bmblbee (bmblbee) wrote in bloodclaim,
bmblbee
bmblbee
bloodclaim

Hope House

Title: HOPE HOUSE
2/46
Author: BmblBee
Paring: Primarily S/X with a very minor S/OCs.
Rating: NC17 Adult Reading
Disclaimer: The Bee has no claim on any of the characters or
products named in this story and receives no profit from anything.
Warnings: Adult language, Prostitution, Violence, strong sexual
content. NOTE: All the boys working in Hope House are over
the age of 18. The Bee does not do underage!

Summary: Long after the final battle of Sunnydale, Xander is
alone, his life in shambles. Is there anywhere he can go and anyone
who can give him hope? There just might be.





As always, kudos to Petxnd for the wonderful banner.


Xander rolled over and readjusted the duffel bag under his head.
It's weight and shape gave him great comfort, not so much as the pillow
it was now serving as, but as the vessel of his last earthly possessions.

Curled up in a fetal position, he listened to the traffic overhead on the
bridge he now called home. Not for the first time, he pondered how far
he had fallen in the last six months.

He had all but forgotten his vow to track down the Wendeego demon that
had butchered his Father and ruined his life. Survival took priority.

The meager $200.00, that had seemed like a small fortune in Sunnydale,
was less than a drop of piss in a bucket in the big city. It took only
two nights in a flea bag hotel to realize that even that was beyond his means
if he wanted to continue to eat.

When he came to Los Angeles, he intended to find his dream job. Something
in construction, or maybe carpentry, but he soon realized that the recession
and financial situation the country had created a ratio of 1 job for every
1000 available workers. All more qualified than him.

He scanned the want ads daily but never saw one posting for someone
who understood the world as it really was, who fought demons and
staked vampires. Verminator was the closest he could find and even they
were not hiring.

That, combined with the fact that he had no non-hellmouth experience, no
qualifications, no resume and now no permanent address all left him with one
certain observation.

Xander Harris was fucked.

A simple statement that proved more prophetic than he could ever have imagined
when one night of his second month, after a day of panhandling down by the bus
station, Xander was heading for a hamburger joint. He had collected well over $30.
and was looking forward to not only a hot supper, but a cup of coffee and maybe
an egg in the morning.

Hurrying down the street toward the Burger King, Xander tried to focus his mind
and ignore his body. It was an art he was perfecting. He refused to acknowledge
the hunger that burned in his stomach or the loneliness that tore at his heart. He
immediately blocked out his thoughts as soon as they touched on the friends that
he believed would stand by him for the rest of his life and now had disappeared.

He no longer lay awake at night wondering where they were, what they were doing
or if they ever thought about him. And he refused to allow himself to cry.
Especially not here. Not yet. First, he would eat, then when he returned to his spot
under the overpass, where no one would see him, then when his traitorous brain
kicked down all the barriers he put up, he would let the tears fall.

Wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve, Xander hurried on.
One more block. He could already smell the heady, rich doors of grease
being pumped out into the atmosphere and his body reacted by inhaling deeply,
tickling his nose hairs with the promise of fat fried meat and potatoes.
He was just reaching the doorway when it happened.

The ugly yellow Chevy pulled up to the curb and the driver rolled down
the passengers side window.

"Hey, boy, come 'ere."

Xander paused. Hunger told him to pretend he didn't hear. It said there was a
Whopper in there with his name on it and he needed to collect it quickly, but a
lifetime of small town politeness training overroad his own needs and forced
him to see to the stranger first.

After all, he had been a Scoobie. A minor player in the world of superheros.
A defender of the weak and a soldier in the cause of right.

Cautiously, he approached and ducked his head down to look in at the
balding, middleaged man.

"Yeah?"

The eyes of the stranger darted around quickly, constantly checking in the
rearview mirror at the same time he was assessing the boy before him.

"You want a ride somewhere?"

Xander hesitated. He wasn't sure where this conversation was going, but
he knew the man wasn't looking for a passenger to supply him with an
evening of scintillating conversation. No, Xander had been on the
streets for several weeks. He knew a drug deal.

"Look, buddy, I don't got no dope. I'm just going in for a....."

Before Xander could explain about his patiently waiting hamburger, he glanced
down and saw the fifty dollar bill the stranger rubbed against himself.
Pressing it to the bulge in his trousers, he left no doubt what it was that
he was shopping for.

Xander breath caught in his throat. He felt as though he had been punched in the
stomach and part of him wanted to be outraged. He had seen plenty of
women, mostly crack whores, walking the streets at night, and even a few
young men, but that was peripheral. Like the drug dealers, it was part of the
street life that he had avoided like the plague.

Still, it was $50.00

Xander shook his head and stepped back.
"Sorry, you got the wrong guy. I don't do that."

"Wait! Wait, don't go. I don't have to fuck you. Just blow me. I just
want you to suck my dick. Come on, good looking, gay guy like you.
You must suck a lot of cocks. Do me and the moneys yours."

His brain flashed with the speed of light as all sides weighed in. What would
his friends think? Friends that had apparently abandoned him. What would
his family think? Family that was dead and gone. What would he think of
himself? That one was one he could answer. Nothing. He would simply
refuse to think about it. How did the guy know he was gay? Minor detail.

It was $50.00. It was several days survival. The judge cracked his gavel
Decision made. With an unspoken nod of his head, Xander opened the
car door and climbed in, staying as far to his own side as possible.

The driver burst into a big grin and threw the car into drive. He pulled around
the corner into an alley and quickly unzipped his trousers, fumbling to hurry.
He then reached over and ran his hand up the inside of Xander's thigh, his
voice was hoarse and breathless.

"Come on. Suck my cock. Wrap your lips around my dick and let me fuck
your face. Come on. You want the money don't you?"

Xander stared out at the dumpster, the cat eating the mouse and the cardboard
box that he knew was someone's home sweet home and he wondered if the
appliance store across town gave away those boxes for free. He then flipped
the toggle switch that shut down his brain, he turned, and he lowered his
head into the fat man's lap.
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