![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I was writing smut. More 'Behind Closed Doors' but an interlude, not connected with the ongoing chapter and a little lighter maybe. Because the rest of chapter three went dark and I wasn't in the mood for that.
It ends abruptly because the policeman came and I can't bloody well concentrate now but I don't want to go to bed until David gets back.
So here's more Giles/Spike smut.
Giles doesn’t make me wait on him as a rule; we do what needs to be done without fussing about it much. I mean, sure, there’s times I spend hours naked, kneeling and waiting for orders if I’ve done something to piss him off – or even just because he wants me like that, but that’s different.
I remember once he wanted tea. He really does drink that stuff, even when no one’s looking. A taste for it’s something I lost too long ago to remember but I know how to make it and, no surprise, I can make it with tea leaves. Trouble is, they clog the sink up. Giles doesn’t like it when that happens. When he saw the mess I’d left he asked for another pot. Too weak. Made me throw it away, start over. Next one; too strong. By the time he’d finished impersonating Goldilocks, I’d made him six pots and the kettle wasn’t all that was steaming. Finally he took one sip, set the cup down and nodded, all nice and cool. “That’s fine, Spike. Thank you.”
His eyes went back to his book and I waited for about thirty seconds. He lifted his head and gave me a puzzled smile. “Yes?”
Oh, you should have seen him. Absolute innocence, not a hint of anything. I’d made him a cuppa and he’d said thanks. End of story. I peeled off my t-shirt and dropped it in front of him. That got me an eyebrow and the polite surprise look. “Damp,” I explained. “The kitchen’s all foggy.”
He laid his book down after closing it. Knew he wasn’t really reading it; no bookmark. He never lays them face down and turning the corners? Heh. Right. I watched as he reached for the shirt, picked it up and felt it.
“Seems dry enough to me.”
“Well, if you want me to catch my death –”
“Oh, no,” he said, his face serious. “Please, do get out of those damp things.”
He let me get tangled up in my jeans, trying to work them over my feet without hopping around, and grabbed me just as I kicked them off. He moves fast when he wants to. As soon as I felt his hands on me I stopped, stood still and waited. This is what it’s like, never knowing when it’ll all change; go from summer day calm to eye of the storm. He wasn’t angry with me but he wasn’t playing either, not now.
He stood behind me, his right arm curled around my waist, his other on my left shoulder. I waited to hear the rules, knowing there’d be something I had to do, not do... “Hands by your side.” They were anyway and I felt the muscles in my arms tense as if I was already fighting, already wanting to move, to touch him.
He slid his hand across the nape of my neck, making me shiver and lean back against him. His hand carried on moving, clamping down on my right shoulder hard enough to hurt and then slipping back to lie flat against the side of my neck, forcing my head to the side with a steady push. Done it a thousand times myself. If I let myself I could almost hear that tiny noise skin stretched tight makes when fangs pierce it, could almost see the dark blood well up, almost see the moment when it flashed from blue to red as the air altered it, almost taste it pouring, spurting, filling me, making me real, just for a moment.
Giles’ teeth grazed my neck and I felt my hands clutching at air, my hips jerking forward as his hand slipped from waist to cock. So delicate...teeth and fingers touching, teasing when I wanted them to – his teeth sank in, biting down as his fingers curled tightly, possessively, working my cock with rapid, hard strokes and I think I screamed because he moved his mouth to cover mine, letting me taste my blood on him, while his hand kept moving and I fought to keep my hands by my side because I knew if I moved, if I reached back for him, he’d stop and I’d –
He pulled his mouth away, and turned me around so that we were facing each other, taking his hand away from my cock. Thought for a moment he was going to leave me like that, sit back down, pick up his book. Really don’t know what I’d have done...he’d timed it so that I was on the edge of coming, hurting with it, aching and desperate. The bite mark on my neck was throbbing as if his teeth were still there and I started to count each throb, willing myself not to come, not to beg, not to howl...got to five and he grinned, a wicked, gleeful grin.
Then he sank to his knees, grabbed my arse and pulled me to him, taking me in, sucking hard while his fingers dug in. I wanted to hold his head still, fuck that blood smeared mouth hard - what, too graphic? Giles on his knees sucking my cock and you want moonlight and roses? Sod that! Doesn’t matter though. Couldn’t do it. My hands stayed in place, I came when he let me, and when he rocked back on his heels, smiling up at me as he wiped his hand across his mouth, he looked just the same as he looked when it was me down there. In control.
He stood up, sat back in his chair and looked at me. “I think your clothes should be dry now, Spike. Perhaps you’d like to get dressed?”
Sometimes he needs saving from himself. I picked up the cup of tea and sipped it. Warm. Tasted awful. “If I tipped this in your lap, what would you do, Giles?”
He told me. I sighed. “After you’d put them into soak because tea stains.”
“Oh, you mean the part where I don’t spend the next hour fucking you because I’m too exhausted from applying, hmm; let me see...my belt perhaps? to your impudent little arse?”
“Just asking.”
“Of course.”
“Hypothetical”
“Indeed.”
“Going to fuck me, Giles?”
“Oh, yes.”
I'm so convincing sometimes.
It ends abruptly because the policeman came and I can't bloody well concentrate now but I don't want to go to bed until David gets back.
So here's more Giles/Spike smut.
Giles doesn’t make me wait on him as a rule; we do what needs to be done without fussing about it much. I mean, sure, there’s times I spend hours naked, kneeling and waiting for orders if I’ve done something to piss him off – or even just because he wants me like that, but that’s different.
I remember once he wanted tea. He really does drink that stuff, even when no one’s looking. A taste for it’s something I lost too long ago to remember but I know how to make it and, no surprise, I can make it with tea leaves. Trouble is, they clog the sink up. Giles doesn’t like it when that happens. When he saw the mess I’d left he asked for another pot. Too weak. Made me throw it away, start over. Next one; too strong. By the time he’d finished impersonating Goldilocks, I’d made him six pots and the kettle wasn’t all that was steaming. Finally he took one sip, set the cup down and nodded, all nice and cool. “That’s fine, Spike. Thank you.”
His eyes went back to his book and I waited for about thirty seconds. He lifted his head and gave me a puzzled smile. “Yes?”
Oh, you should have seen him. Absolute innocence, not a hint of anything. I’d made him a cuppa and he’d said thanks. End of story. I peeled off my t-shirt and dropped it in front of him. That got me an eyebrow and the polite surprise look. “Damp,” I explained. “The kitchen’s all foggy.”
He laid his book down after closing it. Knew he wasn’t really reading it; no bookmark. He never lays them face down and turning the corners? Heh. Right. I watched as he reached for the shirt, picked it up and felt it.
“Seems dry enough to me.”
“Well, if you want me to catch my death –”
“Oh, no,” he said, his face serious. “Please, do get out of those damp things.”
He let me get tangled up in my jeans, trying to work them over my feet without hopping around, and grabbed me just as I kicked them off. He moves fast when he wants to. As soon as I felt his hands on me I stopped, stood still and waited. This is what it’s like, never knowing when it’ll all change; go from summer day calm to eye of the storm. He wasn’t angry with me but he wasn’t playing either, not now.
He stood behind me, his right arm curled around my waist, his other on my left shoulder. I waited to hear the rules, knowing there’d be something I had to do, not do... “Hands by your side.” They were anyway and I felt the muscles in my arms tense as if I was already fighting, already wanting to move, to touch him.
He slid his hand across the nape of my neck, making me shiver and lean back against him. His hand carried on moving, clamping down on my right shoulder hard enough to hurt and then slipping back to lie flat against the side of my neck, forcing my head to the side with a steady push. Done it a thousand times myself. If I let myself I could almost hear that tiny noise skin stretched tight makes when fangs pierce it, could almost see the dark blood well up, almost see the moment when it flashed from blue to red as the air altered it, almost taste it pouring, spurting, filling me, making me real, just for a moment.
Giles’ teeth grazed my neck and I felt my hands clutching at air, my hips jerking forward as his hand slipped from waist to cock. So delicate...teeth and fingers touching, teasing when I wanted them to – his teeth sank in, biting down as his fingers curled tightly, possessively, working my cock with rapid, hard strokes and I think I screamed because he moved his mouth to cover mine, letting me taste my blood on him, while his hand kept moving and I fought to keep my hands by my side because I knew if I moved, if I reached back for him, he’d stop and I’d –
He pulled his mouth away, and turned me around so that we were facing each other, taking his hand away from my cock. Thought for a moment he was going to leave me like that, sit back down, pick up his book. Really don’t know what I’d have done...he’d timed it so that I was on the edge of coming, hurting with it, aching and desperate. The bite mark on my neck was throbbing as if his teeth were still there and I started to count each throb, willing myself not to come, not to beg, not to howl...got to five and he grinned, a wicked, gleeful grin.
Then he sank to his knees, grabbed my arse and pulled me to him, taking me in, sucking hard while his fingers dug in. I wanted to hold his head still, fuck that blood smeared mouth hard - what, too graphic? Giles on his knees sucking my cock and you want moonlight and roses? Sod that! Doesn’t matter though. Couldn’t do it. My hands stayed in place, I came when he let me, and when he rocked back on his heels, smiling up at me as he wiped his hand across his mouth, he looked just the same as he looked when it was me down there. In control.
He stood up, sat back in his chair and looked at me. “I think your clothes should be dry now, Spike. Perhaps you’d like to get dressed?”
Sometimes he needs saving from himself. I picked up the cup of tea and sipped it. Warm. Tasted awful. “If I tipped this in your lap, what would you do, Giles?”
He told me. I sighed. “After you’d put them into soak because tea stains.”
“Oh, you mean the part where I don’t spend the next hour fucking you because I’m too exhausted from applying, hmm; let me see...my belt perhaps? to your impudent little arse?”
“Just asking.”
“Of course.”
“Hypothetical”
“Indeed.”
“Going to fuck me, Giles?”
“Oh, yes.”
I'm so convincing sometimes.