Passion Fruits
written by Neena


Rating: FRAO
Spoilers: Season 5.
Summary: We know that Spike and Giles watched “Passions” together in season 4, but how can we be sure that’s all they were doing?
Author's Notes: This is straightforward PWP fluff that I needed to get out of my system.
Feedback Author: Neena
Author's Website: Neena's Cabana


There was a great deal to be said for solitude, Giles thought to himself as he carried his tea into the living room. And now that Buffy and the others had flown the coop, as it were, things were quieter than ever. Which was great…. terrific, really. So many things needed to be done. And there was finally enough time to catch up on his journals without being distracted by a throng of unruly teenagers.

But that could wait.

Giles put his tea down and fished around for the remote control. With only a few minutes to spare, he switched on the television and turned it to the right channel for “Passions”. It had become his secret vice—a remnant from his days acting as innkeeper to Spike.

He settled down on the couch, but something was niggling at him…something he’d forgotten to do…

When the door of his apartment banged open a moment later, he had his answer. The door—he’d forgotten to lock the bloody door.

Even before turning around to see who’d so rudely interrupted his afternoon’s indulgence, he caught a whiff of scorched flesh and knew instantly who it was.

“Spike—do the words ‘creature of the night’ mean nothing to you?” Giles asked, reluctantly getting up out of his seat to confront the vampire.

“Oh, ha-ha,” Spike grumbled, tossing his smouldering blanket to the floor. “Show a little consideration for the burning man. It bloody hurts.”

Giles huffed; “I didn’t ask you to come visit. You’re the one risking immolation, going out in the middle of the day.”

“Didn’t have a choice, did I?” Spike said. “Don’t have cable’s in the crypt and I can’t miss ‘Passions’.” Spike plopped himself down right in the centre of the sofa, his arms crossed firmly over his chest, his feet crossed defiantly on top of the coffee table.

Giles sighed dramatically and knocked Spike’s boots off the table. He’d taken the best seat. Giles knew he should kick the vampire out, or thoroughly berate him at the very least. But, truth be told, he was finding his apartment increasingly lonely these days, and even a bleach-blonde menace was better than nothing.

Giles sized up the seating situation. The little television was really only visible from the couch, and Spike was doing his best to take up as much of it as possible. He would just have to squeeze in, he supposed.

Spike didn’t budge as Giles wedged himself between him and the arm of the couch. Giles was making the best of the situation by leaning back and spreading his arms along the back of the seat. Spike looked at him, thinking how odd it was that Giles seemed so relaxed around him. He always made such a show of disliking him in front of the others, yet when they were alone together, they fell into a kind of comfortable routine. When they were roomies, they’d had to make their share of compromises—Spike had to put up with the ramblings on ancient mythology and the incessant orderliness, and Giles had to suffer through Spike’s blood drinking, smoking and numerous other bad habits. They bickered and nagged each other like crazy, but it worked. They were the ultimate odd couple. And what got them through it all was “Passions”.

Knowing there was just enough time to get in one last dig before the show started, Giles said: “No smoking during the show—just because smoking won’t kill you doesn’t make it any healthier for the rest of us. And try not to chatter all the way through it this time.”

“What are you on about, Rupert? I don’t chatter,” said Spike defiantly.

“You do so. You talk back at the characters, and then I end up missing important bits of dialogue.”

“I do not talk back at the characters,” Spike objected. Giles silently raised an eyebrow at him. “Alright—I might make the odd comment or two, but that hardly qualifies as ‘constant chatter’. Besides, nothing Sheridan had to say could possibly top Tabitha pushing Charity into that mineshaft!”

“Shh…shows on,” said Giles.

“Just the credits.”

“I like the credits, they get me in the mood.”

“Is that all it takes?” Spike jabbed. “I’d have thought it would take a parade of naked lesbians covered in baby oil to get you in the mood.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Now be quiet or we’ll miss the start of it.”

“You’re doing half the talking here, mate,” Spike argued.

“Yes, but only as a means to an end. If you’d shut up, I’d have no need to talk, would I? Not that anything I say could possible shut you up. I bet you couldn’t go an entire show without making a sound,” Giles dared.

“How much?” asked Spike, jumping at the challenge.

“Five dollars says you can’t keep quiet until the end credits roll.”

“You’re on,” said Spike. “But if you talk first, I get ten, agreed?”

“Fine. Now hush,” said Giles.

Spike mimed locking up his mouth and throwing away the key, and then sat back on the couch alongside Giles.

Giles picked up the remote control and raised the volume a few notches, giving Spike a pointed look—he knew full well that Spike hated having the volume too high. He claimed the commercials were deliberately set at a higher decibel level in order to cause damage to his sensitive, vampiric ears.

Spike returned the pointed look with an even pointier one. If the Watcher wanted to play games, he would soon find out he was playing against the master. A simple, yet perfect plan formed in Spike’s brain and his lips curled slowly into a Grinch-like grin. Giles didn’t notice because he was too busy studiously ignoring him. But he wouldn’t be able to ignore him for long.

After the first eardrum-busting batch of commercials passed without comment, Spike made a show of stretching and getting comfortable. He shifted in his seat, his leg butting up against Giles’, and dropped his hand casually onto the Watcher’s knee.

And left it there.

Nothing.

Very slowly, Spike inched his hand up Giles’ leg, tensing himself for the inevitable backlash.

No reaction. Giles continued to watch the show as if nothing was going on.

Spike smiled a little, warming up to the challenge. After all, he figured it wouldn’t take much to break through that stuffy British reserve of his. His hand continued to venture ever so slowly upwards along Giles’ thigh, and was now crossing over into forbidden territory. In his mind, he pictured his fingers creeping underneath a barbed-wire fence with barking guard dogs and armed patrols on the other side. He expected to get shot down any second now.

Instead, Giles casually picked up his cup of tea and sat back again, his free hand nonchalantly draped over the back of the couch as he sipped at his beverage. A few minutes later, he placed the empty teacup back down on the coffee table and resumed watching the show. Not once did he spare Spike a glance.

Giles was playing a dangerous game of chicken, and he knew it. His gut told him Spike was bluffing—he would back down before things went too far—but he couldn’t be one hundred percent sure. The only thing he knew for sure was that Spike didn’t know what he was up against. He was betting on the timid librarian folding at the thought of sexual contact. But Giles had an ace up his sleeve. As a young man on the streets of London, he’d seen more and done more than the blonde vampire had in two lifetimes.

They continued to watch “Passions” in silence, though neither of them was paying much attention to the plot. By now Spikes’ hand was firmly at home in Giles’ crotch and was busy with some expert massage.

Spike was impressed. Mildly impressed, granted, but impressed nonetheless. He’d never have pegged Giles for the adventurous type. He wasn’t worried, though. He would cave. It was just a matter of finding the right button and pushing it. Casting furtive glances in his direction, he expertly undid the other man’s fly. His massaging had clearly been effective, judging by the proud erection that greeted him. But outwardly, Giles showed no sign of interest. If anything, he looked bored.

Spike’s jaw jutted out determinedly. He would not be outdone by a man whose idea of fun was sifting through musty old books. There were some things you couldn’t learn from books. Some things could only be learned through time and a great deal of practice. He would show Rupert what a hundred years’ worth of experience had taught him.

Spike began slowly…teasingly…as if unsure of himself. His hand tickled over the hard flesh, absently mapping out the contours of Giles’ penis with the tips of his fingers. He intended to pull out all the stops, drawing on every trick he knew until he had Giles begging for release. Five minutes. Tops.

Three quarters of the way through the show, Giles was nearly going mad with the need to ejaculate. He fought valiantly, though, and only the sweat on his forehead and his quick, shallow breathing marked how close he was to losing control. When, during the last commercial break, Spike got up and left to get a drink, Giles was sorely tempted to forfeit the bet and demand, loudly and vehemently, that he return and finish what he’d started. He restrained, somehow, and his weeping cock stood dutifully at attention, waiting untouched for Spike’s return.

Spike came back to the living room after taking a much-needed break. He’d tried things that should have had him bellowing obscenities to the heavens, but the man was stoic. He found Giles waiting patiently for his return. Spike frowned at him in annoyance, and Giles responded by patting the seat cushion next to him, inviting him to sit.

So Spike sat back down, and as the show picked up where it left off, so did he. As luck would have it, there were plenty of steamy love scenes in this episode, and the steaminess was really picking up now. With semi-naked groping and snogging happening on-screen, Giles didn’t have a chance.

Giles bit his lip to keep quiet as Spike picked up the pace and added a few new and interesting manoeuvres to his repertoire. The show was almost over. If he could just manage to hold on for a couple of minutes he would win the bet. Not that he needed the money—no, it was the satisfaction of wiping that smirk off the vampire’s face that made winning essential.

Spike was starting to get frustrated—the old man should have been reduced to a whimpering puddle on the floor by now. Still…he hadn’t tried everything yet. There was one thing he was sure Rupert had never done before. He snuck a peek at Giles, whose expression was still only hinting at the mountainous orgasm he must be restraining.

With a wicked smile, Spike put on his game face and took the plunge.

“Bloody Hell!” yelled Giles as Spike took his cock into his cool, wet mouth, sliding it precariously between two razor-sharp fangs. Giles came more out of shock than anything. His heart thudded against his ribs as Spike milked the last drop out of him.

Spike sat back on the couch, looking smug, and held his hand out in front of Giles. Still trying to gain control of his breathing, Giles’ trembling hands dug through his pockets in search of his wallet. He pulled out a ten-dollar bill and slapped it into Spike’s waiting palm.

The credits rolled.

“Same time tomorrow, then?” asked Spike.

“Yeah, alright,” Giles answered.

Spike pulled his scorched blanket over his head and slipped out into the deadly sunlight.

Giles clicked off the television and frowned. He’d missed the entire show thanks to that bloody distracting vampire.

Still, he thought with a Ripperish grin, it beat the hell out of watching the show alone.

END