*****

He wondered how they could have been so naive. Even vampires knew that there had to be a reward. There had to be something to balance against the pain, otherwise the result was madness-just madness.

Weeks, it had been, handed off between the Watcher and the Harris git before finally being granted permission to live on his own again. It was reluctant permission at best, since wherever he went, those bloody children always seemed to find him and interfered with the life he was slowly trying to build for himself. Granted, since his attempts at earning his own dosh were pathetically unsuccessful, that was probably a good thing. There was always some job they needed done, some bit of information they'd pay him for. Wasn't much, but it got him blood.

And alcohol.

It was amazing how often bodies bumped each other, stepped, kicked, brushed, pushed, anything'ed each other. Spike knew it, now, thanks to the jolt of warning pain he received every time some mindless moron got in his way. It never mattered what his intent was, trial and error experimentation had proven. It was dependent on what the human felt-if there was pain, no matter how minor, the chip went off.

He should have know there was more to it than that.

He'd found himself a crypt, slowly dressing it up to make it halfway livable, but he spent most of his time drinking. A human bar on the outskirts of town, serving to the rougher element, didn't question his sporadic payments or his desire for a bottle and a corner to drink it in. He spent most nights there, frittering away what little blood-money he had on an unending supply of bottles.

His goal was the reach that one moment, that special moment where liquid oblivion was reached-and he could forget, even for an instant, everything that had followed the cursed day he'd arrived in this little burg.

He hadn't gotten there yet. That was okay-he just needed to drink more.

The rest of the bar learned not to bother him. He never touched the unwelcome visitors, no matter what they were after, but glowing eyes, misshapen features and long, sharp teeth were sufficient to scare most people off. Spike was just glad the chip was limited to actual human contact and not some bolloxy mess about intent or motivation. He could still change his face with ease, one of the open weapons left to him.

So he sat. And he drank. And he wondered if there was any kind of upside possible to his situation.

Then. . . things changed.

It started with a guy. A regular, normal guy who sat down at his table just like dozens of other men had and women had done. Didn't matter what he was after, not at first, because Spike had heard it all before. Just another guy. Some regular, working schmoe with no idea that he'd slid next to a vampire, no clue that had it not been for government intervention, he'd probably be dead.

Spike growled, low and menacing, when a sweaty hand slid under the table to rest on his thigh.

"Hey," the man said quietly. "Not good to drink alone."

"Not interested," he replied shortly. "Sod off." For good measure he flashed a bit of yellowed eye and elongated fang. The guy's laughter told Spike that he was either a blind fool or a moron. That was okay. There were plenty of things he could do to remove the unwelcome visitor that wouldn't result in a drop of physical pain. Idiot Scoobies, thinking he was truly muzzled and chained just because that avenue was barred to him.

"Sure. Pretty boy like you should have someone buying all his drinks." The hand squeezed a bit, sliding up higher.

Alcohol? Well, then, that was a different thing altogether. Spike carefully looked the man over, noting a tolerably clean condition and no obvious problems. It wouldn't hurt to string this guy along, then, see where it got him. . .

Glancing significantly at his nearly empty bottle, he stifled an exultant grin when his new gentlemen friend ordered two more. Nice. Spike drank quickly, noting with amusement the glee that appeared in the other man's eyes. The hand slid higher, beginning to kneed lightly. Five bottles-the total after these two were drained-wasn't going to do more than make the vampire tipsy. However, he played along, beginning to enjoy the role he crafted for himself.

This was an old game, played to perfection in the seventies and early eighties in New York with Dru. Been a while since he'd done it-it hadn't worked well once they'd gone back to Europe, and after that Dru had been ill-but some things never changed. Normally, he used his small frame and prettyboy looks to play the naive innocent, but tonight it was just too much effort. Instead, he became the drunken buffoon, allowing traces of nervousness to convince the other man-Bill-that the only reason he hadn't flown into a homophobic rage was the massive amounts of alcohol in his system.

They chatted awkwardly for another ten minutes, Spike drinking steadily throughout the encounter. Both bottles disappeared, a third handed over with condescending amusement. Bill knew the score, obviously experienced at this, and Spike was comfortable letting him have the lead.

"Hey, buddy, you okay? Lookin' kinda sick, there."

"Yeah. . .mate. Think I need to, um, clean up. Or something." Amusing, to play this type of character. The irony of allowing someone else to use him, a vampire, the ultimate user.

His stomach twisted.

Refusing to dwell on the growing sick feeling-what if this isn't just a suck-and-go? Can't even scratch the fucker if he decides to play it rough-he remembered past encounters. Innocent boys looking for their firsts, picked up by a stranger who looked silkily sensual in the darkened bars and street corners they frequented. The sound of their startled gasps of pleasure as they felt oddly cold touches on their burning skin. Sometimes, if he was feeling magnanimous, he would actually suck them dry-before sucking them dry.

The choices were infinite: whether he was standing or on his knees, mouth or ass, alley way or bathroom. Whether he was the buyer or the bought, innocent or worldly, sweet or cruel. Dru had shook her head at her lover's antics, content to watch and dance to her mysterious music while he played, sometimes even joining in.

Those times had been special.

Concentrating on the prior memories he was unsurprised when he felt himself harden. Vampire, here. Can get it up anytime anywhere. Glancing at the watch he'd nicked from the Watcher-who hadn't yet noticed it missing-he decided he'd been there about five minutes. Good. Shouldn't be much longer now. He'd have to do a good job, secure himself a big tip; the effects of several bottles of alcohol were wearing off, thanks to vampire physiology, and he needed more.

Much, much more.

The door clicked open, Bill smiling with smug glee. Spike made himself look confused and nervous, growing self-disgust warring with arousal. It was what the client wanted, after all, and that's what gave the game its spice.

"This your first time?"

If Spike hadn't been in his role, he would have smirked. Condescending little shit. He remembered the way Dru's eyes had dilated when he'd brutally fucked a bruiser who'd never bottomed in his life. Or when he'd been so gentle, so compassionate and caring when he'd sucked a beautiful teen to his first ejaculating orgasm. That boy's cream had tasted like fine wine, and if it wasn't for Dru's jealousy he'd have turned the lad that night. Instead, since she was jealous, he'd been allowed to live.

"Yes." He began to pant when the heavy belt was undone, jeans open and pushed down just enough to release a pulsing erection. Small, the dispassionate observer in the back of his mind noted neutrally. If anything, small was probably good. It'd been a while since he'd done this.

"Mm, lovely. You're such a pretty boy."

This boy's been screwing before your grandparents were old enough to know the difference between a cock and a cunt. Save the bullshit and just let me get to it. Except Jack, the homophobic straight guy who he was pretending to be, wouldn't have thought that.

"M'not a boy," he mumbled instead, allowing himself to rub lightly over his own erection, wishing he could sweat. Nasty stuff, water dripping over your skin like that, but it would complete the picture. "'m a man."

"You doing this for money, then?"

"Wouldn't say no to a few quid," he responded through quickening breath. He hid a smirk as Bill's heartbeat increased-he'd thought the business aspect would appeal. Several bills were peeled out and waved. "I like you, and you get more."

"Bastard," he whispered, choking the word out and letting the hate grow a touch stronger. Not much more, he cautioned himself. This one isn't sadistic, just a bit on the dominating side.

Bill pushed his jeans down a little further. "You know why I love this bar," he commented as he leaned back against the door. "There are three separate bathrooms back here. One for men. One for women. One for those of-other needs."

Spike made himself look surprised, although what he really wanted to do was roll his eyes. Did this guy actually think that even a confused moron like Jack wouldn't notice that? Or make assumptions? That, and the fact that this particular bathroom was very clean. A small box near the door explained why-and the relatively cheap liquor prices. Every buyer left a bit in that small box, a way to fulfill their fantasies without the dirty, smelly grime of reality.

He'd known of this added feature before he'd ever set foot in this particular bar. Actually, it was part of the reason he'd chosen it.

"That's sick."

"Yeah," Bill laughed. "So are you. C'mere. I want you to taste it."

Spike settled onto his knees, making a show of grimacing and fussing to get himself comfortable. But the show went on too long, a maelstrom of emotion knocking him off balance and out of character.

I'm a vampire! his mind, no longer detached, screamed. Not supposed to be doing this 'les it's fun and I get a good meal out of the deal. Sure as hell shouldn't be doing it cause I'm fucking horny and it's a way to make money. Money! What the hell does a vampire need with fucking money!

A hand clamped on his neck, forcing his head up. "Hey. I already spent good money on you. Don't think you're getting out of this."

The pain helped him focus, banishing the unwelcome thoughts and concentrating on the scene. He let himself look angry, then ashamed, and finally cowed. "I know."

"Good. That's good. Oh, and feel free to make whatever noise you want. This place is soundproofed. No one will disturb us."

The combination was meant to reassure and terrify at the same time, removing the terror of being found out-but increasing the very real fear that if this went wrong, there was no escape. It made the look in Spike's eyes more real, the bitterness just a bit too brittle, since unlike all the other times he'd played this game-it was true.

Bill laughed and pulled the head he still held close enough that Spike's nose brushed an already weeping cock. "No, don't worry. I'll give you plenty of instructions. Lick me. No teeth, just tongue."

He never should have done it. He should have shoved himself free, broken the damned lock and run into the night. He should have started screaming rape-which would have brought someone running, despite what Bill seemed to think. He should have broken through the frosted window and crawled out. He should have done anything except what he did.

Gently, hesitantly, nervously, he let his tongue poke about the bottom of the head that dangled before him.

"Oh, yeah, Jack. Just like that. Do that, all over. Use the flat of your tongue, just like I was fucking popsicle."

At first, it was a cause for concern. The crackling, sparkling jolt that ran from head to toe was just like what he felt when he bumped into someone. Not really pain, per se, but a warning. A hint that if he didn't stop right then, it was going to get a lot worse. As he tasted the sticky precum coating the shaft, he felt that same prickling feeling cover him in gooseflesh he hadn't felt in a hundred years.

If the bloody, buggering chip went off here and now, Spike was in deep trouble.

But it didn't.

"Suck me. Just the head."

The pain of the chip usually felt cold-harsh, icy shocks that he could almost see. This felt. . . warm. Soothing. Nice. As he sealed his lips behind the head, sucking just a bit while his tongue traced patterns around the slit, the feeling grew stronger . . . deeper. . . it felt. . . good. "God, you're a natural," Bill moaned, the single most clich�d bit of drivel that Spike had often sworn he never wanted to hear again, and the next bloke he sucked off that said that was going to get his dick ripped off and shoved down his own throat.

Instead, Spike moaned and sucked harder.

It felt good. It felt very good, a euphoric feeling tickling the edge of his mind as he worked the cock before him. The more moans he got, the more panting grew harsher and the heart beat against its bony cage, the better the feeling. He sank into it, following the gasped out directions instantly, anything to keep that feeling.

Who cared that he was a vampire with no bite? Who cared that the demon community had thrown him out, leaving him stuck between worlds? Who cared that he was alone? Who cared that he was one his knees with a pathetic excuse for a cock in his mouth, all the way in and barely reaching the beginning of his throat? Who cared that he was moaning like a whore, his own erection so far beyond hard that it could have sliced through diamond?

"Knew you'd like it, bitch," Bill babbled above him. "Knew you'd beg for it. They all beg me for it. You love it, you fucking slut. Yeah, that's it, moan for me, fucking scream for me. Oh, god, harder!"

Bill was fucking his face with abandon, now, regardless of the supposedly virgin throat. Practically screaming, he rained down words of use and abuse, hands pulling at gel-crusted hair, holding the head steady while he thrust.

Spike let him, every word, every moment, driving him higher.

It felt like flying. Better then when he'd tracked down the arsewipes he'd been mocked by and tortured them before draining them dead. Better than the first time he and Dru had fucked. Better than the first time he and Angelus had fucked! Every word, every movement Bill made translated into the most extreme form of pleasure he'd ever felt.

"Take it, bitch, take it, take it, take it!"

The pleasure spiraled up, so extreme that now it was almost pain, filling him as warm, salty fluid filled his mouth. He struggled to force himself to swallow, his own body throbbing right on the edge, exquisite pleasure holding him there, keeping him suspended-

"Fuck, you're good!"

He exploded.

*****
Part 2:

He came to slowly, his body still working while his mind had been-gone. Squeeze and thrust and rock and squeeze. Harsh breathing bathed the back of his neck in humid bursts, hands still scrabbling at his sides as he was used. Unconcerned about his body's movements, he tried to place what exactly had happened. He could smell come-his own and a human's-but the frantic, jerky motions behind him seemed to indicate a desperate need for relief not yet found.

Again? Biting back a grin, he started thrusting back harder, fiercer, muscles clenching with a vampire's strength. Again.

"Fuck, yeah," was gasped into his back. "Fucking cunt. Such a goddamned whore."

He moaned in answer, wanting more words, more touches, more anything. More everything.

The unlubed cock jackhammered into his flesh, but any pain had long ago faded into the glowing, golden haze. His body on autopilot, he lost himself to the floating, shimmering warmth, the vivid, euphoric mist of pleasure.

It was good, here. Timeless and good.

As warm human ejaculate coated his bleeding insides, his own body began to spend without a single touch.

When he came to again, he was being led into an office building. Blinking dazedly, he tried to figure out what he'd missed this time.

Not that it really mattered.

"Jack? Fuck it, he's lost again. Man, I wish I knew what this bastard does." He had to smile at that, a groggy little smile at the question that was routinely asked at the very least once or twice a night. Usually by his handles, sometimes by his customers. Everyone thought he was on some kind of drug, one that made him the perfect sexual partner in bed and a dazed, malleable mannikin when he wasn't.

A woman's voice with a child's intonations whispered at him from the memories he could no longer really access, "Pleasure, my Spike. Save your wicked tortures for your Princess; use pleasure and watch their minds shatter and break, crack and crumble upon the ground. Play with them, my Spike, make them beg for you to hurt them just a little bit more."

He was dimly aware that it wasn't supposed to be like this. That he was. . . different. He knew he fed off a thick, rubyred liquid that none of the other whores would touch, and sometimes he even remembered that he wasn't precisely human. Sometimes, when he woke up just as the sun set and was led to the bathroom by the pretty girl with the long black hair, he remembered that his name wasn't Jack and he wasn't a whore and he was supposed to be somewhere. . . ask someone something. . .

But then he'd kneel between the pretty girl's thighs as the shower rained down on them and drink from her while she washed his hair. Afterwards, while she dried and dressed him, he would remember nothing more than that pleasuring others was a good thing.

He was dressed in a suit, he noticed as they passed the security guard and climbed up several flights of stairs. He was clean, too-his last customer had enjoyed covering him in white, stringy fluid and then laugh as he tried to lick himself clean-so a substantial bit of time had passed. He held up his arms, admiring the black cloth against his own deathly pale skin. The pretty girl with the black hair didn't like his truly white coloring but said nothing when Kane came around.

He stumbled at the thought of Kane, shivering in remembered fear. Kane liked for him to attack the tall, burly man, no matter how much he didn't want to. It hurt. It always hurt, like icy blue stilettos pushing through his eyes and temple into his brain. Kane scared him because Kane never wanted pleasure, just pain.

He didn't like pain.

"Jack." He raised glassy eyes to look at the waist of his current handler-Kevin, he thought his name was. Maybe. The one that always smelled of saw dust and machinery. Names were ephemeral things, but scents were still useful identifiers. He studied the man's cock through his jeans-already halfhard, just from being near him. The dopey smile altered into something more predatory, a jolt of warmth edging through the cloud.

"Yes?" he purred, moving closer while his eyes never left the tightening jeans. Handlers were allowed to use him if they wanted to-so long as it didn't interfere with his next customer, anyway. Some handlers came early to take him in their cars or against a wall, enjoying the virgintightness he returned to every single night. Sometimes they got in trouble for this, since wealthy customers wanted to enjoy that unusual ability for themselves; dustmetaloilsweat rarely took him, though. He wasn't sure why. He liked that smell, of sunlight and bodies that worked hard.

Kevin took a step back. "This one's a CEO on a longdistance conference call. Don't make a lot of noise, if you can. He'll tell you what he likes and doesn't like." A gentle pat on his shoulder and Kevin was knocking on the door and taking himself back down the stairs.

He watched him go, wondering why he missed the scent of sunlight so much.

"Ah, very prompt. Jack, they said your name was?"

Two seconds to study the middle aged man who opened the door. Saltandpepper hair, a thin mustache on a hard, demanding face. A suit cut to fit his aging, but still decently in shape body perfectly. Grey eyes behind thin glasses, studying him equally as intently in a few quick flickers.

Submissive, then. Demure, quiet, and obedient.

"Yes, sir," he said, linking his hands behind his back and lowering his head to stare at the floor.

"Good. You may call me William. Follow me."

He remained a proper one step behind, the purposeful stride only confirming what he'd initially guessed. This one would give few instructions, little praise, and expect instant obedience. That was okay; he didn't need the client to tell him what to do, most of the time. Once the initial confusion was passed, he knew what the client wanted because the better they felt, the better he felt.

"Would you like something to drink?" The large office room was elegant and spartan. A large desk dominated the room, covered with papers and a hightech computer.

"No, sir."

"Once the meeting starts, I will not wish to be interrupted. If you wish something, you will have to get it yourself." That was interesting, he thought as he began stripping off the fine suit. The client watched avidly, despite how economical his movements were. Normally, refreshments were out of the question. The cursory question was usually just that-cursory and without real meaning behind it. This offer was genuine. Should he want food or drink later-the well stocked bar and small refrigerator told him that many choices were available-he would be allowed to simply stand and get what he wished.

That kind of freedom was unusual. He wasn't sure what to make of it.

"This call looks to be long and complicated. I'd be grateful if you didn't listen to anything that was said."

"Of course, sir," he said immediately. He'd long ago perfected the art of hearing without listening, waiting for any comments that were actually directed at him. "Where would you like me, sir?" Dirty talk would be wasted on this one, especially once the call began.

"I'd like you to suck me. Kane was quite effusive with your ability to last for a long time; was he lying?"

"No, sir." This would be good. Hours and hours with a cock in his mouth, his untiring body pleasing his client and pleasing himself. . . Yes, this would be very good.

"I also may ask you to ride me. It depends on how frustrating the meeting is. I will come frequently-please do not make a mess on my floors." Another interesting bit of freedom-if he didn't want to swallow, was the implicit understanding-he did not have to.

Not that he wasn't going to.

"Of course not, sir."

"Undress me from the waist down." There was no teasing while he removed shoes, socks, pants, and underwear, folding them neatly and placing them on a nearby chair. William didn't want teasing.

"Now, I must sit at my desk. Despite the late hour, it is conceivable that others will arrive-my vice president is due back from a trip and may stop in to say hello-so if you do not object, I would like you to be under the desk."

That was a blatant lie, easily readable behind the thin lenses and the suddenly twitching cock, but there was no need to call him on the kink-the client would get what the client wanted. After all, the better the client felt, the better he did. Impassive, he slid his naked body under the darkcherry wooden desk, crouching in the corner while William seated himself and grew comfortable. There was a great deal of room underneath the desk and he could see that this was not the first time William had indulged this particular kink-a nicely sized pocket had been hollowed out of the desk, so that bobbing heads would not thump against the top of the desk.

That was noisy, after all.

"You may begin when you wish."

Confused at the gesture of-was it respect?-he ignored the implicit choice and leaned forward. Nuzzling into slightly spread thighs, he licked his way up to find an extremely hard cock waiting for him. Smiling, already anticipating the bliss, he sank down and took it deep within his throat.

"Uhhhh. How-how long can you do that?"

Swallowing and pulling back slightly, he said, "I can hold my breath a long time," he said with just a hint of heat in his voice. "If you wish it, Sir?"

Hands gripped his hair, forcing him back down so that his nose rested on crisp pubic hair. He hardly moved, sucking lightly and tracing his tongue along the vein in an absent kind of pleasure. He would have to lift up occasionally to take aid in the suction but otherwise. . .

"That. . . that's good."

He moaned lightly in agreement, knowing it would make the client even hotter, confident in his ability to give pleasure.

"Teach them, teach them, my Spike. Teach them like my Daddy taught me. Such beautiful music in their screams. . .I hear it calling me, my Spike. Can't you hear it? Make them dance for me, my Spike. Can you make them dance? Around and around to make you happy, every thought on pleasing you."

"I know how to make them scream, luv, but making them want it? That's-"

"Like my Daddy. I miss my Daddy. Can we go find him again?"

"Er, sure, Dru. We can go find your Daddy. I'll bloody well stake him myself."

"My Daddy made me love the pain. Make them love you."

"By hurting them?"

"No, silly Spike. By pleasing them. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts. Every bit of salty life given is a bit that you can take. Take it, my Spike. Make them dance for Princess?"

For two and a half hours he knelt there, cock in his throat occasionally playing with the balls resting against a plush leather seat. William came several times like that, never losing a bit of his erection. One time William pressed a bare foot against his bare groin, rubbing lightly in the sticky cum there.

"You enjoy this?" William was on hold. True to his word, two people had come in and out; every time the door closed on their retreating backs, hands had grabbed his head to pull it roughly while cum filled his mouth. That had been very nice, since he had had to do nothing but gently suck, yet the pleasure had been. . . intense.

William pushed him off, rolling the chair back slightly so that he could crawl out. He immediately climbed onto William's lap, rocking against the erection that hadn't flagged once. "Yes, Sir."

"There's lube in the drawer."

Retrieving it, he quickly prepared himself and sank back down.

"Oh, god! You're a virgin!"

"No, Sir," he contradicted, his arms straining as he raised and lowered himself in an awkward position. He must have eaten during his lost time, that always made him heal faster. "I am not."

"God. Oh, god. You're so tight. Gonna have to-ask Kane for-you, again," William panted.

Silent, he increased the tempo-slightly, the angle wasn't good for him-arching back as the pleasure he gave William returned to him a hundredfold.

"Sir? Are you still there, Sir?"

"Yes, Lucy, I'm here." William forced himself to concentrate, despite body riding him slowly, carefully. The purpose here was not to get the client off as quickly as possible, nor to devise ways to torture through pleasure. The client simply wanted something to distract him while he worked through the current business negotiation. So movements were never fast, never loud, never more than a pleasant background sensation while the mind was occupied.

Of course, once the phone was hung up. . .

Cool, smooth hands grabbed him, pushing him back against the desk while the barely-felt returning thrusts became long, hard, and deep. He moaned, exposing his neck and arching his back, barely aware that this would please the client. His own cock was hard again and William grabbed the base of it, squeezing almost to the point of pain. Thrashing under the silent command, he focused on what it did to William, to have this much control over him-

And the pain went away.

That was why he didn't care to remember anything but how to please whoever was currently using him to get off. He hurt people all the time-he knew he did, because each time he received a jolt that knocked him to his knees and left him panting for air he was certain he did not need. The pain was searing, blinding, little blue shocks spiderwebbing through his mind.

The pleasure was healing balm for this pain.

He lost himself in bliss, free of pain and full of joy, knowing that he was making someone else happy. Giving someone else pleasure. Vaguely aware of William coming, he was jolted back to the present when a hot mouth settled over the head of his erection.

The hand at the base of his cock stroked up and then down again.

He screamed and blacked out.

". . . to ask Kane for you again, Jack. You were perfect-just like he said you would be." Dressed, he nodded dumbly as an envelope was handed to him and he was eased out the door. Wondering again how much time had passed, he slowly climbed down the stairwell.

"Great. Just great. 'Sure, Kevin, I'll do you a favor. That's what buddies do, we help each other out'." A youthful, frustrated voice floated up to reach him. "Of course, he's payingme, but still. Helping a friend. Friendly, guytypething for Xander to do. I figure I help him move some furniture, maybe-I don't know, whatever guys do. Which I don't know since I have no guy friends!"

One more flight. He was considering not leaving by that exit and just returning home on his own-this handler was loud and seemed to be pacing a lot, and he could smell nervous fear. That usually meant a brutal night was still ahead of him and he was tired and hungry after being with William for six hours.

"Dammit, Kevin, if I get bitten by a vampire because I'm out in the bad part of town at four in the morning without my stakes, I am so going to find you and bite you. First on my list, that'd be you. Then I'd go find Anya. Oh, yeah, definitely biting her. You'd think a former vengeance demon wouldn't-"

He's stopped by the doorway, fighting through the everpresent haze to make a rational decision about what he should do. Standing with his muscles taut to keep the warm come in his cool body, he's caught the scent of this new handler.

Saw dust. Oil. Machinery. Wood. Spicysharp scent that was water, but wasn't. Lingering perfume and a hint of a man's cologne. Sunshine. Laughter.

Familiar.

The scent drew him outside before he'd fully decided to, mincing the last few steps when a darkhaired, darkeyed boy looked at him with a poleaxed expression.

"Spike!"

*****
Part 3:

�Shit!� The handler hurled himself backward, cursing again as he impacted against a wall and slid to the ground, holding his ankle. �You know what? Screw this. You want to kill me, Spike? Then just kill me. I have no stakes because I am a moron and I just give up.�

It took a moment for him to realize that the boy was addressing him. Then the request filtered through. Did this one think�that he could�

Pain was bad!

The handler flinched back when he knelt on the dirty ground, pushing large, work-roughened hands away to examine the handler�s ankle. It was wrenched, he decided after carefully probing it, and the calf muscle was cramping. The ankle he could do little about, but. . .

�What the fuck!�

He ignored the attempts to struggle, intent only on easing the tight muscle, finding the one point where it was twisted and taut and kneading it until it was loose and warm and putty under his touch. He hummed lightly when he felt it uncramp, a low wave of pleasure spreading through him.

�Um, Spike? Spike?�

Was his name Spike? It was a better name than Jack, he decided dazedly. Spike sounded. . . right. He was Spike. �Yes?� he asked because this handler obviously expected a response. He didn�t know why this handler was frightened of him�he could smell that clearly�but fear and pain were bad things and he was only supposed to give pleasure.

�What are you doing?�

�You had a cramp, Sir,� he explained as he spread his massage up past the knee to work strong thigh muscles. He could feel random twitches of nervousness firing under his fingers, but there was no pain in his mind, just pleasure, and he knew this handler would not refuse.

�Sir? Spike, you disappeared two months ago. Willow made us all go look for you, even though Buffy was pretty happy with you potentially dust and Giles didn�t care since it saved him money and�what the hell are you doing?�

The last was squeaked and Spike hid his grin as he too felt the sharp jolt of pleasure when he brushed against a straining erection. Arousal mixed with the heady scent of sunlight and laughter, creating a mixture that smelled almost as good as the rising pleasure felt. He wanted to please this handler more than most, especially if it meant he got more of that lovely smell.

�Tight,� he murmured as he worked. �Too tight. Need to relax, Sir. Let me help you relax.�

�Spike, let go of me.�

�Yes, Sir.� Masking his disappointment, he dropped his head submissively and waited for instructions. Kane had taught him that disobedience was very, very bad.

�Okay.� The boy scrambled to his feet and began to pace. �Kevin got hurt at work, decided it�s hard to do his night job�whatever that is�when he�s at the hospital with three cracked ribs and a concussion. He asks me to fill in. Okay, great, and I get three hundred dollars too, cause I�m his buddy and his foreman and he trusts me not to�not to talk about it. Shit. I�m supposed to pick something up, deliver it to a hotel and get my money. And I am an idiot.�

Stopping right in front of Spike, who had remained kneeling on the ground, the young man swallowed nervously. �Spike, get up.� He rose, head still down, hands clasped behind his back. �Spike, what did you do, upstairs?�

�I was with a client, Sir.� He was starting to become a bit nervous. He�d never had a handler talk to him this much, unless they were giving him orders. Few ever made conversation, since he would only answer a direct question, most content to talk at him when they weren�t getting what they wanted. Besides, it was time to return home. The girl with the dark hair would let him drink from her before sleep, if he was good.

�A client. What did you do with this client?�

�Sir?�

�Did you�did you have sex with him?�

�Yes, Sir.� While there were some clients who requested him for non-sexual purposes, those were quite rare.

�What the hell happened to you?� the handler breathed, finally looking at him. Spike could feel dark eyes flickering over his skin, almost palpable in their intensity. He wanted to shift and cover himself, but he hadn�t been given permission so instead he remained still. �You disappear for two months and when you reappear, I find the friendly little favor I�m doing for Kevin is providing escort for hookers and that�that one of them is you. Spike.�

Spike didn�t attempt to analyze the words said to him; they were not commands, therefore he could successfully ignore them. But he longed to see if sunshine and laughter tasted as good as it smelled.

�And you have no idea what I�m talking about, do you?�

Spike realized that required an answer. �No, Sir. Should I, Sir?�

The handler shivered but Spike didn�t think it was from cold. �Don�t call me that. It�s�it�s just creepy.�

Spike opened his mouth to agree�but then hesitated, seeing the trap between this handler�s request and Kane�s many lessons. �Very well,� he said uncomfortably.

�So, uh. Right. I should take you to Giles. He�ll want to know about this.� Dark eyes now looked very uncomfortable. �Spike, do you�do you know who I am?�

�No, S�no.�

�You don�t. Okay, well, I�m Xander. Do you know who you are?�

�I am Jack,� he answered easily, already anticipating the bliss of following orders. �I am whatever you desire. I belong to Kane.�

Xander choked, coughing roughly, pounding on his own chest. Spike immediately caught the twitching body and held it firmly while the spasm eased. This handler was so warm, heat burning through their combined layers of clothes. He rubbed a broad back soothingly, wishing he had permission to touch skin instead of cotton cloth. This handler smelled so good�

�And that is possibly the scariest thing you�ve ever�are you rubbing my back?�

�Yes.�

�Okay, that�s enough. We are going to Giles. He can deal with you. Come on.�

Spike followed obediently, but he was nervous; going to �Giles� implied that he would not be going home. Kane would be there to inspect him in less than an hour and if Spike was not there, Kane would be very upset.

When Kane was upset, Spike hurt.

He said nothing as he was led to an old, beat up car. Seating himself in the passenger seat, he tried to remember if he could do or say anything in this situation. The boy was muttering to himself, now, about things Spike didn�t understand: crazy vampires and know-it-all watchers. He did understand the comments about hookers and tricks�those were frequent topics when he was being transported.

They drove silently for almost fifteen minutes�in the opposite direction. �What is it, Spike?� the boy finally snapped.

�Please, Sir, it hurts.� This was wrong. He needed to go home before Kane arrived, to be ready to present himself. He had to, the pain already building along his spine, radiating across his skin.

�Yeah, well, we�ll be back at Giles� soon,� was the not at all soothing response. It was meant to be, Spike could tell that, mixed in with discomfort and reluctance. But he was hurting and the only way he knew how to stop the hurting was. . .

�Please, Sir,� he said again, sidling along the seat. A direct order could�and would�stop him, but in the absence of those orders he had a limited amount of freedom.

�I told you not to call me that,� the young man growled in a way that was echoingly familiar. �We need to get to Giles.�

Spike moved even closer. He knew that this was wrong and that he�d be punished for the presumption. This handler had repeatedly denied interest in using him, despite how aroused he was. It wasn�t an attempt to play coy, either, not with the amount of nervousness and innocence Spike could read in sweaty palms and tapping fingers. But he hurt. And no one could turn him down, once he started making them feel good.

Mutters were the only sounds as they drove through the small business district before entering the freeway. Spike gave a brief glance behind him, towards Kane and the black-haired girl who tasted so sweet, but he didn�t have orders to come home�merely tradition and the specter of Kane�s early morning inspections. His orders were to obey and to please, both of which he was doing.

Watching his handler settle into his seat more, Spike surmised they would be on the deserted freeway for some time. Perfect. His careful shifting, leaving his body centimeters away from the young man, had been noticed but not yet commented on.

His left hand slid onto jean-covered legs and began to knead.

�I�m not going to be one of your johns.� The words were quiet, lacking the manic energy from before. Spike was a little disconcerted by the change, but he felt no pain. If there was no pain, then there was no reason to stop.

�No, Sir. You are a handler.�

�A handler,� the word contained such loathing and disgust that Spike almost recoiled. Not quite, though; the pain was growing too quickly. �And what does a handler do?�

�They take me where I am supposed to go.� Careful movement up near hipbones and a bulge that Spike was desperate to taste.

�So they don�t pay for you?�

�No, Sir,� he said. His lower body began a slow slide across the seat, moving so that he was optimally placed.

�I told you not to call me that. Shit. William the Bloody calling me �sir� and�oh, god.� The car swerved violently when Spike�s gentle massage traveled up to knead something more. . . responsive. �Oh, my god.� The boy was breathing harshly, now, face flushed, hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel as he forced the car to behave while he was expertly stroked and fondled through his pants. �D-do you do this f-for all your h-h-handl-lers?�

Spike sank a little lower, body now fully stretch across the seat. �If they wish it,� he breathed, making sure the shirt was rucked up enough that sensitized skin would feel the cool air. He could feel this handler�s turmoil: the mental desire to push away, but the overpowering physical desire to stay right where he was. Spike chose to concentrate on the physical, reveling in the growing arousal as his own pain faded into nothing.

�They wish��

�So long as I am not marked,� he explained as the first button was eased open, �handlers are allowed to do as they wish.� The car was now careening down the empty road, unable to stay in a single lane as the driver�s erection was freed�

�and immediately inhaled.

�Oh, my god!�

Spike was aware of the car skidding to a stop but concentrated instead on working throat muscles around the hard flesh he�d swallowed. This young man was painfully erect, like he hadn�t come in days, and Spike�s experience told him that a quick orgasm now would lead to at least one leisurely one immediately afterwards. If they were going to go to this �Giles� and away from Kane, Spike needed to keep the pain at bay.

Fondling a heavy sac, Spike sucked harshly, denying himself the taste of precum in favor of coaxing out the orgasm that boiled within. The handler babbled above him, nonsensical words that were too chaotic to form commands. Hands, work roughened and smelling of sawdust and plaster, twisted in his hair, pulling on the close-cropped locks but to Spike, it was not pain. There was never any pain so long as he gave pleasure, no matter what the handlers or clients might do to him.

When Spike felt the balls he played with begin to rise and tighten, he immediately swooped down so that the entire length was deep within his mouth and throat. The pain had faded with the first gasp from above him, but he refused to allow himself to become lost in the growing pleasure. That could happen later, when he was far from Kane and needed the escape. For now, though, he wanted this handler to orgasm, wanted him to feel the intense pleasure Spike knew he could offer.

Swallowing repeatedly, he waited for the telltale hitch in words and breath. When it came, he raised himself up so that only the head remained engulfed and sucked. Hard. One hand wrapped around the pulsing shaft to jack it furiously, still kneading at the sac; he wanted to taste this, needed to taste it.

The handler screamed when the orgasm finally hit, jerking mindlessly as his body released itself. Spike swallowed as quickly as he could, unwilling to lose a single drop of cum that tasted like the ruby liquid the dark-haired girl gave him. It tasted like pure sunshine and silly affection and something he didn�t know he craved until it coated his tongue and his throat. He never needed to taste anything else again, because this was all he�d ever want. . .

�. . . wake up, Spike, you have to wake up!�

The command jerked him back to awareness, a jagged note of pain rippling his skin when he realized the command had been given before and he had not immediately obeyed.

�Are you awake? Answer me!�

�Yes, Sir,� he said slowly, pulling away from the half-hard cock he hadn�t released when he�d passed out. �I�m awake.�

�Good.� Large hands grabbed his shoulders and threw him to the other side of the car. �You wanna tell me what the hell that was about?� the handler snarled. Dark eyes snapped in the dimly lit confines of the car, hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel, the anger and confusion thick in air that smelled of male musk and cum. �Answer me, dammit!�

Spike curled into the seat, whimpering as he waited for the blows. Only Kane was ever this angry with him and Kane hurt him. �I�m sorry, Sir,� he said with as much strength as he could. Already, he could feel the pain spreading down into his spine, radiating along nerves and veins to make his skin sizzle. �Forgive me,� he begged, �forgive me.�

Silence was his only reply.

After a moment he uncurled enough to see his handler sitting motionless in the driver�s seat. Pants still undone, boxers still yanked down to expose him to the night air. Angry. But more than angry�frightened.

Spike didn�t understand the fear, didn�t understand why he wasn�t being punished. Obviously, he�d done something wrong�that meant punishment. If he was lucky, sometimes the ones punishing him would enjoy it, but Kane knew about that. Did Kane know about this? He hadn�t meant to do anything wrong, but it had hurt, hurt so much. Not knowing if he was obeying or not, because this handler was so strange and it had hurt!

�Hey, hey!� He flinched away from the hands that reached for him, burrowing against the door. Senseless, keening noises were coming from his own throat, but he didn�t know how he started them let alone how to stop them. �Calm down.�

Orders he knew. Forcing his body to calm, he swivelled until he was seated properly. Turning expectantly to his handler, he waited for more.

Eyes still black from orgasm and anger blinked at him, patently surprised by the instant obedience. �O-kay. Let�s start from the beginning, all right? Who are you, what are you, and what the hell you just did.��I give pleasure.� When blinking turned into a raised eyebrow and an expectant expression, Spike understood that this handler wanted details. All of them.

So he told him.

Twenty minutes later, Xander sat in his seat, completely stunned. �It makes you feel�good?� Spike nodded, not really understanding the �it�. �Buffy�Buffy has to know this; that the chip isn�t just a �No, No, Bad Spike�-thing but a. . . oh, god.� Sounds of scrabbling and the door popped open just in time for Xander to vomit.

Training took over and Spike was instantly beside the heaving body, holding it until the spasms passed. When Xander abruptly pushed him away, Spike whimpered and curled up by his door, again. This handler didn�t like him. He was bad. Bad meant punished.

The pain started again.

�Spike? What�it hurts? It hurts now? But you didn�t hurt me! I just wanted you to�� Xander wiped his mouth and shut the car door. �Answer my questions, Spike,� he began carefully. �Are you hurting because I pushed you away? Because I hurt you?�

�No, Sir.� Bad, he was bad. He wasn�t supposed to call this handler Sir, yet he�d said that so many times. But it was habit and instinct and Kane had told him that he had to call clients �Sir� and �Ma�am� unless they had other names they preferred. Except handler�s weren�t clients. . .

�Okay, not because I hurt you. Think. Come on, think. I can do this. Where�s Willow when you need her? And how am I going to explain this? Hey, guys, sorry to disturb you at four in the morning but I was doing this favor for my friend. What favor? Well, let�s not get into that, but while I was trying to help him out, I found Spike. He�s a little different then before. How you ask? See, there�s kinda this whole needing to�oh!�

Face lit up in surprise, Xander turned back to give Spike a long, measuring look. �If you make me feel good, that means you feel good, right? Okay. Here�s what we�re gonna do. You are going to come here and, um, massage my hand and arm, okay? That�ll make me feel good, and you feel good, and everyone�s happy. Okay?�

Nodding slowly, Spike slid back across the seat to take the hand pushed out towards him. Cautiously, unsure of what was being asked, he began to press and knead skin turned hard from life and work. Calluses offered resistance as he tried to make tense muscles relax and go slack.

The car started, pulling back onto the road as Spike concentrated exclusively on the flesh offered to him. This was good, he decided dazedly. Better if he could suck on the cock that tasted so good, or even ride it, better to be working for an orgasm, but this was good too. Xander enjoyed this and that kept the pain mostly away. Spike closed his eyes and lost himself in the feel of warm skin and tough, strong muscle underneath it.

�I never thought I�d say this,� Xander said, as the car pulled into the driveway leading to an apartment complex, �but we�ll fix you, Spike. I promise we�ll fix you.�

*****