Authors: cordelianne, reremouse, savoytruffle
Warnings: More surprise knocks on the door, fruitful menus, clumsy diversionary tactics.
Summary: Xander's got places to be, things to do. Giles wishes Xander had given the Council a heads up. Spike figures, what the hell, the pay's good and it's not like he's got other plans at the moment.
Note: Now with fantastic movie poster by the talented katekat1010 beneath the cut. Both can be seen here. Thank you, kate!
Previous parts here.
When the knock comes, it takes Xander by surprise.
He thought Spike liked Xander being the one to come to him. Granted, he doesn't have a lot of coming to go on.
Well not that kind of coming.
The other kind, he and Spike have enjoyed a varied and fruitful menu of.
Fruitful. He can’t help snickering as he pushes himself out of his sprawl on the bed.
Not that this sends any kind of cease and desist order to his dick. Which is still on come and Spike and demanding to know exactly when because Xander has a really really impatient dick.
Of course, the rest of him is having a little trouble with the door because he’s remembering exactly how good it feels when Spike bites down just…
“Started without me?” Spike breezes into the room, breezily tucking away a lock pick, breezily pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it on the floor. And then he turns. “Pity, like to wind you up.”
"I'm wound," Xander assures him with a dry throat.
A now naked Spike yanks Xander’s t-shirt off his head, shoves him down on the bed and sets out to prove just how much he likes winding Xander up and up and… what was he…?
Best to just lie back and think of sex.
But since he’s more about the doing than the thinking, Xander goes with that.
Call him Action Man.
Harris is collapsed beside him vaguely humming out pleasure in time to Spike's hand lazily rubbing his back, a spectacular American example of inaction.
Spike wouldn't mind another go.
He kills time with a leisurely visual snoop through Harris' belongings scattered through the hotel room from the comfort of bed and Harris.
Dirty tee shirt.
Read them all; boring hack-written - well, all right, Dan Brown's good for a lark. But boring.
Suspiciously neatly folded lumpy sock.
“What’s in the sock?” Spike asks casually, winding a finger in Harris' hair.
“Hmm.” Harris just breaths for a few seconds then jolts up and if he loses a few strands it's not Spike's sodding fault. He shakes them onto the floor. “Sock? What sock?” He asks as nonchalantly as - well - an incredibly obvious bloke who's hiding something.
About time too.
Makes things more interesting.
When Spike seems disinclined to move, Harris relaxes back into the bed and they tuck their arms behind their heads and look at the sock together. Looks like someone stuffed a huge orange in the bottom of a Christmas stocking. “Got a pressie in there for me?” Spike asks.
“Nah.” Harris waves a hand and lets it drop on Spike's thigh. It occurrs to Spike that this might be Harris' clumsy diversionary tactic. “It’s just Beetlejuice.” Harris' hand comes to rest against Spike's inner thigh.
“Beetlejuice. Right, of course.” Spike opens his leg a bit, encouragingly. He's just buggered a crazy man - who's now trying to divert his attention with more buggering.
Right, then. He's back in familiar territory.
Harris flops back down across Spike's thighs, cupping Spike's bollocks with some renewed interest like that’s settled it and he’s not at all worried. Which he might not be because Spike's not exactly making any secret of his complicity in his own diversion.
Clearly, Harris has noticed.
It’s not like Spike needs to close this case anytime soon.
Not like he has worrying friends badgering him.
He’s headset free.
And anyway if he sold Giles a load of bollocks about 80's movies and clean socks, Rupert would just think he was crazy too.
Clearly, he needs more time to investigate.
His hands fly down to grip the sides of Harris' head. "Right there, Harris. Take your time."
Few more days should do.
He’s not surprised to wake up with no one beside him. He doesn’t have to sit up to know the sock’s gone and he’s back to square one.
Scrawled on the hotel note pad is Next stop Dodge City.
Time to uncheck his gun and move onto square three.
There's investigating to do.