So, sexymermaid wanted Spike, Xander, a brothel, and Illyria. She also wanted tentacles, but, er, that kind of terrifies me and confuses me, so I just ... didn't do that aspect of the request. Sorry, but ha! My choice *g*
This is an all human au. I have no idea of the details of it, and no, there won't be a sequel. I don't think. NC-17 for very sure, and unbetad, written while my boss was hovering over my shoulder. A big nod to witling's various post-apocolyptic and slave worlds, cause I'm shameless in my gaking :)
Untitled drabble with legs!
The blue dye in her hair was leaking, dappling onto her forehead, but Spike knew better than to discount this woman by her punk exterior. There was cynical calculation behind blue contacts that made her pupils look slitted. Her leather cat-suit—also blue—was as carefully maintained as a knight’s armor, for all she looked like a two-dollar dominatrix in it. This was a woman who ruled her little kingdom with an iron fist, a queen among beggars, and her wares were the best available.
Spike happened to know that her real name was Winifred and that she’d called herself Fred in a lilting, giggling southern accent. But that was Before, when the sun had still warmed the earth and government still existed to offer paltry protection to its citizens.
“You stare,” Fred-cum-Illyria stated. Rumor had it that some of the rad-waves had done something funny to her brain, something other than creating her unhealthy obsession with the color blue. Spike didn’t believe it for a second—everything about her was weighed and measured, right down to the way her hip jutted slightly to the right. There was nothing distorted or damaged about her mind. Well, no more damaged than anyone else who continued to live After.
“Sorry, love,” Spike told her with a patronizing smirk. “You’re just a bit of a spectacle and all.”
“If you have need, then state it. Otherwise, leave.” Her movements were almost mechanical, or the way Spike vaguely remembered human-shaped robots acting. She didn’t tilt her head so much as jerk it into position, each movement laser-precise—but her eyes were alive with intelligence, plotting his dance before Spike even learned the tune.
Not that he’d let her do that. He hadn’t survived to his station by letting others play DJ. Still smirking, his body even more fluid in contrast to her stilted behavior, Spike poured them both a drink of the water she kept handy for the richest of clients, handing it to her with a little bow. “I’m in the market. I’ve got the dosh to pay for the best, and you claim you can provide it.”
Illyria wasn’t one to respond to challenges—but she valued those strong enough to offer them, and the slight inclination of her head was better than when the old bitch Darla had screamed out her submission before killing herself. Oh, Spike knew that’d been a last-ditch effort to appeal to her former clansmen, trying to form up a mutiny even though her life was forfeit. It hadn’t happened. Spike had his clan bought and paid for, and there wasn’t anyone on what was left of California to challenge him except maybe Angelus himself—and there, Spike had a nice deal worked out. His power wasn’t set in stone, nothing was, but he had a few months relief in the offing and Spike wanted to spend it in style.
Illyria was something of a status-symbol herself, too, which certainly didn’t hurt.
“Do you wish to rent or buy?”
Spike sipped the water, trying not to let Illyria know how the cold, cleanliness of it affected him. She’d be watching for that, one reason she paid to get it as pure as possible. But god, the taste of uncontaminated water was almost worth this whole exercise, even if he came away empty-handed. “You do both?” There was no curiosity in his tone.
Her responding smile was diamond-hard, but satisfied. “Follow me. I have selected several possibilities, should you prove worthy.”
Spike didn’t bother with his normal petty theatrics—tossing his coat with his hips to make it flap, or the smirk he habitually wore, maybe even smoking one of the few remaining cigarettes—instead looking around with barely concealed interest. It wasn’t many who were allowed even this far into Illyria’s stronghold, and for him to be invited to view several choices meant Spike had come slightly farther than he’d thought.
Or Angelus was mucking about with things again. He had that new alliance going with whatshername, the blonde chit that was a rad-baby and could break him with her littlest finger when she wasn’t bat-shit insane—that’d keep him occupied, wouldn’t it?
Thoughtful and just a touch worried, Spike was led through a honeycomb of hallways, built to confuse and disorient, before he was brought to a room similar to the one he’d started out in: pleasantly appointed with only slightly threadbare rugs, chairs with actual cushions on them—and three kneeling figures.
Two men, one woman. All three were naked, their skins unmarked—Spike could see the faint, shimmery lines that meant plastic surgery to heighten their appearances—with hands clasped behind their backs, chest pushed outward and heads tilted towards the floor. They were beautiful specimens, perfectly proportioned and, knowing Illyria, incredibly well trained.
The first was a fairly thin, tall man with dark hair—and eyes that were as empty as a stone’s. This one was the more beautiful, Spike noting the scars that did more than cover old injuries but had probably reshaped some of his facial features, while some of the drugs he knew Illyria traded in had sculpted his body even further. He responded with eager promptness, displaying none of the mechanical traits that other vendors couldn’t beat out of their wares. His cock hardened at Spike’s first touch and he knew that this one would be a joy to use.
But those empty eyes, staring through Spike—there was enough of him from Before inside to be creeped out at the sight. It didn’t bother him on an intellectual level; this one had probably been one of the many who hadn’t transitioned smoothly, yet hadn’t died, either. Murder was as acceptable as breathing, but wasting was something else again. His mind had been wiped rather than broken, leaving a programmable body for whatever his owner determined.
“Pretty,” Spike commented.
Illyria said nothing, watching as Spike turned his attention to the other man. This one wasn’t as beautiful as the other, but there was less scaring, too. A touch stockier, though Spike still mentally identified the body type as a swimmers, despite there being no pools to swim in and an ocean full of chemicals lapping at the edges of their ravaged land. His hair had more gold touches than the first brunette, hanging in loose curls around broad shoulders. Reaching out, Spike by passed the softened cock and tilted up his chin. Irises so dark they were nearly black stopped at Spike’s throat, allowing Spike to see what he wished—yet unlike the first man’s eyes, these flickered with understanding as training gave way to curiosity. There was someone still in there. Someone that was not happy with what he saw as he surreptitiously looked Spike over.
The girl, a slender red-head that crackled with energy Spike normally attributed to rad-babies but knew was different in this case, barely attracted his attention. It shouldn’t have; magic-users were worth more than a fresh water supply and Spike should have snatched this one up as soon as he realized she was on offer. But dismissal and disdain were always his lodestones, and that faint, hidden bit of not worthy had captured his interest as nothing else would.
Illyria knew it, too. “Your reputation proceeds you. I find you worthy of purchasing Xander. The standard contract is in place, and payment is non-negotiable.”
“Set it up,” Spike murmured, reaching out to twine his fingers in silky, dark locks of hair. Xander remained motionless as he was petted—except for his cock, which twitched with unwilling pleasure as Spike tightened his fingers into a fist, using Xander’s hair as a way to pull his head back. “Oh, yes. You’ll fight. You’ll hate. And you’ll love every thing I do to your body. You won’t be able to help it.”
Those dark eyes met his and burned, self-loathing and resignation twining together in a look Spike recognized from his own few glimpses into a mirror.
“Do you suck cock, toy? No, wait, silly of me to ask.” The other two choices slipped away behind Illyria, leaving Spike to enjoy his newest purchase before money actually changed hands. Fucking wasn’t possible, but Spike didn’t need to fuck this one to know he was the right choice. “Illyria trains the best, and I bet you could deep throat my fist if I wanted. But don’t worry. I won’t do that to start out.”
One of the tables along the far wall—had it been there when Spike first walked in? Illyria had magic at her disposal as well as a fair amount of drugs and money; there wasn’t much she couldn’t do—was waist height. Spike gestured to it, smirking when the boy scowled his displeasure while his body automatically climbed on top of it. Spike picked up the slick leather and coiled it around his acquisition’s throat.
“There, that’s better, innit? Oh, I know all about the drugs Illyria’s been feeding you. Hypnotics and probably what’s left of the nano-tech from Before. Makes you crave the collar almost as much as you now crave my touch. And you hate it, don’t you? Wonder why she didn’t beat that out of you.”
The voice was unexpected and wrong, since Illyria’s toys were famed for their silence without tongue-removal. Spike laughed gaily, shoving Xander onto his back and running his hands all over his body. The touch was two-fold—one, familiarizing Xander with Spike and subtly confirming that every iota of that body now belonged to Spike and no one else, and two, checking for any prior injuries or alterations made. It was surprising how few alternations, although there were faint scars covering almost every inch of his back. Not visible, but testament that Illyria had been forced to use physical beatings to make her point.
Better and better this one was.
Spike slipped his thumb into Xander’s mouth, working it back and forth while dark eyes fluttered, cock hardening as his mouth automatically tightened and began fellating the intruder. “So you’ll still talk without permission? I think I like that. Oh, not when others are around—I’ll remove it, before I let you disgrace me that way, pet—but you’ve got a pleasant voice, husky and soft. I like that a lot. Can’t wait to hear you begging me to fuck you.”
That earned him a furious glare that said not likely, but Spike knew the drugs that were saturated into one of Illyria’s collars and knew his boy had little choice. Or at least, he wouldn’t in about twenty minutes time.
Removing his thumb, Spike rearranged Xander’s body until he was on his side and curled slightly, providing easy access to both ends. Silently grateful that he’d taught himself how to be ambidextrous, Spike tugged the boy’s mouth open and tapped it, warning him not to move it. Then he began petting the boy’s hair, knowing the soothing gesture would reassure him and make him hate Spike just a little bit more—while his right hand ran over a heavy cock and soft, silken smooth balls, bending Xander’s leg so his knee hovered in the air, foot resting against his other ankle.
“Perfect,” Spike murmured, not bothering to slick his finger before pressing it against the boy’s opening. That would already be slicked and stretched in preparation for being bought—not that Spike really cared, anyway. His property would enjoy it merely because he was Spike’s property. “Now, pretty boy, lets see if I made a good purchase or not. Suck me.”
Thick fingers gracefully undid the buttons of Spike’s trousers, pushing them out of the way as Spike moved his hips forward into that warmly welcoming mouth. Dark eyes glared up with hot hatred even as a tongue caressed the underside of his cock, acquainting itself with what would be a frequent visitor. Spike had a fondness for blowjobs. Xander couldn’t stop the moan of enjoyment, his body reacting even while his mind struggled and loathed, allowing Spike to smoothly thrust his way through mouth and throat without fear of gagging his boy.
“Oh, that’s very good,” Spike purred. “Very good. Gonna learn to love this, boy, cause you’ll be spending a lot of time here, with my cock down your throat. Might even make you sleep this way, just in case I get an itch I want scratched in the middle of the night. Think I’ll put you here when I hold court, too, your mouth warming my cock while my clan looks on and wishes they had you to use. Oh, you like that,” Spike teased when a growl of hatred turned into a groan of pleasure. “I knew you would, pet. S’why I picked you. I knew you’d want it. And just to make sure ... ”
Matching rhythms was easy, Spike pulling back until only the head was in Xander’s mouth—and then pushed cock and finger inside with one smooth thrust. Xander cried out, the sound muffled but unmistakable, eyes widening as his prostate was deliberately rubbed. His already hard cock went rigid, the tip growing slick and shiny as the drugs in his system and his training overwhelmed him. He moaned, this time a true moan of pleasure, desperate and breathless as Spike fucked both ends. Xander’s body rippled appealingly, his hips beginning to thrust back—helplessly, if the rolling, white-rimmed eyes were any indication—as Spike added a finger and thrust against the boy’s prostate even harder.
“Knew comin’ to Illyria was worth it,” Spike panted. It’d been a while since he’d had a blow job, let alone one this expert, but he didn’t want to come yet. Not until Xander was desperate for his new master’s release, the final component to the cocktail swimming in Xander’s system. “You’ll fight like a wild-cat when I finally take you, won’t you little toy? No drugs in your body, ‘cept what never comes out. You’ll fight and buck and screech cause you’re worth the fight, worth knowing who your owner is. And when you’re mine, an’ you will be, no one’ll ever have you again. Not the clan, not anyone but me. Die without me, you will, because you’re my boy, and I’m going to enjoy making you know that down to your marrow.”
Sweat and saline leaked down the boy’s face as he worked his mouth over Spike’s cock, his body responding effortlessly to Spike’s touch and Spike’s words. Oh, this one was perfect, Spike thought again. He’d hate everything about Spike, until he couldn’t hate anymore, and then he’d be Spike’s in a way no drug or command could ever create. Spike would be sun and moon and air to breathe, and that was exactly the way it should be.
Spike groaned as a contracting throat finally caused his orgasm, pulling out at the last second to come over the boy’s face. Still holding the boy’s hair, he yanked, forcing Xander to lie on his back, legs raised and splayed, while two fingers became three and Spike mercilessly finger-fucked his new toy’s arse. “Feel it,” he growled, his cock wet and still hard, slapping against his belly. “That’s me inside you, and soon as Illyria comes back with those papers, that’s gonna be me again inside you. But first thing’s first, yeah? First, I want you to come just from the pleasure of it alone. Pleasure I give you. My come drying on your skin, settling in your belly, since a greedy thing like you can’t help but swallow. My fingers spreading you open the way only your trainers have before, the last hand you’re ever gonna feel.” Spike brutally slammed into Xander’s prostate, the boy sweating and bucking, choked off sounds escaping lips clamped tight. “I wanna see it.”
Xander’s cry was thin, reedy, and as full of despair as it was of lust. Spike laughed at the sound, because despair usually meant winning in the After, and Spike always won. Always. “Good boy,” he crooned, slowly easing his fingers out to rub the sticky fluid into the boy’s belly, other hand carding sweaty strands of hair from a flush forehead and running his nails gently over Xander’s scalp. “Very good boy. That’s it, now, pet. Sleep. Do as you're told, toy, and sleep. Listen to Spike, there’s a good boy.”
Once the boy was asleep, mind-games melding with drugs under skin that still retained hints of the golden color it’d been Before, Spike leaned down to press a soft kiss to his new pet’s mouth. “I take it you enjoyed the show?”
“Your attempts at pleasure are amateurish and crude, far too focused on words and lacking any kind of finesse or even skill,” Illyria snapped from behind him. “This particular item has been a problem since its capture, however, and its violence matches your lack of talent.”
Spike’s grin widened. “And?”
“Yes. I enjoyed it.”
Oh, how a woman like this hated doling out compliments. But they were sweeter for being so rare, and Spike reveled in this one. Or maybe that was just post-orgasm and post-purchase euphoria. Didn’t matter, really, because Spike had done what few others in their new existence had—clawed his way up from nothing to become leader of his own clan, tied with one of the most powerful warlords, and now a patron of Illyria’s wares. It was a good thing Angelus had offered him a significant bribe, or Spike could start thinking about challenging his rule. But that was later. After he’d spent a good stretch of time with the boy who was curling into his touch, even while asleep.
“Delivery is part of the contract, of course. Just tell me where I’m signing, and then how I’m getting my new pet home. He’s gonna wake up soon, and I want him with me when that happens. Got lots of plans for him, I do. Lots of plans.”