Xander was pretty sure he was going to ask Wesley to teach him a few spells, after this. Assuming he recovered. The 'teleport something into the hotel pool' spell would be really useful, right now. Not only would it get him out of what was threatening to be the most embarrassing experience of his entire lifetime -- save the one which Carla had on tape and promised never, ever to show anyone, including the entire company at the annual Dear-God-We-Survived-Another-Year-Without-Getting-Sued party -- but it would also deal with the raging erection he had. Because apparently his nether bits didn't care how much blood was rushing to Xander's face.

"We couldn't," he said easily, retaining his composure by sheer dint of having lived with Spike for however many years it was, now, and having dated Anya before then, and Cordy before.... Come to think of it, he ought to be the most composed man on the planet by now. "We've been on our honeymoon -- who has time to talk?"

Giles cleared his throat, and looked like he was trying to figure out how to say 'good point' without actually thinking about Spike and Xander having sex. Which -- irony, here?

"But you didn't find out what the pressie was until the last day," Spike spoke up. Xander gave him a look. Apparently his husband wanted to get whapped again.

Except he couldn't. He had to just watch. Nyah, nyah. Xander grinned, and stuck his tongue out. "Well, then we had to go rescue Wesley. Trying to get those three to stop acting like idiots is a full time job."

"And here I thought they let you two stay here out of the kindness of their charitable hearts." Giles wasn't even bothering to hide his amusement now. Why wasn't he as nervous as Xander? It wasn't like he was any more used to this concept than...unless... Xander shuddered, and wiped all thoughts of Buffy and Willow from his head -- or at least, he pretended to, and wished deeply that he actually had the ability. Just temporarily.

Maybe that was it. Maybe Giles had hit Willow up -- or even Anya, considering that she was back to doing the odd spell these days -- for an anti-nervousness charm, like Spike's anti-lust spell. Xander stopped himself, just in time, from following *that* thought to its logical conclusion, and looking. He would *not* look, or they'd all laugh at him even more than they were silently doing now.

"Nah, the digs were part of the benefits for signing up to be their caretakers. Room and board, use of the hot tub as long as we don't get caught, and weekly boring speeches about why you shouldn't wax the ballroom floor and go skating in your socks, free of charge." Xander still wasn't sure, after all this time, if Spike came up with this bullshit off the top of his head, or if he spent the time Xander was at work thinking them up, and hard-coding them into his brain for later use on occasions like this.

Giles was still smiling at him, and Xander wasn't quite sure if he should get the awkward part over with and chase Anya out-- assuming the awkward parts ever really stopped -- or keep her in here for as long as possible. It wasn't that he wasn't eager, exactly. Sort of. He just had this insane desire not to *look* eager. Exactly. Sort of.

"Much as I'd love to hear about Spike not listening to that speech, and breaking his head open on the ballroom floor--" Anya began.

"Did not. Just got a minor concussion. Cleared up in about two hours. And Wes made up a spell for me, afterwards, to clear 'em up faster the next time."

"--I'd rather be watching free home porn." She held out her hand. Xander stared at her. What exactly did she want? There were videotapes a plenty, in the camera room. After a moment, she sighed and shook her head. "Gift certificate?"

Spike snorted. "Come on -- not like you really need it."

"Does no one but me recognize the value of keeping accurate receipts? No wonder--"

Xander reached into his pocket, and pulled out the carefully folded piece of paper. "No. I've got it." He tried not to look at Giles, for fear he'd know Xander had been carrying it around with him for weeks now.

Anya took it, and nodded approvingly. "Good. I'm going to the little room with the cameras now, and if somebody doesn't start doing something entertaining in five minutes, I'm going to tell you guys all the secrets you've told me about each other. Starting with when Xander was in high school and Giles was lecturing him for going after Buffy when he'd been told not to, and Xander was thinking it'd be so much nicer if he'd just--"

"Right, it's two doors down, on the left." Xander found himself escorting Anya out the door and into the hallway, speaking loudly over her, and feeling vaguely guilty about the deja vu that caused. "Don't spill popcorn on the keyboard; it takes forever to get the salt out."

"I won't. Have fun." Anya gave them all a smile, and left. Xander stood there in the doorway and didn't turn around. Five minutes. Could he do this? He could do this. He'd had sex with Spike up against a lamppost, for god's sake, in the middle of a sidewalk in London. True, no one who'd seen had known him, or was ever going to see him again.

But this was Giles. Giles, and Spike, and Anya. All of whom he loved and trusted and cared for. So was this an incredibly bad idea? He shut the door and turned around, to find Giles and Spike giving him nearly identical looks of faint worry. It made him laugh, and that made the faint looks grow slightly more worried.

"Xander -- if you really don't want to--" Giles began.

"I do!" he blurted, not wanting to hear Giles say he wouldn't. "I do," he repeated, feeling more certain about it. "I just...not my usual thing, you know?"

There was almost a smirk on Giles's face. "Yes, I'm sure I would have remembered if you'd done this before."

Xander scowled. "I could have done it with Angel. Except Gunn and Wesley would have turned me into a newt the hard way." He saw Spike's eyes flash gold, briefly, and began to think, deep in his brain, of ways to talk Angel into doing this sometime.

"Yes. Well, we seem to have permission from everyone concerned." Giles nodded towards Spike, and his eyes flickered towards the door, where Anya had gone. "All that remains is...you. Get over here."

Xander gulped. He found his feet obeying, before he could decide that he didn't mean *now*. They still had two minutes left before Anya started telling secrets -- which, wait, Spike told Anya secrets?

But he found himself standing next to Giles, standing close enough that he could feel the man's heat and smell the aftershave he'd used that morning, maybe even smell a hint of something underneath it. Close enough that he could reach out and have his arms around him, maybe even kiss him -- if either of those things had been on the list of events for the day. Were they? He suddenly realized he didn't know.

Then Giles's hand was on his arm, and he was being pulled along, and dumped over -- somehow Giles had got underneath him, and he was across Giles's legs. Xander got one hand onto the couch, and held himself up enough to not suffocate against the cushions. He turned his head to ask what was going on -- and Giles hit him.

Xander eeped.

It was a not-very-hard slap on the seat of his jeans, so the eep wasn't exactly a squeal of pain. More one of surprise, and confusion. Not that it had happened -- what, like he hadn't re-read that gift certificate at least five times a day since he'd opened it? But surprise that it had come so soon, no matter how not ever ready for it he wasn't going to have been, and confusion, because... across the seat of his *jeans*?

No sooner had he thought the words than it happened again, and most of his ability to think about why he was confused flew right out the window. The confusion remained, but the clarity of *why* was drowned in the faint warmth that Giles's hand had imparted to his butt. Just a little sting, nothing that wasn't already fading, but it was *Giles*. Spanking him. He let his head fall again.

As the heat faded, enough thought crept its way in to cry, "But...!" As in "But I thought," and "But when Spike and I do it, we always," and "But isn't he gonna? Or did I read too much into that, and should I be really embarrassed now?" More embarrassed than he already was that he was butt-up across the knees of the man who'd given him away at his wedding, and he was, beneath the confusion, enjoying it immensely.

Well, if that was really all Giles had in mind, Xander was determined to enjoy it for as long as it lasted. The next slap was a little harder, and came a bit faster. And the next. It was developing into a sort of slow burn that didn't really fade in between, because Giles was heating up the denim of his jeans just as much as his ass. He'd have to remember that -- point out to Spike that not everything was better naked, all the time.

Spike. Xander managed to lift his head just a bit, and saw him, sitting in the chair across from the couch. Watching. When he caught Spike's eye, there was a smile that made Xander's head fall again, feeling the flush bloom hot across his face.

It was ridiculous. This was his *husband*. Spike had seen him in every position a human brain could imagine, and a few that only a warped demonic mind like Spike's could come up with. Seen him naked and half-naked and -- though he was sworn to secrecy about this, and if *that* was the secret he'd told Anya, he was *so* in trouble -- wearing a saddle. What was it about Spike seeing *this* that had Xander feeling like there was much more blood in his body than humanly possible, enough for the girly-blush, and for his trapped hard-on to press even tighter against the inside of his jeans?

Maybe it was the way Spike, despite his encouraging leer, was gripping the arms of the chair so tightly that Xander could hear the leather creaking under his fingernails. He told himself that Spike -- if his blood circulated -- would be blushing, too, right now. William Abelard Witherspoon most *certainly* would have blushed, and it was a fair bet it'd have been a terminal case, too. Xander let that thought reassure him as Giles -- *smack* -- hit him again.

Xander heard a garbled noise come out of his throat, and wondered if Giles could interpret it as any version of the 'But' question. Oddly, he had a brain cell left over to chuckle at the pun, then the slap came again and Xander was wondering if he could scoot up, just a little, so he could rub his trapped erection against something more solid than denim and air.

He opened his mouth to try and ask -- something. Anything, to show that he was actively participating. All he could say was something that sounded like 'Guh!'

He also, somehow, seemed to be trying to get his ass up, into the air, to meet Giles's hand all the sooner. Apparently his body was not in cahoots with his brain. Then Giles smacked his ass again, and his brain asked itself why it was trying to interrupt this with pointless questions? He gripped the corner of the couch, and tried to find someplace to put his feet, so he could get some leverage.

"Stop wriggling," Giles said sternly.

"But I--"

*SMACK*

Xander eeped again. "You did that on purpose," he muttered -- and heard a surprised, if delighted, sounding laugh from Giles.

After a moment, Giles said, still in that tickled tone of voice, "You sound as if you think you're supposed to be enjoying this."

"I'm--" Smack! Gasp. Wriggle.

"I said *stop* that."

"--not?" At least his body and mind agreed on their disagreement with that point. They might have been frustrated in their attempts to *increase* that enjoyment, but there were definite tingles of pleasure coming from all sorts of places, and Xander assumed one of them was his brain.

"You're being punished, aren't you?"

Xander was supposed to answer rationally when he said things like that? When *Giles* said things like that, in his best, "That library book is so overdue, only a sacrifice to the nine Hellgods of Lower Effluvia could possibly make up for your transgression" voice?

"Um...yes?"

Whack! Hard enough to shove him forward, but not far enough that he could rub against anything, dammit. "You don't sound very sure."

"Well..." Xander tried lifting his head and looking up at Spike, but all that got him was a stare as bemused as his own, and the sight of Spike's left hand creeping towards his own fly, then after a second, being forcibly returned to the chair arm.

"You have no idea why, do you."

"Um...no?"

"I should probably stop, then."

This was punctuated by Giles not stopping, rather soundly. Xander couldn't quite figure out how to shout, "No!" without Giles possibly taking it for a request to stop doing what he'd just done that he'd said he should probably... "No!"

"No, I shouldn't stop? But it can't be doing any good, if you don't know what you're being punished for."

"I do! I mean... um... for that time I accidentally conjured Beelzebub into your living room and he wouldn't leave until you'd sung, "Total Eclipse of the Heart" for him? Twice?"

There was a choked-up laugh from Spike. "You did that, and I missed it?"

From Giles, there was a dry, "No, but thank you for reminding me of *that* experience." And a succession of three quick swats that were just heavy enough to have Xander squirming for more, and just light enough not to be *enough*. Damn, Giles was mean.

"Can I just say that I didn't mean to?" Xander offered, not supposing it would get him out of trouble -- but, then, he wasn't sure he was *supposed* to be getting out of trouble. Trouble meant more spanking, right? Of course, more spanking along with some rubbing would be better. He tried to pull himself upwards, again, so he could get at least the tip of his cock against-- *Smack*.

"Don't move," Giles said in that deceptively mild tone that meant someone was about to lose his spanking privileges.

"But--"

"Xander."

Xander's mouth was open, but there was no air coming out. Or possibly in. He'd become a vampire and no one had told him. Who knew you had to be spanked by a Watcher, to become a vampire? His hands were still gripping the couch, and he could see his knuckles turning white. See? Proof -- pale skin. Vampire. He glanced over at Spike to see if his husband had noticed, and found two unblinking eyes staring at him.

Spike was moving -- the unsympathetic bastard. Moving around in his seat, tugging at his jeans, one hand giving his erection a swift rub. Xander narrowed his eyes -- if Spike got off *now*, he was going to...to...tell Angel that Giles had spanked Spike. There was another swift, hard smack on his ass, and he whimpered. Spike's eyes went gold, and his hips jutted upwards as if someone had asked to fuck him. Maybe Giles would give Xander five minutes to go do so, then they could resume the spanking?

A finger slid down the seam of his jeans, right between his butt cheeks, and Xander felt a strangled groan come out of his throat. Spike whispered something, and was unzipping his jeans.

Spike was *so* dead, if he made Xander watch him jerk off when Xander couldn't even get his bare ass spanked til *he* came. "Spike?" Giles said quietly, whip-crack of his voice making Spike freeze with his hand almost wrapped around his cock. "I said, 'no touching'."

"Bloody..." he rasped through sharpened teeth. "You can't be serious. Him! No touching *him*! You didn't say no touching *me*."

"I said, no touching."

"You sadistic son of a bitch."

"Thank you."

Xander struggled to come up with something he'd done that Giles could possibly be getting him back for. Correction -- he struggled to narrow it down to *one* thing he'd done, recently enough that Giles hadn't already taken his revenge. "Your car? I got you a new one."

"You mean, *another* new one?" Xander found himself being whapped lightly, almost playfully, this time.

"No, just the one. I mean, two. The one you knew about and the one you weren't supposed to know about but did because it didn't have that new car smell and can't you just *tell* me?"

"What sort of learning experience would that be?"

'The kind where I get off without my brain exploding and leaking all over your nicely-tailored slacks!' he wanted to shout. All that came out was, "Uurghh..." as Giles hit him again, by way of demonstration, of...something. What was the question, again? Oh yeah. What was he being punished for.

"Overdue book?" he offered wildly.

Twin chuckles, though Spike's was strained. "When did you ever check one out in the first place?" Giles asked.

He hadn't. But he'd thought about it. Every so often. In one of those fantasies that Anya and Spike were *both* dead if they repeated. Checking out something vaguely valuable monetarily, but not in a demon-hunting sense, and strolling back into the library three weeks later, claiming to have lost it. And of course, he hardly had the money to pay for it, and the little rat-principal was just waiting for a chance to haul him into a detention room that made the Breakfast Club look like a slumber party at Buffy's, by comparison. Couldn't Giles think of *anything* he could do to make up for it?

Not that he ever would have done it. Not that he didn't know Giles would never have taken him up on the offer, even if he hadn't been underaged, even if one or both of them hadn't spontaneously combusted while he was getting the words out. That wasn't the point; it was a *fantasy*. One which Giles might even accept in place of whatever he'd *really* done wrong, if Xander could manage to spit the words out now. "Um...they were kind of..." But Xander's vocabulary had gone off to Giles's office in the library -- watching Xander stand in front of the desk, hands in pockets, scraping the floor with the toe of his tennis shoe -- and couldn't be reached for comment.

"Imaginary library books," a grinning, too-knowing husband supplied for him, explaining no further.

"Imaginary--?" Giles began, then didn't pursue the question. He simply spanked Xander again, and made both Xander and Spike moan.

Xander didn't know if he should keep guessing, or if that would throw Giles off his stride. What he *really* wanted was to pull his jeans down and feel the slap against his skin -- warm and tingling as the feelings in his ass were right now, he wanted more. But he was pretty sure asking for more would get him...um...well, not spanked.

There came another hard smack, then Giles rested his hand on Xander's ass. He could feel his butt muscles tensing, reflexively. He heard a whispered plea crawl up his throat, and choked it back, not sure it would help. Giles waited, and Xander waited, and Xander was pretty sure Spike was waiting because he wasn't getting yelled at to stop whatever he was doing or he'd have to go downstairs.

"I can see this isn't working." Giles's words made Xander nearly jump -- had they fucked up, already? Was this too much, crossing the line? Xander began to scramble to his feet, and found Giles was...helping him.

He choked back an apology, not entirely sure how to say it. How did you say you didn't mean to make someone spank you? But he caught a glimpse of Giles's face, which was not looking up at him -- but rather focused on Xander's...eep. Xander swallowed, then froze as Giles's hands went to the fly of his jeans and began undoing them.

Yes, this would *definitely* help. Xander could already think of a dozen things he could confess to doing, even two that Anya had actually done. He'd happily take the blame. Giles was ripping his jeans down and Xander bit down on a hysterical laugh as his erection popped free. "You'll put your eye out with that thing," he babbled. Giles laughed, then he grabbed Xander and yanked him back down onto his lap.

Suddenly Xander realized his mistake. He was back in his original position -- now with not even denim touching his cock. Nothing but air. How the *hell* was he supposed to get off, rubbing air? "Not fair..." he muttered.

"No, it really wasn't," Giles replied agreeably. Then the palm of his hand hit Xander's bare ass, and Xander had to admit that the new situation was *something* of an improvement, as heat spread through his skin. His eyes closed involuntarily, and little red and purple sparks swirled in the darkness. When he opened his eyes and glanced up, the lights were still twinkling in the air between him and Spike's gobsmacked, grinning face.

Better. And worse. Because as good as the skin-to-skin contact felt, the lack of being able to *do* anything about it was that much more tormenting, now. Xander shook his head, dismissing the dancing sparks, and tried to summon the right words. "Giles... help?"

"You want a clue, is that it?"

"Please?" If that word sounded as pitiful to Giles as it did to Xander, as desperate and frustrated and needy as it felt... then maybe Giles's unseen face looked something like Spike's did, without the ridges. The vampiric countenance was no longer grinning, and looked almost as helpless as Xander felt. As if he'd gladly come up with the answer if he knew it -- or was likely, in a minute, to just grab his husband away and smack him to orgasm, himself, if the sight before him wasn't so damn *good*.

Giles said, "It happened this year."

"That's a *clue*?" Xander squeaked.

"Can I guess?" Spike asked, in a breathless tone. It sounded as though he were trying to sound helpful -- though usually when Spike sounded that sincere, he was up to something.

"No, you can't *guess*," Giles replied sternly. "This is very serious." *He* sounded sincere, and there was another hard smack, punctuating his point.

Xander groaned. He tried to pull his hips upwards, though he had hardly any leverage, and got spanked again for his efforts. He could hear Spike groan, too. Xander swallowed, and tried to think. There was a hand hitting him on the ass, and his skin was warm, where the impact was. The rest of his ass was cool, and his cock was begging for something. Anything. A stiff breeze would be good, no pun intended. Oh, no, there was something else he was supposed to be thinking about.

A hand brushed across his ass, and he shivered. "Please, please, please," he begged again.

Fingers ghosted along the top of his thighs and he involuntarily spread his legs -- hampered by the jeans around his knees, and he wondered if he could tear them off without not getting spanked. It was hard to tell, since whenever he did something *bad*, to judge by Giles saying things in the stern librarian voice, he also got a smack on the ass. Which was good. Right? Xander decided it wasn't nice to confuse somebody while they were being spanked. Especially somebody who'd pretty much started out the day confused enough already.

He shifted his legs as much as he could, trying to convince his jeans to fall down by tele...something or other. That levitaty thing Willow could do with pencils, or large men with swords, when she was really pissed. It wasn't working. The jeans were lodged firmly around his knees, and see if he ever let Spike pick out his clothes again, just because he was too distracted to dress himself properly.

"Stop that," came the stern snap. Followed by a slap to the back of his thigh that had him squirming even harder.

How was he supposed to *stop* that, when every touch made his body hungrier for contact? Made him want to grind his cock against furniture or flesh, or anything that was conveniently standing still, made him want to open himself up until every inch of skin he possessed was bared to the smack of Giles's palm. Made his body want these things so much that it didn't care if his mind agreed or not, it just begged for them. Made his breath come in short, deep gasps, and his tongue give way to babbling like an idiot. "Pleasegilesplease... tellmetellme... pleeeeeeese...."

He heard a faint chuckle, and decided that later -- much, much later -- he was going to get Giles back, for this. Sign him up for a lifetime subscription to "Dealing With Demons, a Homeowner's Guide." Except Anya would probably just spank Giles for it, and that wasn't exactly revenge.

Another smack, and Xander could no longer hold his head up. He wasn't entirely sure he was still breathing -- two more in rapid succession, and he knew he wasn't. Panting, and hanging on for dear life, and ready to promise him anything, if he would only keep spanking. Except he was, still, as Xander's body and especially his ass, could attest. Butt muscles clenching and releasing, in anticipation of each next blow, though Xander could discern no pattern to predict them by. The next one took him by surprise, the one following he tensed for, the one after that spurring another moan, and a strangled noise from his husband. Glurble.

The long, low moan that was coming from Xander's throat couldn't possibly be him, could it? The feeling, coiling deep in his belly, couldn't possibly be the orgasm he was going to reach from just knowing Spike was watching this, from nothing but that knowledge and the smacks and the every so often light touch on his skin?

His moans broke into harsh pants, and he tried to hang on to *something* and there wasn't anything. Hands scrabbled for purchase against the air, against too-smooth couch cushions, and he felt his hips jerk. Then one strong arm was wrapped around his waist, and a hand came down on his ass, harder than any, before. Xander cried out. That arm held him, as he came.

Pushing against air, still, but it no longer mattered, because Spike was looking at him, watching as Giles opened him up, body and soul. He just let go, knowing it was Giles, knowing it was okay. The deep-down fear that he'd be laughed at, or disapproved of, for wanting this, exploded into nothing, as he bucked against the grip of Giles's arm, once, twice, then fell. Spent.

Supported by that same strong arm, for a moment, while he breathed, Xander blinked away brighter stars than before. Looked up at Spike to see two round yellow-fire eyes, pupils shrunken to black pinpoints, as if what he was looking at was almost too bright to bear.

Then he was being pulled up. Up and back and his hands finally had that firm grip they'd been seeking, now that he no longer needed it, on Giles's shoulders. Except he did need it, because Giles was standing close to him, and the question he'd been to embarrassed to ask earlier, by *looking*, was answered for him. Most of his questions were answered, the ones about just how far are we taking this, and did I make a mistake, what was I thinking...

Giles made it very clear, by leaning close enough to him that he *couldn't* be mistaken, then asking, "Do you want me to fuck you, Xander?"

The first "Yes!" almost made Xander stop and ask his husband, "Is your name Xander?" He didn't waste the breath on it, though, busy as he was with saying the same thing, only louder.

"Can you tell me what you were being punished for, now?" Giles's voice was low. Ragged. Barely in control, and yet it was. He was, still. Xander shuddered, wondering if he could *ever* hold it together that well, for that long. Wondering how tiny he could make Spike's pupils go, while he was trying to learn.

"For real? Something I did this year?" His brain was sort of back, though Giles's free hand, lightly rubbing his stinging ass, wasn't helping. "Made you dance with Spike, at the wedding?"

"Before that." There was no clue on Giles's face, nor any indication of the strain that was present in his voice.

"Almost let Cordy make you wear a teal bow tie?"

"After that." Lower still. Rougher. The sound scraped against something in him that made Xander want to bury his face in the cushions and be fucked until he blacked out, and he fought the urge to scream at Giles to just do it. Please. Now. Whatever, he was sorry, he'd never do it again unless it meant this would happen again in which case please tell him what it was, but most of all, please? Please now?

"I don't know. Giles, I really don't know."

There was a sigh, then a hard slap on his ass. "You got me drunk."

Huh? "I got you *drunk*? That's it?" Did this mean Giles was going to fuck him now? Or not, since he hadn't guessed? Xander tried to step back and get some perspective, but that arm was still around his waist, so he couldn't move very far.

"You got me very, very drunk. Then you asked me to do this. Whined at me that I wasn't playing fair if I *didn't* do this."

Oh. That. "Well, yeah, but... It wasn't like you would've, really."

Another slap. "The only thing that stopped me -- the *only* thing -- was that I thought *you* were too drunk to know what you were asking." If he wasn't going completely crazy, Xander thought he actually heard a little anger in there, along with the painfully grinding need. "Do you know how close I came? Do you have any idea?"

Judging by how close he was now, yeah. Xander had an idea. One he hadn't had before. "Um. Sorry?"

For a moment, Giles's expression changed. Cleared of most of the arousal, and faint anger. "I'll accept your apology on one condition," he said, gently, but seriously.

"Okay." Xander was willing to agree to anything. Even if he *didn't* get fucked, the spanking had been worth it already.

Giles leaned closer, and placed one finger on Xander's lip. "Don't do it again...unless you want me to spank you," Giles said firmly.

Xander grinned. There was a stifled sound from Spike, that sounded suspiciously like a cheer. "You can fuck me now," Xander told Giles, and wriggled his still-warm butt.

Giles spun him around, and he thought he heard a whispered, "Thank god."

*****
Part 3:

Rupert didn't stop, again -- sure he would somehow talk himself out of this, if he did.

Not as though everyone involved weren't perfectly willing and perfectly able to indicating their willingness, for this to happen. But somehow, even when he'd decided on giving this as a present to Xander and Spike, he'd expected to not get everything he'd wanted. In the back of his mind, he was still waiting for someone to say 'stop,' after which he'd have to go find a cold shower -- or Anya -- before he could even think of driving home.

But Xander was here, before him, leaning over the end of the couch without even a glance backwards. The sight of him made Rupert want to hold him down, hold him tight. Fuck him. Something he wasn't supposed to have been thinking about, not quite daring to want, for years, now.

Because he was the Watcher, the librarian, the father figure. Somebody's rakish uncle if he was lucky, but not the one who seduced the innocent lad with the attractive stammer and the eyes that went black when something turned him on, even when he was pretending otherwise. No, Rupert was the rakish uncle who bought the children inappropriately expensive Christmas gifts and let the not-quite children get away with plundering his collection of rare supernatural literature for descriptions of vampire mating rituals. So they could surprise their undead lover, who *was* the type to seduce the one with the stammer.

But now - now word and deed were telling him that it was only not all right to think about, because he was supposed to be *doing* it. Even Spike, or perhaps especially Spike, was giving him pleading, get on with it looks, accompanied by a faint growl that Rupert wasn't even sure the vampire knew he was growling. "Under the middle cushion, for god's sake, Giles!"

He lifted the cushion, the one Xander had been clutching at. Lubricant. Pineapple scented, as if he cared right now whether it smelled like orchids, or essence of candyfloss. He was more concerned with covering his fingers with it. Sliding one hand over Xander's arse-crack and watching him jump at the touch. Cool slick fingers on warm skin, the same fingers that had made it warm in the first place. Then hot, hotter inside than he'd managed to make the outside, and Xander moaning louder than he had while he was being spanked. Louder than he had while he wasn't, and was begging for more.

Spike, sitting, looking at them. Utterly rapt, the hyperactivity that had driven Rupert insane while Spike stayed at his flat, channeled into one beam of intense concentration. Watching them. Staring at Rupert's fingers thrusting in and out of his husband. At Xander, pushing up against them. The single-minded heat of that gaze made Rupert glad, suddenly, that the demon across from him *wanted* this, as much as he did, as much as Xander. Otherwise he feared he'd entertain thoughts of slaying Spike, if he interfered. Perhaps turn him into a newt, since it seemed to work so well for Wesley.

Then he had Xander ready, and Rupert was beyond ready, and he gripped Xander by the hips. Positioned himself behind him, and paused. Looked at the bent back, the lines of muscle, and he wanted.... For a second, he allowed himself to wish. Then he shoved the thoughts aside and placed his cock at Xander's arsehole. Xander whimpered, and pushed backwards onto him, drawing a gasp from Rupert, and Spike.

He glanced over and saw the vampire watching, still, rapt gaze unwavering. Not breathing, not moving an inch. The only sign of life was the contraction of his pupils and the flick of his tongue between fangs, descended at some point Rupert hadn't even noticed. Rupert thrust deeper into Xander, and lost track of his thoughts concerning Spike.

He pressed his body up against Xander, briefly considered pulling him upright to feel Xander's back against his chest, and hold him close. He didn't -- not afraid of the intimacy it would display, but worried they would fall over and break their necks. He'd done this before, with both participants barely undressed, and been lucky not to do more than break his arm. Granted, they hadn't been in a well-furnished living room, at the time. He put his hand on Xander's back, instead, and braced himself before thrusting, again.

Steady. One forceful stroke, hard enough to make Xander squeak, well-placed enough to make him shiver and tighten when Rupert hit the spot. And again. As if he could do this for hours, until Xander was writhing and covered with sweat, and begging him to come already. Instead of the truth, which was that despite anyone's complimentary use of the word 'stevedore' in connection with his lovemaking stamina, Rupert Giles was a breath away from losing every bit of control he possessed. That close to just pumping himself into oblivion, regardless of Xander's pleasure, though he suspected the man was beyond caring at this point.

Except - perhaps not. Because when the next stroke rammed home, there was the expected noise. Groan-hiss. Then a hand, reaching back, to grasp his own wrist, where it rested against Xander's left hip. Pulling at him, desperately, and it couldn't have meant deeper, because there wasn't any deeper to go. That was it: the straw, the camel, the everything, the break in his control. As Xander's hand slipped away, so did everything else except the rhythm that Rupert's body had been urging him towards since... well, since he'd walked into the room.

Taking, claiming, possessing, someone who for a moment, had been willingly loaned to him. Plunging into the heat of a body he'd wanted to touch like this for longer than he'd ever tell anyone, even the ones who were giving him this moment. Slamming into him faster and faster, hearing the groans of pleasure that seemed to be coming from every direction at once, in three voices, one of which must be Rupert's own.

Closing his eyes as the pre-shock rumbled through him like thunder, and freezing on that last thrust. Holding as tight to Xander as he could, trusting his hands to know how not to hurt, because his mind only knew the shaking, shivering, muscle spasms of pleasure that flooded through him, and finally, out.

For the longest time, neither of them moved. Perhaps Xander wanted it to be over as little as Rupert did -- because he knew, as soon as he pulled away, and let go, it would be over. There was not going to be a next time, no matter the teasing, or flirting, or pretending to get drunk. It was almost enough to make him hold on and not let go -- but he couldn't. With a sigh, Rupert stood up, softened cock slipping out of Xander's body, and then there was only his hand on Xander's back.

Xander straightened, slowly, then turned around. The bright, if exhausted, smile that greeted him warmed away any doubts, or regrets Rupert might have had. Not for what they'd done, but for what he'd miss doing, again. He leaned in and took a kiss, lips closed but somehow still everything he might have wanted from kissing Xander. Lips pressed to his, arms around his body, and...something, utterly familiar and welcoming, that made anything at all, all right.

There was a quiet whimper, and they broke apart, turning their heads to look at Spike. Sitting in his chair, obviously having obeyed orders rather well, and *not* touched. He looked as though he were in a great deal of pain, however -- hands tightly gripping the chair arms, face straining, eyes so gold Rupert wasn't sure he could actually see.

"Am I allowed to touch him?" Xander asked, in a teasing voice.

Rupert started to say yes -- then he considered. Re-considered. Let go of Xander, and moved forward. Carefully, giving Spike, or Xander, time to realize and stop him. Then he was standing before Spike, and Spike was looking up at him, pleading silently.

He didn't give himself the luxury of time to think, that he'd offered the other two. He simply gave a warning glare to Spike, to keep his hands where they were, locked white-knuckled around the leather-padded chair arms -- then leaned over. Put one hand on the back of the chair near Spike's head, and used the other to unzip him -- the rest of the way, since he'd never gotten himself fully rearranged after Rupert had shouted at him the first time.

His hand around Spike's cock. His left hand, his spanking hand. Half-cool flesh would almost have been soothing against the fading sting, if Spike weren't shifting his hips wildly at the touch.

Rupert hissed at him, on principle, but he could see it was out of Spike's control, at this point. He held firmly, and let Spike buck against his hand, barely moving, allowing the vampire to do all the work. Three, four jerks of the narrow denim-wrapped hips, and Spike was spilling across Rupert's hand, head thrown back and wide-open eyes definitely seeing nothing, now.

He sprawled there for a moment, still as a rather lewd statue, and unbreathing. Rupert was struck by the odd fancy that he'd just killed a man with a hand-job, and the thought made him grin. There were worse ways to go, certainly. Then Spike's eyelids were fluttering, and he was sitting up, grinning almost as widely as Rupert was - probably not at the same thought, though you could never tell, with Spike.

Xander handed Rupert a cloth, to wipe his hand off with, and he did so automatically, before looking down to realize it was the t-shirt Xander had been wearing. When he glanced up, Xander laughed. "Don't worry. That's what they're here for, trust me. Clothes are for Spike to rip off me, and cleaning up afterwards. Just ask him."

"Not true. They're also for making the tourists jealous, cos' only I get to have what's inside 'em. With limited exceptions, of course." Spike winked at Rupert, and for once, Rupert really didn't have the urge to hit him with something. A temporary aberration, no doubt.

"Yes, well," Rupert began, then realized he didn't feel awkward -- but thought he ought to, which was making him feel almost awkward, but not quite. He handed the t-shirt back to Xander, and reached down to quickly close his trousers. Waited for someone to say something, wondering if he should just make his goodbyes, and gather up Anya, to leave. Xander looked like he was ready to collapse into bed for a nap, after all -- which would mean Spike would go with him, and Rupert and Anya would be best going, at least for the afternoon.

"Who wants lunch?" Spike suddenly asked, sounding wide awake.

"Oo! Raiding the fridge downstairs? Order in? Make Giles cook?" Xander rattled off, sounding just as wide awake.

Rupert narrowed his eyes. Had *Xander* had some sort of spell put on him before they'd arrived? One of endurance? "I'm not cooking," he informed his hosts, still looking suspiciously at the stretching, yawning young man.

"Let's see what Charles has left in the fridge," Spike suggested, standing up and re-arranging his jeans.

"Didn't he say he would have Wesley turn you into a small newt if you called him 'Charles'?" Rupert asked. The mood had not, as he'd feared, ever turned uncomfortable. He relaxed, letting himself not worry about it -- there was always next time they saw each other, after all.

"Spike enjoys being a newt," Xander said with a grin.

"I hesitate to even ask." Rupert didn't want to know -- kinky, he could do, but he was afraid to know just what about it appealed to Spike.

Spike opened his mouth to answer -- no doubt in great detail -- so Rupert was utterly grateful when the door opened, and Anya came hurrying in.

Then he was worried, when she frowned slightly. "Anya?"

"Could you do that last part again? From the point where Rupert pulled down Xander's jeans?"

Spike cursed. "You mean you didn't get that on tape? It's automated! What the hell did you do to my cameras, woman?!"

She just blinked. "Of course I got it on tape. I just want to see it again."

Rupert intercepted the t-shirt as it flew past his head. He was vaguely annoyed to note that it was Spike's clean one - if he'd known that, he would have let it hit her. "Anya, we're not going to do that again." He managed not to sound remotely regretful. Surprisingly, he managed not to *feel* all that regretful, either. Just vaguely wistful, and mostly satisfied.

"At least not until after lunch," Spike added. "Xan and I are still young and fresh, but Rupes'll need some protein replenishment, first."

The urge to hit him returned, full force, despite Xander having done so the minute Spike shut his mouth. Rupert welcomed his sanity back with a smile, then threw the t-shirt at Spike's head.

From underneath the shirt, Spike asked, "So, who else wants blood and tater tots for lunch?" Not surprisingly, he got whapped, again. Spike pulled the t-shirt off, and gave Xander a pout. "That's not fair. You got whapped on your arse; all I get is whapped in the head."

Then Spike looked at Rupert. Hopefully.

"Lunch, first," Rupert announced, without batting an eye. And then hell freezing over, he didn't add. After all, Spike didn't need to know that. Not when he could be strung along until...oh, at least his tenth anniversary, or so. Rupert grinned, and headed for the door, wondering if ordering take-away Oysters Rockefeller would be going too far.

the end