It's complete and is a sequel to my fic 'Harm's will be done'
It is also a Highlander/Angel crossover for those still wondering...
Pairing: Spike/Angel, Spike/Methos
Summary: Harmony accidentally gets Spike sold for an auction, Angel has to get
Notes: slave/master relationship, some corporeal punishment and basically crazy
Notes 2:Still looking for someone to help me beta more than the spelling and the
Life's been known to suck. So why is it that it creeps up on the undead as
well? Making a dead man into a toy of fortune, just when you least expect it.
Wham! One second you're whistling carelessly along your way as you head up to your sire's
office. The next, it
crashes apart in a million pieces, scattering your illusions like the clouds they are.
It's not like he should have expected any better. His warning bells should have started
ringing the second Angel asked him over. But that last dredge of hope had made him ignore it once again. Such a
hopelessly naive fool he still was..
All it had taken to lure him into the trap, was a single call from Angel. His sire had
nagged about this and that, practically ordering him to get his butt over to the
office. Yet when he did, old Captain Forehead wasn't even there. Flirting with Harmony had
looked like a good way to find out where he was.
Chatting up with the stupid bint, complimenting that blinding pink skirt that
showed her ass when she leaned over, insinuating....By the time the shipment of Droblak demons
arrived, it had been too late to back out.
Harmony had taken one look at the squishy squirmy things and had refused to get anywhere near
the package. Spike had rolled his eyes at her behavior and had pushed her out of the way as he picked
up the container, fighting to avoid the things' tentacles slipping through tiny
gaps. He cringed at the sight of them, but refused to show his
revulsion. Desperate to get rid of his load.
Fred had told him a few days before that the annual gifts for the Vasnari were coming up. Angel had tried to get out of it, but the contracts were
valid and impossible to ignore. Too many lives depended on the exchange going
exactly right. The merest mistake, the smallest hint of an insult could send the Vasnari into a killing rage. Spike thanked his lucky spirits that
he wasn't involved with it. He'd probably get bored within ten
minutes and start a fight just to clean the air.
The designated gift room aka abandoned office, was filled to overflowing with gadgets and
treasures. Some kittens were mewling in a cage on the left, their tiny claws
scratching the plastic cage. Diamonds stood displayed on the other side. It made him wonder if anyone would even notice if a few of the smaller
tidbits turned up missing..
He picked up one of the boxes, holding it up to the light. Before he knew it, the door had slammed shut, a key turning.
The light automatically blinked out. He tried to yell at Harmony to open the door and let him out, but it didn't seem like she could hear him. He tried to break through the door, but it wouldn't budge. By the time he fell down, leaning up against one of the desks for support he'd gone hoarse, screaming for help. It was hours after that before he saw something moving. Two
big honking lizards entered the room, taking up the entire door with their huge
forms. An hundred shiny yellow teeth glittered in their beaks. A couple of hairless monkeys followed in their
tracks, skittering in
between their master's paws. In out, crawling over him. He pushed one off and scrambled
up from the floor.. Two more crawled on top of him, he barely managed to throw one of them against the
wall, before the others pulled him down, staring up at the lizards. The things were checking him out. He self-consciously
clutched onto his coat. Their pets dragged him to them, slapping a collar around his neck.
Everything blurred after that, falling down stunned as something pierced his skin, going down, down... until he was rolled up on the floor, his
fingertips reaching out for the collar and recoiling at the warning shock. He tried to clear his mind, it seemed impossible. Someone, something... rough hands on his arms as they grabbed him up. He couldn't speak, couldn't stand, like being drunk, only without the fun
part; and worse.
They threw him down in a padded box. His fingers barely scratched the sides. His limbs wouldn't obey, or his thoughts wouldn't move his limbs and everything was dizzy, stop the car, I need to puke...
The puny gremlins were utterly professional as they pushed the vampire in a crate, careful not to bruise him, letting the bars crush him down, covering the lid with the ease of experience. Spike's hand reached out to the bars, sticking his fingers
through. Bursts of electricity shot through his veins, as he touched the metal.
His blood burned. He flinched back, shaking.
Two of the glorified monkeys crawled up the box. Spike stared up at them; desperate to ask what was going
on. The demons just grinned at one another before closing the crate Spike stopped breathing as the last ray of light
shut down. His fists hit the walls, but the wood wouldn't give, enforced. Trying to sit, leaning against the sides, unable to move, turn until he nearly fell over, almost hitting the bars as someone lifted the crate with him in it.
They'd get him out, Angel would get him out. No matter what was between them, his sire would come.
"Thank you for your most splendid donation, Mister Angel. It will fetch a fine price."
Spike blacked out before he could hear his grandsire's response. All that went with him was a devastating sense of betrayal.
"You did what?!" Angel was steaming as he leaned over her. Harmony sunk even deeper.
He crushed his stake into the armrest of the chair.
"It was an accident. I swear." She shrank back even more at his growl. "You told me to prepare the gifts for the Vasnari clan." her voice cracked. "They boxed them up, and it's not like I even noticed Spike was gone. I thought he was
chatting up to the girls in the print room again."
Angel moved away from her, standing somewhat lost between her and his desk. "Harmony, you sold Spike." She stared at him as if unwilling to believe he'd actually said it out loud. Then she started crying, loud obnoxious sobs that made him want to kill her even more.
"They boxed him up, Harmony. They grabbed him, threw him in a box, and you didn't notice? You didn't even bother to try and read what was on the loading manifest?"
Harmony flinched as Angel grabbed the paper, the damning paper. One box of Meanto gems, five Droblak demons, a few Siamese kittens. Some gadgets, a few more art pieces. A couple or dozens smaller items. And one vampire that wasn't supposed to be anywhere near it. Loaded up and ready for take off. He could kick himself for just standing there while the demons dragged the huge box through the portal. A portal taking
their load who knows where, taking his Spike. And he'd let them.
He'd already sent Gunn out to check for legal loopholes. Tricks to get them
to return the younger vampire, anything that could get him out of this. Angel
hated to admit it, but as much as Spike annoyed him, the vampire was his. His. Only now, since he'd given him away, 'offered him as up as his most precious gift', to quote the Vasnari, he wasn't. Vampire laws.
If this wasn't so serious it'd be almost funny.
For over a hundred years, he'd threatened Spike that, sooner or later, he'd end up selling him, getting rid of his waste of space once and for all in the only way worse than death; to drop your bonds to your get, to sell them to a new master, allowing another full rights over your blood. It was a vampire's worst nightmare. He'd said he'd do it, a million times or more. Yet he'd never imagined actually going through with it, not until now.
He just stood there, refusing to face Harmony who was still cowering in his chair, waiting for permission to leave.
He wanted to rip her heart out, there and then. "Get out!"
Harmony started crying, but he didn't care, she ran out of the room and he wished he was holding her ashes..
He'd been isolated from sound, light or even air till they opened the crate. He could barely move, his limbs
were cramped up and his mind was still halfway off in la la land. The back of his head was yelling at him to make a run for it, to escape, to fight, no matter how hopeless it'd be... And if all that failed, to call them a thousand different names he could normally come up with at a moment's notice like... what names, couldn't... Not a single one passed his lips.
Nothing, just convenient, useless sod, to think it'd be different, souled now, had to be...
And Angel, Angel had left him. Thrown away and sold like secondhand merchandise. Didn't it matter that he'd tried, tried what, he couldn't say, tried...His head
spun around at the sound of the voices, talking over him, mentioning life, children, television. Above him...
He was no fool, even if he sometimes played at being one. He knew the rules. Vampire laws. His sire wanted him gone. Even when he'd rebelled
against his sire's wishes, he'd never thought it would ever come this far. No matter how many times Darla threatened him, no matter all the
hints that Angelus had ever given him. It had almost become a joke between them. Behave or I'm selling you for a nickel and a dime.
They opened the bars and pulled him up, he dropped back down in a boneless heap. They turned the crate and he half fell, half crawled out on all fours. There was a thin blanket in the corner and he sank down on top of it. Barely watching as they slammed the bars in front of the cage, cell...
He rested his head, and didn't even notice that one of the guards pushed a bowl of blood through the
bars until they used a big stick to push it towards him. He grabbed for it. It fell down the few inches
that he managed to lift it.
His useless arms refused to carry the weight. Finally he leaned down, licking up every last hint of blood, his lips stained red. He was clanless now. Property of whomever Angel had handed him over too. His sire no more, nothing left...
What the fuck had he done wrong? Hell, what bloody thing had he done right, that it had taken his sire so long before
he grew tired with him? Had Angel finally lost patience with his attitude? Seeing him with Buffy like that, was that what had been the final straw?
Why, Sire? Why?
Enhanced vampire hearing picked up the sound of claws scraping over the stone
hallway, long before he caught sight of them. The thing looked like a mix between a
raptor and a small T-rex. It was dressed in silk and surrounded by more of the
smallish scattering critters that crept through the bars before their master
even bothered to open the gates... He heard a human voice earlier, screaming, refusing to cooperate. But he could have been wrong. For some reason he couldn't bring it up to care. The collar still
hurt, focusing his mind on nothing but his own pain. He could barely even think with it on.
He could hear water splashing on scales in the cage next to him. His face lost it's human mask for a second as
they moved up to him. He sat up, holding his legs in fear, hiding in his coat. Some of them carried a small flaming barrel with them. Jumping up and down as
their three fingered claws hit the barrel. Spike cowered against the wall. Two of the demons entered the cage and grabbed hold of him,
forcing him up. He opened his lips to say something and closed them only a
The demon ordered him to lower his head in front of his betters and a deep seated
urge to rebel made him glare back and twist his hand in a two-fingered salute.. A shock burst through the collar on his neck and it wasn't even a thought on the edge of his brain. He stood up, stock still in front of the
lizard. It grabbed his head, ordering him to open his jaw. He followed commands. Letting them check his teeth, first his human teeth, then his true face. He cringed as the demons claws brushed through his hair and over his chin. His lips again, holding his mouth wide open. He didn't fight as the demon grabbed his tongue, searing it, his vocal cords.... The pain, so intense. He nearly fell down under it, glaring back, it was all he managed to do in protest. And all it got him was
A quick order to get undressed, and he hesitated again. A small shock in his collar quickly changed his mind. He pulled off his coat, shirt, shoes and pants. Throwing them on a stack. Until he stood there, cringing under their
critical review. One of the
critters grabbed the stack before he could move to stop them, forcing him to
watch as the fibers burned. Spike would have screamed. His, his... He would have screamed, if he could have, but nothing came out of his lips. Silence.
The demon's eyes on him were calculating, inspecting him without making a fuss
over it. Spike froze in shock and took it all even as they branded his neck. Watching the fire, watching the last sleeve still
limply clinging out from the bucket as it burned; staring as the lizard stuffed it in with the rest. Lost, all of it. No costume left to hide
behind. His shame was all that remained.
Two of the smaller demons picked up a garden hose and he lifted his arms in a meager defense as they turned it on him. Pushing him around until every last part of him was wet and clean enough for their estimations. The demon's claw then moved past the rest of his body, touching his chest, feeling out his arms for the muscles underneath his skin, his thighs, his cock. The
lizard's claws felt slippery on his wet skin.
His mouth fell open in shock, burning, burning, his cock went hard instantly under the demon's touch. Hurting, so bad, but he couldn't dare find release. Spike finally fell down, hurting, cradling in on himself, wanting to yell, but incapable of producing a sound.
"Angelus can be proud; all the thing needs is a bit more training, and it'll be ready for purchase." Spike wanted to turn his hands to his cock, but every time he even considered it, the collar around his neck would shock him. Spike barely even realized that they moved on. He didn't care. How could he? His sire had sold him; did Angel ever
Vadros twitched on his stool; his tail thumped uncomfortably between his desk
and the wall. His eyes were focused on the ancient in front of him. The last of the Horsemen, Death; dressed in a sweater and jeans.
He'd seemed little more than a harmless bit of human meat when they'd let him and his servant in. Possibly a client, possibly a piece of merchandise. Was it his fault that the Dronog had stolen their gift for the auction? That the woman had belonged to the immortal in front of him? Methos would hear none of
it. He demanded her back, with full reimbursement for the discomfort. His or
hers, he wasn't quite clear on.
Vadros had refused at first, grabbing the ancient's throat, but the Horseman had shown him. His mere touch hurting worse than fire, lightening sleeping in the ancient's blood, dormant till he allowed it to awaken. Vadros had begged for mercy, not even noticing as the ancient's servant, a human boy with red blond hair raised his sword in his master's defense.
During all of this Death's heartbeat didn't skip a beat.
Methos sprawled back from his chair, legs widely spread out, at perfect ease.
His face unreadable. The ancient's servant stood stock still behind his master's
chair. Unnaturally still for a human, his sword hidden once more. Vadros rushed
out an offer, a pick from the stable. Any of the demons ready for auction as a free gift on top of the woman. Methos didn't seem ready to accept at first and Vadros feared for his hearts as the ancient lifted his hand.
"Any creature of your stable, of my choice."
Vadros quickly nodded. He pulled back to prevent contact and hurried to lead the
immortal to the auction hall, allowing him full view of the demons on sale. The ancient's
lips moved; it was just a smile, but the glint in those eyes made Vadros' greenish
hue turn white.
Angel flinched back as if hit by a truck. He had to to stop breathing as his nose was hit with the stench of over a dozen different species of demons intermingling on the auction hall floor. A couple of large Boknar, three armed demons from the Bathras dimension were displayed across the
room. They were tied up to showcase their huge muscles, the horns on their heads and the spines emerging their backs. Their orange scales reflected the fluorescent light, almost blinding him. A few more demons sat in cages, some of them growling at their bars, others tied to surfaces or large poles.
He glanced up to Gunn for support. The former street kid didn't even pretend to feel out of place, greeting several people, clients of Wolfram and Hart, and schmoozing with the crowd. Angel tried to ask Lorne what to do, but the Pylean was talking with one of the gray skinned minions of the Archduke Sebassis, leaving him standing on his own.
His dead heart screamed inside of him as he discovered what they'd done to Spike. His offspring was tied to a pole in the
centre of the room. Spike's legs were spread out behind him, showing tensed up muscles glistening under a sheen of oil. Some demons congratulated him on his fine sense of taste in gifts.
Angel had to struggle to keep hiding his shame over Spike's situation. It had been a week since they'd taken his boy, a full week, and this was the first real thing he'd been able to do to get him back.
Angel tried to catch Spike's attention, showing him
that his sire was here to save him. The
younger vampire wouldn't even look at him, refused to meet his eyes or even
acknowledge his presence.
A man grabbed Spike's cock, tasting it and Angel came close to ripping the mongrel's head off. Lorne grabbed his shoulder, whispering in his ear that he had to play it cool, that he couldn't show how much he hated the whole set-up. It didn't help that the mere look at Spike's helplessly prostrated body made him hard. Spike moaned as the man's nail scratched the length of his cock, flinching with the touch of pain.
Angel's fists clenched pure white, Gunn grabbed his arm before he could take another step.
Angel nearly came on the fragrance of fear. His boy looked so small, so lost, displayed under a spotlight, bringing out depths and sharp angles in a way that'd have made Angelus grab for his sketchbook.
The crowd started seeping up to the stage on the side of the room, the head Vasnari towered over the daze, his scales glittering under the spotlight as he smiled, his hundreds of sharp yellow teeth glinting. Angel waited for the bidding to begin and it quickly became clear that Spike was the centerpiece of the auction. The most prized item on sale. The souled vampire kept waiting to bid, he knew Gunn and Lorne stood next to him, ready to help out if they had to. The prices given for the other demons were immense, making him clinch his credit card in near fear. But he waited. He had to.
Twenty demons were bid on, twenty, twenty three... Two more in a single lot. Angel froze as the spotlight turned on Spike. His boy's blue eyes near lifeless in their fear. Angel gave the first bid, two more demons followed, Angel added more. The archduke Sebassis went up against him. Gunn tried to stop
him. "Do you know how much that is?" But all Angel could see, was Spike and the need to get him out of here. He raised his hand staring down Sebassis, as if to dare him to follow.
The Vasnari raised his hammer, ready to signal the sale. He froze as some creature
crawled up on its tail; trying to pull the giant lizard's attention. He stood
there like a fallen dragon as he lifted his tail with the creature on it to his ear. A murmur rose through the crowd, wondering what was going on... Angel took a step closer to the stage, Spike was
his. The puny menace to society would go home with him, claimed by his
rightful owner. Angel could already imagine fucking him blind till the little pest screamed his true master's name, his name. Making
him repay him for every dime he had to spend to get him back, home.
"My apologies, ladies, gentlemen and creatures of fine standing... It seems the last item, the souled Aurelian, is out of the auction" Over a dozen eyes could have petrified the demon where he stood. "Our lord Vadros has made a deal with the worshipped fourth rider of the Apocalypse. We will off course secure other items of our merchandise to make up for this loss."
It didn't seem to calm anyone and Lorne grabbed Angel's arm. Desperate to pull
him back before the crowd turned into a mob.
Angel stopped listening. He twisted away and stared as two of the lower Vasnari
slithered over to Spike. Angel hesitated less than a second, before he fought
his way through the crowd, up to his grandchild. One of the demons attached a leash to Spike's collar before pulling him down from the pole. Spike fell down in their arms and scrambled up on the floor. They practically dragged him along with them and Angel still couldn't get
through. He whispered Spike's name, but the younger vampire was long gone.
Methos fell down in his nice and comfortable couch, desperately fighting to urge to grab up his sword and put a permanent end to Amanda and Richie's bickering. The box was waiting for him in the middle of the room and he ignored the sight of it. There
were reasons he hadn't gotten involved in the demon world for over a century
Good reasons, reasons beyond MacLeod.
"So tell me again; maybe I'll understand it this time."
Amanda threw down Methos' coat that she'd been wearing over the miniscule bit of cloth that the demons had given her. He quite enjoyed the splendor of her form as she grabbed
a shirt he'd left hanging over the table. "He got a 25 million dollar extra gift on top of me and he didn't even bother to try and sell it?!" Amanda's voice rang through the room for the fiftieth time since Richie had told her how they'd gotten her back. "It's insanity. No, it's worse than that, it's criminal, an affront to God is what it is."
Richie nodded his head and got a beer out of the fridge, passing by the crate in the middle of the room. The Vasnari had told him the crate was both sound and shock proofed, so the thing inside shouldn't bother them at least until they opened it. Methos didn't even want to know what kind of demon he'd bought. Asking for the highest priced demon in the room had seemed like a good idea at the time, but he was starting to think he should have listened more to what he was getting, instead of watching Amanda. But that... thing she was wearing... He wondered if she was still dating MacLeod.
His attention kept drifting to the crate, kept turning back to it.
He noticed that Richie had gone to get a crowbar and considered stopping the kid from doing so. There was a threat level in dealing with demons, and Richie was too innocent to realize that.
Richie had grown up on the street, yet in some ways, he was still far too naive.
A strange thing to think of a boy who'd gone on a headhunting spree only a few
years ago, but still true nonetheless. Richie might think he knew evil, and he knew more of it than most humans, but in regard to demons, he was no more than a child.
Methos kept still as Richie planted the crowbar underneath the top, the wood creaked as it opened. He took the top open, and stood frozen as he looked into it.
The ancient got up, wondering what had gotten into Richie, when the wooden sides fell off as well. There was a seemingly young man inside the box, bound securely, ankles and hands in manacles, chained together to keep him bowed over. Unable to move. The man looked at him, silent.
Methos froze; he hadn't...
His eyes caught their reflection in the glass doors of the patio. Himself, Richie, Amanda, the crate, but not the man bound up in front of him. Methos grabbed Richie, pulling him out of the way and looked around, anything to find a stake somewhere in the room.
"A vampire? You couldn't just get a cat like everyone else?"
The thing snarled at Amanda, but didn't move otherwise. Methos couldn't help staring at it. The creature's body was gorgeous, perfect, a work of art. Whichever vampire had found this boy and turned him, knew how to pick them. But even a beautiful predator was still just that, a killer. A vile and vicious animal.
He grabbed his spare sword from between the cushions and faced the beast. It gazed up at him. It's mouth
opened. Methos could see burn scars on the creature's
tongue; even keeping vampire healing in mind, it wouldn't be able to talk for days, maybe even weeks. Not that he would give it that long.
"Methos what do you think you're doing." Richie jumped in between him and the vampire. Methos tried to push him out of the way, but the young immortal wouldn't move. Too much of a boy scout like
his teacher MacLeod.
"I have to destroy it."
"It's a vampire. A soulless killer. I'm sorry Richie, but if I let it go, it'll go on to kill innocent people."
"You could always sell him." Richie's fury only grew as Methos actually considered Amanda's suggestion. "There were plenty of demons there that wanted him," she continued. He couldn't help but agree. Sell the vamp to a demon, get him out of his hair, and most likely the vampire would spend the rest of his life either as a pampered pet, or have it prolonged just long enough to serve some kind of sacrificial purpose.
Considering the prices people were willing to pay, he couldn't imagine them just using him for menial tasks.
"You two can't seriously consider that?" Richie stared at him, at Amanda, stunned disbelief, still believing that the
monster in front of them was anything worth his pity. "It’s wrong. You can’t do that. You just can’t…”
“Richie, that’s not a man, it’s just the corpse of a man…”
Richie lifted his arms in shock. His face turned red in rage and he practically screamed at them in stunned disbelief. "Isn’t that what the Hunters say about us? That we’re not humans, that we’re dangerous. You can’t just kill someone cause they’re different."
“Don’t be an idiot." Methos lowered his sword for a second.
"I don’t want to kill that thing cause it’s inhuman. I want to kill it because it’s a monster that’ll slaughter you in your sleep with a
song in its heart.”
But Richie wouldn’t budge.
The vampire still sat there, seemingly ignoring the argument over its life. Methos got up to him and noticed that the chains on
its hands and feet were bolted to the crate. The thing looked even more beautiful closer up. Perfect pale skin, little or no body fat, and sharp cheekbones lining a sculptor’s dream. The vampire’s hair was a near fluorescent white blond, but looking down, Methos could see it was not the vampire’s natural hair color.
It looked up at him when he touched its face and he noticed deep blue eyes returning his gaze. Only a few seconds later the vampire turned away, bowing its head submissively. It had been over two centuries since he’d owned a vampire and he knew enough about them to know how to tame one. To make it fear him, and obey his every single command.
Cats were mortal, vampires... weren’t. And a well trained vampire...
He grabbed the vampire’s chin, pulling him up as far as he could, catching the monster’s lips with his own. The vampire’s mouth opened, letting him in and by the time Methos finally let
go, he was ready to smile at Richie’s stunned shock.
“So who’s the bastard that’s got Spike?”
Wesley sat at his desk, holding one of his universal access books. He lifted his glasses and turned up at Angel. "Angel. Unlike you, I do need to breathe." Angel took a step back, his hands away from the desk. He started stammering, but Wesley wouldn’t let him. "We will get him back. If you wait." Wesley brought the book to his lips, whispering, "Chronicles of the Revelations. Rev. 6:01."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"The Fourth Horsemen, Death, also known in Varsali history as ‘the Methos’. Several cultures speak of him as an ancient being of immense power, known for his manipulative abilities and the destruction of all that stands in his way. He’s said to be immortal, a warrior of a code as old as mankind. The Watchers have generally considered them a myth, though it is said that his species feed of the souls of their own kind. They’re mostly known through battles with others like them."
“And the Four Horsemen are a part of that.”
Angel stared at the drawing in the book, a man dressed in white garb, long black hair hidden underneath a cowl, his face half covered in
blue woad. The drawing of a skeleton mask was shown next to it. "I have some contacts in a group that apparently calls itself the Watcher's council but..."
"The watchers know something? Maybe Giles..." Angel turned to Wesley, hopeful.
"Not the Watchers Angel. A group called the Watcher's council. They're historians mostly, claiming to follow these demons. They follow, observe and transcribe, but they don't interfere. Quite a useless bunch of people I reckon, but seeing as how they're mostly harmless, we can't begrudge
them their hobby."
"Find him, Wes. Whatever you do, just find him." Angel faced Wesley, sitting down on the other side of the desk. The book on his lap. "Spike’s mine, and nobody... nobody but me lays a finger on him..."
Spike tried to say the word, to feel it on his tongue, to taste it as he tried to speak. Somehow it might never feel real till he could actually say it out loud. But for now, that alone was impossible. He had a master, an owner, someone that owned him, possessed him... and it wasn't Angel or Buffy, or Drusilla or anyone else he'd ever loved.
The man poured himself a drink and Spike twitched, still locked to the crate. The boy and the woman had left and he sat there, waiting, ...for what he didn't know. He had an itch he couldn't scratch and it was killing him. So instead he just followed the man, his master, as he moved across the room.
It still didn't feel real.
He considered looking at the doors, finding a way out, an escape. And instantly the collar around his neck fired up. His nerves were on fire, cooking him up, he fell down, over, his arms hurt, pulled over and he tried to get up
His master stood over him, a cold dark gaze holding him down. He touched his hands on the lock holding his chains to the box and they released. Spike sat up, staring at the... before he could even insult the man in his head the collar burst out again. Master master master master... I'm listening, please don't don't don't hurt me, please, listening to master, to... His master stood up again, leaving him there and Spike tried to move his arms as far as he could stretch out. "Follow me."
The man... the collar again, the master moved to the bedroom and Spike scrambled up from the floor, his movements hindered by the chains on his feet. His master opened the door and Spike stared inside, a bedroom. He froze for a second, before the collar made him move again.
I'm trying, don't you see that?
He didn't even know whom he was saying it to.
What did the master want, Spike tensed up, waiting for an order, anything. The master patted on the bed, the place next to him and Spike crawled up on it. Still just sitting there, the flannel bed sheets itched against his bare
"Do you know how to get in position?"
Spike stared at him, stunned, but he quickly nodded yes and got on all fours. The master checked his position, touched his thighs gently, moving over his ass and prying open his cheeks. Seemingly approving.
Then he left and Spike just sat there, waiting. The room was nice and warm, but Spike still felt a chill pass him by.
Then something cold touched him and he nearly twisted around, to find it. But the master had told him to stay put, and even the thought of disobeying made the collar send out warning bursts. A cold slimy finger moved in between his cheeks, inside his hole, one finger. He could feel it now as the master stretched him out. Spike tensed up and the master let go, stopping...
His nerves were on fire and the master sat down on the bed in front of him, looking down on him.
"I can't do this."
Spike stared at him, scared as hell; wasn't he good enough? What if his master didn't want him? What if?
"Go take a shower."
He stared at his master, frozen, before jumping up. He didn't even know where the bathroom was. The master seemed to realize this and got up as well, opening the door and pointing him inside. The water rained down on him in the shower and Spike cried against the walls, letting his tears be hidden under the water. Thank God, nothing had happened. But why didn't his master want him?
Angel was brooding again.
Fred stared into his office for just a second and there he sat in the dark, lights off, staring at who knows what, a sketchbook in his hands. He was drawing; that was supposed to be healthy, right? There were several small piles of paper discarded on the floor around him.
"Any news?" She had to say no, she hated that.
Why did Angel act like this? He should get angry, he should... but he just sat there, glaring at whomever dared to come near.
Spike was her friend, and yet here she was, unsure of what if anything she could do to get him back. Wesley was working to find information on that Methos guy, Gunn was looking through old contracts, Lorne was talking to his connections, both demons and showbiz... and here she was, standing around, unable to help.
Harmony was almost hiding behind her desk. for once she wasn't wearing any kind of make up, her hair was a mess. Fred didn't know if it was because she was feeling guilty, or because she was scared of Angel. Probably the latter.
Angel was scary, all silent like. He wouldn't say a word, but he'd just sit there and you knew you'd better run for it. A chair crashed through the window; Angel just stood there, turned away and moved further in his office.
This was not good.
Methos pulled some clothes out of his dresser, a blue shirt with paint stains and a jeans that had had a few holes since his last fight two months ago. Better to get the vampire dressed in something he wouldn't mind losing if he was forced to stake the thing.
The shower was still running and he moved up to it, opening the door and looking at the vampire inside of it. Steam covered the shower stall and he could see the silhouette of the vampire's naked form through the steam on the glass. The chains clattered against the marble floors and walls. Methos closed his eyes, remembering and wondering why he had stopped. The vampire was his, and it would never recognize him fully as it's master if he didn't make him do so.
He opened up the shower stall, watching the vampire cower to the side. The vampire moved to stop the water, he probably thought it was time to get out. Methos placed the clothes on the linen cabinet and took in the sight of his vampire who was trying to hide from
his eyes. He grabbed the chain and pulled him closer. The vampire faced him, just a bit shorter than him. Methos slapped him in the face for his lack of respect. The vampire didn't even flinch under it, physically it did him nothing, but he understood and bowed his head..
He pulled him down, the vampire knelt on the floor, his legs wide open, allowing Methos full access of any part of his anatomy.
"Suck me." The vampire stared at him in shock; he hit him again for even that second of hesitation.
Cold hands moved to his zipper, opening his pants and releasing his cock from his pants. Methos barely looked down at the sight of the vampire at his feet, waiting patiently for the vampire to start the job. Fine formed lips let him in and pulled on him. For a moment he thought that the vampire's teeth would come down harshly and he was ready to kick him away, but the thing flinched and started licking up and down his shaft. Moving his tongue around. Methos could feel he wasn't breathing and remembered once again why Kronos had been so fond of vampire slaves.
It made him lose all interest in the blowjob and he pushed the vampire off. It's head nearly hit one of the cabinets and Methos could see it trying to get up. He tucked himself in again and stared at the vampire who was still waiting in position, waiting for him to order it. He pushed the vampire's head to the floor, knowing he had to punish him for what he'd tried. He grabbed a wooden brush and made it come down on the monster's spine. Hitting down, down, till his entire backside flashed thin red stripes and the vampire's eyes begged him for mercy.
It was then and only then that Methos threw the clothes at him. The vampire seemed baffled by the mere concept. Then he motioned at his chains. Methos stared at the vampire for a second, hesitant to give the thing any sort of freedom.
Its hands moved to the collar for a second, it seemed to try and say something, begging, but not a sound
escaped his lips. Methos gave in and removed the chains. Holding them while the vampire stepped in his pants and pulled the shirt over his head. They were a bit big on him, but at least they wouldn't drop off.
Methos stared at the mirror, it was empty aside of him, and the look in his eyes was, frighteningly, resembling the past he was trying to outrun. "Write your name down." Once again, the thing made him wait. "Do it, or 'I' will name you. And you don't want to know what I could come up with."
The vampire's long finger moved to the fogged up mirror. S-P-I-K-E.
"Spike? You know that was actually one of the names I had in mind. What? Did your mother hate you? Or was your sire just that sort of cruel vindictive bastard?"
Spike seemed embarrassed, Methos thought he might even have blushed.
"It doesn't matter. Nothing in your old life matters now." The vampire flinched, but Methos shrugged it
off. The sooner the vampire accepted his new life, the easier it'd be for the both of them. "Come on Spike." He turned his back on his vampire slave. Both a sign of trust and showing how little hope the thing had of gaining control. "I'm going to get something to eat, and once I have,
you'll get fed." He didn't bother to look over his shoulder to check if Spike followed
his orders. Spike's naked footsteps were barely audible on the marble.
"Be a good boy, and you might be better off than you'd be on the street; annoy me... and you'll be begging me for a stake."
Methos grabbed a few eggs and a package of bacon out of the fridge. He was out
of meat and there wasn't anything else he could use as blood substitute. He really better get some food in him before he did this. "Sit down. "
There was the sliding of one of the barstools as the vampire took the offered place. Methos ignored him while preparing his
dinner. Add some olive oil to the pan, break the eggs, add the bacon. The fat spattered up nicely, crisping the meat. He grabbed a plate and was about to slip his meat on it when he noticed the vampire was still looking at him. No not at him, at the food. "You're weird. You know that, right?" He grabbed a second plate and slipped some of the food onto it.
The vampire hesitated for a second, but didn't bother to ask for utensils, picking it up with his hands and stuffing it in between his lips. Methos just smiled at the weird sight and
finished his own meal, throwing the vampire a stack of napkins to clean up. He
took his time to enjoy every last bite , delaying what came after.
The vampire still sat there, waiting for him. Methos grabbed a knife and pulled it far along his wrist, allowing a healthy dose of blood to drip out and into the mug he was holding under his arm. It wasn't much, but it would do enough to tide the vampire's thirst for the night..
Spike's eyes were fixated on his blood and he could see the demon fighting the urge to drool at the sight of food. It was strange, being that focused on, having the monster look at you like you were a three course meal, the center of it's existence. Then the healing tingles started and a burst of electricity
ran past the wound, closing it up. Methos held his hand in front of the vampire's face, telling him without words to lick it up. The vampire obeyed, clearly understanding how little he could do to truly harm his master.
Methos handed him the mug and patted him on the head, softly touching the vampire's face before leaving the kitchen. He could hear the vampire drink his blood and closed his eyes, imagining the vampire's teeth piercing his flesh.
Joe rolled his head and shoulders, trying to get rid of the weight of the long day. It was nearly dawn, three o' clock already, and he had yet to close down. Friday nights were like that, and the older he got, the more he felt it in his bones. Lacy, who was a regular, brought her glass to the counter before she left; she said hi to Sharon who was cleaning up the tables at the other side of the room, leaving him alone with the last two remaining customers. A tall dark man and a slightly less broad bookish type.
The second one put his hand on the first one's arm, but tall dark and broody didn't seem to be in the mood to listen. Joe had been around MacLeod long enough to recognize a threat when it was
heading straight at him. He mentally catalogued all the immortals that he knew
were in the area. This guy wasn't one of them.
"Mister Dawson." The smaller guy came up to him first. "My name is Wesley Wyndam Pryce. I used to work with the Watcher's council of Britain, not to be confused with your own group
of ... watchers."
Oh great; the crazy people were in town. Joe had heard of them, alright, a secluded sect, with members
spread across the world. They believed in monsters, demons and vampires and hid behind young girls,
children that they brainwashed into hunting down these so-called threats to the world. Joe wondered how many innocent immortals had fallen to these morons.
Pryce turned back to his companion, sharing a look with the big guy before returning his attention to him.
"This is my employer, Angel. We were hoping you could help us with a... problem
"What kind of problem?"
Angel grabbed him, faster than anyone Joe had ever seen. "A certain bastard known as Methos has someone that belongs to me. And I want him back." Joe shivered, wondering if this has anything to do with the fact that Methos hadn't been in for the past two weeks.
"Where is he? Where's Methos?!"
The man, man... thing's face changed, twisting it's features into something he could no longer recognize as human. It took some time before they left and by the time they finally
did, he thanked god for surviving, praying for Methos' life. Mac found him like that, found him holding on to a crucifix like he hadn't done since those painstaking days when Ahriman had tried to make Mac believe he'd killed Richie. When they'd actually believed that Richie had been dead. The worst year of his life, up to the point where they found Richie hiding in his old 'hood in Seacouver, terrified of his teacher and best friend after he'd seen himself killed right in front of his eyes. It had taken months before Richie had even been willing to be in the same room with Mac. Even now, years later, the kid had still preferred staying with Methos when he was in town. Joe had believed then that the demon had been a one time thing; finding out there were more than that shattered what little certainty he had left in his life.
Spike gave one last look at the new window. He sat alone in the room while Methos had left to take care of some business.
He did not feel lonely, no it was just...This was only the second time since the
auction that he'd been left on his own; the first time he'd tried to escape, so now he had a chain
bound to his ankle. Not that he needed it: the collar was still burning from last time, growing hotter each time he dared glance up at the window and the night behind it.
But.... the apartment felt like an echo when he, the master, wasn't here. The chain was long enough - nothing wrong with that - but it was proof of his disobedience. He twitched just at the thought of how much guilt he felt
at the thought of leaving his master. He had to get out now, before....
He grabbed his neck in pain, grabbing the sponge he'd been holding and continuing the last spot. The actual fact of obeying
a direct order soothed the pain, burning down the edges while driving him insane
with lust. He pushed both hands in the water and cleaned the window frame. Up-down... It was still early evening, and some last edges of day were playing on the horizon.
He'd been busy for hours: cleaning up the room, mopping the floor, even dusting. Spike the Cleaner... it didn't quite have the same ring to it as William the Bloody. God, he had to laugh at his misery, or all he had left to do was to cry.
It still hurt to try talking and the worst part was that he couldn't even beg his new master to fuck him, even if he had wanted him to. Seven edges of sin and he'd crossed them all. Was this to be his redemption? To spend the remainder of his existence in servitude, a lowly pet to be done with as the master wished? It felt strangely and scarily right.
The remote was on the coffee table. He eyed it a good long second. I'm just putting it away, just putting it someplace safe... And he hid it in one of the planters. Oddly enough, the collar didn't respond. He started laughing, stopped at his throat stung under the meager sound and continued looking for keys...
The line felt endless. Fred stood between a trio of bikers, covered in tattoos,
who seemed to think they were scary. Compared to the demons up in accounting, they were child's play. She fidgeted; she'd never liked waiting and the scent of toasting taco shells made her stomach rumble like an oncoming apocalypse. She held on to her purse and her bankcards in it like a survival mechanism and stood ready to fight as someone bumped into her. She quickly turned on her feet glaring at the offending party.
"I'm sorry." He sounded... nice.
Fred noticed the family of five that had pushed the guy closer to her. He looked about 19, strawberry blond hair and dressed in a jeans vest and pants.
She smiled and giggled a little. "It's okay."
The kid was holding on to a plastic bag with a butcher's symbol on it. "This is a madhouse." He grinned
with a smile wide enough to cross continents.
"It's the lunch-time rush. I'm sure they'll slow down soon." She cocked her head at the bag. "Groceries?"
"Yeah." He didn't continue on it and she was willing to let it go.
"A friend of mine just got a new pet." He put a strange emphasis on the word pet.
She beamed, liking critters. "What kind of pet?"
The boy, barely out of his teens pulled back a bit before smiling. "A vampire if you
could believe it."
Methos grabbed a paddle, slowly picking between three options while the vampire sat waiting for him to choose.
His fingers stroking past the hard wood, leaving white stripes in his flesh
under the pressure. He remembered the last vampire he owned, the thing's
attempts to disobey shown days ahead of time, sneaking up time and time again,
till he'd broken the thing. And once he did, he'd been forced to stake the
creature to get rid of it. That's how loyal it had become.
Spike though was different. Methos had some trouble understanding him at
times. One second Spike was the model example of a good pet. He'd sit in position from the second he got home, eager almost for his attentions, the next he'd find pages torn out of his books. And sometimes
the vampire was likely to do both.
He pulled the remote out of the soil, considering it for a second before he placed it on top of the TV.
Ashes flittering down after impact.
"Where's the locket?"
The vampire just sat there in position as Methos had told him to do. His ass up in the air, pants down, his hands locked behind his back, his head on the floor. Methos kneeled down next to him,
lowly repeating his question in Spike's ear, as his hand brushed through the vampire's
curls. Spike still didn't move. Methos grabbed him up by the hair, forcing his head into the floor, crushing him. "Where?" he practically growled the question. Spike was shaking by now. "Where?"
"Please, master, please." It was all the vampire got out, his voice still hadn't fully returned. Methos didn't care; the locket
had been a gift from Alexa, holding her picture. A last memory from right before she died.
She'd bought it for him in Greece, right after he'd taken her to every museum in
Athens. It was a cheap and gaudy thing, but it had been hers and that had been
all that mattered. Spike's fear only angered him and he grabbed one of the paddles. Slamming it into the vampire's backside. It was ridged, and he lashed out hard enough to color the skin. The
vampire gasped out in pain and he hit him again and again. until the thing cringed from his
touch. Methos kicked him over.
"Please please please..."
"Where... did... you... put... that... locket?!"
Spike seemed to hiss for breath, fighting to make the sound.
Methos lifted the paddle over his head.
"Didn't... Didn't t-... didn't take the locket."
He dropped the paddle, staring at the vampire at his feet. He kneeled down next to him, taking the vampire's head on his lap, petting him, holding him in his arms.
She stared at him, stunned; he quickly recovered. "Like the bat."
"Oh! They're kind of cute. With the black wings and the snouts..."
"That's the word, cute..." He seemed to start looking at the screen in front of them.
"Umm, I'm Fred." She stuck her hand out.
He stared back for a second before returning the gesture. "Richie. Richie Ryan." She beamed and shook his hand, holding on longer than was strictly necessary.
The silence grew a bit uncomfortable, neither of them sure what to say. Until Fred, finally, could no longer take it, just as they were at the counter;
Too uncomfortable to start talking, but worried over the growing space between
Spike was still on the ground, watching his master who sat on the coffee table, crying. It hurt to see him like this and he took a risk, crawling up to the master's feet, leaning into him. Methos petted him and Spike just sat there, staring up at him. Methos unbuckled his belt and Spike waited, too eager to please him by far, to make up for things and wanting to comfort.
He pulled out his master's limp cock for him, licking it like a Popsicle, feeling it harden under harsh brushes of his scarred flesh. The master pumped into his mouth and Spike just hung on to his hips. A warmth spread through him from the collar and the happier the master got, the better it felt. Spike didn't think, he just acted, he just served.
"What can I get for you?" The clerk was some teenage kid, greasy, fat hair under the Taco Bell cap.
"Six crunchy tacos and a large drink."
"Six?" Not like he really seemed to care.
"You're right... better make it ten!" Fred grinned at the amazed cashier, reaching into her purse.
Richie looked her over in total amazement. "You've got many hungry friends at home?"
"Nope! They ordered a pizza at the office." He seemed clueless. "I really... really like tacos."
"And the bastards ordered pizza instead? You poor girl." His understanding smile could have lit up the room. "Personally, I'm lucky if I
even get to eat any of this. Between my friend and his pet, I'd be happy if there's anything left."
Her cheeks turned rosy as she paid for her meal. "So order extra. Or something that they wouldn't eat."
"Tried that... There's nothing Spike won't eat. Well nothing that I wouldn't eat either."
"I didn't know bats would eat human food." She took her cup, arching an eyebrow at him.
"You learn something new every day."
Methos stared down at the vampire under him. He was crying as he fucked the creature's mouth, knowing full well that he had to seem almost insane. Spike seemed
insatiable and Methos wondered how he'd ever done without him. He came in Spike's mouth; the vampire moaned, licking up his seed and cleaning him up before tucking him back in.
Such a miracle. He had a clear look of the vampire's ass; Spike still hadn't dared to pull his pants up. And, for a moment, Methos was tempted. He wanted it, he needed to, and yet he couldn't. He stood up, tapping the tabletop. Spike moved over, lifting his ass, laying down his head. He looked gorgeous, all ready to submit. Ready to bow down and take it. Methos came up to him, touching his cheeks, feeling him.
His vampire. His slave. His.
Richie's phone rang and he was quick to answer it. "Yes, I'm almost ready., No it won't take much longer. Come on, I'm close to paying here, I don't have time for this. Damn it, Methos, next time you come get your own damn blood."
Fred's eyes became wide and round, but she schooled her expression again as Richie put the phone away. "Problem?"
"Just an impatient old bastard who can't even wait an hour. And after the hell I just went through at the butcher's to get Spike's food for him..."
"Spike... "She froze, sure now. "that's an interesting name for a bat."
So why did he have to blush so nicely if he was evil? She forced herself to
smile and went over to fill her cup at the self-serve fountain. "I'd have named him Vlad!"
"Or Dracula." Richie followed her, grabbing his bag with him. She took her tray to a booth by the window after filling her cup with Mountain Dew and unwrapped her first taco. Richie grabbed one out of his own bag, smiling at her as he put his teeth into it.
He looked... normal, human even. She looked pretty normal, too... until she started eating. He stared at her in stunned shock, but she couldn't help herself,
munching through her taco's in record time. She used a toothpick she kept in her purse to clean a piece of lettuce from her front teeth, and took a long, refreshing drink from her soda,
pleased that she hadn't messed up her new coat. Richie put down his bag and she could look into it as it slightly opened. Several blood bags were stacked up between cooling elements. He grabbed her hand and fell on his knees.
"I worship thee, O Mistress of Tacos!"
And if she didn't have the idea of this guy going home and... doing who knows what to Spike, it might have been... She blushed and giggled in spite of herself. "C-c-cut it out!"
She could feel her blush hitting danger zone and wished he wasn't so nice. But it couldn't stop her, so when he left she followed him, dropping her left over back on the seat next to her and following him up to his home.
A large apartment building surrounded by green.
He hadn't noticed her yet, and she stayed in the car, following him up, out of the car, waiting for him to be out of sight before she grabbed her phone.
"Wesley, I think I have a clue on Spike." A hand covered her mouth before she could continue.
See http://www.livejournal.com/users/liliaeth/44912.html for the next part