estepheia
NC-17 Angel/Spike
Angel is a corrupt cop whose life is at rock bottom
when he catches a thief in his home.
warnings for non-con; dark tone, but Spike comes out of it alive and safe
See Disclaimer of Ownership here
Oh shit! Few things had ever turned Spike's blood to ice water more quickly, than the slow, deliberate movements with which the man before him unbuckled his belt, right in front of his eyes. The metallic clink of the buckle sounded unnaturally loud in his ears.
"You should have high-tailed out when you heard me come home," Angel said, pushing the buckle aside to slowly undo the button of his slacks, his matter-of-fact tone mismatching his actions to the point of absurdity. "Why didn't you?"
Spike's mouth went dry. His heart -- normally as regular as a Swiss watch, even when on a job – was pounding frantically in his chest. In his head, dozens of thoughts and answers whirred backward and forward, like the dial in a combination lock: Please no – Not this – Didn't hear you – Not again – Sod off – Wasn't fast enough – A lie, a lie, a kingdom for a lie – Fuck you – Shitshitshit – Can't think – Hadn't finished – Don't hurt me.
There!
"Armani," he blurted out the first lie that tumbled into place. "Was tryin' on some of your clothes, see?" Spike stared at Angel's hand as though his sheer will power was enough to stay the agonizingly slow descent of that zipper. "Couldn't leave without puttin' my kit back on first. Didn't think you'd—" he petered out, his mouth parched, when the man's erect cock sprang into his view. Thick and heavy, jutting from its nest of dark mahogany curls it was a daunting sight.
"Yes?" Angel prompted him, giving Spike's hair another painful tug.
Spike couldn't avert his gaze, so he closed his eyes, trying to block out the sight of the other man's engorged flesh just inches from his face. "Didn't think you'd come up this quick," he said tonelessly.
Another yank on his hair made his eyes water. "Look at me!"
Reluctantly, Spike opened his eyes.
"Scumbags like you have no idea what it's like to be a cop," Angel spouted, launching into what sounded like an oft-voiced lament. "Working 14 hours a day or longer, to make this city safe for decent people to live in, so they can raise their families unmolested. Standing between them and garbage like of you who think they can just take whatever they want. And what do I get for wading through all that that muck? The paycheck's lousy, and people spit out in the street…."
Spike had heard such rants before, from other cops while riding in the back of their patrol car, and in just about every cop show on telly in the obligatory good-cop-gone-bad epi. Never with a dick aiming at his mouth. Oh god, the guy was losing it. And Spike happened to be in the blast zone.
He stared at the man's pumping fist, intimidated by the sheer size of the man's hand; everything about that sicko seemed to be XXL, from his issues right down to his cock. And still the detective went on talking, and as long as he was talking, he wasn't doing anything with that thing, just holding it. And maybe he was just yanking Spike's chain, trying to rattle him, scare him. And it was working too. Only too well.
"… And every time I so much as sneeze I have Internal Affairs breathing down my neck. And every fucking punk whose skanky ass I throw in the slammer, quotes the law back at me. And to top it all off: tonight I come home and find you low-life in my home, going through my stuff. How do you think that makes me feel?"
Spike assumed this to be a rhetorical question until the detective's fingers tightened on his scalp, wrenching a stifled yelp from his lips.
"Angry?" Spike choked out, wincing both at the pain and at his poor choice of word.
"Angry?" Angel echoed, his voice raised. "Try furious! Scum like you—" he stopped, took a deep breath and continued with chilling calm. "I'm a cop. I make sure, scumbags like you pay for what you do."
"Whatever happened to 'protect and serve'?" Spike asked.
His sarcasm was met with a resounding blow to his jaw, that sent him into a graceless half-spin. Spike landed on his side, and his head hit the floor. Thankfully, the carpet cushioned the impact. Spike grinned through the haze of pain, grinned even though his face ached from the effort.
But when he was jostled back into kneeling position, the grin was harder to maintain.
"That mirror you made me break? You owe me 400 bucks for that. And as for my suit… You wanna wear Armani? Earn it. On your back, if you like, but don't you ever touch what's mine. The suits are a grand apiece. Guess that means you owe me a thousand four hundred. Plus the mess in the wardrobe… rounding up… Call it two thousand. Payable in trade." Angel smirked, slowly stroking his cock, "And you know what? Today's payday. So I want you to open that pretty mouth of yours, and take it like a man."
"Sod off," Spike said, trying to pull away. He was stopped by Angel's iron grip on his hair.
"You seem to be a bit slow on the uptake, so I'll spell it out for you: Whether you leave here on your own two feet or in a body bag is entirely up to you. Got it?"
The urge was there to say 'Fuck you', but Spike had heard that kind of tone before, and it had never boded well for him. And if there was even a slight chance for him to get out of this alive, he had to grab it, if only for his kid.
"Come on, Sunshine, open it. Don't play shy on me. Ten to one you've been in the slammer before. And with looks like yours, I bet the first time you walked into the shower, fights broke out over who gets to fuck you first."
It was chilling how devastatingly spot on the detective's speculation was—if distorted.
Images and sounds billowed up like hot steam. Memories. A large, misted up bath room, the noise of half a dozen showers running, and the patter of bare feet on the wet floor; hands shoving him face-first against the wall, hard enough to split his brow; a towel wrapped around his neck like a garrote, and two pairs of hands prying his thighs apart, while the guard looked away. Laughter echoing off blindingly white tiles….
Spike fought down his mounting nausea, wondering what his chances were. There'd be no unexpected rescue this time. He was on his own. If he played nice, would the bastard let him off with a lecture, some spunk in his face, and his dignity ruffled? Probably not, Spike concluded. The way things were going, this was just the opening act. but he said it anyway, forced the words out through gritted teeth. "Got it."
"Good. Now open your mouth and suck it."
The soft, spongy head touched Spike's mouth, playfully tracing its outline like lipstick and leaving behind a moist trail on his lips, before demanding entry with a more insistent push. A musky, masculine scent mingled with the lingering smell of gun oil.
"Open it. I haven't got all day."
Spike took a deep breath and parted his lips, allowing the thick, heavy cock to slide inside.
"There, that's better," Angel said and began to rock his hips, moving in and out of Spike's mouth in a slow steady rhythm: sure, shallow thrusts.
Breathing frantically through his nose, Spike fought down his revulsion, desperate to empty his mind. Concentrate on the sensations, he told himself. You can do it. It's like riding a bicycle, it'll come back to you.
Yeah, so he'd done it before, given head without batting an eyelid, but if felt like it happened a lifetime ago. That man no longer existed. He'd shed that skin, had scraped it off, and walked away without ever looking back. Only now this sick bastard of a detective was trying to bring that man back.
"Come on, Blondie. Surely you can do better than that. A bit more enthusiasm, if you please. Use some tongue," Angel said, thrusting harder and deeper, causing the thick, spongy head to scrape along the roof of Spike's mouth, coming uncomfortably close to triggering the gag reflex. "I could get a better suck and swallow than this down in Long Beach, for under fifty bucks. Maybe I didn't make myself clear: You won't leave here until I've got my two thousands worth. And the way things are going you're going to be here a long time."
Try sucking dick with your hands cuffed behind your back, and some jerk holding your head in a vise, Spike thought, but he started to suck and obediently brought his tongue into play, not an easy feat, considering Angel's considerable girth.
After about a dozen or so thrusts, the detective pulled out. "Better," he said. "But I still sense a distinct lack of enthusiasm."
He pulled out and let go of Spike's hair. With one yank, Angel pulled up the front hem of Spike's sweater and pulled it over his head and down to his elbows, where it acted as an additional, but softer restraint. Angel ran his hand over Spike's chest and down to his waistband. Spike knew better than to try to wriggle away. He tried to control his expression and his breathing, when his pants were opened and pushed down to his knees, which was as far as they would go in his current kneeling position.
"See what I mean?" Angel fondled Spike's limp dick for a moment. "I think you need a bit of an incentive. I know just the thing." He rose and walked to the open bedside drawer, the one that held his impressive collection of toys, and rummaged around in it.
Spike's heart was thundering in his chest, with fear, yeah, he'd be stupid not to be afraid. He'd looked into the drawer, earlier, when he'd searched the place. Some of the fake cocks in there were even bigger than Angel's, and that was saying something. He lowered his head.
When the detective returned, he was concealing an object behind his back. He slung an arm around Spike's shoulder to haul him over to the bed. Spike snapped upwards. Putting all his strength into the attack, he threw himself back like a rearing horse, smashing the back of his skull into the other man's face. Hoping to knock Angel out, maybe break his nose. With an audible crack their heads smacked together. It was a teeth-rattling blow, hard enough to make him feel stars. Off-balance, Spike fell sideways and landed hard on his shoulder, almost dislocating it.
He dimly heard Angel go down as well, but not for long. With a hissed curse, the detective picked himself up. When the hail of blows and obscenities came, Spike was almost relieved. Thankfully, the world went dark soon after that.
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