by Liz


Giles looked up in irritation as the bell over the shop door rang cheerfully.  After an hour spent dusting shelves and reorganizing merchandise, he was looking forward to closing up and forgoing the need to appear busy for potential, but frustratingly non-existent customers.  So someone coming through the door at five minutes before six became an irritant rather than a potential sale.  However, he schooled his features into a passable imitation of a smile and came out from behind the register. 


“Hey G-man!” Xander strolled across the store to lean against the counter.


“Xander.”  Relief.  Giles nodded at the man then continued to the door and resolutely turned the hanging sign from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed.’  “I thought you had left already?”


“On my way to pick up the girls,” Xander rubbed a finger absently on the glass case.  He avoided Giles’s gaze.


“I see.  Was there something you needed?”


“Me? Nope.  Got everything a red-blooded American male could need for a weekend in the woods.  Camping gear, sugary foodstuffs, full tank of gas, one mood-swingy teenager and two lesbian wiccas.”  He counted off on his fingers, then shook his head.  “I think I’m good.”


“Er, sounds like you’ll have a lovely time.” Giles moved back to the cash register to close out the day’s receipts.  “Why are you here?”


“Just thought I’d drop by on the way out of SunnyD.  Make sure our favorite Watcher-type is gonna be alright on his lonesome.” 


“I assure you I can look after myself,” Giles muttered.  He focused his attention on the receipts and cash in front of him, unwilling to admit that the next few days yawned in front of him as a great barren expanse.  But he had readily agreed with Xander’s suggestion that the girls and he needed some downtime away from the daily training and slayage routines that Giles had regimented them into over the months following Buffy’s death. 


“Okay then.  Just wanted to check.” Xander registered the muttering, but persevered.  “So you got any plans?  Wild orgies?  Late night inventory cataloguing in the stock room?”


“Nothing of note.  I assure you, you’ll not be missing anything while you’re gone.”


“You’re not gonna tell me are you,” Xander grinned.  Giles finally looked up from his accounting.


“Xander, is there something in particular you needed or are you avoiding the two-hour car ride with ‘two lesbian wiccas and a mood-swingy teenager’?”


“No and yes,” he shrugged.  He fidgeted with one of the shop’s business cards for a long moment.


“What is it Xander?”  Giles found himself torn between exasperation and relief at the man’s continued presence.  An empty evening stretched ahead of him without his charges to train and patrol with. 


“Giles, it’s been six months” Xander began slowly, his eyes shining with compassion even as he took in the other man’s suddenly closed off stance.  “Look, just let me say this, and then you can tell me to fuck off or whatever, and I’ll be out of your hair for the next few days.”


Giles nodded stiffly, willing himself to feel nothing.


“Every night after patrol you still update your Watcher’s Diary.  But I’ve seen you stare at the one that ends with those blank pages.  When you had Willow scan in all the old diaries, well, I couldn’t help but notice what’s missing.” 


Giles maintained his granite silence, refusing to react.


“You’ve done so much for all of us since,” he swallowed, “since she died.  What with the patrols and training and everything.”  He stared squarely at the stiff figure.  “But you’re hiding behind all that, and I’ve let you do it for a long time now because we all needed it.”  He shifted uneasily.  “That’s what this weekend is about.  It’s not ‘cause we need the break—although, a couple nights without near-death experiences has to be counted among the good—but ‘cause you need the space to do this.  We all have to face what happened that night with Glory.  The only way you’re ever going to do that is to write that last entry in the diaries.”


“The slayer’s last battle,” Giles murmured bitterly.


“Buffy’s last battle,” Xander corrected quietly. 


“I’m well aware of who died, Xander.” Giles snapped back.  Xander flinched, but didn’t look away.


“We’ll be gone until Monday night.” He stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets.  “Please, try to do this.  Let her go.  You need to write it down and stop reliving over and over, wanting a different outcome.”  His voice hardened.  “We all want her here, Giles.  She’s not.  At least make sure that whoever reads these journals, watchers or other slayers, knows why she’s not here anymore, what she did.  Write it down for her, for us.”  He stared at Giles for a long moment before turning and walking out the door into the night, leaving Giles standing alone at the counter.




“You get him sorted?”  The low voice startled Xander as he walked away from the Magic Shop.


“Shit, Spike!” Xander shoved the stake back into his pocket. “Lurk much?”


“Vampire, mate.” 


Xander sighed.  “I don’t know, Spike.  I’m not sure this is gonna work.”


“You talk to him?”  Spike dropped his cigarette and ground it out.


“Yeah, I talked to him.  I just don’t know if he heard anything.”  Defeat colored Xander’s words.


Spike threw a friendly arm around Xander’s shoulders.  “Look at it this way, pet, at least he didn’t hit you with one of those statue things or turn you into a toad.”


Xander rolled his eyes and leaned into the vampire.  “God, Spike.” Despair replaced the humour in his eyes.  “What are we gonna do if this doesn’t work?  He’s slipping further and further away from us, from himself.”


“You just take care of the girls this weekend, and I look after Rupert.”  He pulled the man into a quick hug, then released him and looked into worried brown eyes.  “Xan, he’s strong.  And you’re a bloody convincing git when you want to be.  He’ll listen.  We’re not gonna lose him.” The vampire’s voice lowered as he made this fierce promise.  “Now get going.”


“You have our cell numbers, right.”


“Right here,” Spike pulled the sheet of notebook paper out of an inner pocket of his duster, “same place they’ve been the last seven times you asked.”


“Sorry, just, you know, it’s the first time we’ve been apart since…”


“I know.” 


They stood in silence under the streetlight for a long moment, each lost in memories.  Finally, Xander shook himself and flashed a brave grin at his companion.


“You’ll keep an eye on him?”


“My word.” Spike nodded solemnly, eyes twinkling at Xander’s mother-hen instincts.  “You go sing your little campfire songs and tell your ghost stories.”


Xander snorted.  “Your word, huh?  How about we put it this way: if anything happens, I’ll just tell Dawn and Willow that you were off playing kitten poker instead of keeping an eye on Giles.”


“Oi!  That’s not playing fair.” Spike protested before breaking out in a grin.


“See you in couple days, fangless.”


“Right then.” Spike moved off to take up his post outside the Magic Box as Xander got in his car and drove towards the Summers house.




Spike lit one cigarette from the butt of another, then dropped the butt to join the pile on the ground before him.  At this rate, he would have the pack finished before Giles even finished up counting his receipts.  He huffed impatiently.  Watching a Watcher had to be one of the most boring tasks he had undertaken, but he was the logical choice since had any of the Scoobies been left behind, Giles would have simply continued with his usual evening regime of training, study, and patrol with that one.  Spike didn’t count in the same way.  Sure, he was welcome on patrol and to help with training the others, but Giles didn’t have to play the father figure teacher with him.  Not that Spike would have allowed it he tried.  But an uneasy alliance had been formed as both Englishmen strove to protect the Scoobies, to keep them all safe from the dangers of the Hellmouth and to help them heal in the wake of Buffy’s death.  They had an unspoken agreement that the children came first.  Children.  Spike snorted as he considered the four headed out for a camping trip.  Even Dawn could hardly be called a child anymore, and the others had seen and done far too much to ever be considered kids again. 


Inside the shop, Giles moved around, slowly closing down the shop, switching off display lights, locking the register.  He opened the drawer that held his journal and reached beneath the current volume to pull out the one he had avoided for months.    The notebook felt heavy in his hand.   Xander’s words echoed in his ears only to be replaced by another conversation.


“If there were just a few good descriptions of what took out the other Slayers, maybe it would help me to understand my mistake, to keep it from happening again.”


“Yes, well, the problem is after a final battle, it’s difficult to get any …well, the Slayer’s not…she’s rather…”  Stuttering over the thought.


“It’s okay to use the D-word, Giles”  Her eyes rolling at him, he can tell.


“Dead.  And hence not very forthcoming.”


“Why didn’t the Watchers keep fuller accounts of it? The journals just stop.”  Frustration with the Council’s ways never lurked too below the surface with his Slayer.


“Well, I suppose if they’re anything like me, they just find the subject too…”  To even speak it constricted bands around his heart.


“Unseemly?  Damn.  Love ya, but you Watchers are such prigs sometimes.”  Her mockery helps settle him some, oddly enough, and he can speak the truth.


“Painful.   I was going to say.”


Painful.  The word echoed through his mind as he set the journal down on the table.  He had known nothing of the pain that watching his slayer fall would entail.  His heart broken along with her body.  He pointedly turned his back on the journal.  What good could come of writing it down.  No other slayer will face Glory.  He had taken care to make sure of that.  He shuddered as the memory of his hand over Ben’s face threatened to surface and forcibly turned his mind away from that cold-blooded deed back toward the journal before him.  It mocked him with its silence.  With the slayer line in confusion due to Faith’s incarceration, he doubted another one would come along anytime soon. 


“You bloody coward.  These are excuses, nothing more,” he snarled at himself as he reached for the scotch he kept under the counter.  With the children constantly around, he had denied himself the consolation of drinking.  Their presence kept the pain at bay, gave him something to focus on other than the bleakness of his own heart and the fear of facing the memories so ruthlessly squelched.  Without their presence, the brittle walls that protected him threatened to crack, overwhelming him.  He couldn’t afford to be incapacitated by the emotion that once started promised never to stop.  Better to blur the world through scotch.  Better to remove the ability to think.  He stared at the innocuous notebook on the table as he drank off one glass in a gulp and refilled it to swallow the second just as quickly.  If he could manage to drink fast enough, he could pass out right here, and have an excuse for not facing those blank pages.  He poured a third glass.


“Dutch courage, mate?”  The vampire’s drawl startled him into dropping the glass.  The shattering glass caused another jump. 


“Spike!  How the bloody hell did you get in here?”  Giles spat out as he knelt down to pick up the larger pieces of glass.  The rich scent of scotch filled the shop. 


“Same as always, Rupert, though the back.”  Spike regarded the Watcher cleaning the spill.  Tension radiated from the man.  Anger and fear and grief barely contained.  Spike had been hoping that Giles would just be sensible and face the task of writing Buffy’s death.  The vampire didn’t envy him the task, but all of the others, him included, had begun to face their grief.  The Watcher merely stood by them, stoic and supportive, but unwilling, or perhaps unable, to grieve. 


“Then you know the way back out.” Giles pulled another glass from the cupboard and defiantly poured himself another drink.  Already feeling the effects of the first two, he sipped at this one slowly, staring into the bottom of the glass.


Spike studied the bowed head.  He narrowed his eyes as he considered what to do next.  Leaving Giles on his own to face his journal wasn’t going to work.   That damned British dislike of emotion would keep him pent up and keep eating away at him until they lost him as surely as they had lost Buffy. 


“No.” Spike spoke quietly.


Giles head flew up.  “No what?” Confusion wrinkled his brow.


“No, I’m not leaving you here to drink yourself into a stupor just so you can avoid this.” Spike held up the journal and spoke evenly.


“Don’t you touch that.” Slamming the glass on the counter, Giles moved with fury to snatch the journal from the vampire.  He cradled it to his chest.  


“Why not?” Spike sprawled insolently in his chair, suddenly deciding on his course of action. “You aren’t touching it.”


“I think you had better get out now,” Ripper began to bleed through.  Giles moved with studied calm as he placed the journal back in the drawer.  Spike could sense the anger and grief barely held in check.  No way Giles would show him grief, but he sure as hell could get the Watcher to unleash that anger.


“Y’know, I used to be a bit of a writer back in the day, maybe you just let me give it a go.  I was there, same as you.  I can write it up, then you’ll be done with it.  Lock that one away with the rest of the musty old tomes of Watcher lore.”


“Spike,” Giles ground out warningly.


“Who knows?  Might be worth something.  Slayer’s death written up by William the Bloody.  I could…” Spike didn’t get to finish the sentence as Giles lunged at him, fists flying.


“You bloody monster!  How dare you consider writing about her death!”  Giles landed punch after punch while Spike struggled to protect himself from the rain of blows.  “She was my Slayer!  MINE!”


Bloody brilliant, plan, Spike.  Anger unleashed.  He couldn’t fight back, and he knew that even if he could, he wouldn’t have.  He took the blows, trying to absorb at the same time the pain that rolled off his opponent.  He remained on his feet, keeping presence of mind enough to lead the enraged Giles toward the training room.  No sense causing more destruction to the shop than necessary, especially since he and Harris would end up doing the heavy lifting in putting it back together.


“My slayer.  My slayer.”  Punch.  “She was mine to teach.  Mine to protect”  Giles watched the vampire reel before him, unaware of what he was saying.  Unaware of the tears that began to force their way out.


“Mine to protect.”  A particularly vicious blow landed Spike on his back, and the human followed him down, knees hitting the training mat on either side of Spike’s thighs.  He raised his hand for another blow when he saw the depth of compassion shining from those blue eyes.  Spike reached out and grabbed the upraised hand.  He used the leverage to pull himself upright and at the same time pull Giles into a tight embrace. 


“She was mine to protect,” Giles whispered brokenly, “and I… failed her.” He grasped at Spike as the admission threatened to drown him.


Spike said nothing, just held on and rocked the weeping man. 


“I failed her.  Oh God, I failed her.  I let her die.”


“No,” said Spike quietly, but fiercely.  “Nobody let her die.”  He reached up with one hand to knead at the back of Giles neck.  “She chose.  She knew.”  He spoke gently as Giles pressed his face further into his shoulder, shuddering with the power of his grief.  The vampire continued to rock the warm body, silently coaxing Giles to let go.  The salt of tears reached him, and his own tension eased some.  Finally.  Spike felt tears trickle down his own cheeks as he realized how close he had felt to losing this man.  He rested his cheek against Giles shoulder, not lessening his grip.


“You didn’t fail her,” Spike murmured.  “You gave her what she needed to be the Slayer.” 


“She’s gone.”  The broken whisper stabbed into Spike’s heart.


“Yeah, mate.  She is.”


Spike ran his hands up and down Giles’ back, soothing the bunched muscles, murmuring the nonsense words that he had used for decades to comfort Dru through her tormenting visions.  The shuddering slowed, but Giles retained his grip on the strong body holding him.  It had been so long since he had touched anyone, since he had let anyone touch him, and he needed the contact to help hold him together as he felt his world falling apart.


“She’s gone.  There’s nothing for me here, anymore. I’ve failed.”


“What?”  Spike pulled back in shock.


Giles avoided his eyes.  “I couldn’t face it before.  But without a Slayer…without…Buffy…I’m …nothing.  Not a Watcher.  Not anymore.”




It was Giles turn to look up in surprise.


“Dawn, Willow, Xander, Tara” Spike ticked off the names on his fingers angrily.  He paused before continuing.  “Me.”  When Giles still looked puzzled, Spike continued. “We are not nothing.”  He struggled to his feet and began to pace.  “We’re still here.  Those kids need you.  They’re out there every night, staking vamps, reading sodding prophecies, trying to stop the next apocalypse.  They need you, need a Watcher.  They may not be Slayers, but they’re doing the fucking job.  And we need you to do it.”  Spike pulled out a cigarette and tried to light it with shaking hands.  After all this, he couldn’t believe that they could still lose the Watcher.  It scared him more than he was willing to admit. 


Lost in his tirade, Spike didn’t notice the human’s approach until warm hands closed over his own. 


“Spike,” Giles began.  He cleared his throat.  “Thank you for tonight.  For helping me face her death.  But you’re wrong.  Without a Slayer, there is no Watcher.  Not anymore.  And after…” he paused, “after what I did, what I did to Ben, an innocent, I’m not fit to teach these children.  I’ll only destroy them.” His voice sunk to a ragged whisper.


Without thinking, Spike swung a fist, connecting with Giles cheek as pain radiated through his brain, down his spine, forcing him to his knees.  “Fuck you, Rupert,” he ground out.  Giles looked at the cringing vampire from his sprawled position on the floor where the punch had landed him.


Spike took deep unnecessary breaths to steady himself as the pain slowly receded.  “Fuck you,” he repeated quietly.  “You’re not the only one who lost her.  You selfish, sodding git.”  He sat back and wrapped his arms around his knees, feeling every one of his hundred plus years.  “Thought you actually gave a shit about these kids. You’d leave them with a brutal killer who’s taken thousands, yes, thousands of lives, rather than stay and face them yourself.”


“Since when do you care what I think?” Giles answered with the same quiet intensity.  The vampire’s words unsettled him, pressing at the tender heart bruised by grief.


“I don’t.” Spike snarked. “But I care about them, ‘specially the Bit.”  He glared at Giles.  “You know what it will do to them when you decide to haul your nothing, worthless arse back to jolly old England.”


“They’ll still have you,” Giles answered defensively.


“Right, a neutered vampire,” Spike answered bitterly.  “Couldn’t even take Donut Boy in a fight.  They need you.”


“They’ll be fine,” Giles levered himself to his feet and headed back toward the main shop.


“I won’t,” Spike let the words hang in the sudden quiet. 


Giles crossed the room and stared down at the bowed head.  The admission confused him, but reached deeper than any of the earlier assertions, perhaps for the sheer unexpectedness of it.


“I can’t protect them, can’t help ‘em out with mortgages, hospital bills, sodding job interviews.  So I stop a demon from eating ‘em, what good does that do when Dawn’s failing out of school or the witches are conjuring up some hell-beastie during the middle of the day?   No bloody good at all.”  Self-disgust laced the vampire’s words.  Fucking demon attached to a bunch of humans, and even worse worried about not being able to take care of them.  He had come to depend on the Watcher as much as the others.  Giles kept them safe during the day, Spike kept them safe from the nasties walking the night. 


Guilt tugged at Giles, but he ruthlessly stomped it down.  “I’m a killer Spike, no better than you.  Worse in fact,” he laughed bitterly.  “You all think that it’s Buffy’s death that I can’t write about.  But I’m a selfish bastard.”  He looked at his hand.  “If I write about this battle,” he took a breath, “if I write about…what happened…to Glory, I disgrace everything that Buffy was, that I was supposed to be.  I killed an innocent man.”




Spike’s disgusted snort broke the silence.  Giles’ head shot up. 


“Fucking hell, watcher.  Never took you for being stupid as well as pompous.” He stood up slowly, exhibiting his predator’s grace as he stalked closer.  “You killed a hell god, hardly an innocent.  You think you’re evil?  You think you deserve to be punished, kicked out of your precious Council of Wankers?”  He could see the agonized despair deep in those hazel eyes.  Yes, here was the beast tearing Giles away from them.  Here was the beast that had to be destroyed.  Not grief, guilt.  Guilt and anger.  “You think you failed her by doing what had to be done, what she could never do.”


Giles stood as if mesmerized by Spike’s words and intense gaze.  He fought to look away, but couldn’t.  He needed this, needed someone to see the evil he had done, to reflect it back to him and condemn him as he had condemned himself.


“Evil,” he whispered.   


Grief, anger, and despair rolled off him, an aphrodisiac nearly as good as fear for a vampire, and Spike struggled to focus.  The moment felt precarious, and he needed to find the words that would bring the Watcher back, not drive him deeper into his despair.  He forced down arousal and compassion, turning his gaze hard.


“You killed.  A human.”




“An innocent.”




“Broke your Council vows.”


“Yes.” Bitter, harsh.


Spike released his grip, but stepped closer to whisper in Giles’ ear.


“And the Powers that Be, the gods that watch over those little slayer girls,” He felt the shudder run through the human, forcing himself to continue and burst through the wall that shielded them all from the anger and grief that Giles so ruthlessly suppressed “they still let her die.”


Suddenly anger flashed, and Spike ducked the punch aimed for his face.  There were no more words as Giles once more struck out, fury distorting his features as his fists channeled the rage and sorrow, giving it an external expression.  He threw himself into the fight against the elusive, dodging vampire.


Every few swings, Spike allowed one of the punches to connect.  Not enough to hurt him too much, but enough to keep Giles in the fight, enough to let him strike out against the universe that took his slayer, enough to express his need to punish himself. 


“Gave up your good-guy license and you still got screwed, didn’t ya,” Spike taunted.  He dodged a vicious swing.  Damn the Watcher could move quick for an old, slightly soused guy.  Spike found himself admiring the fighting form, even as he struggled with his own instinctual need to hit back. 


“Bastard.  You sodding bastard.  Hit back!” Giles growled as he advanced.


“Sorry, mate.” Spike danced out of reach. “Don’t fancy a pounding headache.”


“Hit me you worthless vampire!”  Ripper firmly in charge, the words were snarled out.




Giles continued to pummel Spike as the vampire suddenly stayed still.


“Bastard.”  Spike’s head jerked back as the fist connected with his chin.


“Worthless.” A punch to his abs. “Evil.” A foot connected with his chest, sending Spike reeling backwards.  He tripped over a weight bar and sprawled on his back.  Giles was on him in a second.


“Why” right hook “won’t” left hook “you” hands grasping the long, white neck “kill me?!”  As soon as the words left his mouth, Giles’ eyes widened in shock, taking in his request and the vampire’s beaten visage.  He attempted to scramble back, but Spike reached out to grab him.


“No, no, no, no.” Giles squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.  “God, what have I become.”


“Free, love.” Spike pulled the shaking human closer.  “Shhh, it’s out now.  You can be free now.  Come back to us.”  He nuzzled into the warm neck, smelling the salt tears once more.  He ran his hands up and down the shuddering back, holding the solid body close to him, rocking gently.  Misery remained, but the grief and anger had lessened.  Spike shifted carefully.  The passionate violence had aroused him more than he wanted to admit.  Now holding this warm man in his arms brought his cock fully to attention.  Inwardly he groaned.  The last thing he needed was to freak Giles out now and send him fleeing back into his self-imposed solitude over a little erection.


Giles felt the cool body move beneath him, suddenly very aware of their closeness.  Again his body reminded him how long it had been since he had allowed himself to be touched, and this slight figure reminded him suddenly of another lithe, muscled form that had writhed beneath him after several rounds of drinks, leaving him to wake with the Hellmouth hangover that had him growling in Fyarl.  His cock twitched at the memory. 


The pheromones flooded Spike’s senses, wiping out his concern about making the Watcher uncomfortable.  He inhaled deeply, scenting for fear or embarrassment, but finding only arousal.   He stifled a gasp as Giles shifted their groins closer, moving in slow circles.


“Eh, mate?” Spike pulled back so he could see Giles’ face.  His eyes were closed, head bowed.


“Please.”  The fractured whisper pulled at Spike’s heart. 


“Please what?” He asked gently, continuing to move his hands over the strong back.


“Help me,” Giles whispered harshly.  “Help me find my way back.   Help me feel.” 


Without warning, Spike flipped them over, hovering over the prone figure.  His eyes flickered amber.


“Rupert, you sure about this?” The fingers ghosting over the tear-streaked cheeks contrasted with the fierce, needy look on the vampire’s face.


“Spike.  William.  Please.  Fuck me.”  Desire, despair, need, lust all blazed from the Watcher’s eyes as he stared at the figure above him. 


Spike groaned.  His cock pressed painfully against his zipper.  Since the chip, he hadn’t taken a human male, and he fought to control his urge to take the Watcher hard and fast.  The chip wouldn’t allow that, and paralyzing pain would end the night right quick.  Even as this thought occurred to him, Giles ground his erection hard against Spike.  The desperation and need spoke to his own pain and isolation.  Tonight would not be about love for either of them.  Neither held that illusion, nor the desire.  But both needed this connection, this affirmation that they were other than dead.  


Spike shifted his hips in kind, moaning and then sat back to pull Giles upright.  His hands moved to tug the button-down shirt free from khaki slacks.  He raked his dull fingernails down Giles’ back and was rewarded with an answering groan of need.  Swiftly he ripped the shirt apart and dragged it down and off Giles’ arms.  In a mirroring action, Giles grasped the hem of Spike’s t-shirt and yanked it off over the vampire’s head.  Hands fumbled desperately at belts, zippers, and buttons, and within seconds slacks and jeans were tossed aside.


“Please.  Please.  Now.” Giles gasped.  His hands grasped the vampire’s hard bicep, kneading the muscles.  The Watcher’s head hung forward, eyes closed, chest heaving with ragged breaths.


“Shh, pet.” Spike forced himself to slow for a moment.  He rested his head against Giles’ chest and reveled in the sound of the pounding heart.  The pumping blood fueling his demon’s lust.  His hands wandered over the sweating skin, one sliding up and down the broad back gently as the other worked from one brown nipple to the other, sliding through the crisp chest hairs. 


“Don’t stop, please, Will,” Tears hovered beneath the frantic words.  Spike moved his hand down to work the boxer-clad erection with gentle promise.  His mind raced to determine how to continue without setting off his chip or breaking the already damaged human further.  The cock twitched in his hand as Giles gasped.


“Not stopping,” he vowed.  “Rupert?  Luv?”


“Shut up, Spike!  Shut up and fuck me.”  Giles slammed his hips forward for more contact with the cool hand.  His eyes remained squeezed closed with his chin pressed to his chest.  Spike shuddered in response.  He wanted nothing more than to rip off those cotton shorts and ravage the Watcher, but the sodding chip would never let him get away with it.  His demon balked at the idea of being taken by a human, but at the same time a little voice insisted that letting Giles lie back and take it would be another way of letting him slide further away.


“Bloody hell, mate.  God knows I want to.” Spike moaned, pressing closer to the hot flesh.  Giles began to pull away, eyes opening blankly.


“Sorry,” he muttered, turning his face away as the flush of embarrassment crawled up his cheeks.


“Hey,” Spike grasped the human’s chin and turned his face back.  Desire, pain, and compassion shone from blue eyes.  “Told you I’m not stopping, but the chip, mate.  There’s bound to be some pain.  Can’t fuck you without it going off.”


Understanding and resignation passed through the hazel eyes before Giles once again closed them.  “Right.”


Bloody hell, he was gonna have to spell it out for the git, and it had to be now before the walls went all the way back up.  He suppressed the thought of the last man to have been inside him.  That was a century ago, and he was not the same demon he was then.  This would be his choice.


“So you’re gonna have to do me.”  Spike pinched a nipple hard, eliciting a gasp and a larger damp patch on the white cotton boxers.  Pressing his advantage, he pushed the larger man onto his back and tore off the last layer that stood between their urgent cocks. 


“Gonna make you feel good, pet.” Spike crooned between biting kisses down the bared torso.  With another hand he worked their cocks together, pulling in a hard, fast rhythm.  There was no time for a gentleness that neither of them wanted. 


“Yes.  Please.  More.” Giles gasped in monosyllabics as he let himself get lost in the physical sensations.  The cool flesh both soothed and fired his own heat. 


Spike could feel them both coming close to the edge, and he grasped Gile’s cock at the root even as he rubbed is own cock hard against the warm flesh writing beneath him.  He howled out his release, but used his strong cool fingers to prevent Giles from following him into orgasm.  Fighting the languor that threatened to follow his coming, Spike quickly gathered his cool come and lubricated the swollen cock in his hand. 


Giles whimpered and gasped with need.  His eyes followed the vampire’s movements, suddenly understanding why his orgasm had been prevented.  In one graceful movement, Spike straddled the human beneath him.  Giles reached up and braced his hand against the smooth, cool chest, enjoying the feel of the vampire leaning into his touch.  Blue eyes closed in concentration as Spike slowly lowered himself on the throbbing cock.


“Gonna make it good for you, luv.” Spike murmured.  “Gonna make you feel, make you cum hard and hot.”  He concentrated on filling himself, angling his hips to slide that engorged flesh against his prostate, bringing his own cock back to attention.  He felt Giles buck up beneath him, and he answered by levering himself up and down, meeting each thrust of the Watcher’s hips. 


“God, Spike,” Giles gasped, “so tight.”  


“That’s right, pet.  Let go, just feel.  Let it all go.” Spike encouraged roughly, sliding cool fingers over swollen nipples, alternately soothing and pinching the hard nubs in time with their thrusting.  “Let it go.  Feel me here with you.  So fucking hot, burning me up inside.”


Spike concentrated on clenching his inner muscles, and he could feel Giles reaching orgasm.  He threw his head back and pulled viciously at his own cock, until he finally clenched hard on Giles’ cock and felt the flood of hot semen spurting inside him and pushing him over into a more intense orgasm than the first. 


Spike rolled forward to lie beside the gasping human, feeling them separate with a wet squick.  For several long moments only the sound of panting breaths filled the training room.  Finally, Giles shivered, and Spike turned concerned eyes toward him, half-afraid of the expression he would meet.




“A bit,” Giles admitted.   He snaked a hand out to trail it down the vampire’s sharp cheek.  “But I’m not sure I can move yet,” he added with a low chuckle.


Spike felt tears prick at the welcome sound.  Giles was here.  He could hear it in the laugh, that bloody lovely open sound.  He let out a soft sigh and closed his eyes against the relief he felt. 


Giles watched the vampire swallow heavily and struggled to find words to express the freedom, the release that he felt.  He recognized the relief as well as the fear that Spike must have felt in taking the risk to haul him back from the black depths of his despair.  He breathed deep, feeling the bands that had constricted his heart for so long loosening. The cool air of the training room caused him to shiver again, and he knew he would need to get dressed soon.  He sat slowly, watching the still figure next to him.  Leaning over carefully, knowing that the vampire would sense each movement, he gently pressed his lips to Spike’s, deepening their first kiss as those cool lips responded.


“Thank you,” he whispered finally before standing and making his way over to the lockers that held his training clothes.  Behind him he heard a rustle of denim and leather as Spike dressed.  Suddenly the hard body pressed up against him, and a gentle voice whispered in his ear.


“Thank you, pet.”  A quick kiss was dropped on his neck.


Giles turned to see the leather duster disappear through the back door into the night.  He clicked off the lights in the training room and returned to the main room of the Magic Box.   The light over the research table lent shadows to the corners of the shop.  Glancing back at the training room door, he made his decision.  After he set tea to brew, he pulled the journal out of its drawer in the counter and placed it on the table.  Tea made, he sat carefully, opened to the blank pages and began to write.


Outside the shop windows, the blaze of a cigarette flared as Spike drew deeply.  He nodded to himself as he watched the seated figure before striding off to the cemetery and his empty crypt.





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