On the Other Side

Chapter 21


On the drive home, Spike didn’t think about the tall, dark, and handsome man that he’d nearly kissed. His attention was divided between watching the road and desperately hoping that Wesley wouldn’t puke in the car. He’d already decided that he couldn’t take Wesley back to his own house; Wesley’s father would likely beat the boy to a pulp if he saw his son in this shape.

When he got to the house, he carefully and quietly led Wesley up the stairs and into his own room, gently removing Wesley’s pants, shoes and glasses before tucking him into the bed.

Preoccupied with remembering how Angel’s eyes took him in, how Angel’s hands felt on his body, he wandered down the hall and into his father’s room. He shut the door behind him and quickly stripped before kneeling in the center of the bed, waiting for the plug to be removed.

Then he was being touched, fingers circling his opening before grasping the plug and swiftly pulling it from his body. When two fingers began pressing inside, he grunted against the mattress, shutting his eyes and allowing his mind to wander…

Somehow he’d gone from almost-kissing to kneeling on the green sofa, naked and spread while Angel’s fingers massaged his inner walls. One strong arm held him back against a firm chest, while open-mouthed kisses were smeared along his neck and shoulders. He arched back against the larger body, whimpering when Angel’s free arm roamed his torso, rolling his nipples between slick, wet fingers and gently teasing, combing through the hair on his lower abdomen. And then something much larger was being pushed inside and Angel was breathing roughly into his hair, mashing Spike into the sofa with his weight. Angel moved, and it was so right and so good and exactly what he needed…

“Angel…”

Fingers tangled in his hair and jerked his head back roughly, painfully. “Open your eyes, you little shit. You’re here, with me. Do you understand, William?” Each word was punctuated with a harsh thrust against his prostate and, to Spike’s horror, his nearly-erect cock got even harder.

Spike sobbed into the sheets, willing his arousal to fade, but his body had other ideas, becoming more and more excited with each of his father’s brutal thrusts. He tried desperately to go back to that place, to be at the party in Angel’s arms, but it was all in vain. The drunken slurs whispered in his ears and the vile stench of his father’s breath kept him there, anchored in reality.

He gasped as the first tingle of orgasm shot from the base of his spine to the outer reaches of his body. The movement stopped.

“Don’t you dare come in this bed, boy.” The grip on his hair tightened, and Spike feared the older man had pulled some of it out by the root. “Now get a hold of yourself, William, or I shall be very cross.”

Spike shut his eyes, drawing a shuddering breath and steeling himself against the sensations as his father began moving again. It wasn’t long before Rupert finished off, unceremoniously kicking Spike from the bed, where he crumpled in a heap. The older man stood, collecting Spike’s clothes and throwing them into the hall.

“Get out and go jerk off in the shower, you little whore.”

He crawled out into the hallway, gathering his clothes together and limping into the bathroom.

He turned the water to near-scalding, as always, and stood under the spray, terrifying and arousing images assaulting him at random. His father’s hands holding him down, finger-shaped bruises blossoming on his hips; Angel’s fingers, lightly tracing the line of his neck; Wesley’s mouth, hot and warm and sweet to his tongue; lying broken, sobbing in a pool of his own vomit; Xander, naked, on his knees, swallowing around his cock; Angel’s strong arms, wrapping around his waist, cock grinding against his ass; foul-tasting, brandy flavored kisses, his father’s tongue tainting his mouth; Wesley’s hands, sliding under his shirt…

Unable to hold it in any longer, he came, crumpling against the tile and staring in wonder at the hand wrapped around his dick; it was his own.

The only time Spike allowed himself to cry was in the shower, when fragments of William would seep out onto his cheeks, and be washed down the drain. He wondered if he’d eventually just cry William out.

Wiping the tears from his face with wet, trembling hands, he shut off the water and slid from the shower onto the rug, unused towel in hand. He couldn’t believe what had happened. He sat there, dripping onto the mat, and attempted to wrap his brain around what had just happened, but everything was a blank. Finally, he noticed the towel and dried himself. Still in a daze, he wrapped the towel around his waist and snuck down the hall to his room, where…Wesley was in his bed, snoring loudly.

He’d forgotten. He retrieved a pair of shorts and a tank from the drawer and put them on, the wet towel soaking into the carpet where he’d dropped it, and tip-toed over to Xander’s room. He put his hand on the knob to open the door and the image – Xander on his knees sucking Spike’s cock, big brown eyes filled with near-worship – flashed before his eyes. He jerked his hand from the knob as if he’d been burnt.

He backed away from the door, shaking his head. He couldn’t go in there; he was sick. Sick, sick, sick. Couldn’t do that, not to Xan. Not to his Xan.

Glancing sadly at the three doors, all closed to him, he crept down the stairs to sleep on the couch.