Pairing: Angelus/Spike, human AU
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Angelus is a headmaster whose student is trying to drive him mad…
Warnings: sex with a minor (well, that's arguable, since it's actually set in the UK), sort of questionable consensuality (but enjoyable for both), paddling, some blasphemy, daddy!kink...and a partridge in a slash tree. Angelus is a bastard even when he’s human, is all I’m saying.
Disclaimer: Joss would blush. I am, alas, still poor. don’t sue me.
Feedback: please!

A/N: bible verses quoted are Exodus 7:19-21, though they are abridged. Oh, and though I don’t think I ever specified it, Spike is, let’s say, 17. it’s already naughty enough without him being too young.



Angelus O’Connor watched the slight and pretty boy as he slunk through the heavy door to the headmaster’s office. The thorn in his proverbial side.

Angelus was good at his job, at terrorizing the youth in his charge, ensuring they toed the line. It usually only took one visit to his office to strike the fear of God back into an errant young lad. Most days, he liked to think it was a job he was made for. Certainly a job he enjoyed—the fear, the respect, the awe at the merest whisper of his name in the halls.

Angelus silently considered the slouching form in front of him. The boy scowled stubbornly, hands shoved in his pockets. The boy’s platinum hair offended Angelus’ eyes, as did his very existence. This boy was a black mark on his superb parliamentary record—there was no fear, no respect, no awe for Angelus in this boy’s demeanor, and he showed up at the headmaster’s doorstep time and again with no remorse.

Angelus’ eyes traveled over the purposefully shredded uniform shirt, missing its sleeves, the required jacket made more conspicuously absent by the heavy black bands of fabric wrapped around the lower part of his muscled forearms. Despite school policy against such accessories, the boy wore a multitude of crass, heavy rings and black nailpolish. His tie was loose, there were tears across the legs of his slacks, and the boy was wearing. eyeliner. On all that was holy, Angelus swore that the lad lived and breathed to piss him off.

“Back so soon, William?” he addressed the boy mildly, not belying his irritation. The boy only seemed to feed off of it. He ignored the lad’s muttered correction: that ridiculous nickname, Spike. “Surely ye’re aware by now that we have a strict policy against unapproved alteration of the required uniform?”

The boy smirked and stared back at him silently with those pretty eyes, made more intense a blue by the black smudges framing them. Too pretty for a boy, this one. Or just pretty enough.

“Well. There’s a change of clothes in the wardrobe that I suggest ye make use of.” Those eyes held his knowingly for a moment longer, before the boy turned and revealed to him the teasing rip just beneath the ass of his snug trousers, crossing the room and opening the wardrobe to retrieve the whole uniform. Angelus held his breath as the bastardized button-down slipped off and fell crumpled to the floor, revealing the pale muscles of his back. The torso turned and his brown eyes skipped lightly over the flat pale brown nipples to linger on the indented lines sloping from the bump of hipbones into the low-slung slacks, directing his attention to a place where his mind spent far more time than was allowable. Angelus felt warmth tingle in his lower belly.

A fresh cotton shirt cloaked the spot, and Angelus’ gaze flickered back up to the boy’s own. The lad was looking right back, the corners of his eyes crinkled a little in amusement. Angelus averted his eyes and took a sip of water as the tease bent and gave him a good view of his bare arse as he changed his trousers.

The first time he had suggested that the lad change into a proper uniform and the boy had stripped buck naked right in front of him, Angelus had nearly knocked his entire glass of water onto a pile of paperwork. If he was feeling honest, he’d admit that he enjoyed enforcing the uniform rule, when it resulted in these stolen glimpses. The boy’s exhibitionism had replaced Angelus’ vague lustful musings of imagination with vivid daydreams that haunted him. Now that he knew the look of that body, he couldn’t help but imagine the feel of it, the sounds he would make. Angelus had his suspicions that the whole thing was orchestrated to drive him mad, which only increased his irritation with his charge all the more.

The lad was done changing, thank the Lord, and Angelus gestured him to the seat in front of his desk.

“What did ye do this time, William?”

The boy bristled and lost his cool. His attempts at coy silence always ended this way, with an outburst of petulant anger. “For the last bloody time, it’s Spike you potato-brained ponce!”

Angelus lifted a brow arrogantly and silently stared the boy down, his hands steepled in front of his mouth. Eventually, the boy slumped down in his chair and averted his eyes down and to the right.

“They tell me ye filled all the courtyard fountains with a thick red substance.”

Spike looked up and a gleeful smile appeared, making his pretty features that much more appealing. “Yeah, added a little somethin’ to the water. Should gum up the works right and proper.” His smile set itself into a defiant smirk.

Angelus ground his teeth. He felt a headache coming on. “And why, pray tell, did ye do that?”

The smirk twitched. “Moses smote the waters that were in the river, in the sight of Pharaoh, and in the sight of his servants; and all the waters that were in the river were turned to blood. And the fish that was in the river died; and the river stank; and there was blood throughout all the land of Egypt.”

Confounded, Angelus stared, brows lifted, as the child prattled on with the Biblical verse. Most days he had a hard time believing the git was literate, and he certainly didn’t have a pious bone in his infuriating little body. “So, what ye’re tellin’ me is….God told ye to do it. And ye expect me to believe that.”

The boy snorted. “No, ya ponce, it’s symbolism. Indicative of our status here as oppressed people. Think the Lord was doing a poor job of addressing our plight, so I had to help it along a bit.”

Only years of experience as a disciplinarian of young boys kept him from laughing out loud at the answer. Christ, the nerve of this lad. He was much sharper than he appeared to be at first glance. Angelus’ face remained impassive and unimpressed. “Well that’s cute, but I don’t think it’s going te get ye off the hook.”

Spike gave a theatrical sigh. “And Pharaoh’s heart was hardened and neither did he hearken unto them, just as the Lord had said.”

Angelus gave him a glare of warning of just how hard his heart was. “Do ye have any idea how much it will cost to repair what ye’ve done?”

He only received a Gallic shrug. “Da can afford it, I’m sure.”

Angelus said nothing to that. The prick certainly could and would cut the check without a thought. The man’s wealth and notoriety were the only things keeping Angelus from taking the stunt out of the boy’s hide properly.

“Well, William, you certainly know what comes next by now, do ye not?” Spike just scowled and crossed his arms, slumped further with legs sprawled. Angelus stood and picked up the long wooden paddle and tapped it against the palm of his other hand. His face darkened when the boy didn’t move, his voice deadly. “I will make this worse if you don’t get off your arse in the next 3 seconds, lad.” They both knew the threat was not an empty one. Angelus O’Connor was notoriously relentless and creative in the fine art of keeping his boys in line.

Angelus smirked as Spike reluctantly got to his feet and walked over to the austere wooden bench he kept in the corner. His face was a mask of poorly hidden fury as he unbuckled his belt, unfastened his uniform slacks, and dropped trou. The boy hated this punishment passionately, but stubbornly refused to change his behavior. Remained reckless and brash, a guarantee he was going to end up in this position time and again. As was expected, Spike bent over and placed folded forearms atop the wooden backrest and rested his forehead against them, expression somewhat shielded from view. Angelus took a moment to appreciate the tight, pale arse exposed just for him.

“Bloody get on with it, ya poof,” Spike mumbled into his arms, but Angelus heard and stepped forward to bring the paddle down with momentum and a loud thwack. The boy flinched and cried out in surprise, and there was a satisfyingly red streak left behind on the pale flesh.

“What did ye call me now?” For once, the boy was smart and kept his mouth shut, his chest expanding with a big breath and jaw muscles clenching. “There’s a lad. Count ten, on top of the one you just got for being too smart fer yer own good.”

He laid out measured strokes of the paddle again and again, varying the location until the boy’s whole bum glowed pink. The boy’s voice was strained as he counted the blows, and Angelus’ cock grew harder and strained against his slacks. After the tenth blow, he stepped back and the boy straightened and gingerly pulled up his trousers.

“Don’t look so fashed, boy, you must enjoy it to end up here twice a week,” he smirked.

Spike just raised an eyebrow and gestured to Angelus’ erection. “Not as much as you, mate. Bloody sadist.” The taunt hit a nerve, brought a hard snap of temper. Angelus towered over the youth, trying to intimidate him with his superior size, but Spike wouldn’t drop his eyes. Angelus was barely holding back the urge to backhand the boy, and Spike had his chin cocked, daring him to. Tension thrummed in his hitting arm.

Then suddenly, unexpectedly, Spike dropped to his knees and Angelus looked down at him, bewildered. The boy ran one black-lacquered fingertip over the erection under the suit, and Angelus felt the breath go out of his lungs at the feeling, and the sight of the young, upturned face.

“Maybe you won’t be such a prick if I quit teasin’ you and finally take care of this, yeah?” Angelus didn’t comment, just watched with dark eyes as Spike unfastened his pants and took him in hand, wrapped that surprisingly soft palm and the slender fingers around his cock and god how many dreams had he had just like this.

The boy looked up at him through his lashes as he pumped the foreskin back and wrapped his lips around the head of Angelus’ cock. Angelus moaned, long and low, like a man slipping his aching muscles into a bath after a hard day. A warm, moist, tongue-swirling, suction-inducing bath. How delicious was it, to see this particular boy, contrary from day one, on his knees sucking cock. Spike swallowed down on the shaft and Angelus was on liquid fire, woozy from the heat of it, exclaiming “Christ!” in a voice that was high and tight.

The boy backed off and, panting, Angelus got ahold of himself. “It’s a comfort to know that big mouth of yers is good fer somethin’, lad.” He laughed at the scowl that earned him, and tangled his hand in the bleach-stiff curls, loosing them from the gel and nudging the mouth back in place.

Spike set up a rhythm with his mouth and his fist, and Angelus began to urge him faster with his gripping hand. “Ohhh God. Ye’re practiced at this. It’s like ye’re made for it. I guess it’s true what they say about ye then.” He chuckled at the annoyance on the boy’s bobbing face.

Angelus was getting closer. He thrust forward and his cock hit the back of Spike’s throat and he choked, the vibration shimmeringly good against the sensitive tip. Spike gave him a dirty look, as dirty a look as you could give someone when their cock was down your throat, and tried to pull back. He only succeeded in getting the head out of his throat when he was held fast. Angelus could feel him bark out an “Oi!” and he laughed and thrust again, inducing another guttural choking sensation. He moaned and yanked the boy’s head away.

“You bloody bastard, lucky I didn’t take a hunk out of your willy for that stupid—“ Angelus wrapped his hand around the knot of the boy’s tie and hauled him to his feet, cutting off further protest.

“Drop yer pants and bend over the bench.” His tone was hard.

For a moment, Spike looked stricken, but then his face tightened and he reached for his belt, turning his back and muttering, “Well if I’d known that gagging on that club you call a cock was going to earn me another paddling, I wouldn’t have offered to suck you off then, would I?”

Angelus just smirked at the grousing, reached in the wardrobe for a condom and some lube, then stepped out of his own trousers, kicking them free. He rolled on the condom and slicked his fingers, setting the tube aside. Then he folded up the tails of Spike’s white dress shirt over the boy’s bent back and steadied one hand between the slender shoulder blades. He was sure there would be some initial protest.

Sure as morning, as soon as Angelus teased one slick finger over the pink ring of muscle, Spike jumped and tried to rear up, cursing louder when Angelus pressed him back down. Angelus slid through the constricting muscle and aimed straightaway for the prostate, and Spike drew in a sharp breath and sank back down with a shaky “Ohhh God.”

Angelus chuckled. “D’ye like that, lad?” he asked, but he was continually massaging that electric nerve bundle, so it was hardly a fair question. Anyway, he knew the answer because the boy had turned to putty and was pushing back against his finger and moaning. “Aye, I can see that ye do, ye little slut. Except ye’re not, are ye William, because no one’s ever been in here before. So tight, and Christ, all mine.” He pushed in with his large middle finger in addition, and the boy made a high tight ‘uhhhh,’ broken at the end, that made his balls draw up against his body. “But I bet ye’ve had plenty bend over for you, haven’t ye?”

He added a third, and the boy released a string of breathless curses. Angelus gripped the back of his pale neck. “Ye shouldn’t blaspheme, William, especially when ye’re being a sinful little wretch as ye are now. I’m not yer God, and I’m not Christ. Who am I?” His hand tightened at the demand and shook the boy a little.

“Headmaster O’Connor,” the boy replied, voice undulating from a low moan to a high pitch and back again as Angelus sawed his fingers in the boy’s hole. The title, for once, sounded sweet and subservient passing through his lips.

“Aye, I am that. Though at the moment, you can call me Daddy.” With that, he withdrew his fingers and slid his cock into all that tight waiting heat, hand still tight on the boy’s neck as he whined and arched his back at the invasion. Angelus stilled, doing the boy the small courtesy of letting him adjust. If he enjoyed it, his dirty little secret would be that much more shameful and delicious.

Spike was panting, but laughed tensely. “Daddy? Christ, you are one sick fuck. Not enough to be puttin’ it to a student in your charge, now you want me to call you Daddy?”

Angelus brought one open palm down on one of the reddened cheeks and Spike cried out in pain, already sore. He could feel the boy’s muscles clench around him in response, and he groaned. He slid his hand up from the boy’s neck and curled a tight fist in his mussed curls, withdrew and slammed back into the slender body, drawing a cry of “Aahh, Yess…”

Angelus shook the boy’s head by the curls. “Yes what, boy?” he demanded dangerously.

He repeated the hard thrust, and felt a wave of lust as the boy moaned, “Yes…Daddy.”

“There’s a lad,” he gritted out, and began to thrust into the tight hole at a steady pace. “What do you want, boy?”

“Fuck me,” Spike managed, but the fist in his hair tightened painfully. “I want you to fuck me, Daddy…fuck me hard.”

Angelus graciously complied, leaning over and bracing one hand on the back of the bench next to Spike’s arms, holding him in place with one hand on his shoulder as he pounded rapidly into the mewling body. That sound, and the way the boy’s muscles clung to his cock…Christ this was so intense, he was only minutes from blowing his load.

“Touch yerself,” he demanded, and Spike moved one hand to his weeping cock and began to wank himself in rhythm, resting his sweaty forehead on the remaining hand and panting desperately. As Angelus nipped hard at the salty skin at the nape of his neck, Spike made a sound that climbed towards keening, and Angelus felt the rhythmic squeezing of the boy’s orgasm. “Fuck yeah, that’s good,” he groaned and curled his body around the spasming one beneath him, forehead and nose pressed to white cotton blend as he made three hard shallow erratic thrusts and came like he was turned inside out.

Angelus panted against the boy for a long moment, body rapidly cooling in the air of the large office. He had just thoroughly reamed the bane of his existence, and he didn’t recall ever feeling better. Somehow that was hilarious. He withdrew, laughing unkindly, and disposed of the condom. Spike was still leaning, limp and shaky against the wooden bench, and Angelus couldn’t resist the urge to smack his sore red arse. Spike winced and straightened himself.

“Pull up yer trousers and get back to class. And fer God’s sake, go by the boys’ room and clean yerself up, ye’re a wreck.”

The lad’s hair rioted in curls around his face and the eyeliner had melted a little, and he looked positively debauched even before you noticed he was limping a little as he put his clothing to rights. Angelus laughed at the look of disbelief and anger on the young face at the perfunctory dismissal.

“Go on, you heard me. Get.”

The boy shot a dirty look over his shoulder as he closed the office door behind him, but Angelus couldn’t stop smiling. With the temper that one had, he’d be back before the day was through.

The End

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