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Gloryhole part 4
Spike didn't cancel his standing appointment--once a week, like seeing a therapist--but he changed his tactics a little. Never let it be said that he hadn't learned anything from a hundred and twenty something years of doing things all wrong. The next time he walked in the side door and found Forsythe at the desk, he met the man's eyes and smiled.
"Spike, my friend! Great to see you, great to have you back, how is it out there, can we get you the regular, get him the regular, the man needs a drink and a fuck, doesn't he, Spike?" Forsythe laughed loudly, then lost the smile and said in a sober undertone to the receptionist: "Spike is an investor, we can joke like this, but we never joke with the other clients. Understood?"
She nodded, and he was all smiles again, coming out from behind the desk with his arms spread wide. "Spike!"
"Forsythe." Spike submitted to a business-man hug, his own arms at his sides. Tactics, he reminded himself. Forsythe kept a hand on Spike's bicep, looking him over like a father examining a son just back from college. "How's business?"
"Business is great, just great, we can hardly keep up with the demand, I brought three new kids on last week and they're working out great, very popular, smartest thing we've ever done, this gaming business--"
"Push my appointment back a bit," Spike said to the receptionist. "Ten minutes, say."
She glanced at Forsythe, who paused, then nodded. "Everything okay, Spike?"
"Everything's fine. I want to talk to you. In private."
Forsythe got an edgy look, somewhere between anxious and excited, and Spike gave him a panty-melting smile.
"As business partners," he murmured, and started down the hall to the salon. He heard Forsythe give the receptionist some rapid last instructions in a low voice, and then his little feet were skittering down the hall after Spike.
"As business partners," he repeated, coming up level with Spike's elbow. He was glowing like a kid on his birthday. It was embarrassing, really. "Right, because we're partners in this mad venture, aren't we, Spike? Never could have done it without you, and I'd just like to say, if you've decided you'd like to be more involved in the business, that door is always open, Spike. That door is always open."
He was making it too easy--except, really, there was no such thing as too easy. Spike nodded without saying anything, pretending to think it over.
"If you have some ideas about how things could be run differently," Forsythe went on, reaching for the doorknob ahead of Spike, "or some new things we could try, I'd be more than happy to discuss them with you. I've been thinking we need some new blood around here, actually. Somebody to shake things up a bit, and that's what you're good at, isn't it, Spike? Shaking things up?"
"Can be," Spike allowed, walking through the open door and into the salon. His drink was already waiting on the table, the fire was already lit. It was starting to feel almost homey in there. "I'm not a businessman, though."
"Oh--" Forsythe fluttered his fingers in a geisha-like gesture of polite dismissal. "You sell yourself short, Spike. You sell yourself short. With your take-no-prisoners attitude, and your keen judgment of character, and your...well, frankly, your reputation and your, uh, disarming appearance--" He was turning himself on; Spike could smell it. Tactics, he reminded himself firmly. "You could be the ultimate businessman, Spike."
"Really?" Spike took a seat in the armchair and reached for his drink. "The ultimate businessman? You think?"
"Oh, absolutely. Like a--" Forsythe searched for words. "Like a yakuza. You could rule the business world, Spike. People would fear you."
"People already fear me," Spike said mildly, sipping his whiskey. Forsythe, if he'd been alive, would have blushed.
"Right, of course, you're absolutely right, you do of course, I didn't mean to imply--"
"I'm interested," Spike said, sliding a little lower in the chair and presenting his crotch, "in this gaming thing."
Forsythe dragged his eyes up to meet Spike's, and gave him a look of doglike adoration. "You are?"
"I am." Spike sipped, and ran a hand lazily down the inside of his thigh. "Not sure I want to get involved, but I want to know a bit more about how it works."
"You do."
"I do." Spike looked around at the salon appraisingly. "Nice place, solid business, makes money. A lot more than seven and a half percent, I'm guessing."
Forsythe's expression turned coy. "Oh, well, Spike, I don't have exact numbers at my fingertips--"
The fuck he didn't. Spike smiled benignly. "Hand over fist, I'd say. And I've never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth."
"Not at all," Forsythe said, shaking his head. "Of course not. And like I said, the door is always open, Spike. What would you..." He paused, and shifted an inch closer along the couch. "What would you like to learn?"
Again, Spike pretended to consider, rolling his whiskey in one hand and coincidentally letting his right leg fall a little further to the side, so that it brushed Forsythe's knee. "Dunno. Thought I could spend a little more time here, for starters. Do some shadowing. See how it works."
"I think that's a terrific idea." Forsythe was breathy with opportunity. "We'd love to see more of you here, Spike. You know that. And I'll make myself personally available to you, to answer whatever questions you have about the operation. Or, for instance, if you'd like a bit of background in the accounting, I'd be happy to walk you through our zero-based balance budget system, it's quite innovative if I say so myself--"
"That's okay," Spike said hastily, bumping his knee against Forsythe's. "Like I said, I'm not a businessman. Thought I'd start at the ground floor. Maybe, personnel."
"Right, of course, that's an excellent idea, your talents would be perfect in that area, and again, I'd be happy to be a personal guide through our human resources systems--"
"One thing," Spike said, as if it had just occurred to him. "I'm not a very good pupil. Have a tendency to rip heads off when I get frustrated." He shrugged, and Forsythe tried to find a suitable expression to answer that comment. "Might be better if I show myself around, and just ask questions when I need to."
Forsythe paused, his fingers finding his tie and starting to smooth. He looked a bit like a man who's agreed to let a beautiful woman spend the night, only to find her husband coming too. "Well, I'm not sure that would be a very practical means of--"
Spike dipped two fingers into his whiskey, and sucked them. Forsythe paused.
"Maybe not," Spike said, wiping his wet fingers along his fly. "You're right, I'm not cut out for this kind of thing. Should stick to the customer side, I guess."
"No, no, no, no." Forsythe raised a hand like a traffic cop, shaking his head. "No, no, that's not what I meant to say. We'd love to see you here more often, Spike, and of course you should learn as you learn best, you're more than welcome to show yourself around, and perhaps we can set up a standing meeting just to touch base?"
"Sounds good," Spike said. "On the ides, maybe."
"I was thinking weekly," Forsythe faltered, his face falling again. Then the door opened and Lou walked in.
"Good evening." He didn't even appear to notice that Forsythe was in the room tonight; he just went and took up his place against the wall, his face immobile.
"That one, for instance," Spike said, tipping his head back over his shoulder in Lou's general direction. "Do we really need him?"
"Who--Lou?" Forsythe was still gathering himself together, arranging his handful of manila folders to hide his lap. "Oh, Lou's been with us from the start, he's very good at what he does--"
"Gets in the way," Spike groused, but then Xander walked through the door, and he lost that train of thought. Xander looked--a little tired. Just the faintest bit of tightness around the eyes, you wouldn't see it unless you knew him well. He was smiling that same, usual, warm Troy smile, at least until he saw Forsythe sitting on the couch. Then his smile froze, and his eyes flicked to Spike, and there was a moment when Spike thought he was going to blow it all completely.
"Troy," Forsythe said, in a tone of intense irritation. "Of course, right. Spike, you have an appointment. I won't keep you."
"I'll come find you later," Spike said, in a tone designed to make Forsythe feel that they were going to do things that were much more important than whatever tawdry mischief was going to go on with Troy in the next little while. "We'll have a drink. Talk a bit more about all this."
"Of course." Some dignity restored, Forsythe stood up. Still had his folders over his crotch, though. "We'll talk later, Spike. Enjoy yourself." He went out, quivering slightly with confused emotion.
Spike and Xander looked at each other. Somehow, Xander dredged up a smile. "Hi, Spike. Nice to see you again."
"Get yourself a drink." He looked like he could use one, frankly. And he didn't argue; he just went to the bar and poured himself a whiskey, no questions asked. "Sit down."
Xander came back and sat on the couch, right next to the armchair, where Forsythe had been sitting. He didn't drink any of the whiskey this time. His fingers were tight around the glass.
"I've been talking to your owner," Spike said, closing his legs and sitting up straighter. "Things are going to be a little different from now on."
Xander nodded faintly, then seemed to remember that he was supposed to smile. "That's...that's great. But listen, I don't really have a head for the business end of this stuff--"
"I'm part owner in this place," Spike said flatly. Watching Xander's face closely, to see if he already knew that. No reaction; apparently that wasn't news. "And I'm going to start exercising some of my rights. Starting now."
Xander just sat there, the smile pasted on, holding the glass like he'd forgotten it was there. "That's great."
"Going to be around more often, for one thing."
"Great."
"Going to learn a little more about how this operation works."
"Great." There was a pause, and Xander seemed to rouse himself out of some kind of stupor. Somehow, he found his place in the script again. "That's great, Spike. If there's anything I can do to help, I hope you'll tell me."
Spike took a long sip of whiskey, watching Xander over the rim of the glass. Under the smile, he was running at full speed, trying to figure out where this was headed. Until he realized that Spike was watching him, and dropped his eyes to his lap.
"I'll tell you what you can do," Spike said, standing up. "You can blow me."
Xander stayed where he was, looking up with an expression of confusion, as if he hadn't understood that part.
"Now," Spike said, and led the way toward the door.
In the bedroom, Spike lay fully dressed on top of the covers, propped against three of the vampire world's finest goosedown pillows, while Xander shucked his pants at the foot of the bed.
"You're losing the plot," Spike whispered, fingering the inevitable little white tube. "Thought you were going to screw it all up, in there."
"Sorry." Xander climbed onto the bed, his face still distracted. He looked wearier, now that they were alone. Naked, his body betrayed a little bit of wear and tear. Nothing major, just a little slump in the shoulders, a sort of automatic look to his movements. "I was a little...thrown." Spike shrugged, and Xander hesitated on his hands and knees. "What did you want, again?"
"Decent programs on network," Spike said, unbuckling his belt. "Do you know they rerun Married With Children now? Unbelievable, what some people will watch."
"I know," Xander said, helping Spike get his jeans down the requisite amount. "The world ended and television's still shitty. Crazy."
"Suck me off a little, will you?" Spike said. Xander got belly-down between his legs and started to run his tongue obligingly down Spike's dick. Spike took the opportunity to melt into the pillows and study Xander's back. Pretty. There was that curl at the nape of his neck, the one he'd always had, still there. Without thinking, Spike ran his hand through Xander's hair, singled out the curl, and wrapped it around his finger. Xander kept doing his job.
"That's good," Spike said, in the general direction of the door. "Fuck, yeah, suck it--" He tugged on the curl, and Xander pulled off. In a whisper, Spike asked, "So what was your grand plan, exactly?"
Xander looked blank. "Plan?"
"Don't tell me it's your life's ambition to suck vampire dick until they sell you to the knacker."
Xander frowned, and God, if that wasn't a thrill to see. "Not exactly, no."
"Okay, so what was the plan?"
Xander shifted, took more of his weight on his elbow, and wiped his mouth. "To stay alive, basically. That's about it, so far."
Spike raised his eyebrows. "You're worse than me. At least when your kind ruled the planet, I didn't have to sell my ass to get by."
"Nobody was buying, Spike." That was sharp, sharper than anything Xander had said so far, and it gave Spike a strange, gleeful pang. That was the old Xander Harris, and God, he'd hated that twit with a passion, and now he felt like he could almost kiss him. He was smiling, he realized. Still holding the curl, and smiling.
Xander wasn't smiling. He looked stricken, then a little panicked, and started to backpedal. "I mean, I didn't mean that in a bad way, I meant, it wasn't really the same, there weren't abbatoirs--"
"I know what you meant," Spike said, a little more roughly than necessary. Rearranging his face into a scowl. "And you're still a wanker, Harris."
And that was the first time he'd used Xander's name. He heard the kick in Xander's heart, the sheer pain of recognition and the fear that went with it, and then Xander dropped his face back into Spike's lap, and started rubbing his cheek along Spike's dick. Smooth warm skin and a hint of stubble, and then a tongue. Okay. Spike tipped his head back into the pillows and went with it.
"I bet we would have got along a lot better if you'd done this before," he murmured, while his dick sank into Xander's mouth.
They spent a few minutes doing that, less frantically than before, more like a couple of guys with some time on their hands. Xander was a professional, Spike realized. He knew how to hurry it along, and he knew how to make it last. Right now, he was making it last. Spike had no problem with that.
The next time he pulled on the curl, Xander's face came up flushed and heated. He was grinding into the sheets, Spike realized. He really did like this, no matter how pissed he got when you called him on it. Survival mechanism, probably. Amazing, how humans could adapt.
"So, you're alive." Spike said it softly, running Xander's hair through his fingers. "What next?"
Xander stared at him. For a few seconds he thought it was a blank look; then he realized it was an internal debate. He tugged gently on the curl. "You're already sucking my dick, you might as well say."
"I like sucking your dick," Xander said, but it was rote, automatic, a clear parody of the Troy response. Code for: I have a shield, I can use it.
"Don't blame you," Spike said. "It's a nice one." Then something occurred to him. "You get telly in here?"
Xander looked puzzled, then nodded.
"You get the news?"
Xander gave him a long, sideways look.
"The resistance," Spike whispered, with a grin. "You're staying alive so you can go play insurgent."
Xander's response was no response at all; he just lay there, his face shuttered and blank. Spike gave the curl a yank.
"I've got your number," he said in a little sing-song, and then things happened very fast. Xander swung a hand at his head, and he blocked it without thinking. The contact stung. Then he realized: He just tried to hit me. At the same time, Xander was already scrambling backward across the bed, his face aghast. Spike leaned over and made a grab for him. Got hold of his ankle and yanked him back up the bed.
"I'm sorry," Xander was whispering, his words stumbling over each other. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that, please don't tell them, I'm sorry--"
Spike slapped a hand over his mouth and watched the door. Xander stopped talking. His heart was going a mile a minute, and he smelled like fear and shock. His eyes were on the door now, too.
A minute went by with no knock on the door, then another. Xander's heart started to slow, just a bit. He was sweating.
Spike looked back at Xander. "If I take my hand off your mouth, are you going to stop being such a fucking idiot?"
Xander nodded.
Spike took his hand away, and wiped the sweat off on the blanket. "It's a wonder you've made it this far, frankly."
Xander swallowed and nodded. The picture of penitence.
"If I mark you I get dinged for it," Spike said sourly, "so let's just consider that I owe you one. And if you do that again, I'll tell Forsythe you want to work more with Fyarl, right?"
Xander nodded.
"For Christ's sake," Spike said, to the room in general. Then he remembered the door, and Lou on the other side of it. "Here, you'd better get going again."
Xander addressed himself to Spike's dick with renewed enthusiasm. He was shaking slightly, a little clumsy, still smelling like fear. That was all fine. Spike used his fist in Xander's hair to keep things at the level where he could still think straight. Because that was Xander's plan, all too obviously--to stay alive long enough to get killed in the resistance. And that required a little bit of thought.
There'd been a resistance ever since Marsha took the Orb, pesky and resourceful and given to releasing UV spells in the subways. They'd had a few sizeable victories, a couple of really big blow-ups that had taken out a hundred, two hundred vamps at a time. In a world made up of vamps, though, that was nothing. Lately the news had been saying that the Guard knew where the insurgents were based, that a major offensive was being planned. To wipe them out, once and for all. Shouldn't be hard; there couldn't be more than a few hundred left in the whole country.
"You're an idiot," Spike said softly, and when Xander looked up, he tugged at his hair. "Get up, will you?" Fumbling for the lube with his free hand, until Xander took it from him and obligingly finger-slicked his own ass. "Here--like this." Xander didn't need much guidance. He straddled Spike's lap and sank down onto him with a faint moan. He'd lost his erection, but it started to make a comeback.
"You're an idiot," Spike repeated, getting the pillows out of the way and settling his hands on Xander's hips. "They're all going to get wiped out." Thrust up, God yeah, hot and tight and rocking just the right way. "You might as well run away and join the circus."
"I just," Xander whispered, eyes shut and panting, "need one chance. One...open door."
"You'll die in a day."
"Fine with me." Xander opened his eyes and stared down at Spike. He placed one palm on Spike's chest, and reached back with the other to burrow into Spike's jeans and cup his balls. "Not like I'm doing anything anyway."
"What if--" Spike tried to focus his thoughts, tried to drag his brain out of his dick for just one second. "What if there was some other...something else?"
"There's nothing else," Xander said flatly. "The world's over, remember?"
He had a point, and Spike couldn't actually think of any alternatives to suggest, so he closed his eyes and pushed up hard, angling his hips for that sweet spot, the one he knew was there because never mind how he knew. For some reason he wanted to make it good for Xander, this time. Not that it hadn't been before, not that Xander hadn't come before. But still. He wanted to make Xander feel that rush, the one that took you out of yourself and made you forget the unimportant things. Like Lou, waiting outside on the door. Like Forsythe, tallying accounts somewhere. Like the insurgents, like past lives, like false hope.
Either it worked or Xander was a very good actor, because he jerked and gasped, and his hips snapped back to meet Spike's. The hand on Spike's chest convulsed, as if Xander were grabbing at his heart. "God, fuck, Spike--" Raw, sweet, unfeigned as far as Spike could tell, and just what he needed to send him over the edge. Xander came a few seconds later, smothering the head of his cock with his hand. Accommodating, even in orgasm.
They both rode it out, Xander gasping and hot, Spike liquid in his bones. Xander slumped, his breathing slowed, and he started to shift, to get off. Spike stopped him.
"Stay a bit, like this."
Xander gave him a long look, wiped sweat off his eyelid with a shaking hand, and nodded. He folded forward over Spike's chest, heavy and hot. After a while Spike lifted a hand and started to toy with the curl again.
