bmblbee (bmblbee) wrote in bloodclaim,

Count Luffton

Author: BmblBee
Paring: S/X, AU
Rating: Adult NC17 for language and M/M sexual content.
Disclaimer: The Bee owns nothing including the characters and
products named in this story.
Warnings: Sex, violence and character death. Yes, the mouse
Summary: This story is a followup to Mouse but it is not necessary
to have read it. Xander brings Spike home to kill a mouse.
The mouse escaped and Spike stayed for the fun, games
and conflicts that S/X always get up to. One night Spike
gets more than a little drunk and does something stupid.

Comments: The last few stories have been drama and trauma. I felt
we needed some lighthearted fluff, comedy and stupidity.

Thanks to: Petxnd for her preread and suggestions and to Silk Labyrinth
for her betaing of boo boos. It should be noted that if any
irregularities remain it is due to the Bee's bullheadedness.

The noon sun reached high into the sky. It sent down a glaringly bright light
and a blast of solar radiation that caused Xander to peel off his outer shirt
and curse the hard hat that had sweat running from his scalp down the back
of his neck.

He wished he had a cold glass of orange slushy. He wished he could take
a dip in a cool swimming pool. He wished he were naked in a dark room
with a vampire. He grinned. Yeah, he was definitely in the mood to pop
open a cold one.

The fantasy had his cock twitching and his mind wandering. Not a good
combination when working with hot rivets and moving beams of steel.
Luckily, before his lack of concentration caused him injury, the lunch
whistle blasted, giving him permission to take the hat off his head and
hurry to the small shade area for a coke and a sandwich.

When he got there, several of the other men from his sector were already
there giving him the impression that they had cheated and snuck over early.
He cursed himself for not having the same thought. After buying an icy
can from the machine, he grabbed his bucket and plopped down at the
long table set up for breaks and meals.

The conversation was in full swing. It was the same subject that was
discussed every single day of the job. To Xander, it was boring and
repetitious. It was, naturally, pussy. Where to get it. Who got it last
night. Who was going to get it tonight and, of course, who had the best
snatch. The gold-lined puss that every red-blooded construction worker
would tap if given the opportunity.

Xander usually had little to add. If directly questioned he would smile,
hinting at his own private supply of the necessary commodity, and the
others would whoop, smack him on the back in approval and then go
on to whichever movie or TV star would be most likely to share said
pussy with her construction-working fans.

The conversation today appeared to center around older movie stars
and whether or not they would be tight enough for a white man's smaller
dick. Xander was less than interested. He took a big bite of his ham and
cheese sandwich when, unexpectedly, Bull Dog (Bull to his closest friends)
turned to Xander.

"What about you, Xan? You ever fucked some older stuff?"

Xander's jaw stopped at the side in mid-chew. Finally, with a loud and
very audible gulp, he swallowed. How to answer? Did they consider
120 as old? Because when the blond vampire was bent in half and Xander
was pounding him into the mattress, he sure didn't seem decrepit.

As the possible wording of the answer continued to elude him, the silence,
accentuated by imaginary crickets, dragged on while the others stared and

Finally, guessing at the truth, Bull whooped and threw down his Hot Pocket

"That's it, ain't it? That's why you don't never talk about who you been
porkin'. You got you some old stuff, don't cha? Hear that, boys? Xander
here gots him a gen-u-ine cougar!"

Every eye at the table blinked, bugged and stared unwaveringly in admiration
at the boy who suddenly found himself at the center of attention. Surprisingly,
however, Xander was not intimidated. Only slightly curious. The hurricane of
indecision that whipped through his mind had just one solid thought at its core.
What would happen if he spoke the truth?

'What is the worst that could happen?'

His brain conjured up the ugliest scenario possible. Would they beat him up?
OK, as someone who fought demons regularly, he could take an ass whooping.
Would he be fired? He really liked this job and he didn't think the EOC would
permit his being kicked to the curb based on sexual preference. Of course
he knew these men could make his life miserable on a daily basis, but if that
happened, what the fuck, he had been hunting for a job when he found this one.

Maybe an experimental truth.

Maybe he could just toss it out there like a chew toy for the Bull Dog to play
with, and if it appeared that the dog was going to shred his new toy, Xander
could laugh and roll his eyes as though it had all been a joke. Yeah, he thought,
that's it. I'll test the water.

So, he did. With an artificial calm, Xander looked down at his sandwich and
he shrugged slightly.

"He's not all that old." And he waited.

Now, even the crickets were stunned into silence.

Surprisingly, Xander found the stretch of time had an odd effect on him. This
was where he planned on bursting into laughter and shouting, "Gotcha!" as
the others would humbly accept the fact that they had been expertly punked.

But that didn't happen. Instead, the overwhelming relief that flushed through him
gave no consideration to being stemmed. It was liberating. It was like knocking
a fifty-pound monkey off his back and it felt so good that he had no intention of
letting that fucking primate climb back into the saddle.

So, with resolve and a newfound inner strength, Xander lifted his head and he
looked Bull Dog square in the eye. Bull Dog blew out a long whistle.

"Holy fuckin' muffin nuts! He's serious!"

Immediately, all heads turned in the direction of a thin, middle-aged man at the
end of the table who was slurping soup from a thermos jar. When he saw the
accusing looks, Jerry chuckled and shook his head.

"It ain't me. You know Bill would cut off my balls if I even so much as looked
at another man!"

Before Xander could register his shock, the men all spun around in their seats and
faced the direction of the vending machines where a good-looking blond boy was
kicking the contraption that had just cheated him out of a quarter. Jeremy never
took his angry eye from the thieving machine as he responded to their unspoken

"Hey, don't blame me either. Besides, you know me and Josh is younger than him,
and he said he was putting the sausage to a senior citizen."

He then went back to smacking the machine and trying to shake free a can that
was clearly not going to tumble down.

Oddly, Xander took offense at that.

"Hey! I never said he was in a nursing home. Damn. He's not that old."

From there, the others all relaxed and a rousing round of AARP jokes began as
each man tried to outdo the others with a banter that ranged from cobwebbed
holes to the ratio of wrinkles on the face to wrinkles and flaps on the ass or pussy.

Bull Dog, who now insisted that Xander call him 'Bull,' bemoaned the fact that
if this trend continued, the nongays on the construction site would become the
minority. Xander snorted.

"Ya never know, Bull, maybe we can lead you to our side of the fence."

The others whooped and laughed as Bull stuttered and sputtered.

"Hell no. I may be fag friendly but that's one fucking field I ain't got no interest in
picnicking in. 'Sides, that just leaves more pussy for us ugly straight guys. You
know. Raises my odds of getting laid."

Xander grinned. He was glad to do his part for his buddy, Bull.
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