Disclaimer: All characters mentioned are the property of Joss Whelden and Mutant Enemy (grrr, argh). This little bit of wish fullfillment has not been written for any monetary gain but only because, after days of slash surfing, I'd realized that if I wanted it done right, I'd have to do it myself.

Rated NC-17.

***

SPIKED

***

"I was thinking maybe dinner and a movie. I don't want to move too fast; I've been hurt before." Tossing a dismissive sneer toward Willie the Snitch, Spike turned on one heel and followed his boys and their burden down the storm drain.

All the way to the factory, Spike watched his sire's head roll limply with every movement and noted he made no attempt to fight his way free as he was dragged backwards through the runoff from the recent rain.

"You're weak as a bloody kitten, aren't you, Angelus? Oh wait, you prefer Angel now. Angel..." His derisive snort echoed back from the vaulted ceiling. "Fallen Angel's more like. In more ways than one." He couldn't help smiling. In fact, as he watched his prize stuffed up into one of the factory's drains, he couldn't stop a big, stupid grin from stretching his mouth. He felt like Father Christmas, bringing Dru health and happiness and strength enough to destroy Sunnydale and every little boy and girl who lived there. She'd always liked children.

"His life for your life, pet," Spike murmured, climbing up into the factory. As his head cleared the asphalt, he realized the two young vampires were standing staring down at him, Angel once again dangling from their hands. "Now, what?"

"Where do we take him?" asked the one on the right.

"Where?" Spike repeated, climbing up another few rungs. "Where do you bloody think?"

They looked at each other and shrugged.

"Brains are for more than appetizers, you know," he muttered sitting on the lip of the drain. "Try using yours. Take him to..."

He paused, suddenly aware that he was eye-to-crotch with a well-filled pair of leather pants.

"Spike?"

"Shut up."

It was a familiar sight, for all it had been a long time. A very long time. In one fluid motion he got to his feet and pointed. "There. The old foreman's office."

It was a whim. A trip down memory lane. A way to while away the long, boring hours of daylight until moonrise and the ritual that would give Drusilla back her strength.

//Oh crap, Dru.// Hands shoved into the pockets of his leather overcoat, he paused on the threshold as Angel was dumped unceremoniously into the center of the small office. Even in her weakened state, he didn't want to face one of Dru's jealous rages.

And there was only one way to ensure she'd never find out.

It didn't take long to find what he needed.

"You two." He beckoned. "Come here."

He staked the one on the left a little before the one on the right, just so he could enjoy that instant of terror when the second vampire realized he was about to die.

There were plenty more where they came from.

Brushing dust from his sleeve, he walked into the office, and closed the door.

***

Wrapped in a painful haze of light, Angel had been aware of movement and of a familiar voice. He knew he was in danger but couldn't gather enough of his scattered strength to do anything about it. Spike wanted him for something or he'd already be dead -- he'd have to bide his time, use whatever opportunity presented itself, and hope that Willie was stupid enough to play both sides against the middle and try and sell information about his capture to Buffy.

Buffy.

He closed his teeth on her name.

"I know you're in there, so you can stop bloody faking."

The pressure of a boot at his crotch added emphasis to Spike's observation.

"Eyes open, mate, or I'll kick your balls back across the pond."

Given the alternative, Angel opened his eyes. He was sitting slumped against a wall in what had to be some part of the old factory Spike and Dru had taken over. It was small room, mostly empty, clearly not in use. Spike was straddling his right leg, the toe of one Doc Marten pushed up against his crotch. He had to crane his head back to see the other vampire's expression and he didn't like what he saw. That particular smile had never meant good things for the person Spike aimed it at.

As far as he could tell, they were alone.

"So." He wet his lips and tried a smile of his own. "Drusilla let you off your leash?"

The answering kick was short, not a lot of force behind it, but remarkably painful for all that. He'd have folded forward except Spike's leg was in the way.

Strong hands grabbed his clothes and hoisted him onto his feet. As he rose, Angel concentrated what little strength he'd regained in a double blow: a fist into Spike's stomach and an elbow into his throat. Spike deflected them easily. As the other man's body ground him into the wall, chest to chest, crotch to crotch, thigh to thigh, he felt steel bands close around his wrists, and both arms lifted high over his head.

Spike stepped back, feeling remarkably out of breath for someone who didn't need to breathe, and studied his prize. "Police issue handcuffs," he said as Angel finally sagged against the restraints, "threaded through an industrial bolt driven into a concrete block wall. You're not going anywhere, mate. Oh, nothing you couldn't have dealt with in the old days, I'll grant you, but that was then, this is now. And right now, you're mine."

He patted his pockets, pulled out a crumpled pack of smokes, and shook one up into his mouth. "Although technically," he continued, talking easily around the cigarrete, "I've only borrowed you. You're hers, aren't you? Lock, stock and bloody bunged-up barrel." He flicked a match with his thumbnail, forced down his diaphram to draw in the first, warm lungful of smoke, and shook his head sadly as he exhaled. "How the mighty have fucking fallen. You're in *love*. What a pathetic excuse for weakness."

"And what's your excuse, Spike?" Angel shifted his weight, the chains scraping against the concrete wall. "You rescued Drusilla from that mob in Prague. You keep her safe. You feed her. She's a liability, Spike; just why *are* you dragging her arou...?"

Rage morphing him into full game face, Spike had his hand around Angel's throat before he could finish the last word. "Leave Dru out of this!" The glowing ember on the end of the cigarette emphasised each syllable. "You mention her name again and I'll set your bloody tounge on fire. Capesh?"

The younger vampire's reaction made it easier for Angel to call a sardonic smile up past the fear that he'd never see Buffy again. He nodded at the cigarette. "Those things'll kill you, you know."

Slowly, very slowly, Spike opened his hand, lifted it out of the welts he'd made on Angel's neck and, just as slowly, he stepped back. When he'd got himself under control again, when his face had smoothed and his fangs retracted, he returned Angel's smile. "Not soon enough to save you," he said, flicking the butt away.

Both hands caught up fistfulls of Angel's jacket.

The seams gave way before the fabric.

He threw the pieces in the corner.

Shirt buttons rattled against the floor like hail.

"As I understand it," Spike murmured surveying his handiwork, "even in your current pussy-whipped state you remember the way it used to be, before. Remember how many of my shirts you destroyed? I had to keep that weasely little tailor alive just to sew the buttons back on -- then you killed him over a vest."

The handcuffs digging into his wrists, Angel wrapped his fingers around the chain and pulled. He needn't have bothered; until he got more of his strength back, he wasn't going anywhere. "Spike..." The concrete behind him pressed into his shoulder blades, a rough touch through the ruins of his silk shirt. "...what are doing?"

"Anything I want to, ducks. 'Cause you can't stop me." Moving closer, he opened the shirt, exposing the hard curves of Angel's chest. "I was going to say, at least she hasn't made you soft," he murmured, one corner of his mouth lifting into a smile, "but I strongly suspect she's caused entirely the opposite reaction."

Angel closed his eyes. If he couldn't get away, and he couldn't, the best he could hope for was to survive whatever Spike had planned and try to do it with a little dignity.

Dignity went out the window a moment later. His eyes snapped open and he couldn't stop a low moan.

"You always did have bloody sensitive nipples." Rolling the right between thumb and forefinger, Spike bent forward and lightly lapped at the left. As he tightened his fingers, he applied just a touch of teeth.

Angel moaned again and tried to twist away.

"Careful..." Forearm across his collar bone, Spike pushed him back against the wall and held him there. "...you don't want me to bite it off, accidently like. Now on purpose..." He carefully punctured the skin and drew back to watch the first drops of blood well up. "...that's a different thing."

Closing his mouth over the small wound, he sucked and licked and savored, rolling the blood around and around in his mouth before swallowing. The blood of the sire -- the first blood -- was always the sweetest. The hottest. The...

Suddenly aware he was dry humping Angel's thigh, he forced himself to pull away. He looked up to see Angel's eyes were half closed and his mouth half open -- his expression seeming to indicate that he was equally as aroused. When Spike looked down, he smiled. "That doesn't look comfortable."

It wasn't. The leather pants left Angel's erection very little room. His balls were being crushed by the seam and the metal ridge of the zipper pressed hard into the length of his cock. Unfortunately, the pressure only added to his arousal. He couldn't believe he was responding so ardently to Spike's torment. He tried to think of Buffy, but that only made it worse. All he could think of was the kiss at the skating rink, how she'd melted into his arms, giving herself to him without hesitation, holding nothing back.

Well, holding one thing back.

"How long has it *been*, Angel?"

His eyes widened.

"No, I'm not reading your fucking mind, I'm reading your fucking reaction. I mean look at you."

Sharp nails traced sizzling lines of pain over his stomach. Lower. But not quite low enough. Angel couldn't stop his hips from bucking out away from the wall, into Spike's touch.

"You see?" Forcing himself to step back, Spike folded his arms and studied his sire speculatively. "I'd be very surprised if you'd been shagged in the last ninety years." He snickered. "I bet you'd have gone for sloppy seconds before killing her if you'd known that gypsy girl was going to be your last. So..." He was talking as much to give himself a respite as to taunt Angel; he didn't want this to be over too soon. "...I guess this means your slayer's not putting out."

He skipped back as Angel surged against the chain. "Rubbing her hot little body up against yours then pulling away, knickers drenched but not willing to let you take that final plunge, leaving you hard and hurting..."

"Stop it!"

"Actually, you let me go on longer than I thought you would." One finger flicked against the bulge in the leather. "Must've hit a nerve."

Spike watched as Angel fought the chains then, when his sire slumped back against the wall, still securely held, he dropped to his knees.

Angel looked down at the top of the Spike's head and swallowed. He watched a pale hand rise. He saw the button at the top of his fly caught between a slender thumb and forefinger, the rest of the fingers lightly brushing against his trapped cock, adding a feather's weight of pressure. He couldn't stop himself from trembling. "Spike, don't..."

Glittering eyes looked up into his. "Say that like you mean it and I'll stop."

The silence lengthened. Stretched. Became the answer.

Angel looked away.

"Thought not." Spike pulled the zipper down slowly, not allowing the pressure against it to determine the speed. Once he had it down all the way, he hooked his fingers into the leather waistband and pulled, crushing the pants down until they made a set of broad leather manacles around Angel's ankles. He sat back on his own heels and grinned at the gleaming black tent pushing out toward his face. "More silk? Nice to know some things don't change, I suppose. You always were fond of a soft touch." He closed his hand around the fabric covered shaft. "And a firm grip."

"Spike..."

"What? Going to beg me not to not do this?" The silk was beginning to warm under the friction of his hand. "All right, we'll move on."

The boxers came off in pieces, much as the jacket had. Although he had to use his teeth to get through the elastic. Which put his mouth close enough to...

And since Angel was expecting it he turned his immediate attention to other things.

"You got a right little stiffy there, don't you?" he murmured and licked a glistening line up Angel's thigh from knee to hip. He had to swing out wide to do the same to the other leg.

The response was everything he could've hoped for. Angel was suffering, really suffering and if things went well, it was only going to get worse. He made a mental note of some of the choicer bits of profanity Angel spat down at him. "You kiss your slayer with that mouth, do you?"

"Spike, you bastar..." The last bit of the word got lost in an inarticulate groan.

Cupping Angel's balls, Spike pulled himself closer. Since he'd gone about as long as he could manage and self torment was not in the game plan, he closed his lips around the cock head and flicked his tongue in and out of the weeping hole. The taste was just like he remembered -- almost as sweet, almost as hot as his sire's blood.

Angel fought against his reaction but every movement of lips, of tongue, of cold air against wet flesh pushed him closer and closer to the edge. Closer and closer to betrayal. Waves of sensation burned their way up to his brain and his whole body jerked with the near electronic jolt of sharp teeth nipping through sensitive skin. He closed his eyes and tried to remember everything he'd learned about himself in the last ninety years but the only coherent thought he could grab hold of was, //Ninety years is a long time to go without.// Too long.

And it wasn't as if he was allowing this to happen.

Chained as he was, he couldn't do anything to stop it.

His knees threatened to buckle. Handcuffs digging into his wrists, he sagged back against the wall, surrendering to Spike's mouth.

One handed, Spike fumbled with his own fly, wondering what had ever possessed him to buy fucking button front levi's. His other hand worked Angel's balls, pulling, squeezing, and occassionally stroking past the smooth skin in behind to apply pressure to the puckered ring of flesh -- and every time he did he could feel the shudder run through Angel's legs.

By the time he got his fly open, releasing his erection out of its close confinment behind the denim he was so close the air currents alone nearly brought him off. One stroke, two... Somehow, as orgasm morphed him into full game face, he managed to keep from biting Angel's cock off at the base.

As he spilled out and over his own hand, he felt Angel tense, his hips beginning to move in short, jerky, urgent thrusts.

He pulled back, moving against the thrusts, allowing the cock to slid out from between his teeth. Grabbing the engorged shaft around the base, he squeezed, hard. As he rocked back onto his heels and stood, carefully cradling the handful of cool semen, he smiled at his sire's involuntary snarl of frustration. He'd felt Angel's surrender but there was no way it was going to be that easy.

"Figured you could close your eyes and think of Buffy, did you?"

Angel's eyes snapped open.

"I don't think so, mate. If I'm shagging someone, I like them to be thinking of me." Moving quickly, before the other man had a chance to recover, Spike spun him around, hooked a foot through the leather pants to drag his legs out from the wall, and slammed his upper body into the concrete. A quick stroke of the semen over his cock brought him back up to full hardness. He smeared the rest up the crack of Angel's ass and smiled.

"Ready or not, here I come."

Spike's entry was fast and hard and if it hadn't been for the handcuffs, Angel would've gone to his knees. He braced his forearms against the wall to take some of the weight off his wrists and without really realizing what he was doing arced his back to force a deeper penetration. Spike's balls slapped against the backs of his thighs with every thrust.

In the old days, this wasn't how it would've happened.

He would never have allowed himself to be used.

But it felt. So. Good.

All he wanted, all he needed, was something, anything to touch his cock and he'd explode.

Spike's fingers were digging into his hips, eight points of pain adding to the sensory overload, eight points of pain keeping him from rubbing against the wall. He couldn't get free so he worked his body against Spike's cock, trying desperately to bring himself off. Long thrusts, short thrusts -- he was fucking himself and he didn't care.

When Spike thrust deeper still and cried out, his grip tightening so that his nails cut eight half moons through the skin, Angel snarled and fought to keep moving. So close. He was so close. So close.

When Spike's cock slipped free, dribbling lines of moisture down Angel's thighs, he howled.

Feeling a little light-headed, Spike stepped back to better enjoy his victory. "Two for me," he snickered. "None for you." He could almost see the frustration licking over Angel's body like flames. Every muscle was rigid and his whole posture screamed torment. As far as Spike was concerned, his sire had never looked so good.

Bending over, he scooped up a piece of torn jacket and began to clean himself off. "Maybe next time, eh. You're going to blow like Mount St. fucking Helens when you finally g..."

The vowel got lost in the sound of breaking chain.

The demon was lose when Angel turned -- yellow eyes blazed and lips were pulled all the way back off his teeth. His cock was enormous and so dark a red it was almost purple, foreskin fully retracted, the tip wet and glistening.

Suddenly realizing the rules had changed, Spike turned to run.

Hobbled by the leather pants around his ankles, Angel didn't bother stepping forward, he leapt from where he stood.

Spike hit the floor on his hands and knees and had a second to realize that was probably not his best defensive position when Angel's arm came around his throat. Fingers hooked behind the broken handcuff, he almost twisted free as Angel pushed up his overcoat and dealt with his jeans.

Almost.

Snarling continually, Angel covered Spike's struggling body, humping him like he was already in. He forced the younger vampire's legs apart with his own and pumped savagely. When he finally thrust his way in, Spike cried out -- in pain or pleasure, Angel neither knew nor cared. Past thought, past anger, past even desire, his world contracted to single point as he pulled almost all the way out and slammed forward again and again.

A single point...

...holding all the pressure of ninety years and Buffy's squirming and Spike's mouth and cock and...

Shifting his grip to Spike's hips, he drove himself in as deep as he could. Muscles contracted around him, as Spike bucked frantically, futilely.

The single point consumed him.

His world turned white, then red.

Red as blood.

He threw back his head and howled.

That was the last thing he remembered for some time.

***

Moving carefully, Spike squatted down beside the body of his sire and rolled him none too gently up onto one side. Pulling out a second set of cuffs, he secured his hands behind his back. A strip of fabric, ripped from the lining of his coat made a handy gag. Then he waited.

A few moments later, when Angel opened his eyes, Spike gripped his jaw tightly enough to indent the skin and smiled. "You were free," he said softly. "Chains were broken, I was in no condition to fight you -- you could've gotten away. You could've gone running back to your Buffy. But no, you stayed to shag me." Leaning forward, he planted a soft kiss on the lips painfully distorted by the gag. "I'm touched. Really, I am."

Letting Angel's head fall back onto the concrete, he straightened and pulled his cigarettes from his pocket. Shaking one up into his mouth, he lit it and sighed out the first lungful of smoke with something very close to contentment.

Glancing down, he smiled at the pain in Angel's eyes. Such a pity he'd only be tormented by guilt for a few short hours. Of course, then he'd die so it wouldn't be a total loss.

"I've got to admit..." Spike flicked a little ash to the floor. "...that did beat the hell out of dinner and a movie."