready. He played some more, easing oil in and out, in and out, until two fingers were as easy to push in as one.
Giles thought nothing could feel more erotic until Spike tipped the bottle, took a mouthful and bent. He placed his lips to the glistening hole and probed in with his tongue. When Giles parted to the insistent push, Spike tongued the oil into him. Giles tensed with automatic distaste, but Spike suddenly seemed to lose his cool, almost professional, control. He groaned; he grabbed Giles' thighs tighter and pushed his tongue frantically into him. He lifted the hapless human off the ground, eating into him with desperate fury. He touched Giles' sensitive spot with his tongue, and sharp jolts of pleasure made Giles cry out.
Once more, all control left them both. Spike took his penis in his hand and tried to push it into Giles. Giles tried to pull his legs higher and lower himself more toward Spike at the same time, desperate now for the penetration. Then Spike was in. He began to slide in and out. Giles couldn't hold his legs up, and they fell heavily to the floor. Spike put a hand to either side of Giles and braced himself as if doing push-ups, and then their eyes met. Giles panted out as best he could, 'Slow. Please, slow, so I'll remember.' With deep sadness in his eyes at the import of this ragged request, Spike nodded.
He dipped at the waist, and his penis eased in slowly. He braced his arms and slid out. It was so slow, so delicate. Every tiny ridge or vein on Spike's erection stimulated the fragile nerve endings around Giles' rectum. It began to throb deeply. He let his knees just fall open to the side, completely entranced by the sensation, and then Spike hit that exquisite place once again. Spike saw it in the human's face. Giles tipped his head back with a deep, grateful sigh and began to whisper, 'Oh, yess. Oh, yess,' over and over again each time the slow, deep thrusts worked him. His penis rose to the stimulation. His balls began their pre-orgasmic tightening. Spike slowed even more.
It was something Giles had never experienced: someone else controlling the timing of his orgasm, someone else dictating the pace. This simple thought, flitting across a brain almost devoid of other thought, made him open his eyes in wonder to the man braced above him. He looked at the strong, muscled arms. He looked at the tendons standing proud on a graceful neck. He looked at the flat, broad chest and dark flush of nipples, and he realised fully, for the first time, that Spike was a man. He separated the personality from the body. Another man was entering him; another man was bringing him to orgasm. It was almost too entirely out of character for him to contemplate. It only increased his sense of being trapped in some kind of spell: he was making love with another man.
Love. Giles' non-functioning brain continued to function. Love. This - this slow penetration, this joining of bodies, this eye contact, this soft murmuring, this pleasure - was nothing less than love.
So, Giles was thinking about love when Spike's slow movements began to speed up. He was thinking about love when the vampire started soft grunting. He was thinking about love when Spike swore loudly and shook against him, as if powerful currents sparked through his body. Cold fluid in his rectum made him think of love as well, but he thought about it most when Spike, having come to his own long, shuddering climax, bent to him and took his hardening penis in his mouth.
Giles entwined his fingers into Spike's long, mussed hair and held on as the vampire took him neatly to the back of his throat. When his hot tip grazed down the long, cool throat, Giles realised that his thoughts had moved on from love: he was hearing the jingle of a shop bell in his head and the swelling music of opening credits. As he pumped a long string of warm sperm into Spike's willing mouth, Giles was thinking that he wanted to be part of the show again.
Spike swallowed and eased himself up Giles' body until he lay on him completely. He cupped Giles chin and gently squeezed his cheeks. As the soft mouth opened, a cooler one came to it, and fluid passed between them. Spike tongued Giles' sperm back to him as he had earlier tongued the oil: so many subtle flavours, so much stimulation and so many thoughts.
Giles felt himself drifting away: intense physical activity all evening, the warmth, and his orgasm all united to send him into a deep, almost coma-like sleep. The last thing he remembered was the feel of Spike on top of him: hard, flat chest to hard, flat chest, swollen nipple to swollen nipple and flaccid cock to flaccid cock. His last conscious thought was that all this should anchor him to some important decision he had just made, the one that had come to him on that blissful climax.
When Giles woke later, Spike was no longer lying on top of him, and Giles could not remember what it was he knew he had to remember. It was all a blur.
He heard Spike moving around near the bed and turned his head. The vampire was fully dressed. When he sensed Giles was awake, he came over and straddled the naked body. He put a hand carefully on each side of Giles and leant down an inch from his face. A pair of stunningly intense eyes fixed him. 'Are you going to pack?' The voice was so soft that, even from this distance, Giles read the lips more than heard the words.
He held Spike's gaze for a long time, and the vampire had his answer. Slowly, Spike laid his forehead onto Giles'. He cupped a hand to the back of the human's neck and tipped him up for a long kiss. Giles felt the vampire nod fractionally into the kiss. He sat up straight and looked once more at body beneath him. 'I have to go now. It's a few hours until daybreak, and then I'll hole up somewhere.'
His tone was soft and sad, almost wistful, but as he made to get off Giles, he sank back down again and whispered, 'You'll regret this all your life if you don't come back with me.'
Giles reared up and caught Spike's face. 'You'll have endless lifetimes to regret this, Spike, if you don't stay!'
Spike shook his head, dislodging Giles' hands. With only one sharp, unreadable glance back over his shoulder, Spike swirled out of the dark room.
Giles lost the next three days just as effectively as if he had, yet again, drunk them away. Not a drop of alcohol passed his lips, however. He did vomit a few times but, again, this had nothing to do with alcohol.
He had listened to Spike running down the stairs, had heard the door open and close. Only when the cottage fell silent, only when the creaking, shifting and settling that always occurred were all there was to be heard, did he remember that he had considered returning to Sunnydale: that during that intense, loving climax, he had intended to tell Spike that he would return.
He flung himself up from the fireplace; he tore down the stairs; he raced out into the cold, starlit, snowy wilderness, and he caught hold of the vampire and stopped him leaving with an impassioned declaration of love - that's what he'd done in his imagination and his heart, anyway. In reality, in his rational life, he got up, took a very long bath, went back to bed and misplaced three days, grieving for a lost chance: something undefined, nearly taken, but utterly impossible.
On the fourth day, still ill, still grieving, a letter arrived. He was too confused at the speed of its arrival to open it at first, until he saw the postmark: Heathrow. Spike had posted it on the twenty-seventh, apparently whilst waiting for a plane. Giles ripped it open.
I'm a stupid pillock. I know it. What the fuck am I doing here when I could be there? I was gonna stay - just at the end there, when I was in you, I realised it was the only real warmth I need. But, shit, unless this is a spell or something - and I don't think that it is - then it just can't be the Giles and Spike show, can it? You know that too, don't you? Or am I totally fucking insane here? Can you really see us living out your life all cosy together in that cottage? Cus make no mistake, that's what would happen: there'd be no fun little Giles-induced Hellmouth. I'd probably turn into a sort of undead version of me before I got turned, and believe me, you wouldn't want that.
So, tell me I did the right thing. And yes, take that as a hint for a letter, if you want.
More than a hint then.
I had a bloody awful trip here, before you ask, and I'm anticipating a bloody awful one back. An' you know? I've not seen one sodding demon since I've been here - England that is, not Heathrow, cus this is a right funny place and even I can't tell here. So, anyway, that makes me feel somewhat better, yeah? No little demons for Spike to go out and play with. You wouldn't want that for me, would you?
Oh, fuck it. I do know I'd rather be there than here.
You were right, and so was I. I was stupid to think we could live here in some parody of A Gay Life - the very thought makes me shudder, but I cannot return to Sunnydale and be a shadow man again. I got tired of being the filler; I'm going for a staring role in my own life, Spike. I want to travel, research, think, write: all the things I never had the time, or the inclination, to do over there. We are not the greatest seafaring, exploring and empire-building nation for nothing, you know. We need something to achieve, something to do (if only to escape from our ghastly weather). But if it makes you feel any better - if this is going to upset you, by the way, don't read on - then when you were inside me, I wanted nothing else but that: shadow man, nothing man. It didn't matter; none of it mattered, and I didn't care. I just wanted you: the Spike Show with supporting character Rupert Giles.
I would have told you, but I fell asleep, and then rational thought returned.
I don't know what this is all about yet. I'm not as convinced as you that this is not a spell. I think it may be. What else could it be? My obsession for you only grows with distance.
Oh, and please don't keep these letters - in a ribbon or anywhere else. I'd really rather not think of them being discovered one day. By Buffy? God, by Dawn? Hah, by Angel…?
I keep yours, of course, but my life is not as exciting as yours.
God. None of this is what I wanted to say.
What have we done?
Exciting? You mean hanging by a bloody knife edge (?)
half the time.
Christmas made everyone cranky. Doughnut fell out with Shaggable (Xander Harris and Anya btw) - big surprise there, hey? Shaggable demon's done a runner, and the shop is closed - temporarily, I'd guess, she's too keen an eye for the dollars, that one.
Everyone's pissed at you, cus you didn't send any pressies.
And I don't know what we've done, either, only this fucking place is so bloody bright and hot (well, okay, it's not hot, but it's my bloody whinging argument, so I'll say what I frigging like) that I just want the darkness and all that coldness now.
And, bloody hell! is everyone boring! Even the demons are pissing me off, so why did I come back?
Giles ran his thumb over the initial thoughtfully and sat immediately to reply. It's what they did: swift, urgent letters. They'd managed to say all this, and it was still December. He stared out at the brilliant, sunlit snow, no trace of a vampire's sense of fun left on the smooth, deep covering.
It's snowed a lot since you left. More evidence of that enchantment you deny, I think. As you said: hardly England (especially Devon - snow on palm trees is a rather unsettling sight). But the trains have stopped running, so it seems a rather prosaic spell in some ways.
You sound lonely. But then I think you were that before I left? As I was, of course. God, this is such a bloody MESS. Maybe we should both leave where we are and start anew somewhere else. What do you think?
Spike had taken this out to read by the light of the moon. He was sitting on a tomb, smoking, angling the paper to the faint light when he heard Buffy. He'd not seen her since his return, so he folded the letter away and gave her a friendly nod. 'Slayer.'
She hopped up next to him. 'Good trip? See her?'
She gave him one of her best, withering looks. 'The mad hatteress? Drusilla?'
'Oh, yeah, Dru. No. Couldn't find 'er.' To divert her next question, he said quickly, 'Good Christmas?'
She pouted for a moment, looking down. 'It was so weird without Mom, ya know?'
Spike cursed inwardly at his stupidity but said, 'Yeah.'
She asked the question he'd feared. 'Did you see Giles?'
Spike kept to a life-long precept of lying but steering his lies to sail close to the wind of truth.
'Oh. How was he?'
Spike was not fooled by the casualness of the enquiry. 'Okay. The usual, I guess.'
'Is he coming…?'
'No. He's not.'
They sat in gloomy silence for a while, both deep in their own thoughts, until Buffy said sadly, 'I miss him so much.'
This so uncannily matched Spike's own thoughts that he started slightly but had the presence of mind to merely echo his previous, sagacious comment. 'Yeah.'
He looked around, looked at her and wondered - as he had been doing every minute of every day - what he was still doing in Sunnydale.
After a strenuous patrol, which they both needed to relieve pent up aggression and release demons of their own in the killing of others, Spike returned alone to his crypt. He set his jaw against feeling too acutely the loneliness this implied and began a reply to Giles. He grinned as he scanned the human's letter once more.
Transylvania? Cus then I'd have loads of little playmates,
and I might finally get me £10 dollars back, oh, and you'd be in your element
- so much watching to do. Alaska? Always fancied that 24 hour nighttime thingy.
Cool, yeah? For me, anyway. It's not really gonna work, is it Mate?
Nice try though.
Saw the slayer tonight. She's missing her mum and you about the same, I'd say. Shame on you. You up and leave her just now - just when she needs you.
And, yes, I am trying to make you feel guilty. Your suggestion was so bloody weak, I'd thought I'd try my tactics again.
With a sigh, he got it ready to post and sauntered through the relatively mild evening to the box. On the way back, he stopped in at the Bronze. Alcohol still featured prominently in his avoid-any-thoughts-I-don't-want-to-think tactics. He jerked back slightly, cursing when he saw the gang in a gaggle by the bar. Nevertheless, duty called, and he squared his shoulders and prepared to be given a hard time. He was surprised when the slayer turned to him with a huge grin. He didn't think much of her commitment to being depressed. Giving her a disapproving look, he slapped a note on the bar.
A warm hand covered his and a quiet, amused, cultured voice said, 'Let me.'
Other than a badly scrunched up ten-dollar bill, there was little to show the others that Giles' presence particularly affected Spike. He didn't speak, but then they hardly expected him to. Giles smiled at the silent, pale vampire and said quickly, 'This is not for good, Spike.'
Spike nodded - as if he were listening and understanding. Giles smiled fondly and repeated more forcibly, 'Not for good. I'm just here to sort the Anya problem: manage the shop until she decides to return.' He looked shyly down to the floor, and when he saw they were not being listened to anymore, he added with a slight grin, 'You could say, I'm making a guest appearance.'
Spike laughed, and when this did draw curious stares, he nodded to a quieter place. They collected drinks and drifted over to the stairs. 'You ought to be careful, Pet.'
'Well, guest appearances can lead to more, ya know? If you do a really good job, if they really like you, you'll end up as the star of the show.'
Giles chuckled. 'I'll bear that in mind.'
''S only if you do a really good job, course.'
'Any particular sort of job in mind?'
'What do you think?'
Giles slowly and deliberately raked his eyes down Spike's body, making the vampire smile shyly. Before he could comment on what he saw, a small hand appeared on his arm. 'What'ya'doin' over here with Spike?'
Giles turned to Buffy and smiled. 'Discussing the Drusilla debacle.'
'Oh.' She pouted. 'Come and talk to me.'
Spike desperately wanted to ask Giles where he was staying, fearing the reply would include numerous women and guest beds, when Giles said to Buffy, with a distinct edge to his voice, 'Did Xander put the cot into the training room for me? I'd like to turn in early tonight. I'm a bit jet-lagged.' He turned and twitched an eyebrow up at Spike, just in case he hadn't got the message.
Spike didn't bother to wait to hear Buffy's reply. He gave them both an English goodnight salute that he knew Giles would appreciate and swaggered out.
Just outside the door, he stopped and tilted his bed back to the night sky. He hadn't felt so good since this curious obsession with the watcher had begun. The anticipation of the coming night made his magical blood rise in his veins. It began to sing in his ears, whispering its evil desires. He grinned and strode off toward a likely cemetery to work up an appetite for the watcher with a few good kills. He was not disappointed, and by the time he reached the backdoor of the magic shop, an hour later, he was so wired, so hard, he could have pushed open the door without using his hands.
He had no need to test this thought; the door was slightly ajar.
Giles was training. He saw Spike arrive but finished some slow, careful moves. When he'd got them right to his own satisfaction, he put the sword carefully back into the cabinet and turned, wiping his face on a small towel. He smiled, came forward and, to Spike's surprise, offered him his hand.
Worked up, pulsing with need for this human, Spike shook the offered hand, bemused. Giles laughed at his expression, caught him around the back of the neck and pulled him into a friendly embrace. Too quickly, he held him out at arm's length, looked him up and down and said, 'How have you been?'
This reception wasn't what Spike had expected, and it yanked out what he had thought to be a firm rug from under his feet. Unsure now, unstable and falling, Spike did not feel confident enough of Giles to say or do what he wanted - what he had intended.
He pulled away and lit a cigarette, turning his body and his very obvious bulge away from the watcher.
Giles glanced at Spike's back with a small smile of satisfaction and said casually, 'What do you want to do?'
Before Spike could turn and make the most obvious suggestion, he added, 'Drink?' He watched with interest as Spike's back tensed.
'Well, yes, I thought maybe somewhere out of town - near the coast? I have a car.'
'Whatever.' Spike glanced back over his shoulder at Giles' training clothes.
Giles smiled. 'I'll change. I won't be a minute; wait for me outside?'
Spike frowned, seemed about to try to rescue the moment but only nodded and, confused, went out. Having wondered the whole week why he had come back, he was now beginning to question why he had left in the first place.