What He Needs
Okay, this is late. This is my March mod challenge for shapinglight who requested Spike/Giles H/C in the time between seasons 5 and 6. So... angsty post-Buffy-death.
Hope you enjoy! I even made this one more about the comfort than the hurt... in a way. :D Oh, and there is a teeny bit of mostly-implied Spangel.
What He Needs
Spike didn’t show up for patrol. Normally, Giles would shrug that off as the expected irresponsibility of an astoundingly irresponsible man, but Spike had seemed so focused and sober the night before, when he’d looked gravely at Giles and said, “I’ll be there,” like he was taking up a gauntlet.
Giles had thought it was one thing he didn’t have to worry about. Spike, for whatever reason, would take seriously his vow to protect Dawn. And so it was with gritted teeth and a rehearsed chewing-out that Giles pushed open the crypt door. “Where the hell have you...”
Giles trailed off, seeing Spike splayed on the concrete floor, his clothing hanging from him in tatters. The flesh of his shoulder had been torn by some monster. With his face hidden from view, he looked every inch a murder victim, which was, Giles reflected, ironic. He knew he should feel some sympathy, but all he felt was irritation and the exhaustion of the prospect of going on patrol alone the day after laying his slayer to rest. “What have you done to yourself, you idiot vampire?”
There was a cough to his left. Angel pitched something aside and got up from Spike’s armchair. “Uh… I was just leaving.”
Giles was so stunned he could only stare as Angel shrugged into his coat and walked out of the crypt, trailing the scent of cigarette smoke.
When he looked again, Spike had rolled onto his back and was attempting to sit up.
“What the bloody hell.” Giles said.
“Yeah,” Spike said, laying back. “World’s gone topsy-turvy. Slayer’s gone. You check up on me. And Angel stays over.”
“We have work to do today. You have an obligation-“
“Don’t get your knickers in a knot, grandma.” Spike used the tomb behind him to help himself to his feet. “Give me two minutes to grab some blood and change my shirt.” He looked down as if just realizing the state of his clothes. “Maybe three minutes. Not like the creepy crawlies will care what time we get around to slaying them.”
Giles belatedly wondered if it would be more useful to chew out the other vampire, but he just didn’t have the energy, nor did he care that much what Angel did. “All of this, this damage? That was Angel? You let him beat you when you knew-“
“Oi! Didn’t let him do anything!”
Giles couldn’t help answering, “So he simply beat you. How refreshing to hear you admit it.”
Spike’s eyes flashed and his muscles stood out as he clenched his fist. He turned forcefully away. As he picked up clothing from the floor, he said, “It was what he needed.”
Giles felt his teeth grinding and contemplated that what every vampire of his acquaintance needed most was a swift kick in the arse.
Spike brushed the tattered remains of his shirt off and replaced it with another. How many tight black t-shirts did a vampire need to own?
Giles stepped back and gestured for Spike to proceed out into the cemetery. As he followed, Giles was distracted by Spike’s poorly concealed limp and the red crescent of punctures curling up his nape just to the left of the spine. He’d been bitten from behind, obviously, high on the neck.
And then, as the saying goes, the penny dropped. Giles almost stumbled, and Spike looked back at him with a sour expression.
“Don’t slow down, I’m not about to fall and break my hip,” Giles snapped. Spike shrugged fluidly and continued leading the way, but Giles couldn’t stop imagining how another body might fit against the one in front of him.
The lust was unwanted, like a greasy edge on his grief. It was easy enough to sharpen into anger. The little bastard! Getting his rocks off while Giles had spent his evening steadfastly not drinking himself into oblivion, knowing he had responsibilities, that he was needed. And apparently he was the only one; he was alone looking after all these children, some of them over one hundred years old.
Giles felt his fists clenching. It was a relief when the first monster attacked.
Spike was tossed aside like a rag doll, leaving Giles to backpedal while he got his crossbow ready. One bolt hit the beast's massive, green chest with a “thunk” like it was impacting wood, and the demon didn’t even pause, reaching for Giles with long, wood-like talons.
Spike threw himself in the way just in time. And then Giles watched in somewhat horrified fascination as Spike baited the beast, got thrown about like a toy, and jumped up for more. Surely at some point Spike would have had enough and would start thinking about his attack technique? But no, it seemed not to be the case.
Fortunately, Giles was able to recover his senses enough to recognize the type of demon and remember its weakness. As it lifted Spike overhead for another thrashing, Giles picked up a fallen tree branch and rushed forward. When he successfully smacked a lump off of the creature’s torso it dropped Spike and fell over with a confused expression.
Giles walked over to where Spike lay.
“I was just about to finish him off,” Spike said, struggling to get up, “when you ruined it.”
Giles sighed. “Come on, we’ve still half the cemetery to cross.” He didn’t look behind him to see if Spike was following.
***
Spike woke up and immediately regretted it. His vision was blurred, his whole body aching. He reached reflexively for the bottle of whisky he was sure to have near at hand, but his knuckles hit something cool and hard, making a hollow knock.
His head rocked against the curved ceramic behind him and reality set in. “Oh buggering hell NO.”
The door to the bathroom opened, emmiting a smell of astringent. “Ah,” said Giles, “you’re awake.”
“Why the bloody bathtub, Rupert?”
Water sloshed as Giles set down a wash-bucket. “I notice you didn’t ask, ‘however did I come to be unconscious, wounded, and in someone else’s care? Again.’”
“You throw a bloke into an uncomfortable, cold place. Quite the angel of mercy you are.”
“It’s easy to wash and you’re dripping in blood. Again.” Giles grabbed Spike’s arm hard enough to hurt and Spike couldn’t help making a noise. Giles spoke more gently, “We’ll move you to the couch when you’re clean.”
“You’re all heart.”
Giles heaved a heavy sigh, though his hands were careful as he moved down Spike’s body, lifting cloth away and washing. “Are you even trying to defend yourself?”
“Piss off. It’s a lot of monsters for one vampire to cover.”
Giles turned Spike’s face toward his own. The wash cloth passed firmly over Spike's brow and around his eyes. Spike’s vision cleared enough to see the worry in Giles’ eyes, underneath the steely determination. The old bastard was actually worried for him!
“You might not care if you expire tonight,” Giles said. “In fact, I suspect you think it’s romantic to commit suicide by inches.”
“I’m not…”
“Never mind that you made a promise to protect Dawn. A promise you’ll have a jolly time keeping when you’re a pile of dust.”
Spike sank back, all the fight out of him. “Not trying to off myself, Rupert.”
“Then you’re doing a terrible job.”
Spike gave up and let the gentle-rough treatment lull him back to sleep.
***
It wasn’t until Giles had gotten him completely cleared of gore and filth that he realized Spike was sound asleep again. Naked, his head turned away, Spike looked falsely innocent, like some debauched angel.
“I suppose getting to the living room under your own power is out of the question,” Giles said, and sighed. His back wasn’t altogether happy with him from carrying Spike to the bathroom in the first place, and he’d had some scotch and aspirin since then.
“I should just let you sleep there. You sleep on a concrete slab in a crypt for god’s sake,” he said, to no one, apparently, because no one was listening. Giles sighed and set to clearing the way between the bathroom and the sofa to ensure as painless a transfer as possible.
He put away the cleaning supplies and started a load of laundry with what clothing of Spike's looked salvageable, first. But then he turned around and there were no other minor tasks he could use to put off the inevitable.
Spike’s head flopped gently forward onto Giles’ shoulder as Giles worked his grip down lower on Spike's back, hoisting him a little at a time until that tipping point where lifting another body went from impossibility to merely annoying. Spike's limp arms dropped on either side of Giles in a parody of a hug, and Giles was suddenly very, very aware of how naked Spike was, and how lovely.
He scolded himself and concentrated on how annoyed he was to have to play babysitter to the undead.
Moreover, he was annoyed how much time he’d spent over the years moving bodies, dead and otherwise. It was never as glamorous as you’d think, and that wasn’t very much.
Spike was obviously in bad shape not to wake up even when Giles accidentally hit the door-jamb with Spike’s shin, or when he knocked the lamp over - while spreading the afghan of all things. Giles sighed, and had to admit it gave him a warm feeling, seeing at least one person under his care tucked safely and comfortably in.
Giles caught himself fussing and tucking and stopped. “It’s because he’s asleep. He’s not annoying when his mouth isn’t running. I’m going to thoroughly regret this when he wakes up.”
However he did ruffle Spike’s hair before heading up to his own much-needed rest.
***
Pale, writhing flesh, flexing, wrapping, all around him, straining like snake coils, but somehow not enough. He’s climbing, grabbing handfuls. The body turns. That beautiful face, those pink lips moving from sweet to devious with a subtle lift. The mouth opens, full of fangs and hot, moist breath, it swallows him whole.
Giles woke with a start, struggling against a twisted sheet and the lingering erotic horror of his dream. A shadow shifted, drawing his attention to the doorway. Spike’s figure was narrowed by the golden light behind him.
“What - is it morning?” Giles tried to surreptitiously cover his hard-on with a corner of the blanket while he reached for his glasses.
Spike tottered a little unsteadily, but when he got to the bed he crawled over Giles with feline grace. With a smirk, he pulled the blanket aside and his cool hand settled over Giles’ cock. Giles gasped, and his mouth was open when Spike’s descended - cool, not hot, but still wet and thrilling.
All too late, Giles’ brain caught up with his dick and he pushed Spike away. “Stop this. What gives you the idea you can just…”
Spike slipped easily out of his grip and licked the shell of Giles’ ear. “So that wasn’t my name I heard you moaning in your sleep? Easy there, watcher, I’ll take care of you.” Spike’s fingers moved in time to his words, strong and sure.
The sensation was disturbingly similar to his dream. He grabbed Spike’s wrist hard enough to stop him. “I don’t want to be taken care of.”
Spike eased up to sit straddling Giles, his face mockingly amused, his hand still in intimate contact with Giles’ cock, which declared its own opinion on the matter with an enthusiastic twitch.
Giles was having quite a hard time remembering why this was a bad idea with Spike’s naked and very fit torso over him, but he bit his lip and tried. “We’re both in an… well, in an emotionally vulnerable state, and there may be questions of…”
Spike rocked his hips in a serpentine and distracting way. “That’s it, Rupert. Talk watcher at me. Gets me hot.”
All the pent up rage bubbled to the surface and Giles quickly reversed their positions, pinning Spike beneath him. “Listen to me, you little bastard…”
“Yeah,” Spike said, eyes half-lidded. He lifted his hips tantalizingly and bit his pretty lower lip.
Giles closed his eyes. “I’m not going to do this.” It sounded insincere - the alcoholic at the pub. Sweat and friction was building between their bodies and he was meeting each stroke of Spike’s hand with a thrust of his hips.
“We’re not blushing maidens, here, Rupert. What’s it hurt to have a little something we both want, eh?”
Giles, being out of ideas, wisely conceded the argument. He demonstrated his concession by hooking Spike’s knees and pushing them up. Spike obligingly took hold of them and spread himself. Giles paused, stroking the muscular thighs, the smooth soft skin on the inner side. It had been a long time since Ethan, but he remembered well enough which part went where. “I don’t have any slick,” he said.
“Not asking for any.”
“Good.” Giles felt something dark and satisfying uncurl in his chest. He let his fingers trace delicately around Spike’s opening before pushing them in dry. There was some sweat, at least, to ease the way. The hitch of breath and the half-suppressed sob where just icing on the cake.
Spike stretched his neck back and Giles could clearly see, still, the faded mark of teeth at the base of his throat.
His vision blurred at the edges with rage. “Is this what you did with Angel, then? Led him by the dick down into the filth with you?”
“Something like.”
Giles scissored and twisted his fingers until they moved more freely, and he suspected he might have torn Spike, but he didn’t much care. He slammed into him hard and fast, like a punch, and found his hands around Spike’s deliciously delicate-looking throat. The adam’s apple rolled up against the meat of his palm.
“That’s it,” Spike said. “Give it to me good.”
Giles punished him for that with hard thrusts and tightening fingers - too far gone to realize he was giving him exactly what he asked for.
Spike pushed up to meet each thrust. “Come on. Is that all you’ve got?”
The anger exploded. He punched Spike in the face and enjoyed the powerful feeling, the smack of flesh, the violence.
Spike laughed so he punched him again. He started to struggle and Giles pressed down on him, trapping his wrists against the bed, fucking like he could pin him in place with it.
Everything was heat and slick and hard and something snapped inside of him and poured out his cock, draining him completely.
He fell forward, sweating and panting for breath. Discomforts he’d been insensible to started awakening, like the friction burns on his shins and the wooden baseboard pressed hard against his toes.
Giles somehow summoned up the strength to roll off of Spike. He gasped up at the ceiling and then looked at the vampire he’d ravaged. Spike’s face was bloody, his wrists bruised, his body still marked with the wounds Giles had tended. He was a complete wreck. “Good lord, what have I done?”
“S’alright,” Spike’s words came out slurred through bloody lips stretched into a smile. “”S what you needed.”
Hope you enjoy! I even made this one more about the comfort than the hurt... in a way. :D Oh, and there is a teeny bit of mostly-implied Spangel.
What He Needs
Spike didn’t show up for patrol. Normally, Giles would shrug that off as the expected irresponsibility of an astoundingly irresponsible man, but Spike had seemed so focused and sober the night before, when he’d looked gravely at Giles and said, “I’ll be there,” like he was taking up a gauntlet.
Giles had thought it was one thing he didn’t have to worry about. Spike, for whatever reason, would take seriously his vow to protect Dawn. And so it was with gritted teeth and a rehearsed chewing-out that Giles pushed open the crypt door. “Where the hell have you...”
Giles trailed off, seeing Spike splayed on the concrete floor, his clothing hanging from him in tatters. The flesh of his shoulder had been torn by some monster. With his face hidden from view, he looked every inch a murder victim, which was, Giles reflected, ironic. He knew he should feel some sympathy, but all he felt was irritation and the exhaustion of the prospect of going on patrol alone the day after laying his slayer to rest. “What have you done to yourself, you idiot vampire?”
There was a cough to his left. Angel pitched something aside and got up from Spike’s armchair. “Uh… I was just leaving.”
Giles was so stunned he could only stare as Angel shrugged into his coat and walked out of the crypt, trailing the scent of cigarette smoke.
When he looked again, Spike had rolled onto his back and was attempting to sit up.
“What the bloody hell.” Giles said.
“Yeah,” Spike said, laying back. “World’s gone topsy-turvy. Slayer’s gone. You check up on me. And Angel stays over.”
“We have work to do today. You have an obligation-“
“Don’t get your knickers in a knot, grandma.” Spike used the tomb behind him to help himself to his feet. “Give me two minutes to grab some blood and change my shirt.” He looked down as if just realizing the state of his clothes. “Maybe three minutes. Not like the creepy crawlies will care what time we get around to slaying them.”
Giles belatedly wondered if it would be more useful to chew out the other vampire, but he just didn’t have the energy, nor did he care that much what Angel did. “All of this, this damage? That was Angel? You let him beat you when you knew-“
“Oi! Didn’t let him do anything!”
Giles couldn’t help answering, “So he simply beat you. How refreshing to hear you admit it.”
Spike’s eyes flashed and his muscles stood out as he clenched his fist. He turned forcefully away. As he picked up clothing from the floor, he said, “It was what he needed.”
Giles felt his teeth grinding and contemplated that what every vampire of his acquaintance needed most was a swift kick in the arse.
Spike brushed the tattered remains of his shirt off and replaced it with another. How many tight black t-shirts did a vampire need to own?
Giles stepped back and gestured for Spike to proceed out into the cemetery. As he followed, Giles was distracted by Spike’s poorly concealed limp and the red crescent of punctures curling up his nape just to the left of the spine. He’d been bitten from behind, obviously, high on the neck.
And then, as the saying goes, the penny dropped. Giles almost stumbled, and Spike looked back at him with a sour expression.
“Don’t slow down, I’m not about to fall and break my hip,” Giles snapped. Spike shrugged fluidly and continued leading the way, but Giles couldn’t stop imagining how another body might fit against the one in front of him.
The lust was unwanted, like a greasy edge on his grief. It was easy enough to sharpen into anger. The little bastard! Getting his rocks off while Giles had spent his evening steadfastly not drinking himself into oblivion, knowing he had responsibilities, that he was needed. And apparently he was the only one; he was alone looking after all these children, some of them over one hundred years old.
Giles felt his fists clenching. It was a relief when the first monster attacked.
Spike was tossed aside like a rag doll, leaving Giles to backpedal while he got his crossbow ready. One bolt hit the beast's massive, green chest with a “thunk” like it was impacting wood, and the demon didn’t even pause, reaching for Giles with long, wood-like talons.
Spike threw himself in the way just in time. And then Giles watched in somewhat horrified fascination as Spike baited the beast, got thrown about like a toy, and jumped up for more. Surely at some point Spike would have had enough and would start thinking about his attack technique? But no, it seemed not to be the case.
Fortunately, Giles was able to recover his senses enough to recognize the type of demon and remember its weakness. As it lifted Spike overhead for another thrashing, Giles picked up a fallen tree branch and rushed forward. When he successfully smacked a lump off of the creature’s torso it dropped Spike and fell over with a confused expression.
Giles walked over to where Spike lay.
“I was just about to finish him off,” Spike said, struggling to get up, “when you ruined it.”
Giles sighed. “Come on, we’ve still half the cemetery to cross.” He didn’t look behind him to see if Spike was following.
***
Spike woke up and immediately regretted it. His vision was blurred, his whole body aching. He reached reflexively for the bottle of whisky he was sure to have near at hand, but his knuckles hit something cool and hard, making a hollow knock.
His head rocked against the curved ceramic behind him and reality set in. “Oh buggering hell NO.”
The door to the bathroom opened, emmiting a smell of astringent. “Ah,” said Giles, “you’re awake.”
“Why the bloody bathtub, Rupert?”
Water sloshed as Giles set down a wash-bucket. “I notice you didn’t ask, ‘however did I come to be unconscious, wounded, and in someone else’s care? Again.’”
“You throw a bloke into an uncomfortable, cold place. Quite the angel of mercy you are.”
“It’s easy to wash and you’re dripping in blood. Again.” Giles grabbed Spike’s arm hard enough to hurt and Spike couldn’t help making a noise. Giles spoke more gently, “We’ll move you to the couch when you’re clean.”
“You’re all heart.”
Giles heaved a heavy sigh, though his hands were careful as he moved down Spike’s body, lifting cloth away and washing. “Are you even trying to defend yourself?”
“Piss off. It’s a lot of monsters for one vampire to cover.”
Giles turned Spike’s face toward his own. The wash cloth passed firmly over Spike's brow and around his eyes. Spike’s vision cleared enough to see the worry in Giles’ eyes, underneath the steely determination. The old bastard was actually worried for him!
“You might not care if you expire tonight,” Giles said. “In fact, I suspect you think it’s romantic to commit suicide by inches.”
“I’m not…”
“Never mind that you made a promise to protect Dawn. A promise you’ll have a jolly time keeping when you’re a pile of dust.”
Spike sank back, all the fight out of him. “Not trying to off myself, Rupert.”
“Then you’re doing a terrible job.”
Spike gave up and let the gentle-rough treatment lull him back to sleep.
***
It wasn’t until Giles had gotten him completely cleared of gore and filth that he realized Spike was sound asleep again. Naked, his head turned away, Spike looked falsely innocent, like some debauched angel.
“I suppose getting to the living room under your own power is out of the question,” Giles said, and sighed. His back wasn’t altogether happy with him from carrying Spike to the bathroom in the first place, and he’d had some scotch and aspirin since then.
“I should just let you sleep there. You sleep on a concrete slab in a crypt for god’s sake,” he said, to no one, apparently, because no one was listening. Giles sighed and set to clearing the way between the bathroom and the sofa to ensure as painless a transfer as possible.
He put away the cleaning supplies and started a load of laundry with what clothing of Spike's looked salvageable, first. But then he turned around and there were no other minor tasks he could use to put off the inevitable.
Spike’s head flopped gently forward onto Giles’ shoulder as Giles worked his grip down lower on Spike's back, hoisting him a little at a time until that tipping point where lifting another body went from impossibility to merely annoying. Spike's limp arms dropped on either side of Giles in a parody of a hug, and Giles was suddenly very, very aware of how naked Spike was, and how lovely.
He scolded himself and concentrated on how annoyed he was to have to play babysitter to the undead.
Moreover, he was annoyed how much time he’d spent over the years moving bodies, dead and otherwise. It was never as glamorous as you’d think, and that wasn’t very much.
Spike was obviously in bad shape not to wake up even when Giles accidentally hit the door-jamb with Spike’s shin, or when he knocked the lamp over - while spreading the afghan of all things. Giles sighed, and had to admit it gave him a warm feeling, seeing at least one person under his care tucked safely and comfortably in.
Giles caught himself fussing and tucking and stopped. “It’s because he’s asleep. He’s not annoying when his mouth isn’t running. I’m going to thoroughly regret this when he wakes up.”
However he did ruffle Spike’s hair before heading up to his own much-needed rest.
***
Pale, writhing flesh, flexing, wrapping, all around him, straining like snake coils, but somehow not enough. He’s climbing, grabbing handfuls. The body turns. That beautiful face, those pink lips moving from sweet to devious with a subtle lift. The mouth opens, full of fangs and hot, moist breath, it swallows him whole.
Giles woke with a start, struggling against a twisted sheet and the lingering erotic horror of his dream. A shadow shifted, drawing his attention to the doorway. Spike’s figure was narrowed by the golden light behind him.
“What - is it morning?” Giles tried to surreptitiously cover his hard-on with a corner of the blanket while he reached for his glasses.
Spike tottered a little unsteadily, but when he got to the bed he crawled over Giles with feline grace. With a smirk, he pulled the blanket aside and his cool hand settled over Giles’ cock. Giles gasped, and his mouth was open when Spike’s descended - cool, not hot, but still wet and thrilling.
All too late, Giles’ brain caught up with his dick and he pushed Spike away. “Stop this. What gives you the idea you can just…”
Spike slipped easily out of his grip and licked the shell of Giles’ ear. “So that wasn’t my name I heard you moaning in your sleep? Easy there, watcher, I’ll take care of you.” Spike’s fingers moved in time to his words, strong and sure.
The sensation was disturbingly similar to his dream. He grabbed Spike’s wrist hard enough to stop him. “I don’t want to be taken care of.”
Spike eased up to sit straddling Giles, his face mockingly amused, his hand still in intimate contact with Giles’ cock, which declared its own opinion on the matter with an enthusiastic twitch.
Giles was having quite a hard time remembering why this was a bad idea with Spike’s naked and very fit torso over him, but he bit his lip and tried. “We’re both in an… well, in an emotionally vulnerable state, and there may be questions of…”
Spike rocked his hips in a serpentine and distracting way. “That’s it, Rupert. Talk watcher at me. Gets me hot.”
All the pent up rage bubbled to the surface and Giles quickly reversed their positions, pinning Spike beneath him. “Listen to me, you little bastard…”
“Yeah,” Spike said, eyes half-lidded. He lifted his hips tantalizingly and bit his pretty lower lip.
Giles closed his eyes. “I’m not going to do this.” It sounded insincere - the alcoholic at the pub. Sweat and friction was building between their bodies and he was meeting each stroke of Spike’s hand with a thrust of his hips.
“We’re not blushing maidens, here, Rupert. What’s it hurt to have a little something we both want, eh?”
Giles, being out of ideas, wisely conceded the argument. He demonstrated his concession by hooking Spike’s knees and pushing them up. Spike obligingly took hold of them and spread himself. Giles paused, stroking the muscular thighs, the smooth soft skin on the inner side. It had been a long time since Ethan, but he remembered well enough which part went where. “I don’t have any slick,” he said.
“Not asking for any.”
“Good.” Giles felt something dark and satisfying uncurl in his chest. He let his fingers trace delicately around Spike’s opening before pushing them in dry. There was some sweat, at least, to ease the way. The hitch of breath and the half-suppressed sob where just icing on the cake.
Spike stretched his neck back and Giles could clearly see, still, the faded mark of teeth at the base of his throat.
His vision blurred at the edges with rage. “Is this what you did with Angel, then? Led him by the dick down into the filth with you?”
“Something like.”
Giles scissored and twisted his fingers until they moved more freely, and he suspected he might have torn Spike, but he didn’t much care. He slammed into him hard and fast, like a punch, and found his hands around Spike’s deliciously delicate-looking throat. The adam’s apple rolled up against the meat of his palm.
“That’s it,” Spike said. “Give it to me good.”
Giles punished him for that with hard thrusts and tightening fingers - too far gone to realize he was giving him exactly what he asked for.
Spike pushed up to meet each thrust. “Come on. Is that all you’ve got?”
The anger exploded. He punched Spike in the face and enjoyed the powerful feeling, the smack of flesh, the violence.
Spike laughed so he punched him again. He started to struggle and Giles pressed down on him, trapping his wrists against the bed, fucking like he could pin him in place with it.
Everything was heat and slick and hard and something snapped inside of him and poured out his cock, draining him completely.
He fell forward, sweating and panting for breath. Discomforts he’d been insensible to started awakening, like the friction burns on his shins and the wooden baseboard pressed hard against his toes.
Giles somehow summoned up the strength to roll off of Spike. He gasped up at the ceiling and then looked at the vampire he’d ravaged. Spike’s face was bloody, his wrists bruised, his body still marked with the wounds Giles had tended. He was a complete wreck. “Good lord, what have I done?”
“S’alright,” Spike’s words came out slurred through bloody lips stretched into a smile. “”S what you needed.”