Rating: M for Mature language and m/m sex
Also warning for violence.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters
or products named in this story
Spike is a Homicide detective trying
to stop a serial killer before he strikes
again. Xander is a psychic who offers
to help him.
NOTICE!! Sunday's chapter is being posted Saturday night
as all of the state of OHIO is under a blizzard warning and
my power will probably go out.
Thanks to the talented Petxnd for the banner and preread.
It was 5am and everything in the small loft apartment was dark
and silent. Both men slept peacefully in their own respective beds,
lulled by the quiet repetitious tic tic tic of the clock that hung on
the living room wall.
Traffic on the street below was still light, pick up trucks and ratty old
cars hauling early morning fishermen to their jobs on the wharf dodged
around the slow rumbling city street sweepers that cruised through the
back roads spraying water and running circular scrubbers in a pointless
attempt to keep the pavement free of trash and litter.
Caught behind it and unable to pass, a white panel van honked it's horn
impatiently, knowing it wouldn't make a difference but it seemed to
satisfy the frustration of the passenger.
"Fuck! Hit the horn again. Damn fucking street cleaners. You know
they're a step below garbage collectors. Ride around all day in a fucking
truck and collect a huge fucking paycheck. Look at them! They are
intentionally blocking the street just to fuck with us."
The driver of the van bristled, the muscles in his jaw flexing with the
suppressed urge to yell at the stupid bimbo sitting next to him. He had
an uncle that worked for the city and knew what a hard job it was.
He earned every single dollar of the paycheck he got. A paycheck
that was a lot smaller than a t.v. reporter that got her job because of a
flip of a blond head, a big toothy smile and the ability to give a blow job
better than a dust buster on a full charged battery.
"Look, Buffy, relax. It's not like we are reporting on the war in Iraq.
We are just going to the wharf for a fluff piece on the declining use of
hemp in fishing nets. If we are a little late, so what?"
Buffy scowled, giving her driver and camera man a look that just screamed
"Don't forget who the star is here". She then leaned over him and slapped
her small, tiny little hand down on the center of the steering wheel
and let the horn roar. Max just rolled his eyes. He knew arguing further
was a waste of time.
"God damn fuckin'................Heyyyyyy."
Suddenly Buffy pulled her hand off the horn as something else caught her
ADD interest. Turning around in her seat she stuck her bony finger under
Max's nose, pointing across the street from where they sat.
"Look, over there. I know that Corvette. It belongs to Homicide detective
Will Pratt. Why the hell would it be down here when I happen to know
he lives clear across town? He's working on that murdered girl case isn't
he? Fuck! Max! I'll bet he's got a lead or a suspect or something.
We could get the scoop before anyone else finds out. This could be my
ticket into the real world of news journalism. No more old lady with 50
cats stories. Oh shit, I heard CNN is looking for someone new.
Quick, turn down that alley. I say we park out of the way and watch.
See who he comes out with. Follow him and find out where he goes.
Be sure you have the camera ready. If he drags a perp out I want it all
on tape. Those taser shots are always great."
Max finally reached a wide spot in the road and a chance to pass the huge
machine in front of them. Buffy had dragged him on these wild goose
chases before and they had always led to dead ends. In addition to the
wasted time and embarrassment from his fellow cameramen, he had repetedly
been the one chewed up and spit out by the station's general manager, Bill,
leading him to believe that Bill was the one Buffy was dust busting and
probably NOT spitting out.
Max considered zipping around the sweeper, ignoring her, and running
on down to their assignment, but to be honest it was a toss up.
Did he let Buffy put him out here chasing his tail and in the end get another
written reprimand, or did he defy her and do the job they were sent on?
Max glanced at the delicate looking woman beside him and knew what a
false impression that was. He had seen her at her hormonal worse.
Screaming, cursing, threatening and in the end pulling out all stops and
bursting into tears.
He also knew that if he pissed her off, the next time Bill pumped one down
her throat she would complain about how he was compromising her career
and get him disciplined anyway.
It was a no win situation.
Checking his watch, he made a decision. He would pretend to play along,
give her one hour, then somehow talk her into finishing their assigned job.
Maybe he could survive this morning after all.
Max whipped the t.v. news van around the corner and parked about a
half a block away in a darkened area of the alley. He pulled his trusty
thermos out and poured himself a cup of coffee. Buffy flipped down
the sun visor and began primping. Flipping her hair and checking her
teeth for lipstick. Max sighed and scooted down in his seat.
It promised to be a long hour.
Spike stretched his arms high over his head. He couldn't remember the
last time he had slept that well, and if it weren't for some first class asshole
laying on their car horn he would still be there.
Squinting his eyes open, Spike finally came to the realization that he was
not home. Remembering last night he stiffened, wondering where his
host was and just how humiliating this was going to prove to be. Flinging
his feet over the side, he immediately sat up, jerked the strange throw
cover off him and looked around.
"Good morning. I was going to wake you but you looked so peaceful I
just didn't have the heart. You want some breakfast? Eggs and toast?"
Spike spun around and saw Xander, standing in the kitchen, clean, fresh
and looking like the morning sunrise on a perfect summer day. His smile
was so comfortable and welcoming that what ever strangeness Spike
felt at being there dissipated immediately.
Pulling himself to his feet, Spike stretched the kinks out of his back and
looked down in dismay at the crumpled, wrinkled mess that
was the suit he had just slept in.
"Yeah, sure, breakfast would be great. Mind if I go........."
Spike waved his hands in the direction of the bathroom as his bladder
responded to the pull of gravity and became very insistent.
"Sure, help yourself. Hey after we eat we can head on over to the
other crime scenes. I can't wait to see what impressions I get. Damn, I
wish you had something the killer touched. I know it would make a big
difference. I know the energy on it would be incredible."
Spike stood in front of the toilet, cock in hand feeling the wonderful relief
that comes with a long hot morning piss. The possibility of discussing the
rose bud with Xander flashed through his mind but was dismissed as
He couldn't take the chance. It was the one thing they had held back
and he and his partner promised each other to discuss the matter
before either of them would release it.
Spike chuckled and could just see that conversation.
"By the way, Faith, I'm working with a psychic wood carver and I'm
thinking of letting him handle a couple of the rose buds to see what
kind of cosmic energy he can suck off them. You don't mind do you?"
Spike shook his dick and shoved it back in his rumpled pants.
'Yeah,' He thought 'That would go REALLY well.'
After washing his hands he returned to the small kitchen and hopped up
on the bar chair.
"Sure. We could do that, but first I need to swing by my place and change.
Xander slid two eggs and several pieces of toast on Spike's plate.
"Sounds great. After we get done with the crime scenes we can go
out to lunch."