Spike decided to call her Toy. He liked the way it pissed her off, egged her on. He liked to remind her that he had some kind of power in their arrangement, especially because it felt as though he had none at all.
On the third day when she knocked, Spike had something special for her.
“Come with me,” Spike said.
He reached for her, but she shook her head, so he closed his empty hand into a fist. He went into his bedroom and he could hear Toy follow. Spike took a gift wrapped in heavy, scarlet-colored paper from the top shelf of his closet and turned to see the girl sitting on his bed.
“Is that for me?” she asked.
Her tone was intended to be cute but came up short. Toy looked at the square box with a mix of suspicion and something else; as though no one had ever given her a present before. He placed the package on the comforter and she immediately lifted it into her lap. She stroked the black, satin ribbon he'd tied around the parcel possessively, and watching her fingers trailing along it sent a thrill down Spike's spine.
“It's so pretty, I hate to open it,” she said. The way she was looking at it, Spike actually believed her.
“Go on, the suspense is killing me,” he said.
She tugged open the slippery bow and then unfastened each rectangle of tape. When she was finished, the wrapping paper was entirely intact. Toy folded it neatly and then set the ribbon on top before she opened the box.
Inside it was a pair of handmade, silver hand cuffs inlaid with black onyx. Toy lifted them up with a clang, sending the key, which Spike had threaded onto a fine, silver chain, toward the floor. Toy bent and caught the necklace before it landed on the hardwood.
The cuffs had been a whim of Drusilla's, the first pair he’d ever owned. She'd special ordered them from a guy who sold handmade swords at Renaissance fairs. When they broke up, Spike had tried to give them back. Dru had smiled serenely and said that they were his. Spike had argued that the cuffs would be a reminder of how she'd cheated on him and essentially ruined the past few months of his life. Drusilla laughed.
“Don't think of me when you use these, Pretty William. Think of how when the lock clicked shut, the door opened,” Drusilla had said.
It had taken him awhile to figure out what she meant, but the truth was, he never thought of Drusilla when he'd used them with other girls; he'd thought of himself.
Toy laid the chain around her neck and examined the key, her chin dipping to her chest. The key had a heart shaped loop at the top and she followed the metal with her thumbs.
“Can I play with them now?” she asked.
As an answer, he held out his wrists for her. She grinned and patted the bed.
“Lie down,” she said.
He walked over and reclined behind Toy, careful not to brush against her. She shifted around and then crawled up his body, her gifts clinking softy in her grasp. She clicked the cuffs around his wrists, her breasts swaying over his face. She was wearing another vaporous tank top and he could see the outline of her aureole. Her nipples were getting as hard as cherry stones. He lifted his eyes to hers.
“You are a wicked girl,” he said, with a smirk.
“No I'm not. I'm nice, see, look how nice,” she said.
Toy slid down until the length of her was pressed against him. She tenderly touched his jaw before cupping it and kissing him. She was probing him with her tongue as though she were trying to learn everything about his mouth. It made him feel terribly exposed, more than any of the other things she'd done to him in the past few days. It went on and on until he thought he would burst.
Then she ended her devastating kiss and straddled him. She slowly unbuttoned his shirt and sank against his chest. She covered his heart with her ear and closed her eyes, just as she had the day before. Then she fell asleep, soothed by the movement of his blood. Spike didn't know how long they’d lain together before Toy woke with a gasp, her eyes sticky and unfocused.
“Spike,” she said.
“Do you want to undo me? My hands are all tingly,” he said.
She looked at him, embarrassed, and quickly unlocked the cuffs. She took them off and held them to her chest.
“Can I keep them, Spike?” she asked.
“Of course, pet, they're yours now,” Spike said.
Half of her mouth pulled up in a smile and then she scampered out of the apartment before he could rise from the bed.
The next night she came into his apartment and abruptly shoved him against the wall. Spike could hardly register what was happening; he noticed the mirror he’d hung by the door rattled beside his head and a dusting of plaster was landing on his shoulder. Then Toy plunged her hand down his pants and squeezed his cock, keeping her eyes averted as it got hard. Spike could hardly catch his breath; he was unsettled, frightened and above all, turned on. Toy was rubbing him sore, but he was loath to tell her to stop. Finally, he decided to get her to quit before she crippled him.
“Ease up, pet,” he said, gasping. She jerked her hand away.
“Don't talk,” she said.
Then she dropped to her knees and wrenched his jeans open. She took him into her mouth and the heat ignited his sensitive skin. He tried to rest his fingers on her hair and she batted them away like a niggling insect. Toy gripped his wrists and held him still until he came for her. Then she stood up, leaving his lower half wet and exposed as she marched out of the apartment.
That was the pattern that developed over the following weeks. Every time things got tender or he was close to touching her, Toy would retreat into herself. She’d punish him the next time by not speaking, just sucking him off roughly and leaving without otherwise acknowledging his presence. Spike started to view their relationship through the lens of competition. He got points when she would pull away because it meant that at least he was getting to her.
The night she got into the bath with him, though, his feelings started to change. It wasn’t enough just to make her mad anymore. He wanted to know her.
That day Spike rose at six, took a run around the neighborhood and went back home to eat a dour bowl of oatmeal. After the hot mush he took a shower, dressed and took a bus to the gym in Uptown. He beat the hell out of things, skipped rope, helped others to beat the hell out of things pausing only to drink a weight gainer shake and eat a cold, skinned chicken breast for lunch. When he was training, he ate sparse, painfully, healthy meals.
In contrast, when Charlie trained, he ate whatever he wanted. Charlie had picked up his lunch at Primanti Brothers where they served the chips and the coleslaw right on the sandwich, except if you called them chips you got a dirty look and a pack of crisps. Spike was fairly certain Charlie only got the sandwich so he could watch Spike’s face while he ate.
“Quit looking at me like you want to fuck me, Spike,” Charlie said as he took another bite.
“It’s not you, mate. I want to buy that sandwich a fur coat and make it promises I can’t keep,” Spike said.
After his sparse lunch, Spike resumed the cycle of hitting and being hit. Then it was time to catch the bus home. He’d just removed his boots, tugged off his shirt and thrown it on the bedroom floor when he heard her knock.
This time she was wearing a pale pink tank top and matching shorts that hardly hit the fork of her legs. His key shone on her neck and her rings-clad hands caught the light. Her long, blonde hair was pulled back smoothly and she was barefoot. For someone who never wore shoes, the soles of her feet looked incredibly smooth, not that he’d ever had a chance to touch them, or to kiss any of her red-tipped toes.
“How’s my doll tonight?” he asked.
She walked into his place, her ass switching from side to side.
“You stink, Spike,” she said with a smirk.
“Nice to see you, too.”
She leaned against him and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“I think you should take a bath,” she said.
Toy took him by the hand and led him to the bathroom. His bathroom was the size of a large closet. The walls were tiled in black and white. She put a stopper in the white, claw-footed tub and then filled it with warm water. He loved watching her bend over to do it while she was wearing those shorts. He came up behind her and his hand hovered over the small of her back, the ridge of her spine with the two dimples on either side. Before she could stand, he’d stepped back and let his arm fall.
“Do you have any bubble bath?” she asked, turning her head so he could see her profile. Toy had the cutest nose, with a little flare at the end of the bridge and a tiny globe at the tip he wanted to kiss.
“Do I look like a single woman with four cats and an array of scented candles?”
Toy faced him with her arms crossed over her chest, propping up her breasts.
“So that’s a no?” she asked. For a second she looked like a normal girl, her eyes sparkled.
“Intuitive, you are,” Spike said.
“Why don’t you strip for me?” she asked.
Spike moved closer to her and opened his jeans. Then he gave his hips an exaggerated sway from side to side and batted his dark lashes at her. He moved his arms above his head in a serpentine fashion, rolling an invisible ball from hand to hand. She giggled.
“There are six more veils coming off, baby,” he said, as his jeans slipped down his legs to puddle at his feet.
Her eyes drifted down.
“Where are you hiding them? Strike that, I don’t want to know. Get into the tub, Salome,” Toy said.
Spike stepped on the toe of his sock and dragged his foot out, then did the other in the same way. He carefully got into the clear, steaming water. Spike rested the back of his head on the cool, rounded lip of the tub.
“Get your hair wet,” she said.
Spike sank. When he resurfaced she’d repositioned herself behind him. He heard her squirt shampoo out of a plastic bottle and felt the cool blob on his head. She massaged his scalp gently, the lather making a squishing sound. Toy’s touch felt amazing, like it always did, but he couldn’t enjoy it very long before she started getting bossy again.
“O.K., rinse now,” she said.
Spike dipped his head beneath the water, the foam in his hair spreading out on the surface. He popped up again with a silvery splash. Toy soaped up a washcloth and dragged it across his chest. She kissed the tattoo on his right shoulder, sending shivers through him. The skin on that spot had become extremely sensitive since he’d gotten the ink done and Toy seemed to take special delight in stimulating him there. It was the first time Toy had ever seen the marking; up until then they’d come together half dressed and hurried.
“What made you decide to get this design?” she asked.
Then she traced her tongue along the dark lines making him take in a tremulous breath.
“My sister came up with it to inspire McClay family unity, she’s got the same one,” Spike said.
“Is she into Magicks?”
“Like card tricks and sawing bunny rabbits in half?”
“Like Wicca and spells.”
She rubbed the washcloth under his arms, then over them, moving around to reach his hands.
“Yeah, she is. Are Heckle and Jeckle common symbols amongst the pagan set?”
Toy rolled his fingers in her own and massaged his palm with soap. Though he was loath to use the word in any other context than describing pie, Spike found the sensation delicious.
“Kind of. You must be super-close,” Toy said.
Toy scooted to the far end of the tub and picked his foot up out of the water. She scrubbed it with her cloth.
“She’s my best mate,” Spike said.
“That’s really great,” Toy said, sadly, as she took up his other foot.
Her eyes seemed even further away from him, seeing something she didn’t want to share. They listened to the water slosh as she moved up his legs.
“Be easier if you got in with me,” Spike said, giving her his seductive look, all heavy lids and confident sneer.
She stopped her movements. Toy closed her aching eyes slowly and then she was leaning toward him. She dragged her lips across his cheeks; kissed his mouth. Then she daintily eased herself into the water with him, still wearing all her clothes. She rested her back against his chest, making a soft sound like a sigh. She seemed to be luxuriating in the surrounding warmth. The hem of her tank top drifted, ghostly. Spike tentatively took the fabric up. She leaned forward, letting him take it off. She scooched out of the shorts herself and dropped them over the edge of the tub with a plop. They rested together, her head against his chest.
Toy’s body was muscular and felt hard leaning into him, belying her feminine shape. Despite her slimness, Toy was deceptively strong; her figure reminded Spike of a dancer he dated when he first came to the States. Cara, the ballet dancer, had been all lithe sinews like his Toy. At one of Cara’s performances he’d watched her hoist several male dancers into the air as part of the routine. Spike wondered if Toy could pick him up.
She was getting loose against him, lulled by the heat of his body and the water. He wondered where she slept at night, if she was alone in bed or if there was somebody there. Jealousy made his stomach clench.
Toy started to slip away toward the water and instinctively he put his arms around her. She nestled into his embrace and he realized what was happening. Holding her; he was holding her and she was letting him, probably because she’d fallen asleep. Spike looked down at her body beneath the sheer veil of water. Her breasts were just as perfect as he remembered and he was certain they’d be the softest part of her body, wonderful to touch. Her stomach seemed kettle drum tight even when she was slumped against him like that. Her legs were parted and he could see she shaved between them. Spike bet her pussy would feel like the velvet skin of a peach.
Toy shifted against him and he could see her eyes were darting beneath her closed lids, making the lashes undulate like centipede legs. Her arms jerked, sending up a cascade of drops and then she made an animal-like noise, like a cat when someone accidentally steps on its tail.
She shouted incoherently, and then she was awake, slippery in his grasp.
“SShh, just a nightmare, you’re safe,” he said, kissing the side of her face.
She stopped thrashing and moaning.
“Spike?” she asked.
“Yeah, pet, you fell asleep. It’s alright now,” Spike said.
She put her jeweled hands over his; he was still holding her.
“You’re not supposed to, with the groping,” she said.
“Wasn’t groping; besides I had to keep you from slidin’ under, you would’ve drowned,” he said.
She pressed into him.
“That wasn’t one of the dreams you have about me, was it?” he asked with a cocked eyebrow.
“Definitely no, that was the furthest thing from a sexy dream—“she said, then blushed, cutting herself off. She lifted his hands from her body and rose in a hurry, casting off ropes of water. Toy was embarrassed; a funny thing given the situation. Spike watched as she picked up her sodden garment and started to pull on the top.
“Don’t do that, Toy, you can dry them on the radiators and we could have a bite or you could borrow something of mine. I think Tara has some clothes here that would fit you,” Spike said.
“Your sister?” she asked, hesitantly.
“Yeah, my sister,” Spike said, with a grin.
She flopped her clothes on the radiator and Spike unplugged the tub. He stood up and went for the towel hanging on his rack. He threw it to Toy, and she smiled at him. Spike noted that she was watching him move as he went into the closet and got a towel for himself, so Spike took his time drying off.
She wrapped the blue towel he’d given her tightly under her arms and perched on the closed toilet until he led her to his bedroom. The bedroom was the whole reason Spike had chosen the apartment; it had a vaguely romantic quality, like an artist’s garret. The walls were white, as was the rest of the place, but the lighting gave the stark shade a touch of mood. The bed was in the center of the room, accentuated by the sloping ceiling that came to a point above.
On either side were windows sunk back in dormers, hung from ceiling to floor with gold curtains. On the floor was a richly colored oriental rug; it came with the place. It had been abandoned by the prior tenant and the landlord said Spike could keep it for an extra twenty five bucks on his deposit. Spike was inordinately proud of the rug because it wasn’t cheap like the rest of his belongings. Naturally the bedroom was the only place to let it lay. The Persian rug was intended to lend a spot of luxury, possibly impress any young woman who found herself there at the end of the night.
Though he’d made a crack about candles before, he had two of them hanging on either side of the bed in wrought iron wall sconces. He liked them because they looked kind of Goth and his dignity was still in place because they didn’t smell like lavender or tea tree oil, just plain wax.
Spike dug through the drawers of the black-colored, plywood dresser he’d assembled himself until he located a pair of purple, stretchy pants Tara used for yoga. He tossed them over his shoulder to Toy and then continued his search. He plucked a matching purple baby tee out and gave it to her. He pulled on a pair of his own shorts and turned to see she was completely dressed. The clothes were a little baggy on her, maybe a size too big. She would’ve been swimming in his shirt, Spike thought. Besides that, he didn’t think she’d like the implication that would come with dressing her up in his clothes.
“You hungry, pet?”
She drifted over to the bureau, snatched a bottle from its surface and took a sniff of his cologne before setting it back down.
“I should probably go, I can get my clothes tomorrow,” she said.
She was right in front of him. Spike cupped her cheek and rubbed his thumb over the scar that marred her lips.
“How’d you get that, Toy?”
For a moment she let him; she even seemed to take comfort in both the question and the way his hand felt before her eyes became distant. She flinched away from him and then suddenly he was hurtling through the air, landing painfully on the bed.
“You’re the toy, not me. You’re my toy, alright? Take your shorts off,” she said.
“What?”
“Take. Off. Your. Shorts.”
She could lift him up, he thought as he did what she asked.
“Spread your legs apart,” she said. Toy stood in front of him; he complied with her wishes, until his thighs were almost touching the blood-red comforter.
“You’re a toy, so play with yourself for me,” she said.
He smirked at her and she seemed infuriated, her smooth, tan forehead crinkling, her full mouth turned down.
“It’s awful dry here, maybe you could toss me some lotion, pet?”
“Men have been pervy for centuries without Jergins. Improvise,” she said.
Spike brought his palm to his mouth and spat in it. She looked at him with an expression of revulsion and desire as he dragged his wet hand up and down his hardening penis. She seemed entranced by him. Spike kept his eyes on hers and though she refused to meet them, he was certain she could feel his gaze.
Her mouth had lost its stern look and fallen open, like the petal of a dying rose. Toy’s eyes didn’t have their aching, far-away look; they were glazed with lust. At least she was in the same room, even if she wasn’t really with him, Spike thought.
Look at me, see me, let me inside you, he thought, over and over until his lips were tracing the words. When she finally looked into his eyes, Spike came, spilling a white ribbon onto his stomach. It gratified him that her whole body shook as his did. She looked at him with such longing he started to rise.
“Stay,” she said, her hand jutting out with splayed fingers. She said it as though she were commanding a dog.
“You need to clean yourself up,” she said. Toy ducked out of view and then came up again. She threw him the t-shirt he’d worn to the gym.
“Use that,” she said.
Spike languidly wiped his stomach. As she snatched the shirt from his hands, he grabbed her wrist, breaching protocol for the third time that day.
“I am yours, you know that right?” he said.
Spike couldn’t read her expression. They stayed like that for a long while, until a tear suspended from her blonde lashes finally fell against his face. Toy blinked, sending down a shower before she silently walked out of the room, her bare feet padding on the hardwood floor. He heard the door open and then slam shut. Spike lied back on the bed and sighed.
When he finally got up to make himself a nutritious, if not delicious dinner, Spike noticed that she’d taken the shirt with her.
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