Selling candles - part 2
Written for the nekid numbers-prompt over at nekid_spike
Title: Selling Candles (2/3)
Pairing: William/Angel, Spike/Angel
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: After a short glance at my bank account and into my T-Shirt I can state without any doubt - no, not Joss Whedon. Don’t sue - it’s not worth…
Summary: AU. Salesman William Loman meets a stranger in a ‘tea room’.
Warnings: No beta, I’m not a native speaker. Test your linguistic tolerance. Can contain traces of light bdsm.
My nekid numbers are Angel, Candle and Glory Hole…
Second part of the outcome of my fabulous nekid numbers. In part 1 failed salesman William Loman accidently winds up in a tea room and - decidedly less accidently and not for the first time - goes down on a stranger through a glory hole. (Dear native speakers - are 'tea room' and 'glory hole' common vocabulary for you or am I the only one who had to google?). Well, it was nice, obviously, and therefore Spike invites Angel to his motel room...
Selling candles - part 2
The navigation system chooses this night to break down. Of course it does. Starring time and again into the driving mirror to check if the low-slung headlights are still following him and to which kind of car they belong, Spike misses the drive to the motel and has to reverse, swearing silently. His palms are sweaty. This, taking another man to a room, a bed, he never did before. He can’t say on how many anonymous men he went down already, how many strangers he brought off while starring at the flickering screen of a dingy blue movie theatre, never in their faces, how many fists and mouths have touched his cock, but this is new and it freaks him out.
When his hand clutches at the car key, he thinks about starting the motor again and driving away, fleeing from the brink that separates the live he leads and wants from the abyss his need yanks him towards. But this night, he has turned to face one of the men and now, his live a collapsing house of cards anyway, he’s too exhausted and longing not to give in. So he takes out the key and steps out into the residual drizzle, smiling tightly at the man he calls Angel as he strides out of the darkness of the parking lot.
After the pretty blond concierge handed the second plastic back to Spike, rolling her eyes irritably, a big hand from behind slides a black credit card across the counter discretely. The woman’s face lightens like Vegas at sunset and she flashes Angel flirtatious glances, apologising for the request to pay in advance and informing him sweetly that there’s unfortunately no mini bar in the room but that he can buy beverages here. Or maybe he wants to have a drink at the bar down the road? Her name is Darla and she happens to be there, too, after hours. Spike, enraged and ashamed to be ignored, hears with satisfaction how she’s turned down as politely as briefly. When he grabs the bottle of cheap Whisky, he twitches one brow and smirks salaciously, making sure she understands the situation, covering the burning shame with this tiny triumph.
“You’re always taking this with you?” Angel asks, nodding towards the sample case in Spike’s hand. The blond blushes. He didn’t even notice that he took it along but Angel’s already unlocking the door and Spike’s afraid that he won’t come back if he brings the abhorred thing back to the car, so he hurriedly shuffles it under the only chair in the sordid motel room. Feeling responsible for the surrounding, he looks around the small room and notices dirt in the corners, a burn hole in the floral bedspread, dubious stains on the wall. Before he dares to check the floor, those incredibly big strong hands embrace him from behind and he feels the contradictory sensations of warm breath and a chill from Angel’s still damp hair on his neck.
Feeling the need to re-establish some dominance, Spike swiftly turns around and shoves Angel against the door. The other man laughs but is cut short instantly by a hungry mouth, a tongue that’s exploring his lips and demanding entrance. Angel surrenders willingly for the moment, answering with the same desire as they kiss like starving men, their hands roaming over clothes still cool and clammy from the rain. When Spike begins to open Angel’s shirt with one hand while the other still holds the bottle, the dark-haired man grabs his upper arms and walks him back towards the bed, breaking the kiss to look the smaller man directly in the eye when he pushes him on the creaking bed.
Propped on his elbows, Spike watches Angel taking the Whisky from his hand and swallowing a generous swig from the bottle, rubbing his hand over his chin. Fuck, the guy is sexy. Spike’s cock agrees, filling rapidly, while his eyes roam over the broad shoulders and the angelic features that seem to cover the carnivore behind only deficiently while Big Hands takes his suit jacket off and throws it over the chairback.
Keeping eye contact, Angel climbs the bed and straddles Spike. Sitting in his lap and making the tiniest movement to bring their growing erections together through the layers of cloth, he unbuttons Spike’s light blue shirt with one hand while he presses the thumb of the other on Spike’s slightly opened lips. The digit moves towards Spike’s chin, getting wet when it drags the bottom lip a bit, and forces his mouth open. Spike’s groan drowns in a draft of whisky directly from Angel’s mouth, the wet lips only ghosting over the blond’s, who tries to close the gap but is restrained by a determined thumb. He closes his eyes, sensing the burn of the alcohol down his throat and relishing the weight of the man above him.
“Undress”, Angel whispers in his ear and suddenly the weight is gone and Spike’s eyes snap open. Angel leans against the wall, drinking continuously and observing Spike in the half shadow as he slips out of his clothes, sitting on the edge of the bed, at first the shirt, then shoes and socks. Opening his belt, he asks “What ‘bout you? Not exactly a strip show here”.
“I will.”
“Well then, hurry up, mate.”
Angel smiles, his eyes unreadable and takes a step towards Spike, shoving the blond’s hands from his fly to accomplish the task of undressing the slim, muscled body himself.
Hesitating, Spike allows Angel to pull off his trousers, haunted by the sensation to expose more than bare skin. Vulnerability sparks anger and he roughly grabs for Angel’s belt but instantly is hold firmly and manhandled back to the bed. The bigger man hurts him and Spike protests volubly but as soon as he lies spread-eagled beneath Angel’s heavy form, soothing words of repentance, designed to make him give in, are whispered in his ear and tender hands stroke along his sides, causing an involuntary shiver.
Angel slips half off Spike’s body, curious fingers play with a small hard nipple and Spike bows to follow the sensation of skin on cotton, longing to feel smooth flesh, when he hears clothes rustling. It takes a few seconds until he realizes what the belt in Angel’s hand and his fingers entwining with his to stretch his arm towards the headboard mean.
“Do you trust me?” Angel breathes as his lips ghost over Spike’s face, never touching his skin with more than hot breath that smells of Whisky and arduously controlled lust.
Spike laughs out loud.
“Are you kidding me? Fuck. Of course I don’t, you bastard!”
Simultaneously biting Spike’s neck and chuckling Angel mutters “clever boy”.
“No, of course, you don’t.” Then he braces his face on one hand and fastening his eye on Spike’s strained features he asks earnestly “but do you want to trust me?”.
Spike instinctively turns his head, a line of confusion between his furrowed brows and tenses. His brain yells ‘no’ but damn, he wants to, more than he can bear. He craves what comes after the trust, the tailspin of giving up control, of getting rid of charge, and so he acts against every instinct, every sensible thought and slowly, very slowly, his eyes clenched shut, he brings his arms above his head, wrists crossed. Fear and lust are battling within him in equal measures when Big Hands ties him up tightly, hurting him once more and making sure that the leather belt isn’t a playful symbol but a secure restraint.
It’s more intense than Spike had imagined it to be when wanking in the shower, only ever imagining how it would be to give up the man he fights for to be day in and day out. More frightening and it makes him squirming beneath the other man, wanting to order Big Hands to free him but he keeps quiet because he doesn’t know what he wants less, Angel obeying or Angel ignoring his will.
Suddenly, Angel’s gone again and Spike groans in frustration but not ready yet to say anything or just opening his eyes. Cold sweat begins to form on his forehead.
The sound of swallowing, glass on wood, a familiar ‘click click’.
“So… manipulative candles, transforming us into aboulic slaves of the unconscious. Sneaky undercover agents in the battle for the perfect ductile consumer, working in secrecy. And, oh look, it’s got a pretty little flame and gaudy colours to scream ‘look at me, I’m a secret manipulator but hush!’ Honestly, who’s stupid enough to pay for that idiocy?” Angel mumbles, more to himself, as he sits besides Spike’s sprawled form on the dingy bedspread, musing and playing with the slender, white candle in his hands.
Spike tries to get up, furious, but is hold in place tightly by a strong hand on his chest. He berates himself for being so stupid. Being in competition with other salesmen, with every other man on the whole fucking planet it seems, he knows this type of guy and should have known that Big Hands is one to smell weakness and use them against his rivals ruthlessly. Or against the people in his bed. Actually, he did know, did sense it after the first few orders from the other cubicle in the tea room, and probably, that’s exactly what’s brought him here, naked and tied up.
“You soddin’ asshole, who do you…” he begins to yell but is silenced by a rough kiss. Spike bites, tearing soft flesh and tastes blood as Angel jerks but doesn’t shrink back, kissing his blood-smeared way up the high cheekbones and whispering soothing apologies into Spike’s ear again.
“Shhh, baby, sorry, I’m so sorry. I’m an asshole, please… forgive… me.” Emphasizing every plea with a soft bite and teasing licks along Spike’s neck while keen fingers enclose Spike’s engorged dick, pumping it slowly.
“Untie me.”
“No.”
“Listen, you bully, if you don’t…” A hand over his mouth silences him.
“Believe me, baby, you don’t want me to. Not when I could touch you all over instead, lick your hole and swallow that beautiful dick of yours till your balls tingle and you shoot your load down my throat”. He squeezes the tip of Spikes hard cock tenderly, rubs lightly over the red head to collect a glistening bead of precum on his index finger and brings it to his lips, ignoring every precaution.
“I bet, you taste better than Whisky”, he smiles, “better than anything.”
He kisses his way down Spike’s body until he reaches the erection twitching angrily on Spike’s flat abdomen and swallows the head, dipping his tongue into the slit the way Spike has done to him, assuming correctly that the blond did to him what he prefers, and elicits a groan. Pressing his tongue to the swollen vein on the underside, he does as announced, scraping the tip of Spike’s cock along his throat and swallowing hard until he feels the blond tense and moan senseless curses.
“Actually, I wanted to know something completely different about your merchandise” he mumbles, smiling around the silken, steely cock before he sits up again, lifting the candle and dragging the blunt end along the delicate skin of Spike’s inner thigh, “but I’ll find out anyway.”
He drags a lighter out of his pocket and enkindles the candle. “When I take my hand away, will you be a good boy and tell me how hot they can get? I promise you’ll be rewarded… if I’m in the mood.” Angel smirks lasciviously and Spike’s balls tingle. Damn. He’s too stressed to even know how he’s feeling. He’s too exhausted to fight, his pride too hurt to give in, though he wants to albeit the bastard’s arrogance.
And then, Angel gives him something else to focus on as liquid wax burns his chest.
“Fuck”, he cries out, startling, as soon as his mouth’s free.
“How hot?”
“42 - 46 degree Celsius, for fucking’s sake!”
“Perfect”, Angel says calmly, brushing aside a small drop of wax from his own forearm, “probably your credit cards would be funded if you’d sell them as bdsm toys”.
Before Spike can demand to be untied again, Big Hands mutters “sorry”, and blows little clouds of breath along the transparent pearls of hot wax that are tracing a line from Spike’s collarbone via his navel down to the brunette nest of curls.
Fuck fuck fuck! Spike’s body bows under the assault, his over-sensitized skin burning in a way he never experienced before from the confusing mixture of warmth and Angel’s breath that’s cool in comparison to the hot wax. It makes his skin prickle and the liquid drops harden till they are white patches on his already pale body.
The sensation burns his resistance to ashes as a new wave of lust rushes over him.
Liquid heat and cool breath set his groin on fire.
“You’re so close, boy, aren’t you?”, Angel states mockingly.
Fuck yes, Spike thinks, and he feels his balls drawing tight to his body, feels his cock twitching and yes, he’s going to come, come so hard, pushed over the edge by these few words, but then there’s a hand that brutally squeezes the base of his cock.
“But not yet.” Angel groans hoarsely. His captive whimpers, too needy to be enraged.
“Please -”, he whispers, his bound hands clenching desperately.
“Please what?”
Spike only snarls in frustration, throwing his head back into the pillow, and Angel laughs.
Still dressed entirely, Angel kneels on the bed between Spike’s thighs, dividing them with determined movements, and douses the candle with two damp fingers. After letting fall the last cooling drops onto Spike’s angry erection and dragging the hot end of the candle along his captives groin for a while, he forces it into Spike’s mouth. The blond grimaces, afraid of the threatening burn but then envelopes the cooling wax with his saliva and let’s Angel tease his mouth with the candle slowly.
“Listen, mate, this teasing thing really is peachy, no doubt, but please, for heaven’s sake, I. Need. To. Come! Damned.” Spike spits angrily when the candle has left his mouth.
“You’re so impatient”, Big Hands says, acting puffed up. “But, ‘cause it’s you and you beg so prettily, we’ll speed things up a little” and suddenly, Spike feels the spit-slick hastate end of the candle shoved between his ass cheeks while Angel lifts one of his legs to gain better access to his hole.
“No!”, Spike cries, trying to escape with his wrists bound tightly above his head and one leg in the air.
“I never… you know…” he stutters. Big Hands stars at him, obviously confused.
“You never what, got fucked with a candle?” Angel asks, as if that’s the most common thing on the world, lying bound in a dingy motel room bed with a stranger who intends to fuck you with a candle. A candle, you actually want to present to costumers the next day.
“Bit kinky, aren’t we?” Spike replies defensively and chuckles when he sees Angel smile, remembering their first few words through the hole in the wall. He realizes that it’s the first moment since the kiss in the lavatory that they actually share a smile.
Angel positions Spike’s leg on his shoulders and presses a small peck to his knee.
“So you want to tell me you’ve never bottomed?”
Spike’s blush is answer enough.
“Do you want to do it tonight?”
“Will you stop if I say no?”
“Yes.” For all the ruthlessness he has shown so far and though pestering desire lightens his eyes, Angel’s voice is quit and reassuring and maybe, Spike thinks, there is a part inside him that can be trusted. It confuses him how much he wishes for it.
“O.K., do it…. but not, you know…”, he nods toward the candle, which instantly is sent flying through the room, ricocheting off the wall with a muffled thump.
“You always have that with you?” the blond asks with a frown as Angel fetches a small tube of lubricant and wets two fingers with it.
“Not exactly, my ex left it in the car.”
“Oh. What’s her name?”
Angel hesitates, obviously thinking about something, and Spike curses himself for asking.
“Lindsey. That’s the name.”
“My wife’s called Linda.” Spike curses himself a little bit more. He should leave her out of that motel room that suddenly seems to be even dirtier and darker than before.
“And you’re informing me about your wife’s name while I’m doing this to you because…?” Big Hands asks conversationally as he slides one finger into Spike’s opening, stroking along the inner wall lazily, then crooking the digit in exactly the right place and sending a bolt of lust through Spike’s entire body.
“Maybe also the kids names?” A second finger, stroking, crooking, heat. Fuck. Spike pants heavily, too lost in the unexpected sensation to hear the slight undertone of annoyance in Angel’s words as he thrusts into him increasingly hard.
“Fuck yes, do this again. Please. This feels so… feels so damned good, so…”
Spike hears himself whimpering because of the feeling of emptiness as Angel’s fingers back down to finally open his dark cashmere slacks. The large, erect cock springs free and Angel strokes it a few times, rolling a condom over it and generously covering it with lube. Spike longs to touch, to taste it, instantly, remembering the smooth hardness in his mouth.
“Don’t stop. Undress. Wanna see you, too, pet.”
“No.”
“Bugger. Have you ever talked about your dominance issues to your thera…”
And then he’s entered, the thick cock head pressing through the tight ring of muscle in one swift stroke and Spike cries out, taken by surprise and shocked how much pain the intrusion inflicts though the fingers felt so damn good.
“Quiet, baby, go on breathing. Yeah, right, like that. See, I won’t move before you’re ready.”
“Fucker!” Spike presses through clenched lips.
“That’s the concept.”
Fisting Spike’s cock, Angel tries to help Spike to ride out the pain but is stopped after the second stroke.
“One more touch and I’m over the edge, so keep your mitts to yourself and get your arse in gear, wanker.”
“And once again, the British politeness cliché obviously stops in front of the bedroom door.”
“Move!” It’s more a plea than an order and Spike can see something inside Angel melt though it doesn’t take long until both of them concentrate on their own bodies, chasing the sensations of tightness, friction and heat.
Spike doesn’t hear the loud moan of the motel bed, doesn’t realize how the belt cuts into the skin of his wrists and leaves them sore and hurting. The shame about his longing to be submissive has turned into the satisfaction of giving lust and being wanted. All he senses is the powerful body above him, in him, thrusting vigorously, most likely causing bruises on his inner thighs. Though it feels like his brain went liquid, he knows with startling clarity that now, in this moment with this foreigner penetrating more than his arse, he crosses a line. It’s painful to accept and anguish curls inside his stomach like a ball but coevally he feels like flying, leaving behind the cage he has locked himself in.
Bracing himself on one arm, Angel’s other hand fixes Spike’s bound wrists, holding them down though it’s not necessary, a display of dominance. “Do you like it, getting it up your ass, baby?” he moans, his face tense with lust. “Oh yes, you do, look how you squirm and moan. Come on, tell me how hungry for my cock you are. How. Does. This. Feel?” he asks, accentuating every word with a coarse thrust.
Spike, lying supine under the other mans weight stars at him with glassy eyes, his voice croaky and uneven. “It still hurts… in a good way. Jeez, you’re big. But it…yes, like this… it’s getting’ easier… and fuck, it feel’s good. Feels like… being filled out, feeling your cock twitch when I clamp down… inside my body… so good…”.He’s having problems to control his voice and Angel answers with a guttural snarl.
Pleased with Spike’s words, Big Hands rewards him with praise, telling him how tight and hot and beautiful he is but then bites his lip as if he wants to prevent himself from saying more and stops talking, shrinking into himself.
The blond watches the handsome contorted features with fascination, trying to absorb and memorize every second, every picture, every smell and every sound, letting his body do the thrusting back instinctively, knowing that he will go back into his not remotely gilded cage whatever he has to sacrifice after this night. But in this very moment there’s Big Hands’ heavy form rubbing against him, exercising delicious friction on his almost over-stimulated cock, and with a fervent jolt of pleasure every thought vanishes as his own orgasm takes him by surprise.
He can’t remember having ever had a climax like this, one that thrills his whole body as hot jets of semen spurt from his cock and leaves him boneless and dizzy. The muscles in his arse clench involuntarily and that pushes Angel over the edge. Subduing a cry, he bites into Spike’s shoulder and the blond feels the other mans cock twitching inside him, cuming inside him, and though he’s spent and on the brink of falling asleep, he’s feeling a entirely new form of desire and satisfaction.
He barely notices as Big Hands collapses on him, his heavy frame boneless and panting raggedly.
Title: Selling Candles (2/3)
Pairing: William/Angel, Spike/Angel
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: After a short glance at my bank account and into my T-Shirt I can state without any doubt - no, not Joss Whedon. Don’t sue - it’s not worth…
Summary: AU. Salesman William Loman meets a stranger in a ‘tea room’.
Warnings: No beta, I’m not a native speaker. Test your linguistic tolerance. Can contain traces of light bdsm.
My nekid numbers are Angel, Candle and Glory Hole…
Second part of the outcome of my fabulous nekid numbers. In part 1 failed salesman William Loman accidently winds up in a tea room and - decidedly less accidently and not for the first time - goes down on a stranger through a glory hole. (Dear native speakers - are 'tea room' and 'glory hole' common vocabulary for you or am I the only one who had to google?). Well, it was nice, obviously, and therefore Spike invites Angel to his motel room...
Selling candles - part 2
The navigation system chooses this night to break down. Of course it does. Starring time and again into the driving mirror to check if the low-slung headlights are still following him and to which kind of car they belong, Spike misses the drive to the motel and has to reverse, swearing silently. His palms are sweaty. This, taking another man to a room, a bed, he never did before. He can’t say on how many anonymous men he went down already, how many strangers he brought off while starring at the flickering screen of a dingy blue movie theatre, never in their faces, how many fists and mouths have touched his cock, but this is new and it freaks him out.
When his hand clutches at the car key, he thinks about starting the motor again and driving away, fleeing from the brink that separates the live he leads and wants from the abyss his need yanks him towards. But this night, he has turned to face one of the men and now, his live a collapsing house of cards anyway, he’s too exhausted and longing not to give in. So he takes out the key and steps out into the residual drizzle, smiling tightly at the man he calls Angel as he strides out of the darkness of the parking lot.
After the pretty blond concierge handed the second plastic back to Spike, rolling her eyes irritably, a big hand from behind slides a black credit card across the counter discretely. The woman’s face lightens like Vegas at sunset and she flashes Angel flirtatious glances, apologising for the request to pay in advance and informing him sweetly that there’s unfortunately no mini bar in the room but that he can buy beverages here. Or maybe he wants to have a drink at the bar down the road? Her name is Darla and she happens to be there, too, after hours. Spike, enraged and ashamed to be ignored, hears with satisfaction how she’s turned down as politely as briefly. When he grabs the bottle of cheap Whisky, he twitches one brow and smirks salaciously, making sure she understands the situation, covering the burning shame with this tiny triumph.
“You’re always taking this with you?” Angel asks, nodding towards the sample case in Spike’s hand. The blond blushes. He didn’t even notice that he took it along but Angel’s already unlocking the door and Spike’s afraid that he won’t come back if he brings the abhorred thing back to the car, so he hurriedly shuffles it under the only chair in the sordid motel room. Feeling responsible for the surrounding, he looks around the small room and notices dirt in the corners, a burn hole in the floral bedspread, dubious stains on the wall. Before he dares to check the floor, those incredibly big strong hands embrace him from behind and he feels the contradictory sensations of warm breath and a chill from Angel’s still damp hair on his neck.
Feeling the need to re-establish some dominance, Spike swiftly turns around and shoves Angel against the door. The other man laughs but is cut short instantly by a hungry mouth, a tongue that’s exploring his lips and demanding entrance. Angel surrenders willingly for the moment, answering with the same desire as they kiss like starving men, their hands roaming over clothes still cool and clammy from the rain. When Spike begins to open Angel’s shirt with one hand while the other still holds the bottle, the dark-haired man grabs his upper arms and walks him back towards the bed, breaking the kiss to look the smaller man directly in the eye when he pushes him on the creaking bed.
Propped on his elbows, Spike watches Angel taking the Whisky from his hand and swallowing a generous swig from the bottle, rubbing his hand over his chin. Fuck, the guy is sexy. Spike’s cock agrees, filling rapidly, while his eyes roam over the broad shoulders and the angelic features that seem to cover the carnivore behind only deficiently while Big Hands takes his suit jacket off and throws it over the chairback.
Keeping eye contact, Angel climbs the bed and straddles Spike. Sitting in his lap and making the tiniest movement to bring their growing erections together through the layers of cloth, he unbuttons Spike’s light blue shirt with one hand while he presses the thumb of the other on Spike’s slightly opened lips. The digit moves towards Spike’s chin, getting wet when it drags the bottom lip a bit, and forces his mouth open. Spike’s groan drowns in a draft of whisky directly from Angel’s mouth, the wet lips only ghosting over the blond’s, who tries to close the gap but is restrained by a determined thumb. He closes his eyes, sensing the burn of the alcohol down his throat and relishing the weight of the man above him.
“Undress”, Angel whispers in his ear and suddenly the weight is gone and Spike’s eyes snap open. Angel leans against the wall, drinking continuously and observing Spike in the half shadow as he slips out of his clothes, sitting on the edge of the bed, at first the shirt, then shoes and socks. Opening his belt, he asks “What ‘bout you? Not exactly a strip show here”.
“I will.”
“Well then, hurry up, mate.”
Angel smiles, his eyes unreadable and takes a step towards Spike, shoving the blond’s hands from his fly to accomplish the task of undressing the slim, muscled body himself.
Hesitating, Spike allows Angel to pull off his trousers, haunted by the sensation to expose more than bare skin. Vulnerability sparks anger and he roughly grabs for Angel’s belt but instantly is hold firmly and manhandled back to the bed. The bigger man hurts him and Spike protests volubly but as soon as he lies spread-eagled beneath Angel’s heavy form, soothing words of repentance, designed to make him give in, are whispered in his ear and tender hands stroke along his sides, causing an involuntary shiver.
Angel slips half off Spike’s body, curious fingers play with a small hard nipple and Spike bows to follow the sensation of skin on cotton, longing to feel smooth flesh, when he hears clothes rustling. It takes a few seconds until he realizes what the belt in Angel’s hand and his fingers entwining with his to stretch his arm towards the headboard mean.
“Do you trust me?” Angel breathes as his lips ghost over Spike’s face, never touching his skin with more than hot breath that smells of Whisky and arduously controlled lust.
Spike laughs out loud.
“Are you kidding me? Fuck. Of course I don’t, you bastard!”
Simultaneously biting Spike’s neck and chuckling Angel mutters “clever boy”.
“No, of course, you don’t.” Then he braces his face on one hand and fastening his eye on Spike’s strained features he asks earnestly “but do you want to trust me?”.
Spike instinctively turns his head, a line of confusion between his furrowed brows and tenses. His brain yells ‘no’ but damn, he wants to, more than he can bear. He craves what comes after the trust, the tailspin of giving up control, of getting rid of charge, and so he acts against every instinct, every sensible thought and slowly, very slowly, his eyes clenched shut, he brings his arms above his head, wrists crossed. Fear and lust are battling within him in equal measures when Big Hands ties him up tightly, hurting him once more and making sure that the leather belt isn’t a playful symbol but a secure restraint.
It’s more intense than Spike had imagined it to be when wanking in the shower, only ever imagining how it would be to give up the man he fights for to be day in and day out. More frightening and it makes him squirming beneath the other man, wanting to order Big Hands to free him but he keeps quiet because he doesn’t know what he wants less, Angel obeying or Angel ignoring his will.
Suddenly, Angel’s gone again and Spike groans in frustration but not ready yet to say anything or just opening his eyes. Cold sweat begins to form on his forehead.
The sound of swallowing, glass on wood, a familiar ‘click click’.
“So… manipulative candles, transforming us into aboulic slaves of the unconscious. Sneaky undercover agents in the battle for the perfect ductile consumer, working in secrecy. And, oh look, it’s got a pretty little flame and gaudy colours to scream ‘look at me, I’m a secret manipulator but hush!’ Honestly, who’s stupid enough to pay for that idiocy?” Angel mumbles, more to himself, as he sits besides Spike’s sprawled form on the dingy bedspread, musing and playing with the slender, white candle in his hands.
Spike tries to get up, furious, but is hold in place tightly by a strong hand on his chest. He berates himself for being so stupid. Being in competition with other salesmen, with every other man on the whole fucking planet it seems, he knows this type of guy and should have known that Big Hands is one to smell weakness and use them against his rivals ruthlessly. Or against the people in his bed. Actually, he did know, did sense it after the first few orders from the other cubicle in the tea room, and probably, that’s exactly what’s brought him here, naked and tied up.
“You soddin’ asshole, who do you…” he begins to yell but is silenced by a rough kiss. Spike bites, tearing soft flesh and tastes blood as Angel jerks but doesn’t shrink back, kissing his blood-smeared way up the high cheekbones and whispering soothing apologies into Spike’s ear again.
“Shhh, baby, sorry, I’m so sorry. I’m an asshole, please… forgive… me.” Emphasizing every plea with a soft bite and teasing licks along Spike’s neck while keen fingers enclose Spike’s engorged dick, pumping it slowly.
“Untie me.”
“No.”
“Listen, you bully, if you don’t…” A hand over his mouth silences him.
“Believe me, baby, you don’t want me to. Not when I could touch you all over instead, lick your hole and swallow that beautiful dick of yours till your balls tingle and you shoot your load down my throat”. He squeezes the tip of Spikes hard cock tenderly, rubs lightly over the red head to collect a glistening bead of precum on his index finger and brings it to his lips, ignoring every precaution.
“I bet, you taste better than Whisky”, he smiles, “better than anything.”
He kisses his way down Spike’s body until he reaches the erection twitching angrily on Spike’s flat abdomen and swallows the head, dipping his tongue into the slit the way Spike has done to him, assuming correctly that the blond did to him what he prefers, and elicits a groan. Pressing his tongue to the swollen vein on the underside, he does as announced, scraping the tip of Spike’s cock along his throat and swallowing hard until he feels the blond tense and moan senseless curses.
“Actually, I wanted to know something completely different about your merchandise” he mumbles, smiling around the silken, steely cock before he sits up again, lifting the candle and dragging the blunt end along the delicate skin of Spike’s inner thigh, “but I’ll find out anyway.”
He drags a lighter out of his pocket and enkindles the candle. “When I take my hand away, will you be a good boy and tell me how hot they can get? I promise you’ll be rewarded… if I’m in the mood.” Angel smirks lasciviously and Spike’s balls tingle. Damn. He’s too stressed to even know how he’s feeling. He’s too exhausted to fight, his pride too hurt to give in, though he wants to albeit the bastard’s arrogance.
And then, Angel gives him something else to focus on as liquid wax burns his chest.
“Fuck”, he cries out, startling, as soon as his mouth’s free.
“How hot?”
“42 - 46 degree Celsius, for fucking’s sake!”
“Perfect”, Angel says calmly, brushing aside a small drop of wax from his own forearm, “probably your credit cards would be funded if you’d sell them as bdsm toys”.
Before Spike can demand to be untied again, Big Hands mutters “sorry”, and blows little clouds of breath along the transparent pearls of hot wax that are tracing a line from Spike’s collarbone via his navel down to the brunette nest of curls.
Fuck fuck fuck! Spike’s body bows under the assault, his over-sensitized skin burning in a way he never experienced before from the confusing mixture of warmth and Angel’s breath that’s cool in comparison to the hot wax. It makes his skin prickle and the liquid drops harden till they are white patches on his already pale body.
The sensation burns his resistance to ashes as a new wave of lust rushes over him.
Liquid heat and cool breath set his groin on fire.
“You’re so close, boy, aren’t you?”, Angel states mockingly.
Fuck yes, Spike thinks, and he feels his balls drawing tight to his body, feels his cock twitching and yes, he’s going to come, come so hard, pushed over the edge by these few words, but then there’s a hand that brutally squeezes the base of his cock.
“But not yet.” Angel groans hoarsely. His captive whimpers, too needy to be enraged.
“Please -”, he whispers, his bound hands clenching desperately.
“Please what?”
Spike only snarls in frustration, throwing his head back into the pillow, and Angel laughs.
Still dressed entirely, Angel kneels on the bed between Spike’s thighs, dividing them with determined movements, and douses the candle with two damp fingers. After letting fall the last cooling drops onto Spike’s angry erection and dragging the hot end of the candle along his captives groin for a while, he forces it into Spike’s mouth. The blond grimaces, afraid of the threatening burn but then envelopes the cooling wax with his saliva and let’s Angel tease his mouth with the candle slowly.
“Listen, mate, this teasing thing really is peachy, no doubt, but please, for heaven’s sake, I. Need. To. Come! Damned.” Spike spits angrily when the candle has left his mouth.
“You’re so impatient”, Big Hands says, acting puffed up. “But, ‘cause it’s you and you beg so prettily, we’ll speed things up a little” and suddenly, Spike feels the spit-slick hastate end of the candle shoved between his ass cheeks while Angel lifts one of his legs to gain better access to his hole.
“No!”, Spike cries, trying to escape with his wrists bound tightly above his head and one leg in the air.
“I never… you know…” he stutters. Big Hands stars at him, obviously confused.
“You never what, got fucked with a candle?” Angel asks, as if that’s the most common thing on the world, lying bound in a dingy motel room bed with a stranger who intends to fuck you with a candle. A candle, you actually want to present to costumers the next day.
“Bit kinky, aren’t we?” Spike replies defensively and chuckles when he sees Angel smile, remembering their first few words through the hole in the wall. He realizes that it’s the first moment since the kiss in the lavatory that they actually share a smile.
Angel positions Spike’s leg on his shoulders and presses a small peck to his knee.
“So you want to tell me you’ve never bottomed?”
Spike’s blush is answer enough.
“Do you want to do it tonight?”
“Will you stop if I say no?”
“Yes.” For all the ruthlessness he has shown so far and though pestering desire lightens his eyes, Angel’s voice is quit and reassuring and maybe, Spike thinks, there is a part inside him that can be trusted. It confuses him how much he wishes for it.
“O.K., do it…. but not, you know…”, he nods toward the candle, which instantly is sent flying through the room, ricocheting off the wall with a muffled thump.
“You always have that with you?” the blond asks with a frown as Angel fetches a small tube of lubricant and wets two fingers with it.
“Not exactly, my ex left it in the car.”
“Oh. What’s her name?”
Angel hesitates, obviously thinking about something, and Spike curses himself for asking.
“Lindsey. That’s the name.”
“My wife’s called Linda.” Spike curses himself a little bit more. He should leave her out of that motel room that suddenly seems to be even dirtier and darker than before.
“And you’re informing me about your wife’s name while I’m doing this to you because…?” Big Hands asks conversationally as he slides one finger into Spike’s opening, stroking along the inner wall lazily, then crooking the digit in exactly the right place and sending a bolt of lust through Spike’s entire body.
“Maybe also the kids names?” A second finger, stroking, crooking, heat. Fuck. Spike pants heavily, too lost in the unexpected sensation to hear the slight undertone of annoyance in Angel’s words as he thrusts into him increasingly hard.
“Fuck yes, do this again. Please. This feels so… feels so damned good, so…”
Spike hears himself whimpering because of the feeling of emptiness as Angel’s fingers back down to finally open his dark cashmere slacks. The large, erect cock springs free and Angel strokes it a few times, rolling a condom over it and generously covering it with lube. Spike longs to touch, to taste it, instantly, remembering the smooth hardness in his mouth.
“Don’t stop. Undress. Wanna see you, too, pet.”
“No.”
“Bugger. Have you ever talked about your dominance issues to your thera…”
And then he’s entered, the thick cock head pressing through the tight ring of muscle in one swift stroke and Spike cries out, taken by surprise and shocked how much pain the intrusion inflicts though the fingers felt so damn good.
“Quiet, baby, go on breathing. Yeah, right, like that. See, I won’t move before you’re ready.”
“Fucker!” Spike presses through clenched lips.
“That’s the concept.”
Fisting Spike’s cock, Angel tries to help Spike to ride out the pain but is stopped after the second stroke.
“One more touch and I’m over the edge, so keep your mitts to yourself and get your arse in gear, wanker.”
“And once again, the British politeness cliché obviously stops in front of the bedroom door.”
“Move!” It’s more a plea than an order and Spike can see something inside Angel melt though it doesn’t take long until both of them concentrate on their own bodies, chasing the sensations of tightness, friction and heat.
Spike doesn’t hear the loud moan of the motel bed, doesn’t realize how the belt cuts into the skin of his wrists and leaves them sore and hurting. The shame about his longing to be submissive has turned into the satisfaction of giving lust and being wanted. All he senses is the powerful body above him, in him, thrusting vigorously, most likely causing bruises on his inner thighs. Though it feels like his brain went liquid, he knows with startling clarity that now, in this moment with this foreigner penetrating more than his arse, he crosses a line. It’s painful to accept and anguish curls inside his stomach like a ball but coevally he feels like flying, leaving behind the cage he has locked himself in.
Bracing himself on one arm, Angel’s other hand fixes Spike’s bound wrists, holding them down though it’s not necessary, a display of dominance. “Do you like it, getting it up your ass, baby?” he moans, his face tense with lust. “Oh yes, you do, look how you squirm and moan. Come on, tell me how hungry for my cock you are. How. Does. This. Feel?” he asks, accentuating every word with a coarse thrust.
Spike, lying supine under the other mans weight stars at him with glassy eyes, his voice croaky and uneven. “It still hurts… in a good way. Jeez, you’re big. But it…yes, like this… it’s getting’ easier… and fuck, it feel’s good. Feels like… being filled out, feeling your cock twitch when I clamp down… inside my body… so good…”.He’s having problems to control his voice and Angel answers with a guttural snarl.
Pleased with Spike’s words, Big Hands rewards him with praise, telling him how tight and hot and beautiful he is but then bites his lip as if he wants to prevent himself from saying more and stops talking, shrinking into himself.
The blond watches the handsome contorted features with fascination, trying to absorb and memorize every second, every picture, every smell and every sound, letting his body do the thrusting back instinctively, knowing that he will go back into his not remotely gilded cage whatever he has to sacrifice after this night. But in this very moment there’s Big Hands’ heavy form rubbing against him, exercising delicious friction on his almost over-stimulated cock, and with a fervent jolt of pleasure every thought vanishes as his own orgasm takes him by surprise.
He can’t remember having ever had a climax like this, one that thrills his whole body as hot jets of semen spurt from his cock and leaves him boneless and dizzy. The muscles in his arse clench involuntarily and that pushes Angel over the edge. Subduing a cry, he bites into Spike’s shoulder and the blond feels the other mans cock twitching inside him, cuming inside him, and though he’s spent and on the brink of falling asleep, he’s feeling a entirely new form of desire and satisfaction.
He barely notices as Big Hands collapses on him, his heavy frame boneless and panting raggedly.