Safe Part Two
Safe Part Two
For rating, pairings etc, see Part One
Giles peered round the edge of the living room curtains into the little lobby his flat shared with Mrs Finch's. There was no sign of the old woman, and her curtains were also drawn, though it was still light outside.
He glanced back over his shoulder at Spike, who stood close behind him - too close, in fact. Since the kiss, Giles had become hyper-sensitive to Spike's presence. The air in the room felt subtly charged too; as if they were connected together by an electrical circuit and someone had switched on the current.
Giles told himself to ignore the feeling, and not to remember the slim, pale shape in his bathroom, bending over to dry itself, while one lazy water drop slid down a smooth back to disappear into the dark cleft between twin globes of muscle.
"Are you certain about this?"
"Yeah." Spike's eyes were bright in the gloom, the pupils reflecting what little light there was. "Told you, she's a Meowlur demon - nasty, bloody things. Don't wanna get too close to 'em."
Giles let the curtain drop. In spite of Spike's apparent sincerity, it seemed a likely story.
"And you're not just saying it to try and prevent me throwing you out of the house?"
Spike blinked. "Well…yeah, but that doesn't change the facts."
Giles walked round Spike and back to his chair. "You'll have to forgive my scepticism, Spike, but this does seem a little - shall we say - convenient?"
He sat down and reached for the whisky bottle. "Also, from what I understand, Mrs Finch has lived here for donkey's years, so even if you're correct about her -er, nature, she's not doing anyone any harm."
"Yeah well," Spike shot back, "you try telling the neighbourhood moggies that. Don't think they'd agree."
Giles paused, bottle in hand. "What on earth do you mean? It's true, she's a cat lover, but apart from the dreadful smell, she seems harmless enough."
Spike laughed. "Cat lover? That's one way of putting it." He took Giles's place at the window and peered out round the curtain. "You get much in the way of missing pets around here? Photos stuck on lamp posts -poor old Tiddles, missing since a week last Tuesday an' such?"
Giles finished pouring his drink. He frowned, trying to remember. "Perhaps. I'm not sure. In all honesty, Spike, I don't take much notice of that kind of thing."
"Pity," Spike sneered. "If you had, and if you weren't so busy rotting your brain with booze, you might have remembered that Meowlur demons give off a powerful pheromone that's irresistible to cats. The old dear have a lot of them, does she?"
Giles realised his mouth had dropped open at the sheer effrontery of Spike's comment on his drinking. He shut it with a snap while Spike stared at him defiantly. Then he said, "As a matter of fact, she does."
Spike tilted his head. "Ever seen the same one more than once?"
Giles frowned. "I have no idea."
Spike turned back to the window. "Would imagine not. Meowlur demons're hungry buggers."
This time Giles didn't bother trying to hide his astonishment. "She eats them?"
When Spike looked back at him, he was smirking. "Well - yeah. What else?"
His expression turned serious again. "But soon cats won't be enough. Like I said, Meowlur demons are greedy. Won't be long before she turns her attention to the human population, starting with the kids. Meowlurs have been known to nab babies from their prams right under their mums' noses."
At this, Giles felt his scepticism returning. "Now you're being absurd. As I said, she's lived here for a long time. If she were in the habit of kidnapping children and eating them, don't you think someone would have noticed by now?"
Spike's gaze was fixed on the tiny sliver of darkening daylight through the gap in the curtains.
"Not really. See - she probably was a harmless, cat-loving old bat until recently. Now, she's a Meowlur demon in a Mrs Finch suit."
He looked back at Giles as he said this, grinning like he'd said something clever, but the reference was lost on Giles. The inference behind it, however, was not.
"You're saying that this Meowlur demon has already devoured Mrs Finch and now it's impersonating her?"
Spike rolled his eyes. "Finally he gets it. Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying."
Giles felt another twinge of irritation at Spike's failure to make himself clear from the start, though it was typical of him.
At the same time, he remembered Mrs Finch's earlier parting shot about any more trouble and it would be the worse for him. Suddenly, her threat sounded a great deal more sinister.
Spike tensed. "Cat!"
Giles set his glass down and joined him at the window, to see a large black and white cat sitting on Mrs Finch's doormat. As they watched, it set its front paws to the door and began to scrabble on it, demanding entrance while it mewed piteously.
"See!" Spike's voice had sunk to a hoarse whisper. "Pheromones. Poor little buggers can't resist 'em."
As they watched, the front door of number 2 began to open and a moment later, Mrs Finch was standing there. Giles had just time to register her horrible bright red lipstick and the claw-like red nails before Spike let the curtain drop and sprinted for the door.
"Stay here," he said, to Giles. "I'll handle it."
"Idiot! Where are you going?"
Giles hurried after him, knocking against the table as he went and almost toppling the bottle of whisky. By the time he reached the hall, the front door was already open and Spike was out in the lobby accosting the startled Mrs Finch in cheerful tones.
"Hello again."
The axe was still lying on the hall table where Giles had left it last night. He scrabbled it into his hand in passing, while Mrs Finch snatched up the black and white cat and attempted to retreat inside.
"Stay away from me," she said, to Spike. "I know all about your sort."
Spike was too quick for her, however. He was across the lobby in a flash and blocking Mrs Finch's attempts to close her front door.
"Nice cat," he said, still in the same cheerful voice. "Feeling peckish, are we?"
Mrs Finch shoved hard against the door, but Spike didn't budge.
"You're mad," she screeched. "I'll call the police - I'm warning you."
Giles hefted the axe in his hands. Spike was already half way across Mrs Finch's threshold and definitely uninvited, so it seemed he was telling the truth after all.
"Sod that!" Suddenly, Spike vamped out again, heavy brow ridges drawing down and yellow eyes blazing. He shoved back hard and Mrs Finch gave ground to him, shrieking like a banshee. The next moment, Spike was inside her flat, Giles right behind him.
At once, they were surrounded by an intermingled odour of cats and rotting flesh so strong that Giles's stomach heaved. He bent over, retching, the sour taste of regurgitated whisky in his mouth.
There was no light anywhere in the flat and the darkness seemed to throb as they followed Mrs Finch up the hallway in the direction of the kitchen.
"Get out of my house," Mrs Finch screamed. "I won't warn you again."
"Ah, give it up, Grandma," Spike sneered. "I know what you are. Come out and die, there's a good Meowlur demon."
Giles's ears were hurting by this time from the throbbing noise, while the smell assaulted his nostrils like a live thing. He realised he was panting. There didn't seem to be enough oxygen in the air.
For a horrible moment, he thought that maybe he was having a heart attack, but then a hideous snarling roar split the air and Spike hurled himself bodily at the old woman.
Mrs Finch went down with Spike on top of her, while the black and white cat squirmed free of her grip and made a break for the door.
"Spike - wait." Giles ran forward, axe in hand, in time to catch a glimpse of Spike, as it seemed, about to punch an elderly lady in the face, before that face began to blur, the sagging flesh bulging strangely, until the features were completely distorted. Suddenly, the bright red lipstick outlined a gash of a mouth filled with teeth like a shark's, while the cheeks sank back and the nose grew hugely prominent.
In fact, Mrs Finch's whole body shape was changing, blurring and billowing like a sheet flapping in the wind. When Spike's fist connected with her jaw, the knuckles sank into flesh like rubber and rebounded.
Mrs Finch opened her mouth and roared back at him, foul breath smelling of meat, tainting the air. A moment later, the undulating body had shaken Spike off altogether and he was gone from sight, and a creature that seemed all teeth and bright red claws was barrelling down the hall in Giles's direction.
"Watcher!" Mrs Finch hissed, in a voice that no longer resembled anything remotely human. "I knew you'd be trouble the moment I set eyes on you."
"Oh dear lord!" Giles gave ground hurriedly, hefting the axe as he went. The hallway was narrow, but given the way Mrs Finch's body continued to undulate and attempt to fill the space, that was probably more to his advantage than hers.
Its, Giles told himself, crossly. It's not Mrs Finch. It's the thing that killed her.
He swung the axe -only for the weapon to rebound the way Spike's fist had done, jarring his arms. A moment later, a hand seized him by the throat. Rubbery fingers, thick as sausages, squeezed hard and Giles felt claws digging into him. The foul breath in his face made his gorge rise again.
"You've made me ruin a perfectly good outfit," the Meowlur demon hissed, while gobbets of saliva struck Giles on the cheek. "Maybe I'll take yours instead."
The fingers squeezed harder and Giles saw stars in front of his eyes. He dropped the axe and put his own hands up to his throat, wrestling with the demon, while it dragged him inexorably towards its billowing body, as if trying to absorb him.
Oh God, it was trying to absorb him! Giles dug his feet in hard, but it was no use. The Meowlur demon was too strong for him.
"It's teatime, dearie," it slobbered. "Come to the table like a good boy."
Then, horribly, it laughed - a sucking, gurgling sound, like bubbles erupting from some noxious swamp. "From beneath you, it devours," it intoned.
"Spike!" Giles managed to gasp out. "Where the hell are you?"
Inches away from the undulating body, he shut his eyes. There were times when it was better not to look death in the face. He could hear the Meowlur demon slavering, while already he was drowning in the foulness of its breath.
Then, so suddenly that he went staggering backwards, the demon let go of him. Giles opened his eyes again to see it still filling the hallway, but now the billowing had taken on an agitated quality. The Meowlur demon's stumps of arms flailed. Its mouth opened and closed, serrated teeth glinting in the dim light from the open door.
Then it screamed - the noise ear-splittingly loud in the enclosed space.
Giles swore and covered his ears, but it didn't help much. The sound seemed to permeate his body right down to the bone. But he kept his eyes on the demon, whose agitation grew ever greater, until suddenly, with a horrible tearing, squelching sound, it exploded.
Giles had just time to shut his eyes again before chunks of dead Meowlur demon began to rain down on him.
*
"Well, that was…special."
There was something noxious dripping down Giles's face. Eyelids squeezed shut, he wiped his sleeve across it, before turning to glare at Spike.
Spike was standing on the other side of the Meowlur demon's gently smoking remains. He was holding a poker, the tip of which was smoking too.
"What - happened?" Giles's voice came out a croak. His neck hurt, where the Meowlur demon had squeezed it.
Spike tilted his head. "What d'you bloody think happened? I killed it."
As he spoke, a chunk of Meowlur demon slid from his hair onto his shoulder with a horrible squelching noise. Belatedly, Giles realised that Spike was as splattered as he was.
"I meant, how did you kill it - idiot!" Equally splattered or not, Giles decided, Spike was to blame - rushing in like a bull in a china shop. He could have got them both killed.
Spike grinned, waving the poker. "Brass," he said. "Copper or alloys of it're the only things that'll kill a Meowlur demon. God, they must've been so fucked off in the Bronze Age."
He let the poker drop. "Knew the old girl'd have an old-fashioned hearth with a brass poker and tongs, and sure enough she did."
So that's where Spike had disappeared to, while he'd been struggling for his life. Giles gave him a sour look.
"You might have said."
Spike shrugged. "No time. Once its hiding place was discovered, I knew all hell would break loose."
Giles winced as another chunk of Meowlur demon plopped from his head to his shoulder leaving a sticky trail in his hair.
"All the same," he gritted, "your handling of this - this episode leaves a great deal to be desired."
Spike's face fell. He seemed to shrink almost visibly.
Then he came forward, squelching through the remains, and held out his hand to Giles. "Sorry you got hurt, Giles - but I did tell you to stay out of it."
Giles reflected that this was true - and what's more, he wished now that he'd listened.
He allowed Spike to haul him to his feet, chunks of Meowlur demon cascading off him in the process.
"God, you look awful," Spike said. "And you stink something terrible."
"You don't look so brilliant yourself." Giles stared at the remains of the demon. Horribly, he could see fragments of Mrs Finch amongst the debris - bits of red material - a human finger with one bright red nail - even the old woman's glasses.
Spike's face was sober. "Poor old soul."
"Quite." Giles felt his stomach heave again. Had he ever met the real Mrs Finch at all, he wondered -and what on earth had the creature meant -from beneath you, it devours? Did it dispose of its victims feet-first?
"And I wouldn't go in the kitchen," Spike went on, still muted. "Meowlur demons have bloody awful table manners - bits of dead cat everywhere."
This - along with the smell - was too much. Giles turned his back on the slaughter, picked up the axe and wavered his way towards the door.
Spike followed him. "What'll we do about this mess?"
Giles could hardly bring himself to care, but of course he was a Watcher and there were established procedures to follow. He paused and looked back, taking in the carnage one last time.
"We'll leave it for now. I'll seal the flat with magic and send for the Council clean-up team."
On the threshold of his own flat, and with Mrs Finch's front door firmly closed, he said the words of the spell that would prevent anyone except those in the know from gaining entry to number 2, or even wanting to.
When he turned back, it was to discover Spike busy taking off his clothes.
"What on earth are you doing?"
Spike raised an eyebrow. "Don't wanna track gunge all over your carpet, do I?" He wadded up the lurid lavender shirt and dropped it in the porch, then began to undo his flies. "If I were you, I'd do the same."
And just like that, the charged feeling was back in the air. Suddenly, Giles was uncomfortably aware of blood rushing in an embarrassing direction- and what on earth was Spike playing at, stripping off in public?
Hurriedly, he bundled the half-naked vampire off the doorstep and into his flat, and slammed the front door behind them. The axe fell to the floor with a clank.
"Hey!" Spike protested, but a moment later, Giles had him pinned against the wall with a hand at his throat and was glaring down at him.
"Why did you kiss me earlier?"
Spike blinked. "My mouth slipped?"
Giles shook him, exasperated.
"Stop trying to seduce me!"
As before, Spike didn't even attempt to struggle. Instead, he stared up at Giles from limpid blue eyes. "I'm not."
"Like hell you're not. I wasn't born yesterday, Spike. Your attempt to impress me with your demon killing skills was a failure, so you've gone back to Plan A."
Giles felt the tell-tale bobbing of Spike's Adam's apple under his hand.
"Explain yourself," he growled.
Spike's gaze dropped.
"All right, then. I am trying to seduce you. Satisfied?"
Giles didn't relax his hold. "God, you're so transparent. What on earth were you thinking, Spike? For that matter, what on earth made you ever believe I would be - be amenable?"
Spike looked up again.
"Knew you swung both ways," he said. "I've always known it. Can smell it, remember? And last night, when you watched me drying myself, you wanted me. Don't deny it."
Giles shook him again. "What if I did? Like I said, I'm not naïve, Spike. I'm not a young man - far from it -and I know you can't possibly find me attractive. But you want something from me, so you're offering your worthless carcass, which is all you have left."
A wave of the red rage he'd felt the previous night washed over him, and he leaned closer, punctuating every word with another shake, while Spike shrank away from him.
"What the hell do you think I am? I don't go where I'm not wanted. I'm not a rapist, like you."
Spike flinched, but then he turned a defiant gaze on Giles.
"You're wrong," he said. "Bloody do find you attractive - always have, in fact."
The next moment, he'd risen onto the balls of his feet and his cool lips were once more pressed to Giles's.
Giles froze, and then, before his brain could even process what was happening, he found he was kissing Spike back, mashing their mouths frantically together - cold tongue, the scrape of stubble, hands pulling at his hair. Spike moaned into his mouth and Giles felt something hard poking him in the thigh.
Somehow or other, he manoeuvred Spike along the hall to the bathroom without breaking the kiss. Somehow, the shower was started, clothes torn off, and then hot water was streaming over both of them, washing away the sticky detritus of the Meowlur demon.
"Oh God!" Spike's hands were cold as his mouth, but as the hot water continued to sluice down and the room filled up with steam, his skin began to heat up. Giles ran wondering hands over flesh as pale and perfect as marble, smooth skin a scant covering over sinew and bone - no spare flesh anywhere, save below the coccyx where the two plump curves of muscle were a generous fit in his spread palms.
What Spike made of him -middle-aged, soft-bellied, hairy - Giles had no idea, but his face showed no sign of disgust - quite the opposite in fact, as he slid sinuously to his knees to take Giles into his mouth.
Giles gasped and braced himself against the wall, gazing down at the bobbing blond head with its wet curls - the pink lips tightening and loosening as Spike sucked on him with a will.
He told himself this was a vampire he was looking at - a sinful, unclean creature - and yet, he'd never seen anything more beautiful.
Spike's hands gripped Giles's thighs. He tilted his head back, eyes closed. Giles felt the moment that his throat opened, taking him the whole way in. Smooth muscle rippled as Spike deep-throated him. He couldn't help reaching down to brush a water drop, like a tear, from the corner of one closed eyelid.
The sensation was exquisite - like nothing Giles had ever felt, putting even Ethan's considerable skills in the shade. Soon, he felt the familiar tingling sensation start up in his balls, becoming stronger and stronger until instinct took over and he grabbed Spike's head between his hands, holding him still while he thrust once, twice, and emptied himself down the willing throat.
At some point, Giles realised, his knees must have given way, because he found himself sitting on the floor of the bath, with Spike cradled in his arms while the shower rained down on them.
Spike's head was resting on his shoulder and Giles couldn't see his face, which suddenly seemed a very bad thing. Cupping Spike's chin in his hand, he tilted his head back to gaze deep into his eyes, searching for - Giles wasn't quite sure what. Calculation perhaps? Any hint of deception?
Again, he found neither.
Spike looked tired, eyes deeply shadowed, but he grinned. "Was it good for you too?"
Giles opened his mouth to say yes, but then he became aware of that same hard object nudging against him, and when he looked down, Spike was still rampant.
Suddenly, he felt almost apologetic - and deathly tired. Did good manners dictate he should reciprocate in kind, because he didn't feel like he currently had the energy?
Spike must have guessed the tenor of his thoughts, because he took Giles's hand in his and twined their fingers together.
"Don't worry about me," he said. "I'm fine - had a gay old time of it, in fact."
Giles rolled his eyes. "Very funny."
Spike laughed - his familiar laugh this time, the knowing, dirty snigger. "I thought so." Then he shivered. "Water's running cold."
It was. With a weary sigh - because he was too tired to move suddenly - Giles reached up and turned off the shower. Then he wavered to his feet.
"We'd better get dry."
"Yeah." Spike watched him as he climbed out of the bath. His mouth was hanging open slightly, but then he shut it and licked his lips with his long, pink tongue.
"Fuck," he said. "You look bloody amazing."
At this, Giles felt the blood rushing in the opposite direction to before. He grabbed a towel off the rail and wrapped it around his waist, feeling hot and embarrassed and irritable.
"You're a very poor liar, Spike. Astonishing really, given how much practice you must have had."
Spike frowned. He climbed out of the bath in his turn and reached for his own towel.
"Not bloody lying," he growled.
Giles opened his mouth to repeat the accusation, but then shut it again. Bizarrely, from his hurt tone, it seemed that Spike had meant what he said.
"You're - odd," Giles said, which hardly began to cover it. "Very odd indeed."
"Yeah well," Spike was drying himself, the brisk rubbing raising a hectic pink flush on his skin, "that's rich, coming from the bloke with the bloody enormous leather ball-gag stashed away in his weapons chest."
Giles opened his mouth again, this time to tell Spike that it had rather suited him, but again he thought better of it. Instead, he went up close to him, set a hand on his shoulder and indicated the importunate flesh at his groin.
"Let me deal with that for you."
Spike had frozen at his touch. When he looked up, his gaze was almost shy. "Told you," he said, "there's no need. Besides, later, when you're up to it, I want you to -" and he leaned up and whispered in Giles's ear.
Giles felt himself grow hot again at what he heard, but this time the feeling was one of pleasant anticipation rather than embarrassment. He put one hand on Spike's rather tempting little bottom and squeezed. "I'd be delighted."
Spike grinned. "Hoped you would - an' dreamin' about it will see me through till morning."
*
Giles woke in the middle of the night. He lay in the pitch dark, staring up at the ceiling, feeling odd and out of sorts. After a moment, he realised why that was. Firstly, he hadn't had a drink before going to bed and, as a consequence, he was unusually clear-headed for this time of night. Secondly, there was a cool, inert body lying in the bed next to him.
The memory of it froze him in place. His mind raced, while a small, insistent voice demanded to know what the hell he thought he was doing. This was Spike, the voice shouted - and what if he was neutered? What if he did have a soul? He'd still murdered thousands, hadn't he, including two Slayers? He'd still tried to rape Buffy.
Oddly, despite the evident truth of what the voice said, Giles couldn't rekindle his righteous fury. The man who'd come to him yesterday begging for help - who lay in bed beside him - would never do those kinds of things.
The shock of the revelation was so intense that Giles sat up abruptly. He'd never held to Buffy's view that Angel wasn't responsible for the crimes of Angelus - and certainly Angel himself hadn't seemed to agree with her - but in a way, it was true after all.
Because here was Spike, still a murderer, still a rapist, and yet at some fundamental level a completely different person - someone who wanted to be good.
Giles grimaced. He was becoming fanciful in his old age - and yet he knew now that he was going to allow Spike to stay. If Spike needed him to keep him on the straight and narrow - to set him right - it was his duty to do his best to help him.
In fact, he thought, he should be flattered - honoured, even - that Spike thought him up to the task.
Spike had been lying still as a corpse, but suddenly he stirred and muttered to himself. The next moment, he was thrashing wildly.
"Please -" he wailed, sounding oddly childlike. "I don’t want to. Don't make me."
"Spike - wake up." Giles reached out and shook him and after a moment longer of panicked floundering, Spike's eyes flew open and he sat up with a jerk, shaking all over. His eyes were glowing and yellow and Giles realised he'd vamped out.
He resisted his immediate impulse, which was to leap out of bed and get as far away from the bloodthirsty vampire as possible, and set a hand on Spike's arm.
"Spike - it's all right. You're safe. Calm down now."
Spike stared at him. The cat-like yellow eyes blinked once, very, very slowly.
Unnerved in spite of himself, Giles reached out and turned on the bedside lamp. He could see that Spike was very distressed, despite the hideous, inhuman features
"It's all right," he said again, gently. "You're with me. You're safe."
Spike drew in a deep breath and let it go. He shook his head, and his vampire fangs and ridges sank away. He looked sheepish.
"Sorry," he muttered. "Didn't mean to disturb you."
Giles set a hand on his trembling shoulder. "It's all right. You didn't."
Spike nodded, looking relieved. He didn't say anything else, just breathed, trying to get himself under control.
Giles licked his dry lips. He wanted a drink - which was bad. When had it come about that he couldn't function without one? Irritated, he tried to ignore the feeling.
"Were you dreaming?" he asked.
Spike nodded. He was pale - even for him - and the livid bruise on his jaw stood out startlingly. "Was alone," he said. "In the dark- forever. Knew I deserved to be." He threw Giles a hopeless look. "S'okay, though. Can cope with that. Better'n the voices."
Giles felt chilled suddenly. "Voices?"
Hunching his shoulders, Spike grimaced. "Yeah - like I told you - all tellin' me to get to hell, where I belong."
When he looked at Giles this time, his eyes were big and scared. "Was such an idiot. Never thought it'd be like this."
"What did you think it would be like?" Again, Giles couldn't help being curious.
Spike laughed his short, bitter laugh, and this time there was an aching quality to it.
"Dunno really - rainbows, pixie dust. I'd come back wearin' a halo and Buffy would see she'd been wrong about me."
"And now?"
Spike grimaced. "Now, I know I'm dirt under her feet, an' always will be, and -" he tapped his forehead with his finger, "There're - things, tryin' to get in."
His eyes seemed to lose focus, staring over Giles's shoulder.
"Sometimes, they tell me to kill. That if I do, I'll feel better."
Giles shivered. "How - peculiar."
Spike blinked and focused on his face again. "Yeah, something weird's goin' on all right."
Giles shivered again, but suddenly he felt more determined than ever to keep Spike close to him. Any fool could see he was in a vulnerable state - all too easily exploited by the powers of darkness, if left to his own devices.
"You know something else too," he said. "You know that you need help."
Spike's eyes were steady on his face. "True. Not hers, though. Could never ask."
"No," Giles agreed. "Best not. However, Spike, I think you were quite right to ask for mine."
"I was?" Spike looked wary. In spite of the fact that they were sharing a bed, it seemed he still feared ultimate rejection.
Giles frowned. Had that business last night been what he'd assumed it to be after all? He tamped down on his disappointment. It didn't change anything.
"Indeed." He kept his face stern. "I was going to tell you in the morning, but since we're awake, no time like the present. I will help you, Spike. We'll sort you out - get to the bottom of whatever it is that's going on with you."
Spike continued to gaze at him, but slowly his expression softened and the tension went out of his shoulders.
"Thanks, Giles," he said. "I appreciate it."
"Tomorrow," Giles went on, "I'll inform the Council that you escaped - their own damn fault, if they can't hurry up and collect you - and then I'll drive you to a place of safety. They'll never think to look for you there."
He wondered briefly what the coven would say when he turned up with yet another stray in tow - this one a vampire to boot. However, they were a broad-minded bunch. He was sure they could cope.
Spike was still staring at him. Suddenly, he leaned forward and kissed him.
"Thank you," he said, again, an almost fervent tone in his voice.
The cool lips seemed to burn, like regret. Giles set a finger to his tingling mouth. He cleared his throat.
"And you don't - you don't have to pretend you want me any more. It's very - er, generous of you, Spike, but it's not necessary."
Spike's mouth dropped open. He frowned.
"How many times do I bloody have to say it?" he growled. "Not bloody pretendin.'
He leaned forward to whisper in Giles's ear again. "You've no idea how long I've fantasised about this - bein' in your bed - under you -" His breath tickled the short hairs on Giles's nape. "Remember what I said I wanted you to do to me? Bloody meant every word of it, all right?"
"Spike -" Giles set his hand on a cool thigh, but it was already too late to say no, even if he'd wanted to, and when Spike gave him an enigmatic look and rolled over onto his belly, he knew he didn't want to.
No, he wanted to take what was being offered, for whatever reason, and - well, not quite be damned to the consequences.
"Spike - we shouldn't. This isn't what you need from me."
Spike looked back at him over his shoulder. "S'part of it. Been better since I got here. Much better." He quirked an eyebrow in the direction of the half-full whisky bottle on the nightstand. "Could be better for you too. Keep you off the rotgut - give you something else to think about."
Giles had already set a hand on one of the delectable curves of pale flesh. At this, he frowned and gave it a smart tap - hard enough to make Spike jump.
"That's enough - unless you want the ball-gag again."
Spike waggled his eyebrow. "Maybe later."
*
Spike twitched his shoulders. Then he scratched his neck.
Giles frowned irritably. Spike was such a fidget it was hard to keep his eye on the road.
"Do keep still, Spike."
Spike folded his arms. For a moment, he almost pouted.
"S'not my fault. This jacket's bloody itchy."
At this, Giles had to suppress a smile. Spike's dislike of his latest outfit was all too evident. It had been unavoidable, though. With the demise of the charity shop clothes after the Meowlur demon incident, and the necessity for a hasty departure come dusk, there'd been no time to buy him anything else so he'd had to make do with old clothes of Giles's.
They were far too big, of course, especially the trousers, which had had to be rolled up several times at the waist. As a result, Spike bore an unmistakeable resemblance to an undersized teenage boy who'd dressed up in his father's clothes.
Well, Giles reflected, it wasn't quite true to say there'd been no time to buy Spike another outfit, but instead that they'd used that time rather more profitably.
As a consequence, he himself was all shagged out, as the expression went, and Spike had proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that he did indeed suit a ball-gag. He probably wasn't sitting very comfortably either.
Giles shook his head. If he kept thinking along these lines, there was a likelihood of them never reaching their destination at all. He frowned and told himself to concentrate, while the headlights of faster cars zipped by in the right-hand lanes.
"I'll pick you up something else to wear as soon as I can," he soothed. "In the meantime -" and he couldn't help teasing a little -"you look rather sweet, in my opinion."
"Sweet!" Spike growled, but he didn't protest further, just began scratching again to show his displeasure.
The Westbury exit was coming up. Giles slowed down and began to indicate. As he did so, Spike said, "What're you gonna tell Buffy?"
The question was so unexpected, Giles turned to gape at him. Then he had to swing the wheel over hard to prevent them ending up in a ditch, the driver behind them blaring his horn in protest as he drove past.
Giles scowled at Spike. "Next time you decide to spring a question like that on me, can you please give me some warning?"
"Sorry," Spike muttered, sounding contrite. His restless hands fiddled with the hem of the old tweed jacket. "S'pose you don't plan to say anything to her then? Keep me your little secret?"
Giles sighed. There was a layby coming up. He indicated again and pulled into it. With the car stopped and the engine switched off, he turned to look Spike full in the face.
"If you mean I don't plan to tell her that we're - whatever we are, you're right, Spike. I think, in the circumstances, she wouldn't take it well."
Spike's gaze dropped. "You're prob'ly right."
He looked oddly pathetic, Giles thought, dressed in the too big jacket and shirt, and wearing a tie. Not like Spike at all. In fact, with his pale, pretty face and his tousled mane of brown-blond curls, he looked more like a Victorian romantic poet than a vampire.
Mind you, the still-swollen lip and the bruised jaw did rather spoil the effect.
Giles reached out and touched the bruise with the very tips of his fingers.
"I'm not ashamed of the…connection, Spike, if that's what you mean. But it's a delicate situation and will need delicate handling."
Spike shut his eyes. He turned his face aside and kissed Giles's open palm.
"Maybe you should be ashamed?" he said. "After all, I'm a monster."
"True." Giles ignored the now-familiar tingling that the touch of Spike's lips initiated. "However, Spike, that's not all you are."
"Isn't it?" Spike opened his eyes again. His lips parted, hanging on Giles's every word.
Looking at those lips, Giles was overcome with astonishment at the tenderness he felt. How, he wondered, had his feelings towards this creature changed so irrevocably in such a short time? What if Spike was right? What if he was fooling himself?
"Tell me what happened," he said. "Between you and Buffy, I mean?"
Spike blinked. He chewed the inside of his mouth. "She told you her side of the story, has she?"
"Well - no," Giles had to admit. "Or very little. Naturally enough, she didn't want to talk about it. I only know about the…the bathroom incident at all because Xander told me."
"Ah." Spike pondered this information for a moment. Then he said, "Can't tell you then, I'm afraid. Wouldn't be right, givin' you my side of the story when you don't have hers. Would be like I was trying to justify myself - an' I don't wanna do that. I tried to rape her. That's all you need to know."
Giles looked deep into Spike's eyes, again seeing no hint of deception. He smiled. Then he leaned forward and kissed him on the lips.
"As I said, you're not just a monster."
Spike shuddered all over at his touch, but he said nothing, just opened his mouth for Giles's tongue.
The kiss was long and deep and threatened to get rather out of hand, and at some point during it, Giles's mobile phone rang. Both of them ignored it, too intent on each other, but at last, Giles broke away. On the whole, it was probably better they not get themselves arrested for lewd behaviour in public.
He gave Spike, who was looking altogether too pleased with himself, an embarrassed smile and started the engine. His trousers had become a little tight at the crotch, but he didn't mind that. In fact, in spite of the last two days' bizarre developments, he felt rather jaunty, like someone who'd unexpectedly won first prize at a raffle without even buying a ticket.
As they pulled out of the layby, Spike said, softly, "Don't leave me for too long, will you? I'm no good without you, Giles. I'm not safe. The voices-"
Giles patted his knee. "I'll only be gone a matter of days - long enough to put the Council off the scent, that's all."
"Good. That's good." Spike shuddered. "I don't dream the same when you're around. Not nice still, but bearable. None of that from beneath you, it devours crap."
"I beg your pardon?" Giles turned to stare at him again, but Spike had looked away. He was reading the display on Giles's mobile.
"Huh!" He tilted his head. "That call you missed - some bloke called Robson. You know him?"
Giles was already slowing down to take the minor road up to the Westbury house. He had to think for a minute, but then he remembered. Robson - a fellow Watcher, and like himself, not one of Travers' favourites.
"A work colleague," he said. "Nothing to worry about, Spike. Nothing that has the potential to prevent me getting back to you as soon as possible, I'm sure."
"Good," Spike said, again, but in spite of that, he wrapped his arms about himself, staring off into the darkness.
After a moment, Giles realised he was humming to himself - rather an odd tune for Spike to be humming - old-fashioned, softly melodic.
Early one mo-orning-
For rating, pairings etc, see Part One
Giles peered round the edge of the living room curtains into the little lobby his flat shared with Mrs Finch's. There was no sign of the old woman, and her curtains were also drawn, though it was still light outside.
He glanced back over his shoulder at Spike, who stood close behind him - too close, in fact. Since the kiss, Giles had become hyper-sensitive to Spike's presence. The air in the room felt subtly charged too; as if they were connected together by an electrical circuit and someone had switched on the current.
Giles told himself to ignore the feeling, and not to remember the slim, pale shape in his bathroom, bending over to dry itself, while one lazy water drop slid down a smooth back to disappear into the dark cleft between twin globes of muscle.
"Are you certain about this?"
"Yeah." Spike's eyes were bright in the gloom, the pupils reflecting what little light there was. "Told you, she's a Meowlur demon - nasty, bloody things. Don't wanna get too close to 'em."
Giles let the curtain drop. In spite of Spike's apparent sincerity, it seemed a likely story.
"And you're not just saying it to try and prevent me throwing you out of the house?"
Spike blinked. "Well…yeah, but that doesn't change the facts."
Giles walked round Spike and back to his chair. "You'll have to forgive my scepticism, Spike, but this does seem a little - shall we say - convenient?"
He sat down and reached for the whisky bottle. "Also, from what I understand, Mrs Finch has lived here for donkey's years, so even if you're correct about her -er, nature, she's not doing anyone any harm."
"Yeah well," Spike shot back, "you try telling the neighbourhood moggies that. Don't think they'd agree."
Giles paused, bottle in hand. "What on earth do you mean? It's true, she's a cat lover, but apart from the dreadful smell, she seems harmless enough."
Spike laughed. "Cat lover? That's one way of putting it." He took Giles's place at the window and peered out round the curtain. "You get much in the way of missing pets around here? Photos stuck on lamp posts -poor old Tiddles, missing since a week last Tuesday an' such?"
Giles finished pouring his drink. He frowned, trying to remember. "Perhaps. I'm not sure. In all honesty, Spike, I don't take much notice of that kind of thing."
"Pity," Spike sneered. "If you had, and if you weren't so busy rotting your brain with booze, you might have remembered that Meowlur demons give off a powerful pheromone that's irresistible to cats. The old dear have a lot of them, does she?"
Giles realised his mouth had dropped open at the sheer effrontery of Spike's comment on his drinking. He shut it with a snap while Spike stared at him defiantly. Then he said, "As a matter of fact, she does."
Spike tilted his head. "Ever seen the same one more than once?"
Giles frowned. "I have no idea."
Spike turned back to the window. "Would imagine not. Meowlur demons're hungry buggers."
This time Giles didn't bother trying to hide his astonishment. "She eats them?"
When Spike looked back at him, he was smirking. "Well - yeah. What else?"
His expression turned serious again. "But soon cats won't be enough. Like I said, Meowlur demons are greedy. Won't be long before she turns her attention to the human population, starting with the kids. Meowlurs have been known to nab babies from their prams right under their mums' noses."
At this, Giles felt his scepticism returning. "Now you're being absurd. As I said, she's lived here for a long time. If she were in the habit of kidnapping children and eating them, don't you think someone would have noticed by now?"
Spike's gaze was fixed on the tiny sliver of darkening daylight through the gap in the curtains.
"Not really. See - she probably was a harmless, cat-loving old bat until recently. Now, she's a Meowlur demon in a Mrs Finch suit."
He looked back at Giles as he said this, grinning like he'd said something clever, but the reference was lost on Giles. The inference behind it, however, was not.
"You're saying that this Meowlur demon has already devoured Mrs Finch and now it's impersonating her?"
Spike rolled his eyes. "Finally he gets it. Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying."
Giles felt another twinge of irritation at Spike's failure to make himself clear from the start, though it was typical of him.
At the same time, he remembered Mrs Finch's earlier parting shot about any more trouble and it would be the worse for him. Suddenly, her threat sounded a great deal more sinister.
Spike tensed. "Cat!"
Giles set his glass down and joined him at the window, to see a large black and white cat sitting on Mrs Finch's doormat. As they watched, it set its front paws to the door and began to scrabble on it, demanding entrance while it mewed piteously.
"See!" Spike's voice had sunk to a hoarse whisper. "Pheromones. Poor little buggers can't resist 'em."
As they watched, the front door of number 2 began to open and a moment later, Mrs Finch was standing there. Giles had just time to register her horrible bright red lipstick and the claw-like red nails before Spike let the curtain drop and sprinted for the door.
"Stay here," he said, to Giles. "I'll handle it."
"Idiot! Where are you going?"
Giles hurried after him, knocking against the table as he went and almost toppling the bottle of whisky. By the time he reached the hall, the front door was already open and Spike was out in the lobby accosting the startled Mrs Finch in cheerful tones.
"Hello again."
The axe was still lying on the hall table where Giles had left it last night. He scrabbled it into his hand in passing, while Mrs Finch snatched up the black and white cat and attempted to retreat inside.
"Stay away from me," she said, to Spike. "I know all about your sort."
Spike was too quick for her, however. He was across the lobby in a flash and blocking Mrs Finch's attempts to close her front door.
"Nice cat," he said, still in the same cheerful voice. "Feeling peckish, are we?"
Mrs Finch shoved hard against the door, but Spike didn't budge.
"You're mad," she screeched. "I'll call the police - I'm warning you."
Giles hefted the axe in his hands. Spike was already half way across Mrs Finch's threshold and definitely uninvited, so it seemed he was telling the truth after all.
"Sod that!" Suddenly, Spike vamped out again, heavy brow ridges drawing down and yellow eyes blazing. He shoved back hard and Mrs Finch gave ground to him, shrieking like a banshee. The next moment, Spike was inside her flat, Giles right behind him.
At once, they were surrounded by an intermingled odour of cats and rotting flesh so strong that Giles's stomach heaved. He bent over, retching, the sour taste of regurgitated whisky in his mouth.
There was no light anywhere in the flat and the darkness seemed to throb as they followed Mrs Finch up the hallway in the direction of the kitchen.
"Get out of my house," Mrs Finch screamed. "I won't warn you again."
"Ah, give it up, Grandma," Spike sneered. "I know what you are. Come out and die, there's a good Meowlur demon."
Giles's ears were hurting by this time from the throbbing noise, while the smell assaulted his nostrils like a live thing. He realised he was panting. There didn't seem to be enough oxygen in the air.
For a horrible moment, he thought that maybe he was having a heart attack, but then a hideous snarling roar split the air and Spike hurled himself bodily at the old woman.
Mrs Finch went down with Spike on top of her, while the black and white cat squirmed free of her grip and made a break for the door.
"Spike - wait." Giles ran forward, axe in hand, in time to catch a glimpse of Spike, as it seemed, about to punch an elderly lady in the face, before that face began to blur, the sagging flesh bulging strangely, until the features were completely distorted. Suddenly, the bright red lipstick outlined a gash of a mouth filled with teeth like a shark's, while the cheeks sank back and the nose grew hugely prominent.
In fact, Mrs Finch's whole body shape was changing, blurring and billowing like a sheet flapping in the wind. When Spike's fist connected with her jaw, the knuckles sank into flesh like rubber and rebounded.
Mrs Finch opened her mouth and roared back at him, foul breath smelling of meat, tainting the air. A moment later, the undulating body had shaken Spike off altogether and he was gone from sight, and a creature that seemed all teeth and bright red claws was barrelling down the hall in Giles's direction.
"Watcher!" Mrs Finch hissed, in a voice that no longer resembled anything remotely human. "I knew you'd be trouble the moment I set eyes on you."
"Oh dear lord!" Giles gave ground hurriedly, hefting the axe as he went. The hallway was narrow, but given the way Mrs Finch's body continued to undulate and attempt to fill the space, that was probably more to his advantage than hers.
Its, Giles told himself, crossly. It's not Mrs Finch. It's the thing that killed her.
He swung the axe -only for the weapon to rebound the way Spike's fist had done, jarring his arms. A moment later, a hand seized him by the throat. Rubbery fingers, thick as sausages, squeezed hard and Giles felt claws digging into him. The foul breath in his face made his gorge rise again.
"You've made me ruin a perfectly good outfit," the Meowlur demon hissed, while gobbets of saliva struck Giles on the cheek. "Maybe I'll take yours instead."
The fingers squeezed harder and Giles saw stars in front of his eyes. He dropped the axe and put his own hands up to his throat, wrestling with the demon, while it dragged him inexorably towards its billowing body, as if trying to absorb him.
Oh God, it was trying to absorb him! Giles dug his feet in hard, but it was no use. The Meowlur demon was too strong for him.
"It's teatime, dearie," it slobbered. "Come to the table like a good boy."
Then, horribly, it laughed - a sucking, gurgling sound, like bubbles erupting from some noxious swamp. "From beneath you, it devours," it intoned.
"Spike!" Giles managed to gasp out. "Where the hell are you?"
Inches away from the undulating body, he shut his eyes. There were times when it was better not to look death in the face. He could hear the Meowlur demon slavering, while already he was drowning in the foulness of its breath.
Then, so suddenly that he went staggering backwards, the demon let go of him. Giles opened his eyes again to see it still filling the hallway, but now the billowing had taken on an agitated quality. The Meowlur demon's stumps of arms flailed. Its mouth opened and closed, serrated teeth glinting in the dim light from the open door.
Then it screamed - the noise ear-splittingly loud in the enclosed space.
Giles swore and covered his ears, but it didn't help much. The sound seemed to permeate his body right down to the bone. But he kept his eyes on the demon, whose agitation grew ever greater, until suddenly, with a horrible tearing, squelching sound, it exploded.
Giles had just time to shut his eyes again before chunks of dead Meowlur demon began to rain down on him.
*
"Well, that was…special."
There was something noxious dripping down Giles's face. Eyelids squeezed shut, he wiped his sleeve across it, before turning to glare at Spike.
Spike was standing on the other side of the Meowlur demon's gently smoking remains. He was holding a poker, the tip of which was smoking too.
"What - happened?" Giles's voice came out a croak. His neck hurt, where the Meowlur demon had squeezed it.
Spike tilted his head. "What d'you bloody think happened? I killed it."
As he spoke, a chunk of Meowlur demon slid from his hair onto his shoulder with a horrible squelching noise. Belatedly, Giles realised that Spike was as splattered as he was.
"I meant, how did you kill it - idiot!" Equally splattered or not, Giles decided, Spike was to blame - rushing in like a bull in a china shop. He could have got them both killed.
Spike grinned, waving the poker. "Brass," he said. "Copper or alloys of it're the only things that'll kill a Meowlur demon. God, they must've been so fucked off in the Bronze Age."
He let the poker drop. "Knew the old girl'd have an old-fashioned hearth with a brass poker and tongs, and sure enough she did."
So that's where Spike had disappeared to, while he'd been struggling for his life. Giles gave him a sour look.
"You might have said."
Spike shrugged. "No time. Once its hiding place was discovered, I knew all hell would break loose."
Giles winced as another chunk of Meowlur demon plopped from his head to his shoulder leaving a sticky trail in his hair.
"All the same," he gritted, "your handling of this - this episode leaves a great deal to be desired."
Spike's face fell. He seemed to shrink almost visibly.
Then he came forward, squelching through the remains, and held out his hand to Giles. "Sorry you got hurt, Giles - but I did tell you to stay out of it."
Giles reflected that this was true - and what's more, he wished now that he'd listened.
He allowed Spike to haul him to his feet, chunks of Meowlur demon cascading off him in the process.
"God, you look awful," Spike said. "And you stink something terrible."
"You don't look so brilliant yourself." Giles stared at the remains of the demon. Horribly, he could see fragments of Mrs Finch amongst the debris - bits of red material - a human finger with one bright red nail - even the old woman's glasses.
Spike's face was sober. "Poor old soul."
"Quite." Giles felt his stomach heave again. Had he ever met the real Mrs Finch at all, he wondered -and what on earth had the creature meant -from beneath you, it devours? Did it dispose of its victims feet-first?
"And I wouldn't go in the kitchen," Spike went on, still muted. "Meowlur demons have bloody awful table manners - bits of dead cat everywhere."
This - along with the smell - was too much. Giles turned his back on the slaughter, picked up the axe and wavered his way towards the door.
Spike followed him. "What'll we do about this mess?"
Giles could hardly bring himself to care, but of course he was a Watcher and there were established procedures to follow. He paused and looked back, taking in the carnage one last time.
"We'll leave it for now. I'll seal the flat with magic and send for the Council clean-up team."
On the threshold of his own flat, and with Mrs Finch's front door firmly closed, he said the words of the spell that would prevent anyone except those in the know from gaining entry to number 2, or even wanting to.
When he turned back, it was to discover Spike busy taking off his clothes.
"What on earth are you doing?"
Spike raised an eyebrow. "Don't wanna track gunge all over your carpet, do I?" He wadded up the lurid lavender shirt and dropped it in the porch, then began to undo his flies. "If I were you, I'd do the same."
And just like that, the charged feeling was back in the air. Suddenly, Giles was uncomfortably aware of blood rushing in an embarrassing direction- and what on earth was Spike playing at, stripping off in public?
Hurriedly, he bundled the half-naked vampire off the doorstep and into his flat, and slammed the front door behind them. The axe fell to the floor with a clank.
"Hey!" Spike protested, but a moment later, Giles had him pinned against the wall with a hand at his throat and was glaring down at him.
"Why did you kiss me earlier?"
Spike blinked. "My mouth slipped?"
Giles shook him, exasperated.
"Stop trying to seduce me!"
As before, Spike didn't even attempt to struggle. Instead, he stared up at Giles from limpid blue eyes. "I'm not."
"Like hell you're not. I wasn't born yesterday, Spike. Your attempt to impress me with your demon killing skills was a failure, so you've gone back to Plan A."
Giles felt the tell-tale bobbing of Spike's Adam's apple under his hand.
"Explain yourself," he growled.
Spike's gaze dropped.
"All right, then. I am trying to seduce you. Satisfied?"
Giles didn't relax his hold. "God, you're so transparent. What on earth were you thinking, Spike? For that matter, what on earth made you ever believe I would be - be amenable?"
Spike looked up again.
"Knew you swung both ways," he said. "I've always known it. Can smell it, remember? And last night, when you watched me drying myself, you wanted me. Don't deny it."
Giles shook him again. "What if I did? Like I said, I'm not naïve, Spike. I'm not a young man - far from it -and I know you can't possibly find me attractive. But you want something from me, so you're offering your worthless carcass, which is all you have left."
A wave of the red rage he'd felt the previous night washed over him, and he leaned closer, punctuating every word with another shake, while Spike shrank away from him.
"What the hell do you think I am? I don't go where I'm not wanted. I'm not a rapist, like you."
Spike flinched, but then he turned a defiant gaze on Giles.
"You're wrong," he said. "Bloody do find you attractive - always have, in fact."
The next moment, he'd risen onto the balls of his feet and his cool lips were once more pressed to Giles's.
Giles froze, and then, before his brain could even process what was happening, he found he was kissing Spike back, mashing their mouths frantically together - cold tongue, the scrape of stubble, hands pulling at his hair. Spike moaned into his mouth and Giles felt something hard poking him in the thigh.
Somehow or other, he manoeuvred Spike along the hall to the bathroom without breaking the kiss. Somehow, the shower was started, clothes torn off, and then hot water was streaming over both of them, washing away the sticky detritus of the Meowlur demon.
"Oh God!" Spike's hands were cold as his mouth, but as the hot water continued to sluice down and the room filled up with steam, his skin began to heat up. Giles ran wondering hands over flesh as pale and perfect as marble, smooth skin a scant covering over sinew and bone - no spare flesh anywhere, save below the coccyx where the two plump curves of muscle were a generous fit in his spread palms.
What Spike made of him -middle-aged, soft-bellied, hairy - Giles had no idea, but his face showed no sign of disgust - quite the opposite in fact, as he slid sinuously to his knees to take Giles into his mouth.
Giles gasped and braced himself against the wall, gazing down at the bobbing blond head with its wet curls - the pink lips tightening and loosening as Spike sucked on him with a will.
He told himself this was a vampire he was looking at - a sinful, unclean creature - and yet, he'd never seen anything more beautiful.
Spike's hands gripped Giles's thighs. He tilted his head back, eyes closed. Giles felt the moment that his throat opened, taking him the whole way in. Smooth muscle rippled as Spike deep-throated him. He couldn't help reaching down to brush a water drop, like a tear, from the corner of one closed eyelid.
The sensation was exquisite - like nothing Giles had ever felt, putting even Ethan's considerable skills in the shade. Soon, he felt the familiar tingling sensation start up in his balls, becoming stronger and stronger until instinct took over and he grabbed Spike's head between his hands, holding him still while he thrust once, twice, and emptied himself down the willing throat.
At some point, Giles realised, his knees must have given way, because he found himself sitting on the floor of the bath, with Spike cradled in his arms while the shower rained down on them.
Spike's head was resting on his shoulder and Giles couldn't see his face, which suddenly seemed a very bad thing. Cupping Spike's chin in his hand, he tilted his head back to gaze deep into his eyes, searching for - Giles wasn't quite sure what. Calculation perhaps? Any hint of deception?
Again, he found neither.
Spike looked tired, eyes deeply shadowed, but he grinned. "Was it good for you too?"
Giles opened his mouth to say yes, but then he became aware of that same hard object nudging against him, and when he looked down, Spike was still rampant.
Suddenly, he felt almost apologetic - and deathly tired. Did good manners dictate he should reciprocate in kind, because he didn't feel like he currently had the energy?
Spike must have guessed the tenor of his thoughts, because he took Giles's hand in his and twined their fingers together.
"Don't worry about me," he said. "I'm fine - had a gay old time of it, in fact."
Giles rolled his eyes. "Very funny."
Spike laughed - his familiar laugh this time, the knowing, dirty snigger. "I thought so." Then he shivered. "Water's running cold."
It was. With a weary sigh - because he was too tired to move suddenly - Giles reached up and turned off the shower. Then he wavered to his feet.
"We'd better get dry."
"Yeah." Spike watched him as he climbed out of the bath. His mouth was hanging open slightly, but then he shut it and licked his lips with his long, pink tongue.
"Fuck," he said. "You look bloody amazing."
At this, Giles felt the blood rushing in the opposite direction to before. He grabbed a towel off the rail and wrapped it around his waist, feeling hot and embarrassed and irritable.
"You're a very poor liar, Spike. Astonishing really, given how much practice you must have had."
Spike frowned. He climbed out of the bath in his turn and reached for his own towel.
"Not bloody lying," he growled.
Giles opened his mouth to repeat the accusation, but then shut it again. Bizarrely, from his hurt tone, it seemed that Spike had meant what he said.
"You're - odd," Giles said, which hardly began to cover it. "Very odd indeed."
"Yeah well," Spike was drying himself, the brisk rubbing raising a hectic pink flush on his skin, "that's rich, coming from the bloke with the bloody enormous leather ball-gag stashed away in his weapons chest."
Giles opened his mouth again, this time to tell Spike that it had rather suited him, but again he thought better of it. Instead, he went up close to him, set a hand on his shoulder and indicated the importunate flesh at his groin.
"Let me deal with that for you."
Spike had frozen at his touch. When he looked up, his gaze was almost shy. "Told you," he said, "there's no need. Besides, later, when you're up to it, I want you to -" and he leaned up and whispered in Giles's ear.
Giles felt himself grow hot again at what he heard, but this time the feeling was one of pleasant anticipation rather than embarrassment. He put one hand on Spike's rather tempting little bottom and squeezed. "I'd be delighted."
Spike grinned. "Hoped you would - an' dreamin' about it will see me through till morning."
*
Giles woke in the middle of the night. He lay in the pitch dark, staring up at the ceiling, feeling odd and out of sorts. After a moment, he realised why that was. Firstly, he hadn't had a drink before going to bed and, as a consequence, he was unusually clear-headed for this time of night. Secondly, there was a cool, inert body lying in the bed next to him.
The memory of it froze him in place. His mind raced, while a small, insistent voice demanded to know what the hell he thought he was doing. This was Spike, the voice shouted - and what if he was neutered? What if he did have a soul? He'd still murdered thousands, hadn't he, including two Slayers? He'd still tried to rape Buffy.
Oddly, despite the evident truth of what the voice said, Giles couldn't rekindle his righteous fury. The man who'd come to him yesterday begging for help - who lay in bed beside him - would never do those kinds of things.
The shock of the revelation was so intense that Giles sat up abruptly. He'd never held to Buffy's view that Angel wasn't responsible for the crimes of Angelus - and certainly Angel himself hadn't seemed to agree with her - but in a way, it was true after all.
Because here was Spike, still a murderer, still a rapist, and yet at some fundamental level a completely different person - someone who wanted to be good.
Giles grimaced. He was becoming fanciful in his old age - and yet he knew now that he was going to allow Spike to stay. If Spike needed him to keep him on the straight and narrow - to set him right - it was his duty to do his best to help him.
In fact, he thought, he should be flattered - honoured, even - that Spike thought him up to the task.
Spike had been lying still as a corpse, but suddenly he stirred and muttered to himself. The next moment, he was thrashing wildly.
"Please -" he wailed, sounding oddly childlike. "I don’t want to. Don't make me."
"Spike - wake up." Giles reached out and shook him and after a moment longer of panicked floundering, Spike's eyes flew open and he sat up with a jerk, shaking all over. His eyes were glowing and yellow and Giles realised he'd vamped out.
He resisted his immediate impulse, which was to leap out of bed and get as far away from the bloodthirsty vampire as possible, and set a hand on Spike's arm.
"Spike - it's all right. You're safe. Calm down now."
Spike stared at him. The cat-like yellow eyes blinked once, very, very slowly.
Unnerved in spite of himself, Giles reached out and turned on the bedside lamp. He could see that Spike was very distressed, despite the hideous, inhuman features
"It's all right," he said again, gently. "You're with me. You're safe."
Spike drew in a deep breath and let it go. He shook his head, and his vampire fangs and ridges sank away. He looked sheepish.
"Sorry," he muttered. "Didn't mean to disturb you."
Giles set a hand on his trembling shoulder. "It's all right. You didn't."
Spike nodded, looking relieved. He didn't say anything else, just breathed, trying to get himself under control.
Giles licked his dry lips. He wanted a drink - which was bad. When had it come about that he couldn't function without one? Irritated, he tried to ignore the feeling.
"Were you dreaming?" he asked.
Spike nodded. He was pale - even for him - and the livid bruise on his jaw stood out startlingly. "Was alone," he said. "In the dark- forever. Knew I deserved to be." He threw Giles a hopeless look. "S'okay, though. Can cope with that. Better'n the voices."
Giles felt chilled suddenly. "Voices?"
Hunching his shoulders, Spike grimaced. "Yeah - like I told you - all tellin' me to get to hell, where I belong."
When he looked at Giles this time, his eyes were big and scared. "Was such an idiot. Never thought it'd be like this."
"What did you think it would be like?" Again, Giles couldn't help being curious.
Spike laughed his short, bitter laugh, and this time there was an aching quality to it.
"Dunno really - rainbows, pixie dust. I'd come back wearin' a halo and Buffy would see she'd been wrong about me."
"And now?"
Spike grimaced. "Now, I know I'm dirt under her feet, an' always will be, and -" he tapped his forehead with his finger, "There're - things, tryin' to get in."
His eyes seemed to lose focus, staring over Giles's shoulder.
"Sometimes, they tell me to kill. That if I do, I'll feel better."
Giles shivered. "How - peculiar."
Spike blinked and focused on his face again. "Yeah, something weird's goin' on all right."
Giles shivered again, but suddenly he felt more determined than ever to keep Spike close to him. Any fool could see he was in a vulnerable state - all too easily exploited by the powers of darkness, if left to his own devices.
"You know something else too," he said. "You know that you need help."
Spike's eyes were steady on his face. "True. Not hers, though. Could never ask."
"No," Giles agreed. "Best not. However, Spike, I think you were quite right to ask for mine."
"I was?" Spike looked wary. In spite of the fact that they were sharing a bed, it seemed he still feared ultimate rejection.
Giles frowned. Had that business last night been what he'd assumed it to be after all? He tamped down on his disappointment. It didn't change anything.
"Indeed." He kept his face stern. "I was going to tell you in the morning, but since we're awake, no time like the present. I will help you, Spike. We'll sort you out - get to the bottom of whatever it is that's going on with you."
Spike continued to gaze at him, but slowly his expression softened and the tension went out of his shoulders.
"Thanks, Giles," he said. "I appreciate it."
"Tomorrow," Giles went on, "I'll inform the Council that you escaped - their own damn fault, if they can't hurry up and collect you - and then I'll drive you to a place of safety. They'll never think to look for you there."
He wondered briefly what the coven would say when he turned up with yet another stray in tow - this one a vampire to boot. However, they were a broad-minded bunch. He was sure they could cope.
Spike was still staring at him. Suddenly, he leaned forward and kissed him.
"Thank you," he said, again, an almost fervent tone in his voice.
The cool lips seemed to burn, like regret. Giles set a finger to his tingling mouth. He cleared his throat.
"And you don't - you don't have to pretend you want me any more. It's very - er, generous of you, Spike, but it's not necessary."
Spike's mouth dropped open. He frowned.
"How many times do I bloody have to say it?" he growled. "Not bloody pretendin.'
He leaned forward to whisper in Giles's ear again. "You've no idea how long I've fantasised about this - bein' in your bed - under you -" His breath tickled the short hairs on Giles's nape. "Remember what I said I wanted you to do to me? Bloody meant every word of it, all right?"
"Spike -" Giles set his hand on a cool thigh, but it was already too late to say no, even if he'd wanted to, and when Spike gave him an enigmatic look and rolled over onto his belly, he knew he didn't want to.
No, he wanted to take what was being offered, for whatever reason, and - well, not quite be damned to the consequences.
"Spike - we shouldn't. This isn't what you need from me."
Spike looked back at him over his shoulder. "S'part of it. Been better since I got here. Much better." He quirked an eyebrow in the direction of the half-full whisky bottle on the nightstand. "Could be better for you too. Keep you off the rotgut - give you something else to think about."
Giles had already set a hand on one of the delectable curves of pale flesh. At this, he frowned and gave it a smart tap - hard enough to make Spike jump.
"That's enough - unless you want the ball-gag again."
Spike waggled his eyebrow. "Maybe later."
*
Spike twitched his shoulders. Then he scratched his neck.
Giles frowned irritably. Spike was such a fidget it was hard to keep his eye on the road.
"Do keep still, Spike."
Spike folded his arms. For a moment, he almost pouted.
"S'not my fault. This jacket's bloody itchy."
At this, Giles had to suppress a smile. Spike's dislike of his latest outfit was all too evident. It had been unavoidable, though. With the demise of the charity shop clothes after the Meowlur demon incident, and the necessity for a hasty departure come dusk, there'd been no time to buy him anything else so he'd had to make do with old clothes of Giles's.
They were far too big, of course, especially the trousers, which had had to be rolled up several times at the waist. As a result, Spike bore an unmistakeable resemblance to an undersized teenage boy who'd dressed up in his father's clothes.
Well, Giles reflected, it wasn't quite true to say there'd been no time to buy Spike another outfit, but instead that they'd used that time rather more profitably.
As a consequence, he himself was all shagged out, as the expression went, and Spike had proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that he did indeed suit a ball-gag. He probably wasn't sitting very comfortably either.
Giles shook his head. If he kept thinking along these lines, there was a likelihood of them never reaching their destination at all. He frowned and told himself to concentrate, while the headlights of faster cars zipped by in the right-hand lanes.
"I'll pick you up something else to wear as soon as I can," he soothed. "In the meantime -" and he couldn't help teasing a little -"you look rather sweet, in my opinion."
"Sweet!" Spike growled, but he didn't protest further, just began scratching again to show his displeasure.
The Westbury exit was coming up. Giles slowed down and began to indicate. As he did so, Spike said, "What're you gonna tell Buffy?"
The question was so unexpected, Giles turned to gape at him. Then he had to swing the wheel over hard to prevent them ending up in a ditch, the driver behind them blaring his horn in protest as he drove past.
Giles scowled at Spike. "Next time you decide to spring a question like that on me, can you please give me some warning?"
"Sorry," Spike muttered, sounding contrite. His restless hands fiddled with the hem of the old tweed jacket. "S'pose you don't plan to say anything to her then? Keep me your little secret?"
Giles sighed. There was a layby coming up. He indicated again and pulled into it. With the car stopped and the engine switched off, he turned to look Spike full in the face.
"If you mean I don't plan to tell her that we're - whatever we are, you're right, Spike. I think, in the circumstances, she wouldn't take it well."
Spike's gaze dropped. "You're prob'ly right."
He looked oddly pathetic, Giles thought, dressed in the too big jacket and shirt, and wearing a tie. Not like Spike at all. In fact, with his pale, pretty face and his tousled mane of brown-blond curls, he looked more like a Victorian romantic poet than a vampire.
Mind you, the still-swollen lip and the bruised jaw did rather spoil the effect.
Giles reached out and touched the bruise with the very tips of his fingers.
"I'm not ashamed of the…connection, Spike, if that's what you mean. But it's a delicate situation and will need delicate handling."
Spike shut his eyes. He turned his face aside and kissed Giles's open palm.
"Maybe you should be ashamed?" he said. "After all, I'm a monster."
"True." Giles ignored the now-familiar tingling that the touch of Spike's lips initiated. "However, Spike, that's not all you are."
"Isn't it?" Spike opened his eyes again. His lips parted, hanging on Giles's every word.
Looking at those lips, Giles was overcome with astonishment at the tenderness he felt. How, he wondered, had his feelings towards this creature changed so irrevocably in such a short time? What if Spike was right? What if he was fooling himself?
"Tell me what happened," he said. "Between you and Buffy, I mean?"
Spike blinked. He chewed the inside of his mouth. "She told you her side of the story, has she?"
"Well - no," Giles had to admit. "Or very little. Naturally enough, she didn't want to talk about it. I only know about the…the bathroom incident at all because Xander told me."
"Ah." Spike pondered this information for a moment. Then he said, "Can't tell you then, I'm afraid. Wouldn't be right, givin' you my side of the story when you don't have hers. Would be like I was trying to justify myself - an' I don't wanna do that. I tried to rape her. That's all you need to know."
Giles looked deep into Spike's eyes, again seeing no hint of deception. He smiled. Then he leaned forward and kissed him on the lips.
"As I said, you're not just a monster."
Spike shuddered all over at his touch, but he said nothing, just opened his mouth for Giles's tongue.
The kiss was long and deep and threatened to get rather out of hand, and at some point during it, Giles's mobile phone rang. Both of them ignored it, too intent on each other, but at last, Giles broke away. On the whole, it was probably better they not get themselves arrested for lewd behaviour in public.
He gave Spike, who was looking altogether too pleased with himself, an embarrassed smile and started the engine. His trousers had become a little tight at the crotch, but he didn't mind that. In fact, in spite of the last two days' bizarre developments, he felt rather jaunty, like someone who'd unexpectedly won first prize at a raffle without even buying a ticket.
As they pulled out of the layby, Spike said, softly, "Don't leave me for too long, will you? I'm no good without you, Giles. I'm not safe. The voices-"
Giles patted his knee. "I'll only be gone a matter of days - long enough to put the Council off the scent, that's all."
"Good. That's good." Spike shuddered. "I don't dream the same when you're around. Not nice still, but bearable. None of that from beneath you, it devours crap."
"I beg your pardon?" Giles turned to stare at him again, but Spike had looked away. He was reading the display on Giles's mobile.
"Huh!" He tilted his head. "That call you missed - some bloke called Robson. You know him?"
Giles was already slowing down to take the minor road up to the Westbury house. He had to think for a minute, but then he remembered. Robson - a fellow Watcher, and like himself, not one of Travers' favourites.
"A work colleague," he said. "Nothing to worry about, Spike. Nothing that has the potential to prevent me getting back to you as soon as possible, I'm sure."
"Good," Spike said, again, but in spite of that, he wrapped his arms about himself, staring off into the darkness.
After a moment, Giles realised he was humming to himself - rather an odd tune for Spike to be humming - old-fashioned, softly melodic.
Early one mo-orning-