Title: Playing Games
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Joss, and we're maintaining that Spike belongs to Angel
Warning: Contains strong BDSM and graphic reference to torture
Summary: All work and no play makes Angel a dull demon. Luckily, Spike's about to come to his rescue.
Notes: Written with and edited by darklingdawns for the Top/Bottom challenge over at feedmykink
He's following me. He's been following me every night when I've gone out on patrol. He doesn't think I know, but then subtlety never was Angelus' strong suit. He always did Angelus always prefer a club when a fingertip would've done. But I'm not going to let on, not when the game's barely started. Besides, I've patrolled all week, fought the forces of darkness and all that, and behaved myself like a good little boy. Figure I've earned a night off and if Angel doesn't like it, he can stuff it.
I head over to the bar and order a whiskey, then get my smokes out and light one. The first rush of nicotine's almost as good as fresh blood, especially after the kind of shit's that been going down lately, and the whiskey just makes it better. God, there's nothing like a cigarette and a stiff drink at the end of a week spent killing things... unless maybe you throw in a hot piece like the one that's eyeing me across the room. I can feel the old codger's glare boring into my back as I raise my glass and give the boy over there a smile. Might as well, right? Not like Angel's about to give up his Batman routine long enough to loosen up and admit he might want something besides his precious redemption.
He’s not sneaky at all, you know. Just strides down the middle of the sidewalk like he owns the place and picks a fight with every demon he comes across, all because he's so damn cocky. He obviously doesn’t remember a single thing I taught him about hunting. Although it's not like he can really hunt in a bar, so I guess I can't say anything about that. And it's a demon bar, too, if the sign means anything. Wait... glowing red devil feeling up a glowing blue angel? And they're both... naked?! He's in a gay bar? A gay demon bar?! What the hell does he think he's doing in a gay demon bar?!? He's supposed to be a Champion, and that means following in my footsteps, saving people and killing things. My footsteps would never have led someplace like this.
He lit a cigarette! I can’t believe he just did that- how does he plan to pick up scents? Of course, I shouldn't be surprised, not after I've seen him do stuff like this all week. I don't think I'll ever understand how he survived a hundred years being that reckless. And of course drinking's the next thing he thinks about. It always is. Maybe I should go up to the bar and- ohhhh, no. He did not just smile at that scrawny nothing of a guy in the corner there! And why are so many people always staring at Spike anyway?
I start counting silently, and don't even make it to seven before the bloke walks over to sit down next to me. "Hi," he says. "Thought maybe you could use some company." I turn and look at him, give him the fuck-me eyes up and down. Dark hair, green eyes, looks like he's flexible enough to make for a fun time... all in all, not a bad night's work. Especially when it wasn't any work at all.
"Company's good," I tell him.
He smiles, then holds his hand out. "I'm Rick."
"Spike," I answer, sliding my hand into his. "C'mon, let's have a turn about the dance floor, pet."
We head out to the dance floor, and it doesn't take two seconds before we're plastered together, grinding against each other. Of course, that's partly because the place is too packed to allow for much space- but only partly. I turn the boy around, so Angel gets a good look at my hand as it slips down to cup his ass. He moans and turns his head to kiss my neck, and I can't hold a gasp back, especially when his lips ghost over the scar down at the base of my throat.
I'm going to kill him. First he gives that idiot one of those looks that could melt steel, and now he's out there on the dance floor trying to climb into his skin! Where does that little shit get off, giving those kinds of looks to someone who isn't me?
He’s got to know I'm watching now, because he starts moving against the boy like a cheap whore, even gropes him right under by nose, although I don't know what he thinks there is to hold on to with that skinny little sewer rat. I wrap my hands around the iron railing on the balcony and pretend it's both their necks. Then the boy touches the scar. My scar. That does it- Champion or not, I'm putting an end to this display.
The club's pretty crowded, but growls tend to clear a path, and it doesn't take long to get downstairs. Spike's too busy trying to see how far down the idiot's throat he can get his tongue to notice me when I clear my throat, but getting his attention has never really been a problem for me.
I'm just starting to get into it, to really enjoy the kiss when a hand settles on the back of my collar and yanks me away. "Hey! We're snoggin' here!"
"Too bad." Bloody hell. It just figures that Angel would pick now to get all possessive and shit.
"Hey, sorry... didn't know you were with someone," Rick stammers, then bolts, leaving me still dangling from Angel's grip.
I glare up at him. "Wanna tell me what the hell you think you're doin' ?"
I don't bother answering him, just tighten my grip and drag him towards the outside door, ignoring the curses that draw more than one person's stare. We have things to discuss and I refuse to scream over the noise. As soon as we get outside, he elbows me in the stomach and stomps down on my foot, then spits, "Okay, that's it. Where the fuck do you get off ruinin' my night like that, huh, mate?"
I push him up against the wall and glare at him. He's all sweaty from dancing, and maybe even a bit drunk even. Either way, he won't last long. "You're very lucky if that's the only thing I'll be ruining tonight," I growl as I turn his head to the side to get a look at my scar. It reeks of spit and cheap aftershave, and there's no way I'm letting him go anywhere while he still smells like that boy.
He forces my head to the side and stares at me, and I've just about had it. What the fuck does he- oh yeah, the scar. Shit. He must've seen the kid licking me. "Look, dunno what you're after, but how's about you sod off an' let me go back in for a bit of fun, then we'll sort it all out tomorrow. Sound good?"
When he doesn't answer, I shrug. "Didn't think so." I vamp out and start to struggle out of my coat, kicking him every chance I get as hard as I can. If he thinks I'm going down without a fight, he's very much mistaken.
The little shit just doesn’t know what’s good for him. He keeps wriggling and kicking, and of course he wouldn't be Spike if he shut up for even one second. Fuck, he got my shin! Doesn’t matter, though, cause I'm gonna give him what he's been begging for all night. I grab his face and smash the back of his head into the bricks but he manages to sink his fangs into my palm before he goes limp.
I catch him before he collapses and sling him over my shoulder, then start walking towards the law office. We get a couple of weird looks from people on the street, but a brief, "Too much to drink," keeps them from prying into things too much. Spike's too light, and I wonder how often he's eating and what. One more thing to ask about when he wakes up.
Once we're inside the penthouse, I dump Spike on the carpet and start stripping off the rags that he calls clothes. I'll never understand why he dresses like this, like he wants to hide how gorgeous he is. I'd burn the stuff if I didn't think he'd pitch an ever bigger fit when he woke up and found them destroyed. Once he's naked, I can't help but look at him. Hell, he really does look starved, his skin stretched thin as parchment over the ribs I shouldn't be able to see so clearly. I don't like it. His face, though... his face is beautiful, pale and quiet, like he's asleep. I reach out to touch one of his ribs, but the cheap cologne from that idiot earlier makes me recoil, and I haul him up and head for the bathroom. First things first, I'm going to get rid of that stench.
Guess Wesley wasn't so wrong when he insisted that I keep magical restraints around, after all. I'll owe him an apology and a bottle of scotch for that, but right now the important thing is making sure Spike stays put. I grab the cuffs and wrap the chain around the shower curtain, then close the metal on his wrists and lean him against the tile wall. Then I get rid of my clothes and turn on the water, step into the shower and reach for my body wash.
Water in my face wakes me up, and I can tell you that a night in the shower with steel around my wrists was not on my agenda for the night! And what the fuck does he think he's doing with that bloody gel? The bastard wasn't satisfied with just knocking me out, he had to go and chain me up while he fucking washes me?!? I open my mouth to yell, but he clamps his hand over it and all I can do is twist halfway around and glare at his shoulder as he reaches for more gel. It stinks to high heaven, too- mango and coconut. Should've known the poof would like some kind of girlie soap.
He starts with my neck, washing my scar until I think it's going to open up and start bleeding again, then moves down my chest and I've about had it. Who does he think he is, washing me like I'm some kind of child or something? I try to squirm out of his grasp, but I swear he grew another four or five sets of hands in addition to the handcuffs, because he doesn't even pause, just keeps soaping me up.
I’m really glad I chained him up. It’s like wrestling an eel to try and contain him, especially when you factor in the whole wet and pissed off thing."Will you fucking hold still, or do I have to knock you out again?" Of course, this just makes him twist more, so I wrap a hand around his throat and squeeze just a little. He stills long enough for me to run a wet hand down his back. I can feel every single wiry rope of muscle and it’s getting me hard as rock, but I try to pretend I'm not affected until I reach the curve of his perfect ass. I tell myself that I have to be extra thorough, purely for his own good, so I release his neck and pour more gel onto my hand. "You can’t just go out there and let yourself be fingered by every guy you come across, understand? It’s not good for you. Besides, you're under my care now, and I’ll have none of that," I tell him as I stroke his cheeks, then part them enough to stroke a soapy finger over his hole.
"Wasn't lettin' him finger me," I mutter. If anyone was going to be taking it, he would've, but of course His Broodiness can't be bothered to let on that he heard me, just keeps washing me. I'm trying not to think about it, but his hands on my skin feel almost good enough to let it go. It's been too long since somebody touched me like this, and longer than I like to think about since that someone was Angel. When a finger presses against my ass, I can't stop from pressing back, but when it fills me... I gasp and hold still. Fuck, that feels good!
He slides his finger in and out, then reaches around to cup my balls, and I moan as he starts massaging me. "Gotta wash you everywhere," he whispers, but I know he's got a helluva lot more than just washing on his mind. I can feel his dick pressing against my back, almost as hard as my own, and this is much more like what I wanted from the start. He doesn't touch my cock, though, just keeps washing my balls like he's gonna try to eat off of them later. Not that I'd mind if he did, of course.
I wrap my hand around him and start fisting his cock with a loose grip. He starts to moan and squirm against me, pressing his ass against my hard on. "You like this, don’t you? You just live to provoke me til I take you in hand properly. You don’t give two cents about the danger you pose to my soul. You just go and make me so mad that I lose control. But this time... this time it's not going to end with a little fistfight, Spike. This time you’re gonna walk away knowing exactly who owns your ass."
I shove my fingers back inside him to emphasize my point and his gasp makes me even harder. He always did drive me crazy with the noises that he made. I used to torture him for days just to see how many different sounds I could elicit from him, and he never let me down, from gutwrenching screams to strangled sobs. Now it’s different; there's creative strings of curses that make me chuckle and I wonder what he's going to sound like when I'm buried inside him.
Jesus Christ, why did I fight him again? Cause with his hand wrapped around my prick and his cock against my ass, it's really hard to remember. It takes me a minute to realize what he's saying, and while losing control sounds like a bloody great idea, he can't be serious about his soul. I open my mouth to ask about it, but a finger slides up inside me and I moan instead. Fuck, that feels good! But he doesn't move it, just holds still until I'm ready to scream. "C'mon, poofter, move it! Need to feel... fuck, Angel, don't tease me!"
He stops stroking me and shoves two fingers in my mouth. "Keep that tongue of yours in check," he growls. I suck on his fingers for a second before the taste of soap makes me try to get away again. All I end up with is his finger lodged deeper inside my ass and a mouth that tastes like like soddin' mango soap. I know what he's after- he wants me whining and whimpering like some kind of pet, begging for his touch so he feels like the big, powerful man. Well, he can whistle for it. Bastard couldn't break me when he was soulless, sure as hell not gonna let him win now.
The kid's scent is gone, and now all I can smell is soap, Spike, and me. Just the way it should be. And the fact that he's basically helpless and seconds away from begging me to fuck him is a pretty nice bonus, as well. He can pretend all he wants when we’re in public, but all it takes is a little bit of play to bring him back to a needy, moaning mess, begging for his sire’s cock. The way he fights it with every fiber of his being makes it all the more delicious. It’s ingrained into his very being. I ought to feel guilty about the things I did to him to make him this way but I just can’t bring myself to do so. He’s clearly enjoying himself and there is no damage I could possibly do that Angelus hasn’t already done. No need to hold back with him, just the need to spread him open and-
"Angel," he moans, pressing back against me, already begging for it. Ahhh, there it is, that tone in his voice that indicates that he’s going to die from need if I don’t fuck him this very moment. And this is gonna have to go down fast because I’m not going to be able to keep myself together for much longer, not when he’s writhing like a bitch in heat already. "Is there something you want, boy?"
"Bloody hell, just fuck me, wouldja?" Bastard thinks he's gonna make me beg, but I'm not that stupid fledge anymore, and he needs to realize that. I shove back against him, but he stays out of range and I rattle the handcuffs. "Stop being such a fucking cocktease, Angelus!"
That was either the incredibly right thing or the incredibly wrong thing to say, because I feel him stiffen behind me. I think he's about to turn the shower off and walk away, but then he grabs my hips and shoves that monster of a cock inside me with one stroke, and I can't keep myself from screaming. Fuck! Hasn't he ever heard of lube? And not soap, because it's stinging like hell and all of a sudden I'm wondering why I thought I wanted this. I start struggling hard now, yanking against the curtain rod until I can feel it start to wobble. "Jesus Christ, Angel!"
For a minute I think I might come just from the feel of him wrapped so damn tight around me. He starts wriggling and cursing, and he's probably gonna get loose any minute now, but I’m beyond caring. I wrap my arms around him and pull him back against me as I start to move, one hand slipping down to stroke his cock, the other teasing his nipple. His quivers against me, drawn taut like a bowstring, and I hope to God he's ready, because I can't stop now.
The curtain rod pulls out of the wall and clatters to the floor, but he doesn't try to get away, just melts against me in sudden surrender and whispers, "Angel... please." The yearning I can hear in his voice breaks my last walls down, and I think I'd take on the world just to hear him say he's mine. And I hope like hell that I didn't just say that last part aloud. My hips start to pound into him as if they posses a will of their own, while my hands stroke him, roaming his body as I try to learn him all over again. He gasps and I bite his shoulder to hold back my groan. He's so fucking responsive that it makes my head spin. I want to possess him, mark him and sink so deeply into him and that I can't tell where I end and he begins.
I bite my lip, trying like hell to hold out. Have to wait, have to- "Ohhhh God," I moan, and just like that, I'm spilling it all out, babbling about need and want and sire and yours, and I can only hope he's too into fucking me to really pay attention. I've killed two Slayers and fought beside a third. I've slaughtered armies and held out against a hell god, the embodiment of evil itself, and the US government, but just now, it feels like none of it happened, like I'm that same pathetic fledge that needed him so badly. And while I hate myself for it, I can't help whimpering and tilting my head, just the tiniest bit. He won't bite, not Angel. But if I close my eyes, I can pretend, just for a few seconds while I ride the fine edge of ecstasy...
Fangs slice into my skin and I'm gone. He's biting me. My sire's biting me, and even if it doesn't mean what I want it to, it's like that first time all over again. "Fuck!" My scream echoes off the walls of the bathroom and I shake in his arms, come fountaining over his hand until it mingles with the water that went cold long ago. I almost black out, but somehow manage to hang on to consciousness, and my reward is his growl as he thrusts against me hard and comes, his hands digging into my hips. I'm going to bruise from that, but I don't care. At least then I'll know that this was real, that it actually happened and it wasn't just some dream or fantasy.
When I start to have any feeling at all, I'm aware of four things- my ass hurts like hell, Angel's fangs are still in my neck, I'm leaking come and he's still holding me. It feels good, and for a few seconds I close my eyes and pretend he'll keep doing it, that he won't shove me away as soon as he realizes what happened. He will, of course. They all do- it's what I was made for, to fuck and use until they don't want me anymore. I swallow hard, then say, "Gonna let go now, then?" because if he doesn't, I'm gonna start crying.
I’m still shivering in the aftermath of the most powerful orgasm I've had in years, and he wants to leave? It was only the guilt that I felt when I bit into him that kept the soul in place, and even that was almost wiped out when I tasted him. He was so different, so unlike the youngling I used to feed from, and it was intoxicating. Spike's his own vampire now, and I can taste it in his blood- he's a river of strength, a wild inferno like the fire that saved the world somehow sank into him and became part of him. If it weren't for knowing the kind of bliss we just shared, I could almost envy the demons that died in that wild rush that came from the heart of him. He starts to pull away and I ease my fangs free, but can't quite bring myself to turn him loose just yet. I lick the last drops of his blood free before his wound closes, tightening my grip a little as he moves again. "Don't."
"Can't stand here all night. Water's gettin' cold, an' while you might be into sufferin', I like bein' warm," he tells me. Why does he want to do this? Why can't he just let me hold him for a little bit? I just want to feel him nearby for a few more minutes before I have to go back to being Angel again.
But I'm not going to force him to stay. I grind my teeth and let go of him. "Of course." The awkwardness is beginning to set in, hanging heavily around us. I don't know what I was thinking- this is Spike, after all. Sex is just sex to him, nothing mind blowing or world changing about it. I pull out of him and unlock the cuffs, then step out of the shower, trying to pull myself together, but nearly ruin the whole show by almost tripping over the discarded curtain rod.
I shoot a hand out to catch him when he trips. "Easy there, luv." The instant the words are out of my mouth, I want to crawl away. He'll know now; he'll have to. Might as well paint 'I want my sire back' in big fluorescent letters all over my bare and bloody ass. I wait until he's steady, then let him go and climb out of the tub, hissing as I'm reminded of why I don't do this more often. Be a right treat with lube and lots of play, but he took me nearly dry, and that's a whole other world entirely.
He doesn’t say anything, but I recognize that guilty look in his eyes. He's probably wondering what he ever wanted with me again, but all he does is bite his lip and hand me a towel. I wrap it around my waist and look down at my feet and the growing puddle of pinkish water that's collecting on the floor. "Well, that was-" Earthshattering. Fantastic. The hottest thing I've done in a hundred years.
Earthshattering. Fantastic. Soul-stealing perfect. "Yeah, it was," I echo. "Thank you." The second the words leave my lips, I want to smack myself. It's probably the stupidest thing imaginable that you could say to someone that you knocked out and all but raped in your shower just because he was dancing with someone that wasn't you.
I dry off and go into the bedroom, then get dressed. Christ, it hurts. I'm reminded of all those times with Buffy, when she'd use me, then run out. This time I'm the one leaving, but I'd rather walk out than get shoved out, and I know what's coming if I hang around. We've played this game before, and I know the steps by heart. "See you round, Angel," I tell him, then head back to my dingy little apartment. Maybe somewhere there's a liquor store that'll deliver enough bottles to keep me unconscious enough to forget what happened until I can deal with it... like, say, sometime in the next century or two.
"See you," I say softly as the door closes behind him. He probably didn't hear it, or if he did, he's not going to bother to answer. I don't know what I was expecting, anyway. It's not like I want him to stay, and even if I did, not like he'd want to. He's told me over and over again that he's his own man now and while some of the old kinks still work, he doesn't belong to me. Not anymore.
I should clean up the mess in the bathroom, but right now all I want is a stiff drink or twelve. That way I won't have to think about going after him and dragging him back here again until he agrees to stay. And maybe if I get drunk enough, I can manage not to think about tonight and maybe even look Spike in the eye again... in a month or so.
continued in part two