Authors: cordelianne, reremouse, savoytruffle
Warnings: Blow jobs, blind sides, and bad timing
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.
THANK YOU: And a special thank you to katekat1010 for making two fabulous movie posters for this fic!! You will find one below the cut. Both can be seen here.
Previous parts here.
They’re still out in the alley – Xander on his knees figuring he’s bound to come across a new, clean pair of jeans soon – when it comes.
The view out his good eye is a close-up of the crease of Spike’s hip and it comes from his blind side anyway, swift and silent.
The only coming Xander’s expecting is Spike’s, so when Spike tenses, his hands tightening in Xander’s hair, Xander first and only thought is, Either Spike’s really horny or I’m really good because, damn, that’s quick.
Neither explanation accounts for the way that Spike shoves Xander to the ground or for the roundhouse kick that sails over Xander’s head.
An unidentifiable grunt is Xander’s first sign that they’re not alone.
Xander rolls several times, having long since learned that when you’ve got a stronger fighter by your side, step one is always ‘Get out of the way’ . (When you don’t, step one is usually ‘Run.’)
He springs to his feet and turns to assess the situation, half expecting to find a pissed off slayer that he’s going to have to talk out of dusting Spike.
By the time he’s able to figure anything, he figures he’s about two-thirds right. She’s definitely pissed off and she’s definitely planning to dust Spike.
But there’s no way he’s going to be able to talk her out of it.
She may or may not count as a slayer.
Spike’s not exactly what you’d call modest, but given the choice, he’d almost always rather fight with his cock in his jeans than hanging out of them.
Also, not that he’s going to think about it too much, but he’s pretty sure he’d rather fight with Harris at a safe distance.
Especially when he’s really not sure he’s going to win.
“Get out of here Harris,” Spike grunts between blows. “I’ve got this.”
“You don’t look like you’ve got it,” Harris calls back.
Of course he hasn’t got it. He’s not sure what this thing is, but she looks and fights like a slayer on steroids laced with a double dose of PCP.
He may not have it, but it’s not like Harris is going to help.
“Giles isn’t going to pay me if I let you get killed,” Spike says.
“Giles isn’t going to pay you if you’re dust,” Harris counters.
“Then how ‘bout you do something useful, like go get the car.” He thinks he can hold her/it off long enough for that. And if he can’t, at least Harris’ll be out of harm’s way.
Harris stares for another second and then heads off toward the parking lot. Spike would breathe a sigh of relief but the kick he just received to his solar plexus has seriously reduced his lung capacity.
He’s steeling himself to return the favor when, without warning, his opponent turns her back on him and takes off after Harris.
Spike takes off after her. As he exits the alley, he sees Harris across the parking lot, not a hundred feet away, bent over and rummaging around in the boot of the Lexus.
Tosser chose a fine time to rearrange his luggage.
She’s nearly on him now, and Spike puts on a burst of speed, executing a flying tackle to make a rugby captain proud.
“’The hell are you doing, Harris,” he growls as she struggles beneath him. “Get in the damn car.”
“One second,” Harris calls from somewhere in the boot.
She’s starting to get to her feet and taking Spike with her. He tightens the choke hold around her neck, but to no avail. “We. Don’t. Have. A—”
Spike throws his head back just in time to avoid being hit with the tire iron Harris swings at her head.
It connects and Spike releases her neck as she drops to the ground below him.
Harris takes the tire iron with him as he gets in the driver’s seat. Spike runs around the passenger side, yanking the door closed just as Harris peels out of the parking lot.
“Hope you didn’t leave anything valuable back at the hotel. I think we’d better get out of Dodge.”
“We?” Spike asks. This is new.
“Yeah…” Harris says, biting on his lower lip, “I think I’m gonna need your help. That thing back there? I’m pretty sure she’s after me. Or, well, you know – Beetlejuice.”