Angelus teaches Spike humility by shaving off those bleach-blond locks. I breaked the Spike.

Spike jerked in his bonds, the holy water searing into his flesh, the scent of burning sharp in the air. He heard the dark chuckle from his tormentor, his entire body cringing away from the sound.

"Open your eyes, boy." Spike hated the part of himself that wanted to comply with the order. He hissed when more holy water was sprinkled on his skin. "This only gets worse, Willy-boy. Open. Your. Eyes."

Spike did so, putting as much defiance and cockiness into his expression as he could. Angelus just laughed at him, amused at his boy's spirit. He'd break that soon enough. He'd been trapped by that God-touched soul for long enough, and now he wanted to play.

"Ooch, Spikey. Someone gave you self-esteem while I was gone. Made you think that you were special, that you were worthy." Angelus leaned closer. "You're not." Spike struggled to push down the old insecurities, the wounds that had been around since his human days.

"You think we could get this show on the road, mate? I've got places to be, slayers to fuck..." Angelus growled warningly and grabbed Spike's hair, pulling his beck back so the skin was drawn taut over his muscles and bone.

"You've developed some bad habits, boy." Angelus leaned in and inhaled Spike's scent, the leather smell of him, his defiance overlaying the rich scent of his fear and...yes, there it was, arousal and submission. A Childe reacting to his Sire. Willy didn't have far to go, pushing him over would be a treat.

Spike heard the straight razor before he saw it. He tracked the stainless steel blade as Angelus spun it dexterously between his fingers while tightening his grip on Spike's hair.

"You see, Willy, you're nothing," Angelus said casually. The razor spun hypnotically. "You're weak. Weak and pathetic. Before I found you, after I turned you...you're a sad, disastrous excuse for a vampire." Angelus trailed the cold blade against Spike's throat. Angelus stepped behind his prisoner, pressing his body flush against the younger vampire's back.

"Worthless," he murmured into Spike's ear. He felt the fine tremble that ran through Spike, the uncontrollable reactions to his words and presence. He pulled Spike's head back farther, bending him backwards, and placed the razor just at Spike's hairline.

Spike screamed in fury as Angelus dragged the straight razor over his scalp, bleach-blond locks falling away. Angelus hated that hair, of what it represented to Spike, for Spike. It was the boy's rebellion, his refusal to conform, to submit, a declaration of independence, a 'fuck you' to everyone. Angelus would not stand for it.

With ruthless precision, Angelus removed every strand of too-bright hair, scraped the last of Spike's defenses, the vestiges of self-worth from his head. He let Spike struggle and yell, buck and whine; magnanimous of him, really. By the time there was one last patch of fluff, one tuft of curly hot-white hair, Spike hung limply in Angelus' arms, docile and glassy-eyed.

Good. Now he could start rebuilding his boy, the way he should have the first time.