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toobusy2write
NC-17 Angel/Spike, Spike/others
Days after Spike turns eighteen, he gets sucked into a whole new world by a mysterious man, but is it one he's ready for?
Warnings for: 18yo Spike in a BDSM relationship with an older man
beta'd by thatotherperv
See Disclaimer of Ownership here
Over the next week, the butt plug became Spike's new best friend at night, alone in his room. He couldn't get enough of the soddin' thing. He even wore it around the house occasionally, getting odd looks from his dad when his backside happened to brush against something, which invariably caused the plug to shift and rub in all the right ways. His hand was quickly becoming his other best friend. He hadn't wanked off this much since he'd discovered how good touching himself could feel. He started to worry about whether it was possible to rub yourself raw, but couldn't seem to stop himself regardless of whether it was actually possible or not. He was, however, infinitely thankful that the hairy palm and blindness myths were just that, myths, otherwise he'd be in some serious trouble.
And then it was Saturday again and he found himself unable to relax, waiting for the text, wondering what would be asked of him this time. When the text finally came, Spike nearly came in his jeans in anticipation.
Have you been using my present?
Spike didn't even consider lying. Yes. Can't get enough of it.
Good boy. You looked hot getting yourself off at the theatre. I've been jerking off to it all week.
Spike groaned quietly, hoping his dad didn't hear in the next room. So, it was a bloke. He'd suspected as much, but confirmation was nice. He walked over to his bed and lay down on it on his stomach as he texted back. Bloody hell.
There'll be a package arriving shortly. Follow the instructions. I'll be waiting.
Spike stared at the message for five whole minutes. The mystery of the whole thing was killing him. He wanted to know who the texts were coming from. He wanted to meet him. Touch him. Be touched by him. Be fucked by him.
The realization startled Spike. Until now, this had all just been an elaborate game. Or more accurately, an experiment on his part. He was curious; this bloke was providing the outlet for him to satisfy that curiosity. But now…. Actually wanting to get fucked by a guy -- not just any guy, this guy -- was a step past games and experimenting. It was more along the lines of acknowledging he had homosexual urges. He wondered idly how he hadn't seen them for what they were before.
A knock at his bedroom door startled him. Climbing off his bed, Spike walked over and opened it to find his dad on the other side, holding a package addressed to him. More than a little disturbed at the fact that his father was most likely holding something kinky, something kinky for him, Spike hurriedly took it from him and at his questioning look, told him it was some CDs from a friend he'd met on the net. Not the best explanation, but a better one than the truth, by far.
He closed the door and walked over to his bed with the box. Setting it down in the middle, he simply stared at it for a long moment, until curiosity got the best of him. Quietly, he crossed back to his door, turned the lock, then walked back over to the package and opened it. What he found was another plug, slightly larger than the last one, another bottle of lube -- and how did the guy know he was nearly out already? -- and another note.
Opening the note, Spike's cock twitched in his jeans as he read the instructions. Put it in, but don't touch the switch, then go to Bottom's Up on 100th and Peachtree and sit at the bar. Take your cell.
Pulling the plug out of the box, Spike turned it over in his hand. It was wider and heavier than the last one -- just -- and Spike's fingers itched to touch the switch, mostly because he'd been told not to. Always had been a bit of a rebel, him, which made him wonder not for the first time why he was so ready to take orders from some bloke, let alone one only willing to communicate with him through texts.
Still…the bar or club or whatever sounded interesting, so he took the plug into the bathroom, prepared himself and put it in, breathing through the discomfort as it stretched him wider than he'd previously been stretched, then donned a kit fit for a club -- black leather pants, black ribbed beater, several chains and rings, and eyeliner. He spiked his hair up on top with gel, then scrubbed it so it fell into messy disarray for that freshly fucked look the birds all seemed to like on him. He assumed it would work for this bloke, too. He stepped back to take in the whole picture in the mirror. He looked good. Maybe tonight he'd meet him. Maybe the guy would take one look at him and not be able to resist touching him.
Now to get out of the condo without his dad seeing him. He may be eighteen and off to uni come autumn, but he didn't doubt for one minute his father would question him going out like this. And that? was a conversation he didn't want to have.
Quietly, Spike cracked the door and peaked out. The sounds of the telly off to the left in the living room reassured him that his dad was settled in for the night. Making as little noise as possible, he crept to the front door, donned his long leather coat -- a present from his dad for his eighteenth birthday -- and turned the knob of the front door.
Just before he shut it, he called loudly, "I'm going out to meet the guys."
"Okay. Don't be too late," his dad called back as Spike closed and locked the door behind him.
That taken care of, he scanned the hallway to make sure he was alone, adjusted the plug in his arse slightly, and started off for the lift.
The club was packed by the time he got there. Spike hadn't been sure he'd even be able to get in with the queue as long as it was outside, but then one of the bouncers had spotted him and waved him forward. Aware of jealous glares aimed in his direction, Spike had walked up to the bouncer that had signaled to him and been told that he'd been put on the short list and could go in straight away.
Spike…had been speechless. Whoever the bloke texting him was, he obviously had connections. Spike had been further gobsmacked when he'd walked in and realized it was a gay bar. Right. He should have worked that bit out from the name, he supposed. Still, he felt uncomfortably hot watching all the PDA going on around him. Discretely, he adjusted himself and headed for the bar.
He sat down and ordered a soda, not wanting to press his luck and get thrown out, even though the bouncer hadn't even bothered to ID him before letting him in. He didn't have to wait long before he got another text. I want to watch you dance.
Feeling a little cock sure of himself in his kit and eyeliner and freshly fucked hair, Spike texted back. Do you now?
Playing coy? I may have to do something about that.
Spike groaned at the insinuation. Biting his lower lip, he looked around, but of course didn't see anyone who looked familiar. Looking back down at his mobile, he sent another message. By myself or with someone?
Yourself. They'll come to you, and when they do, let them grind on you and touch wherever they want, except your cock. That's mine.
Spike gasped, hardening instantly at the last two words. His. Spike's cock was…his. And Spike liked it that way, if the way his body reacted was any indication.
He slipped his mobile back into his pocket and climbed off the barstool, his eyes fluttering shut momentarily as it caused the plug in his arse to shift and rub over his prostate. His whole body was in a heightened state of arousal as he weaved his way through gyrating men. Every time he brushed against someone, he…tingled was probably the most accurate description. By the time he found a spot to stop and dance, he was ready to jump the first bloke he saw.
But he couldn't. The instructions had been very clear. Dance by himself. Let them come to him, but no hands were to get near his cock.
Spike began moving with the beat, self-consciously at first, but soon enough he started to get into it. He looked up at the second level of the club, which was a VIP section that skirted around the dance floor, trying to suss out who it was running the show. Who it was opening his eyes to a whole world he hadn't even considered existed before. A world he hadn't known he belonged in, although the man texting him seemed to have known. Spike thought that if he saw him, he'd somehow know him. It sounded naïve and stupid, but he was sure he'd know the person immediately, familiar face or not.
Before long, the text proved right. They did come to him. The first time, Spike jumped in surprise, feeling a hard body press against his from behind. Hands settled on his hips and for a split second, Spike almost gave into the urge to push the bloke away. He'd never been touched by a man this way and it felt…forbidden. Taboo. But then he remembered the instructions and stopped himself, keeping his hands at his sides as the bloke grinded against him from behind, rubbing his erection against Spike's backside and causing the plug in him to shift and rub in delicious ways.
Minutes later, another guy stepped up in front of him and boxed him in between both of them, shoving a leg between Spike's. Spike's hands shot up and clutched at the man's biceps. He moaned as the leg pressed up against his balls. He pressed forward, rubbing his erection against the bloke's thigh, then back, rubbing his backside against the hard cock behind him.
He didn't think it could get any more erotic, any more of a turn on, but then something happened that made Spike's eyes roll back in his head in pleasure. The plug in his arse started vibrating. Spike cried out and bucked and the two men he was wedged between chuckled and grinded against him harder, probably assuming they had caused the outburst. Hands ran over his body, down his sides, up his legs, over his arse, across his stomach, under his beater and up to his nipples. Spike was right on the edge, feeling the beginning tingles of impending orgasm when a hand wandered down toward his dick. Immediately the vibrating in his arse stopped and Spike gasped, coming back to himself.
Quickly he shoved the hand away before it could reach its goal and shook his head at the man in front of him. "Sorry, but no."
The bloke scowled and said, "Cocktease," then walked away. He was quickly replaced by another bloke, and soon Spike found himself again being groped as the plug inside him vibrated. Each time he got close to coming, though, the vibration stopped and Spike found himself left teetering at the edge.
Finally, he couldn’t take it any more and shoved out from between the latest of the men to latch onto him. Painfully hard by that point, he started off the dance floor, intent on finding the men's room and pulling the fucking plug out of his arse, orders to keep it there or no.
Before he made it entirely off the dance floor, though, an arm snaked around his waist from behind and he found himself pressed against another hard body, this one bigger and broader than the last, from the feel of it. Spike tried to pull free but the arm only tightened. His heart skipped a beat and he looked around as tendrils of fear coiled inside him. He tried to reason that he was safe there, in the middle of all those people, but the assurance didn't help, especially since he wasn't in the middle of them any longer. He was at the edge of the dance floor, partially in the shadows. A couple more steps to the side and they'd be behind a support beam and completely engulfed in shadows. He tried harder to get free, and failed.
Spike started to turn his head to see who was behind him, but a single word of warning barked in a hoarse voice near his ear froze him to the spot. "Don't."
And then Spike knew, just like that. This was him. The bloke texting him. He was right there, pressed against him and Spike still had no idea who he was. Frustrated, he said, "Please. I just…. One look."
"No." No explanation, no hint of regret or anything else in his voice. Just a flat out no.
Suddenly angry, Spike shoved at the arm around his waist again. "Then let me go, tosser. I'm through playing this game. If you don't even have the balls to show me your face or tell me who you are, I want nothing more to do with you."
"No." Again, simple and brooking no argument.
Spike stopped fighting momentarily and scowled at the arm around his waist, his scowl deepening when he saw the remote controlling his plug in the man's hand. "No? You can't just say no, mate. 'M not your bloody property, no matter what game we're playing here. 'S a free country, last time I checked."
He shivered, hot breath puffing across his neck as the man leaned in and said hoarsely next to his ear. "If I really thought you wanted me to let go, I would, but you don't, do you?"
Spike stood still and silent for a moment, brow furrowed. Now that he was saying more than one word at a time, Spike realized his voice sounded…familiar. It was hard to tell for sure, though, because his voice was obviously hoarse, but Spike was almost sure he should recognize it.
Deciding his best bet was to keep the bloke talking so he could hopefully work out who it was, Spike stared at the sea of men grinding to the blaring music as he asked, "Why me?"
The man shook his head against the side of Spike's. "Too many reasons to count, and none that I'm willing to tell you right now anyway."
The whole thing was surreal. Spike wondered idly if he was dreaming. If he called Lindsey or Xander right now and told them what had been going on, and that he was currently trapped in the arms of a sort-of stalker who wouldn't even let him see him, but yet expected him to just do as he was told, and that Spike apparently had a submissive streak a mile wide that he'd known nothing about even though this man obviously had figured it out…they would have laughed and asked Spike what he was on.
But it wasn't a dream and he wasn't high. He was there and there was an arm like a vice around his waist, trapping him…because he wanted it.
Closing his eyes, Spike asked, "What do you want from me?"
Lips touched his neck, ghosting up toward his ear as a hand ran lightly up his arm from his wrist to his shoulder. The hand squeezed his shoulder as teeth nipped at his earlobe. The man groaned and pressed his erection against Spike's arse, sending a shockwave of pleasure through his still aroused body.
"Don't you know yet? I want everything. I want you open and willing and ready to do whatever I want, no questions. I want you, boy. Body, mind and soul."
Spike shivered and suddenly they were moving to the music, and the plug in his arse was vibrating again, and it was too overwhelming, too much sensation all at once and then a hand was cupping him through his leather trousers. The man behind him rubbed and squeezed, quickly bringing Spike right back to the edge he'd been teetering on for the last hour. Spike moaned and bucked into the hand as he panted and clutched at the arm still around his waist, the only thing holding him up at that point.
The man groaned near his ear and thrust against him, grinding hard. "Looked so fucking hot with their hands all over you. You liked it, didn't you? Them touching you while I watched."
"Yes," Spike gasped.
The vibration in his arse sped up suddenly and Spike cried out as his body convulsed, the sound swallowed up by the blaring music. He bucked hard into the man's hand and came in his pants. The orgasm seemed to go on forever, until he was shuddering with aftershocks, the plug still vibrating at a high speed inside of him.
Swallowing hard, Spike found his voice and begged hoarsely, "Please. Fucking hell. Need it to stop."
Immediately the vibration switched off and Spike melted back against the man, boneless. For a moment, they remained that way, standing at the edge of the dance floor, nearly in the shadows, men grinding on men right in front of them, oblivious to what had just happened.
After a moment, the man behind Spike shifted and Spike became aware of the fact that he was still hard, his erection pressed against Spike's backside. Blindly Spike reached behind him and shoved his hand between them, curling it around the man's length as much as he could with trousers in the way. He didn't even have time to process the strange feeling of touching another man's dick before his hand was yanked away and put back at his side.
"Not this time."
Spike swallowed at the implication that there would be a next time, realizing that he wanted that, very much. After a short silence, Spike asked, "What should I call you? Can't keep calling you 'that bloke' or 'that guy' or whatnot, not after…."
Spike trailed off and held his breath, waiting.
After a prolonged silence, the man said, "You can call me…Angel."
Spike quirked a brow and mouthed the word silently. Still, it was something at least. "Alright, Angel. Now what?"
The hand still fondling his now soft cock squeezed it meaningfully as Angel said, "Now you go home and jerk off in your bed tonight, just like you did the other Saturdays."
And just like that, the arm slipped from around his waist and the body that had been pressed against him was gone. Spike stumbled backwards, catching himself on the support beam next to him in time to keep from losing his balance completely. Alarmed, he looked around him, but no one stood out from the press of people in front of and to either side of him. How Angel had just…disappeared, Spike had no idea.
Cursing loudly, he made his way out of the club, more confused than ever.
Back in his room that night, Spike did exactly as told, jerking off fast and hard to the memory of Angel's breath on his neck, his voice in his ear, his hands on his body.
And after, as he floated off to sleep, a thought drifted through his head, only held for a fraction of a second before it was lost in the haze between awake and asleep.
Why was Angel so sure that he'd jerked off in his bed the other Saturdays?
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