FIC: Hatesex Part One of Two (vamp!giles, Spike, Dru, Other Male Char, silly, AU)

[kidcyclone.livejournal.com]

Rating: R, for some swearing, talk of sex, and obnoxious, unwelcome and insincere 'seduction'

Author's note: This fic is set in an AU which has more of a nodding acquaintance with the fics of Peasant http://peasant.notanothersite.com/ than anything. The central conceits of this AU are: Angelus was never ensouled and remained with the family until present-day; Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel: the Series are television programmes which take considerable artistic licence with the exploits of the Fanged Four (and which are loathed by Angelus and the other older Aurelians), and Rupert is a vampire whose relationship with Angelus is as rocky as Giles's relationship with Angel.

Note that Spike is generally snarky and rude toward his Uncle Rupert-- the author loves Giles in all his permutations and does not share Spike's bratty attitude about him.



London in July was stupidly hot and full of Yanks. The locals had all buggered off to sun themselves in Tenerife or Limassol or to chuck coins into Italian fountains. Even France would be better than London when the mercury topped 30 degrees and the general atmosphere in the street was a heady mix of stewed rubbish and sweaty tourist. Angelus's bachelor flat-- the one he kept in Town as a refuge when a victim he fancied lived in a neighbourhood where he didn't fancy parking his car on the street, or where he liked to bring the object of his current obsession whenever he and Darla were in one of their periods of playing the field-- was close and stuffy. It was made considerably stuffier by Rupert's presence, but Spike reckoned that would be the case even if it were 20 below outside. It was part of Rupert's inherent nature.

"Remind me again why you are here?" Rupert paused in his pacing and stared hard at Spike, as though if he stared hard enough, he could summon the aetherial energies to transport him somewhere else.

"So long as you're up, I could use a refill. I'm dry here," Spike said, holding out his empty glass. He wriggled his wrist to make the trickle of liquid clinging to the bottom slosh feebly.

"I wouldn't use that particular descriptor. You seem to be covered in a fine, damp sheen," Rupert frowned, regarding the younger vampire with distaste. "Which, I may add, you are transferring to the couch. Must you loll about with your shirt off?"

Spike adjusted his posture to an even more insolent and boneless slouch, throwing one wiry arm over the back of the couch and smirking up at Rupert. He balanced the netbook against one knee, propping the glass on the arm of the couch. "What's wrong, Rupes, jealous? You could take off your jacket if you wanted. Your shirt as well, while you're at it."

Rupert paused in his pacing to stare at Spike, blinking with an attitude of confused annoyance, bordering on outrage. Poor old Rupes, he was clever enough to twig when he was having the piss taken out of him, but never seemed to be able to quite work out how or why. He narrowed his eyes and lapsed into a terse, prickly silence for a few moments before snapping, "And why would I do that, exactly?"

"It would make the atmosphere in the room considerably less hot," Spike smirked, letting the tip of his tongue touch his upper lip and lolling even more obnoxiously. He propped one foot on the Danish modern coffee table and threw the other over the back of the couch. "Come on, then, there's a good chap, refill my glass."

"You obviously have gone insane from the heat," Rupert snapped. "Or you mistake me for your sire. Unfortunately for you, I have no inclination to cater to you, and I find you even more irritating when you're drunk than when you're sober. Put on your shirt."

Spike typed a few words onto the screen of the netbook, then reached back, stretching languidly, like a white cat, to seize the empty glass and give it another meaningful shake. "Funny thing, Rupes, this glass is still empty."

"And you are still half-naked and incredibly irritating. Why are you here?" Rupert glowered, glancing at his wristwatch. He frowned and gave his wrist a light shake, glancing between his watch and the clock atop the mantel.

"Someone's got to watch 'Gelus's place and make sure that opportunistic cheapskates don't try to pop round for say, clandestine rendezvouses, taking advantage of the old folks swanning around Biarritz," Spike drawled. He studied the ceiling for a few seconds, tongue between his teeth, before launching into another brief, but furious bout of typing on the netbook. "And I'm not drunk. I've hardly had one glassful of whiskey, and it's the cheap stuff that 'Gelus keeps for guests. Why don't you make yourself useful and go fetch the good bottle."

Spike flicked a glance up from under his eyelashes to see how this would go down. Predictably, Rupert's mouth had thinned into a straight line and his nostrils flared, but otherwise there was nothing to indicate that he'd managed to annoy the old brute. He had to hand it to him, he had amazing self-control. Probably came with the territory, being a bloody sorcerer and all. It was supposed to take loads of self-control to be able to muck about with higher magicks. Or at any rate, that was what Angelus had always rabbited on about when he was in a mood to harp on such things.

Spike had never been keen on self-control. It seemed an awful like like restraint or discipline, two concepts that conjured up images in his mind that were decidedly un-fun. No, that sort of thing was best left to stodgy oldsters like Rupes, and Angelus, when he was in one of his respectable moods. Of course, Angelus being Angelus, he was allowed to mercurially shift in temperament from boring respectability to hell-raising at the drop of a hat, and nobody was ever supposed to remind him that he'd been espousing the Jeckyllish side of life when he was in a Hyde mood. Or vice-versa.

But when the alternative was having a perpetual poker up one's bum like Darla's brothers, Spike supposed that Angelus's occasional hypocrisies were forgivable. God knew he would prefer Angelus on his worst day to Rupert on any day at all. He glanced toward the tightly shuttered windows, squinting at the damnable brightness squeezing around the edges of the blinds. Bloody typical-- the hottest day of the year, the sun shining its head off outside, and he was stuck indoors with Rupert. To make matters more irritating, Dru had retired to the relative coolness and dark of the flat's windowless bathroom, announcing she had a headache and Miss Edith couldn't play hide-and-seek with Spike's weasel until the nasty sun had gone to sleep.

That meant that Spike potentially had a very long and lonesome day ahead of him indeed-- unless he came up with some way to block out the sun, in which case he supposed that he would be lauded as a hero and given the vampire equivalent of a Nobel prize. Which would be very useful and something to put on the mantelpiece, but ultimately would require a lot of hard work and so he had resigned himself to whiling away the long hours by turning to the internet for amusement.

"Every time I think you have reached the height of your annoying powers, you surprise me," Rupert retorted, stalking over to a chair and throwing himself into it. "Do you really have nothing better to do than to loll all over the sofa half-dressed?"

"Why does it bother you so much, seeing me with my shirt off? I can only assume this is jealousy. Or some sort of repressed gay lust. Which, all things considered, you're failing at pretty miserably. The repression, I mean, not the gay bit. You do that just fine." Spike glanced across the room at the drinks cabinet and wondered if he was going to have to get up and fetch a refill for himself. Typical bloody Rupert, couldn't make himself useful to save his life. Metaphorically speaking.

He was pleased when Rupert made a sort of outraged sputtering noise, and smirked. Well, if he was going to be stuck in the flat with the old wanker all day, he might as well amuse himself. "So, Rupes, how would you describe yourself-- with your shirt off, I mean?"

Rupert fixed him with a stare that ought to have lowered the temperature of the room to merely sweltering. Spike widened his eyes and tried to will a sincere expression onto his face.

"What sort of question is that? What are you on about?" Rupert demanded.

Spike lazed, draping an arm behind his head and idly typing a few keystrokes with his free hand. "Well, you see, Rupes, it's like this. Since we're both stuck here for the duration, due to this bloody sunlight, and since it's hotter than the centre of the Earth in this flat, I can only assume that you're not magicking it colder in here due to a perverse desire on your part to get me to strip off."

Rupert made another outraged choking noise and actually backed up against the wall, his pale face glistening with a fine sheen. He pulled out his pocket handkerchief and mopped at his face roughly before hissing, "Have you lost your mind, boy? I assure you that I have no desire to see you in all your dubious naked glory. Now, so long as we are stuck here together, why don't we be sensible about this. Take Drusilla into the bedroom and you two can get up to whatever sordid things you wish to in there. I'll stay out here and we can all try to pretend--"

"Oh, you want to bring Dru into this as well! Kinky, very kinky, Rupes. And make-believe? I always knew you were a pervert. I can imagine the sort of 'let's pretend' games you'd like to get up to." Spike grinned wickedly, laying the netbook aside and slithering off the couch. He crossed the room and planted one hand on the wall on either side of Rupert's head, pressing close and darting his head into Rupert's personal space, dropping his fangs and feigning as if to go in for a swift nip.

Rupert made a sharp, irritated noise and knocked one of Spike's arms aside, ducking out of his boxed-in position. Spike grinned, unbuckling his belt with one hand and stalking closer. He deliberately threw a calculated little wriggle of the hips that he knew from personal experience hunting was guaranteed to inflame the sad desires of a certain type of academic wanker smelling of dusty bookshops and furtive wanking. Resting one hand on the flat, hard muscles of his lower belly, Spike stalked after Rupert.

"Come on, Rupes, don't get your knickers in a twist. What's your problem? Didn't think that you'd be so uptight-- you're all hot and bothered. Come on, chuck that clobber. Think of this as research." He lunged again, fingers closing on the edge of Rupert's sleeve, and tried to pull his large, cool hand up close enough to run his tongue over his fingertips.

With an outraged shout, Rupert pulled his hand free, then swiped at Spike, managing to land a glancing clip to his ear. "Oh yes, figured you liked it rough. That's all right, it isn't a proper shag unless everybody's got a few bruises to show for it, is it?"

"Have you absolutely lost your mind!" Rupert thundered. He was behind the big chair now, eyes flashing and teeth clenched. He clutched the back of the chair with long, strong fingers that were white from exertion. "I don't know what you are playing at, but I'm not going to be part of this ridiculous exercise. Go fetch Drusilla and go to the bedroom. I'm on the verge of losing my patience with you."

Spike raked a glance up and down Rupert's body. Oh, he was in a real strop now- his collar was askew and his tie was slightly crooked. From the way his nostrils flared he almost could fancy the old brute was breathing. He felt a surge of triumph. He'd always known Rupes secretly fancied him. Wait until he told Angelus. Of course, he wouldn't go so far as to actually shag him-- that would be repulsive, old vamps shouldn't be allowed. There should be a maximum age for turning, and Rupert was well-past his sell-by date. But stringing him along would be good fun and a better way to while away the long, tedious, bloody sweltering daylight hours. Besides, it would teach the old tosser a lesson about turning up uninvited.

"What are you doing hanging about here, anyway?" Spike demanded, unbuttoning the top of his jeans with one hand, resting the other hand on the back of the chair. "Just popped round to see if Angelus was in, did you? Just a little social call out of the blue? Pity you forgot he's not here."

No, Rupert was up to something, no doubt about it. The sly old goat had something up his sleeve and Spike was determined to work out what it was. Going through the preliminaries for a tumble might shake it out of him. And then he could leverage that information with Angelus, maybe get all sorts of treats and general bribes out of it. Not to mention potentially stringing Rupert along, blackmailing him a bit, to encourage him not to reveal whatever he was scheming to Angelus. Just a typical night in the everlasting game of vampire Happy Families.

"It is none of your affair why I'm here," Rupert snapped. "Do up your trousers and get out of my sight. I'm in no mood for your idiotic amusements."

"Ooh, what you going to do, Rupert?" Spike widened his eyes, putting one knee against the back of the chair and pushing it toward Rupert, who glowered at him, back ramrod straight. "Going to give me a smacking?"

"I'm not going to tell you again," Rupert sputtered through clenched teeth.

Oh, if only that were true, Spike thought to himself. From long experience, he knew better. He turned round and bent over, glancing over his shoulder with an arched brow and a lascivious smirk. "Going to bend me over your knee, Rupes? Wrestle my jeans down, haul me over that leg of yours, and give my arse a good seeing-to? Going to give me a good slapping until you've vented your frustrations and my bum's red-hot? Ooh, Rupert, you're so forceful. Proper disciplinarian you are. Got me quaking in my boots."

"This is why people don't like you," Rupert hissed, clenching and unclenching his fists. Spike threw his head back and laughed, swaggering back over to the couch. He flung himself back over it.

Some people, Watchers mostly, had odd notions about vamps. For example, they laboured under the impression that vampires never breathed, sweated, had a wee, or blushed. They were wrong on all points, of course, and Rupert's face at the moment was testament to three of those points. He wiped at his forehead and cheeks roughly with his handkerchief, bright spots of colour standing out in bold relief against his pallour.

"I'm hurt, Rupes, I am. Here I thought we were having some sort of snark exchange that was going to lead to a passionate afternoon of snogging and groping. Apparently I've been misled," Spike said, snagging the netbook from its perch.

"I think you've utterly lost your mind," Rupert snapped. He glowered at the clock again. "Now, listen, you little deviant, you have exactly one last chance--"

"Ooh, now you're getting all forceful again. A bloke doesn't know where he's coming or going with you, Rupert, with all these mixed signals," Spike said, smirking to himself.
He wondered if it were possible for a vampire to have an aneurysm.

The door to the bath swung open and Dru drifted out. The sheer material of her blouse clung to her pale skin and she rubbed her little hand over her face, pouting. "Naughty Spike. All the shouting's woken me up, and I was having a lovely dream. You'd put the Slayer's head on a pike and the little birds made a nest in her hair."

"Now, you see? You've disturbed Drusilla with your antics. I'm trying to be reasonable. Take her into the bedroom and leave me in peace," Rupert snapped. He stalked across the room, tugging down his shirt cuffs past the edge of his jacket. "I would have thought you'd have outgrown this nonsense decades ago."

"Rupert's wrestling with his furious love for me," Spike explained to Dru, propping his feet on the back of the couch. She flung herself beside him in a tangle of long limbs and reached for the netbook. "Careful, Princess, it's too bloody hot for cuddles-- oi, mind you don't disrupt that- s' my magnum opus."

"For the last time, you obnoxious boy, I'm not in love with you!" Rupert thundered. "Where would you even get such a ridiculous notion--"

Dru leaned over and prised the netbook from Spike's hands. She tilted her head as she read, big languid eyes reflecting the eerie blue glow from the screen and her pale skin seeming like a luminescent underwater creature's. She giggled, saying, "Uncle Rupert's belly is like a rippled steel washboard, Spike? And his trousers bulge with frightening potential and promise?"

Rupert's eyes widened and he looked appalled. "What the deuce is she reading? I demand an explanation--"

"Don't get your trousers-bulge in a knot, Rupes. It's only fanfic," Spike said, grinning. He leaned over Dru and gently prised the laptop from her slender fingers. Seeing the perplexed expression of outrage on Rupert's face, he rolled his eyes. "Fanfic. People write stories with a ludicrous premise, as a sort of thinly veiled pretence to get character A to shag character B. And if the two characters don't like each other, that's all right, cos generally in fanfics if two characters really loathe one another, it's just cos they secretly want to shag each other rotten but they can't admit it to themselves. I figured you make me want to heave and you're always saying how I'm a disgrace, so you must be gagging for it."

Dru giggled, threading her fingers through Spike's hair. "I want to read the one where Uncle Rupert and Daddy play tumblypokery and he dresses in Mummy's silk chemise."

"Well, that's clearly one that requires a significant suspension of disbelief," Spike said, smirking. "Rupes would never wear green, s'not his colour-- you know, if you keep making those noises and sputtering like that, you're going to deplete all the oxygen in the flat and we might all combust from this bloody heat, Rupert."

"You mean to tell me that humans are writing some sort of-- of-- sexual escapades that are allegedly going on between myself and Angelus?" Rupert sputtered at last. He made a grab for the netbook.

"Ah, ah! Ask before you touch, don't just go grabbing. Shocking disregard for consent amongst the elderly vamp population nowadays." Spike scrambled to his feet and vaulted over the back of the couch, holding the netbook out of grabbing range. The furious old geezer lunged after him, choking on righteous indignation.

"You little idiot-- this is all to do with that wretched television programme, isn't it? It isn't bad enough you've humiliated yourself and your family, letting that sort of rubbish be put onto the air--"

"It's called 'artistic license,' Rupes. I mean, they did get some bits right. Mostly the bits about my prowess in the arenas of sex-and-violence," Spike said. "I sort of wonder if some of the writers aren't secretly hoping I'll give them a tumble as well."

"You haven't even got the sense to see that you're being humiliated," Rupert snapped, scrambling right over the couch after him. Dru squealed and drew her legs up under herself, giggling and clapping her hands.

"When Uncle Rupert catches William, you two can snog and then culminate the tale with a furious tangle of passions and pain," Dru enthused.

"There is going to be no 'snogging,' let alone passion," Rupert snarled. "Pain, however, might be an element of the story, and in abundance. Get back here, you obnoxious brat!"

"Hang on, hang on, I'm writing as fast as I can," Spike called, sniggering. "Rupert vaulted the couch like a geriatric panther. His broad shoulders gleamed in the dim light as he made a grab for Spike's bicep. The white-haired vampire slithered out of his grasp easily and turned to punch, his knuckles glancing off the elderly ex-Watcher's mouth and leaving a crimson smear across his lips--"

"For bad writing alone, you ought to be thrashed," Rupert growled, lunging forward and clamping his fingers on the netbook.

"Here, give that back, you pillock," Spike snarled, pulling the slim machine toward himself.

"I intend to smash it, and possibly feed it to you," Rupert snapped. "I haven't made up my mind yet. And rest assured I shall be informing Angelus about this."

"Angelus already knows all about it, you pillock," Spike pulled harder.

"Now it's time for you both to take off your trousers and start having the wicked weasel war-dance," Dru urged, helpfully.

"Nobody is having a wicked weasel war-dance," Rupert shouted.

Just then, there was a loud crack as if a thundercloud had burst, and the smell of ozone filled the room. Spike wrenched the laptop from Rupert's hands and stumbled away from him, pulling Dru beyond the far side of the couch and coughing. He coughed, fanning smoke through the air, grimacing. "What the buggery bollocks--"

TBC