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
If Spike turned his head just a little to the side, he could watch Angel's movements in the wall-to-wall mirror.
The detective stuffed the gun back into its holster and placed it at the foot end of the bed, out of Spike's reach, but where Angel himself could grab it any time. He picked up the bottle of lube that lay on the floor, slipped out of his boxers, freeing his erection, then climbed on the bed, cock bobbing. The mirror reflected every detail with harrowing precision.
Spike tore his gaze away to stubbornly stare at the crumpled pillow he'd slept on. The mattress tilted and rocked under his knees, rhythmic, inappropriately bouncy quakes that heralded Angel's approach. When the tremors stopped, Spike knew without having to look, that Angel was kneeling behind him.
He tried to relax, and convince his body to achieve a modicum of acceptance, impatient to get this over with. The skin on his neck prickled.
The mattress bobbed again when Angel leaned sideways to reach into his drawer.
Spike's nervousness increased tenfold, only to slowly trickle away, when he spotted the little pack of foil in Angel's hand. A condom.
A minute later something cold and moist touched him, not yet pushing inside, but pressing and rubbing against him. First the thick head of Angel's cock, then its entire length, spreading slick between Spike's cheeks, rubbing, stroking, teasing, up and down, up and down, then pausing, occasionally nudging against his opening. The bastard was toying with him.
Spike trembled in spite of himself.
A hand reached around his waist to fondle his dick, presumably to check if it was still stiff. It was. Engorged and heavy, and to Spike's dismay it twitched eagerly in Angel's huge palm. Angel gripped his cock firmly and jerked a few times in a fast, punishing rhythm, almost wrenching a gasp of pleasure from Spike's lips.
Funny how shame could make you shrink until you felt agoraphobic inside your own body, Spike thought disjointedly. If only his cock would shrink as well.
Then the hand changed its grip to Spike's ass, strong and possessive.
Angel aligned himself and pushed forward, still not insistently enough to forge inside – just with enough pressure to give Spike a taste of what was coming, which was probably what the bastard wanted.
The world narrowed down to two distinct sensations: Spike's own labored and frantic chuffing, loud enough in his ears to drown out Angel's breathing, and the blunt thickness prodding him.
"What're you waiting for?" Spike blurted out, unnerved.
He was surprised when Angel answered him. "Something's missing."
"Oh yeah? What's that?"
The pressure disappeared, and Angel reached into the accursed drawer again, rummaging noisily. Spike tensed at the sound and peeked sideways.
Angel's hand returned with a huge fake cock, not quite as large as his own, but realistic looking, flesh-colored and veiny. He dropped it on the sheet. Like an astral object following the gravity of a black hole, the toy tumbled down the incline that Spike's weight made in the mattress and came to lie next to Spike's knee.
"Don't eyeball me," Angel snapped, and Spike turned away for more pillow gazing.
This time, when Angel pulled his hand out of the drawer, Spike heard a metal clank.
"Up," Angel commanded, using one hand to steer Spike into a position where his thighs, hips, torso, and head were vertical, paralleling Angel's own body.
Spike complied. Two hundred and fifty, a tiny voice in his head tried to cheer him up. He tried to ignore the weighty slap of Angel's cock against his back, and the coldness where it smeared him with lube.
A hand grabbed his throat and then cold scratchy metal was threaded round his neck. Fuck! Spike shook his head, but too late, with a foreboding snap the solid chain was fastened and settled round his throat, snug and heavy.
"Better," Angel said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Perfect fit. Suits you to a tee."
"My, you're a kinky bastard, aren't you?" Spike ground out, still trying to come to terms with the new development. "And didn't you know that playing dress up costs extra?"
"Shut up, bitch, unless you want to wear one of the dresses from the closet."
It was a direct order. Spike swallowed another comeback.
The metal felt icy and heavy, and it scratched uncomfortably. Spike craned his neck to get a look at it, but the collar was too tight. He belatedly remembered the mirror and stared at his reflection.
The weight around his neck wasn't just a chain, it was a prong collar, the kind used for disobedient dogs. If the owner pulled on the chain, the prongs pivoted in their joints and dug into the dog's fur. Luckily, the tips of the prongs appeared to be rounded. As long as nobody yanked on the chain they irritated but didn't injure the skin.
Fuck!
Behind him, Angel was changing positions, positioning his cock again, but this time the angle was different. Angel was kneeling on his haunches, his erect cock vertical, but still aiming at Spike's ass.
Suddenly their eyes met in the mirror. Angel's smirk was like a stab in the gut. Spike wrenched his gaze away, to stare at his own hands instead, and at the metal cuffs round his wrists.
A light downward tug on the collar, and the sensation of blunted prongs boring into his throat took Spike's breath away. Fuck.
"Ride me," Angel said hoarsely. "Fuck yourself on my cock. The way you fucked yourself on that plug. I know you want to feel my cock inside you. Do it."
Spike gasped, because, yes, the words surged down his spine and slammed into his balls with breathtaking force. And yes, he was still aroused from his dream about Riley, and maybe even the scene itself, which could have been incredible – with the right guy.
Maybe that was the key to this. Sending a silent apology to Riley, wherever he might be, Spike tried to relax while slowly lowering himself on the slick shaft.
He'd been forced to sleep with a thick plug inside him and he'd woken up with Angel's lube-slick fingers preparing him, even so the girth of the man's cock was almost too much. His body stubbornly resisted the intrusion. Spike broke into a sweat as he rocked up and down on the blunt tip, not to tease, but because, frankly, that last ounce of courage and determination was hard to muster.
When he heard his captor groan with impatience, Spike half expected Angel to slam inside or to brutally yank him down by his collar, but maybe there was some decency left in the man, because Spike could hear him thumbing the lid off the lube. More slick. Thank god for small mercies. Spike squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on his task, concentrated on the memory of Riley's cock sliding into him.
He gasped with relief when the thick bulbous head finally made it past the outer ring and plunged inside, filling him like only Riley had ever filled him before. Holy shit. Spike bit his lip, to stifle a whimper. As he sank down, fully impaling himself, clinging to memories of elsewhen and elsewhere in his head, Spike could feel his body rearrange itself around the hot hardened flesh inside him. Ho. Ly. Fuck.
"About time," Angel groaned, shattering the illusion. And: "God, you're tight."
Spike shook his head brushing off Angel's words. Fingers clenched around the ornate headboard, he pulled himself up, lifting his hips only to sink down, again, and again, up, down, up, down, steadily riding his captor's cock. It shouldn't feel good, but it did. Spike knew he'd be stupid to wish for pain, that he should be grateful that Angel was more interested in breaking his spirit than his body, but – fuck! – it shouldn't feel like coming home.
Whatever. No time for that, not now. Angel had asked him to fuck himself, so that's what Spike did, selfishly pursuing his own pleasure. Dictating the angle and force of each down stroke, he stubbornly – and silently – chased his own release.
Rugged breathing came from behind him, along with a string of exclamations, "oh yeah," or "fuck," or "harder," giving their coupling a cheap porn flick soundtrack. Occasionally, Angel reached around to roughly grab Spike's cock and balls. Not to bring Spike off, no. Judging by hoarsely muttered expletives like "slut" and "greedy whore" it simply gave the man a kick to feel the evidence of his prisoner's arousal. Evidently, the detective got off on this, on his whore getting off on his cock… For a second, Spike faltered. Okay, that train of thought wasn't good. He brushed it off, like a dog shakes water off it's fur, and concentrated on his own pleasure and on staying silent.
Climbing, climbing, faster and faster, hurtling towards the cliff like a lemming, desperate for friction, if only he could touch his own cock, just a few strokes, friction, pleasepleaseplease….
Spike panted with mounting frustration.
The next time Angel's hand groped his cock, Spike was ready for it, unleashing a fantasy of his own: Angel, handcuffed and naked on his knees with his own fucking plug in his ass, alternately sucking Spike's and Riley's cocks. Wham! Four, five pumping motions were enough, and Spike's cock pulsed in Angel's fist.
"Fuck!" Angel exclaimed, clearly taken by surprise, when Spike's come spilled over his fingers – and without permission. He let go, jerking back his hand, but too late, Spike spent himself, shaking and twitching around Angel's cock.
He dimly heard a drawn out moan from behind him and then Angel's cock slammed into him, a dozen times, hard, almost brutally, sending another searing blast of dizzying pleasure through his body. Mixed with just a hint of pain it overtook the abating eddies of Spike's first climax. The soles of his feet burned as though he was treading on glowing coals. A toe-curling pressure built inside him, a loud howl that sprang up in his toes, rushed up his trembling flanks, up, up, up his rigid spine to slam into his brain, faster than Spike could bite his lips to keep it in. And yet, when the howl broke free it only came out as a voiceless gasp, an explosive discharge of breath, reined in at the last moment. It was the only act of rebellion open to him.
Angel, on the other hand, came with a loud, keening wail, that reverberated in the silence of Spike's climax.
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