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Thanks for filling out the poll on 'Behind Closed Doors'. General agreement that you want more which makes me feel tearfully grateful ::hugs:: but not so clear cut on the framework and the Scooby involvement so I'll just do what feels right, which you all seem cool about, so that should work.
I wrote the prologue last night and today. If you don't want to know, don't read it; it won't matter, I promise. There are no original plots and I don't even pretend that this plot device is anything but hackneyed, cliched and terribly obvious but it's how it was in my head so I'm using it.
So now we can get back to the smut which is sadly lacking in this part ;-)
ETA; I've put this and the four posted chapters up on my page; http://members.rogers.com/jdavitt01/BehindPro.html
There's only one part that appeared on my LJ that isn't on my page; it isn't complete so I'm leaving that for a while. If anyone wants to read it, bearing in mind I might scrap it, it's here
http://www.livejournal.com/users/janedavitt/79594.html#cutid1
Never pegged Giles for suicidal. Shows how much I know, doesn’t it? I expected some weird reactions from them all once the shock of the Slayer dying wore off; was prepared for the Bit sobbing all over my shoulder, Xander raising his game from sarky comments to downright vicious jabs...expected them and got them. Not like it really mattered any more. I helped out with the killing, got drunk, picked fights – and spent more nights than I want to remember sitting in my crypt waiting for her to kick open the door and tell me I was a bastard and she needed me.
No one needed me now and yes, fucking self pity just oozing out all over that, but who gives a shit? I didn’t.
I noticed Giles of course; he was always there, holding them together, doing the grown up act, making sure life went on, looking at me as if he couldn’t quite work out why I was there but he wished I wasn’t. See? Not needed. After a while, I pulled back, watched them some nights to make sure they weren’t getting in over their heads, stayed with Dawn until Tara took over and gently showed me the door. Wouldn’t have been surprised to have called by and found myself needing an invitation to get in, if you must know.
Hurt a bit. Silly really. Slayer dying hurt too, but it was right; she’d died all heroic, done just what a Slayer should, and I couldn’t grudge her that ending. Going out killing a Hell Goddess and saving a million dimensions; that’s classy.
But I missed her and I felt guilty and I got drunk and I was lonely. Pathetic sodden heap of misery, if you must know. No, wait. Not talking about me now. That’s what I found in the graveyard one night, answering to the name of Rupert Giles. He was surrounded by vamps; must have been five or six of them, and he had a stake in one hand that looked like a splinter with delusions of grandeur and was only alive because they were laughing too hard to go in for the kill.
Felt something then. Anger. Disgust. Pity? No. He didn’t need pity. Needed bloody saving though and I waded in and did the job, picking up a nice collection of cuts and bruises, insults and curses. Mostly off him. Seems he didn’t want fucking saving and certainly not by me. Funny the way you never get what you want out of life, isn’t it?
He didn’t want to come back to the crypt with me either but I bullied him into it by pointing out I needed first aid in some hard to reach bits on my back. He sighed and let me help him up – and I noticed the reek of whisky. Well, not going to deny a man his poison of choice, and I was a long way from being sober myself, but –
“Giles, why the fuck are you out here, pissed out of your skull and with no more sense than to run into a pack of vampires?”
He looked at me. “You’re so smart; you work it out.”
Took me a few minutes, but I managed it. “You’re trying to off yourself without it being obvious.”
I was sitting cross legged on the stone slab in the centre of the crypt and he was dabbing at a nasty slice down my back and making it hurt twice as much as it had been because he wasn’t steady handed enough to do it gently. Or didn’t care.
“I suppose I am,” he said.
If he’d sounded surprised, or sad, I’d have kept my mouth shut, but he laughed. Fucker laughed and I turned around, grabbed him by the hair and tilted his head.
“Why don’t you just let me bite you, Giles? How a Watcher should go, right? One on one with the enemy. Guess I spoiled that tonight, but I can make it up to you.” He didn’t even twitch. “Oh, Christ, at least _look_ scared of me!”
“You can’t hurt me,” he pointed out. His hand came up and tapped the top of my head. “Chipped and rendered harmless.”
Even drunk, he didn’t mess around.
“Suppose I could?” I said, letting go of him. He was standing in front of me, between my legs actually, and I didn’t think I’d been this close to him for months. The distance between us wasn’t new and wasn’t just physical either but I hadn’t realised how worn out he was. Tired, sick eyes that told me he’d given up running. Oh, I’ve seen them before; you know I have...but there was always one last little struggle, one final spark when I bit down. Humans don’t give up life easily. Who does?
He frowned. “I don’t understand.”
He swayed a little, put his hand out to brace himself and ended up groping my thigh. Sorry, grabbing. No, his fingers flexed and held; I’ll stick with groping. I glanced down, said nothing, and smirked. “Always wanted to know if I could feed from someone who let me. Might end up writhing in pain; you might end up dead, because to be honest, if I started, I don’t think I could stop.”
He looked at me then, question in his eyes, and I put my hand over his. “’Cos you look fucking tasty, Rupert, you know that?”
He tried to step back but I followed him, step for step until his back hit the wall and he was out of places to run to. “Spike...please...”
Pleading and that wasn’t right. Giles shouldn’t – I saw him tortured and he didn’t beg then, no matter what Angel did to him. I didn’t touch him; you don’t interfere with Angel when he’s playing, but I watched. I saw. Took it all and still had enough guts left to stick two fingers up at Angel and now he was giving up?
“You coward. You fucking washed up, pathetic coward. You let your Slayer die and now you’re going to leave the rest of them to get along without you, too?” I don’t know when I started shouting and I don’t know why. He was blinking at me, his face puzzled and defenceless and it was maddening. Giles shouldn’t be like this; shouldn’t be sad and defeated, shouldn’t have come that close to dying and –
“You could’ve been turned! Is that it? Not death you’re after but a chance to stop fighting, stop caring? Look at me! Giles, don’t you fucking dare think about it! You’d go straight for them, you’d kill Dawn, you’d...oh, God, Giles, tell me that’s not what you were going to do?”
Fuck. Sounded like a girl...but I was seeing them, seeing their faces, seeing what he’d leave behind when he was through with them. Not long since I’d have been smiling at that but things change. I’d changed. Not enough to be socially fucking acceptable and God knows I’d give up a decade of existence to be able to thump Harris right on his sneering mouth before he died, but they’d stopped being prey a long time since. Wouldn’t have killed any of them, chip or no chip. Can’t say the same for the other billion people on the planet but, yeah, wouldn’t kill them.
Giles was shaking his head, horrified, stammering. “I never – never thought – Spike, how dare you!” Oh, here we go. Work it around to being my fault. “You must know I’d view that with the, the utmost abhorrence.” He was sobering up. “You self righteous little prick!” OK, maybe not. “How dare you lecture me? How dare you take it upon yourself to save me? She’s gone and I have no place here. I’m not needed and I can’t – I don’t want to feel that way.”
“Just told you you’re needed. Try again. Something’s got you going. I get that you’re tired; been a hellish month. Get that you’re worried, trying to keep on top of it with just the robot. Get all of that but you’re strong-” I reached out and stroked his cheek, “– stubborn and too mean to give up the ghost to a pack of vamps so new they still had dirt under their nails. Where’s your pride, Giles?”
He stood still under my hand and I couldn’t help it. I kissed him, no warning, no build up, just leaned in and tasted him, wanting to see what he’d do. Oh, well, yeah, wanted to kiss him as well. Why? Dunno. Because I’d just come close to losing him and that bothered me. Because he smelled good. Because there’s always been this ... curiosity about him, ever since I watched him suffer, ever since the nights I spent chained in his bloody bath. Chain me, feed me from your hand, well, mug, walk around half undressed while you piss and clean your teeth in front of me as if I didn’t exist...I’ll get curious, just watch me. He never did a thing back then; never let his hands stray, never looked below my belt, but I wasn’t so polite. Started out teasing him for my own amusement, but by the end, knowing he was hard every time he came near me, knowing if I tried anything, mood he was in he’d stake me...it wasn’t much fun. Spent hours lying there imagining him in bed, what he’d fuck like, how he’d taste. Thought about feeding from him, how his blood would be almost as special as a Slayer’s, watched him shave hoping he’d tear his skin just enough that I could smell it...if he had I think I’d have come just from that but he was too careful.
Of all of them, he was the one who scared me the most. The one who trains the Slayer to kill; how can that not be a killer? Scared because you knew, looking into those eyes, that Giles would kill you if he had to, and that’s enough to spice up the lust, because, yes, scared and wanting to fuck or fight go together with me.
So kissing him was dangerous, was risky. They’d got used to me but I think he knew I wasn’t tame, wasn’t to be trusted. Chances were good he’d try and stake me for this and even if he didn’t, we’d gone somewhere new and that wasn’t quite what he had in mind, I’m thinking.
I wanted to grind against him, wanted to feel his skin move under my hand, hear him moan. Got a knee in the balls and a backhand that sent me spinning.
“You don’t ever do that without –”
He stopped and I filled in the blanks. “Without what, Giles? Permission?” I reached out and ran my hand over his cock, felt it stir under a layer of denim – good to see he felt dying called for the casual look. “Think this is permission enough, yeah?”
He closed his eyes and when he opened them again he brushed past me as if I wasn’t there and made straight for a bottle I’d left in a corner.
“It’s empty, Giles and haven’t you had –”
I was annoyed. He wasn’t acting the way he should, the way I’d come to expect. Didn’t like it. Then I heard the bottle shatter and I swear I heard his skin rip open, heard the sound the glass made as he brought it across his wrist. Spray and drip, spatter and stain. The air was drenched in the smell even before I got to him.
I was swearing, cursing him, trying to get him to hold still and he was pushing me away as best he could. Eventually I stepped back and held up my hands. “Fine, Giles. Bleed to death. Mind dripping into a bowl so I can at least have a taste?”
He glared at me and shoved his wrist in my face, offering himself up. My fangs were out and I grabbed his arm, holding it. If I was careful...if I didn’t bite...then I sighed, drew back my fist and thumped him. We both hit the ground together but I got up first and he stayed down. Paid for it with a headache that stayed with me for hours, but I made the punch count and the state he was in I had time. Managed to get him bandaged up; it’d need stitches maybe, but it’d stopped bleeding. He opened his eyes and looked up at me and then winced; arm must have been throbbing and hurting like hell. Served him right.
“Spike?”
“Should get you seen to, Giles. Think you can walk?”
“No – I mean, yes, but not just yet. Need to rest.”
“You can rest later.”
I tried to pull him up, but he stopped me. “You didn’t feed.” Not a question. “I thought you would. Why aren’t you letting me die, Spike?”
Simple enough question. They’re always the trickiest. “I don’t want you to die, that’s all. Be a waste.”
He arched one eyebrow. “You’d miss me?” He laughed. “I must be hallucinating.” He glanced up at me. “I’ll do it again, you know.”
Shook my head, looked bored and indifferent. “Doubt it. You’d have regretted this in the morning, I’ll bet.”
He chuckled then. “You think?” He tried to stand up, made it and then leaned back against the stone slab. “Do you know the statistics on Watcher deaths, Spike? No, of course you don’t. The average life of a Watcher after their Slayer dies is five years. That’s useless as an indicator though. Simpler to say that we fall into two camps; those who shrug, take a desk job and forget and those, like me, who want nothing more than oblivion. We try to go out being useful of course. There’s always some way of dying a hero.”
The bitterness was there but he still sounded detached, distant.
“Forget dying for one minute, you morbid git. You’re just bored.” We both were.
“Want me to take up a hobby?”
I considered this. “How about a bet?”
“What?”
“You need someone to give you an interest in life, Giles. You need to do some fucking instead of just getting fucked. You need to be aggravated, annoyed and pissed off on a daily basis.” I grinned at him. “And I need to be the one doing it, because you’re not dying before I’ve had you, Giles. No fucking chance.”
He studied me. “What’s the bet? What are the stakes?” He grinned sourly. “If you’ll forgive the expression.”
“I bet in six months I can make you want to live again. If I lose, I’ll help you die; even fix it so you can go out against a real big nasty and I’ll lie to them all so they won’t know you did it on purpose.”
He nodded thoughtfully but I could tell he was just humouring me. “What if you win?”
“You let me have what I passed up on tonight; a taste of you. Might end up dead anyway and then we can all have a good laugh, right?”
“Just how do you propose to make the skies turn blue and turn my frown upside down, Spike?”
“Oh, you’re feeling better. Sarcasm’s back. Old fashioned way, Giles. Show you a good time.”
Shouldn’t have still been talking but I reckoned he was tough enough not to pass out on me.
“I’m moving in with you –”
“You bloody well are not!”
“And we’re going to fuck the misery out of each other.” That shut him up. He was gaping at me and yes, still enough blood left to get hard. Told you he was tough. “Now we can play this different ways but I’m thinking you’re not the sort to take kindly to being on your knees to me –” Flicker of interest but nothing else, “and we’re not equals, never have been, never will be –” and he could take that anyway he liked, “so that just leaves – this.”
Went to my knees, bowed my head and waited. How long was it before he touched my head, told me to look at him? Long enough for him to get his voice under control again, because it didn’t waver and he never asked if I was sure or if I wanted to change my mind, not then, not later.
I looked up, saw him for the first time if you like, and watched his lips shape one word.
“Mine.”
And I smiled up and wondered just what he was going to do with me.
I wrote the prologue last night and today. If you don't want to know, don't read it; it won't matter, I promise. There are no original plots and I don't even pretend that this plot device is anything but hackneyed, cliched and terribly obvious but it's how it was in my head so I'm using it.
So now we can get back to the smut which is sadly lacking in this part ;-)
ETA; I've put this and the four posted chapters up on my page; http://members.rogers.com/jdavitt01/BehindPro.html
There's only one part that appeared on my LJ that isn't on my page; it isn't complete so I'm leaving that for a while. If anyone wants to read it, bearing in mind I might scrap it, it's here
http://www.livejournal.com/users/janedavitt/79594.html#cutid1
Never pegged Giles for suicidal. Shows how much I know, doesn’t it? I expected some weird reactions from them all once the shock of the Slayer dying wore off; was prepared for the Bit sobbing all over my shoulder, Xander raising his game from sarky comments to downright vicious jabs...expected them and got them. Not like it really mattered any more. I helped out with the killing, got drunk, picked fights – and spent more nights than I want to remember sitting in my crypt waiting for her to kick open the door and tell me I was a bastard and she needed me.
No one needed me now and yes, fucking self pity just oozing out all over that, but who gives a shit? I didn’t.
I noticed Giles of course; he was always there, holding them together, doing the grown up act, making sure life went on, looking at me as if he couldn’t quite work out why I was there but he wished I wasn’t. See? Not needed. After a while, I pulled back, watched them some nights to make sure they weren’t getting in over their heads, stayed with Dawn until Tara took over and gently showed me the door. Wouldn’t have been surprised to have called by and found myself needing an invitation to get in, if you must know.
Hurt a bit. Silly really. Slayer dying hurt too, but it was right; she’d died all heroic, done just what a Slayer should, and I couldn’t grudge her that ending. Going out killing a Hell Goddess and saving a million dimensions; that’s classy.
But I missed her and I felt guilty and I got drunk and I was lonely. Pathetic sodden heap of misery, if you must know. No, wait. Not talking about me now. That’s what I found in the graveyard one night, answering to the name of Rupert Giles. He was surrounded by vamps; must have been five or six of them, and he had a stake in one hand that looked like a splinter with delusions of grandeur and was only alive because they were laughing too hard to go in for the kill.
Felt something then. Anger. Disgust. Pity? No. He didn’t need pity. Needed bloody saving though and I waded in and did the job, picking up a nice collection of cuts and bruises, insults and curses. Mostly off him. Seems he didn’t want fucking saving and certainly not by me. Funny the way you never get what you want out of life, isn’t it?
He didn’t want to come back to the crypt with me either but I bullied him into it by pointing out I needed first aid in some hard to reach bits on my back. He sighed and let me help him up – and I noticed the reek of whisky. Well, not going to deny a man his poison of choice, and I was a long way from being sober myself, but –
“Giles, why the fuck are you out here, pissed out of your skull and with no more sense than to run into a pack of vampires?”
He looked at me. “You’re so smart; you work it out.”
Took me a few minutes, but I managed it. “You’re trying to off yourself without it being obvious.”
I was sitting cross legged on the stone slab in the centre of the crypt and he was dabbing at a nasty slice down my back and making it hurt twice as much as it had been because he wasn’t steady handed enough to do it gently. Or didn’t care.
“I suppose I am,” he said.
If he’d sounded surprised, or sad, I’d have kept my mouth shut, but he laughed. Fucker laughed and I turned around, grabbed him by the hair and tilted his head.
“Why don’t you just let me bite you, Giles? How a Watcher should go, right? One on one with the enemy. Guess I spoiled that tonight, but I can make it up to you.” He didn’t even twitch. “Oh, Christ, at least _look_ scared of me!”
“You can’t hurt me,” he pointed out. His hand came up and tapped the top of my head. “Chipped and rendered harmless.”
Even drunk, he didn’t mess around.
“Suppose I could?” I said, letting go of him. He was standing in front of me, between my legs actually, and I didn’t think I’d been this close to him for months. The distance between us wasn’t new and wasn’t just physical either but I hadn’t realised how worn out he was. Tired, sick eyes that told me he’d given up running. Oh, I’ve seen them before; you know I have...but there was always one last little struggle, one final spark when I bit down. Humans don’t give up life easily. Who does?
He frowned. “I don’t understand.”
He swayed a little, put his hand out to brace himself and ended up groping my thigh. Sorry, grabbing. No, his fingers flexed and held; I’ll stick with groping. I glanced down, said nothing, and smirked. “Always wanted to know if I could feed from someone who let me. Might end up writhing in pain; you might end up dead, because to be honest, if I started, I don’t think I could stop.”
He looked at me then, question in his eyes, and I put my hand over his. “’Cos you look fucking tasty, Rupert, you know that?”
He tried to step back but I followed him, step for step until his back hit the wall and he was out of places to run to. “Spike...please...”
Pleading and that wasn’t right. Giles shouldn’t – I saw him tortured and he didn’t beg then, no matter what Angel did to him. I didn’t touch him; you don’t interfere with Angel when he’s playing, but I watched. I saw. Took it all and still had enough guts left to stick two fingers up at Angel and now he was giving up?
“You coward. You fucking washed up, pathetic coward. You let your Slayer die and now you’re going to leave the rest of them to get along without you, too?” I don’t know when I started shouting and I don’t know why. He was blinking at me, his face puzzled and defenceless and it was maddening. Giles shouldn’t be like this; shouldn’t be sad and defeated, shouldn’t have come that close to dying and –
“You could’ve been turned! Is that it? Not death you’re after but a chance to stop fighting, stop caring? Look at me! Giles, don’t you fucking dare think about it! You’d go straight for them, you’d kill Dawn, you’d...oh, God, Giles, tell me that’s not what you were going to do?”
Fuck. Sounded like a girl...but I was seeing them, seeing their faces, seeing what he’d leave behind when he was through with them. Not long since I’d have been smiling at that but things change. I’d changed. Not enough to be socially fucking acceptable and God knows I’d give up a decade of existence to be able to thump Harris right on his sneering mouth before he died, but they’d stopped being prey a long time since. Wouldn’t have killed any of them, chip or no chip. Can’t say the same for the other billion people on the planet but, yeah, wouldn’t kill them.
Giles was shaking his head, horrified, stammering. “I never – never thought – Spike, how dare you!” Oh, here we go. Work it around to being my fault. “You must know I’d view that with the, the utmost abhorrence.” He was sobering up. “You self righteous little prick!” OK, maybe not. “How dare you lecture me? How dare you take it upon yourself to save me? She’s gone and I have no place here. I’m not needed and I can’t – I don’t want to feel that way.”
“Just told you you’re needed. Try again. Something’s got you going. I get that you’re tired; been a hellish month. Get that you’re worried, trying to keep on top of it with just the robot. Get all of that but you’re strong-” I reached out and stroked his cheek, “– stubborn and too mean to give up the ghost to a pack of vamps so new they still had dirt under their nails. Where’s your pride, Giles?”
He stood still under my hand and I couldn’t help it. I kissed him, no warning, no build up, just leaned in and tasted him, wanting to see what he’d do. Oh, well, yeah, wanted to kiss him as well. Why? Dunno. Because I’d just come close to losing him and that bothered me. Because he smelled good. Because there’s always been this ... curiosity about him, ever since I watched him suffer, ever since the nights I spent chained in his bloody bath. Chain me, feed me from your hand, well, mug, walk around half undressed while you piss and clean your teeth in front of me as if I didn’t exist...I’ll get curious, just watch me. He never did a thing back then; never let his hands stray, never looked below my belt, but I wasn’t so polite. Started out teasing him for my own amusement, but by the end, knowing he was hard every time he came near me, knowing if I tried anything, mood he was in he’d stake me...it wasn’t much fun. Spent hours lying there imagining him in bed, what he’d fuck like, how he’d taste. Thought about feeding from him, how his blood would be almost as special as a Slayer’s, watched him shave hoping he’d tear his skin just enough that I could smell it...if he had I think I’d have come just from that but he was too careful.
Of all of them, he was the one who scared me the most. The one who trains the Slayer to kill; how can that not be a killer? Scared because you knew, looking into those eyes, that Giles would kill you if he had to, and that’s enough to spice up the lust, because, yes, scared and wanting to fuck or fight go together with me.
So kissing him was dangerous, was risky. They’d got used to me but I think he knew I wasn’t tame, wasn’t to be trusted. Chances were good he’d try and stake me for this and even if he didn’t, we’d gone somewhere new and that wasn’t quite what he had in mind, I’m thinking.
I wanted to grind against him, wanted to feel his skin move under my hand, hear him moan. Got a knee in the balls and a backhand that sent me spinning.
“You don’t ever do that without –”
He stopped and I filled in the blanks. “Without what, Giles? Permission?” I reached out and ran my hand over his cock, felt it stir under a layer of denim – good to see he felt dying called for the casual look. “Think this is permission enough, yeah?”
He closed his eyes and when he opened them again he brushed past me as if I wasn’t there and made straight for a bottle I’d left in a corner.
“It’s empty, Giles and haven’t you had –”
I was annoyed. He wasn’t acting the way he should, the way I’d come to expect. Didn’t like it. Then I heard the bottle shatter and I swear I heard his skin rip open, heard the sound the glass made as he brought it across his wrist. Spray and drip, spatter and stain. The air was drenched in the smell even before I got to him.
I was swearing, cursing him, trying to get him to hold still and he was pushing me away as best he could. Eventually I stepped back and held up my hands. “Fine, Giles. Bleed to death. Mind dripping into a bowl so I can at least have a taste?”
He glared at me and shoved his wrist in my face, offering himself up. My fangs were out and I grabbed his arm, holding it. If I was careful...if I didn’t bite...then I sighed, drew back my fist and thumped him. We both hit the ground together but I got up first and he stayed down. Paid for it with a headache that stayed with me for hours, but I made the punch count and the state he was in I had time. Managed to get him bandaged up; it’d need stitches maybe, but it’d stopped bleeding. He opened his eyes and looked up at me and then winced; arm must have been throbbing and hurting like hell. Served him right.
“Spike?”
“Should get you seen to, Giles. Think you can walk?”
“No – I mean, yes, but not just yet. Need to rest.”
“You can rest later.”
I tried to pull him up, but he stopped me. “You didn’t feed.” Not a question. “I thought you would. Why aren’t you letting me die, Spike?”
Simple enough question. They’re always the trickiest. “I don’t want you to die, that’s all. Be a waste.”
He arched one eyebrow. “You’d miss me?” He laughed. “I must be hallucinating.” He glanced up at me. “I’ll do it again, you know.”
Shook my head, looked bored and indifferent. “Doubt it. You’d have regretted this in the morning, I’ll bet.”
He chuckled then. “You think?” He tried to stand up, made it and then leaned back against the stone slab. “Do you know the statistics on Watcher deaths, Spike? No, of course you don’t. The average life of a Watcher after their Slayer dies is five years. That’s useless as an indicator though. Simpler to say that we fall into two camps; those who shrug, take a desk job and forget and those, like me, who want nothing more than oblivion. We try to go out being useful of course. There’s always some way of dying a hero.”
The bitterness was there but he still sounded detached, distant.
“Forget dying for one minute, you morbid git. You’re just bored.” We both were.
“Want me to take up a hobby?”
I considered this. “How about a bet?”
“What?”
“You need someone to give you an interest in life, Giles. You need to do some fucking instead of just getting fucked. You need to be aggravated, annoyed and pissed off on a daily basis.” I grinned at him. “And I need to be the one doing it, because you’re not dying before I’ve had you, Giles. No fucking chance.”
He studied me. “What’s the bet? What are the stakes?” He grinned sourly. “If you’ll forgive the expression.”
“I bet in six months I can make you want to live again. If I lose, I’ll help you die; even fix it so you can go out against a real big nasty and I’ll lie to them all so they won’t know you did it on purpose.”
He nodded thoughtfully but I could tell he was just humouring me. “What if you win?”
“You let me have what I passed up on tonight; a taste of you. Might end up dead anyway and then we can all have a good laugh, right?”
“Just how do you propose to make the skies turn blue and turn my frown upside down, Spike?”
“Oh, you’re feeling better. Sarcasm’s back. Old fashioned way, Giles. Show you a good time.”
Shouldn’t have still been talking but I reckoned he was tough enough not to pass out on me.
“I’m moving in with you –”
“You bloody well are not!”
“And we’re going to fuck the misery out of each other.” That shut him up. He was gaping at me and yes, still enough blood left to get hard. Told you he was tough. “Now we can play this different ways but I’m thinking you’re not the sort to take kindly to being on your knees to me –” Flicker of interest but nothing else, “and we’re not equals, never have been, never will be –” and he could take that anyway he liked, “so that just leaves – this.”
Went to my knees, bowed my head and waited. How long was it before he touched my head, told me to look at him? Long enough for him to get his voice under control again, because it didn’t waver and he never asked if I was sure or if I wanted to change my mind, not then, not later.
I looked up, saw him for the first time if you like, and watched his lips shape one word.
“Mine.”
And I smiled up and wondered just what he was going to do with me.
