Sadistic trio

“Great, this is great,” Spike told Angel, hitting the piece of paper he was holding in one hand with the back of his fingers. The design was black on the white paper, pen outlining the tattoo that Angel had drawn to be transferred black onto white skin. “We’ll do it today, yeah?” Sideways glance, and he could see Jono, sitting with Gibney and his bunch of mates, doing god knew what. Talking, he guessed, since there were no cards out. Brat looked pale, withdrawn...only to be expected.

“Today should work,” Angel agreed, reaching over to take back the piece of paper. Wings drawn from knives and blades. It was going to take a while for that to get inked out on the boy’s shoulder blades, but it’d look great when it was done. Beautiful. As long as bloody Needles didn’t fuck it up. He’d watch him. Carefully. This was too important to let him do something that would ruin it. “I’ll go set it up, see what he wants.”

Which turned out to be not much, and Spike fetched Jonothon, sloping along at his heels like a whipped dog. For some reason, Angel found himself missing the fire. The spark. That he’d thrown back at both of them as hard as he could, snarling even when they were holding all the cards and were firmly in control. Maybe, this would bring him back.

“So, you can do this?” Angel asked the man who was the underground prison tattoo artist, handing him the design. “It’s meant to go on his back, like wings.” Spike watched them both with cold blue eyes, one hand stroking through sleek brown hair like Jonothon was his pet dog.

“Sure, no problem.” Needles looked the piece of paper over, nicotine stained fingers leaving some smudges on it. Angel restrained a wince at the mishandling, waiting for him to get the picture fixed in his head, so he knew how to transfer it from there to living canvas. “Get the bitch’s shirt off.” He turned to his instruments, missing the weak snarl that Jonothon sent in his direction as he picked up a needle. Rough tools, but they would do the job of pricking the skin and sending ink underneath to leave an indelible mark.

Spike grinned, taking the shirt as Jonothon skinned it off. Dark bites and bruises sprawled across his torso, cut on his ribs a red line as he went and lay down on the bench.

“One of you want to hold his shoulders still while I get this started?” the thin man asked, glancing once more at the design before walking to stand near Jonothon. The Irish con moved to stand near the teenager’s head and put his broad hands down on his back. Felt him breathe. “Don’t get in the way.” The first prick of the needle made the teen under his hands buck slightly, Needles hissing in disapproval as the skin under his hands move and Angel tightened his grip.

“Be still.”

Spike licked his lips and moved in closer, watching avidly as blood welled up, chased by blue-black ink as the inker bent to his work. Bloody lines, darker at their hearts. Jonothon’s skin twitched, muscles moving under the stimulus of pain. Scent of blood, mixed with the smell of ink. Smelled good. As he put one hand on Jonothon’s thigh, Needles looked up from where he was bent over the boy’s back and glared at him.

“Make him move, and I’ll ram a rusted needle into your ass.”

“Touchy,” the blond observed, taking his hand back. As much as an edge pain could lend to life, that sort of pain he could deal without. There was a difference between inflicting and being inflicted. And he’d rather be the one giving every time. Except sometimes, it was just as much fun to receive as to give, but the only one he trusted to do that at all was holding their bitch down and grinning at him with that slow, dark and easy smile that said he was having fun and getting hard. Just like he was himself. Rubbed the heel of his hand down the front of his pants, hips jerking forward in a quest for more pressure but he took his hand away after that. When Needles was done, he’d get the bitch back. And that was far more fun then taking care of it himself. He was bloody certain that Angel was of the same mind, the way he kept glancing down, glancing across to stare at wolf blue eyes and tracing the shape of his bottom lip with his tongue.

The design bloomed in black ink and blood under the lean man’s hands, and Jonothon closed his eyes tightly. His skin burned, ached and he couldn’t move or he was pretty sure it would hurt more. Tears pressed at the inside of his eyelids as the stinging bite of the tattoo needle traveled across his skin slowly. The fact that he had no real idea what design it was that Angel had put on his back made him anxious as well. Every time he made a soft involuntary noise of pain, he could feel Angel’s fingers digging into his shoulders. Eventually it was done, and Needles stepped away from the table, packing up his instruments and humming tunelessly.

“Nice design, that,” he commented offhandedly, giving the long bare line of Jonothon’s back an appreciative glance. The shape of the wings swept down his body, dark blood tracing down the depression of his spine. “Try and keep it clean, don’t let it get infected.”

“We’ve got things to take care of that,” Spike said, staring at a drop of blood as it spilled down across white skin. So white. The pupils of his eyes were widely dilated, thin rim of pale blue around the darkness that looked so hungry. “Angel paid already?”

“Yeah.”

“Then get out,” the blond ordered, not turning his head to look at him.

“Wonderful gratitude, yeah,” the prison tattoo artist snorted, leaving the cell quietly after that. Jonothon could feel the blood rushing to his head, but he didn’t want to look up even though he was getting dizzy. Angel’s fingers stroked along the untouched parts of his shoulders, then tugged his head upwards so his face was pressed into the cloth that covered the older man’s erection.

Jonothon’s fingers spasmed on the edge of the table as the thought of biting down *hard*, so hard, came to mind. Remembered just how bad it could be if they wanted to make it like that, and didn’t. Spike’s hands were stroking along the edges of the tattoo, not quite touching it but pulling at the wounded skin all the same. Making the sting worse.

“Don’t,” he muttered through clenched teeth, closing his eyes as he smelt musk. Arousal. So strong, all the time. Why? He still didn’t really understand why. Why him. Why didn’t they leave him alone? At all? Ever? He’d have done anything to make them go away. And now he was wearing their mark on his back. Branded. Like an animal, with whatever it was that Angel had designed. The rough cloth of the prison uniform rasped against his face as Angel’s fingers tightened in his hair, and he restrained the urge to whimper. Oh god, he didn’t want to do this again. He tried to wrench his head back, lifting his hands to push at Angel’s thighs, get him away. “Please, I can’t...”

“What do we keep telling ye, boy?” Angel almost sighed, fingers digging into Jonothon’s scalp as his grip tightened even further. “You don’t get to choose anymore.” Spark a little more. It was good to see there was something left in there, that Spike hadn’t thrashed it out of him entirely. The brat had been walking crook legged for almost a week after Spike got out of solitary, and being the considerate sort that he was, Angel had decided that they’d stick to using his mouth until he’d healed. And this was what they got in return? No appreciation. Just lip.

Spike lowered his mouth to the edge of one bleeding cut, licking at it and tracing the shape of the perforated skin. Jonothon gasped, and tried to get up, boots scraping along the floor uselessly. “Tastes better when there’s no ink,” the blond muttered, licking his lips clean and then biting at the untainted skin below the large tattoo design. Hunched over Jonothon’s back, he stroked his hands down the hollow of the boy’s hips down to the front of his pants. Massaging his crotch with agile fingers, he bit down harder and ground himself against the back of the teen’s pants, spreading his knees easily as he moved into place.

“Ah god!” Jonothon shuddered, pinned by Angel’s hands and Spike’s body, unable to move from his position. Spike’s slim fingers slid inside his pants, bringing him to unwilling erection as the older man jerked him off slowly. Stinging pain radiating from his shoulder now as white teeth held him in place and kept him from moving at all. “Nnn, Spike...” He closed his eyes tightly, biting his lip and wishing that they’d just get it over with.

Angel’s large fingers forced him to open his mouth, tug on his hair moving his head into the proper position before the Irishman thrust his cock forward and inside. Reluctantly, Jonothon started to suck the dick in his mouth, repressing the urge to moan in disappointment as Spike removed his hand. One of his shoulders twitched as Spike stepped back for a moment, and he felt the rasp of his pants being pulled down his legs. At the pressure of the hands on his ankles, he lifted first one foot then the other, the material that had been draped around his calves being removed quickly.

Using his grip in the long brown hair to encourage Jonothon to use his mouth properly, Angel watched as Spike squeezed lubricant onto his fingers and then jabbed two of them into the boy’s ass. He groaned softly as the teen made a soft noise of pain around his cock, hips thrusting forward harder and holding Jonothon’s face to his crotch before resuming his steady rhythm. Spike leaned forward over the bent back of the humiliated youth they were sharing between them, grinning slyly like he had the first time Angel had seen him. Knife-sharp cheekbones and a demon’s grin, blue eyes sparking as he faced off with three larger, tougher looking men. Pocket knife in hand and ready for the fight. The insanity in the back of his eyes screaming for blood. Anyone’s, even his. As long as blood spilt in scarlet rivers on the ground.

Even though Angel had stepped in to even the odds a little, he was sure that Spike could have won the fight by himself through sheer savagery.

The biting nip of Spike’s teeth to his lower lip was familiar, still arousing, as they kissed. They’d done this before. It was just that they’d never held onto one toy for this long before. Angel growled a moan into Spike’s grin, tasting the copper of his own blood as Spike’s ever sharp teeth savaged his own mouth. The spark of pain raced along his veins, adding to the pleasure of dominating the lean patricidal teen that was being forced to swallow his cock repeatedly.

“The tattoo’s going to look brilliant when the skin’s healed,” Spike said almost chattily as he withdrew, hand moving almost casually to prepare the unwilling body beneath him with short jabs and twists. Angel could feel the effect of those rough movements on his cock as Jonothon panted and moaned in pain. And something else, he was just about certain of it. Pain and pleasure were starting to become mixed, responses being thrown out of their normal sequence.

If only if they weren’t confined here. If they had more things to make Jonothon really scream. Show him what true pain could be. Leashed and collared as they were, they were just playing. Even if the brat thought this was pretty bad, it was nothing to what they would have done if they’d met him outside the walls of the prison. Not even close.

He felt Jonothon choke on a scream as Spike thrust home into his ass, the reverberations of his throat tight and warm around his cock. Accidental scrape of teeth as the teen gagged, and Angel hissed in surprise as Jonothon’s fingernails scraped at his thighs, trying desperately to push him away. Maybe the boy really couldn’t breathe. Or maybe not. Anyway, he didn’t want to come in the slut’s mouth. Withdrawing for a moment, he idly stroked his cock as Jonothon gasped for air, chest working to draw some oxygen down where it was needed. His lips looked bruised, and Angel crouched down to kiss him. Soft strokes of his tongue coaxed Jonothon’s mouth open, and he could almost taste the pained whimpers that the boy was trying to swallow. Valiantly, but futilely.

Spike spread his hands across Jonothon’s hips, holding him in place as he fucked him with short, jabbing strokes that were designed to give him the most pleasure. He grinned, sadistically amused as Angel bent to kiss Jono, acting gentle for the moment. Keep the boy confused, wondering what was going to happen next. Slap or kiss, gentle or vicious. Trying to please them to keep from being hurt. He’d been doing some of it without thinking lately. “God, yes, you little bitch,” he hissed between clenched teeth, watching pearls of blood roll down the slope of Jonothon’s back. Red and black swirled beads, tracing their way down and mingling with sweat as they left trails glistening against the pale white skin. Still so fucking tight around his cock, hot and silken vice that he would have spent hours in if he’d had the time. And the privacy that he’d had before prison.

Reaching down underneath Jonothon’s body, he stroked the now only half hard cock that was hanging between the boy’s legs. Angel smiled as Jonothon mewled into his mouth, knowing what his partner was doing. Blurring the lines a little more. “See, it would be better if you just behaved,” he murmured against the soft lips that had been one of the first things to gain his attention.

“Oh, like I – ungh – fucking believe that,” Jonothon spat back viciously, before arching his back and crying out as Spike’s cock stimulated his prostate. Pleasure, mixing with the pain of his shoulders and back, until there was nothing but electricity racing through his veins. And he couldn’t tell whether it was agony or ecstasy. There was no difference, as far as he could tell. He could feel Spike’s strokes becoming ragged as he approached orgasm, Angel’s tongue sliding into his mouth again, large hands framing his face and holding him still for the devouring kiss. Teeth closed painfully on his bottom lip, worrying it a little as he arched his hips into the grip of Spike’s hand, body mindlessly seeking what pleasure it could gain. “Jesus!”

“Let yourself feel it, brat,” Angel said softly, pausing to lick blood from around his mouth slowly. Sweet. “Just...feel. You don’t have to do anything else.” Jonothon moaned softly, feeling the red hot shame of his own orgasm approaching, curling through his stomach like fire. The sparks of pain from his shoulders, the ache as Spike fucked him that was painful and exciting at the same time, the rough caress of lean fingers on his hard cock, it all flowed into one overwhelming sensation. Panting, he shuddered as Spike finished, grunting obscenities as he came, cock firmly planted in Jono’s ass. After a moment, he withdrew, getting a tissue out of his pants pockets and cleaning the worst of the mess off his prick. “We’re going to try something different now.”

Almost gently, he urged Jonothon to stand, before sitting down on the bench that the teen had been spread-eagled over. Spike grinned to himself, watching the way the long eyelashes fluttered, and pulling the teen’s hand away from his erect cock easily. Kissed him, hard and devouring, tasting a little bit of Angel over the usual taste of Jono. Let him lean into his body, hips moving vainly to try and get some sensation on his aching dick as he drank in the soft frustrated moans. Teens. Always led easiest when they couldn’t think properly.

“Help him, Spike,” Angel ordered softly, watching them both. Spike knew exactly what Angel had in mind, and he grinned as he brought the sweat and blood stained teen over. Usually they just threw him on his stomach or his back, and fucked his pretty little arse, not requiring him to do anything except submit. Time to take things up a notch obviously, into active participation. Oh, this was going to be good.

“What, I don’t understand,” Jonothon said in confusion, staring at Angel and holding onto Spike. What did they want now? The deep curl of fear in his stomach was like an undertow, dragging his arousal down before Spike’s wandering hand groped his waning erection, and he moaned, clutching at the older man’s shoulders as his hips gyrated, vainly seeking enough friction that he could come.

“Easy, brat,” Spike chuckled, licking at the curve of Jonothon’s ear. “You sit in Angel’s lap and ride his cock until he comes. Make sense now, don’t it?” His fingernails bit deep into white skin, knowing that Jonothon had been about to bolt. Felt the boy cringe, into the leanness of his body and away from the punishing cruelty of his black painted nails. “Do it, or I will slice off your balls.” He sighed, nuzzling at the curve of Jonothon’s neck as the teenager froze in sudden terror. “As far as we’re concerned, you don’t need ‘em. And if you’re good, you get to come. Now, are you going to be a good boy?”

“Yes, alright,” Jonothon choked out reluctantly. Angel smiled at him, and he resisted the urge to shudder. Looked so kind, sometimes, but he was absolutely depraved. Spike was easier to understand. Easier to placate. Angel...truly frightened him. About as much as Creed did, to be honest. More, since he knew some of what Angel was capable of. Biting his lip, he got up onto the table, knees splayed wide around the Irishman’s thighs. Spike made sure he didn’t fall, and Jonothon felt something almost like gratitude because of it.

“That’s it, boyo,” Angel crooned, watching Jonothon hesitate, still kneeling above him and obviously feeling unsteady. The quirk of Spike’s mouth told him that his partner couldn’t wait until he had done this as well. Sometimes, it was just too much fun to force acceptance and active involvement in his games from the victims. Sliding his big hands down the slim body that he was about to invade, he spread the cheeks of the teen’s already fucked ass, pulling him down towards his aching cock. The hands on his shoulders tightened, and he could almost feel the resistance building up in Jonothon’s body before he let Angel move him down.

Probably at the insistence of the blade he’d seen flash in Spike’s hand for a moment. Didn’t do to let the boy get too cocky, think that they’d let him get away with a lot. The flashes of spirit were somewhat endearing, but it would never do to let him forget his place. A whore’s place, but with even less choice and more submission required. The head of his penis slid across the crevice he was holding open, and he felt a full shudder go through Jonothon’s body, before he adjusted the angle of the boy’s hips and pulled him down abruptly.

“Hnn!” Jonothon’s back bowed, head flung back to let him stare blindly at the ceiling as Angel pulled him straight down onto his cock. Spike was rough, but Angel was definitely bigger. The hurt was almost enough to make him cry out rather then just make a strangled noise from behind his teeth. Twin trails of tears slipped down his cheeks, mouth open and gasping for breath before the cold prick of a knife against his back reminded him that he was being called upon to do more then just sit there. Where the hell did Spike keep his knives anyway? He’d really like to know why the bastard always seemed to have a knife on him.

“Thaaat’s it,” Angel said approvingly as he felt Jonothon’s thighs tighten as the teen lifted himself awkwardly up, then let himself slide down again. The sensation was incredible, but the wounded expression on the boy’s face was exquisite. Like he couldn’t believe he was doing this. Even at the threat to the slim likelihood that he would ever sire children. Or maybe he was afraid he would never be able to use his cock properly again was what was motivating him. Who knew with kids today. “Faster,” he ordered when he felt that Jonothon was steady enough to accomplish a quicker rhythm.

Spike pulled his head back roughly to kiss him, and Angel obliged as Spike’s hand then slid down to twist at his nipple. The brat was tight and hot on his cock, the little edge of pain that was Spike was just what was needed to make it even better. He could feel the hot flush of Jono’s body against his own, the degradation making the teen blush with crippling shame. Still, his body rose and fell smoothly, even as another tear fell onto Angel’s shirt.

God, this was too good.

Even now, the ache was subsiding into something that he thought he could have liked if it had been anyone else, and anywhere else but here. Jonothon gritted his teeth harder, feeling the muscles in his jaw clench as he continued to ride Angel’s cock. The sooner the bastard came, the better. God, please just let him come so he could go shower. He wanted to wash their filth off him. As if he ever could. But he could at least sluice off the blood, and the spunk. Fuck, but he almost wished that he hadn’t blown his dear old dad’s brains out at times like this. He bet the old bastard was laughing and busting a gut, if he could see what his son was doing in whatever hell he’d ended up in. He rocked his hips, pulling himself up then slamming back down as the dull pleasure started to burn through his stomach again. If he angled himself right, he could get Angel’s cock to hit that bloody spot that made him see stars coming and going.

This was what he hated most of all. That his body actually liked this. Or seemed to. His eyes flew open again as he felt a hand on his cock, stripping him with casual violence, and he looked into the brown depths of Angel’s eyes. Spike was watching over the larger man’s shoulder, the dull shine of a knife reflected in his wintery eyes. And he looked hungry. God, please let this be the end of the day. If Spike wanted a repeat of what he was doing now…for one thing, he wasn’t sure if his legs could stand it, he could already feel them cramping. That was going to hurt like a son of a bitch when he stopped.

“Fuck,” he panted, gasping for breath as he felt sweat running down and stinging the new design that was detailed over his back. What he needed was two mirrors, so he could see exactly what Angel had told the other con to draw onto the living canvas of his body. At least he couldn’t see Angel ordering anything tasteless, that was something to be glad for. “Chrissst...”

“Good boy, just a bit more now, ahhhh, yes, fuck yourself on my cock, slut,” Angel snarled, hand tightening on Jonothon’s prick and jacking him off harder. He wanted to feel the boy come. By the way he was panting, it wouldn’t be long. The rake of Spike’s fingernails across the kid’s back saw him wail, since it probably caught at the new tattoo in a way that would hurt like a motherfuck. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he said between clenched teeth, thrusting his hips upwards as hard as the position would allow as Jono almost bounced on his dick. God, it felt so fucking good. All Jonothon could do was moan, soft hurting sounds that fed both of the older men’s sadism. Angel groaned as he felt Jonothon tighten around his cock convulsively, a low strangled moan coming from the boy’s mouth as he orgasmed. A few stabbing thrusts into the clutching heat that surrounded him, and Angel buried his teeth into Jonothon’s collarbone as he came. Holding onto the still almost childishly slender teen to make sure he didn’t fall backwards and break his head open, Angel chuckled suddenly, then licked the bleeding wound he’d made with his teeth.

With wobbly legs, Jonothon stood on his own feet and started to get dressed, ignoring Angel and Spike as much as he could. His entire body seemed to be throbbing with pain, but he looked up as Spike said his name. Seeing something being thrown at him, he reflexively caught it.

“Antiseptic cream,” the ice blond explained briefly, as Jonothon studied the tube in his hand. “Get Gibney to cover the bits of your shoulders you can’t reach.” And since they both seemed to feel that covered their obligations, the pair left the room and the still shattering teenager they were breaking into a million tiny pieces. While enjoying every moment of it.

Not particularly caring if their actions pushed him off a mental precipice into insanity, as long as they were having fun in the mean time.