Shattered Shards 10/18
Title: Shattered Shards 10/?
Pairings: N/A
Appropriate Ratings: NC17 overall
Warnings: non-con, slavery, groveling, but really not much. More of a “Move the story along” chapter then anything else.
Disclaimers: Not my characters. I make no money off this, I'm just playing. I promise to give them a bath and thorough cleaning when I’m done! Joss Whedon is my lord and Master. All hail Joss Whedon.
Short Summary: Spike gets some time to think, and makes a few decisions, while Angelus makes one of his own.
Word Count: 1353 (As per MS Word Count)
Beta: Tamakin84, any errors are mine and mine alone.
X-posted to: perverted_pages, A_darker_angel, darker_spike and My IJ
This Fic Won Awards!
And
Comments make me smile, and keep the muse going!
Non work-safe banner beneath the cut
Banner by: Tamakin84
Previously:
Spike found himself approving of the brunets quiet obedience. Maybe if they both stayed obedient things would go easier on them, maybe not, but really it was the only weapon he had against his Sire. Sometimes the demon curled up in the dead body of a centuries old Irishman could be appeased with blatant shows of submission. Spike had seen Angelus almost delighted, calm, rational, and less impulsive from the calming affect his submission gave to the demon.
Of course if Angelus was infuriated it usually took a lot longer to calm him. Things would be so much easier if Xander just kept a watch on his tongue and obeyed without question… then again that would be like asking Dru to stay lucid longer then five seconds.
He sighed softly. This is not going to end well…
And now:
They waited, kneeling at the foot of the monstrous bed, chains leading from collars and locked to the foot board. Spike ignored the few muffled attempts Xander made to communicate, he knew they were being watched, and really what could the whelp possibly say to make this situation any better than it was?
Spike looked up from beneath his lashes when he saw Xander shift his position. The boy winced as he took his weight off his knees and sat on his hip. It seemed that this was a signal for something because as soon as he settled himself the door opened, and in strode his Sire.
Spike would never be able to deny the thrill of longing that struck him deep in the gut and groin at the sight of his Sire stalking towards them. He carefully kept his eyes lowered, head bowed, his every line showing nothing but abject submission. The beast within him whimpered softly, wanting to crawl over on hands and knees, head low to the ground, and prostate himself before the dark vampire, and beg to be forgiven for being taken away. He wanted his Sire to accept him back into the family, back into the fold… it was so cold outside… but he knew it would never happen. Angelus enjoyed his pain way too much to give up his plaything now.
It was stupid, the part of him that longed to be accepted, to be welcome, to be loved. He’d do anything for that, but Angelus just… didn’t want that. He wanted a pretty little slave boy to beat and fuck and abuse and torture and teach to dance to the elders songs, not family, he’d never wanted family.
He blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears that threatened to fall from spilling his pain wetly down his face. He waited, waited to see the bare feet, the muscled calves encased in cool black silk loosely tied at the waist, to hear his voice rumble from the deep bare chest and tumble from his lips… though they’d never be the words he wanted to hear.
Xander struggled madly beside him, screaming mutely through lips that no longer existed. He wanted to get away, run away from the beast striding towards him. He felt like a hamster in a clear glass bowl with a lion striding towards him. When Angelus towered above his madly scrambling form and did nothing but shorten his leash till his nose was pressed against the footboard he didn’t know if he should be grateful that nothing more was done, or anxiety that more was on the way.
Wait… of course there is more on the way! I took his toys away and gave them to another to play with. He’s going to skin me alive. Maybe if I’m lucky he’ll let me stay unconscious when I pass out from the pain… oh this isn’t going to be good, I’m going to die, and he’s going to kill me, oh gods, this isn’t going to be good, why did Willow DO this? Even if she’s… why would she give us BACK to Angelus? Why didn’t she keep us for her own tormenting pleasures?
His hands were pulled quickly behind him and chained tightly together; Xander was left with rolling his eyes wildly as his only form of resistance to the proceedings. He was left in his own little inner freak-out as the dark vampire made his way to his childe.
Angelus stopped on the edge of his limited vision, and Spike felt a shiver dance with ice tipped ballet shoes down his back. He didn’t even bother to look at Xander’s predicament, or pause to question what he would think; he just lay down on his stomach, flat on the deep pile of the carpet, and pressed his lips tenderly on his Sire’s toes.
Angelus chuckled darkly above the blond’s prone form, the sound of Xander’s distress barely audible but totally undeniable. He felt Spike settle his cheek upon his foot’s arch, felt the strain he was under to hide his trembling. Angelus slid gracefully into a crouch while balanced on his toes. He rested his large hands on his bent knees and carefully leaned down, breathing deeply of his childe’s scent, savoring the aroma of defeat curling off his pale skin. And here I was worried that he’d loose his training or get all uppity again. Boy finally knows his place… I wonder if it will last, he mused.
He spoke softly, curling each word through lungs, lips and teeth like a sensual caress, “Did you miss me Spike?”
He couldn’t help the shiver of delight when he caught Spike’s quiet sobs, or the lazy smile twisting his lips when the tear drenched words were finally revealed.
“Yes Sire…”
Oh those words… words that were freely given and not beaten out of him for a change… words that stirred his beast, made it pace inside him, howling to possess, dominate, OWN… Angelus had beaten him till he had but a fingernails grip on his un-life, he’d flayed Spike, raped him, left him starving and half mad, done whatever he pleased to make his childe scream and plead and beg on shattered knees with an abraded throat, all to hear those words…. Words that were spat at his feet, disgorged with bitterness and contempt and other times howled out while in exquisite agony. Sometimes it was fear that drove those words from his lips, loathing, distress, but never before had he heard that quiet tone of relief.
Angelus reached into his silk drawstring pants, shifting his engorged organ so it rested more comfortably against his belly, leaving the weeping tip barely exposed at his waist band. A content sigh slipped past his lips when that irritant was dealt with. Lazily he circled his thumb along his cock head, carefully collecting the seeping secretion of his pre-cum on the ball of that digit.
His piercing dark eyes kept themselves locked on Spike’s body, looking for any sign of resistance or rebellion, for any hesitation as he slid the dripping digit past Spike’s lax lips and into the moist cavern of his mouth. Spike didn’t hesitate, didn’t stop, didn’t react in any way other than the one that had been beaten into him countless months past… he suckled the proffered thumb with nimble lips and an agile, well trained tongue.
This beautiful beast was giving himself to Angelus, and it was driving him mad. He’d marked his boy, the same mark he’d given Buffy, the same mark he’d forced into William’s skin all those years ago, to humiliate him, and to let others know his place and owner, but he hadn’t re-claimed him, not really. He fairly salivated at the thought.
To mark him, really mark him as his, to bind the young vampire to his side for eternity, it tempted him. He felt the thought dance along his senses, driving home the image, the touch and feel, the taste in the air, the scent, Spike was HIS, his his his, and all he had to do was claim him, sink his fangs into cool flesh, fuck the words of submission out of him, and spray his scent inside him, marking him as property, marking him as owned and possessed. He’d been a fool to let his claim waiver and fade over decades of abandonment, his soul chained self didn’t know a good thing when it was gift wrapped and delivered to him.
He pulled his thumb from its intimate caress to tangle his thick fingers in the silky curls of his slave, noting he never once tensed, never flinched… he had given up. He was perfectly ripe for the plucking; all he had to do was give in to his urge… And why was he hesitating? What was holding him back, what was making him keep his desires and needs in check, holding in the demons need to possess, dominate, own own own? He twisted his fingers into a fist, dragging Spike to his knees with a painful tug, and smirked as he realized, nothing…
Previous parts are here.
Pairings: N/A
Appropriate Ratings: NC17 overall
Warnings: non-con, slavery, groveling, but really not much. More of a “Move the story along” chapter then anything else.
Disclaimers: Not my characters. I make no money off this, I'm just playing. I promise to give them a bath and thorough cleaning when I’m done! Joss Whedon is my lord and Master. All hail Joss Whedon.
Short Summary: Spike gets some time to think, and makes a few decisions, while Angelus makes one of his own.
Word Count: 1353 (As per MS Word Count)
Beta: Tamakin84, any errors are mine and mine alone.
X-posted to: perverted_pages, A_darker_angel, darker_spike and My IJ
This Fic Won Awards!
And
Comments make me smile, and keep the muse going!
Non work-safe banner beneath the cut
Banner by: Tamakin84
Previously:
Spike found himself approving of the brunets quiet obedience. Maybe if they both stayed obedient things would go easier on them, maybe not, but really it was the only weapon he had against his Sire. Sometimes the demon curled up in the dead body of a centuries old Irishman could be appeased with blatant shows of submission. Spike had seen Angelus almost delighted, calm, rational, and less impulsive from the calming affect his submission gave to the demon.
Of course if Angelus was infuriated it usually took a lot longer to calm him. Things would be so much easier if Xander just kept a watch on his tongue and obeyed without question… then again that would be like asking Dru to stay lucid longer then five seconds.
He sighed softly. This is not going to end well…
And now:
They waited, kneeling at the foot of the monstrous bed, chains leading from collars and locked to the foot board. Spike ignored the few muffled attempts Xander made to communicate, he knew they were being watched, and really what could the whelp possibly say to make this situation any better than it was?
Spike looked up from beneath his lashes when he saw Xander shift his position. The boy winced as he took his weight off his knees and sat on his hip. It seemed that this was a signal for something because as soon as he settled himself the door opened, and in strode his Sire.
Spike would never be able to deny the thrill of longing that struck him deep in the gut and groin at the sight of his Sire stalking towards them. He carefully kept his eyes lowered, head bowed, his every line showing nothing but abject submission. The beast within him whimpered softly, wanting to crawl over on hands and knees, head low to the ground, and prostate himself before the dark vampire, and beg to be forgiven for being taken away. He wanted his Sire to accept him back into the family, back into the fold… it was so cold outside… but he knew it would never happen. Angelus enjoyed his pain way too much to give up his plaything now.
It was stupid, the part of him that longed to be accepted, to be welcome, to be loved. He’d do anything for that, but Angelus just… didn’t want that. He wanted a pretty little slave boy to beat and fuck and abuse and torture and teach to dance to the elders songs, not family, he’d never wanted family.
He blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears that threatened to fall from spilling his pain wetly down his face. He waited, waited to see the bare feet, the muscled calves encased in cool black silk loosely tied at the waist, to hear his voice rumble from the deep bare chest and tumble from his lips… though they’d never be the words he wanted to hear.
Xander struggled madly beside him, screaming mutely through lips that no longer existed. He wanted to get away, run away from the beast striding towards him. He felt like a hamster in a clear glass bowl with a lion striding towards him. When Angelus towered above his madly scrambling form and did nothing but shorten his leash till his nose was pressed against the footboard he didn’t know if he should be grateful that nothing more was done, or anxiety that more was on the way.
Wait… of course there is more on the way! I took his toys away and gave them to another to play with. He’s going to skin me alive. Maybe if I’m lucky he’ll let me stay unconscious when I pass out from the pain… oh this isn’t going to be good, I’m going to die, and he’s going to kill me, oh gods, this isn’t going to be good, why did Willow DO this? Even if she’s… why would she give us BACK to Angelus? Why didn’t she keep us for her own tormenting pleasures?
His hands were pulled quickly behind him and chained tightly together; Xander was left with rolling his eyes wildly as his only form of resistance to the proceedings. He was left in his own little inner freak-out as the dark vampire made his way to his childe.
Angelus stopped on the edge of his limited vision, and Spike felt a shiver dance with ice tipped ballet shoes down his back. He didn’t even bother to look at Xander’s predicament, or pause to question what he would think; he just lay down on his stomach, flat on the deep pile of the carpet, and pressed his lips tenderly on his Sire’s toes.
Angelus chuckled darkly above the blond’s prone form, the sound of Xander’s distress barely audible but totally undeniable. He felt Spike settle his cheek upon his foot’s arch, felt the strain he was under to hide his trembling. Angelus slid gracefully into a crouch while balanced on his toes. He rested his large hands on his bent knees and carefully leaned down, breathing deeply of his childe’s scent, savoring the aroma of defeat curling off his pale skin. And here I was worried that he’d loose his training or get all uppity again. Boy finally knows his place… I wonder if it will last, he mused.
He spoke softly, curling each word through lungs, lips and teeth like a sensual caress, “Did you miss me Spike?”
He couldn’t help the shiver of delight when he caught Spike’s quiet sobs, or the lazy smile twisting his lips when the tear drenched words were finally revealed.
“Yes Sire…”
Oh those words… words that were freely given and not beaten out of him for a change… words that stirred his beast, made it pace inside him, howling to possess, dominate, OWN… Angelus had beaten him till he had but a fingernails grip on his un-life, he’d flayed Spike, raped him, left him starving and half mad, done whatever he pleased to make his childe scream and plead and beg on shattered knees with an abraded throat, all to hear those words…. Words that were spat at his feet, disgorged with bitterness and contempt and other times howled out while in exquisite agony. Sometimes it was fear that drove those words from his lips, loathing, distress, but never before had he heard that quiet tone of relief.
Angelus reached into his silk drawstring pants, shifting his engorged organ so it rested more comfortably against his belly, leaving the weeping tip barely exposed at his waist band. A content sigh slipped past his lips when that irritant was dealt with. Lazily he circled his thumb along his cock head, carefully collecting the seeping secretion of his pre-cum on the ball of that digit.
His piercing dark eyes kept themselves locked on Spike’s body, looking for any sign of resistance or rebellion, for any hesitation as he slid the dripping digit past Spike’s lax lips and into the moist cavern of his mouth. Spike didn’t hesitate, didn’t stop, didn’t react in any way other than the one that had been beaten into him countless months past… he suckled the proffered thumb with nimble lips and an agile, well trained tongue.
This beautiful beast was giving himself to Angelus, and it was driving him mad. He’d marked his boy, the same mark he’d given Buffy, the same mark he’d forced into William’s skin all those years ago, to humiliate him, and to let others know his place and owner, but he hadn’t re-claimed him, not really. He fairly salivated at the thought.
To mark him, really mark him as his, to bind the young vampire to his side for eternity, it tempted him. He felt the thought dance along his senses, driving home the image, the touch and feel, the taste in the air, the scent, Spike was HIS, his his his, and all he had to do was claim him, sink his fangs into cool flesh, fuck the words of submission out of him, and spray his scent inside him, marking him as property, marking him as owned and possessed. He’d been a fool to let his claim waiver and fade over decades of abandonment, his soul chained self didn’t know a good thing when it was gift wrapped and delivered to him.
He pulled his thumb from its intimate caress to tangle his thick fingers in the silky curls of his slave, noting he never once tensed, never flinched… he had given up. He was perfectly ripe for the plucking; all he had to do was give in to his urge… And why was he hesitating? What was holding him back, what was making him keep his desires and needs in check, holding in the demons need to possess, dominate, own own own? He twisted his fingers into a fist, dragging Spike to his knees with a painful tug, and smirked as he realized, nothing…
Previous parts are here.