bmblbee (bmblbee) wrote in bloodclaim,

Masquerade Balls

DISCLAIMER: Sadly, the Bee still owns none of the characters used in this story.
The Bee does own the plot and story so please do not take or archive without asking.
WARNINGS: Adult language and M/M sexual situations.

SUMMARY: OCD Spike is back and he is forced to celebrate the one holiday he
finds very distasteful. Halloween. He may be doing it to please Xander but, as always,
Spike will do this on his own terms.

Written for the Eternal Spander Halloween Ho Down

Thanks to Petxnd for the lovely banner and to Naughty Fae for the encouragement to
contribute to the Eternal Spander Halloween challenge.

Curtis maneuvered the sleek black Volvo through the streets of Sunnydale with his stiff,
nervous passenger ensconced in the back seat. The entire trip took less than fifteen minutes, and
right on schedule, they pulled into the parking lot of the long, narrow brick building with the giant
bird painted on the side. The huge sign on the front read, "BROTHERHOOD OF THE

Spike suspected this of being a cult.

Without comment or sympathy, Curtis steered the vehicle into the parking lot, pulled up to the front
door and he stopped. "Well, sir, here we are. I will return your car to your residence and you are
to ride back home with Mr. Xander." Curtis received no reply from his passenger.

Several minutes ticked by at which point, without turning in his seat, Curtis responded. "Get out of
the car, sir." It was a firmly issued statement that got Spike moving, and with a grumble and
an unspecific threat towards Curtis' status of employment, Spike climbed from the car and shut
the door. He took two steps forward then suddenly stopped.

The minute he spun around on his heels, Curtis stomped his foot down on the gas pedal and the
tires barked out a laugh as the Volvo sped away, leaving Spike shouting into the night, "You're
fired!" Within seconds, the car took the corner at the end of the street and the bright red taillights
winked out.

"Well, hell." Spike knew he was trapped like a rat. As a way to get a grip on his nerves, Spike
dug a wipe from his pocket and he frantically swiped his hands. He was acutely aware of
Xander's absence from his side and Spike wondered how he had survived in the pre-Xander years.
"This is bullshit."

Despite his regret at agreeing to this foolish outing, Spike knew that, at this point, this horrendous
party was like a tunnel. The only way out of it was to go plunge in and stumble through with it.
As protection against the contamination of communal door handles and fixtures, Xander had added
a pair of gloves to Spike's costume and now, before reaching for the handle, Spike slipped them on
as he muttered, "I can do this. I can do this. I can do this."

Before he could again change his mind, Spike marched up the three steps, he grabbed the metal bar
and he pushed the door open. Immediately his senses were assaulted with the sights and sounds
and smells of a celebration. It was teeming humanity in the throes of jubilation. It was a cluster-fuck.
It was everything Spike found repugnant.

The small area where he stood was an alcove. It was a ten by ten area that was lined on each side
with dozens of hooks that were filled with jackets and coats. Directly ahead and at a level of three
steps down was the large, open party room. Easing forward, Spike took a moment to gaze as a
detached observer and peruse the scene.

The space was teeming with people, balloons, tables and colorful streamers. There were all of the
tacky decorations that Spike associated with the pointless, unholy holiday of Halloween. It
was everything he had expected and feared There were ghosts made of white sheets dangling
from the ceiling and carved pumpkins setting on each of the tables, no doubt attracting pecker
gnats and horse flies.

Square, black box speakers that were placed in a dozen spots around the room blasted the
buoyant profanity of Cee Lo Green at a volume that caused a vibration to run up Spike's legs
and shimmy in his nuts, while he mentally calculated the length of time it would take for such
an escalated level of decibels to permanently damage his hearing. Because of the loud music,
revelers were shouting and laughing to hear and be heard and Spike wondered why they didn't
just turn down the volume.

Much to his dismay, the overhead lights were dimmed in the huge cavernous room ahead with
the majority of the incandescence coming from orange pumpkin bulbs that were strung around
the perimeter and cheap fake candelabras on the tables. Spike knew the weak illumination would
inhibit his ability to spot his lover quickly, and yet he still remained confident in his power to detect.

After all, for at least tonight, he WAS Hercule Poirot!

In a move of determination to get this over with as soon as possible, Spike tightened his grip on
his walking stick and he marched into the crush of the horde. After a moment, his eyes adjusted
to the low level of light and he was better able to see and even recognize a few familiar faces on
several people who wore costumes that did not have a mask. Mostly there were vampires, witches
and zombies, which caused Spike to mutter his disdain at their cliched lack of originality.

"Hey! Chief Pratt! HI!" Spike turned toward the sound of the female voice and he spotted Ptl.
Eve Walters standing near the bar with two other women he recognized as vice officers. He noted
that they were dressed as sleazy hookers, including accentuated cleavage and fishnet stockings.
A choice he deemed very unimaginative, considering their vocation. However, in the spirit of
his promise to Xander that he would try and be nice, Spike raised his white gloved hand and gave
a polite wave. "Ladies."

He then turned away from them in order to discourage any further contact or appear eager to hold
a conversation. Spike did not engage in idle chit chat. He needn't have worried. The female
officers who went to great lengths to avoid the abrasive chief at work were not looking to hang
with him tonight.

"Chief Pratt. Cool. Peep's talk said you were coming."

Spike twitched in response to the slow, slightly slurred voice at his side and when he turned, he found
his companion to be a short, fuzzy-faced werewolf. Even with the dim light and the attempt at a
full-body costume of hair and bib overalls, Spike recognized the werewolf as Daniel Osborn,
dispatcher. "Well, well, officer Osborn. How creative. A werewolf."

Oz ignored the sarcastic tone that tinged the Chief's voice and he grinned with a mellow smile that
was the result of a quality joint and a couple of beers. "Yeah. I'm the wolf. Hey, you look pretty
sharp yourself. Charlie?"

Spike scowled with confusion. "Charlie?"

Oz took a step backward and his head bobbed as he looked Spike all up and down to reaffirm
his evaluation. "Charlie Chaplin. Ain't that it? I love them old movies. The Little Tramp. Sure."

Spike sputtered his outrage. "Chaplin? Chaplin? Certainly NOT! I'll have you know, young man,
that I am Hercule Poirot the famed Belgian detective! Charlie Chaplin indeed!"

Quickly, Oz threw up his hands in surrender and he took two steps backwards. "Whoa there. No
sweat, chief. It was an honest mistake. Well, time to go. Peasant girls to bite. The wolf is on the
prowl. Have a great time." With that, Oz did a shuffle move in his big furry foot-shoes and
he scampered away, leaving Spike to fuss and fume.

"Calm down, Spike." Reassuring hands gripped each of Spike's elbows as Dorothy appeared on one
side of Spike and the cowardly lion stood on the other. Spike's head snapped back and forth so
quickly that the bowler on his head wobbled, but when recognition set in, he was flooded with
relief. "Penn. Faith. Oh, thank God. This place is a foul contamination on Sunnydale society.
First thing in the morning we should meet with the city law director and see about it being shut
down immediately. Eagles, indeed."

Penn just laughed. "Yeah, we'll do that, Spike. Now, listen up. Xander is here but, no, I won't say
who he is. He just asked me to watch that you don't make a total ass of yourself before the night is
over. He also explained, in mercifully vague terms, the challenge you and he are engaged in and that
if you win, your room number upstairs is number two. But, hey, as long as you are here why not try
and enjoy yourself? After all, this is a party."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Don't be absurd."

Faith laughed. "Okay. Well, we won't keep you. There is food over on the side table and the bar
has cold beer on tap. We are going to drink and eat too much then dance our feet off, but if you
need us, just holler."

Before Spike could make note of the fact that due to the blaring racket of what was trying to pass
as music, he would never be heard, Penn took Faith's hand and they blended into the crowd. In
truth, their presence did bring him a sliver of reassurance. Penn had been his friend and partner for
years before Xander came along. It helped Spike calm himself, and now that he took a closer look,
most of the creatures and cartoon characters in the room were people he knew well.

The Three Stooges were meter maids. The Green Lantern was the night shift janitor, and several of
the corrections officers from the jail were everything from Felix the Cat to Bozo the Clown. Once
he eliminated the people who wore no facial concealments, Spike narrowed the suspect pool of
possible Xanders to approximately a dozen men.

Spike grinned evilly as he tugged the tips of his handlebar moustache while he mentally reviewed
the evidence. Fact: Xander was present in the room. Fact: Spike intimately knew Xander's
body movements and personal quirks. Fiction: Xander could hide out until midnight. When he was
sure he was just moments away from his well-earned blow job, Spike moved carefully through the
room like a panther. As he did, he was cautious to avoid any possible accidental physical contact
while he selected the most advantageous vantage point from which to observe.

He watched different men as they ate, laughed, drank and conversed. He disqualified them one by
one as they engaged in various activities that ran the gamut from aggressive displays of PDA to eating
a huge tossed salad that would cause Xander to gag. This was easier than Spike had anticipated. He
was down to a pirate, a figure in full black bondage gear and Frankenstein.

All three were good candidates by their height, weight and general age. Frankenstein had large feet
like Xander but the pirate had an odd way of gesturing with his hand as he spoke to President Obama
and Marilyn Monroe that seemed somewhat Xanderish. Spike needed more. He needed another

Interrupting Spike's line of thought was a sudden shift in the music that blasted from the speakers. It
was a switch from the previous hip hop to a country tune that was a favorite of Xander's, and Spike's
face lit up when he saw the pirated charge toward the dance floor and begin the sexually charged
bump and grind that Spike knew well. 'BINGO!'

In a straight-backed strut that suited his persona and was assisted by his gold-tipped walking stick,
Spike marched through a crowd that parted for him like the Red Sea. When he approached the
gyrating, humping buccaneer, Spike strode right up to him and whispered in his ear, "Gotcha. Let's
go! Upstairs and pay up so we can get out of this hell hole."

Without waiting for an answer, Spike headed for the far side of the room and the worn, wooden
staircase. He quickly ascended and proceeded into the room with the black brass '2' on the door.
He knew he was in the right place when he smelled the strong scent of disinfectant. Xander was
always diligent in his prearrangements.

The space was small and bare. The walls were covered in a faux wood paneling that was popular in
the 1970s and apparently still sufficed today. The only furniture was a large roll-top desk, a ratty
chaise and a leather chair. The chair had been draped in a white, pressed sheet.

Humming confidently, he laid his walking stick on the desk and he unbuttoned his trousers. He
kicked off his shoes and removed his pants and underwear, folding them neatly. Then wearing
only his shirt, vest, black socks, moustache and bowler hat, Spike settled into the chair to await his
well-earned blow job. He stroked his budding erection and he beamed with pride at his powers
of efficient deduction. The pirate's false beard, eyepatch and low-riding hat had been no deterrent
at all.

Within moments, the door swung open and a very Johnny Depp-looking pirate stepped
inside, announcing himself with a guttural, "ARGGGGG." He then flipped off the light, plunging
the room into darkness. Spike was slightly disappointed. He really wanted to watch, but hey, there
was always later and an encore at home. So he settled into his chair and he growled, "Come here,
you scandalous privateer and shiver me timber. Take charge of my wooden plank and hornswoggle
my Jolly Roger."

Yeah, it was corny but apparently the pirate didn't mind since Spike immediately felt two hands
plant themselves on his knees and push his legs wide open as the pirate lowered himself to the
floor. Spike sighed in anticipation. "Oh, shit. Come on, baby. I'm already hard as a rock."

The response came in the form of a long, hot, wet swipe of tongue up the shaft of Spike's dick and
across the spongy head. This time it was Spike's turn to "ARGGGG" as the pirate got down to
business. He wrapped his soft lips around Spike's slim, pink dick and through the darkness, Spike
could make out the shadow of the large, feathered hat that bobbed up and down in his lap as his
cock was sucked and slurped.

It was fast. It was rough. It was the very lack of foreplay that Spike appreciated. The pirate had a
firm, practiced suction and, expertly, alternately used his hand on the saliva-slicked skin as well as
his mouth to give Spike as much pleasure as possible. Spike's head flopped back, his ears buzzed
and his stomach fluttered. His dick sang and he had a strange tickle in his balls that he quickly
realized was more than just a brushing of fingertips. It was the feel of soft cloth that was bumping
and nudging his sac.

Spike tried to picture what would cause the odd sensation, and suddenly his detective's brain put two
and two together. It was the head of the stuffed parrot from the pirate's shoulder that was sliding
across his perineum and butting into the crease between his nuts. He was being frotted by a red
and orange stuffed parrot! That was so wrong!! It was so wicked!!

Spike moaned and wriggled his ass. "Fuck yes! Hercule has a cracker for Polly." Quickly, he
scooched forward to give Polly more room and Spike shuddered at the combined sensations of having
his dick sucked and his crotch molested by a tropical feathered fiend.

It was overwhelming and it sent Spike spiraling towards an orgasm that could possibly cause his hat
to blow from the top of his head and his false moustache to spontaneously combust.


Spike's body went rigid and his cock jerked in the pirate's mouth. The first shot of hot, salty,
bitter release spattered against Jolly Roger's tongue and was greedily swallowed, along with
the seemingly endless spurts that followed. Each squirt was accented with a grunted, "Oh.
Oh. Oh," until he finally ran dry and Spike's last comment was an "Ahhhhh" of contentment.

Spike's body went slack. His arms flopped over the chair and his legs stretched out in front of
him. Although he knew Xander would never request a post-bj kiss, Spike did expect some sort
of acknowledgement, but he was to be disappointed when the pirate quickly rose, wiped his mouth
on the back of his hand and slipped from the room. After that, Spike made no attempt to move.
He knew he would need at least ten minutes before his muscles would work again, which actually
worked out just fine. It was nearly midnight and they could finally go home.


Spike descended the staircase just as the bells rang and the confetti and balloons rained down from
the ceiling to mark the witching hour of midnight. The masks came off and everyone cheered and
toasted with brown bottles and shot glasses. It was the pinnacle of the Halloween celebration and
Spike's post-coital buzz nearly put him in a companionable, celebratory mood.

"AHA! I win!"

The voice that spoke in Spike's ear caused him to spin around just as Xander was jerking the
false Frankenstein hood off his head. His hair was a wild dark riot and his face was flushed and
pink. The dark eyes sparkled and his smile was triumphant.

Spike's mouth gaped open. His chin hit the floor and his eyes bugged. The very conclusion that
had formed in an instant was causing a chaotic riot of thoughts to spin in his brain. "What..?
Who...?" Spike's head snapped all around the room and his eye caught sight of a pirate, sans
parrot, giving a wave of the hand as he slipped out the door.

Immediately, Spike's gloved hands clutched at his own throat as he struggled to breath. He gagged
and shuddered while his lips flubbered as he muttered and stuttered. "A strange man! A sucked
dick! Germs! God knows what sort of germs! Foreign saliva!! Rabies! I need a rabies AND a
tetanus shot!! Xander! Xander!" Finally, Spike did the only thing he could. He screamed.


At the last second, Xander caught his lover before he hit the floor. He scooped his Poirot up in his
arms and lovingly carried the babbling, flailing, woozy man through the crowd towards the nearest
exit. On the way, a concerned werewolf stopped them. "The chief not feeling good? A little too
much partying?"

Xander just chuckled. "Yeah, I think he has had all the Halloween he can stand, but he'll be
alright. After I came downstairs, I had Curtis stop in and switch costumes with me. It was the
trick part of Spike's trick and treat. Don't worry. He'll figure it out After all, Spike IS a
master detective."

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