Sick Chicks

sometimes, spike likes to chain up angel...(in my head)

2006-04-21T03:35:25Z

figured I'd post up ch 17 of my little teen human au spangel here. bondage, but not *really* s&m (although Angel might argue with me about that, lol). I think this chapter can be taken pretty much as stand-alone, although it might make Spike's actions in the last part of the chapter seem out of context and ooc, but there are reasons. also including a link to the earlier chapters if you're interested.

all chapters of Won't Back Down in memories

Chapter 17

Fan Art: Woodland Creature Spike (R for non-dangly nudity)

2005-12-25T10:52:56Z

Okays, here's a woodland creature version of Spike for this newest challenge at darker_spike "Spike in all his incarnations".

After some fussing, I'm happy with what I came up with, hee. So look under the cut for the pretty. Um, nakedness but no danglies.

If you'd like to use this piece for a fic or something, please tell me before snagging... and I'll be happy to put a title on it too. So just ask before snagging.

( Ohhhhhh, pretty under the cut! )

Spike. Is he still the dog's bollocks or what?

2005-06-14T10:10:37Z

*pout*

So felisblanco made me go all Tarantino and clean up the dead names and now we have a membership list of 388 which is still freaking cool but she hath spake and said we must go forth and promote and deviate everyone's morals.

In other words go pimp for numbers and once we hit the big 400 we'll have a 400athon - as many dirty 400 word fics as you can manage involving ~~the dogs bollocks~~ Spike or James.

THE SICKFEST by felisblanco

Sick is good, sick is best
let's all have a sickchick fest
bring your whips, bring your plugs
*licks and snogs and pervy hugs*

sickchicks @ 2005-06-14T15:19:00

2005-06-14T07:15:05Z

We are one member away from the 400 mark and that is so freaking cool so tell your friends and gag them and manacle them and make them come and join in the sickfest.

Edited to make this PUBLIC coz we are all whores here.

Oh I'm a sick puppy but..........

2004-07-29T19:38:40Z

'Bashed this out today as I was 'in the mood for it' so to speak, especially after reading all of your wonderful fic's, which really inspired this piece.

First is the original manip, then I decided to turn it into a kinda wallpaper 'thingy'.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/0803/sueworld2003/Album 2/master3.jpg

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/0803/sueworld2003/Album 2/bleedforme2.jpg

sickchicks @ 2004-04-06T02:13:00

2004-04-06T02:16:33Z

Okay, I'm planning on making the Capnolagnia icon and I need images of Spike smoking.

I know, I know, there should be tons out there, but for the life of me, I can't seem to remember any specific scenes or episodes where Spike smokes. Well, I remember him smoking at the beginning of In the Dark and Dirty Girls, but that's it.

My brain is like <-- that is a blank in case if you're wondering.

Blah.

So...help?

Also thinking about making an icon with Spike and Angel in chains. But what quote would I put on it?

Fic: Whispers After Dark: Chapter 12

2004-04-05T17:33:33Z

I suppose you could call this the final section of the first part of the first book. Golly, this turning out to be longer and more complicated than I ever thought possible. :)

Unbetaed because my wonderful SO who has been looking this over for me, and kindly turning a blind eye to the smut, it tucked up asleep in bed. I'll repost the betaed version tomorrow, though I shouldn't imagine anything structural will change.

List of previous parts here.

Details and warnings:

Whispers After Dark is an all human AU set at an English boy's public school somewhere around 1850, think Tom Brown's School Days. I haven't been overly specific about the era in terms of research, and I realise some of it is anachronistic, but in this case I really don't care that much.

However, because of the setting, some of the boys will be underage - fifteen at minimum - in case that squicks anyone. There will also be non-con, semi-non-con, bullying, fagging, spankings, the ocassional caning over a desk and private oral tutorials. Needless to say it is NC-17.

Chapter 12.

The study was lighter now than when William had left. Though the curtains were still drawn tight over the windows, someone had built up the fire until it blazed high in the grate throwing off waves of heat into the room. Lindsey crouched before it, a toasting fork extended in front of him and a pile of expectant white slices to one side. Other parts of the room claimed their own occupants. Angelus leaning against the largest of the bookcases reading a newspaper, Brolly at the desk, seemingly immersed in a book as he munched his toast, and Andrew on the floor in the corner, now dressed but with his eyes downcast and demeanour subdued.

Ripper reclined in his customary position on the couch, dressed in the robe he’d worn the night before and sipping decorously from a cup of tea, which he placed carefully on an occasional table when William and Finn entered.

“Finn,” he said, “It has been a while.”

Finn licked his lips and his gaze scouted around the room, lingering on Angelus for a second longer than the others. Finally he straightened his shoulders and said, “You’ve taken it too far this time, Ripper. The boy told me everything.”

“Did he now.” Ripper stretched his arms languorously over his head and yawned until his jaw cracked. “And what do you propose to do about it,” he said, and then leaned forwards his eyes suddenly sharp and narrow, his gaze boring into Finn as he finished, “Sharkey.”

“Don’t call me that,” Finn spat. “I’m not part of this repulsive club, whatever you say.”

“Is that so,” Angelus commented from the corner. The sound of folding newspaper was sudden and loud over the silence and it dropped with a thump onto the desk as he sauntered over, his gaze sliding down Finn’s body, until mere inches separated them. “I seem to remember an initiation… boy.”

“That was months ago, Angelus,” Finn replied, struggling to retain his calm. “I have no use for you any more.”

“Really?” The distance between their lips could have been closed by a strong breeze as Angelus leaned forwards and ran a single finger up the prominent bulge in Finn’s trousers. “Your body tells a different story. Mayhap there’s a compromise to be had.”

A shudder ran through Finn and his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “What sort of compromise?” he asked eventually.

Angelus backed off, deferring as Ripper rose to his feet to take over negotiations. Finn’s attention immediately swapped from one boy to the other, but not for one second did his hold on William’s neck falter.

“May I suggest you return my property and we discuss this further in the other room?”

William felt sick. This was not what he’d imagined happening. Finn was supposed to be a champion, he was going to ride like D’Artagnan to the rescue of his chums, challenge Ripper, defeat Angelus and send the wicked into retreat. But his hero was a flawed creation and the last vestiges of William’s hope died when Finn spoke again.

“He’s yours, but no discussion. You know what I want, Ripper, and I expect to have it, wherever and whenever I chose.”

Ripper’s gaze flicked to Angelus, who inclined his head slowly.

“Then we have a deal,” he announced. “Angelus. Lindsey. You will consider yourselves, within limits of course, at Sharkey’s disposal, and in the meantime,” he gestured to William still held tightly in Finn’s grasp, “my boy?”

With no hesitation Finn propelled William into Angelus’ waiting arms which closed around him like a giant fist. Ripper beamed in approval and stuck out his hand, saying, “Why thank you. As always it has been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Finn.”

**

Angelus released William as the door closed behind Finn, leaving him alone and terrified before Ripper. Those eyes which had seemed so kindly a few short hours ago were chips of glass, all emotion sheeting off them, and William wondered how he’d ever believed Ripper was his friend.

“I am disappointed, William,” Ripper began. “Waking to find myself abandoned does not please me. However, I am prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt, would you care to explain your actions?”

There was nothing to explain, at least not in William’s mind, but he couldn’t allow the opportunity to pass by without saying something.

“What you did was wrong,” he said, speaking the words as they fell into his brain with neither plan nor ulterior motive. “You should have asked not fed me drugs, and letting Angelus thrash Wells for touching me was unfair. Not to mention what he did to Wesley. Do you even know what he did? Do you care that everyone hates you and is scared of you and wishes you were dead!”

A hint of amusement crept into Ripper’s eyes as he listened to William’s rant, but William was too far gone to notice.

“I thought you cared about me. I thought you were my friend. But it was all a dastardly lie. You just want to use me and then when you get bored, you’ll pass me on or throw me out. And no one will speak to me anymore. They all think I’m your pet and don’t trust me. But I haven’t done anything. It’s your fault, all your fault! I am not yours, I’ll never be yours and nothing you do can make me yours!”

The words ran out and William ran down, an unwound clock faltering into silence in the face of a funeral party. Despite believing he’d had nothing to say, he’d said it and all that was left was to face his nemesis and take whatever punishment was metered out like a man.

“What a pretty speech,” Ripper said. “I consider myself suitably chastised and, I have to concede, impressed.”

William stared him open-mouthed. Of all the reactions he had expected, this was not one of them. Where was the towering rage? The threats? The blows?

Ripper lounged back onto the couch and continued, “So impressed, in fact, that I am going to explain a little myself and then give you a choice. William, tell me, the picture hanging by the fire, what does it say?”

Now completely confused, William walked over to the fireplace and stood on tip toe to peer at the picture. It was similar to the one that hung in Finn’s bedroom, a stag lying on the ground with a ram on one side of it and a wolf on the other, and standing guard over them a magnificent dragon painted in reds and golds. The words were the same as well, Judges 5:11, if William remembered correctly.

“So let all thine enemies perish, oh Lord: but let them that love him be as the sun when he goeth forth in his might.”

He turned back to Ripper and asked the same question he’d asked Finn. “Surely the picture is from Isaiah so why do the words not come from there also.”

Again his question was ignored.

“And do you love the Lord, William?” Ripper asked.

“Yes,” William answered, a little hesitantly and then with more conviction. “Yes, I do.”

Ripper stared at him, “But in what capacity?”

William opened his mouth to speak but Ripper cut in, offering the very explanation William sought.

“It is my belief that there are three kinds of men in this world. Some who are too busy fighting amongst themselves to see the threat until it is too late, others who stand good, solid and biddable against the world, and finally, those who command men, who see the bigger picture. Tell me, William, which of these are you, for there is potential for all within each of us.”

The discussion seemed completely random to William, for what possible connection could there be between the picture and Ripper’s query, yet he answered as best he could. “I would be a leader, if that is what the Lord wishes of me, though I would not balk at any task allotted in his name.”

Ripper smiled, “As I hoped, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

Behind him, Angelus roared with laughter, and the room sprang to life around the sound. The tension William hadn’t even noticed existing dissolved as Lindsey handed Ripper a plate of buttered toast, and Brolly starting gathering his books and preparing for class.

“A wolf,” Angelus repeated, still laughing. “He’s a hart if ever I met one.”

“Not so,” Ripper said around a mouthful. “You did not know me before Herr Eyghon took me under his wing. There is potential here I tell you, as much as there was in Ethan when he first came to me.”

William’s head turned from one boy to the other as he attempted to follow the conversation. He would have liked to ask more, but it seemed impolite. Finally Angelus appeared to concede defeat and Ripper turned again to William.

“So, my young wolf. Is that your choice? To become my student?”

Choice? Student? William’s mind swam with confusion. Surely he had not made such a choice. “I will not be your student,” he said, “I told you that I despise you and all you stand for. Why would I wish to be like you?”

“Because that is your choice, William. To become a wolf, like myself or Ethan, when he finally outgrows his ridiculous determination to create havoc wherever he goes.” Brolly blew Ripper a kiss, waved to William and slipped out of the room.

“A ram, such as Lindsey and Angelus, good and true, but needing a firm hand to guide them.” Angelus grunted and Lindsey grinned at him from his place by the fire.

“Or a hart, like young Wells over there, and most of the other boys who pass through my hands. Too scared to do more than squabble amongst themselves and thus in need of discipline and protection.” Andrew raised his head and William could clearly see the deep bruising that marred his face.

“What if I refuse to choose. Or choose simply to be myself.”

“Not possible, I’m afraid. This is it, William. The fork in the road, the time to determine your path. Which will you be?”

“I-I…” William vacillated, his mind spinning as he looked from Wolf, to Ram, to Hart. Choose. He had to choose. Wells, with his frightened eyes and vulnerable face. Could anyone to be a victim? To spend his days in fear? William could not, which left the wolf and the ram. Angelus and Lindsey seemed to have a good life, certainly they were not subject to the same rules as Wells, but still, if William was not to be a hart, why should he not aim for the top. As Ripper’s student, he would be safe, none could touch him. He would have respect and, he suspected, influence far beyond the small boundaries of the school. It could be the making of him.

Squaring his shoulders, William looked Ripper in the eye and said, “I choose. I choose to be a wolf. I am yours to pattern as you will.”

sickchicks @ 2004-04-05T20:07:00

2004-04-05T17:21:14Z

I posted this the other day in my regular LJ, and it was pointed out to me that since it's both horror and smut and has William in it, it might make a decent sickchicks fic. It seems to be developing into a series, so I decided to go for it and post here.

"Love is Still My Argument"
Xander/William
~ NC17 ~
Setting: Diverges from canon post "The Replacement", BtVS Season 5 and heads off into AU-land

* One *

Xander sees him first in a gay-friendly coffee shop in Haight-Asbury, refilling his cup from the urns with the kind of wary look around that says he's not sure if he should be doing that. Yeah, the sign reads "Free Refills", loud and bold, but he has a sort of quiet nervousness about him that says he's afraid he'll be caught. Punished for stealing. He's unusual enough in the middle of all the rowdy college kids - a man a little older than the rest, shy and quiet - wondering if he has the right to more java.

It's enough to make him put his cup down and watch.

See, Xander figures you can tell a lot about a man by the way he takes his coffee. Of course, he knows that's just his point of view and ergo (hey, big word) bullshit to the rest of the world, but as a philosophy it works for him. And when a person spends as much time in cafes as he does, he's discovered he's not often wrong.

Of course, he's cruising for those guys he's watching get their coffee, so he can be pretty sharp-eyed about it. He's got a classification system, and it doesn't often fail him.

Black means they're straight-up, straightforward. No time for creamer or sugar or crap like that. In bed, they want it hot and hard and fast. Nice, when you're in the mood for that, but tempting as it might be Xander's not up (no pun intended) for that tonight.

Then there are the ones who take milk – non-fat, half-and-half, creamer, whatever – they like it bitter, but smooth. Maybe they're wearing Lennon sunglasses, and they'll be cool as can be. Whatever you want, man, that's fine. Good material for a rhapsody in lavender next open mic night.

And okay, maybe he's a little sarcastic about that one, but he's had enough finger-snapping improv artists for a while. Poems about "Alexander the Great" don't mix with blending in and keeping his profile low. He knows he's good. He just likes to keep that a surprise. Who wants to be wanted for what you've got in your engine compartment?

Well... maybe him, on occasion. But he guesses he's being picky tonight.

Sugar men, now those are sweet. They're the cuddlers, the ones who give you tender kisses and want to hold you after it's over, fall asleep in your arms and get up to a breakfast of bacon (or granola) and snuggles in front of the TV (or a walk in the park).

He thinks he's in the mood for a sugar man. Someone to hold. A guy who likes it sweet and warm, something to cradle in the palm of his hand. Who'll wrap his lips around it like it's milk and honey, and suckle like a bee on a flower until you burst open into bloom.

So he's interested, really interested, in seeing what this shy man is putting in his coffee. He hesitates, hovering over the choices. And Xander can't blame him for that. It's a confusing world, sometimes. He's never seen this man in here before, with his curling wheat-colored hair, scholar's glasses, and delicate hands. Nice hands. Fingers that could stroke you all night long if you coaxed them sweetly enough.

God, he hopes this guy is a sugar man.

He's waiting and watching. Trying to be patient. Admitting to himself he's a little more than curious now. Feeling the heat build from the bottom of his stomach and burn down through his legs. Wanting him to be the one he goes home with tonight, if he just turns out to be the right guy for the part.

Why so fascinated? He toys with his spoon and watches, fascinated. There's just something about this one, so hesitant and shy. Eyes the shade of exotic ocean water behind those glasses, glancing around like he's trying to figure it all out for himself. Xander bets his spunk tastes like candied almonds, cherry-fresh and sweet.

But he's got to be patient. When someone young and buzz-cut and muscled bumps his arm and grins at him, the man jumps and smiles nervously. Excuses himself, like that was his fault. That gets him an uneasy eye up and down, like Mr. Young's measuring up those lips and hands against the "wary" sign stamped on his forehead. Deciding, after a second, it's not worth it.

Good. The man is so newly out, Xander can tell that now. Daring to test his limits. Not sure of himself yet. And if you don't know who you are, how can you know what you want?

And if he's going home with anyone tonight, it's gonna be Xander.

Those long fingers hover over the cups and bowls and pitchers and sprinklers again and finally – finally – make their choice. Pure white sugar, two spoonfuls. And then pure, heavy cream, to make it thick and give it body.

A cream-and-sugar man. Sweet. Rich and full of flavor. Shy as a wild kitten, and probably purrs just as sweetly once you rub his... stomach. Xander takes a long sip of his own coffee, full of the same blend, and smiles to himself.

Bingo.

So he stands up when the man takes his cup back to his table, and manages to be in his way when he's wanting to move past. Turns to him with the warm, generous smile that's gotten so many sugar men into his bed in the past, and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry," he says, before the other one can. "My fault."

The guy blushes. Faint and pink as a tea rose. "I beg your pardon," he murmurs, uncertain and afraid – "I nearly made you spill your cup."

"You could make me do more than that." Xander reaches up to touch his face. God. He's even got an accent, a sweet taste of England in that voice. The man flinches a little, but when Xander strokes his lip with the ball of his thumb he softens, staring with those wide, wide eyes. "I'm Xander."

"W-William," the man stammers. "William. Is my name."

"Good name." Xander slides his hand down that chest and hooks it into his collar. Tugs teasingly, gently. Can't scare him off. "I've got a free seat here. Want to share the table?"

That gets a smile from him, a sweet smile, just like he knew there could be. The blush deepens just a bit. He nods, and Xander feels himself start to fall.

Suddenly, it's more than just flirtation. It's real. And it's interesting. And he wants to know this man, this William. Find out what he's doing in a coffee meat-market. What brought him there. Why. And would he really like to go home with Xander, instead of being charmed through all his naivete into blindly following?

He's a sweet cream-and-sugar man, and Xander's more interested than ever. "Then sit," he invites, patting the chair. "Let me get to know you."

So William does.

And that's just the start of it all.

* Two *

Sweet William, it's so clear he has no idea what to do here, so it's Xander who takes the lead in everything. It's nice. He hasn't had a true cherry boy in... feels like years... and William is better than a boy, because Xander's not a kid anymore himself. Takes away that edge of "could-be-arrested" panic. Gives it a "want to be bad?" feeling that he'd like to share. So he keeps it up with the light touches, the gentle invitations. Suggestions of what could be.

Only one problem. William is a poet, after all. He's got a notebook stuffed in his jacket pocket, crinkled up and ragged, with a pen shoved through the spiral.

Xander decides that first thing, once they're back at his place, that jacket and notebook go. Into the farthest corner, if he has his way. From the way William's warming up to his moves, even daring – once – to lay a tentative hand on Xander's thigh – he thinks his odds are better than good it'll happen.

Maybe even that night.

No, he thinks, watching William slip his notebook back into his pocket with an embarrassed smile, definitely tonight. He's thirsty for more than coffee, now, and he knows what fountain he wants to drink from. What altar he feels like worshiping at. Who he's going to show what being appreciated is all about.

Took him years to learn that lesson. Ages of clumsiness and stumbling in his own shoes before he became who he is now - all pierced ears and snug-fitting shirts and easy confidence, knowing how to get his own way.

So after getting William a refill and watching that slim throat work as he swallows, feeling his jeans get tighter and tighter, Xander decides "what the hell?" and asks him if he wants to continue this elsewhere.

William blushes. He stammers some things that Xander can't really understand, with the accent and all, then stops, staring at him. But there's a plea in those eyes that he totally identifies with. Want me. Need me. Take me home. Last puppy in the shop, and feeling the loneliness.

Xander curls his hand around William's and squeezes. "That a yes, then?"

And William nods. It's a yes.

* Three *

He keeps it decent as they pay their bill, and on the short walk home to his studio apartment, but the hunger's ever-growing for a sample of this sweet sugar man. By the time he's locked his battered door behind them and thrown his keys on the kitchen counter, Xander can't wait any longer for that first long taste.

William's hand is curled inside his own – has been, since they set foot outside – and he uses it to pull him closer. Full contact, body-to-body, letting him feel how hard he's gotten just looking at those curls and fingers. William gasps softly, Xander grins, and swallows both their air in a kiss that's mean to shatter him gently apart.

Works, too. He's a good kisser. He's lost track of how many men have come in here, but they all walk away satisfied and every one of them has a healthy worship for Xander's tongue. One of the best-exercised muscles in his body, and it knows how to work someone else's flesh until they're cursing or calling out to God for mercy.

He plans on hearing both kinds of cries from William tonight.

It helps that he's so soft and pliant in Xander's arms, crumpling against him like a rose petal in the grip of that kiss. His lips part when Xander strokes them with his tongue, melting away the join between, and slips in to flick lightly at the roof of his mouth. He doesn't let go as he does everything he knows – runs it along William's teeth, strokes it in broad stripes against his own tongue, tickles the inside of his cheeks.

Then he teaches him, only letting him go for gulps of air, how to play back. What it's like to twist and tangle the mobile organs together, to suck one into your mouth and bite at it ever so gently, and how to go on the attack to take what you want. It's a clever tongue, and it learns all those new tricks so sweetly that Xander can't wait to see what it does on the rest of his body.

He slips his hands down between them and undoes the buttons on William's shirt, just far enough to push his hands inside. No undershirt. He'd mostly expected one, so, bonus. Less to ruck up, to get between them. His fingers know where to go, and they find two small nipples, hard as pebbles, to roll and pinch, then to stroke and soothe. William makes a startled moan into his mouth, and Xander can't help grinning into their kiss. Time to let him learn how you play some other games.

William groans again when Xander moves his mouth away, reaching after him with lips parted, but Xander puts a finger to that deliciousness and shakes his head. "Hush, baby. You'll like this."

Bending his head, he pushes William's shirt a little further aside and dips his head to the left nipple, taking it between his teeth. "You should get this pierced," he murmurs after a quick nip and a salving lick. "You'd look so fucking sexy with a ring right... here..." He bites again, then fastens his lips around the whole and sucks hard.

"God – Xander, God!" William pushes against him, and he feels a hardness to match his own between the other man's legs. Xander closes his eyes and hisses at that – it feels so good – but it's not time for that, not just yet.

His hands work at the small of William's back, kneading like a jungle cat's. Pushing him tighter and closer so he can taste that skin. He was right. Sugared almonds, sweet cherry boy. Light and clean and fresh, tasting of soap and smelling of some cologne they probably don't make in America. Just a little.

Enough to make him want more, to send him chasing kisses across a lean but tight chest. Over to the other nipple next, where he lavishes the same kind of tongue action on it. All the while rubbing the left one with his thumb. Listening to those tasty noises William keeps making, like he's never felt anything this good in his whole life. Probably hasn't. And it's gonna get even better.

"You like that, baby?" Xander takes a last, lingering lick on William's nipple. "Bet you like this even better."

Time to make him scream. He grips William by the small of the back and pushes their erections together almost hard enough to hurt. The sound he makes, the jump and twitch of his muscles, hits Xander so hard he has to close his eyes and breathe deep, in and out, not to lose it right there. So damned responsive!

"Oh yeah," he whispers, when he's got it back together again. His hips move, starting up a slow gyration together. A dirty dance. "That feel good?"

William's hands are grasping at him, trying to gain a hold somewhere. Fluttering like birds. He doesn't know what to do, but his body is loving it. Xander can feel dampness through both their slacks, and he knows William's already leaking for him. "Feels so good," Xander murmurs. "You have no idea –" and he runs his nails lightly up William's back – "what you're doing to me, do you?"

That golden wheat hair is wet now, sticking in ringlets to William's forehead. "And you – to me –" he manages, arching against Xander when he undulates their bodies. "Touch – touch me?"

Well. Xander hadn't expected that so soon. And maybe William's not thinking about what that sounds like an invitation for, but he'll take him up on it. "Like this?" he whispers, sliding a hand down between them to cup William's cock. "Touch you just like that, baby?"

William lets out a strangled noise that's halfway between a groan and a cry. "God!"

"Just like that..." Xander's clever fingers roll and cup his balls through the loose-fitting slacks. "Just like that..." He grips the solid length of erection and gives it a tug. "Or maybe like this..."

With one quick, tongue-flicking kiss he starts sinking to his knees. Halfway down William realizes what's going on, and his fervent swearing is music to Xander's ears. "Gonna do it to you, sugar-man," Xander whispers as he touches down, graceful as a cat. "Wanna suck off all that sweet coating."

He knows William doesn't understand that. That's OK. He does. And he knows how to make him get what's going on, too: by leaning forward – oh, so gently – and before he's even got him unzipped or taken out, mouthing that taut cock through his slacks. Stropping his cheek against it. If he could purr, he would – it feels that good. Just imagine what it'll taste like.

Backing off just far enough to blow a steady stream of warm breath over that place, he waits. He wants to hear William beg for it. And he doesn't wait long.

"More –" William's unsteady hands find places on his shoulders. "Xander, more, please –"

Good boy. And good boys get rewarded. That zip comes down, a little bit at a time – Xander teasing and toying with him, making him want it still more – and then suddenly it slips from his fingers and William's cock slaps through it, bulging and purple in the pale kitchen light. Xander's eyes fly open wide. No shorts? Not silky boxers or even tight-whites? Okay, he's impressed now. Somebody did their homework.

And hey, just as with the shirt, less to push aside. He can smell William's musk now, heavy and hot, and he's dying for a taste. His tongue comes out to flick at the tip, and curls around in a long sucking lap when William moans and tries to push forward. Even cherry boys know what they want, and what he wants is...

Xander's mouth slides smoothly over that cock, one long glide until his nose is buried in a thick, deep-wheat colored thatch. He lost his gag reflex ages ago, and he can do that without thinking. He swallows, tasting the salt and sweat on his tongue. Candied almonds. So sweet.

He can't talk with his mouth full – bad manners – so he lets his fingers do the communication for him, tugging those slacks down and working his way around to a tight little ass that just begs for it. No lube, but that's fine, he doesn't need it yet. All he's got to do is test this out...

One finger, brushing lightly against William's hole – and he screams, the sound echoing through Xander's apartment. Bucks like he's on a horse. Xander swallows again and again, rewarding him for being such a good little innocent. God, he's tight as a drumskin. Pushing in through that is gonna be a taste of heaven.

Fuck this, he can't wait any longer. Has to have that. His own cock, neglected for a little too long now, is pulsing with want and dripping a wet spot on his pants. He pulls his mouth off William in a long, steady suck and lets the head come out with a last press of his lips and a loud pop.

He knows what he looks like, on his knees in front of that cock. "I need you," he says quietly, staring up like a dog that might bite. "Want you." His fingers wind trails up and down William's ass, slipping in and teasing his hole. "Can I have you, baby?"

William groans, a wordless sound.

Xander lets just the tip of one finger slip in. "Can I have you?" he asks, voice husky. "Let me take you, right here. Send you straight to heaven. All night long." He pushes just a little deeper, not hard enough to hurt. "Say yes, baby. Just say yes..."

"Yes," William breathes out. "God, yes."

He knows where the lube is hidden in every part of his home, and there's a tube of it close by that he manages to grab on his slip-slide back up William's body. He kisses the man again, deep and wet, murmuring against his lips and telling him what he's gonna do, just to drive him crazy.

All the while, his hands are working. Slippery with cherry-scented lube, they slide in and out of his hole, one finger at a time. He's patient – lets cries of pain turn back into moans of pleasure – and waits until he's still tight but writhing on the fingers in him, almost biting Xander's lips off with want of him.

"Now?" Xander whispers. "You want me now, baby?" He puts his hands on William's hips to guide him, turning him around. "Put your hands on the counter." His breath is getting harsh, rough. He can't hold out much longer. Thank God he doesn't have to, he can push his cock up to that puckered little hole and press at it.

It hurts William at first – first times always do – but Xander's got enough skill at fucking to find and keep hitting the sweet spot that makes all the pain go away. William's so tight around him it feels like he's being stripped away, and it hurts so good that his whole body is throbbing. He's one big beat of a pulse that's timed with his thrusts deep into that cherry ass.

Somehow he finds the presence of mind to reach around and grab William's cock in his hand, to start milking it. William is shameless by now, so desperate for it that he's pushing himself back and forward, from the deep shoves inside him to the hard squeezes out. Every muscle in his back and legs is fluttering. Xander spares him what kisses he can think to give, sharp nips and long drags of his tongue over that back, tasting salt and sweet together.

He can feel it coming before it's there, this great big tidal wave of an orgasm. But he wants William to know what it's like first. Breath held, he stops in place and pumps harder, faster at the man's cock, digging into the tip with his fingernails and spreading all that warm, oozing spunk over his length.

William's breath starts to hitch. "Fuck – fuck – fuck – fuck –" he's chanting almost too quietly to hear. "Can't – I can't –"

Xander bites him. "Then don't. Let it go. Just let it go..."

With one great shudder, William does, spilling sugar-warmth all over Xander's hand. It drips between his fingers, down the man's legs. It's more than he can take. Thrusting hard, past caring if it hurts, he goes in so deep that it's over his head, and he just lets that wave wash over him. Comes with such a violent burst that his vision goes white. He's just about aware that he's grabbing onto William, hanging on for dear life while he rides it and praying he survives.

When they wash back down, he's still holding the man so very tight he dazedly wonders how William can breathe. He's filled the man's ass with spunk, dripping out and down his legs. His cock's still half-hard, but he slips out and turns William about hard and fast for a kiss better than the ones they shared before. Hard. Claiming. Marking. "You're mine," he growls between tastes of those lips. "Mine. Say it."

William's so out of it that he can only nod, chasing kisses back with his own. "Yours. All yours."

Not just for tonight, Xander wants to add. But he doesn't. This sweet shy man's just been fucked within an inch of his life, and so has he. Can't scare him off. Not yet.

'Cause see, he needs William. And he's gonna see to it that William needs him too.

* Four *

They make it to the bed, just, before their muscles give out working. Collapse on top like little boys on a sleep-out, too tired to get underneath the covers. But he can't have William getting cold. Somehow, Xander manages to drag a throw blanket off a chair close by and arranges it on top of his new lover, tucking in the corners while the man murmurs sleepy things that sound like lines of poetry.

He drifts off fast, this one, his lips working softly together. Lips made for kissing. Xander drops a quick buss on the corner of that mouth before settling down behind him. Spooning up tight. Holding on. Making sure he knows whose arms he's in before he goes to sleep.

The curve of William's shoulder fits him just right for nuzzling into. His own eyes want to close, but he's not ready to go to sleep yet. Yeah, he's forgotten how many men have walked through his door, but none of them have made it this far yet. Not a one's gone to sleep in his arms. He might sleep at their places, but until now his bed's been his own.

Now it belongs to him, and his sweet, sweet sugar-man.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, rocking them slowly together. "Knew you were special. I've been waiting for you, you know that? We're gonna be something together, you and me. Just us. You wait and see. We're gonna be all we need out of the whole wide world..."

William whispers something soft, too soft to make out – could be "yes" – and then he's slack, limp in the dead-limbed sleep of the well and truly fucked.

Xander smiles and kisses the curve of that jaw. He'll just lie here a minute. Just a minute more, holding on to that warmth that he's been hunting for. This perfect moment.

"William," he breathes. "My own. My sweet William..."

* Five *

William's still asleep when Xander finally gets enough strength back to peel himself away, little as he might want to. He's got something to take care of, first, before he can let himself fully rest against the other man. "You stay there," he whispers, gently rubbing the soft shoulder. "I won't be gone long."

Slipping carefully backwards out of bed, he pads quietly away toward the other end of his apartment.

It's hidden behind a screen. You wouldn't think it belonged in a studio apartment, but there it is: not quite a closet, not quite a priest's hole. The door blends in so perfectly he still has to hunt to find the latch for opening it. After all this time.

Inside, it's dark. No windows. But there is a single candle burning in a niche high on the wall. Always burns there. It won't go out. He's not that cruel.

"Hey, baby," he whispers, looking into the corner. "Don't hide. You know it's me."

He picks up the candle and angles it so that he can see, and sure enough, it's still there. His lips curve in a smile. "Would you look at that? It's the better part of me," he whispers. "Safe and sound."

Another Xander huddles on the floor, crouched on his hands and knees. Duct tape binds him to old and rusting pipes. He's filthy, matted with his own mess and covered in pressure sores. Thin, almost too thin to live, but he keeps hanging on for some reason.

Well. The stronger Xander knows the reason why. He's not done with him yet.

Soon, though.

He crouches beside the shivering wreck of his duplicate and starts petting the tangled hair. "I found him tonight," he says almost conversationally. "You wouldn't believe it. He looks just like Spike did in those old pictures. The hair, the glasses, the face. I'll have to teach him to dye his hair and get contacts, but all that'll take is a little time. Then he'll be perfect."

He puts a finger under his other-self's chin and tips it up, smiling at the tears that glitter unshed in its eyes. "You know, I still wonder how Willow and Giles could have been so stupid. 'Let the spell be broken'. Like that would work, you know?" He strokes the cold cheek. "And it didn't, sweetheart, did it? I just kept coming out, and coming out. Hell, I even brought you out of the closet, didn't I?" He giggles. "Well, sort of. You know what I mean."

His other self shakes its head. Xander frowns, pinching its chin between his fingers. "I told you not to talk back. Not ever."

He leans back and considers. "I need some more of you. More of me, less of you. One can't survive without the other, but what if I take everything that I need of you to make it just fine on my own? Well..." He traces lines on the other Xander's forehead, humming under his breath. Beneath his touch, the creature shivers and stifles moans, shriveling in on itself a little more. "It works like that, you see. Giles shouldn't leave all his books sitting out. Who knows what someone could learn? How to take all that life force from something and just make it your very own..."

Xander stops. He pulls back, pretending to think. "Now, this could be tricky. I want all you have left to give, which means... but that's okay. 'Cause now I've found him, I won't need you anymore." He croons tunelessly, stroking the sweaty hair back from his other half's head. "Did you hear me? I found him at last. My own Spike to play with, one who'll love me instead of her.

"But you know," he says, and he laughs, "it occurs to me that we've got one more night left. Let's have some fun..."

* * * * *

~ T B C ~

Fic: Sold (10/11)

2004-04-05T14:46:28Z

Title: Sold(10/11)
Author:Lore
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Spike/Angel, Spike/Methos
Summary: Harmony accidentally gets Spike sold for an auction, Angel has to get him back
Notes: slave/master relationship, some corporeal punishment and basically crazy Angel

The world was upside down, dancing the foxtrot on his brain while all he wanted to do was open his eyes. He wasn't sure what was up or down. His head stung and he wished he could just cut it off to stop the drums from beating his eyes. He noticed his shackles were on the bottom of the car and he crawled out through the front window. Richie was dead. Spike gently touched his head. The poor kid had been nice to him, kind master. And now he was dead. Spike wasn't sure if he should feel guilt. He hated the guilt, it hurt worse than the collar.

The master stood in the middle of the road, facing Angel. Angel attacked and Methos ducked out of the way before lashing back. It took mere seconds for the tide of the fight to change. There was no beauty in this battle, just brute strength and brutal efficiency.
His master against his sire.

Former sire.

Angel had stood there, every fiber of his being demanding Spike, demanding what... he didn't know. And for the first time in over a century, that demand didn't call to him to drop everything he had going for him and obey. It was as if he'd lost an arm, and merely the ghost of it's stump was left behind. He no longer belonged to this man, this creature that had once been the center of his existence. The stinging never stopped.

Spike knew Angel was stronger, he was faster. He should have won. The collar forced him to get ever closer to the fight, Demanding through every nerve in his body that he'd do something. That he'd protect the master.
Sire, master... His neck burned for every wasted second of standing here and allowing his master to be hurt. Only the lack of a command to aid saved him from worse.

Sire master

Master sire

Sire

Who to fight, who to defend, the choice was easily made as the stake headed to his sire's chest.
When Angel stared at him, still alive, he no longer cared about the ...

*********

They came upon the battlefield. Methos was about to kill Angelus. Duncan knew he'd never manage to get there in time, and his heart felt like shattering. Then the blond vampire jumped on top of Methos. His face was twisted in pain, his limbs were shaking, twisting, disturbingly so, yet he held on to Methos, keeping him away from the bigger vampire.

Duncan could see Methos staring at the vampire. There was a strange sense of disbelief in his eyes, a sense of loss. Duncan wondered how hard it would be to get him to make sense, and realized... it was already done. He hesitated there and then as he could see the vampire struggle one last second before being overcome by a seizure and falling to the ground. The other vampire, Angelus, ran up to him. He knelt down at the younger man's side, staying there even as the blond flinched at his touch. Tears fled the blonds eyes and Duncan forced himself to look away from the scene between them.

He stared at the car. Richie was still in it. The boy had died, blood all over his chest, but there didn't seem to be anything that wouldn't heal on its own. He pulled his former student free and carried the body to the road, giving his former student a more comfortable place to revive, using his coat as a makeshift pillow under Richie's head.

Methos stood behind him and Duncan refused to acknowledge this. He wasn't sure if he even wanted to face the old man right now. Angelus' entourage ran up to the vampire and his burden. Fred kneeled down next to her friend, staring closely at the collar.

"How do you get it off Methos?"

The old man kept silent.. Methos still stood there and Duncan repeated his question.
"How?"
He didn't threaten, he didn't even warn the old man. All he did was to expect him to do the right thing.

Methos touched his shoulder and Duncan finally turned to him.

"I'm sorry." Was all he said.

"I'm not the one you have to apologize too."

Both of them turned to the vampires

*********

Methos knew he had to lose control, knew he had to give up his claim. Like in those children's movies, where the kid has to turn the wild critter he befriended back into the wild. He'd never before considered doing so with a vampire.

Duncan stood there, talking about apologies. And all Methos could think was the kid asking daddy to say sorry to his bear for throwing it off the bed. Soulless, evil, soulless... Dead, yet pain.

He got up to the vampire, Angelus started growling as he approached. He didn't care. It's not like the bastard knew how to kill him.
He wasn't feeling guilty, he wasn't... even as he saw the pain on the vampire's way too human face. Spike just stared at him.

"I'm sorry master, sorry sorry..."

He placed his hand on the collar, as the vampire's owner he was the only one able to set him free. But did he want to? Did he want to be responsible for all the lives this vampire would take if he did...
Spike just looked at him.

There was too much feeling behind those eyes.
But then, that weird bit of trivia had always been there.
Not like a wild animal, but like a child, new in the world with so much to learn.

Maybe it was possible for a vampire to change, to learn new tricks. Did he want to let him go, free prey for whatever slayer he ran across, a threat to humans.
No longer his to keep safe?

He noticed the vampire's pain again and tore off the collar.
Spike sighed in relief, falling in his sire's embrace.

Methos sat down next to them, staring at them both.
He had to set it free, what other choice did he have?

tbc

Pic: Whispers After Dark: Chapter 11

2004-04-05T06:41:43Z

Short but hopefully sweet. More later, muse permitting :)

List of previous parts here.

Details and warnings:

Whispers After Dark is an all human AU set at an English boy's public school somewhere around 1850, think Tom Brown's School Days. I haven't been overly specific about the era in terms of research, and I realise some of it is anachronistic, but in this case I really don't care that much.

However, because of the setting, some of the boys will be underage - fifteen at minimum - in case that squicks anyone. There will also be non-con, semi-non-con, bullying, fagging, spankings, the ocassional caning over a desk and private oral tutorials. Needless to say it is NC-17.

Chapter 11

William flew down the corridors in the direction of Finn’s rooms. Around him the school began to stir, calls going out from dorm to dorm as the boys woke up early to prepare for the first day of classes. But Latin and Greek were far from William’s mind as he laboured up the final set of stairs and stood panting outside the head of house’s private study.

He knocked and waited impatiently, shifting from foot to foot and periodically glancing over his shoulder, expecting Ripper or Angelus to come after him at any moment. Andrew had insisted he replace the gag before he left, and William hadn’t disclosed his plans, too scared of Andrew informing the bigger boys if things went badly for him, but still the possibility of discovery remained.

The door opened, the narrow gap revealing Charles’ worried face. “Good morning, young sir,” he said, pulling the door back further when he recognised the visitor as another pupil and then pausing when he saw the state of the boy in the doorway.

Not waiting for an invitation, William barged past him and into the rooms, searching for the sixth former and calling out for Finn at the top of his voice.

“He’s not here,” Charles said, following William as he ploughed into the bedroom. “He’s off takin’ his morning bath and won’t be back for-”

“Where? Which pool?” It was all William could do to remember his manners and not clutch at the huge servant’s chest and beg him to tell.

“Well…” A sudden stubborn expression set itself on the man’s face and he said, “How ‘bout you tell me what’s the matter then when the master returns-”

William was in no mood to say anything to anybody who wasn’t Finn, but the set of Charles’ jaw suggested he would get no further unless he was at least a little forthcoming. The question was, how much to tell him.

“There was…” William dropped his gaze, unable to look another man, even a servant, in the eyes while he remembered what had happened, to himself, to Andrew, to Wesley even. “An incident,” he finished, balking at the truth.

Charles nodded sagely at him. “An incident, was it. And did this here incident put paint on your eyes like a Jezebel? Or was that by way of being somethin’ else.”

William’s hands flew up to his face in horror and he spun around in search of a looking glass. There, above the dresser. He stumbled over and peered at his reflection, dim and distorted in the cheap mirror and of their own volition, his fingers reached out to touch, tracing the lines of his face. His hair, typically neatly combed fell in a shock of rampant curls, his eyes smeared and blackened, cheeks still coloured, lips bruised and swollen. He looked a fright, and frankly, William didn’t fault Charles his scepticism for one moment.

“Ripper,” he said suddenly. “It was Ripper and Angelus and-”

“I’ll take it from here, Charles.”

Finn appeared in the doorway, a huge, looming and above all reassuring presence, and William wanted to run to him, as he had his father, and beg to be held safe from all harm.

Charles glanced from William to his master as though checking for something and then said, “If there’s anythin’ you need, just holler, an’ I’ll be right along.” That said, he nodded respectfully to Finn and left the room.

“So, you have a problem, little man?” Finn asked, setting down his bundle of clothing, apparently unfazed by William’s wild appearance.

William, suddenly confronted with having to tell the truth, found himself stuttering and searching for something to say. In an attempt to give himself more time, he searched for another topic and drew attention to an illustration of Isaiah that hung next to the bed.

“The words are from Judges yet the picture tells of Christ’s coming. Why is that?

Ignoring his question, Finn poured two glasses of claret, offered one over and sat on the bed saying, “I’ve few decent yarns myself but I guess I could tell y’ll about my home?”

William nodded, not actually caring what they spoke about for the moment. He simply wanted to relish the feeling of being safe.

And so William had his mind filled with wondrous tales of the Carolinas, the sumptuous balls in Charleston and beautiful women in silk crinolines dancing with their beaus, about the vast plantation where Finn was born, the slaves who worked there raising tobacco, and finally learned that Charles was owned by Finn’s father.

The claret had loosened William’s tongue and slavery was topic he knew something about. Whenever his parents discussed it his father complained that his inheritance had gone to pay freed slaves in the West Indies. “Not in England he doesn’t,” William asserted. “There are no slaves in England.”

“Good point,” Finn agreed. “Though there’s a good few Englishmen that own slaves in America.”

“I bet Ripper does,” William said.

Finn raised an eyebrow but said nothing, simply getting up to refill William’s glass. When he sat back down William added more quietly, “He seems to think he can own me.”

“Is that a fact. Did he tell you himself?”

“No, Wells told me.”

“And who might Wells be?”

“Wells is the chap that Angelus beat for touching me.”

The moment the words left his mouth William realised he had let the cat out of the bag. Having nothing now to lose, and more than a little claret in his belly, the rest of the story followed, flowing from him like a putrid stream. He didn’t have words for some of the things that had happened, either to him, Wells or Wesley, but he managed, telling Finn the entire tale from his flight after Oz’s tossing right up to his search for the older boy this morning. Finn sat silently through it all, not moving or commenting, his only action the occasional lift of glass to lips, sip and swallow.

At last William ran out of things to report. “And that’s when you came in. Sir,” he finished for good measure.

More silence. Finn refreshed his own glass, and remained standing with his back to William who stayed sitting on the bed. Finally he turned and said, “I think Ripper’s overdue a visit. What do you say?”

“Oh, yes!” William exclaimed, leaping up. “I’m sure if you were to tell him to leave us be, then he would. After all, they say you will be head boy in six months.”

Finn grinned and ruffled William’s hair, then pulled back his hand and looked at it suspiciously. “There is fresh water in the jug on the stand,” he said. “I’ll wait for you in the study.”

Less than an hour later William strode happily along at Finn’s side as they headed for Ripper’s quarters, taking the shorter route across the quad. The bigger boy had insisted that William at least had bread and jam before they left, arguing that with the unholy racket William’s stomach was making, Ripper would never be able hear a thing Finn said.

When two familiar figures emerged the other side of the square and began to walk across the green, William said, “I’ll be back directly,” before running off after them. As he drew near, he called out, “Wesley! Harris! I say, chaps, wait up.”

His friends stopped but rather than the open smile he was accustomed to seeing on Harris’ face, the other boy glared at him and moved to stand between William and Wesley.

“Leave him alone, Bartlett. Haven’t you done enough damage for one day.”

William drew up short. He’d intended to tell Wesley about the upcoming confrontation, positive that Wesley would be overjoyed to hear the news, but it wasn’t something he could blurt out in front of just anyone, Harris included.

“Wesley?” William said, appealing directly to his best friend.

Wesley gazed at him, his eyes travelling over William’s body from head to toe with something like regret, before he turned away, saying, “I’m sorry, William. I think it better if you do not talk to us again.”

Stunned by the unexpected words, William could only stand open-mouthed as the other boys walked away, leaving him alone by the horse chestnut tree.

“Never mind, lad, you’ll make other friends.” Finn’s large hand clasped on his shoulder was more of a comfort than the words. Other friends? William didn’t want other friends; he wanted Wesley.

Finn paused outside Ripper’s door when they arrived, straightening his own coat and William’s collar before knocking. William’s heart pounded in his ears. He was terrified and excited all at once, proud of himself for having freed his friends, even if they didn’t care enough to speak to him.

The door opened wide and, as they stepped over the threshold, Finn’s hand clamped tight onto the nape of William’s neck.

Fic: Whispers After Dark: Chapter 10

2004-04-04T10:56:48Z

I won. I kicked it's ass. I rule!

In other words, I managed to finish chapter 10. Hee!

Previous parts here

Details and warnings:

Whispers After Dark is an all human AU set at an English boy's public school somewhere around 1850, think Tom Brown's School Days. I haven't been overly specific about the era in terms of research, and I realise some of it is anachronistic, but in this case I really don't care that much.

However, because of the setting, some of the boys will be underage - fifteen at minimum - in case that squicks anyone. There will also be non-con, semi-non-con, bullying, fagging, spankings, the ocassional caning over a desk and private oral tutorials. Needless to say it is NC-17.

Chapter 10

Giles was deep in meditation when the maliciously smiling Brolly entered his chamber to report Wells’ perfidy. It was not welcome news and having passed the problem over to Angelus with detailed instructions as to the brat’s punishment, he was not in the best of moods. Nothing, not even a warm massage, improved his spirits, until he saw young William.

The boy sat cross-legged on the bed staring down at his hands which he turned over and over studying them carefully as though some strange tale lived in the whorls of his skin. His robe, black silk shot with crimson and gold, hung open baring his pale chest and long slim legs that came together in an intriguing patch of darkness. Slowly the presence of another in the room seemed to penetrate William’s intense contemplation and he raised his head, regarding his visitor through half-closed eyes, his lashes casting long shadows over his cheeks.

Stepping forward into the room, Giles held his arms out from his sides and instructed, “Undress me.”

William frowned, head cocked to one side, before sliding off the bed to do as he was bid. His robe slipped unheeded to the floor as he walked, leaving him nude bar the strips of silk bound to his wrists and Giles felt the breath hitch in his throat and his shaft swell. The last four years had seen a procession of nameless, faceless boys through his bed. Most he took just once, finding some flaw that prevented him from wanting to entertain them again, some crook of leg or slant of eye. A few, like Lindsey, and more recently, Wells, had remained for a short while, only to be passed on to another or move up into a more trusted role. The single exception was Brolly, with his devilish delight in all things perverse. He alone had held Giles’ attention and built himself a lasting place in his heart and life. Though none, even Ethan, had ever exhibited the wanton innocence of this seductive creature.

The tie on Giles’ matching robe loosened easily and small hands brushed tentatively over his chest, guileless eyes searching Giles’ face for permission. With a nod and a smile Giles granted it, gasping out his approval when a soft wet mouth latched on to his nipple, and he clasped his hand to the back of William’s head to steady them both. He couldn’t wait to feel that mouth on him, around his shaft, that tantalising tongue busy elsewhere. Tugging on the boy’s hair to break his hold, Giles shed his robe and took to the bed. William followed, crawling up the length of Giles’ supine body to place gentle kisses across his mouth.

For a moment Giles allowed it, revelling in the hesitant touches but, much as he craved the feel of that mouth and much as he planned to indulge that desire at his leisure, his passion was becoming urgent and he wished to divest the boy of his virginity. Tumbling them, so that William lay beneath him, Giles quickly looped the silken bands around the bedstead, tying them tightly to prevent any unplanned movement, and then sat back on his heels.

In an echo of his position the previous night, William lay splayed before him, his arms stretched above his head, pulling his chest tight and creating an arch to his back that thrust his nipples high. Below, the edge of his ribcage dipped into a concave belly, the muscles rippling as he fought to draw breath, and below again, his pretty cock and tightly drawn sac, the lack of hair making them seem painfully well defined. His legs, open and lax, rested easy on either side of Giles’ hips, raised high enough for Giles to easily see the smooth patch of skin behind his balls and the shadow further back still. He dared not look at William’s face; one glance of those eyes and control would be as mist through his fingers.

“Lift your legs for me, beautiful boy,” he muttered, pushing gently on one thigh to encourage obedience.

William complied, his abdominal muscles flexing as he drew his knees up to his chest, exposing his most intimate parts. Giles placed a single finger against his hole, tapping lightly, and much to his pleasure, the muscle gave and twitched. The boy was ready for him, Angelus had done an excellent job in preparing him.

He leaned forward, resting his weight on the boy’s thighs as he lined up the slick head of his shaft, and then, finally, risked looking at William’s face. Scared kohl smudged eyes, flushed cheeks, panting breath through damp raspberry kissed lips, and as he pressed in, deep and hard, Giles whispered, “Now scream for me, sweet thing.”

The sound that burst from William’s mouth was not a scream, more a long drawn out guttural cry of sheer desperation. His hips pushed higher, his back arching as his internal muscles contracted trying to force the intruder out and inadvertently allowed Giles further in until there was no further in to be.

“P-please,” he gasped out, his head rolling from side to side on the pillow, not knowing what he was asking for but begging all the same.

“Hush, hush,” Giles crooned, withdrawing until the tip of his cock was once more outside William’s body. “Such a pretty boy, a good pretty boy.”

Another thrust/slide and he was back inside, deep, deep, deep, and William bucked against him, tightening enough to drag a groan from Giles’ throat and send his hips slapping against the boy’s buttocks, his control all but gone for a few precious seconds.

“Hold still,” he growled, planting a harsh smack on the pale thigh that rested beneath him. William jumped and Giles felt the wet stripe of the boy’s erection skid across his belly. That was good. Though he had no intention of doing anything to help, he wanted William to enjoy this.

He started a slow thrust and grind, using his grip on William’s legs to guide him into the perfect position, backside high off the bed and torso bent nearly double under Giles’ weight. It allowed him to find William’s mouth, to nibble on his lips and, when the boy gasped, to slip his tongue inside and fuck that warm sensual mouth. That was what he needed. Despite the tight fluttering grasp around his shaft, it was William’s mouth and the promise it held of more to come that sent Giles over the edge, pounding into that pliant body and vocalising his climax in a series of incoherent grunts as his cock twitched and he came, deep, long and well enough that his vision turned white.

Panting hard, he pulled out and rolled over, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling as his body shivered through the aftershocks of his orgasm. Beside him, William whimpered, his erection still hard and leaking against his belly, his legs still raised. Lazily Giles reached up and untied his hands, saying, “Touch yourself. It is not my charge to bring you to completion.”

Without further instruction, the boy turned onto his belly and began to rub himself frantically against the covers, small hungry sounds spilling from his lips. Faster and faster he thrust, his movements increasingly desperate, and Giles found himself fascinated. He manoeuvred around so his head was toward the bottom of the bed and he could watch those pale mounds of flesh flex and push, each movement exposing his stretched hole still wet from Giles’ seed.

Giles licked his lips. Buggering wasn’t his favourite pastime but even he had to admit that William had the sweetest, tightest arse he’d had in a long time. It was entirely possible he’d try that again, maybe with the boy riding him.

The thought, and the view, were enough to send fresh tendrils of arousal down his spine and he called out, “Hurry, lad. I have need of you.”

“Please, Ripper” William cried pitifully, “help me. I cannot… cannot…”

“Raise up on your knees and use your hand,” Giles suggested. “It will go faster and better for you, if you do.”

The view was even better with the boy in that position, and Giles couldn’t resist. Quickly kneeling up, he caught William around the waist, steadied him, and once more pushed into his body. William sobbed, dropping his head, his hand a blur as he pulled on his shaft. Giles patted his back, muttering comforting platitudes, and then grasped his hips and began the slow climb towards his second orgasm.

William came moments before him, finally shuddering out his climax with a cry muffled into the soft down pillow where Giles pressed his face to achieve a more satisfying angle. Giles followed, snapping his hips and grinding hard, his thumbs digging into the ripe flesh in his hands.

It took Giles longer to recover this time, lying with William beneath him, just as they had fallen. Languidly he fan his fingers up and down the boy’s sides, listening to both their heartbeats slow, humming soothingly as silent shivers racked William’s slight body.

He may have slept for a while, he wasn’t sure, but at some point Giles became aware that his comfortable human cushion had stopped shaking, and that William now breathed deeply and regularly. Lifting up slightly, he brushed the stray curls from William’s face and discovered sleepy azure pools, dark with drug induced lust, gazing back at him. Giles smiled, and like a mirror, they smiled back, opening wider with surprise as Giles shifted his weight and his cock began to harden again, where it was, still buried in William’s body.

“You’ve done well, my boy,” Giles said, continuing to stroke William’s hair. “But there is one more pleasure I would have you perform for me.”

William frowned and opened his mouth to speak and Giles pressed a finger to his lips, saying, “Stay silent. There are choicer activities than speech for that lovely mouth.”

Understanding blossomed across William’s face and he captured the tip of Giles’ finger, flicking it with his tongue and sucking gently.

Giles’ smile broadened and he dropped a gentle kiss on the boy’s forehead before rolling off so they lay beside each other. “I would have you touch me, William,” he said. “I would feel your mouth on me, and teach you how to bring me the greatest pleasure.”

The wicked grin that William returned, full of flashing eyes and curling tongue, saw Giles snatch at him and tug him down into a punishing kiss. It was as though penetrating the boy’s body and his subsequent orgasm had released a vast flood of contained sexuality. The soft hesitancy was gone, replaced with bruising pressure and delight as Giles felt William’s hands travelling over his body, finding his nipples, his belly, and finally his cock, which rose to full standing under the teasing touch.

And then William was gone, sliding down the length of Giles’ body to lie between his legs, one hand wrapped around Giles’ shaft, their eyes firmly locked as he leaned in and pushed his lips tightly over the tip.

Giles bucked, wanting more and deeper, but William was ready for him, pulling back at the last moment and working Giles with his fist. That in itself would have been enough to make Giles come, if he hadn’t done so twice already. As it was he felt his balls tighten and grabbed William’s head forcing that luscious mouth back onto him. This time he wasn’t denied and he hissed loudly as hot wet suction enclosed his cock, the underside stroked firmly by the boy’s agile tongue. Deep and deeper he was taken, the sucking changing from fierce and hard, to soft and fluttering, and back again, until his cock head slipped into William’s throat and the boy’s nose nuzzled into his curls.

It was too much; a flexing tunnel of muscle surrounded and enclosed him working on the head of his shaft, tiny blasts of air moving around it as William panted for breath, seemingly unwilling to release his treat for a second, and Giles had no choice but to tangle his fingers in the boy’s hair and scream as he came down William’s throat.

**

William lay across the foot of the bed, staring out of the window and up at the night sky enjoying the lingering buzz from the hashish. He fisted his erection slowly with one hand, while the other played with the skin behind his balls straying occasionally further back to probe at his sore hole. Ripper slept like the dead, only his intermittent snores indicating there was any life in him at all.

It was peaceful. William felt peaceful, calm, in a way that he never had before, and when his orgasm came it was like falling into clouds, soft and comforting, hardly raising a sweat over his sated body. But it couldn’t last. No sooner had the wash of pleasure died away than his stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He slipped from the huge bed, licking dry lips as he searched for something to wear and soon located the clothing he’d worn to chapel that morning. The thought made him pause. Was it really only that morning? It felt like a lifetime ago, as though it had happened to another person, someone much younger than William now felt himself to be.

Fully dressed, he opened the door quietly, so as not to wake Ripper, and made his way along the short hallway to the living quarters. He found it in semi-darkness, lit only by the coals left to smoulder in the grate and littered with sleeping naked bodies. Angelus, his brother curled up at his side, lay stretched out on the couch, with Brolly in the chair, one leg slung over the arm, his head tipped back and snoring loudly.

Their sojourn in Hypnos’ arms gave William an unexpected opportunity to examine the bodies he had only ever seen clothed, at least partially. The differences were startling. They were all pale, as befitted a gentleman, though both Angelus and Lindsey seemed to glow as though their skin had somehow trapped the sunlight within and was only now releasing it. Brolly’s lean lines, accentuated by his position, contrasted starkly with the brothers who were broader of chest and appeared manlier, more adult in form.

Venturing closer to better see them in the dim light, William stumbled and nearly fell over something on the floor. It grunted with the impact of his shoe and, kneeling down, he realised it was Andrew, as naked as the other boys but bound and gagged with the same leather and wood contraption that had been forced into his own mouth. Working quickly he managed to remove the gag and set about untying the hemp rope that bound Andrew’s hands behind his back.

“Don’t,” a voice whispered harshly and William glanced up to see Andrew working his mouth as he tried to say more. Tell tale bruises marked his jaw line and somehow William knew that if he looked closer he would find evidence of more abuse on the other boy’s body.

“Why?” he asked, confused by the request. Surely Andrew did not wish to remain like this?

“Because if I am free when they wake up, I will be punished again.”

“This-this was punishment?” A nod. “Why? For what?” Now William was even more perplexed. What possible crime could have resulted in such barbarous treatment?

“Touching Ripper’s property,” Andrew replied lowering his gaze.

“Ripper’s property?” Andrew was a thief? That hardly seemed likely. William remembered him just a few hours earlier, feeding him cake and kissing and touching…

“Me?” he gasped, horrified when Andrew nodded once again. “No. No, I belong to no man. I am no slave-”

A sound like a cross between a laugh and a wheeze came from Andrew, followed by words clearer now his mouth was a little wetter. “He chose you. Now you are as much his as his boots or cane. More so, perhaps, for he would not punish a servant for borrowing either.”

Something inside William stood up and screamed. Not unlike when Oz had been hurt during the tossing, though this time it was less frantic because William knew there was something he could do. He could wake Ripper and tell him that he, William, was neither toy nor pet, that he did not belong to him, he would never belong to him.

In his mind, William conjured the scene; him standing before Ripper and laying down the law and Ripper… Ripper laughing and calling Angelus who would hold William down as they drugged him and then send him back to that room and the things that were down there; riding crops that had never seen a horse’s rump, leather straps, things to hurt and hold and hinder.

It would never work. He had to find help. There had to be someone at the school who was not Ripper’s to command, who was stalwart and true, who had the power to free Andrew and William himself from this bondage.

A face swam into William’s head; handsome featured, hazel eyed, a chest broader than Angelus’ and with the respect of every boy in the school. Here was the face of the man who could help them. Finn. Riley Finn, captain of the first fifteen and head of house. If he could not help them then there was no one who could.

Fic: Sold (9/11)

2004-04-04T07:32:00Z

Oh for those who've already read it, I couldn't help but add a scene that really belonged in this part but that wasn't finished earlier.
Methos versus Angel, and no I still don't know who'll win

Title: Sold(9/11)
Author:Lore
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Spike/Angel, Spike/Methos
Summary: Harmony accidentally gets Spike sold for an auction, Angel has to get him back
Notes: slave/master relationship, some corporeal punishment and basically crazy Angel

Never say never say never.

William fell on the bed, his hands crushed under him, tied on his back. His sire sat on top of him. Angelus hard crotch crushing down on his chest. The older vampire arched closer, slowly unbuttoning William's shirt. William looked away as Angelus tongue licked over every piece of skin he uncovered. He closed his eyes, desperate to imagine that it was Drusilla on top of him. Angelus wet tongue reached his neck, his legs held down between his sire's thighs.

Shock

Spike sat in the back of the car, next to the trunks. The master was driving while Richie called to the airport. Spike clutched on to a blanket that his master had given him; just in case. He leaned back against the glass, staring out in the night air. Watching the world pass by unaffected by his presence. Richie turned over the seat to look at him. Spike bowed down his head. His muscles relaxed when he stopped thinking. A gentle warmth poured out of the collar as he gazed up at the Master.

Shock

William screamed through his gag as Angelus removed his shirt, it clung over the ropes. Angelus mouth stopped over one of his nipples, biting it. William gasped for air. He stared away at Drusilla who stood naked in the corner. Her back was torn open, red welts showing on her pale white skin. She'd been a bad girl tonight and wasn't allowed to watch with the dollies. William tried to crawl away, but his legs were bound together.
Angelus propped a pillow under his ass. William bucked, trying to kick him off. But it wouldn't do.
"Who am I?"

Shock

Master pulled to the left. Spike struggled to stay up. Richie screamed, telling him to stop, but the Master didn't listen. Spike sat up, staring at the man in the middle of the road.

Shock

Angelus grabbed William's cock through his pants, William moaned, embarrassed to show even that little a reaction. Angelus pulled it out of his pants, it was disgusting, he hated this... oh god it felt so good. And he gasped for air as his sire's took his cock in one quick turn.
"Don't."

"So you don't want...this." Angelus lifted William's legs, removing his pants. "Or this..." He grabbed William's legs pulling them up. Tucking the pillow farther under him.

William tried to let go, to imagine anyplace, anytime but this. Angelus slapped his face, pulling him back into reality.
"Who am I boy?"

William moaned as Angelus fingers brushed over his ass, touching, reaching inside of him. Stretching muscles that shouldn't be touched by any hands but his own. He felt like losing everything inside of him. It hurt, every time again, it hurt. It wasn't normal, couldn't be. And yet it felt so good.

So full, so...

"Sire. You're my sire. Master, please please..."

And only then Angelus would enter him, again and again, till he felt like breaking. Tearing him apart, so full, so...

Shock

Angelus stood on the road. Spike stared as his new master steered the car ever faster towards him. Angelus was holding something, grabbing.
He jumped up at the very last second, landing on the hood, the sledgehammer in his hands crashing through the windshield. The master turned, fighting to get him off. But his fist came crushing through the glass.

Spike flinched back as they crashed against a wall, crushing him down, it hurt. Richie's face fell down, blood dripping from his lips. The master was stuck behind the steering wheel and Angelus stood there staring at him. The collar broke out in shocks worse than ever. Pain blinding his mind to anything but his master's voice, till even that left him behind as he headed for darkness...

*******

Gunn saw Fred come out of the building, running down the outer stairs. Forced to pull back as Wesley was the one to take her in his arms and comfort her. So hard to accept that he'd really lost her.

"Spike?"

"Methos left with him. Where's Angel?"

Yes where was Angel? Playing drama queen as the peroxide pest had once said? He hated to admit it, but he had missed the blonds presence at the office the past few weeks. Spike was refreshingly young for a vampire. He had a sense of fun, knew about music, even if his taste was stuck in the seventies and quite frankly... he was a friend.

God his life had taken strange turns, working with vampires, spending time with them off the slaying field. What had happened to black and white? Was it him that was wrong, that this was normal now?

He brushed it off, staring at the man following in Fred's tracks.

"Who the hell is he?"

"A friend, now come on, we have to find Spike."

"Angel's already after them. I think he caught a scent."

The ' friend' stared at him and Gunn wanted to ask him what his problem was. What? He didn't like to deal with a brother? Then Gunn noticed that Lorne was coming up to them.

"Holy mother of God." The stranger crossed himself, staring at the Pylean.

"What? You've never seen a green man before?"

*********

The pain was blindingly endless. Methos stretched his arms, desperate to get to a knife, a weapon, anything. He could taste blood on his tongue and had trouble breathing, crushed by the seatbelt that had barely kept him alive before and was now forcing him into his car seat. Stretching tighter as he moved. He finally got to something sharp and cut through the belt. He gasped for air, his ribs continued healing under his skin and they itched.

He got up, crawling out through the broken car glass. his foot was stuck. It stung, it felt like there was a single part of his body left unbruised. He crawled to the backseat. Noticing Spike who was lying there. The vampire was starting to wake up. Methos touched his face and removed his shackles, making it easier for him to get out when he woke up. He grabbed his sword and dragged it out from under the seat before leaving the car. Richie was still dead.

He fell down on his knees, holding on to his sword, fighting not to fall over. He gazed down at the cross formed by the hilt. When he finally managed to lift his face he stared back into the eyes of the devil. Two burning lumps of coal. The monster stood in front of him. He was bigger and broader than MacLeod, not quite Silas' size. He'd never met this thing, but he'd read enough to know what he was dealing with. He got up from his knees, using his sword as support.

Vampire to immortal.

Angelus, the scourge of Europe himself.
Methos lifted his sword in salute, ready for the fight of several lifetimes. Ready to survive.

The vampire stood silent, watching him, measuring him up. Methos could see the fatal mistake in those eyes, mere instants before the vampire attacked. The monster underestimated him. Thinking that because he was injured and human, that he wouldn't stand a chance. He twisted out of the way, his sword hitting against the steel of the vampire's hammer. The vampire was faster and stronger, but Methos knew what he was doing. Allowing the beast to get just close enough to strike back. He pulled a knife out of his coat and stabbed it in the vampire's hand, forcing him to drop the hammer. He knew he'd barely bought himself a second of shock to act.

He turned his sword, the hilt forming the symbol of the cross, a weapon to push in his opponent's face. The symbol started burning and he grabbed a stake, readying himself to drive it in the vampire's chest.

tbc

sickchicks @ 2004-04-04T02:55:00

2004-04-03T17:53:35Z

Hey Guys,

Just a quick post to let you know there won't be a new chapter of Whispers After Dark tonight. The muse is still with me but RL hasn't been terribly cooperative. Weekends are not the best time for me to write. I have three pages done - about a third of the chapter - and all things being equal, should get it up tomorrow.

Thanks for all your support

My first post!

2004-04-03T14:07:49Z

Made for zinnydark but snaggable for all others as well.

Fic:Sold (8/11)

2004-04-03T03:37:55Z

Title: Sold(8/11)
Author:Lore
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Spike/Angel, Spike/Methos
Summary: Harmony accidentally gets Spike sold for an auction, Angel has to get him back
Notes: slave/master relationship, some corporeal punishment and basically crazy Angel

The closer she got to him, the more Spike's convulsions worsened. Fred quickly took a step back.
"Get that thing off of him!" She screamed in that stop-a-mob tone she rarely used. Nightmares coursed through her head, five years of Pylea, five years of constant fear and trembling, five years of being nothing but a slave and now this monster wanted to do that to her friend. She wouldn't let him. A cold strength coursed through her and no sane man would have refused her.

Methos on the other hand faced her point blank, even though the taller guy was held his arms behind his back, he still refused to show any sign of giving in.
"No." Was all he'd say.

Again, the animal noise emerged from her throat, but Richie grabbed her before she could reach the bastard again. He tried to soothe her, telling her they wouldn't let him harm Spike.
"Get that off of him."
Methos just laughed her in the face, madly so.
"Just wait till Angel gets here, you... you horrible man. He'll make you stop laughing."
Sometimes working for one of the scariest vampires in the world had it's advantages. Sometimes... not today.
A cold silence filled the room following her pronouncement.
"Who's Angel?" Richie asked as Methos tensed up.

Before she could answer the dark man let go of Methos.
"Angelus."

"Um, well, not really..." Mac seemed to relax. "... he changed his name over a hundred years ago."

"What the hell are you doing working for a psychopath like Angelus?" A moment earlier the dark guy had been at her side, now he seemed to indignant at even the thought of anyone working with Angel.

"Says the guy working for one of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse."
Richie snorted at her scorn. She still didn't know at which side he'd be. Part of her hoped it'd be hers.

Methos ignored their squabbling and got up to Spike. Touching his head almost gently as he lifted the vampire's face.
"What's Angelus to you?"

It was then that Fred got to understand Spike's silence as he had to struggle for the next word.
"Sire" He sounded hoarse, in pain.

Methos let go of him, looking out the window, his back turned on the others, Spike still down at his feet.
Fred stuck her tongue out at Mac. The big guy just rolled his eyes. continuing a tirade that he'd stared before but that she hadn't bothered to listen to.
"I don't work for Methos and he hasn't been one of the Horsemen for... well years."

"Well Angel hasn't been Angelus for well over a year either. He has a soul now." She snapped back.
None of them seemed to expect that. Hell, it didn't even seem like either Mac or Richie had a clue about the very meaning of that statement.
"Angel's one of the good guys now." She tried one last time.

"I'll believe that when I see it," A Scottish accent appeared, hidden under a near growl.
"Your 'good guy'" Fred didn't like the emphasis he put there, "beat up a friend of ours. Beating up a mortal for information.. Joe's just a defenseless old man and that 'good man' beat him within an inch of his life. What's good about that?"

"Joe?" Richie's face was wrenched in terror. Fred could almost believe that these were just regular people, with friends and family, like her own group.

"He'll be ok, Thank God that Lacy managed to call the hospital even before I got there."

Fred felt almost inclined to comfort him, to apologize, but then she stared at Spike, at the paddle on the table, the chains on his hands, the collar on his neck.
"He wouldn't..." she faced him. "Not unless it was the only way to find out where Spike had gone."
Fred glared defiantly up at Mac, daring him to argue. Daring to find any good in what had been done to Spike.

Methos didn't seem to be listening to either of them. He just stood there, his back to them, seemingly staring at the vampire.
"Angelus."
He turned around, facing them.
"The last time I heard of him Holtz was on his trail. I didn't think it was a good time to be in Europe."

Fred shivered violently at the bad memories that the name Holtz conjured up in her brain. Attacking her and Charles, attacking them all, staking Darla in front of Angel.

"Master?"

Spike's pained voice rang almost pleading, for what Fred wasn't sure. Methos turned to him, taking the vampire's hand and helping him up.
"We're leaving."

***********

Just a bit more, a bit...Angel froze as the trail split up. He noticed a sledgehammer left behind on a truck and picked it up. Now where...He lifted his head again, choosing direction and running after it. A car nearly drove over him, he jumped up on the roof, and moved on. His boy was waiting.

**********

Vampires...
Methos had only packed some clothes when he left, he'd hired people to get the rest of his stuff when he'd relocated. All he'd taken were his clothes, his sword and the vampire. And Richie who'd gone along after one of Duncan's hints to the same.
The young woman was tied to a chair, a gag in her mouth to keep her from screaming for the neighbors. Duncan just kept going over the image of the vampire's face twisting to that of a demon. Methos had said it was his true face.
He still didn't quite believe it.

Vampires, real... Methos said they were monsters, the true creatures of the night, living only for the kill, to cause destruction. And after his struggle with Ahriman how could he not believe. He'd grown up in more superstitious times and yet as he grew up as an immortal, seeing the world, he'd believed that's all they had been. Only to have more and more of them proven real.

The vampire had looked like a young man, terrified of it's master, terrified to disobey. Duncan had stared at his fear, remembering all too well what it had felt like to get a beating. Yet what Methos had done earlier was just so cold blooded. Methos had told him it was necessary. He'd explained his every action, making it clear to him that this was the only way to keep a vampire around and domesticate him. It still felt wrong, no matter how you put it. And yet despite that, he'd let Methos run off with the trembling man, vampire. He'd let him take him outside, and sat there, watching the girl.
Why?
Because it had been Methos doing it. Methos who...

He got up to the girl, taking the gag out between her lips. She started cussing at him and he let her, taking place in the chair next to her. She finally stopped, looking at his smile. She worked for Angelus, that alone should be enough to keep her here, safe from her master, who was also a vampire. Duncan knew enough about Angelus to believe it.

"You can't let him do it."
It was the first non insult she said.

He opened up a deck of cards, staring at it, laying it out. King, queen and the fool.
"You can't let him take Spike."

"Richie will protect your... friend."
A friend who'd turn on her if Methos was to be believed. Methos thought the vampire had been playing on her insecurities, getting her to believe he could be trusted, just for the fun of seeing the betrayal in her eyes when he did kill her. Methos was the one who knew about vampires. Was it wrong to believe the ancient? He'd heard of Angelus, he'd seen the scraps left over from a town that had Angelus and his ... family, passing through. It was almost a comfort to know that Angelus wasn't human... or immortal.

"And you don't think it's wrong. Keeping a sentient being as a slave, treating them like a pet. Against their will."
His heart cringed at every word, knowing full well he agreed with every syllable. But Methos ...

"Why do you like him? He's a killer right?"

"No!"
As Methos had told her the vampire would make her believe.
"Spike's not like that. He hasn't been like that for a while now. He's changed."

"And you think vampires can change like that."
He remembered Methos telling him about the people he'd butchered, almost high on the sheer memory of it. And at the same time burdened with a thousand regrets. Methos had changed, but he had a soul, something Methos said, vampires didn't have.

"Spike did. He's a good guy."
Black ace, he put it up. Placing a ten under the fool.
"He saved my life." Duncan looked at her, wondering how sincere she was.
"He saved all our lives. He's a champion, a hero. He died not even a year ago, giving his unlife to save every single human being on the planet from an overwhelming army of super vampires."

"He didn't look... dead to me."

"They brought him back, he was ashes, and then he wasn't. He spent those first few months as a ghost, haunting Angel. It wasn't until a few months ago that he got his body back. He spent the past two months on the streets saving the innocent, defending the helpless."
She looked at him with utter sincerity. Believing every word she said, and for some reason, so did he.
"He gave his life to save the world and this is how you repay him?"

tbc

Wake Part 9

2004-04-03T02:11:48Z

Author's note: In which the title of this story is finally explained. Thanks very much to everyone who has been so nice about it. Hope the end doesn't disappoint.

Part 9 </b>

Giles is woken by a voice calling his name. He knows the voice, and yet he doesn’t know it at all, and for a moment, he’s confused by its lower class English tones, thinking he’s at home in England, and one of the servants is calling him to get up for breakfast. But then it speaks again, and he realises that the accent isn’t quite right, and anyway, his whole body hurts, and why is that? And then he remembers where he’s heard the voice before, and when he heard it last, and he wishes that he could keep his eyes shut and hide in the comforting darkness. But the voice is unrelenting.
“Come on, Rupert, I know you’re awake. Can tell by your heartbeat. Don’t you want to look at me any more? Should I be offended?”
The voice is sneering now, full of contempt and spite, and that gives Giles the impetus to open his eyes and find out just how hopeless his situation really is.
He’s lying on a table in the dank concrete cellar where he’d kept Angel chained up. The table is, yes, it’s his oak dining table from home, the one he inherited from Grandpapa Wetherley. Spike has dragged it down here into the cellar by brute strength, and he’s chained him to it, the chains wound tightly round his body and arms. He can move his head, his hands from the wrist and his feet and that’s about it. He’s pleasantly surprised to discover that he’s not naked. The bright fluorescent lights are glaring straight into his eyes, and the air smells of cigarette smoke.
Spike comes into his field of vision then, looming over him, smiling the most joyless smile Giles has ever seen. He looks so different. He’s bleached his hair again and had it cut close to the scalp and flattened with gell. There’s no softness about him at all any more. The close-cropped hair reveals the shape of his head, which is beautiful, like the rest of him, but it makes him look far more predatory, like a wolf in its summer coat. He takes a drag on his cigarette, inhaling the smoke deep into his lungs, and turns his head aside to exhale. The smoke hangs in the stale air, turning it blue, making Giles feel like he’s choking. Spike’s feet are still bare but he’s wearing black jeans and a silk shirt the colour of dark chocolate, unbuttoned and hanging open to reveal glimpses of a torso as cold and perfect as marble, a miniature Michelangelo’s David, each muscle perfectly sculpted, the skin overlaying them fine as a sheet of white silk, coloured only by the two rosy nipples, like jewels set in stone. But he seems less thin than Giles remembers, his arms filling out the sleeves of his shirt. No one would think this creature frail now.
“Thought I’d lost you for good there, Rupes,” Spike says. “Glad to see I was wrong. Haven’t finished with you yet.”
The menace underlying the casual tone of voice sends chills down Giles’s spine. This is a very bad situation and he’ll be lucky to get out of it, he knows.
“What do you plan to do with me, Spike?” he manages to say. “And don’t think – “
“And don’t think what?” Spike interrupts, and he laughs, one short bark of laughter that has no humour in it at all. “Don’t think I’ll get away with it? Grow up, Rupert. No one knows where you are, except those Initiative blokes you paid off and sent away. Who’s going to come looking for you? The Slayer? Shouldn’t think so, what with the brush off you gave her and her little friends because of me. She could see what you were doing, you know. Girl’s not as stupid as you think.”
He takes another drag of his cigarette, while Giles tries to think of a reply, and fails. Then he says:
“Saw the little girl out walking with her toy soldier when I was in town getting supplies- hope you don’t mind me borrowing your credit card, by the way, mate? - I did think of bringing her back here to join in the fun, but then I thought, better not.”
“You leave her alone, you piece of filth!” Giles finds himself shouting. The girl would always mean something to him of course, what with him having been her Watcher, but he realises he sounds ridiculous, and it’s not really Buffy he’s concerned for anyway.
Again, Spike laughs, and he bends to stub his cigarette out on the concrete floor.
“Wasn’t going to hurt her, Rupert, old chap,” he says. “Not just now at any rate. Thought I might ask her if she wanted to join in. You know - be my Lovely Assistant while I torture you to death? After all, girls always have a soft spot for the first bloke that shags them, and not just girls. And you killed hers – oh, and mine, by the way.”
At those words, it’s as if a cold hand has gripped Giles’s heart, and he knows suddenly that he’s not going to get out of this. This is it. Spike will kill him, and take his time about it, because he killed Angel. All he can do is to try to keep Spike talking and delay the inevitable as long as possible.
“The chip – “he says, and is fleetingly proud that his voice doesn’t give away how afraid he is, “when did it stop working?”
Spike pretends to consider this for a moment, wrinkling his perfect brow and assuming a thoughtful expression.
“Oh yes,” he says, finally. “I think that would be when you hit me on the head with a baseball bat and then threw me headfirst at a wall. I should thank you for that, I suppose. Must’ve knocked the thing out of commission - scrambled its circuits, like. And then you let me have enough time to recover, for my poor little brain to repair itself. Thoughtful of you.”
“But you remember everything?” Giles can’t believe it. Spike was just an animal. Animals don’t remember things, do they? Children don’t remember their early childhood. He’s sure of it.
“Yes, ‘Papa’,” Spike says, leaning forward, his voice full of venom. “I remember every single fucking thing. I remember trusting you and loving you like you were God. I remember you giving me blood and holding me on your knee and wanking me and making me feel good. I remember every single moment of that. And then I remember the first time you fucked me, and how much it hurt and me begging you to stop, and you not taking any notice. I remember how scared I felt that you would hurt me like that, and then how grateful I was when you made the pain go away and made me feel good again. I remember wanting to please you more than anything, even bringing you the toy box so you could stick things on my poor little willy and make it sore, or in me to make my bottom nice and loose for you, so Papa won’t have to try so hard. Your very words, Rupert. I remember you sticking your dirty great fist up my arse, and taking it, because I loved you and thought – such as I did think – that you had the right to do whatever you wanted to me, because you gave me cuddles and that nice blanket and cartoons to watch.”
He turns away in evident disgust, and Giles finds himself saying:
“You weren’t a child, Spike. You’re a vampire, an evil, disgusting, soulless thing. What duty of care did I owe you? You’re lucky I didn’t stake you on sight.”
And then Spike’s face is suddenly right up in his, his breath smelling of cigarettes and another odd, metallic smell that Giles doesn’t recognise at first, but then realises is the smell of blood.
“Don’t kid yourself, mate,” Spike says. “You’re no better than those sad perverts who go looking at kiddyporn on the internet and then acting out their fantasies. I may be a soulless monster, but I was innocent then. I knew nothing and no one, and I trusted you. And you abused me. You’re the one with the fucking soul, how much of a monster does that make you?”
He moves back a bit, and his fierce eyes seem to glitter with moisture, but he doesn’t give Giles a chance to say anything.
“And what else do I remember?” he goes on. “Oh yes, I remember being routinely chained up and drugged. I remember being held under water until my lungs collapsed for lack of air, just for getting my face dirty, and I remember having the skin flayed off my bum just for taking my clothes off. But most of all, and here’s the killer, I remember having your dick in my mouth or up my arse every single fucking day.”
His face twists in disgust.
“I’d bathe in holy water if I could get the taste and the smell of you out of my head for good, you shit! I’d go blind before I’d ever set eyes on your dick again. You took something that doesn’t belong to you, and you took something away from me that I can never get back. You’re lucky, is all, that I’m not a patient man and I can only spare you a week or so.”
“You’re not a man at all!” Giles spits, but he’s running low on defiance. It’s more difficult now, in extremis, to ignore that voice that he’s always ignored so successfully before; the one that tells him the truth about himself that he doesn’t want to listen to. He can’t wholly deny what Spike has said, not now, and perhaps admitting it will help him, redeem him a little in the monster’s eyes? It might even spare him, or at least kill him quickly.
“I’m sorry,” he says, finally, gritting it out, because it’s so hard to say.
Spike looks surprised, but his face never softens. The eyes that were so limpid and gentle, are like chips of ice in a face that is barely more than skin laid over a skull, so pared down and fine are its edges. If you look hard enough, Giles thinks, in the centre of each pupil is a ring of flame, the eyes of a damned creature, bound for hell. And yet, it’s scored a moral victory over him, that he can’t hide from.
“Feeling it now, are we?” Spike says, amused. “Not like you will feel it, though. Still, a little remorse is nice to see, and it deserves a reward. Like a last treat, would you, Rupes? It’ll be strictly look and no touch this time, I’m afraid, but then killing my sire doesn’t give you his privileges.”
So saying, he seizes one end of the table and tips it on its side. Giles finds himself in a standing position, hanging from the chains that bind him uncomfortably to it. Spike meanwhile has walked back round in front of him, carrying one of the arm chairs from the living room. He sets it down in front of Giles, and smiles a cold, lascivious smile at him. He removes his shirt and shimmies out of his jeans, turning his back to Giles and wiggling his arse provocatively towards him. Giles can see that he’s had the tattoo removed. There’s a patch of pinkish skin just above his coccyx where the acid has stripped the skin clean. Apart from that, Spike’s back is flawless once again. Nothing remains of the beatings Giles inflicted on him. He must have been drinking human blood, and a lot of it, to speed the healing up. Giles wonders how much of it was his.

Sitting down gracefully in the armchair, Spike hooks his legs supply up and back over the wide arms, and cants his hips forwards far enough to expose his tight hole, wantonly displaying himself to his captive. He smiles again, and taking a tube of KY from his jeans pocket, squeezes some into his hands and begins to rub them together to warm it. Satisfied, he takes his cock in his hand and begins to pull and stroke it, bringing it to life in his slick grip. Giles watches it engorge, the dark pink tip poking out from the foreskin which gradually rolls back, until the thing is fully erect. It’s big. Much bigger than Giles remembers. He begins to think that his whole view of Spike has been distorted right from the start. This creature is in no way like a child, nor even a youth, except in the inhuman sparseness of its body hair, (and even of that, there seems to be more than he remembers). It’s a grown man, or at least resembles one in every way. How could he have been so deceived? Spike continues to wank himself, but now the fingers of his other hand begin to circle around his exposed pucker, leaving a glistening trail behind them, round and round, until finally one, and then two push inside, and he begins to fuck himself on his fingers, other hand moving faster and faster up and down his cock, pulling and stripping, clear pre-come leaking from the tip and slicking his hand more. Giles feels his own cock stir and lift against his leg, in spite of himself. The sight of Spike, his eyes closed, head thrown back, grunting throatily – “Unh! Unh! Unh!” - as he pleasures himself, is so erotic it even beats the sight of him coupling with Angel in the moonlight. Giles swallows, too much saliva in his mouth, then hears himself groan. At the sound, Spike’s eyes fly open, fixing on Giles, not allowing him to look away, as, with a final tug and thrust of fingers, he comes over himself, milky strands shooting from the tip of his cock to splatter on his flat belly. And as he comes, he says, voice hoarse: “Papa!”
There is silence for a moment, and then Spike strokes his hand down his own torso, pulls at his nipples, and swipes his cum onto his fingers. He lifts them to his lips and licks at them delicately, like a cat. All the time, his eyes never leave Giles’s.
Finally, he says: “Enjoyed that, did you, Rupes? No need to say, I can smell from here that you did. Consider it my thank you present for looking after me so well. But you do realise of course, that none of me ever really belonged to you, don’t you? This”- and he pulls at his softening cock-” belonged to Drusilla, and sometimes Darla, for as long as they wanted it.” His fingers wander down to press at his hole, still gaping a little and glistening with lubrication; “And this belonged to Angelus, and only to him. No one else was ever supposed to go there. No one else was supposed to fucking touch me, only him, and no one else has. No one. Except you. You weren’t invited, mate, which makes you a rapist and a thief. You aren’t going to touch me again.”
He wipes his hands on a piece of paper he takes from a stack on the floor (Giles recognises it from the neat, scholarly handwriting as his report) and stands up. He picks up the old sweatpants that Giles had made him wear for so many weeks, grimaces, then puts them on.
“Don’t want to get my new clobber dirty,” he explains when he sees Giles looking. There’s no mercy in his gaze, and Giles knows there never will be. He’s aware of tears in his eyes, blinks them away angrily with the last of his defiance.
His eyes track Spike across the room to where there’s a small table covered in objects that he can’t see properly without his glasses. Spike stands for a moment, as if undecided, then selects one and comes back towards Giles, holding it behind his back. On the way, he pauses, as if considering something. He gives a wry smile, though only to himself, and then comes back and looks Giles in the eye again.
“Here’s the thing, Rupes. I’m not a patient man, like I said. Angelus always said that impatience was the worst of my many faults, that I’d never learn to be a proper vampire if I couldn’t be bothered to take my time and wring every last scream out of my victims. Of course, I said he was a poncey git and went my own sweet way. I couldn’t be bothered with torture. It bored me. But now, I have to consider that you killed my Angel. You killed my beautiful Angelus. He was the world to me: father, lover - my sire in all the ways that really mattered. He meant everything to me. I know he didn’t feel that way about me, but he might have done in time, which I thought we had plenty of - and what do you go and do? You kill him. You take that eternity away from him. I think that I owe it to the old man to exercise some patience for a change. I can spare a couple of weeks of my unlife in honour of his memory.”
His gaze is utterly implacable, though the tears that only threatened to fall before are now running silently down his face.
“Thought I should explain,” he says. “This isn’t just revenge. It’s in honour of the dead. Kind of a wake. He told me once that an Irishman always likes to know that someone’s having fun at his funeral. ”
Then he brings the small, neat bone saw out from behind his back, and takes Giles’s little finger in a firm grip.
“Hospitals,” he says. “Great places. You can get everything you want in a hospital. Blood for the freezer. Lots of neat little toys like this.”
He brings the bone saw up to Giles’s eye level, teasing him with it.
“Spike – “Giles says, but he gets no further. He’s aware of moisture running down the inside of his trousers.
“Shush,” Spike says, kindly. “Remember what I said about you never touching me again? Let me show you why."

Fic: Whispers After Dark: Chapter 9

2004-04-02T11:24:03Z

Bit of a short chapter tonight, due to a sore head. Sorry.

Previous parts here.

Details and warnings:

Whispers After Dark is an all human AU set at an English boy's public school somewhere around 1850, think Tom Brown's School Days. I haven't been overly specific about the era in terms of research, and I realise some of it is anachronistic, but in this case I really don't care that much.

However, because of the setting, some of the boys will be underage - fifteen at minimum - in case that squicks anyone. There will also be non-con, semi-non-con, bullying, fagging, spankings, the ocassional caning over a desk and private oral tutorials. Needless to say it is NC-17.

Chapter 9

It was well past seven, the sun had set several hours ago, and only now was Angelus starting to believe that William would, in the near future, be ready. The boy had proven less than co-operative once he was released from the table and Angelus had resorted to another spoonful of laudanum laced brandy to enable him to finish. Now, finally, William was bathed and oiled, his eyes outlined in dark kohl, his cheeks, lips and nipples reddened with a touch of rouge, and his hair styled so that it fell in natural curls about his face. He was beautiful. He was nearly ready for Ripper. The only task remaining was feeding him the potent hashish which would ensure his first time was pleasurable. This was proving an insurmountable barrier since the second dose laudanum had now worn off.

Angelus clenched his fists and, with some difficulty, controlled his temper. That pretty painted mouth was clamped obstinately shut, and dark rimmed eyes glared glacially at him.

He attempted to explain. Again. “William, do you want it to hurt?” Definitive shake of the head. “Then eat the cake.”

Wells held up the cake, sweet and honeyed to cover the earthy bitterness of the drug, and made eating faces. William turned his face away, his chin jutting out defiantly, arms folded across his chest.

“Don’t make me force it down your throat,” Angelus snapped. His control was slipping, his fists were itching and if William didn’t eat the damned cake, he was going to shove it so far down the boy’s throat that this afternoon’s hard work would be wasted.

“Perhaps he’ll listen to me,” Andrew suggested and then nearly dropped the cake when he realised what he’d said and who he’d said it to.

Angelus raised his eyebrows cynically. “What makes you think he’ll listen to you?”

“Be-because…” Andrew took a deep breath and gabbled the rest, “I know what it’s like and I’m his age and because he’s not scared of me.”

Reaching the point where he was willing to try anything, Angelus shot William a look of pure disgust, growled, “Ten minutes or I’ll stuff it down with a goose crammer,” and stalked out.

Andrew heaved a sigh and turned back to the boy sitting on the bed surrounded by the best eiderdown comforters and plump over-stuffed pillows. Really, William had no idea how well off he was. Maybe explaining that was the way forward.

“He’s not so bad,” Andrew began, not expecting an answer. “There are worse, truly.”

“You didn’t see Wesley.”

It was a start and more than Angelus had achieved. Pushing William’s bare legs to one side, Andrew perched on the edge of the bed and, staring down at his fingers, toyed with the cake. Eventually he licked his fingers and said, “No, I didn’t. But I can guess what he looked like.”

William made a disbelieving sound and Andrew looked up, his eyes huge. “His face was bruised, his lips were swollen, he couldn’t talk properly, and when you touched him he tried to get away because he was scared of you. Am I right?”

The knowledge, be it firsthand or otherwise, in Andrew’s words brought William up short. For some reason he had believed himself and Wesley to be the only ones, which was ridiculous of course; Oz had said no one was safe. But in William’s mind that had translated into no one being able to defend him, not that Angelus and Ripper had done this to other boys.

“You?” he asked.

Andrew shook his head and looked down again. The cake was crumbling and he brought a morsel to his mouth. “Levinson. I was sent to Ripper.”

“Like-like…”

“Like you,” Andrew agreed.

“Then why…?”

“Because now I belong to Warren – Meers. He’s actually seventeen, like MacDonald, but hasn’t gone up from the lower fourth as yet.” Andrew shrugged. “Ripper gave me to him and he looks after me.”

William stared at him, not in disbelief, but searching for the right words. There were so many things he wanted to know that he couldn’t find the right place to start. Eventually his tongue decided for him.

“Does it hurt,” he blurted, “like the water. Because, if it did, I couldn’t bear it.”

Andrew giggled. “Only a little. And not at all if you eat this.” He held up his fingers smeared with lumps of sticky hashish cake. “Oops,” he said and giggled again.

A sudden image of Lindsey kneeling before his brother and the look of rapture on Angelus’ face sprang into William’s mind. Before he could second guess himself, he caught the other boy’s hand and brought it to his lips then, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Andrew’s face, licked firmly from the creases on the wrist to the top of the middle finger. There, he lingered, swirling his tongue around the tip and then sucking it into his mouth, closing his lips around it as he remembered Lindsey doing with Angelus’ cock.

The effect on Andrew was no less gratifying. The other boy leaned towards him, his mouth opening, and his breath warm and sweet from the cake. His eyes widened, growing deep and dark, and William could see a flush start to colour his cheeks. One at a time the rest Andrew’s fingers slipped into William’s mouth, and he sucked and licked his way up and down them cleaning away the sticky residue from the honey.

By the time he’d finished, the drug was starting to take effect. Unlike the laudanum which tugged him down into a deep pool of mindless dreams, this made him fly. He felt happy, carefree, he wanted to sing or possibly whirl around the room, but what he wanted most of all was to touch Andrew. Their lips met tentatively, both boys unsure. William because he had never kissed another and Andrew because he’d suddenly remembered this was Ripper’s boy he held in his arms.

And William was in his arms, pressing tightly against him, the flimsy robe he wore nothing more that a second skin through which Andrew could feel heat and the rapid thump, thump, thump of William’s heart.

“This is wrong. This is bad,” Andrew chanted between kisses.

But it didn’t feel wrong or bad. They fell backwards onto the bed and lay facing each other, their legs entwined. Andrew clasped the remains of the cake, squashing it between his fingers, hoping William would clean it off. He held it up but William, gazing at him through lowered lashes, took the hand and pressed it to his breast, smearing himself with sticky crumbs. Andrew moaned as his hand skated across silky oiled skin, his palm bumping over prominent nipples. His hips bucked forward, colliding with William’s and they began moving languidly against each other their craving for contact tempered by the euphoric effects of the drug. Their hands moved continuously, stroking and touching, and at some point Andrew began scooping up morsels of cake and popping them into William’s mouth, only for William to feed the taste back to him through kisses that tasted of pure sin.

Slowly the intensity of their encounter increased, until languid became urgent and their gasps harsh with rising desire. William pulled Andrew closer, devouring his mouth with an edge of desperation and his hand guided Andrew’s to his hip and then further back, as he said, “Show me. Show me that it doesn’t have to hurt.”

Andrew’s fingers petted and soothed, up and down, teasing William’s cleft as the boy squirmed against him. Knowing how forbidden this was and yet not able to care, he finally slipped his fingers between, searching out William’s entrance and circling it with gentle finger tips. A simple motion and he would be inside, inside where he so dreadfully wanted to be. Groaning, Andrew buried his face in William’s hair, inhaling his scent and letting the perfume take him over.

“Please, please,” William begged in Andrew’s ears, pushing back against those inquisitive fingers, his body aching for want of an intrusive touch. He would die if Andrew didn’t do it, he was sure. And then, in a flurry of howls, shrieks and flailing arms, his lover was gone.

Angelus threw Wells bodily from the room, bellowing for Lindsey to take care of him, before turning his attention to William. The boy lay sprawled on the bed, pupils huge, dark and stoned, his carefully applied make up smeared, his cock hard and leaking, his skin and the surrounding comforter covered in bits of hashish cake. It was a disaster but could have been so much worse.

Yanking William to his feet, Angelus shoved him out of the way before shaking and turning the coverlet. That done, he attacked the boy with a cloth, scrubbing away the sticky residue until not a sign of anything untoward remained. William stood passively, swaying slightly as Angelus turned and posed him to reapply oil, kohl and rouge.

“Lay on the bed,” Angelus instructed eventually. “On your back with your knees up.”

William hesitated, confused and scared, but Angelus saw none of that, just disobedience. “Do it,” he growled, “Or I will get the cane and beat you until you bleed.”

The threat was enough to send William scrambling for the bed and into the same position he had spent the afternoon, though now his cock lay limp against his thigh, his ardour destroyed by Angelus’ words.

Angelus finally noticed the faint quiver of the boy’s limbs and the way he chewed his lip with fright. William’s pupils were still dilated, but the euphoria from the small amount of hashish he had actually ingested had obviously worn off. Cursing his luck, Angelus hauled Ripper’s, thankfully primed, hookah from its corner and sat down on the edge of the bed. William stared at him, his eyes growing wider at the sight of the tortuous looking contraption and it took a few moments for Angelus to understand the problem.

“Drop your legs, boy,” he laughed. “This is only a pipe. Have you ever smoked?”

William shook his head, lowering his legs to the bed and still not really understanding what was going on.

A glowing coal from the fire lit the bowl and Angelus took a deep drag to get the hashish burning properly, and then handed the hose over to William. “Suck in a breath through this and hold it in your lungs for a long as you are able,” he instructed.

William did his best, the first attempt making him choke and forcing smoke out through his nose. The second, a smaller breath, was more successful and by the third he was starting to get high once again. Much sooner than William would have preferred, Angelus took the pipe away and retired it to the hearth to cool. William watched him, trying not to giggle as a familiar delicious buzz spread through his body. One escaped through his fingers and Angelus glanced over at him, an indulgent smile on his face

“That seems to have done the trick,” he said gently as he walked back to the bed carrying a bottle that he placed carefully on the nightstand. “Lift up again for me, lad.”

This time there was no hesitation and when Angelus pressed his thighs higher, William caught his knees against his chest, opening himself completely to Angelus’ inspection. An oiled finger brushed against his hole, circling and teasing as Andrew’s had before and William whimpered lifting his hips in encouragement. Then it breached him, moving and insistent, twisting and pushing deep into his body.

All the while Angelus spoke to him, keeping his voice low and soothing, and telling William he was good and beautiful, using his free hand to slap and stroke William’s buttocks to help him relax and accept more and then more again, until three fingers slid easily into the boy’s relaxed channel. Angelus sighed, it was done.

Pausing only to wrap lengths of scarlet silk around William’s wrists and throw another log on the fire, Angelus went to inform Ripper that his new boy was finally ready for him.

Wake Part 8

2004-04-02T08:45:13Z

Author's note: back from work and don't know if I'll have any computer time later so here, as promised, is Part 8. I know at least one person saw this coming. Expect more of you did too.

Part 8</b>

Part 8

Giles kept Spike under sedation for five days, during which time, the vampire had no sustenance at all. It seemed better to Giles to let the skin of its back begin to repair and renew itself first, even though he knew the process would be much slower if the creature didn’t feed. He brought his report downstairs from the study and made notes, while sitting at the dining table, as to how the healing process advanced. It was fascinating to watch the redness of the wounds slowly turn to pink as the new, pristine flesh gradually overlay them. He took photographs of the stages of the process, thinking that maybe it had never been detailed before.

The quiet days since the unfortunate incident had given Giles plenty of time to think and he had concluded that the report was all that mattered now. This whole business had been a disaster from first till last, and the only good thing that could possibly come out of it would be if he impressed the Council enough with his research to be reinstated. He knew now, having had time to ponder the matter, that he had been wrong to take Spike into his house in the first place. He should have put it down, or turned it loose to take its chances. The creature had seduced him with its beauty and seeming youthful innocence. He understood now that, no matter what - brain-damaged, childlike - this was no innocent. It couldn’t be, with all that murder in its past. It had been lucky that Giles had been so merciful, and he should never have blamed himself for what happened, nor have felt pity for it. He shouldn’t have been so weak, letting that smooth, milky flesh and sweet, puzzled dependence get through his defences and make him forget what the creature truly was. He did blame himself for that. After all, even when fully in possession of its faculties, the vampire was little more than an animal, and Giles should have remembered that.
So, the decision was made. He would finish his report and then he would get rid of Spike. It would be a mercy killing really, which was more than the vampire deserved. It just remained to be recorded how the creature would react on awakening to find itself once more alone with Giles. Would it try to get back in his good graces, flaunting its body, as it had before? Would it even remember what had happened? It would be interesting to find out, and, if the thing was offering, Giles didn’t think he would turn down one last opportunity to possess and own something so beautiful, if so worthless and empty. So he waited and wrote his report, and finally, he stopped sedating Spike and let the creature recover consciousness slowly. It took the better part of a day - what with the vampire having been unconscious for so long - during which time it did little except blink its eyes sleepily whenever he came near.

Of course, it was that gentle, childlike blue gaze that undid him. He had forgotten the power of it, and how easily it drew him in, like looking into wells of clear blue water. For when Spike finally sat up and turned that gaze on him and held out his arms towards him, saying in that puzzled tone he so loved to hear: “Papa?” his resolve broke almost instantly, and he went and gathered the small, delicate body into his arms, hugging it close, kissing the smooth eyelids, the hair, the full lips. Spike put both arms round his neck and clung like a leech, as if trying to press his body into Giles’s and make them one. Careful as far as possible not to touch his back , Giles carried his beautiful vampire over to the couch and sat down with the creature on his knee, petting it and stroking it and kissing the cool column of its throat. He already had an erection, something he’d never thought to have again, after the humiliations and traumas of the past few weeks. He couldn’t believe that soon he would be able to slide his cock once more into the welcoming body of this pretty creature, who obviously loved him and forgave him, and doted on him. How could he ever have considered staking it? Spike was grinding against him now, licking his neck, clever little hands slipping down to unzip his trousers and take out his cock. Then the vampire was sliding bonelessly down his body, onto the floor and bending its head towards its master’s groin.

Giles had just a moment to feel surprise at the way Spike was suddenly taking the initiative – he had always had to be pushed down gently before and his jaw tickled to get him to open his mouth – when he heard an odd noise, like bones shifting and crunching, and a voice that was both familiar and totally strange say: “Papa, look at me.” He looked down and found himself staring into the hideous, yellow-eyed face of a demon, but he had barely time to register it before Spike struck, the mouth, gaping with fangs, fastening inexorably on the vein at the junction of thigh and groin. He thought he could hear the flesh part. He certainly felt the strong, drawing sensation as the vampire began to drain him, and he screamed, pulling ineffectually at the creature’s hair, reaching out for weapons that weren’t there. Spike’s strength was unbelievable. It was like being caught in the jaws of a vise; a vise that was slowly closing, and killing him as it did so. Giles heard his own screams growing more and more distant, as his head swam and his vision began to grow dim. Just before he lost consciousness, he felt a warm, rushing sensation in his groin and knew that he had come, pulled over the edge by the vampire’s bite.

To be Concluded

Seen, Not Heard Part 5

2004-04-02T04:54:15Z

Previous parts in memories (violence fics). All previous warnings apply.

As you'll remember, Cordelia had just discovered what Angel was up to...

Spike hadn’t made it to the shower this time. He lay on the floor as he’d done the night before, silent and without crying. It hurt to move and hurt to cry. There really was nothing left that he could do.

He didn’t even flinch when someone knocked at the door.

The door was knocked on again.

“Spike! I know you’re in there! It’s Cordelia – I’ve come to help you!”

Spike didn’t know what to think. He felt certain that this was another of Angel’s plans. Send in the humans when he was at his lowest and most humiliated state ever.

“If you don’t open the door, or can’t, then I’m just going to have to kick it in!”

The door clicked open.

“Oh, or just try the handle and see if that works!”

Cordelia rushed over to Spike.
“Don’t panic Spike, I’m not going to hurt you. I want to help you.”

She set her bag down on the floor.
“I have blood – human, that should help you.”

As she pulled a bag of blood out, she cast a look over Spike’s naked body.
“Maybe I should get something to cover you with?”

She spotted his robe on the small bed, picked it up and carefully covered him over.

She saw him opening his mouth.

“No, don’t try to talk. Not yet anyway. Drink this and I’ll get you out of here as soon as you can stand.”

She opened the bag of blood and gently lifted Spike’s head so that she could pour it into his mouth.

Spike looked up at her with swollen, blackened eyes.

Tears filled Cordelia’s eyes.
“We’ll fix this, ok?”

He blinked at her and continued to swallow the blood.

A while later, Cordelia had Spike in her car and was driving home.
It had been difficult. Spike was hardly able to move, even after the human blood and was distressed when Cordelia insisted that he should leave the place. She’d asked him why he wanted to stay and had been angry when he’d managed to tell her that Angel owned him and if he dare leave, Angel would stake him.

She’d finally convinced him to leave telling him that she’d end up staking both he and Angel if he didn’t. She wrapped his robe around him and told him that everything would be ok.

So now Spike was sat in her car, holding his radio in one hand and clutching his money in the other. He kept his eyes down the whole time and didn’t speak at all.

The following morning, Wes looked up as Angel came down the stairs.
“Good morning!” he called cheerfully.

Angel nodded his greeting and looked round.
“Where’s Cordelia?”

“She hasn’t arrived yet.”

Angel smiled.
“She had a date last night. That’s probably why!”
He winked at Wes and the two men laughed.

Their laughter died when the door burst open and Cordelia stormed in.

“Ok, so maybe the date didn’t go well?!” Angel laughed.

“Wipe that stupid grin off your face before I give you a holy water shower!” Cordelia yelled at him.

Angel flinched and Wes looked sympathetic.

“Is everything all right Cordelia?” Wes asked.

Cordelia stomped up to Angel and glared at Wes.
“No, it’s not. Our boss and so called friend is a fucking monster!”

Angel frowned as Wes chuckled.

“We already knew that Cordelia!” Wes said.

Cordelia ignore Wes and pulled out a stake.
Angel stepped back.

“I should use this now and not bother with hearing your pathetic excuses or reasons.”

“What are you talking about?” Angel asked, watching the stake warily.

“This.” She said, pulling out a large envelope from her bag and throwing it at him.

Angel caught the envelope and opened it. Inside were many photographs.
He pulled them out and stared at her.
“What is this about?”

“It’s about you taking advantage of someone who couldn’t help himself. I know all about it Angel. I know what happened to him and what you’ve been doing since you brought him here.”

“Er, could someone tell me what’s going on here?” Wes asked.

He was ignored.

“You have no idea what this is all about Cordelia.”

“Oh I know, Angel. This is about you being a sick fuck at night and pretending to us that you actually want to help people when you’re around us during the day!”

Angel opened his mouth to speak.

“Save it. There’s nothing you could tell me that could make a difference. I heard you last night. I heard what you said to him and I know what you made him do.”

She walked off towards the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” Wes called.

“To get blood.”

Wes looked at Angel and pointed to the photos.
“What are those? What is she talking about?”

Angel looked down.
“It’s about Spike. I don’t think I have an explanation.”

Cordelia walked back out towards Angel, stuffing blood bags into her bag.
“I’ve cleared you out. You’ll have to get more for yourself. He needs this more than you. Oh and one more thing…”
She punched Angel in the face.

He dropped the photos in surprise and watched as she left.

Wes bent to pick up the pictures and caught sight of the one where Angel was rubbing Spike’s crotch. He dropped it and stood back.

Angel looked at him, with blood trickling from his nose.

Wes looked down at another photo.
“That’s the whorehouse we investigated. What were…”
He looked up. What he saw in Angel’s eyes answered his question.

Wes’ face hardened.
“I don’t know the full story Angel, but it’s not looking good from where I’m standing.”

Angel looked down, unable to stand the look on his friend’s face.

“What were you thinking of Angel?”
Wes watched as tears began to fall from Angel’s eyes.
“I can’t be sympathetic with you, I think you’ve done something very wrong.”

Cordelia closed her apartment door.
“Spike, it’s me! I have blood!”

Spike stirred in the bed. Cordelia had insisted that she was fine sleeping on the couch and he was in need of a comfortable place to rest.

He tried to sit up.

“Hey no! Wait!”
She rushed to the side of the bed and pulled the pillows behind him so that he could sit up more comfortably.

“So,” she said brightly, “ready for breakfast?”

He managed a weak smile and a nod as Cordelia pulled out several bags of blood.

Angel whirled around.
“He’s gone!”

Wes glanced around the small apartment.
“Obviously Cordelia thought he’d be better off somewhere else.”

Angel grabbed Wes by the shirt, not in a threatening way but in more of a pleading manner.
“Help me find him! Take me to Cordy’s place!”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Please Wes. I have to fix this.”

“Whilst having a conscience is a good thing, I’m wondering why you even started this?”

“I wasn’t thinking. I got Spike away from Sunnydale and then…I don’t know. I don’t know why I did it.”

Wes pulled Angel off his shirt.
“I’ll take you to Cordelia’s apartment, but I doubt she’ll want to see you.”

Angel nodded and covered himself with a blanket as they headed back out to the car.

Cordelia had just finished helping Spike drink a third mug of blood when someone knocked at the door.
She smiled at Spike and got up.

When she opened the door she glared at Wes who was standing behind Angel.
“You must both be stupid.”

“Please Cordy, where is he?”

“He’s in here. But you’re not coming in.”

Angel took a step forward but was held back by an invisible barrier.
“You had me uninvited?”

Cordelia smiled.
“Yes, because I knew you wouldn’t listen to the part about not coming in.”

“I want to see him.”

“No fucking way Angel!”

From the bedroom she heard a whimper.
“See!” she hissed, “He’s upset knowing you’re even here. If you went anywhere near him, he’d be absolutely terrified.”

Angel stepped back.
“Tell him I’m sorry.”

Cordelia laughed at him.
“You’re pathetic!”
She slammed the door and went back to the bedroom.

Spike was curled up in a ball, sobbing his heart out.

“He’s not coming in Spike. He can’t. You’re perfectly safe here.”

Spike sobbed louder.
“I thought he loved me!”

Cordelia frowned.
“Oh sweetie, that’s not love. Love is chocolate and flowers and nice shiny things, not pain and torture.”
She climbed onto the bed and wrapped an arm round Spike to offer him some comfort from her body heat.

“Angel, if you pace the floor in front of me once more, I shall stake you myself!”

“What else am I supposed to do Wes?!”

“What do you expect me to say? I can’t help you here Angel, this is something I’m just not comfortable with.”

“How do I make this better?”

“Angel! I’m not a bloody vampire counsellor! I have no idea if there’s anything you could do in order to make everything right. And what did I tell you about pacing?!”

Angel looked up as Cordelia walked in. He jumped up.
“How is he?”

Cordelia held out her hand.
“Money. Now. Lots.”

Angel pulled out his wallet.

Cordelia grabbed it and took every note out.
“That should do for now.”
She passed back the empty wallet.

“What do you need it for?”

“Oh it’s not for me. It’s for Spike. He needs clothes and other things to make him feel better.”

Wes snorted.
“He’s not a woman Cordelia!”

Cordelia glared.
“No Wes, he’s just someone who’s been abused and beaten for other people’s pleasure and he deserves something to make him feel less like a piece of meat.”

“Could I come with you Cordy? I know the things he likes.”

Cordelia shook her head.

Angel held out his wallet once more.
“I have credit cards too.”

“What’s the limit on them?”

“Pretty high.”

“Good. Because you won’t have anything left once I’m done with you.”

Spike was awake when Cordelia struggled in with the bags of shopping Angel had bought.

She poked her head round the bedroom door.
“Hey blondie! I have stuff for you!”

Spike looked confused when she carried the bags through.

“Clothes, cd’s, books and who knows what else!”

Spike shook his head.
“You can’t…”

“Oh no, I didn’t pay. Angel did!”

Spike looked away from the items Cordelia was pulling out.

“Hey mister! Angel deserves to pay for what he did to you and we’re starting with the money. We’ll work on his humiliation next!”

Spike laughed softly.

Cordelia smiled at him and continued to empty the bags around him.

“How is he?” Angel asked.

“He needs more blood.” Cordelia replied as she walked towards him.

“Sure.”
Angel darted off and came back with an armful of bags.

“Did he like his things?”

“Yes. It was good to see a smile on his face.”

“Ah, that would be when he knew you’d made me pay for everything.”

“No, he didn’t want them at that point.”

“Oh.”

Cordelia took the blood from Angel and went to walk away.

“When can I see him?”

She paused.
“I’ll let you know when and if he wants to see you again. Just don’t turn up like you did before. It took him an hour to stop crying.”

Angel watched as she left the Hyperion.

Cordelia frowned when she heard Spike crying out in his sleep.
She peeped round the door and saw him sat up in bed.

“Oh, I thought you were sleeping.”

Spike rubbed at his eyes.
“Sorry for waking you.” He said miserably.

Cordelia shrugged and sat down on the bed.
“It’s not like I have to get up for work in the morning. Are you ok?”

Spike nodded.

Cordelia put her arm round his shoulders.

He fell against her and started to cry.

She tried to calm him but he continued to cry, trying to speak at the same time.

“I miss…my…daddy.”

Cordelia wrapped both arms around him and rocked him as he wept.

Fic: Sold (7/11)

2004-04-02T04:12:41Z

Title: Sold(7/11)
Author:Lore
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Spike/Angel, Spike/Methos
Summary: Harmony accidentally gets Spike sold for an auction, Angel has to get him back
Notes: slave/master relationship, some corporeal punishment and basically crazy Angel

A single tear dropped down from Spike's cheeks. A loose curl fell down over his eyes as he sat in the dark, face to the wall. His arms were chained over his head, his feet locked in restraints, deep red cuts lined his perfect skin.

Booted feet stirred the blood-red rose petals blanketing the floor, and a glossy black whip broke the silence with a sound like a gun shot. After a few moments, there was the clanking of well-oiled machinery as the section of floor under Spike's kneeling body lifted, pushing him up and spreading his legs. Spike let out a beautiful moan as his genitals were ground down into the top corner by his weight, and he arched his back like a breaking wave falling over the front.

The monster grabbed his hair, pulling his back up, stretching his spine to breaking point.
Tearing into him without warning.
"Come for me, come for your master."

The door kicked open and the dark man broke free, staring back at the intruder. Angel stood in the door, large and menacing, dressed in a long black coat that fluttered along his legs as he stared down at the monster that had taken his boy. His anger raged in his eyes and his fists clenched around his sword as he stared down at what the monster had done to his boy.

"You!" The leather-clad male growled, spinning around, the whip still in hand. "How much does it take to get rid of you?!"
He prowled towards Angel, lips peeled back from his teeth in a snarl. Angel faced him silently, his presence a soothing strength for his get.
One wiry arm drew back with the whip and lashed out at the slave's apparent rescuer.

Angel grabbed the whip in one hand, punching the monster in the face with the other.
He yowled and fell back.
Angel lifted his sword, taking the monster's head, watching as it rolled away from the body.

He turned to Spike, watching his boy's naked form stretched out for pleasure. He touched Spike's calves, licking the blood of the wounds, hearing Spike moan under his touch. Goosebumps forming under his skin. So beautiful.
"Please Angel. I need you. Please take me."

Angel prepared him, using blood and spit as he opened Spike up.
His boy, his beautiful boy, a study in ivory marked with ruby lines, arched and moaned as Angel pushed into him, beckoning him without words to fulfill and satiate a need that welled from the depths of his recently-regained soul.
"Daddy's here now. Daddy's here."

Spike moaned, his skin writhing under his grandsire's fingertips.
And if his moans turned to pleading Angel just held on to him, comforting him like a sire should.

"No no no no no no no no no..."
Spike came under him, screaming as he did so. Opening up his neck for full possession. Angel bit down, staring at the master's head, it stared back at him. Eyes he hadn't looked at in so long. His own.

Angel was still screaming as he woke up.

*******

Spike returned, holding a set of chains. He placed it down on the table, waiting, his hands behind his back, his feet stretched apart. Methos slowly got up from the ground, inspecting the chains in front of him. Duncan let go of the girl, leaving her in Richie's hands. The Scott was furious, ready to tear him apart. Methos tried to ignore him.

He moved on to Spike.
"Does anyone know where you are?" Methos demanded as he went over to start clipping the manacles onto Spike's wrists and ankles. The little minx set her jaw; refusing to talk. Methos' eyes were on her again, trying to see how serious she was. She didn't flinch. He wondered how a kid like her had ended up getting to know a vampire. What kind of game had the blond been playing to get her on his side? He turned away from her and moved over to the cabinet, opening the shelves and pulling out one of the wooden paddles. Duncan was still waiting for answers, Methos was sure his patience wouldn't last much longer. The kid froze like a deer in headlights, staring at him in fear as he held up the paddle, testing it on his hand. Duncan's mouth opened wide, ready to protest as he stepped in front of her.
He lifted it up.
It came down on Spike's ass, hard.
She winced in shock screaming 'no'.

"Who knows you're here?"
He started to lift the paddle again. Spike stayed in position, his clothes somewhat protecting him from the impact. Methos wondered how sore he still was from the previous beating. Three hits this time, one on his back, one on his ass, a third against his spine, the vampire flinched back with every hit. Desperate to stay in place. His mouth opened, ready to scream. The silence was deadening..

"Methos, what the HELL!"
Richie let go of Fred's arm, starting towards him, as if he were the monster here

"He can take it."
What were three short hits to a vampire?

Someone grabbed his hand before he could hit Spike again. Duncan and him faced off in a confrontation of will. He looked at the Scott, demanding him, asking him for his support...Then Richie was there as well, dragging him back, away from the vampire. Methos fought to break free, Spike stayed in place, obeying his master's last command. Methos wondered if he should reward him for that or not.

"Have you gone insane?" Duncan stared at him, the paddle in his hands now. "Methos, what's wrong with you?"
The Scotsman was probably convinced by now that he'd taken a dark quickening, but he hadn't. He just had to deal with a situation that neither of the two boy scouts could possibly understand.
"He's not human Mac"

The girl darted forward and tried to pull Spike clear of the confrontation between him and MacLeod. Methos glared at her, but MacLeod wouldn't let go. Spike grabbed for the collar on his neck, shaking in pain. He hesitated for a second, considering he might allow the vampire to move.
But the girl had already knelt down next to him.
"Sh, sh-sh-sh, it's okay, I'll get that off of you." She acted as if she was talking to a frightened wolf pup.
Spike flinched away, falling down. Electric currents running through him, originating from the collar. Methos was starting to wonder how strong the damn thing was. All he'd known was that the thing would keep the vampire under control... But how far did it take that order of keeping him under control?

*******

Wesley stared at him dead cold as he woke up. Gunn was waiting outside of the car, dressed in Armani. It still looked wrong to see him like that. "We managed to track Fred's cell up to this side of town, the psychics are still looking for a definite fix."

Angel nodded, grabbing his head and the blood trickling down from his scalp. Lorne quickly threw him an icepack. He held it against his head without a further word. Wesley was looking at a map, holding a phone while he marked possible locations. Angel ignored them, lifting his nose to the air, if Spike was near, he'd find him. No matter under what rock that bastard was keeping him.

Gunn answered his phone, giving off a last instruction. Lorne still stared at him.
"Angel we can't find them, Spike or that Methos guy, if you don't calm down."

Angel just searched the air once more, finally finding what he'd been looking for. He didn't wait for the others to follow him.

tbc

Wake Part 7

2004-04-01T23:15:14Z

Author's note: Posting early again. This is a very short chapter, so I've decided to post Part 8 when I get back from work later, and the final part tomorrow.
Warnings: same, I suppose.
Part 7

Part 7

Giles’s legs gave out beneath him and he sank to the ground. He was shaking all over and before he knew it, he found himself sobbing, loudly and messily like a child. He stayed there a long time, and still the tears came. He couldn’t even tell why he was crying any more, whether for Spike or himself. Spike had betrayed him, had whored himself out to the other vampire, but hadn’t he betrayed Spike too? His gaze fell on the rattan switch, where it lay on the floor, and he shuddered at the sight. Dark red strips of flesh were wound round its tip like some kind of hideous crochet. At the sight, at the memory of what he had done to his poor little pet, Giles’s guts rebelled and he retched miserably, bringing up nothing except bile and the sour taste of spoiled whisky. Afterwards, he leaned back against the couch panting, and listened to the silence in the room, until finally the awful shaking stopped. He had to get a grip on himself and try and salvage this situation.

Staggering to his feet, he wavered his way into the bathroom and started the shower; then he stripped off his soiled clothing and threw it in the corner. He would burn it in the morning. He stood under the jet of water for a good, long time, feeling the tension slowly ebb out of him, leaving a kind of depressed lassitude in its wake. He had to force himself to get out and dry himself, wrapping the towel firmly round his waist. There was still much to do. He found it took some courage to actually pick Spike up and bring him into the bathroom, for he was so badly damaged. Giles was only thankful that the vampire was so light to carry. He held him draped limply over one arm while he washed him down, trying not to look at the bloodstained water, the bits of loose flesh that fell off under the jet of spray. He was glad to see that the vampire seemed to have suffered no obvious trauma to his head, in spite of the blows he had received. Spike stayed mercifully unconscious, and continued that way when Giles laid him down carefully on his belly on the bathroom floor and gently snipped away the hanging strips of skin with the bathroom scissors, leaving the red, weeping wounds uncovered. He had no idea whether it was the right thing to do, but at least it looked neater, and it got rid of the last remaining specks of Angel’s dust that might remain on him.
“Angel dust,” Giles thought, and tittered feebly. Perhaps Angel had indeed been like a drug to Spike, one from which he had been weaned, only to have his carer re-addict him, by bringing it in the house and leaving it where he couldn’t resist? Or maybe that was an analogy too far? He needed sleep desperately, he knew.

He left Spike lying face down on the bathroom floor while he got out the vacuum cleaner and vacuumed the room, paying particular attention to the couch and the floor around it. He wanted there to be nothing left of Angel at all. There were dark stains on the carpet, so he filled a bucket with soap and water and got down on his hands and knees to scrub at them. He wiped the blood stains off the wall and shut the window, drawing the curtains tight against the coming dawn. Then he laid a clean towel down on the floor on Spike’s mat in the utility room and laid the unconscious vampire gently on it, chaining his ankle securely to the bolt in the wall and covering his lower body loosely with his blanket. His own body yearned for sleep so badly now that he knew he had to give in to it. He was resisting simply because he was afraid of what Spike might do if he recovered consciousness and found himself alone. The pain on its own would be unbearable, never mind the trauma he might have suffered. As swiftly as he could, with his hands made clumsy by tiredness, Giles filled a syringe with the strongest sedative he had and pulled down the blanket to inject it into Spike’s buttock. He found himself staring, mesmerised, at what remained of the cool, milky flesh, on which the pattern of fortnight old scars still showed silvery, like old stretch marks, now all overlain by the red ruin Giles had made of it. What he had done to this creature didn’t bear thinking about, so Giles didn’t. Instead, he let his hand caress the air above the still luscious curve of flesh, letting his fingers linger over the small, exquisite tattoo, miraculously almost unspoiled, that pointed the way into the velvet cleft with its hidden treasure. As he jabbed the needle in, Giles promised himself that soon these things would be all his again. Gently, he re-covered Spike and made his way wearily up the stairs, where he fell on his bed and slept like the dead.

Request X3

2004-04-01T17:27:46Z

First, I need a beta for a fic I'm working on. Mainly for Spelling/Grammar check, but you also have to be willing to annoy/IM the death out of/poke me on a regular basis to remind me to write. And reassure me that I don't suck...

Second, I want suggestions of everyday household/office chores (eg: making breakfast, getting mail) that I can... fool around with... I only have about 4 at the moment, and unless you want a really short fic, I'm going to need more...

Third, I'd like a SickChicks Icon... Preferably using the phrase 'Everyone's sexier covered in blood,' but I'm not picky.

Thanks in advance to everyone!

Fic: Whispers After Dark: Chapter 8

2004-04-01T12:25:47Z

Previous parts here

Not sure how this chapter will be received. Some of it is for astarte99 she'll know which bits, I hope. But I won't dedicate this to her, as the context is a little odd.

Details and general warnings:

Whispers After Dark is an all human AU set at an English boy's public school somewhere around 1850, think Tom Brown's School Days. I haven't been overly specific about the era in terms of research, and I realise some of it is anachronistic, but in this case I really don't care that much.

However, because of the setting, some of the boys will be underage - fifteen at minimum - in case that squicks anyone. There will also be non-con, semi-non-con, bullying, fagging, spankings, the ocassional caning over a desk and private oral tutorials. Needless to say it is NC-17, this chapter most definitely.

Chapter 8

Harris found Wesley an hour or so later and in much the same way as William had. Unlike William, however, he was quite prepared to believe Angelus had inflicted those hurts on his friend for, as he told Wesley, he had been there himself a little under a year ago. For a few moments Harris considered going against every school tradition and informing a Master, but he quickly rejected the idea; the last thing he needed on top of his lowly status was to become known as a tale teller. Instead he put his faith in Oz, relying on his friend’s influence to protect Wesley as it now protected him.

This time Wesley allowed himself to be helped and together the two boys headed for one of the more secluded bathing pools so that Wesley could clean himself properly. The day was still fine and although there was a distinct chill in the air, it was warm enough that Harris stripped down alongside his friend to bathe as well.

Under the influence of Harris’ inane chatter, Wesley found himself starting to relax. He didn’t forget – would never be able to forget – but the fear was starting to recede, as was the guilt. If Harris had also been a victim, then surely the blame lay entirely at Angelus’ door, thus exculpating Wesley entirely.

When they were clean, the boys swam to the bank and amused themselves throwing stones at the moorhens that poked nervous beaks from the reeds. They told stories; Harris of his escapades at St. Peter’s and the school he had attended previously, and Wesley about the days before his mother left, when his home life had been happy and carefree.

They were so engrossed that neither boy noticed the small gang approaching and both dived for their clothes when a voice called, “Price. I want a word with you.”

It was Lindsey MacDonald and, hard on his heels, Meers, Levinson and three other boys. Harris and Wesley were quickly surrounded, their clothes snatched from their hands and thrown in to the pool where they floated momentarily like drab ducklings before deflating and sinking sadly under the water.

Meers caught Wesley by the back of the neck and pushed him forward onto his knees in front of MacDonald. Harris tried to defend him, only to find his arms grabbed and twisted behind his back until he had no option but to bend to relieve the pressure on the straining joints.

Above the singing in his ears, he heard MacDonald say, “You told William it was my brother who inflicted these marks on you. Why?”

“Because he did,” came Wesley’s quiet reply and Harris flinched when he heard the crack of a hand on skin.

“Liar! You should be sent-down for uttering such untruths! My brother was not present when this came about and Levinson here will swear to it, won’t you boy.”

“I’ll say whatever you tell me to,” Jonathon mumbled and Harris’ stomach clenched in hatred. Had no one except he and Osborne the guts to stand up to these bullies?

“Leave him be, MacDonald!” he yelled and then yelped as his arms were pushed up further.

“Ah, young Harris.”

MacDonald’s boots appeared on the ground and suddenly Harris was able to stand. He did so, shaking his arms out gingerly as the blood rushed back into his fingers and his joints protested their treatment. A quick glance in Wesley’s direction showed his friend still on his knees with fresh blood on his lips. That swine MacDonald must have reopened the cuts in Wesley’s mouth.

“I have a message for you as well. Or, more accurately, for your friend, Osborne.”

Harris turned and looked MacDonald in the eye, telling himself it was only Angelus that kept the little pip-squeak safe, and sooner rather than later the older boy would be gone from the school. What fun then would be had at this bully’s expense.

“The message?” he asked coldly.

“Tell him Ripper sends his regards to Osborne’s mother, and says that if he doesn’t keep to the arrangement, he will be sure to see certain information is made public.”

**

Ripper was reading when Lindsey got back and, rather than disturb him, the younger boy made to slip away.

The question caught him halfway out of the door. “Did you deliver my message?”

“I did,” Lindsey replied, reluctantly shutting the door with himself of the inside. So much for his quick game of fives before sunset and prep for the next day’s lessons.

“Excellent.” Ripper closed his book with a resounding snap and continued, “And did that unpleasant young tyrant confirm my suspicions?”

“According to Meers, Brolly found him directly and told him of William with no encouragement.”

“As I thought,” Ripper nodded. “No matter, he had his punishment before breakfast and,” he laughed, “I am thinking, this afternoon as well.”

Lindsey’s gaze shot towards the bedroom and Ripper, seeing the direction it took, said, “Nothing so crass, my boy. He was simply asked to help your brother prepare William.”

Schooling his features into carefully practised neutrality, Lindsey nodded. However some clue of his true feelings must have escaped because suddenly Ripper was looking speculatively at him. “In fact, I would say Brolly has suffered enough. Go tell him his presence is required and that you are to aid Angelus in whatever needs to be done.”

Ethan didn’t need telling twice and was out of the door and running up the narrow private stair to Ripper’s rooms before Lindsey had stopped speaking. That left Lindsey with his brother and the two younger boys; Wells who was hauling a large kettle of water towards the yard and William, lying supine on the table, his legs held high and spread in medical stirrups.

“Is it completed?” Lindsey asked hopefully

“Nearly. The final quart and-” Angelus began, glancing up from his task and laughing at his sibling’s relieved expression. “Don’t fret, little brother, the worst is over.”

Lindsey shrugged and feigned not caring. “I don’t understand why he insists upon it. You never have with me.”

“Ripper considers himself the sophisticate and follows the teachings of his mentor,” Angelus explained and held out a soft rubberised bag. “Hold this,” he said, before continuing, “And Herr Eyghon, had something of a mania for cleanliness. I have heard Ripper claim that he would refuse to enter someone unless the correct rituals had been performed.”

“Still,” Lindsey said, doing as he was bid, “It seems a little excessive.”

Angelus busied himself for a moment and then stood up, taking the bag back from Lindsey’s hands, raising it slightly and giving it a gentle squeeze. On the table, William groaned and rolled his head, his eyelids fluttering open.

“Damn,” Angelus said, “the laudanum is wearing off and I dare not give him more. It will react something rotten with the hashish later.”

“So give him some of that,” Lindsey suggested, knowing firsthand how uncomfortable this procedure could be.

Angelus shook his head. “Only the single cake remains. Young William will have to manage without. Secure his arms, Lindsey, and use the gag; Ripper won’t be happy if his tea is served with a noisy accompaniment.”

Picking up the leather and wooden gag from the tray of utensils on route, Lindsey went to the head of the table and slipped the bar into the boy’s mouth, ensuring it was wedged tightly between his teeth before buckling it behind his head. Then he took William’s wrists in one hand and looped a single strap around both. If the boy really started to fight, Lindsey would have to do more, but for most this sufficed and left Lindsey free to help Angelus if needed.

“Got him?” Angelus asked and, when Lindsey nodded an affirmative, he lifted the bag higher and gave it another squeeze.

When William groaned again and began to squirm, Lindsey leaned over and massaged his belly, feeling the familiar bloating of intestines distended with cleansing fluid.

“Slower,” he said to his brother and Angelus lowered the bag a few inches, reducing the speed at which the water flowed into the boy’s body.

“Another half pint and we’re there,” Angelus said, checking the level, then muttered more to himself than anyone else, “Stop being such a stubborn ass, William. Ripper is not the only one who wishes to take tea.”

Whether it was the mention of his name or some other factor entirely, William chose that moment to surface from his stupor and immediately began to thrash, doing his best to force screams past the restriction in his mouth. Lindsey threw himself over the boy’s chest, using one hand to secure the wrist straps and his body weight to control William’s wilder movements.

For a second it looked as though William may break free. He bucked, forcing a yelp from his captor, and twisted his shoulders rolling his body first one way and then the other. Lindsey gripped the edge of the table and hung on, wishing he were bigger and heavier so as to better pin the boy down. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, William went limp and his struggles ceased completely. Lindsey heaved a sigh of relief and pressed his forehead to the table as he caught his breath, but he didn’t dare move away.

Angelus watched him, a wry smile on his face, until his brother looked up and answered in kind. “Next time do up the straps properly,” he said before lifting the bag those few inches higher.

The rest of the water was delivered without mishap, though Lindsey could feel William shaking beneath him and hear his sharp nasal pants as his abdomen was expanded to unnatural proportions. Then came the interesting part.

“Is he still awake,” Angelus asked.

Lindsey twisted so he could see William’s face with its eyes staring fixedly at the ceiling. “Yes.”

“William? Listen to me boy. I’m about to take this out and you must close yourself tight. Understand?”

A flicker of defiance passed over William’s face and Lindsey hissed, “If you do not, he will start again and this time make it two quarts.”

That brought a nod of comprehension and a gulping swallow. Lindsey grinned and turned back to his brother. “Haul away, Angelus, he knows the score.”

Watching William’s face was an amusement in itself, Lindsey discovered. From the flare of his nostrils to his squeezed shut eyes as he fought his body’s desire to rid itself of the unwanted water, William’s face was an encyclopaedia of responsiveness and as he watched Lindsey found himself becoming increasingly annoyed with Ripper for keeping this treat to himself. Eventually of course they would all get to play but not until the gilt was off the lily and even then it would be under Ripper’s supervision.

A deep moan from the chest below him suggested William was in trouble and Lindsey called out, “Make it quick!”

Angelus got there in time, much to both brothers’ relief, and replaced tenuous human muscle with the security of a well-oiled plug. William sagged, his clenched fists and bulging cheeks relaxing and, finally trusting that the last of William’s temper was spent, Lindsey leant back from the table, staying close enough to leap back on board should the necessity arise. Now all that was left was the waiting; the more difficult part in Lindsey’s opinion..

He hated this room, it was small and bleak and held too many memories for him ever to be comfortable here. Ripper’s father had paid for its construction when his son convinced him that the bathing pools were insufficient to his needs. It lay below the main rooms, linked by a single staircase, and opened onto a small private yard with piped water and drains. The tiled floor, though easy to clean, radiated a bone-chilling cold during both summer and winter, and only the fierce stove in the corner made the room bearable. Lindsey stood staring first at the white washed wall and then at his boots before saying, “Twenty minutes?”

“Or so,” Angelus replied more concerned with lighting his cheroot than conversing with his brother.

That short avenue of distraction exhausted, Lindsey turned his attention elsewhere. The only other things of interest were the various pieces of equipment and William, and Lindsey was familiar enough with Ripper’s toys that he felt no need to see more. Thus he turned his attentions to the boy, and more specifically his newly shaved genitals. It itched, Lindsey remembered, the first time the hair was stripped away and he peered around William’s knee to see how well Angelus had done the task. Perfect. Not a nick nor a stray hair marred the pale exposed skin; his brother was something of an artist when it came to work like this.

William’s cock, large and angry looking as though he had been hard for hours, pressed tight against his distended belly and Lindsey considered it for a while, remembering how his own shaft had reacted to the influx of water, before wondering aloud, “I wonder why that happens?”

Angelus glanced up at the cock-stand in question and shrugged, drawing deep on his tobacco and letting the smoke waft slowly from his mouth.

Now Lindsey was truly curious and he leaned down until he was almost at eye level, reaching out and running a finger from base to tip. William mewled and bucked his hips slightly, his cock twitching as a single drop of liquid bubbled from the slit. Lindsey caught it on his finger and stood up, staring into William’s eyes as he sucked it into his mouth.

“Tasty,” he chuckled as a remarkable blush swept over the boy’s face and he turned his head away.

“Stop teasing, little brother,” Angelus said, stamping out his cheroot and strolling over. He gave William an appraisingly look, his gaze lingering on the object of Lindsey’s attention and a smile, which would have seen Lindsey in full rout had it been turned on him, curled the corner of his lip.

Silence reigned for a full half minute before Lindsey broke and said, “He does look in terrible straits, poor boy. Do you think we should lend assistance?”

A muffled squeak from the table proved the deciding factor and the brothers moved into place like clockwork; Lindsey to William’s head, and Angelus to the boy’s upraised legs. The first touch of Angelus’ hand saw William straining to move his hips, his feet swaying in the stirrups as he fought to brace himself. Lindsey placed a palm on William’s chest, his fingers stroking and gentling, searching out nipples that already strained like moles’ noses pushing up from the dirt. His tongue found them soon after, followed by his teeth, and he swapped between them, using his fingers and his mouth to tweak and nibble.

After so long and under such expert hands, it took mere moments for William to start jerking, his jaw working spasmodically around the gag and his eyes rolling back in his head. But Angelus was ready for him and in a deft move clamped restraining fingers around the base of William’s shaft, grinning smugly at Lindsey who leapt away just in time as William whined and tried to curl around the sudden constriction.

“That was dastardly trick, Angelus,” Lindsey complained, probing at the bruise on his face that had come close to being whacked yet again. “Give a chap a little warning.”

Angelus simply raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by his brother’s dramatics, and resumed working William’s cock, keeping the strokes slow and steady. Lindsey, having decided discretion was the better part of valour, opted to stand at the head of the table and continued his previous occupation of watching William’s face. The boy really was beautiful when he suffered, his summer eyes brimming with tears, his cheeks flushed and ballooning, lips swollen around the wooden bar that left tiny bruises at the corners of his mouth.

Lindsey found himself swaying forwards, pressing his groin into William’s hands where they hung over the table edge. They felt exquisite, firm against his own increasing rigidity, fingers flexing to a rhythm he could follow. Fumbling, Lindsey loosened his braces and released his erection, groaning when it met warm sweat slicked skin. He leaned further, bracing his hands beneath William’s armpits and thrust quickly and surely, his head hanging down so he could still catch glimpses of that bewitching face.

Watching his brother from the other end of the table, Angelus grinned and ducked his head to hide the expression. Despite growing into this life as though born to it, Lindsey still retained the ability to charm Angelus with his naive ways, and this was a classic example. If he could see Lindsey’s face at this moment, Angelus knew he would find those pretty lips damp and parted, tongue curling out as he focused entirely on fulfilment.

The cock in his hand swelled again and this time Angelus continued his punishing strokes, eager for his own release. Behind his gag William wailed, his entire body convulsing as stretched muscles contracted sending waves of agonizing pleasure crashing through him. Angelus grabbed the plug and pressed it hard up into the boy’s channel eliciting more muted screams and a violent twist of hips that sent pulse of come splattering up into Lindsey’s face.

Lindsey blinked and looked up; the fluid dripping from his long eyelashes and trickling down his cheek. When it reached his lips, his tongue greedily gathered a few drops, the taste bringing the curve of a smile to his slightly open mouth. He was the embodiment of debauched innocence and Angelus moaned, grasping his own erection.

“Here. Now,” he ordered.

There was no hesitation and Lindsey was soon on his knees, caressing his brother’s cock through the stout material and then loosening is trousers. The first sweep of his tongue had Angelus gasping and buckling at the knees and he tugged Lindsey’s hair, trying to get him to slow down. Lindsey ignored him and, for once, Angelus allowed the disobedience to pass unpunished, it felt too good to stop now. As Lindsey’s throat closed around him, and the tip of his tongue probed and pushed against the base of his shaft, Angelus threw back his head panting as wildly as William had before. He could feel the boy’s gaze on them, bearing reluctant witness to this exhibition of his future role and, as he spilled into Lindsey’s willing mouth, Angelus opened his eyes and blew William a kiss.

Seen, Not Heard

2004-04-01T05:22:04Z

Part 4.

The following evening, Spike had just woken and was listening to his radio when Angel burst in.
He jumped and switched the radio off.

“You’d better be ready for me boy!” Angel bellowed.

Spike jumped out of bed and pulled off his robe, staring at Angel’s face, covered in scratches and bruises.
“What happened to you sire?”

Angel roughly pushed him to the bed.
“Bend over.”

Spike bent over the bed and spread his legs.

Angel unzipped himself.
“Took out a few demons. Made me horny.”

He shoved a finger inside Spike and pumped it in and out a few times.
He gripped Spike’s hips and forced his cock inside.

He fucked Spike hard and fast, the excitement of the fight carrying him.
Howling as he came, his fingers dug into Spike’s flesh, drawing blood.

He pulled out and staggered back.
“Clean me.” He ordered.

Spike turned and dropped to his knees, come trickling from his hole.
He licked Angel’s softening cock clean.

“Good boy.” Angel said, ruffling Spike’s hair.
“Now, go shower. I want to watch you.”

Spike stood and walked to the bathroom, followed by his sire.
He turned the shower on and slowly washed himself.
Angel leant back on the wall and leered at him.

Angel nodded to him to indicate he could finish and Spike shut the shower off.
He stepped out and took a towel from Angel.

He looked around.
“Sire – where are my clothes?”

Angel grinned.
“I didn’t bring them. You have the night off.”

Spike managed a small smile.

“I thought you could entertain me instead.”

“Yes sire.”

Angel walked out of the bathroom.
Spike followed and stood in front of Angel when he sat on the bed.
“Sit on the floor.” Angel said, pulling Spike’s towel off.

Spike sat down.
He was amazed when Angel started to dry his hair for him.
He looked up at Angel’s face. He couldn’t read the expression.

“You’ll be a good boy for me, won’t you?”

“Yes sire.”

“You’ll keep on earning money for me?”

“Yes sire.”

“And you’ll do as you’re told?”

“Yes sire.”

“Then we should get along fine.”
Angel dropped the towel to the floor.
“Lay face down on the bed. I want to look at you.”

Spike waited for Angel to move then lay down on the bed.
His buttocks were parted and his hole brushed gently with a finger.
“Healing nicely.” He murmured.
“Move over, I want to rest for a while.”

The fight and the fuck afterwards had tired Angel.

Spike rolled onto his side, facing Angel.
Angel flopped down.
“Don’t try anything stupid.”

Spike opened his eyes slowly. They’d both fallen asleep and during that sleep, Angel had pulled Spike close to him, his face against Angel’s chest, his naked body held tightly against Angel’s clothed one. He was warm and for a brief moment, he felt happy.

Angel shifted slightly, his nipple brushing against Spike’s lips through his open shirt.

Spike’s stomach rumbled.

“Silly me,” he heard Angel say, “I forgot to feed you. How careless I am. I didn’t bring any blood with me.”

“I’ll be ok.” Spike said against Angel’s nipple, unable to avoid touching it with his lips.

“Oh I know you will. Because I’m going to let you feed from me and then you’re going to ride me until I’m fully satisfied. Do you understand?”

“Yes sire.” Spike breathed on Angel’s hard nipple.

Angel rolled them so that Spike lay on top.
He’d left his zipper undone from earlier and his cock was hard and free.

Spike lifted his head.

Angel leered at him.
“Show me how much you miss your daddy, little boy.”
He thrust his hips up on the words ‘little boy’.

Spike hardened at the words.
He dropped his head and licked Angel’s nipple.

Angel groaned.
“Do you love your daddy?”

“Yes.” Spike replied as a tear plopped onto Angel’s chest.

“How much do you miss him?”

“I miss him more than my heartbeat.”
Spike suckled on the nipple.

Angel grinned a wicked grin.
“Show me what you did to daddy when he still loved you.”

Spike whimpered as his face shifted. He carefully pierced Angel’s skin and suckled once more.
Then his face returned to human features.

Angel looked down.
“There he is – daddy’s beautiful baby boy.”

The words tore at Spike. He wanted his daddy back so much. He wanted to trust this man who spoke with daddy’s voice and said the things daddy used to say.
He sucked noisily from Angel.

Angel groaned.
“Ride daddy’s cock baby, sit on it and fuck daddy hard.”

Spike’s cock throbbed. He lifted up, never breaking the contact of feeding and sank down on the swollen cock.

“You’ve had enough. Sit up and fuck me bitch.”

Spike stopped feeding and sat up, staring at Angel.

Angel sneered.
“That’s right boy, daddy doesn’t love you.”

“You’re wrong! He does!”

“I told you to fuck me!”
Angel punched Spike and grabbed his hips. He thrust up hard.

“Daddy loves me!” Spike sobbed.

The next punch resulted in a crunch as it landed on Spike’s nose.

“Daddy doesn’t love slutty boys who spread their legs for humans.”

“You made me!” Spike cried.

“Because it’s the only thing you’re good for.”
Angel thrust up again and again.
“Daddy’s not coming back for you, you’re dirty now.”

Distraught, Spike forgot what he was doing and threw a punch at Angel.

Angel roared and pushed Spike off him. He leapt up and threw Spike from the bed and against the wall.
Spike tried to stand up but Angel punched and kicked him into a small ball on the floor.

Spike covered his face to protect himself and to hide the tears.
He was grabbed round the waist, hauled to his knees and penetrated once more.

Spike was fucked viciously until he begged for mercy.

Angel laughed.
“No one is ever going to help you.”
And with that, he released his orgasm into his sobbing childe.

He pulled out, allowing the last few drops of come to drip onto Spike then he tucked himself away.
He stepped back and aimed a kick at Spike’s ribs.
“Thanks for entertaining me bitch. I’ve enjoyed myself knowing you haven’t liked a single thing I’ve done to you.”
He turned and left.

Spike lay motionless on the floor as he bled from various parts of his body.
He had no more tears left to cry.

Cordelia watched as Angel disappeared into his office.
“Wes!” she hissed.

Wes walked over to her.

“Have you noticed something funny about Angel?”

“Other than the usual vampire habits? No, why?”

Cordelia shook her head.
“I don’t know. He just seems different. I think he’s up to something.”

Cordelia waited.
She’d left work early, telling Angel she had a date and needed to leave early in order to get ready. He’d agreed and smiled, wishing her luck.
She’d left the building, the false smile fading the moment the door closed behind her.
Now she was sitting across the road from the Hyperion, waiting for Angel to emerge.
She checked her camera once more, feeling a little guilty for spying on her friend but also knowing that he hadn’t been his usual self for a few days and she couldn’t figure out why.

After an hour of waiting, Angel finally left the building and headed for his car.
Cordelia waited until she was sure Angel wouldn’t see her in the traffic behind him and began to tail him.

A short ride later, Cordelia watched as Angel headed down some steps to a basement apartment carrying what looked like an armful of clothes. She took a few pictures as he descended then put her camera down.
“Maybe he has a girlfriend?” she wondered aloud. She shook her head. Somehow she knew that wasn’t the case.

She fumbled for her camera when she saw Angel again. Her mouth dropped open when she saw Spike was behind him.
“What the hell?!” she exclaimed.
She took a few more pictures, capturing Spike hesitating when Angel gestured to the car and Angel punching him. She frowned as Angel pushed Spike into his car.

Now she knew why Angel was behaving differently. Spike was here. But why? And why hadn’t Angel told them that he was in town?

She tailed Angel’s car again as he drove a short distance to a bar. He manhandled Spike from the car and into the bar.

She took photos of the bar from the outside, wracking her brains when she looked at the name. It seemed familiar.

Half an hour later she remembered. They’d investigated the bar some time ago after other nearby establishments had made complaints about the business. Their investigation had led to nothing, other than the discovery that the business within the bar was a demon whorehouse. The owner had assured them that nothing was being carried out without the consent of everyone involved. There was nothing they could do after that and had left the owner to it.

So why was Angel bringing Spike here?

After waiting at least another hour, Cordelia had her answer. Angel came out of the bar, half pulling, half carrying Spike who appeared to be semi-conscious and in a great deal of pain.

Cordelia’s camera clicked and whirred as she took several pictures.

Feeling nauseous, she followed Angel again as he drove Spike back to the apartment.
Her anger flared when, as Angel got Spike out of the car, he rubbed his hand against the younger vampire’s crotch.
She disregarded her own feelings towards Spike and wondered how the hell Angel, the supposed champion, could treat anyone like that. He had a mission, he was meant to help the helpless.

Spike had certainly appeared helpless.

She picked up her cell phone from the passenger seat and searched through the memory until she found the number she wanted. She dialled and waited.
“Willow! Hey, it’s me! I was just sitting here wondering how everyone was. So, spill it!”

Cordelia listened as Willow filled her in on the latest news, some of it boring, some of it interesting. The final headline caused a flurry of emotion.

After saying goodbye to Willow, Cordelia put the phone back down and stared across at the apartment.

Spike was a vampire. He’d done some very nasty things. Angel was also a vampire who had done equally, if not more, nasty things.

Angel had a soul now and was trying to help people who couldn’t help themselves.
Spike had something in his brain that stopped him hurting humans, more or less rendering him helpless. If he couldn’t hurt humans, then he couldn’t defend himself either. Angel was quite happily taking him along to a demon whorehouse to let humans do whatever they wanted to Spike for the right price.

Cordelia was pissed. She got out of the car and crossed the road.
As she reached the top of the steps, she froze.

She could hear Spike howling in what could only be described as pure agony.
Then she heard Angel’s voice bellow out.

“I don’t care if your face is all smashed up – you can still suck my fucking dick you useless whore!”

She turned and fled back to the car, tears streaming down her face.

Cordelia tried to compose herself in the car. When she saw Angel leaving the apartment later, she put her hand on the catch to open the door but changed her mind. There were things to do before confronting him.

Angel was carrying the same items out to the car as he’d taken in with him earlier.
He drove off.

Cordelia waited for a few minutes before heading off in the opposite direction.

Fic: Sold (6/11)

2004-04-01T03:06:53Z

Title: Sold(6/11)
Author:Lore
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Spike/Angel, Spike/Methos
Summary: Harmony accidentally gets Spike sold for an auction, Angel has to get him back
Notes: slave/master relationship, some corporeal punishment and basically crazy Angel

Richie set down his bags while searching his pockets for the keys. He'd tried ringing the bell, but the old man still hadn't opened. Just as he was about ready to slip the key in, the door opened and he almost fell in. Spike's arm held him before he came close to hitting the ground and Richie thanked him for the help. He bowed down to take his bags, but Spike was ahead of him and carried them to the kitchen.

Richie shrugged it off and moved to the living room. Methos sat in a fully spread out sprawl on the couch, the remote right by his hand, a pillow on the floor at his feet. He was dressed in a sweater and jeans and Richie wondered what had been keeping him so busy before. It couldn't really be the TV show he'd been watching?

Spike came out of the kitchen. He was dressed in a shirt too tight to ever have belonged to Methos. Dressed all in white, except for the black studded collar still on his neck. Richie shrugged it off and fell down on the armchair. He tried not to look at Spike who leaned over as he placed the bucket of taco's and a mug on the table before slowly crouching down on the pillow. Methos took one of the taco's , holding one of them to the vampire's lips, Spike's tongue slipped past it, licking it before his mouth touched out and his teeth bit in.

Methos calmly bit into his own, before taking another taco and dripping it into the mug that the vampire had placed on the table as well. Richie's hunger rushed away as soon as he realized exactly what kind of red liquid that the vampire was using as dip sauce.

Don't look at the vampire, don't... Richie cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I met an interesting girl at the Taco Bell."

"Oh, blond, brunette or other?" Methos changed the channel to some kind of history show. The vampire growled softly, but soon started purring as Methos hand slowly moved to brush through his curls. Baring his neck as Methos fingers slid down, slipping over the pale skin.

He liked girls, girls, hear that, girls. "Auburn, actually. She was incredible. I saw her munch down on ten crunchy tacos in less time than it took me to open the bag and grab one of my own."

"Nice, nothing better than a woman who knows how to eat." Spike's legs opened wide as he leaned back against Methos' legs. Richie tried not to look at him. It was hard to ignore.

And to think that only two weeks ago, Methos had wanted to kill the vampire. Now... Who knows what happened between them.

*****

"Nothing."

"Angel. We will find him."

He refused Wesley's comfort. His nerves were screaming, there was a cold emptiness where his connection to Spike had used to be and it was driving him insane. Even when Spike had been dead that connection had lain there as a scar that never stopped hurting. Now it was erased out of existence and it screamed at him like a howling abyss.

This was why sires would sooner kill their get than allow them to be lost to others. The sense of loss was crippling.

Who knows what that monster was doing. He slid into the seat of his car, Wes sliding down next to him. Methos could be holding him down, chained up to his convenience.

Spike had always been pretty in chains, it's one of the few memories him and Angelus agreed on. Spike chained, bruised, his cheeks bright red as he'd slammed them with Drusilla's brush. He remembered this one time when he'd found the boy laid back on top of a mountain of corpses, servant girls, the butler, the entire bloody pantry, killed in one burst of wild abandon. And why? Cause William had gotten bored.

Angelus had grabbed him then, turned him around, crushing his victims under them as he fucked the boy into their dead flesh.

William hadn't stopped laughing through it all, a bright cheerful laughter, demanding for more. He'd turned him around, fucking his mouth, just to get him to shut up. And Spike had stared at him with such devotion...
He'd made sure the boy hadn't been able to sit down for days.

Angel twisted the steering wheel, slamming it to the right to avoid running into the car in front of them. The damn bastard stopped to turn left with no warning, none that he'd seen at least. The car stood there, frozen, before he started again.

Wesley was screaming at him to stop but he didn't care.

He'd carved his name in the boy's thigh, sucking up his blood as it gushed out. Spike was screaming out his name as he came.

Wesley tried to grab the wheel but Angel pushed him off, he'd seen that truck, he had.

A whip lashing his boy's backside. Red stripes that were healing way too fast till he dipped the whip into holy water. Pushing it between the boy's lips as he begged for mercy, hearing the sissing and kissing the burns away, biting the boy's tongue when he responded.

Wes was aiming his gun at him, telling him to stop. But he wouldn't, wouldn't... The metal back of the gun his his head, he flinched, it hit him a second time and a third, till his head fell down and the last thing he saw was Wesley crawling over him to get the wheel and the brakes...

*****

Fred froze in her captor's grip. He was huge, had short hair and was dressed in clothes she could only identify as expensive. The dark-haired man had her slender upper arm encircled with one hand, gripping firmly while making a conscious effort not to hurt her as he dragged her up the stairs.

Someone was waiting at the door and Fred once again came face to face with Richie. Her face turned a red blush till she realized that he was holding a broadsword. Before he'd seemed nice, almost innocent; now... ready to fight; he was terrifying. He didn't go at ease till he saw the both of them and he was staring at her, surprised, in shock to see her here, like this...She squeaked, trying to make herself look as small, harmless and helpless as possible. Making them underestimate her and think they didn't have to worry about her. Richie confronted her captor, somewhat weary in his approach.
"Mac?"

The dark man stood there silently, almost hesitant to deal with Richie... Richie who...
"Richie help me. I was minding my own business when this big ape grabbed me and oh my God! Spike!"

She managed to pull loose and darted past Richie into the apartment.
Spike was on the floor at the couch, petted by the man on it. He barely glanced at her, a hint of recognition before he turned away, stunned, but silent. She knelt beside him. "You okay? What happened! We've been so worried. What's with the collar, and who the hell are these guys?"
She kept babbling, staring at the collar on his neck, the intricate runes covering it were probably what kept him under control.

Richie blinked several times.
"You know eachother?"

The tall man grabbed her arm and pulled her back. She tried to kick and fight, but he wouldn't let her go even as he glowered towards the man on the couch.
"Damn it Methos. What the hell have you been doing?"

Somehow Fred hadn't expected the demon to look this... human.
The dark-haired kidnapper, Methos stood up, pushing Spike to the floor. Oddly enough Spike let him.
"So you're Methos..." Fred murmured to herself. "I thought you'd be... taller."

"And who are you, exactly?" The ancient demanded, giving her a withering glare.

She gave one more kick to her captor's leg, before standing up as tall as possible.
"I'm Winifred Burkle." She raised her hand almost in a manner of habit.
"What have you done with Spike?"

Richie scratched the back of his head. "She's that girl I told you about." He said quietly.

"How do you know this... monster?" Methos' voice was low and even; the tone sent a chill upon her spine.
Spike wasn't that at all, he was...

"Monster?" The tall guy let her go. "Methos... what have you done?"
A face off went on between the two men, Fred felt herself fade away in a discussion between the two. Wondering if she should just let them at it and grab Spike to safety with her.

"Spike get your chains from my room."
Fred expected the vampire to protest, to say something, anything...
He didn't even hesitate. Still silent, it was starting to scare her. She could only watch with horror at the bowed down shoulders, the instant obedience...

She rushed after the blond and touched his shoulder.
"C'mon, Spike, talk to me!"
But Spike didn't even meet her eyes, he turned to Methos instead.

The hatchet-nosed freak merely cocked an eyebrow.
"Spike, the chains, now."

A short command and Spike was moving again, ignoring her. She could see a short look in his eyes before he turned away. He wanted to talk to her, but couldn't. Something in Fred's head snapped, and an almost animal noise emerged from her throat. The next thing she knew, her knuckles were sore. The guy Richie called Mac held her again. Methos stared up at her from the ground. He was holding one cheek and looking startled by her nerve. Richie and Mac pulled her back, holding her in a solid grip while Methos got up from the floor.

tbc