Title: Touch

Author: Jameschick

Pairing: Spike/?

Rating: NC17 baby!

Disclaimer: Not mine. But oh, how I wish they were!

Summary: Spike gets a surprise.

He was blind. Not permanently, though. There was a silk scarf wrapped around his head, effectively cutting off his sight. It felt nice, soft against his skin.

He was deaf. Again, not permanently. He could feel something - cotton possibly - plugging his ears. He wondered why whoever it was that had him had gone to all this trouble.

He could smell menthol, like the stuff you rub onto your chest when you are ill. It was all he could smell. By the faint burning sensation on his upper lip, he assumed that someone had put it on him, effectively blocking out his sense of smell.

He was gagged, but not uncomfortably so, with another silk scarf tied around the lower portion of his head, trapping his tongue inside his mouth - rendering him unable to even moisten his dry lips.

He was bound - incapable of moving. He could feel the rub of soft leather around his wrists as he tried to move his arms. His legs were similarly restrained, leather cuffs around his ankles as well.

But he could feel. He was thankful for that. Especially when he felt warm liquid being poured onto his back. Soft touches from hot hands spread the liquid over his lower back. Sweeping strokes rubbed up the length of his spine and over his shoulders. The knowledge of how he must look - naked, helpless, at the mercy of an unknown assailant - was unbelievably erotic.

He moaned as the hands left his back, he felt the loss of sensation like a knife in the gut. He felt utterly bereft, adrift in a void of nothingness.

Then there was the warm liquid again, oil he assumed by the slick feel as it was worked into his skin. The hands came back, smoothing it into his skin. Over rounded buttocks, down firm, nearly hairless thighs. The hands swept down his calves, rubbing the arches of his feet before trailing back up again.

The hands were inside his spread thighs now. Light, teasing caresses almost touching where he needed them to touch, but not quite. He tried to move, to make those tormenting fingers touch him.

Then they were there, spreading his cheeks and gently pushing against his opening. He would have shouted out his victory if he were able. Then the fingers abandoned their post, moving down, over the patch of highly sensitive skin below. He felt more of the oil being drizzled along his cleft, dripping down over his hole and onto his swollen testicles. He knew he was moaning and thrusting - as much as he was able in his restraints.

Fingers back now, spreading the oil, dipping inside, making his eyes roll back in his head behind the blindfold. The other hand came into play, rubbing the oil into his balls, moving up and underneath him, slicking his straining flesh. He felt his features shift, fangs tore through the scrap of silk in his mouth. Not enough to destroy it, though.

The hand underneath him continued to pump his cock as more fingers were inserted into his slick channel. He was thrashing his head from side to side, growling out his frustration. Why wouldn’t the person just fuck him already!

The hand left his body and he cried out behind his gag. He felt tears build up behind his closed eyes, it was torture. He was beyond the point of stopping, he needed to cum. He was ready - willing - to beg if only his tormentor would come back, touch him again.

He felt the heat of another body cover him. Something much larger than fingers pressed against his slick opening. He thrust back as much as he could, begging with his body the way he couldn’t with his voice.

Then he was filled, stretched almost beyond his endurance. It was heaven, it was hell. The man remained still - buried deep inside him but unmoving. He wanted to shout at him, order him to get on with it already. He could do no more than growl his displeasure. His tormentor must have understood because he began to move.

He was being split open and fucked raw. He hadn’t realized how much he missed this until now; it had been decades since he’d been with a man, longer than that since he’d bottomed. It was almost perfect, he only needed one thing.

The hand was back on his cock, stripping it with forceful strokes. He cried out as he came, the last thing he felt before darkness claimed him was the man’s hot seed spilling inside of him.

When he awoke again, he was free of the restraints. His eyes were unbound, and the gag was gone. He could tell by the smell that he was in the Slayer’s basement. He touched the skin of his back, his ass, and his legs. He didn’t feel the slickness of the oil. In fact, he was almost ready to imagine he had dreamt the entire thing.

Except he could now smell what he hadn’t been able to smell before. The faint scent of cinnamon still clung to his skin from the oil, and beneath that was the heavy scent of the man who had taken him.

Xander.

Oh, he was going to have fun with this.