Warnings: DARK, torture, hurt/NO comfort
Summary: Something is very wrong with Angel and his friends, and Spike’s the one to suffer.
A/N: For my first nekid numbers prompt on nekid_spike. I got "Angel" and "cross."
Angel leaned back in his chair and exhaled heavily, his eyes locked onto the security feed he had connected to his flat-screen television. He’d just sent Hamilton to fetch the day’s entertainment -- which was currently sleeping under the stairs.
Spike was obviously not having a good time, even unconscious. He was resting with his knees drawn up, his face looking oddly pinched. His curls were in disarray and he looked small in his black t-shirt and jeans, his exposed arms pale.
The collar around his neck was a precious touch.
Angel smiled, recalling the look on Spike’s face as they’d applied and sealed the item -- the horrified disbelief when he’d been told that they‘d taken an idea from the Initiative and had magically rigged the item so it would activate whenever he tried to hurt anyone. As an added bonus, it would also give him a nasty shock if he ever tried to leave the premises.
It had been sweet, the way Spike screamed when he’d gone ahead and tried to leave one night anyway. Angel had explained to a writhing Spike that the only way he could get the collar to stop punishing him was if he came back inside the building. Right before he shut and locked the door, leaving him outside to suffer for a good few hours.
It had been amusing, but Spike had been practically brain-dead for two days, and so Angel had never forced a repeat performance.
Hamilton finally appeared on the security video. He approached the curled figure beneath the stairs and nudged at the black-clad body with a shoe. Spike curled tighter at the touch.
Angel snorted. Sometimes the younger vampire was just so darned cute.
Hamilton gave another -- harder -- nudge, and finally blue eyes blinked open. Spike looked haggard, with dark marks beneath his eyes. It took him a moment to focus on Hamilton.
Hamilton’s lips moved, and Spike’s expression turned deeply resigned. He said something back and Hamilton looked amused, then reached down and grabbed Spike by the back of his neck. A grimace twisted Spike’s face as he was hauled to his feet, and when he was released he had to lean against the stairwell to keep himself upright. He still managed to turn his head and direct an impressive, if tired, glare at Hamilton.
Angel scrutinized the way Spike could barely keep to his feet. When was the last time he’d fed him again?
Hamilton wrapped a hand around Spike’s bicep and pulled him forward, off the feed. Angel turned the television off and made the electronically controlled cabinet doors close back over it. Then he sat back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head.
Soon the door to his office opened and Hamilton shoved Spike inside, hard enough that Spike stumbled and fell onto his hands and knees.
“Anything else you require?” Hamilton’s eyes were sparkling knowingly.
“In a few minutes.”
The door shut. Blue eyes flickered warily in his direction, but either Spike thought it best to stay down and look submissive or he couldn’t actually get up.
The latter was probably truer. Weeks ago Angel had leant Spike to the security team for practice. Spike still hadn’t quite healed from it.
Angel smoothly rose from his chair and approached him.
“What the hell did you think you were doing?”
Spike’s jaw clenched and he closed his eyes. Angel gave him a hard kick to the abdomen, just for the hell of it. He relished the pained grunt, the quick curl around the midsection, and the tint of anger that showed in the hard lines of the tense body as Spike straightened out again.
“I’m trying to run a business here, Spike. How do you think it reflects on me if our customers see the office pet just sprawled out wherever he pleases?”
Spike answered, but his voice was so low and rasping that Angel pretended to not understand him.
“What was that?”
“Said there was nowhere else for me to go,” Spike repeated.
Angel knew full well why Spike had been there -- the office that he’d been letting Spike sleep in was currently being used by a few warlocks from Wesley’s department for a days-long ritual. He’d watched Spike limp around helplessly for two days before the collared vampire had finally crawled beneath the stairs and collapsed.
But he liked hearing Spike plead his case. That made ignoring it all the more sweet.
Angel knelt, his eyes running over the protrusions of muscle and bone on Spike’s back. Yeah, it’d definitely been a while since he’d eaten.
Pressing his hand to the curve of ribs, Angel easily pushed Spike over onto his back. Spike focused his gaze onto the ceiling, his throat moving with a hard swallow, his lips pursed. He was breathing hard, his emotions playing on his face like an open book. Anger and frustration overlapped by fear and despair. His hair was in disarray, curling down over his forehead -- Angel and the others had decided to keep it the platinum blond, to make him more easily recognizable to the clients and workers.
Eventually, Angel got back to his feet and walked to his desk. “Get up before I zap you,” he ordered.
Angel picked up his phone and called for some blood to be brought to his office. By the time he turned back to Spike, the younger vampire was standing, albeit unsteadily, his hands against the couch for support.
Angel smiled, his mind turning back to the day he and the others had decided to put Spike into his place. Wesley had helped drug the blood, and with Fred had taken care of fashioning the collar. Gunn had worked the legal side of it, turning Spike into the official slave of the LA branch.
The day had seemed a big turning point for the firm, although Angel could never quite figure out why. Lorne had planned a party for them that night, working his magic to get a major turnout on such short notice. He’d designed it perfectly, right up to the centerpiece -- which was Spike, spread out and bound at wrist and ankle to a thick stone saltire.
Spike must have had an idea of what Angel was thinking about, because his expression had turned wary and his hands clenched harshly against the couch.
A knock at the door had Spike jumping with a start, but then his attention was grasped in a very different way as Harmony entered, a mug of perfectly heated blood grasped in her finely manicured hand. The air filled with a copper tinge, and Spike gripped the couch even tighter, swallowing convulsively.
Harmony walked over to his desk with a chipper stride and handed him the mug, before she took a look at Spike.
“Awww,” she cooed. “Can I feed him, bossy?”
“Maybe next week, Harmony.”
Harmony pouted, but she turned a grin to Spike before she left.
“Come here,” Angel said.
Spike hesitated. His eyes moved between the mug and Angel’s face, as though weighing his options. His shoulders rose with a sigh and then he pushed himself away from the couch. Spike approached with careful steps, an obvious limp in his left leg.
Angel held out the mug of blood as soon as Spike was close enough, smirking at the way Spike braced himself at the movement, as if he was expecting Angel to hit him.
Spike eyed the mug, clearly waiting for the catch, but Angel thrust it out further and with cautious hands Spike took it.
Spike couldn’t get the blood down his throat fast enough.
Angel folded his arms and leaned against his desk, watching the pale throat work against the collar wrapped around it.
“You know,” Angel said. “I’ve really put off breaking you.”
Spike choked mid-swallow and coughed, bringing the mug away from his face. A few drops of blood fell onto the carpet. Angel waited patiently as Spike coughed for several more seconds, red staining his lips.
“I’ve just -- been so busy, you know?”
Spike licked the excess blood from his lips, every line of his body tense as he tried to catch his breath. He scowled, eyes locked onto Angel, never blinking.
Angel smiled. As if reflexes were going to save him in this scenario.
Still, Angel decided to throw him off guard a little. He took a few big, deliberate steps away from Spike. “Anyway, I figured, since we both have some free time today, we might spend it together.”
Spike swallowed and gave another dull cough. “What’s your game, Angelus?”
Spike’s neck gave a very satisfactory snap as Angel’s fist swung against his face. He careened to the side and then collapsed back onto his knees, the mug flying from his hand and rolling across the carpet.
Angel sighed and put his hands in his pockets. “Never call me that,” he said, his voice soft.
“Angel,” Spike corrected, carefully schooling his voice so his tone was flat. “Meant Angel.”
“See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about. There’s an image we need to hold up, and you’re tarnishing that image with your idiocy.”
Angel kicked him again. Spike curled over the site of impact, head ducked between his arms.
“Could just let me go,” Spike said, between gasps for air.
Funny how Spike had called this Angel’s game when the little shit obviously had just as much fun running them around with words. They’d had this conversation before, multiple times, and the outcome was always the same.
There was a knock at the door. Angel turned away from Spike to answer it.
“It’s not safe having someone like you running the streets.”
Fred’s face was the first thing he saw as he opened the door, smiling and mousey. “Hey,” she said. “I’ve got that thing you ordered, and Wesley will be here soon with his.”
That made Angel brighten. He opened the door wider and let her in.
A glance at Spike revealed the collared vampire had gotten to his feet and was now unsteadily backing towards the far wall.
Angel let a nasty smirk come onto his face. All of his friends used Spike in various ways, but for some reason Fred was the one who really got under Spike’s skin. He remembered just the week before, visiting her labs, seeing Spike strapped down into a reclining chair and jerking as various jolts ran through his body, and Fred diligently taking notes on his responses and the readings of her machines.
It was only expedient that they got as much use out of him as they could, after all.
Fred looked at Spike and rolled her eyes. “Is he giving you any trouble?”
“Just about as much as to be expected. But we’ll fix that.”
Spike was breathing hard, his nervousness fermenting the air deliciously. “What are you going to do?”
They both ignored the quiet, desperate question.
Fred reached into the pocket of her lab coat and pulled out a black ring. She held it out to Angel, who peered at it for a moment before handing it back.
“Nice,” he said.
“Knox was kind of uncomfortable making it at first,” she said “But once I told him what it was for he jumped at the chance to help.”
She looked at Spike, and her amused expression became serious. She approached him, and Angel felt a small twinge of pride as Spike shrank back from her approach, his brow furrowed unhappily.
“Don’t be such a baby, Spike,” Fred said, grabbing his wrist before he could retreat further. She reached up and pressed her fingers against his neck, around the area where the collar pressed against the flesh. “Abraded, but no cuts. Good.” She turned and looked at Angel. “He hasn’t been scratching at it lately.”
“Seems kind of unlike him,” Angel mused. “He never did know quite when to quit.”
He shot a look at Spike, who now had his chin lowered and was glaring at Angel full on. Hadn’t managed to get a verbal response yet, though. Looked like Spike was a little less inclined to dig his own grave today.
But that didn’t really matter. There was no way he was getting out of what was to come.
Another light knock at the door. Angel opened it to let Hamilton back in. The man did have good timing.
“Spike,” Angel said, once he’d closed the door behind him. “Take off your clothes.”
Spike blanched, losing whatever color his meal had given him. “W-what?”
Angel smiled. Spike could be so slow sometimes.
“You heard the man,” Hamilton said.
Spike was shaking his head, in as much a reaction of disbelief as it was a response.
Angel glanced at Hamilton. “Did you bring the cuffs?”
They both crossed the room towards Spike, who helplessly inched himself towards a corner at their approach.
“Now, hold on a sodding minute --”
Angel grabbed hold of an arm and pulled Spike away from the wall while Hamilton caught the other side. Spike had regained some of his strength from the mug of blood, but Angel and Hamilton still easily pressed him to the floor on his belly. They pulled his arms back, Hamilton fluidly clamping on the shackles.
Spike bucked, a low growl sounding in his throat, the muscles in his pale throat standing out. “Get off me!”
Angel gripped harshly into Spike’s hair and shook him a few times. “Cut it out.”
He let go of Spike and gripped the black shirt in his hands, tearing it down the middle. He easily ripped the rest of it, baring the pale, writhing body. An assortment of bruises mottled the white skin.
Angel pressed down on Spike’s arms. “Now the pants.”
“Fucking pervert!” Spike tried vainly to twist out of his hands. “No! Get off me you fucking--”
Spike’s words were cut off as Hamilton shoved a large, black phallic gag into his mouth, buckling it tightly amidst Spike’s wild tossing of his head.
“Good thinking,” Angel said.
Hamilton smiled. “I had a feeling we’d need it.”
Spike roared against the obstruction, the sound greatly muffled. Angel felt vindictive pleasure as he thought he saw a hint of a glitter of tears in Spike’s eyes.
They continued stripping Spike, who continued his pathetic, abortive struggles, despite it being obvious that he‘d lost. Soon he was completely bare.
They flipped him over onto his back, Angel with one hand on the heaving chest and the other pressing against the inside of a thigh. Hamilton pressed against the other one, and together they forced Spike’s legs open.
Spike made a keening noise deep in his throat, his eyes filling with fear as he looked between Angel and Hamilton.
Fred came over at this point, slipping on a pair of latex gloves. “I guess these don’t really matter since vampires don’t carry contaminants,” she said, crouching down.
She pulled out a tube of lubricant and squeezed some of it into her palm, replacing it into her lab coat pocket and pulling out a thin metal rod next, which she slathered with the clear substance.
Spike’s eyes locked onto her, his body quivering beneath Angel’s hands, his nostrils flaring as he sucked in deep gulps of air. Angel admired the slope of ribs leading to the flat abdomen, and the muscles with their hard edges, all marred by the growing fresh bruises courtesy of Angel’s kicks.
Spike tried to thrash again, to throw them off, but they easily squelched his panicked struggles.
Fred crouched between Spike’s legs and pressed two fingers against his ass, spreading his cheeks and pressing the rod against his sphincter. Spike threw his head back, his eyes wild, noises of distress coming from his throat. Fred pressed harder, and the rod sunk into Spike’s body.
“’Kay, guys, hold him tight for me.”
She pressed a button at the end of the rod and suddenly Spike arched his back and screamed. He also became immediately erect.
Fred stopped and scrutinized her handiwork, then pulled the rod free. “Good. I think he’s ready.”
That was their cue. Angel and Hamilton released Spike and then hauled him up between them, each gripping an arm, and lead him to the door. Spike squirmed and tried to plant his heels against the floor, his breaths growing more frantic.
Hamilton released his side to get the door while Angel wrapped his arm around Spike’s neck. He easily forced the younger vampire out into the open, to the gawking gazes of the workers of the office.
The room grew dead quiet, save for the hum of Harmony’s computer and Spike’s grunts as he tried to wriggle out of Angel’s hold.
Angel pressed Spike down onto his knees, taking a handful of curls on the blond head and holding tight.
“I’d just like everyone to know that there are going to be a few new rules considering Spike. Clothes are no longer something he gets to have. At all. If you receive any complaints from our customers about this, let me know. I’ll make sure he doesn’t re-offend.”
Spike gave another jerk and a long, despairing moan.
“But just to make sure he gets the point, I’ve arranged for a special -- public -- treat. Fred?”
Angel crouched behind Spike and replaced his arm around the pale neck, wrapping his other arm across Spike’s chest and clutching him tightly.
At Fred’s first touch to his bared cock and balls, Spike regained the will to struggle. Angel just squeezed tighter, and Spike subsided with a low whimper. Fred slathered some shaving cream over his privates, while one of her department scientists set a bowl of water down beside her.
“Thanks Knox,” Fred said.
Spike was completely still as Fred shaved him, except for the deep tremor that intermittently coursed the pale frame, and the deep, heaving breaths, like a horse that had been run too hard. When she was done, she wiped him off with a soaked cloth and then a dry one, his still-hard cock bobbing with the motion.
The Wolfram and Hart employees were gathered in a semi-circle now to watch the spectacle.
Fred pulled out the black ring she’d shown Angel before, and pulled up Spike’s dick with one hand. With the other, she slid the ring up his balls.
Angel could feel the moment Fred tightened and locked the ring. Spike arched and thrashed in his arms. Angel held him easily, waiting out the fight. When it was over, Spike was practically hyperventilating, and Angel could smell blood.
“This,” Angel reached down and squeezed the bound balls in his hand, “is a device I commissioned from the Practical Science Department. Over the next week, it’s going to tighten, incrementally, until Spike’s well and truly neutered.”
The employees all smirked at the words.
Spike was breathing like he couldn’t suck in air fast enough.
Angel glanced at Hamilton, who smiled and gestured to a couple of workers off to the side. They started rolling out a large metal chair-like contraption to the center of the floor. Angel got to his feet, dragging Spike up with him. Hamilton stood near the device, and when Angel bent Spike over the front of it, strapped his neck in place. Angel worked the additional straps, tightening them until he was certain Spike wouldn’t be able to move an inch.
Spike was moaning near continuously now, and as Angel backed away he got a good look at the blood running down the pale hands from his struggles against the shackles.
Wesley stepped up next, handing Angel a pen-like object. “This is specially made by my department. It contains small intertwined crosses, and an ink mixture containing holy water, along with a few other ingredients of the mystical variety that will serve to insure its permanency. The outside is properly shielded, of course, to prevent a reaction in the user.”
Angel smiled, holding the pen over Spike’s exposed shoulder-blade. Then he pressed the tip of it to his flesh, ignoring the ensuing scream. The flesh steamed and reddened beneath the pen, the muscles beneath the skin twitching as Spike continued to cry out. It took a minute, a careful penmanship, but Angel finally drew the item away. He handed the pen back to Wesley, grinning at his handiwork.
Property of Angel,
Wolfram and Hart CEO
After a moment of silence, the employees of Wolfram and Hart burst out clapping.
Spike whimpered desolately. His bollocks felt like they were on fire, and beneath the pain there was the clear horror of what was happening to him, what he was helpless to prevent.
It was only the second day since the torturous device had been applied to him. Angel was keeping him bound tightly, tethered between the bars of a small cage so he couldn’t move in the slightest. His legs were spread wide, and every hour or so Angel put his big mitts in through the bars and pawed at him, causing excruciating agony on top of what he was already suffering.
It must have been several minutes since Angel had last touched him, but the agony had yet to fade. He rocked his body against the webbing of leather, tears coursing down his cheeks.
A pair of shined dress shoes stepped into his line of sight.
“Isn‘t this a cute picture.” The pant legs bent and then Hamilton’s face came into view, smiling and amused. “How you holdin’ up?”
Spike lowered his gaze, in far too much pain to care about Hamilton’s taunts.
“Anyway, I thought I’d let you know that you can rest that precious soul of yours. Angel and his buddies aren’t evil.”
Spike raised his eyes again, shaking with agony.
“I see that surprises you. They are and will continue to attempt to do good under the Senior Partners’ noses. See, it’s just you. The Senior Partners had a bit of an issue with your appearance in LA. Two vampires with souls in such close proximity was shaking the playing field a little too much. Your influence over Angel and his friends was becoming worrying. So now everyone who steps foot into Wolfram and Hart has an unexplainable desire to see you bruised and on your knees.” His smile widened. “Don’t worry. When Angel and his friends are fully satisfied with your… training, they’ll back off. It will be almost like you don’t even exist.”
Hamilton tilted his head, his gaze drifting downwards. He pulled a grimace. “Ouch. That does look painful. I’d give them three more days.”
He stood up and walked out of Spike’s sight.
“By the way, don’t bother trying to explain to them what’s going on. The spell means that they’ll probably think it’s a desperate evil plot on your part to save your own hide. Anyway, Angel told me he‘s not going to take that gag out until after your testicles have been severed.”
The office door opened and closed. Alone in his misery, Spike let his head hang against the straps holding his neck up. Nausea swirled in his belly, and he just managed to fight it down.
The vice around his bollocks suddenly gave another cinch tighter, sending jagged ripples of fiery pain through his genitals. Spike screamed, his voice going hoarse, and hung limp in his restraints.
He hoped to sodding hell that someone would dust him before too long.