More of a challenge
Oct. 7th, 2003 12:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thebratqueenYou'd think with all the fics of hers I've read I'd know her kinks like the palm of my hand, but I suppose that remains to be seen, esp for this pairing.
Abusing Spike was both a pleasure and a right, by Angel's way of thinking.
After all, who else had been the one to put the time in? Who'd taken Dru's little boy and hauled him in line like the wayward pup that he was? Oh, sure, Spike liked to bluster, but that was all smoke and mirrors in the end. A big show, mostly for the ladies. And for him, when it got right down to it.
Because the thing of it was, Spike liked being broken. So they did it again and again and again.
Like today, when he mouthed off one too many times in front of the others. Angel had snapped at him, like he was supposed to, but when their eyes met they both knew the real argument was coming later.
It came that night. Spike hadn't gotten more than one syllable out before Angel had tossed him across the room. A real fight ensued then, with Angel's favorite table breaking yet again in the process. Angel didn't mind though - much. He let Spike get it out of his system. Reminded his boy that sometimes power came with patience.
Spike's comebacks faltered against silence, and when one died on his lips Angel took advantage of the moment to crush their mouths together with a game facing kiss, fangs sinking into Spike's tongue like two knives finding their way into sheathes.
Blood was a theme for that night. Angel had a new blade, direct from Thailand. The handle was ivory and decorated with dragons. The blade was keen, sharp enough to scale a dragon's hide. Quick enough to slice Spike's flesh in painless motions, with gasps and moans only coming when the blood welled up.
The chains around Spike's wrists clinked and pulled against the headboard. Spike tried to mutter a few curses but it was no use. As Angel kept reminding everyone, he never forgot the things he'd done as Angelus, and one of the many things he'd done was learn how to save himself time. Teach his boy how to respond to the simplest touch or command, program every possible kink into the boy's system, so that all he needed to do was kick-start the right combinations of pleasure and pain to get the results he wanted.
Spike was hard, cock straining through the air from where Angel had propped the boy's hips up - no comforting thrusts or friction to be found here. Instead it was only the feel of that blade as it whispered Celtic scrolls and knots over the pale, muscular flesh, teasing over the sensitive spots of Spike's back and thighs and filling the room with copper-rich scent.
When enough strokes had been done to create a tapestry, Angel bent down and lapped at the flesh, his tongue laving over the stinging wounds until Spike 's entire body was trembling. Harsh, unnecessary gasps escaped the boy's mouth, and Angel knew it was only because Spike was trying to force himself not to say Angel's name.
"Give it time," Angel promised. "I know you want to."
"Fuck you," Spike managed.
Angel laughed. It was the warm, deeper chuckle of his old self. He skirted the blade along Spike's inner thighs, tickling but not pricking the feast of veins to be found there. "Keep it up and I won't let you come."
A snarl was tossed off. Angel only laughed again. He changed position and began new work with the knife, recutting flesh that had only just healed. He added names this time - "Mine" "Boy" "Whore" - and the like. Spike quivered and growled, a feral dog in a cage, but Angel ignored him. Instead, as casual as a blink, he moved his weight and slid a single finger deep into Spike's ass, letting it rest there as the knife continued cutting.
"You're so much stronger now," Angel said, with mock disappointment. "You keep healing on me. Looks like I'm going to have to do this for hours if I wanna get any real work done."
"Pansy," Spike tossed over his shoulder. It was his ultimate insult, used for when he thought Angel's art was taking precedence over Spike's desire to get his rocks off.
Angel's mouth curled into a half smile. He jerked his hand in deeper, getting a loud cry out of Spike. "Oh yeah," he told his grandson. "You're not coming for hours now."
"Bastard," Spike said through gritted teeth, but around their house it was a term of endearment.
Abusing Spike was both a pleasure and a right, by Angel's way of thinking.
After all, who else had been the one to put the time in? Who'd taken Dru's little boy and hauled him in line like the wayward pup that he was? Oh, sure, Spike liked to bluster, but that was all smoke and mirrors in the end. A big show, mostly for the ladies. And for him, when it got right down to it.
Because the thing of it was, Spike liked being broken. So they did it again and again and again.
Like today, when he mouthed off one too many times in front of the others. Angel had snapped at him, like he was supposed to, but when their eyes met they both knew the real argument was coming later.
It came that night. Spike hadn't gotten more than one syllable out before Angel had tossed him across the room. A real fight ensued then, with Angel's favorite table breaking yet again in the process. Angel didn't mind though - much. He let Spike get it out of his system. Reminded his boy that sometimes power came with patience.
Spike's comebacks faltered against silence, and when one died on his lips Angel took advantage of the moment to crush their mouths together with a game facing kiss, fangs sinking into Spike's tongue like two knives finding their way into sheathes.
Blood was a theme for that night. Angel had a new blade, direct from Thailand. The handle was ivory and decorated with dragons. The blade was keen, sharp enough to scale a dragon's hide. Quick enough to slice Spike's flesh in painless motions, with gasps and moans only coming when the blood welled up.
The chains around Spike's wrists clinked and pulled against the headboard. Spike tried to mutter a few curses but it was no use. As Angel kept reminding everyone, he never forgot the things he'd done as Angelus, and one of the many things he'd done was learn how to save himself time. Teach his boy how to respond to the simplest touch or command, program every possible kink into the boy's system, so that all he needed to do was kick-start the right combinations of pleasure and pain to get the results he wanted.
Spike was hard, cock straining through the air from where Angel had propped the boy's hips up - no comforting thrusts or friction to be found here. Instead it was only the feel of that blade as it whispered Celtic scrolls and knots over the pale, muscular flesh, teasing over the sensitive spots of Spike's back and thighs and filling the room with copper-rich scent.
When enough strokes had been done to create a tapestry, Angel bent down and lapped at the flesh, his tongue laving over the stinging wounds until Spike 's entire body was trembling. Harsh, unnecessary gasps escaped the boy's mouth, and Angel knew it was only because Spike was trying to force himself not to say Angel's name.
"Give it time," Angel promised. "I know you want to."
"Fuck you," Spike managed.
Angel laughed. It was the warm, deeper chuckle of his old self. He skirted the blade along Spike's inner thighs, tickling but not pricking the feast of veins to be found there. "Keep it up and I won't let you come."
A snarl was tossed off. Angel only laughed again. He changed position and began new work with the knife, recutting flesh that had only just healed. He added names this time - "Mine" "Boy" "Whore" - and the like. Spike quivered and growled, a feral dog in a cage, but Angel ignored him. Instead, as casual as a blink, he moved his weight and slid a single finger deep into Spike's ass, letting it rest there as the knife continued cutting.
"You're so much stronger now," Angel said, with mock disappointment. "You keep healing on me. Looks like I'm going to have to do this for hours if I wanna get any real work done."
"Pansy," Spike tossed over his shoulder. It was his ultimate insult, used for when he thought Angel's art was taking precedence over Spike's desire to get his rocks off.
Angel's mouth curled into a half smile. He jerked his hand in deeper, getting a loud cry out of Spike. "Oh yeah," he told his grandson. "You're not coming for hours now."
"Bastard," Spike said through gritted teeth, but around their house it was a term of endearment.
