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Fun in Cages

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“I’m sorry,” Spike gasped.

“Sorry?” Robin Wood smiled incredulously. “You think you can say you’re sorry?”

Spike blinked, came to himself, and punched the principal of Sunnydale High. “Wasn’t talking to you.”

Robin had only a moment to realize how far south his plan was heading, and then the vampire was up. “I don’t give a piss about your mum,” he said.

Robin almost didn’t make it to his backup weapon, but Spike obligingly threw him right at it.

The vampire twitched and fell with a scent of ozone and burning, just like a human. The taser fell from a hand too beaten and tired to keep holding it. Robin crawled up the crucifix-laden wall. Time for plan B.

* * *

Spike awakened first to the knowledge that he was somewhere else. The smell was off. He lost consciousness in a garage smelling of raw wood and paint. The darkness around him smelled older, dustier, cinder block and mustiness and … Angel?

Spike opened his eyes on a concrete floor. He twisted his arms and found them bound behind him. He rose to his knees and saw iron bars. Behind the bars: Angel, watching him intently. “Oh,” said Spike. He turned. The bars, interestingly enough, did not surround him, only Angel. “Bugger all…?”

“They brought you in here,” Angel said. “Not five minutes ago. You might have time before they get back. Spike, they’ve gone insane. They’re going to lock you up like they did me. Get me out of here and we'll fight them together.”

Not only was Spike free to walk about the basement, but Angel was talking at him like they were on the same side. Had his poor brain finally given up?

“Do it for Buffy, Spike. You can’t let yourself be captured like this. She needs you.”

Spike tried to stand and failed. He felt the handcuffs grind against the concrete with a satisfying scrape, giving him hope that the metal was at least, what? Roughed up some? He crawled closer to Angel's cage on knees and elbows. “I know why I’m here,” he said. “Principal wanker. I killed his mum. Right out of his gourd. But why you? Someone set up a ‘capture the good vamps’ club?” He narrowed his eyes. “And why are you bein’ civil? To me?”

Angel stood. “We don’t have time for this, Spike. Use your brain for half a second. See if you can get your wrists where I can reach them.”

Spike calmed. That was the broody pouf he knew and loathed. He wrenched himself around and felt Angel reaching through the bars, guiding his wrists toward him.

A door above burst open and boots pounded down the stairs. “He’s awake. Grab him!”

Spike found himself suddenly the object of a tug-of-Spike game. Wood kicked the bars of the cage with resounding fury, dragging Spike away from the very nearly helpful ministrations of his sire.

Spike did his best to thrash against the erstwhile principal, who responded by pinning him to the floor with one knee against the small of his back.

Another bloke stood near at hand, loading a shotgun. “It was irresponsible to leave him, even for a moment. If Angelus had gotten him free…”

British accent. All repressed and watcher-like, and he smelled of dry old books and cheap rum, which clinched it. Spike snarled. “What the hell do you want with me, Watcher? I didn’t do anything to you.”

Wood pushed Spike’s face against the floor. “You’re getting a slow death, Spike. One I hope you stay awake to enjoy.”

Wesley walked into Spike’s field of vision, holding his shotgun thoughtfully. “Check the bindings. We don’t want Angel hurt. We could still get his soul back into him.”

Spike’s eyes widened. He tried to turn his head back toward the cage. Angelus laughed.

“Oh bloody hell.” Spike struggled with renewed vigor. “You put me in there he’s gonna kill me.”

“That’s the idea.” Wesley stood casually and fired two shots at the cage. Angelus howled, stared down at the fluffy darts sticking out of his nice silk shirt, and fell over. Wesley popped the shotgun open. “This is taking too long. Let’s tranquilize this one as well.”

“No! He stays awake.” Robin pulled Spike up to his knees and started dragging him toward the cage.

Wesley sighed and re-loaded his weapon.

Spike twisted. “Come on, it was supposed to be me n’ you, yeah? One on one for revenge. You don’t want to do this.”

“No, I really do,” Robin said, opening the cage.

Wesley kept his weapon aimed at Angelus’ prone body, not taking any chances as Spike was thrown through the door and the cage closed.

Spike scrambled immediately to try and catch the door, but all he could do was lean against the bars and scream after Robin and Wesley as they made their calm way up the basement steps.

“Damn it, I’m one of the bleedin’ WHITE HATS!”

* * *

Wesley set his tranquilizer gun down on the hotel’s reception counter. Without a trace of emotion he turned to Robin. “Well, that could have been easier. How do you feel?”

“Hollow,” Robin confessed. “But… I have to see it through.”

Wesley shrugged and adjusted the video monitor. He watched the blonde vampire squirming around near the door to the cage, ever the optimist, apparently. Angelus was still, the bright dart feathers standing out proudly from his chest. Good grouping, Wesley thought absently.

“I gotta say,” Robin squinted at Wesley. “You’re a lot more ‘rogue’ now you’ve stopped calling yourself a ‘rogue demon hunter’.”

“Stole the silly title from you,” Wesley said, with his first hint of a smile.

* * *

Spike found the jointure of the handcuffs behind him – the nub where the chain links attached. He rubbed that against the floor, hoping to wear through the weak point. He kept his eyes on Angelus’ still form, certain his erstwhile sire would not be happy to see him when he awoke. Or he would be happy, and that was worse.

One of Angel’s fat fingers twitched. Fuck. Fucker was waking up. Spike redoubled his efforts, though he smelled blood and felt his wrist-bones grinding against metal. The skin alongside each cuff was sticky with seeping plasma and hot with friction.

Angelus lifted a hand and sleepily fingered a dart.

Feeling desperate, Spike tried humming “Early One Morning.” Oh sod it, he was free, just when being able to turn into a mindless puppet of evil would come in handy. Emphasis on the mindless.

Angelus opened an eye. “Nervous, William?”

Spike stilled his efforts, tried to still his fear, which he knew Angelus could all too easily detect. “Well, I’d feel better if you helped me out of these cuffs.”

Angelus plucked the darts from his chest and tossed them toward the back wall. He rolled onto his side and regarded Spike with a smile.

Angelus smiling was, in fact, the worst possible expression. It was a genuine smile, too, a little lopsided and relaxed.

“So,” Spike called up some false cheer. “Got lucky?”

The smile broadened into a leer. “Very.”

Spike tested the chain. Nope. Not weak enough to break yet. “Well. No reason this can’t be a pleasant sort of lay about. We can still both get out of here, yeah? Two heads better than one and all. Just like old times? Sire?”

Angelus shook his head and rose to his feet. “Tsk. That’s the best you could come up with? An appeal to old times?"

"Didn't think you'd want to play darts."

Angelus stood far too close, his face shadowed as he looked down. "Or we could talk about your soul."

“Oh,” Spike said. “You noticed that, then.”

Angelus hauled spike up by his throat. “What I want to know,” Angelus growled, pressing Spike to the bars, “is why. For my benefit? It’s perverse. Damn waste of magic. Should have told them I’d kill you without it. You’re enough of a mockery already.”

“Well there’s a surprise. Mighty Angelus thinks it’s all about him.”

“Shh,” Angelus forced Spike’s neck to bend with a hard dig of his thumb. “It’s about me, boy. It always is. See, they threw you in here not to kill you, but to keep me busy.” Angelus let his lips skim lightly on pale, taut skin. “You’re nothing but a few moments. Time I’ll be spending not planning my great escape.”

Spike coughed up half a chuckle. “Don’t you think… you might… want to NOT give ‘em what they want, then?”

“Well,” Angelus pulled back to look him in the eyes and shrugged. “The deep dark secret is, I don’t have a great escape plan.” He jerked his head to the side, indicating the bars. “Someone almost as smart as me designed this cage.”

“Give me a chance. I can pick a lock.”

“Oh, I’ll give you all sorts of chances, William. Wonder if you’ll break in the same pretty ways now that you’re a sad parody of my past.”

Angelus felt Spike sag in his hands, and it brought a whole new smile to his face.

“Don’t,” Spike said. “Please… just don’t.”

Angelus brushed Spike’s cheek. “You ought to remember begging just makes me horny. Let’s start with a drink.”

Angelus’ demon visage came forward, seeming a widening of his grin. The bite was hard, fangs grazing collarbone and digging, worming back and forth greedily to open the hole larger.

Spike closed his eyes and tried to wait it out. Ignore the feel of the larger body against his, the pain, spiked hair raking back and forth across his ear, the slurps and greedy little noises, the pull as though every vessel in his body was being drawn into that mouth, taut as trip-wires and burning at each anchor point, and the growing erection pressing hard into his gut, filled with his own borrowed blood.

Not happening. Just not happening. Hum a happy tune.

Dizziness began to settle in and if Spike’s heart could beat, it would have stopped.

Only then did Angelus let his body crumple to the floor.

“Feeling weak, boy?”

Darkness flashed in his vision as Spike forced himself to roll onto his back and meet Angelus’ gaze. “Not scared.”

“No? Your blood tastes deliciously of terror. Almost made it palatable. What have you been living on? Pig?”

“When you get your soul back, when they shove it back inside you like I know they will, tell Buffy…”

“Oh please!” Angelus pressed the heel of his hand into his forehead. “Not the over-dramatic protestations!”

“Tell her I died spitting in your face.”

To emphasize which point Spike drew himself up and spat, hitting Angelus square on the nose.

He kept his smile of triumph through the first two punches, laughing through the pain as his face bloodied.

Angelus tore down the front of Spike's shirt, using the strip of black cloth to clean the spittle from his face. “You’re going to pay for that. I was going to be merciful… well, not really, but I was going to be a whole lot less sadistic than I have to be now.”

“With what? You got your two hands, your fangs, and a soddin’ limited imagination, Angelus.” He curled his bleeding lips into a sarcastic grin. “Oh please don’t threaten and bluster me to death!”

Angelus sighed and shook his head. “Wrong again. As always. Shall we list the tools at my disposal? Gravity.” He hauled Spike up with one hand around his neck and then dropped him again. “Oh, those cuffs on your wrists and ankles. You’ll love to see what I can do with those and the right applied pressure.” He nudged Spike’s shin, pushing his ankles slightly apart against the binding cuffs. “And, of course,” he took a step back and scooped something off the ground. He jangled it in his hand, testing the weight.

The tranquilizer dart hit Spike in the stomach a second before he realized what was happening and tried to roll away.

“Then there’re the sharp pointy metal things they so graciously left me. And what else does a torturer need, really? Something sharp, and something blunt.” Angelus set his knee on Spike’s sternum and with one hand deftly undid Spike’s belt buckle, drawing the thick leather belt out with one hard tug that caused the slight vampire to arch upward. The buckle clattered against the floor. “And last, there’s my very rich, very powerful imagination.” He pulled the dart from Spike’s stomach with an unnecessary twist. “The soul may have dulled my wits and kept me bound, but imagination… I’ve always had that.” He dragged the dart upward, skimming Spike's skin playfully. “Now. Why don’t you roll over like a good boy?”

Spike’s teeth clenched hard. “Just… as I feared. Talking me to death.”

He made a futile effort to knee Angelus, put all his strength and body into it, but the impact was soft, the other vampire moving back easily from the blow.

“Spike. With a soul.” Angelus shook his head. “I can see it’s taken the fight out of you. Feeling guilty, Spike? Feeling all those poor, innocent people?” Angelus sing-songed this last. Spike felt a moment of vertigo as he was hauled up almost to his feet. “Doesn’t it make you want to be punished? Oh, but you ALWAYS wanted to be punished, didn’t you?” Angel threw Spike against the bars, pulled him back and hit him into them again. “Hrm. Amazing. Your skull ISN’T thick enough to dent steel. Guess we really are stuck in here.”

Spike tried to shake off the stun… somehow his feet found the ground. He tried to push his way sideways, out of Angelus’ tight embrace. Gasping and finding his breath again, he said, “Be a sport and knock me unconscious?”

He was pressed harder into the bars, a knee against the small of his back. “Tell me who it was put that soul in you just to piss me off.”

Spike coughed a laugh, though it strained his ribs. “That’d be ME, you thick-headed, half-witted ape-faced neander…”

He was cut short by a fist to the kidneys that felt like a block of cement.

“You’ll tell me soon enough. Was it Willow? A little favor for Buffy? She couldn’t have me so she thought she’d make herself the next best thing?” His thick fingers curled around the waistband of Spike’s jeans. “Can I fuck it out of you?”

“I’m not you. Doesn’t have anything to do with you. I won my soul back myself, and it’s a damn sight better than yours.”

Angelus groaned. “Enough foreplay,” he said, and threw Spike across the cell. He hit the brick wall at the back, and felt strangely grateful for the change of texture while he rolled his face against it, trying to get his feet back under him. The lack of blood had his legs feeling like sandbags.

Then he was up again, shoulders screaming in protest as Angelus hefted him by his bound wrists, pressing him face-first into the wall. There was a stabbing sound, and chalky grit sprayed over his face. He blinked and sputtered. Angelus had shoved one of the darts through the chain linking his cuffs, impaling it in the brick-mortar.

That won’t hold, Spike thought. He bit his lip and forced himself to pull back, though it felt like his arms were going to pop their sockets.

The dart fell impotently down his chest, but Angelus didn’t seem bothered. He’d already unfastened and stripped Spike’s jeans down. Spike stumbled backward from the force of pulling the dart only to fall on his ass, his legs bound together at the knee by his jeans.

Spike tried to roll and crawl away. His shoulders were on fire. Angelus hummed his appreciation and crawled over him. He lazily ripped the ragged pieces of Spike’s t-shirt off. “You know, normally,” riiiip! “I like to get inside a victim’s head. Really fuck with their mind.” Riiiiip! “But I just realized… you don’t HAVE a mind, Spike.”

Angelus took a moment to run a hand appreciatively over the newly-bared chest. “What’s the matter, Spikey? Run out of witty retorts? Mmm… look at you. Pity you’re not alive, you know? No pounding heart. Torturing a vampire’s like…. Like sugar-substitute. Not as tasty, but you get to eat all you want.” Angelus peeled off Spike, thrusting once as he rolled to his feet. He stepped over Spike and picked up the discarded belt. Angelus folded it and snapped the leather twice, testing it.

Spike stopped struggling. He kept his eyes focused on a random point on the ceiling.

“Come on, then, boy, roll over for me.”

Spike tried to laugh but it came out a cough. “Like hell.”

It didn’t matter, Angelus was able to do the job himself with three kicks, knocking his prey against the wall of the cell until at last he fell on his stomach. “That’s more like it.” Angelus ran his palm over Spike’s back and stroked his ass and thigh. “That’s how you should be. That’s where you belong. Now get up on your knees.”

“Fuck off.”

Angelus passed his hand once more, lovingly, over the smooth white globes of Spike’s ass, before letting the belt fall hard on the right cheek. "Mm nice sound. Firm. You should eat more, boy." Angelus went to work: right cheek, left, small of the back, thighs. “Oh you should see this, William. Even half drained your skin pinks up nicely. You always did seem so human.” He ran a hand over his work. "I can just feel a little heat. Not what I'd get from a live victim, but still, it's something. Makes me hard."

Angelus let the belt unfold and struck at Spike’s bound arms with the buckle end, enjoying the renewed struggle that brought each muscle into relief as shoulders twisted helplessly. Angelus let the belt play gently down his victim’s spine. “Want to ask me for something, William? Mercy? Respite? Your hands?”

Spike managed to twist enough to look behind him. “Just get on with it. You’re…” his gasp for breath was poorly timed, but Spike went on anyway, “boring me.”

Angelus sighed. He struck Spike’s face and then tossed the belt aside. “You never did have the proper patience, William. No sense for art.”

Angelus pushed Spike’s knees apart, putting his own between them and jabbed two dry fingers hard into Spike’s anus, all the preparation he cared to indulge in, despite his words about patience.

Spike stifled his scream against the cold cement, pressing his lips to the grime rather than give Angelus the satisfaction. Watery dread spread through his bowels. He tried to focus the pain and horror into pulling his wrists apart, getting that damn chain to break. That was a hotter pain, dry, the straining of nerves and bone where his shoulders wouldn’t move as they ought anymore. At least it kept him from feeling the violation as Angelus nudged teasingly at his entrance.

“Yes! Keep struggling. God, you’re so much fun when you don’t know when to quit!”

Angelus pushed Spike's bound wrists into his back and Spike’s vision flickered almost to black. Then there was the intrusion – huge, unrelenting. Spike threw all his strength into arching his body up, away, he cried and thrashed, but all he felt was hard, unyielding stone and flesh.

* * *

Wesley sipped his tea, watching as Angelus flipped the other vampire over with a complete lack of gentleness. Poor William the Bloody had his face pressed to the cold floor now, his still-shackled wrists being pushed forward by Angelus’ hand. That had to hurt. The shoulders were definitely dislocated now. Or was that a shadow? Wesley leaned forward, irritated by the poor video quality.

Robin was pacing. “You really want to watch all of it?”

“You shouldn’t do a thing you aren’t prepared to see,” Wesley replied. He leaned back and took another comforting sip of tea. “Besides, it isn’t often a watcher gets to see two vampires in such controlled circumstances.”

Robin shook his head. “You are one cold son-of-a-bitch.”

Wesley smiled like it was a compliment.

Robin tried not to watch, but every stray glance as he paced the hotel lobby showed him more than he wanted to know: a pale form struggling, stark against the darker concrete. The muted struggle could be heard over the set’s small speakers.

The front doors to the hotel opened, accompanied by a loud, girlish voice, laughing. Robin dove across the room to turn off the TV.

Wesley looked up with a cross expression, his teacup held out away from his body and a wet patch on his shirt-front.

Fred skipped across the room, swinging her shopping bag. “Hey Wes! Who’s your friend?”

“This is Robin Wood, a colleague from my demon hunting days. Robin, this is Winifred Burkle and Lorne, two of Angel’s…”

Robin wasn’t listening. He stared at the young woman’s escort, a green-skinned demon similarly loaded with shopping bags. “Another supposedly good-guy demon?”

Lorne lost his smile almost immediately and set down the bags in his right hand so he could take off his sunglasses. “How’s our patient?” He pointed the shades at the turned-off television.

Wes stood. “As to be expected.”

“Well,” Fred said, “We couldn’t be scared and helpless all day, so we went to get supplies. Lorne knew just where to look…”

Lorne, for his part, glanced from one circumspect face to another. “Okay, I’m going to bite. Why’s the vid off, kids? Angelus still in his cubby?”

“I turned it off,” Robin said. “He was getting disturbing.”

“He does that,” Fred said. “Did Wes bring you in to help? Do you know anything about the beast?”

“No, I’m just… I’m visiting.”

“Riiiight.” Lorne set down the rest of his packages and his sunglasses. “Well, I’ll just go check up on Angelcakes... devil’s food version. No sense leaving him alone too long.”

“No, wait…” Robin jumped in front of Lorne.

“No offense, sugar cube, but I don’t know you and I don’t trust you, so step aside.”

Wes sighed. “For pity’s sake. I’ll go.” He was still trying to dab the tea off his shirt. Fred fussed over him with some napkins.

“Or we could turn the TV back on,” Fred offered.

Wes shook his head. “Stay here,” he said. “You’ll probably not want to see what’s going on down there.”

Lorne watched Wesley walk nonchalantly to the basement stairs. He then turned and narrowed his red eyes at Robin. “And what,” he asked, “IS going on down there?”

Robin ran a hand over his head.

* * *

Angelus held pale hips in his hands, pulling and grinding a limp body; it seemed the other vampire had passed out. Wesley was not surprised how things had proceeded since the monitor had turned off. Nor was he surprised when Angelus smiled at his entrance and, with put-on nonchalance, said, “Wes! Thanks for the gift. Hold on a second, would you? I’m in the middle of something.”

Wesley kept his face expressionless – something he was getting far too much practice doing of late. He sat down in one of the chairs they’d left against the wall by the stairs, for Angelus watching. He rested his tranquilizer gun in his lap.

Angelus still wore the same dark plum shirt he’d had on before… before he was Angelus again. The face of his friend was there, grimacing with effort as his hips pumped away behind that hanging shirt, behind those bare, pale hips. His grimace got harder, he shuddered, slammed hard into the body before him, and relaxed, unashamed in his obvious completion. Wesley wondered if he would otherwise have ever seen Angel make that expression.

Angelus sighed, throwing Spike’s limp form aside. “Man, they’re just no fun when they pass out.”

Wesley averted his eyes as the vampire re-arranged his clothing.

“Of course you know,” Angelus said, “This doesn’t stop me from wanting to rip your fucking head off, you child-stealing son-of-a-bitch.”

“I hoped saving you from the bottom of the ocean would have won me a little forgiveness. Or do you not see that as you? In which case, do you still see yourself as Connor’s father?”

“Taking notes, Wes? Going to write a book?”

“It will be interesting to see how much more you’ll hate me after we return your soul,” Wesley commented dryly. “When you’ll look at me and know what I’ve watched you do.”

“Are all watchers voyeurs? I suppose it comes with the territory.” Angelus rested his arms against the bars and smiled. “Don’t worry. Soon as blondie wakes up we’ll continue the show.”

“You’re too kind.”

“I am.” Angelus sighed dramatically and wandered back over to Spike’s collapsed form. He grabbed the other vampire’s wrists and with a grunt and a tug, ripped the handcuffs apart. He looked up and smiled at Wes while he popped Spike’s dislocated shoulders back into place with his boot. “I’ll have days of fun, here. Are you having fun out there, Wes? Are you prepared to wait as long as I am?”

Wesley said nothing.

Angelus gathered Spike into his arms. “C’mon, Spikey. Getting bored here. How about a little pick-me-up?” He bit into his own wrist and held it to his victim’s lips. Spike’s eyelids fluttered, and his head moved.

Wesley watched.

* * *

Spike smelled blood, and then tasted blood, and for a moment that was all he could care about. There was blood here, and he was drinking it. Then he was aware vaguely of comfort, of being held, and this was all the more comforting because just about every part of his body was throbbing with pain.

Then a wet tongue slid up the side of his neck and he knew where he was, and who he was drinking from. He had to fight the revulsion, to force himself to hold on to the forearm in front of him, to keep drinking, drawing as much strength back into himself as he could before…

Angelus wrenched his arm from Spike’s grip. “That’s enough,” he said.

It wasn’t until he tried to grab for that arm that he realized his hands were in front of him, the cuffs just loose bracelets now, each with a few links of broken chain. He pulled back his fist and almost connected the blow before Angelus had both his wrists pinned again.

“Good,” Angelus said, “Now we get to start all over.”

* * *

Lorne and Fred listened in shock as Robin quietly explained what he and Wesley had done. “So Wes said it would be good to distract Angelus for a while, keep him from thinking of ways to get out and ways to mess with your minds. We each had a problem and we each had a solution for each other.”

“My god,” Fred said. She lifted her small chin. “Spike has a soul now.”

“That doesn’t change who he is or what he did.”

“I’m putting a stop to this.” Lorne said. “How many times am I going to have to hear you people say, ‘it’s only a demon?’ Fred? Come on.”

And the green demon led the march to the basement steps. Robin quickly overtook them. “Miss… Mister… um… look, you don’t want to see what he’s doing down there.”

Lorne raised his eyebrows. “You’re right. I don’t.” And he pulled open the door and stomped down the steps.

Angelus and Spike were writhing on the floor of the cage, Angelus mostly on top of Spike. One pale fist got free and swung, was quickly caught and pressed to the cement floor. Angelus laughed. “I should have freed your hands sooner. You’re much more fun like this.”

“Stop it!” Fred cried.

Angelus leaned back, lips parted in a sigh of ecstasy. “And there’s the one thing that was missing.” He turned to leer at Fred. “The gentle sound of a female voice.”

Spike’s voice came muffled from gritted teeth and Angelus’ forearm pressed into his throat. “I’m going to get free you tub of lard and when I do…”

“Wesley, shoot him.”

Wesley looked up at Lorne in confusion. “You shouldn’t be letting Fred see this,” he said.

“He has a soul,” Lorne said. “Not that that should matter,” he added with gritted teeth.

Fred grabbed Wesley’s arm. “Please, Wes, give me the gun.”

Blinking, still confused, but not one to question a united Fred-Lorne front, Wesley stood, gestured politely to clear the way and, stepping to the side to line up properly, shot two darts into Angelus’ shoulder.

Angelus howled in anger and threw Spike aside, lunging to the bars with the last of his strength before he collapsed, spread along the length of the cage.

Wesley cocked his gun up at his side and turned back to address his friends. “Spike has a soul?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Robin said, smacking the stair-rail for emphasis. “He’s a killer. A serial killer. He toyed with my mother for weeks before he killed her.”

In the cell, Spike was using his newly-freed hands and one of the discarded tranquilizer darts to break apart the chain between his ankles.

Wes walked toward the cage bars. “You knew?” He squinted at Robin.

Fred pushed past the former watcher and started undoing the locks. “Can we discuss this AFTER we get him out of there?”

Spike was standing now, his fingers wrapped around the bars, head barely held up, mouthing, “Yeah. C’mon. Lemmie out. White hat here.”

“You let him out and he’ll kill me!” Robin grabbed Wesley’s shoulder. “Soul or no, he’ll kill me.

Wesley stayed Fred’s hand, and spared Robin a cool glance. “Lorne, get something to secure our new guest.”

Spike almost collapsed with relief when the treble-locked gate was finally opened. He used the door to support himself. “Thank you. You’re not making a mistake, mate.”

Wesley smiled. He closed the cage door as soon as Spike stepped out and secured all the locks. “No, I certainly am not. Now we have something we can offer Angelus for his cooperation.”

Spike stared at the former watcher, then saw Robin Wood’s shoulders relax. “Oh bugger-fuck…”

Wesley swept the weakened vampire’s legs out from under him and soon had one hand pressed against a wounded shoulder-blade, the other securing Spike’s right wrist. “Lorne? Rope?”

“Wesley!” Fred tried to grab Wesley’s arm. “What are you doing?”

“Whatever it takes,” Wesley said. “Now get the rope. We’ll tie him up, safe, and then,” He looked directly at Robin, “We’ll all have a long talk.”



Although I consider this a stand-alone piece, it has an ill-advised, less porny, continuation, so keep going if you like.