6/36
Author: BmblBee
Rating: Adult for language and sexual content
Paring: S/X
Disclaimer: The Bee owns none of the characters or products named
in this story, however the plot and words are her own.
Warning: Violence (nongraphic) and strong M/M sexual content.
Summary: OCD Spike is back! It has been a year since Xander and
Spike met in Rough Diamond and they have been living and working
together ever since. As an anniversary present, Xander takes a reluctant
Spike on a gay ocean cruise and everything, including murder, goes with
them.
Appreciation to: Petxnd for her wonderful banner and patient preread
and to Silk_ Labyrinth for her beta. Any remaining boo-boos are the
result of the Bee's stubbornness.
Thanks to Petxnd for the wonderful banner and the faithful friendship.
Spike was livid!
He spun around with his fists on his hips and lightning bolts flashing from his clear
blue eyes. He did his best to ignore the wonderful feel of the warm tropical sea
air as it floated in through the open window and ruffled the soft hair on the back
of his head. He refused to allow any pleasantness to detract from his anger.
"How could you? It was vile subterfuge!! You took advantage of me in a
weakened carnal moment and you tricked me into missing the launching of this
damnable vessel! This is low, Xander! This is the lowest thing you have ever
done to me! To us! You may have permanently and irrevocably damaged
our relationship! I don't know if I can ever forgive you for this blatant betrayal
of my trust!"
Xander was stretched out on the bed on his stomach with a wide spray of flyers,
folders and colorful brochures laid out in front of him. He flipped through them
and arranged them while Spike ranted and vented his fury. He wasn't overly
concerned. He heard this same speech at least once a week. The last time was
when he bought the wrong brand of mink oil to polish Spike's shoes. When his
lover seemed to be finally slowing down, Xander picked up one of the glossy
papers.
"Hey, look here. Besides the dance clubs, they have two casinos. We can dress
to the nines and go down for an evening of blackjack and.... Oh, hey, they also
have a huge exercise room with all the state of the art weight machines. Oh,
hell, no, they even have a bowling alley on the third level! Oh, wait, you have
to rent shoes. Guess that one is out. Anyway, they have a handball court.
You love to play handball and they organize an early morning sunrise group
that jogs around the decks."
Spike's head craned toward the papers Xander was quoting from. Now that he
had expressed his outrage and established that Xander was indeed the villain in
this situation, Spike was ready to generously forgive the boy. So, with his
trousers still hanging off his hips and butt, he shuffled toward where his scoundrel
of a lover lay.
"An early morning jog? I like to take my early constitutional. I suppose it would
be pleasant enough to invigorate with the clean sea air in my lungs. Much better
than the smog of the city. Hmm. A casino? Xander. Do you have any idea
how many people handle those filthy chips and cards? And the money! Scientific
studies have shown there are more germs on circulated currency than on a
cow's anus."
Xander finally looked up. He was sorely tempted to ask why any reputable
scientist would actually compare a cow's ass to cash but decided against it.
He had long ago accepted that the limitless vault of useless facts and figures
that his lover was so quick to spout were usually based more in personal
suitability than reality.
"Gloves, Spike. I brought a case, as well as wipes. You're covered, baby."
Spike heaved up his droopy drawers and sat by Xander on the bed. His boiling
point had cooled and his fury was quickly melting into resignation as he tried to
shift the gears of his phobias to fit the new situations.
"Right, but what about my clothes? You have apparently left all of the things I
so carefully packed back at home. So, what am I to wear on this little excursion
into a watery hell?"
Xander's eyes darted back to the pictures of happy men frolicking on the decks
and beaches, and he hoped this next answer wouldn't cancel out any chances that
at some point that could be him and Spike.
"Um, no problem. You remember when Penn called you and said he couldn't
find the file on the shopping mall murder case? Well while you were on the phone,
I took it upon myself to help you out and repack. Don't worry. It's all your
favorite Izods. You have a neat little gator for every day of the week. That and
your razor-pressed linen pants and a couple pair of matching shorts I picked up
for you and you are set for the week."
Spike jumped back to his feet. He was sputtering, choking and finding the
forming of words was nearly impossible.
"A conspiracy! It was a conspiracy! You have suckered my oldest and dearest
friend, Penn, into assisting you to betray me! I shall inform him the moment we
dock that this is...."
Calmly, Xander gathered up all his maps and flyers and he climbed off the bed as
he folded them back into a neat collection. Enough time had been spent on this.
"Yeah, yeah, yadda, yadda, yadda. So. We are wasting daylight and there is
one hell of a party going on out there. Now you can get dressed in some real
clothes and join me or you can sit here and fume while I mingle, drink, dance
and celebrate my anniversary. Your choice. You have five minutes to decide,
starting...NOW!" And he checked his watch.
"ACK!"
Spike stumbled, nearly toppling over as his trousers fell to around his ankles
while he hoisted his suitcase up and onto the bed. He may need several more
hours to process this entire ugly situation and all of its phobic implications but
he had no intention of allowing Xander out of his sight for one second.
Spike was painfully aware of how attractive and personable his lover was and
it always baffled him as to why Xander was with him. Wherever they went, men
and women alike flocked to the boy. His warm, winning smile put people at ease
while Spike gave a cold shoulder that no one willingly approached.
He had no intention of sending the boy out in the masses of hungry, horny men.
Especially recalling the boy's background. It was never mentioned and, for the
most part, Spike's feeling for him overshadowed any ugly mental pictures. Spike
preferred to believe that it was another Xander and that his was pure as the
driven snow.
"Three minutes, five seconds."
"Stop that! Damn it. I'm hurrying!"
Xander leaned by the cabin door and watched as Spike fought against his need
to inspect each article of clothing before putting it on. He didn't even object or
snicker when Spike tugged on a pair of white socks with his sandals.
"Do you know what mark twain is, Spike?"
Spike paused, scowled and then resumed smoothing and tucking in his shirt as
he huffed with superiority.
"Of course I do. I am a literary genius. Mark Twain is the pen name of a writer
named Samuel Clemens."
Xander grinned smugly.
"Wrong. I didn't ask who, I asked what. Mark twain is an old steamboat expression
that means safe water. So there, Mr. Genius. You don't always know everything.
And you know what else? Your time is up. Let's go!"
Not giving him time to fuss or nit-pick, Xander grabbed his phobic friend by the
hand and he jerked the cabin door open. Just as he was about to shove him out
into the hallway, a loud, high piercing shriek came from the far end.
Spike and Xander, both accustomed to a sound like that accompanying a crime
of violence, froze and stood on high alert. Within seconds, the squealing rounded
the bend. Before they could decide what to do, they were startled to see a naked
oriental twink come dashing down the hall, his bare feet padding rapidly on the
soft, plush carpet.
His arms were flailing and his dick was flopping from side to side as he laughed
and squeaked. He ran past them and immediately their heads snapped back in
the direction that he had come. Hot on the twink's heels was a burly bear with
a butterfly net. He too darted by them, rounded the bend and closed in on his
prey.
Spike spun around and stared at Xander with his mouth gaping open and his
eyes bugged in disbelief.
"Xander?"
Xander lit up like a five-year-old at Christmas.
"I know! Oh my God! It's wonderful! Let's go!"
Before Spike could begin to catalogue the hundreds of new concerns his brain
was cooking up, Xander had gripped him by the bony wrist and was dragging him
down the hallway and up toward the main deck and the area Spike assumed
was the center of this Sodom and Gomorrah.