bmblbee (bmblbee) wrote in bloodclaim,

White Lightnin' 8/37

Title:White Lightnin' 8/37
Author: BmblBee
Rating Adult overall
Paring: S/X
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters in this story and make
no profit from them
Summary: Set in the early 1940's, Spike is a G-man sent on
a mission in the Applachian mountains to search for
and destroy illegal alcohol when he has an accident.
Xander is a moonshiner who takes him in.

Spike moaned turning his head to the side.
Prying one eye open in a squint, he tried to force it to focus.
Thank God he was well familiar with alcoholic hallucinations.

If not he might have really thought he was lying in a cabin,
a warm cozy cabin, with - hello - a sexy man sleeping on the floor.
'Damn, maybe I died and this is heaven'

Trying to remember what he had done earlier or at least how much
he had to drink, Spike's brain came up a blank.
Deciding it was all something he could think about later, he turned
his aching head around and slipped back into sleep.

Stretching his back and listening to each vertebrae snap into
alignment, Xander woke and mentally readied himself for tonight's run.
The sun was already down and near as he could figure it was probably
after 10 p.m. Learning long ago to trust his instincts, Xander knew he
could estimate the time to within 15min. and seldom needed a clock

Silently climbing to his feet, he tip toed over to his visitor to
check his status.
Still breathing. Check
No bleeding. Check
Still unconscious. Double check.

Tomorrow morning after he got a little sleep if Mr. Beemish still would
not wake up, he would make some decisions.
Right now he couldn't think about anything but the run.
He knew it took all his concentration and could not afford the
distraction of anything else.

Washing his face and hands in the wash pan, Xander stoked the
fire and quietly slipped out the door.
Fishing in his pocket he pulled out the key and unlocked the barn.
Just because Beemish's condition appeared unchanged, Xander knew
he could not take any chances.

Pulling the gear shifter in to neutral, Xander pushed the Lincoln out
of the barn and relocked the door.
Thank the stars he had loaded it earlier.
Even with the full moon, there was just enough cloud cover that
it was a darker night than he had anticipated.

Climbing behind the wheel, Xander pressed down the clutch and
allowed the car to roll forward down the lane and towards the back
road he would take to make his deliveries.

Once he felt he was enough of a distance from the cabin and had a
good speed coasting, Xander popped the clutch and the engine
roared to life.

He wasted no time in slamming it into second and on a double
clutch, third.
The adrenalin kicked in, as it always did, and he was off with a

It was one of those nights that just went like clockwork.
Each customer was on time and the deliveries went off without a hitch.
Everybody paid without threat and next weeks orders were
higher than usual.

Time and the Lincoln flew by.
Both flashing in the moonlight like a ghost.

Checking the sky he calculated it would be daybreak in a couple
of hours and he was down to his last stop.
This was an out of town juke joint run by an old man name of
Joe Smith.

Joe called his place "Percy's" and he was easily Xander's favorite
He was short, balding, and always chewed an unlit cigar.

He had told Xander once that they were to expensive to light,
but he just couldn't kick the habit.
He always saved him for last and took just a few minutes to chat.
Xander had often wondered who "Percy" was but never got
around to asking.

"Hey Joe. How they hanging?" Xander transferred his jugs
from the crate in the back of the Lincoln to the bed of Joe's truck.
and in turn took the empties from last week shipment.

He then finished up by throwing a stained oil cloth
tarp over the loaded truck bed and tied it down.

"Xander, my favorite boy. They are hanging lower than they
used to, and the old woodie got no more bark."
He laughed and grabbed Xander in a bear hug.
"Why you never come to see me?"
"You know I don't drink, Joe. Just ain't my thing."

"You ain't gotta drink to come visit an old man." Joe rolled the
cigar to the other side of his mouth and shook his finger at
Xander's smiling face.
"You're right. I promise to come see you for a cup of coffee, o.k?"

Changing tone Xander leaned against his car.
"Hey, Joe, you ain't heard nothing about a new revenuer in these
parts have you?"

Taking the cigar out of his mouth, Joe spit the stray pieces of tobacco
out to the ground.
"You seen somebody? There a stranger round here?"

Not sure why the lie, Xander suddenly felt the need to get back.
"No, just wondered is all."

"Ain't heard nothin', but it don't hurt to be extra careful.
You the best driver in these parts, and got the best shine.
My customers always askin' for your stuff. Sides you one of the
few shiners ain't never made nobody go blind from your shit.
That's real quality."

"Thanks, Joe." Xander collected his pay for the shipment and
hopped back in the car. Rolling down the window, he waved
his hand out.

"Take care, Joe. See ya next week."
Xander was already gone and missed the answering
"Be careful, Xander. Don't take no chances!"

Flying back down the road, Xander hit his lane and slowed
the cars engine to a hum.
He pulled up in, and cringing at the rumble of the car's idle,
he jumped out and opened the barn door.

As quietly as possible he parked and secured it.
Creeping back into the cabin, he briefly checked the stranger then
laid down on the floor exhausted.

Both men remained where they were for the next eight hours.
The cabin cooled as the fire slowly died, and the light of day
flooded the room.

Finally hunger, thirst, and the overwhelming need to piss nudged
at Spike's body and caused him to rouse.
Opening his eyes, the first thing he noticed was the wooden beams
of the cabin ceiling.

'What the fuck?' Rolling his head to the side
he noticed the man on the floor and had a sudden moment
of deja vu.

Struggling to remember, it gradually came to him that he had
wakened up earlier to what he had assumed was another game
of the mind.

Not like he hadn't wakend up before in very strange places, he
found the best thing to do was to slip out quietly and pretend nothing
had happened, which usually it hadn't.

Attempting to swing his legs over the side of the bed shot white hot
shocks of pain straight up his spine and splintered in his head

"God Damn!"

The pain that traveled through his head felt like a sledge hammer.
He had some hangovers in the past but this was way out of the
realm of 'one too many'

Spike had a really bad feeling about this.

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