Spike City Chapter 1
Because this is very new, I'm going to post the first chapter already. It's short, but I wanted to establish the main character, fill him out a little, before I have to go back to work tomorrow and lose most of my writing time for the next three days. Hopefully, the chapters will get longer as the story progresses.
Now I can spend the rest of the day working on Bangkok Butterfly.
Inspiring manip by my shiny shiny Queen shanmara
Chapter 1
Driving the sleek De Soto through the rain-washed streets of the city helped soothe Spike’s irritable mood. The windshield wipers ticked back and forth in a pleasant rhythm, gradually restoring his grin, the one he’d lost somewhere between finishing the latest job and jumping into his getaway car, a free agent again. Fuck.
After-kill letdown was a pisser. There was always a sense of futility tight in his gut at the end of a job. It took up residence inside him until he had the next file under his hands; the next target sussed out and in his sights. Hunter and prey. S’what he lived for.
Maybe Porferro had a new mark set up already. The bastard was never forthcoming until Spike had tied up all the loose ends. Tonight had been clean as a razor blade. No mop up. The driver wasn’t part of the deal. Spike had just walked away, hearing the screech of peeling rubber behind him, breathing the sharp stench of it in his nostrils, the smell stronger than rain, or even the reek of blood.
Spike gnawed his lower lip, pinching the dry skin away with his teeth. He could visualize the dossier right now, laying under Porferro’s manicured fingernails. There’d be that complacent tap as he slid the file across the desk, smiling that knowing smile of his, the one that wasn’t a smile at all, but shark teeth aimed Spike's way.
With a blink, Spike saw his turn coming up. His foot pressed down on the brake pedal, eyes on the road ahead as he indicated a turn. His hands rested lightly on the steering wheel, taking the big classic through its paces, heading for the Glow Worm. The warm, smoky atmosphere of the bar was a haven to Spike.
On nights he needed to unwind, he could usually spend a couple of hours belting back shots in the smoky interior, before taking one of the bruised little things who hung out there home to bed. A nice, slow fuck, his hips slapping lazy time on an upturned arse, mind woozy with the pleasure, and he’d be ready to tumble boneless into the bright white sheets and sleep like the dead.
The shush of the spinning tires slowed as Spike swung the car across several empty lanes and into the curb. He shoved the heavy door open, hopping out, lighting a cigarette, his upturned face washed clean by the lightening shower. The smoke rolled in his chest, relaxing him. He pushed the familiar door open and strode inside.
Taking a mouthful of his first drink, rolling it over his tongue, Spike tipped his head back and let the booze slide silk-smooth down his throat. The satisfying burn he relished stretched its warm fingers into his belly, massaging away the too-bright sharpness of his jumpy nerves. Bloody brilliant. After awhile, if he kept drinking, his spine would spin and turned to jelly. A lazy thought whispered through his cock, the liquor heating him up. Involved fucking. Possibly. If there was arse worth raising wood for in the near at hand.
Cool blue eyes swivelled to examine fellow denizens. Regulars mostly. Down at a the end of the bar, a new face. Skinny lad hiding behind a swathe of long hair, who lifted his head and returned Spike’s stare, as though sensing what it meant. The boy smiled, sure of himself. After a minute of occular foreplay, Spike’s gaze flicked casually back to the business at hand. Drinking. Banging his shot glass on the bar, he lifted an eyebrow at Oz.
“Another.”
A small wad of bills tumbled onto the neon-reflecting counter top from his hand. Dark red and blue lights winked on and off in the depths of the polished wood. A low thread of music from the juke tickled over the nape of Spike’s neck. He tilted his head to catch the notes. Something all blue and broken by Lady Day. Singing about losing her man. He pursed his lips, eyeing the bartender.
“My disturbin’ your siesta?”
“You’re in a good mood.” Oz groused.
His lips thinned at the emotionless mask that swung to pin him in place. There were nights it was best to keep your mouth shut when you were around Spike. Surprisingly, Oz’s hand didn’t shake as he poured a second cascade of amber liquid into the waiting glass. The man across from him was volatile at the best of times.
Spike took his drink, shrugging, before he jolted it back, his belly unfurling at the warm comfort.
“Had a good night,” Spike offered generously, not taking offense.
Oz breathed a little easier. “Celebrating, then?”
“Naw. Just....kicking back.”
“The pretty lady meeting you tonight?” At once, Oz realized he’d pressed his luck too far.
Spike leaned across the barrier, wrapping his fingers in the front of Oz’s shirt, pulling him close. He didn’t like Oz laying a casual tongue to Dru. She was special. Did him just right, did Dru, with her mouth, soft as velvet, and her hands, that knew how to make him sweat into the sheets.
“Bit personal that, pet. What pretty lady you mean?”
Oz pulled gently away from the restraining hand, knowing better than to make any sudden moves when Spike was coming down from one of his manic highs. He had seen him like this plenty of times. He swallowed shallowly.
“Sorry. Just making conversation.”
“Ah. That’s all right then, pet.”
Spike patted the shirt where the white cotton had bunched into a fan of pleated wrinkles, then tweaked Oz’s bow tie considerately back into place.
“Knew you didn’t mean no disrespect.”
Another hour of tipping the elbow, getting that deep, sweet buzz on, and Spike was ready to make for the place he called home. He grinned thinking of black leather and chrome surfaces, all of it smooth and cool-slick, the way his insides felt when he went in for the kill. Narrowed. Intent.
He pushed up from the bar stool, stepping carefully towards the exit, the whiskey putting a studious clomp to his stride. As he went out the door, his hand tangled in that silky sheath of hair he’d been watching all the time from the corner of his eye.
“Come along, pretty. Gonna fuck you real good tonight.”
Once bare, the boy had a skinny arse, underfed. But his hole was oh so deep, and Spike filled it up hotly, his prick shoving in, full of spunk needing to be shot like a bloody bullet from a bloody gun. Bang! Bang!
He wiggled around, pulling the boy into his lap, his back braced against the chilly metal headboard. Pinched both nipples at the same time, getting a trill of high-pitched coos, the milked buttons hard stones under his touch. Thrust his dick fast into the tight, hot pucker that squeeze him with the strength of a hungry mouth set on sucking his jiz out, bleeding milk shake through a straw. Ooph. Oh, yeah.
The orgasm was a good one. Spike pressed his face into the moist back, giving the boy’s cock the benefit of his hand for service well rendered. Fist on tight skin. Firm, rapid pumps, Spike’s cock still wedged high in the jumping rectum. The child swiftly squirted his load into the sheets.
“Clean up the mess,” Spike ordered. “Then get your bum out of here. Like privacy when I sleep.”
Nobody ever pegged him for a romantic. The boy, looking wounded, did as he was told, accepting the tossed hundred with a renewed smile.
“Anytime. You can find me at the Glow Worm if you want me.”
The soft click of the door released the last of the tension from Spike’s satiated body. Tomorrow he would get his new target from Porferro. His lips quirked in pleased contentment. Rolling onto his belly, he nuzzled his face into the silky sheets, and tipped easily into a sleep.
Now I can spend the rest of the day working on Bangkok Butterfly.
Inspiring manip by my shiny shiny Queen shanmara
Chapter 1
Driving the sleek De Soto through the rain-washed streets of the city helped soothe Spike’s irritable mood. The windshield wipers ticked back and forth in a pleasant rhythm, gradually restoring his grin, the one he’d lost somewhere between finishing the latest job and jumping into his getaway car, a free agent again. Fuck.
After-kill letdown was a pisser. There was always a sense of futility tight in his gut at the end of a job. It took up residence inside him until he had the next file under his hands; the next target sussed out and in his sights. Hunter and prey. S’what he lived for.
Maybe Porferro had a new mark set up already. The bastard was never forthcoming until Spike had tied up all the loose ends. Tonight had been clean as a razor blade. No mop up. The driver wasn’t part of the deal. Spike had just walked away, hearing the screech of peeling rubber behind him, breathing the sharp stench of it in his nostrils, the smell stronger than rain, or even the reek of blood.
Spike gnawed his lower lip, pinching the dry skin away with his teeth. He could visualize the dossier right now, laying under Porferro’s manicured fingernails. There’d be that complacent tap as he slid the file across the desk, smiling that knowing smile of his, the one that wasn’t a smile at all, but shark teeth aimed Spike's way.
With a blink, Spike saw his turn coming up. His foot pressed down on the brake pedal, eyes on the road ahead as he indicated a turn. His hands rested lightly on the steering wheel, taking the big classic through its paces, heading for the Glow Worm. The warm, smoky atmosphere of the bar was a haven to Spike.
On nights he needed to unwind, he could usually spend a couple of hours belting back shots in the smoky interior, before taking one of the bruised little things who hung out there home to bed. A nice, slow fuck, his hips slapping lazy time on an upturned arse, mind woozy with the pleasure, and he’d be ready to tumble boneless into the bright white sheets and sleep like the dead.
The shush of the spinning tires slowed as Spike swung the car across several empty lanes and into the curb. He shoved the heavy door open, hopping out, lighting a cigarette, his upturned face washed clean by the lightening shower. The smoke rolled in his chest, relaxing him. He pushed the familiar door open and strode inside.
Taking a mouthful of his first drink, rolling it over his tongue, Spike tipped his head back and let the booze slide silk-smooth down his throat. The satisfying burn he relished stretched its warm fingers into his belly, massaging away the too-bright sharpness of his jumpy nerves. Bloody brilliant. After awhile, if he kept drinking, his spine would spin and turned to jelly. A lazy thought whispered through his cock, the liquor heating him up. Involved fucking. Possibly. If there was arse worth raising wood for in the near at hand.
Cool blue eyes swivelled to examine fellow denizens. Regulars mostly. Down at a the end of the bar, a new face. Skinny lad hiding behind a swathe of long hair, who lifted his head and returned Spike’s stare, as though sensing what it meant. The boy smiled, sure of himself. After a minute of occular foreplay, Spike’s gaze flicked casually back to the business at hand. Drinking. Banging his shot glass on the bar, he lifted an eyebrow at Oz.
“Another.”
A small wad of bills tumbled onto the neon-reflecting counter top from his hand. Dark red and blue lights winked on and off in the depths of the polished wood. A low thread of music from the juke tickled over the nape of Spike’s neck. He tilted his head to catch the notes. Something all blue and broken by Lady Day. Singing about losing her man. He pursed his lips, eyeing the bartender.
“My disturbin’ your siesta?”
“You’re in a good mood.” Oz groused.
His lips thinned at the emotionless mask that swung to pin him in place. There were nights it was best to keep your mouth shut when you were around Spike. Surprisingly, Oz’s hand didn’t shake as he poured a second cascade of amber liquid into the waiting glass. The man across from him was volatile at the best of times.
Spike took his drink, shrugging, before he jolted it back, his belly unfurling at the warm comfort.
“Had a good night,” Spike offered generously, not taking offense.
Oz breathed a little easier. “Celebrating, then?”
“Naw. Just....kicking back.”
“The pretty lady meeting you tonight?” At once, Oz realized he’d pressed his luck too far.
Spike leaned across the barrier, wrapping his fingers in the front of Oz’s shirt, pulling him close. He didn’t like Oz laying a casual tongue to Dru. She was special. Did him just right, did Dru, with her mouth, soft as velvet, and her hands, that knew how to make him sweat into the sheets.
“Bit personal that, pet. What pretty lady you mean?”
Oz pulled gently away from the restraining hand, knowing better than to make any sudden moves when Spike was coming down from one of his manic highs. He had seen him like this plenty of times. He swallowed shallowly.
“Sorry. Just making conversation.”
“Ah. That’s all right then, pet.”
Spike patted the shirt where the white cotton had bunched into a fan of pleated wrinkles, then tweaked Oz’s bow tie considerately back into place.
“Knew you didn’t mean no disrespect.”
Another hour of tipping the elbow, getting that deep, sweet buzz on, and Spike was ready to make for the place he called home. He grinned thinking of black leather and chrome surfaces, all of it smooth and cool-slick, the way his insides felt when he went in for the kill. Narrowed. Intent.
He pushed up from the bar stool, stepping carefully towards the exit, the whiskey putting a studious clomp to his stride. As he went out the door, his hand tangled in that silky sheath of hair he’d been watching all the time from the corner of his eye.
“Come along, pretty. Gonna fuck you real good tonight.”
Once bare, the boy had a skinny arse, underfed. But his hole was oh so deep, and Spike filled it up hotly, his prick shoving in, full of spunk needing to be shot like a bloody bullet from a bloody gun. Bang! Bang!
He wiggled around, pulling the boy into his lap, his back braced against the chilly metal headboard. Pinched both nipples at the same time, getting a trill of high-pitched coos, the milked buttons hard stones under his touch. Thrust his dick fast into the tight, hot pucker that squeeze him with the strength of a hungry mouth set on sucking his jiz out, bleeding milk shake through a straw. Ooph. Oh, yeah.
The orgasm was a good one. Spike pressed his face into the moist back, giving the boy’s cock the benefit of his hand for service well rendered. Fist on tight skin. Firm, rapid pumps, Spike’s cock still wedged high in the jumping rectum. The child swiftly squirted his load into the sheets.
“Clean up the mess,” Spike ordered. “Then get your bum out of here. Like privacy when I sleep.”
Nobody ever pegged him for a romantic. The boy, looking wounded, did as he was told, accepting the tossed hundred with a renewed smile.
“Anytime. You can find me at the Glow Worm if you want me.”
The soft click of the door released the last of the tension from Spike’s satiated body. Tomorrow he would get his new target from Porferro. His lips quirked in pleased contentment. Rolling onto his belly, he nuzzled his face into the silky sheets, and tipped easily into a sleep.