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Chapter 13

Giles undressed Spike and let the old clothes fall to the ground. They both crawled to the middle of the bed and sat back on their heels, just looking at each other. Neither needed to ask if the other was aroused: it was evident in the swollen, thick shafts that lay untouched in front of them.

Spike undid the cap of the bottle and sniffed at the oil. He grimaced slightly. 'This is only bein' used on the understanding that I am still evil, 'k?'

'I'm thinking of those unfortunate two men a day at this very minute.'

Spike chuckled. 'An' that were just for feedin'.'

Giles gave him an odd look. 'You've done this before? With others besides Angelus?'

Spike hesitated. 'What's the answer you want to that, human?'

'Well, the truth is usually good.'

'Oh… damn. Don't think you'll like that much.'

'Oh.' Giles looked down and smoothed the sheet with his hand. 'Perhaps I won't.'

A shot of oil suddenly squirted in his face as, with a laugh of glee, Spike deliberately squeezed the bottle at him. 'None, you stupid pillock.'

Giles wiped at the oil with an annoyed look, but before Spike could call him on his lack of humour, with a chuckle, he banged Spike's arms and the bottle tipped up, emptying its entire contents over the vampire's cool chest and lap. Spike gasped, then ran his fingers in wonder down his glistening skin, the oil catching the warm, amber light from the fire.

Giles put his fingers on Spike, too, twisting and turning them to coat them in oil. At the human's touch, Spike moaned faintly. At the vampire's moan, Giles cupped the back of his neck and pulled him into a kiss. The scent of the oil was intoxicating; it reminded Giles of the night he had lain with Spike and realised that his emotional reticence had been broken against the persistence of this preternatural body. Once more, Spike smelt edible. This time, Giles could eat him. He took Spike's tongue deep to the back of his mouth. He sucked on it, tickling it with his own, until the need for something larger to eat overwhelmed him. He bent to Spike's lap and found a slick of oil glistening the pale erection. He pushed his face into Spike's balls then licked up the underside of the shaft, until he reached the bulbous head. Spike buried his oily hands into Giles' hair and rubbed it unconsciously into peaks, as the pleasure of the warm mouth engulfed him.

Giles pushed Spike onto his back and slid into him as easily as a tongue sliding between lips. The sensation of riding in and out of Spike, lubricated on oil, was almost too much for Giles, and he had to pull out before he came too soon. Spike grinned and suddenly rose up, pushing Giles back as he had been. He was so slick, he had to hold his cock and guide it into Giles, for he kept slipping away when he pushed unaided. Spike paused when just his cockhead was embedded. The sight of his shaft, deeply engorged and flushed blood-red from his feeding, was too good to lose, and he held Giles up slightly, so they could watch it together. Giles reached over for the pillows and propped himself up permanently, watching avidly as the thick column disappeared slowly inside him. Without looking, the sensation would have been indescribable; with the added visuals, he couldn't help a cry of undiluted delight. He looked up at Spike's face and saw the same intense pleasure on his. He cupped his hand to Spike's neck and pulled him forward, and for the first time, joined, they kissed.

Suddenly, Spike became frantic. He began to jerk into Giles, riding on the slickness between them. His tongue almost raped Giles' mouth with its intensity. Giles grabbed Spike's hand and thrust it down to his urgent erection and, with another cry of pleasure, Giles came hard and fast onto his belly. Spike expertly drained him, sweeping his thumb over the shooting slit, running blunt nails up and down his shaft, even cupping and massaging Giles' balls until the last drops of sperm had been milked. Giles gave a reverential sigh of gratitude. He looked up and saw Spike's face, and knew the vampire was now desperate to cum himself. With a smile, Giles swept the pillows away and flattened himself on the bed. With a challenging look at Spike, he raised his hips and placed a leg over each of Spike's shoulders. Spike dipped into the increased access. He groaned, as he gained an inch, and ground his balls against Giles' pelvic bones. Spike then flung his head back, gave a cry of possession and power, and worked Giles manically until he shuddered painfully, and filled the friction-hot rectum with his cool sperm.

As if aware that he should not make too much noise, Spike bit down on his hand, as his whole body convulsed to the orgasm. Blood ran down his chin and dripped onto Giles' belly. When Giles looked up at the source, he saw a vampire in full game face ejaculating into him. With eyes closed, mouth stretched in a feral grimace around his hand, fangs sunk deeply into the fleshy ball of his thumb, Spike stifled the demonic howl that battered out on the power of his orgasm. When he'd finished, he pushed the legs off to the side and laid his forehead down to Giles' groin for a moment. When he looked up, he was himself again, and he lay carefully alongside the human in the damp, rumpled, and stained sheets.

Spike was very quiet for long time but, eventually, Giles heard a soft, 'Sorry.' He wasn't too sure whether Spike was apologising for his attitude earlier, for the blood - which even now coated Giles' belly - or for the lapse to his demon form. He hedged his bets and kept silent. This did not satisfy the vampire, however, for he propped himself up on one elbow and began to trace idle patterns across Giles' chest with one finger, clearly wanting to talk. Giles directed the finger to a nipple, and then lay back, happy to listen. As Spike flicked experimentally at the tiny, brown protrusion, and pinched the soft swelling until it hardened, he pouted, and then said, 'It's what I am.'

'I know.'

Spike looked up at him, clearly troubled. 'Would you have me otherwise? Do you want me human?'

'Why even discuss this? What's the point? You aren't human; you are what you are, and that has its own unique flavour.'

'But….'

'No. Don't do this, Spike. Whatever I am, I'm a pragmatist, and I think you are, too. Who knows why or how this all started? I just wanted you, and that included - somewhere - the fact that you were a vampire. And I'm not that naïve to not appreciate some of the finer points of fucking a beautiful, eternal creature with supernatural strength and stamina.'

'God I love it when you say fuck. Say it again.'

'Fuck?'

'Well, put more bleedin' emphasis into it!'

'I am fucking a vampire, and I love it.'

'Oh, yeah, that was better. Again.'

'No, I don't really think it's me, do you?'

Spike sighed and lay back down. 'So you're 'k 'bout earlier?'

'Spike. I've just had one of the best orgasms I've ever had, and so - to go by the expression on both of your faces - did you. What is there to be okay about?'

'That I'm not going to dinner?'

'What?'

'Well, I've got what I wanted, and now I'm not gonna give you what you wanted.' He sat up and watched Giles' reaction to this treachery carefully.

Giles nodded. 'That's a pity really. I had every intention of taking after dinner drinks to the billiard room. I'll have to… play alone then? But I'm good at that; I've been… playing alone for over thirty years, after all.' He emphasised the important pauses by cupping and playing with his balls thoughtfully.

Spike gritted his teeth. 'All right. But I'm not fucking taking any crap from your mother.'

Giles sat up. 'What's she said to you?'

Spike instantly regretted his slip and attempted to cover by teasing Giles with the empty bottle of body oil, but the watcher was not to be distracted. Spike sighed. 'She don't like me.'

'Don't be ridiculous; she's hardly met you!'

Spike chuckled at Giles' face, as the human tried to work out if that was what he'd actually meant to say. 'I can tell these things. It's what's kept me dead all these years, ya know: knowing people. And I know she don't like me.'

Giles looked down then up at Spike. 'I don't think she likes me much, either.'

Spike was taken aback at this and frowned. It seemed so wrong, and yet he could not help but admit to himself that it was exactly what he thought, too. 'The old biddy in the kitchen don't think that.' It was the best he could come up with and was glad when Giles smiled.

'She sees everything and everyone through her own unique, rosy hues.'

'She knows yer old Mum though, don't she? When they're just 'ere on their own like.'

Giles looked at him thoughtfully then, shockingly, laid a hand on Spike's cheek. 'This must all be pretty ghastly for you.' Spike shrugged and batted the hand away playfully.

'Evil? Remember?'

Giles laughed. 'Sorry, I think I forgot, rather, when you cried out you loved me.'

Spike's eyes widened in horror. 'I fucking did not!'

'Just before you… err… slipped faces.'

'I did not!'

'Perhaps you were too caught up in the moment to realise?'

'I DID NOT!'

'So, black trousers, white shirt, and the black shoes - you can chose what colour socks, if you like.'

'Shoes? And hey, I DID NOT!'

'I had to guess your size but, for some inexplicable reason, I was thinking of your feet on and off all day anyway….' He trailed off into a fit of giggles as, once more, the thought of this vampire having something as mundane as feet, amused him.

Spike threw him an evil look and rummaged through the bags he had not yet explored. He held up the offending footwear, scooped up the other items he was being blackmailed into wearing, and stomped toward the door. 'I'm going for a shower. Fuck off.'

'Err… robe?'

Spike turned and grinned at him. 'Evil, remember?' and with this small victory, he stomped naked to the bathroom.

***************************

Giles tried not to stare at Spike over the table, but it was almost impossible not to. In the soft candlelight, he seemed to glow: his preternatural skin reflecting the subdued illumination, as human skin never could. The blond hair was still wet from the shower, slicked back roughly, as if still rumpled from sex. Giles was immensely proud of the way the clothes fitted and flattered him: the soft black wool hugging slim hips, the white shirt setting off a hard, toned torso. Fortunately, as the table stretched the entire length of the large, formal dinning room, it was not too obvious who was staring at whom. Giles sat near his father, Spike halfway down across from Giles' mother. Giles satisfied himself with the occasional surreptitious glance, and was immensely pleased to see Spike was behaving himself, despite being forced to converse with his mother.

The meal was lengthy, but Giles hardly noticed, engrossed as he was with his father's conversation. It was as if they had not been apart: all his interests and concerns mirrored by this intelligent man. They ran lightly though the state of the nation, his father deploring the changes to the Lords - several of their friends who had lost their seats commiserated over. They exchanged views on the Countryside Alliance; Giles' father impressed with his son's depth of knowledge on issues that could hardly affect him so far away in that strange, alien land.

Spike watched Giles, as he sat through course after course of food that he did not eat. He was enjoying a new emotion, and the food distracted him. Pride. He was proud of Giles: proud of the way he talked, the way he acted, his intelligence, his sense of humour…. Spike swallowed deeply and began to wonder if pride was quite the right word for what he felt. He was about to analyse this further when Giles' mother said, 'I suppose you are more used to TV dinners these days?'

'I'm sorry? Spike dragged his thoughts back from the brink of the dangerous mire he had been about to cross and looked up at the elderly woman.

She nodded at his uneaten lamb. 'I hate to see food going to waste. I wish Rupert would have told me you weren't hungry.'

Spike gritted his teeth and bit back the caustic comment he was tempted to make, and said apologetically, 'Yeah, sorry, bit queasy still from the flight. Don't travel well.'

'Oh, I am sorry. Perhaps you'd like to be excused?'

Giles turned, half catching this conversation, and his face - the immediate, unconscious response to the thought of Spike going - made Spike blush slightly, and he shyly picked up his fork and made an attempt on the food. Giles gave him a slight smile but returned to pick up on a point his father had just made about the new Archbishop.

Spike chewed dutifully and wondered, if he bent to scratch his ankle, whether he could spit it out under the table unobserved but, instead, he swallowed theatrically, aware the mother watched him like a hawk. 'Did you have a pleasant day?'

Spike nodded. 'It got better as it went on.'

'Ah. So you got some exercise after all?'

'Hmm, a great work-out.'

'We have lovely grounds.'

'Oh yeah. Well, I might go for a walk after dinner like.'

'In the dark? And it's bitterly cold out tonight.'

'Don't bother me none.'

She looked puzzled. 'Rupert said you are a librarian?'

'Err… yeah. 'Is assistant… in the library.'

'I don't mean to offend, but you don't sound like a librarian.'

'Uh huh. What does one of them sound like then?'

'They speak grammatically for a start.' Battle lines were now drawn, and Spike suspected she intended to take no prisoners. He was in a difficult position: speak his mind, and he risked losing the human; take the shit she was obliquely giving him, and he risked losing himself. He grinned and brought out the heavy guns: William sliding in to his rescue.

'Yes, of course, how silly of me. Only, living in America, I've gotten into the habit of speaking in a rather slovenly manner. I am not one of those who espouse the theory that Americans actually speak the Queen's English.'

This silenced her until the lamb was cleared away but, in the pause before the puddings were introduced, she said casually, 'You'll be joining us for Church tomorrow, of course?'

Spike choked slightly on his wine. 'Church?'

She looked pointedly at the men at the other end of the table. 'Henry will be going down early, as usual, but we assemble at eleven.'

'An' Giles goes to Church, does he?'

She enjoyed the change of fortune and smiled, 'Naturally. Rupert is devout.'

Spike lost it, and small speckles of wine splattered the pristine tablecloth. 'Yeah, it's something I've always thought 'bout… about him. His devotion…. Sorry, but I don't think he'll be goin'… going tomorrow. Not that time anyways; he'll still be in….' He resisted finishing this with "me", but was thinking it, as he said with a sweet smile, 'Bed.'

She bristled, but when she turned to Giles, her face was set into a look of calm neutrality. 'Darling, what time would you like to be called for Church?'

Giles looked flustered for a moment. He'd not heard the preceding skirmish; nevertheless, he sensed that more was riding on this question than the time he was going to have to get out of bed. He glanced between them: cheekbones implacable, jaw set; soft wrinkles pleading, faded eyes, desperate. He smiled weakly and played with some crumbs on the table.

Spike winced and broke eye contact. He felt once more that sense of something physical and hard hurting him in his belly. Pity. He was feeling pity. It was so shocking, so unusual; he gave a small bark of amused enjoyment but leant back, and said casually, 'Is there an evening service?'

Giles' mother turned to him, as if in slow motion. She had tasted victory and now sensed it was being taken from her, but she nodded. 'Of course. At six.'

Spike smiled and looked back directly at Giles. 'Then we'll both go, yes?'

Giles returned Spike a look that, if his parents had been younger, they would not have mistaken. Spike looked away utterly unable to cope with the knowledge of how much Giles' approbation delighted him. It was weakness to be so dependent on another's approval.

He looked back not caring that he was weak; he just wanted that sanction.

Finally, the meal was over. With no guests, they rose together, and the humans took coffee into the drawing room. Spike hovered outside, casting significant looks at the billiard room. Giles brushed past him as he followed his parents and murmured, 'An hour.'

Spike groaned but took his permission to escape the agony, and went in to play alone for a while. He set up the balls and smacked them effortlessly into pockets. He helped himself to alcohol, and he waited. He waited an hour then another. Finally, he stomped to the drawing room and opened the door a crack. Giles was still talking to his father and, as Spike looked at the expression on the human's face, he saw himself, sitting in a very similar room with an expression just that like on his face: love, need for approval, pride, confusion, fear of rejection. He turned away thoughtfully, unable to blame the watcher for forgetting him. What had he remembered, when he had sat thus absorbed in Angelus? Spike began to walk slowly away, hoping that the human got more approbation from his father than he had ever been given by his sire.

Spike slipped out of the kitchen and into the crisp, November night. It was chillingly cold, a slight frost already forming on the exposed areas of the lawns. He lifted his face to the moon and grinned: a night creature, home at last. He began to run; he needed to run; he needed the physicality of his body, the illusion of pounding blood, and the sense of power his preternatural body gave him. He explored for hours, exhausting his body in a way he had not done for far too long. When he sensed dawn only an hour or so away, he turned back and retraced his steps in a more direct path.

Halfway up the gravelled drive that led to the house, he saw a small path, and swerved off into the woods, unwilling to enter the house until forced to by the sun. The way was dark under overhanging trees, the ground littered with beechnuts and fallen leaves. After a few minutes, he came to a clearing and found himself among gravestones. Looking up, he saw the church: a cold granite structure raising its impressive steeple towards the night sky.

Spike wandered among the gravestones, trying to sense other preternatural visitors, but could detect none. This grass seemed too well trodden, too impacted, by sensible English shoes to brook any such demonic subtleties. He had not appreciated just how far they were from the Hellmouth until this moment. All the gravestones were the Giles family, reaching back to a past that was so long ago, he actually felt new and raw in their company. The solid faith of the inhabitants of this ground oppressed him: a sturdy religion practised by a sturdy, ancient folk. After a while, he pushed open the door to the Church and went into the ice-cold interior where he knew he would not be welcome.

The Church was so chilling it penetrated even his inability to feel cold.

He looked up at the plain, wooden cross hanging over the altar. Was he meek enough yet to inherit? He felt meek when he saw the way his lover looked at him. Was that a soul - was it merely the ability to feel love? Spike shook his head ruefully and sat on a hard pew, staring thoughtfully into the gloom.

His Giles - the one who would one day lie with all those that had gone before him - could not really love him. Love for a demon was incompatible with this edifice, and he would be left to endure alone. He had never felt such abiding hatred for the demon that he had become.

As he stared, tears began to roll down his face. He would never enter; he would never be given peace; he would go on, and would endure alone.

Spike walked slowly back to the house and went to his own room. The fire had died long ago, and it was as dark and as oppressing as the Church had been. Although this suited his current mood, he shrugged, and made his way to Giles' room instead.

Giles was deeply asleep. Spike stood alongside the bed looking down at him and was about to enjoy depressing himself further with gloomy thoughts, when he saw a piece of paper sticking out of the neck of the bottle of body oil, left on the pillow where he would be sure to see it. He pulled it out and went over to the fireplace, carefully rebuilding the fire from the still glowing embers. When it had caught sufficiently, he shed his duster, and sat down on the old worn rug.

Giles' hand was oddly sprawling:

"I am not religious - you know that…." Spike raised his eyebrows in surprise at how uncannily this opening sentiment mirrored his recent thoughts. "… - but I'm praying you will read this: that you have not actually left me. I am so sorry. I meant to come to you, but the time slipped away. When I did come, you had gone.
Where are you???
I didn't even speak to you all night, but you sat and endured my mother all evening for me, and rose triumphant. Is there anything you can't do, anywhere you can't go, and be magnificent?
I am very, very drunk by the way.
I watched you all night. You are so beautiful. I need you to be beside me when I wake in the morning.
Oh, and what the hell was that about us going to Church???
G

Spike grinned and rested his chin on his knees, wrapping his arms tightly around his legs. He was magnificent; he was triumphant.

He undressed and slid silently, carefully, into the bed. He wanted to enjoy being so bloody fantastic for a while without distractions. It was brilliant being a vampire, being a beautiful one was just fucking… peachy.

Giles awoke late and groaned when his head swum and his parched throat begged for relief. He shook his head (carefully), promising himself to avoid port in future. When the ability to think beyond the physical returned, he remembered Spike - absence of Spike - but only for the briefest of seconds, for a familiar cool weight lay on his chest. He opened one eye to the rumpled blond mass and did not forget to thank the God he had prayed to so fervently the night before. He wrapped his arms around the still form and was preparing to drop back to sleep until he felt better, when an amused voice said, 'Pillock.'

Giles looked down again, and Spike turned his face. 'As if I'd just go.'

'I know. I'm sorry. In the rational light of day, that does seem a little unlikely.' He frowned. 'How did you know that's what I thought?'

Spike sat up, even more amused. 'You don't remember writing that fucking note, do you?'

'Uh huh, and… note?'

'Oh yeah… professions of undying love an' all that.'

'Oh… bugger.' Giles glanced at the roaring fire. 'Oh, thank God, you burnt it?'

Spike grinned, raised his eyebrow, and said very pedantically and totally untruthfully, 'Of course I did, Rupert.'

Giles winced at the insincerity. He held his head for a moment. 'I think I'll stay in bed all day.'

'Wimp. And hey, don't forgot we're goin' God botherin' later.'

'What? Oh, bloody hell, yes! Spike! What on earth possessed you to volunteer us for that?'

Spike shrugged. 'Just sounded like fun… I'm the new whatsamajig in the woodpile, ain't I?'

'Err….'

Spike lit a cigarette complacently, 'I'm the absence of God. I had God then he was taken away from me. I have this maw inside me now; 's what drove Dru insane.'

'Angelus drove Drusilla insane - according to Angel.'

'Nah. Angelus took away 'er ability to see God. He switched off 'er light and left 'er in the dark, like me.'

'So you see yourself as absence of the Christian God? Spike, do you actually believe in God?'

Spike looked surprised. 'How can I not?'

Giles spluttered. 'Quite easily, I would have thought, given your circumstances….'

'Look mate, I believe in Marmite - don't mean I have to eat the fucking stuff. Fact, I'd say, anyone who does is very, very wrong somewhere. Soddin' mad - dangerous even. My disgust, though, don't alter the fact that Marmite exists.'

'Good God. What about my father then?'

Spike was tempted to say that if people persisted in eating Marmite, then buying shares in the company was a bloody good move but, seeing Giles' face, he resisted the temptation and wondered if this restraint brought him any closer to that elusive inheritance he purported to deride.

Giles didn't seem to mind not having his question answered, for he was deep in thought. Spike smoked happily, watching the thoughts flicking past the intelligent eyes. 'What about Angel then? Where does he fit into this bizarre world view of yours?'

Spike nodded. 'Yeah, he's a paradox all right. He's denied God but has God burrowing inside him like a little tapeworm. 'S bound to drive you a bit nutty that, ain't it?' Before Giles could comment on this odd view of God's mercies, Spike added thoughtfully, 'Ya know, I've often wondered if maybe God's got a bit nicer over the years like.'

'Nicer.' He was floundering badly now, and he knew it.

'Well, yeah. I mean 'e wasn't always as good as 'e is now, was 'e? Shit, all that hellfire stuff and perdition…. Now'days God prefers the Disney Channel, don't 'e really? See I think Angel got a bit of the old God, not the new and improved one, cus, I mean, where's the fucking forgiveness for him? Where's there any soddin' love for Angel? Where's the faithful opening their arms to him? Where's 'is comfort coming from? Jeez, hope if I ever get a soul - and hey, that's fucking not gonna happen, is it? - that I get a bit of the Disney-style God: all open arms and snow on Christmas Eve. Hope there'll be a bit more love for me. Are you getting all this?'

'Err, not really, I think I'm still stuck on the image of God as a giant, fifteen foot worm in Angel's small intestine, but go on; I'm riveted. I want you to explain to me how you can coexist with Christian philosophy.'

Spike lit another cigarette from the stub of his old one; the moment seemed to call for excess of nicotine. ''S easy. How can you 'ave the definition of good without the definition of evil? I validate God's existence.'

Giles didn't know whether to be more surprised at this sentiment or that Spike had used the word validate. He took Spike's cigarette and took a few puffs himself. 'Evil exists because of man, Spike. It's our free-will to be evil.'

'Nah, it's coding.'

'Oh God, what?'

'Coding, pet. See it's like God is the code, and you're the page. Like on the Net, see? He's the code; you're the pure, perfect page that you actually see - if you get the code right. If you don't, then you're the bugger's muddle that appears, and all yer fucking links don't work.'

Giles couldn't decide whether the smoking was making him feel sick or Spike, so handed back the cigarette. 'So… where does that leave you…?

Spike smiled. 'That's the best part, mate. I'm a website with no coding. Jeez… no coding….' He paused, genuinely intrigued by the thought of himself as that paradox. He repeated softly, 'Yeah, I'm a perfect page with no coding. I shouldn't exist. See? 'S what I said. I'm the absence of God.'

Giles wondered if he ought to probe more into Spike's apparent belief that God was, in fact, Bill Gates but this, coupled with the worm theory he was still grappling with, effectively silenced him.

Spike looked at his serious confused face, opened his mouth as if to continue the discussion, but chuckled instead, 'Wanna shag then?'

Giles groaned and lay down, his head swimming - and for more than just the previous night's alcohol. Spike grinned and straddled his lap, his balls rubbing against Giles' penis. Spike glanced down.

Giles looked at him. 'Sorry.'

Spike pouted slightly and Giles bristled. 'Have you actually ever been flaccid?'

Spike replied with a small shake of wonder, 'Not when I wanted it there, ya know?'

'Well, I'm very sorry to disappoint you, but I am only human.'

Spike slid down a little further. 'Well, maybe if I just….' He spat on his fingers and gently began to press questioningly at the soft hole. Giles groaned, slightly embarrassed. Spike chuckled. 'So, what did the bint do to get you hard? Not this, I'm betting.' He inserted his finger to the knuckle and began a gentle exploration. Giles gasped at the pleasure and sat up slightly, and they both glanced down at the increasing thickness of the penis that had, until now, lain soft and nestled in Giles' dark hair. Spike grinned. ''An' I'm thinking she didn't do this, did she?' He eased the foreskin off the bulbous cockhead and touched the tip of his tongue to the sensitive slit. He pushed his finger further in, seeking that elusive spot that would stiffen the penis fully. 'Maybe she didn't even know 'bout this? 'An wouldn't 'ave done it if she did.'

Spike suddenly paused and sat up, pulling out his finger. 'Stay there. 'Xactly like that!' He grabbed his jeans, tugged them on, and disappeared out of the door. Giles lay slack-jawed, his anus aching slightly for the loss of Spike's educated finger but, before he could object, Spike was back. This time when the finger went in, it was coated with Vaseline. The increased penetration and stretching of the tight ring this enabled, made Giles groan and his cock twitch to life.

Spike raised his eyebrows and pushed in another finger and, before Giles could stop him, he shrugged and pushed in a third.

Giles put down a hand and caught at the strong wrist. 'Where are you going with this, Spike?'

Spike sat back on his heels. 'I think you know that.'

'Ah. It's not something I've ever….'

'Come on, luv, you must 'a seen pictures on the Net like….'

'Bloody what? There are pictures on the Internet of people….' He seemed genuinely lost for words until, propping himself up on his elbows, he said, 'Have you done this… err… before?'

Spike raised his eyebrows once more, amused at having this conversation with his fingers up Giles' bum. He chuckled, 'Not with you!' and, before Giles could react, he pulled out enough to push his little finger in as well. Giles looked down at the sight of Spikes' hand inside his hole and felt he ought to find the sight odd but, instead, found it intensely erotic. His leaking, glistening penis clearly agreed with him.

Spike began to play with his thumb, tapping it lightly, as if it were impatient to join its colleagues in that warm stretch. With his other hand, Spike laid the small opaque jar on Giles' belly and said seductively, 'Add some for me, will you?'

Giles took the thick jelly and smeared it lightly onto Spike's thumb. As he pressed even this lightly, Spike wriggled his fingers inside. Giles gasped and worked the thumb some more. Spike laughed and eased a finger over the soft spongy area he had been saving, and Giles rocketed up to sitting, grasping Spikes' wrist. 'Oh! Bloody hell!'

Sensing he was ready, Spike eased out, folded his hand into a projectile, and pushed it all back in, easing the width of his knuckles in slowly so Giles could see how stretched he was. With a wicked grin, Spike pulled out again and chuckled, 'Hmm, let's do that bit 'gain, shall we?'

So, the entry was redone, exquisitely slowly, Giles' cock rising up from his flesh, twitching, standing proud. Then all Giles could see was Spike's wrist: the rest disappearing out of sight into his body. Spike knelt up to one side, flicked an eyebrow at him once more, and chuckled, 'Now the fun begins.'