Rating: NC17 overall.
Disclaimer: The Bee owns nothing. Certainly not the characters or products
mentioned in this story and unfortunately, the Bee makes no profit from it.
Summary: This story is a light hearted comedy/mystery.
It is based slightly (very slightly) on the plot of the old movie
"House Of Long Shadows". It is an HUA that tells the story of a very successful
mystery writer, Alexander Harris, who is suffering from a severe case of writer's
block. Against his better judgement, he accepts a $10,000.00 bet with his
publisher after claiming he can crank out a full manuscript in a 24 hour period. This
short story is his struggle to do that and the bizarre obstacles that pop up.
Warnings: Sexual dialogue and M/M slashy acts.
As always, special thanks to the amazing Petxnd for her wonderful banners.
"Why the fuck is it so dark and gloomy in here? Christ, it's the middle of the fucking day.
Hell, no wonder I can't think. No body could work under these conditions."
Xander again leapt to his feet, this time marching to the back wall where the drapes
were pulled closed over the four huge, floor to ceiling windows and he began jerking
the dusty drapes open. When he reached the last one, he was surprised to see
that instead of a window, the drapes concealed a set of double french doors that
led out into a garden at the side of the estate. Wild, overgrown and unkempt, the
garden was, none the less, vast and elegant.
Xander slid back the lock bolt and threw open the doors allowing the fresh, cool air to
rush in, ruffling his hair and filling his nostrils with honeysuckle.
"Oh my God that's wonderf........"
Xander froze. His blood turned to ice and his head snapped around.
There was someone else in the house!
Xander's big city instincts kicked in and he pulled the doors closed, resecuring the
lock. He then tip toed back across the library to the hallway door and he waited.
The sound had come so suddenly and unexpectedly, it was impossible to determine
from which direction of even what floor of the house it had originated.
Xander's heart pounded wildly in his chest. His breathing was ragged and his skin
tingled as he stood motionless and waited for another noise to give away the intruder's
location. His brain screamed at him to find a weapon and his eyes darted everywhere
at once to comply. The only thing he could find was a bronze sculpture. A tall, slender
stature of a Siamese Cat sitting on a pedestal next to the door. It wasn't much, but
it had some weight to it and a slim, long neck to grip. Xander grabbed the cat, holding
it upside down by the throat and ready to swing it like a baseball bat.
"BANG!! SLAM!! CRASH!!"
Xander's face turned like radar picking up the location and he whispered.
"The kitchen! The fucking bastard's in the kitchen!"
Quickly and silently, Xander slipped from the library, turned the corner and he moved,
darting and flattening himself against first one side of the hall then the other in
much the way he had seen James Bond do till he was standing outside the closed
kitchen door. Then, in a rapid move that he had so often described in his crime
novels, Xander kicked open the kitchen door, held his cat weapon high over his head
and he rushed in.
The response was NOT what Xander expected.
Directly in front of him was the refrigerator, door standing wide open and all that
was sticking out was a trim, firm, round, black denim ass, swaying casually from
side to side in tune to a happy humming rendition of "Don't Worry, Be Happy".
Said felon apparently had no intention of following Xander's cease and desist order.
Suddenly, a head popped up and the rest of the body could be seen.
Seen and appreciated.
Xander was speechless. The vile, thieving, felonious criminal was fucking gorgeous!
Blond, blue eyed, muscular and with the face of an angel. But what Xander saw next
canceled out all, well almost all, of his admiration and fueled his temper. The thief had
a turkey sandwich in one hand and a beer in the other!
"HEY! That's my sandwich!"
The intruder calmly kicked the refrigerator door shut with his foot and took a bite
as though he were tasting it to confirm ownership. Obviously deciding that possession
was 9 tenths of the law, he swallowed.
"Ta very much love, although next time, I would prefer pumpernickel. American
white bread tends to be very doughy. Makes a bloke a tad flatulent. Not overly
The comment was punctuated with a smirk and a wink of a stunningly beautiful
Xander was flustered. His brain swam in confusion as his traitorous dick snickered
in his pants. Suddenly, he remembered the heavy weapon he held tightly in his hand
and he again raised it high in the air, shaking it ominously.
"Who the fuck are you? Ethan said there was no body here. He said the house
was empty. How the fuck did you get in here? I think you have some 'splaining
to do Buster!"
The turkey fiend threw his head back and barked out a laugh.
"Ricky and Lucy, right?"
The intruder did his best Spanish accent.
"Ohhhh, Luuucy. You have some 'splaining to do!"
Xander just blinked and shook his head as his cat arm dropped. The fucking
feline was heavier than it looked and his shoulder was beginning to ache. Still,
he was not about to back off his position of righteous indignation.
"Stop playing games! I want some fucking answers and I want them NOW! I
want your name, who the hell you are, what you are doing here and how did
you get in? And talk fast Buster before I call the police."
Spike took a long, slow swallow of beer as Xander stared at his adam's apple,
watching it bob up and down like a slow stroke on a hard dick. Finally, he set
the empty bottle down on the counter, he belched and smiled.
"Name's Spike. I'm the caretaker here. Didn't Ethan tell you? I got in because
I have a key. I work here and I live here. Now, maybe I should be asking you
the same questions. Could be you are the one to be taken away in cuffs and chains."
Xander took a step back. The information had him thrown totally off balance and
suddenly he felt very embarrassed. He set his cat club on the counter and he
raised his hands in innocence and apology.
"Shit! I'm so sorry. He never said. He gave me a key so I could come up here and
write. I'm a writer. I write. See Ethan and I made this bet.....well, hell, you don't
care about that. I'm just here to work on a manuscript. I guess Ethan forgot to
tell each of us about the other. Tell you what, I'll kick his ass when I get back to
the city. That work?"
Spike now clearly had the upper hand. In a sign of generosity and forgiveness,
he gave a half smile that said he would benevolently accept Xander's groveling
and he reached for a second beer and the rest of his sandwich before heading
for the kitchen door. Then before leaving the room, he turned back around and
tipped his head in the direction of Xander's now abandoned feline weapon.
"You know, Love, you would have done better with a dachshund than a cat."
Xander frowned and looked at his artistic, oversized paperweight.
"Dachshund. A wiener dog?"
"You are a bit slow on the upswing, aren't you Pet? I'm telling you that you
would get further by slapping me with a wiener than a pussy."
And with that, Spike was gone.
Years of speech therapy just went down the toilet as Xander began stuttering
and sputtering. You would think that a man who makes his living, a very lucrative
living, dealing in words would have been able to come up with a snappy retort.
Xander had nothing.
"Hey! Wait a minute." And he rushed off to follow.