The bruises were like a rainbow.  The oldest were faint, dirty yellow and wine-sick brown, disappearing into skin that was golden even where it wasn’t burnt by the warm California sun.  Blues and greys covered the rest of it, hints of blood-red of broken capillaries oxidized vividly against the darkness.

Spike liked the fresh ones best.  So dark they were nearly black at the center, fading out into a purple that glowed when the lights were out.  The edges were almost lilac in color, the borders always raised slightly and they throbbed in time with the pulse.

He placed his thumb on a particularly intense one and pressed.

Xander groaned, hips lifting up from the bed in response.  His neck was already tilted back and corded from the sock stuffed between his lips—boy could get loud, sometimes, and they didn’t want any repeats, did they?

Smiling proudly, Spike pressed a bit harder, one part of his mind waiting for the slight twinge that said he’d gone as far as his electronic leash would allow.  Wasn’t anywhere as far as he’d like, but certainly farther here, and like this, than anyone but them knew about.  When it fired, he lessened the pressure for a moment, before doing it again.

“Like that, pretty?  Like me hurting you?”

Xander whimpered through his gag, eyes wet and wide in the darkness.  Human eyes couldn’t see much of anything, with only a hint of light seeping under the door to the house proper, but Spike could see just fine.  Made a lovely sight, stretched and tied down tight.

“More, is it?  Of course.”  His free hand slid down to cup tightly bound balls, cupping the shaved skin gently, teasingly.  Eyes fixed on Xander’s, Spike smirked in the darkness and tightened his fingers.

Xander screamed.

When the threads of pain down his spine changed from cold to warm, Spike let go, crooning to his pretty boy and riding along a trembling thigh.  “Like you so smooth,” he whispered.  “Did it hurt, getting waxed for me?  Did you like it?  Bet you did, dirty boy.”  He stroked where he’d squeezed before, soothing the inflamed skin.  Finding another dark purple bruise near Xander’s stomach, he pressed down until he felt the organs underneath fluttering with the need to breathe.  “Did you get hard when they spread you open?  When they ripped away all that hair, made you smooth and clean and young for me?  Were you dripping?”

He was dripping now, cock pressed up close to his belly and a dark, angry red.  Spike fondled it, loving the feel of soft, plant skin stretched over iron.  “Big cock, too big for such a little boy like you.  What’re you gonna do when you’re all grown up, then?  No girl’s gonna let you stick a monster thing like that inside her.  No girl’s gonna want you at all, is she?  Not a broken thing like you.”

A fresh wave of salt in the air rushed out when Spike’s fingers found two big bruises on the pectoral.  Right above the thump, thump, thump of a fast beating heart.  Always went so fast, that heart, baby-bird fluttering, desperate to stay aloft and not plummet on the rocks below.  No fear-scent, though.  Never that.

“Gonna have to learn new tricks, aren’t you?” Spike continued.  “Nothing to stick your cock in, so you’re gonna have to be the one who gets stuck.  That’s what good boys do, you know.  They spread their legs for their daddies.”

Xander’s legs couldn’t spread further, tied down like they were, but Spike could feel the increase in the trembling that meant Xander was trying to obey.  Spike shushed him, lifting his hands long enough to grab handfuls of mottled-colored skin, twisting and pinching in a mockery of a massage.  Xander arched and screamed into the gag, eyes so wide the whites glowed in the dim light.  Spike just worked harder, confident the chip wouldn’t smack his wrists for this—it hadn’t yet, after all.

He didn’t stop until Xander was a limp puddle of whimpering groans, the sweet rush of blood to the surface telling Spike there’d be new bruises by the time this night was over.  Good.  Progress, then.

“You’re a very good boy, aren’t you, Xander?  Want to make your Daddy happy?”  Releasing the bruised pectoral in favor of rubbing his nipple, Spike drew his other hand all the way down Xander’s body, skating around erection and balls to tickle the skin right behind.  Then further back, to skin that hadn’t been so smooth the day before, and finally to a grasping, wrinkled opening that jerked towards his fingers.  “Oh, yeah, that’s my boy.  Want me to show you?  Teach you how to let someone slip between these thighs, find a nice place for their cocks to go?  Big ones, too.  Adult ones.  Not like your little boy prick.”

Xander nodded his head, as much as his stretched out position allowed, movements frantic and jerky.  His ass pushed down again, searching for the fingers that played over smooth, sensitive skin.  It’d taken weeks for him to earn enough money for a trip to the only salon that’d wax a boy from the neck down, and he’d been caught by them upstairs before he could find Spike.  It was never a good idea to play after those meetings, so Spike had let Xander wank him until the boy’s arm was sore, both of them drifting off into an unhappy sleep.

But Spike could always make the best of a bad situation.

“Were you thinking of me?” he asked, lightly playing over the opening.  “When he slammed into you?  Those were my hands, weren’t they, boy?  My fists making you turn pretty colors.  Did you promise him you’d be good?  Did you promise to be a good boy for your Daddy?”

More nodding, breath like a wind tunnel between flaring nostrils.  Spike pet hot, damp cheeks, toying with the extra edge of the gag.  He’d have to pull it out soon, just to keep the boy from suffocating, but not yet.  Quite a kink his boy had, about sex and breathing, though he’d despised the thought of it at first.  But Spike’d taken it, like he’d taken all the others, and made his boy love what he’d hated before.

“Bet you did, dirty boy.  Weakling, he called you, and he’s right.  Little faggot.  Good for nothing but this, letting someone bigger’n’stronger take what you’re too stupid to know how to give.  Just a wretched little boy, still suckin’ on his mother’s teat.  Need a Daddy to take care of you, make you a man.”

It was time to pull out the gag, now, easing the cotton from Xander’s mouth.  Thick eyebrows lowered in anger at the removal, as Spike’d known they would, jaw working silently for a moment before, “Put it back!  I was fine, Spike!”

Spike clamped down hard on the nipple he’d been rubbing, twisting it cruelly.  The chip sparked blue-white in his brain, but he had a few seconds left to ignore it.  More than enough to remind his boy of what was proper.

“Daddy!” Xander whined, voice sliding up the octave scale to something not quite falsetto but not anything like a nineteen year olds’ normal range.  “Sorry, Daddy, I’m sorry.”

Spike let go, holding still and quiet as he waited for the chip’s damage to fade.  “Better.”

“Put it back, Daddy?  Please?”  He hadn’t started out this good, not when they’d first begun playing.  Back then it’d been complaints about being too old, that this was undignified.  Now, though, Xander had it all down to a practiced ease: the mannerisms, the voice, the eyes gone soft with ingenuous fear.  “I—I like it, Daddy.”

“Like it when it chokes you?  When your lungs work so hard they burn, trying to find air to breathe?  That what you like, baby?”

“Yes, Daddy.  Please, please, Daddy, I want it.  I love it.”

Spike smacked him, lightly, letting his fingers tug the boy’s lower lip before finally releasing.  “Can’t love a thing, stupid boy,” he snarled.  “Can’t love something that won’t love you back.”

“Sorry, Daddy,” Xander panted, voice going even higher.  “I’m sorry, Daddy, but I like it.  Please, please put it back.”

“What if I put something better there?  Babies like to suck, don’t they?  Wanna suck on something for Daddy?”

Xander’s eyes lit up, lips curving into a grin—before just as quickly becoming a frown.  He rolled his hips, pressing down on the fingers Spike hadn’t forgotten about, whining indecisively.  “Daddy. . .”

Spike smacked him again, this time hard enough that it made a sold thwack in the stillness.  “Yes or no, boy?”

“Yes, Daddy.  Wanna be a good boy.”

That wasn’t precisely the question he’d asked, but Spike wasn’t going to bother correcting his boy.  Rising, he pushed and tugged until the edge of the bed pressed against Xander’s neck, his head hanging over the side.  There were cushions already waiting, meticulously measured and prepared by an anxious little boy, the perfect height for Spike to kneel on.

He groaned when Xander sucked his cock down, lodging it inside a warm, rippling throat immediately.  The gag-reflex had disappeared within two days of Xander’s learning how to give a blow-job, something Spike still marveled at, and Xander was good at breathing through his nose.  Spike didn’t really care, though, propping himself on his right arm, hips rolling instinctively when Xander swallowed.

“Good boy.  Daddy’s very proud of you,” he said, left hand wandering back to its former position.  Xander whimpered around his cock in response.  That encouraged Spike to tug on Xander’s cock, relishing the scream that resulted. “Good boy,” he purred, hand moving back down to the boy’s crack.  “Gonna get me nice an’ wet, aren’t you?  Daddy’s still got to teach you.  Teach you how to take Daddy’s cock deep inside you.  Teach you what good little boys are good for, till their cock’s grow up.  But that’s not for you, is it?” he asked, thrusting deep enough that Xander did gag, momentarily.  “No, your cock’s never gonna be inside.  And that’s what you want, baby.  So long’s you’ve got a cock in your hot little body, why should you care that yours is cold and dry?”

He was perfectly placed to sixty-nine, although Spike wasn’t ever going to do that for his boy.  But maybe. . .  Spike bent down enough that he could run his tongue from cool, bitter leather up to the leaking tip.  Xander screamed again, bucking furiously while his throat closed so tight Spike was afraid he was going to come.  Any thoughts about changing his mind and giving the boy a bit of a suck—actually, the blood-heat and steady stream of precome coating his tongue did make his words a lie—shattered.

His cock pulled from Xander’s mouth with a loud pop and a whine from Xander, the whine turning into a little boy’s whimper when Spike scrambled around and slammed his way home.  No time needed to be spared to stretch and lube what’d already been taken care of long before Spike opened the door, just Xander stretched apart while Spike shoved his way inside.

“Feel that?” he panted, voice thick and wet with passion.  “Feel your Daddy inside?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Xander panted, squirming as much as the ropes allowed him.  “Feels good, Daddy.”

“This what you wanted, Xander?  Wanna feel your Daddy taking what he wants from you?  Only good boys get fucked, baby.  Daddy only likes good boys to warm his cock.  I know you love it.  Love being taken like this.”

“Take me, Daddy, I’ll be good, I will.  I’ll be a good boy for you.”  Xander’s body bounced back and forth from the force of Spike’s thrusts, totally relaxed under the onslaught.  The ropes cut into his flesh, the scent of coppery blood filling the air.  “Harder, Daddy!”

Xander wasn’t quiet anymore, but that wasn’t a problem.  It’s why this whole thing started, after all, Xander’s bloody inability to shut up when he was fucked.  So they’d played a game, taking the evidence of the afternoon and twisting it, transmuting pain into lust, shame into pleasure.  It’d taken any ammunition from prying ears above, twisting it right out of his drunken gasp.

Just a game they’d played, to dry the tears.

Spike growled, hips snapping forward as he tried to climb into the body below him.  “Like being Daddy’s boy?  Daddy knows you do.  Daddy knows you’re just a faggot slut.”

The words were specific, all the phrases were, really, especially in the beginning.  But as the power of those words—and the one who said them—faded, a different influence sprang up, and neither of them even thought to fight this one.  “Please, Daddy, I wanna be so good for you.  Fuck me, Daddy.  Fuck me so hard.”

“That’s my baby,” Spike whispered.  It was always effort to keep from roaring his pleasure then, but Xander was supposed to be down here alone, so he couldn’t.  Just groaned and whispered words dripping with lust, as he fucked his boy until there were bruises on them both.  “My boy!”

“Daddy!”  Xander arched and trembled as Spike came, working like he’d been taught to please his Daddy in the best ways.  Spike collapsed with a moan of relief, fumbling for the ring and tugging half of Xander’s skin up removing it.

“Gonna come for Daddy?” he whispered in Xander’s ear.  His cock was still buried inside, softening slowly, his hand clamped around Xander’s cock.  “Be a good boy.”

“Am, am, Daddy, promise I’ll be so good, for ever and ever.”  The babble continued until Spike nipped sharply at his earlobe, the shock of pain a prearranged signal meaning permission.  Xander went deathly silent, body trampoline tight as he jerked and pulsed and came all over Spike’s chest.

Spike brought Xander back by pinching the bruise on his pectoral again.  “Wake up, boy.  I’m all sticky.”  Undoing the ropes, he gently chaffed wrists and ankles until the angry pink lines threaded through with blood faded some and the tingling went away.  “Clean Daddy up.”

He stretched out on the bed as a dark head bowed over his chest.  “Yes, Daddy,” Xander whispered, the little-boy voice gone in favor of his normal tenor, laughter and pain mixed equally within.  “Whatever you say, Daddy.”

“Don’t give me lip, boy, or we’ll try spanking again.”

“Oooo.  Promises, promises.”

Above them, a cry was choked off, and shuffling footsteps wandered away.