Yesterday was winterlive's birthday.
I offered her a ficlet.
She provided a prompt long enough to be a story in itself.
This doesn't follow her whole plot, but emerged from the general idea.

Trouble!Verse

by
Savoy Truffle

Part One ~ Trouble in Paradise

Xander uncaps two bottles of beer and plunks them down on the bar in front of two middle-aged women. When they thank him, he doesn’t speak, but flashes the patented Xander smile, which has been known to earn him big tips.

When he was younger, back home in Sunnydale, Xander used to babble. But not anymore. Not here. People don’t like babble-y bartenders. Bartenders are supposed to listen. And that’s what Xander does. He listens. And watches.

The hotel manager likes having a bartender who knows how to watch. Watch what he’s doing. Watch out for trouble.

Not much to watch for at 2:50am, just ten minutes before closing. Xander’s eyes sweep the room as he absently wipes down the bar. He’s just about to venture out to pick up a few empties when trouble walks through the door.

Technically, it’s not really a door. The whole bar is basically just a deck covered by a thatch roof. The hotel lies behind it. In front, it’s all beach.

And Trouble walks in from that beach, saunters up the wooden steps and across the bar like he owns the place. Xander’s eyes start at the top and work their way down.

The hair is platinum blond with dark roots and soft waves tousled by the ocean breeze. The eyes as blue as the tropical ocean and twice as easy to get lost in and the only way Xander escapes is by the pull of sharp, sharp cheekbones, which he follows down to pale lips and… Dear God, doesn’t the bar have a rule that says you have to button your shirt for service? Because how is a bartender supposed to concentrate when gentle gusts of warm night air are offering such tantalizing glimpses of pink nipple and washboard abs. And the jeans. Shouldn’t they have to be a little higher on the hips? A little less worn? A little less clingy in all the right—or is that wrong—places?

And bare feet. Those are definitely not allowed. But, damn, Xander’s a sucker for bare feet.

And now Trouble is standing right in front of him and Xander is meeting those blue, blue eyes, and he has this urge to reach out and grab the edges of that unbuttoned shirt and drag Trouble right over the bar and into a kiss.

Or he could ask Trouble what he’d like to drink…

“You’re supposed to be wearing shoes.” As the words tumble from Xander’s mouth, he experiences the immediate and overwhelming desire to slap himself.

Trouble doesn’t seem fazed. He looks down at his feet, then back up at Xander, raises an eyebrow. “That right?” he asks.

The smooth voice, the British accent that manages to make too little words drier than the finest champagne, they make Xander’s toes curl. They rob him of speech—which has to be a blessing in disguise.

Trouble pats down his jeans pockets and shrugs. Flashes Xander something between an apologetic smile and a smirk. “Fresh out of shoes. Guess I’ll have to shove off then.”

Trouble starts to turn, but Xander regains his powers of speech just in time to say, “Wait.”

Blue eyes on his again and his throat goes dry and it’s all Xander can do to get out: “We’re closing in ten minutes anyway. Can I get you something?”

Trouble seems to give this careful consideration. “Sex on the beach,” he says.

Had Xander been thinking champagne? No, that was all wrong. The voice was brandy. Warm, dark, rich. Seductive.

Heart pounding in his chest, Xander turns and grabs a cocktail shaker, scoops up some ice, adds the schnapps, vodka, fruit juices. He shakes and pours and turns back around, but the bar is empty.

Trouble is gone.

Xander’s heart drops into his stomach.

But wait. Out of the corner of his eye, Xander catches a flash of platinum in the moonlight, moving across the beach…

The beach… Oh, the beach!

In three swift movements, Xander drains the highball in his hand, locks the cash register and turns off the lights.

With a small smile on his face, he wanders out into the moonlight. Looking for Trouble.

The End

This particular thing was written in honor of moosesal's birthday and was also posted at her special birthday community, hetforum.

It's part of a Spander human AU 'verse that I started for winterlive's birthday, "Trouble in Paradise" and continued because I owed reremouse a bit of repentance, "Trust Me". This little ficlet directly follows "Trouble in Paradise" and is quite a bit before "Trust Me." I do plan to keep filling in the 'verse as birthdays and other inspirations strike.

Part Two ~ Sex on the Beach

As he makes his way along the beach by moonlight, eyes tracking the footprints in the sand, it occurs to Xander that it’s been way too long since he’s seen any action. He’s far too excited by the prospect, can barely keep himself calm enough not to be humiliating. He focuses on his breathing. In, out. In…

The exhale catches in his throat as Xander looks up and sees him. That face, that body. That expression, that body language. Had Xander being thinking they spelled “trouble”? He’d been wrong. They spell “sex, sex, sex.”

It occurs to Xander that there may be other factors contributing to his current level of excitement, besides his self-imposed dry spell.

“Wasn’t sure you’d come, luv.”

That voice, for example.

It occurs to Xander that this is his chance to say something clever—something sexy, smooth and sophisticated to prove that he’s far more masterful and metropolitan than he let on back at the bar.

“You – you weren’t?”

Except that he’s not those things. Not at all.

But this walking fantasy—it occurs to Xander that he doesn’t even know the man’s name—doesn’t seem to mind. Just smiles and steps closer, right up into Xander’s personal space.

“Thought I might have come on too strong. Scared you off.”

Xander shakes his head. “No. Oh no. I - I just… I didn’t… I mean, I don’t…”

“Shhh.”

Fingers brush across his lips and the hand rolls over his cheek, knuckles sliding from his temple down his jaw and it occurs to Xander that he couldn’t speak now if he tried. Not even to ask the name of the man who’s leaning closer and closer, about to kiss him. Then that man is kissing him and what’s in a name? And isn’t that a famous question or something? And holy hell can this guy kiss.

Ladies and gentlemen, the coherent thoughts have left the building. Feelings are now in the driver’s seat and they don’t care if they’re mixing metaphors. And Xander doesn’t care either because they’re good feelings. Damn good feelings. Jesus-Christ-where-have-I-been-all-my-life? feelings. Hot, wet, hard, smooth feelings. Tingling, tightening, shaking, shivering feelings. Please-sir-might-I-have-some-more? feelings.

And then the feeling of bare skin against sand.

The body over his pulls away for a moment and Coherent Thought’s distant cousin, Semi-Coherent Thought, makes a cameo. It occurs to Xander that there’s more to this whole sex thing than a hot stranger, two raging erections and his naked ass. If memory serves—and, okay, there’s really no guarantee of that, but still—there are certain supplies involved. Things not normally found on a beach, unless a freighter carrying drug store supplies had recently shipwrecked, and Astroglide and Trojans were about to wash up on the shore. And really what were the odds of that?

Xander looks up. Or unless the stranger who’s about to fuck you happens to carry such items around in his back pocket. And it occurs to Xander that he should probably be disturbed by this fact, but instead he can’t seem to decide if he wants to be fucked by this guy or just to be him. The kind of guy who walks around ready for a fuck. The kind of guy who probably gets that fuck about ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time.

And then the decision is out of Xander’s hands. It’s either in the hand wrapped around his cock or the one that’s working one, then two fingers up his ass. Xander’s not sure which. Semi-Coherent Thought has taken a hike. Feelings are launching their comeback tour. They still don’t care about mixing their metaphors. Xander doesn’t care either because he’s too busy listening to the dirty things that brandy-flavored voice is whispering in his ear.

Things like Fuck, yeah, you’re so tight and Can’t wait to be buried inside you, pet and Yeah, luv, moan for me. Let me hear how much want it.

And Xander is moaning. And panting. And whimpering. And, okay, that may have been a scream there at the end, but a very manly one… he hopes.

And now, as he lies on the beach, blissful and boneless and buck naked after the best fuck of his young life—by a long shot—it occurs to Xander to wonder “what next?”

He figures there’s probably some sort of etiquette for this sort of situation. Maybe not the kind of thing you’d write Emily Post about, but you know, conventions. Is one of them supposed to slip silently into the night? If so, he hopes it isn’t him, because he’s not sure he could even stumble right now, let alone slip silently. Or maybe just a simple “thanks for the orgasm, man” and a friendly handshake? Anything more formal seems pretty much out of the question. He doesn’t even know the guy’s name, so he couldn’t exactly address a thank-you-for-fucking-me card.

Xander giggles.

And, no, there’s no manly way to giggle.

Crap.

But the man lying beside him just laughs, rolls onto his side to look at Xander and asks, “What?”

Xander covers his eyes with his arm. “Nothing.”

Another soft laugh. “Wonderin’ what’s supposed to happen next?”

Xander doesn’t uncover his eyes. “Kinda.”

“Dunno. Could go back to my room and have another go. Or two.”

A pause, but not a long one. “Okay.”

Still, Xander doesn’t move his body or his arm.

“Something else?” the voice asks.

“A little curious about your name.”

Xander hears the body beside him rise and then there’s a hand on his wrist pulling him up and uncovering his eyes in the process. His gaze slides over blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, soft lips.

“Spike,” the lips say.

“Xander,” Xander says.

The lips kiss him.

“Pleased to meet you,” Spike says.

The End

And the writing continues! Today's inspiration? crazydiamondsue, of course.

Sue, we're damn glad you were born. Keep up the good work. *snogs madly*

This ficlet is the third chronologically of the four Spander human AU ficlets that thus far constitute what I have now dubbed the Trouble!verse.

Don't hate me for where it ends...

Part Three ~ The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

“Pleased… to meet you… too.”

Xander barely gets the words out. His gaze is locked with Spike’s and it seems to be burning him up from the inside out, melting him. Any minute now he expects to be a puddle of goo on the sand.

Xander looks away, off towards the ocean. It’s self-preservation, really. The man needs to be labeled with a biohazard warning. The radiation levels are dangerous.

He hears Spike moving around behind him. What now? Back to Spike’s room, it seems. He’s going home with a stranger. A stranger he let fuck him on the beach before he even knew his name. A stranger he’s hoping will fuck him again and again. And did he mention again?

This is virg— This is uncharted territory for the Xand-man. Deep jungle, wild forest, frozen tundra…

And what the hell is he talking about? This isn’t any of those things. This is a tropical paradise. This is the clear blue ocean. This is the beach. And you don’t take a map or an itinerary to the beach. You bask in the sun. You gaze up into the clear night sky. You breathe the warm, salty air. You listen to the crash of the waves. You don’t plan. You order—or in his case serve—another Mai Tai and have a good time.

You go to the gorgeous stranger’s room and let him—no, beg him—to fuck you through the mattress.

So, clothes. Clothes would be good. Xander sets his sights on his pants, lying a few feet away. He takes a few steps in their direction and…

“Ow, ow, ow! Sand. Sand in uncomfortable places.”

Spike laughs and starts backing toward the ocean, smiling as he beckons for Xander to follow, naked like it doesn’t matter.

And Xander does follow, meeting Spike waist-deep in the salt water, an arm snaking around his waist, pulling their hips together—a hand sliding into his hair, pulling his head down into a wet, hungry kiss, the rhythm of their tongues echoing the rhythm of the waves.

Then his leg is being lifted, wrapped around a slim waist, and a hand is moving over, under, inside his ass, clearing away the grains of sand along with every last thought in Xander’s head beyond the effort to stay standing on his one foot, its toes curling into the ocean floor.

Soon even that thought fails and he’s falling backward, bringing Spike down with him, tongues and bodies still tangled as they go under, then surface seconds later, sputtering and laughing.

The laughter continues, interspersed with kisses and the occasional grope, as they stumble back onto the beach and dress themselves before making their way back to the hotel bar. Spike slips the keys from the belt loop of Xander’s pants and helps himself to a bottle of the good champagne and a bottle of Jack.

“Hey,” Xander says, smiling but worried. “Are you trying to get me fired?”

“Course not, luv.” Spike pulls a few bills from the back pocket of his jeans, steps close to Xander and reaches around to slide the bills into Xander’s back pocket, his lips at Xander’s ear. “That ought to cover it.”

“Are you trying to buy me?” Xander teases.

“Do you want me to buy you?” Spike counters. “Want me to take you, keep you, own you?”

Xander’s skin flushes, his heart pounds, and he has no answer, but does manage a breathless question. “Where’s your room?”

Only it’s not just a room, it’s a suite. One of the nice ones—king size bed draped in fine linens, whirlpool in the bathroom—and Xander isn’t sure what to make of that.

“Shower now or after?” Spike asks, but he doesn’t give Xander time to answer. “After.”

So Xander just stands and watches as Spike strips and throws himself onto the bed, taking the champagne with him, squeezing the bottle between his thighs as he slowly removes the foil. Xander envies the champagne bottle.

“Didn’t answer my question, luv.”

“You answered it yourself.” Xander drifts awkwardly toward the bed.

“Not that question. The one about how you want it. The one about what…” the actions match the words “… pops your cork.”

It’d be cheesy if it wasn’t so damn sexy. Xander is standing at the edge of the bed now. Spike sets the open champagne on the nightstand and crawls toward him, still talking—rough and low.

“Want me to pay you? Want to be my whore?” Spike’s hands are at Xander’s zipper, taking measure of Xander’s interest. “Or maybe the other way ’round. Maybe this is all yours. Rich, powerful you. And me, your high-class hustler. Your rentboy—living only for your pleasure. Always ready, always at your service.”

Xander’s heart is racing, his breath coming in short pants, his cock twitching beneath Spike’s fingertips.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you? Wanna have control.” Spike drops his hands from Xander’s fly, sits back on his heels. “Well, luv, it’s all yours. Not gonna do a thing you don’t order me to do.”

Oh god, oh god, oh god. Xander is out of his head and out of his depth. And all he wants is to tell Spike to take it back—the power, the control. Except that… he doesn’t. He wants Spike to…

“Undress me.”

The End

This 900-word ficlet is a sequel to a slightly shorter ficlet (S/X, human AU) that I wrote last month called "Trouble in Paradise."

This is for reremouse, because I wanted to repent.

Part Four ~ Trust Me

“But I really don’t,” Xander says, even as he closes his eyes and holds still.

“I like your eyes. Don’t fancy poking ’em out.”

“Not on purpose, anyway…”

Spike sighs. “Not at all. Not going to hurt you.”

“Maybe not you, but once I go outside in this eyeliner, other people might.”

“Grew up in a small town, didn’t you?”

“So?”

“So, it’s time to expand your horizons. It’s a crime for a nummy treat like you to stay cooped up behind a bar watching and bein’ watched by straight people all night. Heterosexuals are dead boring, pet. You’re going to love this club. Trust me.”

Xander glances around nervously as they walk side by side in the warm night air. “Can’t we just go back to my place and fuck?”

“Oh, we will. And you’re gonna want it so bad by the time we do. You’ll be gagging for it. Trust me.”

“If I promise that I’m already gagging for it, can we go now? This really isn’t my kind of thing. I prefer to lay low, you know? Stay out of trouble.”

“That what you think I am, luv? Trouble?”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“Oi, when have I ever gotten you in trouble?”

“You’re kidding, right? You got me fired.”

“You didn’t get fired.”

“The words ‘You’re fired’ were uttered. Just because he decided an hour later that he didn’t want to bother looking for someone to replace me, doesn’t mean you didn’t get me fired.”

“Made it up to you, didn’t I?”

Xander smiles. “That you did.”

“Right. So if you don’t enjoy yourself tonight, I promise you’ll be well compensated for your time and suffering. Trust me.”

“Having fun, aren’t you, luv?”

“Alright, yes, I admit it. This was a good idea. I had no idea there were so many hot guys around here.”

“That’s ’cause they don’t hang out in your little straight bar.”

“Point taken.”

Spike wraps his arms around Xander’s waist, tickling Xander’s ear with his breath as he speaks. “So who d’you think is hot?”

Xander snuggles back into Spike. “You.”

“That goes without saying. ’Sides me.”

Xander scans the room until his eyes settle on someone. “That one. Over there. In the gray shirt, dancing.”

Xander doesn’t have to see Spike’s sexy smile to know it’s there. “Good taste, luv. Go dance with him.”

Xander pulls out of Spike’s hold and turns. “What?”

Spike just looks at him steadily. “Go over there, get up real close to him and start moving along with him. He looks like he’ll be able to take it from there.”

“What? Take it where?”

“Wherever he wants to. Let him touch you however he wants, wherever he wants. And you can do whatever you like to him in return.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious, luv. Trust me.”

“But I… That’s… I don’t do that kind of thing. He’s a total stranger.”

“You let me fuck you on the beach the night we met. Before you even knew my name.”

“That was… an exception.”

“Worked out alright, didn’t it?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“Go.”

“But… well, what are you going to do?”

“I’m gonna watch.”

“But what if he tries to…”

“Keep your eyes on me, luv. I’ll let you know when to stop. You have to trust me. Trust me to keep things from going too far.”

“But…”

“Eyes on me, luv. Now go.”

So Xander goes. He edges his way around the dance floor, inches toward the man, glancing at Spike every few seconds, who nods in encouragement.

And then Xander is there, in front of the man, flashing a nervous smile and rolling his hips in time with the music. And the man is smiling back, his hands reaching out to tug Xander closer, flush against his body from hips to shoulders, and Xander’s heart is pounding with the music, pumping the blood downward to fill Xander’s cock.

And yeah, this is hot and getting hotter every second and somewhere behind him, Spike is watching.

Oh shit! He’d forgotten he was supposed to be looking at Spike, supposed to be watching Spike watch him. Xander shifts in the man’s arms, turns so that he’s grinding his ass into the man’s crotch, and now he’s trapped between the heat behind him and the heat in Spike’s eyes and he thinks he might combust, might go up in flames, leaving nothing behind but a pile of ash on the dance floor.

And the man has full access to Xander’s body in this position, takes full advantage. A hand roams up his chest, pinching at his nipples through the thin cotton of his shirt. Another hand heads south, cups his hardness through worn denim for a minute before slipping up over his abs, then dipping back down underneath the denim to slide over hot, bare flesh.

And Xander watches Spike and waits, but Spike just watches back with a hint of a smile, a slight shifting of his weight the only sign that he’s in any way affected by the display before him.

Then the man is whispering in Xander’s ear, suggesting they go somewhere a little more private and Xander doesn’t know what to do, but then he sees Spike shaking his head.

Spike extends his forearm, palm up and crooks his finger.

Xander comes.

The End

Happy birthday, mpoetess!
*hugs, kisses and touches inappropriately*

Yes, today is the anniversary of mpoetess's birth, and you know what that means... It's time for another ficlet in my Spander human AU Trouble!verse.

Of course, I should have written the followup to "The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea," but instead this ficlet actually takes place a week after "Trust Me." Warnings for one of mpoetess's favorite kinks and other general naughtitude.

Part Five

“I don’t know.”

“Sure you do, luv. Answer’s there. You’ve just gotta look inside yourself.”

Xander snorts. “Thank you, oh Jedi Master. But the only force I wanna feel inside me right now is your…”

Spike holds out his hand as Xander starts to get off the bed. “No so fast, young Skywalker, I told you to—Wait, that’s not it, is it? ’Cause I’m not sure a game of hide of the light saber is really my…”

“No, that’s not it.”

“But there is an ‘it,’ then, yeah?”

“There’s no it.”

Spike just raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, there’s lots of its. You know there’s lots of its. You seem to have a knack for finding them. But it’s not like there’s a list in my head, you know?”

“Don’t need a list. Just need one.”

Xander thinks for a minute, but his mind is still blank. “For fuck’s sake, Spike, I don’t know. Can’t you just let me blow you or something?”

Xander tries to stand again and again Spike holds out his hand. “Sit.”

Xander sits.

“Stay.”

Xander stays.

“Good boy.”

Xander smirks as Spike gets out of his chair and walks toward him. “So, what? Now you’re going to train me? Like a pet?”

“Would you like that… pet?” Spike steps closer, running slender fingers through Xander’s soft hair. Once, twice, three times. Yes, petting him. “Want me to buy you a collar and a leash and teach you to follow all my commands? Sit, stay, kneel, suck. Bend over…”

Xander draws a ragged breath as Spike cups his chin and brushes a thumb over his lower lip. “That sounds…”

“Yeah?” Spike waits.

“Kinda cheesy.”

Spike sighs and rolls his eyes. “Then you’re gonna have to tell me what’s in that head of yours.”

“I can’t. I really don’t know. I didn’t do this stuff before you. You’ve taught me everything I know about…”

“What gets you hot? Gets you hard? Gets you wet? Gets you off?”

“Yes, about that. This… this rela— this thing we have going…”

“Can call it a relationship, luv.”

“Okay, this relationship—it’s like… Kinkology 101, you know?”

Spike smirks. “Mmm, so I’m the professor then, yeah? Makin’ ya learn all yer lessons?”

“Somehow I don’t buy you as the stern and bookish type, Spike.”

“You don’t buy me?” Spike asks, accent shifting from backroom to drawing room on a dime. “I’m afraid I’m not for you to buy or not to buy, young man. Now tell me—in what manner would you prefer to earn your marks? On your knees? On your back? Or shall I bend you over my desk?”

Xander just stares.

Spike smiles. “Yes?”

“No.” Xander swallows, reconsiders, but still shakes his head. “No.”

Spike raises an eyebrow, doesn’t miss a beat. “Shall I be the headmaster, then? The strict but handsome director of an academy for wayward boys, who prefers to handle all matters of disciple… personally?”

“Spike…”

“Are you a wayward boy, Xander? Have you been naughty? Do you need to be punished?”

“How do you even say these things with a straight face? How is the cheesy porno soundtrack playing in my head right now not playing in yours?”

“So you don’t want to be taken over my knee and spanked?”

Xander means to say no.

In Xander’s silence, Spike’s smile spreads. “So you do want to be spanked.”

Xander focuses on the floor. “Not… not that way.”

Still standing over him, Spike tilts Xander’s chin until their eyes meet. “Not what way? Not over my knee?”

“Not…” Xander’s eyes close, then open again. “Not with the roleplaying.”

Then suddenly Spike isn’t over Xander anymore. Xander is over Spike—lying over Spike’s lap to be precise—his face pressing into the comforter, his cock pressing ever firmer into Spike’s thigh, and Spike’s right hand pressing into his back while the left one wanders over his denim-clad ass.

Then the hand lifts and comes down. Just once and lightly, but holy gah! The slap might not have been hard, but Xander sure is.

A voice comes from above. “Why am I doing this?”

Seconds pass and another smack, presumably to get Xander’s attention since Xander suspects he was asked a question back there somewhere, but the thoughts they have a’scattered, a’scattered to the winds.

“Huh?”

“Why am I doing this?”

“Uh… because I asked you to?”

Another smack, which seems to indicate a wrong answer. And sweet Jesus, being wrong has never felt so goddamn right.

“No, luv, tell me what you’ve done to deserve this.”

“I… I… I don’t know.” And I can’t think with you spanking me, you bastard, so just spank me already! And Xander knows there’s something wrong with that thought, but hello? Not thinking, remember?

The hand doesn’t lift and land again, just covers and caresses. “Don’t have to know, luv, just have to imagine. Now tell me—what have you done to deserve this?”

“I… I…”

Spike takes pity and helps out. “Maybe we went back to that club tonight, yeah? The one where we went last weekend…”

Xander begins to picture it. “Yeah, that club. And you… you dressed me up and made me up, like last time. And you picked out this guy for me on the dance floor and… you sent me over to dance with him and… and you told me to let him touch me…”

“And did he touch you, luv?”

“Yeah.”

“And did you let him?”

“Yeah.”

“Where?” Spike asks, running his hand over Xander’s ass. “Here?”

“Yeah.”

Spike slides the hand over Xander’s hip to trace fingers along Xander’s fly. “Here?”

“Yeah.”

“And what was I doing, luv?”

“Watching.”

“And what were you doing?”

“Watching you.”

“And then?” Spike prompts.

“And then this other guy came up and starting dancing with us.”

“Uh huh. And did he touch you?”

“Yes.”

“And did you let him?”

“Ye-esss!” The answer ends in a cry as Spike’s palm slaps his ass, three times in rapid succession.

“Did you have permission to let him touch you?” Three more slaps, harder now. Robbing Xander of breath. “Did you?”

“No.”

“And what was I doing?”

“I—I don’t know.”

Another set of blows. “Why not?”

“Because… because I wasn’t watching you.”

Six in a row now and Xander is about to cry or come or both.

“And then what?”

“You came and took me away from them.”

“Took you where?”

“Home.”

“Why?”

“To… to give me what I…”

Two more slaps—the hardest yet. With tears in his eyes, Xander comes in his pants.

Spike smiles as he brushes his fingers through the hair at the back of Xander’s neck. “Deserved,” he says.

The End

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