~ For Kita
The blindfold was last, but that was all right. Spike had closed his eyes before his first limb was even grabbed -- held his arm carefully so there was no real resistence, only a hint of fighting back. Now his arms were above his head, wrists tied tightly to the railing. His legs were in the air, ankles tied equally as tight. The air was filled with burning incense and candle smoke, filling his nose and numbing his sense of smell. Then finally the blindfold, and all there was, was the sense of touch.
That was all right. He could picture Angel in his mind, see him moving about the room, matching the muffled sounds he heard with clear memories of times before.
Spike's arms were already sore, and his legs were going to cramp if they stayed in this position for more than a couple hours. He didn't care -- rather, he cared very much but since this was exactly what he wanted, he wasn't going to argue.
If he'd been meant to argue, he wouldn't have been tied up. Arguing and fighting and being thrown across the room was nice. Could be very nice. But so was this -- submission, captured and bound. Helpless.
Spike waited for what would happen first. Angel could be imaginative when it came to stuff like this -- had a real flair for torturing people whether they wanted it or not. Behind his closed eyes, Spike pictured Angel standing there, staring at him, thinking over what to do.
He felt something touch his ass, and a soft voice whispered, "You like this, don't you?"
He didn't nod. Didn't have to. His cock was hard enough to answer for him. He felt something touch his cock, tracing the length of his erection, then there was a soft chuckle. Yeah, so, he liked it enough to anticipate. He wasn't going to apologise.
Wasn't going to beg, either.
Not yet, at any rate. Spike stayed silent and concentrated on seeing Angel in his head. Seeing him looking at him -- there had been a time when no blindfolds were used, and he'd been able to watch Angel's every move, see what he was holding before he used it. Times when it was all about seeing Angel's expression, and the things he was doing to Spike were trivial.
Now the torture was in being robbed of that. It was lying here, waiting, and having to imagine.
Where was he looking? Was Angel staring at his ass, his cock, or, bored, off into space?
He felt something touch his ass again, and something hard pressed its way in. Just a tiny bit, and Spike could tell by the size it wasn't anything too large or too painful. Probably just a normal dildo and maybe Angel was looking at that, checking his arse and seeing if he wanted to pull it back out and use lube, or shove it in now and make Spike scream before they even started.
Hands grabbed his balls, and Spike didn't gasp, only because he didn't need to breathe and had no air to gasp with. His mouth fell open as his balls were pulled harshly, and then something was wrapped around them. A strap, maybe leather because it was just soft and pliable enough to be. It was tugged, hard, and Spike could see Angel start to smile as the pain increased. A swift, practised movement and the strap was in place, holding his balls up and separated and wrapped so tight that Spike knew he was going to ache for a long time, once it was finally removed.
His cock was getting harder.
He heard footsteps, wondered where Angel was going. Heard a drawer slide open, then shut. Footsteps back and he tensed. Waited, and a count of three before he felt something cold on his cock, cold and small -- almost sharp. Touching him here and there, and he didn't know if there would be sharp pain or not. Goosebumps rose all over his body, and he was as hard as he could get without coming. Two hours too soon for that, but it was always like this. Up fast, then hold him there for as long as vampirically possible.
Spike clenched his jaw. He'd never started begging this soon, and he wasn't about to now. But it was always a struggle not to. He always felt the words forming as soon as Angel tied him, touched him. He concentrated on the cold touches on his cock and pushed the words away.
Fuck, it was colder. Another one, maybe, kept in the fridge until now. Not unpleasant, but Spike couldn't help trying to figure out what to expect. He felt the cold touch the very tip of his cock, and wondered if he would feel it pushed inside. His leg muscles tightened, and whether or not he'd intended the effect that this had, his legs opened wider, presenting just another half-inch of room. Not begging, not quite, but he must look like...
Was Angel smirking? Was he growing aroused, too? He wanted to see, and knew that when he finally did start begging, he'd be asking for the blindfold to be gone. He knew it wouldn't be, because it never changed anything. Angel did whatever the fuck he liked and Spike just took it.
That was the whole point.
The cold left, suddenly. There was nothing, no movement and no touch. No sound, and Spike was about to get drawn into being aware of the room again instead of his cock and the inside of his skull.
"Fuck!" Hot wax on his cock, one tiny drip, then another. Cursing himself silently for speaking, Spike pulled against the ropes and tried to move away. He felt another drop, and another, and he knew -- had known -- he wouldn't be able to get away. His cock was still hard, still throbbing, and getting away wasn't what he was after anyhow. But it *hurt*, and that was the point too, and he didn't have to lie here and be stoic about it.
Pain was best when it made you writhe like you were coming, scream like your brain was exploding, and had hands on you which had been the ones to do it, holding you and making you come all the harder. It was what Angel was best at, in Spike's opinion, and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter, unnecessarily, thinking of Angel's face and how his eyes would be golden, his gaze boring into Spike's head as the pain drifted in.
More wax along his thighs and his balls, but he didn't say anything now. Couldn't help tensing each time a drop fell, but the pain was spreading like the warmth of the melted wax itself. As he relaxed, the wax stopped.
Angel would be going for something else, now. Something Spike wouldn't be able to predict, and he'd use it on Spike until the pain was suffusing him and he relaxed into it again.
There was a whip, plastic ends smacking sharply into his stomach and the back of his legs and the bottom of his feet. There were sharp, needle-like jabs as something rolled over his chest and arms. Hard, metallic clamps pinching his skin, and ice cold applied to his cock, and his neck, and the palms of his hands.
Each new pain surged through him, making him jump, and curse again out loud once. But as each continued, he felt it filling him until the pain was all that existed, pain and arousal and the image of Angel doing this to him. His hands on Spike's body - infrequently, but a brief touch here and there, and not always incidently as he inflicted more pain.
Spike moved against the pain, moved into the touches he felt. It was easy not to beg, now, because he couldn't form words. He was losing himself in the pain, and for now it didn't matter what Angel did or didn't do.
The first time that a new sensation didn't make him flinch, he heard a sound of satisfaction. Spike knew what was coming next, didn't mind that he knew. He shouted as the whatever-it-was was shoved hard inside his body, penetrating him in one complete motion. His cock was jumping, and he was willing to beg to be fucked if he thought it would help. He had his mouth open when it was pulled out and shoved in again.
It wasn't large, but he hadn't been fucked in a while, nor prepared. It hurt, but nothing like the delicious pains he'd suffered already. Just enough to let him know Angel didn't care if it hurt or not, as long as he got fucked.
Spike was whimpering, and actually spent two seconds debating stopping it or not. Opted for not, because he was being fucked again. All the way in, stabbing him from the base of his being all the way into his skull, where the image of Angel was watching him, intently and hungrily. All the way out, letting him feel the utter bereftness of being untouched and alone before it slammed in again and he screamed.
He was coming, and it shocked him because it was too soon. But maybe it was just that it had been so long, and he'd despaired of being treated this way again. Was it gratitude, coiling in his stomach with his orgasm, brightening the pain that he could still feel all over his body?
He cried out, knowing he would be ashamed later, and would have to bluster and run away to hide from it. But for now he let it go, and he felt a hand on his leg and he knew that it was Angel, with him, making him do this, and it was all right.
Spike came, violently and loudly as he wished. His body was destroyed and recreated, over and over as everything crashed, until there was nothing left but a spent rag of a body and a whirling, exhausted brain, and the very slight sound of Angel's voice whispering.
He was panting, despite the lack of need for air. He gulped once, then closed his mouth, and wondered what he'd said. Knew it didn't matter at the moment, but he also knew that later he would wish he'd said nothing embarrassing, nothing he'd have to deny.
Hands tugged at him gently, and he knew he'd be untied soon and the blindfold would go away and he'd slowly have to return to consciousness. He didn't want to, but didn't fight it as each limb was released and laid gently on the bed.
When the blindfold was finally pulled away, he left his eyes closed for only a second before opening them. He honestly had no idea what he'd see in those eyes, but found himself surprised - relieved - when Giles just smiled back at him before kissing him.