Wicked Writing Wench (perverted_pages) wrote,
Wicked Writing Wench

Truth Denied - The Hooded Man

Title: Truth Denied - The Hooded Man
Pairings: Spander
Appropriate Ratings: NC17 overall but this chapter... hard R (Yes, I wrote a little snippet, I wonder if anyone is interested?)
Disclaimers: Not my characters. I make no money off this, I'm just playing. I promise to give them a bath and thorough cleaning when I'm done! Joss Whedon is my lord and Master. All hail Joss Whedon.
Short Summary: After the boys have bonded, there's still a need that must be met, can they do it, together? (Yes you need to have been immersed in the rest of the Truth Denied universe for this to make sense, yes, this is Spander)
Word Count: 1262 (As per Microsoft Office 2013 Word Count)
Beta: realtsunamigirl but I edit afterwards, so all errors are mine and mine alone.
X-posted to: perverted_pages, bloodclaim, sxandviolence, spanderslash, darker_vault, sickchicks, btvsatsdotcom, darker_spike, spike_fics, spike_xander, xander_slash, i_need_a_parrot, nekid_spike
Archived Outside LJ At: adult-fanfiction.org and The Spander Files

Comments keep my muse well fed.

He was blind.

The hood laced over his entire head was tight, like a carapace that he couldn’t shed. Every breath past the zippered mouth tinged the air with the scent of leather and the near electric charge as the metal pressed against his teeth when he opened his mouth to pant.

He barely heard the muffled order to stand, but he did, so he obeyed immediately, teetering a little in anticipation. He felt warm, rough hands grip, and turn him, callouses on palms pressing and sliding against his flesh. He shivered, knowing these hands, knowing what was coming. He followed where the hands led and felt himself chained to a cross. He chuckled to himself, then hissed, whimpering and dancing on his toes as both his nipple piercings were gripped painfully tight and twisted around. He forgot the first rule of the hood, silence. His heart hammered in his chest as he tried to calm his breathing, then his nipples were released, and he relaxed against the cross again, silent, a good bitch.

With a silent fall came a kiss of light flogger tails against his back, making him shiver. It meant he’d be ramped, and he’d get to feel oh so good, and maybe, just maybe, he’d get to be pushed to a limit. Sagging against his bindings, he felt the strands bring down a soft peppering of raindrops on his back. He sighed, and sagged further, even as the peppering became sharper, and sharper.

Suddenly the soft toy was replaced with one with teeth and he could feel it gently cutting into his back with every stroke and he rolled his shoulders, almost irritated at this sensation. It felt like a sunburn that was about to heal, but the criss-crossing of the tails on his back made him start to twitch and squirm.

Just as his breath was about to catch, he felt those warm calloused hands on his back again, stroking him, holding him still, tracing what he assumed were fiery marks scratched out of his pale white skin. The hand stroked his hooded head, then backed away again, giving him a chance to gasp in a few deep breaths in anticipation before the soft slap of a single tail curved around his ribs. He heard it crack in the air, breaking the sound barrier, as he felt it stroke his skin. It was the gentle whip, with a soft slapper made out of suede instead of a snapper made out of string which he knew was coming up.

The whip caressed and loved, kissing along his back, his buttocks and thighs. It snuck between them to barely miss his shaved balls, making him dance on his toes in anticipation. Sometimes the whip was allowed to hit his balls, and he wasn’t sure if this time would be one of those times. Eventually, he started to sag against his bonds, not out of boredom, but out of bliss. He was barely aware of the descent of the whip any more, everything was just… perfect.

Then he heard a sharp CRACK and arched his back almost painfully as a signal whip snapped against his back. He let out a muffled whimper, this hurt, but not nearly as much as if he’d started with it, it was just… a new pain. Eventually, stroke after stroke over his body made him sag again. He heard the chains rattle through the hood, then pull taut, as he sagged as far as they allowed.

He moaned helplessly, unaware he’d made a sound, he didn’t even hear the dark chuckle from the whip wielder behind him, and just sagged as he was deluged with an onslaught of signal whip strikes. Each one came with a whistling through the air, then an unmistakable CRACK and searing pain which washed over him in a wave, covering him in a blanket of delicious pain from which he never wanted to wake.

How does he know what I need? I never tell him, ever. But he always knows… he always knows…

Eventually, he was soaring, above his body, above the pain, in a warm, safe place that only trusted people could get him into. Sub drop, he sighed, barely able to string two words together to form a thought. His mind was floating, and he didn’t want to come down, this is what he wanted from the session, this is what he needed, this euphoria, this bliss, this high.

He barely felt the hands taking off the chains from his cuffs, easing him into a strong embrace, carrying him to a comfortable leather couch. A blanket was thrown over him and he snuggled into it, suddenly very cold, shivering uncontrollably, teeth chattering, even if he was drenched in the sweat of a well loved, well worked man. He felt the fingers at the laces of his hood, undoing them, and pulling his hood off. His face was covered in a thick coating of sweat and slobber, but it was being cleaned lovingly with a damp cloth even as his eyes were still covered with a blindfold.

He shivered, unable to stop, as he felt kisses along his sweat drenched hair and newly cleaned cheeks and lips. He hungrily, if clumsily, kissed back, trembling, wanting more, but heard soft laughter. “You know you’re in no shape right now, give it an hour or so…. Close your eyes…”

The familiar honey voice helped still his trembling and he kept his eyes closed as his blindfold was taken off. He heard some clicking, then, “You can open your eyes now, I turned the lights real low.”

Spike blinked his eyes open slowly, long lashes leaving elegant shadows under his eyes as they fluttered. He looked up into the loving eyes of his husband, and burst into tears. “Thank you, oh thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” And hugged Xander as tight as his sub-dropped arms would let him.

“I told you I’d do it darling, shhhh, I just needed a way to be able to do it, and the hood was the way… I couldn’t hit you and just hit you. It felt wrong, like I was hurting you, my love, my darling, my partner…. With the hood, you’re not Spike, you’re my bottom, you’re my boy, you’re my toy, this is what you’re for, and I can do it. I can do it Spike…. And maybe someday I won’t need the hood anymore.”

Xander kissed him, deeply, holding him steady and strong. “I love you and I will do anything to keep you happy. If that means building you a gilded bird cage and tickling you with feathers while you cock-a-doodle-do, I’ll do it. If it means beating you when you need it, I’ll do it. Oh Spike, anything to make you happy.”

Again they kissed, again they shared passion, but for now, they were happy to hold each other on the leather couch and just be. They’d done what the new Priapus chamber was meant for, though with all the benches and couches and the like, they were obviously also meant to watch and fuck, but that would happen later.

Xander ran his hands down a sleeping Spike’s back, he was exhausted. It would happen later, probably as soon as Spike woke up. Now wouldn’t that be another nugget of fun? Xander looked around and saw tie points embedded in the ground of the chamber, in the walls, in the columns. He smiled, fingering the chain. Sex in this room was going to be a new kind of adventure.

All parts found in tags and my memories
Tags: angst, bdsm, post nfa, spander, stripping, truth denied

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