bmblbee (bmblbee) wrote in bloodclaim,
bmblbee
bmblbee
bloodclaim

Hope House

Title: HOPE HOUSE
5/46
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.

Spike needed to move quickly. Morning was not far off and he knew most
of the boys would already be headed back to the house. He turned a
corner and blew out a sigh of relief when he noticed the back of a
familiar hooded sweatshirt rushing down the sidewalk and he pulled up
along side.

"Dre! Get in!"

The young black boy did so, this time with a big smile on his face.
"Yes Sir! Look, I got three full on's. Look how much I got!"

He proudly held an impressive wad of cash out for Spike's approval.
Spike subtly sniffed as he took it and knew the boy had earned every bit
of it. He could smell the blood as it formed bruises under the surface of the
skin and the small cuts and tears around his anus.

He patted the boy's shoulder. It was just the cost of doing business.

"Good lad. Well done. Look, Boy, I know you're knackered, but I have one
more thing I want you to do before you head back to the house."

Andre listened carefully as his Master explained what he wanted done. He
nodded happily, thrilled to have been selected to do the Master's bidding
and he vowed not to let him down. He settled in to the soft leather seat
and felt like a king to be riding across town next to the powerful vampire.

As the car pulled to a stop, Andre was beginning to have second thoughts.
This was a really bad part of town. One he never ventured near even when
he was homeless and working the streets as an independent. Still, refusal
was not an option.

Spike pointed off to the right.
"Over there. He was on the ground over there. He was hurt so he couldn't
have gone far. You find him and bring him to the house and remember, you
do NOT use my name. You understand?"

Andre didn't, but both knew that was irrelevant. Reluctantly, and without a
word, Andre opened the car door and got out. With dawn just minutes away,
Spike sped off towards the safety of the darkened house, leaving the
frightened figure standing alone on the curb.

Xander had waited till he was certain the mugger was gone. His nose was broken,
his scalp torn and bleeding and he suspected he had a concussion. From past
demon battles, he knew the feel of broken ribs and he suspected one of
his kidneys had sustained damage.

He hated himself for not fighting back but in his weakened state, it would
have been fruitless. Now, he lay on the gravel, curled up and wishing the stranger
had just done him the favor of finishing the job.

Xander tried to sit up but the pain and pointlessness of it forced him back down.
He had no money, no food, and was now too busted up to work for at least a
week. 'Thank God' He thought. 'It's almost over.' With the last ounce of
strength he had, Xander dragged himself over to his bridge underpass where
he could rest his head on his duffel bag and wait for the peace of death.

"Hey. Hey, you."

Andre crouched, his hands on his knees, and looked down at the mess on the
ground. Bloody, unbathed and starving. He had seen it all before. He couldn't
imagine what the Master wanted with this one. There was no way he could earn
any money. Not for a long time. Not in this condition. But Andre knew it wasn't
his place to question the Master's motives.

Xander thought he heard a voice, but wasn't sure. Most times it was just in
his head. The voices of his friends talking to him. Laughing over a silly joke
or just sharing the carefree life of the past. He knew that was false because
now days there was no one now that spoke to him beyond the short sentences
of his trade. "Suck me." "Bend over." "Shut the fuck up."

"Hey! Come on. Get up. We gotta go! It ain't safe here."

Xander cleared his thoughts and opened one swollen eye when he decided that
apparently there really was someone talking to him. He squinted up into the golden
light of the coming dawn and looked into the concerned face of the dark skinned
young man.

Before he could ask, Xander flinched as a yellow taxi cab screeched to a
stop, throwing gravel high into the air around him, and the driver jumped out.
Andre scowled and knocked the stones from Xander's back.

"Hey, watch it! Damn he's already hurt."

The driver was unconcerned with the reprimand. He hurried around and opened
the back door of his cab before rushing to the injured boy.

"Fuck you. Look, I got orders to bring you two back to the house and I don't want
his highness pissed off at me. Again. Fuck! Goddamn little fucker's gonna
get blood all over my backseat. Well, hell, come on. Let's do this."

Confused as to what was conspiring around him, Xander watched as the two men
circled him and discussed the best way to transport him without doing any more
damage. He wanted to scream at them to leave him alone and go away. He wanted
to explain that St. Peter was jotting his name down on a ledger at the pearly
gates, and the chariot had already been dispatched to collect him, but his mouth
refused to work beyond spitting out the mouthfuls of blood that filled it.

When they finally did agree on a plan and began executing it, all Xander's objections
would go unvoiced. Shocking him into full consciousness, the unimaginable agony
of being lifted shot through his body like a knife, cutting every inch of him with
pain till he finally, mercifully, passed out.

The two rescuers were relieved. It made their job much easier and in no time
they had their passenger loaded. At the last second, Andre darted back and grabbed
the dirty duffel bag the boy had been clinging to. He tossed it in the cab and climbed in
the backseat, laying boy's head on his lap. He petted the dirty brown hair gently
and crooned softly.

"It will be all right. We will fix you up. We will take care of you. Sshh.
Everything will be o.k."

Andre got no answer. He didn't expect one and he really didn't want one. Within
a few minutes, the cab pulled around to the back of the old hotel and the driver
laid on the horn. As expected, three more boys scrambled out and went about the
business of retrieving the messy package. Before whisking him away, one of
the boys tossed a hundred dollar bill at the driver with the explicit instructions.

"You know what's up. You never saw this boy and you were never here."

The driver stuck the money in his pocket. He had already wiped the entire incident
from his mind.
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