Title: Eternal Reward
It was fantastic the way he bled. There was something bordering on heavenly the way crimson ran down his back like an extension of that rich brown hair, strands of chestnut straight and harsh just like the cuts from the lash. Crisscrossing his back like blades of red grass against a winter mountain, sharp contrast to the pale skin beside the torn flesh.
He could have no more helped tasting those slivers of exposed muscle than Angelus could have helped whimpering at the touch. No matter how often they played these games it always ended the same, Angelus crying for the pain to be deeper, his demon desiring penance just as surely as them man once had. Spike had never been a Catholic, and knew he could never understand the sort of damage that must be done to a man before he has so much as committed his first sin to make him believe even two centuries later that there was no joy to be found in depravity without supplication on his knees.
Yet he played his part. Each night he brought the leather down again and again until Angelus felt himself healed, and each night he arched his back into blood splattered hands as Angelus took revenge on him for fulfilling his orders. Spike writhed beneath his sire’s thrusts and screamed for mercy because he knew it was the only way to give Angelus the true pleasure he wanted in the act. Just as he wrenched those same screams from nun or priest, Angelus took his compensation and contrition from the same gasping mouth, same shaking body, pulling and pushing until words of forgiveness and encouragement spilled from bloodied lips and welcoming body.
And every night he was rewarded for his sins.