Thralls

Title: Thralls, chapter 22
Author: ne'ichan
Beta: Bryt
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Spike sat up. No more white room. No more lights. It was night. Night...outside of the Initiative. That quickly he was on high alert.

He looked around, suddenly anxious, then he saw he wasn't alone. Oz was stretched out beside him on top of the king-sized mattress, and, Spike looked over his shoulder, so was soldier-boy. He relaxed, flopping back onto his back. The most important thing, aside from the fact both his thralls were present, was that they were no longer in the Initiative cell. Nor the laboratory, nor the compound at all. Some where else.

Whoo, hoo. Spike thought. He'd yell it out loud after he figured out if they were safe, if it was bad to attract attention here, and where they were. Not necessarily in that order. He also had learned the soldier-boy didn't like to be surprised much. Best not to yell until he was already awake.

Getting acquainted with that one...well, as Spike expected, not all had gone smoothly. The first feeding was force against force. The young man had fought, grimly and well, dropping into a fighting stance, and using literally every part of his body in the effort to beat Spike black and blue. And he'd done a fine job of it. In the end Spike had resorted to knocking him out, and drinking from his wrist while he lay there.

The second feeding had been only slightly less violent. Spike only dazed the thrall, and fed. Nicholas, that was the name of the thrall, had been upset. He'd threatened. Screamed. Clawed, whimpered. Oz held him after. Petted him. And Soldier-boy had let him. Spike decided to keep the man drained, to make him as docile as possible. Thrall or not, if he hurt Oz, the kid was going to be toast.

Still, the third time was the worst. Not because Nicolas fought, but because of the drugs. Spike woke sputtering, a foul taste in his mouth. Oz was snoring, an unnatural snore, but his heartbeat was strong. Spike turned Oz onto his side, making sure he could breathe easily. Patting the fine hair, while he considered the predicament.

Spike didn't have to guess at what had happened. He'd agreed with Oz that the scientists might try something like this if he and Oz didn't mate soon. Only it wasn't Oz who smelled like sex on the hoof. It was Nicholas. Bloody. Yee. Spike found the puncture mark in the muscular, naked thigh once he went looking for it. Quite nice set of pins, he thought to himself. Full, well cut thighs, big calves, chock full of muscle, and damned fine knees. But. He was also knocked up on some sedative, downer something, and the real objective, an aphrodisiac. Crap.

Spike had a few things to contend with. His own puncture mark, found without the slightest difficulty, and the drug racing through his system, making him horny as a rutting bull. And his thrall's naked, aroused, moaning body.

Christ on a crutch. Clearly, Nicholas hadn't a bloody clue where he was, who he was, or what he wanted to be doing, or not doing. His eyes were rolled up into his head, contemplating the inside of his skull. His pretty, little, toffee-brown prick was hard, and that was all that was on his mind. It sort of focused Spike's attention as well. He squeezed his hard dick, in an effort to get some control back. Hurting hard. Yeah, like that was going to work.

Spike liked the look of Nicholas naked and smooth, a lovely, faint, ivory tan. With darker nipples, in perfect ovals, nearly flat, until Spike reached over without meaning to and stroked one. It peaked up nicely. And the boy rolled around. His washboard abs flexing, drawing the vampire's eye. Bloody hell. Bloooooody hell. So, Spike decided, watching the rolling and listening to the moaning, still trying to squeeze the interest out of his hard on, he had a decision to make.

Very simple. Did he fuck the boy now? Or did he wait until the scientists increased the dose and decreased his control? WHAT control? He asked himself bitterly. Which would be better? Well, duh. Fuck the thrall now. Or take the chance on hurting him next time, when he didn't know what he was doing. Then he'd be burdened with an injured thrall. Harder to run like hell if he had to carry the git.

Spike found a large tube of lubricant, open already, when he sat on it, a slippery mess, and sure enough, when he checked the soldier, he was well greased. Now that was just too wrong for him to think about. These were the same people the boy had worked with day in and day out. And the sick buggers had prepped Yee to get fucked, and left him, nearly unconscious. Unable to defend himself. Naked as a jaybird. And they were no doubt lined up six deep next to a monitor, waiting to watch the man get drilled. Raped. That was some cold shit.

Even so, Spike had his work to get done. He knew the time had come to give in and do the deed. He took a sniff, drawing in the scent of his bloodmark. Too hard to resist when he was touching the bloke. This close. He wanted...well, he was going to do it, but not make a huge production. He hoped.

He kept Yee on his side, carefully slipping his fingers into the soldier. Tight but not impossible. Spike added a second finger, gently stretching the ring. Yee groaned again, not helping Spike's control one whit. The vampire's thighs went into a spasm, his prick fucking at the air. But, it meant soldier boy would get something out of it.

Spike put in a third finger. Wiggled it, looking for that certain spot...he turned his wrist, pressed, and...Nicholas sighed, his hips quivering, lifting a knee to open himself. Spike let his brows raise. Well, don't ask and do tell!

He guided the man up onto all fours, took the opportunity to look down at him. The dark cleft was beckoning him. The dimples just above his ass, perfect fit for Spike's thumbs when he held the slim hips. He cupped those nice round cheeks in his palms for a few moments, before easing them apart, positioning himself, and sliding in. Smooth as butter. Slow and steady. Nicholas moaned, shifting back, tightening for a minute. Kid had a grip, Spike thought, as he paused, panting, praying, letting him adjust.

Nicholas dropped forward, still on his knees, but with his face planted in the floor. Ho-ly, ghod. Don't, don't do that. Struggling not to fall on the boy like a ravening beast, Spike moved cautiously. Hot, silky, slick. Still smelling like all kinds of lust. Blood and lust and lube and pheromones. He drove in to the hilt, felt the tunnel quiver around him. Pulled back out, felt Nicholas lift his hips, trying to follow, to keep Spike inside.

Drove in. Pulled out. Clawed at the slender hips, hissing. The vampire fought to keep his control. It didn't help that he could see the ring of the thrall's body surrounding his own prick. Could see and feel it as he rode in deep, pulled out until only the head of his cock was left inside. Hesitated, sharpening the need for both of them, before plunging back in. Nicholas calling out wordlessly, arms splayed out across the padded whiteness of the floor. Clawing weakly.

Spike closed his eyes, depriving himself of the view, but it was far too late. It hit him. The urge to fuck. Brilliant. Why now? It surged though him. He grit his teeth. Well, he knew why now...but he couldn't let go. He fucked with short stabbing strokes, desperate, fast. Not here, not now. Not without doing the boy some real harm. Even as he decided it, he was driving into the body of his thrall. The meaty smack of their bodies was punctuated by Yee's breathless cries.

He softened, his hips, the entrance to his body, like melting metal, burning, drawing Spike in, his arms limp, his face turned to one side, so Spike could see his open, gasping mouth. The man's channel clung to him like a loving hand. Hot, sticky, sweet, butterscotch caramel. Clinging, surrounding, not letting him go. Spike shivered, bending forward to cover the strong back with the front of his own body. His hips wouldn't cease their movement, he thrust and drew himself out, thrust again, and again, his eyes blurring, his attention only on the pliant body he was riding, hard, deep and to satisfaction.

He knotted a hand in the short, spiky hair. No. Bad. Bad, bad, bad. Slow it down, stay in control. He pushed the boy forward, off of his knees, rode him down, spreading his legs, not going in so deep now, a psychological victory, but he still was in trouble here. He licked the side-turned face, licked the faintly bristly, mostly hairless jaw. The flavor hitting him, he hissed, snapping his hips forward, grinding them into his thrall. Losing, still losing. The burning heat of orgasm was close though. He could do this, he could last, without harming his thrall. Without tearing out his throat.

Spike kissed the pulse in that stretched neck. Kissed it, with a not-kiss, more of a bite, sharp, and nibbly. His fangs were the longest they'd ever been, the sharpest, and felt like there were too many. Too many fangs? What? He ran his tongue over them, while he fucked, trying to think, his forehead on the back of Yee's neck, his body arched high. Too sodding many fangs. Four where there should be two. What the *hell? Can't let the bitch find out...can't, she'd have his face cut open by some Hitler-esque dentist. Dissect him like a bug.

He had to scrape, he couldn't bite. Scrape with two fangs, not risk leaving four holes, perfectly spaced, to make a sado/scientist want to look in his mouth. He tore the flesh, whispering an apology in his head, licking up the spilled blood. Ghod it was hard not to sink fangs in. He wanted it with every thing he was. Bite, and drink. Not scratch and lick like some mincing pansy. Bite, tear, gulp, hot sweet, tangy, salty blood. Intoxicating, thrall blood, Aqua Vitae. The only thing that saved him, and Yee more damage, was his orgasm, rolling over him, catching him by surprise, panting hard, slamming into him, so he howled as he squirted the tight tunnel full of spunk. Screamed, veins popping out, going gameface.

Then it was done. Quiet. Just breathing next to him, Oz. Under him, Nicholas.

Thank ghod. He rolled his face across the moaning man's back, blood smearing over his face, wetting his platinum hair. Buried deep. Shaking. OK. Intense. That qualified. He felt like he'd shot his eyeballs out of his prick. But, he hadn't killed the boy. He didn't care if he never got off like that again. He hadn't killed the thrall. His thrall, and he had believed he would. But he hadn't.

Spike was easing himself out of the thrall's body when the tinny speakers came to life.

"Excellent, Spike. You have done well. Good boy." It was her, the bitch-doctor. Praising him.

He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth together so hard he almost broke a fang. He wanted to kill her. More than anyone he'd met in his long, long life.

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And now. They were not in the Initiative any longer. They were out. Spike crept up out of the crowded bed. His hand trailing over Oz's warm skin. His touchstone. He headed for the window. Looked out. Recognizing downtown Sunnyhell.

Fine. He wasn't going to complain. Anywhere was better than where they had been. But. Spike also wasn't going to stay here. There was only one vamp he could run to with something like this. His Sire probably wouldn't kill him. The other vamps would, or they'd try.

LA, he thought, here I come. Hope the poof has a nice pad to put me...us, up in. Spike wasn't looking forward to a dusty, musty crypt without plenty of time to renovate. He turned away from the window. Time to wake the boys.

ne'ichan
neichan22@gmail.com