To Be Claimed

Review Responses:

Kat8cha—Yes, I couldn’t keep a Xander that OOC. And I quite liked the completely spontaneous White Knight Syndrome line too! I love my SpikeMuse when he’s being cooperative.

E—Well, it was originally PWP, so the little bit of angsting and back-story that will show up may well be the extent of plot. In other words, don’t expect this to go much of anywhere except the bedroom.

Susan—Thank you, thank you, thank you. I always worry that my charas aren’t right.

Spyder616—*passes helping of next chapter* Help yourself!

snow—Thanks. I always try to be original.

Druffine—I’m in love with it too. Though all authors tend to be in love with their work. Hee!

And, as always, FEEDBACK! It’s all in your reader reviews that I get the energy to keep this going cause I write it all out on paper first. Which means I have to have some motivation to type it up for you guys. Ja!


*****

Spike refused to feel guilt. Just because his boy wouldn’t, no couldn’t, do anything—apparently even determine his own personality—without permission was no reason to feel guilt. It was that blasted smile. He’d missed it. Hadn’t even been a full day, really, and he’d missed the annoying whelp. And the pure thanks in his voice. Was so not tying strings to his heart begging to be yanked. He’d never actually had a Pet before, though he’d always sworn to himself not to break them to bits like Darla and Angelus. Blank, empty, staring eyes did nothing for him. He really did prefer a bit of fight. Always made the submission that much sweeter. Spike flicked his pet’s side; the boy’s head popped up, dark eyes sparkling in happiness. Another helping of Love’s Bitch, you say? He was so bloody well buggered.

“Get yerself some food, pet. We’re going to be in for the day.” Xander was up and out in the kitchen before Spike could even think about tumbling him out of bed. Spike blinked. Whelp had gained some speed. He could hear his boy opening and closing doors and jars. He smelled peanut butter and three types of fruit spread. Least his eating habits weren’t likely to change. He turned and curled into the residual heat trapped in the sheets. Boy’s scent seemed faint, almost indistinct. Spike took a deep breath to catch the lingering base smell. Almost smelled like … himself. And that was oddly comforting.

“Hey, Master.” Spike hid a grin in the pillow. Improperly proper. Such a fun game this could be. “Did you want anything?” Boy sounded like he’d stuffed his sandwich down as fast as usual. He’d always seemed half-afraid food would be snatched from his very hands. Spike prodded a canine in thought.

“Could take some blood, pet,” he muttered. The taste of his boy last night was the only blood he’d had in a few days. Granted, it was stronger, sweeter, just bloody better than the pigshit of the past year—it still wasn’t enough to restore the strength he’d been slowly losing without a regular supply of human blood. He felt the bed tip and let himself rock toward the heat source in front of him. He slit open the eye that wasn’t buried in fluff to a most beautiful sight. His pet was kneeling at the side of the bed, leaning forward. His head was cocked to the left, exposing a strong, tan neck with a perfect ring of bite marks. Spike knew he would never tire of that sight. And then it hit him. A warm, spicy scent and the realization that his Pet, his Xander, was offering his fresh, burning hot blood. Straight from the vein and seared with life. And Spike could. This was no human. This was demon. HIS.

Spike pushed himself forward enough to bury his nose just under his pet’s ear, wondering at the sudden strength of scent. Boy was displaying interesting talents he’d have to remember to ask about. Then again, they had time, didn’t they? He flicked his tongue out to trace the line of neck down to rough scabs. Biting and nipping with blunt teeth, Spike softened and opened his mark, letting blood seep up to his lips. Hot breath slowly accelerated against his own throat, soft sounds barely reaching his heightened hearing.

“You can come when I bite you, Pet,” Spike said, warm skin pliant beneath his mouth.

“Yes, Master.”

Oh, that sent pleasant shivers down his spine. He could really get used to that. Reaching out, he looped an arm around his pet and pulled his boy up and under him. Hot flesh molded to his body. Slick tongue tracing his ear.

“That’s it, Pet, make me want you.” Spike settled his hips in the welcoming cradle of his boy’s spread legs. The heat was burning through him. Hard erection slid roughly against hard erection, boy’s entire body arching toward him. Tan skin beginning to glisten with sweat, and Spike had to taste, had to lick over his pet’s nipple to see the little bud puff up. He tugged at the stiffened flesh and idly wondered if the squirming and squeaking could be amplified by a ring. A pretty silver hoop, forever displaying the whelp as his. Spike snapped his hips down, biting hard, the sudden intensity startling a louder cry from his pet. His boy would be marked; every day there would be new bites and swipes and no one would ever doubt his claim.

**

Possession. He could practically feel the ownership pouring off of his Master. The need to mark. To claim. He’d heard stories. Legends. Possessive Masters were honored. Coveted. A Mar’geshun could trust a possessive Master, no matter their other traits, to keep them alive and safe and relatively unharmed. Xander had never felt this safe. He let Spike crush him into the bed. He reveled in the dominant display. He released himself to Spike’s care, to his Master’s every whim.

Xander could feel the tension curling low and hot. It wasn’t anything urgent, a patient type of excitement in the simple knowledge that the promised pleasure would be released. And he was certain Spike would bite him. His Master may taunt and tease and even refuse him in the future, but now was their time. There was nothing save Xander’s capitulation to Master’s desire. Spike would need to see Xander’s response to the order. To see the absolute obedience.

A sharp twist of hair dragged Xander’s head back. Spike’s eyes bore down into his. Endless promises and desires. His Master’s acknowledgement that they were bound for all time. It all sparked in those beautiful blue eyes. Then they were gone, and there was a warm, persistent pull at his shoulder. There were teeth sitting ever so lightly on his mark, and he knew without a doubt that Spike would never allow that bite to heal. He’d open it every chance he got, and Xander had so many nights of the burning pleasure to look forward to. His vision whited out; his body pulsed; he felt undone, unraveled, leashed to his body only through the weight of his Master. He could almost imagine he was watching himself—dark skin writhing under pale, gasping breaths sucked in through gaping mouth, body arching as it came, hot cum splashing against his own stomach as Spike shifted back.

What? Xander’s eyes tried to find his Master. Where? The comforting weight was gone, and he felt paradoxically chilled by the air. Why? He didn’t want to be alone.

There.

Spike was kneeling up, long fingers loosely pulling at a straining erection. He twitched, trying to move his languid body. Master snarled, a wordless order to stay. Xander froze, watching as those kindly cruel fingers sped up, tightened and released. Much as he’d rather be the one pleasuring his Master, Xander knew when to watch and learn. He wasn’t sure what Spike was up to, though he was enjoying the sounds and sights of his Master’s pleasure. Spike’s back was arched, his body one clean line from neck to groin. In the dim, shuttered light, it held a sense of the forbidden, an aesthetic quality that had Xander holding his breath as Spike began to pant. Tension was visibly cording down lithe arms, stretching up spread legs. Spike bowed back even further then stopped. The room was frozen, a moment of peaking pleasure. Spike gasped softly, body pulsing with release. Sticky cum splattered up Xander’s prone body, groin to chin. Xander moaned quietly, watching Spike’s muscles going slack. His Master’s hooded eyes, dark with contentment, met his, a slow smirk gracing the devilish face. Spike leaned forward, hands rubbing semen and scent into Xander’s skin. A thumb slowly rubbed the mess into his claim mark while the other hand hovered above his mouth. Xander opened up and took in a finger without prompting or hesitation. He swirled his tongue about the digit, reveling in the unexpected treat.

And the slightly bitter taste was good.

It was Master.

Was Home.