It once was pain. Whips, knives, fangs. Only when he was bloody and broken would Spike ever submit.

Now kindness broke Spike. Gentle words, extra-spicy chips, the sword they always fought over.

Spike snarled and griped but slowly melted beneath the onslaught. At last Angel slid along that long-remembered skin, pressed his lips to his favorite hidden places, and heard that rough voice plead for more. Every sensation reminded him of their simpler past.

But when Spike returned the caresses and inspired fevered entreaties of his own, Angel was thankful the old line between master and mastered was long lost.

~end~