Angel Pentadrabble. Marcus/Spike. Hard R
The first of (hopefully) two fic posts today...
Title: Retribution
Claim: Various Adam Baldwin Characters
Fandom: Angel
Pairing, etc: Marcus/Spike
Prompt: #60 Enemies (for smut_69)
Word Count: 500
Rating: Hard R
Disclaimer: Joss is GOD and owns EVERYTHING, including my soul.
Author's Notes: For evilmaniclaugh who tempted me with her deliciously naughty Spike/Marcus pentadrabble (you guys might wanna read that first to know where it's coming from). Betaed by the loverly madders--without her this wouldn't have an ending!
Marcus knew that Spike had used him, fucked him rough and relentlessly in an elevator, not bothering with foreplay or to ask permission. The money and cigarettes were meant as an insult, but Marcus didn’t really care about that; he had thick skin. And Spike wasn’t really the wooing type.
What bothered him was that he liked it, that he wanted Spike to do it again.
But he was a child of The Senior Partners, created to do their bidding. What he wanted never really factored into The Big Picture other than how those wants could help keep Their Plan in motion. Marcus couldn’t really justify going back for more; in fact, to do so might just throw a monkey wrench into the whole damn thing.
Instead, Marcus tried to make do.
He fucked the Senator, long and hard, his hands wrapped tightly around her neck. But it wasn’t her blond hair or blue eyes he wanted to throttle and in the end he lied, telling her he’d gotten off, just to get away from her insipid laughter.
He fucked Harmony, and even let her bite him, hoping to recreate the indescribably painful pleasure of sex with a vampire. But the orgasm was no more earth shattering than sneezing, or taking a dump.
It was frustrating, and he took it out on Illyria. A beat down sanctioned by The Senior Partners, but one Marcus found no real pleasure in--not like he used to, anyway.
So one night he waited in Angel’s office, knowing that Spike liked to show up late, after everyone was gone, to sit in the Boss’ chair and pretend to wear the cloak of the Chosen One. And Spike didn’t disappoint him. Marcus watched as he plopped down, the leather and wood squeaking in protest at such abuse, and propped his feet on the desk.
It took him a moment, but finally Spike noticed the money: a wrinkled, bloody ten dollar bill. As he reached for it, the quirk in his brow the only indication of his curiosity, Marcus leapt out of the shadows. Letter opener in hand, Marcus stabbed the vampire’s hand, nailing it to the desk, immobilizing him.
Marcus quickly unfastened Spike’s belt and unzipped his pants, nimble fingers grabbing hold of a half-hardened cock, and then worked his hand up and down. It didn’t take long for Spike to respond.
Without breaking eye contact Marcus stripped himself from the waist down; then reached over to dip his hand into the blood pooling on the dark wood. He coated Spike’s cock with the sticky fluid then sat down heavily, impaling himself.
Spike groaned. Marcus grunted. Primal sounds that took the place of unnecessary words filling the air as they fucked.
When they were done Marcus wiped his fingers clean on Spike’s jacket; and as he closed the door, leaving a deliciously spent and very untidy Spike sprawled in the leather chair, Marcus smiled at the thought of Angel finding their mess the next morning.
Title: Retribution
Claim: Various Adam Baldwin Characters
Fandom: Angel
Pairing, etc: Marcus/Spike
Prompt: #60 Enemies (for smut_69)
Word Count: 500
Rating: Hard R
Disclaimer: Joss is GOD and owns EVERYTHING, including my soul.
Author's Notes: For evilmaniclaugh who tempted me with her deliciously naughty Spike/Marcus pentadrabble (you guys might wanna read that first to know where it's coming from). Betaed by the loverly madders--without her this wouldn't have an ending!
Marcus knew that Spike had used him, fucked him rough and relentlessly in an elevator, not bothering with foreplay or to ask permission. The money and cigarettes were meant as an insult, but Marcus didn’t really care about that; he had thick skin. And Spike wasn’t really the wooing type.
What bothered him was that he liked it, that he wanted Spike to do it again.
But he was a child of The Senior Partners, created to do their bidding. What he wanted never really factored into The Big Picture other than how those wants could help keep Their Plan in motion. Marcus couldn’t really justify going back for more; in fact, to do so might just throw a monkey wrench into the whole damn thing.
Instead, Marcus tried to make do.
He fucked the Senator, long and hard, his hands wrapped tightly around her neck. But it wasn’t her blond hair or blue eyes he wanted to throttle and in the end he lied, telling her he’d gotten off, just to get away from her insipid laughter.
He fucked Harmony, and even let her bite him, hoping to recreate the indescribably painful pleasure of sex with a vampire. But the orgasm was no more earth shattering than sneezing, or taking a dump.
It was frustrating, and he took it out on Illyria. A beat down sanctioned by The Senior Partners, but one Marcus found no real pleasure in--not like he used to, anyway.
So one night he waited in Angel’s office, knowing that Spike liked to show up late, after everyone was gone, to sit in the Boss’ chair and pretend to wear the cloak of the Chosen One. And Spike didn’t disappoint him. Marcus watched as he plopped down, the leather and wood squeaking in protest at such abuse, and propped his feet on the desk.
It took him a moment, but finally Spike noticed the money: a wrinkled, bloody ten dollar bill. As he reached for it, the quirk in his brow the only indication of his curiosity, Marcus leapt out of the shadows. Letter opener in hand, Marcus stabbed the vampire’s hand, nailing it to the desk, immobilizing him.
Marcus quickly unfastened Spike’s belt and unzipped his pants, nimble fingers grabbing hold of a half-hardened cock, and then worked his hand up and down. It didn’t take long for Spike to respond.
Without breaking eye contact Marcus stripped himself from the waist down; then reached over to dip his hand into the blood pooling on the dark wood. He coated Spike’s cock with the sticky fluid then sat down heavily, impaling himself.
Spike groaned. Marcus grunted. Primal sounds that took the place of unnecessary words filling the air as they fucked.
When they were done Marcus wiped his fingers clean on Spike’s jacket; and as he closed the door, leaving a deliciously spent and very untidy Spike sprawled in the leather chair, Marcus smiled at the thought of Angel finding their mess the next morning.