The Grey Area

Part 4: The Hunters


By the time they'd reached the castle, sweat was pouring from Spike's body and his chest was burning. The hunters had decided to give themselves a merry old time by speeding the horses through the woods, forcing him to run behind them on already damaged soles. He'd tripped twice, the coordination of his weary body failing him and making him slam into the ground -- nearly breaking his teeth on the bar in his mouth. Each time they'd dragged his body across the ground for a few seconds before stopping and delivering incentive for him to continue through a riding crop at his shoulders.

Now, they'd finally stopped, and Spike fell to his knees as he attempted to regain his breath while the men dismounted around him. Blood dripped down his chin from torn lips, and the skin on his legs and chest was scraped and smudged with dirt.

One of the hunters chuckled darkly. "Looks like they do need to breathe."

The rest laughed, and Spike closed his eyes as he continued to pant. The horses were led away, and Chuckles called one of his pals over. They each grabbed a chain to Spike's collar and an arm, tugging him up onto shaky legs. Spike gasped around the bit as he was forced to place weight on his injured feet. He limped along, exhausted, as they pulled him back to the mansion, anxiety curdling in his stomach as he was forced back inside. The men not tending to the horses followed.

Ambrus was lounging on his couch when they brought Spike into his living room. He was rolling a silver globe back and forth between his palms and staring at Spike through smug green eyes. Life-sized statues of silver snarling wolves on pedestals stood at either end of the couch, and Ambrus's pet white tiger was pacing and growling from its cage at the other end of the room.

The men holding Spike let go of his arms, and he fell to his knees again, his head lolling as he stared at the expensive, soft, white furred carpet. He couldn't even take pleasure in the fact that dragging him through the room had dirtied it up -- Ambrus had some sort of witch maid who came through once a day to magically remove any stains.

"Oh, Spike," Ambrus crooned in false sympathy, flicking his long black hair back over his shoulder. "Let's make sure you don't hurt yourself anymore."

Spike writhed weakly as his legs were wrenched open and a spreader bar was placed between them. It was buckled above his knees, forcing him to keep his legs open and leave his genitals exposed and vulnerable. He curled around his middle as soon as they let go of him, hoping he would be left alone. But he could smell Ambrus's lust rising, and with a sinking heart knew that would not be the case.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. He had been on his way to escaping. He should have been in hiding by now, calling Fred, or curled up with a few beers and drinking himself into oblivion.

"Any of you gentlemen would like a taste, I invite you to do so, now." Ambrus said with a smirk. "I have only one condition. No anal penetration, and he must wear this." The man lifted up a metal ring, which he tossed to the man standing nearest to Spike.

Half of the hunters present apparently had no interest in what was to follow, and had simply left the room. Four remained, the man next to Spike included. He stared at the metal ring in one black gloved hand, before reaching up and adjusting his cloth mask so it only covered the top half of his face. The other men did the same, and removed their gloves.

A warm hand pressed against Spike's chest, pushing him onto his back on the carpet. The bar at his back dug painfully into the crooks of his elbows. He tried to rise, and the hand at his chest became harsh, shoving him back down and holding him there.

Too bloody tired to even struggle, Spike let his head fall back against the floor, shutting his eyes. He felt one of the hunters kneel next to his spread legs and press down on the spreader bar with one hand while the other reached to close around his limp member. Spike clenched his teeth on the metal bar in his mouth, gasping through his nose as warm lips closed around his cock, a wet tongue stroking and coaxing it to fill.

Despite himself, Spike braced his forearms against the soft carpet, attempting to arch into the hunter's mouth, but was pushed down by the hand at the spreader bar. The man at his chest scratched his fingers up Spike's ribs, sliding over his neck and face before threading and clenching them sharply in Spike's hair, which was curled and downy from lack of gel. He felt teeth suddenly closed over the skin on the side of his neck, pinching harder and harder until the skin broke beneath the pressure and released a quick gush of blood.

Spike growled impotently at the act, opening his eyes and glaring up at the hunter, who had pulled back so that he could see the blood staining the revealed lips red. Those same lips slipped into a smile, before a fist connected with Spike's temple.

Wincing, Spike clenched his hands in frustration, feeling his muscles tense painfully against the tight rope on his arms. Idiot probably thought he was being tough, beating on him like that. But he was just a stupid coward, trying to prove he had a pair by abusing a trussed and muzzled vampire that it had taken about a dozen men to bring down in the first place.

His train of thought was broken as the man at his cock took him deeper, lips and tongue working hard over the stiffened length. Spike's breathing hitched and he tossed his head as the pleasure built and tightened his balls.

The man with the cock ring, who had been simply observing up until now, knelt down and clamped the piece around the base of his erection, tightening it painfully. Spike groaned around the bit, throwing his head back and gazing at the large cage at the other end of the room. Dark blue eyes over sharp white fangs stared back at him through the bars.

A fourth man spoke to the one who'd bitten him. "Get that bit off him, will you? I want this bitch to give me a blow job."

Irrepressible fury and frustration leant itself to the last of Spike's energy resources, and he began to thrash and buck, snarling at the hunters, hating the helplessness, the unfairness of it all. The one at his cock placed his full weight down on the spreader bar, while another held down his chest and the other two quickly moved to wrench the chains at his collar taut against the ground by pressing their heels against the links.

Spike strained uselessly against their combined strength, trying to throw any one of them off, his hands tearing violently against the carpet fibers. Ambrus Drake, arrogant bastard that he was, simply stayed on his couch with that stupid smile on his face and the silver globe in his hands.

Finally, Spike went limp against the floor, his body trembling in a horrible cocktail of physical and emotional fatigue, and the throbbing hum of arousal centered around his reddening cock. He closed his eyes and felt someone lift his head to undo the straps of the metal bit. It came free and he nearly moaned in relief, closing his mouth and licking his lips. He opened his eyes and felt sick resignation fill him as the same man brandished a ring gag in his face.

He nearly offered to hold still and promise not to bite to avoid the object, so tired of the ache in his jaw and the knowledge that more than one weapon was taken from him whenever he wore one of Ambrus's toys. Not that managing to bite one of them had ever gotten him anywhere.

Anyway, they knew he wouldn't willingly submit, and weren't taking any chances.

Spike winced as the piece was forced into his mouth and bound in place. Then the man was undoing his zipper, and Spike was being lifted back onto his knees. His leashes were pulled to keep his head in place, just as the man before him held his half-erect penis with one hand and fisted the other in Spike's hair, tilting his head back.

He knew now that the whole escape had been a set-up, and it had served its purpose well. They'd wanted him too weak to fight them. To fight...this. So they let him have a run in the woods, and spared him little mercy while dragging him back. It had all been meant to drain him.

If he'd been up to full strength, half of these morons would be flying across the room at this moment.

At least, that was what he tried to assure himself.

But it didn't much matter, did it? Not now, when he had a human who he could have easily snapped the neck of shoving his dick down his throat, captive to a rich man who got off on his suffering, and knowing that it was likely no one was looking for him. Fred might have been wondering, but just like all of them, she'd probably figure he'd willingly skipped town.

He wished he could see her. He could really use a kind word or two to get him through this.

Didn't likely have anyone believing in him at this moment.


----------


Gunn gave a long overdue exhale of frustration. "That's bullshit."

"Charles!"

"I know, Fred. It's just -- I mean, I might have been a little antagonistic towards the guy when I first met him --"

"You wanted to stake him." Fred interjected pointedly.

"-- but after finding out he was a good guy, and had a soul -- a soul he fought for -- and all the things he did to atone...he couldn't have lost it now."

Wesley stepped into Fred's office from where he'd been standing under the doorway. After days of unproductive searching for Spike without Angel's knowledge, he had finally gone to Wolfram and Hart's psychics to have them attempt to locate the rogue vampire. Unfortunately, they'd come up empty-handed -- Spike's soul was nowhere to be found. "I agree that it's highly improbable the first thing Spike would have attempted once corporeal would be to lose the very soul he likely had to pay pain and suffering to gain. But we can't ignore the fact that there are other ways it might have been removed, and not all of them require Spike's approval, or even his knowledge."

Gunn rubbed his temples in an attempt to ease the headache he'd been suffering the past couple of days. "You're saying someone might have taken it from him?"

"It's possible."

Fred frowned. "But -- wait -- I don't see why we wouldn't have been getting all these reports of outbreaks of violence if Spike had lost his soul." She shifted a bit, her posture exuding the discomfort she felt with her next words. "After all, you said he was second only to Angelus."

Gunn nodded. "And I doubt he was called William the Bloody for nothing."

"Hey guys!"

Harmony, blonde hair bouncing at her shoulders, strode into the science lab holding a tray with four cappuccinos. "Got these for you." She quickly proceeded to distribute the coffees among Fred, Gunn and Wesley. "And don't worry -- this time I remembered to mark the one with blood in it." She spared Wesley an apologetic glance.

The ex-Watcher gave her an almost-smile that he didn't quite manage to pull off because of the vaguely uncomfortable expression on his face. Setting his drink onto a nearby table, he proceeded to come back to their discussion. "True, I would have expected more of the necessary signs reminiscent of what Angel would have chosen to do after losing his soul, but if I'm interpreting from the meager pieces of information Angel mentioned correctly, Spike was attempting to do good even before he had his soul."

Fred was staring intensely into the liquid of her cappuccino, as if considering taking a sample to put under the microscope. "That might have been because of the chip." When Wesley and Gunn only gazed at her with uncomprehending eyes, she looked up and set the coffee aside. "Spike talked to me a lot when he was incorporeal." She jumped as Harmony made a loud, angry sound between a grunt and a growl, glancing at the blonde vampire briefly before continuing. "He told me that if it wasn't for the chip and the pain it caused every time he tried to hurt humans, he didn't think he'd have quelled the bloodlust enough to even think about getting a soul." She shrugged. "Then again, he did seem to have an awful lack of confidence in himself."

"Seemed he was pretty confident when he was beating the hell out of Angel." Gunn said. "If the man could do damage like that with the soul, I'd doubt he'd be inclined to hold back on the murderous rampage without it."

Harmony rolled her eyes. "That's stupid. I don't have a soul and I'm totally not doing evil!" She paused. "You know, besides the fact that I'm working for an evil law firm...and that thing last week with the framing and the closet and the bloodlust -- which, by the way, is still being a bitch. Sometimes I'm just sitting there, then suddenly I'm zoning out and all I can think about is that pulsing, rich, warm..." She paused once she realized that everyone was staring at her, and gave a small, nervous laugh. "I mean, I think I have to go help Angel with that...thing. Enjoy your coffees!" And she quickly strode out, high heeled shoes clacking.

Wesley stared at his hands as he tapped his fingers together and sighed. "There is one other possible explanation for the psychics failing to detect Spike's presence." He looked back up at them, his expression grim. "I think we should all consider the distinct possibility that Spike may be dead."