Disclaimer: BtVS = not mine. No money is made from this work.

Rating: NC-17/ADULT/FRAO

Warnings: Non-con/rape. Violence. Spike still in the wheelchair. Angelus made them do it.

Pairing(s): Not sure how to put this, but I suppose Xander/Spike. Hints of Angelus/Spike. Possibly hints of Angelus/Xander/Spike.

Summary: Set in season 2 at the end of the episode Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered. After his run-in with Xander earlier that night, and then watching all those women go after the boy, Angelus has a cunning plan. A plan to both mess with Buffy and put Spike back in his place

Body. Weapon.

Roses Are a Weed

He watched her shut the door, still not looking at him, watched until he saw the hallway light flicker off. Watched. It felt like goodbye. How could she like him now, how could she love him, after he’d used magic, tried to use magic to control her. To bewitch her. Even though it had gone so horribly, stupidly wrong.

If he was lucky she’d forgive him, if he was really lucky Buffy would too. Not to mention Willow.

Oh well, Cordelia was safe now, so it was time to start repressing.

He turned to go with one last glance at her front door, heading away from the good part of town. It was still a few hours to sunrise, still not safe, so he did his best to stay alert; hand on the wooden cross he kept with him, wishing for a stake. The feeling of being watched, hunted, kept crawling down his spine. He knew that it was probably because of everything that had happened, because he’d almost been ripped apart by every woman in Sunnydale, not to mention Angel. And then there was his encounter with Drusilla...

The dulcet tones of his parents fighting reached his ears almost a block away from the house. They were still up, obviously, and from what he could hear they’d been in the booze. Well, it wasn’t like he could look the neighbours in the eye most days anyway, or that he’d want to at that. Maybe if he snuck in he wouldn’t get sucked into this fight. What could he say, some days it felt like any small success was a great triumph.

Pausing just outside the boundary of his parent’s property, he closed his eyes and sighed, it wasn’t like going from the frying pan to the fire, no, he had to remember that, going back to his house in Sunnydale was more like going from the frying pan into a heating vent, or maybe into a car left out in the sun for a while.

Opening his eyes he stepped forward and smacked into a cold, cloth covered form. Recoiling he found himself face to face with Angelus. Oh shit. He lashed out with the cross, smashing the rather surprised vampire across the face with it.

“That” Angelus hissed, punching him in the ribs and smacking the cross out of his hand “Was not polite.” The vampire grabbed him by the back of his shirt and lifted him onto his toes “Especially as I’m about to give you the night of your life.”

He gasped several rapid breaths, winded and feeling suffocated, knowing that he was going to die. Probably in some horrible way. Probably ending with what was left of his corpse dumped on Buffy’s doorstep. “Let me go you great big asshole,” he wheezed, which, okay, wasn’t the most original epithet he’d ever applied to Angelus. Having recovered a little from the punch to the ribs he started to struggle, doing his best to worm his way out of the grip of the other male.

“Now, now boy,” Angelus purred, sounding far too amused, “no point making things hard on yourself.”

“Get off me! Help!” he shouted, not that he thought it would do any good, not that anyone was going to come to his rescue. His parents probably couldn’t even hear him over their own noise and it wasn’t like the neighbours would care about someone shouting help in the middle of the night. Not in this neighbourhood. Not that anyone could help even if they tried. But at the end of the day if he was going to die he didn’t want to go down without a fight, without some kind of protest.

Angelus didn’t seem all that impressed, at least that’s what the giggling was telling him, though he’d bet that the vampire thought he was chuckling or possibly cackling in an evil and intimidating manner, but that was giggling. He knew giggling when he heard it. Oh great, he was going to be murdered by an evil vampire who giggled like a thirteen year old girl.

Not quite ready to give up he flung his head back with all his might, his vision flashing black and then exploding with stars as he connected sharply with some part of the other male. Through the ringing in his ears he could hear Angelus snarl before something sharp, something pointed was shoved into the flesh of his lower back hard enough to split the skin and make him bleed, but not penetrate deep enough to do him a mortal wound.

“Stop struggling if you want to keep your kidneys.”

“Why?” he hissed in reply to the vampire’s demand “You’re going to kill me anyway.”

He felt the other man shrug “Yeah, but not just yet. There’s something I want you to do for me first-’ the vampire began to walk, dragging him along, the knife still poking at him “and think about it this way Harris, the longer you live the greater your chance of escape, or, you know, rescue.”

He had a point, a horrible one, but a point. He stopped resisting and let the vampire pull him along, his eyes open for a chance to escape- and who was he kidding. He was dead, he was so dead.

It wasn’t actually that far from his house to the factory, not like Cordelia’s house, or Buffy’s, or Willow’s. You really had to hand it to the town planners of Sunnydale; they knew how to keep trash with trash. No one stopped them on the way, of course no one did, and it was all too soon that he was being dragged inside.

It was hard to hear over the pounding of his heart, the rapid, gasping breaths he was sucking in, but he was sure that Angelus was still giggling. “Dru?” the vampire called out, all affectionate sing-song, “Drusilla are you here?” There was no reply, which just seemed to please the vampire “Good, no interruptions.”

Oookaaay- that sounded a little odd.

He was yanked forward as Angelus stalked further into the building, full of renewed purpose and demonic glee. The vampire dropped the knife and scooped a wicked looking loaded crossbow off a table haphazardly covered in weapons on their way past, far too fast for him to get a chance to grab one, let alone attempt to escape.

The deeper they got into the building the more bounce entered Angelus’ step, the more he felt like he was just bobbing along in the vampire’s wake. A floating bottle sucked along behind an ocean liner.

Angelus dragged them through the main factory floor and into the part of the building that had been converted into living quarters for its undead occupants. Most of the doors were shut, but he caught a glimpse of a room full of dolls as he was pulled past and slammed into the wall outside a metal door at the end of the corridor. As he reeled back Angelus threw the door open before throwing him through it, to crash awkwardly against something hard and metallic before slumping to the floor.

He heard the vampire enter the room behind him, heard the door being shut, heard something that sounded like a lock snicking, and then heard a British voice sneering “Well this is awfully familiar, you really need to get a new gimmick.”

Pulling himself together he looked up to see a coatless Spike staring down at him from his seat in a red wheelchair, something that looked entirely too much like hope in his eyes. “Not that I don’t appreciate the gift, mind,” the blond vampire said, shifting his gaze to Angelus.

“Gift?” the dark haired vampire frowned, before giggling again “Oh no, sorry Spike. Didn’t mean to get your hopes up.”

The blond vampire frowned, eyes flitting from Angelus to him and back to the other vampire, who smirked, before opening his smug mouth “Actually,” the dark haired vampire purred “I suppose you could think of this as a gift. Just not a gift for you.”

Spike frowned “What are you on about mate?”

He took their distraction as an opportunity to drag himself to his feet, wincing a little at the entirely too familiar pain in his gut and ribs. Looking around he saw that they were in a bedroom, small, cramped and seemingly cobbled together recently. The furniture, the covers on the cheap, steel-framed bed unmatching. He glared down at the table the dark haired vampire had thrown him into, before glaring at the vampire in question; he’d have to make it past Angelus if he wanted to reach the door, and even though the vampire’s gaze was on Spike the crossbow was trained on him.

“You see, Harris here gave me a wonderful idea when we ran into each other earlier,” the dark haired vampire was saying, his eyes crawling over Spike’s wheelchair bound form in a way that was kind of unnerving in a ‘glad-not-to-be-on-the-receiving-end-of-it’ way. “So I thought why wait? Why not indulge myself.”

“That’s great,” Spike replied, wariness in his eyes, his tone “I’m really happy for you.” The blond put the leather bound book in his hand down on the floor and began to wheel his way towards the door. “You have fun now.”

“Uh, uh, uh Spike,” Angelus cooed, shifting the crossbow until it was pointed at the blond “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Stop it you pillock,” the blond snapped, though he could see real fear in those blue eyes “What do you think you’re playing at?”

“Shut up Spike.” Angel replied, totally blasé. “Put him on the bed Harris.”

It took him a moment to realise that Angelus was talking to him, and a moment more to realise what the vampire meant. Put Spike on the bed? Why would he want to put Spike on the bed? Why did Angelus want him to put Spike on the bed?

“On the bed Harris, put him on the bed,” the dark haired vampire was looking at him as if he was the unreasonable one. “Actually, no, take off his clothes first.”

“Oh no you don’t you blithering, nancy-boy, shirt-lifting, fudge-packing, bent, queer, tosser of a pouf!” Spike snarled at the other vampire.

“Oh don’t be like that Spike,” Angelus cooed “only earlier this evening every girl in Sunnydale would have killed to be in your position.”

Things were coming together in his mind, horrible, awful things; the only problem was that they didn’t make sense. Well, yeah, okay sense as in he got where this was going, but not sense as in he got the why of it. “I’m sorry, I’m confused,” he spoke before he could stop himself “I get the impression you want me to-“ oh god, how could he say ityou know, um, Spike. Only I’m sure the impression I’m getting is the wrong impression.”

Angelus rolled his eyes “No, I really do want you to ‘you know’ Spike, and if we could hurry it up people. Dru’s not going to stay out that long. Not that I think we’ll need too much time.”

“Hey!” he snapped, getting distracted by that dig at his manhood, before the more important issue overtook his mind “and over my dead body!”

“Don’t tempt me boy,” Angelus aimed the crossbow back at him “Now do what I say, and take his clothes off and put him on the bed.”

He shook his head “No, see, here’s the thing, I’m dead anyway, there’s no way I’m getting out of this alive, you and I both know it, so, you know, no! No, I will not-” he flung his hands about in a spasmodic gesture of denial in Spike’s direction “no.”

“True” Angelus acknowledged “but there’s a difference between dead and dead, dismembered and then left in the red-head’s bed. A significant difference I’d say.”

And what could he say to that, it would destroy Willow, he knew that. No matter how angry she was with him.

“Yeah, that’s nice and all,” Spike seemed like he was trying to remain calm “but it’s not going to work on me. Let me out of here and we can just forget this ever happened. Okay?”

Angelus chuckled, actually chuckled this time, before pointing the crossbow back at Spike. “Yeah, at this point I think I’d rather be dead,” the blond responded.

“You’ll play along, Spikey,” the dark haired vampire purred “Or I’ll squirt a bottle of holy water up your ass and let Dru find you burning from the inside out. Tell her you did it to yourself, tell her you couldn’t stand being in that pathetic, impotent, body for one more moment. So helpless.” There was a darkness in Angelus’ eyes, a disturbing sexual heat “Of course then I’ll have to comfort her, maybe bring someone in to help, like the Slayer. The girl does have a clever tongue, after all.”

Spike seemed to deflate, looking down at his clenched hands, before meeting Angelus’ sick gaze with one that seemed to be made from the heart of a glacier. “You’re pathetic,” the blond spat “You think that if you get someone else to do it, use a human’s prick, that it won’t matter? That it won’t be just like the other times?”

“Shut up Spike,” Angelus replied in that same blasé tone from earlier, though it was less convincing. “Now hurry up Harris, we don’t have all night.”

The crossbow was pointed back at him, leaving him with a choice, do what the vampire said, be killed, probably have his body left somewhere to traumatise the people he loved, or resist, be killed, definitely have his body left where it would traumatise his oldest, living, friend. Well, that was a choice. But the vampire wanted something from him and maybe he could make some kind of a bargain. “I do this and you promise me that when you kill me you’ll get rid of my body, not leave it somewhere for the others to find. Let me just disappear, let them wonder what happened to me, and if you can’t resist letting them know what you did, don’t let them find my corpse.”

Angelus smirked at him for a moment, silently, before shrugging “Okay then, I promise.”

And that was sarcasm, he knew that was sarcasm, but on the off chance it wasn’t, on the off chance the vampire would keep his word, he was going to have to fuck Spike. Against the blond’s will. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Slowly he approached the blond, who reflexively wheeled himself backwards. “Cut it out Spike,” Angelus warned “let the boy do what I’ve told him to.”

Up this close he could see that the blond vampire was shaking, just slightly, his fingers digging into the denim of his jeans. “I can take my own bloody shirt off!” the blond suddenly shouted, his hands rushing up to tear at the fabric enclosing his upper body “I don’t need, I don’t-” he could swear he heard Spike sob as the vampire finally succeeded in dragging the top up over his head, exposing pale, scarred skin and mussing the perfect carapace of his gelled hair. “I can do this, you fucking great arsehole.”

The blond leant forward, scrabbling for the laces of his boots, and almost unbalanced, pitching forward and almost out of his wheelchair. It was a pathetic sight, a strangely heartbreaking sight, even though he knew that Spike was almost as much a monster as Angelus. He darted forward and caught the blond, lifting him until he was back safe in the wheelchair, before kneeling down and getting to work on the blond’s boots. He eased the first one off and then the second, before gazing up at the man he was going to violate. Spike was scared, he could see that, no doubt Angelus could see that, but there was nothing he could do about it. He gently removed the vampire’s socks, before rising to his feet and carefully lifting him out of the chair. Spike was too light, his bones too prominent; the reading he’d done after Jesse was turned- first into a vampire and then into dust- telling him that there was no way the blond was getting enough to eat.

Depositing the blond on the bed he got to work removing jeans and then charcoal gray boxer-briefs, forcing his mind away from what he was doing. When Spike was naked he couldn’t stop his mind from processing what he was seeing, the mess that the vampire’s body was from the waist down. All those scars. He supposed that at least the blond was unlikely to feel his feeble, virginal fumblings, unlikely to feel it if he got it wrong, ripped delicate flesh. He fucking hated Angelus.

“Now yours, boy,” said detestable creature called out as something landed on the bedspread next to the blond. It was a tube of KY jelly. He heard his knuckles crack from how tight he was clenching his hands.

He pulled his shirt over his head, wincing when it got stuck briefly on the wound Angelus had made to his lower back, before pulling free with a sharp sting and the sensation of fresh blood welling up. Dropping the bundle of cloth he toed off his shoes, before his shaking hands made their way to his fly, fumbling with it before he managed to pop the button, undo the zip. He pushed his pants and boxers down, stepping out of them when they flopped around his ankles, and then quickly stripped off his socks. He wasn’t going to die wearing nothing but socks.

He fought off the urge to cover himself, because there was really no point, was there, and at the end of the day he sort of didn’t want Angelus to think he was ashamed of his body, ashamed of his- because soft and wrinkled and the least turned on he could ever remember being, he still knew he had nothing to be embarrassed about. Had never had anything to be embarrassed about in that department. Although maybe he should be ashamed, because he could see Spike’s eyes fixed on his cock and there was more fear there than there had been before.

“Get him ready,” Angelus purred, flopping down into Spike’s abandoned wheelchair and sitting back so he could watch them both in comfort.

“I don’t- I-” he didn’t know what to do, well, yeah, he knew what to do in the grand sense that he knew where his dick was going, but he had no idea how to ‘get him ready’.

“Of course you don’t,” and that was one good thing about the fact that he was going to die, he was so, so sick of amusing monsters “Lube on fingers, fingers in ass, stretch him out enough that you’ll be able to stick it in, and then get to the sticking.”

It took a moment to get his body to move, to obey his mind, but he managed it, managed to pick up the tube of KY jelly and twist off the cap. He felt revolting, vulgar, doing this. Sick to his stomach in a way that he hadn’t been since he’d watched his best friend turn to dust on the other end of his stake. Oh god, Freud would have a field day with him.

He was going to have to kneel on the bed, get closer to Spike, in order to do this, which meant he was going to have to acknowledge Spike’s existence once more. He moved hesitantly, careful, as he knelt, as he inched closer, until his knee was almost brushing the blond’s thigh. Oh god, Spike probably couldn’t even move his legs, oh god, he was going to have to manhandle the vampire, oh god. Oh god.

He dropped the lube back on the bed, watching as a single drop oozed out to stain the covers, before his shaking hands moved towards the blond vampire’s scarred right thigh. Faster than a striking snake Spike lashed out, catching one of his wrists and grinding the bones together. “Let him go Spike,” Angelus sing-songed “Or you won’t like the consequences.”

The Blonde vampire looked over to the dark haired one with an expression of such burning hatred, before looking up at him with eyes like those of a frightened, caged animal and slowly releasing his wrist. Shaking sensation back into the appendage he tried to regain the courage to do what he was being ordered to do.

“Get on with it boy, or I’ll come over there and do it myself.”

The surge of horror in Spike’s eyes at the suggestion was enough to get him moving. He lifted the vampire’s leg carefully, pushing it up until he had access, and then holding it there when it became obvious that Spike couldn’t do it himself. Using the other hand to pick up the lube he realised that he couldn’t use the hand holding Spike’s leg to apply it to his other hand, so- well, he wasn’t going to squeeze some out onto the vampire to do it, that just felt wrong, so he’d have to- he squeezed a blob out onto his own thigh, quickly running his fingers through it before it could ooze away.

Now he had to- he moved his hand slowly, index finger extended, towards the tiny, dusky pink place between the cheeks of the blond vampire’s ass. It was cool to the touch, the flesh soft and wrinkled, but he felt it contract and he knew that wasn’t an involuntary movement, especially since he heard the blond gasp in a small, unneeded breath. Spike could feel it. He’d obviously healed up enough to feel it, and that just made it so much worse.

Breathing through the nausea he pushed, feeling his finger sink into cool, twitching flesh. He kept pushing, until his knuckles were resting against the blond’s silky smooth skin, he moved his finger back and forth a little, gently, trying not to hurt the blond. Spike was grimacing, discomfort written plainly all over his face, which was only going to get worse as he pulled out his finger and pushed back in with two.

Spike’s asshole clenched down, hard, the vampire making tiny little noises of discomfort. Oh god, this was so sick.  “This is all lovely and romantic and everything,” Angelus, the giant pervert, snarked “but if we could just get on with it people. I’m getting bored here, and I’m starting to wonder if I’d find this more entertaining if I ripped off a limb or two.”

“I hope it really hurts when Buffy kills you,” he snapped, unable to stop himself, as he pulled out his fingers. The lube on his thigh had dribbled all over the place, sticky and unpleasant, also inefficient, so, with trepidation, he picked up the tube and moved it towards Spike’s pink, slightly puffy hole, squeezing a large glob directly onto the violated orifice. Some of the vampire’s muscles clenched, spasms running through the parts of his body he still had control over.  

Angelus didn’t even bother responding, and when he glanced over to the dark haired vampire he could see that whatever the other man had said about being bored wasn’t true, because the expression on his face wasn’t one of boredom. No. It was hungry, and tainted, and disgusting. Also impatient, so he’d better hurry up. God, he hated Angelus.

He slid his fingers back to Spike’s hole, pushing them in with most of the lube, easing the way for the thing he couldn’t escape. He scissored them gently when they were inside, trying to stretch out Spike’s inner walls, not that it would do much good if the vampire in question kept clenching down and trying to expel him.

“Hurry up Harris,” Angelus cooed “he’s loose enough.”

His fingers slid out easily, glistening in the artificial light as he shifted on the bed until he was kneeling between Spike’s thighs, the vampire’s right leg pushed up until the knee was resting on his chest.

Of course the only problem now was that he was completely, totally soft. In fact, he was fairly sure that his cock was trying to retract into his body, that’s how soft he was. He reached down with his lube-slicked fingers and gave himself a tug; nothing happened, he could barely feel it. Reaching for the now crumpled tube of lube he squeezed some directly onto his soft flesh, flinching a little at the cold, before he dropped the tube and set to work trying to get himself hard.

He supposed it would help if he could let his mind wander, imagine Cordelia naked, her full tits and peaked nipples, or Buffy with her legs spread, looking up at him in wanting, or hell, Pamela Anderson in that red one-piece, all plastic-pretty and fake, but turned on. Except it felt like he’d get anyone he thought about dirty, anyone he fantasised about, and for some reason he couldn't bring himself to do that, not even to the models whose faces he couldn’t remember, in the stack of vintage Playboys he and Jesse had found when they were thirteen, hidden in the garage behind boxes and tools that never got used.

Somehow he got his cock hard enough for penetration, a modern miracle, but that left him with the problem of logistics. How was he going to do this? Maybe if he- he moved closer and scooped Spike’s left leg up, so it was hooked over his elbow. Carefully releasing the blond’s right leg, which stayed where it was thanks to the miracle of gravity, he used his left hand to guide his dick as he pressed forward, nudging his cockhead at Spike’s hole. It took a bit of effort to get it in, because he wasn’t really hard hard, and Spike wasn’t really stretched out that much, but eventually it popped through, making the blond grunt with discomfort.

Easing forward he scooped the vampire’s other leg up and then shrugged them both up until they were hooked over his upper arms, near his shoulders. He leant down and whispered “I’m so, so sorry” to the blond, before pulling back with his hips and thrusting forward again. Slowly, carefully.

It felt good, he could acknowledge that, Spike was tight and clenching and quite pretty if he was honest, but at the same time he couldn’t escape the fact that this was him losing his virginity, and he was doing it by being forced to rape someone. He slid back again, pushed forward, slid back, over and over, almost numb to the pleasure.

Spike’s legs were beginning to slide down his arms so he shrugged them back up again, instinct more than thought leading him to slide his hands under the blond’s pelvis and lift him slightly with the next thrust. His mind registering the feel of thick, ropey scar tissue under his fingers at the same time as he heard Spike moan, tiny and sweet and not sounding a thing like pain.

Spike looked startled; the vampire’s eyes were wide, his pupils dark, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. A flush, unbelievable but there, rising in his cheeks. Carefully he withdrew and thrust again, watching as the blond gasped, as his blue eyes became hooded and dark.

Obviously whatever he was doing he was doing it right. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, part of his mind suggesting that maybe it was a worse violation than just using Spike, but that didn’t stop it from feeling easier, his thrusts becoming smoother, liquid, his body falling into the rhythm of the act. It was so easy too, the easiest physical thing he’d ever done. His body felt almost made for it.

Maybe it was selfish, no, wait, of course it was selfish, and probably disgusting, but there and then, on top of, inside, a beautiful man who was feeling pleasure (okay, unwanted pleasure) because of him, because of what he could do with his body, it all just made him want to live. He didn’t want to die. He especially didn’t want to die at the hands of Angelus.

He let his body work, let it fuck into the blond time and time again, but his mind was now looking for a way out, eyes searching for a weapon. Spike was moaning softly with his every thrust, his voice, his body, displaying enjoyment, but when he looked down into the blond’s face he could see that those ice-blue eyes were looking towards Angelus, that Spike’s face was twisted into a dark, smug expression.

It made a twisted kind of sense, he supposed, that Spike would use his own pleasure as a weapon against the man who had forced it on him.

Some part of him didn’t like it, some part that filled him with a horrible kind of shame, resented the idea that the man he was fucking could think about someone else while it was happening.

His next thrust was harder, not rough but purposeful, his hands clenching into Spike’s flesh as he lifted the blond into his body’s push. The vampire yowled like a startled cat, his eyes rolling up into his skull, his hands flying up to grasp at the steel bars of the bead-head. The next thrust had him mewling, his arms clenching, the steel of the head-board rattling in his grip.

He kept up the pace, mind gone from the task of escaping, all focussed on making it good for Spike. Spike whose whole body convulsed at a particularly good thrust, whose arms clenched as he grasped onto the bars, Spike who was now staring up at him with purpose in his gaze. He frowned down at the vampire, who looked from his gaze up to one of his hands on the metal headboard and back again, like he was trying to say something.

Carefully extracting a hand from beneath the vampire he raised it until it covered Spike’s fist, feeling the bar in the blond’s grasp shift. It had come loose. He gave it a gentle tug with his next thrust, checking to see if he could pull it loose. He could, it was possible, it was a weapon. He grinned down at the vampire underneath him, now all he needed was an opportunity.

Spike reached up and grabbed his head, pulling it in close enough to breathe “your best chance is just after he comes” so quietly that he could barely hear it over the sound of his own panting. A quick glimpse told him that Angelus was jerking off, the vampire’s cock red and weeping and smaller than his own. Huh.

“Oh, oh you’re so big,” moaned Spike, suddenly, loudly “So hard. It’s so good. It’s just so good.”

It sounded almost too sincere to be fake, but he could tell the blond was having a go at Angelus again. Especially when he threw back his head and wailed “So much better than anything I’ve ever had. So much bigger!” and then “Fuck me! Fuck me!”

An inarticulate groan, half pleasure, half rage sounded from behind him, but as he was still alive and as he couldn’t hear the dark haired vampire getting up, he assumed his neck wasn’t about to be snapped. He didn’t understand Spike, why the vampire was trying to piss off Angelus when the blond had just given him a weapon to use against him, unless- maybe Spike didn’t care how Angelus was hurt, as long as he was hurt. Maybe Spike was content to just strike out however he could...

It must have been horrible to be helpless and trapped at Angelus’ (distinct lack of) mercy.

Spike kept up the moans, the mewls, the raucous cries of pleasure and obscene exclamations, kept on panting about how big he was, how good he was, and even though he knew it was a lie it was getting him off so good. His orgasm rushing up on him faster than he could believe possible.

His thrusts were coming fast and rough, probably hurting the man beneath him, but he couldn’t make himself stop. His mouth felt wet, his teeth itched, he just wanted to- wanted to- he buried his face against Spike’s throat, mouthing at soft skin, kissing, tonguing and finally biting down gently. Spike jacknifed beneath him, his internal muscles squeezing down, a soft, surprised “oh” escaping his lips.

He’d just made Spike come, and the thought was enough to set him off too. He heard Angelus emit a low moan, heard the wheelchair shaking through his own grunts, low and ugly, as he spent himself inside the blond, his hand already yanking the metal bar free before he’d even regained his sight. Pulling away quickly and carefully he got a glimpse of Spike’s wet-pink-red hole, all open and painted with his come. He felt a deep surge of something, arousal-satisfaction-achievement, at the sight; it was a disgusting feeling, whatever it was, and he used that self-directed anger to propel himself towards Angelus, catching the bastard hard across his smug, sleepy face with the metal bar, making the vampire drop the crossbow in surprise.

The first strike felt good, the second better, the third –which he directed at the dark haired vampire’s cock, hanging flaccid and spent from the fly of his pants- felt even better. He just kept hitting and hitting, until the vampire had fallen out of the wheelchair, until he was curled up on the floor. Every time Angelus tried to rise he smacked him back down, striking head, shoulders, back and every time he got a chance, cock. Which was probably what was keeping the vampire down.

“Spiiiiiiike? My Aaaaangel?” a sing-song female voice broke through his rage “Where are you? The stars have all gone out and I’ve torn my dress.” That was Drusilla, oh shit.

Dropping the steel bar he grabbed the nearest piece of his clothing and bolted, tearing out of the room and towards the main factory floor as fast as he could go. The sound of Spike laughing, full and hearty, following after him, as well as the words “You know Peaches, I think you’re right, Dru really could use a real man. How about you turn the boy so she can have one?”

He didn’t see Drusilla as he fled, didn’t see much of anything, until he broke out into the early dawn light, still naked, cock hanging in the breeze. He ran a little longer before he stopped to assess what clothing he’d managed to snatch; miraculously it was his pants, which he pulled on before continuing to walk.

He didn’t know where to go, didn’t want to go home, couldn’t go to one of his friends (even if they were talking to him), couldn’t bear them finding out. It would hurt Buffy, he knew that -if she believed him, that was- and it just wouldn’t help, so he wouldn’t tell them- and it wasn’t like they’d find out from Angelus either, not with how it had ended. It would just have to remain his secret.

Of course, if he was honest, part of it was that he didn’t want them to see him as any more of a rapist than they already did.

God, he needed a shower, he stunk of come, so home it would have to be.

He was going to have to learn to fight, properly, there was no way he was letting this happen again.

The End

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