Stories

Drabbles

Poetry

Manips

lj icons

darkhavens lj

bloodclaim lj

email me

You should have noticed by now that I prefer the 100 word drabble challenge to any other form, but as this was the first challenge at my newest LiveJournal community, I decided to write an escalating series - 100, 200, 300, 400 and then 500 word pieces that can each be read separately but together form a greater narrative tale.


Slip of the Tongue

Xander can't sleep. And no matter how hard he wants to believe, fear has very little to do with it.

He can't sleep because the object of his more twisted and base desires, his deepest, darkest fantasies, is less than six feet away, bound and at his mercy. Well, in theory.

But, of course, that's not the way his mini mental movies run. In those he's not the one in charge at all, oh no. Each time he shuts his eyes he sees himself naked on his knees, hands clasped behind his back or wrists tied tight. Begging.

'Spike, please...'



Behind Blue Eyes

Time was he used to like a bit of rope against his skin, just coarse enough to chafe in the right places when he moved. Not like this bloody nylon crap the boy's used to truss him up like a turkey. Even Angelus never tied him to anything quite as uncomfortable as this monstrosity of a chair.

And naked! Couldn't he at least be naked instead of still squeezed into tight jeans? Too damn small by half, but you take what you can get when you're reduced to scavenging in laundromats. He hadn't exactly had time to go shopping since Harm burned his stuff. Not that he had the cash to spare, or that he'd spend it on kit if he did.

Spike squirmed and managed to scratch his arm, again, on the razor-edged tip of a spring. Could his unlife possibly get any...

A familiar scent caught him by the balls and stopped his internal whinefest cold.

No way was Harris getting his rocks off, even in his sleep while Spike was so damn frustrated and unable to have a wank. No. Fucking. Way.

"Spike, please..."

Two tiny, whispered words, and they changed everything.

Fantasies bloomed behind blue eyes.



If Only

If only he didn't still have this bleedin' chip, he'd rip these ropes to shreds and then... No. On second thoughts, he'd only do enough damage to get himself free of this disgusting chair and then he'd show Harris how real knots are tied. He could have that luscious young body tied down, spread-eagled, ready and waiting, before the lad had a clue what was going on, and by then it'd be much too late.

He could take his time; make every second an eternity. He'd been taught these lessons by the best, after all, and never had a chance to really put them into practice. Oh, yes, they'd have such fun, just him and his pretty little pet. And if the folks upstairs came down, complaining about the noise? Well, he knew a thing or two about them and their child-rearing techniques that made him think his fucktoy wouldn't scream too hard if he had a snack before he got back on the job, as it were.

So there he'd be, topped up with the elixir of life, and damned if that didn't always leave him hot and horny and ready to ride. And right there waiting, ripe with fear, adrenaline and a healthy dose of juicy teenage hormones, would be the perfect after dinner entertainment.

He'd have fought the ropes for sure, shredding skin at wrist and ankle just enough to get his blood scent in the air. He'd be panting too, with panic and exertion, open-mouthed, with shining eyes and racing heart.

Spike knows from experience how to coax that flaccid flesh between tanned thighs to full erection, overriding every last denial, whether voiced or thought. He even knows where all the toys are hidden; there's a cockring he's picked out for just this game.

If only...



Back To The Beginning

"Sit down and shut the fuck up, Blondie."

"Why don't you try and make me, Droopy Boy?"

"You really think I can't? That chip inside your head makes you easier to take down than my Great Aunt Rosa, and believe me it'd be a pleasure."

There's a scuffle, and then Spike lands a punch and goes down howling. White fingers tangle tightly in blond hair as he squeezes his head like he's trying to force brain matter out through his ears.

When he finally opens his eyes, he finds he's once again caught tightly in the lumpy embrace of the barcalounger of doom, expertly lashed down by yards of roughly textured rope.

It chafes a little as he squirms and tries to find a less injurious position, and curse words in a wide variety of languages spill from his lips as he rediscovers forgotten springs and unpadded edges with his spine.

"This how you treat all your guests, Harris? No wonder you can't keep a girlfriend for more than five minutes."

"The key word there, Spike, is guests, of which you are not one. Now, shut up before I gag you. I've got to be at work early tomorrow and patrol wore me out. If you wake me up before the alarm goes off I'll wheel you outside so you can greet the dawn. Got it?"

Spike growls but swallows any further retort, suddenly content to watch silently, and avidly, as Xander peels away today's mismatched collection of ill-fitting, eye-searing clothes. A pause, infinitesimal, when he reaches the final layer, a faded pair of Snoopy boxer shorts, and then they join the pile of cast-offs and for seconds he is nude and Spike is... definitely not drooling, just impressed with the young man's balls, in more ways than one.

Too soon, tan lines are hidden away beneath layers of worn sheets and threadbare blankets, and Spike waits, and listens, as heartbeat slows and breathing evens out, until his prey is fast asleep and completely unaware. And then he begins to flex supernatural muscles, one strand of rope after another popping under the strain, until suddenly they're loose enough to slip just one arm free. After that, it's a breeze.

Xander sleeps the sleep of the innocent as Spike rearranges his dream-weighted limbs to best effect and binds them into place with careful knots.

This is gonna be so much fun...



Saved For Posterity

Xander is jerked from a dreamless sleep into a technicolour nightmare with one vicious clockwise twist of his left nipple. The basement is lit up as it's never been before, and a grinning Spike is standing by his bed.

Xander looks confused.

Instinct says to rise and greet confusion on his feet, but limbs that feel like lead don't let him move. Attempts are met by friction and constriction and eventually he realises that he is here to stay.

The smile on Spike's face as he watches the struggle leaves Xander feeling scared and very small. It's not the smile of the electronically neutered vamp he'd tied down before going to bed. No, this is the smile of the infamous William the Bloody, psycho killer, untamed demon.

Xander starts to wonder just how long the chip's been out.

"You ready, pet, to make good on those promises you made with every wiggle of that arse you aimed my way? You think I didn't keep count of every time you shoved your crotch into my face while you were double-checking knots before you stripped and went to sleep?" Spike purred, as he started to undress. "Did you think I couldn't hear you, smell you, taste you when you lay here in the dark, one callused hand wrapped round your cock, all slick with spit? I counted every stroke; I heard the hiss you made each time you pinched your nipple, just like this."

Xander hissed.

"Mmmm... Yes, just like that." Spike's hand slid lower.

"I know just how you like to touch yourself, you like to scratch." Five blackened nails draw hot pink streaks between tanned pecs, pausing on a stomach held rigid by fear-fed denial.

"I know you like it rough..."

A whimper breaks free as Spike grabs hold and begins to pull, that longed-for touch making Xander harder than he's ever been before.

"You thought of me when you touched yourself like this, I know you, pet. You dreamt about me taking you, breaking you down, owning you completely, and you begged so very sweetly for my bite... Will you beg me now?"

And all the while that hand is working, pulling, pumping tight and hard and cruel, and Xander wonders how he's supposed to speak at all.

"Tell me what you want or I'll walk out and not come back. I'll leave you to your fantasies and toys. I'll..."

"Damn it, yes! Spike, yes! Just do it now! Please, Spike, make me yours. Don't make me wait... Please, no more waiting..."

Spike's buried to the hilt before the final word's been spoken, Xander's legs both free and wrapped around his waist. In seconds they are almost beyond control and it is time. In tandem heads are tilted, vampire fangs and human teeth lock into flesh that shivers at their very touch, and then they drink. And come.

Minutes, hours, eons later, Xander glances across at a blinking red light.

"You sure you set the camera up right, Spike?"