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 prostitue. 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's body and mind had crashed. He peaked on the scale of horror and
despair and could no longer process the additional information that was being
fed to him.
The only person who had shown him any compassion and sympathy for his loss
was the nice artist so he had done his best to accommodate her and describe
the men who were responsible for his friends death.
His brain hadn't had a moment's peace to consider why the murder had taken
place in his apartment beyond the idea that Joey had gone there to look for him,
they must have caught up with him, hunting for both boys, and killed him there.
Maybe, Xander thought, these macho men didn't want any witnesses left alive
that could point a finger at them and label them with the dreaded 'fag' word.
With the overload of shock and grief, Xander had completly forgotten about
swapping his cheap stud earring with the diamond.
When the pictures were complete, Xander was stunned and amazed. It was
as if they had been drawn from the men themselves sitting and posing for their
portraits. He had never met a real artist before and he wondered if someday
she would draw a picture of him, but he knew he would never ask.
The likenesses to the unsubs were uncanny. Without names, she had tagged
them by the terms Xander, himself, had coined. One was Curly, one Slick,
one skinny and the other was Slug.
After she left, he did the only thing his body could do. He curled up on the
floor and immediately fell asleep. He would have been unable to rest and probably
would have beat a hasty retreat to the nearest exit if he had known of the plot
involving him that swirled around like a maelstrom.
After being sent home to pack, it was over three hours before Spike again reported
to the Mayor's office, his bags discreetly hidden in the trunk of his car where none
of the uniformed officers passing through the garage would notice. He hoped
one bag and two days worth of clothing would suffice.
"Where the fuck have you been? I was beginning to think you had skipped out."
Spike calmly rolled his eyes at the Mayor's outrage.
"Actually, Mr. Rayne, I thought I acted most expeditiously considering I needed
to shower and change into a fresh suit as well as organize and pack, a situation
made more difficult by the fact that you have given no indication of a time line."
Ethan Rayne stared at the quirky Englishman as though he had grown a second
head and wondered, not for the first time, if this wasn't a huge mistake. Luckily,
when he had sent Penn out to buy some things for the boy, the detective, knowing
his partner had doubled the order. Penn had hooted, wishing he had a hidden
camera to get a snap shot of William Bradshaw in a red checkered flannel shirt
"You're wearing a suit? For fuck sake, Spike, you're going to be out in the woods."
Spike sniffed and straightened the linen handkerchief in his breast pocket. He hated
it when it worked it's way up so that more than a half an inch of the point protruded
from it's designated area.
"Yes, well although I am being thrust into an environment that is not of my choosing,
there is no reason to change my accompagnement."
"Your....? Fuck, never mind. Look, While you were off fucking around, your
partner has gotten everything he thinks you two might need. Here is an envelope
with the directions on how to get there as well as some money and some phone
numbers. Now, there is a small town a few miles down the road, but of course
we can't risk you going there. If you call this number, the local grocer will deliver."
Spike took the offered envelope, dangling it between his thumb and forefinger
and staring at it distastefully.
"Has the witness been prepped for the journey?"
Mayor Rayne turned his back on the detective. He didn't want the truth being
read in his face. Fact was, the boy had gone ballistic. He had been wakened
from a sound sleep and informed that his life wasn't worth a plug nickle unless
he did as they had instructed until these men could be found and detained.
"The witness is ready. In fact Penn should be loading the clothes and hygiene
items he purchased for the two of you into the back trunk of your car and
the boy has been squirreled away in a lower level holding cell. When you
are ready, just pull up to the loading dock and he will be brought out.
As soon as you take custody of him he is your responsibility, Spike.
Anything happens to him and it is your ass on the line."
"Penn bought me toilet items? Doesn't he know how sensitive my skin is? I may
be stuck in the ungodly wilderness with the bears and the bugs but there is no way
I will apply commercially made soaps and chemicals to my highly allergic body.
No, thank you very much, I have, of course packed my own products."
"Goddamn it Spike! I don't give a fuck if you packed a case of Summer's Eve
bottled douches, I'm talking about the fucking witness!"
Spike straightened his back bone and twitched.
"I understand perfectly and intend to dispatch my duties with the utmost
professionalism, as always. Now, if there is nothing further, I will collect my
charge and go. I do hope this will be a short term arrangement, Mayor. I have
only packed for a limited stay."
Mayor Ethan Rayne watched the man turn to go and he dropped back down
in his over stuffed, leather chair. He placed his face in his hands and he mumbled.
"Lord save us all. We're fucked!"
When Buffy heard how upset Xander was over the plan, she went down to the
holding cell and sat with him. She patted his hand and tried to give him some
"It won't be that bad. Think of this as a vacation. A paid vacation. Haven't you
ever been camping?"
Xander frowned. After listening to the nice artist lady, this whole thing was actually
starting to sound not all that bad, but he wasn't ready to be agreeable just yet.
"No, I've never been. My Uncle Rory was going to take me once when I was
a kid, but he got caught up in a drug bust and they sent him away before he got
"See. This will be fun. I just know it."
Xander began to waver.
"Well, maybe. So who did you say was going to go with me?"
Before she could answer, Spike breezed in and began snapping his fingers.
"Hup, hup. Snap to. Let's go Mr. Harris. Time to leave."
Xander stood looking at Buffy and appearing, for all the world as though he
Spike crossed his arms and huffed.
"Let's go. Move. It's a long ride, Mr. Harris. We need to be on the road."
When he still got no response beyond Xander whistling and checking the condition
of his fingernails, Buffy finally leaned over and whispered into Spike's ear.
His face scrunched up in total disbelief.
"Oh for God.........fine. Let's go, XANder."
With a bright smile, the boy now grabbed up his cowboy hat and plopped it
on his head.
"Let's roll, partner."