Spike had blown back into town looking for someone to do. A small blonde someone if possible, but he had a list if she wasn’t available. Maybe start with that little witch dish? I bet she screams like an angel…
Angel, gah. What a name. At least Angelus was ironic, given what he was like. This poncy guy with the same face shouldn’t be named angel, he should be named Ponce… or puppy…. Or ...’punch me in the face I need it’ or something.
It didn’t take Spike long to find out that Buffy was missing. The whole lot of them was buzzing about like mad things. He almost pissed himself laughing at that loser wearing a huge wanking cross going out after demons. He could have picked him off easy, but honestly Spike felt like that would damage his reputation.
Can’t be seen drinking THAT, who knows what people would think. Might think he’d gone soft or something.
Spike grinned. Well hey, how about tea? Good British tea…
He took a peep through the window. From the look of the fellow, Giles was drinking something a bit stronger than tea, and had been, he guessed, for some time. Spike almost couldn’t believe his luck when he knocked on the unlocked door and got a drunken “Come on in”. An invite? Oh this was going to be fun.
He let himself in and draped himself over the chair. Giles wandered in, looking blearily around and mumbled something about a tip. Food delivery, huh? Looks like you’re the take out tonight.
Giles looked right at him and looked so befuddled it was downright adorable. God what a bookish … Spike wondered idly if he wrote poetry. Nah, probably more the librarian type… knows where it is on the shelves but doesn’t write any.
“Oh.” Giles said weakly.
“Yeah, ‘Oh’. “ Spike grinned broadly at him. “So, seems like your slayer’s gotten a bit mislaid, has she?” spike leered at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be keeping an eye on her.”
Giles suddenly went very still. “She’s not dead… what have you done with her?”
Spike blinked. Oh, hey, yeah you could take what he said that way… hadn’t meant to... but ... never turn down a good game, eh?
“Well, maybe if you ask nicely, I’ll tell you. Maybe. ”
Giles stumbled and fell down. Damn, this was going to be no fun. Passed out before I even got going? Rude. Just rude.
Spike got up and walked over. It hardly even seemed worth it.
“Come ON ya sodding bastard.”
Spike turned to go get a bucket of water or something, and heard movement behind him. He spun back in time to get a baseball bat to the face.
“Bloody!” and the bastard hit him again and it all went out.
Spike woke up feeling like… like someone had hit him the head with a bat. Twice. At least.
He was face down? On a bed? His jacket was missing… uh... His clothes were missing… He tried to get up and found out he’d been handcuffed or something. He gave it full out vamp strength, and nothing. Arms locked up and out to the bed posts, he guessed. Ankles too. The bed was solid and whatever cuffs were being used were up to everything he threw at them.
“If you don’t stop making that horrible noise, I’ll cut your tongue out and wait to ask you questions when it grows back.” An extremely precise voice, Giles he realized, said.
“The fuck, Nancy! What...” something hit him across the back and butt. Whatever it was cut the skin, he could tell. It wasn’t too bad; God knows he’d had worse. Then some liquid got poured over it and he started screaming.
His screaming was interrupted by the sound of Giles whimpering and begging for mercy.
He managed to turn his head and focus his eyes a bit despite the pain. Giles had dropped the… lash or whatever and was curled half over clutching his ears and moaning.
Migraine, Spike diagnosed. Hangover induced migraine.
He took a deep breath and screamed as shrilly as he could.
Oh Balls. Right. Still tied up.
After a few minutes went by, and Giles didn’t get back up, Spike tried to break the restraints again: no luck. Spike tried threatening, he tried pleading, he was about to try reciting poetry when he realized that Giles was SNORING.
Fuck my life.
Spike eventually fell asleep. Eventually. He woke up when Giles got up and staggered off to the bathroom. Spike could tell it was the bathroom from the sound of it. He tried his best to glare menacingly at the door for when Giles came back in.
As menacingly as you can when you’re spread eagled on the bed with your ass in the air. It still hurt.
Spike waited. Eventually he heard Giles rummaging around in what must be the kitchen. When he heard the tea pot start to whistle he lost it.
“You Bloody Plonker! You’re just going to LEAVE me here you Piss-artist?” He was sad to say his language got worse after that.
Giles came tearing into the bedroom with a completely shocked and bewildered look on his face.
“What?... what!... how did you…who…what….” Giles was still absolutely reeking of booze. Vomit and piss too actually. Lovely.
“You know there’s a PROTOCOL to this, ya daft wanker…” Spike snarled at him, “and this. Isn’t. it.”
Giles just stared at him.
Very quietly Giles said, “Spike?”
Spike gritted his teeth. “Yes?”
“Err… why you are ….” Giles waved at Spike and the bed, “here?”
Spike stared at Giles and sarcastically snarled, “Apparently your idea of a good time and mine are a bit ‘different’ Sunshine! How do you THINK I got here, you hit me with a bat and chained me to the bed!”
Giles stood there with his mouth open for a few beats. Then he closed it. “I…I did?”
Giles suddenly fled the room.
Sodding wonderful, Spike put his head back down into the pillows. Still tied to the fucking bed.
Every few minutes Giles darted his head around the doorframe, as if to check that Spike was still there.
After about the third time spike yelled after him, “You already KNOW what my arse looks like, Nancy!”
Spike heard a flurry of rustling noises, and after a while the front door opened and shut.
Oh Crap. Bad enough the damned watcher did this to me, now he’s gonna go and show off my magnificent arse to the Pack of wanna be slayers.
“I killed two Slayers you felching bastard, I deserve to die with more dignity!” He yelled after him but the door had already closed.
He heard the front door open again, a long time later. From the amount of noise Giles wasn’t alone. Either that or he’d gone shopping and was fighting with his grocery bags.
Spike sank his head back down in disgust. “No way to treat a proper villain.”
Giles was doing something noisy in another room. Spike frowned. He didn’t really hear anyone else, now that he thought about it. Ooooooooooooh shite. Guess he wanted to get some things to question me a bit more. Fuck. Well, it beats having wanker boy staring at his ass and laughing.
Giles came in carrying a bag and a tray with some medical looking implements. Spike closed his eyes and looked away. He could hear Giles come over to the bed. Giles put a hand on the whip mark and Spike flinched in anticipation of worse.
“What, didn’t get your rocks off enough last night?” Spike snarled defiantly at him. He had another think coming if he expected Spike to crack: Angelus had done worse just from having a bad hair day.
Giles opened something and started applying it to the cut. Spike snarled at him, expecting more of that burning pain. It didn’t hurt. What?
Giles gulped a few times, “First of all let me say I am really extremely sorry, I mean I never thought this would happen and I honestly don’t know what I could have been thinking. I was extremely drunk and I honestly don’t even remember very much of it…”
Spike froze. What the HELL was he saying?
Spike struggled to turn his head back to stare at Giles. Giles looked … frantic… and apologetic... And… embarrassed?
Spike was about to say something when Giles put a plastic tube up to his mouth. Spike was about to yank his head back but he smelled blood. He realized that the tube was part of some kind of hospital blood bag. What the HECK?
Giles stuttered and stammered some more while Spike started sipping at the tube, staring suspiciously up at Giles the entire time.
“Really, I don’t know what came over me, it’s entirely unacceptable.” He gulped a bit more, “I must have been insanely drunk. No matter how attractive you are there is just NO excuse.”
so basically Giles doesn't remember a THING from last night. leaving him to try desperately to figure out WHY he has a stark nude Spike, ass up on his bed, with what looks like a flog mark.
he may also have had some surreal dreams while he was unconscious.
Chapter 3: The Punk Rock Prince
Spike stared at him.
‘Really, I don’t know what came over me; it’s entirely unacceptable... I must have been insanely drunk. No matter how attractive you are there is just NO excuse.’ Giles had said.
Giles hadn’t known he was here when he woke up.
Giles had asked him why he was naked and chained to the bed.
Giles obviously had excellent taste in his fantasy life.
Oh, this was going to be FUN.
“You… You…“ Spike snarled and then let the snarl trail off into –fake- sobs as he put his head into the pillow.
Hiding a feral grin, Spike listened to Giles fidgeting next to the bed. He ‘sobbed’ into the pillow some more.
“Oh dear God… I really can’t believe I… I mean I wanted…” Giles ran out of the room. Spike could hear him throwing up in the distance.
“You wanted?” Spike snarled at him when Giles came back in. “Well you got what you wanted, I guess.” Spike figured he could play on the guy’s guilty fantasy life to get untied. Then it would be a toss-up whether to kill him, or leave him to wallow in misplaced guilt. He was leaning towards killing him, just slightly, when Giles said the last thing he expected.
“Oh God no, Spike. This was nothing like what I ever wanted. I wanted… I…“ Giles gulped. “I wanted something a lot more. I wanted to see if there was anything left of the poet inside that punk rock body.”
Giles smiled sadly down at him. “I bought an antique book of poetry ages ago… You can imagine my surprise when it turned out to have belonged to the infamous Spike. The combination of your… err… obvious charms, rebel image, and poetry? I thought I hid the attraction. I’m sure none of the kids noticed, but obviously it… got twisted somehow.”
Giles unlocked the cuffs.
Spike got away from the cuffs as fast as possible. Once he was standing on the opposite side of the bed from Giles he felt a bit at a loss. Of all the things he EVER expected to hear, that wasn’t it.
“YOU… have one of my poetry books?”
Giles held out a bundle wrapped in a blessedly familiar coat. “Could… could you put these back on. I’m having trouble thinking, right now.”
Spike could not believe it when Giles turned his back to let him get dressed. He didn’t know whether to be touched, or insulted.
He moved up fast behind Giles and took hold of both of his hands, pinning them down by his thighs. “So, what’s to stop me from just draining you dry?” He whispered into Giles’ ear.
Giles shuddered, and his hands clenched onto Spike’s. “Nothing. I deserve it.”
Spike stood there for a while contemplating his options. He ruled out turning him into another vampire almost immediately; that had never worked out well. There were some pleasant contemplations about leaving his lifeless body where certain people would find it; he entertained that for a while.
Then he realized with a shock that Giles had stopped shaking and was just leaning back into his chest, both of his hands relaxed at his side, wrapped around Spike’s hands, as if this was just two blokes who felt good with each other.
“Whatever fantasy image you have,” Spike said amusedly into Giles’ ear, “I don’t think it’s about the real me.”
“I know.” Giles sounded sad. “I wanted a punk rock prince with a poetic soul…”
Spike smiled and let his fangs brush across Giles’ jaw and down over to his throat, “...and I don’t have one.”
In one quick motion Spike let go of one of Giles’ hands and struck him hard across the back of the head. He collapsed, his hand sliding out of Spike’s other hand as he crumpled to the floor.
Spike carried the still body to the chair in the living room and put him down. It didn’t take long to find the poetry book: Giles’ had taken it out and put it on the table next to a cup of tea.
Spike wrote something in it, and left it to be found next to Giles.
He was halfway to Los Angeles when he started laughing. He was Spike the terrible, Spike the invincible, and Spike the death of slayers, but now he was going to have trouble not letting it slip that he was the punk rock prince with a poetic soul… even if he didn’t have one.
At first he wondered if anyone had found Giles before he woke up. He wondered what anyone else would think of the last poem in the book, written in the same hand, but in ballpoint pen. He didn’t think anyone but Giles could make sense of it. He hoped he was right, and that Giles would understand that he hadn’t done anything. He lost himself in violence and music for the next few days, from mosh pits to gangland fights. That was the beautiful thing about L.A. in the summer: no one noticed.
Chapter 4: Something
The last poem, by William
Tea for Two
Tea for Two with ground glass and blood, the taste gagging in the back of your throat and ripping you apart inside.
Twisted dreams on the side like sweets for dipping.
Innocent once, defiled by blood instead of cream, like the taste left by a prince the morning after…
The prince revealed for a monster.
Beauty should have staked him in the heart as he slept, instead seduced by libraries and lies, she stayed,
Hoping the monster would be a prince.
Dreaming that the liquid in the cup was anything but blood, and the prince hid within, wild, but with the soul of a poet.
No prince, a monster let inside the gates amidst wreckage and chains.
The beauty drugged with wine and dreaming, not wakeful with tea.
No truth in beauty, fantasy tales told by moonlight, and the lies of the monster taken for whispers by the prince.
And in the end, as all tales end, the reader awakens from the book, tea cold and blood clotted on the bed.
Lying awake, heart and memory seduced by stories and poetry and false dreams.
Nothing truly happened.
Happy Halloween everyone... I conclude this little vampire story on Halloween, or Samhain if you prefer,
and leave you with a poem, written in ballpoint pen, in an antique poetry chapbook,
the prized possession of one Rupert Giles.