Spike didn't want to play poker that night; he had other more important things to do. Trouble was, he couldn't remember what they were when Clem turned up unexpectedly and invited him to a game.

Spike pouted slightly as his friend tried to persuade him and gave in with the irrational thought that if some people thought he wasn't a man then he'd better be a proper demon for once. He gave Clem a lift on the bike, and they arrived to find two spaces left and a game just beginning.

Spike took his usual ragging for being the pretty-boy-with-a-chip-in-his-head-slayer's-pet and made his first bet. He was determined to enjoy himself despite that pillock, Rupert bloody Giles. Spike glanced nervously around the table to see if any of his unusual demon companions had heard him thinking about the watcher, saw from their faces that they hadn't, and laid a card.

He still could not believe that he had let an argument with the watcher upset him like this. He argued all the time with the wanker, and he was a bloody demon; he did not get `upset' – ever - so, on both counts, Rupert bloody Giles Esq. could take a flying fuck.

He'd only gone there in the first place to see his new DVD. He had not asked the watcher to watch, nor had he wanted to get into a debate about the whereabouts of Jim Morrison -- well, all right, he had done the first, but definitely not the second -- fuck it, he'd done that as well -- but he had not asked to be insulted and kicked out!

Spike liked DVDs; they were easy to half-inch and looked glittery on his crypt shelf. Trouble was, he didn't have a player for them. So, when Giles had announced to Xander Harris that he'd just acquired one, and asked him to come over and `tune it in', Spike had listened intently. The next night he'd turned up at the watcher's, claimed he had important vampire research to conduct, and asked to borrow the new machine.

Giles said he couldn't and shut the door in his face. Spike knocked once more and asked icily if, in that case, could he come in and do it there. So it had begun...

`Do what, Spike?'

`Research these fucking vampires.'

`Stop that ghastly swearing right away, and how can you research vampires with my DVD?'

`If you let me in, I'll show you!'

Giles had not been impressed by the opening credits of 'Lost Boys' as a piece of research material and stared in outrage at Spike's profile. Spike resolutely ignored him and put his feet up on the coffee table defiantly.

`And this is research how, Spike?'

`It's research for me, mate.'

`Get out, Spike, and take that rubbish with you.'

`It's not rubbish.'

`You'll be watching 'Interview with a Vampire' next. Spike... over there… wooden thing… sometimes referred to as a door... close it on the way out please.'

`Why don't you shut up, take a pew, and watch for a bit? Or are you afraid you might actually learn something or, even worse, bloody enjoy yourself. "Oh... I spent an evening with Spike, and I smiled once." Fucking lighten up, watcher.'

`Spike...'

`'K, but... look... this is a good bit. You'll like this... they can fly, see… over the ocean, but you don't know it's them `til later... but I've told you now, so you do... look.'

`You've seen this before?'

`One hundred and seventeen time, yeah.'

`You jest!'

Spike flashed him a cheeky grin. `Try me.'

`So, why do you need to see it again? I am quite at a loss, Spike.'

`Ah, but this is DVD... so shut up, and let me enjoy it!'

Giles sat down as far from Spike as he could and started to watch the film... or rather he watched Spike watching it. He'd rarely seen the unpleasant demon so animated and so... pleasant. He pointed out bits to watch; he explained things; he laughed and he chatted as if they liked each other. Giles wasn't fooled for a minute, but he was slightly charmed and felt himself beginning to relax.

He made the first error of the evening by offering Spike a drink. His second was to take one himself; his third and last – for all subsequent mistakes followed catastrophically from this one – was to leave the open bottle in front of them.

The argument started innocently enough. Spike was rewinding the drinking of the blood scene to watch in slow motion when Giles asked why there was a large picture of Jim Morrison on the wall. Spike's jaw fell open in surprise, and he turned to face the amused watcher. `You know who Jim is?'

`I should rather think so, Spike.'

`You're bullshitting me?'

`No... the Doors... been to his grave... added to the graffiti… left the flowers.'

`Jim is not dead.'

It was Giles' turn to look incredulous. `He most certainly is.'

`He was turned, and `e's living in a mountain retreat in Corsica.'

`Err... are you delusional, Spike, as well as stupid?'

The bottle was half empty by now, and Giles felt the slight slur of the final word did not do his wit justice.

Spike almost made as if to hit him, but retracted his hand, pretending to run his fingers through his hair. `Why do you have to be so fucking right all the time, watcher? Can't you allow some people might actually know more than you sometimes?'

`Oh, I have no problem with that concept, Spike; most people probably do. You, however, are not most people... you are not in fact `people' at all. You are a dead body, and I don't give a great deal of credence to anything said by something that ought to crawl back into its grave.'

Carried away on the inebriated flood of his own eloquence, Giles did not initially notice the effect his words had on Spike. He did notice when Spike stood up, tense and defensive.

`Thank you for the hospitality, watcher, but I've obviously outstayed me welcome.' He didn't even wait to retrieve his film; he just gathered up his coat and left quietly.

Giles stayed still, and the music mocked him. `Thou shalt not die...' He didn't hear or understand much else, for his head reeled with unanswered questions. Had Spike actually been hurt? Had his words hurt Spike's feelings? Did Spike, therefore, have feelings? Giles replayed the whole strange evening in his mind and came to the conclusion that he must be a very blinkered, very stupid man. A transformation had been taking place under his very nose over the last year, but he had not seen it... not taken the time to see it. The creature he had fought, hated, dismissed, and disliked was no more… it had changed.

Giles watched to the end of the film as if, somehow, that small gesture could make up for his rudeness to Spike. He knew it couldn't, and the whole evening upset him more than he cared to admit.

It had upset Spike, too, but he cared to admit it even less... refused to admit it in fact - hence the poker game with fellow dead things and the `fuck you, Giles' attitude.

Spike knew he was dead; he knew he wasn't a man; he didn't need bloody reminding every time he put out a hand.

He cast another sly glance around the table, embarrassed by the visual image that had sprung into his mind - his hand outstretched, Giles taking it in his. Fuck, he was being a wuss tonight. He drew a card, raised two tabbies, and promised to give himself a thorough flagellation later. He grinned at this thought, and everyone immediately folded.

`Hey! What!'

`Good hand, Spike?'

`Oh, no... I weren't smiling at that... honest.'

He'd won four kittens. He didn't want four kittens... he didn't want any kittens... well, the small ginger one was cute but... fucking wuss, stop it!

`I don't want `em. Swap you for something?'

He looked despairingly around the table. No one volunteered at first, but then, with an expression that went for a grin with Xol demons, one player got up, and fished for something in a box behind him.

He stretched over the table and deposited a small puppy in Spike's lap.

`For all four, plus their legs.'

`Hey! No bloody animals... I don't want bleedin' cats, and I don't want...' Spike suddenly picked the puppy up under its front legs and stared closely at it. `Where'd'ya get it?'

The answer was slightly forced, but Spike did not notice, intent as he was on the puppy. `Stray, why?'

`It's a vampire hellhound.'

He'd have been taken more seriously if said hellhound had not taken that exact moment to relieve itself rather copiously over Spike's lap.

He fell back, cursing; the others fell over, laughing.

Clem recovered first and felt beholden to defend his best friend. `Why'd'ya think that then, Spike?'

`Its eyes glowed red when I picked it up.' Spike came back to the table holding the puppy with one hand. What was a little accident between friends? At least one of them could pee.

Clem looked at the animal. `Err... that was just a tail light from the window behind you, Spike.'

`No... I saw his eyes glow. And look, he's licking me fingers... he recognises his vampire master.'

`You've been eating barbeque flavour chips all night, Spike.'

Spike was unimpressed. He'd seen a flash of recognition from the puppy that he was someone important, someone it was the dog's role to guard with its life. Spike held him up to Clem. `See, he's just like Thorn.'

Clem knew exactly what he was claiming; he'd been forced to watch at least ten of Spike's reruns of his beloved film. He couldn't see the resemblance, but he liked the way Spike's face softened when he looked at the puppy, and held his tongue.

`What ya gonna call him, Spike?'

Spike laughed. `Fang, what else?'

Spike was slightly embarrassed to discover that his new vampire hellhound could fit snugly into his duster pocket, but he didn't betray this emotion to his poker buddies. He bid them a gracious farewell with an English gesture he knew they would, nevertheless, understand, ignored their hoots of laughter about the dog, and rode back to his crypt. He stood outside in the moonlight for a while smoking and giving Fang time to do hellhound business in the proper place. Then he held the dog up to the moon, feeling that some sort of ritual gesture was required. `Behold... Fang – Vampire Hellhound!' Fang seemed suitably impressed for he gave a small yelp.

Pleased, Spike carried him inside and rummaged around for an old box for the dog to sleep in. He undressed and started to outline Fang's new duties. He knew that guarding him while he slept, warning him of all comers and assisting in the dismemberment and killing of unwanted humans was a little ambitious for a small puppy just yet, but when he'd grown... When he'd been suitably trained... As Spike climbed into bed he cast a few evil thoughts in the direction of Rupert bloody Giles. He pictured the watcher being torn apart by the hellhound, heard him cry out for mercy and for Spike to save him… Spike then cursed long and hard when, utterly beyond his volition, he actually called Fang off and saved the git. He turned on his stomach and started the fantasy again.

He fell asleep before he could resolve it satisfactorily one way or the other. He did not get to sleep for long though, for the whimpering soon began. Spike thought he was a master of manipulation; he'd met his match.

It didn't matter that he pointed out to Fang that he was a hellhound and therefore, by definition, not a bleedin' nancy-boy lap dog. It didn't help; the pathetic whimpering continued. Then the shivers began. That was worse. Spike could actually hear Fang shivering - even though he seemed to be trying to do it quietly, and without any bother to anyone.

He ignored the whimpering, and he ignored the shivering. It was the silence that undid him. He peered cautiously over the edge of the bed to see if the puppy was still alive. At the glazed, sightless, lifeless look that greeted him, he sprung up and swept the puppy up in his arms, stuffed him under the sheet, and allowed him to snuggle into the crook of his neck.

`I'm fucking cold, and me heart don't beat. Sorry, mate. I'm not much of a bed companion.'

The puppy didn't seem to mind Spike's inadequacies and, having successfully and quite efficiently achieved his goal, he bravely stopped shivering and went to sleep. Spike smiled and tried to return to his fantasies of the watcher... the watcher being shredded... no other watcher fantasies… he wanted that understood by anyone who might be listening in to his thoughts… dismemberment, disembowelment, dis-any-other-fucking-thing that would hurt a lot. He'd show him who was a man… no, a demon… no, a man… fucking shut up and just start it, hey?

He wanted to get to the bit where he put his hand out in a sweeping gesture to set Fang onto the unsuspecting human, but however many times he tried out the scenario, it always became the exact moment when he found the watcher's hand being extended to capture his in a tight, reassuring hold. Spike didn't want anything from Rupert bloody Giles, and he especially didn't want reassurance. Rupert bloody Giles was a fucking git and it served him right if Spike had not come over that evening to watch his TV again. Spike was glad he'd gone to the poker game and hoped the watcher was bored, sad and lonely. He then thought that this was, again, too wussy for a proper demon and went back to trying to think of more painful things to do to him that began with 'dis'.

Engrossed in his thoughts, Spike suddenly realised he'd been petting the puppy, so stopped, horrified. Master vampires did not pet their hellhounds. He sighed unnecessarily but satisfactorily… they had an awful lot of work to do together.

The next day Spike did not wake until midday. He wouldn't have woken then if it hadn't have been for the puppy whining to go out and scratching on the floor. Pleased the dog was already so well trained, Spike wandered naked to the door and, keeping out of the direct sunshine, let him out. He waited… unconcernedly - completely unconcernedly - as the puppy got further and further away. He attempted to whistle him back, but had forgotten how. He shouted instead, but his voice faltered as he heard 'Fang, Fang' sounding ludicrous in the otherwise silent cemetery. Cursing, he dived back downstairs, grabbed a blanket, and performed an impressive hot extraction on the disobedient puppy.

Spike felt as sorry for the dog as he did for himself having to stay inside all day. He determined to make the most of their enforced confinement and started some training. He'd watched a hellhound being trained once. It was a rather… unforgettable experience. Angelus had taken them all to visit one of his less pleasant acquaintances - which was saying something, given Angelus was the Scourge of Europe - and Spike had watched as captive humans had been forced to torture the hellhound puppies until the very smell of approaching human would send them into a frenzy of killing lust. He'd enjoyed the part where the humans had to test the grown-up hellhounds' reactions, but the earlier parts of the training had not… impressed him much. He eyed the puppy balefully, illogically blaming it for his own state of demonic patheticness. Torturing Fang having been ruled out, Spike was rather at a loss how to proceed. He lit a cigarette and started to pace around the crypt. The dog followed him. Spike smiled and dodged out of site behind one of the tombs. Fang yapped in delight and tore around trying to find him. It was a good game for all of about three minutes; then they both got bored with it. Spike sighed and went down to get dressed. He was rummaging for something clean to put on when he heard a high-pitched squeal that sent a shiver up his spine. He turned to find the puppy writhing at the bottom of the steps where he'd clearly slipped and fallen. Spike cursed and picked him up gently - the puppy needed to be able to savage humans; Spike didn't want anything defective with his new demonic guardian… there was absolutely no other reason he was concerned.

He felt the puppy over carefully and, with his somewhat considerable experience of injuries, concluded that he'd broken a leg. He flung back his head in disbelief at his own bad luck and made the dog as comfortable as he could on the bed. He finished dressing and ran through his options. He thought the slayer or the littl' bit would be good bets for some money for an injured puppy, but he'd rather break both his own legs than admit to them what he needed it for. He wondered briefly if the witch would fix the leg for free, but remembered her self-imposed abstinence. He dismissed Harris as a useless fat lump, which only left the wanker. He wasn't about to admit to Rupert bloody Giles that he had a puppy… a vicious hellhound… and that he'd been so careless that the pu… hellhound had sustained a serious injury in his care in less than twelve hours. It was a dilemma. The puppy started to cry piteously. Spike stomped his feet at the fates. He did not want to have to do this. Shivering came into play again. He covered the puppy with a blanket, looked down for a brief moment to compose himself and then turned to make his way to the magic shop.

He came up through a convenient sewer and dashed into the back of the shop under his blanket. Giles was cleaning some of the training equipment and looked up in annoyance when Spike entered.

'To what do I owe this thrill and delight, Spike?'

Spike hovered and hesitated, which was so unusual for him that Giles immediately became suspicious. 'What, Spike?'

'I need some money.'

'Ah… get a job then maybe?'

Spike gritted his teeth and persevered. 'As you so politely reminded me, wanker, I'm dead. I'd find it a bit difficult to pass an interview, don't you think?'

As Spike had no idea of Giles' thoughts about the previous night, he had merely meant this to explain why he needed to beg for money. He had not intended it to remind Giles of his rudeness, nor to remind him of him how he thought Spike had changed.

It did both though. Giles looked down, ashamed. He fiddled with a sword he was cleaning; he took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose wearily with one hand. Finally he looked up. 'How much?'

Spike was surprised and pleased. 'Thanks… err… I don't know.' He saw the watcher's bemused face and quickly added, 'Two hundred should cover it. For now.'

'Two hundred dollars! Spike! I was thinking more along the lines of ten!'

Spike squared his shoulders and looked Giles straight in the eye. 'A loan then. I'll pay you back. I promise.' This last was said with teeth so gritted that it hardly sounded like English at all, but Giles heard the stunning declaration nevertheless. He could not recall Spike ever using the word 'promise' before, nor could he recall him ever looking so sincere about anything.

'All right, Spike, a loan. I'll expect regular payments, and I'll decide on a rate of interest that is quite fair to both of us.'

'Interest?'

'You don't expect to borrow money for free, do you, Spike?'

Spike turned away slightly. 'I don't expect anything from anyone, watcher. Interest it is.'

Giles had now passed beyond intrigued and had moved into extremely alarmed. He could not imagine what Spike needed money for so badly that he was willing to prostrate himself like this. He determined to monitor the vampire closely and discover his secret. He led the way to the till and took out the agreed sum. Before he handed it over to Spike, he noted Spike's anxious and distracted air. 'Spike. Does this have anything to do with Buffy? Can this hurt Buffy or any of her friends in anyway.'

Spike thought briefly of Fang ripping guts out when he was better and lied. 'No.'

Giles heard the lie and committed himself to the discovery of Spike's latest, devious plan. He handed Spike the money, telling himself that it was better the enemy you know…

Spike took the bundle without any further thanks and left in an obvious hurry.

Spike had never been to a vet before, not for himself, and certainly not for a pet… hellhound. He quite enjoyed the experience. He liked sitting in the waiting room watching the dogs terrorising the cats. Fang, he was pleased to see, ignored everyone and kept a low profile as befitted a hellhound caught in a compromising situation. It was only a small break, and a light cast was applied. With x-rays and painkillers there was little left over from the borrowed money. Little could go a long way in cheep booze, and Spike treated himself to a large bottle of something mind numbing, stripped, and snuggled in with his drugged-up puppy for a drink-induced sleep. In a few hours they were both comatose on the bed… so deeply asleep in fact that the hellhound failed miserably in his duty to guard his sleeping master, and Spike did not sense the presence of a human in his crypt.

Giles had never visited the lower regions of Spike's lair. There was something profoundly disturbing and slightly Freudian in his mind about any lower region of Spike's being explored. This was an emergency however. He went cautiously down the stairs with a stake tucked reassuringly into the back of his waistband. He saw the pale feet first as he rounded the corner. He saw pale legs. He saw all the pale flesh spread out on the bed; he saw the muscles perfectly formed; he saw a relaxed, human expression on the face, and he acknowledged the beauty he saw there. Lastly, he saw the small grey ball of fur with the obviously new red cast that Spike had possessively tucked under his arm. Giles took a deep, thoughtful breath. He looked down at his feet for a while then looked back up at the beautiful vampire and knew that he had reached another crossroad in his long and interesting life. Being seduced by the dark arts had been his first: relinquishing them the second. Buffy being called was a sharp right hand bend; Jenny a soft curve he had tried to explore - attraction for a female not something he had ever thought to want - Angelus had set him back on his habitual straight and lonely road, and now this. Now a slim, naked vampire on a bed, who had proved himself to be so much more than the apparent sum of his dead parts, was standing firmly in his path.

He had chained Spike in his bathtub for weeks. He'd fought alongside him for over a year, but he had never once seen past what he had taken to be nothing more than a slick veneer. After all, he could have held a conversation with any vampire equally well: Darla or Harmony - well, all right, possibly not a long conversation there or one with any actual thought involved - either would have appeared just as rational and attractive for a short time. Veneer, however; it was all façade and illusion, and Giles had assumed that Spike was just that, too. No feelings: couldn't be hurt: treat him like a dead thing - worse, encourage the teenagers to deride and belittle him. 'Hey, the day's got a 'y' in it - must be a bait Spike day!' Giles wondered what Spike - from his perspective of one hundred and thirty years - felt about being tormented by American teenagers. Giles felt old compared to them (old and wise); what must this ancient being feel?

Giles sat down alongside the unconscious figure and laid a hand extremely cautiously on one cool flank. He wanted to get to know Spike, and he wanted to know what he knew; know what he felt, and what he thought.

He needed a new focus and a new study. He decided that Spike was going to be it. He had a perfect opportunity now, for Spike owed him.

Giles suddenly withdrew his hand from Spike's thigh, as long- repressed desires peeked out of their locked trunk at the contemplation of the ways that Spike could pay his debt. He slammed the lid firmly closed on all thoughts of paying in kind and, somewhat disturbed, quietly left the crypt.

Spike woke some hours later to the instant realisation that something had been in his lair as he slept. A quiet contemplation of the subtle shifts in scents told him that it had been the watcher, apparently watching him naked on the bed. Spike was intrigued - for all of one second - then he became angry… furious… he was sick of the double standards they all applied to him. If he walked in unannounced and stood watching them sleep, they'd probably stake him, but he was fair game anytime they felt like it. Spike refused to acknowledge the annoying thought that his anger at Rupert bloody Giles was a convenient way of deflecting anger at himself for being caught cuddling a puppy. Spike dressed and took the offending dog out for a few minutes while he had a cigarette then, leaving Fang to practice getting around with his fetching new cast, Spike made his way purposefully towards the magic shop. Rupert bloody Giles was not there, he was having a 'night off', so Spike made his way to the apartment. He'd half sworn never to come back here again after his previous treatment, but this was different. He had a metaphorical bone all ready to be picked over with the watcher - not as good as picking over his dead bones, but chipped beggars couldn't be choosers… and he must remember to stop and get Fang a bone from the butcher… hellhound training and all that.

Giles opened the door and immediately invited Spike in, which, in its turn, immediately put Spike on his guard. 'I wondered if you might show up again.'

Giles went to his desk and casually covered over one or two papers lying there.

'Why? Cus this is open house day or summit? Let's all go bleedin' visit each other… unannounced and unwelcome?'

Giles knew exactly what Spike was complaining about, but totally deflected his wrath by saying calmly, 'You're not unwelcome, Spike.'

Spike took a step back, and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He resisted the almost overwhelming temptation to turn around and see what big, ugly nasties the watcher had in store for him - he could see no other reason why his presence would be welcome - and resolutely faced him down instead. 'Uh huh.' It was lame; he knew it, but speech seemed to have temporarily departed for cooler climes.

'Yes, in fact…' Giles went into the kitchen and poured them both a large drink. '…I wanted to apologise for the other night. It's why I came over… rather difficult to knock at a crypt, so I just went in. Sorry.'

Spike perched disbelievingly on the arm of the couch.

'Two apologies, watcher. You have a bleedin' epiphany, mate? Or just going through the menopause maybe?'

Giles ignored the jibe and, with raised eyebrows, offered Spike the drink. He smiled a small, evil smile. 'I also wanted to discuss the terms of your repayment schedule.'

'Oh, yeah, fucking screw a poor man, why don't you?' Spike's expression subtly changed. 'So, what did you think?'

For one brief moment, Giles thought that Spike was asking what he thought of his naked body draped on the bed. He opened his mouth, hesitated for the first time that evening, but saw from Spike's look that he'd mistaken what the vampire had meant. Worse, he saw that Spike knew he'd thought first about those naked limbs and that Spike was not disturbed by this realisation. He actually saw Spike filing the knowledge away with an intrigued look.

Giles turned away to gain some recovery space then turned back and realised, with a trickle of anticipation down his spine, that some balance had fundamentally changed between them. He couldn't have said how, but he knew that they were both aware of it. Spike didn't look quite so cocky now, as if he, too, was puzzled by the shift in their relationship.

Spike recovered first though and with a friendly, amused smile, quietly repeated his question. 'So, what did you think?'

'I think he'll make a sweet pet for you, Spike.'

Spike's eyes flew open in outrage, and he stood up angrily, poking Giles in the chest as he spoke. 'It is not a pet. It is a vampire hellhound… get that straight, now!'

Giles caught his hand and stilled it. 'Ah, my mistake then, Spike. Now I think on it I can see that it was a hellhound. Yes, of course, must have been the size and general fluffiness that confused me.'

Spike gave a small grin, knowing he'd been rumbled. 'Yeah, well, give 'im a few months and the taste of human blood. He's a work in progress.' Spike noted with amusement that his hand was still held by Giles and couldn't resist a tiny jibe. 'Surprised you saw him at all… given you were looking at something else.'

Giles didn't fluster at this as Spike had expected him to. He tipped his head on one side and said calmly, 'It was rather difficult not to see you, Spike. You were quite blatant. And no harm ever came of looking.'

Only now did Spike ease his hand out of the watcher's. Giles looked down surprised as if he had genuinely not noticed he was holding it still.

'Funny that, watcher, I'd have thought looking was always the first stage. I always find looking sets me to wanting and wanting to needing and needing to…'

'…to getting your behind royally kicked on a regular basis?'

Spike laughed and ruefully shook his head. 'Yeah, that it does.' He suddenly looked Giles directly in the eye. 'Maybe I've been looking in the wrong direction then.'

Giles held his look and saw, once more, a crossroads in front of him. He was about to reply when Spike cheerfully spun on his heel and said, 'Oh, I've gotta get me film - left it here the other night.'

Giles now suspected that he was being played. Everything Spike did or said seemed carefully calculated to cause a reaction of some sort in a complex game of his own devising. Behind Spike's back, Giles grinned. He, too, was a master of strategy, and he hadn't had a worthy opponent for years.

'I err… bought you some things, Spike.'

Spike turned, surprised. He'd expected his ambiguous comment and sudden changing of the subject to throw the watcher. He knew their relationship had subtlety shifted since his arrival, but he thought himself an expert on the nuances of human reaction, and felt confident he could play the game to whatever interesting conclusion it led. Giles' total immunity to his tactics rather threw him.

Spike looked over to the counter where Giles was indicating a small stack of tins. He wandered over and picked one up. 'Chummy - For the Healthy, Happy Puppy'.

'Do hellhounds eat dog food, Spike? You seemed a little out of supplies when I visited.'

With his back to Giles, Spike grinned, but by the time he'd turned around he had a scornful expression on his face. 'I can fucking feed me own dog… hound, mate.'

'Fine, I'll return them then.'

'Spike hesitated, then grinned openly and shrugged. 'Sure… be a while 'for he can digest human meat… Chummy'll do 'til then.'

Giles smiled, too, and indicated the bottle. 'Another?'

Spike laughed. 'You gonna get drunk and insult me again?'

'I don't need to be drunk to do that, Spike. You are very insultable when I'm sober.'

'Yeah, I'd noticed.'

Giles refilled his glass. 'So, let's discuss repayment terms.'

'Oh, bloody hell, what'd'ya want, watcher? Free bloody patrolling for a week? Vampires staked - ten dollars off the loan a vamp?'

'No, I was thinking along the lines of more… personal services.'

'Eh?' Spike actually looked up nervously, and Giles reigned in his gleeful laugh. Spike wasn't the only one who could step up the pressure and disconcert his prey… and had he just called Spike prey?

'I've been doing a collection of portraits of people here in Sunnydale. I've done most of the gang… here, look.' Giles uncovered the papers he had hidden earlier. Spike came nearer hesitantly and saw a series of charcoal sketches, mainly of Buffy and Willow, but also some of Xander and Dawn and one of Angel. Spike picked that one up and studied it closely. Like all the others it was excellent. It seemed to capture the essential demonic nature of the subject whilst also showing the newer, overlaying soul.

'It's good.'

'Thank you. That one was done from memory.'

'So… you want what?'

'I want you to pose for me.'

'Uh huh. Now you know that's not gonna bloody happen.'

'Fine. Only it seemed an easy way for you to work off your debt - a few sessions, you could watch TV while I sketched - but I fully understand. Well, it had better be shelf stacking at the shop then.' Giles turned away with his most unconcerned look. He left Spike looking at the pictures.

'How would I have to pose? I'm not taking anything off.'

'I should jolly well think not! No, I'd want to capture the essential you… duster and docs I was thinking.'

'The essential me, hey?' Spike laughed. 'I didn't know there was one of those. Okay then, if I can keep all me threads on, I'll do it.'

'Good. We'll start tomorrow evening. Bring over some more films if you want. It does take a while, and I don't want you to get bored and fidget.'

'I'll be still as the dead.'

Spike started to leave. Giles' quiet voice made him stop and turn. 'You can bring the dog, too, if you want, Spike. I might do one of you both. Vampire master with his hellhound… what do you say?' Spike screwed up his eyes and pursed his lips, trying to imagine the picture. Called like this on his pretence, he could not make Fang anything more in his mind than a small fluffy puppy with a bad leg. Giles smiled inwardly at Spike's obvious dilemma, but kept his face utterly passive.

Suddenly Spike brightened. 'Oh! He's a bit small to sit still… but I'll bring him over… he needs to start his human aversion training, and he won't meet any stuck in me crypt.'

'Quite. Good thinking, Spike.'

Spike sighed in relief that he would not go into immortality on canvas cuddling a puppy, and stomped out, relieved his Big Bad persona was still in tact.

The following night, puppy in pocket and DVDs and beer in hand, Spike arrived for his first sitting.

He perched on the couch watching Giles make his preparations. 'Take that chair, Spike. Put it where you can see the TV and sit astride it facing me… lean your arms on the back… that's it. Now, can you keep still for an hour or two?'

Spike clenched his teeth and did not reply. Giles started to draw. He could almost feel the tension radiating off the vampire. It transmitted itself to his charcoal, affecting the lines and angles of the face.

'Would you like a drink, Spike?'

'Am I allowed to bleedin' reply?'

Giles laughed and got up to fetch an exceptionally large whisky.

'Trying to get me drunk, watcher?'

'A little, maybe. I'm trying to get you to relax.'

'Ah… that's not going to happen… this is too…'

'What, Spike? Too difficult for you?'

'No, I was gonna say too intimate, but that seemed too intimate to say.'

'It is intimate in a way. As I said, I'm trying to capture the essential you. I need to study you, think about you, and try to represent that in the lines of charcoal on the paper.'

'There you go then; that's why I'm tense.'

'You must know you are beautiful, Spike.'

'Eh! What the fuck!'

'Sit down! Don't move…'

'Well! What do you bloody expect? Don't call me that… I'm not a fucking poof.'

'You don't think men can be intrinsically beautiful?'

'Mate, I'm a demon. Where I usually hang out you don't discuss men being beautiful - not if you want to keep your knackers intact you don't.'

'Odd that then, Spike. I was under the distinct impression demons weren't too fussy what or who they copulated with.'

'Hey! We ain't bleedin' zoo animals!'

'Avoiding the question, Spike?'

'It wasn't a question, watcher. It was a statement.'

'Ah, so it's true then?'

'We can shag it - we just don't call it beautiful.'

'Subtle distinctions, Spike.'

'Well, demons… you know… like subtle. Subtle good.'

Giles started to add chalk highlights and the soft substance oozed across the paper, the lines now fluid and smooth with Spike's relaxed pose. He smiled slightly and got up to refill the drinks. Spike held out his glass, and their skin touched briefly before Spike jerked his hand back. Giles turned back to his seat puzzled at the vampire's reaction but also slightly pleased. This pleasure puzzled him, too, and he restarted his portrait with a distracted air. He sketched in Spike's body shape, intending to add the dark shading of his clothes later. His hand hesitated as he firmed over one knee. He closed his eyes, and in his imagination his chalk slid over the inside of Spike's thigh to where, even on a vampire, the muscles would surely be soft and sensitive. Would Spike feel a slow stroking of those muscles?

He opened his eyes, embarrassed, and continued to fill in the slim outline he had created. Spike was now quiet; his eyes fixed intently on the artist. Giles badly needed to adjust his clothing. To his shame he was painfully erect, and the erection was trapped in the front of his pants, throbbing in an unpleasant way. He laid his work down and, claiming casually that he needed to pee, went quickly to the bathroom.

He leant his forehead on the cold mirror wearily. He was disconcerted. He had not meant it to go this far… he had not wanted to be out of control. Control was important to Giles; he had seen the dangerous outcomes that could occur in its absence. He decided to end this game before it went any further… before he went any further. He would stop this ridiculous study. He would cancel the debt.

'Debt cancelled yet?' As if echoing his own thoughts, Spike's quiet voice slid over him.

The vampire's unexpected presence, leaning casually on the doorframe, totally unnerved Giles. He had not yet done what he had come into the bathroom to do, and his painful erection filled his thoughts. He looked at his reflection for a moment, fought for mastery of his baser desires, but acknowledged their truth. 'No Spike, it's not. Two hundred dollars, that's ten sittings at the usual rate for an untrained model. We'll finish this session, and I'll want you again tomorrow.'

Not hearing the many layers in Giles' answer, Spike stomped back to the living room. 'You call me a model again an' you'll be using that chalk as a suppository.'

Committed now, Giles allowed himself a small self-deprecating smile. 'Oh… shut up, Spike, and watch the telly.'

The rest of the sitting went without incident, except for one minor puppy-related accident that, as Spike was posing and therefore keeping very still, he could not possibly get up and clean. Giles finally stood up with a quiet 'Enough.' Spike leant back gratefully, twisting his head from side-to-side and flexing his shoulders.

'Bloody hell. Come on then, let me see it!'

Giles looked down at the image he had captured on the paper and knew he could not show it to Spike. It was the vampire seen through a filter of unadulterated desire. He hastily tucked it into his folder and held that rather childishly behind his back. 'When it's finished.'

'Hey, no fair!'

'Yes fair - I may change my mind about the expression. If you see it now...'

'Jesus, take yourself seriously, or what?' Spike threw himself on the couch and continued to knead his neck muscles with one hand. Giles watched the hand with avid interest.

'Yes, I suppose I do rather. I went to art school you know… I wanted to… but then I was called… crossroads, Spike, always crossroads.'

He had not expected Spike to be interested in this or to reply, so was surprised when he looked up and said, 'Yeah, tell me 'bout it. I was gonna do all sorts 'fore I got turned… now look at me.'

Giles laughed, relaxing a little and beginning to enjoy himself once more. 'I have been, Spike, quite intently for almost three hours. I think I've seen enough, don't you?'

Spike suddenly gave him a disconcerting look and did not allow him to drop his gaze. 'You tell me, watcher. You're the one giving off the rather obvious signals all night… not me… I'm dead. But then you know that, don't you?' Spike twitched his lips, swept up the dog in one hand and swaggered out with a cheeky, 'See ya,' over his shoulder.

His cockiness fell from him as soon as Spike reached the cool night air. He leant his head against the smooth trunk of a tree outside the apartment for a moment before he could summon the will to walk to his bike. His hand slipped down to his crotch and he wrinkled his brow, puzzled. He had not had such an urgent erection in a long time, and it disturbed him. He had not wanted to pose for the watcher, so why was he aroused by it now? More importantly, how did he now cope with the knowledge that he had made the watcher hard, too? He had not had that effect, as far as he knew, on a human male before. That he had now, ruffled him.

He did not sleep well all day. He continued to rewind the evening in his mind. He had a feeling he was being played; that his game had been subtly changed so he was no longer deciding the rules. He'd never met anyone other than Angelus who could do that, and Angelus had had a distinct advantage in that they shared the same blood so, when he wanted to, the sire could read the childe like an open book. That a human could be playing mind games with him was intriguing. He thought he might even put off the disembowelment to see where and how this absorbing game was going to play out. He woke before sunset… excited. He was excited, something he had not felt for years, and he treasured the emotion.

Giles had at least had activity to distract him all day. He would not let his thoughts dwell on Spike and found, as a result of that intention, that he thought about him constantly. Thinking about him generally had little effect, it was when he thought of him from an artist's perspective that he found himself becoming embarrassingly hard, hot and uncomfortable. He had taken the unfinished picture to the shop with him and, when alone, glanced at it curiously. He was utterly dissatisfied with it, and as the day wore on he began to see what was lacking… or rather what was there that should not be. Giles knew that the perfection of the picture was in the way he had captured the skin tones and the sharp musculature of the face. Its faults were where the clothes began.

Giles wanted to draw Spike naked; his mind ached to see those muscles once more and to capture them forever in fluid chalk lines. He began to look forward to the evening's session with a tingle of suppressed desire, but also with an overwhelming sense of frustration at the knowledge that this desire would not be fulfilled.

Spike arrived for his second sitting on time and without the dog. When Giles raised his eyebrows questioningly, Spike said casually, `'E was embarrassed `bout last night. Clem's sitting `im. They're watching reruns of Lassie.'

Giles began to gather his supplies; Spike helped himself to a drink, uninvited. He seemed distracted and paced around the apartment picking things up and putting them back down as if he had never seen any of them before. Giles watched him out of the corner of his eye, trying to gauge his mood.

Eventually Spike stopped pacing and turned. `So, are you gonna carry on with the same picture, or do another?'

Surprised, Giles laid down his paper. `Err... I hadn't thought. I would like to try some other poses, I suppose...'

`Good, cus I've decided what the essential Spike is...' and with that, Spike stripped off his tee shirt, kicked off his boots and, turning his back to Giles, stepped out of his jeans. He flung himself down on the couch on his belly and faced Giles with a coy expression. `Better?'

`Bloody hell! No! I mean... what happened to the "I don't want to take anything off"?'

`Told ya – decided this was the essential me, I'm calling it `Vampire at Rest".' He grinned and let one arm dangle to the floor in a lazy way.

Giles sat still. He was stunned. Again he felt the game had been taken out of his control. Spike had gained some considerable advantage over him, but he didn't know why the vampire had chosen this particular twist to his game. He settled down to sketch without further comment, but then grinned inwardly.

`You must be cold, Spike.' Giles got up casually, lit the fire he rarely used, and watched with satisfaction as it caught swiftly with a satisfying glow.

The effect of the firelight on Spike's skin was magnificent, and Giles congratulated himself on his ploy. Not only had he shown little reaction to Spike's deviousness, he had mirrored the underlying sensuousness of his tactics. Spike did not comment on the fire except to stretch languorously to its heat.

The sitting commenced.

His head bent to his paper, Giles decided to keep the initiative. `So, Spike. You can `shag it' but you don't call it beautiful. Explain this gender bending thing to me; I'm intrigued.'

`Mate. Naked or not, chip or not, you're gonna get yourself filled in, in a minute.'

`No, honestly, Spike. I'm genuinely interested. I surmise you weren't gay as a human?' He outlined the whole of Spike's flowing shape on the couch in one bold stroke.

`Hey! Fuck you – surmise is right! You got bleedin' done for that sorta thing where I came from.'

Subtle shading emphasised the split of Spike's legs and cheeks, each buttock becoming rounded under Giles' soft stroking. `I know, that's why I'm curious. So, how does it start... when you die... get turned? And I do so love that euphemism, turned, by the way. But seriously, when did you find your interests changing?'

`Will you stop making me sound like some old predatory git with an' 'ole in me raincoat! I didn't change; I evolved.'

`Evolved? You've lost me.' He started highlighting Spike's musculature with soft white chalk, sliding it smoothly, as if a tongue, down each hard, veined bicep.

`Wish I bloody could. Look... last century and you couldn't have shagged a black girl, could you?'

Giles chose a thin pencil and sketched in each long, surprisingly delicate looking finger, making them almost come alive and active under his hand. `Possibly not in England, no.'

`But now no one thinks twice `bout it, do they?'

`No, but I don't see the connection, Spike.' His pencil connected the sinews to the hollows of Spike's shoulder.

`It's all to do with distinctions. You've lost your colour distinctions; we lose our gender ones.'

Giles blurred the harsh edges of Spike's cheekbone slightly to see the effect, smudging his wet thumb over the charcoal, and feeling the bone beneath the skin. `So, you don't see yourself as a man... male, so to speak?'

`Fuck you, bastard. I'll turn over if you like, and let you decide for yourself.'

Giles' hand paused in the act of running down Spike's spine. He closed his eyes briefly as he imagined that turning. Spike's flawless white body would have a dark, intriguing region that would draw the eye. He pictured choosing a pencil to capture that tightly curled hair and visualised how the pale penis would stand erect from its dark nest. He could almost see the strokes of white chalk he would use to bring out the shaft's unearthly power. Perhaps he would use a dark charcoal to smudge a suggestion of deep shade, emphasising the ridged cockhead. On this stark black and white picture he might choose a soft pink to swell and expose the smooth tip; it would be a single blush of colour, and the only focus for the eye. One sharp graphic line would capture the slit, larger, perhaps, than in real life, and he would use a cleverly shaded, gleaming drop of pre-cum to give it full expression and life.

`Err... no. Thank you, Spike. I'll pass on that.' Giles hoped his voice was steadier than his hand when he resumed the exploration of Spike's complex spinal definition. `So, you are a man, but you don't see other people's or demons' gender differences... is that it?'

`Oh, shut up, watcher. I just fancy what I fancy. `k? I can - so I do. Passes the bleedin' day, and it feels good, and there aren't too many good lookin' demons around anyway. I can't afford to be limited to one sex.'

The small hollow in Spike's hip defeated Giles, and he had to study it for a long time to see its essential nature. When Spike made only the smallest of movements on the couch it flexed and changed shape. `Keep still, Spike, you're wriggling.'

`Yeah, well, this is...'

`Boring? Sorry about that. I said watch a film.'

`Stimulating. I was going to say stimulating.'

Giles did not comment on this, but thinking about that stimulation and the slight movements Spike made did not help his concentration on the hollow he was shading. `Why only demons then, Spike? Why are you limited to demons? I would have thought you'd be able to attract a human... if they were drunk enough or senile perhaps.'

Spike smiled and again the maddening twitch of his hip had Giles entranced. `I can't shag humans.'

Giles caught Spike's gaze for the first time during this sitting; his pencil stilled. `What?' Did he hear a slight disappointment in his own voice?

`Courtesy of the fucking initiative. Chip see...'

Giles didn't.

`I can't give pain, can I? All penetration gives some pain... and I should know... err... you don't know if you've not tried it, mate. So humans... out.'

Giles let out a small sigh of relief but did not allow himself to recognise the sound as such. He had now reached Spike's buttocks. He contemplated his first quick attempts at capture and made one or two subtle changes in their shape. He could not help but smile when Spike's fidgeting increased as if subliminally he could sense where the artist was applying pressure.

`Maybe you should think more laterally, Spike.'

`I'm lying down already.'

`Very droll. Maybe you should consider receiving... not giving. You can take pain I gather?'

`I like pain.'

`I thought so. There you are then, problem solved, no?'

`Be a receiver?'

Silence descended on them for a while. Spike tried to decide if he had just been made an offer. Giles tried to decide this, too.

Eventually Spike said quietly, as if to his hand, which he was studying with feigned interest. `My gender bending – as you so charmingly put it – don't extend to humans.'

Giles congratulated himself on his composure. `That's just as well I suppose, seeing as no one you know would volunteer for the penetrating.'

Spike knew the game had just taken a new path once again and chuckled. `I think Harris might.'

Giles laughed, too. `We were discussing people accountable for their actions, no?'

They grinned at each other, pleased with this game. Both felt they had won some points and without conceding any vital ground.

Giles got up and refilled their glasses. He was hot, and could feel a warm arousal suffusing his entire body. He looked at the fire briefly as he put Spike's glass down on the floor for him, then with a inward smile at his own sagacity said nonchalantly, `Are you warm enough?' and laid his hand on Spike's back. Spike groaned and quickly covered by coughing slightly into his drink.

`Yeah, surprisingly, mate. I'm quite warm... hot even.'

Giles grinned and resumed his seat. He could still feel the unnaturally warmed skin under his hand and wondered idly if it would warm thus from friction.

Whisky in hands and bellies, they resumed the sitting. Giles decided he would add some subtle colouring to emphasis certain parts and lingered over his selection of chalks.

Spike began to feel the soporific effects of the warmth and the drink, but he came back to focus at Giles' next words. `What do you miss most, Spike, about not being human?'

Spike glanced over at Giles' bent head, surprised. Giles looked up and smiled, and Spike relaxed into the smile; he could see no traps in the simple question. When he didn't answer immediately, Giles prompted, `Sun?'

Spike thought for a moment. He swirled his finger in his glass and absentmindedly sucked on it.

`Spike... don't move.' The thumb ring was given a sensuous, midnight blue shadow, and Giles was pleased with the way this drew his eye. He allowed his gaze to linger on the real thumb for a moment just to ensure he had the right effect.

`Sorry. Nah, not the sun. Can't miss what you've never had, can you?'

`Oh come on, you were human for what? Twenty years?' He kept the blue in his hand, hesitating over Spike's eyes. Could he attempt to capture their ever-changing expression with his limited human talent?

`Bit longer.'

`So, you must miss it.' A faint first dab of colour to the iris... it was perfect, and he smiled.

`Mate, I was human in London in the nineteenth century. I never saw the bleedin' sun.'

Emphasised thus, Spike's eyes held him in a hypnotic stare. He felt impaled by the ambiguity he saw in them. `Well, what then? Food? I suppose you ate in Victorian England?'

`Course. But weren't my thing, if you know what I mean. Never been interested in food really.'

Giles cocked an eyebrow and coughed, amused.

`What?'

`Spike, you are the greediest vampire I have ever met; you are always raiding my fridge and eating one hideous snack after another.'

`Oh, snacks... I thought you were talking `bout real food... roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, spotted dick. Never been one for spotted dick much. So, not real food then... American food, that's different.'

Only the feet now needed completion. He had left them to the last. `So, what? There must be something you miss.'

`Why? Why do you assume I don't relish being a vampire? Typical bloody arrogance of humans to assume there is anything of your life I miss.'

The toes were so human Giles' hand stilled reverently over them. `It's not arrogance, Spike, it's merely my observation. You are so... sometimes you seem so... `

`Lacking?'

`Sad. You seem so sad, and I thought it might be because you miss something.'

Spike was quiet for a few minutes; he continued to play with his glass on the floor, running his finger around the rim then tapping the crystal. Finally he said, with a strangely flat tone, `If you must know, it's this I miss.'

It was Giles' turn to be surprised. He stopped stroking the soft sole of Spike's bare foot and looked up. `What... the fire? Posing for me?'

Spike laughed, and his voice returned to its habitual cocky tones. `Fuck off. No, I miss the conversation. I miss being taken seriously.'

`Oh.' Giles felt there was very little else he could say to this.

`Yeah, there you go. Sad hey? Mind you, I've been two vampires, so I'm a bit odd, like, in me tastes.'

Giles had finished and was studying his creation, so his answer was distracted. `Two?'

`Well, yeah. Pre-chip: post-chip. I didn't miss much of anything before this ruddy chip... too busy fighting, feeding and fucking. But now... well, I've got sorta slowed down. I can't do those things, so I just wanna talk sometimes, be treated...'

`Like a human?'

`Yes. Like a human.'

Giles put down his paper and sketching tools and looked directly at Spike. `Especially when you are doing essential vampire research?'

`Ah...' Spike flashed him a small, self-deprecating grin. `Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Backfired on me though. Misjudged me audience.'

`Oh, I don't know, Spike. You're here now, aren't you?'

`Yeah, I am.' Spike swung his legs off the couch and sat up. Giles flushed and turned away. Spike smiled evilly at his turned back. `How's about a pose like this next time?' Giles did not turn around to see what Spike meant and continued to pack away his chalks. He heard a small chuckle and glanced over his shoulder to see Spike dressing. He had already pulled on his jeans and shirt and was lacing his boots. Furious with himself for falling for the ruse, Giles took the bait another way.

`Yes, all right, Spike, we'll do a naked front pose tomorrow, shall we? It would complete the portfolio nicely.' He turned his back to Spike, poking at the fire, pleased when he heard Spike's dressing motions still for a moment.

The next thing he knew, a hand was laid softly on his shoulder, and a voice whispered in his ear. `Giles, few more sessions and I'll let you experience the essential Spike in more than one dimension, shall I?'

Before Giles could reply, Spike was gone.

Spike didn't even make it to the tree this time. He collapsed against the wall of the house to one side of the door. He wished he needed to breathe; it seemed appropriate - long, slow, calming breaths. Every stroke of the pencil… every highlight of chalk… he had felt them as if it had been Giles' tongue caressing him. What had they spoken of? He didn't know. He thought at one point Giles had asked to fuck him, but didn't think that likely. Gradually, as the urgency of his arousal subsided, the evening unravelled in his mind and something of their conversation returned. He smiled; he felt buoyant. He had been offered an opportunity to explore something new and, for an eternal creature, that was rare and not to be lightly dismissed… but could he do it? Where would the Big Bad go if supine under that tantalizingly discreet body? Who would he be when that exploration had been… consummated? What new vampire would emerge from the bonfire of that passion? - for he did not doubt that there would be passion. He had felt Giles' suppressed desire for him; it was what was holding him captive to this cool alabaster wall. Spike shrugged; unlife was too long to forgo exploration. He grinned, pushed off the wall, and wondered how he would fill the coming day. Anticipation drove with him to his crypt. He felt vital and alive.

Clem met him at the door with a nervous, guilty look.

'What?' Spike felt his mood plummet. Clem did not look happy.

'I'm sorry, Spike. He's gone.'

'Who?' but he already knew.

'Fang… I put 'im out for a pee… I watched 'im… then I looked away. Well, all right, I had a pee, too… and when I looked back, he was gone!'

'Gone!' Clem was good at reading his friend and took a small step back.

'Yeah. I looked around, Spike, honest. I looked everywhere.'

Gone.

Spike turned and went back out into the coming dawn. He called and searched for his dog for as long as the darkness allowed him.

He would find him, for how could a small puppy with a broken leg evade a master vampire who wanted to find him?

The cemetery was so full of night scents he could not distinguish one from the other and, when forced inside by a burning on his skin, he had to agree with Clem that Fang was indeed gone.

Once more Clem looked anxiously at Spike's expression. He thought Spike looked calm but, nevertheless, tried to cheer him up a bit. He held out a new leash and collar he'd bought for the puppy to show Spike. 'Look, see… I didn't mean to lose him; bought him these.'

When Clem left some time after he hesitated, unwilling to leave Spike in such a… state. He'd never seen his friend utterly lose it before, and it was not something he wished to see again. It had been the leash that had done it… he'd been stupid… he should have hidden it. He turned away from the crypt and made his way home, whistling sadly every so often, hoping a small, familiar figure might still appear.

Giles didn't go to the shop that day. He took off in his car and went for a long walk in the hills. He wanted physical exhaustion; he wanted to forget; he wanted to overcome his desire. He wanted to be alone and to think about the coming night. How would Spike pose? Sitting? - just a glimpse of his penis behind the chair back?… or blatant? - stretched on the couch, his arousal enjoyed by both of them? Where would it lead? Was he ready for what he surely knew was coming? He had left that side of himself behind with the dark magics that had given it air to breathe. Could he rip flesh once more? Could he penetrate and take? What new man would be born from this penetration, and what would die? He'd chosen a good place to come to ask these unanswerable questions, for there was no one to see his confusion and his… determination. He left the hills in good time for the darkness that was coming and returned to Sunnydale ready, eager and aroused.

Disappointment was too mild a word to describe how Giles felt when some hours after dark, Spike had not appeared. Still, for the first hour or so, he continued to tell himself that this was all he was… disappointed. It was only as the fire died and his empty paper started to mock him that he allowed his emotions freer reign. He felt played. It made him feel dirty, old and naïve. He had toyed with the devil, and the devil had seduced him. He started to tidy his stuff away, trying to maintain his habitual reserve, but suddenly straightened remembering a small piece of technology that gave him the upper hand with the devil. He grinned and left, slamming his door in a satisfactory way.

The cemetery was eerie but still, and although Giles kept a large stake in his hand, he made it to Spike's crypt unmolested. He looked at the stake for a moment before entering but left it at the door. No need to tempt himself too much. If he wanted it, Spike would not be able to prevent him fetching it. Although he knew he was invulnerable to Spike's unnatural strength and speed, Giles nevertheless felt a surge of tension course through him at the thought of the coming confrontation. It might not be the ripping he had been anticipating, but it had its charms nonetheless. Heedless of Spike's earlier annoyance at unannounced and unwelcome visitors, Giles pushed open the door.

The sight that greeted him was shocking. All his intentions, all his anger dissipated as he regarded the smashed tomb lids, the broken furniture, the scarred floor and the smears of blood on the walls. He hurried down the stairs following a trail of ripped and broken items. The lower regions were no better. There was little left that was recognisable. A whirlwind of destruction had decimated the crypt. Picking his way over broken glass and shredded clothing, he was immensely relieved to find Spike lying face down on the bed, unmoving, his hands buried under his pillow. He did not even bother to chastise himself for his rapid change of heart but, staking and punishment forgotten, sat beside him on the bed and stretched out a hesitant hand.

'Spike?'

'Go away.'

Spike's voice had none of its usual animation. It was flat and toneless and this alarmed Giles almost as much as the destruction in the crypt. He was rather at a loss what to do. He had very little experience of giving comfort, but then he smiled slightly… what else had he been doing since coming to Sunnydale? He sat quietly on the bed next to Spike for a long time. Eventually, Spike repeated, 'Go away.'

It rather unnerved Giles that Spike could lie so still, tolerating his presence, and yet so deep in his own thoughts. A human would have reacted by now, moved, precipitated events, but this vampire lay… as if dead. Giles didn't like this thought, it reminded him too much of his earlier assumptions and somehow made him feel partially responsible for this state of affairs. He put his hand back to Spike's shoulder and began a soft circling of the tense muscle. Spike twitched him off and moved further away. 'Go away.'

'Wanting doesn't make it come true, Spike. Make me.'

'If I could, I would. Rub it in, why don't you?'

Giles was pleased. At least Spike was talking now. 'I suppose if I ask you what happened, you wouldn't tell me.'

There was no reply to this. Giles sighed and studied Spike. He appeared to be wearing the same clothes he had stripped out of the night before although, with Spike, this was rather hard to say with certainty. Suddenly Giles saw a faint red stain on the pillow and glancing down at the back of Spike's head, lifted the corner up. He winced at the injuries Spike had been hiding. His hands, so recently admired and delineated by Giles' pencil, had been smashed and broken to bloody pulps. The pain must have been extraordinary, even for a vampire, and once more Giles felt at a loss. Until this point he had assumed something else had done the damage to the crypt. He looked around once more, bewildered at the extent of the destruction.

After a few moments, Giles shifted so he was sitting against the wall and stretched out his legs. With a deep sigh of commitment to something he had not been looking for, he pulled Spike's slightly resistant head into his lap. He started a reflexive, thoughtful stroking of the surprisingly soft blond hair. When had desire been enhanced by caring? He did not remember the addition, but it was here now. He wanted to offer comfort and make right what was clearly so wrong, and the only thing he could think to do was this almost subliminal stroking of Spike's hair.

Once more a 'Go away' was uttered by a mouth now buried against Giles' thigh, but it was a much more hesitant and less certain command.

Giles only extended the length of his strokes so they took in Spike's neck and eventually his shoulders. Some time later his hand moved down Spike's spine and, as he started to move it back up, Spike's tee shirt hitched loose. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for Giles' hand to slide inside and travel back up the distinct spine, warming the unnatural skin. He felt Spike tense slightly in his lap but did not stop his caress. He closed his eyes as his hand moved under the soft black material. He didn't need to be able to see Spike's back - every line, every curve, every ridge was fixed in his mind. As if he held charcoal once more, Giles started to shade in the muscles, he drew lines over the prominent shoulder blades, he highlighted the hollows of Spike's arms with his pale chalk. The cool skin seemed to warm under his hand as he had imagined it would, and he increased the friction. On one long stroke down his hand connected with the waistband of Spike's jeans. Slim as the vampire was, it gaped, and it seemed even more natural than stroking Spike's back that Giles should slip his hand inside that irresistible space. Spike's backside was hard and almost flat. There was no sensation of movement from the cheeks as Giles caressed them. He smiled and realised he had made them slightly too fleshy in the picture and was glad he had been given this chance to feel them for himself. The crevice between the toned cheeks parted easily to Giles' probing touch. He hesitated as he felt the smooth valley, which would run down to Spike's soft entrance.

Suddenly, Spike reared up. He punched Giles one hard, furious blow. Giles could not have said what shocked him more - Spike's attack, or that Spike's pain was clearly so much more than his, not only from the effects of the chip, but from the added damage to his hand. Spike seemed utterly heedless of either.

Alarmed, Giles half slipped, half tumbled off the edge of the bed, holding his jaw and replacing his glasses which had slipped. He staggered back against the wall as the vampire descended on him. The second blow connected with his stomach. Spike's cry made Giles wince more than the pain in his belly, and he tried to catch the vampire as he fell to his knees in agony. Spike only grasped the offered hand and bit it, savagely. He tried to hold on and worry at Giles' flesh but gagged slightly and had to let go as the pain of giving pain made his gorge rise.

Giles came back hesitantly to the collapsed figure and Spike placed one more, albeit weak, blow on his knee cap. `Stop it!' Giles' voice was commanding, censorial, and it only seemed to reenergize Spike. He staggered to his feet and punched Giles once more, biting his lip half through as a new wave of pain hit him. Giles could not make Spike stop; he didn't want to leave, so he did the only thing he could think of... he hit back. Years of training Buffy had honed his fighting skills, and it was a hard, accurate and extremely painful punch - but it was like connecting with marble, and he shook his hand angrily.

The blow was a waste of time; Spike took no notice of it, only punched Giles once more in the belly. Spike's scream of pain might have melted harder hearts than Giles'; it totally undid the bewildered watcher.

He saw another blow coming from the agonised vampire and had only one more tactic to try. He didn't allow any evidence of pain to cross his face, appear in his body, or leave his lips. Nothing; he made himself as if of stone and impenetrable.

It seemed to work. The light blow appeared to give Spike no pain so, unbelievably, the vampire tried it again, but Giles had now had enough. He grabbed Spike's fist and, straddling his back, twisted the strong arm up behind Spike's back.

Giles was strong and heavy and had the advantage of being able to bring a searing agony to Spike's brain if he wanted. Spike surrendered and lay face down on the floor, unresisting. Slowly, Giles stood up and sat on the bed, waiting for Spike to rise. It took a while, but eventually he gathered himself together and stood up, keeping his face averted.

`Just go, Watcher.'

`We've been here before, Spike. No.'

Suddenly Spike turned, and what he had not been able to achieve with his fists, he achieved with his expression, for Giles felt fear and shock wash over him. Tear-streaked, agonised, Spike's face made Giles look down, ashamed.

The vampire's voice was quiet, but it was intensely accusatory. `How could you, you cunt? What the fuck am I? An object? You come here, and see this...' he indicated the ruins of his home as if seeing it for the first time himself. `...you see this and you fondle me?' He gritted his teeth, but continued as if against his will. 'I let you hold me... I reached out...' Spike glanced down at the bed where he had let Giles pull him into his lap. `... and you feel me up? I'm know I'm not human...' his voice caught and rose slightly in pitch, and he waited until he calmed. `...I'm not human, but I'm not an object. GET OUT!'

Spike shook with the frustration of not being able to make Giles go. He felt a killing rage descend on him at his impotence. That he should be brought so low in front of the food shamed him, but he tried to muster some dignity and turned away from Giles.

It was then he saw it once more... a piece of plaited leather in two- tone blue, bought to match a puppy's eyes by a friend who had seen a lonely vampire's attachment to a living thing. Ragged and strung out, it was too much for Spike. He picked it up and held in loosely in his hand for a moment, and then making a tight fist with one broken hand, he began to complete the systematic destruction of his home.

Overwhelmed by self-loathing, Giles could do nothing at first but watch helplessly.

Spike did not see Giles' eventual resolution of the problem, for, stomping and grinding some of his favourite books into the floor, he felt only the briefest of hard blows to the back of his head before he fell into unconsciousness.

Spike woke some hours later to the knowledge that he was warm, comfortable, but that he had the mother of all headaches. He groaned, turned over, and found the overwhelming scent of the watcher permeating every inch of his soft resting-place. He cautiously opened his eyes and discovered that this was not surprising, for he was wrapped in Giles' bed in the soft light of an approaching dawn.

Even that tiny opening of his eyes caused his headache to sear further into his brain, and he pulled the sheet up over the pain and tried to go back to sleep. He didn't want to be in Giles' bed; he didn't want Fang to be gone; he didn't want to remember smashing up all his belongings and, most particularly, he didn't want to remember his rather effeminate, hormonal rant to Giles that he was not an object. On all counts he had the distinctly nauseous thought that all he needed was to start a soddin' period and he'd have achieved the dubious status of being a total, fucking bitch. He groaned again from his hiding place under the sheet and decided that he didn't really want much of anything, and that this was one of those times in his unlife when longevity held very little appeal.

Giles stood just outside the room, leaning on the wall to one side of the open door. He listened to Spike's awakening; he heard the unmistakable pain that he knew would be as much emotional as physical, and he longed to go in and offer comfort once more… but he knew he had lost that privilege now. He was a loathsome man. He had taken something that was in pain, and he had abused it. He closed his eyes to the memories of his hand slipping inside Spike's jeans and the feel of that silky skin under his palm. He had no right to think of it now, and he cut off the memories before they could give him any pleasure.

Giles' guilt had driven him to bring Spike back to his house; his concern had made him give up his bed, and his self-disgust kept him distant. He went downstairs and sat in the gradually lightening room, feeling old and tired. The eagerness and anticipation of only a few hours ago were all gone, and in their place came a weary depression of spirits he could not master. Eventually, he dozed off on the couch and did not hear Spike come down from the bedroom, nor hear the domestic sounds of the kettle being switched on and the fridge raided. He woke to the sensation of something hot touching his hand and opened his eyes to find Spike sitting next to him, grinning, holding a hot mug of tea on the back of his hand.

'Bloody hell! Ow!'

'Morning.' Spike's chirpiness utterly confused Giles. He sat up, rubbing his hair, and shifted some distance away, but he took the mug of tea with him. Spike stayed on the couch watching him closely. Giles did not want to look at him and kept his eyes averted.

'I'm sorry, Giles.' It was the last thing Giles expected Spike to say, and he could sense that the vampire was pleased with its effect.

'You're sorry? What did you do? I mean… why are you sorry, Spike? It's me…'

'I lost it for a bit, and you were just there. I think I was a bit of a prat?' Giles had to smile at Spike's apparently fond hope that he might be contradicted on this. He shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment, leaning back in his chair.

'What I did was unforgivable, Spike.'

'By who?'

'Err, sorry? And whom, Spike, not who.'

Spike got up and began to pace the room in his habitual, restless manner. 'Whom can't forgive it? Not me… I kinda remember it in the spirit it was offered. So, forgive yourself, and it's over with… done.'

'But I didn't offer it in a kind or caring way; that's just the point…'

'I never said you did, did I?'

To Giles' total astonishment, Spike came purposefully towards him. He took Giles' face in both hands, placed a hard possessive kiss on his lips, then pulled away and said in an amused tone, 'You fancy me, and you just got a bit carried away… can't blame you for that, can I?' He grinned and walked jauntily back to the stairs. 'I'm going back to complete me vampire at rest impression. I'd love a cuppa if you feel like bringing me one in bed, ' and with that he sprung, two steps at a time, out of sight.

Spike made it to the top step, just out of sight, before he collapsed to his knees. He rested his forehead against the cool tiles of the floor, but this hurt his aching head too much. Standing up cautiously, one hand braced on the wall, he made his way back to the bedroom. He climbed into the bed and pulled the sheet up over his face once more. He half hoped that if he knew no one could see him, he wouldn't cry. He clenched his jaw, raised his eyes and blinked.

It wasn't the bleedin' dog itself - not wholly anyway. It was what the dog had represented in Spike's 'life'. New beginnings, proof that he was more than the sum of his dead parts, someone to need him, something for him to practice needing… all this, none of it… anything… everything. Spike's feelings for the dog had been complex; he had not wanted to be forced to examine them like this… not when his head felt as if someone had filled his skull with a balloon, which they were blowing up inch by inch, the pressure increasing and the pain swelling exponentially. He was the Big Bad though, and big bad things did not feel pain, or if they did, they did not show it. He congratulated himself on his performance for the watcher and closed his heart to all emotion.

Giles tipped his head back and rested it against the old leather of his armchair. It was too much… too much contrast to the solitary life he normally led. He felt as if he were still trying to catch up to his conversation with Spike during the last sitting, let alone come to terms with the events in Spike's crypt. Just as he was coping with that, once again, Spike threw him a curve… and had he just been kissed? His mind registered suddenly that he had. How he wished he had not been caught so… unprepared. He'd had no time to savour it, no time to taste the vampire, no time to smell his unique scent or to imprint all those impressions in his mind. He tried to recall them now, putting his tongue to his lips and licking delicately to capture a last remaining trace of Spike's lips.

Giles glanced towards the kettle and got up slowly to make the requested cup of tea. As he watched the steam rising from the spout, he raised his eyes in the direction of his bedroom. He thought about Spike; he thought about the vampire's kiss, but mostly he wondered why Spike had made such an effort to fool him. He suddenly started to doubt the basis of the game they were playing. He had assumed that he had an evenly matched opponent and that battles would be won or lost, but that the outcome of the war would remain uncertain to the last. He now felt very old, very wise and so much more devious than Spike. Spike, it now appeared to Giles, had a streak of naivety and vulnerability he had never considered before.

He went over to his desk and took out the picture he had drawn of the naked vampire. He frowned as he looked at it. It could have been any naked man - albeit one in superb physical condition and with an unnaturally pale skin - but where was Spike? He had not captured the demon that had given him such a strangely endearing performance just now. He had drawn the very veneer he had wanted to crack open and explore.

Giles didn't destroy the picture, but placed it carefully back into the folder. It was a work in progress. He had captured the flawless shell; it was time to give it life and meaning.

Spike heard Giles come into the room and surreptitiously wiped his face with the sheet before emerging. 'Hey! Tea. Didn't think you'd have the balls, watcher.'

'I don't make tea with balls, Spike, just water and milk.' Spike pouted and congratulated himself once more on his faultless performance. Giles sat beside him on the bed and put the tea onto the bedside table. He took off his glasses in a familiar gesture and pinched the bridge of his nose. Spike sipped his tea.

'Why are you putting on this front with me, Spike?'

'Eh?' Spike narrowly missed choking on the drink.

Giles pursed his lips, thoughtfully, and replaced his glasses.

'Why still the games, Spike?'

Spike turned to put his tea down, his mouth open to make a jaunty reply, when Giles unexpectedly laid a hand on the side of Spike's face. 'Does your head hurt?'

Caught out, Spike could only nod, weakly. Giles got up and went to the bathroom and took a handful of pills from one container, paused, took a large number from another and returned to Spike. 'I assume human medicines work on you to some extent? Alcohol seems to.'

Spike took all the pills and crunched them as if they were sweets. He swallowed and swilled the remains down with the tea. Giles watched him closely. 'You should rest.'

'Why… you thinking I might need me strength later?' Never one to give up when he was losing, Spike volunteered what he thought was a lascivious look and winked.

Giles noticeably, and rather theatrically, shivered, slowly shaking his head in despair. 'Don't Spike. Quit while you're ahead, hey?'

Spike pouted a little. What?'

'You don't have to put on this endless bravado with me any more, Spike. We've both been… laid bare. You know things about me I would have kept private, and I know that you are so far from being the Big Bad now that…'

'Shut up.' Spike's voice instantly lost all its forced jocularity.

'Why? Afraid of the truth, Spike?'

'The truth! The truth! Oh yeah… what about the truth then, watcher! Had yourself a good feel, didn't you… like that truth?'

'Bravado then deflection, Spike. Clever.'

'Shut up!'

'Bravado, deflection, immaturity! Anything else?'

To Giles' intense embarrassment, Spike suddenly twisted his face away and blinked once or twice, tipping his head back. 'Please, watcher, go away, hey? I'm a bit shagged... head 'an all.'

Full circle, crossroads… could he get it right this time?

Giles reached out to try.

He laid a hand on Spike's face once more. 'Lie down, Spike… it'll be gone soon.'

Keeping his face averted and his back turned, Spike slid down the bed. His shoulders were tense and Giles longed to knead and work them. He risked a tentative touch, and Spike did not flinch. He made himself comfortable alongside the edgy vampire and started to soften the unforgiving back. In pain as he was, Spike clearly enjoyed the easing of his tension. He wriggled his shoulders lightly under Giles touch and eventually turned on his belly to give Giles better access to his back. Giles stilled his hands for a moment and sat back on his heels. 'Do you trust me enough for this, Spike?'

They both knew he was referring to earlier exploratory hands. Spike turned his face to one side and gave a small, genuine smile. 'Can I?'

'Yes, Spike, you can.'

Spike gave him a quick glance over his shoulder. 'Damn.'

Giles laughed, and they both realised with pleasure that the game had resumed. Boundaries had been renegotiated, rules had been altered, and some cards had been laid face up on the table and shared.

'Just go to sleep, Spike. Oh, by the way, I've knocked a hundred dollars off your debt for my disgraceful lapse last night.'

Spike grinned. 'Huh. Cheers.'

Giles chuckled. 'Then I added ten back for each time you hit me and twenty for the bite, so we're back up to two hundred again.'

'Hey! Two sittings…'

'Yes, very well, one hundred and sixty.'

'I only hit you properly five times, so, with one bite, that's a hundred and fifty!'

'Head getting better I take it.'

'Enough to know when I'm being screwed, and hey… feel free to touch me up any time… for a hundred dollars you can lick my arse if you want to.'

'Don't sell yourself cheap, Spike. Some people would pay… oh, at least a hundred and five to kiss your ass.'

'Yeah, well, I'm kinda tired… not at me best for… negotiating…' Good as his word, Spike fell deeply asleep under Giles' hands.

Giles watched him for a moment, wondering how long the sleeping pills would be effective. He gave Spike a tiny, fond pat and climbed off, making his way downstairs. He had a long day ahead.

Giles finally finished just before sundown and returned home pleased with his day's work, but anxious and distracted by his discoveries. He opened the door and thought for one minute that Spike had rained a storm of destruction on his possessions as well. He had in a way, but as Giles looked around in shock, he saw subtle differences to this destruction. The fridge was standing open and milk cartons were spilt and dripped onto the floor. The microwave was smoking slightly and an indefinable object was burnt onto the revolving table. There was food scattered everywhere and a trail of crumbs and split substances lead up the stairs. Like a child in a fable, Giles followed the trail warily. He stepped on something that crunched under his feet and looked down to see small white objects randomly decorating the floor. Pills, whether pain relief or sleeping tablets (or something else) Giles could not immediately determine. Half way up the stairs there appeared to be a sort of... he could only describe it as a nest. He kicked lightly at blankets, which were lying next to a cereal bowl half full with something mushy. A spoon lay licked and discarded next to the bowl, and cast off black jeans and a tee shirt were placed as if sitting on the stairs sharing the feast.

He continued into the bedroom and found Spike naked, face down on the bed with his head hanging off one side. He appeared to be trying to shake hands with something on the floor that was not there.

Spike heard Giles come in and attempted to turn over, but he was twisted in the sheets and gave up the effort, lying with just his face turned towards the door. Giles could only describe him as... sort of awake. He was languid; his eyes were unfocused. Moving closer, Giles heard Spike murmur a quiet 'Hey,' but he continued to look bemused at his hand.

'What are you doing, Spike?'

'Why'd ya always reach out for me? Look.' Spike's voice was soft and slightly slurred. He stretched out once more as if to direct something then snatched his hand back annoyed.

Giles went in the bathroom and studied the raided medicine cabinet thoughtfully. He wasn't even sure himself what he had had in there... some of his old friends had interesting hobbies. There were pills and capsules scattered everywhere as if, like in a kid in a candy store, Spike had tried and discarded the range available. Giles sighed and went back to the bedroom to cope with a stoned vampire.

Stoned vampire had managed to turn over and was lying spread-eagled on the bed. Giles hissed slightly and covered Spike with a sheet before he had time to think, but the picture stayed in his mind as if he had looked at a light so bright it had burnt its image onto his retinas. He recalled it and studied it for a moment. The nest of curls had been as dark as he had pictured it; Spike's penis was pale – surprising really, for he was clearly erect - and that tantalising drop of precum that Giles had planned to capture with clever shading was as bright and as illusive as he had wanted it to be.

Spike giggled at Giles' manoeuvre with the sheet. `Why'd'ya do that, watcher? I'm gonna shag ya.'

'Hmm… ' Giles sat on the bed beside Spike and, laying a hand on the sharp cheekbone, turned Spike to face him. His eyes were utterly unfocused. `What have you done you stupid child?' Giles could not have rightly said why he called Spike that; it just seemed so appropriate as he held the drugged face in his hands.

Tears pricked the corners of Spikes' eyes and he tried to wipe them away, but missed, and his hand hit his ear. `It hurt, and dey tasted good.' Spike put his hand up to Giles' face with more success. `Kiss me.'

Giles pulled away fractionally but smiled. `You are stoned and are therefore not in your right mind – if you even have one of those – so I most certainly will not.'

`Nah... this is me right mind Rupshet... Ruperd... Giles... he's the wrong 'un...'

`Who, Spike? Lie down, and let go of my face.'

Spike giggled as he lay down and held Giles surprisingly tightly around the back of the neck. `'im... the big bad... that fucker... he's the wrong 'un... this's me. And me wants `t kiss ya.' Good as his word, he pulled Giles' lips down to his own and held them against him with the force of both hands. Giles was expecting a drunken, inexpert, rather slobbery kiss; he was shocked by his own arousal when soft, smooth, cool and sweet-tasting lips brushed his in a deceptively platonic way. It deceived him only for the time it took Spike's tongue to slip out and lick across Giles' lower lip. Opening his mouth in an automatic response, Giles was claimed. Spike pulled him right into the bed onto his back and twisted so he lay over him. The slim, naked vampire draped across him, making no movement with his body, but possessing him with his mouth.

Spike opened his mouth wide to Giles, forcing his tongue in to explore the soft, warm, human walls. He took off Giles' glasses, and that small removal shed some of the watcher's reserve. He responded to the kiss and opened his mouth to the vampire's passion. Giles' hands crept around to Spike's backside and clamped on each hard buttock. He dug his fingers in, trying to grind Spike more to him. Spike lifted his face from the kiss and grinned lopsidedly. 'Yeah, baby, squeeze me.'

Rather ruining the mood Spike obviously thought he was creating, Giles spluttered… amused at the choice of words. Spike wrinkled his forehead, seemed to be trying to compose a coherent reply but finally shrugged and with a slurred, 'Whatthefuck, I cun still shag,' he returned to Giles' mouth.

Giles lay supine under the vampire, studying his own reactions with interest. He didn't feel committed emotionally to what was happening. He was enjoying it in a detached, observant way - even in a physical way, but no… involvement. He smiled into Spike's kiss, curious to see where this vampire would take his desire. He could see his sketch being filled in with intriguing highlights as Spike's veneer cracked. He pushed Spike away a little, 'So, where is the big bad then - if he's gone?'

Spike giggled once more and rolled off Giles to prop himself up on his hand. He couldn't quite coordinate this manoeuvre, so laid his chin on Giles belly and peered seductively, if a little unfocused, up at him. 'He's not gone, lover, e's squished.'

'Squished?'

'Yeah.' Spike hit at his own breast. 'Under 'ere, with William.'

'Ah. So you're not William either?'

Spike gave him an incredulous look then tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially. 'Nah, but don't tell 'em all, will ya?'

Giles shook his head and let his gaze travel once more down the flawless vampire's body. He turned so he was lying on his side, displacing Spike's head. The movement made Spike turn onto his back once more.

With no sheet to cover him this time, Giles could not suppress a hiss of desire at the vampire's visible state of arousal. He felt Spike searching for one of his hands and forming it into a fist around the pale, thick shaft. He resisted, but realised with an amused self- deprecating smile, that the resistance was only in his head - his body responded freely and naturally to the intensely intimate moment. Spike folded his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling. 'S'good.'

'Really?'

'Well… do summit then. Wan' me ta show ya?'

Giles twitched up his eyebrows and taking his hand off Spike's penis replied 'Yes,' quite quietly, but with an intense, barely-suppressed desire. He sat back and watched as Spike's fingers took the erection lightly by the tip. Spike worked his foreskin expertly, rolling it off the cockhead, rubbing his thumb over the exposed soft knob. Without disturbing Spike's self-absorbed pleasure, Giles reached quietly behind him and produced a notebook and pencil from his drawer. Spike was irresistible. Giles focused on the erection, capturing the contrast of shadow and light from the hair and skin tones. He caught the strength and urgency and the way the slim fingers worked their magic on it. He sketched only as far as Spike's nipples and down to his knees. The whole focus of the eye was on that exposed, worked penis. He knew this sketch would not add any subtle dimensions to his study of the vampire's character, but he wanted it nonetheless. He glanced up at Spike and felt a shiver trickle down his spine when he saw he was being watched.

'S'yer duster, luv.'

Giles paused. 'What?'

'Keeps ya 'way from everythink - like me duster. Ya shud let yer self go 'bit.'

'Like you?'

Spike chuckled. 'I'm swingin' on the moon, pet, but yeah… just close yer eyes an' go fer it.'

Giles laid down his sketch. 'Go for what, Spike. What exactly do you expect me to do?'

Spike put a hand gently to Giles' face and slipped his thumb into the warm mouth. 'How's about that tongue bein' yer pencil fer a change?'

Spike played idly with the tongue, rubbing his thumb on it, teasing the tip, and then gradually, inch-by-inch, he pulled Giles down so his face was on his smooth, cool chest. Giles found one small, soft nipple right under his tongue, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to shade it in. He swirled round and round, able to feel it harden and peak to the touch of his new, intimate pencil. He felt his detachment peeling away. His balls started to tingle, and he licked the skin over Spike's ribs tentatively. It was so cool, so flawless. He wanted more. He kissed down Spike's belly towards the soft hair. Spike put his other hand to Giles' head, guiding him lower. He murmured soft, incomprehensible, slurred encouragement to the exploration. Giles lifted his head up and watched as Spike exposed the tip of his penis with each stroke of his fist. Giles decided it wasn't as deeply pink as he wanted it and ran his chalk across the tiny slit. Spike gasped at the heat on his cool flesh, and Giles added hard, experimental colours, rolling over the knob and its ridge, slipping in under the foreskin to add relief there.

Still detached, still remote, still not able to accept what he was doing, Giles was unprepared for Spike to give one huge shudder and send a load of cum against his face and over his tongue. He pulled back and watched as Spike writhed, milking the last drops of his orgasm, unconcerned about Giles' presence, unheeding of his audience - centred, focused and relieved.

When Spike was finished, his hand stilled on his penis, and he let a smile play on his face. ''S'at's better.'

Giles was about to comment, but saw with fond amusement that, once more, Spike had fallen deeply asleep. Giles sat back and put a hand to his face. He wiped some of the cum off, closing his eyes to savour it in his mouth. He had not tasted sperm for a very long time, and it evoked memories of such exquisite delicious pain that his whole body was suffused with the remnants of his dark power: pounding bodies, incantations, blood-rites he had indulged in… all evoked by the taste of the viscous salty fluid in his mouth. There had always been pain; there had always been blood; there had always been the ripping of flesh before the pleasure of release…. He took a deep breath. His hand crept down to his crotch. He released his own straining erection and, without any detachment, with full, intense concentration and desire, he opened his eyes, feasted them on Spike's body, and worked himself to the taste of Spike in his mouth. It had been so long. He was so tight and so ready for release. He put a hand on Spike's chest and leant over him. He felt the rush, felt the cresting over the edge of promised pleasure and, with a gasp, emptied himself over Spike's flaccid penis. He shuddered as he came and moaned from the intensity. He continued to pump out; the soft plops of cum landing on Spike, glistening on his dark hair and running off his slim flanks. Giles kept his eyes fixed on the tip of Spike's cock, imagining rolling it around in his mouth, bringing Spike off, pushing his tongue into the tiny slit... until he felt himself start to soften. As he collapsed back on his heels he tried to make Spike cum in his mouth but could not extend the fantasy beyond his own sweet relief.

Giles staggered off the bed and went into the bathroom. He brushed the mess off the sink and bathed his face and hands. He did not look at himself in the mirror, but turned away and, with a sigh, went to clear up the living room.

He made a desultory attempt before collapsing in a chair. He tipped his head back and went through the events in the bed from finding Spike stoned to his own powerful orgasm. He smiled. They'd had a brief respite from the game, and it had felt good. Giles glanced sadly back up the stairs and briefly considered the contents of his bathroom cabinet. He wanted to let himself go. He wanted to be uncontrolled, uncaring of the consequences of his actions… but he was the watcher. It's what he did - watch.

He clenched and unclenched his fists for a while, trying to release the tension in his body. He still felt the old power and desire coursing through him; he could almost hear the ancient whispered magics taunting him. He let the voices stay, for he had need of all his courage, all his power now… wherever it came from. He could not afford to feel fear, so ignored the slightly sick feeling in his belly and the tiredness behind his eyes. He got up and went to his coat, taking out a small slip of paper with a telephone number on it. Listening briefly to ensure that Spike was still asleep, he dialled the first of the numbers he had been given at Willy's Bar.

Spike woke with a slight headache and a muzzy feeling behind his eyes. Neither was as bad as the intense agony in his head for the last twelve hours, so he turned over, pleased with life. That he was naked registered first. That he was sticky occurred to him second. That he had lain and wanked off in front of Rupert Giles hit him third and rather took away all other thoughts for a while. Kissing. Licking. Oh, God, turning over and exposing himself. Spike covered his eyes with his arm. Fuck no, Giles' hand being forced onto him. He curled into a tiny ball. Bloody hell, had he given himself one of his special slow hand jobs with Giles kneeling along side him? Oh, fuck! The git had been drawing him. Spike remembered Giles actually sketching him masturbating. He sprung up and searched the drawers; he looked under the bed cursing. Nothing. It was gone. He flung himself down once more, groaned and considered Brazil as the best alternative. When things could not seem worse he remembered his aim. Oh shit… had he put his cum on Giles' face? It seemed inconceivable. He'd hardly ever touched the watcher in the six years he known him, but he'd lain there, unconcerned, and cummed him… and then what? Spike sat up and looked down, puzzled. He sniffed suspiciously then lay down grinning. He had fallen asleep after his orgasm. He remembered that… shoot and sleep. So why… and this was a reasonable question he thought… why was he covered in human cum? Why, more specifically, was his cock covered in human cum? It was a satisfying end to his reflections. He'd been stoned… what was Rupert bloody Giles' excuse?

He couldn't find his clothes and seemed to remember another very pleasant vampire wearing them while they had a picnic, so he borrowed some of Giles' stuff. He found a reasonable un-square looking pair of jeans and an old faded denim shirt. Grinning at their effect on him, Spike made his way downstairs. Giles was on the telephone and turned his back when Spike appeared, finishing off his conversation in a hushed and hurried voice.

'Hello.'

Giles only nodded and replaced the handset.

'So… '

'Recovered?'

Spike hopped up onto the counter. 'Oh yeah… always do, vampire constitutions and all that.' Spike peered suspiciously at the microwave as if having a flashback to something but then shrugged cheerfully.

'Do you remember anything at all?' Giles' voice was quietly amused, but Spike did not miss an underlying hint of concern.

'Everything. Up to when I fell asleep that is… '

'Ah. And you're not… embarrassed.'

'Are you?'

'Well, I'm not going to publish the incident, no.'

'Pity, you could illustrate it an' all, couldn't you?'

Giles blushed, and Spike laughed. 'Never no mind, watcher. You can blot your copy book over me any time you like.'

Giles looked up sharply. It was a familiar enough saying and seemed to relate only to his sketching, but he wasn't so sure Spike didn't have another more subtle meaning. He studied Spike's look until the vampire looked away, amused. Giles coughed lightly feeling that although it had been Spike that had got stoned, Spike that had almost destroyed his kitchen, and Spike that had blatantly masturbated in front of him, he was now the guilty one. He huffed and put the kettle on, ignoring the stare he felt Spike giving him behind his back. When the tea was made, Giles handed Spike a cup and said, 'Sit down. I have something to tell you.'

Spike raised one eyebrow. 'No going down on one knee?'

'Shut up, Spike. I have spent the last two hours scraping something I don't even want to attempt to identify off my microwave; I am in no mood for your strange sense of humour. Sit down, shut up and listen for once.'

Still chuckling, Spike did as Giles bid and sprawled on the couch, looking relaxed and pleased with himself.

Giles did not mince his words. 'I've found your dog.'

Spike's demeanour changed in an instant. He jumped up, alert and apprehensive. 'Where?'

'Sit down. It's not as easy as that. It appears you were right after all; Fang is a vampire hell hound.'

'What! I mean… bloody hell.'

'Quite.'

'How the fuck did you find 'im… how did you find that out?'

'It wasn't too difficult. I questioned your friend with the odd skin contours; he led me to a hideous bar where I discovered a Xol demon that eventually admitted he had stolen the puppy - and are hellhounds offspring called puppies?'

'Dunno… didn't know they still existed… err… I mean… so where is he?'

'Ah, well, that's the problem. He's been kidnapped… dognapped…'

'Fuck! Who? Bleedin' vampires… jesus, I hate fucking vampires… who's got 'im? I'll kill 'em.'

'You can't; they're human. He's been taken by some renegade watchers I'm afraid.'

Spike giggled from a nervous release of tension. 'Renegade watchers… you are fucking pulling my dick ain't you?'

'No, I save that for when you are stoned apparently.'

It was said. Slipped into a conversation that took almost all of Spike's attention, Giles tested the vampire's reactions to their games. Spike turned to him with an unreadable expression. 'Or for when I'm asleep.'

'Ah. Indeed… mine that is, not yours.'

Spike tapped his nose. 'I'm a vampire, Giles.'

'Yes, I had forgotten.'

Spike tipped his head back at this admission. He studied Giles intently. After a moment he gave a small nod, came over to Giles' chair, and crouched down in front of him. 'No more games, watcher. When this is over, I will have you. You want me; I want you.' He stood up gracefully and went back to his place on the couch. 'So, how we gonna get him back?'

Reeling from Spike's words, it took all of Giles' considerable strength of character to answer with any degree of nonchalance. 'We are not going to do anything, Spike. These people are dedicated, elite, vampire hunters. There may be one watcher leading them, but the rank and file will be ordinary folk whose lives have taken an extraordinary path. Seeing friends or relatives killed by vampires can drive some people to a killing frenzy that they can't then escape from. So no, Spike, you cannot come too.'

Spike got up and paced restlessly. Giles watched the way his old clothes hardly clung to Spike's slim body, how hard he looked under them, how… desirable. 'What the hell do they want a vampire hellhound for? They're vampire dogs… they kill humans - properly trained 'course.'

'Exactly, I assume they use them to detect and identify vampires…'

'We're hardly difficult to spot, are we?'

'Even Buffy didn't recognise Angel for what he was for many months.'

Spike flung himself back on the couch distractedly running a hand through his hair. 'Yeah, well, most of us ain't thinking with our brains when we look at Angel, are we?' As if realising he'd made some fundamentally incriminating confession, Spike went back on the attack, trying to ignore Giles' amused looked of wonder. 'Look, Xol demons are fucking liars… known for it throughout the demon world… how'd ya know he wasn't just yanking your chain?'

'I thought of that. I had Willow test some of the… err… biological substance he deposited on my tiles the other night. Definitely demon extraction.'

'All right. He is - so let's go get 'im!'

'No! Spike, I've just told you, these people are fanatics. I've heard - and I don't actually believe this myself - I've heard they have adopted some very black practices. They keep captured vampires for training purposes, torturing them until they become too damaged to fight and then they stake them. There is absolutely no way are you getting involved in this. I only told you so you do NOT come looking for me tonight when I go to meet them.'

'Okay.'

'Uh huh. And that okay is a "I'll wait until the old geezer leaves and go anyway" sort of okay, is it?'

'No. It's an "I understand completely and I'll stay here like a good little boy" sort of okay. But Giles… ' Spike looked down and played with his thumb ring.

'What, Spike?'

'These fuckers sound dangerous, and I've got plans for you later… can't do ya if you're dead, mate. Well, I could 'suppose - if you got turned - but rather have you warm and pliant, 'k?'

Giles got up, and as he passed Spike he leant over and pulled his face into a kiss. He opened up Spike's mouth quite as easily and effectively as Spike had done with his. He sank to his knees and wrapped his hands around Spike's head, urging him further into the kiss. Spike slid off the couch, taken unaware by this unexpected passion. They pulled apart for a moment, looked into each other's eyes and knew beyond a doubt that they were seconds away from falling to the floor and taking each other. Giles nodded, acknowledging the understanding between them. 'Tonight, Spike. When I come back… and be assured, I will be coming back.' He smiled, got to his feet, grabbed a coat, and left. Spike remained behind, aroused and unsatisfied.

Giles made his way cautiously into the back room of the magic shop. Although it was locked, he did not put it past the renegades to get there early and gain some advantage over him. He did not anticipate the exchange going badly, but you never knew with fanatics. He wanted the dog; they wanted some unique research on the black arts that he was reputed to hold. He sat on the couch and waited, thinking back over the past forty-eight hours. When had curious detachment been replaced by searing need? Had it been the sketching that had brought him to this almost uncontrollable urge to return to his apartment and take Spike on the floor? Had it been the intense activities on the bed? Or had it been Spike's abrupt ending of the game and his heartfelt admission that he wanted this weak, ageing, human body. Being wanted was an intense aphrodisiac. That something so inherently beautiful as Spike wanted him overwhelmed Giles. How he wanted to tangle and writhe with those cool limbs.

'Well, well, Ripper!' Lost in his thoughts of the slim vampire, Giles had not heard the ex-watcher enter by the back door. Slowly, he came into the light, followed by a number of rough, tense-looking young men and women.

Giles stood up, surprised. 'St John? What are you doing involved with this riff raff? Hardly your style, I'd have thought.' The man called St John came closer and put out his hand. Giles took it and found himself being pulled into a fond embrace. He attempted to relax into it, but felt tension radiating off his old council colleague.

'I could ask the same of you, Ripper. Why are you dealing for the return of a hellhound? Hardly watcher business, is it?'

Giles avoided a direct answer. 'Well, where is it then?'

'It's not here, obviously… not until we have the research we want. But we thought we'd bring this to show you.' St John turned and clicked his fingers, and one of the young men went back out into the night and returned with a dog on a lead…. a dog in the loosest possible terms. Giles eyed his first grown hellhound warily. He had to admit it was beautiful. It reminded him of an artic wolf. It had a similar body shape and blue eyes, but this creature was at least twice the size, more like a deerhound and, like that animal, could easily bring a human down in the chase. The hound seemed docile enough with the humans and lay down alongside the wall bars contentedly.

'Beautiful, isn't he? He'll sense a vampire from over a hundred metres… always wanting to return to his natural masters. He unknowingly gives them away to us and we…' St John made a stabbing motion with his fist, and Giles cocked an eyebrow at him.

'So, how do we do this swap then?'

'What, Ripper, no time for small talk? How long has it been? Twenty years?'

'Longer. And it's not Ripper. It's Giles. Just Giles.'

'Shame. I always thought that name so appropriate… but then I sort of enjoyed it first hand, didn't I?' The younger humans spread themselves restlessly around the room, examining the weapons and chatting quietly among themselves. Giles sat back down on the couch, and St John perched on the arm, lighting a cigar. Giles studied him. It had been twenty-two years, and he remembered it all as if it had been yesterday. The experimentation, the power, the pain, and the feelings that they had been the masters of the universe… these things you did not forget… but this man in front of him was not the vital young man with the body of a Greek God he had followed down dark paths. He was a slightly balding, slightly overweight, middle- aged man who seemed to have replaced passion with fanaticism.

Giles was about to speak when the hound sat up. The single movement sent a chill down Giles' spine. When the dog's eyes glowed red Giles actually shook himself to rid the eerie feeling from his own body. Everyone turned to look at the dog. One young man said with a quiet, intense delight. 'Vampire!'

St John turned to him. 'Take two others, and hunt it down. Don't capture it; kill it.'

Giles felt his stomach contract in fear. Could he have been this stupid? Could Spike really have disobeyed him and followed him here? Of course he could. Giles knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the dog was sensing Spike. He laid a hand frantically on St John's arm, realised his mistake, and turned the movement into casual, nonchalant interest.

'Oh, if it looks like a young, blond haired man… it's mine… I'd appreciate it if you didn't kill it. It's taken me a year to get it how I want.'

'Ripper? You delight me! You never liked my ideas about crash dummies.'

'Yes, well, I have seen so many vampires now, I see more merit in your ideas, although a personal training vampire hardly equates to your idea of selling them for crash dummies!'

'A personal one, though? What fun! We go through too many to remember one from the other.' He nodded at the three young men who had gathered by the door. 'Fetch it, and bring it here.'

Giles could do nothing but pray that it was any stray vampire that happed to be passing. He did not want to play out this difficult negotiation with the added complication of Spike's presence. He heard him before he saw him - colourful, outraged swearing preceded the four figures into the room. Two of the men had Spike's arms bend up behind his back, the other one held a sort or rigid noose around his neck. Giles saw it was a dogcatchers' ring.

Spike was brought into the centre of the room and forced, swearing, onto his knees. St John got up and tipped Spike's chin up, studying his face with interest. 'I take it this is the one you were referring to?'

Giles came over and took a handful of Spike's hair, forcing him to look up. He locked eyes with the familiar vampire and prayed that their games would have some use now. Keeping Spike's eye contact he said with feigned nonchalance. 'It certainly is. This is Spike… aka William the Bloody. I assume you've heard of it? It's been my training vampire for nearly two years, and I would sincerely appreciate it if neither you nor your… people… staked it.'

Spike held Giles' eye contact, and Giles saw the slightest of nods. He'd got the new game. Giles' relief was short-lived. A quiet voice said, 'He's lying.'

Both St John and Giles looked at the young man still holding the noose around Spike's neck. St John laughed lightly. 'You'd do well, Peter, not to question Ripper on his veracity. I seem to remember that always upset him a little, and you do not - let me repeat - do not want to upset Ripper.'

'This thing was loose in the basement. There was no sign of restraint, and it was unguarded and had access to the sewers. It is not captive.' The young man called Peter cocked his head on one side and gave Giles a challenging look. St John did the same, and Giles stalled for time by slowly removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. Before either man could react, he put a crashing blow on Peter's face, and the young man fell, unconscious.

Giles smiled at his old colleague. 'They don't make them like they did in our day, do they?'

St John eyed his foot soldier thoughtfully. 'I hope you have a good explanation for that, Giles?'

Giles smiled, released the noose from around Spike's neck, and led him to the couch. 'Sit down.' Spike did as Giles requested without protest.

Giles turned back to face the accusatory and threatening eyes. 'It's chipped. It can't hurt humans, so I leave it to wander about as it chooses. It can't go far; it's hated in the demon world and a prey to any lout on a Saturday night binge looking for some action.'

'Chipped?'

'Yes, I had it neutered… so it would be safe. The experiment's worked rather well, and I'm thinking of copyrighting the idea… it's a lot less exhausting than staking them, that's for sure… and they can make rather… pretty pets.'

St John nodded sagely to this idea, and Giles only hoped that no one would see through his blatant lie. No such luck. The older watcher looked up with hard, cold eyes. 'So, your training demon can't hurt humans, Giles? Rather a contradiction in terms, isn't it? Not much of an opponent, if it can't strike back.'

Giles paused, look down deep into his character, drew on depths he rarely had to plummet, and looked back up, as if unconcerned at the desperate plight Spike was now in. 'Ah… but you are missing the point, St John. It is here to train us in stoicism. If we don't show pain, its chip doesn't work. It hits my Slayer; she learns not to show pain. She is magnificent now.'

St John gave a low whistle. 'A natural barometer for human courage? Wonderful. Can I try it out?'

Giles did not hesitate. 'Of course, be my guest.'

Spike got warily to his feet. 'Fuck off.'

St John laughed. 'You let it speak, how droll, and Giles… English too! I'm touched.' He swung a low punch at Spike who hardly seemed to feel the blow. Spike glanced at Giles, unsure what he was being asked to do. Giles nodded fractionally at him, so Spike punched the human… not very hard, but sure he would collapse in agony anyway. St John showed no reaction to the blow… not a flicker of emotion crossed his face until a grin spread from ear to ear. 'Interesting. Hit harder, vampire. I want to see how well this chip works.' Never one to be subtle with such an invitation and thinking he may as well get hung for a humungous sheep as for a smidgen of a lamb, Spike swung his best punch into the human's nose. St John collapsed in pain, joined shortly after by Spike. The others moved in closer in a threatening manner, but the kneeling human waved them off and stood up, his nose bleeding.

Giles looked scornfully at him. 'My Slayer would have withstood that pain. It can never make her flinch these days. Good, hey?'

St John nodded with respect at Giles. 'I am truly impressed, Ripper. This is an excellent training aid. So… I think I've changed my mind about the terms of our deal. The hound for the vampire - what do you say?'

Giles continued his flawless performance and laughed. He could not quite take his anxious thoughts off the prone Spike, but he answered with a credible amount of coolness. 'I'm only getting the bloody dog to help me keep track of that thing on the floor - no vampire - no need for dog! Now, come on, let's do this trade.'

St John smiled, nodded at a couple of his minions, and they went over to pull Peter to his feet. 'Where is the book, Giles?'

'In my apartment, on the mantel.'

The two young men left, carrying Peter limply between them, and Giles pulled Spike to his feet, sitting him back on the couch. St John stood dabbing at his nose. The waiting was tense. Giles sat down next to Spike, and when St John wandered over to speak to one of the remaining gang, he heard a quiet, 'I'm sorry,' from the vampire.

He hissed back. 'You will be.'

He sensed Spike smiling and felt Spike pressing his thigh against him. 'Nah, you love it… playing these games…'

I'd prefer it if our lives weren't in imminent danger of ending, Spike.'

'We've got away with it… easy.'

'Don't underestimate St John, Spike, or the fanaticism of these young people.'

'I don't. But I don't underestimate you either, Ripper.'

Their quiet conversation was interrupted when the humans returned empty handed except for a folder in Peter's hand. He gave it to his boss with a triumphant, spiteful look at Giles. Giles' bowels contracted in fear. St John studied the contents of the folder, turning the pages around looking at them from different angles. He wandered back to the couch and stood looking speculatively at Spike, then down at the paper in his hand. It unnerved Spike for he did not recognise the folder. 'What? Bleedin' hell, what?'

'Quite right, vampire, what indeed? What are you doing with these, Giles? Is this how it is with you and your so-called training vampire?' St John held up the sketch of Spike naked on the couch and let it drop into Giles' lap. Spike picked it up and looked at it for the first time. He was impressed, and the drawing was quite good, too. He sniggered and looked between the two humans. He felt things had taken a turn for the worse, but there was little he could do to turn it back.

Giles was still cool, but it was becoming less and less easy to maintain his lie. He stretched lazily back on the couch and gave a small shake of his head. 'Have you actually looked at him? What do you expect? Come on, St John… you know my little… peccadilloes. I'm hardly going to pass up an opportunity like this, am I?' He placed a hand on Spike's knee. Spike moved his leg away, and Giles turned and punched him in the face. It was not an especially hard blow, but Spike curled up, feigning more pain than he felt. St John grunted, satisfied.

Suddenly the figure of the young man, Peter, loomed behind him. 'He's still fooling you, boss. Let's test him, hey?' He fetched a whip from one of the others, and before Giles could protest, Spike was seized, and his wrists were tied together with belts on the wall bars.

He twisted around to face the room; Peter went up to him and held him by the jaw. He ran a stake almost seductively up Spike's body from his thigh to his heart. 'I think he's lying, vampire. I think there's something going on here… are you controlling him somehow? Is he afraid of you? What is it, demon?'

Spike answered him by producing an impressive amount of spit and hurling it accurately in the menacing face. He grinned and cocked his scarred eyebrow. Peter broke Spike's jaw with his first blow, with his second he cracked a rib, but Spike brought up his knee and thumped it into the young man's balls. Peter didn't (or couldn't) hide the pain, and Spike arched back in agony as his attacker fell to his knees. He glared up at Spike and picked up the discarded stake. Giles shook off St John's restraining hands and grabbed the young man's arm. He looked into the faces of the assembled company and knew he was losing it… knew that they did not believe him any more. He snatched up the whip and ran it through his fingers, separating the strands. 'Don't stake him. Let me punish him properly, hey?'

He looked at Spike and said icily 'Turn around.'

Spike let fly a stream of obscenities, but Giles only shrugged. 'Fine,' and he let the strands fly over Spike's belly. Spike howled in outrage, so Giles flailed him across his groin. Spike hissed, but turned his back, as he had been ordered. Giles now went up to him and, turning to see the humans' reactions, ripped Spike's tee shirt down the back and tore off the two halves. As he leant around Spike to free the pieces on his arms, he ran one finger over Spike's chest and murmured as quietly as the sound of his digit on the cool skin. 'Forgive me.' Giles felt Spike's head tip to one side fractionally to press against his arm. It was enough. They understood each other. Both knew they were now playing a far more deadly game than they had anticipated.

Giles turned away a little unsteadily and went back to his position, wiping one piece of Spike'