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Spike & Xander BtVS Mid-season 4 Rated R
Nanny Cam Now that he’d finally chased Spike out of his basement, Xander could view the tape and learn the answer. He chewed on the side of a thumbnail as eight hours of tape rewound. Just what did Spike get up to while alone in his bedroom all day? Finally, the tape stopped. Xander picked up the remote and hit play. “Come on, untie me already!” Spike complained. Xander congratulated himself on setting up the rented mini camera so well. All of the couch and chair and most of the mini kitchen were visible. Xander had showered and dressed before hitting the remote control to start the camera. “Hang on, fangless.” He watched Spike as he bent over to untie the ropes. Strange, Spike kept his eyes focused on him every second. “Got an itch,” Spike said, thrusting his hips upwards, “need to… scratch” he leered. “Fine, just wait until I’m gone.” Taped Xander picked up his keys and exited as quickly as possible while Spike arched and stretched in the chair like a cat that had been napping in the sun. He tilted his head to one side and listened. Xander assumed he was making sure he’d left. Apparently satisfied, Spike stood, stretched some more, and took off all his clothes. Xander hurriedly grabbed the remote and fast forwarded as Spike did, indeed, enjoy a good scratch. “Ew,” Xander breathed, even though he did the same thing himself. Then Spike went promptly to Xander’s sofa bed, opened it up, and climbed in, sprawling his naked vampire self face down all over Xander’s sheets. “Damn you! I thought I smelled smoke on my bed!” Spike wrapped both arms around Xander’s favorite pillow, wiggled his ass to get settled and apparently fell sound asleep. Xander fumed and fast forwarded through three hours of unmoving vampire, who was in his bed! Naked in his bed. On his once clean sheets naked vampire naughty bits. Ew. Finally, Spike rolled over and Xander hit play again. Damn. Vampires do get morning wood. So didn’t need to know that. He skipped ahead through another hour until Spike finally stretched and stirred. Again with the all over scratching. In his bed! Still scratching at his lower back, Spike got up and trudged to the fridge, filled a mug with blood, tapping out a beat on every surface he touched with long fingers. As the microwave worked is techno magic, Spike went to the corner where he kept his battered wooden box. Ah, ha! Now maybe Xander would learn what he kept in there. “Ew!” Xander cried as Spike bent over to open the box. He sped the tape ahead in tiny bits so he wouldn’t miss seeing what was in the box. He so did not check out Spike’s bony ass. Spike was singing about being sedated under his breath as he closed the box and came up with a yellow cardboard box and a CD. “Wheatabix? He hides cereal? Like I’d eat that cow food,” Xander said to himself. Spike paused at the boom box, took out Xander’s Patsy Cline CD, and laid it down label side up just as Xander told him a million times not to. “Evil bastard. Better hide your music.” Spike put in the CD, cranked the volume, and hit play. Now naked Spike was bopping across the floor shaking the cereal box and singing, “Beat on the brat. Beat on the brat. Beat on the brat with a baseball bat. Oh, yeah!” Xander scowled and turned down the volume. He fast forwarded as Spike mixed the Wheatibix in the blood, morphed to gameface and drank it down. Spike put the mug in the sink unrinsed and carefully closed up the box. Xander had to giggle a little at sped up naked Spike dancing across the room. This time, thankfully, Spike sat down cross-legged to open the box. His pale body blocked the view, so Xander couldn’t see. Spike took a few minutes, looking at and shifting through some things in the box, and apparently putting some things in his lap. Finally, he picked something out, stood, and turned. He held and 8 x 10 white piece of paper, a photo from the glimpse Xander got, and his other had was busy working a very erect cock. “Gross, no!” Xander said and dropped the remote three times in his haste to fast forward. Xander risked a glance at the screen. Spike was now kneeling on his bed, damnit! His back was to the camera, and Xander could see a little corner of the picture on the bed where his pillow should be. Should be? His horror grew as Spike’s narrow back started to undulate as the very naked vampire humped his pillow. “Oh, you are so dusted, buddy! I’m going to wash my sheets in garlic fresh Cheer just for you!” Xander swore. He spend the tape forward, but had to go back when a little more of the photo showed as Spike moved. He paused it, wishing he could zoom in like on those super crime scene shows, and could just make out a photographer’s blue cloud background and a bit of brown hair. Who was it? Drusilla? Had to be. The vampire tossed his head back and was clearly saying something. Xander rewound and turned the sound back up, but could only hear the Ramones singing about teenage lobotomies. Before he could hit the right button again, Spike did cry out loud enough o be heard over the loud music. It was a cry of desire and need so heart wrenching, Xander was frozen with his thumb on the little button. He hadn’t heard what he thought he did. As Spike collapsed and rolled to one side, the picture was revealed. It was his freshman school portrait, and Spike had cried out his name.
Spike smiled a blissful smile and rolled on the bed, clutching and humping the now come dampened pillow. He reached down to the floor, picked up Xander’s discarded boxers, and brought them to his face, breathing deep before dropping them again. The CD player clicked off. Spike smiled and rolled to his feet, carrying the photo carefully. His lips moved and Xander turned up the sound. Spike was singing Ramones’ tunes again. Or still. He returned to the box, bent over and put the picture back in before running his hands over his body and crossing the room like a cat that had just eaten a dozen mice and a box of catnip. Xander didn’t know why he couldn’t make his thumb move a half and inch to hit stop. Finally, Spike stopped in the center of the screen turned around. “Xander,” he said clearly, looking right in the camera and making his voyeur host jump. “If you want to tape me, you should hide the recorder better.” Spike bit his lip and moved up close to the camera. “I can hear it,” Spike whispered. “Better yet, ask nice and I’ll give you a live show.” With a laugh, Spike broke the mood and bopped off toward the bathroom, loudly singing, “Beat on the whelp. Beat on the whelp. Beat on the whelp with a leather belt. Oh yeah!” |
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