bmblbee (bmblbee) wrote in bloodclaim,
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bmblbee
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Writer's Block

Title: Writer's Block
10/23
Author: BmblBee
Rating: NC17 overall.
Paring: Spike/Xander
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.


Xander followed Spike from the library. Spike's answers to his questions had
done a lot to ease his mind and the fact was, pizza and cold beer sounded great
since all he had had so far was a sandwich with a slice of turkey so thin he could
have read a manuscript through it. If he had a manuscript.

Yes, this was just what he needed to relax and let his mind wander, free falling
and floating off into the cyberspace of story ideas. Hopefully to land on the
island of Mystery Plots where he could find one lying about waiting for a
pathetic, washed up, has been author to take it home. After all, he still
had 16 hours left. More than enough time.

When they returned to the living room, the hot, steamy boxes had already
been opened and the cheesy slices were disappearing into three very hungry
mouths. The heady spicy aroma filled the air and caused Xander's stomach
to growl and the hairs in side his nose to sway and dance.

Xander stopped in the doorway and pointed.

"Who the hell is he and why is he eating our pizza?"

Buffy pulled off another slice and tugged the long string of cheese up and
wrapped it around her fingers.

"Oh, that's Andrew, the pizza delivery boy. Say hello to Xander, Andrew."

Andrew unscrewed the cap off a fresh bottle of beer and he smiled.

"Hello, Xander Andrew."

Angel apparently thought that was the funniest thing he had heard in ages.
Unfortunately when he barked out a laugh, pizza shot out his mouth and beer
squirted from his nose earning an "Awwww, GROSS!" from the others in
the room.


Xander snatched a box with three pieces left and he sat at the far corner of
the room, hunching over it protectively. When he was reasonably sure no one
would challenge him for the last of the pepperoni and sausage, he asked.

"Why is the fucking delivery boy eating the pizza he delivered?"

Buffy's brow crinkled in confusion at the illogical query.

"We were his last delivery of the day, of course."

Quickly losing patience, Xander shoved the last bite in and he dropped the
box to the floor.

"Oh, well, of course. How silly of me. Well, since you are answering questions,
how about this one. Why the fuck are you and the Hulk still here? Oh, and
here's another one. If the phones aren't working in the house, how the fuck
did you call for pizza. Wait, one more...."

Xander spun around and pointed a finger directly in the direction of the
pizza boy.

"Isn't he a bit young to be drinking beer? Especially if I have to help pay?"

Andrew, Buffy and Angel all looked silently back and forth between themselves,
then, as if right on cue, they all turned and glared at Spike. The ball was in
his court. He caught it like a pro and shot a three pointer.

"Well now, Pet. This is a very small town. Everybody knows one another
and it would be just rude not to invite Andrew to stay for a bite, especially
since he schlepped it all the way out here. As for the twit and his twat, I
have it on good authority that someone from the garage should be here in
no time with the parts to fix their reconderator."

Xander's face lit up. Spike had just dealt him a pair of aces and he wasted
no time in playing his winning hand.

"AHA! You said their reconderator! Earlier you said it was their hyperpictin!
So, Mr. Smarty Pants which is it?"

Spike calmly sucked a sliver of pizza crust out of his tooth and he rolled his eyes.

"Really, Love. You don't know much about car repair do you? You can't replace
the hyperpictin without going through the reconderator. As for Andrew, he's
got one of those baby faces. The boy is actually older than he looks."

Xander squinted, looking all around the room suspiciously. The smell of conspiracy
was as strong as the green peppers and onions. Without turning toward Spike, his
voice dropped three decibels and he asked quietly.

"And the calling for pizza?"

Spike threw his arm over the back of the couch and, with his other hand, patted
his side pocket.

"Your cell, of course, Love. And I intend to hold on to it tightly. You need peace
and quiet to work and there is no way I will permit this phone to disturb you.
Nope. It stays right where it is."

This time it was Xander's turn to smirk.

"No problem. I just sent Ethan and e-mail. We should be able to straighten
this mess out in no time."

Every person in the room sat bolt upright and gasp.

After dropping the e-mail bomb, Xander was elated. He could see by the looks
on all their faces that he had just achieved a coup. He had a full stomach, a
half a buzz on from the beer and a feeling that despite the fact that he still
suspected that things were not at all as they appeared, he had finally gotten
a gotten the upper hand. If only temporarily.

After the statement, Xander had dramatically risen from his chair, stretched and
exited stage left. He went directly to the kitchen for one last bottle of beer and
he trotted happily back to the library.

The sun had set and the golden light that filled the room earlier had now shifted
to the deep blue glow of the moon. Xander snapped on the small desk lamp and
he idly wondered how long a generator could run on a tank of gas. He decided
that maybe he would go for a moonlight walk later and refill the tank, just to be
safe.

A moonlight stroll in the garden. Xander sighed and again thought of Spike.
When he did, his cock twitched, his heart swelled and his brain slapped him silly screaming, "Stop it you fool!"

Thought of the mysterious blond still left Xander very conflicted. He had no
compulsion admitting to himself that he was more than a little attracted to the
man and he wanted to believe in him. After all, this house was full of expensive antiques, it would only make sense that Ethan would hire a caretaker to
overlook things.

And it was true, he hadn't seen Spike do anything wrong. He wasn't stuffing
the family silverware in his pants or burying the gold plated candlesticks in the
back yard. No, Spike gave every appearance of being exactly what he said
he was.

Besides that, fuck if he couldn't kiss!! Yowza!!

Turning away from the window, Xander's eyes fell on the laptop sitting virtually
untouched on the desk and he checked his watch.

"Son of a bitch."

Gradually, his eyes wandered toward the vast volumes of books that lined
the shelves on all sides of him and an idea slowly, guiltily began to form. Why
not pick something off the shelf. A small, obscure book that could not possibly
be recognized.

He could use it just as a jumping off point, then do his own story from it.
It would never be published so it wasn't technically plagiarism and when
Ethan paid the bet, Xander would very magnanimously donate the money
to charity.

It was fucking perfect!!! He was saved!!!!

Rushing to the west wall, Xander leaned close and scanned over the limitless
titles, trying his best to read them in the soft muted light of the desk lamp.
Finally, his eyes landed on one that looked just right.

It was a small gloomy hardcover book that appeared to have not been read
or handled much. It's title read "Night Terrors"

"Fucking perfect!"

Xander reached out his hand, but before the tips of his fingers could touch the
hardback cover......

````WHOOOMP````

The generator went dead and the entire mansion was plunged into darkness.
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