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Written for Kat8Cha

Spike/Xander

Angst, Torture

NC-17

 Abducted

When Xander first woke up, he was comfortable. There was a firm mattress under his back and a warm blanket over him. It was only when he tried to roll over he snapped awake. Nylon rope held his limbs stretched out in all directions.

Xander’s eyes shot open only to see… nothing. He squashed the urge to yell for help. From past experience, he’d learned that only gave him a sore throat and drew the attention of his captor quicker. For some reason, kidnappers never chose busy places to tie up their victims. 

Okay, then, what could he hear? Distant water. That was little help.

Next, feeling. It was a comfortable temperature where ever he was. Considering it had been chilly enough for him to wear a coat on patrol, he considered that lucky. He could detect no air movement at all. Systematically, he tested the ropes, pulling on each one in turn. There was no give. The mattress wasn’t too lumpy, the blanket was soft and, eep, he was pretty sure he was naked. That never led to anything of the good in these situations.

Smells? His nostrils flared as he shifted his head, trying to find out any clue at all. Dirt. Candle wax. Damp. Something faint and perfumey. Fabric softener? He searched more. Rubber or latex, maybe. Leather. The smell of the oil you use to sharpen weapons, and metal. The last two made him uneasy. Under it all there was a musk of some kind.

He looked around the room again and discovered there was a little something to see. Off  to his right, beyond his feet, there was a tall, narrow less dark space, like an opening. That was good to know. To his left, there was a glow, so faint it vanished into his blind spot like a distant star when he tried to look right at it. It was about three feet up, so he assumed it sat on a table or something. The scents of rubber, oil, and metal were strongest from over there.

How had he gotten here? It had been a classic jump-from-behind. He’d seen nothing, and had no warning it was coming. The last thing he remembered was a pressure at his back, and the grass rushing up to meet him. There had been no weird smells or textures he could remember. Other than a slight grogginess and a growing discomfort at being unable to move, he seemed unharmed.

Now, when would he be missed? Damn. Giles knew which cemetery he was going to patrol, but until another Scooby meeting was planned, they had no reason to look for him. Being between jobs didn’t help either. And, of course, it wasn’t like his parents would miss him for a long time.

Xander allowed himself a sigh. Why did the baddies seem to be the only ones who took an interest in him? Then there was something new to hear. It took him a minute to identify it. Church bells, muffled and faintly echoing. Eagerly, he counted the chimes, glad for some stimulus in his isolation. Nine. He’d only been abducted for forty-five minutes.

Again he tried the ropes. When they again refused to yield, he allowed himself a minor tantrum. “Arrrgh!” he yelled, thumping his heels on the bed.

A soft chuckle form the corner stilled his movements.

Someone or something had been in there with him the whole time, watching him. Chills raced up and down his spine. “Who is it? Who’s there?”

“I’m the one who is going to ask the questions, boy.” The voice was flat, only vaguely accented. Clearly male. There came the sound of shifting as if someone stood up, then soft footsteps across the floor.

Xander strained his eyes wide, but couldn’t make out anything as the figure passed the less dim strip. “I don’t know anything useful. Let’s save some time and let me go, okay?”

The movement completely stopped to the right of the bed. The scents of musk and leather were stronger. Now he could smell nicotine as well. “You know about the Slayer.”

Oh, God. It had finally happened. The bed time stories Watchers told their Scoobies to make them take care at night had come true. “What’s a Slyer?”

The blanket was suddenly snatched away from him, and he immediately started to shiver, more from the abrupt act than cold. “The cute blonde often seen in your company.”

“You think Spike’s cute?” Xander quipped. “Well, I think ‘classically handsome’ better suits him.”

The unexpected crack of a hand against his thigh made him yelp. “The girl,” the flat voice hissed.

“B… Buffy? There’s nothing special about her. That I know of.”

“So. Her name is Buffy?” Xander cursed his loose lips and the ship he might sink.

“Or do you mean Anya? She’s sometimes blonde.”

Crack! His other thigh was hit. “No. Not the ex-demon.”

“Anya’s an ex-demon? Really? That would explain a lot.” Crack, crack! “Ow.”

“Stop playing games, boy. I know how intelligent you are. I’ve been watching you.”

Xander realized something at these words. His captor could see him easily in this dark. Xander stuffed down the idea he was naked and fully visible. Was he a vampire? Or maybe he was he wearing some of those cool night vision goggles like the killer had in “Silence of the Lambs.” Ohhh. Bad association. “Oh? Well, then.”

The voice this time came from far too close to his ear. “Tell me about Buffy.”

“She likes a double shot of espresso, and almost anything chocolate.”

“Important things.”

“She killed the Master of Sunnydale.”

“Trivial. I see I’m going to have to prove I’m serious.”  Xander jerked at his ropes as the figure moved around the foot of the bed and stopped near the unidentified glow. Xander watched as the glowing object was lifted. “No,” muttered his captor. “It’s too much. Too early for this. As much as I’d like to…” The glow settled on the table again and this time Xander heard the sching as a knife was picked up. “This one, I think.”

Xander pulled his ropes. “Let me go. Please.”

“Oh, no. Not yet. The night is young.” There was a pause. “I’m rushing things.” Xander heard a click as the knife was put down again. “In cooking and in torture, the best tools are the hands. Subtle, precise. Fun.” The voice moved up to the left side of the bed. Xander cringed. Why had he gone patrolling on his own? Why? He jumped when a cool hand touched his chest over his heart. “Your heart’s beating like a jackrabbit’s. I like that.”

The hand went away and came back to touch his cheek. Xander jerked his head away. The chuckle came again. A touch to the inside of his thigh was next. Then one to the palm of his hand. Then cool fingertips were trailed down his abs, leaving his skin just short of his pubic hair. Xander gasped, embarrassed at feeling himself twitch in response to the almost-touch. The chuckle came again. “Maybe this bunny responds more to the carrot than the stick? Humm?”

“Not. Not interested.”

The smooth fingers touched his knee and trailed lightly upwards, again leaving before touching anything of interest. “I can see you, boy. You blush so pretty.”

“You a vampire? Cause then I know you’ll just kill me when you’re done. No reason for me to talk.”

“I might be. Lots of things can see in the dark. Vampires. Gritnok demons. Anyone with fairy sight. Someone with night vision goggles.” A new touch accompanied each option. Xander felt himself grow hard even with all the danger he faced. The touches were soft, the room warm, and the idea of being spread open excited him in a way he couldn’t deny, as much as he wanted to, his body was physically responding. Then the touches stopped. He heard the almost-silent footsteps move across the room. There was a sound of shifting and then stillness again.

His captor had gone still and quiet, almost as if he was not in the room, but Xander wasn’t fooled. He fought the urge to try his ropes again or goad his captor. To busy himself, he started naming off episodes of classic Star Trek silently to himself. “Amok Time.” Why did he have to think that one first? “Trouble With Tribbles.” "Spock’s Brain.”

He was down to trying to remember the last few lame third season episodes when the church bells sounded again. Ten o’clock. It had only been an hour. A sudden touch on his thigh made him jump. His captor must have moved as he was concentrating on the bells.

“Talk to me, boy.” The touches circled, soothed, but never touched where he so wanted touched.

“No.”

The hands left and his captor sighed. “Very well.” He moved to the table. The glowing object was ignored. His captor returned and placed something small on the bed. Something cool touched his leg. Again the touches came, circling, almost touching. Brushing past his now-hard cock close enough to make the air move across it. Xander found himself flexing his muscles, trying to raise his cock enough so the smooth, cool fingers might brush it. Abruptly, those cool fingers grabbed his cock at the base, gathering his balls, and a strap was wrapped around his shaft, thrusting his balls forward. There was the snap of a fastener, and the hands left him. Xander moaned.

“Talk to me, boy, and I can let you come.”

“I’ve gone without before.”

The hands touched again. A single edge of a fingernail grazed his rapidly-swelling nuts. “Not like this, I imagine.”

Xander moaned again. His cock felt huge and hard. Blood went in, but it couldn’t go out. “N… no.”

The fingers were now touching him again, growing bolder. The touches now included his cock, and he wished they did not. “Talk, boy, and I’ll let it go. I can see how much my touch excites you. My man’s touch.”

Xander shook his head in denial. “No. I’m a teenager. You’ve got unfair advantage. I’ve been known to react to t… toasters like this.”

“What else can a man do to you that you’d like, boy?” The fingers now dipped down, and stroked his perineum. Xander gasped at the intimate touch and involuntarily jerked his hips upwards. “Yes…. You like that? Talk and I’ll give you more.”

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“Oh, yes you do, the voice purred. You want an orgasm. You want me to release your straining cock so you can unload all that hot, sweet juice.”

His captor seemed to know all his sweet spots. He touched in just the right ways. And the hand that stroked below his nuts touched the lightest of all. Xander had hardly admitted to anyone his sometimes thoughts about men. Was it so obvious that a stranger picked right up on it?

“I wish I could let you see your cock, boy. It’s beautiful. Your testicles are swollen and straining up over the leather band. They’re so full, the detail is stretched out. They’re a rich, dark shade of… maroon. Yes, lovely. And your shaft, oh, so beautiful. By itself, it’s thick and hard, but now, oh… makes me want to…” A wet and surprisingly cool tongue lapped a little at the head of his straining cock.

If it hadn’t been for the band, Xander would have come long before. Now he could make no release but to cry out. “Please, please, let me go, let me come!”

“Which is it, boy? You want to come or go?”

“Let me go so I can come.”

“Tell me about the Slayer.”

“No!”

“Well, then. I guess it’s time to step it up.” His captor moved to the table and Xander saw the glowing object rise and move toward him. The voice sighed. “I had hoped I wouldn’t have to resort to this…” Up close, Xander still couldn’t tell what it was. He braced for pain as it moved toward him, but then felt only softness. Long strands of something hair-like brushed along his chest. It must be some kind of artist’s brush was all Xander could figure.

As artfully as he had used his fingers earlier, his captor applied the brush here and there. “Talk to me, boy, and I’ll snap off the band and you can come until your sac is empty.” Xander was lost in sensation. His over-stimulated body was quivering on the edge. When his torturer ran the brush from deep between his legs, all the way up over his swollen sac and up the shaft, Xander cried out.

“Hummm, you are a sensitive lad. Perhaps I should move on.” Xander saw the glowing brush waved about. “This is to be used sparingly.”

His captor moved away, giving Xander just a minute to breath and try to settle his heartbeat. When he returned, a straw was pressed to his lips.

“Drink.” Xander automatically sealed his lips. “I can make you drink. It’s just water. If I wanted to harm you, I have plenty of more fun ways than the coward’s approach of poison.”

Xander was thirsty, so he took in the straw and eagerly sucked down the tepid, yet clean water. “Thank you,” Xander said automatically.

The chuckle sounded. “You’re such a hero, boy. You know,” his captor said as he walked around the room, obviously doing something. “Seeing you take that straw in your lips makes me want to see you suck my cock.” Xander knew his cock couldn’t get any harder, but mentally it did. “I’m naked, you know. I have been this whole time. Now, I’m going to move your legs some. Just know that if you kick or try to hurt me, I will leave this room, seal the door, and no one will find you, understand?’

“Yes… I’ll be good.”

“Sweet boy,” crooned his captor. Xander felt the bed dip as weight was put on the foot of it. His left foot was picked up by the cool hands, his ankle rotated to relieve the stress of being still so long, his leg folded inwards, and his foot placed flat on the bed near his buttocks. Then the same was done to the other side. “Now let’s see what else you’ll like, boy.” The finger stroked from just under the tight band, downwards. The cool finger paused, just brushing his hole.

Xander bit his lip and did his best to not press back into the touch, because, God help him, he wanted more.

“Talk, boy, and I’ll give you as much as you want.” The cool finger pressed fractionally.

“’Squire of Gothos,’ ‘Gamesters of Triskellin’…”

Crack! “I don’t want to switch to the stick, boy, but I will. Talk to me about the Slayer.”

Mentally, Xander apologized to his friends, and gave in. “She… she was 14 when she was chosen.” The finger pressed more, and Xander pressed back. “In L.A.” The finger went away. “Hey, that’s information.”

“Just a second, boy. You’re doing fine.” Xander heard the plastic snap of a cap being flicked open, and smelled the chemical scent of KY jelly. Soon, the finger returned and the tip of it pressed in, now slick and cool. “Talk?”

“Her Watcher’s name is Rupert Giles,” Xander gasped. The finger slipped in to the second knuckle.

So Xander babbled, his physical self focused on the fingers working into his hole a little more with each tidbit of information. Soon, three fingers were being worked in and out, opening him up.

“That’s… I can’t think of any more. Please! Let me come!” Xander begged.

“You’ve done extremely well, boy. But I’ve not had my pleasure.” The fingers withdrew, leaving him feeling empty and open. He was embarrassed at how much he wanted his torturer inside him. At least he could go out with a bang. Xander felt his legs picked up and placed on narrow, cool shoulders. “You’re going to like this, boy. I’m not as nicely thick as you, but I’m long.”

The long, cool member slowly sunk into him. Xander had only imagined how this would feel, having someone living buried inside him. He felt his captor shudder when buried to the hilt. “You’re so hot, boy. So very tight.”

Xander could only whimper as the cock moved inside him. “You like that, boy?”

“Oh God, yes! I do like it! Let me come, please!”

The movements grew harder, until his captor was panting as well. “I’m going to let you go… come with me…” With a flick of  a finger, the restraining band was removed.

Xander trembled on the brink for all of two strokes before he cried out, his heels pressing down on the supporting shoulders as he tried to draw the intruding cock even deeper. His captor grabbed his hips and held himself deep as he shot his load within the warm confines of his victim.

The world grayed and rushed around Xander as his body was finally able to gain it’s release.

Once he was spent, he was dimly aware of his captor pulling out and putting his legs down. He felt his arms being untied, gently rotated, and chaffed to restore circulation. With a groan, Xander was just able to roll to his side. As a deep sleep claimed him, he was dimly aware of the return of the blanket.

+++

Xander awoke to the last few tolls of the church bells. Was it eleven or twelve? He found the strong arm wrapped around him and pulled it closer. “God, Spike,” he murmured, “that was perfect. My fantasy to a T.” About a month before, Spike had gotten him to confess to some of his fantasies. He’d had no idea Spike would make them come true.

Spike kissed his back where he lay spooned against him. “It’s all in the details, Love.”

“Except the cock ring. That was diabolical.”

“Didn’t you like it?”

“Yes. Oh, yes. But I won’t ask where you got so good with it.”

Spike chuckled. “That’s best, Love.”

Xander opened his eyes to find himself  still in darkness. “Where are we, Spike?”

“This room was once part of St. Mary’s basement. They closed it off long ago, apparently. The wall at our head joins the boiler room. That’s why it’s so warm.”

“Oh.” Xander’s eyes found the glowing object again. “And just what is that wonder brush you teased me with?”

“Brush? Oh, that, my sweet pet, is a troll doll.”

“A troll doll? You tortured me with a troll doll?”

“Whatever’s handy.”

“How could a troll doll just be handy.”

“I’d picked it up for the Niblet last time I went out of town and forgot to give it to her.”

“Well, she can’t have it now!” Xander turned and pulled Spike close.

“You liked that, huh?”

“God, yes, Spike. I love you. So much I love you.”

“You, too, Xan.”

+++

And that is why Xander has a smirking, glow-in-the-dark, troll doll wearing a leather, studded bandolier beside his bed.

Requirements:

Author name: Kat8Cha

Preferred rating and genre (ie NC-17, H/C, schmoop, angst, etc): R/NC-17,

angst

Your Colour: Maroon

Your Sound: Church bells

Your Random Object: Troll doll (one of the glow in the dark kinds preferably)

Two things you'd like included: Dirty talk, bondage

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