On Location in Egypt IV

Aug 08, 2004 20:28

It's back, baby! If you've asked me when I planned to cough up the next part, thanks. If you don't remember what the heck is going on, I can't say I blame you. Previous parts are here, here and here. This won't make much sense without them.


Title: On Location in Egypt, part 4
Author: dessert_first
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: S/X, S/everyone, X/everyone... it gets complicated.
Summary: What if instead of evil, the Hellmouth's calling card was something a little different?
Disclaimer: In no way, shape, or form could I possibly be construed as owning these very fine characters of Joss Whedon's, or making any money off of this. Also, Mutant Enemy might want to hose them off after I return them.
Feedback: Would be much appreciated. Detailed feedback with the good, the bad and the ugly would be the cat's pajamas.
A/N: Thanks to winterlive for the read-through and suggestions, and to tesla321, as ever, for encouragement, smut-tastic ideas and hand-holding.
Also, thanks to all you lovely readers who took the time to let me know they enjoyed this, offered smutty ideas, and asked for more. This probably would not have been written if not for you. Hope you like it.

Part Four

Xander likes his job, likes to think he's good at it, likes to read the quirky fan mail he gets from respectable professionals and graduate students and full-time moms. Occasionally, he likes to pretend some of it's secretly written by glamorous people like J. Lo, pining away for him in the midst of all their fame and fortune, paralyzed by their reputations from seeking him out, but dreaming of him late at night while Marc Anthony croons to them in bed.

So, yeah, there are perks. He enjoys his on and offscreen coworkers, generally likes his bosses, gets to have frequent sex with incredibly hot people, has a reasonably flexible schedule, full medical and dental, and gets some decent checks in the mail, because HMP likes to treat their employees right.

All of which makes this situation completely infuriating. Where the hell does Spike get off, coming along and ruining everything for Xander? And why is Cordelia cheerily helping him along? And why isn't his legal counsel being all legal and intimidating now, when he really needs it?

Xander turns to look at Lindsey, who is frozen in place, mesmerized by Darla's little cobra maneuver. She's comfortably ensconced in Cordy's sofa, her little-girl face upturned, mascaraed eyes wide. "How have you been, Lindsey?" she asks.

Lindsey just looks at her.

"Nice outfit," Darla smiles, revealing neat, pearly little teeth. "I should have guessed you'd go into the business when you left us. You seemed so at home in court, though, it never really ocurred to me what a valuable commodity you'd be to the adult film industry. Cordelia must be thrilled to have you on board."

"Yeah, where is Cordelia, by the way?" Xander asks in what he hopes is a distracting manner, but Darla just ignores him some more.

She walks right up to Lindsey and gives him a delicate sniff. "Is that sandalwood body oil? It suits you." She gets right in his face and he flinches, drawing his robe more securely around himself. "Angel still asks about you, you know."

"Hey!" Cordelia strides in, impeccably business-suited, carrying a thick sheaf of file folders, and takes it all in inside of a second. "You wanna go kick some puppies when you're done there? We're here to talk business, not PTSD my employees."

Darla widens her eyes. "I was just telling Lindsey here how much we miss him." She turns back to Lindsey, the picture of solicitude. "How is your hand, by the way? They say some breaks never really heal properly--that kind of thing could really interfere with your new career, couldn't it?"

"I said that's enough!" Cordelia glares daggers at Darla, then turns to Xander and Lindsey. "What are you guys doing here, anyway? Lindsey?" Her tone gentles and she settles a manicured hand on his arm. "Shouldn't you be on set about now?"

Lindsey blinks, finally coming to life. He looks at Xander, who does his best to project reassurance.

"Yeah, you should probably get back before Ripper starts terrorizing the fluffers again. You know how he likes to stick to schedule." Xander does not make unsubtle little shooing motions or offer to get Lindsey a glass of water, but it's a close call.

Lindsey is absently rubbing his right hand. "Darla," he says, cool and collected and terribly, terribly distant, like he used to be when Xander first met him on the "Good Will Cunting" set three years ago.

Suddenly none of this Spike crap matters. Xander just needs to get his friend back, the warm, funny guy who will have a beer but not a smoke, plays the guitar, fucks in the back of his old Ford pick-up truck even though he can afford better. Who color-codes his overnight guests's toothbrushes--Xander's is purple--and lets them crash in his bed with his girl when they can't sleep at night.

The only way he can think of to do that, unfortunately, is to simply grab Lindsey and beat a hasty retreat from the office, so he does.

As dramatic confrontations go, it isn't really what Xander had been hoping for.

They are in the elevator back to the studio level when Xander realizes he's still holding the Drusilla script in his hand. Well, crap.

---

Lindsey is still a little shaken, but thawing considerably by the time Xander walks him back to the studio. He waves away Xander's apologies and heads back to work, and Xander realizes he's got to work, too, so he pulls himself together and soldiers off to do another scene with Sheila.

Kiss, kiss, stroke, pull, twist, rub, fuck, and his heart just isn't in it. He wonders how Lindsey's scene is going with Kendra, who will be mightily pissed she flew in to town to film a scene with a lackluster partner. He runs into Buffy in the cafeteria, still wearing her heavily embroidered gown and headpiece, a tiny frown on her face as she practices her lines for the big death scene she has coming up.

"Hey Buff," he says, grabbing a seat next to her.

"Hey Xander," she smiles brilliantly, then goes back to her lines. "Oh happy dagger, this is thy sheath." She frowns again. "Oh, happy dagger, this is thy sheath. Oh, happy dagger, this is thy sheath."

Xander steals one of her French fries. "How's Juliet and Julianna coming along?"

"Okay, I guess. These period costumes are a little uncomfortable, even if Ethan says they're anachromatic or whatever. But on the plus side? Pretty!" She smoothes a hand down her skirt. "You wouldn't believe how hard they are to get in and out of, though. I almost broke a nail trying to get Faith's corset off, and it took about a million takes for me to find my way through her petticoats for the secret honeymoon scene after Father Larry married us."

He laughs. "I bet Faith was just thrilled with that."

A naughty little grin as she bites into another fry. "She got over it."

Xander whistles long and low. "Gotta love a woman who can keep her girl happy." He looks around the largely empty room and sets his tone to 'casual.' "So, uh... I hear filming was pretty hot and heavy on that last Spike flick you made."

She drops the half-eaten fry. "Xander! Have you forgotten the 'When Not to Mention Spike' rules? I'm trying to eat here!"

"Sorry, sorry... it's just, you know, people said it was pretty intense."

Buffy narrows her eyes. "People?"

"Well, yeah, you know, just... people."

"I think I might have a little chat with these 'people,'" she muses. "Even porn stars have reps, you know. Anyway, it can't be any more intense than that montage of you guys Jonathan's putting together."

The bummed French fries suddenly congeal into a heavy lump in Xander's stomach. "Montage?"

Buffy looks up from her musings, dismayed. "Oh, no. That was brand new information, wasn't it?"

Xander doesn't have time to answer, because he's busy hot-footing it to the editing room.

---

Jonathan literally squeaks when Xander comes in. It's disconcerting. "Xander!" he says, his eyes darting about, flicking off monitors and shuffling together storyboards. "Um, hey! How's it going?"

Xander cuts to the chase. "What's this about a montage, Jonathan?"

---

It's disgusting. Stomach-churning. It's crap, is what it is, and Xander is deeply shamed to be working for the kind of hacks that would turn out work like this. It's... it's...

"It's just about every scene you and Spike ever filmed, ever," Jonathan explains apologetically. "Interspersed with scenes of you guys looking at each other in some of your more recent, uh, collaborations. Set to Carly Simon's 'Coming Around Again.'"

Xander snaps back to reality. "You did not get the rights to 'Coming Around Again.'"

Jonathan flushes. "Well, no. But Ripper wanted it, so he and Ethan and the Dingoes put together a sort of homage to it, you know, that Veruca's band recorded for us. It's very sweet. Real classy, you know?"

Xander slaps a hand over his eyes. "Cordelia is a highly creative and devious woman."

"She really is," Jonathan admires. "Good thing she likes you."

On one of the monitors, Xander is looking at Spike like he's... "Hey! That camera angle is all wrong! That was the closeup for Spike and Graham's scene! I'm not supposed to be onscreen. Look at me, I've got a freaking donut in my hand there!"

"Well, yeah, but your face..." Jonathan trails off, busying himself with the mass of tapes on his desk.

"My face," Xander ennunciates clearly, "Shows nothing but abject loathing. And Spike is clearly... Spike is clearly struggling with something trapped in his contact lenses but doesn't want to stop and ruin the scene." Hell, the lazy bastard never cleaned out the lens case properly, even though Xander had told him a million times... okay, not relevant. "Look, I never agreed to this thing. You guys don't have permission to use that footage."

"Actually," Jonathan fidgets, "we do. It's in your contract. In the, uh, fine print?"

---

continued here
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