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.
Xander stretched out with his arms high over his head and his toes
wriggling and tangling in the soft, warm, wrinkled sheets. He
rolled over on his side and ran his hands over the head shaped
dent on Spike's pillow smoothing it out.
Frowning, he remembered his plan from last week and he lifted
the corner of the pillow, relieved to find Spike had not hidden
or saved a lock of anyone's hair.
Glancing at the doorway, Xander wondered what was taking
Spike so long.
He had figured three minutes to tell whoever it was to
fuck off, five more minutes to check the kitchen for cookies
and back to bed.
He considered going down, but remembering his clothes were
still strewn about the living room floor, Xander decided to wait
a little longer. No sense in scarring a Girl Scout who might be
making a hell of a sale. Xander hoped she had Thin Mints.
Flopping back, Xander scooped up Spike's pillow and inhaled
It was everything he had smelled the first day in the shop.
Smoke, hair gel, after shave. Pure Spike.
Xander groaned and felt himself harden.
"Ten minutes. That's how long you have then I want you out."
Spike gave the door a push and let slam shut before following Angel
into the living room.
Angel stood quietly by the couch waiting for Spike to join him.
"I don't want to sit. I'm all dirty and I don't want to ruin your nice
Spike frowned. He could never remember Angel being concerned
about something like that before. In fact the old Angel would have
prided himself in causing someone a little extra work.
"Sit or stand. Makes no difference, just say yer peace."
Angel dusted off the seat of his jeans and lowered himself.
Once down, he slumped, seemingly too exhausted to speak, his face
falling into his hands. Just as Spike was beginning to wonder if
he had dozed off, he looked up, sorrow and sadness in his eyes.
Angel took a deep quivering breath and began.
"My life fell apart the day you left, Spike. The next morning, when I
woke up with the worst hangover in the world, I realized what I had
allowed Giles to do and I was stunned."
Spike wanted to scream. He wanted to call him a liar, to tell him
to shut up and get out, but he didn't. He put on his best indifferent
poker face and waited, wanting to see where this was going.
Angel had nine minutes left.
As much as he hated to admit it he was beginning to wonder if Angel
might be sincere. He had never seen him look so humble.
He had never seen his hair so.....flat.
Angel rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and continued.
"I cried for days. I wanted to come and find you, but I was too
ashamed. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. I lost my job and
after a couple months I was evicted. It wasn't until later that
I realized Giles had taken my bank card and stolen all the money
from our joint account. I had to sell everything just to survive.
I thought in time I would get over you, but I haven't."
Spike jumped to his feet. His eyes darted quickly from the front
door back to Angel's face, a thought to horrible to imagine.
"How did you get here? Why didn't I hear Big Red? Oh God
Angel, you didn't sell her did you?"
Angel wiped his face with the back of his hand leaving a stripe of
damp dirt across his cheeks.
"I've traveled for days to get here to you. Hitchhiked mostly.
Riding with truckers during the day, sleeping along the roadside at night.
She's gone, Spike. Sold for food."
Angel sniffed, his voice shaky as he tried to explain.
"Couldn't afford the gas anyway. I'm crushed, Spike. I'm broken.
Without you I'm nothing. I'm beggin' here. Please, Will."
Spike begin to hyperventilate. Suddenly he felt trapped, overwhelmed.
He needed to think. He needed some space. His brain, his entire
body was screaming "Escape! Breath! Delete! Xander!"
Spike froze. 'Shit. Xander.'
Immediately Spike turned, his face looking up the stairs as he tried
to decide what he should do. Just minutes ago every thing had been
so simple, so wonderful. Now, it was all gone. Or was it?
Spike looked back at the man who was sitting, surprisingly comfortably
on his expensive leather sofa. The same sofa he and Xander had played
on just last night. Still uncertain of his feelings for Angel, Spike was not
as unsure of Xander.
Xander had never lied to him. Never snuck around behind his back.
Xander couldn't be deceitful if he tried.
Angel watched all the warring emotions flood Spike and settle on his face.
He always could read him like a book and he watched as each of those pages
flipped by, chapter by chapter. He wasn't worried. This was a book he
had read a thousand times and he knew the ending well.
Angel scanned the room. Once he moved in he would want a stereo
set up in the far corner and those God awful paintings would have to go.
In fact, the large wall over the sofa was the perfect spot for his painting
of Elvis on black velvet. Now that was class.
He was so absorbed in his mental decorating he very nearly missed
Spike declaration of,
"......not alone. Give me a few minutes to talk to him and I'll be back down.
I'm not promising you anything Angel but you're right. We need to finally
conclude this situation between us one way or another."
Angel 's brow crinkled. He hadn't counted on that. He was fairly certain
Spike would be alone. Always waiting. Always pining.
Relaxing back, Angel shrugged. Didn't matter. No one new could
compete with what they had.
Looking all around, Angel stood and began walking around the room,
picking up first one item then another, deciding what could stay and what
would go. Several of the items were really high quality. They would
bring a hell of a price.
It also told him that Spike was doing pretty well for himself.
Circling the couch, Angel bent down and picked up a pair of jeans.
Jeans that clearly would have been to large for Will.
Cheap jeans. Value City jeans. Jeans with no designer name in the tag.
Angel snorted. Apparently Spike's choice of bed mate was not as high
end as his choice of furniture.
Before tossing them to the side, Angel felt the weight in the back pocket.
Expecting a wallet, he glanced at the stairs to make sure no one was coming,
then fished around. Might as well send the intruder off broke. He deserved
it for poaching on Angel's territory.
Tugging the black leather out, Angel was disappointed to see it was only
a black note pad and a pack of pictures. Hoping for a little insight on the
interloper, Angel flipped through both. He didn't recognize any of the
men in the pictures, but they had obviously been taken of the front of
the house from across the street.
They looked like surveillance pictures.
Yeah, he watched CSI.
He then read randomly page after page in the notebook. The entries
were usually short but orderly and documented the comings and
goings of just one person. William Pratt.
When the realization of what he was seeing finally registered, his face
nearly split with the smile that covered it.
'No fuckin' way! Spike's got himself a stalker.'
Angel tapped the photos into a neat stack, placed the notepad on the
top, tucked it all safely in his own pants pocket and sat back down to wait.