SPANDER INQUISITION, 2004
Mwrgana's assignment for Aonikoi Liikin:
Tracking down his prey took no preternatural, vampiric abilities; the sounds of hammering reverberated through the shop and the floor shook.
Spike followed the noise down the basement steps and discovered the man he was looking for in the far corner, surrounded by tools and a pile of timber.
Nor was the prey unaware of his predator's intentions and throughout the day, as he busied himself with repairs and renewals, Xander had felt snakes of apprehension and excitement coiling through his gut. He was ready and waiting, he thought, but… no-one expects the Spander Inquisition…
"What the fuck is all the clamour about, Harris? You're making enough noise to wake the dead."
"And the proof of that assertion is standing right there, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed after a hard day's snoring." Xander stepped back and wiped the hem of his T-shirt over his face then double-checked the finger he had so-nearly skewered when Spike had called out - screwdrivers can be skittish little varmints if not kept under strict control. He blew on the finger - just to make sure - and waved his hand, solicitously, in the air - just in case. "I hope you've brought soda-y refreshments with you, it's hot and dusty down here - and working man in need." He hung out his tongue and panted.
The vampire grunted and walked over to inspect the alcove that had come into view as Xander had moved away. There were batons screwed into the sides and fixed onto the back was a large, supporting, wooden cruciform.
Spiked hissed; bending sharply as if he had been punched in the stomach; he tottered back, holding his hand palm-outwards in front of his eyes, reaching out with his other arm - long fingers scrabbling desperately to ward off an unseen enemy that apparently menaced the air before him.
"Yeah, yeah. And the Oscar for the remake of Nosferatu goes to the piss-artist formerly known as The Bloody." Xander smirked pride at his grasp of Spike-style English.
Spike straightened up and gave the structure a casual kick. "If you're thinking in terms of remakes, Harris, you're too late with your attempt at the Life of Brian - Mel Gibson's already done it. I dunno, the lengths some people will go to for an Oscar… 'Course, with all his toadying to the Big Guy Upstairs, he's got Best Foreign-Language Film in the bag, I warrant. But then again, your being a chippie and all… perhaps you've got connections?"
"I'm a what, now? Connections?"
"Chippie: a carpenter, you dickhead."
"You're never getting to Heaven, Spike, you know that?"
"Fuckin' hell," Spike pouted, "don't think so, eh? Putting up with you lot for the last couple of years ought to have earned me a reprieve, surely." His expression became panicked, "Oh, shit, I just thought... I mean I always assumed they do…? Oh fuck me, Harris, they must do… I mean if not there…"
Xander closed his eyes and opened his mouth; he frowned and moved his lips a few times as if to speak. He opened his eyes and held his hands up; with index, little fingers and thumbs raised he went through the words-fail-me dumb show again before shaking his head and surrendering, "Okay, I know I'm gonna regret having to ask this but: 'Who do what, where, if not there?"
Spike smiled smugly, "Fuck in hell, of course. Eternal damnation would get bloody tedious if you never got to get your leg over."
"I was right," Xander groaned, "but I just had to go ahead and ask, didn't I? Come on then, Fang-face, ante up with the liquid restoration: hard-working man in dire need of something wet down his throat, remember?"
Spike lasciviously raised an eyebrow but said merely, "Oh dear, the worker's revolting, is he? Well, your master has provided." He jerked his head towards the table.
Xander scampered across to it and tugged open the cardboard box Spike had set down there, "You trying to lead me astray, O Evil Creature of the Night? And what's the matter with your neck?"
"You keep scratching it - or more like sorta rubbing it. Turn around let me have a look."
"Oh stop mithering Harris, and be a man and drink up your beer like a good little boy. Believe me, it's better for you than those sugarless, artificially sweetened chemical cocktails of fizz, you think are so healthy. The old stuff just rotted your teeth, now they go straight to brain-rot - seem to be doing a good job, too."
Tilting his head, Spike crossed his arms and critically considered the young man who was fumbling to open a bottle and who flipped him the finger as he eagerly started to drink. Spike grinned in return and, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans - "Quite a feat of engineering in itself," Xander idly thought, "even though he can't find room for his thumbs." - prowled across to slouch against the wall next to the imbibing boy.
Xander drank gratefully, trying to ignore the shiver that ran through him as Spike stepped close and caressed his ear with lips and breath as he said, "And let's not forget who was the Innocent and who was the Wicked Seducer here."
Spike grabbed a beer then wandered back to the corner to nudge the pile of wood with his booted toe. He stood looking at the work space, stroking the back of his neck with the cold glass, "So, it's not Gethsemane II - and it don't rain here enough for a new Noah - what you building here then?"
"Just some cupboards and fitted shelving; Giles says he's spending too much time trying to find, quote, 'bloody stock' he knows is 'bloody-well here, some-bloody where,' and would I organise some 'decent bloody storage space' for him, before he 'goes completely bloody spare'."
The 'Innocent' drifted around the cellar: peering into piled-up cartons; pulling apart boxes; tipping out canisters; shaking packages and prodding parcels, "They reckon he really was one, you know."
"And again, I'm apologising to myself in advance as I ask, one what?"
"No, you dink; Max Schreck."
"Again, with the 'Huh?' "
"Nosferatu -the first one; there was a rumour on set that he was the real article."
"Oh, yeah… and was he?"
A packing-case, labelled DELICATE - HANDLE WITH CARE !!! shook as it was kicked. Vampiric hearing picked up the faint sound of bubble-wrap fiercely defending its treasure - and the trunk suffered another onslaught, "Nah, but I'm fairly certain that Klaus Kinski was… is."
"You certainly move among the great and the… well, famous, anyway, don't you Spike?"
"The great…" Spike sidled up alongside Xander whose cock he cupped and fondled through work-grimed jeans. He pushed him up to perch on the table, and slid his hands along the man's thighs, spreading the long legs apart to stand between them, pressing strong thumbs into hard muscle at the very top of Xander's legs, "…and the good…" he said in a husky murmur. "…and the sweaty… and the ripply-muscled… and the too knackered to resist…"
Xander's moan-like chuckle was muffled by his shirt as the other man pulled it over his head. He moaned again as Spike laved the salty sweat from his chest, licking and snapping at peaking nipples as he went.
"Ungh, Spike, isn't Dawn supposed to be coming here for you take her to class?"
"Wha'?" Spike stepped back and looked critically at his work, so far, then dived back to worry a nipple, in case the fleshy little nub considered that relaxing was a viable option. "Nah, I'm picking her up there and bringing her here, aren't I?"
"Yeah? You sure?"
"Nope, not got a clue - and I thought you were the one who never wanted to hear Dawn's name while we're shagging. Shut up and concentrate on the job in hand, will you?"
"You want me to go back to the shelf-making?"
"No, Moron, I want to you to shut up, get your clothes off and drape yourself over this table… and work on the happy-making."
Dawn, in the meantime, was neither waiting for Spike to pick her up from school nor preparing for a late class; she was watching the events in the Magic Box's basement with gleeful anticipation.
As a healthy, normal 15-year-old, she took inordinate interest in any and all hints of sexual goings-on happening around her and for weeks had been giggling to herself as she watched Xander moping around like a love-struck puppy, all wide-eyes and open-mouth whenever Spike was there. "Geez, he thinks he's being so subtle and under-covery about it. And the sad thing? None of the others have even noticed," she thought. "Like, dense much? There's this like really cool, torrid, unrequited love-thing going on, just like in the movies, and the losers just don't see it. I am *never * going to be that lame when I get old."
As a healthy, normal 15-year-old, she also thought it incumbent upon herself to check developments on any and all hints of sexual goings-on and, if need be, help them along a bit. Her radar had picked up some new and even more interesting signals, recently, coming from both Xander and Spike and she was keen to find out if she was correct in guessing that things had, indeed, developed nicely. She was frustrated that all her hints and casual asides to Spike had been met with bland incomprehension. However, a subtle remark to Xander had produced a most satisfactory result: he had glowed pink, then puce, then rushed off, flustered, to some very important work "thing" leaving behind his jacket, car keys, toolbox and a triumphantly smug teenager.
Unfortunately, since then she had had no chance to observe the two of them together; Xander avoided her like the plague and Spike sort of just slithered effortlessly out of her grasp whenever she tried to approach the subject.
Today, though, she was going to find out exactly what was happening; hah, Girl Power? They didn't have a clue… or a chance in hell, she thought smugly. Her discovery that Xander was going to be working alone in the shop that afternoon was the chance she had been waiting for; the problem was how to exploit the opportunity. She quickly discounted hiding somewhere in the shop; appealing as the thought was, she had no illusions that, "busy" or not, Spike would soon become aware of her either through vampiric super-senses or her own carelessness. Obviously some other, covert observation was required.
As a healthy, normal 15-year-old, green ball of energy who lived on the Hellmouth and was studying the occult arts, the solution was easy. Sighing in regret at the loss of the Triad's cameras, she had locked her bedroom door and made the necessary magical preparations, before settling down, cross-legged in front of a large, silver bowl. The liquid within was ordinary water but it had a most satisfyingly esoteric tint of lilac to it. The colouring didn't add anything to the efficacy of the scrying but she considered its soft, pastel shade gave it an aura of cool individuality.
So far, she might as well have been there in person, for all that was gong on; the only thing out of the ordinary was Xander's colourful language at one point. She knew that he must know those words but it was funny to see him mouthing expletives he never used in her company. "Damn," she thought, "I'm gonna have to get some sound fixed up."
For the past half-hour, though, Xander had become increasingly jumpy, stopping frequently to listen to, or for, something and, she giggled, to make adjustments within his pants.
When a flash of
black appeared on the stairs, Dawn hugged herself in delight. She watched
as the vampire approached the other man and tutted with patronising
derision at his pantomime with the cross-thing. He was so dumb.
She watched impatiently as he poked and prodded his way around the room as Xander drank, and snorted with laughter when he kicked the "fragile" box.
"Predictability, thy name is The Bloody," she thought grandly.
Then she tensed as Spike leant into Xander… and did he actually grab him There? She squealed in appalled and gleeful fascination and leant towards the scene displayed before her. Xander was hoisted onto the table and she forgot to breathe as her hands crawled to cover her mouth, her eyes wide with disbelief and delight. "Ohmigawd," she thought, "Spike's actually going to do it to him; right there!"
Strangely enough, much the same thought was going through Xander's mind as he lost and won a brief battle with himself about the appropriateness of the situation.
"Spike, no, I
mean… ungh, oh shit, yeah. No, wait, did you lock the door?"
Spike raised his head and an eyebrow, "No, why? It's a shop innit? Sells things? Provides a service? Thought we could charge customers for a bit of a show. If there's a demand, we could make it a regular thing… live demonstrations of 'The Arcane Art and Science of Sex Magic!' Waddya think? A cut of the takings for Rupert… I reckon it'll be a nice li'l earner."
"I'll take that as a Yes, then."
"Hmm… do I take it that's a No?"
"That is a definite Yes. And will you stop playing with yourself and stroke my neck, instead?"
Spike realised he was again scratching the nape of his neck and frowned. "Yu know, now you come to mention it, it does feel… there's a sort of humming up and down the top of my spine." He looked over his shoulder and grimaced, "It's like someone's standing behind me, tapping at me neck like it was a typewriter or summat."
"Welcome to the 21st Century, they're all keyboards now, Victorian One; and is that why you've been checking behind you since you got here? Perhaps it's the Ghost of Shopkeepers Past; you got rid of one of them, didn't you? She's probably taking her revenge while you're closeted in her Dungeon of Despair." Xander rolled his eyes back in his head and wailed, "Whoooooooh!… feel the claws of my retribution O Evil Child of the Night as I pull out your spine and use it for a spice rack."
"Hm. Cheeky git," Spike grunted, and stared around the shadowed room, "if you must know I'm still getting used to thinking of a typewriter as a machine and not the guy who uses it." He shrugged, "Fuck it, if there is someone watching they can pay on the way out. Now stop playing silly buggers and…" he deftly undid his jeans and pulled himself out, "…start using that pretty mouth to do something useful."
Xander bent to gently mouth the cock that was so temptingly being offered; back at Revello Drive, Dawn covered her wide-open eyes with widely spaced fingers and bent even closer to the scrying surface. A loose strand of hair fell forward and as it touched the water, the scene abruptly disintegrated and the girl howled in frustration.
"Ooh, that's better," muttered Spike as he wiggled his shoulders, "you're obviously the scratch the itch in my neck needed." He made short work of disrobing, despite Xander's attentions, then stood back to divest Xander of his remaining clothes.
Xander's eyes were black and glassy as he stared at his lover's shiny-wet cock, "You gonna stop talking and fuck me, now, Spike?"
"I s'pose, if you really want me to," drawled the vampire as he threw Xander's second shoe and jeans behind him then turned Xander around to lean over the table. Spreading Xander open with one hand, he held his saliva-slick cock in the other and ran it teasingly up and down the boy's cleft. He prodded gently at the sensitive, twitching knot of muscles and grinned with surprised delight as the head slid in easily. "Well, well, looks like some naughty boy is slippy and waiting." He eased all the way in and gripped Xander's hips as he pulled back then thrust in again, twisting to find the sweet spot. "Shit, Harris… great fuckin' turn on, you all ready for me. You deserve a really good seein' to for that."
Xander moaned and stretched his arms out to hold the sides of the table as he thrust back into Spike's gratitude. He hadn't realised until right now, just how wound up he had become over the last couple of hours and he craned his head around to claim Spike's mouth in a greedy kiss. "Oh god yeah, Spike, just like that," as Spike pulled roughly at his cock. Spike's hips mirrored his hand's harsh jerking and he allowed his face to change as he came inside Xander's warm, grasping body. Moments later, Xander felt the tension inside him shatter like glass and he screamed his own completion.
"I can assure you that there will be no problem," Giles was saying testily as he almost pushed the reluctant man through the door.
"This place of yours ain't right - even compared to the rest of this weird godforsaken armpit of the world my wife insists we live in. And didn't she make sure I never met her mother until after we'd gotten married. But this store is plain-out jinxed everyone knows better than to do any work here, especially alone at night."
"Mr Schwartz, it is barely evening and you are not alone and all I want you to do is prepare me an estimate; I'm not asking you to fit a whole new unit - not today, anyway, hopefully some excellent repair work, for which you come so highly recommended, will suffice to cure the problem. It isn't as though it's not working at all, just that it's somewhat arctic when it comes on. There's little pleasure in coming out of 95 degrees heat to something that resembles the inside of a freezer."
"Hmm, and does this happen all over, or are there 'cold spots'? Cos I've heard of them and they don't got nothing to do with the ACS - they're all to do with otherworldly things that the good Lord never meant us to meddle in."
"Oh, for…" Giles ushered the man down the stairs. "Look, I can assure you that there's nothing un- or super- natural in here. In fact, I've had a young friend working down here in the basement, on his own all day…"
An unholy wailing rent the air.
The electrician's eyes widened to a frightening extent at the scene in front them before he shrieked and fled.
Giles groaned and collapsed onto the stairs, wrapping his arms around his head in despair at the sight of two naked male bodies and one grinning game face.
Xander shrieked and hid behind the table.
"Do you know how long it took me to persuade that damned man just to set foot in here?" came the anguished, if muffled, moaning from within the cave of Giles's arms.
"Now that's funny you should bring someone down here, right now, Rupert - we were only just talking about that. Don't suppose there's any chance the ungrateful git handed over some ackers before he ran off?"
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