Sadistic Trio
Title: Sadistic Trio
Chapter: 8
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Bondage, non-consensual sex, extreme violence
Pace. Pace. Pacepacepacepace...Spike turned when he reached the end of the solitary cell and sunk his teeth into his forearm as he tried not to scream out his rage. Couldn’t fucking stand this. Couldn’t take it. Locked in and down and in a tiny little closed up space and he was going to go infuckingsane. More so then he was already. Bouncing slightly on his toes, he turned to go back and walk the other way. Up and down, up and down, walking round like he had in London town. Chained and collared and fucking closed in. The walls were close. It was like they breathed, pushing in when he wasn’t looking then flaring back out when he did. So everything looked normal.
Stupid bloody cunt! What the fuck had been the matter with the Brat? Needed the tattoo on him to remind him constantly of his rightful place. When Spike got out of here, he was going to fuck the boy dry and bloody, one hand over his mouth to keep him quiet and then kick him out into the corridor without a reach around. Arrogant little fuck!
“Lunch is up, William. You need to move back away from the door and put your hands on your head,” the voice of the guard at the door came, as the little window was obscured by his stupid mooing face. Stiff-legged, Spike stalked to the back of the cell and ostentatiously put his hands on his head. Thought about how he would kill the man as the door to the solitary cell opened and his lunch tray was put on the floor. How everything would erupt into a spray of violence and blood when he broke the guard’s nose with the heel of his hand, spinning out of the way of a return hit and then snapping his neck. Drop. Down to the ground. God, it’d be so good. Hadn’t killed anyone for months, and he hadn’t had sex for about a week except what came courtesy of his own hand.
This prison gig was getting boring.
The guard shuddered a little, looking into Spike’s blank eyes and left again quickly. As he said to his wife later over dinner, it was like looking into the eyes of a rabid dog. That one shouldn’t have been in the prison system, he should have been packed off into a mental institution, where he belonged.
“Look out...here comes Spike,” the blond whispered to the room after the guard had left. And he laughed.
Jonothon had tried as hard as possible to stay away from Angel while Spike wasn’t there. The colder look in Angel’s eyes, infinitely calculating and detached, was much more frightening then the blaze of emotion that flickered through Spike’s blue ones on a daily basis. Blue was meant to be cold. Doe-brown, soft and warm, wasn’t meant to hide a mind that was cruel with bloodlust and aggression. Guess the same could be said about him though.
But everyone had said afterwards that they’d seen it coming, that he was a violent young man. Ignored and excused the endless trips to hospital for both him and his mother. The gun had been his father’s first, and he’d just put it to the best possible use. To send one bullet right through the man’s brain. A hole through the front and a chasm behind, exposing brain and bone. To think, a monster’s brain looked just like anyone else’s.
“You’re drifting again,” Kyle murmured, tapping the cards together as he shuffled. The brown haired teen near him didn’t turn around to look at him. Limpid eyes were focused elsewhere, and Kyle could see exactly who Jonothon was staring at. Creed. “You keep staring at him, the Angel’s going to do something you won’t like.”
“Any of your sodding business? No.” Jonothon didn’t move. He had to figure a way out of this. Somewhere, there was a way out, he just hadn’t figured it out yet.
“And Creed’s been talking to Essex. You’ll have heard of him and his experiments, I’m sure. If he hadn’t killed that American cop and his wife, Dr Sinister would be in a loony bin. Wonder why he left the little boy alive, at the end of that,” Kyle mused, cards slipsliding between his hands in practiced, thoughtless motions. There were things the prisoners knew about each other that the courts never got to see. And even they never learned everything. Sometimes they’d snap, for no good reason. And that would be that, most of the time. “I’d be worried, if I was you.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Everyone’s after my arse for some bloody reason,” Jonothon snarled, picking up the cards as Kyle dealt them. They sat and played games of chance, passing the endless monotony that was prison within the shuffle of the cards.
“Spike will be back in a few days.” Kyle laid down a royal flush of spades, the ace prominent. “You better think about how to make it up to him before then.”
“Make it up to him?! I didn’t bloody do anything!” Jonothon’s voice rose furiously in a shout, quieting and hunching his shoulders as the guards looked over. There’d been more then usual about. Apparently Creed made the warden uneasy. Well, no shit. He made everyone fucking uneasy, he didn’t work with the prison system. Took advantage of it to indulge his cruelty, but otherwise he did basically nothing.
“He won’t see it that way.” Kyle let Jonothon pick up the cards and start to shuffle them, brooding eyes fixed on him. God, the boy was still so stupid. “You made him lose face.”
“Fuck ‘em all,” Jonothon hissed between his teeth, looking feral. The blond shook his head slightly, and they went on to play card games until lock down. If the boy was going to be stupid, then so be it. He’d be stupid.
“Back out again, and it’s luvverly to be back,” Spike proclaimed, spreading his arms wide once Doyle had removed the handcuffs, turning on his heel and looking around slowly. Word had spread through the prison almost the instant the order had come through that he was being let out of solitary. A few weeks or so. “Angel, mate.” Settling down into a chair near where Angel was playing chess with a lifer called Rayne. Ethan Rayne, lovely firebug and avowed anarchist.
The last house he’d torched before being caught had been an apartment building. Thirty-three people had died, about a hundred more had been severely burned and a whole bunch more treated for smoke inhalation. The building had burnt to the ground, so well had the explosives and flammables had been set. Spike had to give the man at least a touch of the cap, for the pure misery he’d caused in one act. A master work of art.
“Spike.” Angel moved a rook across the chess board, and Ethan hummed slightly. Tunelessly. Made Spike want to bite something. Tapping his fingernails impatiently against the arm of the chair and wriggling slightly, Spike got tired of waiting for Angel to say something else. Wanker.
“Where’s the Brat?”
“Store room, packing uniforms into boxes.” Angel sighed slightly as Ethan moved a piece in response to his move, tongue darting across the lush curve of his bottom lip. He liked watching how the patterns formed, displaying two minds at war. Spike had never had the patience for games like this. Smash and grab, quick tear and thrust in with rape, get himself off and then move on to the next whatever that caught his fancy. While he...preferred to draw it out, make it last. See how everything was so beautiful in every minutae. Studying the chess board, Angel pondered his next movie. He was playing black, and a few white pieces were built up by his side of the board. “I have arranged that no one will come in. And don’t think it wasn’t expensive getting the favor for him to do that particular little job by himself either.”
“Bloody brilliant.” Spike grinned, getting up from his seat. Oh yeah, gonna fuck that little sugar bitch until he screamed. Fucking little cuntrag, he’d been thinking about what he was going to do to him and wanking every night in solitary. Such an idiot child. There was nothing pure and sacred in his life, unless they let him have it. And they didn’t, because he belonged to them.
“Gibney’s been watching him while you’ve been gone...but Creed’s getting more aggressive.” Angel moved his queen into check, smiling dreamily as he watched Ethan’s expression become a little hunted. “You’ll need to take care of that, sooner or later. Or we could just lend him the Brat.”
“No.”
Angel grinned slightly at the chessboard as Spike stalked off, watching as Ethan adroitly removed his king from check. And threatened his bishop. Oh, now this was now starting to get interesting.
“One day, he’s going to explode in your face,” Ethan said, steepling his fingers and raising one eyebrow as he looked at Angel. The Irishman chuckled, face utterly evil for a moment. Recognising the threat, Ethan just tilted his head slightly and watched as the charming Angel got put back on top of the monster inside. “You like having him around you.”
“I do, otherwise he would not be around me.”
“Control. It’s a marvellous thing to hold the ability to control fire in the palm of your hand, isn’t it?” Ethan’s grin was edged with dirty secrets. “They call me crazy because I light fires. You should have gone into politics - no one would have cared if you manipulated people then. Probably given you a medal, dear boy.”
“I prefer to manipulate people, as you say, through...pain.” Picking up his knight and moving it, he continued to study the chessboard. “I doubt they would have let me do that in parliament.”
“Be surprised, what the Lords and Members get up to. When they can.”
Opening the store room door with Jonothon becoming aware of him was too bloody easy. Kid should have been more on guard then that. He should know how easily the guards were bought off, with the right incentives. Sliding it closed silently behind him, Spike grinned as he saw Jonothon lifting a stack of uniform shirts into their correct shelf and place, being such a good boy for the keepers of the cage.
Jonothon never saw what hit him.
The teenager collapsed to the floor without a sound, and Spike whistled as he dropped the replacement part for one of the generators back into the box he’d lifted it from. It had been large and heavy, perfectly suited to his needs. Kneeling beside Jonothon, he checked the boy’s pulse and made sure he wasn’t bleeding too much from his head. Nothing overtly wrong, so he stripped him, and spread-eagled him on the concrete floor. The handy way the shelving units were set up provided four good anchor points; hands stretched out above his head and legs spread, bent at the knees then lashed to the upright of the unit. They were bolted to the wall, so he wasn’t worried about Jonothon pulling them over, and the room here was basically sound proof. Nothing to worry about.
Just had to wait for the pesky blighter to wake up. Shouldn’t take that much longer, he hadn’t hit the boy that hard. Running his fingers lightly across the boy’s body, tweaking the pale pink of his nipples and stroking his balls, Spike hummed to himself as he waited. Boy’s body was so responsive. Pity he kept fighting it with his head. This was going to be so good. Recognising the early signs of returning to consciousness, Spike spread the precum leaking from the head of his cock down the shaft slowly, shuddering slightly at his own delicate touches. That was about all the kid was getting as far as prep went, and he should be glad for even that. Settling in between Jonothon’s spread legs with a soft sigh, he held himself up over Jonothon’s body so he wasn’t touching him at all with straight arms. Watching his face.
The return of comprehension. The struggle to move his limbs. It was all so gorgeous.
“Surprise.” And Spike slammed himself inside Jonothon’s body, forcing his way past stiff resisting muscle and glorying in the shocked scream that ripped from the teen’s throat. So good. Warm and tight, muscles spasmodically fluttering around his cock as they tried to remove the intruder and screaming. Tears sliding down his cheeks as Spike grunted slightly, pushing himself ballsdeep inside that silken hot grip, and pausing for a moment just to feel it. Then pulling out in a long scraping slide, feeling the rape get easier as he tore Jonothon inside and blood eased the way. Oh yeah, this was the stuff.
Jonothon couldn’t even think, unable to move, unable to do anything but scream until his throat was hoarse. He thought it had hurt the first time. He was so dead wrong. He could see now, that for them they’d been gentle, even easy on him. Because this was the face of the beast Kyle had been warning him about so circumspectly, Spike’s face with his lips pulled back from his teeth in a feral snarl and raping him brutally. Blood, he could feel himself tearing apart on the inside, agony jolting up from his ass to spread through out his entire body. Arms almost pulled out of joint, and legs forced open and wide. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything. Just scream, long piercing shrieks as it felt like he was being gutted on the end of Spike’s cock.
“Fucking *bitch*,” Spike hissed, hips slapping against Jonothon’s body as he punished the boy with everything he had. “Talk back to me? Get me in solitary? Oh, I should fucking turn ya over to Creed.” Grabbing Jonothon’s hair in one hand, he kissed him bruisingly, tongue sweeping through his mouth and claiming every crevice. Feeling the moans reverberate back into his as Jonothon couldn’t scream anymore. “He’d fuck your candy arse like this,” Spike put his hands on Jonothon’s ass, moving the boy’s body slightly to provide a better angle, “every night. Until you shat blood every fucking day.”
Jonothon’s head lolled against the ground, brown eyes blank and staring. All he was really aware of was the pain. Hurt so much. Spike snarled at that, slapping Jonothon across the face to bring him back to reality. Boy wasn’t allowed to forget what was going on here.
“Feel this?” Spike thrust into Jonothon again, fingers digging into his skin. The teen nodded weakly, teary eyes focusing back into Spike’s raging face. “Me on you. Me in you. Forever and ever. You *belong* to me. Say it.”
“Oh Jesus…”
Slam. Spike’s back handed slap cracked Jonothon’s skull against the floor. “Say it!”
“Oh god!” Jonothon choked out from bruised lips as Spike started to jack him off, deliberately stimulating his prostate with hard punishing thrusts. Pain. Pleasure. Everything was becoming one. “Yours...”
“Say it.”
“Christ, Spike!” he wailed, tilting his hips up and groaning at the next stroke. “I’m yours, I belong to you, oh god!” Spike’s face softened slightly, but he continued with what he was doing. Mixing the pain and the pleasure, until Jonothon came into his hand, crying weakly and shuddering all over. “Spike...”
“God, yeah, *fuck*, yeah!” Spike grunted slamming into the close heat one more time as he came, then leisurely fucking Jonothon’s arse for a few more strokes as he went soft, just to feel the slide of his own come coating the boy’s insides. Felt good now. More then good. Sliding out, he listened to Jonothon’s hiccuping sob of loss, and smiled. Broken to the bit now. He’d be good, a right delicious pet. Lying on top of Jonothon, boy still bound and with blood and come leaking out of his arse onto the ground, Spike ruffled his hair and kissed his cheek.
Listened to Jonothon cry.
God...can't sleep. Doctors will get me. Can't sleep. Doctors will get me...><
Tegan.
Chapter: 8
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Bondage, non-consensual sex, extreme violence
Pace. Pace. Pacepacepacepace...Spike turned when he reached the end of the solitary cell and sunk his teeth into his forearm as he tried not to scream out his rage. Couldn’t fucking stand this. Couldn’t take it. Locked in and down and in a tiny little closed up space and he was going to go infuckingsane. More so then he was already. Bouncing slightly on his toes, he turned to go back and walk the other way. Up and down, up and down, walking round like he had in London town. Chained and collared and fucking closed in. The walls were close. It was like they breathed, pushing in when he wasn’t looking then flaring back out when he did. So everything looked normal.
Stupid bloody cunt! What the fuck had been the matter with the Brat? Needed the tattoo on him to remind him constantly of his rightful place. When Spike got out of here, he was going to fuck the boy dry and bloody, one hand over his mouth to keep him quiet and then kick him out into the corridor without a reach around. Arrogant little fuck!
“Lunch is up, William. You need to move back away from the door and put your hands on your head,” the voice of the guard at the door came, as the little window was obscured by his stupid mooing face. Stiff-legged, Spike stalked to the back of the cell and ostentatiously put his hands on his head. Thought about how he would kill the man as the door to the solitary cell opened and his lunch tray was put on the floor. How everything would erupt into a spray of violence and blood when he broke the guard’s nose with the heel of his hand, spinning out of the way of a return hit and then snapping his neck. Drop. Down to the ground. God, it’d be so good. Hadn’t killed anyone for months, and he hadn’t had sex for about a week except what came courtesy of his own hand.
This prison gig was getting boring.
The guard shuddered a little, looking into Spike’s blank eyes and left again quickly. As he said to his wife later over dinner, it was like looking into the eyes of a rabid dog. That one shouldn’t have been in the prison system, he should have been packed off into a mental institution, where he belonged.
“Look out...here comes Spike,” the blond whispered to the room after the guard had left. And he laughed.
Jonothon had tried as hard as possible to stay away from Angel while Spike wasn’t there. The colder look in Angel’s eyes, infinitely calculating and detached, was much more frightening then the blaze of emotion that flickered through Spike’s blue ones on a daily basis. Blue was meant to be cold. Doe-brown, soft and warm, wasn’t meant to hide a mind that was cruel with bloodlust and aggression. Guess the same could be said about him though.
But everyone had said afterwards that they’d seen it coming, that he was a violent young man. Ignored and excused the endless trips to hospital for both him and his mother. The gun had been his father’s first, and he’d just put it to the best possible use. To send one bullet right through the man’s brain. A hole through the front and a chasm behind, exposing brain and bone. To think, a monster’s brain looked just like anyone else’s.
“You’re drifting again,” Kyle murmured, tapping the cards together as he shuffled. The brown haired teen near him didn’t turn around to look at him. Limpid eyes were focused elsewhere, and Kyle could see exactly who Jonothon was staring at. Creed. “You keep staring at him, the Angel’s going to do something you won’t like.”
“Any of your sodding business? No.” Jonothon didn’t move. He had to figure a way out of this. Somewhere, there was a way out, he just hadn’t figured it out yet.
“And Creed’s been talking to Essex. You’ll have heard of him and his experiments, I’m sure. If he hadn’t killed that American cop and his wife, Dr Sinister would be in a loony bin. Wonder why he left the little boy alive, at the end of that,” Kyle mused, cards slipsliding between his hands in practiced, thoughtless motions. There were things the prisoners knew about each other that the courts never got to see. And even they never learned everything. Sometimes they’d snap, for no good reason. And that would be that, most of the time. “I’d be worried, if I was you.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Everyone’s after my arse for some bloody reason,” Jonothon snarled, picking up the cards as Kyle dealt them. They sat and played games of chance, passing the endless monotony that was prison within the shuffle of the cards.
“Spike will be back in a few days.” Kyle laid down a royal flush of spades, the ace prominent. “You better think about how to make it up to him before then.”
“Make it up to him?! I didn’t bloody do anything!” Jonothon’s voice rose furiously in a shout, quieting and hunching his shoulders as the guards looked over. There’d been more then usual about. Apparently Creed made the warden uneasy. Well, no shit. He made everyone fucking uneasy, he didn’t work with the prison system. Took advantage of it to indulge his cruelty, but otherwise he did basically nothing.
“He won’t see it that way.” Kyle let Jonothon pick up the cards and start to shuffle them, brooding eyes fixed on him. God, the boy was still so stupid. “You made him lose face.”
“Fuck ‘em all,” Jonothon hissed between his teeth, looking feral. The blond shook his head slightly, and they went on to play card games until lock down. If the boy was going to be stupid, then so be it. He’d be stupid.
“Back out again, and it’s luvverly to be back,” Spike proclaimed, spreading his arms wide once Doyle had removed the handcuffs, turning on his heel and looking around slowly. Word had spread through the prison almost the instant the order had come through that he was being let out of solitary. A few weeks or so. “Angel, mate.” Settling down into a chair near where Angel was playing chess with a lifer called Rayne. Ethan Rayne, lovely firebug and avowed anarchist.
The last house he’d torched before being caught had been an apartment building. Thirty-three people had died, about a hundred more had been severely burned and a whole bunch more treated for smoke inhalation. The building had burnt to the ground, so well had the explosives and flammables had been set. Spike had to give the man at least a touch of the cap, for the pure misery he’d caused in one act. A master work of art.
“Spike.” Angel moved a rook across the chess board, and Ethan hummed slightly. Tunelessly. Made Spike want to bite something. Tapping his fingernails impatiently against the arm of the chair and wriggling slightly, Spike got tired of waiting for Angel to say something else. Wanker.
“Where’s the Brat?”
“Store room, packing uniforms into boxes.” Angel sighed slightly as Ethan moved a piece in response to his move, tongue darting across the lush curve of his bottom lip. He liked watching how the patterns formed, displaying two minds at war. Spike had never had the patience for games like this. Smash and grab, quick tear and thrust in with rape, get himself off and then move on to the next whatever that caught his fancy. While he...preferred to draw it out, make it last. See how everything was so beautiful in every minutae. Studying the chess board, Angel pondered his next movie. He was playing black, and a few white pieces were built up by his side of the board. “I have arranged that no one will come in. And don’t think it wasn’t expensive getting the favor for him to do that particular little job by himself either.”
“Bloody brilliant.” Spike grinned, getting up from his seat. Oh yeah, gonna fuck that little sugar bitch until he screamed. Fucking little cuntrag, he’d been thinking about what he was going to do to him and wanking every night in solitary. Such an idiot child. There was nothing pure and sacred in his life, unless they let him have it. And they didn’t, because he belonged to them.
“Gibney’s been watching him while you’ve been gone...but Creed’s getting more aggressive.” Angel moved his queen into check, smiling dreamily as he watched Ethan’s expression become a little hunted. “You’ll need to take care of that, sooner or later. Or we could just lend him the Brat.”
“No.”
Angel grinned slightly at the chessboard as Spike stalked off, watching as Ethan adroitly removed his king from check. And threatened his bishop. Oh, now this was now starting to get interesting.
“One day, he’s going to explode in your face,” Ethan said, steepling his fingers and raising one eyebrow as he looked at Angel. The Irishman chuckled, face utterly evil for a moment. Recognising the threat, Ethan just tilted his head slightly and watched as the charming Angel got put back on top of the monster inside. “You like having him around you.”
“I do, otherwise he would not be around me.”
“Control. It’s a marvellous thing to hold the ability to control fire in the palm of your hand, isn’t it?” Ethan’s grin was edged with dirty secrets. “They call me crazy because I light fires. You should have gone into politics - no one would have cared if you manipulated people then. Probably given you a medal, dear boy.”
“I prefer to manipulate people, as you say, through...pain.” Picking up his knight and moving it, he continued to study the chessboard. “I doubt they would have let me do that in parliament.”
“Be surprised, what the Lords and Members get up to. When they can.”
Opening the store room door with Jonothon becoming aware of him was too bloody easy. Kid should have been more on guard then that. He should know how easily the guards were bought off, with the right incentives. Sliding it closed silently behind him, Spike grinned as he saw Jonothon lifting a stack of uniform shirts into their correct shelf and place, being such a good boy for the keepers of the cage.
Jonothon never saw what hit him.
The teenager collapsed to the floor without a sound, and Spike whistled as he dropped the replacement part for one of the generators back into the box he’d lifted it from. It had been large and heavy, perfectly suited to his needs. Kneeling beside Jonothon, he checked the boy’s pulse and made sure he wasn’t bleeding too much from his head. Nothing overtly wrong, so he stripped him, and spread-eagled him on the concrete floor. The handy way the shelving units were set up provided four good anchor points; hands stretched out above his head and legs spread, bent at the knees then lashed to the upright of the unit. They were bolted to the wall, so he wasn’t worried about Jonothon pulling them over, and the room here was basically sound proof. Nothing to worry about.
Just had to wait for the pesky blighter to wake up. Shouldn’t take that much longer, he hadn’t hit the boy that hard. Running his fingers lightly across the boy’s body, tweaking the pale pink of his nipples and stroking his balls, Spike hummed to himself as he waited. Boy’s body was so responsive. Pity he kept fighting it with his head. This was going to be so good. Recognising the early signs of returning to consciousness, Spike spread the precum leaking from the head of his cock down the shaft slowly, shuddering slightly at his own delicate touches. That was about all the kid was getting as far as prep went, and he should be glad for even that. Settling in between Jonothon’s spread legs with a soft sigh, he held himself up over Jonothon’s body so he wasn’t touching him at all with straight arms. Watching his face.
The return of comprehension. The struggle to move his limbs. It was all so gorgeous.
“Surprise.” And Spike slammed himself inside Jonothon’s body, forcing his way past stiff resisting muscle and glorying in the shocked scream that ripped from the teen’s throat. So good. Warm and tight, muscles spasmodically fluttering around his cock as they tried to remove the intruder and screaming. Tears sliding down his cheeks as Spike grunted slightly, pushing himself ballsdeep inside that silken hot grip, and pausing for a moment just to feel it. Then pulling out in a long scraping slide, feeling the rape get easier as he tore Jonothon inside and blood eased the way. Oh yeah, this was the stuff.
Jonothon couldn’t even think, unable to move, unable to do anything but scream until his throat was hoarse. He thought it had hurt the first time. He was so dead wrong. He could see now, that for them they’d been gentle, even easy on him. Because this was the face of the beast Kyle had been warning him about so circumspectly, Spike’s face with his lips pulled back from his teeth in a feral snarl and raping him brutally. Blood, he could feel himself tearing apart on the inside, agony jolting up from his ass to spread through out his entire body. Arms almost pulled out of joint, and legs forced open and wide. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything. Just scream, long piercing shrieks as it felt like he was being gutted on the end of Spike’s cock.
“Fucking *bitch*,” Spike hissed, hips slapping against Jonothon’s body as he punished the boy with everything he had. “Talk back to me? Get me in solitary? Oh, I should fucking turn ya over to Creed.” Grabbing Jonothon’s hair in one hand, he kissed him bruisingly, tongue sweeping through his mouth and claiming every crevice. Feeling the moans reverberate back into his as Jonothon couldn’t scream anymore. “He’d fuck your candy arse like this,” Spike put his hands on Jonothon’s ass, moving the boy’s body slightly to provide a better angle, “every night. Until you shat blood every fucking day.”
Jonothon’s head lolled against the ground, brown eyes blank and staring. All he was really aware of was the pain. Hurt so much. Spike snarled at that, slapping Jonothon across the face to bring him back to reality. Boy wasn’t allowed to forget what was going on here.
“Feel this?” Spike thrust into Jonothon again, fingers digging into his skin. The teen nodded weakly, teary eyes focusing back into Spike’s raging face. “Me on you. Me in you. Forever and ever. You *belong* to me. Say it.”
“Oh Jesus…”
Slam. Spike’s back handed slap cracked Jonothon’s skull against the floor. “Say it!”
“Oh god!” Jonothon choked out from bruised lips as Spike started to jack him off, deliberately stimulating his prostate with hard punishing thrusts. Pain. Pleasure. Everything was becoming one. “Yours...”
“Say it.”
“Christ, Spike!” he wailed, tilting his hips up and groaning at the next stroke. “I’m yours, I belong to you, oh god!” Spike’s face softened slightly, but he continued with what he was doing. Mixing the pain and the pleasure, until Jonothon came into his hand, crying weakly and shuddering all over. “Spike...”
“God, yeah, *fuck*, yeah!” Spike grunted slamming into the close heat one more time as he came, then leisurely fucking Jonothon’s arse for a few more strokes as he went soft, just to feel the slide of his own come coating the boy’s insides. Felt good now. More then good. Sliding out, he listened to Jonothon’s hiccuping sob of loss, and smiled. Broken to the bit now. He’d be good, a right delicious pet. Lying on top of Jonothon, boy still bound and with blood and come leaking out of his arse onto the ground, Spike ruffled his hair and kissed his cheek.
Listened to Jonothon cry.
God...can't sleep. Doctors will get me. Can't sleep. Doctors will get me...><
Tegan.