Chapter Text
“Let’s be pals.”
Mind reeling and adrenaline still coursing through him, Spike can only stare in bewilderment at the man in front of him, trying to process what he’s even just witnessed. He slowly takes in his saviour’s strange appearance, from his tracksuit and gold jewelry to his unkempt blond hair and tiara – and wonders, momentarily, if he’s somehow hallucinating.
But then the older man extends his hand.
An offering.
Against his better judgment, he accepts it and doesn’t look back.
It’s nice, being surrounded by people again, even if they are a little… peculiar, to say the least.
The Jimmys are a boisterous and foul-mouthed and chaotic bunch, prone to lewd jokes that make Spike blush and shocking displays of violence. Yet they’re also surprisingly (almost disarmingly) friendly and welcoming. At the very least, no one has been openly hostile toward him, so he takes that as a good sign. Still, he can’t help but feel like a bit of an awkward tagalong – out of place in a sea of colourful tracksuits and blond wigs. It doesn’t help that they’re also much older than him, each with their own tale of how they were taken in and saved by the group’s leader.
His mind drifts to the man in question.
Sir Jimmy Crystal is unlike anyone he’s ever met. There’s something oddly magnetic about him, despite his eccentricities. When he speaks, Spike can’t help but listen with rapt attention, hanging onto his every word. He’s not the only one, either. The others practically worship the very ground he walks on, obeying his every command with zealous enthusiasm.
“He’s been blessed.” Jimmima tells him while they’re out scouting one day, her voice full of reverence.
When he asks by whom, she simply smiles coyly and points to the sky.
True to his dad’s word, killing becomes easier.
He still doesn’t like it – certainly doesn’t revel in it in the way the others do – but he doesn’t flinch away from it anymore. Doesn’t hesitate to shoot every Infected he encounters. He’s learned to numb himself to it, and every time he hits his mark, Sir Jimmy is there to clap him on the shoulder and praise him.
Spike can’t help but preen at the attention, chest swelling with pride.
Spike isn’t sure how he fits into the group, exactly. He’s not a Jimmy. Not really. He still wears his old clothes (the ones that fit, anyway) and he hasn’t been made to don a wig. Then there’s the matter of the scars; the inverted cross that’s been carved into the others’ foreheads, marking them as members of Sir Jimmy’s ‘family’ as he lovingly calls them.
He touches his own bare forehead absentmindedly, briefly wondering how it would feel.
“How old are you?” He blurts out one day.
The question seems to genuinely catch Sir Jimmy off guard, who stops what he’s doing to look at him with a raised a brow. After a moment, he shrugs. “I dunno.”
“How do you not know?”
Sir Jimmy shrugs again. “Stopped keeping track. Didn’t seem to matter after…” he trails off, waving a dismissive hand. Then he turns back to Spike with a smirk. “Why? Do I look ancient to you, lad?”
Spike flushes. “No! I didn’t mean…”
“Ah, I’m just messin’ with you.” The older man chuckles, ruffling his hair.
Days blur into weeks, then months, and then before Spike knows it, almost a whole year has gone by.
He’s gotten taller. His jumper is now threadbare, but he can’t bring himself to get rid of it. It’s one of the only things he has that reminds him of his mum, reminds him of their last days together.
He thinks about home. Wonders how everyone is faring without him. Did they miss him? He hopes they’re all okay. His dad and baby Isla especially.
The anger he’d once harboured thinking about his dad’s betrayal has long since faded, leaving only a dull ache in his chest.
He tries not to dwell on it too much.
Sometimes he catches Sir Jimmy watching him a little too intently, eyeing him with something akin to hunger, like he wants to devour him whole. Spike’s not sure what to make of it. It unnerves him, and yet he can’t help but feel drawn in, like a moth to flame.
Or a fly tangled in a web.
He mentions it to Jimmy Ink once.
“Well, aren’t you lucky?” She croons with a condescending smile, patting him on the head. “You should feel honoured.”
They find an old brewery and pilfer whatever they can carry back to their temporary home: an abandoned church.
They never stay in one place for long, always on the move, always hunting and killing.
Spike has no intention of partaking at first, still remembering the last time he drank and how he’d ended up puking his guts out in the back of an alley and how miserable that whole experience had been. Unfortunately for him, Fox and Snake and Shite refuse to take his ‘no, thank you’ for an answer, and continue to pester him until he finally has enough and caves.
The clear liquid burns his throat on the way down and makes his eyes water, but he forces himself to swallow it, refusing to give the others the satisfaction of seeing him gag with each slow sip he takes.
Eventually, a sort of pleasant numbness settles over him. His head feels lighter, his limbs looser, and he finds himself laughing more at Fox’s bad jokes even though they’re not actually that funny.
At some point he gets up to stretch his legs a bit. He doesn’t get far before he loses his balance and somehow ends up sprawled across Sir Jimmy’s lap.
“S-sorry…” He stammers, his face burning from embarrassment.
When he tries to stand, Sir Jimmy stops him. “An’ just where do you think yer goin’?”
Spike falters, unsure how to respond to that.
“I… I don’t…”
Sir Jimmy simply grins, rotting teeth glinting in the firelight, his blue eyes swallowed by the darkness of his pupils.
As an icy dread begins to pool in Spike’s stomach, every instinct screams at him to flee – but he doesn’t want to come off as rude, doesn’t want to offend and anger the man who had come to his rescue when he'd needed it and welcomed him into his makeshift family with open arms.
So he stays.
He swallows nervously and shifts his weight. Then promptly freezes when he feels it – the unmistakable evidence of Sir Jimmy’s arousal, long and hard beneath him.
The world seems to grind to a screeching halt as the realization of what’s happening finally dawns on him, blood pounding in his ears and heart hammering against his chest. Even more mortifying is his own body’s reaction, and given the way Sir Jimmy’s smile widens, he knows he feels it too. As panic sets in, he begins to squirm, trying to get away, but Sir Jimmy’s hands seize his hips and keep him in place.
“None of that, now.” He chastises, clicking his tongue. “Just relax. Have some fun.”
Spike chances a desperate glance over his shoulder, at where the others are, but they’re all too busy drinking to notice what’s going on.
He also suspects – knows, deep down – that even if they did see, none of them would dare intervene.
No one is coming to save him.
He turns his attention back to Sir Jimmy.
“Sir, please…” He begs softly, shaking his head as tears well up in his eyes. “I don’t…”
His protests, weak as they are, are silenced by Sir Jimmy’s mouth on his. It’s not his first kiss. Technically that honour went to a girl at school when he was ten, on a dare. A quick and simple peck before she’d run back to her friends, giggling all the while. Sir Jimmy’s kiss is different. There’s nothing innocent about the way he claims his mouth, forcing it open and plundering it with his tongue. By the time he breaks it, Spike is left feeling breathless and lightheaded, the fight all but drained from him.
He sniffles, resigned to his fate.
“Shhh… don’t be scared.” Sir Jimmy coos gently as he guides him forward, dragging him over his clothed bulge and sending an unexpected jolt of pleasure through him. Spike’s breath hitches and he squeezes his eyes shut, digging his fingers into Sir Jimmy’s shoulders. He does it again, and again, and again, and before he knows it, his body is moving of its own accord, without Sir Jimmy’s assistance. “There we go. That’s it.”
There’s an unfamiliar sensation quickly building inside him, threatening to burst. He pants, rocking against him frantically as he chases that feeling. Underneath him, Sir Jimmy lets out a groan, pulling him flush against his chest and jerking his hips up to meet his.
“O-oh God…” Spike chokes out.
Sir Jimmy chuckles, bitter and humourless. “There’s no God here. Just me.”
Everything becomes too overwhelming, too fast, and before Spike knows it, he’s shuddering and gasping, nearly sobbing from the sheer intensity of whatever it is he's feeling ripping violently through his body.
He's certain he actually blacks out for a bit. When he comes to, he's acutely aware of the mess he’s made in his trousers, and that he’s slumped against Sir Jimmy as the older man holds him close, stroking the back of his neck.
“See? Didn’t that feel good?”
He can only nod weakly, because it had, which makes the shame and disgust he now feels even worse.
Still, when Sir Jimmy coaxes him into another kiss, he doesn’t fight it.
The next time it happens, he doesn’t even bother to protest. Just lets Sir Jimmy do what he wants with him.
Kiss him.
Fondle him.
Even fuck him.
He learns to ignore the pain and discomfort, until it eventually stops hurting altogether.
Or maybe he just gets used to it.
He also learns, very quickly, that Sir Jimmy prefers it when he participates, rather than simply lie still beneath him like a dead fish, staring at the gold cross dangling in front of his face while the man ruts into him until he comes. The most important thing he learns, though, is that clinging to him and telling him he loves him is the quickest way to get him to finish.
Each time, the others make sure to tell him how lucky he is.
How blessed, to have been chosen.
Spike doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry at that.
It happens suddenly one night.
He's sitting astride Sir Jimmy’s hips with his hands braced on the latter's shoulders as the cock inside him twitches a few more times before softening. His own spend glistens on Sir Jimmy’s stomach.
The others have long since gone to sleep. He hisses as he lifts himself up and lets the other man’s shaft slide out, leaving him feeling simultaneously relieved and empty, before flopping onto his side next to him and resting his hand on his chest. He toys with Sir Jimmy’s cross a little, admiring how the moonlight bounces off it.
He’s about to doze off when Sir Jimmy suddenly has him by the throat. Spike’s eyes fly open, only to be met with Sir Jimmy’s crazed ones hovering over his.
“Don’t ever leave us.” Leave me, he means.
Spike reaches up to claw at his wrist, heart racing as he tries to pry it from his neck. “I won’t!”
“I mean it. I’ll fuckin’ kill you if you try.” He tightens his grip, causing Spike’s vision to get spotty.
Spike’s seen firsthand what Sir Jimmy and his family are capable of. He knows he’s not lying.
“I won’t.” He repeats, somehow keeping his voice steady. He manages to muster a reassuring smile. “I love you, remember?”
Sir Jimmy blinks – then promptly releases his throat, seemingly satisfied with his answer, before he settles back down. He wraps his arm around Spike’s waist, pulling him close and kissing the top of his head. As though everything is completely normal. Like he hadn't just tried to strangle Spike to death.
He's known for a while that the man is quite unstable. Mad, even.
Yet there’s not much Spike can do but to embrace his madness and let it consume him. Not if he wants to survive.
And so he does.
Chapter 2: Bonus Chapter
Notes:
Wasn't planning on adding to this but then the trailer for Bone Temple dropped and, well... this is the result.
Chapter Text
He’s gotten good at reading Sir Jimmy, of recognizing and anticipating his ever-shifting moods.
It’s the reason he’s able to clock the man’s growing restlessness even from where he’s perched on an outcropping of rocks overlooking a nearby valley, away from the rest of the group.
They haven’t encountered anyone else days. Neither Infected nor other survivors, and Spike knows that not being able to indulge in his more violent and sadistic tendencies is making him more agitated than usual. He knows it won’t be long before he lashes out at one of them.
He doesn’t wait to be summoned. Simply leaves the others to their own devices and makes his way over.
Sir Jimmy doesn’t hear him approach, but snaps out of his reverie when Spike drapes himself across his lap without warning, knees bracketing his hips.
“And to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” He asks. His tiara sparkles in the sunlight.
“You looked lonely.” Spike remarks, looping his arms around his neck and shuffling closer. “Thought I’d keep you company.”
Sir Jimmy’s eyes darken, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Did you now?”
Spike gives him an innocent smile, hoping it conveys the right amount of adoration and devotion, and closes the distance between them.
Over time, it’s become easier to turn off his brain and not think about the wrongness of it all; to not think about just how much older Sir Jimmy is than him, or about all the things he’s let the man do to him since that night at the abandoned church.
As the kiss deepens, he slides a hand down Sir Jimmy’s abdomen and between their bodies. The blond is already half hard, and as he begins to palm him clumsily through his tracksuit, Sir Jimmy groans into his mouth and breaks the kiss, his hands resting on the back of Spike’s thighs.
“Fuck… you that eager for my cock, lad?” He says with a smirk. “Couldn’t even wait till we went to bed?”
Spike doesn’t respond to his obvious goading, focusing instead on freeing the man’s length. Once he does, he wastes no time wrapping his fingers firmly around the appendage and stroking him to full hardness, eliciting a pleased moan from Sir Jimmy.
“Yer gonna be the death of me.” He murmurs, closing his eyes.
As his head falls back, Spike presses his lips to his throat. He ignores the itchiness of his stubble as he mouths at his neck, not quite kissing it, all while he continues to stroke him.
Before long he’s coming with a groan, coating Spike’s hand in his spend, his cock twitching. Glancing down at the mess, Spike scrunches up his nose, but pumps him a few more times before finally releasing him and wiping his come sticky hand on the ground next to them.
“What’d I do to deserve that?” Sir Jimmy asks after a moment, peering at him through lidded eyes.
Spike shrugs. “Just felt like it.”
The lie falls so easily from his tongue.
Sometimes, when it’s just the two of them, Sir Jimmy’s mask cracks, and Spike sees him for what he really is under all the grandeur and gold: a scared little boy trapped in his past.
In those brief, flickering moments, he can’t help but feel pity for the man, and wonder what kind of person he’d have turned out to be if the outbreak had never happened.
Maybe then he wouldn’t be so depraved; wouldn’t be the kind of man who enjoys inflicting pain on others, Infected and Non-Infected alike.
Maybe then Spike would still have his innocence, he thinks to himself grimly.
In that other world, he wouldn’t know the touch of a man old enough to be his dad, or the taste of his tongue in his mouth, or the feel of his cock inside him every night.
Maybe in that other world, Spike wouldn’t have blood on his own hands.
He tries so hard to drown out their muffled screams as he carves Jimmy’s name into their flesh, but to no avail.
Spike shudders, pushing the awful memory back into the darkest recesses of his mind.
It’s too late to dwell on ‘what ifs’.
“What’re you thinkin’ about, lad?” Sir Jimmy’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts, bringing him back to the present.
The older man is lying on his side, watching Spike closely, curiously.
Cautiously.
Looking for any sign of dissent, of possible duplicity and betrayal.
Spike dons his own mask and musters a small, shy smile, reaching over and grabbing his hand.
“You, Sir.” He says truthfully, weaving their fingers together.
Blue eyes glitter with interest. “That right?”
“Uh-huh.” He inches closer, until he can feel the older man’s body heat radiating off of him.
When Sir Jimmy rolls him onto his back and enters him, he plays his part with every gasp and moan. He clings to him desperately, pleading for moremoremore between faux declarations of love, until the man finishes inside him with a groan.
Afterwards, Spike curls into him, tucking his head under his chin and resting his hand on his bare chest, right above his heart. The older man has already dozed off.
His mind drifts the switchblade in his pack, sitting only a few feet away from them. The very one he’d pulled on his dad before he’d left.
It would be so easy to kill Jimmy right now, he thinks.
Perhaps he will, one day.
Just… not now.
With that, he closes his eyes and lets sleep take him.
Orange_Guy on Chapter 1 Sat 26 Jul 2025 10:17PM UTC
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Anonymous Creator on Chapter 1 Sat 26 Jul 2025 11:49PM UTC
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hellotte on Chapter 1 Sun 27 Jul 2025 07:19AM UTC
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Anonymous Creator on Chapter 1 Sun 27 Jul 2025 11:26AM UTC
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