"There you are. I've missed you."
He closes the door behind him with a small smile on his face. The room is quiet. It is early summer and the days are steadily getting longer. But although it is still light outside, no sunlight enters this room and the white walls and the sparse furniture are bathed in grey dimness. Still, the body on the bed manages to shine almost as if lit by moonlight.
Eyes lock as clothes are being discarded. Trousers are carefully, but quickly folded and placed on a hanger. The rest of the clothes are carried out into the bathroom, and placed in the laundry basket.
As he re-enters the bedroom, lungs fill with deep breaths of air, unneeded and needed. Blood pumps into his heavy cock, fills it and raises it. The throbbing sensation gives him a sense of vibrant youth.
The mattress dips slightly as he sits down next to Spike.
The stunning, preternatural being is lying naked before him, already panting slightly in anticipation. He is all ready for him. He strokes Spike's arm fondly.
A plug is inserted into that wonderful, smooth entrance and he knows that all he has to do is pull it out and Spike will be open for him. It is a heady thought.
He knows too, that Spike is slicked thoroughly. The vampire is always ready for sex when he comes home after work. Knowing that entails a sense of delicious naughtiness. It is quite a turn-on. It is also rather nice not to have to spend time on rimming and loosening and preparing after a long day of difficult and tiresome work. Of course, foreplay with Spike is hardly an unwelcome task.
He moves his hand and slides it over the leg nearest to him. It is beautiful. Strong and slender. Cool muscles quiver at his touch, and the sight makes him feel even more aroused. His heart rate accelerates.
His fingers glide over the sharp, delicate-looking knee, along the surface of the high-strung thigh, squeezing the flesh hard in the wake, knowing that Spike does not mind a little pain. Digits skim over short, golden hairs, and journey slowly upwards, brushing against the softness as they do so. He presses him hand down in the firm skin, palm inside first and slides it up and then back down again with the back of his hand. Silky-soft, short hairs, barely there and yet, so very male. The skin on the inner thighs is almost hairless, and soft, and smooth to the touch. He sighs happily.
Up, up, up his hand travels again, until it rests between the vampire's spread out legs, already bent for his perusal. His fingertips ghost over the shaved balls. Feel them, stroke them lightly and fondle them. The sack hardens and wrinkles, and Spike shifts a bit on the bed, whimpering slightly.
He grins in response and clucks his tongue at the restless vampire before resuming his caresses. Gently, he palms the ball-sack, weighing it in his hand.
Like everything else on Spike, it is perfect.
"So soft and full," he whispers and bends forward. The wet noises from his kisses as he presses lips and tongue to the musky-smelling skin are followed by responding, guttural moans from Spike's throat. The mattress' metal springs beneath them groan, as Spike arches his back up and slightly to the side while he on his side keeps on kissing and licking relentlessly. He gently worries the skin as he growls in a small mimicry of a hungry dog and huffs out a breath of mirth as Spike shudders and groans. Spike is so responsive. It is irresistible and incredibly hot.
He lets go and kneels up between Spike's legs and pulls out the plug. Spike makes a raw sound deep in the back of his throat. That throat, which is now like his entire body, coated in a sheen of sweat. As Spike ends his moan and swallows, so does he, momentarily, stop his motions. There is something altogether fascinating about watching Spike swallow. The way the Adam's apple bobs inside that long, beautiful, almost aristocratic throat. He bends down and kisses Spike's neck with fervor. Continues down and licks the tiny drops of sweat gathered in the indentation at the bottom. Savors the clean taste of his vampire lover.
He pushes himself back up on his knees and gazes down between Spike's bent legs. Spike's hole twitches and glistens invitingly between his widespread limbs and he can see the outline of Spike's buttocks clenching and unclenching in anticipation. He inserts first one, then after a while, two fingers into the pouting sphincter, and gives Spike's prostate some clever attention although he can hardly wait to simply take the vampire. Again, Spike arches his back and makes an unintelligible, almost garbling sound while his long cock hardens under the thorough ministrations that he is being submitted to.
Good lord, but Spike is sexy. It is almost unbearable. He licks the fingers on his free hand and massages Spike's rigid cock, spreading the pre-come and spittle round and round in lazy, twirling motions while simultaneously rubbing the sensitive area inside the vampire, making Spike twist and turn.
He can feel his own cock twitch a bit too eagerly from the lovely sight and because of the sounds of Spike's growing arousal he cannot wait any longer.
Abruptly, he pulls out his fingers and scoots down. He lines up and pushes into Spike in one forceful thrust and is unable to withhold his own growl of satisfaction. Spike mewls.
God, but Spike is perfect. He feels so good. So right. And he is what he needs. What he always needs these days, and he mourns the fact that he did not have this relationship with Spike years ago. He begins to move inside the vampire in deep, steady thrusts.
Spike's hands clutches the bedding and the tendons in his long neck stand out as he tries to accommodate the big cock now pumping in and out of his body. It might hurt a bit despite the plug and the preparations. He knows full well that he is quite big. But if anyone can take it, it is Spike and he does, and he does it beautifully.
He looks at Spike's face as he begins to fuck him harder. The way the vampire's brow furrows, the way his eyes squeeze shut, and the way he pants through his nose, and whimpers and shakes. God, he is so amazing. He loves watching him. He cannot imagine ever going another day without him. His eternally youthful, and utterly fuckable vampire.
He cannot recall having felt more satisfied in his entire life, and he falls asleep with a smile on his lips with Spike lying right next to him.
Part 2
It has beenanother upsetting day at work. His colleagues argue against his every opinion and question his actions, pointlessly and repeatedly. Some of them seem to be talking about him behind his back, which is ludicrous. Worse, it is unsettling, and it rattles him to the core. He is a competent man; always has been. Incessantly striving to do what is right. This has been who and what he is for nearly all of his adult years, and were it not for him, there might not be a world to live in. Granted, he has never saved the world singlehandedly, but he has certainly provided the means for others to do so.
And they all know that, and rather should be aware of it. Instead of making him feel unnerved or stressed, they should appreciate him and show him the respect he deserves. He knows he deserves it. Everyone makes mistakes.
At times, he almost wants to shout from frustration and hurt. Naturally, he does not. Besides, it always helps when he gets back home to Spike. Now he lies, feeling sated and spent and almost able to block out worries and regrets. Next to him lies the vampire in their huge king-sized double bed.
Once again, Spike has graciously taken the blunt of his frustrations from another grueling day at work, but he nearly wishes Spike did not have to. Wishes he did not feel like it was necessary.
Spike's slender body is covered in welts and bruises, a bit of blood and semen. Their spendings are mingled on Spike's sculpted stomach. If he had not made Spike come as well, he would have felt downright awful right now. Of course, all of the injuries are minor and will be gone in a day or two. Besides, he knows full well, that vampires like to play with whips and paddles and that Spike by nature wants to be on the receiving end. There is no need for feeling bad about any of it.
Still, he truly does not want to hurt Spike this way.
Unfortunately, sometimes he cannot help himself. And Spike takes it, and takes it. Today though, he has been overstepping unspoken limits. He is the only one setting the rules as Spike is not going to stop him. Spike is a perfect sort of lover in that sense. His own personal, soothing outlet for grievances of any kind. It is perhaps not a role the vampire always relishes, but on the other hand, who is to tell? For what it is worth, Spike has become his sole raison d'être.
Part 3
At first, he can hardly breathe. He gets violently ill right after receiving the news. Wishes he could simply vomit everything out of him, even his life, but of course he cannot. Nothing has ever hurt this much.
Then come days covered in grey. He is going through the motions without truly registering what is happening around him and without any interest in trying to do so. Pointless details swivel around him and why should he bother whether a document thought lost has finally been retrieved, when the world as he knows it, has shattered?
He keeps hearing a nagging voice inside his mind: "Third time's the charm – Third time's the charm." He is quite aware that it is not real. And yet it persists. He wants to tell it to shut up and let him be.
He wants to strangle whoever is mocking him thus.
He wants to break something. He wants to turn back time.
He wants a lot of things. He cannot have any of them.
There is important work to do no matter if his heart is whole or not, and his inbred sense of obligation prevents him from shutting down entirely.
Before it happened, he was trying to create a new and better council. Things were moving in the right direction although finding the right people has been far from easy. As it turned out, they did not quite succeed. But back then he used to be optimistic despite the fact that most of new council staff members are inexperienced. The majority of them have not been schooled previously within the field, and the ones who knew about the council before only do so due to relations to former Watchers. They are mostly somebody long dead's favorite niece or another's spoiled grandson.
Their relatives must have fed them spoonfuls of sugarcoated stories, as they all seem to believe that they have entered an exotic and exiting world in which they play a crucial part. They believe the council is a like a magic branch of MI5, FBI or that they participate in a supernatural drama called CSI Great Britain.
As they learn more, they become disappointed when they figure out that the work mostly consists of extensive research behind desks in dark offices, studying, translating, and cataloguing old scripts. Some leave within a few months. Yet, most remain. It's hard to find work these days.
There are still a few active and competent watchers alive around the world. Every one of them has long since been assigned to some of the more talented slayers. The watchers are all far too rare and they are all needed out in the field. Which is why he had sent her to North Africa by herself in the first place. He knew that she could cope all alone if anybody should. Basically, he had believed that he had sent her off for a small vacation in the guise of a mission. He knew how she missed the sunny Southern California weather.
He has got no one to talk to, and truth be told, he does not want to say much to anyone anyway. He has told the kids to leave him alone and they mostly have. Most of the time he just wants to give up and stop living entirely. He is more alone than he has ever been in his entire life and he deserves to be.
Then one evening, he comes. Of all people, he comes. The vampire. He knocks on Giles' front door and stands shivering outside the doorstep with rain pouring down his foolish, bleached hair. Asks if he can come inside? If Giles will please talk to him?
He shifts a bit on his booted feet when Giles does not respond immediately.
The rain makes it seems as if the vampire has tears in the eyes. He looks the very picture of despondency. Giles' own cheeks are dry as parchment. They have been ever since it happened.
For no good reason that he can discern, he steps back and invites the vampire in.
Spike is sitting in his kitchen. His long coat is hanging in the hallway still dripping on the carpeted floor, and his short hair is starting to get dry. Instead of slicked back, it is a mass of white curls. But his cheeks are still wet no matter how many times, he reaches up and wipes them off. Giles comes over with two cups of steaming tea in his hand. As he quietly sets one on front of Spike, the vampire looks up at him with those innocent looking blue eyes and thanks him. Giles frowns and sits down.
Spike begins talking and Giles does not want to hear a word out of that mouth. But he does not say so and sips his tea. Spike tells him that he is aware that Giles never thought much of him. "That should be pretty obvious from the Wood incident, right?" the vampires jokes but neither laughs. Spike continues his soliloquy. Something about Giles never trusting him. How he can understand that looking back.
Giles narrows his eyes and sips his tea, wanting to replace it with something stronger. He does not care about what Spike has to say. He wonders how Spike would react if he really knew how Giles feels about him? After all, distrust is hardly the description, he would use himself.
He half listens silently but nearly chokes, when Spike has the audacity to say that Giles should know that Spike doesn't blame him for Buffy's death.
A vampire is absolving him of guilt? He responds only by pressing his lips together. He can feel them become white and numb. Inwardly though, he is outraged. Spike does not understand what is happening or is too absorbed in his own thoughts. He goes on and on talking. He tells him that he has often thought about Giles in these past years. Thought about the misgivings each of them have had towards one another. How foolish that is, when both of them probably have more in common than not and when both are fighting the good fight. Giles raises his eyebrows at that declaration. Besides being born in England, he can see no resemblances between the two of them.
He sips some more at his tea and lets the vampire continue as his own mind goes darker. By now, Spike is divulging how he is convinced, that Buffy would have wanted the two of them to make peace. Perhaps even to become allies? Not friends of course but helping each other out? Working together? Giles can feel the beginning of a tick in his upper lip.
He stares blankly at Spike who seems to finally catch somewhat belatedly on . He seems to realize Giles' frame of mind and his initial reaction to Spike's suggestion of a partnership. But despite the panic showing in Spike's eyes for a second, it is evident, that the vampire has taken it far too far already and is incapable of stopping. Just like a child digging a hole too deep to get up from.
By now the vampire is whispering how she, if she had known that Spike was around, how she would have wanted for something nice like that to happen.
"Don't you think she would have liked that, Giles? You and me, battling evil? What do you say? Think we could give it a go," asks the creature in a pathetically hopeful voice. Still, it is plain to see that he expects to be rejected, as he should be.
Even so, an air of that typical, stubborn and self-righteous determination of Spike's seems to run through him. He looks at Giles, pleading for - what? Agreement? Reassurance? Forgiveness? Giles doesn't know and he doesn't care. What he wants to do cannot be said out loud. Minutes tick by and he watches dispassionately as Spike's inhumanly perfect face finally crumbles and the light in those blue eyes wink out. He stares impassively as the demon bends his head and begins to cry quietly, looking like a real man twisted in sorrow.
That's when Giles finally begins to feel something deep inside his dead heart but utter disregard.
It feels nice to watch Spike give up. Gives him a strong sense of satisfaction. And this epiphany brings in a torrent of emotions. It is not quite like an out-of-body experience. At least, not like the ones, he has read about when studying autoscopic hallucinations and yet it most definitely resembles the phenomenon. Suddenly his body doesn't quite feel as if it belongs to him. Every noise and every colour in the room return full scale. The walls are blue, not grey. The lamp is yellow. The kitchen is cold, the tea smells sweet. The creature in front of him is an abomination.
Hidden, suppressed emotions come rushing back: Regret. Sorrow. Resentment. Hatred. Anger. It is almost dizzying for a few seconds, but he welcomes them. He's been holding them down for far too long. Then rage such as he's never known it before surges through him. It almost manages to block out the vampire's meaningless low sobbing.
He stares at this demon, and hates the sight of him. To think that this creature believes that Giles would be in need of his forgiveness? Of his aid? That this possessed, pale body belonging to a man long dead, believes that he knows or knew Buffy's needs and wishes better than Giles did? That he wants to work with Giles as if his cooperation could counter the fact that Buffy is not? It is completely unbearable. In fact, it is so flat out misguided it nearly chokes him. Spike, a bloody demon who's slain thousands of innocent victims, is sitting in his home at his kitchen table alive, while Buffy Summers, the only truly good thing to ever happen in Giles' life remains dead, blown to bits and pieces.
He polishes his glasses, while the vampire weeps and once they are spotless, he counts the stripes on the wallpaper behind the vampire trying to regain control of his emotions. Seventy-three vertical, light blue broad lines. He counts them twice to be sure. Oh, his wall clock has stopped working. There is dust everywhere. After a while, he is able to calmly get up and leave the table. He can hear the vampire's intake of breath as he exits the room. A pitiful hitching sound like a small child whose mother has just him that he is unwanted. What a mockery of actual human feelings. He has to end this obscenity now.
He returns to the kitchen with a syringe in hand. It is filled with the same serum which Xander used in the tranquilizer darts from his time spent in Africa. Giles has been storing quite a bit of the serum in his refrigerator ever since just in case. The darts and the sedatives were officially a means to keep Xander safe from local wildlife. As such, Xander was able to bring the drugs through country borders and aircraft safety controls. But in actuality, the fluids were much more potent, and meant as protection from demons of any kind. The drugs had been both effective and practical. Apparently what would take out an elephant bull for a good long while, would take out any demon as well so Xander had been doubly protected.
Without any warning, Giles pumps the syringe and its contents straight into the guileless being's back.
Even while he is injecting the fluid into Spike's body, he doesn't quite understand why he doesn't just stake the vampire and be done with it? But there it is.
"What the hell?" Spike manages to say and jumps up and reaches behind his back, trying to get rid of what is stinging him. He twists around. "What the bloody hell do you think you're…?"
Giles knows that the sedation is nearly instantaneously effective and steps a few feet away and watches stone-faced, and unafraid. Those last words Spike uttered had already been slightly slurry.
Spike has knocked over the chair and is swaying a bit to and fro, mouth open in shock. Then his blue eyes roll backwards into their sockets and he slumps clumsily and sideways to the floor hitting his head on the table in the fall. He lies twitching and whimpering and it is only a matter of ten, perhaps twenty seconds before he loses consciousness altogether. Before slipping away, Spike tries to gain control of his eyes and Giles watches as his face shifts between human and vampire in a fascinating manner. But despite Spike's attempts, his control is slipping away fast. He blinks slowly one more time and then his expression of confusion mixed with fury and shock smoothes out and he finally blacks out. A thin line of blood mixed with saliva trickles out from his slack mouth and there is blood in his hair as well.
Giles has not planned any of this, and he is surprised at the sense of pure satisfaction, that he gets from seeing the vampire lying prone at his feet. He gets a short pang of uneasiness. He is aware of the fact that Buffy had high regards concerning Spike. However, she had been a young woman at the time. What is more, she had been emotionally involved with Spike despite everybody's warnings to the contrary. It is clear to Giles, that more than anything, Buffy had been affected by Spike's looks. After all, no one can deny that Spike is attractive. Flawless body and sparkling, blue eyes that are as deceitful as they seem honest. After all, there are pretty, blue eyes on many a violent partner, parent and murderer. And yet, worldwide, people tend to believe that blue-eyed people by default are intelligent, innocent, and kind. Not so.
When Spike returned to Sunnydale with his newly acquired soul, Buffy had forgotten what he was and always would be; an evil demon. And while it is unprecedented that any vampire has fought for and won back its soul, Giles still finds little comfort in that fact. His own soul has never prevented him from doing harm when he has seen fit to do so, nor others from doing likewise. One must never forget that Spike, souled or un-souled is far stronger than any normal human and is very hard to kill, should he go rampant. Whatever he resembles in fairytale land, whatever his background story has been these past few years, he is never to be trusted.
Giles leaves the room and descends the narrow staircase to his cellar.
The air below is cool and slightly clammy this time of year. There are no windows in this particular room, just a few ventilation slits to allow some circulation of air. Decades ago, heavy rings have been inserted into the back room's walls by his father who was also a watcher. Giles has never known whether any demons have in actual fact been secured down here, but he rather suspects not. His father preferred to stay behind his desk and rarely if ever went out into the field.
In the wooden chest next to the weapon storage cabinet, he finds the vampire proof chains and the other demon securing paraphernalia that he is looking for. He lifts up a heavy leather muzzle. It will definitely be effective when it comes to protecting him from bites, but it will not prevent Spike from speaking. Just the thought of listening to more of Spike's prattle makes Giles wince.
He puts the muzzle down and picks up an equally sturdy looking metal gag. It is shaped almost like a horse's bit, but with a triangular flange forged to it, which will keep Spike's tongue in place. That should do the trick of shutting up the vampire. For a second, he feels another twinge of uneasiness but he disperses it. Spike is a vampire, a dead corpse animated by a vicious demon. Never mistake him for a human.
He walks back up into his kitchen, chains, and bit gag dangling and clinking in an eerie little tune. As Giles has expected, Spike is lying completely still exactly as he fell. He is not even breathing. He should be unconscious for at least a couple of hours still. However, better not err on the side of caution. He takes off his necklace with the silver cross. With a stake in his right hand, he uses his left hand to press the ornament against Spike's cheek. The skin sizzles and smokes, but Spike does not stir. Very well, then. Businesslike, Giles cuffs Spike's hands behind the back and attaches the equally heavy ankle chains around the legs. He forces open the slack mouth, and puts the bit in. He wipes off the bloodied drool covering his fingers on Spike's t-shirt and proceeds to strap on the gag. The buckle catches a few of the white neck hairs. Giles makes sure to strap it as tightly as it goes. That done, he proceeds to drag the vampire down the stairs to the basement room. It is difficult to carry a body, which is completely limp so he ends up simply dragging Spike down by the feet.
With another heavy chain he secures the comatose demon to the back wall. Spike will only be able to lie down curled up on his side or sit up against the wall in a crouched position. He should be safe.
At night, he can hear the muffled, outraged roars and screams coming from his basement. He lies in his bed on the first floor and tries to block them out. When they finally stop, he falls asleep with a relieved sigh.
In the morning, he makes a mental note to remember to get some blood for the vampire. He knows where to get what he needs. There are plenty of suppliers where no questions are asked, and no tales are told. He decides not to go down and check on Spike just now. It is rather pointless and it will be a few days yet before the vampire is to be fed. For safety's sake, Giles needs to keep Spike subdued at all times and hunger is certainly the most effective way to keep a vampire weak and cooperative.
As he drives to work that day, he feels accomplished for a change. It is a rather pleasant sensation. After all, feeling something is better than feeling nothing.
Buffy had been right about that, at least.