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"You know your skin and bones,
turn into something beautiful,
for you I'd bleed myself dry."

From "Yellow" by Coldplay



Stretched tight, bound and unable to move, and he is standing beside the bed, shirt off to expose perfect, bloodless skin.

"I..." She starts to say something and he shakes his head imperceptibly.

"No talking."

He leans over and trails a finger from her knobby shoulder, along her collarbone, down the very center of her, as if marking a line he will later use as a template to slice her open.

"So beautiful," he murmurs. He checks the restraints that have captured her legs in a 'V', the pristine crotch of her cotton panties stained dark. She is not ashamed that she is aroused by her predicament. She came willingly and she lay here on this bed willingly, offering up bird-like wrists in supplication.

"We won't be alone tonight," he says.

She shoots a wild-eyed glance up at him.

"It'll be alright, pet," he says, admiring the way she tamps down her fear. Her fierceness is what makes her so dear to him, but this is one request he can't refuse.

"Spike," she says.

"Please don't make me gag you. It's not nearly as much fun when I can't hear you beg."

She pulls her lips up under her teeth and presses down, hard.

There's a rustling off in the corner and he walks away from the bed. When he returns he's carrying a piece of black cloth in his hands. "I'm going to blindfold you now," he says. He kneels on the bed and reaches over, sliding his hands through her hair, refusing to meet her eyes until the very last second. Then, he delights in the stubborn resolve and unfailing belief she has in him that he sees there. She believes in his ability to look after her, should things go badly.

"She's all yours, mate," Spike says to Angelus, who is lounging across the room, his eyes unreadable.

Angelus nods and drops his cigarette, grinding it into the floor with the heel of his boot.

"I get to watch, right?"

Angelus shrugs massive shoulders and moves toward the bed where the prone Slayer lies. He can see the tiny goose bumps raised along her beautiful skin. The room is not cold, so he suspects it is the anticipation that has caused them. On a low table beside the bed, Spike has laid out a variety of toys and Angelus gives the table a cursory glance as he comes closer. There is nothing on the table that he hasn't seen before; nothing that can do any damage that he can't achieve with his own fingers. He likes the feeling of torn flesh almost better than anything else.

She is so still, her breath shallow and quiet. He can smell her: arousal, fear, guilt, and he knows that if he presses his palm against her mound she'll come apart. Better to wait. There's so much more fun to be had before that can happen.

He watches her small pink tongue slip out from between her lips and lick delicately before sneaking back into her mouth. He knows that she is listening for a sound, trying to discern who else might be in the room. Her arms, stretched not quite perpendicular to her body, have made her breasts, still protected by a plain cotton bra, fleshy and full: falsely augmented. He doesn't care. Her body is perfectly made.

He hisses and she cranes her head forward, searching for the sound. He sits beside her on the bed and waits. She remains silent, hopeful. He slips one long, thick finger into her bra, slides it along the pillow of smooth flesh, not touching the nipple. A strangled sound comes from her mouth. Angelus smiles.

Behind him, Spike shifts, and Angelus knows without turning around, that Spike will have his rock hard cock in his hand, will be stroking himself while he watches Angelus have his way with her.

The bra will be a problem, Angelus can see that already. He unhooks the little clasp in the front and feels his groin bunch up tight when her breasts are bared to his eyes. He glances at the table of sex toys, spies a knife and cuts the straps, discarding the bra on the floor. He regards the knife with interest, presses its blunt edge against her sternum before trailing it down her body, following much the same path as Spike had made earlier. When he reaches her underwear, he rolls the knife over in his hand and with the sharp edge cuts them off, dropping them to the floor as well.

There she is then.

Angelus surveys her body for bruises and marks. She should be perfect for him and she is, so he shoots a look back at Spike, who is watching him warily. He rewards the younger vampire with a small smile. Spike's task has been carried out with single-mindedness, Angelus imagines. Spike lacks imagination, on the whole, but he's dependable given the right task.

Where to begin? He thinks, his mind turning over the myriad possibilities.

It was almost enough to do nothing, to watch the muscles jump under her flawless skin as she waits for the first touch, as she anticipates its intent: pleasure or pain. If Spike has succeeded, she will welcome either, welcome the blissful combination of one with the other. Although Angelus would have preferred to initiate her himself, there wasn't time. Places to go, people to eat, that sort of thing.

Angelus smoothes his hands down her sides, up over her thighs, down her legs to her feet. She's painted her toenails pale yellow, an unusual choice, but then, she is an unsual girl: a prize.

"For God's sake," Spike says from behind him, "will you just have at her."

Angelus chuckles under his breath. Impatient git; in a hurry to get nowhere.

He bends over and presses his cool mouth to the arch of her foot, the inside of her knee, her hipbone, her navel, the mole just below her left breast, the corner of her mouth and the black cloth covering her eyes. She holds her breath the whole time; he can hear her lungs struggling to push the air up and out, up and out.

She says something incoherent, and he presses a finger against her lips. No words. She relaxes under his finger and he slips it into her mouth, curving it in behind her perfect white teeth, scraping the underside of her tongue before letting her suck him in all the way. He will need to take his clothes off soon.

He removes his finger, glistening with her saliva, and draws a wet circle around the aureole of her right breast, watching in amusement as her nipple puckers up into a sharp, pink nub. He licks his finger again and does the same to her other breast, watching raptly as her nipple responds in kind. Then, reaching across to the little table he scoops up the nipple clamps, depressing the levers and fastening them simultaneously to her straining nipples. The smooth jaws of the device bite into her tender flesh and Angelus watches her face tense under the not altogether unexpected pain. The slender silver chain that attaches one clamp to the other lies like a shiny snake between her breasts and Angelus hooks it in his index finger, giving it a sharp tug. She bites her lip, but makes no sound.

From behind him, Angelus can hear Spike suck in a great gasp of air, and he turns to watch him stroking the rigid shaft of his penis with firm, measured strokes. Spike's eyes are focused on Angelus' broad back and the girl, secured beneath him.

Angelus turns back. He hasn't wasted any time; he's had Spike adjust the clamps to their harshest setting before he'd arrived. No mercy. He stands and unbuttons his dark linen shirt, letting it slide off his powerful shoulders and arms. He unfastens his belt, tugging it through the loops in his pants audibly. Doubling the leather he slaps it once, twice against his palm. He takes off his pants and underwear, socks and shoes and then kneels between her spread thighs.

He doesn't know what he wants more, her pleasure or her pain. He rests a strong hand on her belly and inches his fingers up toward the chain. He pulls on the silver links, hard, and watches her face for some reaction. Her legs quiver with the strain of holding herself still.

Bending forward he presses his mouth against her moist quim and is pleased to feel her push up into his mouth, at least as far as the restraints will allow. A tiny moan of need escapes her mouth and Angelus pulls away, rewarding her infraction with another sharp tug on the chain. He drags a single finger along her slick slit, tracing the opening down along the perineum to the tight ring of virginal muscles at her backside, the place Spike has been forbidden to touch. He can feel her clenching against the thought of intrusion and he moves back up to her vagina, pushing his finger a little deeper, gathering moisture as he goes.

The smell of her is intoxicating and Angelus can feel his balls tightening against a premature release. He glances up at her nipples. Barely visible beneath the clamps, they look red and sore, cherries ready to pop and spill the most delectable juice. He wraps a hand around the base of his throbbing cock and squeezes in an effort to thwart his impending orgasm.

He slides his hand under her, angling his long, lubricated index finger up and pushing into her puckered anus. He feels rather than hears the slow expulsion of air from her parted lips and he pushes further, past the resisting ring of muscle, up and up. When her body refuses to cooperate any more, he slides his finger out, dropping his mouth to her cunt and then pushing his finger back into the tight passage.

He rests his tongue against her clit, jabbing at it delicately and smothering a smile when he feels the tiny bud swelling. Her hips tilt up, searching for even more intimate contact and Angelus cruelly pulls back, removing his finger, and walks away.

He stops, naked and hard, in front of Spike. "Suck it," he says.

"Fuck off," Spike says.

Angelus narrows menacing eyes. "What did you say?"

"Look mate, I did what you asked, now sod off."

Angelus, lightning quick, grabs Spike's throat and forces him to his knees. "I will come in your mouth, boy," he says. "And you will swallow every last drop."

Spike eyes Angelus' massive phallus skeptically. He is out of practice although, as his own newly aroused cock might indicate, not disinterested. He reaches around and grabs Angelus' muscular buttocks and pulls him closer, settling his mouth over the head of his weeping prick.

Angelus drifts his fingers through Spike's hair and sets the pace, long, smooth, deep strokes that hit the back of Spike's throat. Like riding a bleedin' bicycle, this is, Spike thinks as Angelus rams into him, shuddering too quickly to orgasm.

"Thanks," Angelus says, as though the two had had some meaningless encounter at the laundromat. Angelus looks back over his shoulder at the girl and smiles. "I don't want to disappoint her."

"No, I should think not," Spike says, getting to his feet.

Angelus strolls back to the bed, where the girl remains, silent and still. He reaches down, releasing the clamps from her nipples and bends over, sucking one abused peak and then the other into his cool mouth. He is pleased to see a tear leak from beneath the blindfold.

"So many choices," he whispers. "So much skin."

The colour bleaches back into her nipples and Angelus can see the sheen of sweat collecting in the space between her upper lip and nose. It is beautiful, the way she sweats and cries and hovers on the brink. It is why he loves her.

Spike clears his throat behind him. Angelus ignores the sound, is entranced with the way the girl lies motionless, waiting for whatever comes next, longing for it.

"She's not getting any younger," Spike says, and Angelus can hear the sneer in his voice.

"I'm not getting any older, either," Angelus replies, watching the girl, knowing that she has recognized his voice; knowing, anyway that his identity has never been a secret to her. She'd know him anywhere, always.

"That's right," he croons, close to her ear. He watches as she curls her fingers into her palms, digging sharp half-moons into the soft flesh.

He settles on his knees beside the bed, close to her face and leans over to kiss her: angel kiss, soft and sweet, and he feels her mouth grow pliant beneath his lips. He strokes her jaw, turns her face towards him so he can better taste her, waits for her mouth to open and slips his tongue inside, groaning at the taste of her, knowing she will be shamed by the taste of herself on his lips.

He drops his hand from her face to her neck, trailing gentle fingers over the barely raised brand he'd left all those years ago, satisfied to find that Spike has not trespassed. As for that asshole Dracula, they'd have words, sooner or later.

She settles under his touch; he can feel her acquiescence. His fingers dip down into the little pocket created by her collarbone and he presses tentatively against the hard edge of bone. He travels further, along the slope of her breast, her flesh creamy and pliable. She surges against him, begging him to touch her nipples, to bring back the punishing pressure the clamps had produced, but he ignores the implied request and travels past her breasts down onto the slope of her ribs. He pokes his way down each rib until he hits the flat plane of her stomach, the tiny indentation of her navel. He spreads his fingers, his hand large enough to span hip bone to hip bone. If he presses hard enough he can break her pelvis.

Angelus feels the heat under his hand, the fluttering of her womb and he feels his cock jump with anticipation.

He knows words will scare her.

"You know what I missed most about you?" he asks, his voice low so that Spike won't hear.

She does not reply, does not acknowledge his words with either sound or movement.

He slides the heel of his hand down into her tight curls. "I missed this," he says, pressing against her. He knows what she wants, but he won't give it to her, not until she begs. "So hot, so tight..." he punctuates his words by pressing into her again, but it's not the kind of touch she needs and she moans, a tiny desperate sound.

"I know," he says and it's true. She really is the only thing he ever thinks of.

His eyes travel up to her face; her chin is trembling with the effort it takes to keep from calling out. Her nipples have softened, flat, rosy discs against the white of her breasts. She's released her fingers from her palms, leaving angry red crescents behind.

He moves his hand away from her and reaches to the table, hovering for a second before selecting a dildo, tapered near the top, widening near the base. Grabbing the bottle of lubricant he flips open the cap, squeezes some of the viscous fluid on the silicone shaft and smoothes it up and down. He rubs the excess on himself.

"Come here," he orders Spike.

The other vampire saunters over, closer to the girl than he's been allowed since he tied her up. He can smell her, smell Angelus, and he feels his crotch tighten again.

"Untie her legs," Angelus says.

Spike reaches for the discarded knife and slices through the silk restraints at her ankles. There are no marks, but he rubs his fingers carefully around them anyway, working the blood back into her muscles.

Angelus waits patiently. Then, with a look, he stops Spike and pushes her legs forward so that her thighs lie back on the bed, one on either side of her ribs. She doesn't even flinch, is lithe from years of fighting. Her bottom is prettily exposed, the small opening in her backside stretched the tiniest bit.

Angelus looks at Spike again and then traces the rosebud of flesh in her ass with the slippery tip of the lubricated dildo. She knows what's coming, but she doesn't move. Angelus can see the muscles in her stomach tense and he sighs at the coiled strength he knows is just beneath the surface of her beautiful skin. He eases the dildo in, millimeter by millimeter, inch by glorious inch, into her. Then he waits.

He wants to see whether or not her body will try to expel the intrusive item. He has prepared for this contingency. The dildo is fitted with two small loops at its flared base. Should he choose to, Angelus can fasten two chains to the end of the dildo which can then be attached to clover clamps, which are even more cruel than the last set he'd used. If she tries to push the dildo out, it will cause the chains to stretch, and the pain would be...well, from Angelus' perspective, the pain would be stunning to watch.

Perhaps she knows that nothing good will come of trying to rid herself of the dildo because he can see her valiant attempts to keep it in place. But, as Angelus had known all along, it is impossible. The combination of slick lubricant and uninitiated muscles promptly lets go of the smooth toy.

Angelus fastens the chains onto the dildo and slides it back into her. He fastens the clamps onto the chains and passes them around the outside of her legs. Now the combination of expelling the dildo or moving her legs will pull on the chains and cause the clover clamps to tighten unmercifully on her already tender nipples. There is no slack in the chains to save her. There is only her determination.

He leans forward between her legs and fastens a cool mouth onto her breast, sucking the nipple up into his mouth, rolling it between his teeth until he can feel it stiffen. He does the same to the other. He can feel her breath hitch. She expects the worst and he would hate to disappoint her. He attaches the clamps, watches the colour leave her cheeks.

The things is, and he knows it and he knows that she knows it, too; she is ready for him. Since the moment Spike tied her to the bed, cautioned her not to ask questions, brought the blindfold, she has been waiting. Nobody wants this more than she does. Nobody needs it more.

He braces his arms on either side of her head and he angles down and then slides into her sleek passage like a paddle slicing through calm waters. He can barely stand it, the feeling of her closing around him, the added sensation of the dildo in her ass. It's too much, not enough.

It's a beautiful thing, the female body, he thinks, a fact he never truly appreciated when he was alive. And while he has fucked a hundred women, two hundred, no one has ever had the power to make him lose his soul. Angel knew it, Angelus knows it: she is the one.

Angelus pulls almost the whole way out and then plunges forward. Spike's blow job took the edge off, but he can already feel the storm knotting his lower back, gathering in his testicles, speeding along his shaft. She whimpers beneath him and he pumps harder, deeper, but not faster, not yet.

He is suddenly overwhelmed by the need to kiss her, to see her eyes, but he will allow himself neither luxury. To do so would be to expose his weakness, even though he knows that she of all people would understand. He is, after all, hers.

He feels the first flutter of her orgasm against his straining cock and he feels himself loosen in response. He lowers his chest just enough to brush against the clamps, moving them and sending what he is sure is a jolt of searing pleasure-pain straight up her spine. She has caught her lower lip between her teeth and she has bitten down so hard at the onslaught of sensation that she has drawn blood. The sight of that tips the scales and he slams into her, releasing his dead seed. She is still clenching around him as he finishes, her tight inner muscles milking him until he is spent beyond capacity.

He is careful not to lower his weight against her sensitive breasts. He pushes himself back onto his knees and slides out from her warm center, bringing a trickle of fluid with him. For a second he does nothing, revels in the sensations still coursing through his body, dead made living if only for a few seconds. She did this and only she can.

Her legs must be aching, baring the responsibility of holding the chains still, leveraging his heavy chest. Angelus reaches up and unhooks the chains at the clamps and lets them fall to the bed. He leaves the clamps on her nipples. He loves the way they look, like some ancient and impossibly complicated jewelry fashioned by Caligula.

He catches the chains where they attach to the dildo and pulls. The cylinder slides, glistening with her juices, from her ass. He watches the abused hole shrink and feels a twinge of regret. Next time, he thinks, it will be me.

Dropping the dildo and the chains on the table, he stands and walks back to where Spike has been watching quietly.

"Aren't you going to kill her, then?" Spike says.

Angelus smirks. "To kill this girl you have to love her," he says. "And I'm not done loving her."

Spike shakes his head. "Now where have I heard that before."

"Keep her safe, Spike." It is a command, not a request.

Spike nods once. "I'm going for a smoke."

Angelus drifts back to the bed. She has lowered her legs and pressed them together modestly. Angelus reaches for the knife and cuts her arms loose, knowing that they must ache from having been restricted for so long. When he is done freeing her, he drops the knife on the table and massages her arms, one at a time.

He can see by the erratic rise and fall of her chest and the shivering nipple clamps, that she is crying. He can still make her cry.

"Shhhh," he says.

He can see her fingertips straining to touch him, but this is not allowed. There can be no tenderness. He allows her this comfort, the comfort of submission and domination, because he seeks it, too. But that is all.

A silent exchange.

He offers a reprieve from the painful clamps, removing one, then the other. He slides down the bed, crawls between her legs and buries his face in her fragrant bush. It is wet from their coupling, and his tongue traces her lips, lapping at the elixir, taking it into him as though it were a sustenance without which he would perish. Not exactly a lie. Her clit is quivering beneath him and he knows she is close again. He slides a finger into her, feels her push herself down, slides in another and a third, curving the fingers up and scraping against her sweet spot. Her body is humming and as she starts to coast along the edge of another orgasm, he lets down his fangs and pierces the soft labium on either side of her clit. The blood surges into his mouth and he pauses, waiting for her orgasm and when he feels it, he starts to piston his fingers into her and suck hard on both her blood and her protruding clit.

She can't help herself. Her mouth opens and she wails his name: "Angelus!"

He closes his eyes, slows his fingers, and continues to suck at her flesh, intoxicated by the combination of blood and sex. Her uterus flutters against his fingers for a few more seconds and then stills. He removes his fingers and is rewarded with the sight of her blood and the liquid proof of her orgasm. He slides the fingers into his mouth and licks them clean.

His cock is rock hard again and he considers his options. He could fuck Spike, pushing him up against a brick wall in the alley where he is currently smoking. Or he could jerk off, right here, watching her and spilling himself into the dark curls between her legs. Or he could take her again. But it wouldn't be enough. It will never be enough.

Standing, he reaches for his discarded clothes and dresses quickly. She can hear the rustle and she reaches up, fingers pressing against the blindfold, hesitant.

"No," he says.

Her hands return to her sides, fingers pulling at the thick velour spread. As he finishes buttoning his shirt he sits beside her, strokes her lower lip, moves down. She lifts her head toward him.

In the quiet spaces between the fighting and the sleeping, she will think about the way his fingertips press against the tender hollow of her throat, hovering there like a dragonfly skimming the surface of a milky pond. She knows that even before his fingers make contact with her skin, he can feel the erratic thrumming of her heart: his fingertips are that sensitive.

He'll dip his fingers into that shallow spot and she'll hold herself perfectly still, feeling the sensation of his fingers as he trails them from one side to the other.

There is a fondness in his touch that makes what comes later so much fiercer.

He can hear her thoughts, knows what she is thinking.

She can't say the words. Theirs is a silent bargain.

He wants to say he is sorry.

She wants to say don't be.

They are mute, but their bodies sing.

The End