Pairings: Angel/Wesley, Spike/Xander, Dalton(ofc)/Riley, Fred/Soshie(ofc)
Rating: ADULT

Summary: The master of New Orleans has called on Spike for help in avoiding world-ending badness, but a little misbehavior from Xander changes Spike's main mission

Warnings:  Sexual slavery; but there's no non-con here; bondage; general dirty-wrong.  If you're easily squicked, this isn't the series for you and hasn't been since the beginning.



New Orleans, Furniture, and other Kinky Things

Xander groaned, his head pounding. Usually Spike didn’t let him drink enough to have a hangover this bad, and it took a little time before Xander’s brain came online. New Orleans. Fat Tuesday and way too much music. The scent of frying foods and beer and something sour that smelled suspiciously like someone had peed in the area, but that might have been the horses from the mounted cops. The master of the New Orleans covens asking Spike for help with a mage. A big fight and a bigger party. Slowly, the events of the day before floated up through his alcohol soaked brain.

Correction, Spike never let him drink this much. Spike wanted him sober enough to twitch his tail and tease the demons before viciously attacking the first schmuck who went from looking to touching. Xander’s master had a real kink for watching Xander kick the snot out of stupid demons. It was weird. He actually fought more demons now than he did back in his Slayerette days.

Xander tried to roll over, but he couldn’t move a muscle. Okay, so Spike had him tied down. That wasn’t particularly surprising, but Xander’s head was about to fall off his shoulders.

“Master?” he called softly, his tongue too large for his mouth.

“Hush. Tables don’t talk, luv.”

Xander pried one eye half open, and looked blearily up at Spike. He sat on the couch in low-hung jeans and a bare chest that showed off all his muscles. Xander was naked and laid out on his stomach on a huge coffee table, every bit of him strapped down to the warm wood. Well, he could wiggle his toes and arch his back, but even his tail had been pinned down somehow. Xander seriously hoped that Spike was careful with that because it took a long time to grow tail hair that long.

“Look the other way, pet.”

Xander wanted to point out that his head hurt too much to lift it, but Spike had told him to not talk, and Xander knew better than to disobey master. Besides, Spike would be able to smell his misery, so Spike already knew he was suffering. Painfully, he did turn his head around so he was lying on his left cheek, and now he could see a huge mirror reflecting the room. A huge spelled mirror because Spike had a pretty clear reflection. Sometimes he would move and pieces of him seemed to shimmer out of focus, but he was definitely there in the mirror.

Spike sat behind him on the couch, and Xander was strapped down to a wood table with thick legs that looked like recycled wood. A collection of tribal masks decorated one wall and the windows were all covered in heavy cloth. A chandelier dripping with crystals and a shitload of candles provided the light. Xander vaguely remembered the place, so maybe they were still at the Master of New Orleans’s place.

“Seems like I told someone to stop drinking.” Spike sounded calm, but that was more the calm before the storm sort of calm. Xander opened his mouth to apologize, but then he closed it with an audible click.

“I’d put you up against that wall and whip ya, but we both know you wouldn’t mind all that much, would you?”

Xander was getting hard at the thought, so the answer to that was no.

“Yeah. I’d have to do some real damage ta actually make you suffer, and we both know I won’t hurt my pretty pet.” Spike ran his hands over Xander’s exposed skin, fingers teasing the curve of his waist and the crease where his ass turned into his leg and then down between Xander’s legs. Even though Xander knew Spike was mad, he couldn’t help but react to that touch. He wiggled in lust, his cock getting fully hard, which was uncomfortable given the way he was strapped down.

“So, we’re going to do something different,” Spike said as he withdrew that touch. Moving up to Xander’s head he put a wide, white strap across Xander’s forehead and then snapped it into a fastener on the table so that Xander’s head was as immobile as the rest of him. “You’re going to remember that you’re mine, luv. You’re mine to use and control. You will obey every rule. Clear?”

Xander could only blink since he couldn’t nod and he’d been ordered to not talk.

Spike reached down under and something slid before Xander’s cock was dangling and Spike grabbed it. “Piss,” Spike ordered.

Xander started peeing before the rest of his brain could even consider the construction of the table. This thing was built for strapping people to it. And it was built to let people pee without letting them up, which was not saying anything good about how soon he’d be able to get off this table. Spike could keep him here for a long time if he didn’t have to let Xander up to pee.

Spike pulled a wide container full of yellow piss out from under the table and set it on Xander’s back. “Don’t bloody spill that,” Spike ordered. Considering that if he did twitch, he was getting his own pee dumped on him, Xander was afraid to even breathe. He held perfect still as Spike swore and then ended up getting under the table before he could tuck Xander’s cock back up and close whatever little trap door he’d opened. Finally Spike stood up, but instead of taking the pee away, he took out a knife and started carving at something small. The scent reminded Xander of Chinese food, but before Xander could wonder too much, Spike pushed his little carved whatever right up Xander’s butt.

Xander’s first instinct was to grip onto the plug to keep it from falling out, and he sucked in air as the burning sensation hit him. Ginger. Shit. Xander panted and watched the container of pee jiggle dangerously. Without a single comment, Spike walked to the other side of the room and took out a cigarette.

Xander divided his time between watching Spike and watching that container, careful to not move a muscle that might tip it over. If he tried to tense up, the ginger would punish him for it, but if he totally relaxed, the pee would tip over, and Xander was caught between the two, struggling to find a balance that minimized the… well, not exactly pain, but extreme discomfort.

“So, since a whipping won’t work, we’re going to use a punishment that might. You’ll be the table today, pet. One wrong twitch, and you’ll send someone’s nosh or drink tumbling right off. So, you’d best learn to control every single bloody muscle. Clear?” Spike strode across the room so fast that Xander tensed up, and the ginger in his ass stung, and for one terrible moment, the yellow pee sloshed wildly in its container. Xander focused on stilling himself before it spilled.

“And if you fail, luv.” Spike’s voice was heavy with warning, but he crouched down and reached out to stroke a finger over Xander’s cheek. “If ya fail, I’ll be right disappointed with you.”

Xander blinked fast, and for the first time in years, honest fear wrapped around his heart.

Spike patted his shoulder and for a second, they both looked into each other’s eyes. Then, Spike stood and took the container of pee away. For one second, Xander drew a deep breath, relieved, but then Spike grabbed a full glass from another table and set it down on Xander’s flesh, balancing it for a second on the small of Xander’s back. The cold soaked into Xander, and he wanted to shiver, but Spike slowly pulled his hand back, and now Xander had to focus all his attention on that glass—the feel of it pressing against his skin, and the reflection in the mirror as he watched the inevitable sway of it. He couldn’t keep perfectly still, not considering he had to breathe, but he kept from knocking over the glass. That became the center of his universe. He didn’t even notice Spike leaving or the length of time that passed. He just watched the glass, and felt cold drops of water run over his back as the glass’s condensation slowly dripped down onto him.

A knock at the door sent the drink dangerously tilting, but the glass had stuck somewhat to Xander’s skin, and that helped him to settle it.

“Mate,” Spike greeted someone who wasn’t in range of the mirror yet.

“Master Spike. I came to offer my gratitude again. So few true masters understand the advantage of mutual cooperation.” The voice was low and had a French accent. Master Grosvener then.

“And it helps that I’m too bloody far away to want to take over your territory.”

Grosvener laughed. “I will admit that the thought had crossed my mind,” he said, sounding remarkably like Pepé le Pew. “That makes my appreciation no less real. Had Lassiter managed to summon that demon, we all would have suffered.”

“Yeah, but you would have been suffering first. It’s not like this is the only dimension I can set up shop in.”

“I do understand you have significant alliances in other universes. You are quite a surprising demon Master Spike.”

Spike snorted and then he strode into the room where Xander could see him in the mirror. That warned Xander to prepare because Spike threw himself on the couch and promptly put his boots up on the table, and Xander just happened to be the table. Now Spike’s boots rested on the back of his knees and he still had to balance the glass.

“Oh, you are putting your pet to some new use. I must admit, most humans are not so tractable.”

Spike gave Grosvener a warning smile. “I know you’re not commenting on my clan, Grosvener.”

The other master raised his hands in surrender. “I would not dream of it. I only comment in general that humans rarely find it possible to conform so completely to a demon’s expectations.”

“Then maybe you don’t know how to handle humans,” Spike suggested with a sneer.

“Perhaps not,” Grosvener agreed with far more grace than Xander expected. He flashed on a memory of Grosvener handing him a treat, some sort of rum soaked something. Spike had allowed him to have one earlier in the evening, and Xander had taken it without thought.

“Grab yourself a drink and pull up a seat.” Spike waved toward the bar. Xander watched in horror as Grosvener chose a tall glass and filled it with tea before coming over to sit next to Spike. The man carefully balanced the drink on Xander’s shoulder blade before settling back on the couch and Xander limited himself to little, tiny breaths.

“For a vampire, you are quite likable Master Spike. I was hoping we could talk some trade.”

Normally, Xander tried to pay attention to court talk, but he found himself obsessively watching the two glasses, controlling every little twitch out of fear of unsettling one. Grosvener drank some of his tea, which made the balance better, but when he sat it back down, he put it on the condensation and sweat that had gathered on Xander’s skin so that Xander had to carefully raise one shoulder to keep it from sliding off. Spike added a bowl of chips to Xander’s midback and then kicked off his boots so he could run his foot up and down Xander’s exposed sides, and Xander found himself slowly sinking into the sort of helpless silence he hadn’t really found for years. He wasn’t anticipating Spike’s needs or playing. He could only exist in the growing stillness of his own head as he tried so hard to serve his master. Unfortunately, stillness was not his strength. But for his master, he’d do it. He’d be the table.

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