Throwing Shapes

by Anna S


It seemed only sensible to take the car that was idling outside the emergency doors, especially since the anxious parents-to-be probably wouldn't be back to park it anytime soon. Driving off, Xander promised himself he'd leave it somewhere with keys intact and a thank-you note. If they were criminals, they could at least be responsible ones. Of course, now it appeared he might be something more than a criminal.

"I'm an escaped mental patient," he realized aloud.

Spike, slumped in the passenger seat, eyed him blearily. "There's a shocker."

"Hey, I haven't done anything crazy!" Xander protested, before pausing a judicious moment. "Yet." He paused again. "That I know of."

"You'd better live up to your paperwork, then." Spike, recovering quickly from his attack, slid across the seat and licked Xander's ear. The wheel creaked in Xander's tightening hands and the car began to veer drunkenly toward the lane divider. He only realized his eyes had closed when he heard a flurry of car horns protest. His eyes flew open again and he wrenched the car out of oncoming traffic. Spike, indifferent to the danger, chewed Xander's shoulder and slid a hand between his legs.

"Whoa!" Xander flailed at him, trying to dislodge hand or mouth, whatever he could reach. "Seat belt! Seat! This isn't a good idea!" Spike laughed and worked his hand across the fly of Xander's jeans. "Okay, no," Xander said weakly. "Cut it out. Oh. Oh. Oh crap--the cops!"

He yanked on the wheel and Spike tumbled away against the dash, swearing in violent surprise, but whatever he said Xander couldn't hear under the sudden wail of guitar music from the car's CD player. His eyes zipped back and forth between the whirl of blue lights nearing in the rear-view mirror and the road ahead. Sirens added to the cacophony in his head, and he yelled for Spike to turn off the music as he sped the car through a red light and around a corner. When it kept playing, he spared an irritated glance sideways. A bar of light slid through the darkness of the car to momentarily illuminate Spike's face, wild-eyed and grinning like a madman at the cops behind him. And oh fuck, of course they were both crazy, they'd probably met in an institution somewhere and made a career of springing each other out, and now fate was catching up with them and they were going to die, die, die.

It took most of his broken concentration to keep the car ahead of the cops and on the road, but the next time he looked over Spike was hanging half out of the window, one hand wrapped in his seat belt as he anchored himself and braced his body into the whipping wind. "What the hell are you doing?" Xander shouted in wide-eyed disbelief, then heard the first gunshot. Shocked, he threw himself back into driving. A hazy intuition of chase scenes told him he needed to keep the car a moving target, so he aimed it into the oncoming lane and back again, thankful that the road remained empty and terrified that it wouldn't remain that way.

Spike kept his hold even as the car zig-zagged from lane to lane, emptying his gun at the cops. "Whooo!" he cried, and finally slithered back in through the window. "I got a tire," he crowed, checking the chamber of the gun to confirm it was empty.

"Mazal tov." Xander watched the police car spin to a halt in the middle of the road and begin to dwindle with distance. It was then he realized his dick was hard and he was breathing like a boxer mid-match, and he needed--oh, fuck. With unerring timing, Spike tossed the gun aside and crawled across the seat, head disappearing below Xander's field of vision. He bit his lip and clenched his hands on the wheel, gaze wildly panning to figure out where he could safely park. With pangs of relief and horror he felt his zipper slide open to release him. A wet, cool mouth engulfed him and he arched into the seat, digging his heels in for purchase as he shoved deeper, incidentally accelerating the car toward a street light. He gasped and somehow managed during moments of cross-eyed ecstasy to pry his foot from the pedal and bump the car off the road, over the curb, and into a heap of shrubbery that fully engulfed the vehicle and hid it from view.

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