Buffy, Anya, Tara, and Xander were surrounded by large stacks of books, and the clicking of a keyboard from the back room showed Willow was still hard at work.
"Hey, Giles," said Buffy. "How'd it go with Spike? And what did you want him for anyway?"
"Um, fine," he answered, glad he no longer blushed like he had as a boy. "Spike's going to ask around in the underworld. There must be rumors about these demons, at least. Any luck here?"
Willow, hearing voices, had emerged from the office. "I've found out a bit, and it's all bad. Branches of this church have been springing up all over the country in the last couple of years. And everywhere they appear, attacks on magic follow. Bookstores and magic stores have been vandalized, covens and pagan groups have been threatened. In Ohio, a local druid leader was found beaten to death."
"Aren't these church people getting arrested?" asked Buffy. "If they go around leaving business cards, somebody has to make the connection."
"In a couple of places the police tried to make arrests, but all the church leaders had vanished. One or two ordinary church members have gone to jail, but that's it."
"Thank you, Willow," Giles said, unsure whether any of this information was actually useful. "It's clear they're up to something, but--wait. Willow, were there any reports of attacks on dark magicians, Satanists, demon summoners, that sort of thing?"
"No."
"That's it!" Giles slammed a hand down, hard, on the table. "How could I have missed it?" The others exchanged looks, and he sat down self-consciously. "It makes perfect sense. If a group of demons wanted more power in this world, they'd need to make sure good magic was driven out. They'd attack anyone who might have the power to stop them. And to do that, what could be easier than harnessing religion and the fear of the unknown?"
They were all silent for a moment, thinking out the unpleasant implications. "So . . . this is all leading up to a demon takeover?" asked Buffy, though it was clear from her voice that she knew the answer. "War, pestilence, hot and cold running blood, sacrificing virgins, that kind of thing?"
"Sacrificing virgins is very old-fashioned," said Anya, reminding Giles unpleasantly of himself in enthusiastic lecture mode. "These days, most demons worry less about virginity and more about attitude. An unwilling sacrifice produces much more power."
"I hate to ask this," Xander said, "but . . there are people willing to be sacrificed to demonic powers?"
"Of course. They find it sexy. Don't you remember when we pretended-"
"Thank you, Anya," Xander said hastily. "So, anybody got a plan?"
A couple of hours and two pizzas later, they had a plan.
* * * * *
Giles sat in his favorite chair, trying for the fourth time to make sense of the page before him. That wasn't uncommon with magical texts in Sumerian or obscure demon languages, but the book in his hand was a novel. In English. He just couldn't concentrate.
He took a sip of his whiskey and scolded himself. Tomorrow would be fine. Their plan was solid and relatively safe, and it was foolish to worry. But of course, he acknowledged ruefully, tomorrow's plan was not what was distracting him. The distraction was Spike, and the memory of the kiss that lingered, aching, deep in his body.
Not Spike, he thought. Not a vampire. Chip or no chip, I won't go that low. I promised myself, after Ethan. No more bad men, no more demons. And that was more than twenty years ago.
Taking another sip, he reached back for memories of the good people he'd cared for. David, who had lived with him for five years, until he was killed by the same vampire that killed David's trainee slayer. Paula, the doctor he'd dated in his last attempt at a conventional life. Then Rob, for whom he'd left Paula. Simon. He might still be with Simon if his Watcher duties hadn't bought him to America. Then Jenny. He tried not to remember how that had ended.
Not a long list, for a man in his forties. And since Jenny, no one. When did "no more evil lovers?" turn into "no lovers at all?"
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts before they could get any more self-pitying. He looked through the peephole and saw Spike, smoking a cigarette. Giles clicked open the four deadbolts, undid the heavy chain, and opened the door.
"Hello, Spike. You're not smoking that in here."
"So, gonna invite me in, then." It was not a question.
"Reluctantly, yes. I'll strengthen the wards later. You're not getting a permanent entry pass."
"Like I said, twitchy."
"Come in, Spike."
By the time Giles had re-locked the door, Spike had settled himself comfortably into Giles' chair.
"Is that single malt scotch I smell, Rupert? Oban, I think. Yes, I'd love one, thank you."
Giles plucked his own glass from the vampire's hand, refilled it, then poured one for Spike. "I didn't know you were a connoisseur. Except of blood, of course."
"Long lifespan's a handy thing. I keep telling you. It means lots of time to drink whiskey." He took a large and appreciative swallow. "Nice." He licked his lips.
Giles tore his gaze away and sat down in the chair opposite. "What did you find out?"
"For a price." Spike licked his lips again.
"I've already paid for this information."
"And that's why your heart rate just went up?" A wink. "Vampire hearing. Bloody useful. As it were."
"Spike, just tell me."
"You're no fun at all." Spike finished the whiskey in a gulp, and made an elaborate moue of disappointment when he wasn't offered more. "All right, I asked around. Discreetly, like you said. And every damn demon I talked to said they didn't know a thing about it. Only most of them didn't look me in the eye when they said it. Something's up, but nobody's talking."
Giles felt a cold shiver down his neck, and quickly swallowed his own drink. The heathery taste and warm burn down the throat were soothing, familiar. "That's not much information."
"Well, you didn't pay much for it. See what I ask for when you really need help."
"I'll bear that in mind. But as it happens, Willow's research was more successful." Giles outlined the situation and their plan, and Spike listened, serious for once.
"That should work. It'd help to know what kind of demon these blokes are, though."
Giles shrugged. "Willow says it won't matter."
"She should know. Clever little girl, that, even if she is a Wiccan." He stood, and the taunting look returned to his face. "Well, I'll be off then."
"Spike."
"Want something, Rupert?"
"We could use another demon hunter tomorrow. You've been doing it anyway, now that your chip won't let you hurt humans. So why not put your fun to good use?"
Spike came close again, uncomfortably close, towering over Giles as he sat. "I suppose I could. For a price."
"Spike, stop it."
Giles turned his face away as Spike leaned down, but the vampire only whispered in his ear. "Remember, I can hear your heart beating." The voice was seductive, dizzying. Giles clutched at the arm of the chair, white-knuckled. "Now it's beating even faster." Spike moved away slightly, and Giles found himself turning back to face him. Blue, Giles thought, his eyes are blue. Deep eyes.
"I'll give you a special discount, just this once," Spike was murmuring. "One kiss, for all that hard work tomorrow."
Then somehow Giles had a vampire in his lap, kissing him with cool lips, probing with a long, clever tongue. He tasted the smoky whiskey on that tongue, and a very faint hint of blood. Horrified and aroused, he ran a hand up the slim leg, wishing he touched skin instead of denim. As his fingers brushed Spike's crotch, the other man broke the kiss. "See, that wasn't so hard," Spike said in that soft voice, then laughed. "Sorry, poor choice of words."
Giles found he could open his eyes again. "You've been drinking blood."
"I'm a vampire, you prat. I had a couple of pints in the bar. The real stuff, too, fresh off the back of a Red Cross lorry. Not fucking pig's blood for a change." With a wicked grin, Spike slipped out of his lap. His leather coat brushed Giles' face, and without volition Giles breathed deeply, taking in the earthy, musky scent of it.
"I didn't know you fancied leather, Rupert. I'll have to keep that in mind. See you tomorrow, then." And he was gone.
For a long time, Giles stayed in the chair, unable to move, need caustic and painful in his body. Then he went to his empty bed.
* * * * *
They assembled at the Magic Box the next evening at 6. Spike was the last to arrive, and he saw by the startled looks he got that Giles hadn't mentioned he was coming. Giles, he noted with amusement, seemed rather tired and tense.
"What are you doing here, Spike?" Buffy demanded.
"Unfortunately, we need him," Giles interjected before Spike could answer.
"So, so true," Spike agreed, earning a hostile look from Buffy, and one from Giles that tried to be hostile but turned into something else. "Needing me's a common condition these days," he added, to rub the point in for Giles.
"Shut up, Spike," Buffy said. "Everybody grab what you want and let's go." For the first time Spike noticed the assortment of weapons on the table. Spike took a long dagger, then saw that the others were selecting major armaments--crossbows, swords, even scimitars. Xander had gathered up more weapons than he had limbs.
"Hate to be a skeptic, but won't we be a little conspicuous?"
"Don't worry, Spike," Buffy said in a grim, time-to-slay-or-be-slain tone. She handed him a sword. "By the time we go in, we won't be conspicuous at all."
They arrived at the Church of the Wrathful Lord precisely at 7, as the Monday evening service was beginning. Just outside the doors, everyone stopped. Buffy smiled over at Willow and Tara. "You ready?"
"All set," Willow answered. She and Tara sprinkled some herbs onto the pavement, joined hands, and began to chant in a language Spike didn't recognize. For a few moments nothing happened.
"What are we waiting for again?"
"Shut up, Spike." Usually Spike ignored Buffy when she said that, but today she had a sword in her hand.
Then, from inside the church, they heard the first screams. "Now," Buffy shouted, kicking open the doors. They pushed their way in, nearly being trampled by the fleeing congregation. As they struggled towards the back of the room, Spike saw that Buffy was right. Now that Willow and Tara had broken the demons' disguising spell, swords and scimitars weren't conspicuous in the least. A dozen or so gray, hairless demons, with mouths full of fangs and mucus dripping from where their human noses had been, stood by the pulpit looking confused, still dressed in their good suits. Then, with a roar, they were charging towards the approaching group.
In a rush of predatory excitement, Spike felt his face change to its vampire form, and he laughed joyously. The battle was a blur of sounds and images: a demon clutching at the crossbow bolt in its chest, the gurgling sound another made as Spike opened its throat with a sword, Buffy's battle cry as she knocked two demons to the floor with a single kick. Then a demon's claws narrowly missed Spike's face and he jumped back, losing his grip on the worn hilt of the sword. He stuck his attacker in the belly with his dagger, then saw another demon pick up his dropped sword and lunge at Giles. Giles parried with a fencer's grace, but his reflexes were just a hair too slow, and the sword slashed across his chest. The demon howled and moved in for the kill.
In a moment too quick for thought, Spike threw himself at the demon, slicing its arm with the dagger and knocking it off balance. Giles swiftly finished it off with a blow to the neck that nearly decapitated it. Spattered in smelly yellow blood, Spike and Giles looked at each other across the demon's corpse. After a long moment they looked away, and realized that the battle was over.
"Come on, guys," Buffy said, cleaning her sword on a demon's Hugo Boss suit. "We'd better get out of here. The reporters will be here any minute."
"The what?" Spike smoothed his face back to its human form and followed the others out the door, half-carrying a heavily bleeding Giles.
"We called all the television stations this afternoon," Willow explained, "and told them to be here at 7:30. We need the other church members around the country to know what their leaders are. Soon our demons won't have any followers left."
Willow, Tara, Spike, and Giles hurried into one car, while Buffy, Anya, and Xander took the other. While Willow drove, Tara turned around in the front seat to help Spike remove Giles' shirt and examine the wound.
"Does he need to go to the hospital?" Willow asked. "We can be there in ten minutes."
"I'm all right," Giles insisted. "And I don't want to think about explaining this to a doctor."
"I think he'll be OK," Tara confirmed. "It's ugly, but shallow. The bleeding's slowing already. Giles, if you press the shirt against the wound it'll help the bleeding stop."
Spike helped Giles hold the bloody, makeshift bandage to the long cut on his chest. Giles opened his eyes for a moment and looked wryly at him, then licked his lips. Spike burst into giggles, and soon he was shaking with laughter.
"My God, Spike," said Willow. "You'll laugh at anything."
"He started it," Spike countered. With that Giles laughed too. Tara looked back at them, puzzled.
"I guess near-death experiences do strange things to some people," Willow said.
They arrived at Giles' apartment a few minutes later. "Do you want us to come in?" Willow asked.
"I'll look after him," Spike said, surprised at the possessive growl that rose in his throat.
"Giles?"
"It's all right. He saved my life today, I suppose he can be trusted with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a first aid kit."
Spike helped Giles out of the car. "Thank you, Willow, Tara," Giles said wearily.
"Ta, girls," Spike added. Willow smiled knowingly at them both, and pulled the car away.
* * * * *
Giles awoke to a dim room. The blinds were tightly drawn, and Spike sat dozing in a chair as far from the windows as possible. Although Giles tried to get up quietly, Spike woke before he had both feet on the floor.
"Back to bed, you. There's a nasty big swordcut on your chest, or did you forget?"
"Hardly." Giles glanced down at the bandages. "I'll go back to bed in a minute, but I need to use the bathroom."
"Oh, sorry."
When Giles returned, Spike took his arm to help him into bed. "I'm not an invalid," Giles snapped, shrugging him off, then crawled under the covers.
"Good." Spike sat on the bed, looking intently at him with those blue eyes. Heat washed over Giles' body.
"Funny. Your heart rate's up again. Maybe you should see a doctor."
"Spike, somewhere in the Third World there's an under-equipped hospital just crying out for someone with your talents." That would be more convincing, Giles thought, if I wasn't hard. Or if that fact wasn't so obvious through the sheet. "Speaking of hospitals, was anybody else hurt yesterday? My memory's a bit of a blur."
"Buffy and Xander both got clawed a bit. Nothing serious."
"God knows what sort of germs are on a demon's claws."
"I'm sure they both have their very own bottles of hydrogen peroxide at home. And just how blurry is your memory?"
"Why?"
"Because," Spike said, leaning closer and using that tone again, "I'd hate it if you forgot I saved your life."
"I remember." Somehow, Giles noticed, his hand had found its way to Spike's arm and was stroking it.
"I think I deserve a reward, don't you?" He leaned in even closer, until Giles could no longer look into his eyes, could only feel the lips brushing lightly across his bruised face to his ear. "No discounts this time. Lifesaving requires payment in full."
"Have I mentioned that I hurt everywhere?"
"You won't notice it in a minute." And then those lips were on his again, in a kiss he'd already learned to know. He let Spike's tongue explore for a while, caught it in his teeth, holding him for a moment, then released him.
"I didn't know you bit, Rupert. Do it again."
Giles licked and nibbled at Spike's mouth, then, catching a handful of blond hair, pulled him down and kissed him bruisingly, not letting up until his own breath ran out.
"You do bite. Monster."
"That was your payment for what you've been putting me through." Deliberately, Giles echoed Spike's seductive tone. "If I'd been able to sleep at night, that demon might not have got to me."
"And all that lovely blood would still be inside you."
A memory of last night suddenly unblurred in Giles' mind: Spike, having cleaned him up and bandaged him (which opened the wound again), licking the still-warm blood off those long, pale fingers. Giles shuddered, then pulled Spike's hand to his mouth and kissed it. He licked a fingertip, and Spike gasped and threw back his head, exposing his throat. "You're lucky I don't really bite," Giles murmured, licking down between each finger. Spike was gulping in the air that he seemed, suddenly, to need. Slowly Giles took a finger into his mouth, sliding up and down with his lips and tongue, hearing Spike groan.
Then Giles pushed the hand away, and waited. In a moment Spike's eyes opened and focused on him. "You're not the only one who can tease, Spike."
"Bastard. Don't do this to me."
"Why not?"
Spike ran his wet finger over Giles' lips, then down his chin and neck. "Do you want me to beg?"
"That would be nice."
"Please," Spike said, standing up. "Please let me take off my shirt." He pulled the t-shirt over his head, exposing a tightly muscled torso. "Please let me take off my jeans." He unbuttoned and lowered them. His legs were lean and strong, and his cock bulged against the fabric of his boxers. "Please, let me take off my underpants," he pleaded, sliding them down. "Please let me come into bed with you. And kiss you. And lick you. And suck your cock."
"Yes," Giles tried to say, but found he didn't have breath enough to speak. He held out a hand, and Spike was there, on top of him, kissing, careful not to press against his chest. He reached up and ran his hands over Spike's skin, which was taut and smooth, ageless, and warming from the contact. As Spike licked from his earlobe to his throat, Giles traced out the sharp vertebrae, the shoulderblades, the firm muscles of his back and sides.
Then the whisper was there in his ear again. "Please let me strip you naked." Spike disappeared under the sheet, pulled off Giles' pajama bottoms, and kissed his way up Giles' leg to the inner thigh, which he nibbled lightly with sharp teeth. After days of frustration Giles was beyond thought, beyond waiting.
"Now," he managed to gasp, catching Spike's arm and clutching it, digging his nails in without noticing.
"Is that an order?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll need my arm back, pet." In a moment Giles' underwear, the last barrier between them, was gone and Spike's mouth was on him, licking, sucking. The coolness of his mouth was strange, but it didn't matter, Giles had heat enough for two now. Burning. With a moan, he arched up, and again, coming, dying, consumed by flames.
Then Spike was beside him again, kissing him with a mouth still warm from Giles' own body. He guided Giles' hand to his cock and whispered, "please," into his ear. As Giles stroked, Spike licked at his neck, then suckled gently with open mouth, miming the bite he could not make. Then he growled low in his chest and thrust hard into Giles' fist, semen spurting over them both.
They lay quiet for a few minutes, unmoving.
"So how's my heart rate?" Giles asked
"Slowing down. I must have cured you." He lifted his head and looked at Giles. "By the way, they were Thrakmar demons. I remembered yesterday afternoon, the Thrakmar worship a god they call the Wrathful Lord. Clever of them to keep the name."
"You might have mentioned this earlier."
"And spoiled the surprise?"
"You know, Spike," Giles said, pulling him back down and running a hand through his hair, "I'm still not sure I like you."
"'S all right," Spike said with a laugh. "If this is you not liking me, I want to see what's next."
Date: June 2003
Buffyverse Fanfiction Feedback On to "Domestication"