Title: Writer's Block
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.
Out the doorway, darting through a butler's panty and by passing a formal dining room, Xander now found himself on the left side of the sweeping staircase. Tracking the blond by the sound of his humming of that blasted tune, Xander found Spike in a large, spotlessly clean living room. The supposed caretaker was settled onto a plush, black leather sofa with his feet perched on an expensive glass topped coffee table.
Obviously Spike was very at home here, still, Xander felt it within his right as Ethan's friend that he put this insolent employee in check.
"Now see here, my good man....."
Spike popped the last bite of turkey in his mouth and proceeded to smack his lips, lick his mouth and loudly suck his fingers. One. By. One.
Xander's words died, floating off and morphing into a small whimper.
Spike's eyes slid down the boy's body, stared blatantly at the growing bulge in Xander's jeans and then rolled back up to focus on the flustered face. Smugly, Spike patted the cushion next to him and waggled his eyebrows.
"Come have a seat, Pet and let's explore this little 'thing' between us further."
Finally, humiliation brought Xander back to his senses. Hell, the fact that he was standing here with a boner for a cocky stranger was nothing he couldn't handle.
All puns intended.
His love life had been one disaster and embarrassing screw up after another. He wasn't about to fall into another situation that clearly had red flashing lights and 'danger' signs written all over it.
"ENOUGH! Now see here. I'm sorry for the misunderstanding but I'm up here to write and I'm on a very tight schedule."
As emphasis, Xander glanced at his watch.
How the fuck had he just wasted so much time on this bull shit?
"You're very tense, Love. Why not slide over here and let Spikey give you one of my famous, patented back rubs?"
Xander's now throbbing erection was very on board with the offered back rub. The rest of him was not.
"That's it!! I'm going back to the den to write. Alone. You go do whatever the fuck it is that you do and leave me alone. I need silence. Do you hear me? SILENCE!!"
Xander turned to storm off in a huff till one last thought occurred to him.
"And don't eat any more of my food!!"
Without waiting for a response, Xander hurried back to the den where his computer had gone into sleep mode. Wiggling the mouse, it sprang back to life and he stared at the wallpaper picture of himself and his last boyfriend, Ted, cuddling at Gay Pride day at Disney World. They wore matching mouse ear hats and Xander wondered for the millionth time why he hadn't deleted it and replaced it with something else.
Then, before he could get morose and weepy, Xander went into professional mode.
"O.k. Bullshit aside. Time to write."
Quickly, before he could over think himself, Xander began to type.
"It was a dark and gloomy night. The vampire stalked through the graveyard searching
for victims to supply him with fresh blood. He was a devious fiend. Handsome in life and no less in death. He was short, blond, blue eyed and no doubt well endowed."
Realizing what he was doing, Xander quickly, yet somewhat reluctantly, hit 'delete'.
Vampires? What the hell made him think of vampires? He had never, and would never write such tripe. Not even in desperation. Not even today. Well, maybe later, but he
wasn't there yet.
Xander's dropped his head smacking his forehead soundly on the expensive walnut desk.
One hour later.
Paper clips, scotch tape, pens, pencils, two leaking AA batteries and a small
notepad with doodles on each page. Xander reluctantly slid shut the last desk drawer. He had now inventoried each one without finding anything the least bit interesting or inspiring.
Nearly two hours had passed since the unorthodox introduction to the handsome and apparently very horny caretaker of Rayne Manor. Two hours and five false starts.
His best idea yet had been about a hard nosed detective and his psychic sidekick trying to solve a series of bizarre murders. Then he realized why it sounded so familiar. It was one of those tripe novels that bimbo writer in Ohio cranked out.
Since then the only thing rolling along was the time. Despite his best efforts to concentrate, Xander often found his attention drifting to the closed den door. He wondered what Spike was doing. He wondered where in the hell he was and what he did all day rattling around in this huge, spooky house.
When he had first returned to the den, Xander considered phoning Ethan and chewing him out for putting him in such an awkward position, but he quickly discarded the idea. Ethan would, no doubt, keep him on the phone and away from his writing
in a sneaky way of using up time. The bastard. No, Xander would chew him out, but not now.
"O.k. Fact is, it doesn't have to be good. We already established that in the rules.
All it has to be is a manuscript. A story. A beginning, a middle and an end. Maybe
I could use the story line from a previous book and write a sequel. Yeah! Hell yeah!
Now I've got it. So, which one. Hmmmmm let me think."
BAM BAM BAM BAM!!!
The sound of someone pounding the heavy knocker against the front door echoed
throughout the house so unexpectedly, it nearly toppled Xander off his chair.
Leaping to his feet, he rushed to the den door, cracked it open and peered out
to see if Spike would answer. He was, after all, the caretaker.
When several minutes passed and Spike was nowhere to be found, the pounding repeated itself with such a force and strength, Xander was certain some huge, hulking monster must be standing on the threshold, prepared to force his way in.
Gingerly, Xander eased over and placed his hand on the inside knob. The door was several inches thick and constructed before the days of crime and caution demanded peep holes be installed.
"Hello? Who's there? What do you want?"
Much to his surprise, the voice that answered was young, timid, and very feminine.
"Hi. I'm Buffy. I'm real sorry to bother you but my car broke down. Can I come in and use your phone? I need to call someone to come and get me and fix my car."
Xander relaxed a little. It sounded innocent enough.
"Are you a member of AAA?"
The little voice outside giggled.
"Gosh no. I only drink on the weekends and never enough to get really shit faced drunk. So, can I come in?"
Xander slowly turned the knob and cracked the door open a fraction of an inch
and he peeked outside. Sure enough, there, standing on the door step, all smiles and dressed in a pink micro skirt, blond hair in a pony tail was 'Buffy'.
Xander scowled and opened the door a bit more as he looked all around.
"You by yourself? Cause that sure sounded like a sledge hammer slamming against the damn door."
"Oh, I'm a lot stronger than I look."
Buffy chuckled, then to make her point, shoved Xander aside as she slipped inside.
He staggered back. Holy Fuck, she wasn't kidding!
"O.k, well, you stay here and I'll go in the den to get my phone. I'll be right back."
Xander turned and nearly ran to where he had left his cell lying on the desk. Snatching it up he quickly turned and let out a unmanly squeak as he nearly bumped into the very bold Buffy who was now standing less than a hair from the tip of Xander's nose.
"EEK! Hey! I told you to wait out there!"
Buffy all but purred as her hands ran up the front of Xander's chest. She could feel the wild pounding of his heart through the thin fabric of his Deadwood Dick t-shirt.
"HEY! WHAT'S THIS NOW?"