Hang Ten
Title : Hang Ten
10/50
Author: BmblBee
Paring: Spike/Xander (of course)
Rating: NC17. Not a lot of sex, but what there is, is very graphic. M/M
Warning: See above
Disclaimer: The Bee has no claim on any of the characters she plays with.
Summary: A story of sun and surf in the 1960's.
Special thanks, as always to my dearest friend Petxnd for the wonderful banner.
The Bee greatly appreciates readers who take the time to comment.
Spelling and punctuation checked by Silk_Labyrinth. Remaining boo boos are by the
Bee's choice.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rupert Giles and his son William, newly renamed Spike, stood outside the small
brown-shingled building. There was a wooden walkway around the entire perimeter
of the building and a large, red, fake crab perched on the railing that had a grotesque
smile on its face and one claw raised to bid them welcome.
Above them, there was a huge black-lettered sign that arched the doorway which read,
"The Chatterbox." Both ends of the sign were accentuated with tilted musical notes.
Rupert could not fathom the reasoning behind the name of the establishment and how it
connected to the cheerful crustacean who apparently served as doorman.
"I don't believe this is a pub, Will. Are you certain they serve meals?"
Spike held himself back. He wanted to throw open the doors and rush inside. It was
perfect. It was the sort of place that Gidget would go. It was American Bandstand and
every other imported telly program that he had studied before coming to the States.
"Sure, I'm sure. I heard people talking about it on the beach today. Please, Da, let's give
it a try. You said you were hungry, didn't you?"
Rupert polished the lenses of his glasses while he gave grave consideration to the situation.
He really was nearly starved after having worked up a shameful appetite this afternoon,
and there was not a morsel of food in the house. Without knowing the other dining possibilities
in the general vicinity, it would appear that they would be sampling the dubious cuisine of the
Chatterbox Diner.
Before he could make the announcement of concession, they were startled by a squealing
voice piercing the air directly behind them.
"Hey! I thought that was you. Wow, what a small world."
When they both spun around, Spike could have sworn he heard a small, unmanly whimper
escape from his father's lips.
"Hi there. I'm Jenny, your next door neighbor. You must be William. Well, aren't you a
big boy. Rupe, shame on you. The way you talked, I thought Willy here was little more
than a toddler but he is just a hop, skip and a jump from being grown."
Spike's left eyebrow arched dramatically. He was tempted to tell this annoying creature that
the only Willy here was the monster one he kept in his skivvies but he feared that would lead
to an extended, time-consuming argument. Instead, he turned his insulted, confused scowl
towards his father and he waited for an explanation that would dismiss this twitty woman
and clear their path into the teen heaven that was the Chatterbox.
Rupert turned white as a sheet. He stuttered and sputtered as he attempted what he prayed
was an innocent-sounding introduction.
"Oh, yes, well, this, as she mentioned, is the neighborly Miss Calendar. Miss Calendar, this
is William. William and I were just about to go in for a bite of supper, so if you will kindly
excuse...."
Immediately, Jenny hooked her arm through Rupert's and she tugged him forcefully back,
nearly causing him to lose his balance. Spike's eyes bugged wide at the familiarity she
displayed. It was clear that this was the rhubarb lady and, apparently, here in the States
the sharing of pie was considered a major step towards neighborly bonding.
"Don't be silly. You don't want to go in there. It's all teenagers. They play the jukebox too
loud and they dance and they act foolish. Why don't you come back to my place and I'll fix
you a lovely sandwich with a leafy salad. Doesn't that sound yummy? Now, I know Willy
doesn't want to spend time with us old folks, so be a good boy and give him five dollars. He
can eat with his friends and we can get better acquainted."
The entire time Rupert fussed and frantically tried to think of a tangible excuse for bowing
out, he was obediently digging into his wallet. The second the top of Lincoln's head appeared,
Jenny snatched the bill out and shoved it towards Spike as she began dragging Rupert away.
The truth was, Spike could have kissed her. Ignoring the desperate expression on the older
man's face, Spike held the money high over his head and he chuckled as his father disappeared
down the street.
"Don't fill up on pie!"
He then stuck the money in his pocket and shoved open the door. Instantly he was
bombarded with the hustle and the bustle of youth and exuberance. Off to both the left
and the right were large areas of booths overflowing with trim, tan teens that all looked
like they just stepped from an American movie.
Directly ahead was a soda fountain and a long counter with red plastic stools. Apron-wearing
waitresses, all with massive beehive hairdo's containing long, yellow pencils that poked out,
were running around delivering large trays of greasy meat sandwiches and mountains of fried
potatoes. It smelled incredible! Spike stood, unmoving, grinning and trying to take it all in at once.
The music of the Rolling Stones shouting about getting no satisfaction boomed, threatening
to blow out the windows while several girls bounced together, flailing their arms and doing
what Spike recognized as something Dick Clark called the Watusi. He wondered if he
could learn to dance like that. Probably not, considering he was still trying to master the twist.
"SPIKE! Hey, over here."
It took two beats for him to realize that he was the 'Spike' being summoned, but after locating
the source, his face broke out into a wide grin as he recognized the redhead from the beach.
Frantically, his brain scrambled for a name as he made his way through the throng of shouting,
dancing bodies.
When he reached her booth near the back of the diner, he noticed that she was not alone.
Sitting opposite her was a redheaded boy who slumped slightly with a crooked smile on his
face and a lethargic demeanor. One by one he, he shoved chips into his mouth. His green
eyes were hooded and he waved in slow motion.
"Hey, dude. So, you're Spike. Willow told me all about you. Said she met you while I was
crashin' with Angel. Cool. I'm Oz. Sit, dude. Hang a while."
Spike didn't have to be asked twice. He slid in beside her, delighted that Oz had solved his
dilemma by reminding him of her name. He looked around to see if the others were there but
knew that even if they were, he may have trouble spotting them in this crush of teen humanity.
"Yes, Willow and I are beach buddies. Are the others here? Buffy, Xander and um, the
tall girl?"
Willow chuckled. It tickled her that Spike didn't use adjectives like 'pretty' or even 'cute'
to describe Cordy. A point she would share with Buffy the first chance she could.
"Nah, Buff's on room-cleaning duty and Cordy and Xan are probably off somewhere, ah,
being together."
Oz snorted and stuffed another french fry into his mouth. The munchies were a bitch.
"Of course you realize that 'being together' is Willow's delicate way of saying that they are
boinking, heading to home base, doin' the dirty, bumping uglies, grinding goodies, slappin'
sillies, rammin'...."
"OZ! I think Spike gets the point. Geesh! So, Spike, you eating? They got some great
burgers and dogs here. Oh! You should totally try the Elvis! It is to die for!"
Spike glanced around at the other plates of food being shoveled into the mouths of the
teens around him and his stomach growled hungrily.
"The Elvis?"
Willow scooched around sideways in her seat so she could wave both hands dramatically
as she described the scrumptious star of the Chatterbox menu.
"Well! It's a footlong hound-dog and it comes with a shake. Get it?"
Spike grabbed both her hands and waved them side to side as he squealed with her at the
mental image of the King's hip gyrations. Oz watched silently with one eyebrow cocked
slightly higher than the other. Before the other two could float back to earth, the chubby,
middle-aged waitress shuffled over, snatched the pencil from her beehive and whipped an
order pad from her apron pocket.
"What'cha havin' Hon?"
Spike spun around, his butt still wiggling with excitement, and he grinned.
"I would like to order one Elvis Platter please. And a side order of chips."
Laverne, the waitress, snapped her gum.
"It comes with fries."
"Fries?"
Oz held up a french fry before popping it into his mouth and Spike realized the translation.
"Well then, slap some fries on Elvis and shimmy him on out here!"
Willow and Spike woo-hooed while Oz just snorted. This promised to be an interesting
summer.
10/50
Author: BmblBee
Paring: Spike/Xander (of course)
Rating: NC17. Not a lot of sex, but what there is, is very graphic. M/M
Warning: See above
Disclaimer: The Bee has no claim on any of the characters she plays with.
Summary: A story of sun and surf in the 1960's.
Special thanks, as always to my dearest friend Petxnd for the wonderful banner.
The Bee greatly appreciates readers who take the time to comment.
Spelling and punctuation checked by Silk_Labyrinth. Remaining boo boos are by the
Bee's choice.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rupert Giles and his son William, newly renamed Spike, stood outside the small
brown-shingled building. There was a wooden walkway around the entire perimeter
of the building and a large, red, fake crab perched on the railing that had a grotesque
smile on its face and one claw raised to bid them welcome.
Above them, there was a huge black-lettered sign that arched the doorway which read,
"The Chatterbox." Both ends of the sign were accentuated with tilted musical notes.
Rupert could not fathom the reasoning behind the name of the establishment and how it
connected to the cheerful crustacean who apparently served as doorman.
"I don't believe this is a pub, Will. Are you certain they serve meals?"
Spike held himself back. He wanted to throw open the doors and rush inside. It was
perfect. It was the sort of place that Gidget would go. It was American Bandstand and
every other imported telly program that he had studied before coming to the States.
"Sure, I'm sure. I heard people talking about it on the beach today. Please, Da, let's give
it a try. You said you were hungry, didn't you?"
Rupert polished the lenses of his glasses while he gave grave consideration to the situation.
He really was nearly starved after having worked up a shameful appetite this afternoon,
and there was not a morsel of food in the house. Without knowing the other dining possibilities
in the general vicinity, it would appear that they would be sampling the dubious cuisine of the
Chatterbox Diner.
Before he could make the announcement of concession, they were startled by a squealing
voice piercing the air directly behind them.
"Hey! I thought that was you. Wow, what a small world."
When they both spun around, Spike could have sworn he heard a small, unmanly whimper
escape from his father's lips.
"Hi there. I'm Jenny, your next door neighbor. You must be William. Well, aren't you a
big boy. Rupe, shame on you. The way you talked, I thought Willy here was little more
than a toddler but he is just a hop, skip and a jump from being grown."
Spike's left eyebrow arched dramatically. He was tempted to tell this annoying creature that
the only Willy here was the monster one he kept in his skivvies but he feared that would lead
to an extended, time-consuming argument. Instead, he turned his insulted, confused scowl
towards his father and he waited for an explanation that would dismiss this twitty woman
and clear their path into the teen heaven that was the Chatterbox.
Rupert turned white as a sheet. He stuttered and sputtered as he attempted what he prayed
was an innocent-sounding introduction.
"Oh, yes, well, this, as she mentioned, is the neighborly Miss Calendar. Miss Calendar, this
is William. William and I were just about to go in for a bite of supper, so if you will kindly
excuse...."
Immediately, Jenny hooked her arm through Rupert's and she tugged him forcefully back,
nearly causing him to lose his balance. Spike's eyes bugged wide at the familiarity she
displayed. It was clear that this was the rhubarb lady and, apparently, here in the States
the sharing of pie was considered a major step towards neighborly bonding.
"Don't be silly. You don't want to go in there. It's all teenagers. They play the jukebox too
loud and they dance and they act foolish. Why don't you come back to my place and I'll fix
you a lovely sandwich with a leafy salad. Doesn't that sound yummy? Now, I know Willy
doesn't want to spend time with us old folks, so be a good boy and give him five dollars. He
can eat with his friends and we can get better acquainted."
The entire time Rupert fussed and frantically tried to think of a tangible excuse for bowing
out, he was obediently digging into his wallet. The second the top of Lincoln's head appeared,
Jenny snatched the bill out and shoved it towards Spike as she began dragging Rupert away.
The truth was, Spike could have kissed her. Ignoring the desperate expression on the older
man's face, Spike held the money high over his head and he chuckled as his father disappeared
down the street.
"Don't fill up on pie!"
He then stuck the money in his pocket and shoved open the door. Instantly he was
bombarded with the hustle and the bustle of youth and exuberance. Off to both the left
and the right were large areas of booths overflowing with trim, tan teens that all looked
like they just stepped from an American movie.
Directly ahead was a soda fountain and a long counter with red plastic stools. Apron-wearing
waitresses, all with massive beehive hairdo's containing long, yellow pencils that poked out,
were running around delivering large trays of greasy meat sandwiches and mountains of fried
potatoes. It smelled incredible! Spike stood, unmoving, grinning and trying to take it all in at once.
The music of the Rolling Stones shouting about getting no satisfaction boomed, threatening
to blow out the windows while several girls bounced together, flailing their arms and doing
what Spike recognized as something Dick Clark called the Watusi. He wondered if he
could learn to dance like that. Probably not, considering he was still trying to master the twist.
"SPIKE! Hey, over here."
It took two beats for him to realize that he was the 'Spike' being summoned, but after locating
the source, his face broke out into a wide grin as he recognized the redhead from the beach.
Frantically, his brain scrambled for a name as he made his way through the throng of shouting,
dancing bodies.
When he reached her booth near the back of the diner, he noticed that she was not alone.
Sitting opposite her was a redheaded boy who slumped slightly with a crooked smile on his
face and a lethargic demeanor. One by one he, he shoved chips into his mouth. His green
eyes were hooded and he waved in slow motion.
"Hey, dude. So, you're Spike. Willow told me all about you. Said she met you while I was
crashin' with Angel. Cool. I'm Oz. Sit, dude. Hang a while."
Spike didn't have to be asked twice. He slid in beside her, delighted that Oz had solved his
dilemma by reminding him of her name. He looked around to see if the others were there but
knew that even if they were, he may have trouble spotting them in this crush of teen humanity.
"Yes, Willow and I are beach buddies. Are the others here? Buffy, Xander and um, the
tall girl?"
Willow chuckled. It tickled her that Spike didn't use adjectives like 'pretty' or even 'cute'
to describe Cordy. A point she would share with Buffy the first chance she could.
"Nah, Buff's on room-cleaning duty and Cordy and Xan are probably off somewhere, ah,
being together."
Oz snorted and stuffed another french fry into his mouth. The munchies were a bitch.
"Of course you realize that 'being together' is Willow's delicate way of saying that they are
boinking, heading to home base, doin' the dirty, bumping uglies, grinding goodies, slappin'
sillies, rammin'...."
"OZ! I think Spike gets the point. Geesh! So, Spike, you eating? They got some great
burgers and dogs here. Oh! You should totally try the Elvis! It is to die for!"
Spike glanced around at the other plates of food being shoveled into the mouths of the
teens around him and his stomach growled hungrily.
"The Elvis?"
Willow scooched around sideways in her seat so she could wave both hands dramatically
as she described the scrumptious star of the Chatterbox menu.
"Well! It's a footlong hound-dog and it comes with a shake. Get it?"
Spike grabbed both her hands and waved them side to side as he squealed with her at the
mental image of the King's hip gyrations. Oz watched silently with one eyebrow cocked
slightly higher than the other. Before the other two could float back to earth, the chubby,
middle-aged waitress shuffled over, snatched the pencil from her beehive and whipped an
order pad from her apron pocket.
"What'cha havin' Hon?"
Spike spun around, his butt still wiggling with excitement, and he grinned.
"I would like to order one Elvis Platter please. And a side order of chips."
Laverne, the waitress, snapped her gum.
"It comes with fries."
"Fries?"
Oz held up a french fry before popping it into his mouth and Spike realized the translation.
"Well then, slap some fries on Elvis and shimmy him on out here!"
Willow and Spike woo-hooed while Oz just snorted. This promised to be an interesting
summer.