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 storm, whose coming had been foretold to them by the elements,
had now arrived. The wind howled, rattling the windows like a wild
creature of the night demanding entry as the rain pounded down with a
"Holy pickled pussy cats! I don't care how many time I've been in this
place, it just gives me the heebie jeebies."
Angel scowled at Buffy's incessant bitching. He was already scared enough
and every time she opened her mouth he wanted to stick something in there
just to shut her up. This fucking mansion reminded him of why he hated
fun houses so much. They were about as much fun as a fucking abscessed
"Look, I don't like it either, but you know why we are doing it so just shut
up and stop making it worse. Damn, I wish I knew what time it was."
Buffy jerked her hand away from Angel's and she stopped walking.
"Shut up? SHUT UP? Who the fuck do you think you are telling to
shut up? Do you tell your WIFE to shut up?"
Angel growled deep in his chest and grabbed her by the arm.
"You leave my wife out of this! This has nothing to do with her and the
fact is, she was NOT pleased when I told her I was coming here with you
Buffy shrugged, tugging free from his grip.
"Yeah, look, I'm sorry. Come on, let's just do this. I'm tired and I want
to go home."
Angel snorted as the last line reminded him of an old song his grandfather
used to sing. So, interlacing their fingers again, Angel tugged her hand playfully
and she chuckled as he began singing.
"Show me the way to go home.
I'm tired and I want to go to bed.
I had a little drink about an hour ago
and it went straight to my head."
"What the hell did you just ask me?"
Xander stopped walking and held his candle under their chins to look Spike
in the face. It created a disturbing effect of light and shadows. He was stunned
that Spike actually expected kudos for an excellent blow job when they were
wandering through a most assuredly haunted house waiting for a spook to leap
out at them at any time.
"I just wanted to make sure that you enjoyed it. Just asking, is all."
Spike leered and the look was like that of a cannibal at a colony of cripples.
Xander shuddered and moved to walk on down the hallway as Spike checked
"Yeah, fuck, it was a blow job. What's not to enjoy?"
Spike took a fast look in a linen closet and slammed the door before resuming the
conversation that had been dancing around is brain.
"So tell me about it. Were the lips soft, almost feminine or were they fat
and apelike? You know the darkness can play havoc with perception. Oh,
and what about the fingers? There must have been fingers involved. Were
they long and thin or short and stubby?"
Suddenly, even in the darkness, the light in Xander's brain snapped on and
he came to a screeching stop just as a deep rumble of thunder filled the air.
"OH! MY! GOD! It wasn't you! Someone else snuck in and partook
of my sausage! Who was it? Who the hell took liberties with my pecker?"
Fact was, Spike was relieved to have it out in the open.
The conversation. Not the cock.
Well, that would have been nice too, but.....
"I don't know, Love, but I guarantee, I will find out. Besides, how do you
think I feel? I had made it more than clear that I was staking claim to that
lovely little patch of territory when some scoundrel of a squatter moved in
and took what should have been mine."
Xander found his feeling of indignation was far out shadowed by sympathy,
guilt and a bit of disappointment. He had wanted Spike to be the one to
homestead his little acre of paradise too.
This time when they stopped walking, it was because they had reached the end
of the hallway. To the left, it dead ended and to the right, it continued on down a
new wing. Directly in front of them was a window. The night sky was black and
too overcast to allow the moon and stars to be seen.
The wind whistled around the rotted wood frame causing the curtains to blow
eerily, reaching out for them with ghostly tendrils as the two men stood, just
The rain had eased up and the length of time between the claps of thunder
and flashes of light had grown longer, signaling the storm was moving away.
In contrast, the intensity of the tempest brewing inside was electrifying.
"I wanted it to be you, too."
Xander's confession was quiet and unsure but elicited an immediate reaction
as Spike grabbed his wrist and pulled Xander's hand and candle up close
to his face. Xander gasp at the way the flame danced and moved in the
reflection of the clear blue eyes just seconds before Spike puckered up his
soft, pink lips and puffed, blowing out the flame.
Spike's answer was to extinguish his own flame and grab Xander by the waist
band of his jeans, jerking him forward.
"I can guarantee you, Pet, that this time it is me in the dark. My hands. My lips
and my body pressed up against you."
Xander moaned and rocked forward. His arms hung limply at his sides. They
were the only things hanging limply. His cock had filled and grown uncomfortable
inside his jeans. The plump, moist head strained upward and cursed the scant
fraction of an inch between it and the knuckles of the blond that were still
hooked in the straining trousers.
"Wait, Spike, aren't we supposed to be searching for.... um, what was his name?"
That was all Xander needed to assuage his guilty conscience and he dove onto
Spike's pants. It didn't matter that there was no light, his fingers had studied
at the Helen Keller school of fumble for years. Within seconds, both zippers
were down, boxer elastic was maneuvered and with a deep sigh, two very urgent
cocks were offered up for manipulation.
"We don't have time for....."
"That's o.k. No lube anyway. Just stroke me."
"Fuck, that's good."
"Want me to kiss you?"
"Nah, no time. Maybe later"
"Jesus, you're so hard."
"Balls, Spike. Play with.......Fuck! Yeah!"
"Christ, Pet, I wish I could taste it. Lick it suck it."
"That's it, Baby. Talk dirty."
With foreheads together, the men stripped stroked, squeezed and pleased each other.
Their words and voices were breathy puffs of air against each other's face as they
frantically sped toward rapid release. The static in the air snapped and sparked
between them sizzling up and down their spines and causing the fine hairs on their
bodies to tickle and stand.
All too soon, the panting and whispering turned to grunts of strained effort as
they reached the peak, the Mt. Everest of orgasms. Together, their cocks
went rock hard and their balls drew up before they reluctantly stepped
apart, releasing their partner's dick and gripping their own before letting loose.
It was hard to tell which splats were still the rain drops on the window pane
and which were the thick, white ropey blobs of euphoria. As it happened
they had no time to find out as the next thing they heard was the piercing
sound of a woman screaming that split the air and echoed throughout the mansion.