Emelye (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
emelye_miller) wrote2010-05-02 02:29 pm
emelye_miller) wrote2010-05-02 02:29 pm
Entry tags:
The Bet 2/3
Title: The Bet
Author:emelye_miller
Chapter:2/3
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine, don’t sue.
Warnings: None
A/N: Written forspring_with_xan. Continued from Chapter One .
Spike wrapped the ace bandage around his left ankle and yanked it taut, making Xander wince.
“Still human here,” he bit out through clenched teeth.
Spike frowned, but loosened the wrap slightly before fastening the butterfly clips. “Sorry,” he muttered as he stood.
Xander leaned forward and pointedly straightened the display of travel brochures fanned out over the coffee table, careful to keep his sprained ankle elevated on the stack of phonebooks and throw pillows propping it up.
“Are you sure you’ll be all right here on your own? You know I wouldn’t go, except that Vorash demon Clem wanted me to talk to is in town and—”
Xander rolled his eyes. “I’ll be fine. Go. Be a creature of the night. Cause mayhem.”
Spike beamed and pecked his cheek before hurriedly shrugging on his duster and throwing open their front door. “Oh, and, um, if a bloke comes by here with a delivery—tall drink of water, scales—d’ya mind signing for me?”
Xander sat up. “What kind of delivery?”
Spike looked carefully nonchalant. “Oh, nothing much, just a few things for the business, y’know.”
“What few things? I thought you were running this enterprise out of the crypt?”
“An’ we are, but m’not going to be on that side of town and the stuff has to get delivered tonight. Don’t worry, I’ll get it out of here just as soon as I’m back.” Spike began to leave.
“Spike, crutches!” Xander called after him.
Spike turned in the doorway and picked up the crutches leaning against the kitchen island and placed them within Xander’s reach. “Right love, I’m off then.” And with that, Spike bolted out the door.
Xander stared after him in disapproval and suspicion. Spike was obviously up to something and Xander was obviously not going to approve.
He sighed. At least there was a Stargate marathon without Spike’s commentary to look forward to. “Looks like it’s just you and me again, Major Carter,” he said, reaching for the remote beside him. His hand came up empty and he looked around for a minute before spotting it on top of the TV.
Xander frowned. “He is so making this up to me,” he muttered darkly, reaching for his crutches.
Twenty minutes later Xander was breathless and aching but finally mollified by the sight of his second favorite plucky blond heroine when the door buzzer rang.
“Son of a bitch,” he said feelingly, turning off the TV and grabbing for his crutches. “Just a minute!” he called out.
His ankle protested the rough treatment as he hobbled over to the door, but he didn’t want tall and scaly standing on his stoop longer than was strictly necessary.
The buzzer rang again.
Xander glared. “Yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on,” he said, throwing open the front door and seeing—
“Chickens?”
Whoever had left them there was long gone, but stacked just outside his doorway were what looked like six crates of live, noisy, smelly, chickens. “What the fuck, Spike!” He railed at his absent lover.
Xander looked up and down the hallway, but there was no sign of the delivery demon or, thankfully, his neighbors. Xander whimpered. “Seriously?” he whined.
The chickens continued their racket, oblivious to his misery. With a frustrated growl, Xander tested the weight of the nearest crate and found it wasn’t too heavy. He couldn’t leave the damn things in the hallway, but he didn’t see a dolly anywhere. Fuck it.
Xander threw down his crutches and hoisted up the crate, and hopped, backwards, on one foot through the doorway. By sheer force of will he managed to get the damn thing set down inside the apartment before he was forced to grab for the wall to keep his balance.
It wasn’t graceful. He thought he might have pulled his shoulder all out of whack and the hopping made the chickens squawk like crazy, but he got five crates inside and stacked against the wall. He was at his limit though, and there was one more crate to go.
Xander stared down at the last crate with dread. Bracing himself against the doorjamb he leaned down on one leg and grabbed the crate. With a mighty heave he hoisted the crate up but overcompensated with too much force and started to lose his balance. He flew back through the doorway trying to right himself but—
“Oh shit…” Xander went down, the crate broke open, the chickens scattered and he took all his weight on his right wrist, hearing the bone crack sickeningly.
Xander screamed.
After a few moments trying to breathe normally through the pain, Xander managed to drag himself over to the table. His coat was draped over the back of a chair, his cell phone in its pocket. He fumbled it out with his left hand and awkwardly managed to dial it.
“Xan?” Spike answered.
“Spike, get your ass back here right now!” he bellowed, voice anguished.
Ten minutes later Spike burst through the door, Clem at his heels, and took in the sight of Xander, sitting on the floor surrounded by chicken shit, clutching his wrist, while four birds pecked at the remains of the crate. “I’m going to kill you,” he said.
Spike’s open-mouthed stare coalesced into a nod of understanding. “Fair enough,” he said, his wide gaze taking in the devastation. “Clem, you get the birds back to the crypt,” he directed. As Clem attempted to herd the chickens, Spike knelt down beside Xander and reached gently for Xander’s wrist.
He turned it over in his hand, and Xander hissed as Spike brushed against the swelling with his finger and palpated the bone. “Oh, yeah, it’s broken,” Xander confirmed.
Spike looked up from his wrist, eyes lost and searching. “What happened?” he asked.
Xander smirked and took Spike’s hand with his remaining whole one. “It’s my own fault trying to bring the damn things in on one leg.”
Spike froze, his expression narrowed. “Whadaya mean you brought ‘em in?”
Xander shrugged. Oh yeah, this was going to be worth cash money in Vegas. “I opened the door and found six crates of poultry. I wasn’t going to give the neighbors one more reason to complain to the super.”
“But Vern shoulda been there. I bloody told the bastard he had to get them in the apartment!”
Xander shook his head pathetically, milking it. “I’d just managed to get the TV on when the doorbell rang. I’ve been dealing with our feathered friends ever since.”
“Son of a…” Spike trailed off angrily.
Xander decided to ask the obvious question. “Spike, why are there chickens in my apartment?”
Clem answered. “Blood, mostly. I’m also developing a hot wing sauce for demons.”
“Oh,” Xander said. “That’s not a bad idea.”
Spike beamed and unfurled somewhat. “Yeah?”
Xander nodded, tried to smile, but it came out more like a wince. “Yeah. I guess I thought you guys might be opening a sideline in animal sacrifice. Demon snack bar didn’t really occur to me.”
Spike grimaced self-deprecatingly. “Figure I’d better start small before I go attempting to cut into your capitalist ex’s bottom line,” he said, carefully helping Xander up. “Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my plans seem to go tits up more often than not,” he added, wryly.
Xander snorted and let Spike guide him toward the door. “Y’know, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”
Chapter Three
Author:
emelye_miller Chapter:2/3
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine, don’t sue.
Warnings: None
A/N: Written for
spring_with_xan. Continued from Chapter One .Spike wrapped the ace bandage around his left ankle and yanked it taut, making Xander wince.
“Still human here,” he bit out through clenched teeth.
Spike frowned, but loosened the wrap slightly before fastening the butterfly clips. “Sorry,” he muttered as he stood.
Xander leaned forward and pointedly straightened the display of travel brochures fanned out over the coffee table, careful to keep his sprained ankle elevated on the stack of phonebooks and throw pillows propping it up.
“Are you sure you’ll be all right here on your own? You know I wouldn’t go, except that Vorash demon Clem wanted me to talk to is in town and—”
Xander rolled his eyes. “I’ll be fine. Go. Be a creature of the night. Cause mayhem.”
Spike beamed and pecked his cheek before hurriedly shrugging on his duster and throwing open their front door. “Oh, and, um, if a bloke comes by here with a delivery—tall drink of water, scales—d’ya mind signing for me?”
Xander sat up. “What kind of delivery?”
Spike looked carefully nonchalant. “Oh, nothing much, just a few things for the business, y’know.”
“What few things? I thought you were running this enterprise out of the crypt?”
“An’ we are, but m’not going to be on that side of town and the stuff has to get delivered tonight. Don’t worry, I’ll get it out of here just as soon as I’m back.” Spike began to leave.
“Spike, crutches!” Xander called after him.
Spike turned in the doorway and picked up the crutches leaning against the kitchen island and placed them within Xander’s reach. “Right love, I’m off then.” And with that, Spike bolted out the door.
Xander stared after him in disapproval and suspicion. Spike was obviously up to something and Xander was obviously not going to approve.
He sighed. At least there was a Stargate marathon without Spike’s commentary to look forward to. “Looks like it’s just you and me again, Major Carter,” he said, reaching for the remote beside him. His hand came up empty and he looked around for a minute before spotting it on top of the TV.
Xander frowned. “He is so making this up to me,” he muttered darkly, reaching for his crutches.
Twenty minutes later Xander was breathless and aching but finally mollified by the sight of his second favorite plucky blond heroine when the door buzzer rang.
“Son of a bitch,” he said feelingly, turning off the TV and grabbing for his crutches. “Just a minute!” he called out.
His ankle protested the rough treatment as he hobbled over to the door, but he didn’t want tall and scaly standing on his stoop longer than was strictly necessary.
The buzzer rang again.
Xander glared. “Yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on,” he said, throwing open the front door and seeing—
“Chickens?”
Whoever had left them there was long gone, but stacked just outside his doorway were what looked like six crates of live, noisy, smelly, chickens. “What the fuck, Spike!” He railed at his absent lover.
Xander looked up and down the hallway, but there was no sign of the delivery demon or, thankfully, his neighbors. Xander whimpered. “Seriously?” he whined.
The chickens continued their racket, oblivious to his misery. With a frustrated growl, Xander tested the weight of the nearest crate and found it wasn’t too heavy. He couldn’t leave the damn things in the hallway, but he didn’t see a dolly anywhere. Fuck it.
Xander threw down his crutches and hoisted up the crate, and hopped, backwards, on one foot through the doorway. By sheer force of will he managed to get the damn thing set down inside the apartment before he was forced to grab for the wall to keep his balance.
It wasn’t graceful. He thought he might have pulled his shoulder all out of whack and the hopping made the chickens squawk like crazy, but he got five crates inside and stacked against the wall. He was at his limit though, and there was one more crate to go.
Xander stared down at the last crate with dread. Bracing himself against the doorjamb he leaned down on one leg and grabbed the crate. With a mighty heave he hoisted the crate up but overcompensated with too much force and started to lose his balance. He flew back through the doorway trying to right himself but—
“Oh shit…” Xander went down, the crate broke open, the chickens scattered and he took all his weight on his right wrist, hearing the bone crack sickeningly.
Xander screamed.
After a few moments trying to breathe normally through the pain, Xander managed to drag himself over to the table. His coat was draped over the back of a chair, his cell phone in its pocket. He fumbled it out with his left hand and awkwardly managed to dial it.
“Xan?” Spike answered.
“Spike, get your ass back here right now!” he bellowed, voice anguished.
Ten minutes later Spike burst through the door, Clem at his heels, and took in the sight of Xander, sitting on the floor surrounded by chicken shit, clutching his wrist, while four birds pecked at the remains of the crate. “I’m going to kill you,” he said.
Spike’s open-mouthed stare coalesced into a nod of understanding. “Fair enough,” he said, his wide gaze taking in the devastation. “Clem, you get the birds back to the crypt,” he directed. As Clem attempted to herd the chickens, Spike knelt down beside Xander and reached gently for Xander’s wrist.
He turned it over in his hand, and Xander hissed as Spike brushed against the swelling with his finger and palpated the bone. “Oh, yeah, it’s broken,” Xander confirmed.
Spike looked up from his wrist, eyes lost and searching. “What happened?” he asked.
Xander smirked and took Spike’s hand with his remaining whole one. “It’s my own fault trying to bring the damn things in on one leg.”
Spike froze, his expression narrowed. “Whadaya mean you brought ‘em in?”
Xander shrugged. Oh yeah, this was going to be worth cash money in Vegas. “I opened the door and found six crates of poultry. I wasn’t going to give the neighbors one more reason to complain to the super.”
“But Vern shoulda been there. I bloody told the bastard he had to get them in the apartment!”
Xander shook his head pathetically, milking it. “I’d just managed to get the TV on when the doorbell rang. I’ve been dealing with our feathered friends ever since.”
“Son of a…” Spike trailed off angrily.
Xander decided to ask the obvious question. “Spike, why are there chickens in my apartment?”
Clem answered. “Blood, mostly. I’m also developing a hot wing sauce for demons.”
“Oh,” Xander said. “That’s not a bad idea.”
Spike beamed and unfurled somewhat. “Yeah?”
Xander nodded, tried to smile, but it came out more like a wince. “Yeah. I guess I thought you guys might be opening a sideline in animal sacrifice. Demon snack bar didn’t really occur to me.”
Spike grimaced self-deprecatingly. “Figure I’d better start small before I go attempting to cut into your capitalist ex’s bottom line,” he said, carefully helping Xander up. “Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my plans seem to go tits up more often than not,” he added, wryly.
Xander snorted and let Spike guide him toward the door. “Y’know, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”
Chapter Three