Rating: Mature Audiences – for content and themes
Summary: Anya utters a final garbled set of words that sets off a wish that will alter Xander’s existence forever…
Spoilers: Canon is Post S7 BtVS and S5 AtS.
Warnings: M/M – if you don’t like boys together, don’t play here! *Toys* and angst too… and lovin’ eventually
Disclaimer: Don’t own the characters nor make any money from stories etc, and bow down to their original creators Joss, et al., plus all the wonderful online writers who continue to give the Buffy/Angel verse characters life.
Xander realized he was comfortable, not chained and covered in something soft as he came to. It was dark and smelt of… leather and a little of moth balls and… strangely clove cigarettes and lavender. He remembered being put back in the closet, and wasn’t *that* an ironic term, then recalled Spike’s tears, and took much of his few hours of freedom processing the idea that Spike was alive… and now in control of a whole region of demons… and was… lonely.
If Xander knew nothing he had known that feeling for his whole life, despite good friends and a fiancée whom *he* abandoned, he had always felt the odd one out… seeking companionship… love… someone to embrace and adore him for who he was… but now… was no more. Instead he unzipped his bound member, sucked on the gag that was a regular part of his attire now, and brought himself to a very much deserved climax, with (to his own surprise) his current owner in mind.
Had Spike been there, he would have heard the sobbing then panting and a muffled cry from the cupboard, but the vampire had been ‘required’ at an altercation between two demon factions downtown. His late afternoon arrival (via tunnels) was marked by an obvious gasp of at least three quarters of the two ‘ready to brawl’ groups (both sides including young, human males).
He was over this rubbish, and before anyone even registered the move, had torn out the throats of *both* demon gang leaders and staked them (one in the third eye and the other the base of his tail – containing his heart) for good measure. There was no finesse, simply cold hearted efficiency. The rest of the two gangs were utterly riveted to the spot, so perfectly situated for Spike’s “Dust anyone not loyal an’ turn the idiots who want so much to ‘play’” instructions to his own minions.
Nevertheless, the aftermath had taken some hours to sort out, various young demons being returned to their clans, their sworn allegiance to the Bay Master in some cases causing familial strife, but in the end it seemed to work its way out… as it always did.
Xander heard Spike’s return, but it was just a little too late. He had cried for most of the night amongst the familiar smells and warmth of the old towel and had so hoped to convey the reality that was his now but as the front door slammed behind his ‘owner’, he felt the swift stiffening and realigning of parts (his nether regions in particular). He tried to express his dismay but this merely meant his mouth was in the convenient ‘O’ he had been sporting when purchased.
A single tear would escape post change, but sadly went unnoticed as the vampire dragged him from his storage cupboard, flung him over the end of the nearest chaise lounge, ripped out “Your bloody stopper” as Spike had begun to call it, and rutted so hard and fast that Xander, in a strangely detached mood following the change, wondered if it could actually be captured on film.
The force of Spike’s thrusts lifted the mannequin off the end of the couch, literally impaling him on the vampire’s shaft, and striking Xander’s prostate *over and over*… bliss and hell all over… I did not particularly hurt even though the shaft was a little on the dry side…but oh what he would not do to come… just once more… But that would have to be *next* Sunday!
The following morning, Spike rolled over only to find the mannequin in bed with him and was a little puzzled that he could not remember removing the gag or the toy’s restraint, but put it down to his own state of mind the previous evening. He looked down at the pretty face, a poor replica of an old colleague, a brother in arms, and wondered what had ever happened to the boy to cause him to offer himself as a template for a sex toy.
Spike had company and business to attend to. He refitted the ‘standard storage fittings’, adding ankle and wrist cuffs and the bar restraints, then placed his comfort toy back in the cupboard where Xander stayed like some bizarre puppet, gag and bindings all returned to their rightful spots and forcing the former human to remain open and filled, unmoving even on his three days where there were few hours’ reprieve on his ‘Sad Sundays’.
After three weeks away and the house utterly silent, he heard the minions rushing about pre-empting the distinct smell of leather, tobacco and… Spike. But still he waited in the dark, occasional flashes of light as the door was opened and boots flung in at the other end of the closet, and he wondered if he was to be one of those flash in the pan toys that was forgotten for so long that eventually they were just thrown out. He was pretty sure that if he was put in a garbage crusher that would be the end, his plastic form no match for the powerful compacting plates. He dwelt on the thought for nearly two days, at first dreading, but finally … wishing for it as he lay in the dark.
Thursday evening after nearly a month of neglect, he was taken out and this time simply had his mouth used, rather carefully if he was truthful, by a rather upset Spike who had apparently just ‘been with someone’ but as usual had not satisfied his own needs. That was followed by Saturday and the usual harsh, drunken entry and fast finish. Xander blacked out with the sheer force of the final finish.
It was late Sunday afternoon and he stretched a little and felt a strange ‘plop’, belatedly realising what that meant… He had woken, not in the cupboard, but in Spike’s bed, his owner still embedded in him and now… not.
He panicked, and was unsure what he should do, he had always been in private and bound tight when this happened, and although that had caused its own grief, it was at least clear as to what he needed to do… After the first few weeks of struggling, and consequently returning to his inert form in very uncomfortable positions, only to be forcibly rearranged, he had come to the point where, after just over a year as sex toy, he accepted the fact that he would be either on display, used, or packed away. But now… ?!
Several hours later he was still lying next to a vampire he had thought dead after Sunnydale and was now the Master of the Bay Area?! *And* he had no idea what to do. He wasn’t even sure if he still breathed, fairly certain he didn’t normally, and knew he didn’t feel hungry any more but for a few hours a week. In that moment, Spike ‘the snugly master vampire’ rolled over, pulled him close and re-entered him, his minor movements and temporary heat stimulating the vampire’s early morning interest. And, strangely, the, for now, living breathing sex toy felt the entry completely.
After so many months of being penetrated with no ability to interact, he pushed back into the feeling, foregoing any concept that prior to his change he had not even contemplated an ‘evening with Spike’, his now human form revelled in the freedom to move with the only act that was able to afford any pleasure in his new existence.
Spike roused a little then held him closer, sped up his thrusting and bit down on a neck that had so recently been synthetic.
Spike came hard, condom free and Xander experienced the bliss of coming for the first time since… forever it seemed. The still half asleep Spike sliced his tongue and laved the wound of his lover closed causing his lover to begin to climax, just as Xander’s change occurred, he stiffened and came, but didn’t, immobile once more… the liquid spilling from his permanent erection was his owner’s, Spike’s, ejaculate. His toy state designed to pump any fluids through a single slim channel and give the impression of climax if that was the owner’s desire.
He cried internally with anguish as he lay in the arms of someone he now knew he was coming to truly yearn for, even love, but was unable to express.
As Spike woke properly with his own release, he wondered a little at the blood tasted in his mouth, but put it down to the bitten tongue, realised he had used his toy as a result of a very strange dream then consequently cursed and pulled the doll to the bathroom to unceremoniously flush out the channel, Xander watching in horror as the water being forced into his behind was now forming an elegant arc via his upright member and hitting the shower wall.
Spike dried him off as he might a car or a cooking pot, then lifted him fireman carry style, flung him on the bed and swiftly reapplied his ‘standard storage inserts and restraints’, all the while cursing himself for his own drinking the night before, the willingness to partner with an inanimate object, and his obvious desperate need for a *real* partner.
Nevertheless, Spike positioned Xander carefully, even taking the time to cushion his bound head with an old duffle bag, and cover the torso and unnecessarily hobbled legs with an ancient army blanket. And at the last minute, on a whim, he kissed the cold plastic forehead.
As the door closed, he welcomed the dark… and realised that after that exquisite experience, so cut off, he just wished there might be no more Sundays.