Giles Pt. 01: Down Among the Dead Men

"It's just an excuse to grope my arse, isn't it?"

"It's a great arse."

"I know. I caught you staring more than once."

The jeans were around her knees and the scent of her arousal came powerfully to his nostrils. He pressed his face into the material of her knickers and breathed deeply.

She pulled him to his feet. "Strip. And don't forget your socks."

He sat on the edge of the bed and removed his remaining lower garments, then lay back on his elbows with his erection sticking up in true flagpole tradition. She knelt and took hold of the base as an entrée before enveloping the crown with her lips. Giles considered himself to be a bit of a connoisseur of blowjobs. On balance men were better than women, who tended to rush and be a bit careless with their teeth, but Detective Constable Tiplady was doing a grand job, squeezing the root, bobbing her lips over the edge of the crown, and swirling her tongue around the sensitive tip. Indeed she was doing such a good job that his orgasm was shortly imminent.

"I'm..." he gasped, as his balls tightened but she didn't pull away and, swallowed his load, lingering to clean up with long lazy licks from bottom to top.

"Your turn," she announced, standing up and pushing him on to the bed before climbing on to straddle his face. She had a neat triangle of hair above her cleft but was otherwise smooth, and he set to his task with a will, his tongue invading her sex to explore the silky flesh. Her breathing got steadily heavier, and she ceased to make any pretence at holding herself up, instead grinding her copious wetness against his face. He grabbed the taut globes of her buttocks to hold her in position as he lashed her clit. She arched her back and screamed at the ceiling as her climax arrived. He prolonged her pleasure through another two smaller climaxes before she rolled off him on to her side where she lay panting.

"Not bad for a civilian, Mister Stanforth," she managed after her heart rate returned to something like normal.

"Back in the day I knew some bohemian types that used to say, 'fuck the police'. I can quite see what they were driving at."

"I'll want their names and addresses and besides you haven't fucked the police yet. This is foreplay."

"Doesn't have the same ring, does it? 'Foreplay the police.' Did I hear you say, 'yet'?'"

"That's an affirmative, Mister Stanforth. Tell you what, I'll go easy on you, seeing as this is a first offence, I'll go on top."

"I don't think so," he muttered, rolling her on to her back and pinning her with her arms above her head.

"I have been trained to escape situations like this," she said teasingly, looking up at him, her eyes big and mysterious in the dim light that leaked in from the hall. "But I'm going to treat it as a bit of role play."

"I could tie you up if you like. Make it more realistic. Got your handcuffs?"

"Um, no. I don't know you nearly well enough for that, Giles. But I do like it a bit physical."

He leered at her then and she chuckled. The chuckle metamorphosed into a gasp as he entered her in one fell swoop.

"Oh, you bastard!"

Then she clenched her internal muscles, and it was his turn to croak, "Mercy!"

They slammed against one another, skin slick with perspiration. He slipped out of her, and she seized the opportunity to slither out from under him and stand up, waiting for him to follow suit and then to take his face in her hands and kiss him with animal intensity. He took hold of her hips and spun her round. She reached to take hold of his shaft and funnel it back inside her and Giles groaned. Bracing herself against the wall, he thrust hard and fast into her from behind. Thanks to the earlier blowjob he was able to hold out while she rubbed her clit and uttered a series of guttural noises that merged into a howl as her cunt clamped down hard on his cock, precipitating his own climax.

Giles rested his head between her shoulder blades as he tried to come back to himself.

"Now that's fucking with the police," she panted.

***

It was just light when he came to. He rolled over and reached for her, but her side of the bed was empty. He shook his head to clear it and sat up.

The door opened and she slipped back into the room. He looked at her questioningly. "It's early."

"Habit," she replied. "I'm always awake at the same ridiculous hour, even when I'm on holiday and hungover."

"Argh!" he replied and pulled the duvet over his head.

She chuckled and sat on the edge of the bed.

"What are you going to do?"

He reappeared and grimaced. "This again?"

"You didn't give me an answer last night."

"I plead the Fifth."

"Seriously, Giles."

"Might have known a detective wouldn't rest until she got to the truth."

Sharon said nothing and the silence stretched until Giles flopped on to his back and stared at the ceiling.

She put her hand on his chest. "Can you get a job?"

"Anyone got a vacancy for a playboy down on his luck?"

"Any contacts?"

"My club disbarred me."

He could feel her eyeroll in the half-light. "You have a club?"

"Past tense. Everyone I know and everything I know how to do is sixty miles away. It might as well be on the far side of the Moon."

"Don't exaggerate."

"I'm not," he said bleakly.

Sharon sighed and leaned over him, her hair falling around her face. "Listen, Giles. You don't have to have it all figured out right now. Take some time to regroup. Figure out what you want to do next. I think you'll land on your feet."

He looked at her, her face masked by the dim light. "I hope so."

Later that day they went their separate ways. Giles was uncomfortably aware that he had too much baggage for Sharon. She needed more stability that he was able to offer. And more money.

***

September

Giles wouldn't have said it out loud, but he was becoming a little desperate.

In the weeks since he'd slunk away from Dearborn, he'd already burned through an alarming amount of money. He'd never had to think about money before and was starting to get an appreciation for why other people obsessed about it.

Starting with the business at the club, things had gone from bad to worse. The incident in the underground station was something he tried not to think about. Not one of his contacts had come good. The writing was on the wall, unless he could find a good income soon. He buzzed Charles' apartment and hovered outside. His brother's voice came tinnily through the speaker.

"Yes?"

"For Christ's sake, let me in Charles!"

He could have sworn he heard a sigh, but a short buzz unlocked the door and admitted Giles to the lobby. When Charles opened the door to the apartment. Giles pushed past him and into the living room.

Behind him his brother rested his head on the door jamb for a long moment and pursed his lips before closing the door and following him inside. Why was it that no matter how long they were apart, when they came back together, they fell into the same old patterns?

Giles flopped on the sofa and looked around. "I always liked this place. Shame I couldn't persuade Father to get me one."

"I bought this using my own money, Giles."

"Yeah, right," Giles said, dismissively.

"How did you know Anna wasn't here?"

His wife despised Giles, there was no way Giles would have been allowed entry if she'd been present.

"I waited until she went out. Get a rest from her scribbling I suppose," Giles said carelessly.

Charles gave Giles the slow blink. "What is it you want, little brother?"

Giles frowned; Charles had made no emphasis but the word 'little' encompassed a whole slew of negative connotations.

"I need you to put in a word for me."

"To whom?"

"Some of your City mates. I need a job. Something that pays well."

Charles quirked an eyebrow. "Indeed. What skills do you have to offer?"

"What are you talking about? You don't need any 'skills'," he made quotation marks with his fingers, "in your line of work. It's all talk."

His brother laughed and Giles glanced at him irritably. It was something Charles had been doing much more since he met the Scribbler.

"If it's all talk then you should have no problem."

"But I need an introduction to get my foot in the door. Like the lezzer's husband."

Charles shook his head in wonder. "If you can persuade Jane Cranshaw to speak on your behalf then do so by all means."

Giles frowned. "I don't need her, you'll do it."

"I'm not going to besmirch my reputation to benefit you," his brother said, smiling.

Giles was on his feet in an instant.

"What the fuck?" he shouted. "What do you mean you won't help me?"

"You've had fifteen years to make something of yourself, Giles," Charles replied calmly. "You've squandered your opportunities and successfully alienated everyone we know. Those that did suck up to you when they thought you might be worth a penny or two have probably stopped taking your calls. Even our cousins dislike you and that takes some doing.

You could have learned a lot preparing to be Master, but you disdained that in favour of acquiring some most unsavoury habits. Anna had the measure of you almost immediately."

Giles was puce in the face. "That middle class excuse for a writer!"

Charles came to a decision and sighed. He took off his jacket and hung it on the back of a chair; then removed his cuff links and started to roll up his sleeves.

His brother laughed. "We're going to fight?"

"Call it unfinished business," Charles replied coolly. "Left over from my wedding reception. Although I seem to recall my sister-in-law had no such reservations."

"Fucking dyke!"

"Put you in your place and on your back, as I recall. Now, Queensbury rules?"

Giles sneered, "Always got to play by the rules, don't you Charlie?"

"Not at all," murmured his brother and kicked him smartly in the balls.

Giles fell to his knees and doubled over. "You bastard, Charles!" he gasped between agonised huffs.

His brother set about rolling down his sleeves and restoring his cuff links. "You know," he mused, "Rosemary Piper is a survivor. She's shown me that sometimes you have to be unorthodox."

Charles bent down until he was speaking beside Giles' ear. "You have long since eroded any sense of fraternal loyalty, little brother. Now get out."

Charles gripped the back of Giles' collar with unexpected strength and walked him down to the lobby, Giles fearing at one point that Charles was going to throw him down the stairs. Instead he ejected him through the front door with considerable force.

Giles staggered to the pavement and hung on to the railings as he tried to restore some semblance of dignity.

October

Alone and aimless in London, Giles took to drifting through the streets, unable to settle to anything but the constant recycling of incidents and images of his old life. He tried to avoid thinking of what he would do when the money ran out.

One day, too late to be called afternoon and too early to be called evening, he passed an alleyway where a neon sign caught his attention. It was like something out of an American film noir and was doubtless the impression they were trying to give. He dithered briefly before moving on, he wasn't in the mood. Actually he rarely had anything that could be called a mood these days, more a sort of blankness without colour.

However, the neon sign lodged in his consciousness and a few days later he found himself back at the alleyway.

Down a flight of steps, he pushed open a door to find himself in a bar-cum-nightclub that might well have been lifted from a Hollywood film set. To the left a long bar stretched down one wall and smartly turned-out bartenders were shaking cocktails.

Low lighting glinted off polished brass-work, and the internal angles and furnishings soaked up sound to make the interior muted and welcoming. In the far corner was a grand piano on a small riser. A patron stood picking out a melody; but gave up after a couple of bum notes and returned to his companions.

Giles ordered an espresso martini and propped up the bar for a few minutes. His eyes kept coming back to the piano. It was an expensive piece of kit for it not to be used.

"No resident pianist?" he asked one of the bartenders.

"Normally we get kids from the Royal College of Music, but this is midweek so not so much."

"Mind if I play?"

"As long as you can!" the young man said with a smile and Giles nodded in understanding. Nothing worse.

He nabbed a coaster for the top of the piano and took off his jacket. Tapping the staccato intro, he closed his eyes and relaxed into 'Night and Day'.

Gosh, but he was out of practice.

After he finished, he rattled off a couple of arpeggios and scales and then launched into 'Take Five'.

At one time he'd thought of taking it all the way. There was precious little to do at Dearborn if you weren't interested in getting your hands dirty, so he'd soaked up the hours at the grand in the drawing room. At boarding school, his ability, blessed with the fairy dust of perfect pitch and an excellent memory, had made him the darling of the music teachers and he had had free rein of the practice rooms, picking up a useful facility in guitar and violin along the way. Handily it also exempted him from the irksome chores such as sports.

After 'Take Five' he upped the tempo with some ragtime, finishing with the 'Maple Leaf Rag', after which he opened his eyes to a smattering of applause.

Surprised and gratified he offered the patrons a smile. A waitress came by with another martini 'courtesy of the manager'. Giles considered this and called after the young woman, "Lime and soda, thanks. I can't play if I'm half cut!" and she turned to smile at him over her rather well formed shoulder. Weirdly, it stirred something inside him and after a moment he realised that she had seen him.

He sat a little straighter and rolled his sleeves up before launching into 'Always A Woman' after which there were the inevitable calls for 'Piano Man'. A small man stepped up to the piano and asked to sing. Giles winced in trepidation, but the little guy had a big voice, and he knew how to use it. Giles laughed in genuine delight for the first time in a very long while. The two men exchanged pleased glances.

After the song was over there was a huge round of applause and the other man reached to shake his hand and introduce himself.

"Michael. Do you play here often?"

"Giles. First time."

"You're really good! Can I do a couple more?"

Giles shrugged. "Sure! What have you got in mind?"

"Do you know any Sinatra?"

Giles grinned and started the opening riff of 'Under My Skin'

Michael beamed at him and took off his jacket. Someone behind the bar had the presence of mind to dim the lights and bring up the stage spots. One of the staff brought him a microphone and Michael gave them a grateful nod. His voice would last a lot longer.

"I've got you, under my skin..."

A couple got up to dance, gazing into each other's eyes. Michael turned to Giles and winked. Giles flushed. There is a camaraderie between performers because, for one thing, they sink or swim together, but, for another, a good performance equates to a kind of superpower.

They chanced 'Goodbye Yellow Brick Road' followed by 'Saturday Night's Alright For Fighting' and by now there were two dozen people on the floor in front of the dais. They were jumping and punching the air and Giles could hardly believe his eyes.

The bar manager came by and gave them two thumbs up.

Giles and Michael were sweating.

"Should we tone it down?"

"Not on your life!"

"Do you know 'Don't You Worry 'Bout A Thing'?"

"Fuck yeah!" Michael shouted, his face flushed and sporting a manic grin.

Like a lot of early Stevie Wonder, the groove was infectious, and more people got up to dance to a piano and a man singing like the muse was upon him.

The crowd was getting bigger as people texted their friends, telling them that something magical was happening. Giles laughed hysterically; this was insane! Where would they go next? The Beatles of course, 'Drive My Car', 'Help'... 'Let It Be'

Some unknown impulse made his hands start to play 'Don't Stop Believing'. A woman in the crowd shrieked and jumped on to the riser to stand by Michael. She opened her mouth.

"Just a city boy..."

Michael jumped in the air and shouted, "Yes!"

The crowd bellowed along with the chorus and the room vibrated. It was crowded now, and the air was heavy and thick. Giles felt as if they were operating on another plane of existence.

Afterwards the audience thundered their appreciation. Giles just managed to catch their new member's name as Tiffany as across the sea of people he saw the bar manager holding his hand up with his index finger raised. One more song.

A wicked impulse took him, and he beckoned Michael and Tiffany close.

He played a short improvisation, circling closer and closer to the opening theme. Michael grinned and sang, "Hell is gone and Heaven's here..." and the bar erupted. Scant seconds after that, he and Tiffany led the crowd in the refrain.

Standing on the dais with the two singers as they took their bows, Giles realised he hadn't thought about Dearborn all evening.

"You were brilliant!" Michael enthused. "Who do you work for?"

"I don't do it for money," Giles said, slightly stiffly.

Tiffany and Michael exchanged incredulous looks.

"I work with professionals who aren't as good as you," Tiffany said, wide eyed.

"You're in the business?"

"I'm in the chorus at Covent Garden," she replied.

"I do session work for the BBC," Michael said. "We sort of know each other, it's a quite a small world."

The bar manager showed up before they could be engulfed in well-wishers. "You want a job?"

"Maybe," Giles said, pleased to feel wanted for a change.

***

November

It was cold and the wind whipped through the narrow city streets. Coat collar turned up against the elements, Giles shouldered his way through the bad tempered crowds doing their early Christmas shopping. The decorations spun and sparkled, and Giles scowled at them with a jaundiced eye. He wasn't fond of Christmas at the best of times. Gift giving is hard when your familial relations are... awkward.

There was a bar in Knightsbridge that he'd been to in the past. One of those places that seems to be mostly glass, allowing the inhabitants to catch as many flattering reflections as possible. Inside there was a party of smartly dressed young men, some of whom he vaguely recognised. He got a drink from the bar and sidled up to them.

"Hello, hello, stranger! You look familiar. Have we met?" carolled one of their number.

Another of the party turned from where he had been chatting to a friend and stared at Giles. The noise from the bar faded out as he gawped at the young man across the way. His breath caught in his throat and his brain refused to function. Matthew Gascoigne was familiar with the phrase 'love at first sight' but had never experienced it first-hand. The blood thundered in his ears, and he felt faint.

Giles became aware of his stare and turned to face him. Matt dropped his eyes quickly and tried to regain his composure. Giles was familiar from somewhere and Matt wracked his brain to try and remember. He hadn't been infatuated the last time, so why now?

"See something you like?" murmured his companion.

"Shut up, Martin!" Matt hissed, aware that he was attracting attention. Matt did not do anything other than urbane.

Giles introduced himself, "I'm Giles. Giles Stanforth."

They laughed and Giles felt himself flush. Matt felt an answering flush and quelled an impulse to rise to Giles' defence.

"Giles Stanforth? Oh, you poor thing!"

"I beg your pardon?" said Giles, not quite believing his ears.