Pairing: Spike/Xander with a side of Drusilla
Fandom: Buffy
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~1200
Concrit: darkhavens @ slashverse.com. If you spot a typo, please feel free to tell me in comments. I want you to!
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Warnings/Squicks: Underage, non-con
Summary: He can't speak, can't scream, can't even think clearly. He knows there's something wrong with being here, being naked, on a bed with someone - vampire - beside him and another on his back.
Notes: Written for the Sept 1st celebration of porn at InsaneJournal. I didn't mean to write what I did, but apparently I can only withstand the lure of School Hard for so long before I give in and write yet another version of 'what happens next'.
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Special Toy
by
Darkhavens
It's depressingly easy to follow the boy home after Parent Teacher Night. The benign negligence of it makes Spike snarl.
He's infuriated that the Slayer and her little band obviously care so little for the boy that they allow him to wander off alone in the dark, knowing full well there are vampires about.
He wonders what Angelus was thinking when his soul offered the boy up as a snack-shaped distraction. Back in the day, his sire would never have chowed down on such a pretty little morsel without at least a few hours of fun and games first, might even have kept him around as a toy or a pet for a while to keep Dru entertained and out of trouble.
Spike likes that idea a lot.
~*~*~*~*~
Spike never gets used to the concentrated layer of determined ignorance that blankets Sunnydale like a London pea soup fog.
When he knocks on the door, he interrupts an argument that's pitched low enough to keep the neighbours living in ignorance, but still loud enough to keep his boy informed of his parents' many failings, if he didn't have his music dialled up to nine to drown it out. Spike is not amused.
But he is invited in, with a beer-scented sneer and a general wave towards the stairs.
"He went straight to his room and stuck that noise on. I think the little fuck's been fighting again, he was all- Hey! What are you-? No!"
~*~*~*~*~
Uppers from Mum and booze from Dad blend inside Spike with some really good pot from one of the students he'd had back at school. The combination has him bouncing on his toes and grinning all the way up the stairs and into the room that's vibrating to the beat of some third rate teenage rock band.
His boy is belly down on the bed in plaid boxer shorts and a stretched-out green tee-shirt. He's completely engrossed in a comic right up until Spike reaches out and turns the music off, and then he's rolling over with apologies tripping off his tongue.
"Sorry, Dad, I didn't realise it was so…"
Spike smirks from beside the stereo. "Loud? It was that. Loud enough to cover up the racket your parents made when I tried to teach them both a bit of respect."
"You… How…?"
The cornucopia of scents in the air makes Spike salivate - adrenaline and sweat, teenage hormones and recently spent spunk, sweet chocolate and salty chips, leather and lime. Delicious.
"Does this whole town operate under the delusion that ignorance is bliss? Inviting any stranger in off the street at every opportunity? I didn't even have to know your name to get your dad to invite me in and tell me where to find you. It was almost too bloody easy to get to you." Spike pauses and eyes the wardrobe in the corner suspiciously. "It's not a trap, is it? You haven't got Angelus or the Slayer lurking in there, ready to jump out when I make my move on you? No," he decides immediately. "They wouldn't have the balls or the brains for that, or the willingness to sacrifice those wankers downstairs. They really don't give a shit about you, do they, boy?"
The stake is an unwelcome surprise, but it bounces off his shoulder quite harmlessly. Spike admires a bit of fight in his conquests, so only punches twice, until the boy goes down, out cold. He makes sure to tie his prize at wrist and ankle before shouldering the weight and heading out for the warehouse.
~*~*~*~*~
Drusilla is waiting in the bedroom, singing to her dolls and twirling slowly on the spot. When Spike appears in the doorway with his partially-wrapped burden, she claps in delight and leads him over to the bed.
"This is Daddy's gift to us! Such a pretty little thing…"
The tee-shirt and boxers are gone in seconds, shredded to confetti before Dru lets them flutter down to the floor. She drags one finger down the bridge of his nose and pinches at his lax bottom lip, then lets go with a startled yelp.
"He's got sharp edges, Spike, all ragged and torn, like someone's ripped his wings off so he can't fly no more."
Clutching her skirts, she eases down onto the bed, eyes never moving from the young naked form laid out beside her.
"Touch him, Spike, touch him for me. If he gets my blood on him the party's over, but I can watch. I'll be good, I promise, but touch him now. I can tell he's going to wake up very soon."
~*~*~*~*~
Xander wakes to cool hands on his hips and cool lips at his throat and the press of cool naked skin along his back and down his left hand side. Any panic he might feel is swept away when he rolls his head and sees a pair of dark, mad eyes gazing solemnly into his.
"Don't fret, poppet, we got you safe and sound. You just watch me watch you and our Spike will do the rest. It only hurts for a while, and even that can be fun, if you want it to. Hush."
He can't speak, can't scream, can't even think clearly. He knows there's something wrong with being here, being naked, on a bed with someone - vampire - beside him and another on his back. Some tiny part, buried deep, deep inside, knows he shouldn't let strong hands tease his legs apart, should fight the push and stretch of fingers where they've never been before.
It hurts. It burns. But her eyes keep smiling into his, her voice keeps whispering in his ear, encouragement, shared joy and mad things that make less than no sense.
Something inside him sparks at the brush of a fingertip, and he keens in confusion. And pushes back.
"There we go," purrs a voice at his other ear as something bigger than fingers pushes in and turns his world inside out, full of fire and pain and-
"Yes! Yes, breathe, Kitten, take him in, take him all in and beg for more, like a good boy. Let me taste."
And there's a cock in his ass and a tongue in his mouth and - jesus - fangs in his neck and he can't… he can't understand the what of it or the why of it or anything but the fact that his own cock is not as limp as it should be. And it should, it really should, because he's not like this, he doesn't like this.
He can't like this, but he doesn't know why, and her voice is still whispering in his head of kittens, of flames, of dark princes and getting what you never dared to wish for. It seems to go on forever. It ends too soon.
He shakes apart around Spike's cock, Drusilla's joyous laughter turning his muscles to water as he comes, and comes. And cries. And doesn't know why.
"Our special toy. Can we keep him, Spike? Can we?"
The End
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