TITLE: Playing The Game
AUTHOR: Saber daschus@adsnet.com
DISCLAIMER: That Joss dude created them, I just put them in naughty positions.
DISTRIBUTION: If you really want (snort).
PART: 1/1
RATING: NC-17
SPOILERS: Absolutely none.
CATEGORY: A/S short, kinky, silly smut
SUMMARY: Bday challenge response. Must contain: A long-stemmed rose with
thorns; A leather jacket with 'BITCH' written on the back; Someone with
green hair; Someone driving a Vespa scooter; A visit to a gay bar; Reading
glasses; Pig latin; A Japanese can of Coca Cola; Must NOT contain:
> Any form for reference to Drusilla being Spike's sire! ASS, damnit!!!
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Playing The Game
============
Angel sidestepped quickly as a bright Vespa scooter buzzed by. The
helmetless rider was hunched over the handles, reminding the vampire of the
Wicked Witch of the West riding her broomstick. He snorted. It was a
*scooter*, not a Honda Viper racing motorbike.
Shaking his head, he stepped up onto the sidewalk and followed a burly
Hell's Angel-type, wearing a leather jacket with the word "Bitch" written
across the back in rhinestones, into the gay bar. Loud, annoying music
immediately assaulted Angel's senses, but he barely spared a glance at the
green, yellow, and blue heads of hair that bobbed to the pulsating beat.
Twinks, bears, daddies, and hunks packed the bar, talking, dancing,
flirting. Playing the game. Seeking to hook up for a free roll in the hay.
Angel had no patience for that particular game tonight. He was playing
another game, one that would end in a guaranteed fuck, and soon.
Angel went straight to the back of the establishment, passing under the neon
sign that read "Live Entertainment." He nodded to the muscular bouncer
guarding the entry, who sized up Angel over the tops of his reading glasses
before returning to his book. Angel started down the bleak hall lined with
doors, briefly looking through the small windows set into each as he passed.
The fourth door on the right snagged his attention, and Angel's eyes
flickered over the "Reserved" sign before stepping to the window.
A familiar platinum-blond man sat mostly nude on a black metal folding chair
in the center of the small room. He sat with his legs spread wide,
still-booted feet flat on the floor, hands bound behind his back. A collar
with a metal ring was fastened around his neck. Attached to the ring was a
thin length of chain that led from the collar to another ring, on a band
wrapped snuggled around the base of his erect cock. A black blindfold
covered his eyes.
It was quite easy for Angel to remember why he'd turned Spike. It was quite
difficult for him not to tear the door off its hinges and attack the
deliciously naked blond vampire. Still, this new development was perfect.
Angel wanted to get laid and Spike was there, bound in a kinky way that
fueled the brunette's arousal even more. He wasn't going to question how
his childe managed to get tied up, but he was going to take advantage of the
situation. It wouldn't do, however, to waltz into the room as he was.
Spike would scent that it was him in an instant, then the younger vampire
would start yapping and Angel wanted sex, not a headache.
Half an hour later, Angel returned to the reserved room, smelling heavily of
another young man's emissions. Spike would not be able to scent Angel,
which was the point. Angel didn't allow just anyone to ejaculate on him.
The bouncer watched, but did nothing to prevent Angel from entering the
reserved room. Such lax security, Angel thought. He might have to say
something... later.
The room was not very clean. A cot was shoved against a wall. A table with
an assortment of toys, lubricants, and condoms was against another. Spike's
clothes were folded in a pile on the table, and a basket of cleaning
solution was underneath the table. The walls were textured piss-yellow and
an advertizement for cans of Japanese Coca-Cola was taped above the cot.
Another picture of a thorned red rose lying on an unmade bed was taped on
the opposite wall. The metal folding chair and Spike were probably the only
semi-sanitized things in the room.
Spike raised his head when Angel closed the door and opened his mouth, but
Angel stopped him from speaking. "Onay eakingspay," the older vampire said
in Pig Latin. He wanted his childe to think he was anyone but Angel,
Brooding Soulman.
"Do not speak," he repeated, choosing a bad 'Russian-speaking-English-badly'
accent. "The only sounds from your mouth may be noises of pleasure."
Spike nodded, although the statement under the blindfold was one of
wariness. Angel saw him sniff the air and the wariness increased. Good.
That meant Angel's identity was hidden still. But that would change once he
touched the blond. Unless...
Angel walked over to the table and scanned the selections. He smiled with
horny glee when he found a bottle of friction-heated lubricant. Instant
humanity, just add cinnamon flavoring.
"Stand," Angel instructed. There wasn't going to be any foreplay. He felt
unclean just being in the room. If he wasn't so damn horny, he'd be at
home bathing in a tub of bleach by now.
Angel unfastened his trousers, pushed them down to his thighs, and straddled
the chair behind Spike, his eyes almost level with the blond's pert ass.
His coat provided a layer of protection between the cool, yucky metal and
his backside. Using the hem of his shirt - he'd burn the shirt later - he
untwisted the cap off the lubricant and dumped some of the red liquid into
his cupped hand.
The brunette rubbed his palms together, grinning in anticipation when they
became hot. He greased the throbbing length jutting from his body, then
wormed a couple of friction-heated fingers between Spike's marblesque
ass-cheeks. Spike hissed when Angel's digits breached him, and he
reflexively pulled on the restraints binding his wrists behind his back.
"You sit now," Angel said, grabbing Spike's bare hip with one hand. He
tugged lightly, pulling Spike down onto his lap. Insert Tab A into Slot B,
and yeah, baby!
Angel moaned. Spike moaned. There was much moaning as Angel was sheathed
inside Spike's eternally tight body. This was going to be a very short
fuck, Angel admitted to himself as the blond's velvety inner-walls spasmed
around Angel's turgid length.
"Rock," Angel ordered in his horrid Russian accent. His lubricated-heated
hands grasped Spike's lean hips to help.
Angel moaned again as Spike started to move. The blond rocked on Angel's
lap as ordered, using powerful leg muscles to raise and lower himself on the
older man's steely shaft. Over Spike's shoulder, Angel saw someone watching
through the small window in the door, and damn if it didn't excite him more.
He thrust up against Spike, earning an echoed moan of pleasure.
Angel continued to meet Spike's downward movements, his fingers bruising the
younger man's hips. The chain, running from Spike's neck to cock, jangled
with each hard thrust. More and more it jingle-jangle-jingled as the pace
increased and the older vampire leaped from the edge of ecstacy. Angel lost
sight of their watcher as his orgasm hit, his eyes rolling wildly as white
heat coursed from his balls, up his shaft, and out of his body.
He slumped in the chair, spent, and held Spike firmly against him. It took
several minutes for him to stop breathing, and by then Spike was whimpering
almost subsonically. Angel knew Spike wanted at least a handjob, if not
more, to relieve his own tension, but the brunette could feel that the germs
were ready to pounce and he wanted to get out of there.
"Stand up," he said, still in his silly Russian accent. Spike stood and
Angel used his soon-to-be-ash tee-shirt to wipe his hands before climbing
off the chair and straightening his clothes. He then untied Spike's wrists
and unhooked the collar from his neck.
Spike pulled off the blindfold and quickly turned around, almost knocking
over Angel. "Bloody hell, mate, that wasn't fair."
"Had you going there, didn't I?" Angel said smugly as Spike removed the band
from around his erection.
"Cor, if I wasn't on such intimate terms with your cock, I would've thought
I really was being buggered by a demented Russian human," Spike said. He
mock-scowled at the brunette. "Bastard."
"Serves you right,"Angel said, trying not to touch anything. "This place is
disgusting."
"Payback for the ballet," Spike told him, putting his clothing on. "Next
time, it's your choice where we play the game. But no soddin' operas,
capice? Even a blow from you in public isn't worth putting up with all that
screeching."
"Fine. No operas." Angel gestured to the door. "Can we go home now? I
feel icky. I want to shower."
"Yes, we can go home now so you can shower and I can fuck you in the
shower," Spike replied with a roll of his eyes. He pocketed the collar and
chain, earning a raised brow from his sire. "It's mine, you dolt. You
don't think I'd actually use something from here?"
Angel's second brow joined the first. "Yours, huh?"
"You can enjoy it more another time," Spike said, urging Angel to move.
"Right now: home, fuck, happy Spike."
"Three things I like tremendously," Angel said with a smile, and he led the
way out the door.
End
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