April 27, 2000
Fandom/Spoilers: Buffy the Vampire Slayer. S4.
Summary: Spike/Giles. Not exactly slash, but close enough for government work.
Disclaimer: Joss, not me.
Notes: Takes place while Spike was still living at Giles' place.
It was quiet. Sweet relief rolled over him. A cup of tea and a soothing book would be just the thing, an evening without the din of the stereo and the whine of Spike's voice.
He put on the kettle and swallowed some aspirin. In fact, this would be a good chance to work on that monograph. His interpretation of the sigils on the amulets of the Janite Sages of Aquae Sulis was unusual, to be sure, daring even, and it would certainly blow old Edmund's theory all to pieces. The prose began to arrange itself in rank and shining file as Giles poured out.
Raising the cup to his lips, he dimly wondered what Spike was up to. It wasn't like him to be so unobtrusive. Almost like he--
Spike was so annoying that Giles had almost forgotten he was evil too. Now he'd have to call Buffy and get everyone out searching and it would all be Giles' fault, of course, not that anyone else cared to take a turn playing Mike and Psmith with a bloodsucking demon who smoked in the house and watched Gilligan's Island every damned minute of the damned day.
There was a noise upstairs. Giles went up. It was Spike. In Giles' bedroom. Sitting on Giles' bed. Smoking. Playing Giles' guitar.
Spike looked up. "Cheers." He took a drag and went back to strumming. "Do you remember how this bloody song goes?" He played a few chords, then stumbled.
"Who gave you permission to rummage in my things?" Giles fanned the air. "And put out that cigarette."
"Oh, is this yours? I didn't know." Spike tried the chord progression again, with the same result. "I really shouldn't have gone twenty-five years without practising."
"Should I get you 'Tiny Songs for Tiny Fingers'?" Giles winced as Spike mucked up yet again. "Apparently you can still inflict damage on something. What innocent piece of music are you torturing?"
"Lucy in the Sky. I used to play it for Dru." Spike got a faraway look. Not again, thought Giles. "She'd dance. With the corpses, right?"
Giles could take no more. "Give me that." He pulled the guitar from Spike and gave it a strum. Flat, of course. He shrugged out of his jacket and sat down to tune.
"I had this project. To sire John Lennon, you know, as a surprise for Dru. But you know how it is, you get distracted by one thing and then another and then some bastard goes and blows him away."
Giles only half-listened, turning pegs and plucking strings. It didn't take long and soon he was carefully finger-picking the intro. And realised he'd begun to sing as well. "Picture yourself in a boat on a river with tangerine trees and marmalade skies."
"Hey, my song, remember?" Spike grabbed at the guitar. "My turn."
"Not with my good guitar, you don't. There's another one in the back of the closet." He continued to play through the melody. It was all coming back to him. It was only when Spike sat back down that Giles realised what he'd said. Oh, what the hell. "You stick with the chords and leave the tricky fingering to me."
Spike made a face, but he got out a pick and ran it over the strings. "Right, ready?"
Something was missing. Giles saw the smoke curl up into the air and smiled. "Give us a fag." Spike lit one and passed it over. Giles drew on it and felt a little burn, a little buzz.
They began to play.