bmblbee (bmblbee) wrote in bloodclaim,

High Seas

High Seas

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

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.

The interesting soap opera that played out at the bar was soon forgotten as the
evening rolled on. By the witching hour of midnight, the band had started to play
a slower beat and Spike had joined his lover on the dance floor. Between sets,
Xander had continued to down Jack and coke at what Spike considered an
amazing rate. The result was a reddening of Xander's eyes and his footing became
unsteady while his head buzzed and his vision blurred.

Spike giggled as they swayed and stumbled. If they had been home, he would
have taken the car keys and driven his lover despite having a few wine spritzers
himself. Since they were on the ship, they would have to walk. No small task.

"Xan? Hey, it's late. What say we find out cabin and get some sleep."

Xander made no move to exit the dance floor although what they were doing now
could no longer be considered actual dancing. Together, they would take a step
to the left then stop. After a minute or so, they would take a return step to the
right and again come to a stand still.

"Late? Wha's late? I usta roll out all night like this. No, baby, we gonna dance
till the rooster crows at dawn."

It always rankled Spike to hear what he thought was a wistful tone in Xander's
voice when he spoke of his working days. He was tempted to make a suggestion
that Xander join in a business partnership with Juan but even in his drunken state,
Spike knew that was stepping over the line.

By now, Spike's arms were straining as he attempted to hold his lover upright and
he knew if they waited much longer, he would be dragging Xander through the
ship's corridors by the legs so he said the only thing he could think of to bring this
night of celebration to a conclusion.


Xander stopped moving. He drew back with a look of serious contemplation
on his red, flushed face and he blinked continuously as his bloodshot eyes tried
to focus.

"Goddamn! I juss heard the fucking rooser crow. Muss be time to go."

Xander then released his grip on Spike and he spun around to leave. It was an
ill-planned move and one that sent him sprawling face first onto the disco dance
floor. With a huff of disgust and fighting a case of the woosies himself, Spike
helped his boy struggle to his feet. Once upright, the two started the long trek
back to their cabin.

Staggering and bouncing off the walls, Spike was swamped with relief when they
finally reached their own hallway and the room was mercifully just a few doors
away. Xander had fallen quiet and was barely awake meaning that Spike would
have to use the contaminated key card to open the lock. A thought that sent waves
of revulsion through him.

#501. They made it! Spike dug into Xander's pocket and retrieved the key as
Xander snickered and mumbled vague sexual suggestions that both men knew
were presently impossible. Squatting down, Spike gave all his effort and
concentration to the task of sliding the card into the slot. Just as the small light
turned green, he jumped straight in the air when Xander shouted.


Tripping on his own feet as he did so, Spike spun around. He found his lover standing
with a grin on his face, his pants at his knees and a very limp dick flopped out. It
didn't seem to matter to Xander that the named couple were nowhere to be seen.
Disgusted, Spike opened the door and shoved. Xander took a restrictive step, slipped
and tumbled into the cabin.

Spike closed the door. He stepped over the half naked prone form and went to
bed. It was 1 AM.

With the saturation of wine in a system unaccustomed to much alcohol, Spike fell
asleep almost instantly. The room was dark and the night breeze whispering
through the window was soft and warm. Spike should have slept undisturbed for
hours, possibly days.

But he didn't. Although still drunk, he was startled awake. He glanced at the
clock by the bed and saw that it was only 3. Unsure what had awakened him, he
rose up slightly and peered over onto the floor where Xander still lay, now loudly

Satisfied that the boy was all right, Spike laid his head back down on the pillow.
Before he could slip off again, he heard a crash in the cabin next door. It was the
sound of a heavy object being moved, shoved or thrown. It was followed
immediately by furious voices shouting indiscernible words with angry intent. After
a few moments, the door to Teddy's cabin slammed shut.

Spike could hear the boy continue to rant and pace. Quicky, the sounds of fury
morphed into sorrow and the sobbing began. Spike wanted to think about what
he had just heard but his brain wouldn't allow it and he again fell asleep.

The next time he woke, the clock read 10 and the sounds were that of running
water and singing. Spike groaned and put the pillow over his head to block out
the unfair evidence of his boy's iron clad constitution. The hammering in Spike's
skull told him he would not be joining in a duet anytime soon.

Moments later, looking and smelling fresh as a fucking daisy, Xander floated
into the room on a fog of steam and aftershave that rolled in the police chief's

"Morning, sweety. Oh, and thanks. Real nice. Leaving me on the floor while
you take the bed. You're a prince, Spike, but, hey, I can't be mad. Last night
was a scream wasn't it? Damn, it feels good to fucking cut loose. So, what's
up for breakfast? I was thinking......"

"NO! If you even mention food, I shall personally rip off your ears and insert
them where the tropical breeze will never touch them again."

Xander laughed. His lover was stretched out on his stomach, a pillow over the
back of his head and the impact of the threats of violence was sadly diminished
as they were mumbled into the sheets. Xander gave his partner a couple light
pats of affection on the butt.

"Fair enough. I'm going to go in search of some eggs and I'll bring you back some
coffee. Take some aspirin and a shower. We have a big day ahead of us. The
ship docks for an afternoon at Cocoay Bay in the Bahamas and we are going.
Shopping. Sightseeing. Drin.....well, we may skip the drinking but the rest will
be fun. So, get up!"

Spike remained motionless as he listened to the absurd plan. Xander must be
on crack if he thought there was any way Spike was going to be able to emerge
and walk upright today. His only response, and one that he thought expressed
his intent clearly, was a well timed wine fart.

"Ah! Damn, Spike, for a clean freak you can be such a pig sometimes. But,
that cloud of toxic funk does not let you off the hook. I'll be back in one hour.
Get your stinky ass out of bed."

A minute later, Spike heard the cabin door open and mercifully close. He sighed
and immediately snuggled back down in the bed and pulled the covers up to his
chin. Just before falling back to sleep, something whispered in his ear. Something
that he had wanted to remember.

It was a memory that was almost brought to the forefront by the sound of Xander
closing the door. It seemed like he had considered it important. As he strained and
concentrated, like a specter, it began to take shape and form before floating away
before he dozed off.

"You are a fucking slug!"

As the blanket was cruelly snatched from his body and the pillow from his face,
the light from the room split through his brain and jolted him from his healing
slumber. Clearly the boy hated him. Spike whined, "Please, Xan. Show a little

"Nope. You are getting up now. The shower is waiting and your clothes are
laid out. Take these aspirin and drink about a quart of water. You'll feel better
than if you lay here. Trust me."

Trust played no part as Xander was already dragging him from the peace of the
mattress and stripping him. Actually, Spike was all right with that part as he was
horrified to find he had been sleeping in last night's clothes.

He was muscled, shoved, nearly drowned and forced to swallow Tylenol,
black coffee and cool water. Within the hour, he was surprised to find that
apparently Xander was right. He felt much better.

Unfortunately, he admitted that and by early afternoon, he found himself
crowded into the center of a mob of gay men dressed in wildly floral shirts and
cut off shorts descending the gang plank toward a tourist trap of island germs
and nonsense.

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