Snow (sweptawaybayou) wrote,

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This was just supposed to be an Angelus/Spike PWP. Something hard and hurty and hot.

But because of the Spike love that stir_of_echoes has infected me with . . . even my Angelus adores him.

::deep sigh::

And also? Because how the hell else did Spike manage to live so long and kill so many Slayers? Hmmm? There had to be more there than we were shown.

Had to be.


Another Not for Profit Venture by Snow
Beta by stir_of_echoes
Set just before soul cursing so, late 18something . . .
No ownership implied, no legal infringement intended, no point, really. Other than bondage, rough sex and blood.


Angelus slid the lethally sharp points of his teeth down the center of Spike’s exposed chest, just the serrated edge moving along his naked skin. Slicing through flesh from his collarbone to below his ribs until blood welled and snaked twin trails down pale white skin. The sweet, coppery smell filled Angelus’ senses. He wasn’t hungry, they’d both eaten well. Four, dead, drained human bodies lay off to the side, piled in the corner of the room like so much cordwood for the flames that crackled and licked the air in the country manor’s huge bedroom fireplace. But it never mattered if the last time was twenty minutes or twenty hours ago. The sight of the dark, garnet liquid always made his mouth fill with saliva. He kept on going, over his tightened, quivering abdomen, finding the nest of soft blonde pubic hair, to Spike’s hard cock, and then, carefully sucked it into his mouth. He didn’t want to geld his boy.

At least, not tonight.

Spike hissed at the pain and the cool, wet touch of Angelus’ mouth on him. His lips drawn back from his own dangerously long canines. He did not move. When Angelus was in this mood, Spike’s only option was to let him play and take what pleasure he found. He’d learned that lesson early on, if he’d ever dreamt he’d stood a chance against the larger, stronger, older vampire, that thought had been pounded, beaten, whipped and fucked right out of him. Angelus could occasionally be humored, occasionally be distracted, or be lost in a crowd or a city. But when he was right in front of him, when he had eaten his fill and still burned with blood lust, Spike knew better than to fight back, most of the time.

Spike was naked, tied to a massive bedpost, his arms stretched high above him, wrists belted tightly to the wood. It was symbolic, he could easily break free of the leather that bound him, but that too, a lesson painfully taught and learned. He stood still, not daring to thrust into the mouth that sucked and teased him. His thighs taught with tension, almost shaking with need. He didn’t move and he wouldn’t release until Angelus was ready for him. Until the words, the right words came from between his bloodstained lips. Sometimes they did, sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes Angelus preferred to let Spike wait for hours, swollen and hard, pre-cum dripping from his cock, teeth gritting, sweat pouring from his skin as if he was human.

Angelus lets Spike’s cock slip from his mouth and licked up the blood path he’d created, his tongue moving to circle around his nipple, used cold breaths to make it peak, rise and then harden. He suckled hard, and Spike was unable to stop a growl. He bit it back immediately, but he knew that Angelus had heard.

“Somethin’ you want, boy?”

Angelus’ question was a soft whisper against his neck. Spike didn’t answer, knew it wasn’t required. Most of the time, Angelus talked just to hear the sound of his own voice. Spike could feel the ridges of Angelus’ demon face as he moved up to his jaw, Angelus’ tongue still licking, tasting, cheekbones and temples, eyelids, nose, and then his lips were there, on Spike’s. Kissing in game face was not good, Spike knew from experience. Torn skin, razor blade teeth poking through soft tissue. Not that Angelus had ever done that to him, only a hundred times over. The sudden smoothness of Angelus’ human face was startling and Spike immediately retreated to his own human disguise as Angelus plundered his mouth, filled it with his tongue. Spike drowned in the sharp taste of his own blood and sweat.

Angelus drew a step away, never breaking eye contact with Spike. Tore his stained shirt off, reached over, ran long fingers up the slow-healing sliced cuts on Spike’s chest, brought them to his mouth, sucked them clean. Then he stood, staring, his hands resting on his hips, toyed with the cords that held his black leather pants tied shut.

Spike remembered how Darla laughed at the fashion when Angelus first started wearing them. She much preferred material that was easily accessible, something she could rip from his body in her haste, but not Spike. He thought leather suited Angelus, completed him, almost like a second skin. Supple and strong, smooth and sleek, tempting enough to make you want to reach out and touch, run your hands over it, feel it move beneath your fingertips. Then, of course, if it was used in the right way . . . belts, whips that left a painful mark, a lasting imprint, not only on soft flesh, but branded into your memory.

Just like Angelus.

Spike felt some measure of relief that this wasn’t one of the many times Angelus blindfolded him. For as much as he loathed and feared, plotted against and fled from him, Spike could never get enough of looking at Angelus. He towered over most men, entered rooms with a presence that would not be denied. He could be as charming as a prince, as scheming as a politician and more vicious than any human, or any other demon for that matter. And he usually was, all of these things, all at once. And right now, standing, lit just the light of the fire, the glow making his skin appear golden and tan, staring at Spike as if he was a choice morsel at a banquet. Something succulent that Angelus desired, but tonight there was also a speculative gleam in those usually unreadable, dark brown eyes. A difference that made Spike worry this time might not end as predictably as in the past.

He winced when Angelus reached out again, worried open the wounds on his chest, and licked his fingers.

“I’ve been thinking about your blood, Will. Thinking that every time I taste you, I taste Dru. Which is fine, but if I wanted that, I’d be with that crazy bitch. Now wouldn’t I?”

Angelus took back the one step that separated them, loosened his pants just enough to pull out his long, hard cock. Stroked himself, licked his lips.

“I’m thinking that you have inferior blood. That you deserve somethin’ else. That you might just deserve mine. That you need mine.”

Spike started to struggle against the leather that held him to the wood. Suddenly shot through with fear at Angelus’ words, at his tone, at his idea.

“After all, I want you to be with me forever. I want you to survive.” Angelus laughed. “Where do you think you’re going? You know you want this, need this, love this.”

He lifted Spike, pushing his legs apart with one smooth motion, thrusting into him roughly, skin tearing as he entered. Spike roared at the pain, Angelus’ eyes turning gold and his teeth ripped into Spike’s neck. The smell of blood became the air around them, thick, cloying, and red. Spike freed his arms and beat ineffectually against the solid muscle of Angelus’ back, trying to ignore the weak, draining feeling that threatened to overwhelm him.

Reality starting to melt away as Angelus drank from him in huge, thirsty swallows. His fists striking against Angelus’ shoulders, head falling back and Angelus just kept the burning, painful, pounding rhythm steady, kept one hand wrapped tightly around Spike’s cock, pulling and twisting. His other hand held Spike against him. Blood pouring between them, coating their chests, abdomens, slicking Angelus’ rough grip, and still he drank. Spike grew dizzy, his body crying out for release, his demon raging inside at the loss. He held onto the heat and the pressure and the pain in his groin and ass as everything else blurred and became distant. Dimly he felt Angelus pull his mouth away, fall with him onto the bed behind them, push his cock impossibly deeper as he came in great heaving thrusts. Then Spike opened his eyes and the image above him, Angelus, blood and spit dripping from his fangs, from his lips, his dark stare completely focused on Spike’s face, was seared into his mind. Beauty and Death and Pain and Passion.

My blood, my life . . .

He reached up with shaking fingers, touched the crimson liquid on Angelus, tried to bring just a drop of it to his mouth, but Angelus batted his hand away.

“None of that.” He pulled out of Spike, rolled with him on the feather filled mattress until Spike lay sprawled across his chest. “Here. This is what you need.” Angelus gathered Spike in his arms, pulled him up to his neck. “Drink, boy. I’m not bleedin’ for an infant.”

Spike put his mouth up to Angelus’ skin, his tongue darted out and he tasted the salty sweat, inhaled the unique smell of him. Spent and full, bursting with both human and vampire blood. Angelus was almost as warm as a living person, missing just the heartbeat to make it complete. Spike’s vision grayed out, and he closed his eyes tightly, forcing himself to concentrate, to change, take what was being offered. He could not remember when he’d ever been so hungry, so tired, or so empty.

Spike almost lost consciousness as he let his demon out. Never had it hurt like this, never had he actually felt each tooth elongate, his brow become ridged, even his pupils ached. He used the very last of his strength to hold onto Angelus’ large shoulders, sink his fangs into his neck. Then, Spike just let the blood pour into his mouth, fill it, his throat sore with the small effort it took to swallow.

“Yes, yes. Drink it down, boy. Blood of Darla, blood of the Master. My blood.”

Spike’s fingers dug into Angelus and he clamped his mouth down, his eyes still closed. Not passive now, but violently sucking, drinking, he pulled the blood into his body. It was thicker than anything he’d ever tasted, spicy with age and time and who the hell knew how many different humans and vampires. Spike could actually feel it moving through him like heat in his veins. Waking nerve endings he never realized were there, fine tuning him as Drusilla’s blood never had, even though he still tasted her among it, mixed with everyone, everything else.

Spike felt Angelus’ hand slide up between them, push against his chest and he clutched harder, held on tighter. Wanted more. Another push and suddenly Spike was across the bed. He licked his lips, touched a thumb to his mouth, not wanting to lose a drop of that sweet nectar. Already he could feel it working, making him stronger, quicker, and more powerful than before. His cock throbbed, hard, needy still, and Spike lay motionless on his side, propped up on one elbow for a moment, mesmerized. It was as if he could feel a pulse, the fluids inside him building. Damn. He could come right now, without even touching himself, and he knew that it would be unlike anything that he’d ever experienced.

Spike watched Angelus rub his fingers in the dripping blood on his own neck, coated them in the wounds. Then he put his hand down, between them, and Spike groaned at the wet touch on his cock.

“Feels good, does it? Different. New. Excitin’. Better.”

Spike nodded helplessly as Angelus gripped him, worked his fist up and down Spike’s cock, each stroke heightening the new, incredible sensations that whipped through him.

“Old blood and Slayer’s blood. If I’ve taught you nothin’ else over these years, old blood and Slayer’s blood will change your world. Remember that.”

Angelus crawled across the torn, bloody quilt toward him. Spike heard him whisper, watching through lowered lashes as Angelus’ teeth grew long again.

“Let’s see the whore play with you now.”

Then the sharp clear pain of Angelus’ biting into his inner thigh, his hand speeding up on his cock, two, then three fingers, pushing into him, reopening healing wounds, sporadically rubbing against that. Spot. There. Spike’s eyes rolled back in his head as Angelus wrapped soft lips around him, his mouth wet with blood, taking him all the way in, pulling back up to lick and nip at the tip.

Then doing it all, over again.

Slower, softer, his mouth barely there.

Hardly touching Spike.

Drawing each movement out until,

Spike couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop himself. He took Angelus’ head in his hands, tangled his fingers in his long hair and pulled his face down against him, pushed hard into Angelus’ mouth. Years, decades of severe beatings, burnings, holy water that danced like acid across his skin ran through his mind, but none of that mattered right now. Nothing mattered at this moment but getting deeper into that mouth. The feel of those lips tightening around him, the suction that pulled his foreskin back and forth and the low growl that hummed from Angelus’ throat, vibrated straight in and through his muscles and bones and Fuck. Now. Yes.

Spike dug his heels into the mattress, arched his back off the bed as he came. His hands full of Angelus’ hair, biting through his own lip, his mouth moving soundlessly. There had been nothing like this for him, ever. And it just went on and on, washing through him and pouring from him and it was a very good thing that he was already dead and didn’t need to breathe. Because Spike’s only coherent thought was that he couldn’t, even if he’d wanted. He was defenseless in this passion.

Finally the tide waned, and riding with the shock of what he’d just experienced, was pure terror born of knowing how he’d touched Angelus. Spike immediately let go, pulled his hands free. Waited for the fists to rain on him, teeth and claws. But instead, Angelus fell back onto the mattress, rubbed his face with his large hands. Spike watched him glance at the heavy curtains, and they both saw the dawn’s weak light through a small tear in the seams. Angelus moved up beside him, pulled heavy blankets over both of them.

“Good enough place to spend the day.”

He gathered the younger vampire to him, moving Spike so that his back was close against Angelus’ smooth, cool chest, Angelus’ heavy arms wrapped around him tightly. Possessively.

Spike lay there for a few moments before the sleep his body craved took over his mind, his thoughts racing, eyes wide in the dim gray hush of the room. A smile crept up to grace his lips, curving them into his high, defined cheekbones.

Things were going to be different now for him, very different.

He was sure of it.


Ten More Days. I have Ten More Days of work.

I don't think that anyone will blame me if I drink very heavily from the 28th to the 4th of August . . . would they?

::licks you all, up one side and down the other::
Tags: angel, angelus/spike, fic

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