Author: BmblBee
Rating: Adult
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.
Still sitting in his car, Xander scribbled frantically, filling page after
page of the small black notepad. He recorded the time, date, temperature
and weather conditions.
He logged each man by description, height, weight, amount of time
spent with Spike and level of attractiveness.
He went into great detail to include as much information as possible
knowing all these facts would prove helpful when he later
returned to his basement office to analyze the data.
He was stunned.
Apparently the whole time Xander had been envisioning Spike being
tossed painfully to the pavement in a flaming late night accident
where he lie, crumpled, writhing on his back, calling out for Xander,
he was instead being sexually assaulted.
Snatched, probably jumped as he unsuspectingly walked in the door.
Xander still held out hope that at some time during the time Spike
was being molested he had screamed "Xander! Oh, God, Xander!"
It was a scenario he had never considered but one he would
repeatedly think through later.
Then, Spike had been, no doubt, cruelly violated.
Forced between two sex crazed wild men who had probably
used Spike for their own perverted pleasures.
Xander felt his cock twitch and he scooted a bit in his seat to
relieve some of the pressure.
He wondered how much of that he should record.
He wondered how to spell masochistic.
He wondered if there had been food products involved.
Xander cursed his low gas tank and wished, not for the first time,
that he had driven by last night. Just to make sure Spike had
arrived home safely. He could have taken a peek in the windows
and possibly saved his precious Spike from the perversions that had
apparently awaited him.
His eyes got big as his thoughts traveled on down that path.
'What if they had caught me? Dragged me inside and forced
me to participate. Accosted me against my will. Ripped my
clothes from my struggling body.'
Xander promised himself that from now on he would wear
clean underwear at all times.
Xander chewed the end of the pencil. The only glitch
in this evil scenario seemed to be the cheerful good bye Spike gave
the men as they slunk away.
After a moments consideration, Xander came to the only conclusion
possible. Spike was just too big hearted and forgiving for his own good.
Thank God he now had Xander to defend his virture and protect
his hangy down! Spike certainly needed taken in hand.
Luckily, Xander had two.
With that settled, Xander took a few minutes to look over all his
notes, use his binoculars to take one last look, and check his camera,
which he saw had just one more picture available before the roll was full.
Deciding to drop the disposable Kodak off at the drug store on his way
home, Xander looked around for something to snap. Since he had plenty
of pics of the house, carport, and motorcycle, he decided maybe a long
shot of the corner intersection might prove helpful if he ever had to
describe the area in, say, a court hearing.
'Yes, your honor, I saw the perps make their getaway in a red Audi that
went north on Locust turning east onto Lombardy. No, sir, I did not
see them brandishing weapons but the white man had the definite look of
someone who would know their way around a bull whip.'
Hanging out the window, Xander snapped the button completing the roll.
He dropped the camera onto the seat beside him, anxious to have it
developed, and figured it was time to head home.
He had a lot of work to do.
Xander pumped the pedal, turned the key, and, jerking the wheel, pulled
away from the curb.
BANG!!!!
Walking by his front room window, Spike tossed his crumpet in the air
and instantly dove to the floor at the sound of the gun shot.
"Fuckin' drivebys. Jesus Christ!"
Spike rapidly crawled on his hands and knees across the floor feeling
the carpet burns as he went.
He slowly lifted his head till he could peer out the front window.
Nothing.
No cars, no danger.
Wherever the shot had come from it appeared to be gone.
Cautiously Spike climbed to his feet. He resolved to call 911 the
next time that happened. He was not about to lose his quiet neighborhood
to the wild marauding gangs of crazed street thugs armed with oozies.
Muttering curses, Spike picked up the remains of his breakfast biscuit,
tossed it in the trash, and headed back to bed.
Xander barreled down the street, his brain reeling from the massive
amount of data that would need analyzing and knew it would probably
take all day.
With an annoyed smack of his hand to the steering wheel he muttered
as he headed for the photobooth outside the drugstore.
"Fuck! Gonna end up working all day. Man shouldn't have to put in this
much overtime on the weekends. Just goes to prove, no fuckin' rest
for the wicked."
The rest of the day was a blur. He dropped off the camera, noting in his
book that the pictures could be picked up Monday after 1 pm.
He hated to have to wait that long but, fuck, whats a guy gonna do?
Like pulling teeth to get people to do their fuckin' jobs these days.
He idly noticed the HELP WANTED sign at the photo booth.
It was a job he may last week have considered but now was way to
busy for.
'There is just not enough hours in the day' He sighed.
Arriving back home he scooped up all his paperwork and equipment
and headed for the basement hoping to avoid any poultry reference the
old man had had the last three hours to think up.
With a stroke of incredible luck, Xander found not only was the jokester
passed out in a pile of empy beer bottles but he had left his wallet lying
on the coffee table where just anyone could lift a twenty or two.
How careless.
Xander took three.