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estepheiaTITLE: Lucky - Part 5/8
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.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
Lucky - Part 5
Holy shit. It was like mantra in Angel's head. He stared at the spent, sated body in his bed, and the large wet stain that darkened the sheets underneath Spike's hips, and all he could think was 'holy shit.'
He honestly hadn't thought Spike could do it. The plan had been to make him beg, then take the place of that plug and fuck his prisoner through the mattress. But this? Angel could still see purple spots dancing in front of his eyes, and his whole body was abuzz, just from jerking off. He glanced at the spunk on his cock and his hand and shuddered, racked by another bolt of pleasure. Holy shit!
Spike lay facedown on his belly, panting, one hand still half-way inside his open pants. The other hand hung limply from his hip, held in suspension by the taut chain between the cuffs. Both wrists bore deep marks where the cuffs had bitten into his flesh. Spike wore a wedding band, so he was either married or committed. His skin – evenly tanned in a warm outdoorsy tone of bronze – was flushed, and shiny with sweat. His sun-bleached hair was plastered to his head in a mass of damp curls.
Fuck! His Nikon, Angel remembered, was downstairs in the garage, inside the locked trunk of his car.
He caught a slight tremor coursing through his prisoner's body. Slut.
Angel wondered what his prisoner did when he wasn't breaking into people's houses. Either he was one of those surfer beach bums, or he had some kind of outdoors job. He looked tough, but too slight for construction work. A pool boy or gardener? Yeah, that made sense, probably scouting out places to break into, during the day job.
A nasty thought popped into Angel's brain. What if he charged his prisoner with the costs for dry cleaning the sheets? Only, he had to admit in all fairness, that he'd just gotten more than his money's worth. Part of him was still reeling with surprise and shock at how quickly his bluff and mind-game had become reality. At the same time, a tiny, petty part of him felt cheated. He'd wanted to hear Spike talk, had wanted to hear him beg and sob….
"You're rank," Angel said, more harshly than he'd intended, wiping his spunk-sticky hand on Spike's heated flank. "You need a shower or a bath."
The pillow rustled, as Spike slowly turned his head to stare at him. Angel was again struck by the deep blue of the man's eyes. Spike looked dazed, heavy-lidded, his face damp and flushed, his lips swollen – thoroughly fucked. Angel had never seen anything more irresistible.
Then the bitter curve of the mouth deepened and eyes narrowed with loathing as the thin veneer of afterglow was boiled away. Angel caught only a glimpse of it, before Spike lowered his gaze, but it was enough to make Angel's stomach crawl.
"How much?" Spike finally asked, his tone laced with disdain.
Angel had been inclined to let him shower for free, but the barely concealed insubordination in his prisoner's tone called for a lesson in manners. "Twenty-five," Angel said, trying to gauge just how desperately his prisoner wanted to clean himself up.
"The plug?"
"Goes back inside, once you're done."
A sullen, mulish look crossed Spike's face and he shook his head, but apparently he knew better than to mouth off, for he kept his mouth shut. Good.
"Never mind then," Angel said and gestured towards the bathroom door. "D'you need to pee or take a dump?"
Slow, silent headshake.
"Lie down."
Spike slumped back on the pillow, face down.
Angel dug the key for the cuffs out of his pocket, and then, with his gun cocked, he unlocked one of the cuffs. "Hands above your head," he instructed.
Spike obeyed. The empty cuff clanked against the brass headboard. Pinning Spike down with a precautionary knee between his shoulder blades, Angel threaded the empty cuff around a sturdy bar of metal, before snapping it shut around Spike's wrist again. His prisoner was now effectively chained to the bed, with his arms above his head, but all in all it should be more comfortable than his previous position. He should probably do something about the man's legs. Maybe later.
He slipped out of bed, picked up the covers from the floor and flung them over the prone man.
After a minute or two, Spike moved, turning and twisting until he lay on his side, facing away from his captor. Cradling his head in his arms, he stilled, curled up in an almost fetal position.
Angel allowed himself a smile and headed for the bathroom to take a shower.
* * *
Spike waited until sounds of running water and splashing traveled through the open bathroom door, before he moved. The cuffs didn't give him a lot of room to move, but it still beat having his hands tied behind his back. He sat up, wincing when the plug shifted inside him.
With the fucking psycho cop out of sight, he found his self-control slipping. His hands were shaking, fuck, his whole body had the shakes. Spike wiped his face on his bare arm, then used a corner of the sheet to furiously scrub the wetness off his stomach. He'd once talked to a male hooker who'd claimed that after a long hot bath he always felt as clean as the day he was born. Yeah, and pigs could fly. No amount of water was ever going to wash this off.
He willed himself to calm down until his hands no longer shook, before investigating the frame of the bed and the headboard. There had to be a weakness, something he could bend or break to gain his freedom. Or a piece of wire to pick the locks of the cuffs. It took several minutes of desperate tugging and searching, and of trying to squeeze out of the metal cuffs, for the realization to sink in: there was no way out, not without a saw, lock picks, or a gun. Unfortunately, Angel wasn't a man who took chances. He'd taken the gun with him into the bathroom.
A fox or wolf would gnaw off its own limb to get out of a trap. For an insane moment Spike toyed with the idea of dislocating his own thumb, to slip out of the cuffs. Only the cuffs were pretty tight, so even with a dislocated thumb he'd need some slick to get out. Slick. Angel's drawer. Plenty of lube in there – but on the other side of the bed, out of reach. Maybe if he tried to open it with his foot….
The splatter of running water ceased, as the shower was turned off. A moment later, Spike heard the door of the shower stall opening and closing. Steam billowed out of the open bathroom door, heralding Angel's return.
There would be other opportunities, Spike told himself, as he slowly eased back under the covers, the bitter taste of defeat in his mouth.
* * *
Feeling clean and clear-headed, Angel stalked into the bedroom wearing his gun and nothing else. His prisoner lay huddled under his covers in the exact same position that Angel had left him in. Asleep or faking it? Angel didn't care.
It was freaky. For a second, when he'd stepped out of the bathroom, it had looked as though Darla were back, as standoffish as ever, giving him the cold shoulder. Bitch. Angel shrugged, slipped into a clean pair of boxers, and climbed into bed. He turned on the TV and zapped through the sports channels without really paying attention, his thoughts revolving around his suspension. His initial indignation was spent now, not entirely, but enough to allow him to think rationally.
Let Internal Affairs snoop through his files and finances. There was nothing to find. No inexplicable payments into his account, no big purchases without receipts or traceable financing, no drugs, no nothing. Angel was as clean as a whistle. He'd get his badge back, that much was certain.
He picked up the alarm clock and turned it off. Thanks to his suspension there was no need for getting up early.
He turned off the light and lay down, facing his prisoner. It was dark, but not too dark to see the curve of Spike's shoulder. He seemed to be asleep, but once, before sleep claimed him, Angel thought he saw his prisoner's shoulders racked by silent sobs.
* * *
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.Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
Lucky - Part 5
Holy shit. It was like mantra in Angel's head. He stared at the spent, sated body in his bed, and the large wet stain that darkened the sheets underneath Spike's hips, and all he could think was 'holy shit.'
He honestly hadn't thought Spike could do it. The plan had been to make him beg, then take the place of that plug and fuck his prisoner through the mattress. But this? Angel could still see purple spots dancing in front of his eyes, and his whole body was abuzz, just from jerking off. He glanced at the spunk on his cock and his hand and shuddered, racked by another bolt of pleasure. Holy shit!
Spike lay facedown on his belly, panting, one hand still half-way inside his open pants. The other hand hung limply from his hip, held in suspension by the taut chain between the cuffs. Both wrists bore deep marks where the cuffs had bitten into his flesh. Spike wore a wedding band, so he was either married or committed. His skin – evenly tanned in a warm outdoorsy tone of bronze – was flushed, and shiny with sweat. His sun-bleached hair was plastered to his head in a mass of damp curls.
Fuck! His Nikon, Angel remembered, was downstairs in the garage, inside the locked trunk of his car.
He caught a slight tremor coursing through his prisoner's body. Slut.
Angel wondered what his prisoner did when he wasn't breaking into people's houses. Either he was one of those surfer beach bums, or he had some kind of outdoors job. He looked tough, but too slight for construction work. A pool boy or gardener? Yeah, that made sense, probably scouting out places to break into, during the day job.
A nasty thought popped into Angel's brain. What if he charged his prisoner with the costs for dry cleaning the sheets? Only, he had to admit in all fairness, that he'd just gotten more than his money's worth. Part of him was still reeling with surprise and shock at how quickly his bluff and mind-game had become reality. At the same time, a tiny, petty part of him felt cheated. He'd wanted to hear Spike talk, had wanted to hear him beg and sob….
"You're rank," Angel said, more harshly than he'd intended, wiping his spunk-sticky hand on Spike's heated flank. "You need a shower or a bath."
The pillow rustled, as Spike slowly turned his head to stare at him. Angel was again struck by the deep blue of the man's eyes. Spike looked dazed, heavy-lidded, his face damp and flushed, his lips swollen – thoroughly fucked. Angel had never seen anything more irresistible.
Then the bitter curve of the mouth deepened and eyes narrowed with loathing as the thin veneer of afterglow was boiled away. Angel caught only a glimpse of it, before Spike lowered his gaze, but it was enough to make Angel's stomach crawl.
"How much?" Spike finally asked, his tone laced with disdain.
Angel had been inclined to let him shower for free, but the barely concealed insubordination in his prisoner's tone called for a lesson in manners. "Twenty-five," Angel said, trying to gauge just how desperately his prisoner wanted to clean himself up.
"The plug?"
"Goes back inside, once you're done."
A sullen, mulish look crossed Spike's face and he shook his head, but apparently he knew better than to mouth off, for he kept his mouth shut. Good.
"Never mind then," Angel said and gestured towards the bathroom door. "D'you need to pee or take a dump?"
Slow, silent headshake.
"Lie down."
Spike slumped back on the pillow, face down.
Angel dug the key for the cuffs out of his pocket, and then, with his gun cocked, he unlocked one of the cuffs. "Hands above your head," he instructed.
Spike obeyed. The empty cuff clanked against the brass headboard. Pinning Spike down with a precautionary knee between his shoulder blades, Angel threaded the empty cuff around a sturdy bar of metal, before snapping it shut around Spike's wrist again. His prisoner was now effectively chained to the bed, with his arms above his head, but all in all it should be more comfortable than his previous position. He should probably do something about the man's legs. Maybe later.
He slipped out of bed, picked up the covers from the floor and flung them over the prone man.
After a minute or two, Spike moved, turning and twisting until he lay on his side, facing away from his captor. Cradling his head in his arms, he stilled, curled up in an almost fetal position.
Angel allowed himself a smile and headed for the bathroom to take a shower.
* * *
Spike waited until sounds of running water and splashing traveled through the open bathroom door, before he moved. The cuffs didn't give him a lot of room to move, but it still beat having his hands tied behind his back. He sat up, wincing when the plug shifted inside him.
With the fucking psycho cop out of sight, he found his self-control slipping. His hands were shaking, fuck, his whole body had the shakes. Spike wiped his face on his bare arm, then used a corner of the sheet to furiously scrub the wetness off his stomach. He'd once talked to a male hooker who'd claimed that after a long hot bath he always felt as clean as the day he was born. Yeah, and pigs could fly. No amount of water was ever going to wash this off.
He willed himself to calm down until his hands no longer shook, before investigating the frame of the bed and the headboard. There had to be a weakness, something he could bend or break to gain his freedom. Or a piece of wire to pick the locks of the cuffs. It took several minutes of desperate tugging and searching, and of trying to squeeze out of the metal cuffs, for the realization to sink in: there was no way out, not without a saw, lock picks, or a gun. Unfortunately, Angel wasn't a man who took chances. He'd taken the gun with him into the bathroom.
A fox or wolf would gnaw off its own limb to get out of a trap. For an insane moment Spike toyed with the idea of dislocating his own thumb, to slip out of the cuffs. Only the cuffs were pretty tight, so even with a dislocated thumb he'd need some slick to get out. Slick. Angel's drawer. Plenty of lube in there – but on the other side of the bed, out of reach. Maybe if he tried to open it with his foot….
The splatter of running water ceased, as the shower was turned off. A moment later, Spike heard the door of the shower stall opening and closing. Steam billowed out of the open bathroom door, heralding Angel's return.
There would be other opportunities, Spike told himself, as he slowly eased back under the covers, the bitter taste of defeat in his mouth.
* * *
Feeling clean and clear-headed, Angel stalked into the bedroom wearing his gun and nothing else. His prisoner lay huddled under his covers in the exact same position that Angel had left him in. Asleep or faking it? Angel didn't care.
It was freaky. For a second, when he'd stepped out of the bathroom, it had looked as though Darla were back, as standoffish as ever, giving him the cold shoulder. Bitch. Angel shrugged, slipped into a clean pair of boxers, and climbed into bed. He turned on the TV and zapped through the sports channels without really paying attention, his thoughts revolving around his suspension. His initial indignation was spent now, not entirely, but enough to allow him to think rationally.
Let Internal Affairs snoop through his files and finances. There was nothing to find. No inexplicable payments into his account, no big purchases without receipts or traceable financing, no drugs, no nothing. Angel was as clean as a whistle. He'd get his badge back, that much was certain.
He picked up the alarm clock and turned it off. Thanks to his suspension there was no need for getting up early.
He turned off the light and lay down, facing his prisoner. It was dark, but not too dark to see the curve of Spike's shoulder. He seemed to be asleep, but once, before sleep claimed him, Angel thought he saw his prisoner's shoulders racked by silent sobs.
* * *
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: 2005-01-25 05:18 pm (UTC)Fuck! His Nikon, Angel remembered, was downstairs in the garage, inside the locked trunk of his car.
And *you* are evil. I love you. *g* Thank you for the sneak peek of this & for posting more. I do a tarantella of delight.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-25 06:39 pm (UTC)I was often impressed by your "fashion shots" - small lines that still conveyed very vividly how Spike looks, yummie snapshots.
Glad you're enjoying this.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-25 05:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-25 06:13 pm (UTC)Some stories just need to percolate. When Illiaeth posted her request I jumped up and down because the muse kissed me there and then.
When I finally received the assignment I was too busy to work on it right away, but my subconscious seems to have sketched out quite a lot.
Um, anyway, some stories just 'click' you know?
I'm glad the story is well-received, because seriously, I was very worried at first.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-25 11:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-26 07:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-25 11:49 pm (UTC)Does it make me baaaaaaaad that i'm liking this?
*of course, secrety hoping for some sort of retribution BUT!*
Liking it.
Heeee.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-26 07:16 am (UTC)You're not the only one to ask that. LOL.
I don't think so.
But does it make me baaaaaaaad that i'm writing this?
no subject
Date: 2005-01-26 08:19 am (UTC)Yes!
No.
Umm.
No.
'Cause then it's ALL bad.
Wand we won't go there.
Hehehe.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-26 01:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-26 07:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-26 03:00 am (UTC)Lovely insight into Spike's thoughts there in the middle.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-26 07:17 am (UTC)Lovely insight into Spike's thoughts
If anyone asks I will haughtily say that the story is about the perseverence of the human spirit.
no subject
Date: 2005-02-03 04:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-03 07:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-03 07:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-03 05:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-03 07:29 am (UTC)Thank you for leaving feedback. It's greatly appreciated.
no subject
Date: 2005-02-04 10:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-08 05:48 pm (UTC)Off to read the next chapter. This is why I like saving WIPs. I can read a lot of chapters all at once and not have to wait.