Inspired by [info]sueworld2003's many wonderful manips of Spike in bondage. A recent one of Wes, sitting on a bed with Spike lying across him bound in ropes is maybe the dominant image that drove this fic. So, this one's for you, Sue. Hope it cheers you up.

It's very NC/17 (Spike and Wesley) and involves not only bondage, but some whippy action. Set AtS post A Hole in the World.

A Grave Man


How Spike came to be there, face down on his bed and artfully trussed was neither here nor there. Well, not strictly true. It was a hint here and an observation there that gave Wesley the key to the man. Watching was second nature to him, but it wasn’t hard to see that he was one deeply disturbed individual—a vampire’s sins on an immortal soul. That was a heavy burden indeed.

It was Illyria who gave him the idea. It had never occurred to him to have a pet, but that was before. For reasons best left unexamined, it now seemed a splendid project. Something to pass the time before the wheels fell off the cart for everyone. Might even help the catastrophe on its way. What the hell. Wesley grinned to himself. Hell. Exactly.

He paused and surveyed the effect. Very nice, but something wasn’t quite... He traced the leather straps, noting where the restraint pulled Spike’s arms up tight behind him, locked at the wrists with heavy cuffs, forcing the shoulders forward and the buttocks high. Tracing a hand along the stiff bands, Wesley allowed his fingers to skim the smooth skin underneath, pausing at the ivory perfection of the arse spread and waiting for him. Ah, there. A slight give in the tension where the harness crossed just above the dimpled mounds. He opened the buckle and cinched it up a notch. A bitten off groan came from below and Spike flexed, trying to adjust to the alteration.

“There, there,” Wesley murmured, pressing a kiss between the almost fragile looking shoulder blades and giving the arse a fondle. It tensed underneath his touch, the muscles bunching into his palm. Satin over steel. Wesley’s cock jumped and the hair on his balls prickled.

“I’ll give you your reward soon. But you have to learn patience.” He felt underneath where the bound cock strained in its cage, the balls swollen into tight rounds.

Wesley retired to his chair a short distance from the bed. He’d left his whisky there, a decanter beside to ensure a steady supply. There was no knowing how long it would take. He glanced at the book he’d been reading before Spike arrived, but the sight in front of him was too alluring. So very pretty when displayed to its best advantage like this. Wesley spread his legs and cupped his balls with one hand, feeling them tighten as warmth of his palm caressed the soft skin. His other hand stroked slowly up and down his shaft, the head slippery, lending lubrication to the smooth glide. All the time in the world, or at least as much as was left for the world. Probably not long, but long enough.

He took some satisfaction that he would spend his last days bringing discipline to an individual who sorely needed correction, especially now that Angel had clearly abrogated his responsibilities.

Wesley began to thrust into his hand and then curbed the desire. Mustn’t let himself get too close. He’d need stamina when things got down to the finish. He resumed the slow movement, palming over the head and circling round his cock in long intimate strokes, enjoying the feel of velvety skin under his touch.

“So tell, me Spike.” He’d let the ball gag hang loose after the initial preparation of Spike’s body. The vampire always moaned and complained when he was submitting and Wesley was having none of it. But now he wanted to hear the exact moment when the vampire cracked, started to beg.

Spike had been very stubborn the first few times. Snarked and complained even though he knew why he was there. Had even manufactured the provocations that inevitably had him on his hands and knees, trussed and lubed. Each ‘Percy’ was followed by a flicking glance to see Wesley’s reaction, but Wesley never gave him the satisfaction. A well-schooled face was the first thing an Englishman acquired in life and it married well into the training of a Watcher.

Tonight’s occasion was prompted by a careful dislocation of all of the tabs Wesley had inserted in a text he’d been gleaning. Hours of work down the drain. A fag end stubbed into the soil of the African violet he’d been nurturing had declared the perpetrator. A peremptory phone call—Spike clearly was expecting the summons—and the evening was set.

“So tell me, why do you think you’re being disciplined?”

“Because you’re a sad motherfucker who’s just as fucked up as I am. Now get on with it.”

Wesley let the words vibrate in the air. Then he spoke softly, as if he had no care for the content.

“Brave words from the man who’s got his arse exposed to my most transient desire. Don’t you think you should reconsider those ill advised words?”

Spike subsided into rebellious muttering, punctuated by obscene epithets clearly directed at Wesley.

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me. I suggest you withdraw that particularly nasty insinuation.” Wesley leaned forward to make his words clearer. “I personally have never had immodest thoughts about my mother. But you, on the other hand...”

“Fuck off.” The response snapped out hard and fast. There was a pause while Spike struggled against the bonds irritably and then subsided. “She came on to me, not the other way round.”

He sounded sulky. Whatever terms he’d made with the memory, it seemed still a source of discomfort.

“Ah well. If you say so.” Wesley poised the phrase just on the skeptical side. “But there’s still the matter of the insolence.” He stood and walked over to the side of the bed. Spike tried to look round, but was rapped on the side of the head for his trouble.

“Eyes down. Don’t make a move unless I say you can.” Wesley picked up the cane he’d placed on the bed beside the vampire so he could see it out of his peripheral vision. He had a selection of floggers and crops in his collection, but a standard issue headmaster’s cane seemed...well, tradition had its place. And a well-placed judicial cane could produce a variety of sensations Wesley knew all too well. He almost envied Spike’s position.

“I think an apology is due, don’t you?” He swished the cane through the air, making his own cock throb at the familiar sound. He knew Spike would be having a similar response though less pleasurably inside the tight strictures of the cock harness.

Spike muttered something under his breath.

“Pardon me? I can’t hear you.”

“Fuck. You. Percy.” The words came out with unmistakable venom and Spike turned his head to look Wesley full in the eyes.

He clearly wasn’t expecting the cane whistling toward his face and winced as Wesley stopped just before it made contact. His eyes widened and he stared in barely suppressed apprehension before he turned away. For a moment he’d believed he was going to be disfigured in a way that was far beyond the bounds of their implicit understanding.

Wesley let the uncertainty sink in. “That’s better. Now try again.”

Silence from the bed and then a hoarse throat clearing. “You’re not a motherfucker.” The words were weighted with unwilling compliance.

When the blow fell, both of them were shocked by the sharp crack that split the air of the room and Spike’s arse. A scarlet line rose under the white skin and the vampire cried out in pain.

“Not good enough. Try again.”

Spike was breathing harshly, still processing the sensation screaming through his nerves. The points of his spine stood stark from the curved plain of his back as he pressed his forehead into the bed, eyes closed tight. After a minute of laboured breathing, he lifted it again.

“You’re not as fucked as I am.”

“You’re not as fucked as I am, what?”

More silence. And then, “Sir.”

Wesley waited, knowing Spike too well.

“And you’re sane as a fucking judge.” His voice was stronger and didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm

Wesley fingered the cane in his hand thoughtfully, noticing a trace of blood near its end. He ran a thumb down, wiping it clear and then sucked the moisture from his finger. Sane. Well, that was a matter for dispute, though certainly not by Spike. And judge. True enough. At least for now, he was the one doing the judging.

He raised the cane again and let if fall, enjoying the sharp intake of Spike’s breath as he heard the whistle of its passage through the air. But once again, he pulled up short and merely traced it down Spike’s back and over his buttocks, paying particular attention to the swollen balls suspended between the open thighs. Even the lightest touch was a torment when the skin was as tight as that.

Spike groaned and shifted his knees. His cock was purple in its binding, had been in that condition for some time now. Perhaps a change of pace. Wesley laid the cane aside. It was fine for punishment, a reminder of exactly who was in charge, but it didn’t advance the program toward the end Wesley required. He lifted a soft leather flogger and ran his fingers through the strands. Each tip was hardened for sting, but the softer leather provided a more diffuse sensation, bracing but also very sensual.

He flicked it over Spike’s shoulders and heard the responsive hiss through the vampire’s teeth. Drawing the fanned out ends of the leather down the taut back, he let the falls drag over the round arse, fall into the crease and over the exposed place between. Another hiss and an uncontrollable wriggle.

“For fuck’s sake, just do it.” Spike’s voice was rough, a little desperate.

Wesley flicked the flogger again, this time directly on the buttocks, letting the full weight thud and drag on the flexed muscles. Once again he dragged it down the crease and over the sensitive opening. Spike gave an involuntary thrust forward, uselessly into thin air. Wesley let the fall tease the pendant balls, sliding the strands up and down against the dusky skin causing more reflexive movement from Spike’s hips, instinct driving them forward in short jerks. A whimper escaped from the tormented man.

Wesley stepped back for more clearance and set up a steady rhythm, placing the falls in an overlapping pattern on the increasingly reddened arse. At first, Spike winced away but as the heat rose, began to thrust back, presenting himself open wide to the sensation.

Wesley felt each blow vibrate up the handle and flush through his body, concentrating in his balls. He had been hard for a long time now and nearing the end of his own control, his cock jutting heavy in front of him. Just one more element and he could finish.

Tossing the flogger aside, he kneeled on the bed behind Spike who was now resting his head on the mattress, silent but surrounded in a palpable field of shimmering tension. Simply to come close made Wesley’s cock leap and ache.

He leaned forward to touch the glowing skin, running both hands over the round muscle, smoothing the raised welts, stroking down the pain. Spike groaned and pushed back toward him, pressing himself into his palms. Wesley leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

“Are you ready yet?”

The answer came in a syllable so soft, he could hardly hear.


Wesley let his lips touch the Spike’s ear, breathing warm air against the finely edged whorls. The man was perfectly formed in every way. His cock twitched as the thought registered. So utterly perfect.

“That’s not enough, is it?” He fondled the soft skin of the arse below him as he waited.

There was a surprisingly long wait for the answer, but finally it came.

“Please, Wesley. Please fuck me now.”

That was it. A switch in Wesley’s brain clicked shut and his body flooded with electric desire as he moved down into position, guiding his cock toward the opening that had tantalized him for so long. One short jab, another, the ring of muscle giving way. He pushed forcefully until his balls pressed against the still warm arse and rested there, the cool clutch along his length making him tighten in anticipation. Spike arched back, his shoulders bunching against the strain of his bound wrists.

“Help me, Wes. I can’t...”

Wesley clicked the clasp open and pushed Spike forward onto his elbows, leaning over his back still fully embedded to rub the tortured muscles until they could hold the vampire up. And then he could wait no longer. Clutching Spike’s hips in white knuckled hands, he began a punishing rhythm of frantic fucking, as if he was trying to climb into the other man. It went on and on, sweat dripping into his eyes, but met with equal ferocity by the powerful thigh muscles below him, thrusting Spike’s hips onto his cock. His breathing filled the room, the sound a counterpoint to the grunts from below. A litany of curses and endearments fell from Spike’s lips along with demands to go harder, faster.

As his hips slammed into the willing flesh, he felt himself cast adrift, floating higher and higher on pure sensation, his mind falling away and some essential part of himself reaching toward a destination, almost within his reach. And then he was there, exploding into white noise, every cell in his body a solar flare that consumed all the others. With the last moment of consciousness, he reached underneath and released Spike’s cock, and with it a howl of ecstasy from the vampire. It might have been his own he heard too though his throat felt tight with the force of the orgasm ripped from his shuddering flesh.

It was some considerable time before there was any movement from the bed, but finally Wesley pulled out. Spike was still face down, the loose black leather bands lying across his milky skin, no longer constricting his movement. But he was asleep, his face turned sideways on the pillow, dark lashes fanning over the elegant cheek. Wesley pulled himself upright, until he was leaning against the headboard, one leg raised to brace himself. He looked down at the unconscious man, so silent and pale. A grave man. Someone had made of him a grave man. And beautiful with it.

Knowing it would not be long before those blue eyes opened and awareness returned, bringing with it the inevitable snark and attitude, Wesley pulled the head onto his thigh and stroked his fingers through the stiff hair until it loosened under his touch. Dead to the world in all ways except the most important ones, Spike slept on. Dead like me, Wesley thought, caught in a reverie of their fucked up lives. Fucked up and futile, but what the hell. It would all come crashing down soon enough and it helped pass the time.

The End

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