"So you care about Spike more than me!

" Willow
shrieked at Giles. "What, are you two lovers now? Is that what
this is?"
Giles opened his mouth to calm the distraught girl.
"Will--" but she snapped her hand up, cutting him off.
"Whatever. Go shag"--here she paused, sneering, using
the British slang as a weapon--"or whatever it is you two do
all day now. Just don't tell me about it."
Giles slumped, defeated, as Willow turned and stormed
from the room. And because she turned, because he was
cleaning his glasses fretfully, neither noticed the slight flash
in her eyes. Momentairly, she stormed back in. "ALSO, this is
MY room."
"Yes, yes It is. I was wondering when you were going
to..."
Again, she threw her hand up. "That means you're
supposed to go, not me." She held the door pointedly, and
glared into the hall. Giles replaced his glasses, then slunk out
and back to his home defeated. Spike had been right; she
wasn't dealing as well as he thought. Spike had been right.
Imagine. He couldn't fathom it, but it was breaking his heart.
Willow, not Spike.
His thoughts were jumbled as he slipped into the
kitchen. He would have to prepare that truth spell himself.
Where did he keep the hen's teeth again? He shook his head,
sighed, and pulled his glasses off to clean them. It usually
helped clear his head Ah. Hen's teeth were behind the
sugar. Poor Willow. No, hen's teeth And where was the
rosemary?
Eventually, he felt reasonably well assembled. He was
fairly confident he had assembled the ingredients correctly,
but he was still somewhat concerned about his own casting
ability. Ah well. Couldn't hurt to try. Time to fetch Spike from
the shower. No way to set up the ritual properly in there.
He shook his head, tried to clear the cobwebs. His
thoughts plodded along with him as he walked down the hall.
Today made him feel old. Old and helpless. He didn't know

how to reach her, and his brain felt like it was filling with
sand. Maybe what he needed was a nap. God, he must be
old. A nap. He sighed, and reached for the door knob.
His hand hit metal, and he paused. He always had to
brace himself before facing that worthless excuse for a
vampire. It was just painful. Honestly, it was like looking into
a mirror. A dark, distorted mirror. If things had turned out just
a little differently, he could have been Spike. He hated to
admit that, even to himself, but it occupied the overhang
beneath his ribcage even when he didn't look.
Old. So old. And with another sigh he tuned the handle
and went in.
"Well it's about bloody time! And you'd better have
gotten a better mug this time. I'm not drinking out of your
soddin' 'Kiss the Librar..' OI!" Spike jumped (as much as he
could, being bound in chains and all) in the tub. "Where's my
blood!?"
"Hello to you too, Spike. You can have your blood "-disgusted snort---"after we finish the truth spell." Giles bent
down to unlock Spike's chains.
Spike pulled back defensively. "Where's your little
witch? She's supposed to be here."
"Well she's not. I am perfectly capable performing a
simple truth spell on my own, Spike." Giles ran his hand
through his hair, clucking his tongue a little.
Ever intuitive, Spike attempted to plaster himself
against the back wall. "Oi, watch it! Can't have you
scrambling this fine head of mine!" For a brief moment, Spike
seemed to dance like a cobra as he swayed from Giles'
reaching hand.
"WOULD YOU JUST--" Giles roared, lunging at the lithe
vampire.
There was a single infinite instant for Spike where
everything hung in the air. He felt Giles' vice-like grip on his
shoulders, saw the hand raising to slap him and just thought,
Bollocks. He'd finally pushed the old bugger too far and he
was going to pay. In this instant, in this exact moment, Giles

was not human. Giles was an animal, hunting his prey.

And then the librarian's pinkie slipped from the thin
fabric of Spike's T-shirt and his finger brushed the vampire's
collarbone and three as an almost audible pop and a point of
burning cold. Giles slumped backwards, fire gone. Spike hung
in the ack of the tub, lips parted, panting. Aside from the
useless breaths, he didn't move. He was shocked, and wary.
Giles shifted his glasses uncomfortably. "Spike I" He
sighed, shook his head. Wearily, he reached for Spike's chains
and began to fiddle with the lock. Somehow, Spike knew that
this was Giles apologizing. Which would have been odd, but
today the librarian looked like he'd had all his insides scooped
out--hollow. Against his better judgement, Spike felt a wave
of sympathy for the man.
In fact, he had to fight a sudden urge to grab Giles'
hand, to tell him it would all work out. Odd. Very odd. And
rather disconcerting. He just looked so pathetic for a
moment. Spike shook himself lightly, but followed Giles to the
living room without a fuss. It would be impossible to resist
Giles right now. Something in his bearing just needed
comforting. And no way in hell was Spike going to do that.
The closest he came was going gently into the chair as the
librarian reached for the ropes.
Then Giles hesitated, looked at Spike a little oddly. You
wont run, will you? The corner of his mouth turned up. It
was not a smile-- it was something sadder, and older. Again,
Spike bit down the urge to touch Giles, to smooth the tragic
quirk from his soft lips. CHRIST. This was bad. It got worse
when Giles actually reached out and brushed the vampires
silvery-blonde hair. What was bad was that Spike leaned in to
the touch.
And then the librarian had a tiny start and yanked his
hand away. He turned to study the spellbook. Spike turned to
study his... NO. Not happening. If he had his own blood, he
would have blushed. Instead, he scratched his neck and
stared at the ceiling, the records, the bookcases... anything
that wasnt Giles backside. This was new. This was bad. Very

bad...
His contemplations were interrupted by an, Ah ha!
from the librarian. Giles spun around, holding a small bowl
full of... something. It was sloshy and smelled vile. At least he
seemed oblivious to the vampires growing discomfort. Open
your mouth, he directed firmly.
Spike felt himself break into a cold sweat as he came
closer. Giles leaned in until his face was just inches from
Spikes. Stick out your tongue. Slowly, the vampire obliged.
All the while, he was boring holes in the librarians bright blue
gaze. Fortunately, Giles seemed far more interested in
Spikes tongue than anything else. Delicately, he dabbed a
blob of the foul liquid from the bowl he wielded unto Spikes
tongue, murmuring something in a foreign language.
Spike squirmed under the attention, and a very faint
moan escaped his lips. Well, more like a squeak really. Giles
seemed to notice Spike for the first time since he began the
spell. Honestly, for a second, Spike thought hed been made.
He was done for.
But Giles instead gave a wry smile and murmured,
Sorry--I know its vile. But thats how this spell works. And,
Im afraid... Here, Giles trailed off for a moment, feeling an
odd tingle across his neck. He shook his head lightly. Im
afraid that it is about to get worse.
Spike wasnt sure how this could really get worse. Then
Giles pulled his glasses down low on his noise and leaned in
so close that his curly hair tickled Spikes nose. Spike was
entirely unsure how to react when Giles pinched the tip of his
tongue firmly, and extended it. Then he began to... draw?
with the gunk. Giles was drawing runes on his tongue. Giles.
Runes. Tongue. He couldnt think, couldnt breathe. Well, not
that he did anyway but still. His heart would have stopped a
second time if it could.
Giles was doing his best to focus on drawing the rune. It
was fairly complicated, which helped keep his attention away
from the fact that his lips were inches away from Spikes.
That... that shouldnt have even been distracting. But he

couldn't seem to shake the idea that he should just reach

down and... no. No. Not going there. He felt blood rush to the
back of his neck. He could only hope that Spike didnt notice
his discomfort as he took refuge from these strange thoughts
in a veneer of professionalism.
Fortunately, Spike was just as occupied in being
unoccupied, so it worked out pretty well. He did notice a
slight flush to Giles's neck. But it was the light. Or scotch. Or
anything. But not that. This wasnt--couldnt be--that. And
then Giles looked up. They locked eyes.
Erm.. Sorry. This is going to be... a little
uncomfortable, the librarian mumbled, trying to tear himself
away from the vampires brilliant blue gaze. Professional.
Professional. This is Spike! Professional. Trembling just a tiny
bit, Giles dipped his finger into the bowl again. Spike sat
there, frozen, mouth open and tongue extended. Oh! You
can.. you know, close now... he muttered, flushing redder.
Slowly, Spike retracted his tongue. He was hypnotized
by the other mans gaze, and trying desperately not to be.
Girls! Boobs! He liked boobs! Dru--fuck! even Buffy! Just not
this. And then Giles reached out, slowly, tenderly, and traced
the outline of the vampires lips with brown liquid. And Spike
trembled. The only reason he didnt moan was he had
expelled all of the air from his lungs. BLOODY FUCKING
BOLLOCKS. And then Giles was done and pulling his finger
away and for a moment they just stared.
Then Giles turned, and began to fiddle with the pages of
the spellbook. That... that ought to complete the first part.
Spike almost collapsed. There was more??? Giles scratched
his neck and peered at the spell. He couldnt concentrate, not
with Spike staring at him. No. That wasnt it. Couldnt be. Not
him, ever.
With a slight shake of his head, he began to read the
incantation. His voice trembled and shook, and he felt himself
stumbling over familiar words like his mouth was full of
cotton balls. He could tell he was doing this wrong even
before Spikes lips fizzled and popped. He whipped his head

around just in time to see the vampire cough up a cloud of

smoke.
Spike glared weakly at him. Thanks, mate. He looked
so indignant, so frazzled with the smoke smudged on his
chiseled cheekbones Giles couldnt help but snicker. Oi,
watch it mate, Spike surprisingly playful.
Sorry, its just... Giles chortled lightly, wiping his eyes.
Spike swatted playfully at him, and then they both realized
that this could possibly be construed in an objective context
as a moment a turned away awkwardly. Simultaneously,
they reached for their necks. Im just going to go... wash
these dishes... over here, Giles muttered, stumbling off
towards the kitchen.
Yeah mate, Spike stuttered. He gave his neck a final
rub, and wandered off toward the bathroom. Im gonna go,
you know... and gestured towards his face.
Of course, of course... Giles then proceeded to scour
the everliving daylights out of his dishes as he did anything
BUT think of Spike. This, this just didnt make any sense. NO,
scrub! Scrubbing is not thinking. Its productive, its good, just
like Spikes something not yet used... NO. He attacked the
spotless bowl again, burying his forearms in bubbles. He was,
in fact, so absorbed that he didnt notice the newly-clean
Spike slip into the kitchen.
Spike felt something powerful and inexplicable washing
over him. He looked at the greying librarian fiercely scrubbing
the tiny bowl, face screwed with such determination, and
Lord help him, Spike thought it was adorable. Even Giles's
flowered pink apron was endearing. Well, this is happening.
The thought drifted across the vampires mind as if it
belonged to another.
As if in a trance, he began to walk towards the aging
Englishman. If Spike knew anything, he knew love. This was
love. There could be no explaining, no justifying, no
reasoning. Love is blind and mad. And if Spike knew anything
at all, it was that he was loves bitch, one-hundred percent.
So it did not seem odd to him that he should walk up to

Giles and slip his arms around the librarians waist. It was, in
fact, perfectly natural to caress the mans neck with his nose.
It was expected that Giles could resist no longer, that he
would groan and collapse into the vampires embrace. It had
always been this way. It would always be thus.
With a moan, Giles rolled his head aside, giving the
Spike full access to his neck. His gesture was not unrewarded,
and he shivered as the vampires cool lips traced the curve.
Spike gripped him tighter, inhaling the warm, musky scent.
Giles writhed weakly beneath the onslaught. He felt weak in
the knees, and, for the first time, ready to surrender
completely.
Spike, ever the predator, sensed his victory and shifted
his grip so that he spun Giles round and lifted him onto the
counter. As he began to attack the buttons of Giles's shirt
with his teeth, the librarian huffed, SPIKE! Youve got my
arse in the sink. My pants are getting wet!
The distress in his voice was evident enough that Spike
pulled away momentarily. Well, then I guess well just have
to take them off, wont we? he growled, before returning to
ravaging Ruperts shirt.
Spike, I--AHH! Coherent sentences fled when Spikes
tongue finally broke through fabric, and his arms flew out.
With a SMASH, the Kiss the Librarian mug hit the floor.
Ahh, Spike.. mug... it--unhh...
Spike rumbled with frustration. New one... Better.
Later! Growling, he shut up any further objections by
clamping the librarians mouth shut with his own. Kiss the
librarian indeed. He slipped his hands under Ruperts arse
and pulled him up and into his arms. Both men cried out,
then adjusted to the new sensations.
Spike wasnt waiting any longer-- he made a mad dash
for the bedroom. They got as far as the couch before he
changed his mind and threw Giles down. Swiftly, he climbed
on top of the dishevled librarian, panting fiercely. Giles looked
up and smirked. What are you going to do, Giles purred,
lick me to death?

With a mad grin, the vampire descended. Thats the

general plan, yeah...
FADE TO BLACk