The next two days were spent fucking. Giles ate from time to time and I got through a few pints of blood that I’d stolen from the hospital when he’d been getting his arm stitched. I know we slept because I dreamed of Buffy falling off that fucking tower and woke to find Giles watching me, his eyes thoughtful, but mostly we spent it naked and close, Saturday and Sunday, with no one visiting and the door locked and the curtains drawn.

Found out some things. Giles didn’t go in for the fancy stuff. Cuffs, yes, because I’ve got the strength of ten and it didn’t take a fucking pure heart to give it to me either. He needed some way of holding me in place before he taught me to stay still no matter what he did. Even then, he still used them. He said he liked the way I looked wearing them, the way my muscles moved as I pulled against them. Could get quite detailed when it came to telling me stuff like that. The lube was plain; no flavours, no scent, didn’t glow in the dark or play a tune when you flipped the lid. No toys. And if his hand got sore, which it did at first when I was testing every limit he set, there were plenty of wooden spoons in the kitchen and a riding crop he swore he’d had for years. I believed him, and if I hadn’t I wouldn’t have dreamed of being stupid enough to call him a liar. Well...unless I was bored of course. In that mood, I’d do just about anything. I think Giles caught on to that pretty early on in our time together.

That first Monday, morning came around too fast. I was knackered; been up half the night while Giles took his own sweet time about coming and wouldn’t let me until he had. He cursed when the alarm went off, but he could have managed to leave the house more or less on time if I’d let him. We hadn’t – quite – worked out what we were doing but I think that day got us on track. I was tired, yes, but when he came back into the bedroom to get dressed, naked and minty fresh, he looked too good to waste on Anya. Besides; I’d just realised that I was going to be in the house alone all sodding day and I wasn’t looking forward to that. Or to Giles having second thoughts once I wasn’t around to be taught the error of my ways.

So I grabbed him when he walked by and tried to pull him back to bed. He wanted to, I could tell, but he started going on about opening hours, deliveries – the time he spent yapping, I could’ve had him half way down my throat. Fucking waste. After I got bored of arguing, I rolled back and started to do the job myself. I was hard, he wasn’t doing anything about it so what did he expect?

“- you to have a little more self control and a lot less –”

“Oh God, Giles. Fuck off to your shop, you boring git. Spend the day picturing me doing this –” slow, gentle stroke for effect, “and if it gets you hard, stay behind the counter.”

I was watching him when I said that. Wanted to see what he’d do. Fuck me? Hit me? Stalk off in a snit?

None of those. He looked at me. Stood there, cock hard, stark naked, folded his arms and looked at me. God, if anything was needed to get me harder it was Giles with the still face and the cool, angry eyes. He looked fucking unpredictable and that was just perfect. I’d wanted to shake him up, jolt him and it looked as if I had.

“You have a choice, Spike. Or, I should say, you had one. Remember making it a couple of nights ago? No, don’t speak; I think you’ve said enough. A nod will suffice.” Gave it him, curious and so fucking hard. “I see I’ve been at fault. Been too willing to overlook your...lapses because –” and I’ve never seen him smile like that, never even knew he could. I remembered Angelus with a neck to bite - hungry and happy and fucking scary. That was Giles smiling. “Fucking you is so delightful a distraction, just as you promised it would be, that I became...indulgent. I do apologise. This isn’t achieving what we want at all, is it now?”

I opened my mouth to ask what it was that ‘we’ wanted because all I wanted right then was him inside me, and he slashed his hand across my face, hard enough to jerk my head sideways, then laid one finger across my lips. “I’m not minded to let you talk, Spike. In fact, until I release you, I want silence. Anything that sounds like a word in any language I know and I’ll be most annoyed.” Started to try and think of the demon languages he was likely to be fluent in and gave up.

“Rules. I didn’t want to bother with anything set down in stone; so tiresome. In fact, I don’t think we will. The rules are simple, Spike, so simple even you shouldn’t have any trouble grasping them. You do what I say. You obey. You endure. You serve me. You make me happy.”

He knelt by the bed, wrapped his hand around me and I moaned, thrusting up into his fist.

“Was that a word, Spike?” He frowned at me. Bugger knew it wasn’t. I shook my head, saw that smile again. “Oh, I’m fairly certain I recognised it. Possibly the Kratchian for, ‘I’m very sorry, Giles for being so disrespectful, importunate and forward’?” Uh, yes, fair enough. If that was what he wanted. I nodded eagerly, hoping it would get his hand moving because those warm fingers were driving me fucking nuts. I knew what they could do and they weren’t doing it.

His eyes widened. “So it was a word? Oh, dear, Spike. If you’re having trouble remembering an order I gave you just a minute ago...”

Oh, bollocks. A month later, a few weeks even and I wouldn’t have walked into that one. Underestimated him and the way he could take advantage of every opening, every weakness. Made him a hell of a dirty fighter and some times, just some, a battle was just what we had going on.

Cuffs, crop, my backside. Giles seemed to think they went well together. Six strokes, just to be traditional, just enough to show me he wasn’t messing around. Didn’t make a fuss, didn’t fuck about with timing it, making it drag on. Didn’t want to be any later to the shop than he had to be. Just slashed it down against my arse, waited long enough to see the mark rise up against my skin, ran one finger down it thoughtfully and then briskly set to making it a nice, round number.

He’d done this before. No hesitation on the first stroke, no wild flailing around on the others. Precise, careful and neat. And bloody painful, even if the marks would be gone long before he got home.

“I think you need time to reflect, Spike,” he said kindly. Oh, that just took the biscuit; feeding me straight lines like that when I was under a vow of fucking silence. “I’ll try to pop back at lunchtime.” ‘Try’? What did he mean, ‘try’? “Hopefully, you’ll be clear on matters by then.” He put his hand on my hip and rolled me onto my side. It hurt because it tugged on my cuffed wrists but I wasn’t complaining because he stroked my cock with the tips of his fingers; once, twice...

“So want to fuck you, Spike,” he murmured. “Not sure you’d stay quiet though and I don’t want to have to punish you twice in one day.” Eyes can be eloquent but he wasn’t looking at my face, unfortunately or he’d have seen me trying to say, ‘Thanks for nothing’. I’d have taken a dozen more strokes if he’d fucked me and done my best to be quiet for him.

He stood up, let me roll back onto my stomach and gave my arse a brisk pat. “See you later, Spike. Oh, and if you come while I’m away, it’ll be the last time you do all week, so make sure you enjoy it.”

He twitched at the curtains to make sure they were shut, got dressed and left.

He came back at lunchtime. To come in my mouth, with me spread out beneath him, touching him because if I hadn’t been able to do even that, it would have been too much to bear. I didn’t get to come though. I had to wait until after the shop closed, he said, and he took me back there with him to make sure I did. He didn’t trust me then, which was sensible of him.

But he was deep in me before the bell had stopped jangling behind the last customer and the next morning, he set the alarm early.



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