Paving Stones
Chapter Three - Recruiting

written by Mad Poetess & Wolfling





These days, waking up was something of an adventure for Giles.

For all that his mind immediately screamed "vampire!" at the soft coolness of the skin against his own, the infinitesimal surge of panic fading to a not unpleasant discomfort... it wasn't *just* that. Wasn't even *who* was sharing his bed that made him blink the first time he opened his eyes, no matter how unmistakable the bright head of hair that rested against him.

*Any* body, wrapped around him like this, was strange. He'd been alone for a long time, had mostly accepted that as the way things were. There had been a few moments over the years that he had allowed himself to hope for more, but always in the end, he'd woken to an empty bed.

This time... He swallowed the chuckle before it rose, because he didn't know whether it would taste bitter or not. This time, the body in his arms would outlive them all, barring accidents. Whether he would leave, whether Giles would *make* him leave, someday, if the knife-edge of darkness in them both came too close to the one he'd cut himself so deeply on in his youth...

It didn't matter. Couldn't matter. Not anymore, not now, where they were. Only today, and possibly tomorrow. What they had now. Looking beyond that was pointless. Dangerous. Impossible. Dealing with the moment was a difficult enough task. There were far too many problems pressing in on his mind and it was not an insignificant act of will to put them from his thoughts and just...be.

He closed his eyes for a second, focusing on dark and quiet and now, then opened them again. Looked down at Spike, to find fully open eyes staring up at him, and a corkscrew twist of a smirk. Just that -- no words, everything and nothing on his face.

"How long have you been awake?" Giles asked.

"Bit of an existential question for this early in the morning."

Giles smiled faintly. "Early would be a relative term," he said nodding at the bedside clock and the time displayed that was only early if one was referring to lunch.

"Ah. That case, been awake since they invented rock & roll, with the exception of a brief nap in 1976. Or alternatively, a while."

"Why does that make me worried?"

"Because of everything ABBA could have perpetrated on the world while I was napping in '76?" Spike was trying for earnest, but his mouth wasn't made for it.

It was made for some things, though, and Giles gave in to the urge to do one of them, kissing him briefly. "Or it could be the thought of you lying there watching me."

"Why would that worry you?" Oddly, Spike's face *was* made for the innocent look he was trying now, and it rather frightened Giles.

"It's not so much the watching me that's worrisome, it's what you might be plotting while doing so. Especially when you're wearing that expression."

"Oh, terrible things." Spike moved, now, stretching catlike from his curled-up pose, arms above his head -- then coiled again, into the exact same position, as if his body had memorized it. "Awful," he yawned, " evil things."

There was something...comforting about that, the way Spike resumed curling up against him so easily, completely relaxed. Like it was where he...belonged.

"Yes, I can see how riveted you are," Giles said dryly, raising one hand to lightly trace one sharply defined cheekbone.

"What can I say. You inspire evil thoughts. Granted, seeing as I'm evil, everything inspires evil thoughts. You, the blanket, pillow. All evil."

"One would think that would get rather tiresome after a while."

"You have no imagination."

"I haven't had any complaints so far."

"Because I've been too busy thinking of evil things to do to you." Spike ducked his head down to Giles' shoulder, and sucked at it. Not quite biting, just sharp steady pressure.

"Now you're trying to give me evil thoughts," Giles said, his tone conversational, despite the beginnings of the arousal sparking along his nerves from the place where Spike's mouth touched him.

"Mmm. Course I am." The words vibrated against his skin. "M' a demon. We proselytize. Part of the gig, converting the good guys. I'm only three thousand points away from the free toaster."

"What would you *do* with a toaster?" Ignoring the issue of who the next two thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine good guys would be.

Spike removed his mouth from Giles' skin, as punishment for the stupidity of the question, no doubt. "Make toast?"

"Oh yes. I'd forgotten about the great demand among the vampire population for toast." He let his left hand run lightly down Spike's spine as he talked.

"S'good for dunking. Specially since yours had that unfortunate accident."

Ah, the unfortunate accident where Spike had decided to put the peanut butter on the bread *before* putting it in the toaster, instead of after. Giles had the feeling he should have expected an answer like that. "I do believe that this is quite possibly the strangest and most surreal conversation I've ever had in bed."

Spike looked amused, and a tad superior. "You should try sleeping with Drusilla." He blinked. "Well, no, I wouldn't advise it. But you know what I mean."

"I think I can figure it out, yes."

"Not that you couldn't try it. She quite fancied you, I think. Just, you know. The whole thing with not waking up the next morning."

"Yes, thank you, I'll keep it in mind. But I do try and not make it a habit to sleep with vampires." He paused, and looked down at the naked vampire curled up against his side. "Other vampires, that is."

"I'm not possessive. Much. Shag whoever you want. Just don't come crying to me in the morning because somebody staked your bit on the side."

Giles lowered his head and brushed his lips against Spike's which quickly turned into a deep lingering kiss. "Not possessive?"

"Nah. What good's it do you? I mean sure, the torture's fun for a bit, when you catch up with whoever they've been sowing oats with this time, but it gets old after a few go-rounds."

"Drusilla gave you a lot of experience with that?" Giles should have found this conversation at least vaguely disturbing, but he didn't, for some reason he didn't want to look at too closely.

"Last year or so before the chip, yeah." He didn't sound terribly upset about it; just a bit sadly amused. "Finally got so beating up her boyfriends wasn't even fun anymore. Not a good sign, mate."

"No, I don't suppose it would be."

"So I'll probably get tired of staking any other vamps you happen to sleep with after the second or third one." Spike looked thoughtful. "Unless it's Dru, of course. Like I said, she's on your can-do list."

"I'll be sure to add her, as soon as I remember where I filed it," Giles said dryly. "Though, as I said, I don't usually make a habit out of sleeping with vampires."

"Ah well. That's because I'm your first. It's a bit like good chocolate. Once you've had the real stuff, you can't go back."

"Rather full of yourself, aren't you?" The words came out amused. It was a tone Giles hadn't heard in his own voice very much recently.

"Hey, I wasn't complimenting m'self. Was standing up for my entire species."

"Of course you were." He took another kiss.

"Somehow I get the feeling I'm being patronized. I'm not just a pretty face, y'know." Spike was suddenly kissing *him*, with an unexpected heat that seemed more hungry than the easy play of words would have implied.

Giles' hands moved to cup Spike's face as he answered heat with heat, letting it drive the surreality of vampire toasters and the future he'd been trying so hard not to think of, out of his thoughts completely.

Spike's hands on his head, pulling his face close. Soft pressure, fingers in his hair, one hand moving to the back of his neck. It was... unfair, perhaps, to glory in the need, in the pulling at him. Unspoken now, but once said, it was still there in the air. He could hear it in the bedroom as if the walls, the windows, the blankets and pillows, had recorded Spike's voice when he'd said it aloud.

Giles had said as much himself, other nights, but did it have the same meaning to Spike, the same echo in his mind? Did it matter to the hungry mouth, the eyes lit from within by something other than human desire, that Rupert Giles needed this as well? Just as much? More?

'What's happening here?' It wasn't a question he could voice, any more than he thought he could find the words if Spike were to ask it of him. But the answer might just be there anyway, in the taste of Spike's mouth, the touch of Spike's skin against his own. And it was good. This. Heat, hunger. A good answer.

Spike's fingers played across his back, dug into his spine just hard enough to almost hurt. Just hard enough to make him roll over fully onto his side, facing Spike, letting those hands have access to whatever they felt like reaching. Giles pressed closer, arching up as cool fingers left goosebumps in their wake. His own fingers echoed the patterns on Spike's skin, tactile communication imparting all kinds of things they wouldn't dare say.

There were things, as well, that didn't need to be said. Things that were only about flesh against flesh. About Giles lowering his head to mouth Spike's collarbone, sucking at the skin in a line that followed the hardness beneath it. About Spike moaning as his head fell back against the pillow, and clutching tighter at Giles' back, fingernails digging in, little pinpricks of heat.

He responded by bringing his teeth into play, nipping sharply at the collarbone, then up along the long line of Spike's offered throat. There should be a pulse beneath his lips, he realized as usual a moment after his body did -- when his mouth sought that soft thumping pressure and felt nothing but corded muscle, smooth flesh, the veins still and silent beneath the skin. Giles nipped harder here, as if to bring the sound forth, the feel of movement that wasn't there. Hard enough to hurt, and then there was sound --

Spike growling, deep and rough. Shaking through their bodies like a thousand tiny thunderclaps. Giles glanced up and caught a glimpse of gold as Spike shifted into his vampire guise.

It fascinated him at times, this other face. He raised a hand to trace over Spike's changed features. This was what he had been taught to fear since childhood, the physical representation of the evil he had dedicated his life to battle. He wondered what his father would say to know what he was doing now.

Would it matter that it was a vampire's folds and planes he was brushing his fingers against, or was it enough that Spike was a man? Nothing had ever been spoken, not aloud, but what wasn't said, names that were never brought up in his father's house, had sufficed. Had let him know who was and who wasn't welcome, and what his family never wanted to hear about.

But this... one step further? One step over the line? If his father were alive, Giles might be moved to pull his fingers back as they grazed across a sharp fang, or hide his eyes from the yellow fire in Spike's. Might. But like so many he'd tried to touch, tried to know, his father had slipped through his grasp and into death's, and Giles was here, now. Alive. Touching a monster who claimed to be dead, but lied, no matter how silent his pulse.

Regardless of the past, regardless of the opinions of his dead, he had chosen this. Chosen to stay, chosen to be here with Spike. It beat being alone, with only his ghosts for company. Leaning over, he retraced with his lips the same ground his fingers had covered.

Brow crumpled down over bright eyes. Demonic skin and muscle, as soft and strong as that on Spike's other, no less disturbing face. Just shaped differently. Mouth somehow smaller seeming -- but it couldn't be, it was just the fangs that didn't quite fit, making it look so. Lips felt as firm against Giles' own. Tongue slipped into his mouth as he kissed Spike, and nothing was different there, except the intensity.

More insistent, more demanding, more simply wild against him. It called to something within him that was just as wild, bringing it to the surface, making him respond with the same intensity, rolling them both over until Spike was beneath him.

Oh now, that grin, that one. It should have been dangerous. Terrifying. That many teeth. So why did it only make him want to grind down against Spike, rub skin on skin, groin against groin, lips pressing against sharpness again, not caring when he felt the piercing cut, tasted his own blood in his mouth?

He was insane, utterly mad, that was all there was to it. And at the moment he was certain he couldn't possibly care less. Not with the intense need firing his blood, growing stronger with every touch, every movement.

Spike's tongue slid against his lip, swiping up the tiny drop of blood that had welled there. The movement made Giles reach for it with his own teeth, hungry as if it were he who subsisted on blood, biting at tongue, lower lip. As hungry with his hands as with his mouth, the need to touch almost overwhelming. Fingers down Spike's chest. Scraping roughly across one brown nipple, pinching the other, watching both peak as if he'd been much kinder, much gentler, than he was.

Spike seemed to bring this out of him, this wildness; he could let go in a way he hadn't dared since his early twenties. It was frightening, in its way, but the fear only made his heart beat faster, blood rush quicker. Away from his brain, of course, since that was the last thing he should be using right now, and down to his cock, hardening against Spike's narrow hip.

The fear was old, as old as one of his oldest lovers. That he could hurt, that he could step one, two, three inches over a line that had been all too real for Giles -- even if Ethan had refused to acknowledge it, had pulled and taunted him across and scoffed at the idea of going too far.

With Spike -- pressing down against his body, feeling just how close those sharp hipbones were, beneath far too little padding, there was the illusion that he could break into pieces, if Giles moved wrong. If Giles bent his head again and scraped teeth along the inside of a pink-white arm, he could draw blood, could tear something fragile and hidden.

But blazing yellow eyes told another story -- that what he was holding was nothing he could break -- at least not with his body. It gave Giles a sense of freedom he'd never had before, even in his youth. And he could be doing better things right now than analyzing it. He slid his fingers lightly down Spike's arms, grasping his hands, then pulled them above the vampire's head, holding them there. Pinning him down.

Spike lay pliant beneath him, not trying to move his hands, and barely twitching the rest of his body -- except for the stiffness that pushed up against Giles, all of its own accord. His grin was wide and sharp-toothed, though, as Giles crouched over him, watching. "Want something, did you?" Spike half hissed through those jagged fangs.

"Nothing that you haven't been asking for." Giles leaned in, hovering with his mouth bare millimeters above Spike's, moving his hips suggestively against him.

There was a tiny, tiny twitch, but Spike managed to stay mostly still, to continue grinning insolently up at him, and say, "Not asking for anything. You want it, you'll have to take it. "

Giles grinned tightly and nipped at Spike's lips. "You asking me to make you?"

"Don't think you're able?"

It was a blatant attempt to provoke him, but Giles let himself react, knowing it was what they both wanted. Tightening his grip on Spike's hands to the point of bruising, he bit sharply at the vampire's throat and thrust harder against him. Spike thrust back, as much as he could while pinned down by a larger body -- but didn't try to twist his hands free.

Giles slowly moved down Spike's body, sucking and biting at the pale skin, marking him again and again. There was a moment, a second, where he knew he would have to free Spike's hands to proceed any further, and he looked up at Spike, gold eyes watching him hotly. "Don't move," he ordered, wondering what the response would be, but letting nothing of that question into his voice. Then he let go.

Spike's hands stayed exactly where they were, pinned to the pillow as if tied there by invisible bonds. Giles gave him an approving smile before lowering his head and resuming his process down Spike's torso. Nipping at the soft flesh of his belly -- not that there was much, skin stretched tight over muscle -- produced little yelping sounds, but no more movement than a tiny squirm.

He slid his hands over Spike's hips and down to his thighs, pushing them apart and settling between them. "Still nothing you want to ask for?"

"You still afraid..." There was a hitch in Spike's breath that shouldn't be there, if he only needed it for the words. "...to take it?"

Giles nipped hard enough to draw blood at the inside of Spike's left thigh, the coppery trickle flowing over his tongue before fading away. "The question you should be asking is can *you* take it?"

The response was a growl -- no human vocalization, but a true, grating, animal growl, underscoring the words, "Try me."

Giles grinned in response. "I just might." With that, he closed his mouth over Spike's cock. He could feel every muscle in Spike's torso, hips, groin, vibrating with the effort not to thrust into his mouth - an amazingly successful effort. That level of control impressed Giles, while at the same time it made him want to see it broken all the more. He bent all his attentions to doing just that.

His tongue circled the head of Spike's straining cock, delving into the bunched-up fold of foreskin, then slid down, tracing the vein that ran along the underside, miraculously full of a blood that traveled how again, in a body that had no circulation? Giles let his teeth just barely graze the length, more tease than anything, then raised a hand and squeezed Spike's balls just this side of being painful.

He could feel the strain in the thighs on either side of him, in the shaking of the bed, but Spike held firm, a deep moan his only reaction. Sliding his mouth back up until only the tip of Spike's length was in his mouth, Giles moved his hand to tease at Spike's opening with one finger. The moan went lower, and Spike's left leg quivered, but didn't give out.

Giles continued to tease him like that, not taking Spike any deeper into his mouth or doing more than to brush a finger against him without pushing in. Waiting for Spike's control to break. Nothing - nothing more than the occasional sound, the twitch of a muscle that had to be nearing exhaustion from staying in the same position for this long. He had to admire that kind of containment -- even as it frustrated him. Turning the intensity up, Giles finally pushed his finger in, searching unerringly for Spike's prostate.

And there. At the touch, his whole body spasmed, and Spike made a sound that was like nothing Giles had ever heard before, at least not from a vampire, not from Spike. He *whimpered*. And following that was a word, very soft. "Please."

Having gotten what he wanted, Giles didn't tease anymore, deep-throating Spike at the same time as he pushed another finger inside, brushing against that spot over and over.

Spike pushed down, thrust against Giles' mouth, against his fingers, tremors in his body building so quickly towards climax that it seemed quite possible to Giles that he'd been playing with explosives, and in fact held a lit stick of dynamite in his mouth. Any other time, he'd have laughed at the image; now, he simply used his free hand to hold onto Spike's hip, and let him ride the wave of convulsion, swallowing what poured into his mouth with as much of a satisfied grin as he could manage.

When it was over, Giles let go and slid back up to lie beside Spike, ignoring his own arousal for the moment to watch the vampire's face as he recovered. It was a strange process - Spike didn't have breath to get back, after all. There was just the widening of pinpoint contracted black pupils, fixed stare becoming something that could see again. Then shifting, yellow to blue. Hard-edged, deep-browed face to smooth human skin.

Spike looked at him, after a moment, and said, no longer impeded by a mouthful of fangs, "Bastard."

"You're welcome."

Spike blinked at him for a second, then grinned a terribly perilous grin. "That was nice. Thank you."

"We're not through, you realize," Giles pointed out, pointedly thrusting his erection against Spike's hip.

Spike glanced lazily down at his own recumbent length, and gave a little shrug. "I seem to be." Giles caught a twitch at the corner of his lip.

"Well, if you'd rather I took care of it myself..." Giles began.

Spike just gave him the exhausted man's version of a sardonic stare -- one eyebrow raised to half-staff. The least amount of muscles he could possibly use, Giles was almost amused to note. "And I'd have to watch you? The horror."

"You could always close your eyes." He let his hand slide down his own body towards his erection.

Said eyes widened slightly, but Spike didn't make any other sort of move. "But that takes so much energy."

"Whatever happened to vampiric stamina?"

"You?"

Giles allowed himself to smirk a little. "I must be better than I thought."

Spike kept a straight face, which Giles honestly thought must have taken more energy than all the moving he wasn't doing, put together. "S'pose I won't kick you out of bed for it. This time."

"Considering it's my bed..."

"Piffle. Petty details." Spike looked down again, watching Giles' hand on its slow trip southwards. "Don't get me wrong -- it's not that I'm against participating."

"You certainly didn't seem to be earlier." He had an idea what Spike was up to, but wanted to see if the vampire would actually say the words.

"No." Spike curled his mouth up into that dubious, dangerous little corkscrew, and finally moved something. His hand, brushing lightly across Giles' stomach. Touching his wrist. "You think I'll lose my chance at the deluxe toaster with bagel slicing attachment if we skip the mid-coital repartee and I just admit I want you to fuck me?"

Giles wasn't quite able to restrain a groan at Spike's words. "I won't report any rule violation if you don't," he said, kissing Spike and rolling his lover beneath him.

"Our dirty little secret, then," Spike whispered into his mouth.

Hands that were suddenly much more energetic skated down his back, lightly at first, then stronger, more demanding. Sliding down to squeeze his buttocks, not quite pinching. Without releasing Spike's mouth, Giles reached for the nightstand drawer, fumbling for the lube. There should be something telling about the fact that the full tube he'd had in that drawer, unused for an amount of time somewhere longer than too long and shorter than the length of the expiration date -- was three quarters empty now.

He couldn't say life had been dull, recently. A sadly familiar joke on the Hellmouth, but this time, at least it applied to his bedroom, not just... everything else that he didn't want to think about. Ruthlessly, Giles banished those worries before they could completely form. Finally releasing Spike's mouth, he moved back enough to quickly prepare them both, wanting to lose himself in the moment, in Spike, letting it overwhelm everything else.

Spike pushed against his fingers, harder than he had when they'd simply been teasing. Slick tightness around them, and it was nice, but his fingers couldn't appreciate it nearly as much as other parts of him. Giles pulled out, ignoring the murmur of complaint; slicked himself down and then he was there again. Pushing Spike's legs back and pressing himself against that welcoming hole, and in. In that first moment, Giles froze, not even breathing, not doing anything but feeling.

Spike was still as well, legs resting against him, pliable, soft. Almost relaxed, because *he'd* already been here this morning. But there had to be some tension he wasn't showing in his body. The strain of it on his face, the need for this, told what his casually flippant words hadn't. Giles leaned forward and kissed Spike as he began to move, answering that need with his own.

Spike's legs moved down, wrapped around his waist, and there was a tightness to match the one that encased his cock. All that loose-limbed exhaustion was illusion, trickery, for now Giles was gripped so tightly that every movement shook both of their bodies, made the bedsprings creak. Giles was half convinced something in him was creaking too, but he refused to listen.

He doubted he could stop now -- or even slow down -- if he wanted to. His hands sought out Spike's, entwining their fingers as the pace of his thrusts grew faster. They grasped at him, Spike's fingers, curling as tightly around his own, as Spike's legs were tight around his waist. Just holding on. As if he were afraid they'd end up getting separated?

A thought he wanted to follow -- when he once again was capable of coherent thinking. Which definitely wasn't now. Not when the sight of Spike moving beneath him, the sound of his own harsh breathing, the feel of being needed, of being held in every possible way was quickly blocking out every other thing in his mind.

It built in him, the pressure, the pleasure, the touch and sound and smell of Spike and of himself, until there was a moment when it all exploded around him, and he threw back his head, driving in and holding on, and letting go.

It seemed to simultaneously go on forever and be over in an instant. Aftershocks still running through him, he collapsed forward on top of Spike, trying hard to catch his breath. There were hands on his back, and it took him long moments of breathing and blinking before he realized that they no longer clutched tightly at him, but were lightly rubbing his shoulders. As if he needed comforting from some stressful ordeal -- or just to be brought down to a level where he could relax again.

Giles took a deep breath and raised his head to meet Spike's gaze. There was the visual echo of his own breathlessness in it -- a wideness of the eyes that in anyone else, Giles would have taken for wonder. Perhaps it was; perhaps his half-conscious assumption that Spike had seen it all, done it all, was as asinine as any of the things people assumed about Giles himself.

It lasted for only a moment; then Spike was looking at him through lowered eyelids, mouth curved up in smugness. Watching him still trying to catch his breath. "You're welcome," dropped easily from corkscrewed lips.

Giles chuckled, noting it was a bit rusty sounding. "Somehow I knew you were going to say that." He rolled off Spike and onto his back, judging the hour from the patch of sunlight's progress across the ceiling. "It's getting late," he commented.

Spike shifted, bringing his hands up to lock behind his neck. "For you, maybe. *I'm* supposed to be just getting to sleep now. Creature of the night, remember?"

"I seem to recall something of the sort, yes." Turning his head to look at Spike, Giles asked, "Though if you profess to sleep during the day, how did you manage to get hooked on an afternoon soap opera?"

"You had me chained in a fucking bathtub? How was I supposed to sleep?"

"Which would be an explanation, if you hadn't been yelling at me about missing Passions the very first day you were here."

"Oh, that." Spike approximated a shrug -- with his head resting on his hands, it was closer to a small, full-body wriggle, and it brought him deeper into the sea of bedclothes, closer to Giles, and visibly further away from getting out of bed. "Picked it up from Harmony. Like a social disease."

Giles found his own determination to get up fading in direct proportion to the proximity of the vampire. "Yes, I guess I could see that. But it does beg the question -- and I have been wondering about this for some time: *Harmony*?"

"You know, I dearly wish I had a name to throw back at you in that tone of voice, but the only one I can think of would be, 'Spike?' "

"That would be your way of admitting you haven't any idea why either?"

"Oh, I know why I shagged her -- you have *seen* her, right? I just don't know why I didn't kill her."

"If it's any consolation, you're not the only one who's been asking themselves that about her." He surprised himself with a yawn.

"Mmm? You got the chance to kill Harmony? And you didn't?"

"Not me. Well, yes, I did have one opportunity, but she ran away before I could do anything. But I was talking about Cordelia and the others in Los Angeles."

Spike gave a halfhearted snicker. "That's where she ended up? Oh, that's just nifty. Cursing Angel with Harmony. Wish I'd thought of it."

"It would be one way to help ensure he never reached a state of perfect happiness," Giles agreed. He yawned again and absently reached out to pull Spike closer.

"Thought it was getting late?" Spike sounded sleepily amused, but made no move to disentangle himself. In fact, he slipped one arm from beneath his head and insinuated it around Giles.

Giles waved that the question away as he let his eyes close. "It's already late. Late or later isn't going to make much difference." There were places he knew he would be going later, people who needed him, but not right that moment. He grinned slightly -- sleeping in: first step on the road to Spike's deluxe toaster with bagel attachment and three heat settings.

"What do I get if I corrupt one of you evil sorts over to our side?" he asked sleepily.

Spike snickered at him. "Really good sex."

"Ah." But Giles already had that. Did that mean he'd succeeded in claiming one for the good side, or just that he wouldn't get any bonus, if he did? Either way, Giles supposed he got the better end of the deal; he could always go out and buy a new toaster, after all. Later.

Read the next chapter: No Way In Hell