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.
The tension in the air snapped and crackled around the five occupants of the
gloomy old mansion. The room was dimly lit and in the heat of a California night,
it was sweltering and oppressive. The sweat that covered them all in a sheen of
perspiration now, however, was caused as much by fear as by the lack of modern
All eyes and faces searched each of the others as they waited for someone to
come up with a logical explanation as to what could have happened to the now
missing pizza boy.
Finally, Spike took the lead.
"Who the hell was the last one to see him?"
"Ahem. Um, well I guess I was."
All faces turned to Buffy and it was clear that, for once, she did not relish being
in the spotlight..
"Well, Angel went outside to see a man about a horse and Willow and Spike
were working on that stupid generator, and apparently Xander was enjoying
himself in the library so that left me and Andrew in here."
Xander turned and glared at tattle tale Willow who just shrugged and smiled
apologetically. Spike chose to ignore the blow job conundrum, for now, and
focus instead on the MIA.
"So, he's not here now, unless he is hiding behind one of the curtains, which I
really doubt, so where the fuck is he? He wouldn't have just left. He must have
Buffy's expression slid to one of concerned constipation.
"Hey, it's not my fault. I thought he was just playing, you know, trying to scare
me. He can be such a little prick sometimes."
Angel stepped away from his girlfriend and moved closer to the other three
"Where is he, Buffy?"
Buffy's lower lip quivered and she tried not to cry as the magnitude of the situation
was making itself clear.
"O.k, I was waiting on Angel to get back and Andrew was babbling some nonsense
about the fucking down side of delivering pizza for a fucking living and I told him
that frankly, I didn't give a shit if he delivered cow pies to starving children in
Africa. So, he says 'fuck you' and he starts to leave, but then he stopped. He
said he could hear someone moving around. Upstairs. I figured he was mad at
me and trying to put shit in my pants. He told me he was going to go have a look
and I said that was a good idea. He left. Period. I didn't even realize that he
never came back till now. Oh, God, you don't think he actually went up there,
While the others appeared to be in shock, Xander was furious.
"Why you spoiled, selfish, bitch!"
He then turned to Spike and held out his hand.
"That's it, Spike. Give me my cell phone. I'm calling the police."
Spike made no move for his pocket. Instead he remained calm and placed a
hand on Xander's arm.
"And tell them what, Love? That we lost a pizza boy? We don't know that
anything has happened to him. He must have been hearing things. We have
been here all night and we know that there is no one else in the mansion. These
old houses creak and groan all the time, that's why they are so spooky. I say
we have a look around. We break up into groups and we search the house.
Then if we can't find him, we can call in the coppers later."
The huge cavernous room echoed with the wind sucking sound of four people
gasping all at one time. Willow was the first to express their objections, hoping
logic and reason would discourage Spike from insisting they continue down this
"NO! The generator only lights a few lamps downstairs and nothing upstairs. It's
dark up there. Darker than dark. It's the darkest. What if we get lost? What if
there really are ghosts?"
Spike chuckled and tried to seem nonchalant.
"Bull shit. I'm the caretaker here, remember? I've been up there a thousand times.
There is nothing there but bedrooms, sitting rooms and baths. All closed up, dusty
and most importantly, all unoccupied by man or beasty.
Spike then looked at Angel, challenging him.
"You feel the same way? You bloody chicken? The boy could be hurt somewhere
and need us. Are you too afraid to go look for him?"
Effectively, Spike was telling Angel to lay his balls out on the table and see if they
measured up and, as expected, testosterone prevented Angel from whimping out.
So with a muffled whine of fear he stuck out his chest and nodded one quick nod.
"Spike is a weasely little dick head, but he's right. If it was one of us we would go."
Xander reluctantly agreed and was now grateful for his snooping earlier..
"There are some candles in the desk drawer in the library. If we divide them all
up and go in groups of two, we can cover the second floor fairly quickly. If we
don't find him there, we need to get back together and I vote we do the attic as
"Oh, Oh," Willow waved her hand in the air.
"I'm the odd man out so I'll go out and check his car in case he shows up there
and tries to leave."
Buffy scowled and coughed, a sound that came out sounding suspiciously like
The plans were made. Spike and Xander would take the west wing at the top
of the stairway and Buffy and Angel would take the east. If either group found
any sign of Andrew they would call out and the others would come running.
With nothing else to discuss, Spike turned to his boy.
"Xander, Love, why don't you go and get the candles from the library. We will
stay here and wait till you get back."
Xander frowned uncertainly, but when Spike gave him an encouraging pat on the
butt, it sent him on his way. As soon as he was out the door, Spike turned to the
others with blood in his eyes.
"If this is some sort of game you are playing, I will personally gut you like a fucking
tuna fish down on the wharf."
Bee note: Thanks to whoever nominated Gangsters for the White Knight Award.
It is wonderfully appreciated. Now, GO VOTE!