Fangless

----Disclaimer: I own nothing. Mr. Joss, godking of the verse. I own nothing, except maybe... well, nothing---


The car ride seemed long. And Spike wondered – Where were they going?

It had been so long since he'd seen the world. The outside seemed more beautiful than he remembered. How he missed the night. Missed hunting, missed being free. But he would never express these feelings openly, because he wasn't allowed to speak. Not unless he wanted his throat slit – again.

He hadn't been his own for so long. His will wasn't his own anymore -- he didn't belong to himself. He belonged to the man sitting next to him.

Soldier boy – he had once called him.

A person whom he despised greatly in the past, but there was no more hate. There was something alright, but not hate. It had been so long ago that he had forgotten why he hated the soldier so much. Was it her? Did he love her? Was that why he was angry-- Because he couldn't have her? Whatever it had been he couldn't remember.

How he came to be in this situation he did remember quite well. It was the Initiative – the name alone was enough to make him cringe. The memories of his time before the Initiative only filled his heart with sorrow and longing. The only wish he had was that he could forget the past, because it only made the future that much harder face.

Where had he gone wrong? He had been free of them for nearly six months, but somehow they had managed to recapture him. Five soldiers barged into his crypt and took him, just like that. There was nothing he could do about it. They had weapons and they outnumbered him. And what did he have? A chip that wouldn't allow him to harm humans and legs that just wouldn't move – because those were the first of many body parts they managed to break.

Perhaps he should've known it would have happened. But he had to be foolish, he had to stay good old Sunnyhell.

Why?

Where else was a chipped vampire to go? Her, that girl, that Slayer, and her friends, kept him fed. He helped them with his knowledge of various demons and in return he got what he needed -- blood and money. It seemed like the perfect solution to his problem. At least until he found a way to remove the chip.

The stupid chip. Without it he'd have been long gone by now. The damn thing was his leash, and it made him a bitch to his own prey. Now, however, he no longer worried about the chip. Why would he? To him he was already properly house trained. No longer able to do a damn thing unless commanded.

The first few days back at The Initiative had been like the previous time. He was confined to a white room, fed drugged blood which he refused to take, and they would attempt to experiment on him. Only couldn't, because he wouldn't drink their damn blood.

So he did what he had done before. He pretended to take the blood, and then attempted to make another daring escape the second his prison was opened. But when he ran this time he didn't make it out. Instead they caught him and kept him confined to an even smaller cell. They stuck needles in him, forcibly drugged him, and that's when the experiments began.

It wasn't much. They cut him open and took a look at his insides. Which to him, was just stupid. Vampires had the same insides as a humans. Only none of the pluming worked. And if he were completely honest with himself the experimenting wasn't that bad. Not as bad as what happened after they were done. After they had labeled him a 'Special Project'.

They had taken all the cloths he had and he was left nude in his cell. It was humiliating. He had been a strong Master vampire. William the fucking Bloody. And he didn't even have cloths. They took his coat. His black duster which he had earned by killing a Slayer, and he didn't have it any longer. That's what truly made him feel naked.

Status is – No. Not is anymore. Status was very important to him. In the cell, as there little guinea pig, he felt like nothing. But he remained valiant and fought them every step of the way. He made it difficult for them to handle him, trying his best to overcome the the pain of the chip and give them the best fight he could manage. In the end, however, he lost.

It didn't take long for him to notice that there were no more white coats. They had given him over to the soldiers. It was part of their 'Special Project'. To see if a hostile demon could really be tamed. Could really become an obedient little pet.

Only, that's not what they did. The soldiers decided that he was too pretty to be taught to fight along side them. They had a new plan – break him.

He tried to fight it the best he could. They would hold him down, spread him wide, and start shoving things inside him. If at any point he screamed, he got smacked, or cut, or something else would be shoved into him.

The worst part was that he had no means of defending himself. It had been so excruciatingly painful that he thrashed and screamed -- But with the soldier's holding him still, one little injury to them, and the damn chip went off. Causing more pain.

Broom handles, dildos, fists, beer bottles filled with holy water– anything they found or thought of they shoved into his rectum – ripping the sensitive tissue night after night. Begging hadn't been beneath him either. He pleaded with them to stop, promised he'd do anything as long as they stopped thrusting objects inside his bleeding channel. But they wouldn't, and the torture continued. They had barely given him a few days to heal before they started over again.

That hadn't lasted long though. The soldier's had come up with a better way of using him. He was given a new home. A small cage, which appeared to be for a large dog. That's probably how they saw him – their little dog. Their pet.

So he was naked, bleeding, and now forced to sleep in a cage meant for a dog. The soldiers had even branded him. On his lower back they had burned 'Bitch 17' into his skin. It was painful, but not as painful as having a fist pounding relentlessly into his ass. Or a poker shredding his insides.

They passed him around afterward. No longer was he forcibly raped by several soldiers at once. But by a different one every night. Forced to humiliate himself by begging to have cock, fist, and fingers shoved into him. And on most nights when he was penetrated, it would be dry. How they loved to make him bleed and scream.

But somewhere along the way he had learned to accept it. When he had come to the realization he felt himself die inside. Where had that strong Master gone? Where was the demon that had killed two Slayers and caused fear in others by simply the sound of his name? He didn't know. Wherever that demon was he sure wasn't him. Not anymore. He was a fuck toy.

Every night when he was forced back into his cage -- made to sleep on all fours with butt in the air because there was no other way to rest – he dreamed. Dreamed of the only thing, the only person, who made him feel safe.

Angelus.

In that cage, made to live like an animal, the dreams of Angelus kept him sane. It wasn't the Angelus that had returned to Sunnydale all those years ago. But the Angelus he remembered. The one who turned him. His Sire.

The one dream, about the one night, when Angelus had made him feel loved. It was the night after he died. He had woken from death, into his new vampiric life, and all he saw was the darkness. Clawing, screaming, he found his way to surface.

His eyes widened at the sight of the beautiful night sky, then the vision of someone more beautiful than the night itself. The vampire with the face of an angel. It was his Sire. The beautiful vampire had made it's way to him and his Sire scooped him up in those strong arms of his. Angelus knew how to take care of his Childer. He knew how to cause pain, and make it go away. The all encompassing darkness had faded, and all that was left was his Sire – kissing him deeply.

Angelus had then taken him on his first hunt, before they left for home. That night his Sire had made love to him, and he slept the next day away in Angelus' firm embrace. It was the only time he remembered feeling completely loved. And the fact that it was Angelus somehow made it more special.

Deep down he wished, he prayed, that he could somehow claw his way up from the depths of the Initiative and find that vampire he loved so dearly. That when he resurfaced Angelus would be standing there, smiling, waiting for him. But that wouldn't happen because his Sire was gone. Swallowed up by the soul known as Angel.

Still, the dream took him away from his reality and he cherished every sleeping moment because of it.

Months had gone by, and he was still a fuck toy to soldier after soldier. They always found a new way of using him to. All the pent up sexual frustration of being in the Army he supposed. In the end, however, it didn't matter. When they raped him he closed off. His body went limp and he escaped into his mind, trying to picture himself in Angelus' arms. Not in the bed of some soldier, bleeding around a fully erect cock.

The day it all changed he remembered vividly.

His new and now only Master had walked into the room while he was face down on the mattress, taking another soldiers cock up his ass. Turning his head, he caught the gaze of the man standing at the doorway, who was watching bemused as he was raped. The look in his Master's eyes had read of multiple feelings. Anger, disgust, maybe even pity. It hadn't mattered. All he knew was that he had once known this soldier by name.

Riley Finn.

That's when it hit him that the information of his captivity would probably be brought to the Slayer and her friends. He felt like crying, because he could picture the Slayer and her little pets laughing at him. Mocking him, because he had finally gotten what he deserved. That now he knew what it felt like to be helpless. To be worthless.

To be a bitch.

Some time after that incident his Master had requested to one of the head wigs that he be exclusively in his possession. And that's how he had come to belong to this one soldier.

His Master.

Strange that he referred to his Master as his Master. But that's what he came to know all the soldiers by. When they had gang raped him they would ask that he screamed their names. He didn't know, and he didn't want to remember any names. So he spat out the first thing that came to mind. 'Master'. There was a lump in his throat and he nearly choked when he first said it. But the reaction was positive. The soldiers laughed at him, called him a little bitch, and the name stuck. Every soldier was his Master.

Only now, the soldier he once knew as Riley Finn was his one and only Master. A part of him felt relieved because he wouldn't have to be subjected to new and unusually tortures every night. Maybe his body would learn to to adjust to whatever his Master preferred to do to him.

Before, that thought would have driven him insane with rage. But now, he didn't care. Life was a void. A mockery of what a life should be. So what did it matter if he was used to the idea of having a Master? He was only an extension of their will anyway.

However, his Master hadn't used him like he thought he would. Instead, he was given a small cot to sleep on. No longer did he have to sleep in a humiliating cage – something he was extremely grateful for. It made the dreams of Angelus seem more real somehow, and he slept comfortably.

But he still had to follow his Master's orders. Sit, kneel, stand – basic commands which his Master taught him. Very rarely would he get hit by his Master for not following commands properly – but usually only when his Master was in the presence of other officers.

He was given clothing – if you could call it that. But at least he wasn't naked anymore. His Master put him in tiny black shorts which fit tight and were, he figured, probably for a woman. They just seemed too revealing. Leather cuffs were put around his wrists and a metal collar around his neck. Loose enough so that he wasn't uncomfortable, but tight enough so that when his Master attached it to a chain, he had to follow close. He was given socks and shoes as well. But only to be worn when outside his Master's room. Exception of the white socks, he wore all black. To bad he hadn't been given a shirt, but it was up to his Master if and when he'd ever get one.

Rarely would his Master use him sexually. Maybe a blow job once in while. But nothing more. Ashamed, he felt so ashamed because he wished to belong to his Master completely. His rectum finally healed and he didn't want to have to go back to being ripped open night after night. So he stayed obedient and listened carefully when his Master gave him orders.

There was even a review. His Master had taken him out of the room – him in his outfit and his Master in basic army cloths. They came to a small room. White walls all around, and three white coats sitting at a table.

The review was simply – his Master would give him a command and he obeyed. Kneel, sit, every order he followed perfectly. A tap on the nose, he transform to demon guise. A pull on his chain, he bow at his Master's feet. Command to speak, he'd answer with a simple 'Yes Master' and 'No Master'.

The white coats were pleased with the show and congratulated his Master for training him so well. He was pleased with himself for having done right by his Master. And as a reward his Master and him took a picture.

He had taken the most comfortable position – sitting at his Master's side, curled up against his leg. His Master stood in the photo, legs spread a bit, hands behind his back – one holding his chain. Later his Master had shown him the photo and simply told him, "You did a good job."

The words made him feel both sorrow and glee. Glee because he had done his Master right. Sorrow because he realized he was now completely bound to his Master, Riley Finn.

That's when the dreams of Angelus stopped. He still wanted Angelus, but he wanted his Master as well. Though he would never say it. Because he just could not admit that he had fallen in love with the person who essentially kept him as a pet – and because he would not speak unless commanded.

The next night, after the review, his Master had ordered him to give a blow job. He sucked on the cock eagerly, trying to bring his Master off and taste his warm seed in his mouth. But his Master had pulled his head away and stared at him. Looking into those eyes he read shock. His Master was shocked and he didn't know why.

"Why are you so eager tonight?" his Master asked. But he didn't answer. Taking the hint his Master sighed. "You may speak."

He kneeled at his Master's feet, eyes cast to the floor. "I wish to bring you pleasure Master."

There was a long pause, and then a sigh. "You didn't want to give me pleasure before?"

"No Master!" he replied quickly. "I jus' want to more tonight because you did well on the review. You taught me well Master."

There was another long pause, he felt a hand in his hair and smiled to himself. Even if he wasn't allowed to do things without permission he could smile at his Master's touch – as long as no one saw it.

"Who is Angelus?"

"What Master?" he asked, pretending he hadn't heard. His Master couldn't know about Angelus. Not about the dreams he had, and his fantasy where his Sire waited for him. Please, he prayed, don't let Master ask about it.

"I said who is Angelus?" his Master said sternly and rubbed harder into his scalp.

"Please don't be mad at me Master. Don't punish me for telling you," he pleaded.

"I'll punish you if you don't tell me! Now who is he!?"

He hesitated before responding. "He is my Sire Master." There was a long pause. The hand in his hair changed from a firm rub to a gentle caress.

"Tell me what that dreams about? The one with Angelus."

"I don't think I understand Master."

"Don't play stupid, I know you dream about him. You used to call out to him in your sleep. But you don't anymore. Why is that?" There was another hesitant pause. "Speak!"

"I dream that I'll escape from here, and when I surface my Sire will be there waiting for me. Smiling at me, loving me – just like I remember." There were tears coming to the surface of his eyes. He loved his Master and he didn't want to make him angry by confessing his dreams.

"And?"

"And I don't anymore Master." The tears came to the surfaced – welling up in his eyes.

"Why!?"

"Because now I only dream of you," he confessed. The tears fell from his face and unto his Master's boots. Please, please don't let him be mad at me, he chanted in his mind. But there was no punishment. The hand left his head and his Master stormed out of the room – slamming the door loudly as he left.

He hadn't been given permission to stand, so he stayed kneeling on the floor, crying his heart out. What just happened? Now his Master wouldn't want him any longer. Now he'd be given back to the other soldiers – being used as a fuck toy. Never during his stay at the Initiative did he wish for death. Because he always held hope that he'd escape. But when he thought about his Master not wanting him, giving him back to the other soldiers, he just couldn't hold back the tears any longer.

The days passed by and he wasn't given up to the other soldiers. Instead, his Master would come in and out of the room. Never giving him a second glance. The only contact they had in the week that followed was when he was fed. But for the most part his Master would be gone for the day.

It was a good thing too, because he didn't want anyone to see him cry. The crying seemed to last for an eternity. There was only one wish then – that his Master would want him again. He'd be the loyal pet. He'd summit better than any damn dog ever could, so long as his Master came back and stopped ignoring him.

The wish, he thought, had been answered when his Master came to him and took him out of the room. There was no talking, only walking. They came to the lab where he was properly drugged and passed out. When he awoke there were stitches on his head – they had done something to him again.

It should have been infuriating. But it wasn't. If this is what it took for his Master to want him again than he'd gladly do it – again and again.

Master came and for the first time in what seemed to be forever, he left the Initiative – at his Master's side.
* * *
Now here they were. Going who knows where. And as much as he adored seeing the beautiful night sky again – he enjoyed his Master's presence more.

It seemed like hours, but eventually the car came to a stop. They were outside a large hotel. Were him and his Master staying here?

"Out!" An order. He obeyed and left the car. There was no where to really go, and luckily there was no one around to see him in his revealing – pet wear. Funny how months ago, given this opportunity, he would have ran. But not now. Never from his Master.

"I made sure no one was here. I think they're all out on a case or something. Go to the entrance, but do not walk inside! I'll be there shortly," his Master commanded from the other side of the car. Obeying the order he walked through the front gates and stopped a few feet from the entrance – waiting patiently for his Master.

Hearing the gate open he turned and saw his Master approach him – something black cradled at his side.

"Master?" he asked.

"Please don't call me that. It's Riley. Just ... Riley," his Master said sadly.

"Master I don't think I understand. What's that you have there?"

Riley looked at him sternly. "I haven't given you permission to speak. And no more Master. OK Spike?"

He flinched at that name before kneeling at his Master's feet. He hadn't been called that in so long. He had been under the impression his name was Bitch, or some other vulgarity. But not Spike. Spike was a Master Vampire. Spike was not a pet. Spike didn't belong to Riley Finn. Spike was so many things, and he wasn't Spike.

"Stand," Riley commanded.

Standing, he kept his eyes cast down to the ground.

"Well I guess this is the end. I'm going to leave, and when I walk out that gate, I want you to go inside that hotel and wait."

What!? No! His Master was leaving him. No! His Master couldn't leave him. Please let him have heard wrong. This could be better, he could be obedient. He didn't have to think about Angelus anymore. Just please don't let his Master leave him.

Tears welled up in his eyes and fell freely down his cheeks.

"Please Master," he begged. "Don't leave me here. I belong to you, I can be better, I can listen better. Please don't leave me," he sobbed.

Riley grabbed his chin in one hand and forced the crying vampire to look him in the eyes.

"NO!" he said sternly. "You don't belong to anyone Spike. You don't belong to me. You don't belong to Angelus. You belong to you. But if you need an order here's your last one – the second you walk inside that hotel you are never look back. Sunnydale is dead to you. You never heard of it and you NEVER go back. You got it? Speak."

"Yes I understand the command Master. But please," he choked, his throat felt rasp from so many tears.

"Here," Riley presented the black object which had been cradled at his side. The crying vampire only sobbed more. It was his duster. His damn duster which he loved so damn much.

"No Master. Please don't give me that. It's not me anymore. Please just let me be yours," he shook his head in denial.

"No Spike. It's yours. You need to learn how to live again. It's my final gift to you. Remember the command, live happy and don't return to Sunnydale."

"Master, I love you."

Riley pulled him into a tight embrace. "I love you too. That's why I can't be your Master anymore. I'm sorry but this is the end."

"Master please I didn't..." his words were cut off when his Master's lips descended on his own. The kiss was soft and gentle. So filled with passion but at the same time it wasn't enough. But before he could respond his Master, Riley Finn, pulled away.

"Kneel!"

Getting on and knees he fell at his Master's feet. A tap on his nose he shifted to demon guise.

"Close your eyes," Riley said softly.

It wasn't that hard for him. There were too many tears that he wouldn't have been able to keep them open anyway. A hand on his chin forced his head up.

"Open your mouth." And he did. There was a metal object on his fang and he wondered what was about to happen.

"It looks like Angel beat me again."

Then there was only pain.
* * *
Riley returned to the Initiative and walked into Dr. Walsh's office. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out two fangs and presented them to his superior officer.

"Special Project 17 has been terminated."

Walsh stared at the two fangs in Riley's hand and sighed. "Agent Finn," she said sternly. "You specifically requested Special Project 17 be in your care, and you terminated him? Why?"

"He was a hostile. I couldn't control him."

"Well Agent Finn, you probably shouldn't have had the behavior modifier removed. That's several months down the drain."

"I'm sorry. I've learned from my mistakes and I will no longer request hostile's be put in my care."

"Well I would hope not Agent Finn. You spent a whole month campaigning to get Special Project 17's behavior modifier removed – you assured me you could get him to follow orders. But you failed. Don't request anymore favors Agent Finn." She took one last look at him before returning to her work. "Dismissed."

The End


A/N: Sorry for any spelling errors. I wrote this all within a few hours and I
will probably never use a beta. Due to my lack of finding a good one.

But if you are wondering how I came up with the plot to this story, I have to
give a lot of credit to SueWorld2003 and her amazing S/R pic on her live
Journal.

Here is the link:
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/0803/sueworld2003/Album%202/trophy3.jpg

And I know there is probably a fic out there called fangless. But I couldn't
come up with a better name for it. So uh, yeah. Hope you enjoyed.

And have a pleasant (Insert time of day)... LoL.