boys who buck and bite
“This is without a doubt the stupidest, most humiliating…”
“Shut up, Spike.” Angel yanked at the chain around Spike’s neck, and got a dog-like yelp for his troubles. Which was appropriate, considering Spike was wearing a dog collar.
“You shut up, you bloody pillock. Can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”
Angel looked down and grinned. He had to admit, Spike made a pretty sight, all chained up and sitting at his feet. “You were all for it when I first suggested it. ‘Take me,’ you said. ‘Be fun,’ you said. ‘Just like old times.’ ”
“Yeah, well, back in those days we had bearskin rugs and roaring fires. Didn’t have to sit buck naked on a bloody marble floor, while you lounge about in your comfy club chair chatting business with your mates.”
“Devlar is not my mate, and shut up. Here he comes.” Angel stood, smiling to himself as Spike kneeled up obediently, head down, without being told.
A blue-horned demon approached, leading his own boy on a leash. Angel recognized him as the slave who used to belong to Archduke Sebassis.
“Your Excellency.” Angel dipped his head slightly, a gesture of appeasement.
“Angelus. Please do sit down.” Devlar gestured towards the chair, the very picture of a gracious host. “I’m so glad you agreed to grace my fine establishment with your presence.” He assumed a seat opposite Angel, caressing his slave’s head as the boy knelt beside him. “Do you recognize him?” Devlar asked, and Angel nodded. “Quite clever of you to have spiked his blood as you did,” he went on. “You did me a great favor by taking out Sebassis. I suppose I am in your debt.”
Angel smiled, and imagined blood spurting in fountains from Devlar’s head as he ripped off his horns with both hands. “Think nothing of it,” he replied smoothly.
“Oh, but I do. All the Archduke’s estate fell to me, including the boy. Fortunately, the Duke took so much of the boy’s blood, there was barely any left to poison him.” Devlar leaned in, as if telling a secret. “He was quite the glutton, my cousin,” and winked. Angel smiled again, and imagined Devlar’s screams as he shoved an iron poker into his eyeball.
Devlar waved to a server, a naked human boy of no more than 14, in collar and cock ring. The boy approached and set down a silver tea set on the coffee table between them. “You will not see me engaging in such ancient rituals as blood-drinking. The Archduke was a traditionalist. You and I—we are men of the modern age.” Devlar eyed the young human appreciatively as he bent over to pour the tea. Angel accepted the tea cup with a nod, all the while picturing pliers meeting with Devlar’s teeth. “I am most anxious, now that I have assumed my cousin’s place, to reach some sort of—amicable agreement?” He took a sip from the fine china cup, and Angel heard Spike breath in, inhaling the tea’s aroma. Earl Grey.
Spike let out a loud sigh.
Angel glared.
“Your slave is not quite fully trained?” Devlar eyed Spike with what looked like a glimmer of lust, and Angel imagined pulling out his intestines and strangling him with them.
“He’s new,” Angel replied. “But he’s learning his place.”
Devlar stood from his chair and approached Spike. “May I?”
Angel nodded, slowly.
The demon grasped Spike’s chin in his long, bony fingers and lifted his face. Spike obediently kept his eyes downcast, but Angel could see them rolling contemptuously beneath the lids.
Devlar twisted Spike’s head one way, and then the other. “Arresting bone structure,” he commented, fingering the side of Spike’s cheek. “He is quite magnificent.” At that, Angel could hear Spike’s smirk. “Would you ever consider selling him?”
“He’s not for sale at the moment,” Angel said, gripping the chain tightly.
“Got that right,” Spike muttered as Devlar’s hand fell away. Angel gave the chain a sharp yank, and Spike’s head collided with his knee.
“Hey! Watch it.”
“Sorry,” Angel said to the demon. “Recent acquisition. You know how it is.”
“He looks familiar.” Devlar was still staring. “Did he used to belong to one of the Fell Brethren?”
Spike snorted. “Not after I killed ’em all,” he mumbled. Angel yanked on the chain again, pulling the collar tight enough to cut off Spike’s windpipe. The resulting gurgle gave him an intense surge of satisfaction.
Devlar sat back in his chair, apparently not having heard Spike’s blunder. “As I was saying,” he continued, “I am concerned in protecting my newfound interests. I would not like to make an enemy of you, Angelus.” He leaned forward in his chair. “But rest assured, if you insist on making one of me, you will not find me so gullible as my predecessor.”
“My only interest in Sebassis was his army. Now that it’s been neutralized, I don’t see the rest of his operations as worth worrying about.”
“Really? My understanding was that you would not tolerate the trafficking of human slaves in your city.”
“My city isn’t what it used to be,” and Angel’s smile was tight.
“Ah, yes.” Devlar sighed, as if he were really interested in the plight of Los Angeles, post-Black Thorn. “Nasty business, that battle. It has taken its toll, has it not?”
“My people are doing what they can. But they can’t be everywhere at once. So long as your humans are willing participants, I’m inclined to overlook your operations.”
“I assure you, they are most willing. Food is scarce these days, and work hard to come by.” The human boy returned to pick up the tea tray, and Devlar reached out to caress the back of his thigh. “There is no shortage of humans willing to trade their… remaining assets… for shelter and a warm bed.”
Angel imagined the sound of bones cracking as he crushed each of Devlar’s fingers, one by one.
Instead, he said, “Well, then, we have a truce.”
“Excellent.” Devlar sat back in his chair, and petted his slave’s head again. “As a gesture of my gratitude, I invite you to enjoy our VIP suite upstairs. It is the most luxurious,” he grinned in Spike’s direction, “and has the best equipment for training.”
Angel stood, grateful to escape Devlar’s company before he lunged for his neck. “Thank you, Your Excellency. That’s very generous of you.”
He rattled Spike’s chain, and Spike crawled awkwardly behind him, muttering the whole way. This time it was too low even for Angel to hear, but he could make out the words “ponce” and “git” laced with a string of obscenities. Angel’s muscles tensed as he ascended the stairs.
He hadn’t felt right for days. Ever since they’d found one of Devlar’s “willing” human slaves—an eight-year-old boy with huge eyes—naked and bleeding on the side of the road.
By the time he turned the doorknob to the VIP room, Angel’s hands were shaking.
“Thank bloody Christ,” Spike said, rubbing the small of his back. “Thought my knees were going to give out.”
Angel waited until Spike was up on his feet, then punched him square in the face.
“Ow!” Spike rubbed his nose. “What the hell was that for?”
“Why can’t you ever do anything I tell you to do? One job, just one job you had, to stay quiet. And you couldn’t keep your mouth shut for five minutes. You nearly gave the whole plan away!”
Spike snorted. “He didn’t hear me. Gunn says the old coot’s half deaf. I coulda yelled right in his ear about the Fell and he wouldn’t have noticed.”
“That not the issue. Devlar is supposed to think you’re a scared, stupid fledge, someone who’s not a threat to him.”
“Job well done, if you ask me. You been treatin’ me like a stupid fledge for the last hundred years. He’ll believe it if you do.”
“I wouldn’t treat you like a stupid fledge if you didn’t keep acting like one!” Angel punched him again, and Spike punched back. Then it was an all-out brawl, vases shattering, curtains ripping, bedposts splintering into dangerously pointy wooden pieces. Angel felt Spike’s teeth in his arm, through the fabric of his silk jacket, and roared with rage.
He’d spent five hundred dollars on that jacket, and the store that sold it had since been reduced to rubble.
“You fucking little shit,” and Spike was laughing at him. Angel tackled him to the floor, and noticed for the first time that Spike was still very naked, and suddenly very hard.
Before he knew it, he’d sunk his fangs into Spike’s neck and was drinking him down, an oasis after forty days in the desert. Spike thrust up against him, and Angel thrust back.
“Fucking little shit,” he murmured against Spike’s throat. His skin was smoother than silk, and Angel forgot about the jacket. “Not since the day she dragged your sorry ass home. Never did anything I told you to.”
“And how long would I have lasted if I had? Woulda been dust inside a week.” Spike had his hands on Angel’s belt, yanking on his zipper. Angel turned his face towards Spike’s lips, kissed him with his fangs. He tasted like laughter, like heartbeats and memory. Things bitter and lost, and cities in ruins.
Angel shoved his pants down and hitched a hand behind one of Spike’s knees. Spike spread his legs obligingly.
“See?” Angel murmured. “You know how to be good. Why can’t you just be good?” He pressed himself inside, and Spike winced.
“Can when I want to,” Spike choked out. “When you need me to.”
Angel let his fangs melt away, and kissed him with his eyes closed. “I need you to now,” he whispered.
They rocked back and forth, slow like the crawl of years—Spike trying to adjust to the stretch-burn inside him, Angel trying not to come too soon.
“Remember the last time we came to one of these clubs?” Spike dug his fingers into Angel’s shoulders.
“You bit the host when he tried to pet you.” Angel thrust a bit harder.
“Then we ate the guests.” Spike thrust back up to meet him, and Angel was slowly losing it. “You threw me down and fucked me on a pile of bodies. Then we torched the place. You were so pissed at me.”
“I liked that club,” Angel breathed. “Didn’t wanna have to burn it down so soon.”
“You liked seeing all the pretty boys on their knees,” and with that, Spike lifted his knees higher. Angel sank in further, eyes rolling back in their sockets. “ ’Specially this one.”
“Only time I ever managed to keep you there for more than five minutes.” Angel palmed the cheek of Spike’s ass, felt the rounded muscles bend and flex under his hand. “I’d have kept you like that all the time if I could.”
“You’re a bloody liar, Angelus,” and quicker than a kiss, Spike flipped them over and pinned Angel’s hands to the floor. “Think you’d have been happy with one of those broken little toys, like Devlar has?”
“Not with Devlar’s toy, that’s for sure,” Angel grinned. “Ugly as fuck.”
“Yeah, you like the pretty ones, don’t you?” Spike let go of Angel’s hands, but Angel left them in place, arms curled above his head in surrender. He watched as Spike rode him up and down, stroking his cock in time with the rocking of his hips. “Always did have good taste, if I do say so myself.”
Angel watched Spike’s fingers play along the head of his cock, tight against his muscled belly, and could only nod in agreement.
“Like the lively ones, too. Unpredictable. Even Dru knew how to run you in circles, when she had a mind to.” Spike leaned down, ran his tongue over Angel’s ear, wet like sex. “You like the ones who buck, and bite.” His mouth slid down Angel’s neck, and the point of fangs zinged down Angel’s back into his balls. He arched up, crying out, and came hard, his cock pulsing in time to the wound in his skin.
Spike came all over his silk shirt, but Angel couldn’t find it in himself to care.
The seconds ticked by, with Spike’s weight heavy on top of him; and Angel put a hand on his naked back. For the first time since that night in the alley, he felt quiet. Still.
Eventually Spike rolled off him, and patted himself down before remembering he had no clothes on.
“Bloody hell,” he sighed, the back of his head hitting the floor. Angel pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of the pocket of his ruined jacket.
“Thanks,” Spike said, and lit up. They lay on their backs, smoking and staring at the ceiling.
“I also like the ones who can quote poetry while they’re fucking,” Angel said. Spike’s only response was to look confused. “e.e. cummings?” Angel explained.
Spike snorted with laughter. “Damn sight better’n anything I can come up with. ’Specially when I’ve got a cock up my arse.” He stretched his arms over his head. “So what’s next, oh Lord and Master? Now you’ve fucked me into obedience. Gunn said Devlar’s place is crawling with security. Think he trusts us enough to invite us back to his evil lair?”
Angel shook his head. “Nowhere near.”
Spike sighed. “Don’t think I can play this charade for much longer, Angel. My knees are gonna chafe. And if he pats me again, I’m gonna bite off his hand.”
Angel sat up. “You may not have to.” With that, he stood, stripped off his stained shirt and jacket, and left the room.
Down in the club, Devlar was still sitting in his chair, having tea with another honored guest.
“Ah, Angel,” he said congenially. “How is your training session going?”
“It’s not,” Angel said, displaying the bite mark in his arm, and the one in his neck. “He’s obstinate, and I don’t have the patience these days for breaking. If you’re still interested, I’d like to discuss a sale.”
* Gunn had to work all the next day, manufacturing documents for all the people Spike and Angel had freed from Devlar’s operation. The only way to get people out of L.A. these days was with fake addresses, and Gunn was the only one who knew how to use the machine they’d stolen from the DMV. Angel had been baffled by the laminator, and Spike had tried to kick the machine’s legs off.
At the end of a very long night, he’d gotten the last family processed and out the door. Every single one of them had cried and hugged him.
He sat in the chair behind his desk, starting at the backwards lettering through the frosted glass. Charles Gunn, Attorney at Law.
The lettering opened in a blur of blonde hair and black leather.
“Hey.” Gunn sat up, started putting his papers away. When the vampires came out, you knew it was way past quitting time.
“Hey,” Spike said. “Everything all squared away?”
“Last one on their way to safer pastures.” He smiled at Spike, nodded. “You guys did good last night. Guess your secret plan worked, huh?”
“Like a charm.”
“How’d you get past security?”
Spike grinned. “Fucked with their heads, is how. Angelus was always the master at that. By the time he was done with Devlar, the old goat didn’t see me as anything resembling a threat.”
“He was actually smiling this morning,” Gunn said. “Angel, I mean, not the old goat. Haven’t seen that since I got outta the hospital.”
“Yeah, weight of the world, and all.” Spike paced over to the window. Stood there, looking out over the city. “He’s still trying to fix it. Thinks if he can just make the world bend to his will, he can make it all better.” He turned, and smiled. “But the world’s got its own ideas. Always gonna buck up and bite you in the arse.”
“Yeah, Angel said something like that, too.” Gunn’s eyes narrowed. “What’d you say to him?”
Spike grinned. “Just a bit of poetry. He always did like my poems, you know.”
Gunn snorted. “Man’s got no taste.”
“Not in literature.” Spike jingled a set of keys out of his pocket. Dangled them in front of Gunn’s face. “But in cars…”
Gunn’s eyes widened. “No way. You got the Thunderbird?”
“All tricked out and ready to roll.” Spike tossed him the keys, and Gunn snatched them out of the air. “You drive. I’m getting pounded.”
They sauntered out, Gunn opening the door for Spike. “Man, Daddy must be one happy dude. What’d you do to him?”
“S&M club.”
Gunn shook his head. “Forget it. I so don’t wanna know.”