Disclaimer: The Bee owns none of the characters or products named in this story.
Warning: This story contains mention of prostitution, group sex, violence, m/m orgies
and one wild raccoon.
Summary: Xander is a male prostitute. It is his chosen occupation and he is very
happy with it. One night he takes on a group of clients with a friend and things
do not go as planned. When his friend is found murdered, homicide is called in.
Spike is a brilliant detective with OCD issues. When he is told to hide out in the
woods with the witness to protect, he gets more than he could have imagined.
Special thanks to Petxnd for the wonderful banners, the story idea and for holding my
hand during the writing.
Xander was exhausted. The long walk home in the early predawn hour
seemed to take forever. Tugging the collar of his thin white shirt up
around his neck did little to insulate him from the chilly, damp air. When
he finally arrived back to his small home, Xander darted up the steps,
turned the key in the lock and closed the door behind him.
Reaching into his pocket, he marveled at the huge wad of bills that he
pulled out and tossed down on his kitchenette counter. He grinned and
did a quick happy jig as he dropped the cowboy hat overtop his windfall
before double checking the bolt lock on his front door.
With a wrinkle of his nose, he pealed off the sour smelling clothes, ignoring
the numerous patches of stiff, crusty flakes that sparkled in the artificial
light of his small bedside lamp. He stank. There was no way around it
and no ignoring it.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, Xander stared down at his wrinkled, limp,
spent dick and considered whether or not he had enough strength left to
drag his well used ass down the hall to take a shower.
In the end, he determined that he did not. He laid back, threw the blanket
over top of himself and within minutes, was sound asleep. When he next
opened his eyes, it was 12 hours later. He felt relaxed, refreshed and like
a million bucks, or at least 500.
Xander chuckled as he remembered the night before and his hand reached
up to feel the weight of the diamond earring he had swiped. It felt good.
It felt right and Xander told himself that he deserved it.
Rolling over on his stomach, Xander plumped his pillow under his face
and he smiled. He guessed he was going to have to bite the bullet and
admit to his friend that this was one S&P that went well. Very well.
Unfortunately, the act of moving caused the blanket to lift and release a
wave of funk that could no longer be ignored. With a groan, he hoisted
himself from his warm, crumpled nest and he staggered to his feet.
Rooting through his closet, he grabbed a clean shirt and a pair of jeans.
He then wrapped a towel around his waist and he sauntered casually
down the hall, totally unconcerned that any of the other renters in the
boarding house might see him.
Within the hour, he was stepping out in to the late afternoon warmth of a
perfect California day. He was clean, fresh and hungry enough to eat
the asshole out of a skunk. Whistling a happy tune, he patted the pocket
that bulged with cash and he headed in the direction of Denny's for a
Grand Slam Breakfast.
After eating, he took the long way home. He strolled through the park
and watched the normal people go about their day. He chatted with an
old man who was feeding the pigeons and he flirted with a young woman
who was jogging with her dog. He smirked as she waved and ran on.
"Fuck, yeah, I could hit that if I wanted."
Sometime during his shower, he had decided not to work tonight and
tomorrow was doubtful. In fact, since Joey was in the same windfall
situation, Xander headed toward the south side, hoping to catch his
friend before any of that money was boiled in the center of a spoon and
injected in a thin, stretched vein. Maybe they could take in a movie or
just hang out like regular guys. Maybe shoot some pool and share a
beer or two. Xander was hyped.
After two hours of seeking and not finding, the sun was starting to dip
low in the sky and he knew any chance of catching Joey now was gone.
He was certain his friend was already slumped in the back room of a
flop house with his eyes rolled back, a needle in his arm and a skank
stealing the rest of his cash.
Xander headed home. A sack of Whoppers and fries in front of the
television wasn't exactly what he had planned, but to tell the truth, that
sounded pretty fresh too. By 7 PM he was climbing the steps and
entering the front door. When he got to the entrance of his own small
rooms, Xander stopped.
Something was wrong. He stood in the hallway and stared at his door.
It was open just an fraction of an inch, but it might as well have been
ripped from it's hinges. The meaning would be the same. Someone
had been here. Maybe someone was still here.
Xander's heart pounded in his chest and his ears strained to hear any
sound or movement from within. He was torn. What should he do?
Who would do this? Shit he knew. This was crack alley and he was
actually surprised he hadn't been robbed before. Course, a radio, a
small television, and a coffee pot were his only earthly positions, but it
was still like bait to a hungry trout.
Xander marginally relaxed. Crack heads were a quick in and out. They
were probably gone hours ago and his prized telly was already perched
on the shelf of the neighborhood hock shop. Still, as a bit of insurance,
Xander kicked his boot firmly against the door frame and he announced
"Anybody in there better get the fuck out before I bust some heads."
He then jumped back and waited. When that resulted in no thieves
charging past him, Xander clutched his burger sack in one hand and
his Big Gulp drink in the other as he cautiously stepped in.
The sight that assaulted his eyes caused him to drop his dinner, spilling
fried potatoes and slimy meat patties on his prized boots. When the
drink slipped from his fingers, the lid popped off and the Dr. Pepper
flowed out and blending with the huge pool of blood that coated the floor.
He barely noticed that his couch and chair had been cut to shreds or that
every drawer had been emptied. Somewhere in the back of his mind a
little voice found the word, 'Ransacked.'
But none of that mattered. His furniture was unimportant and his food
was forgotten. All he saw was that his friend was dead. Xander's
stomach rolled over and he knew he would never be able to eat again
as his attention was locked on the body of his friend and the grotesque
way his throat had been sliced from ear to ear giving him a clownish
look like a second grin.
Xander's voice was low and whispery as though he were afraid of waking
the young boy on the floor.
"Oh, God, Joey."