Banner by Selene

Chapter 1

It was simple, really. 

He’d spent months getting inside the Slayer’s head when he’d been in Sunnydale before, so it was easy to deduce that she’d want the bloody pouf to have his ring. He could have told her that Angelus wouldn’t want it; he was too busy being a martyr to ever experience another moment of happiness. 

Then again, she would have probably destroyed it if he had, and that just wouldn’t do. Never mind that he’d have to go toe-to-toe with the Slayer again with the telling, and one humiliation in a day was enough. Better just to track the ring’s progress out of the city and reclaim it before Angelus got his grubby mitts on it. 

The Slayer couldn’t go – she didn’t own a car, for one thing. Neither did her friends, for that matter. He’d spent weeks keeping an eye on all of them – discreetly, of course – in between his search for the Gem of Amara, and they were always walking everywhere. 

Everyone, except the wolf, that is. 

The witch’s boyfriend had a van. Just the thing to make the trip to LA and back. 

Making him the most likely person to carry out her wishes. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike nearly lost the van in the maze that was Los Angeles’ streets, but happened to catch a glimpse out the corner of his eye and pulled the Desoto over to the side of the road. He leaned his head out the window and caught a whiff of… something… and his eyes narrowed at the boy climbing down out of his van. 

Then he smiled as another idea came to mind. 

He’d always wanted a pet. And, if the lore was true, if properly trained, werewolves were exceedingly loyal, the perfect companion. With the gem back in his possession, he wouldn’t have to worry about getting hurt while teaching the pup his place. That it would take his mind off his troubles, that he was once again alone and on his own, Spike was quick to deny. 

He killed the engine and pulled out his cigarettes. Lit one up then got out to lean against the hood as he waited for the boy to draw near. 

“Kinda disappointed, mate. Like takin’ candy from a baby, you being trapped in this here alley.” He smirked when the boy froze several feet from the entrance, how his eyes darted to the front door of the building he was trying to reach. “How about you give me the ring I know you’ve got tucked away in your pocket, and I’ll let you go with a warning.” 

“No you won’t.” 

“No, I won’t. Good to know you’re not completely stupid. Now, come on, hand it over.” 

Spike extended his hand and waited. His brows drew together when the boy started to pant, then grabbed his abdomen and seemed to keel over in pain. 

“Bloody hell,” Spike muttered when the fallen figure looked up, his eyes now black. 

He flicked his cigarette away and rushed forward, clipped the boy on his jaw before he could complete the change. He’d obviously underestimated the youngster’s control over his demon, a mistake that could have proven costly. 

“Better be worth the trouble, pup,” he muttered as his hands patted down the unconscious boy’s pockets looking for the gem. “There you are!” 

He extracted the ring from the boy’s front pocket and slid it on his finger before anything else could happen – say, Angelus finding him lurking outside his home and about to make off with one of the Slayer’s friends. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

It was the cold that woke him. He opened his eyes and realized two things at once – he was naked, and he appeared to be lying on a pallet inside some sort of cell. 

“Weird.” 

“Ah. Good. You’re awake.” 

Oz lifted his head in search of the voice and found Spike standing on the other side of the bars smoking a cigarette. 

“Where am I?” 

“In a cage.” 

“Yeah. I got that. My clothes?” 

“Gone.” 

“Er, yeah. I noticed that too.” 

“You’ll get ‘em back. Maybe. If you earn them.” 

“Earn them?” 

“Uh huh. Today marks the first day of your training.” 

“Training?” 

“Yep. Gonna be my ‘daytime guardian’… among other things.” Spike murmured the last under his breath.

Oz’s brows went up, but he made no comment. 

Spike grunted. He rather liked that the boy didn’t make with useless chatter. There was fear, yes. Who wouldn’t be scared finding themselves naked and locked away inside a cage, the captive of an evil vampire? But, there was also curiosity, and the eyes staring at him blazed with intelligence… and, for once, sanity. 

He walked over to the cage and unlocked the door. 

“Well, come on then. Time to put you through your paces.” 

Oz stood and gave a passing thought to his nudity, then mentally shrugged and stepped out of the cell. 

“Over on the mats.” 

Oz looked at Spike, saw him jerk his head in that direction and turned and walked off. It wasn’t like he could actually say no. Not without suffering some type of bodily injury. 

Spike joined the boy after toeing out of his boots and shrugging out of his duster. He went one further and stripped down to his jeans. 

“You ever do any fighting, outside your demon’s need to hunt?” 

“Not really.” 

“Well, it’s about time you learned.” Spike motioned the boy forward. “Attack me.”

Oz just stood there. 

“Come on. I don’t have all bloody night. Attack me.” 

“You’re serious.” 

“Of course I’m bloody serious.” 

“Okay… um? How?” 

“Punch me. Try to take me to the mat.” 

Oz shrugged and charged. 

And promptly wound up on his back with Spike straddled over his middle. 

“Pitiful. Looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me.” 

For the next few hours, Oz found himself repeatedly sprawled on his back with Spike draped over top of him. There’d been times when he felt the werewolf rise up in him while they fought, eager to test its skill against the vampire. A first for him, changing without benefit of the full moon, if he discounted the incident in the alley. It was through sheer will alone that he was able to suppress the urge. That, and Spike’s uncanny knack for sensing when he was about to lose control and lending his hand – usually in the form of a fist to his face. 

He was sweaty with exertion and panting slightly, flat on his back yet again, but he wasn’t scared. Even with Spike’s fangs poised dangerously close to his neck. In truth, he was actually enjoying himself, and had been for nearly the entirety of the lesson. He didn’t even mind that he ached all over, and in places he thought never to ache, feeling a sense of accomplishment, and strangely, contentment. 

Now, with the two of them unmoving, Oz was painfully aware of the fact that he was still naked… and apparently, half hard. 

“Huh…” 

Spike grinned, not pretending to misunderstand the boy’s predicament. As he’d settled, and gotten into the grove of their sparring session, Spike hadn’t been able to prevent the slight flaring of his nostrils as the boy’s pheromone levels began to rise. After a while, it had been all he could do to concentrate on what he was trying to teach his new pupil. 

Especially when he would have much rather flipped him over and shown him who his rightful master was now. 

“It happens.” 

Oz nodded as if that explained everything. 

“You got a name?” Spike asked. 

“Oz.” 

“Oz?” 

“Short for Osbourne.” 

Spike got to his feet and extended his hand. “Well, come on, Oz. I’m feeling a mite peckish, so it’s back to the cage for you.” Spike locked the boy in his cell then pulled on his shirt, shoes, and duster. “Don’t bother trying to get free, not even your Were can break the bars.” 

Oz sighed and nodded. Eyeing the bars, he figured as much. 

It didn’t mean that he didn’t try as soon as Spike left, concentrating until he felt the bones in his face begin to rearrange as the werewolf took hold. He threw himself at the steel bars again and again; they rattled and shook but refused to give way, even under preternatural strength. 

Growling low in his throat, he paced the small confines of his cage for several minutes before reluctantly crawling off to the pallet in the corner to sleep. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

The next day brought more of the same. He was locked away in his cage unless he was training with Spike or handling nature’s call. Spike brought him food, but it was his comment that when the full moon arrived he’d have a proper meal that had Oz cringing inwardly. 

He was nervous when he first walked onto the mats, but inside a few minutes, he’d shrugged off his embarrassment over his unclothed state and tried to absorb what Spike was attempting to teach him. Again, he was forbidden to change and perhaps even the odds. 

“You’re not always going to be out of the limelight. You’ve gotta channel the werewolf’s strength without actually bringing it forth.” 

As explanations went, it was a good one, so Oz struggled to tap into his demon’s abilities, its strength and agility, its skill as a hunter. 

By the end of the second day, he’d even managed to surprise Spike and knock him off balance. It was just the once and he’d certainly paid for it, but it had been worth it to see the vampire’s shocked expression, and he’d preened – though later, back in his cell, wondered why – at Spike’s grudging, “Not bad, pup.” 

When he woke the next morning, he was covered by a blanket. 

By the end of the week, he had his jeans back. 

Two weeks to the day that he’d been taken captive – having kept track of the days with hash marks in the dust-covered ground of his cage – Oz was sitting next to Spike on the couch watching television. He scarfed down a really rare hamburger under Spike’s watchful stare, determinedly ignoring how the meat still seemed overcooked somehow, even if it was flavored with something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something delicious. Addictive. 

He polished off his dinner and licked his fingers. 

“Good?” 

Oz hummed what could have been an affirmative as he balled up the paper his burger had been wrapped in and stuffed it back into the bag. He tossed the bag onto a nearby table then leaned back with a contented sigh, snuggling deeper into the cushions. 

He missed Spike’s smirk as his eyes closed and he began to doze almost immediately, his body sated with food after a hard day of training. 

His thoughts turned to Willow – as they always managed to just before he fell asleep – and what she had to be thinking at his prolonged absence, whether or not Buffy had called Angel to check up on him, if they were looking for him even now. He still had no clue as to where he was; the building he and Spike were staying in seemed almost impervious to outside noise. Given the size of the building, he figured they were in what had once been a warehouse – Spike obviously had a penchant for the things – so he concluded they had to be in some type of city, maybe even Los Angeles still. 

Oz wasn’t sure how long he slept before he felt Spike nudge him awake and lock him back in his cage. He stripped out of his jeans in a daze, ignoring Spike who was no doubt watching his every move, before curling up on his pallet, his blanket wrapped tightly around him. 

He was asleep again almost immediately. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike watched Oz sleep for hours before reluctantly leaving the warehouse to feed. The full moon was coming soon and his time was running out. 

After getting it in his head to take the boy, he’d put as much distance between himself and his grandsire as he could in one night, getting as far away as Albuquerque before he’d had to stop because of the coming sunrise. Apparently he’d clipped the human harder than he’d thought because the boy had slept the remainder of the night and part of the next day. 

In that time, he’d found them a place to stay, thanks to a favor owed him by a mage he’d helped out in the past. The building he’d chosen had been converted to his specification with a few simple spells. Researching how one went about training a werewolf had taken a bit longer, and he’d had to wing it the first few days. 

Now he was on track, if a bit behind, and he just hoped that when the boy was actually unable to control the change at the full moon, the blood he’d been secretly feeding him will have done the trick. That the werewolf would recognize him as its master rather than an adversary. 

Spike made short work of finding a meal, settling for a vagrant roaming the streets so he could hurry back to the boy’s side. Time wasn’t on his side now, and he was inundating the boy with his scent, going so far as to bunk down with him on his pallet for a few hours each night while he slept. 

“Shoulda just had him and been done with it,” he muttered to himself as he walked back to the warehouse. Everything he’d read on the subject had urged the same thing. That when in their werewolf form, they were little better than mindless beast, unable to rationalize except on the most basic of levels. 

Yet he’d witnessed firsthand that the boy was different. The first night Spike had come back from feeding and the boy had still been in his wolf form. He’d walked to the cage and the wolf had lifted his head, regarding him with eyes that watched him warily, if not completely afraid. 

He’d grunted and muttered for it to go back to sleep. The wolf’s head had cocked to the side, then it had done as he asked, lowering its head back down on his paws, closing its eyes once more. 

It was because of that, plus his own less than pleasant educational experience at the hands of Angelus and the resulting enmity it had caused, that Spike had vowed he’d do things his own way first. Besides which, he’d never been one to follow the rules, and while his impulsiveness and disregard for the rules may have caused him grief at times, for the most part, his way of doing things had stood him in good stead. 

Far be it for him to change his ways now. 

Back at the warehouse, Spike stripped down and unlocked the cage. The boy didn’t wake as he settled around him, grumbling silently at bedding down on the floor even if it was for a good cause. He shuffled forward until he was flush against the boy’s flank, his erection pressed against the boy’s ass. 

As hard as he was, Spike would have liked nothing better than to ignore his own advice. He’d been celibate since capturing the boy, not wanting to introduce any scent other than his own during such a tenuous stage in his training, and was developing a severe case of blue balls. 

Spike flexed his hips and could have groaned at the feel of his prick sliding along warm skin. His hand tightened on the boy’s waist and he did it again, freezing when the boy stirred in his sleep. It wasn’t until he’d resettled that Spike reluctantly put some space between them. He took himself in hand and jerked off, grunting when he finally came and ejaculate shot out over the boy’s back and down his hand. 

Grinning, his work done, Spike rose and sought his own bed.

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