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Happy Birthday, Spike	By : SpikesEvilbint Category: -Buffy the Vampire Slayer > General Views: 1646 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I own no part of BtVS and write purely for pleasure not profit. No infringement of copyright intended. The plot belongs to me.

Chapter List
- 1-Happy Birthday, Spike
- 1
Happy Birthday, Spike

For jaded_jamie

Spike sat on the hard wooden bench and glared at the clock.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-fucking-tock.
He swore they'd put it there just to piss him off. Why else would they put a clock opposite a prison cell? Spike had once worked out exactly how many ticks and how many tocks he’d listened to up to that point. It’d been quite easy really. Thirty of each per minute, turn that into hours, days, weeks, years… He wished he could go mad – that’d be easier. Or maybe he had and just hadn’t realised it?
Seventy-five combined tick-tocks until they came.   He shuddered. Sixty-two…
He kept his eyes downcast when he heard the door creak open at the end of the block. Footsteps echoed on the floor. Six people by the sound of it. He sneered. Still scared of the 'Big Bad'. He knew it wasn’t true; they just liked to watch. He was no threat to them. Not anymore. Not after…
They were here.
“Morning, Spike.”
Spike slid off the bench and knelt down, hands held out in front of him. Eyes studiously staring at the shiny boots a yard away.
The man nodded to two others in the group and they walked forwards and grabbed a wrist each. Spike tried to hold his fingers rigid when he saw that they were holding the leather ‘gloves’ that held his hands fist-like within their confines. The man on his left hand roughly bent Spike’s fingers and he whimpered softly as one snapped.   He gave up his small resistance. It was useless anyway. They could do exactly what they wanted to him and most frequently did.
His wrists were then shackled together and clipped to the metal ring that encircled his balls. They’d long ago discovered that no matter how angry Spike got, he’d never risk ripping his bollocks off, not even after... He’d almost thought it would be worth it at one point, but then the moment passed and now he just made sure that he kept his hands as close to them as he could.
“On your feet.”
Spike struggled to get up, bound as he was, and a few snickers were heard when he yelped as he accidentally tugged on the ring. Still, he didn’t look at their faces. He sniffed and tried to recognise their scent, but his sense of smell was kept at below human levels by frequent squirts of Holy Water up his nostrils. He was pleased about it in one way, as he knew that he must smell terrible.
He knew the way so well. Every tile on the floor, every twist in the corridor, even the squeak of the door was horribly familiar.
“On the chair,” ordered one of the men when they entered the room.
Spike didn’t want to sit in that fucking chair, but he did anyway. He kept hoping that one day he’d find the strength to fight again, but it was so difficult. He stayed limp and unresisting as his legs were fastened into stirrups, holding his knees bent and open. His hands were unfastened from the ring and clipped to the sides of the chair. A strap across Spike’s neck further restrained him.
He wished that they would make it so that he was lying flat on his back. But they always seemed to want him to be able to see what they were doing and so he was held in a sitting position. Spike was washed from head to foot. He closed his eyes as his pubic hair was shaved off. He supposed that he ought to be thankful that the trend of waxing seemed to have passed.
“Open your eyes,” a voice said sharply.
Spike obeyed. It just wasn’t worth the pain that defiance would bring. He tried not to look ‘down there’ but he couldn’t help it. It somehow didn’t look so bad when the sandy coloured curly hair was surrounding it, but when it was bare… Involuntarily, Spike shuddered. That was a day that he’d never forget. They’d warned him of course, told him that they’d do it if he didn’t capitulate to the regime that he found himself in. He hadn’t actually really believed it, until he’d felt the blade.
He remembered being a little shocked at how easily the blade had cut through his cock. Like a warm knife through butter. They hadn’t taken it all. Was it worse to have been left with a stump, that when stimulated could achieve the impressive length of an inch and a half? He wasn’t sure. He missed it though, even after all this time, even knowing that it would never have been able to be thrust inside a willing, or not so willing, body again. Even though before it had been taken, his hands had been permanently encased in leather like they were now, denying him that most basic of pleasures – a good wank.
Although time seemed to stand still in one way, in another, his turn in the featured display area seemed to come round too quickly. The soft touch of the technician’s hands as he shaved Spike’s balls, brought the remains of Spike’s cock to erection, and he whimpered softly as the man rubbed oil over them.
The tech grinned at him. “Like that do you?”
Spike just looked away. A gentle touch. He craved it and felt deeply ashamed when his body responded to it. He could still come, though they'd made sure it was no longer a pleasant experience. He supposed that’s why they hadn’t taken the whole lot off in the first place.
Spike hissed through his teeth as the prosthetic dick was attached to his truncated penis. The first time he’d been fitted with it, the techs had cheerfully informed him that it was slightly broader in girth than his own had been. Spike was pretty sure that it was a bit longer too, but that might be just because he was so used to seeing his cock as it was now. The prosthesis fitted by vacuum and hurt like a bitch.
His hardness melted away but the prosthesis didn’t move apart from to hang downwards against his balls. Spike wished that they’d let it stay there sometimes. The weight made it feel almost as if he were whole again. But it wouldn’t for long.
The tech’s attention moved to Spike’s anus. Shifting in his seat as much as he could, Spike couldn’t help but whimper. He knew what was coming all too well. A hand moved over the base of the plug in his arse and it began to vibrate. More than vibrate really. It twisted around, programmed to hit Spike’s prostate on every third stroke for the first half hour, every second for the next, until it finally stimulated him with every movement. For the next twelve bleeding hours.
Both Spike and the tech watched with interest as the prosthetic cock slowly rose as the stump it was attached to filled. It did look remarkably real. Even more so when Spike’s fluids were coating it. The tech touched the tip of it and although there was no sensation there, Spike couldn’t help but buck his hips towards it.
The tech chuckled and gave Spike’s balls a friendly squeeze. The ‘cock’ had a piercing at its tip and the tech attached a fine silver chain to it and then to the ring set in Spike’s navel. Spike knew that it would tug when he stood up. He hated the belly-button ring. For some reason when it was pulled on, it made Spike feel like his innards were being ripped out through it.
Spike stared at the tech as he picked up a piece of equipment.
“Please, don’t,” croaked Spike. His voice ruined by the various tubes permanently embedded in his throat.
Eyes widening in surprise -- it had been years since he’d heard this one attempt speech -- the tech shook his head. “Sorry, you know the rules for being on display.”
“Hurts,” Spike rasped.
“I know,” said the tech softly before using the tool to activate the hardware in Spike’s throat.
Spike’s scream turned into a whine as the tube running down his windpipe widened and bent. It made Spike’s head remain rigidly upright with his chin held high. The top of the tube ended just behind Spike’s back teeth and forced his jaws apart as it opened up. When like this, Spike could no longer form words but could growl and snarl without a problem.
Another flick of a switch and Spike’s features changed with a roar. For twelve hours his face and neck would be held that way.
“Lookin’ good,” said the tech.
Spike stared at him balefully. His bindings were undone and he got gingerly off the chair. It was hard to think about walking when his body was being stimulated like it was, but he managed to make the few hundred yards to the display case. Even with his damaged sense of smell, Spike wrinkled his nose at the pungent scent of a Fungus Demon. It must have just been taken down from the case. His hands were freed from the gloves and Spike growled when his broken finger was pulled straight. It would have healed by the time his session in the display case was over.
Spike was put in position and attached with wires so thin that the humans viewing him would be unable to see them. But he knew from painful experience what the consequence of moving too much against them was. He glanced at his middle finger on his left hand. The first time he’d been on show in the display case rather than his usual quarters, he’d given the finger to one of the more obnoxious visitors. He didn’t know who had been more shocked when half of the offending digit was neatly amputated by the wire. The finger was swiftly picked up and disposed of.
Soon he was arranged as they wanted, with one foot resting on a log, and his hands outstretched as if he were about to leap over the log and attack. Spike wondered idly who thought that vampires routinely went on the hunt, naked and sporting hard-ons. The purpose of this showcase was to put one of the exhibits in its ‘natural’ environment.
Spike would have chuckled bitterly but that too was hampered by the tubing and so snarled instead. The tech about to insert a small item into Spike’s mouth cursed and stepped back, when he growled. Spike’s face split into as much of a smirk as he could manage with his mouth held open as it was. Newbie. Nice to know that he was still scary to some people at least. He winked at the boy as he dropped what looked like a teabag on the back of Spike’s tongue. The tech nervously pushed it to the side with a metal spoon, where the ‘teabag’ adhered to Spike’s teeth.
Glaring at the techs as they stood back to admire their work and to ensure that it was adequately lit, Spike’s mouth began to water as the taste of human blood was released from the ‘teabag’. Arching his back, he came for the first time and the techs looked very pleased at the sight of his cold seen erupting from the tip of the prosthetic cock.
The techs carefully locked the toughened necro-plated glass door and for a short time Spike was alone once more. Then they came. They gawped. They giggled. They looked repulsed. They looked amazed. The girls squealed when he thrust his hips forward and came. The boys looked envious at how little time it took before he came again. The mothers and wives pretended not to be interested but kept up a steady series of surreptitious glances. The fathers and husbands glared at the object of those glances.
Another clock was in plain view of Spike. The bastards did do it on purpose. Drool ran down Spike’s chin as his mouth watered from the human blood but he couldn’t swallow. He’d been ejaculating about every five minutes for the past eleven hours and fifty-five minutes. It had gone beyond painful. If the wire had been wrapped around his head he would have just let his trembling legs collapse and dusted himself. But he reckoned that was why they’d got his head fixed into position by the fucking thing down his throat. If he collapsed he’d just end up missing more limbs but dusting wouldn’t happen. He’d been told that if he lost more than the current half finger – they didn’t count the penis since they’d done that – then he’d be passed onto the science department and be displayed Damien Hirst style.
The visitors had been gone for the past ten minutes and to Spike’s relief the techs reappeared promptly five minutes later. Two supported him by holding beneath his armpits whilst the others removed the wire. Between them, they carried Spike to the waiting gurney, knowing that he would be unable to walk. Spike moaned piteously as he continued to ejaculate.
Inside the preparation room and strapped into the chair, the tech waited until Spike howled though another climax before rapidly turning off the vibrator. The vampire coughed several times as the tube in his neck shrank in size allowing his neck to change position and for him to swallow again. The ‘teabag’ of blood had dissolved and Spike tried to lick some of the saliva away from where it had caked in the corners of his mouth. Once the tech had de-activated Spike’s vampiric features, he roughly wiped Spike’s face with a cloth.
“Feel better now?” asked the tech.
A hundred phrases ran through Spike’s mind at the stupid remark, but since speech was still not possible due to the irritation caused over the past twelve hours, he simply closed his eyes and nodded. When he opened them again, Spike glanced down at his ‘cock’ and shuddered. If fitting the damn thing hurt, then taking it off was excruciating.
The tech firmly gripped the base of Spike’s cock with one hand and the tip of the prosthesis with his other. He ripped them apart in one swift move and Spike screamed as loudly as his damaged vocal chords would allow. Panting heavily he peered at the remains of his cock. It looked red raw and was throbbing with pain. The tech was examining it more carefully than normal. Spike tensed. What was wrong? He didn’t want to lose what bit he had left. The tech began to handle his balls.
Oh, shite. Are they taking those away? I’ve been good. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been good.
He tried to speak but still couldn’t. The tech looked up at him when he heard the croaking noise he was making and smiled.
“It’s going to be all right.”
The words chilled Spike to the bone. What did he mean? It couldn’t be anything good. Spike started when he felt a sting in his arm and whipped his head around to see another tech pushing a clear fluid into his vein.
“Wh…” Spike stared imploringly at the first tech, unable to vocalise his fear, but showing it clearly on his face.
The tech just smiled again and said, “Don’t worry.”
Spike tried to break free as he felt the effects of the drugs getting into him. They were anaesthetising him – they’d never done it before. His last lucid thoughts were lost in waves of terror and then the darkness took over.
***
Spike slowly opened his eyes. He was in a room he hadn’t seen before, which he didn’t think was possible. He shifted and then froze as pain ripped through him. It was centred on his genitals.
Oh Christ. Please no.
He passed out.
When he came to the next time, the pain was still there but not so intense. He tried to look down to see what had been done but he was lying flat on his back and was securely tied down.
“Back with us, I see,” said the tech, stepping into view.
“Wh…what have…you…done…to me?” rasped Spike barely audibly.
“You’ll see soon enough. Are you in any pain?”
Spike’s eyes widened. Was it a trick question? If he said yes, would the tech just laugh? If he lied and said no, would the tech make sure that he felt some more? He opted for the truth and nodded. The tech stepped out of Spike’s eye line and when he returned, he was carrying a bag of blood. The tech attached a line from it to a valve at the back of Spike’s neck, where the entrance to the feeding tube was hidden. None of the exhibits were allowed to bite or chew their food. Whatever the species, they were all fed a liquid diet via the tube. This meant that Spike never tasted anything apart from the blood flavoured ‘teabag’ that was used when he was on display.
Everything began to get fuzzy. Spike dimly heard the tech’s voice. “When you wake up you’ll be all healed up.”
Twenty four hours later, Spike woke from his drug induced sleep. Like the tech said, he was now more or less pain free. It did nothing to reassure him as his cock had healed quickly when they amputated most of it. A technician must have been observing him because one appeared almost as soon as Spike had opened his eyes.
The tech cranked up the top half of the bed and grinned at Spike. Trembling, Spike glanced down at his groin through half closed eyes. His eyes flew fully open when he saw what they had done. He glanced up at the tech. His mouth opened and closed without any sound being uttered.
“It’s yours,” said the tech. “We kept it in cold storage.”
Spike stared back down at his genitals. There hanging limply against his shaven balls, was his cock. His own bleeding cock! There was a red mark around it where it had been reattached and it now had a ring through the top like the artificial one did, but it was his.
“It’s fully functional,” said the tech. “Want to see?”
Spike just stared at him stupidly as the tech reached down and activated the vibrator in his arse. Spike groaned at the familiar sensation and then his face spit into a grin as he felt his cock begin to fill and rise. When the tech un-strapped Spike’s left arm, his hand flew down and he fisted his dick for the first time in…he couldn’t remember how long…years, decades maybe?
“Be gentle with it,” cautioned the tech.
Spike shot him a grateful look when the tech switched off the plug and Spike brought himself shuddering to a climax several minutes later. He held his penis in his hand as it softened, reluctant to let it go.
“Been a while, huh?” the tech said, gently.
“How…long?” Spike had to know.
“Since we removed it?”
Spike nodded.
“I had to look it up. It was well before my time.” He pulled out a scrap of paper from his pocket. “It was removed after…er…your gross misconduct…did you really kill one of the guards?”
Spike nodded again. His last kill; it had been a good one, but ultimately not worth the price he’d paid.
“Crap,” whispered the tech, before continuing in a more normal tone of voice. “Well, that was four months after you were captured back in 1999, and you were docked the next day. Is it right that they did it with no anaesthesia?”
For the third time, Spike nodded.
“Yikes.”
Bit more than sodding ‘yikes’, mate. He wet his lips and repeated, “How long?” He’d tried to keep count of the passing time but with no way of noting it down, he’d lost count long ago.
The tech frowned. “Oh! You don’t know what year it is, do you?”
Spike shook his head. He was guessing that he must have been here for at least fifty years, maybe more.
The tech smiled broadly. “I’ve been told not to tell you, and now I know that you don’t know what year it is, there’s no way that I’m going to spoil your surprise.”
Spike’s brows knitted together as the kid scurried from the room. He returned moments later with four men.
“Do you think that you can walk back to your quarters?” the tech asked as he unfastened Spike’s shackles.
Spike sat up carefully, and for the first time realised that the fingers of his right hand were just limp. He was unable to move them. He stared at the tech.
“Um,” said the tech shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. “That is a warning that if you touch yourself when the public are viewing you in your quarters, we will do the same to your left and turn the plug on for four hours a day.” He smiled apologetically at the vampire as Spike shuddered. “But after hours you can play with your penis as much as you like. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Spike croaked.
He didn’t care. He was whole, apart from the missing half digit, and his right hand was still there. He was surprised that they hadn’t simply chopped it off.
As he was led slowly back to what they termed his quarters and what he called his cell, the four men grumbled about how the League Against Cruelty to Endangered Demons – known by the acronym LACED, was responsible for the changes being implemented. Not least the reattachment of Spike’s cock. Spike’s steps faltered when he heard them say that he was the last surviving vampire in the United States.
“In captivity?” he rasped ignoring his conditioning and risking a glance at them.
The men looked at him oddly before one said, “No. The last one, period. Vampires have been extinct in the wild, worldwide since –”
“Hey, you’ll ruin the surprise. He doesn’t know how long he’s been in here,” another interrupted.
“Tell me, please,” implored Spike.
“I will, once we get you settled in your quarters.”
Spike knew better than to push his luck by asking again, and so carried on walking to his ‘home’. He entered through the rear of his out of hours room. He stopped short when he got inside. It had been completely refitted. It had been done several times during his incarceration but never to this standard. There was carpet on the floor. Thick, deep pile carpet that he could bury his bare toes in. The hard bench had been replaced by a large brown leather couch and he could see a TV fitted into one wall. A fucking TV! He hadn’t seen TV since he’d been captured. He’d be able to listen to music again. He wondered if MTV was still running.
One of the men nudged Spike in his back. “It’s almost opening time. You need to get through the other side.”
Spike walked on stiff legs through the sliding door into the public side of his cell. This too had been re modelled. Instead of looking like a cave, with nothing but a rock or the floor to sit on, it now resembled a crypt. He smiled when he touched the ‘stone’ lid of the fake tomb. It was soft. He finally had somewhere soft to lie during the day. He didn’t fail to notice that there was still no way of hiding from the public view but he’d gotten used to that now, and could zone the faces out.
On one wall, for the public to see was Spike’s details. His name, the date that he’d been sired, his country of origin, and the bloodiest of his kills, including those of the two slayers. Above it was an additional sign. One that made his legs go weak and he leaned on his tomb for support.
HELP SPIKE TO CELEBRATE HIS ONE THOUSANDTH YEAR AS A VAMPIRE!
PUT YOUR DONATIONS IN THE BOX TO THE LEFT AND WE’LL BE ABLE TO UPGRADE HIS FOOD FROM RAT’S BLOOD TO COW’S BLOOD.
LET’S MAKE THE UNITED STATES LAST SURVIVING VAMPIRE’S NEXT THOUSAND YEARS MORE COMFORTABLE.
Sponsored by LACED.
Spike’s mind reeled. Drusilla had sired him in 1880. He shook his head. No. It couldn’t be true. He turned to stare at the men who had walked him from the lab.
“It’s a joke. Not real.”
“No joke, Spike. Today is January the first 2880.”
Spike did the math. The tech said he’d been brought here in 1999.
“Fucking hell.”
His legs gave way and he slid gracefully to the floor. He’d been here for eight hundred and eighty one years. His left hand went to his cock. It had been separated from him for all that time.   And now he had it back. He began to laugh hysterically. It sounded nothing like it should. No wonder the young tech had said it had been before his time. Generations before his time. He felt a foot nudge him and looked up.
“Remember what the technician said about playing with your dick in this side of your quarters.”
Spike pulled his hand swiftly away.
The men turned to walk out of the cell, one turned back to look at Spike. “Vampires have been extinct since 2073. You’re lucky. Legislation was brought in 2010 for all vampires to be dusted on sight. The zoos were full by then, so we didn’t need any more. Vamps aren’t the most popular exhibit with the public these days and so the others in captivity were put down in 2765. The fact that you’d killed two slayers meant that you still had a bit of a pull.”
Spike swallowed hard. He could barely comprehend what he was being told. “Overseas?” he managed to mutter.
“Are you asking if there are still vamps elsewhere?”
Spike nodded weakly.
“I think London had one exhibit, and Berlin, but that’s it.”
Spike closed his eyes. Three. Two others and him, and that was it. “Stake me,” he whispered.
The man chuckled. “Ironically, buddy, now that LACED has become a major presence in world politics; it’s illegal to destroy any demon in captivity. So you really will be here for the next thousand years like the poster says.
Spike covered his face with his hands and sobbed.
The man walked away.
“Oh, happy birthday, Spike,” he called out.
The door slammed shut.
- 1
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Happy Birthday, Spike