AUTHORS: dru as Spike & Evil Willow as Xander (Go worship the goddess that is EW!)
SERIES: Chance Encounters
PREQUEL TO: Chance Encounters
Version : Xander-Spike
PAIRING : Spike/Xander
RATING : NC17 (highly slashy with plenty of salty goodness!)
DISCLAIMER : We do not own these
characters. We just like putting them in lewd positions!
NOTE: We wrote this as role-play
on Yahoo! IM! We had *so* much fun! We've co-authored before but never live like this! We hope you enjoy the fruits of
our lab- okay, so it wasn't really *work*. It was more like play!
DEDICATION: This fic is for
Vicky and her husband who apparently love us for the first one!
=====================================================================
THE
JOB
"Okay,
Ryan. I'll tell him. Okay, see you soon, Man." Now where the hell's... oh,
there he is. "Mike!"
"Yeah,
Alex?" Mike walks over from the storeroom. "I think we need to stock
up on the vodka, here." He hands me a box.
"Yeah,
thanks. Hey, Boss? Ryan called in sick." I know he's not gonna like this.
We usually have at least ten strippers any given night and there must be some
virus going around because tonight we have 8. Oh, wrong. Ryan makes it seven.
"You've gotta be fucking kidding me!" He yells.
Yeah, not happy. "The customers are *not* going to be happy. Ryan's the
fave. How am I supposed to make any money tonight?" He thinks for a minute
and mutters, "I need someone to fill in. Maybe someone new?" He looks
up at me and.... uh-uh. No way in *Hell* am I gonna-- "Hey, Alex. Wanna
make a few extra bucks tonight?"
BLOODY
FUCKING HELL! I *SWEAR* THAT'S THE *LAST* BLEEDIN' TIME I'M GONNA BUY AMERICAN!
Or
steal American, in my case.
Bleeding
cars don't last for ten fucking miles! Let alone cross-country! Damn near
thought I was done for back in Denver! Bleeding sun! Note to self: get another
Desoto. OR find Dru and steal mine back from the bitch!
I slam
the door and look around. I need a drink. I look around again, harder this
time. Damn, I'm harder... I shift uncomfortably. A violent kill should fix this
bleeding problem. Or a hooker! Either or, I'm not specific. I just need... a
drink. A mixed drink to be specific.
I watch as a drunken bitch walks by and down a nearby alley.
Don't they watch the fuckin' movies? You *never* go down an alley! Course, it
works to my benefit and I follow. A mixed drink will do just fine.
"NO!"
"Alex..."
"What
part of 'No' are you thinking is negotiable?" I ask, trying to calm down a
little though. I mean, he *is* my boss, but still. There's just NO fucking way
I'm going to fill in for Ryan! Strip? Eewww. No. No. No.
It's
bad enough I'm a bartender at this place but actually I've enjoyed this job. Just
not something to write home about. Or write Wills, more specifically, since my
parents probably didn't notice I left. But anyway, this I can live down. Just a
fun memory of 'Oh my god, I can't believe I was a bartender at a male strip
club the summer after graduation.' I think it would be a little harder to live
with the memory of 'Oh my god, I can't believe I was a stripper--
"I'll
pay you what I pay the boys."
Shit.
That... a lot of money. NO, Xander, you are NOT contemplating this! "Give
me a better idea of what you mean, Boss. As in... what you pay Louis, or as in
what you pay Ryan?" I thought we'd already established that I *wasn't*
doing this, but apparently my mouth has taken on a life of its own. Shit. And I
thought Las Vegas would end up being a fun place to spend the summer. I was
wrong, it's going to be the place of my total downfall.
"If
you put on a good show?" Mike shrugs. "We're talking on the Ryan
scale of things. Plus you get all the tips, you know. It's not like I didn't
already have the money for Ryan's shift in the budget, so that's cool."
That's ... more money than I'd make in ANY other job in one night. Easily $200 for the night, not including tips. Uh-uh. No way. "Okay." What the fuck?
Bloody
bint! Not even worth a decent buzz! At least my stomach ain't growling, or more
to the point, good thing *I'm* not. It'll make getting fucked a little easier.
She wasn't even worth a go. Too thin. Too.... too not like what I want. I want
dark. Angelus always said I was sucker for a brunette.
I want
something... different tonight. Hunting and fucking is too easy. Too boring and
mundane. Hunting used to be so much better *with* someone. Hell, even if it was
Angelus and I, the fucking was always so much better at the end of the night. I
know why, though. Cause it *meant* something.
That's
what I want. I want something hot and hard tonight. Deep and slow. Fuck all, my
cock's throbbing just thinking about a hot juicy cunt. Something pretty too,
not hard on the eyes. And as I'm going all fantasy tonight, maybe a bint with
big jugs.
Shouldn't
be too hard to find. This is Vegas after all. But I want a good cocksucker too.
Gods, I'd *kill* for a fucking blowjob. So I also need a professional, and one
without diseases. (They're always so unpleasant.) So I guess I'm lookin' for a
stripper whore. A private dance into a hotel and down my throat in the end.
Good plan, Spike.
"I
changed my mind." I say once I look at myself in Ryan's dressing room mirror.
This is so not me. Huh. Wasn't that the point, though? To get away from Xander
Harris, complete loser and become someone else? Alexander Harrison, 21-year-old
bartender from Los Angeles. In need of a summer job and a change of scenery.
Well
you got both, Alex. Just in more ways than you ever thought you would.
"Oh,
no you don't," Mike says as he looks me up and down appreciatively.
"You gave me your word, Alex. Don't back out now. I need you, Man. The
natives REALLY want Ryan. And I never thought I'd say this, but if you strip good,
hell, you might be looking at your new job. Cuz you *look* edible, Alex."
Number
one on the list of 'Ten things you never want to hear from your boss.'
"Um, uh. Thanks?" I squeak. But he's right, not about the looking
edible, because eeewwwwww again. About the fact that I gave my word.
It's
just a few little strip dances. I can do this. Shit, if I don't have a heart
attack first. No heart attacks. I don't need the gang finding out that I died
just before I was about to STRIP IN A STRIP CLUB IN LAS VEGAS!
"Okay..."
I say. "I'll do it. But JUST for tonight, Mike. Never again."
Cool," he says. "You're the best, Alex. Might
just give you a raise for your willingness to help us out, too!" And then
he gives me a manly slap on the back and opens the door for me. I'm up soon.
Yay.
This
*is* fucking Las Vegas. You'd think there was a bleeding strip joint every
block. BUT NO! Either I can't find them or they ain't worth a mention! I need a
native's opinion. "Hey!" I growl at some bloke sittin' on a curb with
a puppy. "The best place to get a hot chick with tits for a private dance.
Where?"
"Dunno."
He says and I kick him. "HEY!" I growl at him and he gives in.
"Heard the best place in town is a place called the Deja or something like
that."
"Deja
Vu?" I ask. Even a homeless bloke should know *that*. He nods and I snap
his neck. I'm too nice sometimes.
I head
down the road towards where he pointed and I see a huge sign. Deja Vu. Should
be a party. I walk in and the place is smoky and sweaty, just like I like it. I
can smell so much arousal in this room; it's not even funny. It's bloody
intoxicating and it goes right to my fuckin' cock. Damn I haven't had a woman
in weeks. Since I left the bitch down in Brazil... and I'm sad to see her go
cause she was an effin' great lay. Angelus taught her well.
I
suppose the same thing could be said for me, cause not only do the half-dressed
and naked waitresses turn me the fuck on, but so do the half-dressed and naked
waiters. Damn I need a fuck. Badly.
I sit
down at a table to enjoy the show. I look around. The good majority of the
humans here are females who've come to gawk at male strippers. Damn homeless
bloke might have mentioned the *male* strippers, since I said I wanted a
*female*. But whatever, I'll make due. And some of the waitresses are nice.
"What'll
it be?" One asks me. I look over at her. Jodi. How quaint! Don't think
that's really her name, but whatever.
"Bottle
a JD. Vodka neat. Brandy. And a Guinness." I say. She doesn't seem that
surprised. Guess a lot of blokes come in for lots of drinks. While I wait, I
take out my flask of Bailey's and gulp the rest down. Half the flask's worth
down and maybe after the JD, I won't realize how much I'm gonna miss fuckin'
Dru's mouth.
So, goal
is to find a cute brunette. And by the judge of guys here, I'm not gonna be
specific. Angelus always said not to be too specific else you'll never find
dinner. 'Sides huge tits or huge cock, makes no difference to me. I'm still
gonna fuck.
Jack
finishes his number and then leaves walking backstage past me. "Have fun,
Honey!" he smiles at me.
"Fun?"
I squeak.
He
laughs. "You'll do great. You've watched us for a month, just remember
what you learned." And then he's gone; to leave me to contemplate the fun
that fate has with Xander Harris.
But
Mike's out there now, introducing me. I hear the mumbles of disappointment from
the crowd who was expecting Ryan and that doesn't help my nerves any. But then
Mike's standing in front of me. "Don't look at the crowd, Alex. Just
pretend... hell, I imagine you've had a little fun with your girlfriend before,
right? Pretend you're doing a little strip-tease for her."
Girlfriend?
Cordelia and I were never much for anything except for long make out sessions
in the storage closets at school. And it was dark and...
Suddenly
I hear the music start... at least Mike got the music for me. "I'm not
gonna back out on you," I mutter as I walk onstage to the sound of Nine
Inch Nail's 'Closer'. And this song is about as non-Xander as you can get. At
least that's what everybody else thinks.
Don't look at the crowd. Just start dancing. Remember how
Ryan and Philip and Louis and Jack. So I walk over to the pole, swaying my hips
a little. I can do this. I've been acting for years. Proof of this: nobody
knows what an asshole my father is, not really. I find a spot on the wall out
across from the stage to look at and I start to dance.
THE DANCE
"Thanks,
Ducks." I say as she places the drinks on the table. I smack her ass as
she leaves, just because they expect that kinda stuff in places like this. It's
like... if there's a good piece of ass, if you don't smack it, it's cruel. And
who am *I* to judge American culture?
I drink
the vodka in two big swigs. Being a vampire really does help in matters of
liquids and swallowing, as well as sucking... but we'll get to that later,
perhaps, depending on the bint or bloke.
So I
just look around as this seductive as Hell beat comes on. I fucking *love* Nine
Inch Nails! Granted, it's a little unconventional, but so am I. Dru just wanted
to fuck Trent and he was more than happy to fuck the hell outta her. She was
hot for weeks afterwards. Every time I played one of his goddamned songs, she'd
be red hot and ride me for at least three hours. God fucking bless America!
The
place is hopping but I'm more concerned with Alex, who was just announced. The
crowd seemed pretty damned pissed about Ryan being gone. The curtains open an-
FUCK ALL!
I watch his damn hips sway. He's bulked up a little more. He's got... a more adult feel about him. Plus he looks damn sexy he does. I'd love to pound into his- NO. Friend of Slayer, which probably means Slayer is right around the corner. Although what the hell her precious gang is doin' in Vegas is beyond me. What the hell business is it of mine? Dead slayer in Vegas is the same as a dead slayer on the Hellmouth. Still dead.
I
gotta admit, the clothes help a little. Like I said earlier, they're so not me.
Ryan and I wear the same size, go figure. So I've got his black leather pants
and red silk shirt. Gonna be fun to get the leather pants off, though. Hope I
don't fall on my face doing it.
I sway
my hips to the beat and walk around the pole, one hand on it. Well, so far, I'm
not getting any boos, so that's of the good, right?
A few catcalls and I decide it's time to lose the shirt.
I'm *so* glad I've been working out in my free time this summer. I walk out to
the front of the stage and continue to move to the music as I start to unbutton
my shirt. Slowly, of course. I remember watching the guys do this. The teasing
is all part of the game. And hell, they're good at it, because occasionally,
*I* even get turned on at it. And I am *not* gay.
Oh
bloody fucking hell. I sip the Guinness a little but find that gulping calms
the nerves a li- shit, he's fucking taking off his goddamned shirt. And there's
something inherently... Angelus-like about the leathers (which the boy wears
*too* well). Oh fuck all- god fucking bless America! I finish the beer and
chase it with the Brandy. Ordinarily, I'd sit back and enjoy the show... not
that I'm not enjoying it... but... shit!
He slowly undoes a couple buttons and the girls in the crowd go wild while their companions watch the waitresses. Something good for everyone here... even *me*. After all, Angelus always said I had a thing for brunettes.
Okay.
I've got them paying attention, if the female squeals I hear are any hint on
that. And it's a nice feeling, actually, to be up here. *I* have the power, *I*
control how much they see... .even if they will see everything, by the end of
the song. But there aren't many... any things I've done in life where I've had
control. Other than this trip to Vegas. And technically, nothing's changed
here. *I* get to make a bunch of girls all hot and bothered. And that's pretty
damn cool, if I do say so myself.
Of
course there are guys here, but I don't have to pay attention to that fact yet.
I do take a risk once I've got the shirt unbuttoned and look in the direction
where I heard a female voice earlier.
She's got shoulder-length blonde hair and blue eyes. She's
wearing jeans and a white blouse that's low in front. She's pretty, I wonder
why she bothers coming to a strip club? Oh well, don't question something
that's gonna add to your enjoyment of this, Harris.
I walk over to the side of the stage she's sitting near and
catch her eye with a grin. She smiles and watches as I run my hands up my
chest, circling my nipples a few times. She licks her lips and sits back,
obviously enjoying this. I take the shirt off eventually and she stands up,
tucking a twenty in my waistband. My first tip. I smile at her and then walk
back across the stage again. Work the crowd, right? That's what Mike always
says.
Then I notice something, out of the corner of my eye,
something that makes my heart skip a beat. And it couldn't be.... I scan the
crowd but of course I'm just being paranoid. There's men and women enjoying my
strip dance, but nobody I recognize. Aside from a few of the regular customers.
I was just being paranoid.
I damn
near lose my fuckin' willpower to sit when he fuckin' feels himself up for that
chit. Yeah, I'd love to stick somethin' in his pants. Something big. And hard.
Something he'd never forget. Som- NO! Slayer. Slay-er. I should leave. I should
leave. I should go. I should get up and walk out.
But I
don't... for some reason, I don't. I can't. Fuck, I want him. I wanna fuck him.
Hard. I wanna make him pant for me and beg to come. And I want Slayer to know
about it and be ashamed that even her friends fuck vam- who am I kidding?
I
just *really* wanna fuck him.
I stare
at him as he dances. I love the way my body, my eyes, my nose... every part of
me works to *feel* his movements in my body. I can feel his body within mine.
It's part of the predator's curse, but tonight it's more of a blessing, truth
be told. Cause I can feel him hard within my erection. I can feel him encased
in myself. I watch, entranced, as he moves to the music and I wanna fuck him.
He hasn't seen me yet, but I've seen him. I smile and hold up
a fifty. Now, I just wait. Work the crowd, Pet, work the crowd. Let me feel
your cock when I stick this in your jeans. Tell me your secrets.
I'm
still working the crowd, and have gotten a little braver, getting good tips,
too. I do the bump and grind thing with the pole, getting some cheers, and then
I turn to the crowd and unbutton my leather pants. Wow, they liked that!
I walk
down the runway, slowly, getting some more tips and a few customers cop a feel,
which is a little freaky, but it goes with the job. Wait, when did I get so
indifferent about this? Shut up. $200 plus tips, okay? Right.
I hit
the end of the stage and just about scream like a little girl. If I'd thought
about 'what was the worst thing that could happen' in this scenario? This would
be it. Multiplied by infinity. I turn back to a girl that's standing at the
side of the runway, though. I can't go there. But if I don't then Mike'll fire
my ass.
Maybe my nightmare will go away, if I spend long enough
right here, teasing this pretty redhead? Or maybe it'll just turn out to have
been a hallucination. Shit, I hope so.
He's seen me. He knows I'm here,
casually waving a fifty.
I take
a deep breath and look over and shit. It wasn't a hallucination. It's ... the
one person I NEVER wanted to see me in this type of situation. If I'd ever
thought about it.
Okay, so he isn't gonna go away. So... Spike is in the
crowd and taunting me with a ... I squint to see it. A fifty. What do I do,
now? Other than scream and run. Because I'm thinking that might be way too
conspicuous. Might start off a killing spree even. Not something I want on my
conscience.
I can tell,
as he looks at me. I'm probably the last person, vamp, he ever expected to see
*here* at the Deja Vu. But he's the last one *I* ever expected to find in
Vegas, stripping, for cash. Makes no difference. I wanna fuck him.
He glances over at me again, trying to maintain his composure
and I wave the fifty again, with another twenty. Then I flash him fang.
Shit.
He's pretty much letting me know that if I don't come over, he'll start biting.
Or
maybe he's telling me if I *do* come over, he'll bite me?
Actually,
I'll take that. At this point, at least the humiliation will be gone for me.
I'll be dead. Everyone else will have to deal, but at least I won't live with
the knowledge I was the cause of a couple hundred dead strip-club customers.
So...
tempting fate and tempting my body not to just die of fear....
I turn and walk toward him, slowly. And finally, I'm
standing in front of him. Somehow, my body has picked up the beat of the music
and not even fear of death can make me stop dancing. Go figure.
He's so
fucking intoxicating. Or maybe it's the alcohol... who knows? I don't. Alls I
know is that he's dancing in front of me, staring at me almost as if he wants
the death that I bring. Silly boy, death is not in the cards for you. Yet.
Girls
next to me go to reach up and touch him. But as I reach my hand up, it's like
they know... not the immediate jeopardy they're in, but on some level, they
*know*. It seems as though everyone just... stops. Like the world falls away
because they know they're not on the top of the food chain and it's times like
these I *love* being an effin' vampire.
I reach
up and run my fingers over the buttons of his jeans and I've closed my eyes
momentarily. I've had him in my bones before, his scent... his emotions...
vampires have got to be one of the most empathic species in the world. As I run
my fingers down over the zipper of his jeans, I can hear his breathing hitch. I
take the zipper and slowly pull it down as he dances around me. Oh yeah, he's
gonna know my body tonight. Intimately.
I run my
finger over the exposed part of the red Speedos and he unconsciously thrusts
against my hand. I swallow a smile as I shove the bills inside his Speedo and
down further to touch the tip of his cock.
I sit back down and the world goes on. The girls start
putting their own bills inside his pants. But I can't take my eyes off his and
I'm hoping that I'm starting this whole thrall thing right. I haven't done it
in quite some time.
Shit.
Of all the things I would've expected... that wasn't one of them.
But I
don't have time to think about it, because he's walked back to his table and I
guess I'm living. For a little while longer. And then I'm staking.
I
won't think about the fact that I got hard when he unzipped me, or harder when
he brushed his finger over my Speedo. Or completely hard by the time he touched
me.
It
never happened.
I
walk back slowly toward the stage, pausing to let other customers grope and
drool and tip me. Back to the pole.
I play
around a little, touching myself a little over my Speedos. But when I close my
eyes, the face I see startles me back into keeping them open. Maybe he's gone?
No, of course not, he's waiting for the pants to come off.
Because I'm sure this is just too much fun for him. In the sense of watching an
enemy completely humiliate himself, that is. I refuse to believe Spike is
enjoying this dance in a sexual way. Because eeewwww.
I sit
and watch as he dances around the pole some more and I stroke myself through my
jeans as I down the rest of the JD. I just sit there, begging him to take the
pants off. I want them off. I want to see him. I wanna see the ass I'm gonna be
fucking later.
The girls are chanting and screaming at him to take them off.
He turns away from the crowd and bends over a little bit. Oh yes... I'll
certainly be fucking you later, Boy. It's only a matter of time, Luv.
Okay,
time to lose the pants. Forget Spike. He isn't here. If you don't look at him,
he doesn't exist.
Riiiiiiiiiiight.
Because that's worked with the *other* demons, vampires and other scary things
I've ever come across.
I turn
my back to the crowd and just take a deep breath, kicking the boots off, first.
Then I push the pants down, bending over as I do. That gets a few squeals and
whistles. Then I straighten up, walking around the pole to let everyone get
their required view. I make sure *not* to look at Spike. I don't want to know
what look he has on his face.
Damn it. I looked.
He tried so hard, but it's worthless to try and *not* look,
when he knows deep down that he *wanted* to know. He *wants* to know I'm still
paying attention. He wants to know that the entire room is looking at *him*. Another
one of Angelus' theories: deep down, everyone's an exhibitionist, given the
right circumstances.
He's
paying attention. Really close attention. Too close. It's creepy. It's almost
like.... OH NO. Spike is NOT getting lusty thoughts.
I
mean, Hello! Drusilla! And Ange.... oh, ew, not a thought I needed to have
about *that* relationship.
Okay,
well, time to get this over with. I walk from one side of the stage to the
other, letting people give me their tips. But then Mike catches my eye. He
wants me to walk the runway again.
Oh
please god why ME???
Fine. I'm walking the runway. And this is me ignoring
Spike. Please stay in your seat, please stay in your seat, so I can get back up
on stage again, lose the Speedos and then run and barricade myself in my
dressing room.
He's
coming back down again and I slowly rise, with another fifty. (I can afford to
throw it away when it's a dead person's money.) The girls separate again and he
comes dancing down the runway, wiggling his hips all about, his hands pretty
full of cash. I stand at the end and he tries to avoid me, but he can't.
He stands directly in front of me and I start my hands at his
knees and slide them up his thighs and he jerks. I slide my fingers inside the
thinnest part of the Speedos and place the bill there, touching his cock and
sac as I lick his thigh.
Somehow,
I manage not to scream or kick him or do anything. Other than glare, trying to
ignore the goosebumps that he brought on. I pull away and retreat quickly up
the runway again.
I
grind against the pole a few times and then I turn back to the crowd. Just
gotta lose the Speedos.
Somehow,
I can't help but look at Spike. Glutton for punishment. That would be me. I
push the Speedos down, slowly.
I
know there's probably more catcalls whistles and such from the crowd.
I sure don't hear anything. Other than the rapid beating of
my heart. And as for the rest of them, I don't see anyone else. It feels like
Spike's the only one here. And the way he's looking at me... well, not an
expression I thought he'd ever direct my way.
He
practically runs up the runway, but I just stand there, watching the muscles on
the backs of his legs move. And I stand there, waiting for him to take the
Speedos off, so I can go and make arrangements. Oh fuck! He grinds against the
pole and I thrust against the edge of the runway, as it's hip level for me. He
turns back and stares directly at me, as facing his demons head on will make
his raging hard-on less obvious.
He
slowly pushes the Speedos down. I lick my lips and snarl a little. I want to
*devour* him.
*All* of
him. From feet to ears. Cock and balls. Blood and guts. Come and screams of
pleasure.
And
I *will* have it all.
Willingly.
He
doesn't stay long as he runs to the back. The crowd goes wild and the stage is
cleared. His cash will be taken back to him. He's easily got a thousand.
Crowd's got deep pockets tonight, if the twenty limos in the parking lot are
any sign.
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