Part 5 in the "Unbreakable" series
by: Koala
TITLE: "Crushed"
AUTHOR: Koala
PAIRING: B/G
RATING: R (for language, violence, and sexual situations)
SUMMARY: Last time: When Carlton Fisk offered his beach house as a secluded place for Giles to take Buffy for a belated honeymoon, Giles accepted, planning to surprise Buffy with a romantic getaway beginning the eve of her 20th birthday. But his plans were nixed when Dawn--with Spike's help--broke into the Magic Box and read his diary, thus learning the truth about her mystical origins. With Glory still on the rampage for 'the Key', Giles suggested Joyce and Dawn leave town, and sent them to the one safe place he could think of--the beach house. Now: Crushed by the revelation that Buffy and Giles are married, Spike takes matters into his own hands, and plots to rid himself of his rival once and for all. After an attempt on his life, Giles seeks personal vengeance.
SPOILERS/TIMELINE: Set in and around S5's "Crush".
RATING: R (for language, violence, and sexual situations)
DISTRIBUTION: Koala's Tome, GylzGirl's HeadQuarters, dword's theLIST. Others please ask first.
DISCLAIMER: BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER characters and concepts are copyright ©1997-2003 20th Century Fox. Incidental scenes and/or dialogue and/or quotes from "Crush" written by David Fury. It's not stealing, it's continuity!
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is an AU retelling of the episode where Buffy and Giles are together, although still following the basic "Glory" plot of Season 5. Since there isn't much Giles in this episode, I've flexed my creative muscles and added him back into the story with a new plot, then including a few original scenes to tie it together. This part explores darker themes of jealousy, obsession, and lust, and the rivalry between two of the men in Buffy's life. A word of warning: Spike-bashing is a legal pastime in my house. Finally, Harmony and Drusilla are not in my version.
DEDICATION: To Renee, all the good ideas were yours! Trich and Dword, thanks for the beta. To Susan S., because you're always enthusiastic.
POST DATE: July 22, 2003
It was pretty clear to Buffy from just the first few notes, that the band playing The Bronze tonight were a rock band, not really cut out for the slow love song they were currently murdering. Still, they could have been banging on kitchen pots and wailing like banshees, and she wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere but where she presently was--on the dimly lit dance floor in the arms of her husband.
Eyes closed, her head resting against his chest, Buffy trusted Giles to lead her . . . well, anywhere! She would follow him to the end of the earth, without question or hesitation. She sighed, blissfully content. It was only fitting she should feel this good, considering the battle she'd had getting him there. He'd agreed to the night out reluctantly, his lack of enthusiasm due to his devotion to--what else?--research. True, he'd made some headway thanks to the information Dawn remembered from her encounter with Glory in the x-ray lab, but he'd been stuck with his nose in a book every night, and Buffy was going stir-crazy at his apartment, where she had been living for the past week.
The first few evenings she had accepted her idleness, even welcomed it due to the injury she was still recovering from--a hole in her chest made by the pointy end of a thrown tire iron. She had been content to rest and recoup, watching TV while Giles worked at his desk and catered to her occasional whims. By the third night however, with her wound fully healed, she began some aggressive channel surfing, as her attention span waned and her boredom grew. By the end of the week, with all quiet on the Hellmouth and not even a stray vampire to stake, apathy made her want to throw his damn books out the window! Being married to a bookworm, she discovered, could be an exercise in frustration. Luckily, Giles made up for any lack of social graces with his bedroom prowess.
So when Xander read in the newspaper that The Bronze had finished its renovation--a necessity following Olaf the Troll's rampage last Christmas--and suggested the Scooby Gang hit the 'Grand Re-Opening' party for old time sake, she begged and pleaded for a reprieve from the tedium. Giles, in his best Watcher-voice, told her to have a good time with her friends, but they were 'his friends' too, and it took an inordinate amount of pouting and whining before he finally agreed to accompany her. After all, she argued, they never did anything as normal as just 'go on a date.' It would be fun.
Giving in, Giles even agreed to let her pick his wardrobe, a daunting task considering the man's last trip to an actual clothing boutique had been decades ago. They compromised on a cobalt blue suit, but there was no way Buffy was letting him wear a button down shirt and tie. He wore that to the Magic Box everyday, and she successfully argued that this was not 'work' but 'pleasure.' In the back of his closet, she unearthed a black t-shirt, which he had apparently acquired free with a purchase at 'Downtown Paint & Paper.' Never worn, and with the logo on the back, it would work just fine provided he didn't take his jacket off. A bit more pouting and he agreed not to wear his glasses, but the icing on the cake had been persuading him to don his earring.
The 'Dressed by Buffy' look took ten years off him, not that his age was a big deal to her. Still, it both amused and thrilled her that Giles had managed to turn the head of just about every female in the nightclub, without a clue of how genuinely attractive he looked. She was just dying for an old acquaintance from Sunnydale High to come up to her in the ladies room and ask about the gorgeous stud muffin she was with, so she could flash her wedding ring and inquire if they remembered their tweedy school librarian. Giles looked hot. So hot that Buffy was secretly grateful he had chosen the tweed-look over this one when he'd first moved to Sunnydale. Otherwise, he would have been fighting off women with a stick. And if that had happened, by the time she'd grown up enough to take notice, he may have been seriously involved with someone else, or even married. There were plenty of candidates; Jenny Calendar, Olivia . . . even her own mother!
The idea that she still would have fallen in love with him regardless, but been forced to hide her feelings because he was happy in the arms of another woman, drew a discontented sigh from Buffy. She pressed closer to him on the dance floor, holding on tight, holding on forever. She couldn't believe she was this much in love, when not long ago she'd believed that Riley Finn was the answer to life, the universe, and everything. Deep down, part of her feared that what she now shared with Giles wasn't real, or that it wouldn't last, or that The Powers That Be couldn't possibly bless her--the girl without a future--with this sort of happiness.
By the third chorus of the ballad they were slow dancing to, Giles was humming along in her ear. He surprised her when he quietly sang; "This love is unbreakable, it's unmistakable. And each time I look in your eyes I know why . . . "
Buffy pulled back to look up into his eyes, tears of joy glazing hers. Somehow, he always knew the right time to say the right thing. With a loving smile, Giles twirled her under his arm, then embraced her again, this time from behind. With a kiss to her hair, he rested his cheek against the top of her head, his hips swaying with hers as they finished their dance. His words and actions instantly banished all those unsubstantiated thoughts of badness. In fact, all she could think about, courtesy of the way he moved with her, was getting him home to bed . . .
As the band launched into a rock number and the house lights came up, she reluctantly allowed the magic to end. Slow dancing in the dark was one thing, but she knew better than to try to get him to stay for something with a more up-tempo beat. Giles led her by the hand, back to the table they shared with the others. They passed Willow and Tara, and Xander and Anya on the way, both couples staying to bust a move to the new song.
"Would you care for another drink?" Giles asked, chivalrously depositing her in one of the low, trendy chairs that had been part of The Bronze's remodel. Gone were the industrialized black vinyl couches of old, replaced by stylish and contemporary tan seating grouped around squat, lighted tables.
Buffy nodded, hot and bothered, but not from dancing. Her thoughts were still elsewhere. "Coke would be good."
Giles looked over to evaluate the crowd at the bar. "Back in a moment."
The Bronze's 'Grand Re-Opening' had obviously been a rousing success, and as he moved away into the swell of bodies, Buffy instantly missed his presence and longed for his return. She smiled giddily to herself, still coming to terms with just how blissfully in love she was with him. After all her failed relationships, it was a feeling--a life--she thought she would never know. It was the stuff of legend . . . or at the very least, of every romance novel she had ever read. As corny as it sounded, Giles was everything she ever wanted, and everything she would ever need. For as long as it lasted, until death inevitably parted them, she planned to enjoy every single moment of what they'd been given.
While waiting, she turned her attention back to the dance floor, idly seeking out her friends. Tonight was the perfect end to the perfect week. Her mother and sister were due home tomorrow, having spent the past eight days at a beach house owned by Giles' friend, where she and Giles had sent them for safekeeping after the gang tackled Glory in the Radiology Lab at Sunnydale General. Glory had been neither seen nor heard from since the incident, which prompted Xander to suggest that maybe Willow's potluck teleportation spell had send the Hellgod a long long way from Sunnydale, somewhere it would take her months, possibly years, to return from--Mars if they were lucky. Neither Buffy nor Giles were convinced they could be that fortunate, only that wherever their adversary was, she would undoubtedly reappear when they least expected it.
Watching her friends shake it up on the dance floor, Buffy pouted at the thought of losing her newly found marital bliss, thanks to her mother and sister's homecoming. Although she knew they couldn't stay in hiding forever, their return meant she had to give up being a wife and again shoulder the responsibility of The Slayer, protector of the innocent.
It meant that she would have to move back home.
Since there had been no reason for her to live at Revello Drive with her mother and sister gone, Buffy had moved in to Giles' apartment for the duration. Very quickly, she realized what she had been missing; sleeping with her husband, waking up with him every morning, cooking, eating, showering with him . . . and a whole bunch of other mundane verbs she hadn't even considered before. It had been like the honeymoon she and Giles never took, only without the leaving town bit. Now it was all about to come to an end. Not that she blamed anyone. Her mother needed to return to work at the Gallery, and Dawn's weeklong suspension from school was over. It was time for them to come home and get on with life. It was just a shame, because Buffy had really started to settle into the role of Mrs. Rupert Giles. It was--
"Bleedin' crime, is what it is," Spike announced, dropping into her line of sight in the tan chair opposite.
Although she had to agree with him on that point, Buffy simply gave him a look. Giles wasn't the only one sporting a new wardrobe tonight, although just who Spike meant to impress with his khaki cargo pants, gray shirt, and brown leather jacket, she had no idea. While new clothes had made Giles look sexy and cool, Spike just looked like a yuppie . . . especially with his Budweiser.
"Jacking up the bar price to pay for fixing up this sinkhole," Spike continued conversationally. "Not my fault their insurance doesn't cover 'Act of Troll.'"
"Gee," Buffy suggested patiently, "maybe it's time you found a new place to patronize."
"I've half a mind to. Especially since the flowering onion got remodeled off the sodding menu. It's the only thing this place had going for it."
When he failed to take the hint to leave, she frowned. "What are you doing?"
Spike looked confused. "What do you mean, what am I . . . ?"
"Here. At this table. Talking to me, like we're some kind of 'talking buddies.'"
"Well," he explained reasonably, "I saw you sitting here alone. I thought--I don't know--you could maybe do with a bit of, you know, company."
Buffy shot him an incredulous look. Was he actually sitting there suggesting their relationship was something other than 'barely tolerable', that they were more to each other than 'sworn mortal enemies,' that they were--oh God!--'friends'?
This time, Spike did take the hint. "Suit yourself," he grumbled, offended, getting up to leave. But he'd only taken a step or two away when he stopped and turned back. "Although . . . "
Buffy rolled her eyes, wishing him gone before he completely ruined her evening.
"It's just . . . we took on that Glory chippie together," Spike reasoned, as if that single incident should be the thing to erase the slate and get him in her good graces. He had apparently forgotten all their prior confrontations, when they'd been squarely on opposite sides. "I was right there with you, fighting the fight."
"Actually, you were sleeping the sleep of the knocked unconscious," she pointed out.
"Still," Spike insisted, "points for intent. You'd think that would be enough to cut me a sliver of slack. Earn a little consideration . . . respect."
Giles chose that moment to return to the table with their drinks. Putting Buffy's Coke on a coaster before her, he took his seat, which had previously been positioned close enough for him to slide his arm around the back of her chair. Taking a swallow from his bottle of imported Guinness Draught, he deposited it on the table as well, smirking over Spike's cheaper but popular choice of beer. "And here I thought with their remodel, The Bronze was attempting to draw a classier sort of clientele."
Spike took one look at him and returned the smirk. "Is that why you're playing dress-up? Pretending you're a class act?"
"Look who's talking." Giles leaned back in his chair, his left arm going possessively around Buffy's shoulders.
Although his voice was calm and controlled, Buffy saw the anger flash in Giles' eyes. He was one breath away from throttling the vampire. Attempting to quell his temper before he made a scene, she raised her left hand to pat his, stilling the light circles his fingertips were tracing on her bare shoulder long enough to exchange a small smile with him.
"Oh, you've got to be joking!" Spike complained, watching them, finally spying their wedding rings glinting in a flash of nightclub lighting. When Buffy turned a 'why are you still here?' look on him, he shot back an expression of utter disbelief. "You married the sorry sod?"
"No," Buffy corrected, "I married the man I love."
Spike shook his head, dumbfounded. "Nobody keeps me in the bloody loop!"
"Is there a reason we should?" Giles asked flatly.
Focused on Buffy, Spike ignored him. "How long?"
"Since the Council's visit."
Spike gawked at her for a moment as the time factor sank in, then he just looked hurt. But Giles was right; Spike wasn't a friend or part of their group, and there was no reason for them to have told him anything.
"You know, I get what he sees in you," Spike said, his eyes meandering over her in a totally wigsome way. "What man wouldn't? But what I don't understand is what a girl like you could possibly see in a broken down old git like him?"
Buffy felt Giles tense at the insult, or maybe it was the way Spike looked at her. She quickly quashed the situation with a few well-chosen words. "You mean apart from the fact that he's smart, caring, and my other half?" She pretended to think for a moment, then leaned forward in her chair to answer. "Does the term 'stevedore' mean anything to you?"
Spike's jaw hit the floor. "What, him?"
"Hey, Un-Evil Dead, you're in my seat."
Buffy glanced up over the vampire's shoulder as Xander and Anya returned, fresh from the dance floor.
Spike acknowledged them, sighing with the realization that he was not going to be getting any respect from anyone. "Bugger it." He made a grab for his beer bottle as he stood, knocking it over in his haste. A second attempt snagged it, but left a foamy swath across the lit tabletop.
Scowling, Buffy watched him leave as Xander and Anya sat down.
"Pillock," Giles muttered under his breath, leaning forward to reclaim his drink.
"Xander, I think you may have hurt his feelings," Anya said, as Willow and Tara also returned to the table, flushed from their dance.
"And you should never hurt the feelings of a brutal killer," Xander quipped. He considered his words for a moment, then added, "You know, that's actually some pretty good advice."
Giles smirked. "Would be, if Spike actually qualified for that category."
Xander grinned, enjoying his newfound 'Spike-bashing' buddy. "Yeah, I guess I should have said 'neutered lamb' . . . in which case you can hurt his feelings all you want."
"Here, here." Giles toasted the idea with his beer bottle, then took a long swallow.
"So who's up for some more liquid refreshments?" Xander asked. "I'm buying . . . for I am Payday Man." Grinning, he flexed his fully mended arm in emphasis of the fact that his plaster cast had finally been removed--his broken arm another consequence of Olaf the Troll's Sunnydale rampage. With its removal came his return to his job as a construction worker, and the corresponding financial freedom that, tonight, was his to flaunt.
Buffy picked up her Coke and took a sip; Tara and Anya both nodded in agreement.
Willow rummaged her purse for a bottle of aspirin. "I could use a water."
Watching, Buffy sympathized. A week after the confrontation, Willow still suffered from the side effects of the powerful teleportation spell they had used on Glory. She worried not only about her friend's health, but that the spell was the only weapon that had proven effective against the Hellgod. She didn't even want to think about what would happen if and when Glory eventually turned up, and Willow was forced to cast it a second time.
Getting to his feet, Xander looked around the group, tallying drink orders on his fingers. "Giles and Buffy check . . . so that's a large Coke for yours truly, a Diet Sprite, an orange juice, and a water."
"And a bag of cheesy chips," Anya put in. "Dancing is like sex," she told the others. "It makes me hungry."
"Oh, cheesy chips sound like a good idea," Tara added shyly, half-raising her hand.
"Ditto," Willow dittoed, smiling at her girlfriend.
Xander looked to Giles. "Wanna give me a hand with all that, Big-G?"
Silence.
Buffy glanced at her husband, noting his distraction with a group of Bronzers hovering near the bar. It was only when a few of them moved that she spotted the bleach-blond head at the back of the bunch, and realized Giles had become pre-occupied with tracking Spike's whereabouts. She touched his arm, vying for his attention.
"Hmm?" Giles immediately looked at her, the questioning look on his face suggesting that he hadn't heard Xander's request, or any of the preceding conversation.
"Xander needs help with the drinks, sweetie."
"What? Oh . . . of course." He covered his lapse with an apologetic smile, put his Guinness on the table, and quickly followed Xander as he threaded through the throng toward the bar.
Buffy watched Willow shake two white tablets onto her palm in preparation of her glass of water. "Poor Will. Still getting those headaches?"
"Fewer and further between but . . . yep, they're still exercising their visitation rights."
"Honey, in case you didn't hear me the first six thousand times," Tara said, "no more teleportation spells."
"Well, it's just we have squat in the way of a Glory-fighting arsenal, and another run-in with her, and my headaches and nosebleeds are going to be the least of our problems."
"You know what?" Buffy decided. "Tonight is perfect. I'm out on the town with my honey and my bestest buds. How about we go just a few more hours without saying the name 'Glory?'"
"I'm down with that," Tara said with a smile. "Let's just call She-Who-Will-Not-Be-Named another name. Let's just call her--"
"Ben!" Buffy said, lighting up as she spotted the young man. He was sitting on a sofa across the way, chatting with a couple of guys.
"For example," Tara finished, unsure.
"I'll be right back," Buffy said, putting down her drink as she got to her feet. A week had passed already, and she hadn't yet thanked Ben for looking out for Dawn at the hospital, prior to Glory's arrival. She was extremely grateful that he had been on shift that night, otherwise their run in with the Hellgod in the x-ray lab may have played out very differently.
* * *
At the bar, Giles waited behind Xander's shoulder while his young friend ordered and paid for the drinks. He had lost sight of Spike in the shuffle, so he glanced back over to their table to make sure the vampire hadn't doubled back in his absence. Spike wasn't there, but neither was Buffy. Curious, Giles' eyes went in search of her, following the path to the ladies room, the dance floor, the band on stage . . . until he eventually spotted her chatting happily with a young chap in a secluded alcove tucked down one side of the club. Fighting an immediate pang, he craned his neck for a better look at her companion, until he realized it was that Ben fellow, who worked at Sunnydale General. Giles shook his head, sheepishly taming his jealousy, remembering what Buffy said, days ago--they needed to thank the young intern for looking after Dawn. Apparently, she had simply taken the opportunity to do so.
"Better keep 'the little woman' on a tighter leash, Rupert," came a taunting voice in his ear. "Or she'll be spreading her legs for Pretty-Boy, there, faster than you can spell D-I-V-O-R-C--"
Spike never finished his taunt, thanks to Giles' fist in his face. He followed the vampire as he reeled backwards, scattering bar patrons and spilling drinks, ready to hit him again. He wasn't drunk, but he had consumed enough alcohol to act on impulse and to hell with the consequences. "You bloody bastard!"
Orders forgotten, the crowd of young people around them hastened to disperse. Most were eager to remain confrontation free, while others verbally expressed their grievances. Incensed, Giles cared little for his audience. Public place or not, Spike was about to meet Ripper.
"Yeah, well," Spike shot back, rubbing his jaw as he regained his balance, "if you ask me, that's a helluva lot better than being a 'dirty old bastard.'" He punctuated his sentence by throwing a surprise punch of his own, which connected firmly and sent Giles sprawling in the opposite direction.
Toppling the unsuspecting strangers behind him like tenpins, Giles suddenly found himself doing a close-up inspection of the sticky linoleum floor. He tasted blood, and his mouth smarted, but both sensations were quickly overshadowed by the rather satisfying sound of Spike howling in pain. The chip in the vampire's head that prevented him from inflicting harm on humans without a severe backlash had fired, giving Giles a distinct advantage in a fight. Not that he needed one to give an annoying little prat like Spike a damn good thrashing.
"Giles!" Xander was suddenly kneeling beside him, helping him sit, looking more shocked by his behavior than concerned for his wellbeing.
Shrugging off any help that Xander may have been about to offer, Giles angrily climbed to his feet, ready to finish his impromptu rearrangement of Spike's sneering face.
Only he never got the chance.
A burly bouncer poked a weather baseball bat between the two brawlers. "All right, that's enough."
"Gramps started it," Spike said accusingly, standing off and looking victimized. He used the back of his hand to wipe the blood from his nose, making a big production out of it; making Giles out to be the bad guy.
"And I'll bloody well end it, too," Giles growled dangerously, pressing forward against the restraining hand that gripped his bicep. Spike's 'get real' smirk only further irked his temper.
"Outside," the bouncer ordered. "Both of you."
"Giles, what the hell are you doing?"
Buffy's voice made him hesitate, and he looked down at her, at his side, only then realizing that the restraining hand he assumed belonged to Xander was actually hers. He glared irritably, and swore in a way that astonished her more than the fact that he had instigated a barroom brawl.
The bouncer made a rough grab at Giles' arm, intent on tossing him out by force. Buffy instinctively stepped between them and, without breaking eye contact with her husband, landed a well-placed elbow in the big guy's beer belly.
"Don't want no trouble," the bouncer said in a winded voice. "So you all just better leave."
Which is how the Scoobies abruptly found themselves out on the pavement.
Seething in quiet rage, Giles stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets and sucked at his tender, swelling lip. Damn thing stung like blazes. He listened in sullen silence as Buffy said an apologetic goodnight to the others, before Xander and the girls headed down the street to where they had parked the car.
She and Giles started walking, side-by-side, in the opposite direction toward their own car.
"I can't believe you did that!" Buffy said, exasperated by his behavior. "In three years of high school and almost two of college, I've taken on more vamps and demons in there than I can remember--even a troll!--and not once have I managed to get myself thrown out for starting a bar fight! God, I'm banned from The Bronze! Way to go, Mr. Smooth."
"Yes, well," Giles said acidly, "I apologize if my defending your honor has put a crimp in your social calendar." He worried his split lip with his tongue, and winced. "And it was Spike's fault. So you can bloody blame him."
"Okay," Buffy declared firmly. The hand she laid on his arm drew him to an immediate halt. She turned to face him in the dark, deserted street with empty cars lining the curb, the rock music from The Bronze now just a heavy thrum in the background, frowning. "This stops now."
"What?" Giles asked sulkily, although he knew perfectly well what she was talking about.
"You, Spike, and whatever the hell is going on with the two of you. Giles, he's only pushing your buttons because he knows it will get to you. And you're letting him!"
She was right. Experience had shown that Spike had no interest in them except to cause trouble. Ashamed of his behavior, of having again let himself fall victim to Spike's manipulation, Giles glanced at his feet.
Buffy's hand moved on his arm in a gesture of reassurance and forgiveness, her angry expression softening. "Whatever he said to provoke you isn't true," she said, astutely guessing that whatever words had gone down, they undoubtedly involved her for him to have reacted so violently. "You know that, right?"
Giles merely grunted in reply, taking her hand and giving it a little squeeze. Spike may have bared the physical brunt of his anger, but deep down, he knew that when he'd seen Buffy talking and laughing so carefree with another man, part of him had instinctively wanted to throttle poor Ben, too. He wished it were that simple, that he could do as she asked and turn his feelings on and off at will. Although he usually kept them under better control, the truth of the matter was that he was hopelessly in love with an incredibly beautiful and desirable young woman. Buffy turned heads, whether she noticed or not, and the sooner Giles accepted that he was destined to exercise his green-eyed monster every time another man so much as looked at her, the better.
"You have nothing to worry about," Buffy insisted. She showed him her left hand, tapping her thumb against the platinum wedding ring on her finger. "The ties that bind, remember? It doesn't matter what anyone says. I married you because I love you. Only you."
Letting the last of his temper deflate on a sigh, Giles nodded. "Even if, sometimes, I'm a jealous old fool?"
"Even if you get us kicked out of every nightclub in Sunnydale."
"There's more than one?"
"No, not really." Donning an affectionate smile, Buffy took hold of his arm, turning him to continue along the deserted sidewalk. "And see? Still loving you, 'even if' . . . "
Neither Buffy nor Giles noticed the cigarette butt that landed on the pavement in their wake, or the booted heel that slowly stepped out to grind it underfoot. Moving from the shadows into the weak glow of a nearby streetlight, Spike blew a lungful of smoke at the full moon above. Morphing into his vampire visage, he watched the couple walk arm in arm until they were a safe distance ahead, then he melted back into the moonlight shadows and discreetly began to follow.
* * *
Spike ducked out of sight, flattening his back against outside wall and melding with the night shadows until the Watcher finished locking up. The sound of the drawn bolt and the porch light going out were the signals that drove him forward again, crouching to peer into Giles' apartment via the small, glass sidelight to the left of the front door.
He watched Buffy and Giles find each other in the middle of the dimmed living room, and although he couldn't hear their actual words, their body language spoke loudly enough. Buffy raised a tentative hand to Giles' face, gently touching his swollen lip and asking if it hurt. In response, Giles scooped her into his arms and kissed her with a fierceness that suggested his split lip was the last thing on his mind.
Bodies pressed tightly together, they shared a mutual hunger, mouth to mouth. Buffy stood on tiptoe, wanting more, until she impatiently hopped up and hooked her heels around her lover's hips. Giles caught her rear end and steadied them both, all without breaking their kiss, as if he danced this same dance with her a hundred times before. When Buffy threw her head back and exposed her throat to him, it was Spike who let out a lustful little moan. He could almost hear the pounding of her blood beneath her smooth, white skin, almost feel the steady thrum of it beneath his tongue as passion pulsed wildly through her veins. He watched, his own blood set to boiling, as her unworthy husband devoured his prize, the thrill his alone to enjoy.
Turning with her, Giles took a few urgent strides toward the stairs. Arms and legs holding tight, it was Buffy's turn to consume her lover with passionate abandon, as he navigated the way up to the bedroom. Losing sight of them on the mid-point landing, Spike pulled back from the little window by the front door. Lust on the rise, he moved, silent as a shadow, around to the side of the apartment building in search of the upstairs window that corresponded to the location of Giles' loft.
Scaling the wall to the second story proved no challenge for his vampire prowess, nor did concealing his presence while perched in the darkness of the sill above. Through the glass, Spike watched the lovers tumble into the bedroom, lips and limbs still entwined in a frenzied dance of desire. They turned off the light for privacy, not that it mattered to Spike. The undead could see equally well in the dark. He watched Giles set Buffy back on her feet, but frowned impatiently when, for the longest moment, the two simply gazed into each other's eyes. What passed between them was so pure and so honest, that Spike would never--could never--understand it.
As the tempo slowed, the passion rose. Their clothing fell away under slow hands and lingering caresses, until Giles took Buffy to his bed and began to worship her in a way that Spike had only ever dreamed of doing. For a long time, the vampire silently watched their union of heart, body, and soul, watched them give and take from each other with equal fervor and pleasure--fast and wild, slow and easy--until they finally declared their love together in one earth shattering moment.
Spent, Watcher and Slayer settled in each other's arms, so nauseatingly in love that it made him sick to his stomach. As he turned from the window and disappeared into the night, Spike realized he had just learned two important lessons. 1) He wanted Buffy like he had never wanted her before, his zeal to taste the passion he had witnessed making his lust for blood seem tame, and 2) he would never ever have her . . . while Rupert Giles remained part of her life.
* * *