A story in the Fanged Four verse

Set in an alternate reality where Angelus was never ensouled, sometime at the turn of the 20th century
(Au/Spike, daddy!kink, mindfuck)



Privilege


by
Kidcyclone


The New Lair is still in a state of half-habitable chaos. Although most of the unpacking has been done, and the windows are all properly cloaked with blackout curtains and thick, sumptuous draperies, boxes of ornaments and ephermia still line the walls of most of the rooms.  Dru has claimed as her own the bedroom where she happily declares she feels a dark presence in the closet, and is busily fluffing the dresses and straightening the hair of her collection of dolls, settling them in their places around the plaster of Paris banquet that is laid out for them on the child's tea table.

Darla is overseeing the unpacking of her gowns and directing the minions as to the decor of the bedroom.

Angelus is in his study, carefully inspecting his favourite swords and knives, and determining where to place them on the walls. Spike is supposed to be unpacking the books and putting them on the bookshelves, but instead he is flicking bits of packing material at Angelus and sniggering whenever one sticks.

Angelus carefully runs his long fingers over the hilt of the tanto, checking for rust spots. When the third crumpled ball of paper bounces off his shoulders, he murmurs, "William. D'you need me to find you something more useful to apply yerself to?"

Spike kicks at a box in response, and mutters under his breath.

"Sick of unpacking. Sick of eating old mouldy stuff from the larder. Want to go out and hunt. D'you think you could possibly have found a crappier lair? There's not even a phonograph."

"We'll have to get a few things to spruce the place up," Angelus says patiently, setting the slender tanto down on the desk and picking up his hand-axe. 

Spike scoffs and kicks at the box again.

"A box of matches would spruce it up quicker. I suppose Darla likes it."

Angelus turns and regards the boy with an inscrutable expression, fingering the axe thoughtfully.  Spike's eyes flick to the chipped blade, then to Angelus' thick belt, then he glares up at his Sire with his fine lip curled in a sneer.

"It's no use being a brat, William. The answer is 'no.''"

Spike's blue eyes widen slightly in surprise.

"No? What're you on about now? I haven't asked for anything."

"Oh, you're asking all right, lad. You're practically begging me. But I'm not going to do it. Now, either put the books away properly, or leave the room."

Spike knits his brows in confusion, but reaches into the box and takes a few cracked, leatherbound books out. Stacking them haphazardly on the shelves, he retorts, "Not going to do what? Stop talking in riddles, Angelus."

Angelus sets the axe aside with the other items to be sharpened and carefully threads his fingers through the metal-studded thongs of a flail.

"I'm not going to spank you."

The boy chokes at this, and Angelus flicks a glance at Spike's face. He smirks to see the high planed cheeks redden and to hear the surprised intake of breath, before Spike catches himself and retorts, "You're mad- I don't want you to-"

"Come on boyo, drop the charade. You're acting like a spoilt little brat for weeks now, and you think I'll spank your little arse for you, and then you'll be all cuddles and charm for a few hours until you feel the urge again.  I'm onto you, lad."

Angelus sits down in the big leather chair, lacing his fingers together and propping them behind his head. The knowing smirk he's giving Spike is especially infuriating, even moreso when he only responds to Spike's fingers raised in the 'Vee' sign with an amused snort.

"You see? Begging for it."

Spike's face is burning hot and he spits out angrily, "Sod off, Angelus! Fat ponce. You'd like me to beg you to smack my arse, you pervert. Too bad for you that day will never come."

Angelus examines his manicured nails nonchalantly.  "Ah, that's a pity then, because that's the only way I'd consider doing it. I'm afraid my old methods just aren't working, so I think I'd better drop 'em. Besides, you're a big lad now, too big for smackings."

Spike's expression falters.  He looks suspicious and a little crestfallen.  Angelus notes this, of course, and privately feels a surge of triumph, but doesn't comment further.  He takes his penknife from his waistcoat and studiously works at trimming his nails.

The boy hasn't been quiet this long without having something forcibly in his mouth since... well, since Angelus can remember. He enjoys the silence, knowing that it won't last forever.  While it does, though, he feels a warm glow of happy satisfaction, like after drinking a good brandy or a particularly fine virgin.

At last the boy huffs.  He turns to the boxes of books and begins to unpack them, stacking them on the shelves angrily, but still handling them carefully. No matter how hard he tries to be the unkempt, contemptuous guttersnipe, William can't bring himself to mistreat the books.  Angelus revels in his satisfaction and waits.  This is the hardest part, but he prides himself on his patience.  He takes out his memorandum book and pen and begins to write.  The scratch of the nib against the paper and the thump of books on the shelves are the only sounds in the room for some time.

Angelus feels William's presence behind him, and keeps writing.  He hears the soft rustle of cloth as the boy shifts his weight, hears the sound of William swallowing and his self conscious fidgeting.  At last, the boy's voice breaks the silence, soft and shy.

"You're really... you... you're not going to? Anymore?"

Angelus makes a point of finishing writing his sentance before looking up.  William stands behind him, hands behind his back and lower lip caught in his teeth.

With a smile, Angelus shakes his head. "You heard me, William. Oh, sorry- "Spike". That's what you want to be called now, right?"

It take a concentrated effort to keep the light, easy smile on his face as he watches the boy struggle with the conflicting emotions.  When Angelus calls him 'Spike', his jaw actually drops in surprise. He blinks once, twice, then swallows again, his mouth unconsciously moving as if he's stunned beyond the ability to remember to speak.

"But-" William begins, and Angelus smiles, clapping his shoulder.

"So, no need to behave like a spoilt brat anymore. It won't be getting you any more punishments. And you'll not have to sleep in between me and Darla any more. Or feed from me, or have me bathe you. You're all grown up now, Spike."

The boy's teeth unconsciously worry at his lower lip and Angelus gives him another friendly smile, another clap on the shoulder, and drives the knife home.  "Matter of fact, you've no need to trouble yourself with this- send in one of the minions. Go out. Enjoy yourself."

William stands dumbstruck for several long moments, before Angelus urges him on with a little gesture of his hands and the same open, friendly smile.  Then at last, he stumbles out of the study, looking confused and a bit like a lost puppy.  

Angelus cracks his knuckles and settles down with a volume of Voltaire, to wait.

He's read scarcely twenty pages when there's a tapping at the study door. A hesitant tapping, as if the one knocking is uncertain about whether or not they want to be invited in.

Angelus sings out cheerfully, "Come in."

William comes in, just to the edge of the carpet, and stands, twisting the hem of his jacket in his hands.  He scuffs his boots, and fidgets, and although Angelus wants to stride over, physically stand the boy up straight and fix his collar and cuffs and do something about his hair, he forces himself to sit patiently with the book still open in his hands and not to speak.

At last, William blurts out desperately, "What've I got to do then!"

Angelus looks up, a carefully constructed look of pleasant confusion on his face. "What d'you mean, Spike? Go on out and enjoy yourself. You're all grown up now."

William's blue eyes are shining and he demands, "For you to- you know!"

Angelus hides his smirk, tilting his head. "Hm? Something troubling you? You look a bit agitated."

William thrusts his fists against his thighs in frustrated embarrassment, and shouts, "For you to spank me!"

The boy glares at Angelus, white teeth clenched and his face red.  "Don't play innocent with me! What've I got to do! Damn it, Angelus-"

Angelus smirks, and crooks his finger. William, blushing and glaring, advances toward him, fists clenched.  When the boy stands before him, Angelus motions for him to bend down, and William does, glaring and stiff shouldered with humilation.  Angelus caresses the boy's hair before murmuring, "You mean you don't want to be all grown up? But I thought you were the Big Bad... Slayer of Slayers... all grown up and too big to be told what to do..."

William stammers, his face crimson.  He clenches and unclenches his hands and Angelus can smell the frustrated humiliation and the keen longing that rolls off him. He breathes deeply, savouring it, then fixes the boy with a dark, penetrating gaze.

"Am I wrong... William?"

The boy's adam's apple jumps as he swallows.  He licks his lower lip, his eyes shining with wetness.  Angelus wants to grab the boy and tear off his jacket and shirt, rip his trousers down and pull him into his lap, to plunder his mouth and taste his hot, sweet blood, to tell him of course he'll never be too old to spank or to be bathed or fucked, that he'll always be his boy, but he forces himself to be silent and savour the boy's rare, delicious vulnerability and neediness.

William clenches his teeth.  He's struggling, physically struggling, between eagerly seizing the freedom and autonomy he's thought he wanted, and the surprise at the sharp pang he feels when confronted with the prospect of being grown up and no longer daddy's boy.

At last, he manages to grit out, plaintively, "Daddy...."

Angelus' cock swells and he softly strokes the boy's jaw with his thumb.  He murmurs, "Ask me, William, like a good boy."

Spike clenches his teeth so hard the muscles in his jaw stand out.  He growls, "But..."

"Last chance, William. Now or never."

"Please!" the boy blurts, his eyes wide, and his face tense.

Angelus smirks and begins to unbutton the boy's coat.  "Please what?"

William glares and clenches Angelus' sleeve, his fingers digging in.  Angelus smirks, and as he slips the boy's braces from his shoulders, says sweetly, "Please... let you be my little boy? Undress you... turn you over my knee... hold you down and slap your tight little arse until it's all rosy red and hot?"

Spike swallows hard, humiliated, and nods, biting his lip so hard Angelus can see the fat drops of blood there.  As he undresses the boy, he continues, "...please hold you naked in my lap, and let you suckle from me... rub you with oil and keep my razor well stropped, and keep that lean, delightfully flexible body of yours squeaky clean inside and out, well bathed and smooth shaven and keep your sweet mouth and arse filled with my cock?"

Spike makes a noise like a strangled whimper, but nods once, a jerk of his head.  Angelus undoes the boy's flies and lets his knuckles brush the swelling of his cock.  Spike gasps and shudders, moaning softly, "Please..!"

Angelus shoves the boy's trousers down his lean thighs and strokes the length of Spike's slick cock, purring and growling in a slow, soft voice laced with silken menace, "Please let you kneel down right here and now and lick and suck my cock after I take you across my knees and redden your wee bottom til you're crying like a naughty little schoolboy? William?"

The boy's cock swells and grows slicker at his words and touch, and Angelus continues, "Ask me very sweetly, boyo..."

Spike shudders, and Angelus slowly draws his thumb over the reddened tip of the boy's sensitive cock, illiciting a gasp and a sob of need and desire. "P-please... daddy!"

Angelus purrs, leaning forward and kissing the boy's full lips, forcing himself to exercise restraint and give them the merest brush of his own.  He strokes the boy's slick cock in his fist and whispers, "Say it, boyo... let daddy hear it from your own sweet lips..."

William gasps and writhes in Angelus' grasp, shuddering, burning with humiliation mingled with desire.  At last his need and lust overcome his dignity and he pants out in half-sobs, "Please daddy! M-make me yours! Your boy! Spank me and-- make me be good!  Just for you!"

Angelus chuckles deeply, his cock throbbing with pleasure at the sweet sight of the boy, so pretty in his desperation.  He'd like to drag this out and deepen the boy's humiliation, by making him beg for all sorts of delicious humiliations, but Angelus has never been much of one for self-discipline and Spike's not likely to stay this eager and vulnerable for long.

"Very well, my William," he purrs, the picture of generousity, as he pulls the boy into his lap and slides his big hands over Spike's smooth, silky skin, stretched flawlessly over the lean muscle beneath, "you can be Daddy's baby boy forever and ever.  No matter how big and bold you get, you'll always be Daddy's sweet... naughty... spankable... fuckable... baby boy..."

Angelus punctuates each word with kisses and little nips, as the boy squirms in his lap, moaning softly and reaching down to fist his cock, eager for relief.

"Ah, ah, ah- no touching, naughty lad. That's not for wee boys to touch." Angelus scolds, slapping the boy's hand lightly and putting him over his knees. Spike pants, whinging softly as he thrusts against Angelus' muscular thigh.

Angelus looks down with pleasure at the smooth, straight line of his boy's back, the slim hips, the swell of his firm, boyish bottom, pale and smooth for the moment.  He cups his hands and clasps the round fullness of William's arse, squeezing gently and enjoying it a little longer in its pale, cool state.

"Aye, you're Daddy's own sweet lad... such a naughty lad, always up to mischief. I think I'd better be sure and spank you at least once a day, boyo, even when you've not done anything naughty that I know of, because surely you've been up to some mischief that's not come to my attention...."

William squirms and pants harder, and when Angelus brings his flat palm down on the boy's firm arse, the boy gives a satisfying yelp and clenches his tight buttocks.  Angelus holds the boy firmly in place and settles into a pleasurable rhythm, bringing his firm hand down to slap against the boy's little arse and enjoying the sight of it bouncing as William clenches and unclenches it, tensing his thighs and clenching Angelus' leg as he gasps and hisses through his teeth.

"Ah ah ah, naughty lad, hold still... you know you've earned this spanking.  Swaggering around like a hellion, convincing all and sundry you're a big, bad lad.  But we know you're really Daddy's naughty little boy, don't we? And Daddy's going to keep you his sweet little boy... keep you well spanked and well fucked, William.  Feed you and bathe you and make sure you do as you're told..."

"Oh god! Oh god! Please!" Spike yelps, squirming insistantly at the stinging slaps as the heat and urgency build in his bollocks. "Please!"

"Oh no you don't lad. Not til you've showed Daddy what a good boy you are. Down you go, boyo, on your knees, with that red little arse out in the breeze, and just you take your soother and show me you deserve to get rewarded," Angelus orders, giving a final volley of slaps to the boy's bright red bottom, and urging him off his lap to kneel on the carpet before him and eagerly undo his trousers to free the thick hardness of his cock.

William whinges as he hurries to obey and soon is kneeling between Angelus' thighs, suckling and making eager little kittenish noises as Angelus strokes his fingers through the boy's hair, and murmurs with pleasure, "Ahh... that's it, sweet boy. Aye, that's Daddy's good boy.... Ah, you're being a very good boy for Daddy."

As the boy's skillful tongue laves his cock, Angelus leans his head back in his chair and moans softly with pleasure.  Perhaps there's something to be said after all for this new fangled childe psychology, he thinks to himself, as his fingers stiffen in his boy's curls.




The End



The Fanged Four





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