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estepheiaThis way to the gratuitous porn ---->
TITLE: Lucky - Part 3/5 (Josey asked for a certain scene to be written which might otherwise have been hinted at briefly, which ups this to 5 chapters. Hopefully.)
PAIRING: Spike/Angel (both are human)
RATING: NC-17
WARNINGS: slash, non-con fic, strong language, violence, bondage, use of sex toys - in other words this is not nice. Don't read it if this kind of thing doesn't float your boat.
REQUESTED BY:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
liliaeth
REQUEST: Personas Requested: Spike as a thief, Angel as a corrupt cop; Spike tries to break into Angel's place, and soon comes to regret it; no Angel/Buffy of any kind, no saintly Angel, no fluff; Tone: Dark, but Spike comes out of it alive and safe (sort of at least); Rating Preference: NC-17
Part 1
Part 2
Many thanks toladycat777 and sangpassionne. You've both been a great help.
Lucky - Part 3
Crunching sounds... ice cubes grinding together… and then a sharp smack on his backside. Spike woke with a sharp intake of breath.
"Wakey, wakey," Angel greeted him cheerfully.
Spike found himself draped over the edge of the bed, face pressed into the mattress so he could barely breathe, and with his bare ass sticking out. His shoes and socks were missing, but he was still wearing his pants. Pushed down to his knees, they effectively trapped his legs, making him feel helpless and exposed. He was aching all over. Bracing himself for the agony of broken bones, Spike shifted slightly, but the pain remained a dull, heavy blanket. Nothing broken then, just bruised. Good. He'd taken beatings before, mere pain he could handle.
"Took your time, didn't you?" Detective Angel said conversationally. "Nice try, by the way, What would have come next? A desperate scramble for the gun on the bed?" A half melted ice pack landed on the bed, a few inches away from Spike's face. "I don't know what kind of man you take me for. I'm not a sadist. I wouldn't use my Titanic on you without prepping you first. Anyone forced to earn a living on his or her back deserves a little consideration. Now, where were we?"
Spike squirmed when ice cold hands touched him, ineffectually, because Angel brought his full body weight to into play, holding him down like a ton of bricks. A string of curses lodged in Spike's throat. He didn't doubt, even for a minute, that Angel had meant his body bag threat; that the only way out of this was through compliance. And yet, compliance didn't come easy. "You were going to buy me flowers and chocolate," Spike ground out.
Angel laughed at that. "Cute. I like that."
Spike couldn't help flinching, when a cold blunt object prodded his opening, trying to push inside.
"Relax," Angel said, "or you'll hurt yourself."
Sound advice. Easier said than done. Spike could calm his frantic, panicked breathing. Turning himself into a pliant rag-doll, unflinching and indifferent, proved impossible.
The object was slowly but relentlessly pushed into his body, with regular, rocking motions. Whatever it was, it seemed to be tear-drop-shaped, with a relatively narrow tip but a much thicker base. The material was hard and smooth – glass or acrylic. The tip slid in and out easily, even without lubrication, but as the object's girth widened, more force and persistence were needed to fully drive it home. Inch by inch, the thick plug was worked into Spike's body, slowly but inexorably, right up to the narrower and flanged base. Spike bit his lips, hating every second of this: the other man's weight and his scent of musk, and bourbon and male sweat, Angel's meticulous care and the absence of any real pain. But the thing he hated most was the way his body slowly yielded to the unwelcome intrusion. By the time Angel was done, Spike was dithering between discomfort and pleasure, his heart hammering so loud, his whole body seemed to thrum with its beat. Spike stifled a sob or a gasp, or maybe both.
"There." The detective said, sounding pleased with himself. Spike's pants were pulled back up, thus trapping the insidious plug in place. A moment later, the weight on Spike's back was gone as the other man let him go. "Now get back on your knees." Spike gingerly slid off the bed, easing back into kneeling position, panting from pent-up shame and rage. There was no ignoring the hard, unyielding object inside him. Every time he moved his body seemed to rearrange itself around it. It was a constant reminder of his helplessness, more than the handcuffs that bit into his wrists.
Angel's pants were still open, but his cock was flagging, semi-hard only. Angel sat down on the bed, legs spread, making room for Spike in front of him. "Sit on your heels," he instructed, pushing him down. Spike braced himself for the inevitable jolt of discomfort, but when it came it was coupled with an unwanted rush of heat. Spike was still wriggling, trying to find a less intense position, when Angel grabbed the nape of his neck to steer him forward and down towards his crotch.
"Do you like popsicles?" Angel asked, almost amiably.
Spike glowered, but he took his cue and began to lap and lick, wherever Angel's hand guided him, mouthing the bulbous tip and the thick veins, feeling the organ swell, and harden under his tongue. Hot, throbbing flesh. Soft, silky skin. If this had been his lover's dick, Spike would have enjoyed bringing it to full size, would have reveled in his power to please. He would have greedily lapped up every bitter-salty drop of pre-cum. Would have echoed his lover's groans with moans of his own. Would have deliberately worked himself up by rocking up and down on that plug inside him.
And that was a bad, morbid headspace to be in, because Riley was dead. Had been for over three years, shipped from California State Prison all the way to Iowa and buried in the family plot.
"Ah, yeah," Angel groaned. "That's better. You've got a talented mouth. Now suck it."
The hand that had rested on Spike's neck slid upwards into his hair, gripping a handful for better purchase, guiding him up and down, dictating the pace. Slowly and gently at first, giving Spike a few moments to get used to the size of the hardened flesh in his mouth. With every down stroke of his mouth, Spike had to lean forward; with every upstroke he rocked back on his heels. And with every movement the butt plug inside him made itself felt. Too big, too unwelcome, and too good to be ignored.
Up and down, up and down. Down until the bulging head of Angel's cock lightly touched the back of Spike's mouth, not enough to actually choke him, oh no, just enough to cause his breath to hitch with every stroke. Just enough to elicit tiny breathless sounds that mingled with Angel's harsh panting. Spike realized with horror and searing shame that his own cock was growing heavy.
"Yeah, take it, come on, yeah, you like my cock, don't you?" A salty taste exploded on Spike's tongue, bitter and tangy. Angel was leaking now, and his hips were beginning to twitch uncontrollably.
Groaning, Angel stepped up the pace. Too fast, too deep. Spike struggled against the grip on his hair, tried to shake it off, but a second hand joined the first, and with two hands dictating the pace and the downward thrust of his mouth all he could do was relax his throat and try not to choke. He breathed frantically through his nose, hurried, hiccupy gasps for air. Tears sprang to his eyes. And yet his cock grew to full hardness, stubbornly defying all reason.
"Yeah, that's it. Now let's see how far you can get it in… yeah," Angel ground out, urgently forcing Spike to take his cock deeply into his throat, as far as it would go. Spike gagged, unable to breathe, immediately breaking into a sweat as uncontrollable panic took over. Hand-cuffed, he couldn't even fight. The moment dragged on endlessly while his heart pounded manically inside his chest. He was flapping and squirming like a fish on dry land. Suffocating. His throat was working, trying to dislodge the intruder. And still those hands held on. Held him down, as though pushing him underwater to drown.
Then the pressure was gone and Spike came up, gasping and dry-retching, desperate for air. Trying not to vomit on the fluffy carpet – not because he was too proud, but because in the back of his head he knew that Angel would make him pay.
He was still trembling from exertion, his deep-seated fear of suffocation gradually abating, when Angel grabbed his spit-slick length and started to urgently pleasure himself. His large hand became a feverish blur, as he worked himself to completion. Angel climaxed with a harsh, drawn-out groan, shooting load after load of hot spunk into Spike's face.
As Spike knelt there, rock-hard, his throat sore and jaw aching, with Angel's jism cooling on his heated skin, aching to be filled by something more substantial than a mere plug, Spike knew with a sinking feeling that this was only the beginning.
* * *
On a scale to ten the blowjob rated an 8 or maybe a 9. Angel decided it merited about a hundred bucks. "Good news, Spike. You just reduced your debt by a hundred. See, that wasn't so hard, was it?"
Spike did not reply.
Speaking of 'hard', Angel noticed that his prisoner was sprouting wood. Hot damn, he'd caught himself a right slut. "Hey," he called. "How about I knock another fifty off your debt; bring it down to eighteen fifty?"
Spike raised his head, looking wary. "For what?"
"For getting off."
Spike raised a questioning eyebrow.
"That's right," Angel said, warming to the idea that was slowly taking shape inside his head. "You bring yourself off, and I get to watch."
"Two hundred," Spike said.
Angel's only reply was a dry chuckle.
"One-fifty?"
"Listen, I'm doing you a favor." Angel held up a leather cock ring out from his drawer. "How'd you like to wear one of these until you've fully paid off ally our debts?"
Spike swallowed hard. "A hundred?" There was a hint of pleading in his eyes.
Angel decided to take pity on him and nodded. "A hundred."
For several heartbeats neither of them moved, then Spike did a twisted half-turn, indicating the cuffs that still kept his hands behind his back. "Can't start, unless you open the bloody cuffs."
"You think I'm paying a hundred bucks to watch you jerk off in under two minutes? Think again."
"What do you mean?" Spike asked, although judging by the way all color drained from his face he understood perfectly well what Angel meant.
"Use your imagination. Find something to rub against, or fuck yourself on your plug, I don't care. Just, no hands."
"You bastard!" Spike seethed, trembling with fury.
Angel grinned. "Consider yourself lucky that I'm leaving the plug in." He hopped on the bed, leaned against the headboard and crossed his legs, making a great show out of getting comfortable. He pointed his hand at Spike, miming the push of a remote button.
Something about the utter loathing in Spike's eyes briefly made Angel's stomach flutter, but the moment passed and he could already feel himself hardening again in anticipation. He was just getting started.
* * *
TBC
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10
TITLE: Lucky - Part 3/5 (Josey asked for a certain scene to be written which might otherwise have been hinted at briefly, which ups this to 5 chapters. Hopefully.)
PAIRING: Spike/Angel (both are human)
RATING: NC-17
WARNINGS: slash, non-con fic, strong language, violence, bondage, use of sex toys - in other words this is not nice. Don't read it if this kind of thing doesn't float your boat.
REQUESTED BY:
liliaethREQUEST: Personas Requested: Spike as a thief, Angel as a corrupt cop; Spike tries to break into Angel's place, and soon comes to regret it; no Angel/Buffy of any kind, no saintly Angel, no fluff; Tone: Dark, but Spike comes out of it alive and safe (sort of at least); Rating Preference: NC-17
Part 1
Part 2
Many thanks to
ladycat777 and sangpassionne. You've both been a great help.Lucky - Part 3
Crunching sounds... ice cubes grinding together… and then a sharp smack on his backside. Spike woke with a sharp intake of breath.
"Wakey, wakey," Angel greeted him cheerfully.
Spike found himself draped over the edge of the bed, face pressed into the mattress so he could barely breathe, and with his bare ass sticking out. His shoes and socks were missing, but he was still wearing his pants. Pushed down to his knees, they effectively trapped his legs, making him feel helpless and exposed. He was aching all over. Bracing himself for the agony of broken bones, Spike shifted slightly, but the pain remained a dull, heavy blanket. Nothing broken then, just bruised. Good. He'd taken beatings before, mere pain he could handle.
"Took your time, didn't you?" Detective Angel said conversationally. "Nice try, by the way, What would have come next? A desperate scramble for the gun on the bed?" A half melted ice pack landed on the bed, a few inches away from Spike's face. "I don't know what kind of man you take me for. I'm not a sadist. I wouldn't use my Titanic on you without prepping you first. Anyone forced to earn a living on his or her back deserves a little consideration. Now, where were we?"
Spike squirmed when ice cold hands touched him, ineffectually, because Angel brought his full body weight to into play, holding him down like a ton of bricks. A string of curses lodged in Spike's throat. He didn't doubt, even for a minute, that Angel had meant his body bag threat; that the only way out of this was through compliance. And yet, compliance didn't come easy. "You were going to buy me flowers and chocolate," Spike ground out.
Angel laughed at that. "Cute. I like that."
Spike couldn't help flinching, when a cold blunt object prodded his opening, trying to push inside.
"Relax," Angel said, "or you'll hurt yourself."
Sound advice. Easier said than done. Spike could calm his frantic, panicked breathing. Turning himself into a pliant rag-doll, unflinching and indifferent, proved impossible.
The object was slowly but relentlessly pushed into his body, with regular, rocking motions. Whatever it was, it seemed to be tear-drop-shaped, with a relatively narrow tip but a much thicker base. The material was hard and smooth – glass or acrylic. The tip slid in and out easily, even without lubrication, but as the object's girth widened, more force and persistence were needed to fully drive it home. Inch by inch, the thick plug was worked into Spike's body, slowly but inexorably, right up to the narrower and flanged base. Spike bit his lips, hating every second of this: the other man's weight and his scent of musk, and bourbon and male sweat, Angel's meticulous care and the absence of any real pain. But the thing he hated most was the way his body slowly yielded to the unwelcome intrusion. By the time Angel was done, Spike was dithering between discomfort and pleasure, his heart hammering so loud, his whole body seemed to thrum with its beat. Spike stifled a sob or a gasp, or maybe both.
"There." The detective said, sounding pleased with himself. Spike's pants were pulled back up, thus trapping the insidious plug in place. A moment later, the weight on Spike's back was gone as the other man let him go. "Now get back on your knees." Spike gingerly slid off the bed, easing back into kneeling position, panting from pent-up shame and rage. There was no ignoring the hard, unyielding object inside him. Every time he moved his body seemed to rearrange itself around it. It was a constant reminder of his helplessness, more than the handcuffs that bit into his wrists.
Angel's pants were still open, but his cock was flagging, semi-hard only. Angel sat down on the bed, legs spread, making room for Spike in front of him. "Sit on your heels," he instructed, pushing him down. Spike braced himself for the inevitable jolt of discomfort, but when it came it was coupled with an unwanted rush of heat. Spike was still wriggling, trying to find a less intense position, when Angel grabbed the nape of his neck to steer him forward and down towards his crotch.
"Do you like popsicles?" Angel asked, almost amiably.
Spike glowered, but he took his cue and began to lap and lick, wherever Angel's hand guided him, mouthing the bulbous tip and the thick veins, feeling the organ swell, and harden under his tongue. Hot, throbbing flesh. Soft, silky skin. If this had been his lover's dick, Spike would have enjoyed bringing it to full size, would have reveled in his power to please. He would have greedily lapped up every bitter-salty drop of pre-cum. Would have echoed his lover's groans with moans of his own. Would have deliberately worked himself up by rocking up and down on that plug inside him.
And that was a bad, morbid headspace to be in, because Riley was dead. Had been for over three years, shipped from California State Prison all the way to Iowa and buried in the family plot.
"Ah, yeah," Angel groaned. "That's better. You've got a talented mouth. Now suck it."
The hand that had rested on Spike's neck slid upwards into his hair, gripping a handful for better purchase, guiding him up and down, dictating the pace. Slowly and gently at first, giving Spike a few moments to get used to the size of the hardened flesh in his mouth. With every down stroke of his mouth, Spike had to lean forward; with every upstroke he rocked back on his heels. And with every movement the butt plug inside him made itself felt. Too big, too unwelcome, and too good to be ignored.
Up and down, up and down. Down until the bulging head of Angel's cock lightly touched the back of Spike's mouth, not enough to actually choke him, oh no, just enough to cause his breath to hitch with every stroke. Just enough to elicit tiny breathless sounds that mingled with Angel's harsh panting. Spike realized with horror and searing shame that his own cock was growing heavy.
"Yeah, take it, come on, yeah, you like my cock, don't you?" A salty taste exploded on Spike's tongue, bitter and tangy. Angel was leaking now, and his hips were beginning to twitch uncontrollably.
Groaning, Angel stepped up the pace. Too fast, too deep. Spike struggled against the grip on his hair, tried to shake it off, but a second hand joined the first, and with two hands dictating the pace and the downward thrust of his mouth all he could do was relax his throat and try not to choke. He breathed frantically through his nose, hurried, hiccupy gasps for air. Tears sprang to his eyes. And yet his cock grew to full hardness, stubbornly defying all reason.
"Yeah, that's it. Now let's see how far you can get it in… yeah," Angel ground out, urgently forcing Spike to take his cock deeply into his throat, as far as it would go. Spike gagged, unable to breathe, immediately breaking into a sweat as uncontrollable panic took over. Hand-cuffed, he couldn't even fight. The moment dragged on endlessly while his heart pounded manically inside his chest. He was flapping and squirming like a fish on dry land. Suffocating. His throat was working, trying to dislodge the intruder. And still those hands held on. Held him down, as though pushing him underwater to drown.
Then the pressure was gone and Spike came up, gasping and dry-retching, desperate for air. Trying not to vomit on the fluffy carpet – not because he was too proud, but because in the back of his head he knew that Angel would make him pay.
He was still trembling from exertion, his deep-seated fear of suffocation gradually abating, when Angel grabbed his spit-slick length and started to urgently pleasure himself. His large hand became a feverish blur, as he worked himself to completion. Angel climaxed with a harsh, drawn-out groan, shooting load after load of hot spunk into Spike's face.
As Spike knelt there, rock-hard, his throat sore and jaw aching, with Angel's jism cooling on his heated skin, aching to be filled by something more substantial than a mere plug, Spike knew with a sinking feeling that this was only the beginning.
* * *
On a scale to ten the blowjob rated an 8 or maybe a 9. Angel decided it merited about a hundred bucks. "Good news, Spike. You just reduced your debt by a hundred. See, that wasn't so hard, was it?"
Spike did not reply.
Speaking of 'hard', Angel noticed that his prisoner was sprouting wood. Hot damn, he'd caught himself a right slut. "Hey," he called. "How about I knock another fifty off your debt; bring it down to eighteen fifty?"
Spike raised his head, looking wary. "For what?"
"For getting off."
Spike raised a questioning eyebrow.
"That's right," Angel said, warming to the idea that was slowly taking shape inside his head. "You bring yourself off, and I get to watch."
"Two hundred," Spike said.
Angel's only reply was a dry chuckle.
"One-fifty?"
"Listen, I'm doing you a favor." Angel held up a leather cock ring out from his drawer. "How'd you like to wear one of these until you've fully paid off ally our debts?"
Spike swallowed hard. "A hundred?" There was a hint of pleading in his eyes.
Angel decided to take pity on him and nodded. "A hundred."
For several heartbeats neither of them moved, then Spike did a twisted half-turn, indicating the cuffs that still kept his hands behind his back. "Can't start, unless you open the bloody cuffs."
"You think I'm paying a hundred bucks to watch you jerk off in under two minutes? Think again."
"What do you mean?" Spike asked, although judging by the way all color drained from his face he understood perfectly well what Angel meant.
"Use your imagination. Find something to rub against, or fuck yourself on your plug, I don't care. Just, no hands."
"You bastard!" Spike seethed, trembling with fury.
Angel grinned. "Consider yourself lucky that I'm leaving the plug in." He hopped on the bed, leaned against the headboard and crossed his legs, making a great show out of getting comfortable. He pointed his hand at Spike, miming the push of a remote button.
Something about the utter loathing in Spike's eyes briefly made Angel's stomach flutter, but the moment passed and he could already feel himself hardening again in anticipation. He was just getting started.
* * *
TBC
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-01-20 02:28 pm (UTC)Can see why it made you feel uncomfortable. Not nice - but hot all the same in a very bad, wrong way.
:Slaps self hard for thinking that, but is impossible not to:
no subject
Date: 2005-01-20 03:09 pm (UTC)I thought you might. LOL.
I'm glad you like it in the baddirtywrong way.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-20 03:04 pm (UTC)The perfect image to encapsulate Angel's mood.
And I have to admit the non-con is pushing some lovely kink buttons for me, even as I'm a little squicked. Which is great, btw, because a lot of people somehow manage to make non-con fluffy. Non-con *should* be squicky!
no subject
Date: 2005-01-20 03:08 pm (UTC)Thank you for commenting.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-20 04:52 pm (UTC)Well I have to say it pushed all my kink buttons aswell.
Superbly deviant stuff, but not forgetting very well writen to.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-20 09:10 pm (UTC)I am still frightfully embarrassed by this, but the happy feedback helps. At least I'm not the only pervy one around. *g*
no subject
Date: 2005-01-20 05:03 pm (UTC)Damn that is hot, I love Angel. He is a very kinky man, you have a wonderful imagination. I can't wait until the next part.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-20 09:12 pm (UTC)I'm glad you find it hot. Thank you.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-20 08:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-21 02:03 am (UTC)Totally dirty!wrong. Luckily,
no subject
Date: 2005-01-21 04:09 am (UTC)More soon? Si?
no subject
Date: 2005-01-21 11:44 am (UTC)I'm glad you like it.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-21 08:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-21 11:46 am (UTC)Thanks for commenting. Encouragement really helps, when the embarrassment gets a tad overwhelming. :-)
no subject
Date: 2005-01-21 10:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-21 04:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-22 08:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-08 05:26 pm (UTC)Can't wait to read and imagine Spike getting himself off with no hands. Should be a pleasure to read (hehehehe)
Skipping happily to chapter 4.