Deadlocked
Title: DEADLOCKED
9/37
Author: BmblBee
Paring: Spander, baby. All the way
Rating: NC17 for strong language and M/M sexual content
Warnings: See above. All that and a bag of chips
Disclaimer: The Bee claims no profit off the characters or products used in this story.
However, the Bee does own the story itself. Please do not take without asking.
Summary: During a night of celebrating his newly purchased property, a rundown farm
house, Xander has one too many and is stopped for DUI. With the jails already overcrowded,
he finds himself on house arrest in that very same delapidated, isolated house. With one
surprise. His house is not as empty as he thought. There are vampire squatters living in the basement.
Special thanks to Naughty_Fae for the encouragement and to Silk_ Labyrinth for the
spelling and puncuation beta. Any other errors are on the Bee.
Link to previous chapters HERE
Special thanks to Petxnd for the banner.
Xander flopped over onto his back and sighed as he placed his arm over his forehead. His body was
tired from the activities of the strange day but his brain was still in full gear and, combined with
the discomfort of the short, antique sofa, it made sleep elusive.
His feet dangled out over the end and the constant fidgeting walked his underwear deeply into his butt
in a monumental wedgie.
With a grunt, he dislodged the intrusive fabric and he rolled over onto his side, mumbling a curse
when the weighty contraption strapped to his ankle hit his other foot painfully. The square box of
plastic and metal with the tiny green light was a constant reminder that he had fucked up.
Again.
With a weary sigh, he rubbed his hand over his face and, for the millionth time, tried to figure out
how this could have happened.
He was a hard worker. An honest guy. He had struggled to overcome a childhood of near poverty
and alcoholic parents with the quest of achieving the American Dream. He had good health,
happiness, friends and a successful career. He was skilled and, for a Harris, reasonably intelligent.
How the fuck had it all disappeared in one night. One dinner party. One evening that might have
been worth it if he had enjoyed a good suck and a fuck at the end of it but he hadn't. Nope. The only
one who had given him a good screwing was that prick of a cop. O'Connor.
Xander grunted in disgust as the image of that spiked hair and arrogant face filled his brain.
Officer O'Connor had enjoyed that arrest way too much. Even the cop's appearance in court had
been gag-worthy. He had stood in front of the judge and described how Xander had smelled of
alcohol, driven erratically on the highway and finally failed the field sobriety tests. All true facts
but Xander thought the patrolman enjoyed telling the tale far more than was necessary.
"Fucking bastard."
Xander again flipped over to try and find a position more conducive to sleep. He dealt with the
musty, dusty smell of the old fabric by telling himself that tomorrow he would have his cleaning
supplies, his own furniture and his friends to help him convert this dump into a cozy, comfy home.
Yeah, it was bullshit, but at this point it was all he had.
At last, he yawned. The thoughts in his haggard mind became softer, quieter and began to blend
and flow together as he finally started to drift off, as at last he found the sanctuary of slumber.
"SON OF A BITCH!!"
Spike flopped around in the wet grass like a carp out of water. His plan for a gracefully elegant
entrance had been thwarted by the invisible barrier that had apparently slammed into place after he
had exited the house earlier. Stumbling to his feet, he rushed back over to check the situation one
more time. Perhaps it had been a mistake. Maybe the universe had simply changed the locks
and forgotten to give him pass.
Jumping up, Spike launched himself toward the opening into the dank dark cellar and he landed. To
any passerby, it would appear that Spike was standing in midair. Perhaps balancing on a clear
glass floor. To Spike, he knew full well what it meant. He and his dark princess had been booted
from their happy home.
Continuing to stand on the invisible barrier, Spike crossed his arms, tapped his foot and huffed at
the anomaly that had found him on the outside looking in and wondering who the fuck made up
these ridiculous rules anyway. He scratched his head impatiently and glanced around. It was a farm.
It did have numerous outbuildings. A large, ramshackle barn, an empty chicken coop, a storage
shed with no roof and, 'What the hell is that little building with a quarter moon carved into the door?'
Probably the best bet was the barn. It was big and the windows were boarded over. It was relatively
safe and hadn't seen a human in years. Besides, God knows he had slept in barns before. Glancing
down into the impenetrable cellar one last time, Spike released a string of unrelated profanities and
he stomped off in the direction of the barn.
Then, after only a few steps, he stopped. What the hell was he doing? Giving up? Giving in?
"Oh, bloody hell NO!"
He spun back around. He glared at the off-limits house and he balled his fists up at his sides. He
would not go gently into this fucking good night. He was William Horatio Pratt! AKA William
the Bloody! AKA Spike, the vamp with the biggest cock in the world! Okay, the last one may have
been a title he had bestowed upon himself but who the hell better to crown him?
He was NOT going to be tossed on his arse without a fight. Immediately, he clasped his hands behind
his back and he began to pace. What to do? What to do? Obviously he needed an invitation from
the owner. From the boy. His boy. Oh, this was getting better by the minute.
Cunning. Clever plans and flawless execution. That's what it would take. A bit of acting and a
fair share of shrewd manipulation. This was beginning to sound more than possible. It was beginning
to sound downright enticing.
With a grin and a giggle, Spike zipped around the side of the house to the front porch. He had
decided that simplicity was the best theme to take. Something logical and general. A story that
didn't threaten or encourage its audience to summon the authorities. A tale of woe. That's it! A
fable of calamity that requires a human hero.
Spike paused. He again tossed his duster to the side and he ruffled his hair slightly so that it was not
so severely plastered to the form of his skull. His hands brushed over his chest and down to his
tight, black jeans and the growing erection that was beginning to make itself known. Spike's
face dropped as he stared at it in disgust. The fucking thing popped up at the most inconvenient times.
"Oh, well," He mumbled, "maybe the boy won't notice."
Spike stepped up onto the pitch-black porch. He shook his limbs to slack the tension from them and
he adopted his most innocent expression. Then, he knocked.
Xander squirmed as weird images swam through his sleeping mind. Behind his closed lids, his
eyes darted rapidly as his REM phase swept him through scenes of drinking and dancing with
young, handsome men. The scenario then abruptly switched to a wild car chase with a black and
white police cruiser whose lights flashed and siren screamed.
He was behind the wheel, frantically driving like Mario Andretti. Just as he thought he might
escape, dream-Xander was pounced upon by S.S. Officer, Dickhead O'Connor who roughly
dragged Xander from his car. An ensuing scuffle had Officer Dickhead painfully wrestling
the struggling prisoner into pink, monkey fur handcuffs. As he did, he was repeatedly banging
Xander's head against the side window of his own car. It was a loud, pronounced sound. It was
an urgent, repetitive sound.
"BANG! BANG! BANG!"
"BANG! BANG! BANG!"
"Wha...? Huh? Who?"
Xander was startled awake to the realization that the sound he was hearing was not his poor
head bouncing off the quality, tinted, tempered glass of his dream Corvette but the front door of
his newly acquired farm house.
Scrambling to his feet, he stumbled past the flickering lamp that sat on the floor near his sofa and he
felt his way through the darkness toward the entryway. Then he stopped.
"BANG! BANG! BANG!"
Xander stared at the heavy, wooden door. Now that he was awake, the logical questions of 'Who
the fuck?' and 'What the hell?' kept him from reaching for the knob. Instead, he called out
tentatively, "Who's there? Who is it?"
Spike smiled and nodded confidently but when he answered, his voice was meek, mild, monotone
and had just the slightest hint of a lisp.
"Hello? I'm thorry to bother you. My car broke down on the road. Your houth ith the only one
for miles. I have been walking for hourths. Can I borrow your telephone to ring a garage?"
Xander frowned. He supposed it was possible. Still, even the access road to this place was
fairly obscure and it was unlikely that anyone would simply be passing by. And certainly
not a stranger with a British accent and an adorable lisp.
"Where did you say you were going?"
Spike rolled his eyes impatiently. He was tempted to simply rip the door from its hinges but that
would not gain him entry. No, this situation required finesse and patience.
"Um, I was looking for the highway and I got lotht. I hate to ask but it's dark and thpooky out here."
Xander grinned and his pecker squirmed happily. 'Thpooky' Sweet sweat socks! That was too
fucking cute. How could anyone who says, 'thpooky' be dangerous? Immediately, Xander turned
the lock, twisted the door knob and he opened the door.
And rocked back on his heels.
Precious Patooty!! This was better than a pizza delivery. He had thought house arrest was going
to prevent his meeting good-looking guys and now, right out of the night, one is deposited on his doorstep.
Spike shuddered as the waves of pheromones washed over him. The boy was hot. The boy was
horny. The boy was just going to be oodles of fun. Xander nearly drooled. He stared at the tasty
treat from the top of his soft blond head down to his...EEK! Big, protruding boner. Well,
well. Apparently tonight's delivery came armed and dangerous.
Xander's left eyebrow arched. His bare toes wiggled. His butt cheeks did two involuntary
scrunches. His brain slid into small talk mode and he slumped casually against the doorframe.
"So you got lost, huh? No GPS? No cell?"
Spike's brow furrowed slightly. What the fuck was a GPS and cell? Ordinarily, the element of
confusion would cause his frustrated temper to flare but this time it just became one more challenge
to meet and overcome, adding to the excitement of the game.
"No. Thorry. I don't have either of those things. I know I should and I thuppose I was careless to
come out in an area I don't know without that stuff. I realize it's late and I hate to bother you but did
you say I could use your phone?"
Xander's lips lifted up in a generous, magnanimous grin and he stepped to the side. Then, with a
wide sweep of his arm, he tipped his head.
"Of course. Won't you please come in?"
Spike smiled demurely and sighed. He then stepped over the threshold and into the house.
9/37
Author: BmblBee
Paring: Spander, baby. All the way
Rating: NC17 for strong language and M/M sexual content
Warnings: See above. All that and a bag of chips
Disclaimer: The Bee claims no profit off the characters or products used in this story.
However, the Bee does own the story itself. Please do not take without asking.
Summary: During a night of celebrating his newly purchased property, a rundown farm
house, Xander has one too many and is stopped for DUI. With the jails already overcrowded,
he finds himself on house arrest in that very same delapidated, isolated house. With one
surprise. His house is not as empty as he thought. There are vampire squatters living in the basement.
Special thanks to Naughty_Fae for the encouragement and to Silk_ Labyrinth for the
spelling and puncuation beta. Any other errors are on the Bee.
Link to previous chapters HERE
Special thanks to Petxnd for the banner.
Xander flopped over onto his back and sighed as he placed his arm over his forehead. His body was
tired from the activities of the strange day but his brain was still in full gear and, combined with
the discomfort of the short, antique sofa, it made sleep elusive.
His feet dangled out over the end and the constant fidgeting walked his underwear deeply into his butt
in a monumental wedgie.
With a grunt, he dislodged the intrusive fabric and he rolled over onto his side, mumbling a curse
when the weighty contraption strapped to his ankle hit his other foot painfully. The square box of
plastic and metal with the tiny green light was a constant reminder that he had fucked up.
Again.
With a weary sigh, he rubbed his hand over his face and, for the millionth time, tried to figure out
how this could have happened.
He was a hard worker. An honest guy. He had struggled to overcome a childhood of near poverty
and alcoholic parents with the quest of achieving the American Dream. He had good health,
happiness, friends and a successful career. He was skilled and, for a Harris, reasonably intelligent.
How the fuck had it all disappeared in one night. One dinner party. One evening that might have
been worth it if he had enjoyed a good suck and a fuck at the end of it but he hadn't. Nope. The only
one who had given him a good screwing was that prick of a cop. O'Connor.
Xander grunted in disgust as the image of that spiked hair and arrogant face filled his brain.
Officer O'Connor had enjoyed that arrest way too much. Even the cop's appearance in court had
been gag-worthy. He had stood in front of the judge and described how Xander had smelled of
alcohol, driven erratically on the highway and finally failed the field sobriety tests. All true facts
but Xander thought the patrolman enjoyed telling the tale far more than was necessary.
"Fucking bastard."
Xander again flipped over to try and find a position more conducive to sleep. He dealt with the
musty, dusty smell of the old fabric by telling himself that tomorrow he would have his cleaning
supplies, his own furniture and his friends to help him convert this dump into a cozy, comfy home.
Yeah, it was bullshit, but at this point it was all he had.
At last, he yawned. The thoughts in his haggard mind became softer, quieter and began to blend
and flow together as he finally started to drift off, as at last he found the sanctuary of slumber.
"SON OF A BITCH!!"
Spike flopped around in the wet grass like a carp out of water. His plan for a gracefully elegant
entrance had been thwarted by the invisible barrier that had apparently slammed into place after he
had exited the house earlier. Stumbling to his feet, he rushed back over to check the situation one
more time. Perhaps it had been a mistake. Maybe the universe had simply changed the locks
and forgotten to give him pass.
Jumping up, Spike launched himself toward the opening into the dank dark cellar and he landed. To
any passerby, it would appear that Spike was standing in midair. Perhaps balancing on a clear
glass floor. To Spike, he knew full well what it meant. He and his dark princess had been booted
from their happy home.
Continuing to stand on the invisible barrier, Spike crossed his arms, tapped his foot and huffed at
the anomaly that had found him on the outside looking in and wondering who the fuck made up
these ridiculous rules anyway. He scratched his head impatiently and glanced around. It was a farm.
It did have numerous outbuildings. A large, ramshackle barn, an empty chicken coop, a storage
shed with no roof and, 'What the hell is that little building with a quarter moon carved into the door?'
Probably the best bet was the barn. It was big and the windows were boarded over. It was relatively
safe and hadn't seen a human in years. Besides, God knows he had slept in barns before. Glancing
down into the impenetrable cellar one last time, Spike released a string of unrelated profanities and
he stomped off in the direction of the barn.
Then, after only a few steps, he stopped. What the hell was he doing? Giving up? Giving in?
"Oh, bloody hell NO!"
He spun back around. He glared at the off-limits house and he balled his fists up at his sides. He
would not go gently into this fucking good night. He was William Horatio Pratt! AKA William
the Bloody! AKA Spike, the vamp with the biggest cock in the world! Okay, the last one may have
been a title he had bestowed upon himself but who the hell better to crown him?
He was NOT going to be tossed on his arse without a fight. Immediately, he clasped his hands behind
his back and he began to pace. What to do? What to do? Obviously he needed an invitation from
the owner. From the boy. His boy. Oh, this was getting better by the minute.
Cunning. Clever plans and flawless execution. That's what it would take. A bit of acting and a
fair share of shrewd manipulation. This was beginning to sound more than possible. It was beginning
to sound downright enticing.
With a grin and a giggle, Spike zipped around the side of the house to the front porch. He had
decided that simplicity was the best theme to take. Something logical and general. A story that
didn't threaten or encourage its audience to summon the authorities. A tale of woe. That's it! A
fable of calamity that requires a human hero.
Spike paused. He again tossed his duster to the side and he ruffled his hair slightly so that it was not
so severely plastered to the form of his skull. His hands brushed over his chest and down to his
tight, black jeans and the growing erection that was beginning to make itself known. Spike's
face dropped as he stared at it in disgust. The fucking thing popped up at the most inconvenient times.
"Oh, well," He mumbled, "maybe the boy won't notice."
Spike stepped up onto the pitch-black porch. He shook his limbs to slack the tension from them and
he adopted his most innocent expression. Then, he knocked.
Xander squirmed as weird images swam through his sleeping mind. Behind his closed lids, his
eyes darted rapidly as his REM phase swept him through scenes of drinking and dancing with
young, handsome men. The scenario then abruptly switched to a wild car chase with a black and
white police cruiser whose lights flashed and siren screamed.
He was behind the wheel, frantically driving like Mario Andretti. Just as he thought he might
escape, dream-Xander was pounced upon by S.S. Officer, Dickhead O'Connor who roughly
dragged Xander from his car. An ensuing scuffle had Officer Dickhead painfully wrestling
the struggling prisoner into pink, monkey fur handcuffs. As he did, he was repeatedly banging
Xander's head against the side window of his own car. It was a loud, pronounced sound. It was
an urgent, repetitive sound.
"BANG! BANG! BANG!"
"BANG! BANG! BANG!"
"Wha...? Huh? Who?"
Xander was startled awake to the realization that the sound he was hearing was not his poor
head bouncing off the quality, tinted, tempered glass of his dream Corvette but the front door of
his newly acquired farm house.
Scrambling to his feet, he stumbled past the flickering lamp that sat on the floor near his sofa and he
felt his way through the darkness toward the entryway. Then he stopped.
"BANG! BANG! BANG!"
Xander stared at the heavy, wooden door. Now that he was awake, the logical questions of 'Who
the fuck?' and 'What the hell?' kept him from reaching for the knob. Instead, he called out
tentatively, "Who's there? Who is it?"
Spike smiled and nodded confidently but when he answered, his voice was meek, mild, monotone
and had just the slightest hint of a lisp.
"Hello? I'm thorry to bother you. My car broke down on the road. Your houth ith the only one
for miles. I have been walking for hourths. Can I borrow your telephone to ring a garage?"
Xander frowned. He supposed it was possible. Still, even the access road to this place was
fairly obscure and it was unlikely that anyone would simply be passing by. And certainly
not a stranger with a British accent and an adorable lisp.
"Where did you say you were going?"
Spike rolled his eyes impatiently. He was tempted to simply rip the door from its hinges but that
would not gain him entry. No, this situation required finesse and patience.
"Um, I was looking for the highway and I got lotht. I hate to ask but it's dark and thpooky out here."
Xander grinned and his pecker squirmed happily. 'Thpooky' Sweet sweat socks! That was too
fucking cute. How could anyone who says, 'thpooky' be dangerous? Immediately, Xander turned
the lock, twisted the door knob and he opened the door.
And rocked back on his heels.
Precious Patooty!! This was better than a pizza delivery. He had thought house arrest was going
to prevent his meeting good-looking guys and now, right out of the night, one is deposited on his doorstep.
Spike shuddered as the waves of pheromones washed over him. The boy was hot. The boy was
horny. The boy was just going to be oodles of fun. Xander nearly drooled. He stared at the tasty
treat from the top of his soft blond head down to his...EEK! Big, protruding boner. Well,
well. Apparently tonight's delivery came armed and dangerous.
Xander's left eyebrow arched. His bare toes wiggled. His butt cheeks did two involuntary
scrunches. His brain slid into small talk mode and he slumped casually against the doorframe.
"So you got lost, huh? No GPS? No cell?"
Spike's brow furrowed slightly. What the fuck was a GPS and cell? Ordinarily, the element of
confusion would cause his frustrated temper to flare but this time it just became one more challenge
to meet and overcome, adding to the excitement of the game.
"No. Thorry. I don't have either of those things. I know I should and I thuppose I was careless to
come out in an area I don't know without that stuff. I realize it's late and I hate to bother you but did
you say I could use your phone?"
Xander's lips lifted up in a generous, magnanimous grin and he stepped to the side. Then, with a
wide sweep of his arm, he tipped his head.
"Of course. Won't you please come in?"
Spike smiled demurely and sighed. He then stepped over the threshold and into the house.