Slay Me, Save me. Chapter 8: Loveless, childless, middle-aged, old (part 2)
Title: Slay me, Save me
Chapter 8: Loveless, childless, middle-aged, old (part 2)
Pairing: Spike and Giles
Rating: Just spike swearing and some vampire / Watcher bonding; nothing too graphic
Summary: Spike is confused...Giles is singing 'Pretty Vacant' and cooking breakfast; chatting like they've been living together for years. As realisation sets in, he accepts Giles' help; vampire and watcher bonding with surprising results.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters etc..
Feedback: Always welcome.
Type your cut contents here.
Chapter 8:Loveless, childless, middle-aged, old (part 2)
It wasn’t the distant metallic ping or the mouthwatering aroma of frying bacon, or even the realisation that troubled, chaotic dreams were thankfully absent; but the sound of an ex. Watcher crooning the Sex Pistols’ ‘Pretty Vacant,’ that opened the eyes of the sleeping vampire.
He was covered up to his neck in a heavy quilt on the sofa in Rupert Giles’ sitting room and he was naked. His addled brain quickly slotted the jigsaw of last night together and despite being pissed as four newts, rambling like a pill-popped Liza Minnnelli and crying, yes crying like some pansy-arsed new-age man, he couldn’t remember removing his clothes. He drew up the quilt and looked at his body for signs that he had been interfered with; this was, after all, an ex. public school, ex. Watcher, with a stash of gay porn under his bed. Apart from the scratches over his chest, where he’d tried to claw the soul out, there didn’t seem much awry. There was the faint smell of antiseptic, but otherwise, he seemed to be intact, no shackles, no new wounds, no pain in the arse.
He looked to where the smell and singing were coming from and saw the ex. Watcher busy cooking. The bizarre normality of the situation caused the confused vampire to throw the cover back over his head, hoping to drift back to sleep, but the rumbling in his gut told him he hadn’t eaten in days, so sat up and searched for his cigarettes. Finding them on the coffee table, he hastily lit up and leant back, inhaling deeply and blowing smoke rings.
“Oh good, you’re up,” Giles said. “I’ve heated some blood, you look as though you haven’t had anything to eat for a while and whilst it is animal, it should perk you up. I’m cooking a big fry up: bacon, eggs, sausages, baked beans and fried bread; I rarely do these days due to my age and the warnings of cholesterol, but with a guest, I though why not?”
Spike stared.
“How are you?” Giles continued. “Did you sleep well? I’ve got real HP sauce; I get it via the internet. Willow found this excellent site where you can order all sorts of English goodies and they deliver within days at very reasonable prices, unlike the extortionate ex. pat stores around: Branston pickle, Tetley’s tea bags, Jaffa cakes, marmite; a veritable smorgasbord of home comforts.”
The ex. Watcher placed a mug of warmed blood on the coffee table, took Spike’s free hand and placed it on the handle. “Drink up, breakfast is on its way.”
Spike looked at the mug of blood and shook his head. He felt like Alice in spaziland and expected to see the White Rabbit wandering around in a jock strap; well, the Queen of Hearts was cooking breakfast, so the thought wasn’t that far-fetched. He downed the blood in one, relishing the nourishment and slapped the mug down with an extravagant ‘Aahh!’
“Good,” Giles said, “now sit up at the table and I’ll bring your breakfast.”
Giles smiled at Spike’s blood mustache, which made him look about ten years old and he almost leant across to lick the enticing top lip when he realised this was Spike and that was blood. Instead he took a napkin and wiped the blood gently away, deftly dabbing the corners of the pouting mouth. Folding the linen cloth neatly into four, the ex. Watcher melted into the blond’s too blue, too cool eyes and was inexorably drawn into the hypnotic thrall of the vampire. Breaking the spell, he stumbled to his feet and managed to say with some dignity, “Well now, that’s better, can’t have you walking around looking as though you’ve just snacked on some unfortunate in my house. Wouldn’t do, wouldn’t do at all. Not at all,” as he hurried to the kitchen.
Spike watched as a huge fried breakfast and a cup of tea were placed before him. The ex. Watcher returned with cutlery, HP sauce, toast and another plate. The older man sat down and began to eat, making appreciative noises as each mouthful passed his lips, Spike covering his plate with sauce and wolfing his breakfast.
“Never really liked baked beans,” Giles said, “but I find covering them in sauce like you, makes them more palatable. My Father was the same. Now, I’ve an excellent thick cut marmalade in the cupboard that I’ve been saving, but I think it needs to be sampled. Are you up for a couple of slices?”
Spike nodded as he swallowed the last piece of bacon and because the occasion seemed to call for it, arranged his knife and fork correctly on his plate as his Mother had taught him. He watched as Giles returned to the kitchen with the plates and heard toast being spread as he lit another cigarette.
“The preserve is from the West Country, not far from where I used to live in Bristol. Apparently, two old ladies who were members of the Women’s Institute in their younger days, have been making jam and marmalade on their two-acre farm for over twenty years. I think they might be…” Giles coughed the word ‘lesbians.’ “I read it on their website which was a link from the site Willow found for me, fascinating. How is it?”
Spike nodded his approval.
Everything was so painfully familiar; the chattering twit, the normality of the situation. Only the human had changed. This was like some vampire version of ‘Groundhog Day.’
“What’s going on, Giles?” Spike asked.
“What do you mean?”
Spreading his arms and looking around the room, Spike explained, “This. What’s this all about? Cooking like an effeminate Fanny Craddock, enthusing about bloody marmalade, going on like we’re two poofs who’ve lived together for fifty years. Am I in some parallel universe? And who took my kecks off? Have you been up to anything while I was out cold?”
“It’s Saturday, Spike,” Giles said calmly. “I thought we could have a hearty breakfast to start the day. Last night was very fraught for both of us and I find I concentrate better with a full stomach. As for your clothes, I needed to ascertain if you were injured in any way and I saw those awful scratch marks. I undressed you, bathed you and administered to you. As for anything else, I think that would be wishful thinking on your part as I have no intention of fooling around with a dangerous vampire, despite a chip and a soul.”
Spike looked down and Giles rose to sit beside the deflated figure. “I’ve pieced together the last few weeks of your life, Spike. I understand you have a soul now and what possession of that soul is doing to you. I also understand some what has happened to Angel and to Wesley and Cordelia. I’m desperately sorry to hear of Doyle’s death and there’s nothing I can do there, but you came here seeking help and I will help you.”
Help; they always wanted to help, his idiot cop had wanted to help and he had done the dirty on him. “It’s all too late. He’s probably found Wesley and Cordelia…”
“No, I’ve taken care of that,” Giles said.
“How?”
“I’ve been up for hours, unlike you, snoring on my couch like a old tramp with a bad cold, and I’ve been able to move them to safer premises. I still have contacts in America and some clout among the Watcher affiliates here. Rest assured, I have them safely cloistered in a monastery where the monks are friends and allies. Wesley and Cordelia will be looked after and no harm will befall them.”
“How did you find them?”
“Plastic fantastic, as you put I,” Giles said, eyes sparkling. “You still had the credit card on your person and I was able to trace all the transactions you charged to the account. A few telephone calls and they were moved without any questions.”
“Did they tell you how they are?”
Giles pursed his lips and sighed. “I won’t lie to you, Spike, Wesley is still unconscious, although his vital signs are steady and his broken bones are healing, however, he is seriously unwell. Cordelia is more of a concern, her symptoms being mystical in nature, and she seems to be growing weaker. I have engaged a Shaman to protect her from further harm and to look into the spell that caused her current state. Whatever has cursed her, she is receiving the best care.”
“Thank you.”
“Now,” Giles said, waving away the thanks, “we need to talk about what’s happened to you and to Angel.”
Spike related the events of the past weeks, Giles allowing for pauses where particularly painful experiences caused the vampire to close his eyes at the memory. He spoke of arriving at Angel’s apartment nearly two years ago, newly chipped and starving, of the renewal of their friendship and the Sire/Child bond, the love that had developed, flourished, culminating in the ancient vampire ritual. He told of his role in Angel Investigations, his wish to join the fight to help the helpless to keep the love of his Sire; he spoke of Drusilla’s death, Faith’s attempt to kill them both, Megan, his descendant, and of Buffy’s appearance in LA., the recognition that Wesley, Cordelia and Doyle had become his family, the attack on that family, finding Doyle’s shattered body, the Powers that Be, the granting of his soul and the torment of that soul. He told him about Lindsey McDonald, the bastard who had shattered his world, and some of his weeks spent with Adam and the subsequent flight to Sunnydale.
Finishing his story, Spike remained completely motionless, which was a disconcerting trait of the undead. Giles removed and folded his glasses, placing them in the top pocket of his jacket. “We have a lot to do, Spike, but we can’t do it alone, we’ll need Willow.”
“The little red head?”
“Yes,” Giles confirmed, “you won’t know she has been studying witchcraft and is a very accomplished witch; becoming more powerful every day. Her close friend, Tara, is also a very talented wiccan and together they may be able to locate Angel if…if he’s still alive and we have to accept the fact that Angel may be dead. I don’t wish to be unfeeling, but from what you have told me about this Lindsey character, it would be the ultimate act of revenge on you.”
“But surely I would know, I would feel it, I don’t feel it, Giles, I don’t feel anything, just an empty space and this…terrible loneliness.”
“You’re not alone, Spike, I’m here and the others will help us when they know what’s happened.”
“Others?” Spike asked.
“I believe Xander and his current girlfriend, Anya, will be useful, he’s not all idiot and she’s an ex. demon who may be able to add her vast experienced to the situation.”
“The situation,” Spike laughed, “you make it sound like a wayward daughter’s turned up with a swollen belly.”
Face set hard, Giles replied firmly. “I’m dealing with this the best way I know how, Spike, I’m not one given to histrionics or knee-jerk reactions, I have thought all night on our course of action. We in Sunnydale have prevented the Master returning, the Mayor’s ascension, Adam and countless other demonic catastrophes, so we have some experience of apocalyptic disasters.”
“How will the children react when they turn up and see me? I’ve tried to kill most of them at some point when I was last here.”
“They’ll cope,” Giles said simply. “They have done in the past. This last year has been particularly difficult but we have got through and not without some sacrifice. On Monday, I’ll call a meeting and we’ll start researching. Willow will relish the challenge and Xander has re-thought his views on you and vampires in general. His trips to LA were…um…eye-opening to say the least.”
“Who’s his new tart?”
“Anya? She’s an ex. vengeance demon now working in The Magic Shop with me.” Giles suppressed a laugh.
“You work in a magic shop? Bit of a come down.”
“I own the shop,” Giles said proudly, “it allows me to make a living and continue with my duties, even though the Council sacked me.”
Spike looked thoughtful, then said, “You haven’t mentioned one person.”
“Yes, deliberately, Buffy will be more difficult to persuade. She was very hurt and confused after her trip to LA and hasn’t been herself since, but I think when she hears your story, she’ll get over it and be on board.”
Spike shook his head. “I’m not as convinced as you, Giles. I think she would happily have killed me, half dead as I was, when she finally got the picture. Not easy for her, I’d imagine, Angel being the love of her life. How’s the soldier boy, Xander told me about?”
“He’s no longer in the picture,” Giles said. “I don’t think he could cope with her being the Slayer and all that entails. It’s a shame, really, as he was good for her in many ways. Her Father’s here, so they’ve gone to San Francisco for a few days, her and Dawn.”
“Dawny? Niblett still giving the Slayer trouble? That pleases me no end.”
“The usual teenage rebellion issues, she…oh, you don’t know about…? I’m not sure I should say anymore.” Giles looked towards the window as if checking for someone or something.
“Makes no difference to me, Watcher,” Spike said, shrugging and searching for cigarettes.
“No, you should know, in case Glory…it’s complicated. Spike, Dawn isn’t real; I mean she’s as real as you and me, but…”
“What the fuck are you on about?”
“We’re facing the wrath of a god by the name of Glorificus, Glory, a god who has been exiled from her dimension because of her arrogance and belligerence. She’s trapped here, looking for a way back to her world. To say she’s unhappy with the situation would be the understatement of the century.”
Spike lit another cigarette, demanded more tea and asked, “What’s this got to do with Dawn?”
Putting the kettle on, Giles explained, “There’s a key, a key to open her dimension and allow a return to her world, however, opening that doorway would destroy this one. It’s been hidden by a secret religious order for years, but fearful Glory would discover its whereabouts; they somehow transformed the key into human form and sent it to where they believed it would be protected at all costs. They created Dawn, and in doing so created memories of a younger sister for Buffy and daughter for Joyce. We all believe we’ve known her all her life, but the memories are false, implanted by the protectors of the key.”
Spike blinked. “This is too surreal. I don’t understand how it’s affected me, I remember the Little Bit clearly, she used to follow me around, and I was evil then.”
Giles sighed. “It’s affected all of us, her estranged Father, relatives overseas; all remember Dawn, even Angel and the LA crew, it has to be that way.” Giles removed his glasses and wiped them, putting them in his top pocket as he brought over two cups of tea, setting them on the coffee table. Sitting next to the amazed vampire, the ex. Watcher touched the younger man on the shoulder. “Spike, I can depend on you not to breathe a word of this to anyone who may ask. We don’t know who may work for Glory and she will do anything to obtain the key, a careless word, a flippant remark could…”
“Is she the same?” Spike asked.
“Who?”
“Yma fucking Sumack, you twit!” Spike yelled. “Dawn! Is Dawn the same as I remember her?”
“Yes, of course she is.”
Spike shrugged again. “Then, as far as I’m concerned she’s Buffy’s little sister who was annoying, but the only one of you cunts I ever had time for.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Spike advised. “I’m all wrong-headed these days, who knows what might come outta my out of control gob.”
Giles studied the handsome face and knew Spike would not betray Dawn. It had been an odd relationship, a teenage girl and a blood thirsty killer, but somehow, the girl was fascinated with the blond vampire, seeking him out whenever possible, despite warnings to keep away. And Spike had tolerated her presence, much like an older brother with an irritating younger sibling. Why he never thought to do her harm was a mystery and why he should feel a responsibility for her well-being now, Giles could not explain. He nodded and stood up, pointing at the computer, “We’ve work to do. You need to get dressed, you can’t stay like that all day and your clothes are still drying. I’ve bought you some clothes.”
The shocked vampire stared open-mouthed as the ex. Watcher picked up shopping bags from under the coffee table.
“You bought me clothes!” Spike shrieked. “You bought me clothes? You bought me clothes!”
“Say it as many times as you like, Spike, it doesn’t change the fact.” Giles said. “Now, while I’m washing up, you go and get dressed.”
“I need a wazz.”
“Upstairs to the left.”
***
The showered and dressed vampire returned downstairs wearing a pale blue cotton shirt and faded jeans. He wondered what the old goat was thinking when he bought the togs as the denims were so tight they were cutting his arse like a cheese grater and his bollocks were crushed to the right. Made a sexy bulge, though, and he wished he could see himself full on. He’d tucked the shirt in, pulled it out and tucked it back in again, deciding the world should see his packet. The underwear was Calvin Klein, size thirty-two, good guess and they felt good on, normally preferring to go commando. He thought of Giles in a department store, insisting he was buying clothes for a nephew, describing an approximate size and grinned to think maybe the dirty old sod measured him whilst asleep. He also smiled as he imagined the ex. Watcher in that scene from ‘Shirley Valentine.’ “…Actually these sexy underpants are for my lover. Yes, you see, he and I, my lover that is, are living together now and we have lots of sex and taramasalata whilst wearing Calvin Kleins…”
“Ah, there you are,” Giles said when he spotted the vampire descending the stairs. “Now, I’ve got some coffee brewing and I thought you could surf the net whilst I…oh, my goodness…you…they…how are the clothes? I had to guess your size and I tried to choose colours you would look se…feel comfortable in…um…they look comfortable. Are they comfortable?”
With a devilish gleam, the wicked vampire adjusted his crotch, taking care to linger where his penis snaked downward, running his middle finger along the length and cupping the bulge. “Bit snug, Watcher, cutting off me circulation. You can see the outline of me cock and balls clearly, look! I’ll be getting offers from every Tom, Dick and Harriet, ‘specially if I get even the slightest stiffy. What do you think?”
Giles coughed and removed his glasses, wiping them with a handkerchief. “Very nice, Spike, the colours suit you and makes a change from your usual attire.”
Spike slouched on a side cabinet, his legs as wide apart as possible, hips thrust forward, inspecting a nail and enjoying the older man’s obvious discomfort.
Attempting to look anywhere but directly at the provocative vampire, Giles said as calmly as he could, “When you’ve quite finished posing, Spike, get on the computer. I’ve left the page open at ‘Wolfram and Hart;’ you’ll find the information there very interesting indeed. This Lindsey Mcdonald no longer works for the firm, but his name pops up with alarming regularity, so he must have associates allowing him access to their offices and files. Wesley asked me to do some research on him, but as I didn’t hear any more, I thought the request wasn’t pressing. One Lila Morgan seems to feature strongly in conjunction with Mcdonald.”
“That bitch!”
“You know her?”
“We’ve had dealings with her. Nasty piece of work, free range evil”
“She may be a good place to start,” Giles said, pointing at the PC. “Excellent website, Willow showed me how to break any password code, so we should be able to get a home address. I think a visit may be called for. This Sahjhan demon, not much there, but I’ve found references in some of my books; an interesting character who seems to have been around for a long time.”
The pair spent the rest of the day in quiet research, each involved in their particular manner of investigation, sharing information, arguing a disputed point and chatting amiably as useful snippets were discovered, interrupting only for refreshment and bathroom breaks. Giles spent almost as much time studying the intriguing creature as he did scouring his heavy tomes and he found he was becoming strangely fond of him. The vampire was annoying, argumentative, rude, had disgusting habits, marshmallows in blood for instance, arrogant; the list was endless; but he was also intelligent, excellent company, well-read, witty with a biting irony, capable and interesting. The ex. Watcher longed to ask for details of his human life, Watcher files having only recorded William the Bloody as a vampire from his association with Angelus, Darla and Drusilla.
Spike had referred to himself as a poet, a loving son, obviously of Victorian middle class society, with remembered impeccable manners when the occasion arose. Was Spike the antithesis of everything in his previous life, a rejection of the man he was or the all embracing servant of the darkness offered? With Angelus as his mentor, William the Bloody had a reputation to emulate and aspire to.
Caught staring, Giles reddened and made his way to the kitchen for a glass of water.
“You got a question, Watcher? Stick a pop tart into the toaster and I’m all yours,” Spike said with a smirk.
“I was thinking about your human self, Spike,” Giles said. “What were you like back then? Details of your life before you were turned are non-existent. Were you married, single, living alone or with parents, relatives? Did you have a job?”
“Father died when I was eight, Mother raised me on her own; didn’t have any money worries, nice house, two servants, Mother died…that enough for you, Watcher?”
Giles heard pain and anger in the response and regretted the inquisition, especially as the day had been unexpectedly pleasant. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to probe, Watcher training is never really forgotten, tea?”
“No, I’m sorry. It was a very long time ago and counts for fuck all.” The vampire sighed, stretched his slim body and logged off the computer. “I loved my Mother and I suppose I was the quintessential Mummy’s boy, living at home, not working; writing pathetic poetry to whoever had taken my fancy at the time. Do you know where the ‘William the Bloody’ thing came from?”
“I suppose the obvious, really,” Giles said, returning with two cups of tea in one hand and a plate of pop tarts in the other, handing the tarts to Spike and setting the tea on the side cabinet, “blood, guts and gore, death and destruction.”
“No, the name was given to me long before I was turned, by my peers, for inflicting the most heinous of injustices against them.”
Giles was horrified. “You killed as a human!”
“No, as I said, I wrote poetry and would recite verses at gatherings, musical evenings, anywhere really. It was puerile, nonsensical, childish, pompous and that’s why they called me ‘William, the bloody awful poet;’ to my face even, fucking cunts!”
Giles gaped in disbelief at the revelation and then burst into uncontrollable laughter.
Angry and upset, Spike said, “Oh, I’m glad my misfortune amuses you, cunt lips; remind me to fall about when you tell me what your worst nightmare is. Oh, I’ll just die laughing! Stop it, you decrepit, old fart! It’s not funny! Stop fucking laughing!”
Spike grabbed the helpless human by the shoulders and shook the shuddering body violently, but the laughter continued and in between guffaws, Giles stuttered, “You…you have to admit, Spike, the misin…misinterpretation of…that nom …nom de guerre is…is hilarious. The thought of ‘William the Bloody’ actually being ‘William, the bloody awful poet’ is too funny, just too amusing!”
The annoyed vampire pushed the near hysterical ex. Watcher against the wall and prodded him in the chest, receiving a warning shock to his brain, which he ignored with a shake of his head.
“Yeah, well do you know what Dru and I called you? Sister George! Yeah, Sister George from the movie ‘The Killing of’ because you looked old and tweedy just like that fat, ugly lezzie Beryl Reid!”
Giles stopped laughing and pursed his lips before resuming his giggling fit, spraying Spike with spittle as he did so.
“You fucking cunt!” Spike yelled. “You sack of fucking shit! Sister George! Sister George!”
“William, the bloody awful poet! William, the bloody fucking awful poet!” Giles threw back.
The astonished vampire stepped back, a weird look on his face. “What did you say?”
Trying not to laugh, Giles taunted, “Nothing that hasn’t been said before, W.T.B.A.P.”
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re saying, I can spell, you know.”
“Not without moving your lips!”
“You…you…!”
The absurdity of the situation caused Spike to drop to the floor and sit cross-legged, elbows on knees, face in hands. Giles saw the body heaving with emotion and knelt to offer reassurance, sitting back on his heels as he realised the vampire was laughing too. He took Spike’s head in his hands, raised him up to look into his face, and saw the marvelous sight of a thing of evil giggling like a child. Giles placed his hands on the convulsing shoulders and shook gently, “Spike? Spike, are you all right?”
The vampire fell back and rocked from side to side, loud, frenzied shrieking piercing the air. Between the roars of laughter he managed to say, “No fucker’s ever called me that since I became a vampire! Not even Angelus! And here you are, an old Sister George look-a-like, risking a throat ripping by daring to call me it to my face! You must be some kind of mad cunt with a death wish!”
Spike could no longer speak as he clutched his stomach and roared even louder. Giles watched in amazement before cracking up and falling on top of the vampire in stitches on his sitting room floor.
The pair laughed without restraint, Spike rolling Giles so the ex. Watcher was beneath him and Giles then jerked his hips to topple the blond and regain pole position to prove he still could. Eventually they calmed down, Giles moving slightly to rest his head on his hand. Each looked at the other and collapsed into helpless laughter again. The older man laid his head on a strong chest and looked into the vampire’s eyes, “It’s good to laugh, loud and long and clear, as Julie Andrews as Mary Poppins would sing.” And they both cracked up again, Spike rubbing Giles’ head with his knuckles and comparing the older man to pop-eyed Michael Banks.
Their faces were very close and Giles inched forward, brushing against cool lips which did not resist. Spike felt the heat of humanity flood through his body and heard the almighty pounding of blood coursing through vessels plump with blood. The beast within awakened the urge to rip and tear; seized, demanded, overwhelmed and whispered of voluptuous pleasures. Instead, Spike took the frail human face in omnipotent hands and brought it close, nestling the precious flesh against his neck, cradling the body. He felt the human’s arousal pressing against his thigh and moved to rub his own crotch against the bulge with equal passion. He knew it was wrong, he knew he was bad, but it eased pain, loneliness…
The telephone rang and Giles’ head jerked up at the interruption, looking back down into the face of the handsome demon that had bewitched and bedeviled.
“Get off, Watcher, go answer the ‘phone,” Spike said as he thrust his loins upward and slid from under the human’s weight.
Giles sat on his heels for several seconds, rubbing his eyes before rising and making his way to the telephone, looking back at Spike still lying on his floor.
The bad vampire lay with an arm over his eyes as if blindness would erase the last five minutes from memory. Had he really been about to make out with Rupert Giles: old fart and ex. Watcher of Sunnydale? He could hear the soft voice talking on the telephone and questioned whether either of them would have seen it through: sucking and fucking, fucking and sucking.
Standing and adjusting his crotch, Spike walked over to Giles and placed his hand on the older man’s shoulder. Without turning, Giles laid a hand on top and squeezed in gratitude, recognition and affection. Pressing his body against the broad back, Spike placed the gentlest of butterfly kisses to the bared nape, downy hair caressing his cheek. Giles relaxed into the embrace, leaning back in surrender to the powerful presence. A pat on the buttocks ended the moment and Spike released his hold, grabbed a packet of Jaffa cakes from the kitchen sideboard and slumped on the sofa, lighting up.
Giles continued the conversation with his accountant as he caressed the magical spot where Spike had kissed the back of his neck. What was he thinking? What were they thinking? To deny an attraction to the blond vampire would be foolishness, he had felt something for the ‘Big Bad’ when he had first come to Sunnydale intent on killing a third Slayer and anyone unwise enough to get in the way. He had watched with unhealthy interest, the slim, athletic body, dreamt of those seductive lips, sighed over the handsome face and fell into azure blue eyes, even then.
He had listened with the jealousy of a thwarted swain as Wesley had enthused over ‘the impossible vampire in their midst,’ seethed in quiet rage at the pathetically veiled hints of unrequited love and lust for a creature of the night. He had read every e-mail from the LA based ex. Watcher with frustrated envy as each reference to Spike revealed a growing fascination, new respect and hero worship, despite a blossoming relationship with the unlikely Doyle. And now the object of both their desires was in his house, eating his food, abusing his hospitality, flirting outrageously, kissing him…hanging up the telephone, the tired man slumped against the wall.
He was loveless, childless, middle-aged and old, to use Waugh’s prose. Old and middle-aged, middle-aged and old…and he loved a demon in the guise of a beautiful young man.
***
Next: ‘And the award for best vampire in a leading role goes to…
Chapter 8: Loveless, childless, middle-aged, old (part 2)
Pairing: Spike and Giles
Rating: Just spike swearing and some vampire / Watcher bonding; nothing too graphic
Summary: Spike is confused...Giles is singing 'Pretty Vacant' and cooking breakfast; chatting like they've been living together for years. As realisation sets in, he accepts Giles' help; vampire and watcher bonding with surprising results.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters etc..
Feedback: Always welcome.
Type your cut contents here.
Chapter 8:Loveless, childless, middle-aged, old (part 2)
It wasn’t the distant metallic ping or the mouthwatering aroma of frying bacon, or even the realisation that troubled, chaotic dreams were thankfully absent; but the sound of an ex. Watcher crooning the Sex Pistols’ ‘Pretty Vacant,’ that opened the eyes of the sleeping vampire.
He was covered up to his neck in a heavy quilt on the sofa in Rupert Giles’ sitting room and he was naked. His addled brain quickly slotted the jigsaw of last night together and despite being pissed as four newts, rambling like a pill-popped Liza Minnnelli and crying, yes crying like some pansy-arsed new-age man, he couldn’t remember removing his clothes. He drew up the quilt and looked at his body for signs that he had been interfered with; this was, after all, an ex. public school, ex. Watcher, with a stash of gay porn under his bed. Apart from the scratches over his chest, where he’d tried to claw the soul out, there didn’t seem much awry. There was the faint smell of antiseptic, but otherwise, he seemed to be intact, no shackles, no new wounds, no pain in the arse.
He looked to where the smell and singing were coming from and saw the ex. Watcher busy cooking. The bizarre normality of the situation caused the confused vampire to throw the cover back over his head, hoping to drift back to sleep, but the rumbling in his gut told him he hadn’t eaten in days, so sat up and searched for his cigarettes. Finding them on the coffee table, he hastily lit up and leant back, inhaling deeply and blowing smoke rings.
“Oh good, you’re up,” Giles said. “I’ve heated some blood, you look as though you haven’t had anything to eat for a while and whilst it is animal, it should perk you up. I’m cooking a big fry up: bacon, eggs, sausages, baked beans and fried bread; I rarely do these days due to my age and the warnings of cholesterol, but with a guest, I though why not?”
Spike stared.
“How are you?” Giles continued. “Did you sleep well? I’ve got real HP sauce; I get it via the internet. Willow found this excellent site where you can order all sorts of English goodies and they deliver within days at very reasonable prices, unlike the extortionate ex. pat stores around: Branston pickle, Tetley’s tea bags, Jaffa cakes, marmite; a veritable smorgasbord of home comforts.”
The ex. Watcher placed a mug of warmed blood on the coffee table, took Spike’s free hand and placed it on the handle. “Drink up, breakfast is on its way.”
Spike looked at the mug of blood and shook his head. He felt like Alice in spaziland and expected to see the White Rabbit wandering around in a jock strap; well, the Queen of Hearts was cooking breakfast, so the thought wasn’t that far-fetched. He downed the blood in one, relishing the nourishment and slapped the mug down with an extravagant ‘Aahh!’
“Good,” Giles said, “now sit up at the table and I’ll bring your breakfast.”
Giles smiled at Spike’s blood mustache, which made him look about ten years old and he almost leant across to lick the enticing top lip when he realised this was Spike and that was blood. Instead he took a napkin and wiped the blood gently away, deftly dabbing the corners of the pouting mouth. Folding the linen cloth neatly into four, the ex. Watcher melted into the blond’s too blue, too cool eyes and was inexorably drawn into the hypnotic thrall of the vampire. Breaking the spell, he stumbled to his feet and managed to say with some dignity, “Well now, that’s better, can’t have you walking around looking as though you’ve just snacked on some unfortunate in my house. Wouldn’t do, wouldn’t do at all. Not at all,” as he hurried to the kitchen.
Spike watched as a huge fried breakfast and a cup of tea were placed before him. The ex. Watcher returned with cutlery, HP sauce, toast and another plate. The older man sat down and began to eat, making appreciative noises as each mouthful passed his lips, Spike covering his plate with sauce and wolfing his breakfast.
“Never really liked baked beans,” Giles said, “but I find covering them in sauce like you, makes them more palatable. My Father was the same. Now, I’ve an excellent thick cut marmalade in the cupboard that I’ve been saving, but I think it needs to be sampled. Are you up for a couple of slices?”
Spike nodded as he swallowed the last piece of bacon and because the occasion seemed to call for it, arranged his knife and fork correctly on his plate as his Mother had taught him. He watched as Giles returned to the kitchen with the plates and heard toast being spread as he lit another cigarette.
“The preserve is from the West Country, not far from where I used to live in Bristol. Apparently, two old ladies who were members of the Women’s Institute in their younger days, have been making jam and marmalade on their two-acre farm for over twenty years. I think they might be…” Giles coughed the word ‘lesbians.’ “I read it on their website which was a link from the site Willow found for me, fascinating. How is it?”
Spike nodded his approval.
Everything was so painfully familiar; the chattering twit, the normality of the situation. Only the human had changed. This was like some vampire version of ‘Groundhog Day.’
“What’s going on, Giles?” Spike asked.
“What do you mean?”
Spreading his arms and looking around the room, Spike explained, “This. What’s this all about? Cooking like an effeminate Fanny Craddock, enthusing about bloody marmalade, going on like we’re two poofs who’ve lived together for fifty years. Am I in some parallel universe? And who took my kecks off? Have you been up to anything while I was out cold?”
“It’s Saturday, Spike,” Giles said calmly. “I thought we could have a hearty breakfast to start the day. Last night was very fraught for both of us and I find I concentrate better with a full stomach. As for your clothes, I needed to ascertain if you were injured in any way and I saw those awful scratch marks. I undressed you, bathed you and administered to you. As for anything else, I think that would be wishful thinking on your part as I have no intention of fooling around with a dangerous vampire, despite a chip and a soul.”
Spike looked down and Giles rose to sit beside the deflated figure. “I’ve pieced together the last few weeks of your life, Spike. I understand you have a soul now and what possession of that soul is doing to you. I also understand some what has happened to Angel and to Wesley and Cordelia. I’m desperately sorry to hear of Doyle’s death and there’s nothing I can do there, but you came here seeking help and I will help you.”
Help; they always wanted to help, his idiot cop had wanted to help and he had done the dirty on him. “It’s all too late. He’s probably found Wesley and Cordelia…”
“No, I’ve taken care of that,” Giles said.
“How?”
“I’ve been up for hours, unlike you, snoring on my couch like a old tramp with a bad cold, and I’ve been able to move them to safer premises. I still have contacts in America and some clout among the Watcher affiliates here. Rest assured, I have them safely cloistered in a monastery where the monks are friends and allies. Wesley and Cordelia will be looked after and no harm will befall them.”
“How did you find them?”
“Plastic fantastic, as you put I,” Giles said, eyes sparkling. “You still had the credit card on your person and I was able to trace all the transactions you charged to the account. A few telephone calls and they were moved without any questions.”
“Did they tell you how they are?”
Giles pursed his lips and sighed. “I won’t lie to you, Spike, Wesley is still unconscious, although his vital signs are steady and his broken bones are healing, however, he is seriously unwell. Cordelia is more of a concern, her symptoms being mystical in nature, and she seems to be growing weaker. I have engaged a Shaman to protect her from further harm and to look into the spell that caused her current state. Whatever has cursed her, she is receiving the best care.”
“Thank you.”
“Now,” Giles said, waving away the thanks, “we need to talk about what’s happened to you and to Angel.”
Spike related the events of the past weeks, Giles allowing for pauses where particularly painful experiences caused the vampire to close his eyes at the memory. He spoke of arriving at Angel’s apartment nearly two years ago, newly chipped and starving, of the renewal of their friendship and the Sire/Child bond, the love that had developed, flourished, culminating in the ancient vampire ritual. He told of his role in Angel Investigations, his wish to join the fight to help the helpless to keep the love of his Sire; he spoke of Drusilla’s death, Faith’s attempt to kill them both, Megan, his descendant, and of Buffy’s appearance in LA., the recognition that Wesley, Cordelia and Doyle had become his family, the attack on that family, finding Doyle’s shattered body, the Powers that Be, the granting of his soul and the torment of that soul. He told him about Lindsey McDonald, the bastard who had shattered his world, and some of his weeks spent with Adam and the subsequent flight to Sunnydale.
Finishing his story, Spike remained completely motionless, which was a disconcerting trait of the undead. Giles removed and folded his glasses, placing them in the top pocket of his jacket. “We have a lot to do, Spike, but we can’t do it alone, we’ll need Willow.”
“The little red head?”
“Yes,” Giles confirmed, “you won’t know she has been studying witchcraft and is a very accomplished witch; becoming more powerful every day. Her close friend, Tara, is also a very talented wiccan and together they may be able to locate Angel if…if he’s still alive and we have to accept the fact that Angel may be dead. I don’t wish to be unfeeling, but from what you have told me about this Lindsey character, it would be the ultimate act of revenge on you.”
“But surely I would know, I would feel it, I don’t feel it, Giles, I don’t feel anything, just an empty space and this…terrible loneliness.”
“You’re not alone, Spike, I’m here and the others will help us when they know what’s happened.”
“Others?” Spike asked.
“I believe Xander and his current girlfriend, Anya, will be useful, he’s not all idiot and she’s an ex. demon who may be able to add her vast experienced to the situation.”
“The situation,” Spike laughed, “you make it sound like a wayward daughter’s turned up with a swollen belly.”
Face set hard, Giles replied firmly. “I’m dealing with this the best way I know how, Spike, I’m not one given to histrionics or knee-jerk reactions, I have thought all night on our course of action. We in Sunnydale have prevented the Master returning, the Mayor’s ascension, Adam and countless other demonic catastrophes, so we have some experience of apocalyptic disasters.”
“How will the children react when they turn up and see me? I’ve tried to kill most of them at some point when I was last here.”
“They’ll cope,” Giles said simply. “They have done in the past. This last year has been particularly difficult but we have got through and not without some sacrifice. On Monday, I’ll call a meeting and we’ll start researching. Willow will relish the challenge and Xander has re-thought his views on you and vampires in general. His trips to LA were…um…eye-opening to say the least.”
“Who’s his new tart?”
“Anya? She’s an ex. vengeance demon now working in The Magic Shop with me.” Giles suppressed a laugh.
“You work in a magic shop? Bit of a come down.”
“I own the shop,” Giles said proudly, “it allows me to make a living and continue with my duties, even though the Council sacked me.”
Spike looked thoughtful, then said, “You haven’t mentioned one person.”
“Yes, deliberately, Buffy will be more difficult to persuade. She was very hurt and confused after her trip to LA and hasn’t been herself since, but I think when she hears your story, she’ll get over it and be on board.”
Spike shook his head. “I’m not as convinced as you, Giles. I think she would happily have killed me, half dead as I was, when she finally got the picture. Not easy for her, I’d imagine, Angel being the love of her life. How’s the soldier boy, Xander told me about?”
“He’s no longer in the picture,” Giles said. “I don’t think he could cope with her being the Slayer and all that entails. It’s a shame, really, as he was good for her in many ways. Her Father’s here, so they’ve gone to San Francisco for a few days, her and Dawn.”
“Dawny? Niblett still giving the Slayer trouble? That pleases me no end.”
“The usual teenage rebellion issues, she…oh, you don’t know about…? I’m not sure I should say anymore.” Giles looked towards the window as if checking for someone or something.
“Makes no difference to me, Watcher,” Spike said, shrugging and searching for cigarettes.
“No, you should know, in case Glory…it’s complicated. Spike, Dawn isn’t real; I mean she’s as real as you and me, but…”
“What the fuck are you on about?”
“We’re facing the wrath of a god by the name of Glorificus, Glory, a god who has been exiled from her dimension because of her arrogance and belligerence. She’s trapped here, looking for a way back to her world. To say she’s unhappy with the situation would be the understatement of the century.”
Spike lit another cigarette, demanded more tea and asked, “What’s this got to do with Dawn?”
Putting the kettle on, Giles explained, “There’s a key, a key to open her dimension and allow a return to her world, however, opening that doorway would destroy this one. It’s been hidden by a secret religious order for years, but fearful Glory would discover its whereabouts; they somehow transformed the key into human form and sent it to where they believed it would be protected at all costs. They created Dawn, and in doing so created memories of a younger sister for Buffy and daughter for Joyce. We all believe we’ve known her all her life, but the memories are false, implanted by the protectors of the key.”
Spike blinked. “This is too surreal. I don’t understand how it’s affected me, I remember the Little Bit clearly, she used to follow me around, and I was evil then.”
Giles sighed. “It’s affected all of us, her estranged Father, relatives overseas; all remember Dawn, even Angel and the LA crew, it has to be that way.” Giles removed his glasses and wiped them, putting them in his top pocket as he brought over two cups of tea, setting them on the coffee table. Sitting next to the amazed vampire, the ex. Watcher touched the younger man on the shoulder. “Spike, I can depend on you not to breathe a word of this to anyone who may ask. We don’t know who may work for Glory and she will do anything to obtain the key, a careless word, a flippant remark could…”
“Is she the same?” Spike asked.
“Who?”
“Yma fucking Sumack, you twit!” Spike yelled. “Dawn! Is Dawn the same as I remember her?”
“Yes, of course she is.”
Spike shrugged again. “Then, as far as I’m concerned she’s Buffy’s little sister who was annoying, but the only one of you cunts I ever had time for.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Spike advised. “I’m all wrong-headed these days, who knows what might come outta my out of control gob.”
Giles studied the handsome face and knew Spike would not betray Dawn. It had been an odd relationship, a teenage girl and a blood thirsty killer, but somehow, the girl was fascinated with the blond vampire, seeking him out whenever possible, despite warnings to keep away. And Spike had tolerated her presence, much like an older brother with an irritating younger sibling. Why he never thought to do her harm was a mystery and why he should feel a responsibility for her well-being now, Giles could not explain. He nodded and stood up, pointing at the computer, “We’ve work to do. You need to get dressed, you can’t stay like that all day and your clothes are still drying. I’ve bought you some clothes.”
The shocked vampire stared open-mouthed as the ex. Watcher picked up shopping bags from under the coffee table.
“You bought me clothes!” Spike shrieked. “You bought me clothes? You bought me clothes!”
“Say it as many times as you like, Spike, it doesn’t change the fact.” Giles said. “Now, while I’m washing up, you go and get dressed.”
“I need a wazz.”
“Upstairs to the left.”
***
The showered and dressed vampire returned downstairs wearing a pale blue cotton shirt and faded jeans. He wondered what the old goat was thinking when he bought the togs as the denims were so tight they were cutting his arse like a cheese grater and his bollocks were crushed to the right. Made a sexy bulge, though, and he wished he could see himself full on. He’d tucked the shirt in, pulled it out and tucked it back in again, deciding the world should see his packet. The underwear was Calvin Klein, size thirty-two, good guess and they felt good on, normally preferring to go commando. He thought of Giles in a department store, insisting he was buying clothes for a nephew, describing an approximate size and grinned to think maybe the dirty old sod measured him whilst asleep. He also smiled as he imagined the ex. Watcher in that scene from ‘Shirley Valentine.’ “…Actually these sexy underpants are for my lover. Yes, you see, he and I, my lover that is, are living together now and we have lots of sex and taramasalata whilst wearing Calvin Kleins…”
“Ah, there you are,” Giles said when he spotted the vampire descending the stairs. “Now, I’ve got some coffee brewing and I thought you could surf the net whilst I…oh, my goodness…you…they…how are the clothes? I had to guess your size and I tried to choose colours you would look se…feel comfortable in…um…they look comfortable. Are they comfortable?”
With a devilish gleam, the wicked vampire adjusted his crotch, taking care to linger where his penis snaked downward, running his middle finger along the length and cupping the bulge. “Bit snug, Watcher, cutting off me circulation. You can see the outline of me cock and balls clearly, look! I’ll be getting offers from every Tom, Dick and Harriet, ‘specially if I get even the slightest stiffy. What do you think?”
Giles coughed and removed his glasses, wiping them with a handkerchief. “Very nice, Spike, the colours suit you and makes a change from your usual attire.”
Spike slouched on a side cabinet, his legs as wide apart as possible, hips thrust forward, inspecting a nail and enjoying the older man’s obvious discomfort.
Attempting to look anywhere but directly at the provocative vampire, Giles said as calmly as he could, “When you’ve quite finished posing, Spike, get on the computer. I’ve left the page open at ‘Wolfram and Hart;’ you’ll find the information there very interesting indeed. This Lindsey Mcdonald no longer works for the firm, but his name pops up with alarming regularity, so he must have associates allowing him access to their offices and files. Wesley asked me to do some research on him, but as I didn’t hear any more, I thought the request wasn’t pressing. One Lila Morgan seems to feature strongly in conjunction with Mcdonald.”
“That bitch!”
“You know her?”
“We’ve had dealings with her. Nasty piece of work, free range evil”
“She may be a good place to start,” Giles said, pointing at the PC. “Excellent website, Willow showed me how to break any password code, so we should be able to get a home address. I think a visit may be called for. This Sahjhan demon, not much there, but I’ve found references in some of my books; an interesting character who seems to have been around for a long time.”
The pair spent the rest of the day in quiet research, each involved in their particular manner of investigation, sharing information, arguing a disputed point and chatting amiably as useful snippets were discovered, interrupting only for refreshment and bathroom breaks. Giles spent almost as much time studying the intriguing creature as he did scouring his heavy tomes and he found he was becoming strangely fond of him. The vampire was annoying, argumentative, rude, had disgusting habits, marshmallows in blood for instance, arrogant; the list was endless; but he was also intelligent, excellent company, well-read, witty with a biting irony, capable and interesting. The ex. Watcher longed to ask for details of his human life, Watcher files having only recorded William the Bloody as a vampire from his association with Angelus, Darla and Drusilla.
Spike had referred to himself as a poet, a loving son, obviously of Victorian middle class society, with remembered impeccable manners when the occasion arose. Was Spike the antithesis of everything in his previous life, a rejection of the man he was or the all embracing servant of the darkness offered? With Angelus as his mentor, William the Bloody had a reputation to emulate and aspire to.
Caught staring, Giles reddened and made his way to the kitchen for a glass of water.
“You got a question, Watcher? Stick a pop tart into the toaster and I’m all yours,” Spike said with a smirk.
“I was thinking about your human self, Spike,” Giles said. “What were you like back then? Details of your life before you were turned are non-existent. Were you married, single, living alone or with parents, relatives? Did you have a job?”
“Father died when I was eight, Mother raised me on her own; didn’t have any money worries, nice house, two servants, Mother died…that enough for you, Watcher?”
Giles heard pain and anger in the response and regretted the inquisition, especially as the day had been unexpectedly pleasant. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to probe, Watcher training is never really forgotten, tea?”
“No, I’m sorry. It was a very long time ago and counts for fuck all.” The vampire sighed, stretched his slim body and logged off the computer. “I loved my Mother and I suppose I was the quintessential Mummy’s boy, living at home, not working; writing pathetic poetry to whoever had taken my fancy at the time. Do you know where the ‘William the Bloody’ thing came from?”
“I suppose the obvious, really,” Giles said, returning with two cups of tea in one hand and a plate of pop tarts in the other, handing the tarts to Spike and setting the tea on the side cabinet, “blood, guts and gore, death and destruction.”
“No, the name was given to me long before I was turned, by my peers, for inflicting the most heinous of injustices against them.”
Giles was horrified. “You killed as a human!”
“No, as I said, I wrote poetry and would recite verses at gatherings, musical evenings, anywhere really. It was puerile, nonsensical, childish, pompous and that’s why they called me ‘William, the bloody awful poet;’ to my face even, fucking cunts!”
Giles gaped in disbelief at the revelation and then burst into uncontrollable laughter.
Angry and upset, Spike said, “Oh, I’m glad my misfortune amuses you, cunt lips; remind me to fall about when you tell me what your worst nightmare is. Oh, I’ll just die laughing! Stop it, you decrepit, old fart! It’s not funny! Stop fucking laughing!”
Spike grabbed the helpless human by the shoulders and shook the shuddering body violently, but the laughter continued and in between guffaws, Giles stuttered, “You…you have to admit, Spike, the misin…misinterpretation of…that nom …nom de guerre is…is hilarious. The thought of ‘William the Bloody’ actually being ‘William, the bloody awful poet’ is too funny, just too amusing!”
The annoyed vampire pushed the near hysterical ex. Watcher against the wall and prodded him in the chest, receiving a warning shock to his brain, which he ignored with a shake of his head.
“Yeah, well do you know what Dru and I called you? Sister George! Yeah, Sister George from the movie ‘The Killing of’ because you looked old and tweedy just like that fat, ugly lezzie Beryl Reid!”
Giles stopped laughing and pursed his lips before resuming his giggling fit, spraying Spike with spittle as he did so.
“You fucking cunt!” Spike yelled. “You sack of fucking shit! Sister George! Sister George!”
“William, the bloody awful poet! William, the bloody fucking awful poet!” Giles threw back.
The astonished vampire stepped back, a weird look on his face. “What did you say?”
Trying not to laugh, Giles taunted, “Nothing that hasn’t been said before, W.T.B.A.P.”
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re saying, I can spell, you know.”
“Not without moving your lips!”
“You…you…!”
The absurdity of the situation caused Spike to drop to the floor and sit cross-legged, elbows on knees, face in hands. Giles saw the body heaving with emotion and knelt to offer reassurance, sitting back on his heels as he realised the vampire was laughing too. He took Spike’s head in his hands, raised him up to look into his face, and saw the marvelous sight of a thing of evil giggling like a child. Giles placed his hands on the convulsing shoulders and shook gently, “Spike? Spike, are you all right?”
The vampire fell back and rocked from side to side, loud, frenzied shrieking piercing the air. Between the roars of laughter he managed to say, “No fucker’s ever called me that since I became a vampire! Not even Angelus! And here you are, an old Sister George look-a-like, risking a throat ripping by daring to call me it to my face! You must be some kind of mad cunt with a death wish!”
Spike could no longer speak as he clutched his stomach and roared even louder. Giles watched in amazement before cracking up and falling on top of the vampire in stitches on his sitting room floor.
The pair laughed without restraint, Spike rolling Giles so the ex. Watcher was beneath him and Giles then jerked his hips to topple the blond and regain pole position to prove he still could. Eventually they calmed down, Giles moving slightly to rest his head on his hand. Each looked at the other and collapsed into helpless laughter again. The older man laid his head on a strong chest and looked into the vampire’s eyes, “It’s good to laugh, loud and long and clear, as Julie Andrews as Mary Poppins would sing.” And they both cracked up again, Spike rubbing Giles’ head with his knuckles and comparing the older man to pop-eyed Michael Banks.
Their faces were very close and Giles inched forward, brushing against cool lips which did not resist. Spike felt the heat of humanity flood through his body and heard the almighty pounding of blood coursing through vessels plump with blood. The beast within awakened the urge to rip and tear; seized, demanded, overwhelmed and whispered of voluptuous pleasures. Instead, Spike took the frail human face in omnipotent hands and brought it close, nestling the precious flesh against his neck, cradling the body. He felt the human’s arousal pressing against his thigh and moved to rub his own crotch against the bulge with equal passion. He knew it was wrong, he knew he was bad, but it eased pain, loneliness…
The telephone rang and Giles’ head jerked up at the interruption, looking back down into the face of the handsome demon that had bewitched and bedeviled.
“Get off, Watcher, go answer the ‘phone,” Spike said as he thrust his loins upward and slid from under the human’s weight.
Giles sat on his heels for several seconds, rubbing his eyes before rising and making his way to the telephone, looking back at Spike still lying on his floor.
The bad vampire lay with an arm over his eyes as if blindness would erase the last five minutes from memory. Had he really been about to make out with Rupert Giles: old fart and ex. Watcher of Sunnydale? He could hear the soft voice talking on the telephone and questioned whether either of them would have seen it through: sucking and fucking, fucking and sucking.
Standing and adjusting his crotch, Spike walked over to Giles and placed his hand on the older man’s shoulder. Without turning, Giles laid a hand on top and squeezed in gratitude, recognition and affection. Pressing his body against the broad back, Spike placed the gentlest of butterfly kisses to the bared nape, downy hair caressing his cheek. Giles relaxed into the embrace, leaning back in surrender to the powerful presence. A pat on the buttocks ended the moment and Spike released his hold, grabbed a packet of Jaffa cakes from the kitchen sideboard and slumped on the sofa, lighting up.
Giles continued the conversation with his accountant as he caressed the magical spot where Spike had kissed the back of his neck. What was he thinking? What were they thinking? To deny an attraction to the blond vampire would be foolishness, he had felt something for the ‘Big Bad’ when he had first come to Sunnydale intent on killing a third Slayer and anyone unwise enough to get in the way. He had watched with unhealthy interest, the slim, athletic body, dreamt of those seductive lips, sighed over the handsome face and fell into azure blue eyes, even then.
He had listened with the jealousy of a thwarted swain as Wesley had enthused over ‘the impossible vampire in their midst,’ seethed in quiet rage at the pathetically veiled hints of unrequited love and lust for a creature of the night. He had read every e-mail from the LA based ex. Watcher with frustrated envy as each reference to Spike revealed a growing fascination, new respect and hero worship, despite a blossoming relationship with the unlikely Doyle. And now the object of both their desires was in his house, eating his food, abusing his hospitality, flirting outrageously, kissing him…hanging up the telephone, the tired man slumped against the wall.
He was loveless, childless, middle-aged and old, to use Waugh’s prose. Old and middle-aged, middle-aged and old…and he loved a demon in the guise of a beautiful young man.
***
Next: ‘And the award for best vampire in a leading role goes to…