Part 8
"L-later."
Oh, this is bloody it! thought Spike, after Xander had shut the door. His stuttered farewell to Xander had made him sound like a complete nancy boy. He was utterly screwed whichever way Xander had taken the stutter. If he did not suspect his painfully obvious adoration, then Xander probably chalked the stumble to the pain of Spike's foot.
Rolling his eyes, Spike continued sweeping the feathers into the far corner. He eyed the bedroom, and scoffing, entered. The real reason he wanted to avoid the room was that he could still catch Xander's scent on the bed, even above the garlic that was still slightly wafting around.
Looking at the bed, Spike sighed. He set the broom against the wall and went to sit beside the now vacant spot where Xander had been sitting earlier; there the scent was strongest . He slowly lifted that part of the comforter. Bringing it to his nose, he was struck by how silly he was being. He was acting like a teenage girl with a crush. Smelling things that had touched his Xander. How he would love to be the one who was touching Xander. Ooh. Nice erotic thoughts as there's a horrible pain-inducing smell…. Who am I kidding? Pain and skin. Xander's skin. Ow! Bleedin chip. Wasn't thinking of causing the boy pain. Shaking his head, Spike sniffed.
The garlic was now a complete turn-off, so he decided to finish with the sweeping.
Before I continue my illicit affair with Xander's scent to the accompaniment of garlic, he thought.
After the feathers were all gathered into the appropriate corner, Spike sat in his chair. Resting his aching foot on the tabletop, he switched on the television.
Oh God! He thought. Of course this infomercial would be on again. Ron Jeremy and his informercial now held special place in Spike's undead heart. Sighing as he remembered Xander's flustered talk this morning. The boy was really too adorable. No, not boy. Man. Spike mentally sighed.
Looking at the clock he saw only twenty minutes had passed since Xander's departure. He had at least half an hour until Xander's return. What to do… Spike looked down at his crotch. "Fancy a go?" At the sight of an answering lurch, Spike grinned.
Turning off the TV, Spike pondered the best place to have a quick wank. If he asked himself honestly, he did not want Xander to walk in and see what he was doing. So I'm evil, he thought, doesn't mean I want to give the idiot an opportunity to remember that he really is disgusted by me. Not when I want to shag his brains out, garlic obstruction or not.
Deciding the best place would be the bathroom, he almost started skipping towards it as he thought of what he was about to do. Been too bloody long since I had such a delectable, and perhaps attainable body to fantasize over, he thought.
When Spike got to the bathroom, he went straight for the shower. Fumbling with the knobs on the wall, he used his other hand to undo the buttons of his black jeans. With more of his attention on disrobing than on running the water, he managed to miscalculate the turn of the knob. A rush of scalding water slammed into his shoulder, and trailed down his chest to his crotch. Yelping, he backed away.
Realizing he could not beat the water into submission, he sneaked his fingers along the wall toward the knob. Wincing, he managed to turn the spray to a trickle.
Right, he thought, remember to turn the cold on first when your dangly bits are in bitter peril. Well, unless there's company to impress, then you wouldn't want cold water near 'em. Bollocks! Wank! Now!
Only half an hour later, grinning like a mad man, Spike whistled as he left the shower and began drying himself off. Putting on his jeans, he made his way back to the living room.
Feeling extremely satisfied Spike settled down to watch TV. After an hour, he caught himself looking at the clock every five minutes. As he switched his view from the TV to the clock, he realized he was already used to Xander's presence, and in fact missed him. Determined to not think about it anymore, he managed to not look at the clock for a whole ten minutes.
Another hour passed, and signaling noon, the Garvinadele's made their way back through. Spike began to really worry about Xander's whereabouts. He was no longer relaxed, but instead a wiry body full of tight tension.
"Bloody ponce. He said under an hour, didn't he? Well, it's been a lot longer than an hour. God! He hates me more than I thought. Probably trying to get someone else to get rid of the bugs." Spike continued his grumbling as he paced the living room.
Two hours later he came out of his state of bemusement. Neither Xander, nor Pete's Pest Control had called. So Spike decided to call them. If Xander was trying to thrust him onto someone else, he had another thing coming. Spike shuddered. No, he thought. Not thinking of thrusting and coming in the same sentence. Especially when he could just imagine Xander's face, at that moment of sweet ecstasy….
Shaking his head, steeling his nerve, he dialed Pete's Pest Control.
"Pete's Pest Control. Roger speaking."
"Oi, Harris there?" Perfect pitch. Don't sound too interested.
"I'm sorry, sir. Number four truck has not returned from a previous assignment."
"Bloody hell! My apartment is the assignment, tosser! And he claimed to be heading back after gathering the needed equipment. That was five hours ago. And unless your headquarters moves around the bleedin state of California, he should have returned by now." Not wanting to sound like a complete pansy, forgetting to ask about the bugs, Spike added, "'Sides, the bugs are still here. And I'm not paying 'til services are rendered!" he shouted the last. Tightly balling a fist, he heard Roger's measured tone assuring him that the number four truck had not been checked in, so its whereabouts were unknown.
Growling with frustration, Spike slammed the receiver down. There were still three and a half hours until sunset. He had never been known for his patience, and his anxiety over Xander's whereabouts fueled his need to thrash about.
The next three hours, Spike did things he never thought he would do for anyone. He looked up Pete's Pest Control's address, called surrounding businesses, called surrounding demons, and even called in a favor from a Goombort to try a tracking spell. All his actions were to no avail.
At last when the sun was about to set, Spike grabbed his duster, and headed for the door.
Author's note: Due to ff.net new policy regarding NC-17 works, I had to delete what happened in the shower. If you'd like the unedited version, please email me at angelxanderforever@hotmail.com and I'll send it to you.
"L-later."
Oh, this is bloody it! thought Spike, after Xander had shut the door. His stuttered farewell to Xander had made him sound like a complete nancy boy. He was utterly screwed whichever way Xander had taken the stutter. If he did not suspect his painfully obvious adoration, then Xander probably chalked the stumble to the pain of Spike's foot.
Rolling his eyes, Spike continued sweeping the feathers into the far corner. He eyed the bedroom, and scoffing, entered. The real reason he wanted to avoid the room was that he could still catch Xander's scent on the bed, even above the garlic that was still slightly wafting around.
Looking at the bed, Spike sighed. He set the broom against the wall and went to sit beside the now vacant spot where Xander had been sitting earlier; there the scent was strongest . He slowly lifted that part of the comforter. Bringing it to his nose, he was struck by how silly he was being. He was acting like a teenage girl with a crush. Smelling things that had touched his Xander. How he would love to be the one who was touching Xander. Ooh. Nice erotic thoughts as there's a horrible pain-inducing smell…. Who am I kidding? Pain and skin. Xander's skin. Ow! Bleedin chip. Wasn't thinking of causing the boy pain. Shaking his head, Spike sniffed.
The garlic was now a complete turn-off, so he decided to finish with the sweeping.
Before I continue my illicit affair with Xander's scent to the accompaniment of garlic, he thought.
After the feathers were all gathered into the appropriate corner, Spike sat in his chair. Resting his aching foot on the tabletop, he switched on the television.
Oh God! He thought. Of course this infomercial would be on again. Ron Jeremy and his informercial now held special place in Spike's undead heart. Sighing as he remembered Xander's flustered talk this morning. The boy was really too adorable. No, not boy. Man. Spike mentally sighed.
Looking at the clock he saw only twenty minutes had passed since Xander's departure. He had at least half an hour until Xander's return. What to do… Spike looked down at his crotch. "Fancy a go?" At the sight of an answering lurch, Spike grinned.
Turning off the TV, Spike pondered the best place to have a quick wank. If he asked himself honestly, he did not want Xander to walk in and see what he was doing. So I'm evil, he thought, doesn't mean I want to give the idiot an opportunity to remember that he really is disgusted by me. Not when I want to shag his brains out, garlic obstruction or not.
Deciding the best place would be the bathroom, he almost started skipping towards it as he thought of what he was about to do. Been too bloody long since I had such a delectable, and perhaps attainable body to fantasize over, he thought.
When Spike got to the bathroom, he went straight for the shower. Fumbling with the knobs on the wall, he used his other hand to undo the buttons of his black jeans. With more of his attention on disrobing than on running the water, he managed to miscalculate the turn of the knob. A rush of scalding water slammed into his shoulder, and trailed down his chest to his crotch. Yelping, he backed away.
Realizing he could not beat the water into submission, he sneaked his fingers along the wall toward the knob. Wincing, he managed to turn the spray to a trickle.
Right, he thought, remember to turn the cold on first when your dangly bits are in bitter peril. Well, unless there's company to impress, then you wouldn't want cold water near 'em. Bollocks! Wank! Now!
Only half an hour later, grinning like a mad man, Spike whistled as he left the shower and began drying himself off. Putting on his jeans, he made his way back to the living room.
Feeling extremely satisfied Spike settled down to watch TV. After an hour, he caught himself looking at the clock every five minutes. As he switched his view from the TV to the clock, he realized he was already used to Xander's presence, and in fact missed him. Determined to not think about it anymore, he managed to not look at the clock for a whole ten minutes.
Another hour passed, and signaling noon, the Garvinadele's made their way back through. Spike began to really worry about Xander's whereabouts. He was no longer relaxed, but instead a wiry body full of tight tension.
"Bloody ponce. He said under an hour, didn't he? Well, it's been a lot longer than an hour. God! He hates me more than I thought. Probably trying to get someone else to get rid of the bugs." Spike continued his grumbling as he paced the living room.
Two hours later he came out of his state of bemusement. Neither Xander, nor Pete's Pest Control had called. So Spike decided to call them. If Xander was trying to thrust him onto someone else, he had another thing coming. Spike shuddered. No, he thought. Not thinking of thrusting and coming in the same sentence. Especially when he could just imagine Xander's face, at that moment of sweet ecstasy….
Shaking his head, steeling his nerve, he dialed Pete's Pest Control.
"Pete's Pest Control. Roger speaking."
"Oi, Harris there?" Perfect pitch. Don't sound too interested.
"I'm sorry, sir. Number four truck has not returned from a previous assignment."
"Bloody hell! My apartment is the assignment, tosser! And he claimed to be heading back after gathering the needed equipment. That was five hours ago. And unless your headquarters moves around the bleedin state of California, he should have returned by now." Not wanting to sound like a complete pansy, forgetting to ask about the bugs, Spike added, "'Sides, the bugs are still here. And I'm not paying 'til services are rendered!" he shouted the last. Tightly balling a fist, he heard Roger's measured tone assuring him that the number four truck had not been checked in, so its whereabouts were unknown.
Growling with frustration, Spike slammed the receiver down. There were still three and a half hours until sunset. He had never been known for his patience, and his anxiety over Xander's whereabouts fueled his need to thrash about.
The next three hours, Spike did things he never thought he would do for anyone. He looked up Pete's Pest Control's address, called surrounding businesses, called surrounding demons, and even called in a favor from a Goombort to try a tracking spell. All his actions were to no avail.
At last when the sun was about to set, Spike grabbed his duster, and headed for the door.
Author's note: Due to ff.net new policy regarding NC-17 works, I had to delete what happened in the shower. If you'd like the unedited version, please email me at angelxanderforever@hotmail.com and I'll send it to you.