The Surprise
He'd spent the better part of his life running away from himself, Giles reflected. Lying in the dingy motel room, sheets dubiously stained, counting the pockmarked ceiling tiles. A bloodstained note sticking out of his shirt pocket, another of his tormentor's little touches.
First it had been Ethan, who had reawakened memories he'd rather forget. Temptation had eaten away at him; asked if he was happy in this half-life; dangled before him the prospect of something more suited to the man he really was, hidden away like Mrs Rochester in the attic.
When Angel had come knocking on his door, Giles had invited him in knowingly. Something had brought the two of them together; guilt-stricken vampire and Watcher hiding from himself, both bound by their dubious pasts.
Giles had wondered whether Buffy knew about the evenings he spent keeping company with her vampire, the two of them politely conversing, ignoring the swirling undercurrents of previous existence, each so far away from who he was now.
Giles had fallen hard for Jenny Calendar. Giddy in his love for her, he was persuaded that finally he deserved something beautiful and true. He'd been wrong, and Jenny had paid the price for his failure. Ever since the night Giles had found her in his bed, gift wrapped by Angelus, he'd been dead inside, consumed by the dark emptiness of guilt.
An extra twist of the knife had intensified the pain of Giles' loss. Angelus had more reason than a Gypsy curse to want Jenny Calendar dead. The elaborate tableau so lovingly prepared for Giles had arisen from cosy fireside chats with the souled vampire; the slow stirring of something more. Giles had seen it in Angel's eyes. Deep dark pools of promise had spoken to Giles' soul on a more primitive level than the passionless words that filled the charged air.
Giles had given up trying to fight Angelus hours before. His right eye had swollen shut; gobbets of blood dripped from his nose and his bottom lip throbbed like Hell. Let the fucker think he'd won. It wasn't so bad. Giles had done this before and survived. This time the bastard didn't have the crazy lady to do the mindfuck. Angelus was on his own, and Giles had a surprise for him. Did the wanker really think he'd come to meet him entirely unprepared?
First though, he'd allow Angelus to have his fun.
Giles couldn't deny his feelings for the demon, with his sensual walk and haunting good looks. Angel was fine for a chat over a glass of fine malt, but it was his alter ego that excited the Watcher. To feel those full lips grinding onto his own, sharp fangs nipping at his skin; hot and screaming to be touched.
Beyond the pain and degradation of his brutal torture at Angelus' hands-beautiful hands with tapered fingers- there'd been a sick pleasure Giles had tried to ignore, put down to the after effects of Drusilla's playacting. There'd been nothing personal in his humiliation. Angelus had wanted information and that had been the simplest and most enjoyable way to go about it. The matter of Jenny Calendar was something else; Angelus was torturing Angel's soul; laughing at him.
God help Giles, but it wasn't the brooding melancholy of Buffy's boyfriend that lit a fire in his loins. Love had died for him with Jenny. All he wanted now was fucking, fast and violent, anything to penetrate the cold numbness deadening his soul. The demon spoke to the young man he had been. Ripper, not Rupert. Ripper hadn't been averse to using necessary means. It was this dormant part of himself Giles had called upon in the name of his dead lover as he sat in the dark, and scribbled the note, imagining Angelus on his knees before him.
Acquiring a gun was easy. Feeling its weight swinging against his thigh arousing. Vengeance was a silver bullet guaranteed to stop a vampire in his tracks long enough to buy time to restore Angel's soul. Permanently.
There had been a soft knock on the motel door, and the vampire had slunk into the room like a big cat sniffing out its prey. Angelus had looked him in the eye with that hypnotic gaze; large hands reached out to stroke his cheek, gentle and deceiving. Giles had tried to ignore the compulsion eating away at his vitals to take that hand and press it hard against his burgeoning erection.
The first punch split Giles' lip causing blood well up in his mouth. Angelus' nostrils twitched and the change flickered across his face. Arms grabbed Giles tight enough to squeeze the life from his human body; flesh and blood and bone at the mercy of one of the most vicious killers ever known. Angelus shed his clothing, slowly and provocatively, eyes never leaving Giles', in smirking recognition of the naked hunger burning within the upright Watcher.
Giles was pushed onto the bed. He sank back, arms outstretched in supplication; his senses swam in the wake of the powerful aura surrounding the vampire whose bulk pressed onto Giles' own slighter frame. Angelus' large cock ground relentlessly against Giles through the thin barrier of his trousers. Giles desperately wanted to be filled completely, fucked into blissful oblivion, a mindless ecstasy without pain, regret or recrimination; to lose himself in the sheltering arms of her killer.
Rough hands undid first belt, then zipper, and his skin goosepimpled in the cold rush of air. Anticipation thrummed through Giles' body despite his helplessness. Minimal preparation from ungentle fingers before burning pain surged through him, and Giles' nerve-endings were ablaze with sensation so intense he felt consciousness receding. A deep growl against his neck made him suddenly aware that the animalistic grunts came from his own throat.
A chuckle. Cold steel.
"Hey, Giles .look what I found. Wonder how much damage I can do with this itty bitty gun."
God in heaven, how had he imagined he could walk away from this?