Title: Flogging The Undead
Author: PokerKitten
Rating: R
Setting: AtS S1, In The Dark
Summary: A 100 word drabble challenge from Cyrus. Word – flogging A few for the price of one, eventually.
Disclaimer: Joss, ME, Fox yadayada own the characters. I just mess with them.
He was tempted; sorely. The sight of Angelus – or Angel, as the great poof insisted on calling himself these days – in chains was..... Provoking? Stimulating.
Spike's palm felt slick on the whip-handle as he remembered St Petersburg. The girls sleeping upstairs. He and Angelus, restless, agitated; the pretence of searching the mansion's basement for hidden treasures.
In the dark. Desperate to lay hands on one another. Bite, beat; lick, lap; suck, swallow.
"Bend over, boy!" Angelus had growled.
The cane had merely stung his flesh at the first few strokes. "HARDER!" Spike had insisted.
Weals, blood, semen. Such a feeling!
Flogging The Undead #2 – Angel's POV
Sinews strained, muscles ached, a hot metallic scent assaulted his nostrils.
Blinking sweat from his tortured eyes, he tried to stay focussed. But there had been other times, earlier times; dare he even allow himself to believe, happier times with Spike. And chains. And whips. And blood. And sweat. And orgasms so fierce they had both screamed themselves hoarse in their pain and lust.
He hadn't always had the upper hand then, either, although that had remained their secret.
Angel groaned as the burning poker penetrated his flesh. But his mind blazed with the remembered sensations of other fierce invasions.
Flogging The Undead #3 – Marcus' POV
Intriguing!
Marcus closed his eyes for a moment, leant back his head, Mozart's Symphony 41 wrapping around him, hugging him tight. This was pleasant enough work; but his truly perverse pleasures lay elsewhere. Time for the little pretties soon enough, though.
No, the interest here lay in the unspoken, unseen complexities; the tensions, the almost palpable heat of pain and desire burning between captor and victim. As the rod turned a fiery red, Marcus glanced at Spike. If his client used that whip, if he participated, it would become personal. A loving punishment. All sense of purpose would be lost.