Paring: S/X with a side of W/G
Summary: Xander is drifting, looking for a purpose in life.
One that finally comes clear when he spots a certain
hairdresser by the name of Mr. William. Xander
immediately begins planning and plotting to win over
this scrumptious man. Of course nothing worth having
ever comes easily.
Genre: Comedy, romance. HAU
Warnings: The usual bad language as well as graphic m/m sexual
activities. Also warned of hints of poultry perversions.
Disclaimer: I Own or have claim on none of the characters or products
used and named in this story and no profit is made.
Feedback: Much appreciated. It encourages me to continue.
Special thanks to Petxnd for the wonderful banner and her patience and
willingness to preread and comment on my stories.
Wes had loaded his briefcase, along with the ton and a half of guilt
that he carried, into the back seat of his car and sped across
As usual Charles had tried to coax him to stay with promises of
dinner, a rented movie and all the sex his eager body could stand.
Wes had, as they both knew he would, refused explaining that
it was Spike's day off and he would be home waiting on him.
Before the ususal conversation of "Why do you stay?"
could even begin, Wes was dressed and out the door.
Whipping onto Locust street, Wes pulled into the carport carefully
so not to bump the prized bike that sat there.
He grabbed up his belongings and dashed in. As expected, Spike
sat at the computer researching stocks and bonds. Things that couldn't
have interested Wes less.
Darting through on his way to the bathroom, Wes planted a quick
kiss on the back of Spike's downturned head.
"Hi, Babe. I'm a little late. Had to stay over with a student that is failing
his English studies. What's for dinner?"
Cringing and wrinkling his nose, Spike sat up and slowly took his glasses off.
He laid them on the desk and rubbed his hands over his tired eyes.
"Take a shower, Wes. You stink."
Wesley's heart pounded so loudly in his chest he was sure the neighbors
could hear it. He chuckled weakly and pretended to sniff his under arms.
"Yea, well, southern California. Hot as hell out there."
Instantly furious at the implied insult to his intelligence, Spike jumped
to his feet and turned to face his boyfriend.
"Bull Shit! I know what an ass fucking smells like, Wes. At least be
honest enough to admit it then go wash it the fuck off."
His own temper now flaring, Wes slammed down his shirt and suit coat
on the end of the bed and returned to the living room for the face off
that had been a long time coming.
"How the fuck would you know what it smells like? Is your long term
memory that good? You want honesty? Well so do I? Where do
we stand, Spike? Is this it? Is this all the further our relationship goes?
Do we even have a fucking relationship?"
Crossing his arms, Spike felt himself calm with righteous indignation.
"I don't know, Wes. Can you call it a relationship when one of the
partners fucks another man then comes home smelling of his cum
as it runs down his legs"
Wes felt sick. His stomach tied in knots and his voice level fell to
almost nothing. He knew the time for denial was long past. His
only fear now was losing what he wasn't sure he ever had.
"He used a condom. Something you never do since you apparently
can't stand the thought of having real sex with me. Why is that Spike?
Why can't you stand to kiss me or make love to me? I'm not
Spike flinched at the painful comment.
"No, you're not, and you would never cheat with another man, would you?
Oh, wait a minute, isn't that exactly what you are doing?"
Wes had no answer. Was it cheating if there was no relationship?
Was it cheating if there was no love?
Spike stood silently and looked at the man in front of him. It
suddenly struck him as very strange that he knew less about Wes and his
past than he knew about most of his regular clients that talked to him
while he did their hair.
He knew the names of their children, what kind of work they did, and
the last time they had a fight with their husbands, including who was
right and who was wrong.
Sadly, Spike knew Wes was more than justified in his anger and
Even if Wes had told Spike all about himself, Spike couldn't recall one
He had always tried to be honest and tell Wes they could not have more
than they did, but the more Wes tried to pull him in, the more he pulled away.
This ship had sunk at port. The sails never felt a breeze and the oars
never touched the water.
The silence dragged on a beat too long and Wes's anger was flushed
away on a wave of sorrow. Shaking his head he turned and walked
away, through the bedroom and into the bathroom, closing the door
softly behind him.
Spike stepped forward. He wanted to say "Stop, wait." He wanted
to go after him and apologize. He thought about stepping in the shower
with him and washing away all traces of the other man.
In the end he did none of those. Picking up his glasses, Spike sat
back down and returned to the site he had been studying earlier.
He picked up his calculator and the tap tap of it was the only
sound he made.
Xander stopped by the drive thru window of the First Second St.
bank and withdrew his last $250.00 He had been so proud of
himself over the three years it took him to save it, but this was an
He had always considered it a rainy day fund and by God the storm
clouds had fuckin' let loose. He was standing in the middle of a William
down pour and he needed Goddamn supplies.
Heading down to the local strip mall he darted in to the Everything's
A Dollar store. There he purchased two pair of dark glasses,
a scrap book with glue stick, a throw away camera, and a
black ball cap with "Get-R-Done" emblazoned across the bill.
There was a huge bin of the hats available. Apparently they
had not sold well at Sears.
He jumped back in the Chevy and dutifully logged all purchases
in the back of the notebook. Just in case he needed it for tax
Damn that Uncle Sam.
Resisting the overwhelming urge to go by the house again, Xander
turned west and headed home. He needed to review and replot the
next step in his plan.
Whistling happily, Xander pulled up in front of his house, collected
his supplies and headed for the man cave where he spread it all
out on the top of the washing machine.
He sorted through everything and laid it all out neatly.
In alphabetical order.
Now he was getting somewhere!
He plopped down on his sofa bed and proceeded to read over his notes,
check his log and think about everything that had happened today.
He decided he would need lotion.
He was only three strokes into his contemplation when the interruption
threw him off his game. His hand stopped but never released.
Throwing his head back he matched screech for screech.