Talking To Giles
"Er, Rupert?" Spike said, knocking lightly on the semi-open office door.
Giles looked up from his desk. "Oh, hello, Spike. What can I do for you?"
"Do you have a minute?" Spike asked, hovering in the doorway.
"Of course," Giles replied, turning fully in his chair. He gestured for Spike to have a seat.
Spike entered the office, closing the door behind him for privacy, and sat down. He casually put
one foot on his knee, but any attempt at acting collected was supplanted by the bouncing of that
foot. Giles waited patiently, calmly removing his glasses and taking out a handkerchief to clean
"I have a problem," Spike finally blurted, then pursed his lips as he thought about how twelve-step that sounded.
"What sort of problem?" Giles asked when he didn't freely explain.
Spike looked down at his fingernails, then tapped them on his raised knee. "I've been having
"No, nightdreams," Spike corrected. "Like daydreaming but at night. It was a joke to the Slayer.
Never mind." He got up to go, but Giles stopped him.
"I take it these, er, nightdreams a-are bothering you?" Giles asked, replacing his glasses and
tucking the handkerchief in his pocket.
"That's a bloody understatement," he replied.
"What are they about?"
Spike gave him a 'deer caught in the headlights' look. How could he tell Giles that he
nightdreamed about the Slayer? About how he sucked on her clit, tasting her delicious honey, as
she writhed under him; or how he watched her pleasure herself while he tossed off; or how hot
and tight she was around him; or how the night before he'd made such the sweetest love to her it
made his undead heart hurt, only to find out it was all in his head? "You know, doc? I'm feeling
Giles held up his hand. "You do not need to tell me the details," he said. "I shall just ask if they
are repetitive a-and how often they occur."
Spike slumped back in the chair and looked up at the ceiling. "They're with the same person, if
that's what you mean, but I haven't had the same one twice."
"And how often did you say?" Giles asked.
"All the bloody time," Spike admitted. "What really wanks my...er, gets to me is that I don't
know when they friggin' start."
"I take it they involve whatever surroundings in which you a-are, er, located?" Giles surmised.
"Yeah," he replied. He looked down at his hand again and began scraping the nail polish off his
"Hmm." Giles turned back to his desk and reached for a book. "I think that we are dealing
simply with stress. Let me check something..."
Spike raised his head and looked over to see Buffy peeking her head around the door she opened.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Hello, Slayer," he greeted cooly.
"What're you guys doing?" she asked, coming into the office and re-shutting the door behind her.
"Things," he answered vaguely.
"Hello, Buffy," Giles said, glancing up from his book then returning to it. "I shall be with you in a
"That's ok, I'm good," Buffy told him. She walked around behind Spike and put her hands on his
shoulders. He tensed. "What? Afraid I'm going to hurt you?"
"Like you could," Spike grumbled.
She began to rub his shoulders. "Oh, I could if I wanted to," she said.
Spike didn't answer. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, his head dropping forward as she
massaged his tense muscles. He wouldn't admit it, but her actions felt very good. Just as he was
relaxing, however, he felt her hot breath on the back of his neck, causing him to stiffen up again.
"Relax, Spike," Buffy whispered near his ear. "You are way too tense."
Her hands began a slow descent over his shoulders and down his chest as far as she could reach.
Spike sucked in a sharp, unneeded breath, his muscles quivering under her fingers and she lightly
scratched her way back up to his shoulders again. "What are you doing?" he hissed.
"Pardon?" Giles asked, turning to look back at them.
"Nothing, Giles," Buffy said, her hands on Spike's shoulders again. "I'm just pestering Spike."
"Ah," Giles said, returning to his book. "Try not to do it too much."
"Ok," Buffy said.
Spike knew the tone in her voice meant she had no intention of not driving him crazy, and it was
confirmed when he felt her hot breath by his ear again. "Slayer, go away," he growled quietly.
"Nope," she whispered. "I'd rather stay here and have you give me a tongue bath."
"What?" Spike said, frowning. She couldn't have said what he thought she just said.
"Wouldn't you just love to lick slowly down my body, stopping to roll my hard nipples in
between your lips, sucking on them and driving me crazy?" Buffy breathed in his ear. "Or burying
your face between my legs, tasting my juices, as I scream out your name?"
"Fuck," he muttered. "Go away. You're not real."
"Does this feel like your imagination?" she asked, leaning over the side of the chair and cupping
him through his jeans.
"Yes, now go away," Spike growled.
"Fine," Buffy said.
Spike heard the office door open and close, then looked up to see Giles looking at him funny.
"I take it you just h-had a, er, nightdream?" Giles asked.
"How did you know?" Spike said. "I didn't even bloody know until a second ago."
"It was relatively simple to deduce," Giles told him, rising from his chair. He walked around
Spike about leapt out of his skin when he felt Giles' hands rub his shoulders much the way
Buffy's had moments before. With a strangled yelp, the world went blurry, then snapped into
focus again, and he saw Giles sitting at his desk with a book in his hand, speaking.
"...Your nightdreams are, indeed, stress-induced," Giles was saying. "This recommends removing
oneself from the sit-situation causing the stress for a brief period of time to see if they will cease."
He closed the book and turned to Spike, then frowned. "Are you alright?"
"Peachy," Spike choked out. "What am I suppose to do?"
"I suggest a-a short holiday," Giles said. "Take Buffy's pager with you, in case we need your
"Right," Spike said, standing. He gave Giles a strained smile, then quickly left.
The sooner he got away from Sunnydale, the better.