Pairing: X/S
Prompt: 140 – First Come, First Killed
Warnings: Hyenas spotted
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,752

Summary: Spike knows that, sometimes, following the rules will get him what he wants.



Induction


by
JitkaJaylor


Spike huffs as Xander’s hand settles on a shoulder and pushes him down into the ratty chair. Hyena Lady’s definitely in control, and Spike hasn’t bothered to ask why they’re waltzing into a campus house in the middle of the night. She can be a bit tetchy about questions sometimes, and Spike rather likes keeping all of his fingers in working order most of the time. The common room smells vaguely of Xander, like his boy’s been here often enough to stake a claim on both space and residents. Which means he’d been hanging about before his inner animal blinked her vivid green eyes and rolled out of his mind. Spike shifts uneasily under the burning hand holding him gently in place, not sure if he likes the thought of meeting someone important enough to have been instinctively claimed. Slayer and Red hadn’t ever carried Xander’s scent markers, dominant or submissive, and Spike had been oddly proud to carry both.

Then the heartbeats thumping away in the two bedrooms change. They don’t shift from sleeping to waking, but there’s a difference in strength, in the amount of blood pumped each slow beat. Spike narrows his eyes and waits, knowing she won’t let him come to any danger yet wary of these interlopers on his turf. Because Xander is his, boy and animal, both are Spike’s in a demonically basic way that he will fight to keep.

“Xan?” a husky female voice whispers into the dark. Xander answers with two quick, high-pitched whoops of a chuckle that never fail to arouse Spike: his blood, his lust, his hunger all straining toward Xander, to follow Xander, have him and hunt with him in ways Spike has missed ever since Angelus got smacked with that stupid soul. The two girls, quietly padding into the room, exude a confident violence that reminds Spike of any number of Slayers except for the wild vitality flowing through their movements. The boys, necks bent ever so deferentially, are militant, watching Spike and the perimeter vigilantly. They spread around Xander and Spike, movements coordinated with familiarity and instinct. And Spike sees it, has spent too much time with Xander not to recognize it in his face. They’re pack. Xander’s pack.

“Rhonda,” Xander whispers back, stepping forward to brush a cheek to hers. Spike fights back his need to stake a claim, lash out with his definition of ownership. But it’s not his place, not yet, and he knows what he’ll loose if he doesn’t follow all of the rules tonight. Xander’s hot fingers run up his neck and ruffle through the hair at the back of his neck, and Spike relaxes, safe in Xander’s hands. “It’s time to move,” Xander says. The pack pause, heads tilted, then the smaller girl giggles and nods.

“We’ve been bored,” one of the boys says. He’s standing beside the window, face dark but for a glitter of gold-tinged, green eyes when the moonlight catches his face just right. It’s not as strong as his Xander. None of them are. Still, Spike can see the potential, feel the echo, and he feels the coiling urge to run with them.

“Well, you know what they say, Tor,” Rhonda sneers. She opens the door and pours out into the night, curves twisting with a hint of feline taunting.

“First come,” the unnamed boy sings out, dashing after her with a soft cackle.

“First served,” the grinning girl giggles, grabbing Tor’s coat and dragging him out.

Xander, lips pulled back in a teeth-baring grin, pulls Spike up by the back of his neck. “For dinner,” he whispers into Spike’s ear. Then they’re tumbling out of the lair and swept up into the hunt, and Spike knows, at the end of this hunt, that there will be a claim, and he’ll be pack. Family.

Fully and finally.




The End



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