The Vampire

BY : OpenPage
Category: -Buffy the Vampire Slayer > Slash - Male/Male > Giles/Spike(William) > Giles/Spike(William)
Dragon prints: 1373
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or any the characters from it.I do not make any money from the writing of this story. All characters and events in this story are fictitious.


Sitting in the Hobgoblin Pub, Giles stared distractedly at the worn, scratched table and took a large gulp of whiskey.  He absently rubbed his fingers over the stubble on his chin and for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, his thoughts turned to Sunnydale.  He thought about how his life had been when he first arrived to begin his duties as Watcher and a small smile played over his lips as he recounted how difficult it had been to bond with the teenagers who had become a part of his life.  He had found them so immature, so… foreign.  But gradually, a friendship had formed between them all; a close, trusting, loving friendship that he would never have believed could be possible.  He had gone there to supervise the Slayer and gradually their relationship had become one similar to father and daughter.  He had been protective of them all and although they had faced unimaginable peril almost every day, life had been good.  Good until it had all started to turn to shit.  But what pained him the most was that it was all his fault; because of him, friendships lay in tatters, words had been uttered that could never be taken back and lives were irreparably changed forever.

Jenny had been the first.  He had lost a friend and potential lover in the cruelest way possible.  He should have been able to save her from harm; they should have grown old together.  

Kendra.  A plucky Slayer who theoretically was under his charge whilst in Sunnydale.  Again, he had failed to protect her.  

Faith.  Feisty and unruly.  If he had handled the situation differently maybe she would not have taken the rocky path to self destruction.  Admittedly, she had changed dramatically and had proved herself time and again over the previous summer but the fact still remained that she had spent time in jail because of his inability to control her.  

Joyce.  A beautiful woman and valued friend.  Her passing was not directly linked to anything he had specifically done but he still felt he had handled the situation badly as far as Buffy was concerned.  He should have spent more time with his Slayer and helped her cope with the grief.


Buffy.  Courageous and loving.  Her death had rocked him to the core, never before had he felt such pain.  Then she came back, but guilt overshadowed the joy of her resurrection; guilt because he thought things might have been better for them all if she had stayed dead.  She returned to the world a different person and he felt the bond slipping from the moment he laid eyes on her.  

Tara.  Sweet, innocent Tara.  A tragedy that he could probably have prevented if he had remained in Sunnydale.  

Willow.  Quirky, sensitive and loyal.  She was never the same after Tara's death and he had not been able to provide the real comfort that she needed because she scared him.  Her power had become so great that he feared any wrong move would set her off again; she was a ticking time bomb.

Xander.  Optimistic and aggravating.  His constant one-liners forever trying his patience.  Now physically scarred for life because they had underestimated Caleb's strength.  

Anya.  Annoyingly literal Anya.  It was surprising how much he missed her.  She had died a hero's death but that did not make it any easier to swallow.  

Then there was Spike.

Damn!  He had thought of the vampire by name.  Since returning to England, he had tried to refer to the blonde demon only as the vampire.  It made him uneasy to think of him at all but at least the vampire reminded him of what he really was.  And the dreams!  Why did the vampire penetrate his dreams as effectively as the blue eyes had before his demise?  It made no sense.  But the most disturbing factor was the kind of dreams he had been having.  Sexually erotic dreams, dreams that left him feeling hard and unfulfilled.  He had never felt that way about I before so why the sudden metamorphosis of his mind? 

Suddenly weary, he sighed deeply and drained his glass. Staggering drunkenly to his feet, he navigated his way carefully to the door, acutely aware that all eyes were upon him.  He knew what they were thinking.  "There goes the unsociable drunk; back to his flat to fall unconscious on the floor."  He did not care.  He did not care what they thought or said about him behind his back.  In truth, he did not care about anything anymore. Life had become meaningless.

Muttering a string of expletives, he attempted to work the key into the lock with his unsteady hand.  As he lurched through the front door, he banged his hip painfully on the telephone table.  Angrily swiping the phone off the wooden surface, he stumbled into the sitting room.  He managed to steady his hand enough to pour himself a large measure of port and sinking gratefully onto the couch he sipped his drink and thought again of Sunnydale.


The dream started the same as always.  

A loud, incessant knocking at the door pulls him from sleep.  He ignores the sound, willing the intruder to leave him alone in his misery.  But the banging becomes louder, more urgent until he can ignore it no longer.  Staggering to his feet, he makes his way through the untidy flat.  As he pulls the front door open, he prepares to abuse whomever it is that has disturbed his much needed rest.  But the words stick in his throat as the dim moonlight illuminates the pale form before him.

Grabbing the door for support, he stares at the beautiful face.  'He came back!' is all his addled mind can think.  As the blue eyes twinkle with merriment, he manages to utter an invitation, his voice sounding thick and husky in his throat.  As the vampire steps over the threshold, he springs into action.  Grabbing the demon, he slams him into the wall and clamps his mouth against the cool lips, pinning the taut body against the wall with his weight.  At first the demon struggles, but only for a moment and then the kiss is returned, passionate and urgent.  Grasping the thin shoulders, he steers the vampire through the living room door without breaking the kiss.  They trip over a coffee table and fall heavily to the floor.  He tears at the obstructive clothing, ripping the t-shirt from the muscular body, pulling off boots and yanking down jeans to reveal a vision of eternal beauty.  The body is so toned, so hard, so pale and so flawless.  He quickly removes his own clothing, aware that the prone figure before him is watching with mild amusement.  Naked and erect, he bends the pale legs at the knees and roughly forces them open.

"Er Giles?  I'm not opposed to a shag but a bit of lubrication would be nice."

No!  This was not right!  The vampire was not supposed to speak.  It was his dream, his fantasy and every night it had been the same.  No dialogue for the vampire!

He grabs the thin neck in a tight grasp and squeezes hard. The vampire's eyes widen in shock.  Satisfied that there will be no more breaking of the dream rules, he releases his grip and thrusts his aching erection violently into the vampire's tight passage.  As he begins to pound his cock in and out, he can feel muscles tearing and blood begins to flow.  With each thrust, he synchronizes his fist to slam into the beautiful face.  Each blow is emphasized by his words, "Why... did... you... leave... me?  Why... did... you... leave... me?"

The vampire remains silent, allowing him to pound and thrust brutally into the cool body.  As his balls swell, he throws back his head in preparation.  He shoots his hot, salty fluids into the slick, cool channel with a primordial cry of pleasure.  Squeezing the last drop of cum out of his spent penis, he collapses unconscious onto the object of his affection.


Giles awakened to a thumping headache, a raging thirst and a throbbing erection.  Closing his eyes, he sank deeper into the mattress and tried to ascertain what he needed to alleviate first.  Aspirin, water, wank?  Deciding that a wank would probably ease his headache he reached beneath the covers.  Taking hold of his thick shaft, he began to tug gently but his eyes immediately flew open in shock when a voice spoke from beside him.  "Er Giles?  Don't wanna sound all prudish pet, but are you sure you want to wank with me lying next to you?"

Slowly turning his head, Giles stared at the battered face beside him.  He gasped as his eyes focused on the angry red mark that encircled the column of the slender neck, the blackened eye, purple jaw and split lip.  Groaning in horror he quickly closed his eyes.  "You are not real.  I'm dreaming again.  Go away and leave me in peace."

A cool hand touched his arm, dispelling the dream theory.  "Of course I'm real love.  Don't you remember last night?  You gave me quite a welcome."

Giles again opened his eyes and turned towards the voice.  Spike smiled awkwardly and raised his scarred eyebrow in question. 

Bile rose in Giles' throat and he staggered blindly from the bed, just managing to reach the toilet before heaving up the contents of his stomach.  The vomit stung his nose and throat and the taste was so acrid that he heaved until he was dry retching.  He flushed the toilet but remained with his head propped against the porcelain.  Tears blinded his eyes and he began to moan, "Oh God... oh God... oh God..."

Footsteps sounded from behind him and strong arms lifted him and carried him back to the bed.  As he drifted into welcomed unconsciousness, he felt cool gentle fingers stroking his hair.



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