Yep, I wrote a sequel. It's still dirty/wrong, but this time from Xander's point of view.
Written for ambersnake who wanted either Xander at the beginning of the Broken universe in pet mode or more of Toys. Since I think of the stronger, dangerous, 'I-may-be-a-slave, -but-I'm-Spike's-fucking-slave' Xander when I think of Beautiful Broken, I give you more of Toys.
Fair warning... explicit sex ahead
Xander's legs trembled, the concrete under his knees still cold despite the amount of time he'd been kneeling. The floor just sucked up all his body heat and left him shivering. He snuffed awkwardly around the wide wooden gag forcing his aching jaw open. Part of him wanted to just break into the open sobbing that would bring Spike to his side, petting and soothing him, but Xander couldn't let go. He couldn't allow himself to give in to that need, not with Spike, not until the pain wiped out all the other fears and angers and frustrations and hatred.
Instead he squirmed to try and find an unbruised spot of kneecap. Chains rattled. Xander felt his control slip as a tear ran down his cheek leaving a cooling trail behind. Until now, Spike had watched television with one knee thrown over a chair they had retrieved from the dump: a cream leather chair with little claw marks trailing down one arm. Now, Spike turned, and Xander could see yellow eyes consider him.
Immediately, he dropped his eyes, unwilling to watch the demon he'd surrendered this control to. They had such a routine now… come home to the church basement Spike had claimed in some ironic territorial fit, strip, allow Spike to chain him in some position, and then slowly feel the agony settle into his bones as time and gravity did the damage Spike couldn't.
"Eyes up, pet," Spike ordered, his voice low and silky. Xander wondered how many girls had heard that voice before Spike sank his fangs into their necks. Part of Xander demanded that he fight, that he disobey. Instead, he found himself looking up as Spike stared at him, leaning forward in the chair.
"Such a pretty pet, all smellin' of suffering and need," Spike crooned. No matter how much guilt Xander felt, he couldn't keep his cock from responding to the tone, to the promise of comfort. Instead the disobedient organ twitched at the attention. Xander's arms were chained to the top of the stone arch, and he hid his eyes behind one raised arm. Focusing on the faint smell of spilled wine that seemed to have sunk into the stone of this old church basement, he pretended he didn't need Spike to hold him together.
"No hidin', pet. I want to see your big eyes beggin' me."
Xander jumped when the cool hand brushed damp curls back from his forehead. Looking up, Xander struggled to straighten his legs, the ropes groaning as he strained.
"Such a pretty boy. How many bruises did ya get the slayer to give ya?" Spike asked, crouching down on the dusty floor in front of Xander. Long fingers trailed down Xander's exposed chest as Spike teased, his touch bringing Xander to a dangerous edge. "Ya must of wanted to wear her bruises," Spike whispered as though sharing a secret.
Xander flinched away from that truth. He remembered as a teen arguing that he should get training because, hey, normal boy fighting demons. On days when Buffy or Giles were in just the right mood, he would work with them, feeling each hit, even when Buffy pulled her punches. Those nights he would lay in his bed and poke purple skin when he stroked himself. He suffered for her. He dreamed of her finding him, finding his bruises and his pain and soothing him. Instead she sent him home, telling him that he couldn't help her, while she went to Angel.
Xander struggled to pull himself up by his arms, but his shoulders burned with pain and he couldn't get any of his weight off his knees. The chains around his wrists clanked wildly as he struggled for a moment. The entire time, Spike waited with his palm pressed against Xander's chest, his head cocked in what looked like pleasure as he watched Xander fight the restraints. Xander could feel a sick part of himself that rejoiced in becoming the center of someone's else's attention.
"Such a pretty pet." Spike ran a cool hand over Xander's bare chest, pinching a nipple softly before reaching down and stroking Xander's traitorous cock. "Ya smell like pain, pet," Spike whispered.
Xander snorted, and the sound turned into a sob as new tears started. He could feel spit escaping from the sides of his mouth, and Spike picked up the plaid shirt from the floor, gently wiping the sides of Xander's mouth as he made little soothing sounds.
"That's right, let me hear your pain, pet. I bloody notice you even if the others never did," Spike promised.
Xander hiccupped, the large wooden rod between his teeth making the motion painful as his jaw muscle tried to close. Looking up at Spike's expression--half bliss and half sadistic curiosity--Xander compared that expression to the others in his past.
His mother had watched impassively as he withered under his father's tirades. Other fathers had sons who went out for football and played guitar and came home with those stupid bumper stickers proclaiming 'My child is student of the month at Sunnydale High School.' Tony Harris got Xander. And the more his father drank, the more the man had resented all the things he didn't get with his son. And the more Xander turned to his mother, the more he discovered that the woman had lost any interest in either her life or her son.
Jesse had seen him, seen the depths Xander would surrender to in order to earn that approval. But then Darla-bitch vamped Jesse. Xander still remembered Jesse's words--the most painful ones he could possibly offer Xander--that Xander was only a shadow. And with one shove, the only person who had truly seen Xander had turned to dust. Some days, Xander felt like he was the dust on the floor, scattering to the winds without anyone or anything to hold him together.
But then he had the girls. Willow and Buffy saw him. Okay, they didn't see him, but if he was funny enough and witty enough and sarcastic enough, he could get them to see part of him. It had been enough. Only now they were off being college-girls, and part of Xander knew he didn't have a right to hold on to them. So he pulled back, became more and more quiet during meetings and watched Riley and Tara silently move into the group.
He had been cast off… he was a castaway… and Spike was the worst person in the world for him.
Except there wasn't anyone else. Except Spike saw him. Except Spike offered him a raft when he was drowning, lost, confused and alone. And yeah, Spike wanted him to hurt and probably wanted him dead, and yet that scared Xander less than being alone. The life preserver Spike had thrown him hurt and threatened to sink at any time, but it kept him from going under.
Xander felt the tears start for real now, streams that he couldn't stop flowing from his eyes as something in him broke and allowed him to take comfort from anyone who would offer. Strong fingers unchained his hands, pulled the gag from his mouth, released him, made him real with calming strokes. Strong arms carried him to a warm bed on the other side of the room, dropping him on the stolen bedspread.
Barely hearing the words, Xander allowed himself to float on the feeling of someone touching, holding soothing. Hands arranged him, ropes still keeping his legs tucked into a kneel that made fire dance in his legs. His front half was arranged until he rested his forehead on his arms with his ass in the air… waiting.
The thickness that had filled him all day came out, and Xander yelped. A voice crooned softly as hands slid over his body, exploring and touching and teasing until Xander squirmed and cried out.
Something drove deep into him, and Xander pushed back, lost to everything outside his body as pleasure was slowly pulled from him. Bracing his arms against the mattress, Xander waited the half breath before something slammed back in again, erasing the world. A burning, itching need clawed at Xander until finally he arched his back and started coming.
The driving thrusts continued two, three, four more times as Xander braced himself, and then Spike's weight fell onto his back.
Spike dropped to the mattress, and Xander allowed Spike to arrange him, tucking his larger body into Spike's stomach as Spike petted him. Xander could feel himself blush as the first curls of shame started twisting around his spine.
"Right then, got somethin' ta say about your mouth today, pet?" Spike asked, and Xander flinched at the number of insults he'd managed in one Scooby meeting. Yeah, that was dumb. And now, curled in Spike's arms, arms that could hold him helpless without any effort, Xander wondered why he kept doing it.
"Um, sorry?" Xander tried, his jaw aching from being forced open so long. Okay, it wasn't his best apology. Spike's hand tightened, pulling his hair and forcing his head back.
"Don't rightly know if you're stupid or if ya just really enjoy hurtin'." Spike's hand loosened, and fingers returned to playing with Xander's hair. Curling his own hands into fists, Xander ordered himself to not react. That path just led to getting tied up and dumped on the floor for the night, and he preferred the bed.
"Can't soddin' believe you lot foiled my plans time after bloody time. You're 'bout as stable as Dru, and the rest of your lot are soddin' blind and stupid. When I get this chip out…" Spike let his voice trail off.
No matter how many times Spike touched him, held him, and felt his muscles tremble with pain, Xander always had a little dark corner where he refused to yield. That corner sent out fingers that wrapped around Xander's heart and squeezed until his whole body stiffened.
The petting stopped. "Right then, what bug's crawled up your arse?" Spike asked after a second.
Xander balanced a desire to stay in the bed and sink under the comfort, no matter how false, and his responsibilities to his friends. The fear of being cast away once more tangled with a nightmare where Willow lay with big, dead eyes and a neck torn open. Xander closed his eyes and forced himself to say it before everything tilted too far and he couldn't say it anymore.
"I won't let you," he whispered.
"Bloody hell, very little you won't let me do," Spike pointed out, the words tickling Xander's ear.
"Won't let you hurt them," Xander answered.
Spike's fingers returned to aimlessly stroking Xander's hair. Minutes passed in which Xander listened to the city water station under the church thumping like a giant heartbeat that made the stones of the abandoned building faintly vibrate.
"Should probably tell ya that you'll do as you're told," Spike finally said in the dark. "You're mine, and we both bloody know it, even if those other tossers aren't bright enough ta notice." Spike paused and sucked in a breath. "Make ya a deal, though. You keep being the nice little pet for me, and when the day comes that I get this chip out, I'll give your friends proper warnin'. No ambushin' 'em when I already have an invite into their homes—I'll let 'em know the big bad is back, and we'll have at each other like proper mortal enemies," Spike finally offered.
Xander heard the offer, and he heard what Spike wasn't offering. His friends would get warning… he wouldn't.
"That a deal?" Spike asked when Xander remained silent.
"Deal," Xander agreed finally.
"Least you can die knowin' ya saved them one last time, yeah?" Spike pointed out. Xander didn't answer as Spike's strong fingers closed around his wrists, tucking Xander's arms into his stomach and holding him with unnatural strength. Let Spike think that he surrendered for his friends. Xander's guilt turned to steel as he realized he would do anything to keep from becoming, once more, the castaway.
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