19/20
Author: BmblBee
Paring: Spander
Rating: NC17
Genre: HAU
Warnings: Adult language. M/M sexual activity
Summary: Spike is a famous author with a fast new sports car he is driving across
the flat-lands of the American Southwest enroute to a book signing in San Antonio.
Xander is a lawman in the very small town of Trail Pass, Texas. When Spike
exceeds the speed limit, he and Xander cross paths and Spike gets more than a ticket.
Thanks to Petxnd for the preread and the lovely banner.
The building was one story. It had a flat roof and shutters on all the windows to block out the sun.
The double doors were painted a bright red and there was a small cactus garden in the yard.
The scrolled, welcoming sign that was attached to the weathered siding and the bell tower with
the carved cross on top told everyone who might not be familiar with Trail Pass that this was the
home of God almighty on Sunday morning and Bingo on Wednesday and Sunday nights. This was
the Trail Pass United Methodist Church.
Hurrying up the sidewalk, Xander clutched firmly to Spike's hand and tugged the somewhat
reluctant man along at a near trot. They had showered and masturbated till their wrists grew tired
and their flesh was wrinkled and puckered. Their dicks were limp, possibly permanently, and their
balls were empty and shriveled.
They had laughed and dried each other while kissing and tickling, until Xander had caught a glimpse
of the time and called a halt to their games in favor of literally getting to the church on time.
Spike was still not convinced. "Can't we just grab a sandwich over at...?"
"Nope. Mabel's is closed on Sunday evening."
"How about the Boots and...."
"Ditto."
"Maybe we could...."
Xander had stood fully dressed with his arms crossed over his chest and the toe of his snakeskin
boot tapping impatiently on the hardwood floor. "I know what you are doing, Spike. Don't make
me put the handcuffs on you and drag you down there."
"Wha?" Spike sputtered his outrage at the threat, but he had, at the same time, slipped into his flip
flops and they were out the door. Now, as the sun rode low in the sky and the sound of excited
voices drifted out from somewhere inside the church, Xander pulled open the front door and he
shoved his prisoner in.
It wasn't at all what Spike expected. There were no gaudy trappings in shimmering silver or
glittering gold. The walls were unadorned and had no huge hanging statues of pain and torture
crying blood and wearing thorny hats. The small podium at the front of the sanctuary was not
covered in yards and yards of fabric, and the only concession to the expected religious decor
seemed to be the presence of a candelabra containing ten half-burned candles.
There were eight plain wooden backed pews on each side, and if one did the fast math, the entire
church service could cater to no more than one hundred people on any given Sunday which, in
Spike's estimation, was optimistic.
It was warming and welcoming. It was not intimidating or gaudy and it was not what Spike
had experienced with most organized religions. It was unassuming and very representative of
Trail Pass as a whole. But it was also empty. "I thought you said...."
"Here. Through here. Come on." Xander latched onto Spike hand as they stood in the small foyer
and together they veered off to the left, around a corner and into a large open room that ran the
length of the rear of the building. At several points in the length of the long room there were
opened bifold doors, which Spike assumed meant the area could be sectioned off to make it into
smaller classrooms.
Tonight, however, it was wide open and a flurry of activity. There were rows of long tables set up
with chairs on each side. In the far left corner a man sat at a table with a huge rolling barrel of
numbered ping pong balls. In the right was a counter filled with wonderful smelling bowls, platters,
and cookers from which two pudgy ladies were scooping mounds of food and piling them onto
paper plates.
People were moving about everywhere. They were laughing, chatting, eating, and setting up
individual work areas of numbered papers, ink daubers and bizarre lucky charms. When Spike
looked at Xander, it was clear that the policeman was very comfortable in this environment.
Xander rubbed his hands together and licked his lips. "Okay, first we need to lay claim to a place at
one of the tables before they are all gone. I'll grab us a couple bingo papers to mark our seats and
then we can get in line and grab some grub. Hot damn!. Loretta cooked. That means BBQ
ribs. Nobody makes ribs like Loretta. They are to die for."
After his announcement and menu critique Xander skittered off, leaving Spike standing alone,
flustered and confused.
"Hello."
Spike jumped and spun around to find a small, grey-haired lady smiling beside him. She was tiny,
bony, and had a mouth full of oversized dentures.
"Oh, hello."
"You must be the convict that Xander has been tending to. We have all heard so much about you
and just couldn't wait to get a look at you."
Spike squirmed under the intense, bifocaled stare. "Well, I'm not exactly a convict. I think...."
"Is it true that you are a famous writer?"
Spike blushed at the recognition and expected a line of blue-hairs to demand autographs which he
would, of course, humbly provide. "Famous? Yes, well that may be a bit...."
"I'm a writer too, you know. The name is Helen Wells. Perhaps you have heard of me?"
Spike scowled. "Um, no, sorry. What do you write?"
"Porn. Actually, gay porn. I post my stories on the internet. I would love to have you read some
and give me your professional feedback."
"Ack!"
"Hey, I thought I told you to grab us a seat at one of the tables. Oh, hi, Helen. How's the smut
going?" Xander appeared at Spike's side with two sheets of bingo cards in his hand.
"Just wonderfully, Xander. I have my characters locked in a dungeon and the only way they can get
out is by entertaining a medieval king with their wild sexploits of grunting and thrusting."
Helen snickered and winked wickedly.
Xander grinned and nodded his approval. "That sounds great. I'll have to check it out."
After she walked away, Spike shook his finger after her. "Did you hear that? That sweet little old
lady writes porn?"
Xander just shrugged. "Everybody needs a hobby, Spike. Oh! Look! There's a spot over there.
Come on." Xander hurried off again, but this time Spike stayed right on his heels for fear of
being accosted by another senior citizen. Possibly one with a chicken fetish or a kink for balloons.
Once their territory was staked with the placement of papers and ink markers, Spike and Xander
were free to get into the food line, confident that no one would violate the sanctity of the church
by bogarding their seats.
After taking a paper plate, napkin, and set of plastic ware, Spike stood in front of Xander and behind
a very pregnant young woman as the line edged forward. Craning his neck, Spike was able to see
that there was indeed a large variety of meats, vegetables, sides, and desserts. He selected salad, a
dinner roll, baked chicken with parsley potatoes, carrots, and he laid claim to a slice of cherry pie
for dessert.
With their hands full, they sat back down. They chatted and visited with the people who sat around
them while they gorged on some of the best food Spike could ever remember eating. It was easily
as good as the dishes served at outrageous prices by snotty waiters in the upper-crust restaurants
of the world's biggest cities.
Worker bees hustled around the room, refilling water glasses and removing empty plates and cups as
the people finished. Within an hour, Spike was groaning and subtly reaching under the table to
loosen the drawstring on his cotton jail pants. He felt bloated, stuffed, and would have gladly taken
a nap.
"Ladies and gentlemen. LET'S PLAY BINGO!"
The announcement over the loud speaker brought the room to life as the players hooted and whooped
in excitement. Much to Spike's dismay, Xander seemed to be one of the most elated by the concept
of blotting out little numbers on a paper sheet.
"Damn, Xan, I think I ate a horse. Why don't we just slip out the back door and...."
"What? And miss the game? Hell no. Don't worry, if you can't keep up, I'll help you watch your cards."
Spike placed his hand to his mouth and tried to stifle a belch as the man with the mic called out the
first number. "B 14!"
Xander's blotter sailed over his cards and Spike's, leaving several blue spots behind while
Spike contemplated the advisability of leaning to the side and letting a bit of pungent air escape
from his ass to alleviate some pressure from his gut.
"I 22!"
"Oh look, Spike, you're off to a great start. Hey, are you okay? You look a little...." *sniff
sniff* "Damn! Was that you?"
Spike looked horrified at the accusation. Should he deny? Could he get away with a lie? He had
been sure he could ease out just a tiny silent one and no one would notice. As he stuttered
and stammered, the guilt was written all over his face.
"N 31!"
Before Spike could apologize, Xander stunned him by turning to Gladys Cooper who sat across the
table from them. With a big grin on his face, Xander again sniffed loudly before leaning in and
harshly whispering, "Geesh, Gladys, you might want to lay off the beans for a while."
Gladys, who was every bit of eighty plus, had long ago admitted to a lack of control over certain
bodily functions. When the toxic cloud reached her, she simply shrugged. "Sorry about that,
boys. Sometimes the gate can't hold back the demons."
Xander patted her hand affectionately. "You know what they say, Gladys. It is better to fart and bear
the shame than hold it back and bear the pain. It's no problem, is it, Spike?"
"G 48!"
Spike muffled an hysterical giggle and wondered if that gave him carte blanche to let the lid off
the pressure cooker, but decided against it. "Sure. No problem."
"O 69!"
Xander suddenly twitched in his chair and dug his elbow into Spike's side. "You got it. You won.
You got a bingo!"
"Ack!" Spike stared at the neat row of blue dots on his card. It was beautiful. It was amazing.
Instantly, he threw his hand in the air and he shrieked. "BINGO!!"
Laughing at the enthusiasm, the caller made the announcement. "Hold all your cards while we check
the numbers. Who is it, Pete?"
The worker who hustled over to their table took Spike's card to confirm the win and he shouted
back, "It's Xander's fella. Yup. They is good numbers. We got us a ten dollar winner."
Spike grinned as he recounted his ten one-dollar bills. When Pete walked away, Spike leaned over
and mumbled, "They think I am your fella, Xander. Why do you suppose that is?"
Xander looked at Spike incredulously. "Are you really that dense, darlin'?"
"Dense?"
Xander laughed and threw his arm around Spike's shoulders. "Damn, Spike, we been datin' for the
last four days. Of course they think you're my fella."
Spike's mouth fell open. Gladys winked at him and Xander blotted the first number on their next game.