bmblbee (bmblbee) wrote in bloodclaim,

Rough Diamond

Author: BmblBee
Paring: S/X
Rating: NC17
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 had remained by the fire for another hour as he finished off the
beer and conjured up countless scathing replies that he wished he had
tossed out to the detective's retreating back.

He had been hurt and embarrassed. It wasn't that he had fooled himself
into thinking that they were friends, he was more than aware that this was
Spike's job and he was simply an assignment. It wasn't as if they were
old school chums on a yearly hunting excursion or pals on a raucous
camp out, but still, that was uncalled for.

It confirmed what Xander already knew. All cops were pricks.

Two hours later, lying in the big double bed alone and Xander was still wide
awake. Unlike Spike, Xander was unaccustomed to being in bed at this time
of night. At least by himself. He worked the night shift and his mind did not that
easily adapt.

The heat from the fireplace drifted throughout the entire small cabin and the
bedroom was warm, cozy and perfect for a snuggle. Xander couldn't
remember the last time he had snuggled.

When he tried to revisit the memories, they always came back to Joey and
Xander had finally allowed himself to cry. By two AM, the drugging effects
of the alcohol, along with the exhaustion of the physical and emotional
exertion of earlier, all combined and he could feel his mind and body
finally drift toward slumber.

Suddenly, the bedroom door burst open and Detective Prick rushed in.
He was breathless, frazzled and nearly naked. Xander snapped to immediate
alertness as his eyes locked on the revolver in the man's hand.

"What? What happened? Did they find us? Are they here? Christ, Spike,
what is it?"

Spike stood in the door way as he tried to bring his mind and body under
control. His usually perfect hair now stood up in wild tufts, his face was red and
his eyes were wide and buggy. He wore nothing but the red flannel shirt and
a pair of white boxers. His thin, pale white chicken legs trembled like rubber
bands and his hands shook.

Despite all this, and the fact that his voice was raspy and breathless, Spike
did his damnedest to appear calm and nonchalant.

"No. Nothing's wrong. I, um, just got to thinking and in order to more
effectively protect you, I really need to keep you within visual at all time.
So, scoot the fuck over."

Xander was totally perplexed. He had the distinct impression that something
dire had occurred, but the odd thing was that he trusted Spike. If the detective
said all was safe, then despite whatever had spooked him, all was apparently
safe. Xander did the only thing he could. He scooted over.

Spike laid his gun on the night stand and he jumped in. Instantly he was blanketed
in warmth and comfort and he let out a long, deep sigh. In an attempt at some
decorum, Spike laid with his back to the boy and stayed to the edge of the bed.
Squinting an eye open, his hand ran the length of the rim of the mattress and as sleep
threatened to claim him he muttered.

"Very nice tuck job on the sheets, Xander."

Xander snorted. He was still a bit hurt from earlier yet he couldn't suppress the
feeling of pride over the comment of a job well done.

"Hey, your feet are ice cold!"

Spike made no move to remove them from Xander's legs.
"Won't be in a minute"

Xander slid his legs fractionally closer to give Spike a better angle.
"I thought you were too good to sleep with me."

Spike could no longer stay awake. His brain shut down and floated away leaving
his mouth to work independently and mumbling into the comfy pillow.

"Oh, I just didn't want to get another stiffy over you."

Xander's eyes popped open and he stared at the back of the white blond head.
The unexpected information tickled him like a feather and he felt giddy. This
was priceless. This was something to be savored and a fact that he would stick
in his hip pocket and save for just the right moment. He knew the detective
was nearly asleep and he was certain he would not remember the casual
comment tomorrow but that was all right.
Xander would remember.

The next time Spike opened his eyes, the sun was shining around the rims
of the towel being used as a curtain. He felt sticky and stinky, yet almost
comfortable. Till he moved. Then the pain behind his eyes threatened to split
his skull and his stomach churned down into his bowels.
Spike had the Mt. Everest of hangovers.

He could vaguely recall being chased into the cabin by some wild, viscous
creature and wondered if he had possibly just had a big foot encounter.
Spike knew he was alone. Too bad. He had never slept in the same bed
with another person. It was a shame he couldn't remember it.

One other thing he was certain of. He was certain that he would not survive.
He could already feel the layer of creeping crud that coated his body, grow,
expand and contaminate every inch of flesh that it covered.

"Oh, Sweet Jesus" He moaned. "I need a hot, sterilizing shower."

So, it was this driving urge that forced him from the warm blankets and
onto weak, shaky, hung over legs. It was the need for the disgusting wash
pan that pushed him past the toasty, rebuilt fire in the living room and on to the
worn, cracked linoleum floor.

He could hear the clatter of plates and pans and the annoyingly cheerful
humming of his charge. If he had brought his gun from the bedroom, he
would have shot him. No, on second thought, the echo from the bullet
exploding from the chamber would probably cause his head to fall off.

Spike snorted. That was a possibility he may have to consider.

When he entered the kitchen, his eye went to the back of the man at the
stove. Not wearing his ever present cowboy hat, Xander's hair hung long,
loose and luxuriously around his shoulders. He wore a snug, clean tee and
oversized jeans that rode low on his hips. Spike wondered if the boy even
owned a pair that fit properly. He hoped not.

Xander grinned as he heard the detective stumble in but he did not turn around.

"You wanna cock?"

Spike froze. He blinked and his mouth opened and closed like a fish.

Xander turned around with an innocent smile on his face. He held an egg in
one hand and a spatula in the other.

"I said, do you want to cook?"
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