Bleed For Me

The Adventures of Captain Peroxide and Deadboy

The Angel/Spike Zone of the BtVS Writer's Guild

Pairing: Spike/Angelus

Disclaimer: If they were mine, this wouldn’t be fanfic.

Feedback: Yes please.

Summary: Spike goes to Angel for some soul advice, but finds Angelus instead.

A/N: My first true smut. There’s been sex before, but never smut like this. Hurrah!

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Spike killed the engine and turned to look at the Hyperion. It stood dark and brooding against an outline of moonlight.

He swung a leg over the back of the bike. Took a lungful of mentholated smoke as he rubbed the back of his neck with a hand. The smoke caught the light as he exhaled, looking more real in the blue night.

He squared his shoulders and strode to the door. His fingertips felt cold, even colder than usual. He clenched his fists and relaxed them, watching the unfamiliar ground as he walked. Avoiding the empty, black panes of the Hyperion entrance.

He reached the door and stopped. Held a tentative hand a hair’s breadth from the glass. There was no need to take a breath, but he did anyway. And knocked.

The door swung open.

Spike was taken aback. He stepped inside.

All was unexpectedly quiet. No Fang Gang bustling around with files and weapons, no light except for the blue that seeped through the windows.

He could hear nothing.

He cleared his throat. It sounded massively loud against the thundering silence.

“Angel,” he said. It came out as a whisper. “Angel,” he called again, loudly this time. He heard the sound reach the high ceiling, echo around the columns and stairway. No answer. Spike walked towards the reception desk. There was a bell. He pinged it, and dulled the sound. A footstep was too loud.

He turned slowly, eyes straining to penetrate the shadows.

“Angel!” he shouted, daring the darkness to suppress him.

Then a voice like smooth gravel from above.

“I heard you the first time, Childe.”

Spike spun on his heel, squinting into the dark. It was black.

“Angel?” he said.

He heard a low growl from the shadows. Then he saw him, a pale face emerging into the blue.

“Angel.” Spike coughed, then inhaled another deep drag of nicotine.

“Boy.” Dark eyes travelled slowly down his body, then back to his face. “Is that a soul I see before me?”

Spike shuffled, looking at the ground. He looked around for an ashtray.

“Eh… yeah,” he said distractedly.

There was no reaction in that pale mask. Spike avoided looking at it. He cleared his throat again.

“That’s why I’m here, actually. Asked myself, who’s a souled vamp like me? And ...” Spike finally looked up at his sire. “Well, there’s only you. I need your help.”

Footsteps like velvet as he walked down the stairs. Spike stared, then glanced around nervously. Found an ashtray and ground out the butt until it was squashed flat.

His eyes returned to those of his sire.

“The soul is a burden.”

“So I’ve discovered,” replied Spike.

“My help,” he repeated. “Hmm. How best can I help you, boy?”

Spike stared as he began to walk slowly around him, step by leonine step.

“You got a happiness clause?”

“No, don’t think so.”

“Happiness clause. With one of those, I know exactly how I’d help you lose that burden.”

Spike blinked at the expression on that face. Suggestive, lewd. Knowing.

“I thought you’d want to help me… you know. Deal with it.”

A soft laugh, laced with a snarl.

Spike took a step back, narrowing his eyes and reaching into a pocket. He took out his battered pack of cigarettes and fumbled with shaking hands till one was lit. His eyes never left those in front of him, glinting deep in black sockets.

“Angelus,” he said. Smoke made the shapes of the word.

“Hello, William. I’m back.”

Spike took another step back.

“Great. Yeah. Bloody good. But not quite… I’ll just be off then, shall I?” He began to sidle towards the door.

“I don’t think so.” Again that voice. Spike stood still, eyes cast to the ground. Angelus stepped towards him. “William,” he said again, heavy with dead breath. He brushed his fingertips over Spike’s face. “How have you been?”

Spike shrugged, his eyes still downcast.

“Fine. Strange.”

“The last few years have been difficult for you. I can see that. We’ll see what we can do with that chip.” Angelus ran a hand through Spike’s mussed hair. “Your little curse.”

Spike sighed and flicked ash on the floor with a thumbnail.

“Leave it,” he whispered.

Angelus lifted his chin with a thumbnail and looked into his eyes. He laughed.

“My Slayer-whipped son. In love, William? And now a soul?” Angelus gripped Spike’s cheeks tightly between strong fingers and thumb. “It’s so nice you take after me in so many ways.”

Spike wrenched his face away and took another mentholated drag.

“Although,” continued Angelus, “you did it the other way. I lost the soul when I fucked her. You developed one. How’d it happen?”

“Africa. There’s this … cave. I went there.”

“I know it. Wanted to give her what she needed, huh?”

Spike nodded, dejected.

“Didn’t know she needed another me?”

Spike’s eyes flared amber.

“Fuck you. She needs me.”

Angelus held his gaze. Spike’s eyes returned to blue.

“Anyway,” he said, momentary belligerence drained. “How did you -?”

“Become free?” Angelus smiled, eyes bright. “Cordelia. Who knew she’d give me perfect happiness? Should have seen her face when she saw my fangs. Thought it was…” he laughed. “Erotic. She doesn’t think it’s so erotic now. She’d scream if she had the strength.”

“She’s still alive?”

“Oh yeah. Not letting that little hottie go so fast.”

“What about the rest of your little gang?”

“Oh, they’re works in progress. You know I don’t like to rush.” Angelus twisted his signet ring as he spoke. Spike recognised it, the curlicued A set in diamonds. A gift from Darla, before he had even been born.

“I remember, sire. You always like to take your time.”

“How different you would be, my William, had I sired you.” Angelus looked wistful.

Spike shook his head.

“One insane childe not enough for you, Angelus?”

“Drusilla was never enough.” Angelus walked towards him again, slow and from the hips. “But you, William. You have always shone for me.”

Spike backed up another step, until he felt the cold marble cladding of a column against his back. He jabbed the air with two fingers, pointing accusingly at Angelus.

“And bled for you too. Don’t think I’ve forgotten you, sire and all as you are. I haven’t bloody forgotten the pain and how much you liked it. Stay away from me.”

A laugh rumbled in Angelus’s expansive chest.

“You seem to have forgotten how much you liked it too.”

Spike hesitated. He threw the cigarette butt on the floor and ground it out with the heel of his boot.

“True,” he conceded. “But I hated how much you got off on it.”

“And now you’re here for my help.”

“I came for Angel’s help.”

“What would he do? Hug you till you got better?” Angelus stood so close now that Spike could feel the lifeless air when he spoke. “No no no. You need me.”

Spike pressed himself against the pillar, suppressing an urge to run.

“Because I’ll tell you the truth. The Scourge of Europe takes pleasure in many things, but he never lies.”

Spike could only blink. He knew it was true.

“And one more thing,” continued Angelus. “I’ll give you what you’ve been craving since eighteen ninety eight.”

Spike jutted his jaw.

“And what’s that, Sire?” he asked, a cocky tone seeping back into his voice.

Angelus’s face became demonic.

Spike stared into amber eyes. Elongated fangs, jagged in an obscene mouth.

Then the oblivion of pleasure.

Somewhere in his mind his own demon was triggered, and he sank into the firm flesh of Angelus’s neck. Sire’s blood, more potent than any other. Blood he had not tasted in over a hundred years. He felt it flaring like liquid light through his veins, filling chambers of a dead heart, thickening in atrophied arteries. Heard himself whimper as his sire’s bulk pressed him harder against the pillar.

Somehow he raised a hand and pushed weakly against a heavy shoulder. Then the other. With every ounce of strength he pushed away.

He pulled his mouth from Angelus’s neck and cried out like a child ripped from its mother.

Angelus drew back slowly, a menacing growl in his throat.

Spike panted helplessly against the marble. Fear in his eyes.

Angelus’s mouth, bloody and red. Eyes amber and evil under a heavy brow, deep in deep blue shadow. A paw placed around Spike’s neck, gently squeezing. He could feel his own blood soaking into his shirt as it ran from the wounds in his throat. Angelus allowed his human face come to the fore.

“Boy.” It was a growl with barely a human sound in the word.

Spike held Angelus’s wrist with whitening fingers.

“No!” he gasped. “I can’t.”

“Can’t go… back.” Spike shut his eyes, his face a mask of pain. A red-stained tear ran down his crumpled cheek.

“Fine.” Angelus threw him across the lobby. Spike landed with a crack against the hard steps. He cried out, and felt the back of his head. His hand came away red.

Angelus stalked towards him.

“We’ll see who’s William the Bloody now,” he snarled. Spike scrambled backwards up the steps, his skull pounding along a fracture line. Blue spots danced in front of his eyes.

Angelus stood over him, one leg on either side of his body. Moonlight shafted in from the doorway casting his face into extremes of light and shadow. He knelt down, straddling his prone childe. A backhand across the face made Spike’s head pound more violently. Blood trickled from his mouth.

“You refuse me, boy?” Angelus’s voice was mere breath and snarl. A laugh dripping with someone else’s pain. “No one refuses me.”

Spike spat blood. He smiled, wincing.

“I refused you, you wanker.”

Angelus’s eyes flared.

Spike bolstered himself against the steps with his elbows.

“Pillock. You think I’ll fall back into your arms? After Sunnydale?” He spat again, this time into Angelus’s face. “Not a fucking chance.”

Another backhand and he bit his own tongue. Blood seeped into his mouth, blood he had just taken from his sire. He swallowed it.

“The soul hasn’t changed you too much, boy. Good.” He chuckled again, and swooped to lick the blood trailing from Spike’s mouth.

Spike caught Angelus’s tongue in his mouth and bit down with blunt teeth, kissing fervently all the while. Once again sire’s blood poured into his mouth. He felt it invigorate him. He felt it burn into him.

He felt the steps cutting into his back.

He pushed Angelus from him. Angelus landed on his back on the lobby floor, a fire in his eyes and in his belly. Spike followed, menace in his gait, growling and snarling.

He kicked Angelus hard, right in that fiery belly. Angelus stared, transfixed.

Spike knelt over him, holding his wrists against the floor over his head.

“You think I’m still scared of Daddy?” Another blasting kiss, all mouth and tongue and passion. Spike pulled away when he heard Angelus moan. “Think I’m still the Scourge’s whipping boy?” He laughed, ignoring the pain in his head. “Not anymore. Not since Sunnydale. Fucking Acathla, you tosser.”

Spike sat up and pounded Angelus’s face until his eye sockets turned black. Angelus squirmed underneath him, a sadistic smile lighting up his face.

“Oh, William,” he rumbled gleefully. “My boy!”

“Shut up!” said Spike through gritted teeth. He ripped open Angelus’s shirt. “Shut up!” he screamed, tearing his black nails down that alabaster torso. Angelus arched his back against the floor, a violent growl escaping his throat as he drew his lips back over blunt teeth.

Suddenly a paw caught Spike a fierce blow on the side of the head, sending him skittering across the tiles. Angelus was upon him in a graceful pounce. Tearing off the battered leather duster and shredding his t-shirt into rags, he turned to gameface and sank his fangs deep into Spike’s belly. The muscles in his cheeks worked to draw blood slowly from the wounds. Spike moaned more loudly with each pull. He kicked against the ground as he felt his blood being drawn again and again to that one place where his sire suckled at his skin.

“Angelus,” he rasped.

He slid his hands down and held Angelus’s head against his pulsing belly. It reminded him of a heartbeat. He could feel Angelus’s rough tongue lap at the punctures, tickling the tender flesh.

Angelus raised his head, his face human and bloody. His eyes glinted blackly. Spike felt his own flash amber in reply.

“I hate you,” he snarled.

Angelus gave him a debauched smile.

“And I hate you,” he replied.

Spike sat up with a roar and threw Angelus against the reception desk. Blood began to leak from Angelus’s forehead, trickling down over one eye. Dark, old blood. Spike crawled slowly across the floor, his shoulders undulating like those of a she-lion, and licked it up hungrily. He trickled his fingertips over Angelus’s heaving chest, toying with his nipples as his sire panted under Spike’s practiced touch.

Pain jolted across the fracture in his skull as Angelus’s knee connected with the side of his head and he fell back onto the ground. Through shock-blurred vision he saw Angelus loom over him, a shadow in the blue. Heard him laugh.

A kick to his punctured belly had him doubled over in pain. Spike scrambled to his feet, gasping. Angelus chuckled.

“Come on, boy,” he said through his teeth. “We’ve barely started.”

They circled each other warily, their faces set in fierce determination. Muscles taught under poreless skin, they danced a predatory dance through the dim blues of the lobby. Angelus purred in anticipation.

“It’s been far too long, my William,” he said.

“Not my fault, Sire,” came the cocky reply. “I don’t recall you making any moves during your little Slayerfest in Sunnyhell.”

“I don’t recall you inviting any. Too busy making deals with the Slayer.” Angelus chuckled. “Pussy-whipped even back then, young one.”

“You’re one to talk.” Spike passed through a column of moonlight. Angelus watched his hair glow around him like a ragged halo. “At least I tried to kill her now and again. What did you do? You killed her sodding computer teacher and tried to end the world. Bit daft. Maybe it’s old age.” Spike gave his sire a withering look.

“It was a phase. It’s over.” He flicked into gameface. “Time to play.”

Spike was ready for him, but collapsed under his weight nevertheless. His sire’s heavy frame pinned him to the ground. He hit and scratched to no avail. He was sick of Angelus’s amusement.

He felt the fly of his jeans being opened. About time.

Angelus slid the jeans down Spike’s legs, pushing them off and flinging them across the floor. Spike felt Angelus’s leather-clad legs separate his own, as he felt cool fingers dart under the waist of his boxers, teasing, pretending. He groaned and pushed his hips forward, wordlessly begging Angelus for friction.

He stared into his sire’s face. The amusement was gone.

“Do you want me, Spike?”

He barely heard the words at first. Then he thought it was a joke. Angelus had never asked before.

Those fingers kept playing, promising, dancing along his hips and belly.

Spike said nothing. He flipped them over. Angelus lay on his back, his arms wide on the ground.

He closed his eyes as Spike nuzzled against his neck. He felt those lips he longed to bite kiss their way along his silent jugular, down to his collar bone. Small sounds of satisfaction escaped him as Spike moved lower and lower, nipping, biting, licking and kissing his way down past his navel to that sensitive area underneath. Slowly Spike brought his fingers to Angel’s fly, sliding the zip down excruciatingly slowly. Angelus growled and thrust forward.

“Patience, Sire,” murmured Spike. Angelus snarled in reply.

Spike chuckled as he lifted himself up and began to remove Angelus’s leather pants. He slid them over silk boxers, down over muscular legs, and drew them off over bare feet. He crawled up over his sire’s body with a grin. Angelus eyed him in anticipation.

Spike found himself pulled once more to his sire’s mouth as they kissed passionately. Their skin sang with contact, friction, nerve endings taut and screaming for more. Angelus rolled them so that he was on top. He sat up and ripped off Spike’s boxers and straddled him, grinding against his huge erection. Spike could see Angelus’s own straining for release from the silk. Pleasure pulsed through his veins, blurring his vision, his fists clenching and unclenching with each thrust of his hips.

Then the pain began again, as he knew it would. A simple backhand to burst his lips and send a shot of agony up his nose into his skull. And then the pleasure once more. Angelus raised himself, tore off his own boxers and settled back down to riding his childe. Spike could feel Angelus’s tight ass working him further and further towards orgasm. Then fingernails ripping along his skin, blood welling through the deep scratches in little drops. Angelus’s tongue rasping along the shallow wounds, licking voraciously. Spike began to cry out as he felt himself get closer and closer, and felt heavy, thick-skinned hands grasp his throat and begin to squeeze. A human fear of asphyxiation sent waves of panic through his brain. Spike’s chest heaved with desperation. He needed to breathe, now more than ever; vulnerable and open, it was his most human time. He squinted in the fear and darkness and saw black flames in the eyes of his sire, dripping vicious glee on his mouth. Demonic, terrific. Spike’s eyes wide open like those of a mortal confronting death.

The little death came first. He came with a strangled cry, erupting his seed over his own bloodied belly, his body spasming against the hard ground. Angelus roared with satisfaction. Spike felt the hands leave his throat and he gratefully gasped for air, dead lungs filling for no reason. Other than sanity.

He felt Angelus’s hands on his belly. Lying in numbed aftermath, Spike watched as Angelus coated his own cock in Spike’s seed, slowly stroking up and down. Spike’s hands moved of their own accord and joined those of his sire. Soon Angelus pulled his away and allowed his childe to work him up and down, from base to tip. Spike felt it all coming back, memories tingling through his nerves, remembering what Angelus liked best. He swiped the pad of his thumb over the wet tip of Angelus’s cock, watching the tiny reactions of pleasure in his sire’s face.

Angelus looked at Spike in the moonlight, blue and pale. A perfect childe.

He leant in close to Spike, his lips brushing his ear.

“You ready for me, boy?” he whispered.

“As always,” he replied defiantly.

Angelus looked into his eyes and laughed.

“Then it’s time to bleed for your sire. Again,” he said. He caught Spike by his arm and turned him over quickly and effortlessly. Spike’s head hit against the ground with a crack, again sending bolts of pain fizzing around his skull. He could almost feel parts of his brain implode.

Angelus wasted no time in plunging inside him, no preparation, the barest lubrication. Just a tight hole for him to fuck. Spike cried out, his cheek flattened against the tiles, as he was pounded repeatedly into the floor. Angelus rode above him, head thrown back, spine arched, Spike’s legs splayed around him. He burst into Spike’s anus each time, ripping through constriction until blood began to flow.

Spike was almost grateful for the lubrication.

He felt the head of Angelus’s thick cock hitting against his prostate, sending pain and pleasure pulsing simultaneously through his body. He tingled with exhilaration.

Angelus grunted with every thrust, animalistic growls rumbling in his powerful chest. He loved fucking Spike, all tight and protesting. He felt his cock slick with his childe’s blood and pounded in and out, blood beginning to smear on Spike’s ass. Every move his childe made was a fight between hatred and compliance, pain and pleasure. Submission and dignity. Tearing away dignity; that’s what he liked best. Domination, pain, and scathing autonomy.

He felt his balls heavy with imminent orgasm, and pumped in deeper and deeper. Spike cried with pain and flailed helplessly against the floor. Angelus snarled and roared, splitting Spike with the power of his hips. Spike’s cries only made him plunge further and fuller until he came with a ferocious roar that echoed through the hollow Hyperion. He felt Spike’s muscles milk him until he had emptied his seed inside the battered body lying before him.

Angelus slowly withdrew and collapsed on top of his childe. He felt Spike’s ribcage heaving underneath him, a whimpering almost silenced against the tiles.

“Ah, hush now, a leanna,” he said. Spike remembered those words from a century before. Words of pity.

He brought his elbow round with a viciousness that not even Angelus expected. It caught his sire on the side of the head and knocked him to the tiles.

Spike sat up, refusing to wince at the pain.

“Shut the fuck up,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “You don’t get to do that anymore.”

Angelus laughed, amused again.

“I don’t get to fuck you?” he said, holding his head.

“Oh, you can fuck me all you like, Sire, I can’t stop you having your fun.” Spike smiled a hard smile. “But you don’t get to pity me.”

Angelus smiled. Spike thought he saw pride in those eyes.

“Looks like William’s growing up just like Daddy after all,” replied Angelus quietly.

Spike let his eyes wander over the body beside him. White in the moonlight, veins dark and blue. Red blood smeared on his face, drying in beads on his torso and still wet and slick on his penis, mixed with dead cum. Spike looked down at the wounds on his own belly, still oozing blood, and the deep scratches across his chest. He felt it still wet on his face.

It was hard to smell whose blood was whose.

Angelus lay on the ground. Moonlight darkened his eye sockets. He looked for all the world as if he lay spent after his exertions. Spike knew otherwise. Angelus was voracious, and merely waited, poised, to see what his childe would do next.

Spike cast his mind back, before Sunnydale, before the ninety-odd years during which he had not seen or heard of the vampire he always thought of as his sire. Back to the debauched days when the four of them had ruled Europe, the deadly hunts, the thrill of the chase, and the twisted joy of being buggered unconscious by the Scourge. Angelus’s very presence acted as an aphrodisiac, then as now. Raw power in well-tailored clothing.

Or naked. Spike allowed his eyes to linger, trailing his fingers over skin the colour of marble. Angelus lay perfectly still. Spike felt a rush of pleasure. He had never had such freedom with his sire’s body before. He watched as Angelus’s penis began to fill again, saw the thick veins full of blood. Slowly he took it in his hand and lowered his mouth, gently stroking as his tongue played with the tip. He flicked back and forth, pumping at the base, feeling Angelus become harder and harder. He knelt between his sire’s muscular legs and cradled his heavy balls with his free hand, allowing one finger to play with Angelus’s anus. Not that he would ever dare venture inside without explicit invitation. He took Angelus’s cock deeper and deeper into his mouth, and growled as he morphed into gameface.

He heard Angelus chuckle.

“Go on,” said his sire. “Do it.”

Spike needed no more prompting. He roughly pierced the delicate white skin of Angelus’s penis with his fangs, near the base. With each suck he drew blood, eliciting moans and growls from his writhing sire. He brought Angelus deep into his throat, swallowing the blood when the tip was at its deepest, filling himself with the heady combination of sire’s blood and power. Never before had Angelus lain prostrate before him, abandoned to pure physical pleasure unmixed with the pleasure of domination. Spike groaned as he pulled with his strong mouth. Angelus replied, becoming increasingly louder and arching his back against the floor. He began to thrust into Spike’s mouth, holding his childe’s head in place. Spike took it all and gave in return. The blood flowed as if it were pumping, and Angelus thrust in time. His entire body seemed to spasm around that one point as he came nearer and nearer the brink. His eyes were squeezed shut and he rolled his head back against the floor. Spike felt his hips move erratically and drew even harder, milking Angelus as he screamed and pumped his seed into Spike’s throat. Spike tasted the cum and blood and felt it settle in his belly like a pool of warmth, a source. It tingled through his body in every vein and artery. He cried out with the pleasure, his mouth finally disengaging from his sire’s spent cock. He had never felt such a rush.

He raised himself on his arms and saw Angelus spread on the ground, spent and drained of blood. He panted shallowly after his exertions. Spike smiled to see him so entirely satiated.

“Well Sire,” he gasped. “How was it for you?”

Angelus opened his eyes.

“Never better,” he murmured. “My William.”

Spike sat up, and pushed himself to his feet.

“Always your William, Sire,” he said. “But I can’t stay.”

“I know,” replied Angelus. He pushed himself up on one arm and looked up into Spike’s eyes. “But did I help you, my boy?”

Spike paused. He nodded slowly.

“You did,” he said softly.

Angelus stood up to face him.

“I told you I would. Listen to your father.”

Spike raised an eyebrow as Angelus laughed.

“It’ll be sunrise in a couple of hours,” said Spike, looking at the windows.