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katekatTitle: First Night Bound In a Bathtub
Pairing: Giles/Spike
Rating: PGish for language?
Disclaimer: Misuse is unintentional. Borrowing is a productive process.
Summary: Did you really think Spike took being chained in the bathtub sitting down?
Feedback: Always welcomed and very appreciated. If you do have concrit, I'd prefer it if you'd email to katekat1010 @ livejournal.com.
Notes: Against my own rules, this is unbetaed (but in the processs of being betaed! I will update when I have the revised copy) Word Count= approx 950. Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
maleslashminis and ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
speakingsilence. Prompts were an unexpected arrival, a secret shared, music. (not interested in non-con or vamp!Giles). Special note to Speakingsilence – I’m terribly sorry about the prompts! I hope you’ll forgive me.
Scene 1: Giles
If you cannot do a thing, are you broken? If that thing is not only necessary, but equal parts joy and exaltation, amusement and challenge? How do you transform into something else if that thing you are denied is simultaneously your life and your death? And what do you become when it is gone?
A glass of whisky sparkles in his hand, catching electric light and turning it to flame, and he wonders, just for a moment, what it would be like to need so relentlessly and to be prevented so unbendingly.
Then the shout comes, breaking stillness into sharp edged fragments that drive out all introspective thought.
“Oi, Watcher! I’m hungry!”
The need never dies.
Scene 2: Spike
Click, clack. . . click, clack . . . the steel isn’t exactly cold against his skin. The tub isn’t cold against his ass either. That’s not what makes him twichy. No. Stupid Watcher, deciding he needed to be chained up. Brought back memories of different times, those chains, not that he really wanted to be recalling such things in bright glare of this nasty bathroom. No, didn’t need to think about chains and whips and blood, everywhere, just ready for the taking. Made his mouth water in sudden hope.
Not that there was much of that going around. Nasty little metal short circuiting all the best notions. He was half afraid to think anymore, half afraid to let his fangs down, half afraid of himself.
Almost forgot what that had felt like, once he found he could rend and rip, tear and torture. A secret locked up that he never told himself, that’s what it was. A vague shadow of a memory of that overwhelming fear of his own desires – wasn’t allowed to take anything, wasn’t allowed to want anything, much less touch.
Never thought he’d ever be there again.
Now the memories crawled around him, ghostly fingers of disease that take the urge to fight with them. Well fuck to that. He’d fight till every cell was burned out, every impulse pushed, every wicked thought indulged as much as possible, bugger the pain. Unlife wasn’t worth living if it was anything like life had been. Not for him.
So he yelled again, to get that bag of blood a few steps closer and cover the sound of the crack of the tub.
Scene 3: Giles
White porcelain in pieces. He’d stopped at the door, somehow kept on the threshold by the vision of the angry vampire before him. The cursing, in game face vampire who struggled to stand in the ruins of Giles’ bathtub, yanking on the chains that bound him.
The vampire who looked up at him, and instead of lunging or smashing or threatening in accord with the chaos around him, relaxed his shoulders, centered his weight, rolled his hips forward, let his still-chained hands dangle, and grinned a feral, almost flirtatious, grin.
“Got something for me there, do you?” Spike drawled, his voice full of mirth shaded with a bit of mockery. “Isn’t it a bit past feeding time? Didn’t think I was paying for tardy service.”
Giles refused to be surprised. Not by anything this vampire would do, not at this point. “If you were paying for the service, you might expect it, yes. However …if you insist on acting the rock star and damaging your room you can hardly expect prompt delivery, and we may have to take damages out of your deposit.”
Spike cocked his head to the side, “And if I didn’t pay a deposit?”
Suddenly there were two feral grins in this bathroom. “Then we’ll have to find an alternative, won’t we?”
Scene 4: Spike
Destruction brought a little satisfaction, and the look on the Watcher’s face when he saw it made a little glow kindle in his belly. But he wanted more than just a little glow. He’d always run with a dark-fire kindled, and it’d been out ever since that damn place with it’s white walls and gormless scientists.
But there was a human in front of him that had been surprised, but refused to be afraid. He liked that, that the Watcher didn’t back down, that he was just as cruel and heartless as the Slayer. Hell, maybe she got it from him.
His eyes narrowed. Either way, it was a challenge, something he could sink his teeth into. How to break into that smooth façade, shimmy past those lenses and find someone underneath. Some one to . . . play with. Just a little.
From the moment the door had opened, the shadows were gone. Worth it just for that. So he padded forward, stopped standing close enough for challenge and seduction, and dipped his head to take a sip from the bendy straw. Kept his eyes locked on Giles’ as he took long smooth pulls, until the blood was gone.
Scene 5: Giles
He wonders if Drusilla would’ve compared Spike to a poem, but he can’t help think of jazz. Raucous, wild, and sometimes in love with it’s own evil, but full of grace notes like the color of Spike’s eyes. Interrupted by swift interchanges, mercurial moods, and smooth planes of sound that could have shaped the planes of his cheekbones. Spike stands close enough to leech the heat from his body, bending slightly to reach the bendy straw, and Giles’ vision is filled with this song of a vampire, adam’s apple bobbing, cheeks hollowed with every suck, challenging him with a look that promises everything and nothing.
He can’t help but respond, body tightening at the offer and the anger and the lyric quality of the silent possibility and peril standing before him.
There was a reason he wanted Spike chained up; a reason that had nothing to do with him escaping and everything to do with this seductive danger. This proof that the vampire in his house is not broken at all.
No, the chains were there because somehow, Giles knew that if he was given an offer, he wasn’t going to say no.
Pairing: Giles/Spike
Rating: PGish for language?
Disclaimer: Misuse is unintentional. Borrowing is a productive process.
Summary: Did you really think Spike took being chained in the bathtub sitting down?
Feedback: Always welcomed and very appreciated. If you do have concrit, I'd prefer it if you'd email to katekat1010 @ livejournal.com.
Notes: Against my own rules, this is unbetaed (but in the processs of being betaed! I will update when I have the revised copy) Word Count= approx 950. Written for
maleslashminis and speakingsilence. Prompts were an unexpected arrival, a secret shared, music. (not interested in non-con or vamp!Giles). Special note to Speakingsilence – I’m terribly sorry about the prompts! I hope you’ll forgive me. Scene 1: Giles
If you cannot do a thing, are you broken? If that thing is not only necessary, but equal parts joy and exaltation, amusement and challenge? How do you transform into something else if that thing you are denied is simultaneously your life and your death? And what do you become when it is gone?
A glass of whisky sparkles in his hand, catching electric light and turning it to flame, and he wonders, just for a moment, what it would be like to need so relentlessly and to be prevented so unbendingly.
Then the shout comes, breaking stillness into sharp edged fragments that drive out all introspective thought.
“Oi, Watcher! I’m hungry!”
The need never dies.
Scene 2: Spike
Click, clack. . . click, clack . . . the steel isn’t exactly cold against his skin. The tub isn’t cold against his ass either. That’s not what makes him twichy. No. Stupid Watcher, deciding he needed to be chained up. Brought back memories of different times, those chains, not that he really wanted to be recalling such things in bright glare of this nasty bathroom. No, didn’t need to think about chains and whips and blood, everywhere, just ready for the taking. Made his mouth water in sudden hope.
Not that there was much of that going around. Nasty little metal short circuiting all the best notions. He was half afraid to think anymore, half afraid to let his fangs down, half afraid of himself.
Almost forgot what that had felt like, once he found he could rend and rip, tear and torture. A secret locked up that he never told himself, that’s what it was. A vague shadow of a memory of that overwhelming fear of his own desires – wasn’t allowed to take anything, wasn’t allowed to want anything, much less touch.
Never thought he’d ever be there again.
Now the memories crawled around him, ghostly fingers of disease that take the urge to fight with them. Well fuck to that. He’d fight till every cell was burned out, every impulse pushed, every wicked thought indulged as much as possible, bugger the pain. Unlife wasn’t worth living if it was anything like life had been. Not for him.
So he yelled again, to get that bag of blood a few steps closer and cover the sound of the crack of the tub.
Scene 3: Giles
White porcelain in pieces. He’d stopped at the door, somehow kept on the threshold by the vision of the angry vampire before him. The cursing, in game face vampire who struggled to stand in the ruins of Giles’ bathtub, yanking on the chains that bound him.
The vampire who looked up at him, and instead of lunging or smashing or threatening in accord with the chaos around him, relaxed his shoulders, centered his weight, rolled his hips forward, let his still-chained hands dangle, and grinned a feral, almost flirtatious, grin.
“Got something for me there, do you?” Spike drawled, his voice full of mirth shaded with a bit of mockery. “Isn’t it a bit past feeding time? Didn’t think I was paying for tardy service.”
Giles refused to be surprised. Not by anything this vampire would do, not at this point. “If you were paying for the service, you might expect it, yes. However …if you insist on acting the rock star and damaging your room you can hardly expect prompt delivery, and we may have to take damages out of your deposit.”
Spike cocked his head to the side, “And if I didn’t pay a deposit?”
Suddenly there were two feral grins in this bathroom. “Then we’ll have to find an alternative, won’t we?”
Scene 4: Spike
Destruction brought a little satisfaction, and the look on the Watcher’s face when he saw it made a little glow kindle in his belly. But he wanted more than just a little glow. He’d always run with a dark-fire kindled, and it’d been out ever since that damn place with it’s white walls and gormless scientists.
But there was a human in front of him that had been surprised, but refused to be afraid. He liked that, that the Watcher didn’t back down, that he was just as cruel and heartless as the Slayer. Hell, maybe she got it from him.
His eyes narrowed. Either way, it was a challenge, something he could sink his teeth into. How to break into that smooth façade, shimmy past those lenses and find someone underneath. Some one to . . . play with. Just a little.
From the moment the door had opened, the shadows were gone. Worth it just for that. So he padded forward, stopped standing close enough for challenge and seduction, and dipped his head to take a sip from the bendy straw. Kept his eyes locked on Giles’ as he took long smooth pulls, until the blood was gone.
Scene 5: Giles
He wonders if Drusilla would’ve compared Spike to a poem, but he can’t help think of jazz. Raucous, wild, and sometimes in love with it’s own evil, but full of grace notes like the color of Spike’s eyes. Interrupted by swift interchanges, mercurial moods, and smooth planes of sound that could have shaped the planes of his cheekbones. Spike stands close enough to leech the heat from his body, bending slightly to reach the bendy straw, and Giles’ vision is filled with this song of a vampire, adam’s apple bobbing, cheeks hollowed with every suck, challenging him with a look that promises everything and nothing.
He can’t help but respond, body tightening at the offer and the anger and the lyric quality of the silent possibility and peril standing before him.
There was a reason he wanted Spike chained up; a reason that had nothing to do with him escaping and everything to do with this seductive danger. This proof that the vampire in his house is not broken at all.
No, the chains were there because somehow, Giles knew that if he was given an offer, he wasn’t going to say no.
