Demon Rights

by SpikesKat

Spike stood on the edge of the ballroom, unsure how he felt. Every Tom, Dick, and Haclak demon was in attendance tonight at the costume ball, including Angel. And that – Angel dressed up and apparently enjoying himself while socializing with the enemy – more than Wesley’s deliberate distance these last two weeks, had him ready to tear off the head of the demon closest to him, his uneasiness was so great.  

His sire wasn’t one to mix it up with the bad guys – no matter the provocation. But there Angel stood, right in the middle of things, holding court and laughing. Bloody laughing. And with none other than the devil himself, Izzerial. 

The noise set Spike on edge, made his hackles rise in warning. As did Angel’s behavior.  

A movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and Spike turned away from his contemplation of Angel and watched as Wesley skirted his way through the crowd, the former watcher’s gaze intent on something going on across the room. He dismissed Angel from his mind and made to follow.  

If he accomplished nothing else tonight, he was going to have things out with Wesley, clear the air about that night in the library. 

Two weeks was too long for the man to hold a grudge for having to wear a dress. 

When Wesley stiffened at his approach, sensing his presence without actually seeing him, Spike wracked his brain on what he knew about vampire lore, about bites and claims, before shaking his head at his foolishness.  

He’d taken a nibble, sure, but there’d been no deep meaning behind the act. He’d not been caught up in the moment, intent on declaring his undying affection or anything. Blood and sex often went hand in hand with a vampire. Wesley’s blood had just heightened their experience in the library, taken their sex-play to another level. Made the agonizing pain at Fred’s death ache just a little less in the wake of their lassitude. 

Or so he told himself.  

His inner demon had other ideas, especially when he saw a Sathari demon take a menacing step towards Wesley.  

“Problem, Percy?” Spike asked nonchalantly. His stance belied his calm tone however. He was clearly ready for a fight and was just waiting for the Sathari to give him a reason.  

Wesley shook his head in the negative, his mouth opened as if to speak.  

The Sathari beat him to it. 

“Leave, vampire. This does not concern you.” 

Not bloody likely! 

Spike took an aggressive step forward— 

“Spike!” 

Spike would know that voice anywhere. Would know, too, the restraining hand on his shoulder. The one that clamped down hard enough to make him wince, though he refused to give his sire the satisfaction. 

“Just looking after what’s mine,” Spike growled back, his eyes never leaving the Sathari.  

He heard Wesley gasp in surprise and felt Angel’s grip lessen, however briefly. 

“That’s right,” he said. “I marked the watcher. That makes him mine. Even you wouldn’t deny me the right to look after what belongs to me, Angelus.” 

“Careful, boy.” 

If it weren’t for the slight squeeze to his shoulder, Spike would have been sure he was in the presence of his unsouled sire. As it was, he just continued to play the role Angel had started, deferring to his elder with a slight bow of his head. 

“Sorry, sire. Didn’t mean to disrupt the Archduke’s shindig. I’ll just take the watcher and leave, yeah?” 

Spike felt, rather than saw, Angel’s imperious nod of assent. With a last glaring look at the Sathari, he latched on to Wesley’s wrist and dragged him away. He clearly heard Angel commiserate with the Sathari about willful childer and Spike in particular, and the demon’s grunt of agreement, as he wended his way through the crush of demons in search of the exit. Thankfully, Wesley was silent through it all, not speaking until they were outside and well away from the others. 

“Would you mind telling me what that was about,” Wesley demand once they were in the car Spike had commandeered for the night.  

Spike’s grip on the steering wheel tightened as he debated either explaining what he thought was going on or dragging Wesley into his lap and kissing him. 

Kissing won, hands down.  

It had been two weeks after all.  

He’d let Angel do the talking. His sire liked that sort of thing.  

Spike’s lips were put to better use, silencing Wesley’s protestations until he groaned in surrender.

The End

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