The tables turned
Buffy was waiting. She heard something heavy being moved around the room. She did not know for how long she had been kneeling there, blindfolded, with her hands chained to her back, listening for every sound, when he suddenly spoke.
"Bend forward, Buffy," Spike said quietly, "Put your head on the block in front of you."
"Spike, please. We can talk about this," Buffy replied in a small voice.
"You should have come and talked to me this morning," Spike said coldly, "I'm done talking."
Buffy shook her head violently. "No! It's not too late! You don't have to do this. I know, deep inside you don't want to."
He sighed, sounding impatient and irritated. "You heard me. You don't want me to repeat myself."
Startled, Buffy obeyed. She realized Spike had been moving the heavy block of granite into the middle of the room where she was kneeling. Hesitantly, she laid her head on the block. Images flashed before her mind, of the scaffold down on the green, and the giant blade she had seen on entering the room. Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard didn't have a clue either...History's repeating itself... "Oh, God," she whimpered.
"Are you scared?" he asked, his voice low and softer than satin.
"Of course I'm scared," Buffy whispered, "Please, Spike, let me go, I won't tell anyone, I promise! I'll be off Buckingham Palace and out of the country by tomorrow morning!"
He ran his hand through her hair. "I'm afraid it's too late for that, luv."
She heard him walk around the block behind her, heard something heavy and metallic being dragged over the stone floor. The blade! She thought, panicking. He's dragging the blade behind me to make it easier for him to wield it. Paul's voice rang in her mind. It occasionally took three blows, one to stun you, one to kill you, and one to sever your head. It was too much for Buffy. She thought she would faint any minute, but she didn't, was condemned to go through this consciously. Her body shook with silent sobs.
"Any last words?" Spike asked from behind her.
Buffy's blindfold was wet with tears. Spike waited for her to regain her speech. She could not say any more and prepared herself for the blade, deadly blows raining down on her, while the lips of her severed head would still be moving... Her voice was barely audible when she said: "Make it quick."
There was a deadly silence in the room. Nothing stirred but the cool breeze of the night. Then Buffy felt the warmth of his body next to hers, Spike's hot lips on her body, his hands pushing her skirt up to her waist and removing her thong, stroking her, caressing her flesh, breathing silently on her skin.
Buffy began to laugh, almost hysterically. "You're not killing me, are you?" Even more tears were streaming from her eyes as realization hit her; she was safe and with that all her tension subsided.
"I didn't say that," Spike warned her playfully.
Buffy writhed in order to turn around to him, but his hands pressed her back down.
"Lie still," he said, his fingers assaulting her clit. Buffy gasped.
"You're not gonna untie me either or let me see your face, I guess?" she asked, her voice rough and shaking, her emotions in turmoil somewhere between fury, relief and arousal.
She almost heard the smirk in his reply. "No buggering way."
Buffy desperately wanted to see his eyes, wanted to talk everything over, make up properly, apologizing and accepting his apology, but she knew it was futile to ask him for that kind of conversation now. This was about power, everything symbolic, the Tower, the block she was lying on, the chains that held her hands in place. He was going to make her pay for what she had done, and all she could do was play along nicely.
Spike increased his pressure on her tiny pearl, painfully slowly. She shifted, tried to gyrate her hips to make herself more comfortable and get herself in a position in which she would be able to endure his attentions for longer, but he did not let her, forcing her back to where she was. "You said you wanted it quick," he reminded her, his fingers moving faster. Buffy felt waves of passion rolling over her, carrying her away, her body tensing up. Her blood was coursing through her veins at top speed.
"That may have been a bit rash," Buffy admitted, her breath going quicker with the minute, telling Spike how close she was. Good. This was as close as she was going to get for the moment.
"Do you have a last wish?" he rasped, close to her ear.
Buffy turned her head to kiss him, but he had backed away quickly, just before her lips found his, silent laughter ringing in her ears. She shifted over his hand, trying by herself to increase the pressure to get off, but Spike pulled away.
"I can't hear you," he said loudly. "Tell me what you want."
"You, Spike," Buffy replied.
Spike ran his hand over her inner thighs, carefully avoiding giving her any kind of release. "We had agreed on something," he informed her in a strict tone.
Buffy understood. "You, Your Majesty," she suggested.
Spike rewarded her by increasing the pressure for a short moment. "That's better," he praised.
"Much better," she agreed in no more than a whisper.
"Are you close, Buffy?" he inquired, though he already knew the answer.
"Very close," she confirmed.
"I like the sound of that," he said silkily and backed away. Buffy wailed her protest. Without a word of explanation, he rose and walked toward a window, opening it and letting in the cool night air. Buffy shivered at the sudden cold. She heard the sound of a lighter being switched on, then smelled the distinct odour of a cigarette. He was smoking? Now?
Spike inhaled the smoke and sighed. "Oh, finally! Bloody hell this feels good. Pfft, role model, my ass!"
Buffy wrinkled her nose. "You're not smoking now. You can't."
Spike shrugged. "I'm the King. I assure you, I can."
Buffy felt uncomfortable, needy, wet, and cold. She knew smoking a cigarette took about ten minutes! He couldn't leave her like this for ten minutes! She cleared her voice. "I'm still here."
"I know." He nodded, watching her, trying his best not to laugh at her desperate expression and her attempts to rub her thighs against each other for comfort.
"You're not comin'. Right?" Buffy asked, the sudden reality of her situation hitting her hard.
Spike blew out a cloud of smoke. "The way I see it, you're not comin'."
Buffy coughed deliberately. "That stuff's gonna kill you, you know?"
He chuckled. "You're cute when you're mad."
"I'm not mad," Buffy insisted immediately.
"No," Spike replied with a small smile, "You're horny."
"No, I'm so not," Buffy hurried to say.
"Good for you, 'cos I feel like two cigarettes tonight," Spike informed her and almost laughed when Buffy moaned at his revelation. For a moment she considered to ask him to close the window, then realized she would be stuck in a room without any fresh air. Given that she was likely to do some more heavy breathing, that wouldn't be the brightest idea. Thus she just waited. After what seemed an eternity, she heard the click of the lighter once more. Just ten more minutes. She just had to hold on for ten more minutes. Buffy tried to keep her mind elsewhere, thinking of her tasks for tomorrow, her college application, and yet she kept coming back to Spike's image in his uniform at the dinner table.
She tensed immediately as she heard his steps. Her heart was beating wildly as he bowed down and rattled her chains. She heard a key click in a hole, and to her relief she could move her hands again. Her wrists hurt badly, but that didn't matter right now. "Finally!" she said happily and went to remove the blindfold.
Spike stopped her. "Not yet." He clasped her shoulders and pulled her to her feet. Although Buffy's knees were still shaking, she managed to stand.
She heard Spike walking around her in a circle, like a predator contemplating his prey. "Would you do something for me, luv?" he asked in a low voice which would have made her promise him anything.
"Of course," she agreed, trying to sound casual, wondering what he might ask of her.
He stood behind her, close, but not touching her. "Would you undress?"
Buffy nodded silently. Her hands were trembling a little, so it took her a moment to follow his instruction. She unbuttoned her black housemaid's uniform dress slowly, feeling his breath at the back of her neck going faster with every inch of flesh she revealed to his gaze. She desperately wished she wasn't blindfolded, so she could see him and the expression in his eyes, for she wanted to lock her gaze with his as she came. But there was no way she could dictate this game's rules, for it had been his game from the beginning. It dawned on Buffy she had had her game and her fun earlier that evening. She let her dress slide down her body, standing in the middle of a cold room full of torture devices, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.
"And..." Spike pressed his body against hers so she could feel the heavy fabric of his uniform against her bare skin as he kissed the hollow of her throat and ran his fingertips over the lines of her face. Buffy smelled cold smoke on his hands. He was so not the shiny example of a King... and he was driving her crazy. Spike ran his hands down her neck and breasts, then with a feathery touch, moved his hands to her back where he skillfully unclasped her bra and let it fall to the ground with the rest of her clothes. Then he resumed his task by circling her aureoles with his fingers. She leaned into him, listening to his voice. "And would you..." His touch sent an electric pulse throughout her body when his left hand slid down between her legs, exploring her inner folds, meanwhile, his right hand went on searching for something in his uniform pocket "... let me use a little toy?"
Buffy wasn't sure where this was going, but she didn't particularly mind trying something new. Besides, her ability to think clearly was disturbed by the moisture between her legs and the throbbing of her clit. "Oh... okay," she whispered.
He parted her lips with his thumb and index finger, then she felt something cold and metallic being shoved inside of her. Her inner muscles contracted around it, and once more she was near the edge, shifting in his arms, her skin burning with the approaching peak. She felt his fingers adjusting the item, moving it into the right position. She was certain that if he brushed against her clit just one more time, she would come so hard she would definitely not be able to continue standing.
"Careful," he warned her in a dangerous tone, "If you come without my permission, it's all over."
Buffy was tempted to laugh. Without my permission! The nerve… "Not much I can do about it," she said lightly, her voice heavy with desire, "It'll be your entire fault, now won't it."
"I'm serious, Buffy," he said, an open threat and a kind of sadness in his tone that made him sound like a true King punishing a traitor. Buffy wondered what he meant by 'it's all over'. Was he really planning on breaking up with her if she climaxed before he saw fit? Or was this just another game? She was not planning on finding that out and with a heavy resolution she forced to get a grip on herself before she got too carried away.
"Remember," Spike admonished her once more, his hand at the bottom of the tiny vibrator inside of her, "Whatever you do, don't come before I tell you."
"Yeah. Right." Buffy said with more than just a hint of sarcasm. She knew all about faking an orgasm - she'd had plenty of time to practice with her last loser of a boyfriend, Parker -, but no one ever told you how to fake not having one.
"Ready?" Spike asked her.
Buffy was puzzled. "For what?"
An instant later, she knew. He pressed a button of the vibrator, and it started humming and throbbing inside of her, only on the first level and not very intense, but enough for it to drive her out of her mind with all the stimulation she had got before. Instinctively, Buffy pressed her thighs together in order not to drop it, which did not ease things out for her. A funny thought crossed her mind. If she was getting too wet, would the batteries have the same effect on her as a hairdryer in a tub? Hell, what was she thinking? She wanted to come! Buffy shifted uncomfortably, trying to get used to the heat in her loins, focusing on the 'it's all over' part of Spike's little lecture, which was like having sex under a cold shower.
He ran his hands through her hair. "Sure you still want to do something for me?"
Buffy meant to reply something, but she just managed an incoherent "Uh-huh".
"I want you to do something I know you must be good at."
The tension in Buffy's muscles was almost too much to bear, she could already feel her mind leaving her body and the famous fireworks approaching. She couldn't. She mustn't.
Spike was watching her struggle for a moment, then decided to take the next step. "Go down on your knees, Buffy," he asked her.
Buffy wasn't keen on kneeling again on the hard cold stones, and it wasn't too easy to kneel down without losing what he had put inside of her, but she was relieved at his request. A BJ wasn't anything out of the ordinary, and she'd wanted to do this from the moment she had first seen him naked. So she wasn't surprised when she heard him walking in front of her. He bent down to kiss her, then stood before her and said: "Open your mouth, pet. I'm going to put something inside, it's about seven inches long."
Buffy obeyed - strange, she could have sworn he was more like nine or ten inches - and prepared herself to deep throat him.
Something was put in her mouth, yet it wasn't what she had expected. It felt like plastic, it was very thin, and there was something... furry in her mouth? Buffy ran her tongue over it to examine it more closely.
Spike loved her puzzled expression. It was priceless.
Buffy frowned, then took it from her mouth. "A seven inch toothbrush?" she asked, a little annoyed. She realized it was even her own toothbrush. Someone had to have fetched it from Buckingham Palace. "Are you trying to tell me I have a bad breath?"
He chuckled. "It's not for brushing your teeth, what were you thinking, luv?"
Buffy had never heard of a toothbrush used as a sex toy. What was the point of this?
Spike gently removed her blindfold.
Buffy blinked at the sudden brightness of the room and had to close her eyes again for a long moment. When her eyes had adapted to the light, the scenery around her seemed even more confusing. She was kneeling on the floor, her own toothbrush in her hand, in front of a bucket with water and a bottle of detergent.
Spike smiled at her with a smug expression. "The Yeoman Warders are very reliable as soldiers, but this place isn't very clean, don't you agree? Look at the floor. If you were wearing your dress now, it would be all dusty."
Buffy stared at him, her voice not quite as steady as she had hoped with the throbbing vibrator between her folds, "You want me to... clean the floor??? Here? Now? With my own toothbrush???"
Spike nodded. "Exactly. You're my housemaid, aren't you? It's your job!"
Buffy looked around the room. It wasn't too big, but cleaning the floor just with a toothbrush would take an eternity. Buffy squirmed as the vibrator's throbbing seemed to be getting more intense. She noticed Spike's hand moving in his uniform pocket. Did the bastard have a remote control in there? His eyes were on her all the time, looking her up and down, resting on her breasts and cunt for longer than would have been necessary. This wasn't helping. No, it wasn't helping at all.
"This is gonna take forever," Buffy complained, aiming at his mercy, playing little girl lost as she cast him a pleading look. "I'm not sure I can... last... that long."
Spike shrugged. "The sooner you start, Buffy, the sooner the job will be done."
Buffy pushed her hair back with her hand, baring her neck in a submissive gesture. Then she cast him a seductive look from hooded eyes. "Don't you think we can negotiate... about another kind of... job?"
It took Spike an effort of will to keep his face straight. That little vixen was playing the temptress now. He felt the bulge in his uniform pants and was dead sure she could see it, but he resisted the temptation to jump her and lit up another cigarette instead. "Not a chance, pet."
He felt for the remote in his pocket and pressed another button.
Buffy shrieked, her body shaking.
He showed a little mercy and turned it down a bit.
She had got the warning. With a heavy heart and sighing deeply, Buffy dipped the toothbrush into the water.
*
The window sill was covered with a thin layer of ashes, and the remains of six more cigarettes were scattered not very decoratively about it when Buffy put the toothbrush aside. She had reached the other side of the room, the opposite wall, the door. Her toothbrush was black, her face flushed, her knees sore. Her blonde hair was ruffled and hanging loosely into her face, sticking to her sweaty body. Her back hurt and made her feel twenty years older. If it hadn't been for the numbness and aching need in her privates, she would not have been sure she was still alive.
She glared at Spike, who was now sitting on the block of granite, looking slightly bored. "Are you happy now?" she asked between gritted teeth.
Spike extended his hand. "Come."
Buffy rose from the floor with an effort. She shook her head. "No. I'm not taking any more orders from you. I've had enough games for tonight, Spike." As she saw his hand moving towards the pocket, she quickly reached between her legs and removed the vibrator, which now lay throbbing in her hand. "Y'know," she said thoughtfully, regarding it for a while, "I've wanted to do this for at least an hour!" With this, she cast it down to the stone floor forcefully.
Oddly, the thing wouldn't break. It was built for damage apparently. Buffy walked stiffly to the part of the room where her uniform was lying discarded on the floor, picking it up and trying to smother the crumpled fabric. "I've made a mistake, yes," she said, hurt and frustration in her voice, "But that doesn't give you the right to demeaning me and playing the King, thank you very much!"
His voice cut the silence that followed like a knife. "You didn't listen, Buffy," he said, his gaze locking with hers. "I told you to come."
Her head flew around, she was staring at him. She wouldn't give in. She wouldn't fall victim to those eyes. She wouldn’t let him win. Then, why was she walking towards him?
He pulled her close and kissed her, clasping her so hard she was sure to be bruised in the morning. He regarded her with an amused smile when she straddled him and began to undo his pants. She pushed them down with resolve and positioned herself on top of him. Her mound brushed against him as she struggled to remove his uniform jacket and shirt, tossing them aside leisurely, the metallic military decorations clattering to the floor. His skin was almost white in the bright ceiling lights. Spike thrust into her without hesitation. It was all it took for Buffy. She was leaving her body, hovering above the two of them, convulsing and exploding around him, screaming in a voice sounding so strangely deep she could not quite believe it to be her own, her fingernails digging bloody furrows into his white skin. Spike watched her in awe, not even noticing the blood and the stinging of his skin. Her hot breath in his face made him shiver as he pounded into her, desperately trying to make her scream some more. Her closed eyes and fluttering eyelids, the smell of her, though or maybe because she was sweating, made him want to do things to her one could not talk about in polite company. Her inner muscles clenched around him and squeezed him so hard he had to think of polo and Sir Riley naked [No going there...] to keep control.
"Thought you weren't taking any more orders," he gasped.
"I'm making an exception," Buffy replied as her trembling subsided.
"Lucky me," he commented ironically and slid from the block of granite, laying Buffy onto the floor without slowing his rhythm.
"Is that your best, Your Majesty?" Buffy asked, coming down, but still panting.
"No," Spike replied, changing pace to deeper, almost painfully slow thrusts.
Buffy's back was sore and full of scratches caused by the sharp edges of the stones, yet she felt tension building again. Suddenly Spike pulled out of her and flipped her onto her stomach. Buffy let out a small moan as her breasts hit the hard stone floor. He positioned her on her knees and spread her thighs apart. She stifled a scream when he thrust into her from behind at a breathtaking pace.
Buffy giggled as pleasure flooded over her. "And Sir Riley says you can't ride!"
Spike pulled her closer so she would feel each of his movements. "So, does he?," Spike replied sourly, going much harder and much faster than before.
"Take... it... slow... How... long... are you gonna last...if you rush in... like this?" Buffy gasped, beginning to marvel at his constitution. Then she remembered what had got her into the Tower in the first place. If the pills could make something go on in the basement for her old dad, what effect did they have on a younger man?
There was an edge to his tone when he replied: "The full game..." He thrust with full force, his hand went to her clit providing extra torture, "...is 8 chukkas..."
"Eight... what?" Buffy screamed, unprepared for the sudden attack.
She couldn't see his face, but practically heard the bitter laughter in his voice. "Rounds, Buffy." His index finger circled around her clit, while his other arm held her firmly in place. "Each chukka is timed to last 7 minutes," he whispered to her, still increasing his speed. Her hair was falling over her shoulders and showed her bare neck. "Then a bell is rung, but the game goes on..." He couldn't resist. He bit her neck playfully. Buffy went off like a firecracker as another orgasm held her firmly in its grip. Spike was watching her and continued to please her until she was completely spent, then added gently, "...until the ball goes out of play." He pulled out of her, reaching behind the block of granite where a fire blanket had been stored, unfolding it and spreading it on the floor. Buffy lay down on it, breathing heavily. She closed her eyes, exhausted but blissful.
Until she felt Spike's tongue laving her breasts. Her eyelids fluttered open.
He grinned. "Or for another 30 seconds when the bell is rung again, the chukka ends where the ball is." His caress was gentle, yet he left no doubt this wasn't the aftermath, but merely foreplay. Buffy heard a strange noise. As she turned her head, she saw the vibrator still humming dutifully on the floor since no one had taken the time to turn the thing off. Spike followed her gaze and rose to get it, then started cleaning it carefully.
"Give me a break," Buffy pleaded.
He lay back down next to her. "Wanna try again? Once more with feelin'?"
Buffy moaned. This was all her fault! The pills were to blame for his endurance, his nerve endings had to be practically dead!
As if he was reading her mind, Spike added: "Thanks to you, luv, I can go all night."
Buffy thought of how long they might be at the Tower already. "What time is it?" she asked quietly.
Spike looked to the window where a pale moon had made its way through the clouds. "I guess about three more hours till sunrise. He sighed. "I'm sorry we haven't got longer. Just not enough time to do everything to you that is prohibited in this country. But I can still try."
Buffy smiled. "God save the King."
*
The driver of the royal limo was too discreet to wonder what was going on in the backseat behind the tinted window pane separating the driver from his royal employer. He turned on the radio, but he still heard the sounds, the sighs and stifled screams behind his back. The sun was already rising as he drove back from the Tower towards Buckingham Palace, and he could see the silhouettes through the rearview mirror, in the backseat, in an unnatural position, arching against the seat, strangely bucking their hips. He was beginning to understand why that Beefeater Paul had been so quick to disappear after his watch below Beauchamp Tower all night, murmuring something about having to "run home to Maria" and "heads will roll". Strange guys, those Tower guards.
He almost lost control of the steering wheel when a groan escaping from a male voice was so loud it drowned the BBC news on the radio. "BLOODY HELL, BUFFY!!!!!!!!!"
The driver was startled, then shook his head to get image building in his mind out, and drove faster.
*
"What do you mean, he's gone?" Sir Rupert shouted.
"When I went to wake His Majesty, I found the room empty," the Chamberlain apologized, "I have no idea where he went. I suppose he might have gone for a walk."
"A walk," Sir Rupert snorted, "He's got an appointment in Whitechapel in twenty minutes!"
"I'm so sorry..." the Chamberlain began once more.
"You're so fired," Sir Rupert snapped.
*
Spike and Buffy sneaked into Buckingham Palace through the rear entrance, both of them virtually falling asleep while walking.
"I'm gonna fall off the ladder if I try hanging the curtains today," Buffy complained.
"Don't worry, I'll catch you," Spike replied lightly and kissed her.
A loud and angry yell made Buffy shy away.
"No one can just DISAPPEAR from Buckingham Palace without being seen by anyone!"
"Oh God," Buffy whispered, pulling Spike aside behind an ancient knight's armour, "My dad's gonna freak out! He's gonna kill me if he finds out where I've been!"
Spike listened for a moment to the rant. He knew the voice and rolled his eyes. "Sir Rupert's gonna kill me if he finds out about us!"
"We needn't tell him right now," Buffy suggested.
Spike shook his head in despair. "Do you really think we could keep this a secret? We're all living here under the same roof, Buffy."
Buffy smiled. "Buckingham Palace's got quite a big roof. How about only for a while? It's gonna be exciting, sneaking away to meet, stealing kisses between audiences and polo lessons..."
He embraced her. "You make it sound so easy."
She lingered in the embrace for a moment, then broke it with a sigh. "You gotta go."
"I know. Will I see you tonight?"
Buffy nodded, and then hurried down the hall to get to her work before anyone knew she was gone.
Spike followed her with his eyes until she disappeared, resisting the urge to kiss her goodbye once more. He heaved a sigh and walked towards his study.
Sir Rupert turned around and glared at him. "Oh, Your Majesty, I did not expect you would grace us with your presence today!"
Spike shrugged. "Went for a walk."
The Chamberlain glowered at Sir Rupert with a triumphant expression.
Sir Rupert eyed Spike suspiciously. "In your uniform." The uniform was crumpled, the decorations in disorder, some of them missing, and white stains of unknown origin were clearly visible on the royal blue fabric.
Spike nodded. "I'd better change."
"You have a consecrated duty," Sir Rupert replied, his temper rising, "You can't just come and go as you please! Do you realize you have an appointment in Whitechapel in twenty minutes? How exactly are you going to make it on time?"
Spike shrugged. "I'm afraid I'll just be late."
"The King is never late!" Sir Rupert exploded. "Tell me precisely where have you been!"
Spike's patient tone changed. "That's none of your business, Sir Rupert. And you'd better not delay me any more, I'm going to change into something nice, and then we’ll meet downstairs."
Sir Rupert glared at him, but didn't say anything else.
*
"I now declare this shelter open!" Spike cut the tape and was rewarded with applause and cheering from the crowd. He had never expected so many people to show up only to see him open the new youth shelter in Whitechapel. A crowd of kids, mostly female teenagers, were gathered around the building, waving tiny paper flags and crying their hearts out to catch his eye. Maybe being the King of England was a bit like being a rock star, after all.
The photographers took the opportunity to get a few nice snapshots of their new King as he was shaking hands with the woman who was in charge of the shelter, Anne.
"You must be so proud," Spike said politely.
Anne smiled weakly. "It's a start."
Spike frowned. "I'd expected some more enthusiasm - what's wrong with the new shelter?"
Anne shook her head. "Nothing. You wouldn't understand."
The Mayor took Spike's place at the microphone to answer press questions. As the general attention shifted away from Spike, he led Anne a few steps aside. "Tell me," he offered, "Maybe I can do something."
Anne sighed. "Do you know how long we've struggled to raise enough money to build this shelter?"
Spike shrugged. "A year?"
"I wish!" Anne snorted. "Make that eight."
Spike's eyes widened. "Eight years?"
She nodded. "Bureaucracy. The city doesn’t give away money easily. London's expensive, with all its parades and sights having to be paid for, why bother with hopeless cases? Many young people in Whitechapel are unemployed, and they end up in the streets if they don't have a place to go. Once you're homeless, it's difficult to find your way back into normal life, so they're on the dole permanently, a large percentage of them are drug addicts who become criminals to pay for their drugs. This shelter's got fifteen beds for homeless teenagers to spend the night. We'd need at least fifty and still wouldn't be able to make cover for everyone in this area. We need more money from the city, or from the government, to build another shelter for Whitechapel or at least, expand this one. Then, the shelters have to be furnished properly, trained staff has to be employed, street workers, psychologists, doctors, we would like to offer a hot lunch once a week, English classes for immigrant people and their children, books for the common room." Anne sighed. "It goes on and one. It really is a long way to go."
Spike nodded slowly. "Tell ya what. I got a meeting with the Prime Minister later today, and I'll see what I can do for you."
Anne smiled warmly. "Thank you, Your Majesty. We need all the help we can get."
*
"Your appearance at the shelter opening was satisfactory," Sir Rupert told Spike as he was walking next to him through the corridors of Buckingham Palace later that evening. Coming from Sir Rupert, this was a great compliment, so Spike nodded and thanked him.
"You are to meet the Prime Minister at 18.30," Sir Rupert explained, "I hope this will go just as well." He stopped at Spike's study. "Good luck, Your Majesty."
Spike frowned. "Are you not coming with me?"
Sir Rupert smiled faintly. "The King's weekly meeting with the Prime Minister, and as all communication concerning you, it always remains confidential. You meet him alone. No written record is made of such meetings; neither you nor the Prime Minister talk about what is discussed."
Spike sighed. "Protocol. Again!"
"You will be fine," Sir Rupert encouraged him. "He will report on what is going on in Parliament, show you the week's results of parliamentary work, you will approve of it, and that is the end of the meeting. No reason to worry. It is just a formality."
*
"A formality!" Spike fumed, "They're cutting 50% of the budget for all London shelters, schools, hostels and local community schemes! How can I approve of that?!"
Sir Rupert seemed unimpressed. "Nobody expects you to. You just cannot allow your personal feelings to stand in the way of your judgment."
Spike glared at him. "You were at the shelter this morning, too! We saw how hard people are working to improve things! I talked to that woman, Anne. She told me it took them eight years to get the money, and she has got so many wonderful ideas, but she needs more money, not less!"
"The budget is limited," Sir Rupert simply said.
"Then they have to cut elsewhere! Politicians' salary, for instance. Or charge people for watching the Changing of the Guard!" Spike's fist went down hard on the mahogany desk. "What did the bloody desk cost?"
Sir Rupert shrugged. "I honestly have no idea."
"Could you buy five more beds for the shelter for it?"
Sir Rupert looked at him, almost pitifully. "Probably more like fifty."
"That's what I mean!" Spike replied triumphantly. "Before I got locked up in this golden cage, I lived in a tiny flat with a wobbling bed and near the end of each month I hardly had the money to replace a light bulb! How can I just sign the parliamentary decision to cut down on projects such as shelters and schools?"
"Your approval is unnecessary," Sir Rupert pointed out. "It is a parliamentary decision. The King is the official Head of State, but he cannot prevent the passing of a law, or the spending of the budget. You can't tell the Prime Minister what to do."
Spike stared at him. "I can't? I did!"
Sir Rupert laughed. "Rest assured, it will not change a thing. Parliament is a political body, not a charity one. You have no power whatsoever over the British government. If it makes you feel better, make a donation to the shelter you visited, some children's books from the Royal library, the old stuffed animals of the princes, some cheap Swedish wooden beds."
"This won't solve the problem!" Spike insisted.
"Of course not," Sir Rupert agreed, "But it will get you positive headlines. The press loves you already, if you..."
"I don't care!" Spike snapped, "I'm gonna do more than that! I'm gonna double the budget for all social institutions!"
"You can't," Sir Rupert said dryly. "England is a constitutional monarchy, the key word being constitution. The King's power is merely representative."
"I'll host a press conference, then," Spike said stubbornly, "I'll tell the press what the government is planning, the public pressure will become too much for them, and people will start making donations!"
"You cannot do that either," Sir Rupert explained patiently, as if talking to a very small child, "England is governed by the government, that is why they are called the government. The King represents England. Therefore, the sovereign must back all parliamentary decisions, or keep his peace. You may have your own personal views, but they are beside the point."
Spike could not believe it. "I'm King, but I don't have any power, and now I don't even have my bloody civil rights any more? I can't say aloud what I think?"
"You can always say what you think... as long as it concurs with the government's policy."
Spike looked into Sir Rupert's eyes with an expression so violent the older man shrank back. "Then what am I King for?"
"Being King is not a privilege, Your Majesty. It is a burden," Sir Rupert said solemnly.
"I thought you were here to support me," Spike said in a low voice, disappointment in each word.
"I am," Sir Rupert confirmed.
"I don't see how," Spike challenged.
Sir Rupert took off his glasses and began to wipe them absently. "Permission to speak openly, Your Majesty."
Spike stood before him. "Go ahead," he told him, "So at least one of us gets a say."
Sir Rupert held Spike's gaze. His voice was calm, yet determined and strict, reproachful. His gaze darkened, and he looked very energetic, younger than his age, as he let all the repressed anger and tension pour out in a harsh lecture. "In ancient Rome, the war heroes returning from the colonies were crowned with laurels, but there was always a person standing behind them during the parade, whispering to them 'You're not a god.' This is what I am, Your Majesty. And you are beginning to forget who you are. I am here to prevent you from making a fool of yourself by acting like a child and embarrassing your Royal Mother and your country. Pull yourself together, or else you'll never be a proper King, but only a stubborn boy dressing up in his mother's clothes, figuratively speaking, of course. But understand this, we all have our crosses to bear. If you absolutely do not want to behave, I suggest you go back to the hole you came from. As a King, you can make a difference - but you'll have to learn to pick your battles."
Spike stared at him for a long moment. "Fine." He turned to walk away. On his way out, he turned to look at Sir Rupert one last time. "I want no part in it."
He rushed out and slammed the door.
Sir Rupert sighed. "Which is beside the point, too."
*
"Spike! Spike!" Buffy had to run to catch up with Spike, who was making his way down the corridor in long strides, wearing his usual dark jeans and t-shirt along with black leather duster, carrying a bag and his guitar. "Where are you going?" she panted.
"Out," he snapped, without stopping.
"Hey!" Buffy grabbed his arm and blocked his way. She put her hand on his chin to make him look at her. She was startled as she saw the look in his eyes. She had never seen him that devastated. "What happened?" she asked, scared.
Spike told her in few words what had happened during his meeting with the Prime Minister and the row with one of his own counselors. "I can't do this any more, Buffy," he told her desperately, "I can't pretend to be someone I'm not. I gotta get out of here. I'll go nuts if I stay. That is, if I get out. Since I can't say what I want, I doubt they'll let me go where I want."
Buffy took a deep breath. "Then we'll go together. We could take my car. You could hide under a blanket, in the backseat." Buffy did her best not to blush at the word 'backseat'.
Spike put an arm around her shoulders and kissed her. Imitating Sir Rupert, he replied: "That would be satisfactory."
Buffy smiled. "Where are we going?"
Spike chuckled. "To my world."
She shrugged. "That's okay with me. Just... no chains, and no Tower tonight, please."
He smiled wolfishly. "You're spoiling all the fun, pet."
Buffy pressed closer to him. "I'm sure we're gonna have a good time, Your Majesty."
Spike frowned. "Spike. Just Spike."
*
An hour later, the royal Chamberlain rushed into Sir Rupert's office without knocking. "Sir Rupert," he gasped, "His Majesty... has... disappeared!"
Sir Rupert did not even look up from his paperwork. "He has done that before. Most of the nights, I have no idea how His Majesty is spending his time. We had a little disagreement earlier tonight. Trust me, he will return in the morning and get back to business."
The Chamberlain cleared his voice, trying to keep the panic out of his words. "He's taken a bag with his old clothes, and his guitar."
Sir Rupert felt his stomach churn. This could only have one implication: Spike was not so sure if he would ever be coming back again.
TBC...
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Author's Note: Mariana did a fantastic job revising this chapter for me - if you've already read it, do read it again. Keep up the great work, Mariana, you're an artist!