Marry in Haste....
Posting fic at the weekend is probably a bad idea, as LJ is usually so dead, but I really don't think this is going to get any better.
Here is my entry for the Drunken Giles Ficathon, and just in time too, as it ends on Tuesday. Hope it raises a faint chuckle, if nothing else.
Setting: Las Vegas (though the setting doesn't really feature much). Some nebulous time during AtS season 5.
Pairing: Spike and Giles. Apparently.
Rating: PG-13
Unbeta'ed, but all mistakes are mine either way.
For the prompt: Giles/anyone: Giles in drunken Vegas wedding shocker. But with whom - and how?
1500 words
Marry in Haste...
"....and it's not that I don't find you...er...attractive. You understand that, don't you?"
"Mmm," was the non-committal reply.
Wincing as the slight movement caused the miniature sadist that had set up shop inside his head to stab him in the eye with a fork, Giles turned to give his neighbour at the bar a wary look.
"So you won't be offended if I file for divorce immediately, then?"
For answer, Spike heaved a deep sigh, picked up his shot glass and drained it.
Stomach churning, Giles watched Spike's Adam's apple bobbing up and down. The very smell of scotch - let alone the thought of drinking it - -made him feel nauseous again, and Spike's uncharacteristic, and very provoking, silence was getting on his last shredded nerve.
But there was no point rising to the bait, and if last night had proved anything, it was how badly things always turned out when he lost his self-control.
Taking a deep, steadying breath - both for his temper and the nausea - Giles addressed Spike again.
"Look, Spike. I'm trying to spare your feelings -" assuming you have any beyond the sheer joy of mischief-making -"but this is ridiculous. We didn't come to Las Vegas to...to..." Giles floundered to a halt. He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.
Spike was looking at him wide-eyed, all faux-innocent interest. He made an expansive gesture with his empty glass, as if to say, "Go on."
Giles gritted his teeth. "As I was saying, we didn't come here to enjoy ourselves. We came for work - myself on behalf of the reconstituted Watchers' Council, Wesley as representative of Wolfram & Hart and you - well, er..."
He frowned. Just why was Spike here anyway?
As usual, Spike didn't seem inclined to enlighten him. Instead, he put his glass down on the bar and signalled to the bartender to refill it.
Giles resisted the urge to drum his fingers on the counter. For one thing, the way his head was pounding, the sound would be unbearable. For another, it would let Spike know just how much he was getting to him.
"Anyway," he said, "you tagged along with Wesley. No doubt you have your own agenda. However, I'm fairly certain that agenda didn't include getting stinking drunk, having sex with someone who once conspired to kill you and then...oh dear lord! ..." say, it, just say it "... marrying them in some dubious demon wedding chapel," he finished all in a rush.
Spike frowned at the mention of the murderous conspiracy. Draining his glass again, he looked at Giles with eyebrow raised.
"Vampire remember? Maybe knowin' my spouse wants me dead but still can't resist the lure of my tight, white bod is a big turn on for me? Ever thought of that, Rupert pet?"
Giles's brain skittered away from thoughts of Spike's tight white anything, even though - like everything else about the evening before - he was pretty sure he'd enjoyed it at the time. Focus, man. Focus.
"Don't be ridiculous. We both know your instinct for self-preservation is very highly developed. And don't call me pet."
Spike opened his eyes wider. "Yeah, all I care about's savin' my own skin. That's why I put on that amulet before the final battle with the First Evil o'course. Pet."
Damn, now I have offended him.
"That's not what I meant," Giles protested.
Spike's eyes grew wider still, which had the odd effect of making him look more than ever like carnal sin personified. "What did you mean, then? Spell it out. An' if I can't call you pet, can I call you darling, Rupert darling?"
"Oh for heaven's sake!" Giles put his pounding head in his hands. If he ever drank again after this, he decided, he deserved everything he got as a consequence - even unintentional wedlock with the formerly - so Spike claimed- evil undead.
"Is it the ring?" Spike said, in a plaintive voice. "You don't like it, do you? Can get you a better one soon as I nick enough dosh."
"It's not the sodding ring," Giles groaned. Though now Spike mentioned it, it did look rather cheap and nasty. "It's this whole ludicrous situation. Surely you can see that. For a start, I'm not gay."
Spike blinked. "Neither am I. What's that got to do with anything?"
"Well...well..." Giles floundered. "In the circumstances, rather a lot I would have thought. But there are plenty of other reasons. For instance, neither of us is an adherent of Guernenthar the Ascended, are we?"
Spike frowned. "And how do you know that since I've never discussed my beliefs with you? Also, can't remember religion botherin' you last night when you were sayin' your wedding vows, an' after...." He leered at Giles, hand dropping to frame his crotch.
Giles kept his eyes firmly on Spike's face. "I was drunk, you nitwit. I didn't know what I was doing."
Spike only blinked again. "'Course you were drunk. We all were. Can't get married in a Guernenthar the Ascended-ite chapel if you're sober, can you?"
"You can't?" It was Giles's turn to blink, while, through the hangover-induced haze, the Watcherly part of his brain was making notes for future reference.
"All right, then. Say it was all above board and legal in the state of Nevada, which I doubt- there's the fact that we've shared living accommodation before, didn't get along at all and are unlikely to benefit by repeating the experience. You drank all the scotch, as I recall. And ate all the Weetabix. And scratched my irreplaceable first pressing of Led Zeppelin III."
Spike actually pouted. "Didn't have a soul then, did I? An' if you really loved me, you wouldn't throw my faults in my face like that."
Giles gaped at him. "But that's just it, you idiotic vampire. I don't love you. This has all been a horrible, alcohol-induced mistake. Surely you can see that?"
Spike's pout grew poutier. "But I thought you said you found me attractive?"
Giles rolled his eyes. "Not the same thing. I can find you attractive and still not want to marry you."
"Oh." Spike's pout vanished, to be replaced by a hurt expression. "So," he said, in a brittle tone, "you were just using me, were you? Have your wicked way with me, and throw me away like trash the morning after? That it?"
"What?" Giles floundered again. "No, no. That's not what I meant either!"
"Isn't it?" Spike's voice dripped sarcasm. "You don't respect me at all, do you? What are you? Some kind of monster?"
"Of course not, I..." Giles began, but then he stopped. Had he imagined it, or had there been an odd flicker in Spike's eyes just then? "You evil little bastard. You don't mean a word of it, do you?"
Spike's injured expression disappeared, to be replaced by a smug grin. Turning to the bartender, he signalled for yet another refill.
"Sorry, Rupes. Was way too much fun watchin you squirm to let you off the hook too easily."
"You...you..." Giles discovered he was lost for words.
"Vampire," Spike reminded him. Leaning towards Giles, he placed a confiding hand on his arm and lowered his voice to a whisper.
"Tell me, Rupes, just how much of last night do you remember?"
"Well...er..." Giles's brain skated in haste over the thankfully hazy details - the stiff business talk, slowly becoming more relaxed as Spike - yes, it had been Spike - kept refilling their glasses - the predictable visit to the casino, with accompanying modest beginner's luck, which Spike - yes, him again - had insisted they celebrate by drinking even more. The fumbling footsies under the table - the hand on his leg, slowly sidling higher....
He cleared his throat, knowing he'd begun to sweat and well aware that Spike would know it too.
"I remember enough."
Spike motioned with his head towards his hand on Giles's arm. "Really?"
What was the idiot trying to say now? Giles looked at Spike's hand, frowned, looked away, looked back again. Another wave of nausea washed over him, along with a horrible sense of unease.
"Why aren't you wearing a wedding ring too? If nothing else, I definitely remember exchanging rings. I think they even matched."
Spike's hand dropped away from Giles's arm. Picking up his glass, he smirked at Giles over the rim. "'Cos unfortunately for you, Rupes, it wasn't me you married. Can't see you gettin' out of this one in a hurry."
The nausea resolved itself into a tight, hard knot. Giles swallowed with difficulty. "Then who...?"
But Spike was looking past him now, grinning like the Cheshire Cat - surely the smuggest fictional creature ever created - and waving a greeting.
"Young love," he sighed. "It's so romantic."
At the same time, Wesley's left hand, adorned with a familiar ring, came down on Giles's shoulder while Wesley's lips brushed his cheek.
"There you are. Miss me, Rupert darling?"
Here is my entry for the Drunken Giles Ficathon, and just in time too, as it ends on Tuesday. Hope it raises a faint chuckle, if nothing else.
Setting: Las Vegas (though the setting doesn't really feature much). Some nebulous time during AtS season 5.
Pairing: Spike and Giles. Apparently.
Rating: PG-13
Unbeta'ed, but all mistakes are mine either way.
For the prompt: Giles/anyone: Giles in drunken Vegas wedding shocker. But with whom - and how?
1500 words
Marry in Haste...
"....and it's not that I don't find you...er...attractive. You understand that, don't you?"
"Mmm," was the non-committal reply.
Wincing as the slight movement caused the miniature sadist that had set up shop inside his head to stab him in the eye with a fork, Giles turned to give his neighbour at the bar a wary look.
"So you won't be offended if I file for divorce immediately, then?"
For answer, Spike heaved a deep sigh, picked up his shot glass and drained it.
Stomach churning, Giles watched Spike's Adam's apple bobbing up and down. The very smell of scotch - let alone the thought of drinking it - -made him feel nauseous again, and Spike's uncharacteristic, and very provoking, silence was getting on his last shredded nerve.
But there was no point rising to the bait, and if last night had proved anything, it was how badly things always turned out when he lost his self-control.
Taking a deep, steadying breath - both for his temper and the nausea - Giles addressed Spike again.
"Look, Spike. I'm trying to spare your feelings -" assuming you have any beyond the sheer joy of mischief-making -"but this is ridiculous. We didn't come to Las Vegas to...to..." Giles floundered to a halt. He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.
Spike was looking at him wide-eyed, all faux-innocent interest. He made an expansive gesture with his empty glass, as if to say, "Go on."
Giles gritted his teeth. "As I was saying, we didn't come here to enjoy ourselves. We came for work - myself on behalf of the reconstituted Watchers' Council, Wesley as representative of Wolfram & Hart and you - well, er..."
He frowned. Just why was Spike here anyway?
As usual, Spike didn't seem inclined to enlighten him. Instead, he put his glass down on the bar and signalled to the bartender to refill it.
Giles resisted the urge to drum his fingers on the counter. For one thing, the way his head was pounding, the sound would be unbearable. For another, it would let Spike know just how much he was getting to him.
"Anyway," he said, "you tagged along with Wesley. No doubt you have your own agenda. However, I'm fairly certain that agenda didn't include getting stinking drunk, having sex with someone who once conspired to kill you and then...oh dear lord! ..." say, it, just say it "... marrying them in some dubious demon wedding chapel," he finished all in a rush.
Spike frowned at the mention of the murderous conspiracy. Draining his glass again, he looked at Giles with eyebrow raised.
"Vampire remember? Maybe knowin' my spouse wants me dead but still can't resist the lure of my tight, white bod is a big turn on for me? Ever thought of that, Rupert pet?"
Giles's brain skittered away from thoughts of Spike's tight white anything, even though - like everything else about the evening before - he was pretty sure he'd enjoyed it at the time. Focus, man. Focus.
"Don't be ridiculous. We both know your instinct for self-preservation is very highly developed. And don't call me pet."
Spike opened his eyes wider. "Yeah, all I care about's savin' my own skin. That's why I put on that amulet before the final battle with the First Evil o'course. Pet."
Damn, now I have offended him.
"That's not what I meant," Giles protested.
Spike's eyes grew wider still, which had the odd effect of making him look more than ever like carnal sin personified. "What did you mean, then? Spell it out. An' if I can't call you pet, can I call you darling, Rupert darling?"
"Oh for heaven's sake!" Giles put his pounding head in his hands. If he ever drank again after this, he decided, he deserved everything he got as a consequence - even unintentional wedlock with the formerly - so Spike claimed- evil undead.
"Is it the ring?" Spike said, in a plaintive voice. "You don't like it, do you? Can get you a better one soon as I nick enough dosh."
"It's not the sodding ring," Giles groaned. Though now Spike mentioned it, it did look rather cheap and nasty. "It's this whole ludicrous situation. Surely you can see that. For a start, I'm not gay."
Spike blinked. "Neither am I. What's that got to do with anything?"
"Well...well..." Giles floundered. "In the circumstances, rather a lot I would have thought. But there are plenty of other reasons. For instance, neither of us is an adherent of Guernenthar the Ascended, are we?"
Spike frowned. "And how do you know that since I've never discussed my beliefs with you? Also, can't remember religion botherin' you last night when you were sayin' your wedding vows, an' after...." He leered at Giles, hand dropping to frame his crotch.
Giles kept his eyes firmly on Spike's face. "I was drunk, you nitwit. I didn't know what I was doing."
Spike only blinked again. "'Course you were drunk. We all were. Can't get married in a Guernenthar the Ascended-ite chapel if you're sober, can you?"
"You can't?" It was Giles's turn to blink, while, through the hangover-induced haze, the Watcherly part of his brain was making notes for future reference.
"All right, then. Say it was all above board and legal in the state of Nevada, which I doubt- there's the fact that we've shared living accommodation before, didn't get along at all and are unlikely to benefit by repeating the experience. You drank all the scotch, as I recall. And ate all the Weetabix. And scratched my irreplaceable first pressing of Led Zeppelin III."
Spike actually pouted. "Didn't have a soul then, did I? An' if you really loved me, you wouldn't throw my faults in my face like that."
Giles gaped at him. "But that's just it, you idiotic vampire. I don't love you. This has all been a horrible, alcohol-induced mistake. Surely you can see that?"
Spike's pout grew poutier. "But I thought you said you found me attractive?"
Giles rolled his eyes. "Not the same thing. I can find you attractive and still not want to marry you."
"Oh." Spike's pout vanished, to be replaced by a hurt expression. "So," he said, in a brittle tone, "you were just using me, were you? Have your wicked way with me, and throw me away like trash the morning after? That it?"
"What?" Giles floundered again. "No, no. That's not what I meant either!"
"Isn't it?" Spike's voice dripped sarcasm. "You don't respect me at all, do you? What are you? Some kind of monster?"
"Of course not, I..." Giles began, but then he stopped. Had he imagined it, or had there been an odd flicker in Spike's eyes just then? "You evil little bastard. You don't mean a word of it, do you?"
Spike's injured expression disappeared, to be replaced by a smug grin. Turning to the bartender, he signalled for yet another refill.
"Sorry, Rupes. Was way too much fun watchin you squirm to let you off the hook too easily."
"You...you..." Giles discovered he was lost for words.
"Vampire," Spike reminded him. Leaning towards Giles, he placed a confiding hand on his arm and lowered his voice to a whisper.
"Tell me, Rupes, just how much of last night do you remember?"
"Well...er..." Giles's brain skated in haste over the thankfully hazy details - the stiff business talk, slowly becoming more relaxed as Spike - yes, it had been Spike - kept refilling their glasses - the predictable visit to the casino, with accompanying modest beginner's luck, which Spike - yes, him again - had insisted they celebrate by drinking even more. The fumbling footsies under the table - the hand on his leg, slowly sidling higher....
He cleared his throat, knowing he'd begun to sweat and well aware that Spike would know it too.
"I remember enough."
Spike motioned with his head towards his hand on Giles's arm. "Really?"
What was the idiot trying to say now? Giles looked at Spike's hand, frowned, looked away, looked back again. Another wave of nausea washed over him, along with a horrible sense of unease.
"Why aren't you wearing a wedding ring too? If nothing else, I definitely remember exchanging rings. I think they even matched."
Spike's hand dropped away from Giles's arm. Picking up his glass, he smirked at Giles over the rim. "'Cos unfortunately for you, Rupes, it wasn't me you married. Can't see you gettin' out of this one in a hurry."
The nausea resolved itself into a tight, hard knot. Giles swallowed with difficulty. "Then who...?"
But Spike was looking past him now, grinning like the Cheshire Cat - surely the smuggest fictional creature ever created - and waving a greeting.
"Young love," he sighed. "It's so romantic."
At the same time, Wesley's left hand, adorned with a familiar ring, came down on Giles's shoulder while Wesley's lips brushed his cheek.
"There you are. Miss me, Rupert darling?"