This revised version of
Behind Closed Doors owes a huge debt to
Kindkit, who took on the task of beta reading it at a very late stage
and made so many invaluable suggestions and comments. Thanks also to
Kyllikki who gave it one last read through for me and Psychodragon82
for the beautiful picture.
He left me on the bed and told me not to move. He did that sometimes;
never for long and it wasnât a problem, not really. Staying still when
he was in the room and I could see him, hear him, feel his scent in the
air like - oh, like Giles, warm and strong and dangerous - that was
trickier. He smelled like my coat looks and sliding into it always got
me hard because it smelled of him. Should have done. Heâd fucked me on
it often enough.
Trouble was, while he was getting himself a drink (one glass of wine
usually, that he drank slowly while he was getting me how he wanted me,
so that seeing the glass ready to be washed, with the dregs lying like
a puddle of blood at the bottom, made me remember, made me ready), the
phone rang. Instead of telling them heâd call them back later, whoever
the fuck they were, he started talking. Bastard. He knew I was waiting,
knew I was lying there on the bed, his bed, our bed, arms by my side,
legs spread just a little, nothing to stare at but the ceiling, nothing
to listen to but his voice. He didnât even sound impatient. Lots of
long silences as he listened and then his voice giving instructions,
orders...if I wasnât already hard, that wouldâve done the trick. So I
waited, being good, well, being obedient, knowing if I was Iâd get a
reward and, yeah, wanting to please him, because thatâs what it all
came down to in the end.
He laughed. Lying there with my cock stiff, my balls getting
tight and he laughed as if there was all the time in the world to chat.
Then I got to thinking. He left me much longer, I was going to come
about three seconds after he touched me, three seconds after he brushed
against me with that mouth of his or laid his hand flat, the way he
does just before he - and if I came now, Iâd last that much longer and
thatâd please him. He was still talking; I had time.
Never been too bright. I closed my eyes after my fingers curled around
my cock. Had to. Just felt so good, wanking, listening to him, thinking
about what heâd do to me...about to come and thinking that Iâd have to
be careful, clean up fast, using tissues so he wouldnât taste it in my
mouth...and the bugger walked in on me.
Vampire senses are handy, but just because you can hear something
doesnât mean youâre listening, and I was busy.
He stared at me, a flicker of anger in his eyes, and I shivered and
went very still, not even daring to let my hands go to where they
should be. He was holding the wine and it seemed darker tonight, almost
black in the dim light. I waited, cursing myself, him, the jerk on the
phone. But Iâm stupid sometimes, and I liked to push him and watch him
come back at me stronger, harder than ever. He never let me down. Oh,
shit. That made me feel guilty.
“Iâm sorry, Spike,” he said, his voice dry and quiet. “I hadnât
realised that extending the time you had to wait by, what, three
minutes or so, would place such a burden on you. I do apologise.”
Sarcastic bugger.
I shrugged, which was a mistake as my hands are attached to my arms and
they moved when my shoulders did, which meant my cock got a nice little
tug. Chalk it up to decades of practice in survival, but I managed not
to come. “Was just making sure Iâd last longer later on,” I said.
Will I ever learn to shut up? Doubt it. The spark of annoyance flared
into temper, real, pissed off, irritated temper. Fuck. He turned and
began to walk away, face cold and I called out. “Giles? Where are you
going?” I wanted to follow him but I hadnât been given permission to
leave the bed.
He paused, didnât turn around and said, still in that fucking quiet
voice, the one that rubs against me like his fingers do, “Iâm punishing
you, Spike. Finish jerking off if you like. Do whatever you want. I
wonât be here for the next -” He paused, considering, and then said,
“Twenty four hours.”
The indifference in his voice had me close to begging. Angelus could
make me plead after torturing me for hours, but thatâs not much of an
achievement after all; Giles found out that I can put up with anything
as long as Iâm not being forgotten, ignored, left out...When he said he
wasnât going to be there, he didnât mean he was leaving the house. He
meant he was going to act as if I had. No touching, no talking, no eye
contact. If I got in his way, heâd step around me; if I tried to touch
him heâd add on an hour...heâd done it before, but never often and
never for that long. I didnât think I could do it, but what scared me
the most was that I wasnât sure he could either.
And that terrified me. Heâd painted himself into a fucking corner here
and it was all my fault. Guilt. Love and guilt. Go together so
wonderfully fucking well they do.
I left the bed, knowing heâd make me pay for that; he never forgot
anything and that was part of why I loved him, knowing he wouldnât let
me get away with anything, no matter how small. Left it, got in front
of him, not touching him, held his eyes for a second and slid down to
my knees. He was dressed, always was until he set the glass aside, and
I wanted to take the clothes off him slowly, feel his body against me,
feel his heartbeat thud gently against my chest, let my hands touch
him, the hair on his chest tickling me, the muscles under the skin
moving as he twisted and arched and said my name and -
Didnât know what to do, just looked up at him and put it all into my
face; the panic, the desperation and yeah, little bit of sorry,
because, fine, Iâd been...not good.
His face didnât soften, not even a little, thank Christ. My Giles.
Mine. No one ever knew me this well and heâs so fucking good at this.
“Isnât this charming penitence a little theatrical?”
It didnât matter what he said, as long as he was talking. I dropped my
eyes so he didnât see the relief and heard his breath hiss out angrily.
Quickly I raised my eyes and didnât hide it, any of it, saw him nod.
“Better,” he commented. “So; you want a second chance? You want mercy
and forgiveness and all that crap?”
“Want you,” I whispered and really, there wasnât anything else to say.
His fingers drummed against his leg and the cloth of his trousers
moved, brushing against my face. I swallowed then and clenched my
fists, starting to shake. He let me stay like that, kneeling, wide open
and then he jerked his head.
“Bed. On your stomach.”
He didnât say ‘nowâ. Giles never bothered with the unnecessary words.
But he told me he loved me every day.
And he left me. Left me with arms and legs spread wide, drifted a line
of talcum powder around me so he could tell if Iâd moved, and didnât
come back until heâd finished the whole bottle of wine.
And when he did he wasnât carrying his glass; he was empty handed. All
the better to spank me with. And he did, his hand landing with a crack,
his voice whispering to me, telling me exactly what he was going to do
when my arse was red enough to suit him and I lay there knowing that
his hand would end up sore, but he wouldnât use anything else on me,
wouldnât let the pain swallow up the shame. And when he was done, he
rolled me over and wrapped that hot, stinging palm around my cock and I
came then, came when he smiled at me, came when he kissed me.
***
The next night, we were in the graveyard patrolling, just us. It was
always an adjustment, leaving the house; Giles let me say and do stuff
outside or in company that would have got me in trouble when we were
alone. I had to be careful not to push it too far though; it wasnât
like he wouldnât remember it once the door was closed behind us and we
were alone again.
Weâd been discussing the rise in numbers of horned demons, and I was
telling him about a clan of them Iâd run into before he was born, just
chatting, our version of shop talk, when he said, “I want you to come
for me tonight.”
I stopped and swung around to stare at him. “You say that like itâs a
challenge. Since when -”
He smiled and shook his head. “Youâll see,” he said mildly.
I narrowed my eyes and took a step towards him. He hesitated - which
puzzled me a bit as there was no one lurking - and then let me get in
close enough to kiss him. His lips were hard and hungry but he didnât
rush it. He kissed me up and ready, hands all over me, pulling me
against him so I could feel his cock. He was rock solid. Knowing heâd
been walking beside me like that and hadnât let it creep into his voice
made me feel wary and impressed all at once.
He let me go, grinned, pulled me back for one last kiss, bruisingly
fast, his tongue arrowing inside my mouth, his teeth nipping at my lip,
and then took a step back and nodded at the path. “Letâs keep going,
shall we?”
We carried on walking and I waited. Ahead, I could hear voices. Xander
and Anya. Fuck. I wanted to take Giles somewhere, take care of his
problem, and let him take care of me. Giles leaned in, not touching me
and said quietly. “Did I mention youâre going to have to come without
being touched? By anyone or anything?” He let that sink in and then
said casually as they sauntered up, “Thereâs a time limit of course.”
I just had chance to say, “How long?” through gritted teeth, before
they descended. Giles looked at me, and his eyes were fucking
twinkling. “Thatâs on a need to know basis, Spike, and you donât. Just
do your best.”
I was all set to argue but his eyes went flat as if heâd been waiting
for me to try, and I looked away.
“Spike giving you trouble?” Xander said, giving me one of his glares.
Demon world talks of nothing else around the campfires. Scary eyes they
are. If youâre three years old maybe.
Giles smiled. “He wouldnât dream of it, would you, Spike?”
I smirked at him. He hates that look on my face, but Christ, heâd asked
for it tonight. Giles pursed his lips and told them to piss off. Didnât
use those exact words, which means it took twice as long, but same
result. As soon as they were out of earshot, he put one finger on my
shoulder and pushed down. It wouldnât have popped a soap bubble but I
went to my knees.
“Spike, are you under the impression that your lack of focus the other
night pleased me? Or that Iâve forgotten you left a place youâd been
told to stay in?”
Fuck. I fucking knew heâd bring that up. I shook my head. It
was tilted
back. He liked to see my face, didnât like giving me anywhere to hide.
He doesnât switch the lights off until heâs ready to sleep and he
doesnât blindfold me unless heâs feeling kind.
“Good. Well then. This is an exercise in focus. Since you seem to be
confused, Iâll repeat myself. I dislike that. It wastes time. You will
come for me because this -” He raised his foot and pressed the toe of
his shoe against me, not hard, enough to make my cock twitch and stir.
His Masterâs voice. Oh, yeah. “This is my toy, not yours. You played
with it and didnât ask me. Thatâs really not good enough.” He smiled.
“Itâs not easy to come without being touched, Spike. You know that.
Visuals and imagination can do so much but your cock doesnât really
care about anything but my hand around it, squeezing tight, my mouth on
it, sucking it hard, my cock against it.” The smile went almost prim
for a moment. “Perhaps we can teach it to be a little less...dependent.”
I must have groaned, something, because his lips twitched and yes, the
bastard was amused. The dew wet grass was soaking my jeans, my cock was
hard but nowhere near coming and there was a clock ticking and I didnât
know when it was going to chime.
“Two questions?” I asked. He considered this and then nodded agreeably,
motioning me up. “How long and what happens if I canât?”
Giles sighed. “Do you really think knowing the penalty for failure will
help to spur you on?”
I thought. Iâm pretty good at stuff like this. Probably because he
never asked for anything I couldnât do and he knew what that was better
than I did. That means he hadnât had to punish me often for failing. I
sometimes wondered if he even bothered to think the punishments up
until he needed them - but this was Giles. Git probably had a list
somewhere, in perfect alphabetical order. I started to think what would
come first and drifted off a little. His annoyed cough brought me back
and I smiled at him, being as charming as I could. It worked enough to
smooth the irritated frown away but that was all.
“Tell me,” I said, trying for meek, settling for curt.
“The time limit is set. You donât need to know it.”
“What the fuck-?”
He wasnât going to touch me again, I knew that, but he wasnât going to
let me get away with that either. Giles caught in a dilemma. Thatâs a
sight to see. Except I couldnât, because he moved behind me, swung his
foot brutally hard into the hollow behind my knee and brought me down,
teeth clenched to stop from howling.
“You will mind your manners, Spike. Is that clear?”
A dozen snappy answers crawled into my mouth and lay there, bitter and
poisonous. I spat them out - not literally; didnât want him taking it
for defiance - and looked up at him. “Iâm sorry.”
Those words - and three others - fucking killed me to say them
sometimes. Saved me this time from anything worse than not getting my
questions answered, though. He walked off as the others came back,
squabbling noisily about something so dull itâd send you to sleep if
you listened for more than a minute, with an impatient flick of his
fingers to get me moving, and I followed him to where Xander and Anya
were waiting, still baffled.
Xander and Anya were ready to go home and I wasnât going to stop them.
I was still hard; Giles hurting me did that every time if he was doing
it right and that qualified, but though I was concentrating I really
didnât think I could give him what he wanted. Wasnât even sure what it
was. They buggered off finally and Giles glanced around. “Quiet
tonight,” he remarked.
Conversation? Well, OK. Talking I was good at. I opened my mouth and he
smiled at me kindly. “That was more of an order than an observation, by
the way.”
Ah.
He set off, walking fast and I followed. That set up some nice
friction, not enough to do the job but tight jeans can be your friend
and this was one of those times. Giles caught on after one glance at
me. He stopped dead, glanced down and reached for me, unzipping my
jeans, and folding back the material until my cock was getting some
fresh air. He nodded thoughtfully and then stopped me as I tried to
huddle my coat around me. “I donât think thatâs a good idea.”
The December air was cool, tickling and teasing my exposed skin, but
that was the least of my worries right then as I strode along, praying
to assorted deities that we wouldnât meet anyone I couldnât kill very
fast, as my arms were folded behind my back, holding my coat tucked
behind me. Felt like a total wally but Giles looked smugly pleased and
the look in his eyes when he glanced down at my cock was enough to make
me feel warm, no matter how cold it was. He told me once that he
couldnât look at me without wanting me. About as poetical as he gets,
but it stuck with me when I canât remember past “mellow fruitfulness”
after a century of reading Keats.
He took me to the last place I expected: my old crypt, and pushed open
the door as if he knew it would be empty. Heâd gone out earlier in the
day without saying where. The place was a mess but it looked as if heâd
cleaned out a nest. I recognised the signs of a fight. I turned on him,
angry as hell. “Did you come here by yourself?”
His eyes widened. Heâd told me to be quiet; I was already in deep shit
and I was shouting at him? Then I suppose he saw the worry and I knew
this once heâd forgive me. Well, that was the theory anyway. His hand
lifted and for a moment I thought he was going to hit me and tried not
to flinch with shock. It hovered and he stroked the air by my cheek,
not touching me. I leaned into it like a cat, eyes closed and then
snapped back to attention.
He pointed to the slab of stone I used to sleep on sometimes, back when
this was my home. It was covered in a thick quilt. The one from our
bed. “Strip and lie down over there,” he said, pulling up a chair and
sitting in it. I did as I was told, wanting him, wanting this to be
over with so I could hold him. Being kept away from someone who drove
insane with lust by the way he turned the pages in his fucking
books...that was more than I could take. I wanted to be by him, near
him, able to touch him. Starved me when I couldnât. He still hadnât
told me what heâd do if I failed but there was one thing I knew wasnât
on that list; he might punish me by ignoring me sometimes but heâd
never made me sleep away from him. Iâd spent nights lying next to a
coldly turned back but he was still there, still breathing softly,
still giving off heat and still with me. And his anger never lasted
into the morning.
I lay there and he said softly, “Breathe in.” I obeyed him and the
scent poured up from the soft material, rich and warm. Giles is
fastidious and we get this quilt messy, but I wonât let him wash it as
often as he wants. Sleeping surrounded by our scents is like being
fucked all night. The scent now was mostly him though and I looked at
him, my eyes widening.
“I stayed a little after I dispatched the vampires.”
Stayed and jerked off, thinking about what he was going to do. Stayed
and came all over where I was lying. I pictured him doing it, trousers
pushed down just enough, both hands moving fast, ruthless, impatient
hands, his hips jerking, his face set and then heâd have made that
noise, that gasp he does...
“Good.”
I looked at him in surprise as he spoke and realised that my hands were
fisted in the fabric and my cock was quivering.
“Youâre ideally suited for this. Senses honed, vampire enhanced
abilities; really youâve become terribly lazy, you know. You donât need
a helping hand at all.”
I couldnât agree with that, but I had enough sense not to argue. I
closed my eyes to concentrate and he began to talk.
“No, you donât really need me at all. Donât need my hands on you,
sliding over your body, finding every place that gives you pleasure,
remembering every place that gives you pain...donât need my tongue and
mouth and teeth dragging out even more sensation from that pale skin of
yours, skin that marks so well but forgets so fast...” The marks faded,
but he was wrong if he thought I forgot. “Or perhaps you do need me,
Spike? You may answer that.”
I was so hard...his voice was driving into me like his cock did, every
word a stroke, every sentence hitting home. “Need you, Giles. Always
need you.” Thank God he never made me call him anything but Giles when
we were doing this...saying his name filled my mouth the way fresh
blood did, warming me, feeding me, making me feel alive. “Giles? Let me
talk? Please, I can do it if you -”
I was pleading, not asking and he knew it. He came over, close enough
to feel him surround me and knelt beside the stone bed so that our
faces were level. “Talk to me,” he said.
I closed my eyes for a second and then opened them, looking at him. I
never knew how hard it was for him not to look away, ever, but he never
did, always kept his eyes on me. If he could do that, so could I. Not
that he gave me a choice.
“I need you and you know it. Need you to touch me, hold me, but not
just to come. Christ, Giles, thatâs nothing! Last night I wasnât
bothered about coming - I was bored, I was angry, I didnât want to
share you. Iâm not...Iâm not good at waiting, sharing. Iâm hard now,
just like you wanted. Youâve made me this way, the things youâve said,
the way youâve looked at me, controlled me. You fucking own me, you
know? I trust you more than Iâve ever trusted anyone. Iâd die for you;
Iâd die of fucking love for you if you sent me away. Iâm yours, Giles.”
I was empty and I couldnât see his face anymore so I blinked and felt
cool wetness slip down my face.
He leaned in, so close that his lips were mine if I moved, but I held
still.
“And youâre mine, Spike,” he said. “I love you.” He stared at me. “Come
for me.”
I closed my eyes and I just couldnât...quite... “Help me, Giles.
Please? ”
He sighed with satisfaction and laughed quietly. “I thought youâd never
ask.”
I was there expecting a touch, a kiss, now that Iâd solved his riddle.
Instead, he lay beside me, still not letting me feel him, and said,
“Iâve been hard for hours thinking of you. Iâve been watching you,
talking to you, hard all the time. Itâs hurting me, I want you so
badly. Iâm aching, Iâm hurting...and Iâm not going to come until you
do.” I stared at him in disbelief. “When you come, Iâm going to be on
you faster than even you can move. Iâm going to be inside you while
youâre still coming, going to bury myself in you and fuck you until
youâre screaming out my name, and Iâm crying out yours. Until weâre
one. Now will you come, you stubborn, infuriating ...”
So I came and afterwards, as we lay there, with Gilesâ shoulder under
my head, I looked at the walls that used to keep me safe and remembered
the last time weâd been here together and how this had started, and my
hand clutched at his arm, just remembering how his blood had stained
the summer-warm air.
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