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estepheiaTITLE: Lucky - Part 4/5 (might get longer, but hopefully not too long)
PAIRING: Spike/Angel (both are human)
RATING: NC-17
WARNINGS: slash, non-con, 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
Written forsangpassionne's human AU Spangel Ficathon
Many thanks tosangpassionne and ladycat777.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Lucky - Part 4
AN: This chapter is dedicated tosangpassionne
Scowling, Spike lifted one shoulder and twisted and contorted his neck in an attempt to wipe the other man's spunk off his face, without great success.
How much for a man's dignity? How much for his self-respect? Apparently the going rate was a hundred bucks.
Instead of picturing a small wad of bills, Spike translated that figure into a succession of colorful squares on a playing board. Snakes and Ladders coupled with Truth or Dare. It all boiled down to one thing: if he wanted to walk free, he'd have to play Angel's game. Angel had the gun, Angel made the rules.
And right now Angel was sitting on the bed, cradling a glass of Bourbon, and giving the impression of a keen spectator. His gun lay within easy reach on the other puffed up pillow, like a king's scepter. He was fully dressed, but his pants were still open. Spike wrenched his gaze away.
It was just sex, right? Meaningless. He'd had sex before for no better reason than the fact that he was horny and the opportunity was there. Sometimes just for a roof over his head and a warm meal, years ago, when all his money went into drugs. Just sex. And that was probably how all whores thought of themselves.
"I'm waiting," Angel said. He patted the bed invitingly. "You may use the bed, if you like."
Spike shook his head, not trusting himself to speak, and stayed on his knees. Maybe later.
He closed his eyes, blocking out his captor's leer, and rocked experimentally on his haunches, causing the thick plug to move inside him. It didn't exactly push in and out, there wasn't enough leeway for that, but there was some small amount of friction, and if he changed the angle, well, he could make it feel good, oh yes. The question was, could he get off like this? Maybe, but not without turning on the porn theatre inside his head.
He briefly considered tapping into memories of Tara: womanly curves and full, supple breasts; but those memories, didn't belong here. They felt wrong, out of place, as though they belonged to someone else. In a way they did, because right now he had little in common with the white picket fence husband and father he'd woken up as this morning.
He quickly flicked through a succession of fantasies, mostly images of faces, dicks, and hands. Yet none of the one-night stands, fuck buddies, or actors did it for him today, not even Brian Kinney. Riley then. More appropriate anyway.
Riley with his strong, hard body and his frightening stamina; his muscles perfectly toned because he thought he owed it to his body to make the most of it; Riley with his large hands, his big cock, and his huge smile.
Spike rocked up and down, slowly and steadily, gradually building up tension. Tingling waves of arousal washed all over his body. They were laced with anger and embarrassment, but still pleasurable.
Riley, yeah. The kind of guy who couldn't hear the word 'fuck' without a blush creeping up his neck, even after years spent in jail. Who could slowly and steadily fuck you senseless with deep, carefully aimed thrusts, until the build-up made you so desperate, you bit your knuckles to muffle your whimpers – but who couldn't say 'fuck' out loud. Riley, who always used to thrust a little harder and faster whenever Spike whispered sweet obscenities into his ear.
Riley who always lasted for ages, except when Spike straddled him to furiously fuck himself on his cock. Oh yeah. Spike broke into a sweat, almost able to feel Riley's cock move inside him, so thick and, fuck, yes, so very hard; Riley's cock, yes – not some piece of acrylic, no, not at all, but a hot, live cock, with a thick bulbous head teasing him, stretching him. Almost too much, almost, but also never quite enough, and always over too soon….
No matter how much he tried to immerse himself in his fantasy, or how hard he tried to push Angel's presence from his mind, Spike could sense the detective's eyes on him, hot like a branding iron. He realized he was chewing on his bottom lip in concentration, and forced his features to relax, determined to cheat Angel out of his voyeuristic pleasure any way he could. No grimaces, no sounds, no mindless rutting, not if he could help it….
But as he worked himself up, eyes still squeezed shut, he found himself going faster and faster, grinding down harder, increasingly desperate for more friction, and deeper penetration. He was definitely getting into it, yes. Every now and then a lucky downward push would make him arch and cant his hips, causing his cock to bob up and down, jutting into thin air, rock-hard and, yeah, pretty urgent, desperate for a tight ass or hand to thrust into, heck, for any kind of friction.
Spike heard panting, heavy breathing that matched his own, and rhythmic sounds of skin chafing against skin. The realization that Angel was jerking off to the sight of him trying to get off made Spike's cock jump and leak.
More, yes! He had the angle right now, and the right rhythm. Yes. Panting, Spike bobbed up and down, fucking himself on the hard piece of acrylic inside him, straining towards release. Only there was no goal post, no finishing line. He was wound up like a spinning top, spurred into ever faster rotations with every smack of the whip, but he never got anywhere, just danced on one spot, faster and faster. He ground his ass against his bare heel, pushing the plug in as deeply as it would go. More, more, his body screamed. Spike stifled a whimper. He started to clench his internal muscles rhythmically, as though to wring an orgasm from that thing inside him. He rapidly went through fantasies and images, but nothing could push him over. It was infuriating. All he needed were his hands back for ten seconds, a few hard strokes would do the trick….
Glass clanked against glass, the suddenness of the sound breaking Spike's rhythm, causing him to freeze. Liquid spilled audibly from a bottle. Whiskey fumes wafted into his nose. Spike swallowed, his concentration shot to hell, which brought him back to the lingering bitterness of Angel's pre-cum in his mouth.
Heart hammering in his chest, he opened his eyes to glare at the man on the bed.
"Oops," Angel said, and it was impossible to tell if the interruption had been incidental or deliberate. He raised his glass. "Wanna drink?"
Spike exhaled explosively. It came out like a whimper. Frustration made his eyes sting. His body felt like a coil about to be sprung, tense to the point of breakage. Way too hard, and way too hot, held together by sweat-damp skin two sizes too small, while his heart felt at least one size to big, about to burst out of his chest.
Shoulders slumped he sat on his heels, swallowing convulsively, trying to calm his breathing. He nodded, eager to wet his sore and dry throat, but then turned the gesture into a stubborn headshake. "Can't afford it," he ground out.
Angel studied him impassively, for five, maybe ten heartbeats, then he slid towards Spike until he sat beside him and raised the glass to his lips. "This one's for free," he said, tilting the glass, enabling Spike to drink, one mouthful at a time.
Spike drank with greedy gulps, welcoming the slow burn down his throat and the warmth in his stomach, but at the same worried that if he spilled something, Angel would make him pay.
"Now, what do we say?" Angel asked cheerfully.
Spike kept his features neutral. "Thanks."
Angel nodded, apparently satisfied, poured himself another double and set glass and bottle down on the bedside drawer. "Carry on."
Panting, Spike studied his surroundings. He had no intention of rubbing off against the carpet. That left only the bed. Taking a deep breath, Spike rose to his feet, walked around the bed and waited in front of the empty half.
Angel wordlessly pulled back the covers and moved the gleaming gun from the pillow to the drawer on the other side of the bed.
Spike climbed on the bed and lay down, awkwardly trying to get comfortable. His whole body was thrumming with need, yearning for release. He tried lying on his side, but that soon cut off the circulation in the arm that had to carry all his weight. If he lay on his back he had no friction for his cock. He'd heard of guys flexible enough to suck their own cocks, but thankfully he wasn't one of them. He couldn't imagine anything more undignified. His squick-o-meter was maybe not quite as finely tuned as Riley's had been, but there were limits to what he was willing to do – even if his life was on the line.
Okay, dry-humping the mattress wasn't much better, but at least he could do it face down. It was one way of holding back, of keeping part of him to himself, away from Angel's jaded scrutiny.
He rolled onto his stomach to trap his aching erection between his stomach and the mattress. Although prepared for a rush of pleasure, he still gasped and tensed uncontrollably, when the tip of his leaking cock dragged over smooth Egyptian cotton. Oh god, yes, friction, at last! It felt like he was only a few thrusts from coming. With a sigh of relief, Spike began to hump the bed, his face pressed into the cool pillow. It had a clean and fresh laundry smell. At least it muffled his rugged breathing and his tiny, high pitched whimpers of need.
With every thrust of his hips the sensitive tip of his cock was dragged over soft fabric, and with every thrust the hard and unyielding plug inside his ass made itself felt. God, he hated that thing, how good it felt and yet not good enough. He needed more, needed hard, deep thrusts. The desperate need to beg rose inside him, and he bit into the pillow to keep the words inside.
It felt as though his release was just around the corner, only a little bit further, all he had to do was keep at it, thrust harder, without stopping, a Sisyphus job, like rolling a boulder up a mountain, not allowed to stop, not even for a second, 'cause if he did, he'd come down again, lose that keen edge of need that was required to finally make it over the edge.
Tremors racked his body, He needed… needed something. Something more, to push him over. A touch, a word, a real cock.
"Say you want me to fuck you," Angel's voice reached him, hoarse and breathless. "And I'll make it cheap…"
"No!" Spike stubbornly shook his head, never breaking his stride. He could do this. He was so close… his whole body arching like a strung bow, he wormed one hand under the waistband of his open pants, fumbling for the flanged base of the plug. His fingers closed around smooth acrylic, slipped, but then he managed to get two fingers hooked around the base. Enough purchase to pull it out a whole two inches and then plunge it back in. Hard.
Spike threw his head back, open-mouthed, yes, yes, fuck! Almost his whole weight was on his cock now. A breathless shuddering whine burst from his lips. More, he needed more…His hips jerked a few times, thrust, thrust, thrust, and creak, creak, creak, the bedsprings accompanied his thrusts, along with slick scuffing sounds of skin on skin – Angel was frantically jerking off, causing the whole bed to rock with his urgent rhythm… Spike's cheeks clenched around the thick plug inside his ass… once more: out and in… out and in… God, please….Angel… Fuckmefuckmefuckme please… Almost there! …
Almost. And almost gave no sign of making way. Defeated, and with a strangled sound, Spike slumped forward, bathed in sweat, to bury his frustrated sobs in the pillow. Still so very hard. Tears sprang to his eyes.
"Holy shit," There was a note of awe in Angel's voice. "Yeah, come on, don't give up now, you're almost there… come on, fuck yourself with that plug, yeah … I want to see you come!"
Spike could feel Angel's hand speeding up, his urgency was enough to rock the whole bed, enough to make the mattress vibrate against his cock. One more try. Spike started thrusting again, frantically rubbing against the mattress, crawling like a caterpillar, more more more, then arching and groping for the plug again, fuck fuck fuck…
"Yeah come for me," Angel shouted, jerking in the throes of his release. "yeah, fuck… Come for me…"
Oh… yes … please. Something inside him burst. Spike gasped for breath, open-mouthed, slack-jawed, tasting the overpowering smell of sex in the air, that intoxicating mix of male sweat and come… Fuck, yes! One more hard thrust and he scraped his cock over sheets that were already damp with pre-cum, and suddenly a hot ball of fire seemed to build in his nuts, and then, a shock-wave of almost painful heat washed over his entire body, stopping his breath with its intensity, freezing him in that moment for several heartbeats, before he fell forward, on his face, depleted, and shuddering, dousing the mattress with his come….
And for a few minutes the world was quiet, except for their rugged breathing.
TBC
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10
PAIRING: Spike/Angel (both are human)
RATING: NC-17
WARNINGS: slash, non-con, 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
Written for
sangpassionne's human AU Spangel FicathonMany thanks to
sangpassionne and ladycat777.Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Lucky - Part 4
AN: This chapter is dedicated to
sangpassionneScowling, Spike lifted one shoulder and twisted and contorted his neck in an attempt to wipe the other man's spunk off his face, without great success.
How much for a man's dignity? How much for his self-respect? Apparently the going rate was a hundred bucks.
Instead of picturing a small wad of bills, Spike translated that figure into a succession of colorful squares on a playing board. Snakes and Ladders coupled with Truth or Dare. It all boiled down to one thing: if he wanted to walk free, he'd have to play Angel's game. Angel had the gun, Angel made the rules.
And right now Angel was sitting on the bed, cradling a glass of Bourbon, and giving the impression of a keen spectator. His gun lay within easy reach on the other puffed up pillow, like a king's scepter. He was fully dressed, but his pants were still open. Spike wrenched his gaze away.
It was just sex, right? Meaningless. He'd had sex before for no better reason than the fact that he was horny and the opportunity was there. Sometimes just for a roof over his head and a warm meal, years ago, when all his money went into drugs. Just sex. And that was probably how all whores thought of themselves.
"I'm waiting," Angel said. He patted the bed invitingly. "You may use the bed, if you like."
Spike shook his head, not trusting himself to speak, and stayed on his knees. Maybe later.
He closed his eyes, blocking out his captor's leer, and rocked experimentally on his haunches, causing the thick plug to move inside him. It didn't exactly push in and out, there wasn't enough leeway for that, but there was some small amount of friction, and if he changed the angle, well, he could make it feel good, oh yes. The question was, could he get off like this? Maybe, but not without turning on the porn theatre inside his head.
He briefly considered tapping into memories of Tara: womanly curves and full, supple breasts; but those memories, didn't belong here. They felt wrong, out of place, as though they belonged to someone else. In a way they did, because right now he had little in common with the white picket fence husband and father he'd woken up as this morning.
He quickly flicked through a succession of fantasies, mostly images of faces, dicks, and hands. Yet none of the one-night stands, fuck buddies, or actors did it for him today, not even Brian Kinney. Riley then. More appropriate anyway.
Riley with his strong, hard body and his frightening stamina; his muscles perfectly toned because he thought he owed it to his body to make the most of it; Riley with his large hands, his big cock, and his huge smile.
Spike rocked up and down, slowly and steadily, gradually building up tension. Tingling waves of arousal washed all over his body. They were laced with anger and embarrassment, but still pleasurable.
Riley, yeah. The kind of guy who couldn't hear the word 'fuck' without a blush creeping up his neck, even after years spent in jail. Who could slowly and steadily fuck you senseless with deep, carefully aimed thrusts, until the build-up made you so desperate, you bit your knuckles to muffle your whimpers – but who couldn't say 'fuck' out loud. Riley, who always used to thrust a little harder and faster whenever Spike whispered sweet obscenities into his ear.
Riley who always lasted for ages, except when Spike straddled him to furiously fuck himself on his cock. Oh yeah. Spike broke into a sweat, almost able to feel Riley's cock move inside him, so thick and, fuck, yes, so very hard; Riley's cock, yes – not some piece of acrylic, no, not at all, but a hot, live cock, with a thick bulbous head teasing him, stretching him. Almost too much, almost, but also never quite enough, and always over too soon….
No matter how much he tried to immerse himself in his fantasy, or how hard he tried to push Angel's presence from his mind, Spike could sense the detective's eyes on him, hot like a branding iron. He realized he was chewing on his bottom lip in concentration, and forced his features to relax, determined to cheat Angel out of his voyeuristic pleasure any way he could. No grimaces, no sounds, no mindless rutting, not if he could help it….
But as he worked himself up, eyes still squeezed shut, he found himself going faster and faster, grinding down harder, increasingly desperate for more friction, and deeper penetration. He was definitely getting into it, yes. Every now and then a lucky downward push would make him arch and cant his hips, causing his cock to bob up and down, jutting into thin air, rock-hard and, yeah, pretty urgent, desperate for a tight ass or hand to thrust into, heck, for any kind of friction.
Spike heard panting, heavy breathing that matched his own, and rhythmic sounds of skin chafing against skin. The realization that Angel was jerking off to the sight of him trying to get off made Spike's cock jump and leak.
More, yes! He had the angle right now, and the right rhythm. Yes. Panting, Spike bobbed up and down, fucking himself on the hard piece of acrylic inside him, straining towards release. Only there was no goal post, no finishing line. He was wound up like a spinning top, spurred into ever faster rotations with every smack of the whip, but he never got anywhere, just danced on one spot, faster and faster. He ground his ass against his bare heel, pushing the plug in as deeply as it would go. More, more, his body screamed. Spike stifled a whimper. He started to clench his internal muscles rhythmically, as though to wring an orgasm from that thing inside him. He rapidly went through fantasies and images, but nothing could push him over. It was infuriating. All he needed were his hands back for ten seconds, a few hard strokes would do the trick….
Glass clanked against glass, the suddenness of the sound breaking Spike's rhythm, causing him to freeze. Liquid spilled audibly from a bottle. Whiskey fumes wafted into his nose. Spike swallowed, his concentration shot to hell, which brought him back to the lingering bitterness of Angel's pre-cum in his mouth.
Heart hammering in his chest, he opened his eyes to glare at the man on the bed.
"Oops," Angel said, and it was impossible to tell if the interruption had been incidental or deliberate. He raised his glass. "Wanna drink?"
Spike exhaled explosively. It came out like a whimper. Frustration made his eyes sting. His body felt like a coil about to be sprung, tense to the point of breakage. Way too hard, and way too hot, held together by sweat-damp skin two sizes too small, while his heart felt at least one size to big, about to burst out of his chest.
Shoulders slumped he sat on his heels, swallowing convulsively, trying to calm his breathing. He nodded, eager to wet his sore and dry throat, but then turned the gesture into a stubborn headshake. "Can't afford it," he ground out.
Angel studied him impassively, for five, maybe ten heartbeats, then he slid towards Spike until he sat beside him and raised the glass to his lips. "This one's for free," he said, tilting the glass, enabling Spike to drink, one mouthful at a time.
Spike drank with greedy gulps, welcoming the slow burn down his throat and the warmth in his stomach, but at the same worried that if he spilled something, Angel would make him pay.
"Now, what do we say?" Angel asked cheerfully.
Spike kept his features neutral. "Thanks."
Angel nodded, apparently satisfied, poured himself another double and set glass and bottle down on the bedside drawer. "Carry on."
Panting, Spike studied his surroundings. He had no intention of rubbing off against the carpet. That left only the bed. Taking a deep breath, Spike rose to his feet, walked around the bed and waited in front of the empty half.
Angel wordlessly pulled back the covers and moved the gleaming gun from the pillow to the drawer on the other side of the bed.
Spike climbed on the bed and lay down, awkwardly trying to get comfortable. His whole body was thrumming with need, yearning for release. He tried lying on his side, but that soon cut off the circulation in the arm that had to carry all his weight. If he lay on his back he had no friction for his cock. He'd heard of guys flexible enough to suck their own cocks, but thankfully he wasn't one of them. He couldn't imagine anything more undignified. His squick-o-meter was maybe not quite as finely tuned as Riley's had been, but there were limits to what he was willing to do – even if his life was on the line.
Okay, dry-humping the mattress wasn't much better, but at least he could do it face down. It was one way of holding back, of keeping part of him to himself, away from Angel's jaded scrutiny.
He rolled onto his stomach to trap his aching erection between his stomach and the mattress. Although prepared for a rush of pleasure, he still gasped and tensed uncontrollably, when the tip of his leaking cock dragged over smooth Egyptian cotton. Oh god, yes, friction, at last! It felt like he was only a few thrusts from coming. With a sigh of relief, Spike began to hump the bed, his face pressed into the cool pillow. It had a clean and fresh laundry smell. At least it muffled his rugged breathing and his tiny, high pitched whimpers of need.
With every thrust of his hips the sensitive tip of his cock was dragged over soft fabric, and with every thrust the hard and unyielding plug inside his ass made itself felt. God, he hated that thing, how good it felt and yet not good enough. He needed more, needed hard, deep thrusts. The desperate need to beg rose inside him, and he bit into the pillow to keep the words inside.
It felt as though his release was just around the corner, only a little bit further, all he had to do was keep at it, thrust harder, without stopping, a Sisyphus job, like rolling a boulder up a mountain, not allowed to stop, not even for a second, 'cause if he did, he'd come down again, lose that keen edge of need that was required to finally make it over the edge.
Tremors racked his body, He needed… needed something. Something more, to push him over. A touch, a word, a real cock.
"Say you want me to fuck you," Angel's voice reached him, hoarse and breathless. "And I'll make it cheap…"
"No!" Spike stubbornly shook his head, never breaking his stride. He could do this. He was so close… his whole body arching like a strung bow, he wormed one hand under the waistband of his open pants, fumbling for the flanged base of the plug. His fingers closed around smooth acrylic, slipped, but then he managed to get two fingers hooked around the base. Enough purchase to pull it out a whole two inches and then plunge it back in. Hard.
Spike threw his head back, open-mouthed, yes, yes, fuck! Almost his whole weight was on his cock now. A breathless shuddering whine burst from his lips. More, he needed more…His hips jerked a few times, thrust, thrust, thrust, and creak, creak, creak, the bedsprings accompanied his thrusts, along with slick scuffing sounds of skin on skin – Angel was frantically jerking off, causing the whole bed to rock with his urgent rhythm… Spike's cheeks clenched around the thick plug inside his ass… once more: out and in… out and in… God, please….Angel… Fuckmefuckmefuckme please… Almost there! …
Almost. And almost gave no sign of making way. Defeated, and with a strangled sound, Spike slumped forward, bathed in sweat, to bury his frustrated sobs in the pillow. Still so very hard. Tears sprang to his eyes.
"Holy shit," There was a note of awe in Angel's voice. "Yeah, come on, don't give up now, you're almost there… come on, fuck yourself with that plug, yeah … I want to see you come!"
Spike could feel Angel's hand speeding up, his urgency was enough to rock the whole bed, enough to make the mattress vibrate against his cock. One more try. Spike started thrusting again, frantically rubbing against the mattress, crawling like a caterpillar, more more more, then arching and groping for the plug again, fuck fuck fuck…
"Yeah come for me," Angel shouted, jerking in the throes of his release. "yeah, fuck… Come for me…"
Oh… yes … please. Something inside him burst. Spike gasped for breath, open-mouthed, slack-jawed, tasting the overpowering smell of sex in the air, that intoxicating mix of male sweat and come… Fuck, yes! One more hard thrust and he scraped his cock over sheets that were already damp with pre-cum, and suddenly a hot ball of fire seemed to build in his nuts, and then, a shock-wave of almost painful heat washed over his entire body, stopping his breath with its intensity, freezing him in that moment for several heartbeats, before he fell forward, on his face, depleted, and shuddering, dousing the mattress with his come….
And for a few minutes the world was quiet, except for their rugged breathing.
TBC
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10
