You've Got Spike
TITLE: you've got spike
AUTHOR: michelle/shelly
EMAIL: mwkpdp@prodigy.net, mlwilkins@ucdavis.edu
RATING: NC17 for icky phone sex
DISCLAIMERS: all belong to joss and UPN. Just having non profit fun.
SPOILERS: through season 6. but cannon has been recklessly tossed aside for giggles.
PAIRING: well. xander/spike/anya. once i get there. so far its s/various callers.
SUMMARY: well...there was this nifty spike!working idea floating around on nummytreats, where spike was a phone sex hooker and i thought "cool, a quick sexy spike fic!" and then THIS happened. o well.
DEDICATION: for sunshine and pinky. and cat, cause she shares the love.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Part 1
“Phone actors needed, eh?” Spike picked up the colorful pamphlet and looked at it more closely, ignoring the various fights breaking out in the bar. “Do you have a sexy voice? Earn money from home. Call for an interview.” He read out loud, pulling his duster from beneath his ass as he sat more comfortably on the bar stool.
“I’ve a damn lovely phone voice, if I do say so myself.”
“You do, Spike, really you do. Yeah, okay, you don’t call me much, but just from hearing you speak, well, I’ll go with lovely across the phone wires too. What can I get you? O-neg?”
Spike nodded to Willy. “Yeah, Willy, pour me some ‘o the good stuff.” He grinned at the harried barkeep as he dodged a flying barstool. “Thought you bolted those things down, Willy. In’t that some type of code, Willy?” Spiked rocked experimentally on his stool. Bolted. He pocketed the rest of the pamphlets.
Willy ducked while continuing to pour Spike his blood. He popped back up. “I did!” A fist flew past Spike, who easily ducked, letting Willy take it on the chin. He moved back, waiting for Willy to come back into view. “How about a little help, Spike, ole buddy?” Willy asked rubbing his jaw. “Things seem to have gotten out of hand.”
Spike took a look at the chaos surrounding him. Nothing but vamps and a few demons he was sure he could easily take. “'Buddy' is it, then? Yeah, I can help. But?” He ducked again as another barstool came flying over the bar, smashing Willy’s new mirror. “What’s in it for me?”
“What do you want?” Willy asked from his hiding place beneath the bar.
“Oh, I donno. What’s a vamp like me really want? Stuff. Blood. Money. The usual.” He eyed the shiny pamphlet in his hand. “Maybe a room in the back with a phone line.” He grinned before lighting a cigarette. He drew deep and blew his smoke in the face of a vampire that was suddenly held down against the bar by a large demon of indeterminate origin. “That sound like a good deal to you, mate?” Spike asked the vampire.
“Help me.” The fledgling wheezed, looking up at Spike with wild, fear filled eyes, while clawing at the appendage at his throat.
“What? Oh, sure.” Spike stood and patted at the folds of his duster. ”Well, bloody hell. I’ve left my big knife in me other coat!” He told the vampire. He smiled, waving a hand in the air. “No, no. I’m just kidding.” He pulled out a machete and grinned. “I never leave home without it.” Spike quickly decapitated the demon, sending its head flying over the bar and into Willy’s lap. “There ya go. All better now, luv?” Spike asked, his face a mask of concern.
The fledgling pushed the headless body off and stood, a hand at his throat and a grin for Spike. “Thanks. For not having to breath anymore, that choking thing still hurts, doesn’t it?”
Spike patted him on the shoulder. “Yeah. It’s surprising how many things still hurt when you’re a creature of the night. Lot’s more for you to learn, boy. But, say, let’s hope this won’t hurt too much, eh?” Spike staked the fledgling. “Oh. And you’re welcome.” He told the pile of dust.
Spike moved into the mass of flying fists, fangs, claws, blades and good ole head butting, with a grin of anticipation and delight.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“1 800 ACTRESS.” Spike mumbled through puffy, bruised lips, as he punched in the numbers. “Well, that’s a bit of a put off.”
“Hello.”
“And hello to you. What’s with the 'actress' phone number? Says in your fancy brochure that women and *men* are welcome.”
“Please hold.”
“I don’t want to-“
Click and hold music.
“Bloody shits.”
Spike entertained himself by thinking about what he’d have done to the creators of Muzac had he ever been able to track the bastards down, while doing his best to ignore the orchestrated version of Journey’s Lovin’ Touchin’ Squeezin’. It wasn’t until he'd switched his fantasy of bloody retribution to the *members* of Journey that a perky voice came across the line. Right in the middle of Steve Perry's high pitched pleas for mercy. Darn.
“Thank you for calling 1-800-ACTRESS. Please tell me your name.”
“M’name’s Spike.”
“That’s great, honey. What’s your real name?”
Pause.
“*Spike*. S. P. I. K. E. Are you daft, luv? Maybe you should switch me to the non-daft operator. I’m not in a terribly good mood, seeing as how I’ve been tortured whilst on hold for so bloody damn long a’ time.”
Chuckle.
“I love it, honey. This is a persona that will make you and I loads of money, but if you want to get paid we’ll need a name and social security number.” A pause in which Spike could hear typing. “Do you have any kinks you just won’t deal with?”
Spike raised his scarred brow. Was this a test? “Sex with animals that have *always * been animals?” He tossed out. Just encase you were *supposed * to have a kink with which to avoid.
Giggle.
“So, you’ll do the fantasy thing? Werewolves? Werecats? That sort of thing?”
Um? He flipped through the pamphlet again. It had *seemed* a totally human gig. “Yeah sure. Why not?”
“Oh, goodie. You’ll be a treasure. Your area code has a lot of far out kink requests, and we don’t have many operators willing to deal with most of them. You don’t have a gender preference do you? Just let me say this, and no pressure intended, you’ll make loads more money if you are gender neutral.”
“Consider me gender neutral then, pet.”
“Well, I can tell you right now, Spike, you are in and you have a job, a calling, if you will,” Giggle. “With us, if you want. Now, you’ll need to have a grounded phone line. No cell phones or even cordless phones are allowed. That won’t be a problem will it?”
Spike took a look around the small office that was Willy’s and now his. “That’s fine. I’m all grounded, love. Don’t even own a cell phone. Why, those cell phones cause brain cancer, you know.”
“Excellent.” Giggle. “Not about the brain cancer, but I’m glad to have you on board. We just need to get your account set up. I’m going to need your full name and social security number. We can send your W-4 forms in the mail and you can just mail them back. We won’t even have to wait. We can get you set up as quickly as you’re comfortable with. You’ll start off with an hourly wage, and you can earn bonus money for each repeat caller that requests you personally and there are additional bonuses for calls in excess of thirty minutes. We are a $4.99 a minute operation. Also, we offer a line of headsets, props, scripts and chairs that you can purchase through our convenient payment plan. Again, no pressure, but I do suggest a comfy chair, if you don’t have one already. I’m serious, about that. We don’t even make any money from the chairs. We send you out. We only 'highly recommend'.”
Spike took a moment to ponder the idea of anyone paying five dollars a bleedin’ *minute* to toss off while talking on the phone. And then he grinned. Five dollars a minute to talk dirty with Spike. Well, yes, of course. A bargain, really.
“Not a problem, luv. Let’s you and I get me all set up, then. It’s Xander Harris. Well, that’s Alexander.” Spike reached into his pocket to pull out a small note pad that held all of Alexander Harris’ vital statistics. Spike just hoped he’d be able to figure out a way to get the social security taxes back once the whelp kicked the bucket. Maybe he could set himself up as Xander’s son. Yeah. That’d be a good one.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Spike lounged in his ergonomically correct chair, feet on the desk, headset on, and became more and more pissed as he sipped at his warm blood and continued to listen.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Patty, luv, you’ve got to *stop* this. He’s no good. No good for you, no good for the kids.”
“I know, Spike. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just can’t seem to tell him to get lost! I’ve asked my parent’s—“
BUZZ. CALL ON LINE 666.
“I’ve got to take this, Pat. I’ll buzz you if they want a girl, ‘kay, pet?”
“You’re the best, Spike.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“You’ve got Spike. What're gonna do with him?”
“I’m gonna fuck you, Spike. That’s what I’m gonna do. Hard and fast. And so deep you’re gonna taste me-“
Spike chuckled, low and deep. “No, no, pet. You’re gonna *get* fucked. That’s why you call Spike. To get fucked. Cause you’re a nasty little bottom boy, aren’t you? And you *love* it. You want it. You just can’t say no to a hard cock, can you, boy? Get on your knee’s, pet.”
Silence.
“On your *knees*, boy! I’m unzipping my pants and pulling out my cock. And your mouth is?”
Silence. Panting.
“And your mouth is?”
“At your cock.”
“Yes.” Spike hissed. “Right where it should be . . .” Spike hit the remote, turning on the TV. “Lick me. You may not suck ‘till I say so. Just lick.” Spike flipped through channels before settling on a Brady Bunch rerun. “I’ve got a nice big butt plug here. And oh, this is just terrible, but I’ve no lube. Bend over, boy.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Okay, I’m back Patty. Sorry, but he didn’t want to visit the girl place.”
Patty chuckled over the line. “It’s okay. Anyway, I’ve got a guy that wants to watch; well *listen* to you beat me while I suck him off. You up for it?”
Spike snickered. ”Bless the truly depraved, I say; more money for us. Baby girl, you know I love to beat you while you suck cock.”
Patty giggled. “You should be married, Spike.”
“And you should be in therapy, Patty.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Spike caught Xander just as he was entering the apartment building. He’d managed to snag the W-4 forms without a problem. Why’d the actual *money* have to be a problem?
“Spike! Good to see you.” Xander grinned at him, his entire face animated with the grin. The grin was wiped away as quickly as it had come. “Not. Go away.”
“Can’t. We need to talk.”
“We do? No we don’t.” Xander continued walking, going inside his building and stopping to pick up his mail, Spike still following him. Xander grabbed his mail, and went to the stairs, bypassing the elevator.
“Elevator not working?” Spike questioned, following.
Xander gave him an incredulous look. “Elevator? Are you nuts? Hellmouth? Elevators? Not a mix I want to. . .mix.” He continued up the stairs, doing his best to ignore Spike. Xander reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys as they reached his landing. He moved forward stopping to unlock two of the three deadbolt-locks before turning back to Spike. “What?”
“We need to talk.”
“Again I’ll say, no we don’t.”
Spike sighed. He hadn’t really thought about this part of his being Xander Harris. Hell. He should have been Willow. Or the other one. Or even Giles. He needed to get to know more mortal men. Even with all the new people he’d met and, yes, befriended, in the course of his newfound career as a phone sex actor, it seemed that all he got to know were women. He’d have used Willy, but that would have been at a price he wasn’t prepared to pay. “You have some mail of mine.”
“What? You used my address to get mail? Thanks *so* much for asking.” Xander snipped, opening the door and stepping inside. He looked at Spike, still at the threshold, and gave an aggrieved sigh. “Oh, come in Spike. Come in, and make yourself at home.”
Spike followed him inside, shutting the door behind him. He locked all the deadbolts.
“Unlock one of those!”
“Kay. Any particular one?”
“Nope. Just one of them.”
“Okay, pet.” Spike unlocked the middle. “There ya go. All safe and unlocked.”
“So, you made me casa su casa?”
Spike reached into his pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes and his lighter. Bringing the pack to his mouth he pulled one out and lit it with a fluid motion of his Zippo before pocketing the pack and the lighter. He drew deep and exhaled smoke while mumbling, “Not exactly, mate.”
“Uh, huh.” Xander nodded while going through his mail. “What *did * you do, then, oh dead person I can’t seem to get away from? Bill, bill, junk, bill, evil people that want to get me even deeper into debt with their sneaky credit, junk, bill, *hello *, check!” Xander looked at Spike with a grin, shaking an envelope. “Talk to me, Spike, my man, um, my vamp! I’m all happy. I know a check when I see one! So speak. Nothing you say can ruin the bliss of unforeseen monies!”
Part 2
“It’s not like I’m even asking you to pay the taxes or asking for the Social Security payments back. Well, unless we can find a way to work that out. But I’m willing to pay you back for what ever taxes they, um, tax you with”
“I’m totally bliss free, Spike. You’ve managed to suck the bliss out of an unexpected check.”
“It wasn’t unexpected. *I * was expecting it. That’s why I’m here.” Spike’s voice was slow and calm, as if talking to an imbecile. Or to a bliss-free Xander.
Xander slapped the envelope against his thigh while glaring at Spike. He looked down and quickly ripped it open. He gulped. “Fuck. How long have you been doing this?”
Spike reached for his check, but Xander quickly stood and held the check over his head, waving it. “Don’t be naughty, Mr. Harris.” He smirked at Spike. “Legally, morally and any other ‘ly’ I want to use, this is *my * check. It even says so.” He tilted his head to read the check. “Pay to the order of Alexander Harris. Yep, that’s me.”
“A month.”
“Jesus! You got three *thousand * dollars for a month’s work being a phone hooker?”
Spike grinned. They told him he’d be lucky to clear nine hundred dollars working eight hours a night. He’d worked six at the most. His bonuses had really paid off. What could he say? They loved him.
Spike grinned. “I’m a very *talented * phone hooker, it would seem.”
“Yeah. So it would.”
Spike glared at Xander, not at all comfortable with the evil glint in Xander’s eyes, pretty as it might be. “Give me the check, boy.”
“Sure.” Xander sat back down and held out the check, letting Spike snatch it from him. “There ya go. All yours.” His eyes grew comically wide. “Say, Spike. What say I *cash* that for ya? Me being *me* and all, I could do that! And you being. . .what? No one? Certainly not the great gainfully employed and fully tagged and licensed, Alexander Harris. You, not being me, might run into some problems cashing it.”
Spike sat down in the chair facing Xander. “Don’t think I’ll have much trouble cashing it, boy.” He held out his hand. “And don’t think I’m gonna try and fuck you with the taxes. As I’ve said, I’ll pay ‘em. Just as long as we can keep this little arraignment going. No trouble for you at all, plus you’ll have a little something extra for when yer foot’s in the grave.” Spike had it all worked out by now. Hadn't figured out that being Xander's minor next of kin, yet, but give him time.
Xander crossed his legs, one work-boot clad foot coming to rest on his knee. He began to drum his fingers across his ankle. “Yeah, sure. Money for my retirement; that whole after, what is it now, 70? And that’d be nice if I had a hope of living that long.” Xander smirked. “But I’m all about the now, Spike. Just who were you gonna get to cash that?”
Spike remained silent.
“Willy? Yeah, I can see that. And he’d want, what? Half?”
Spike glared but said nothing. Yeah. The git wanted half.
“Me? I’ll do it for a quarter.”
Spike perked up. “Promise?”
Xander laughed. “Promise? You’re asking me for a *promise *, Spike?”
Spike huffed, leaning forward. “This isn’t about lives, Xander, not yours nor your friends, those things don’t get promises.” He waved his hand in the air at the very foolishness of the idea. “This is about *money *. A whole different game. A game we need to play, unfortunately.” Spike looked down at his boots. Worn. Ran a hand over his thigh. Jeans looking thin; thread bare, almost. He couldn’t just scope out a suitably dressed human, his size and build, and take what he wanted any longer. Of course he still could, and did, nick most of what he wanted. Let’s face it, those little tags on clothes were a joke. But it was hard to get by the folks in the shoe store. Bastards didn’t have *both * pairs on display. And, Spike would bet blood, it’d be easier getting into Fort Knox than getting to a carton of smokes these days. He needed money. They both did. He looked up at Xander with a smirk. “Right then. A quarter of my earnings.”
Xander smiled.
“*And* the use of your place, here. And you’ll need to get another phone line. I wouldn’t want you answering line 666 and getting a shock you couldn’t handle.”
“No way, Spike! Forget about it. If you think-“
“Five hundred dollars a month, easy. It’s sure to be more, once I have a place I’m all comfy-like in. I turned down lots o' calls at Willy’s, you understand. I played bouncer too. Very busy with that, I was. Just think of all the lovely money, Xander, once I have a nice quiet place to, uh, work.”
Xander didn’t say anything but rose and went to the kitchen. When he came back, he held two bottles of beer and offered one to Spike. He held out his hand to Spike. Spike took the beer and then the hand and shook it. “We have a deal, then?”
Xander took a pull on the beer and then tightened his grip on Spike’s hand, shaking it. “Yeah. We do.”
“Peachy. I’ll get me things.” Spike took a swallow. “Got a key for me, pet?”
Xander said nothing but went into the kitchen and retrieved a spare key, which he handed over with a grimace. “Buy some ashtrays, Spike. The smoke-free kind. No parties. No minors. Oh, and no killing me or mine.”
“Not even one little minor? What if they *look* eighteen?”
“Smoke free, Spike. The kind with the neato fan that sucks in all the harmful toxins.”
“As you say, pet.” Spike headed for the door. “Don’t wait up for me, luv. Be back soonest.”
“Spike!” Xander called as Spike was headed out the door.
Spike looked back with a raised brow.
“Line 666?”
Spike grinned. “Cute, that, yeah?” He went out the door and closed it with a slam.
Xander went to the door and locked two of the three deadbolts. Then leaned against it and sucked down the rest of his beer. He was very afraid. Just what the hell had he done to his newly found happy Xanderland?
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