Spander Inquisition

Well, here's my Spander Inquisition story. Written for wondersheep--I worked in what you requested, but it may not be quite what you had in mind. Hope you like it anyway. Happy Inquisition!

Thanks to rubywisp for organizing this!


Title: On Location in Egypt
Author: dessert_first
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: S/X, S/everyone, X/everyone... it gets complicated.
Summary: AU. What if instead of evil, the Hellmouth's calling card was something a little different? lotr_porn did it first. lotr_porn does it best.
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.
Thanks: Thanks to Annie for being gracious enough to do the fastest beta in the West!
Feedback: Would be much appreciated. Detailed feedback with the good, the bad and the ugly would be the cat's pajamas.


The lights are hot, the hour is late, and Xander is heartily sick of this same stupid scene which they won't be able to finish until the new guy chills the hell out and does his job already. The crew has invited Xander along for drinks after this, but at this stage he just wants to go home. If they ever finish, that is. Fucking new guy.

Or not fucking new guy, to be precise.

Giles is in full director mode, patiently trying to get the guy--Randy? Riley?--back on track, but Xander figures it's a waste of time. The guy just doesn't have the heart for it. Or, well, the dick for it, really. Lindsey, who is always up on all the production gossip, says those cornfed good looks and broad, honest face screen tested beautifully. But what's the point if he can't get some fucking wood when they need him to? He's already been through four fluffers, making the last one--Andrew, was it?--run off in tears of humiliation. Xander had offered to give the big galoot a hand himself, but the guy was so jumpy he'd practically put Xander's eye out, and Lindsey had said there was no way he was going in after that, so they were quickly running out of options.

"Pathetic, huh?" Lindsey smirks, elbowing Xander from his spot reclining against the hay bales. His cowboy hat, the only article of clothing he is currently wearing besides his elaborately tooled boots, is pulled low over his eyes, his hair sticking out in mussed tufts on the back of his head. The ramshackle barn looks perfect, as all Ethan's sets are, down to the horse blanket he'd thoughtfully spread out after snarking about prickly straw and tender body parts not mixing. That Ethan really knows his business, Xander reflects, idly toying with one of the sets of tackle. Uh, tack. Whatever.

It's not that Xander is without sympathy. He remembers his early days in the porn biz, feeling nervous in front of the cameras, hell, feeling nervous way back when he started, stripping at the Fabulous Ladies Nightclub up in Oxnard. Remembers his own screen test with porn legend Rupert "Bodice-Ripper" Giles, petrified he'd screw it up and never get cast in anything again, and if you don't do porn in Sunnydale what the hell else are you supposed to do? It's the town's life blood, after all. Sunnydale is "Porn Capital of the World," and proud of it.

Xander can still recall his nervousness meeting his costars for his first real job onscreen just as if were yesterday. Meeting Buffy Summers had been a dream come true, practically. And when her scene partner Faith walked in, well. Xander could hardly believe his luck. He was barely coherent by the time his old friend Willow showed up to complete the foursome.

But none of that really matters at this point. What matters is they're over schedule, over budget, and they need to wrap this baby. Which they cannot do until their third stud gets off his ass and into somebody else's. Hell, Xander thinks, hearing loud sniffling from across the room. Is he crying?

Oz and Tara are deep in conversation, and keep darting glances over at Xander. In fact, so is most of the crew of Hell of a Mouth Productions. There is a rapidly sinking weight in his stomach as he turns to the right. Lindsey is also looking at him.

"Oh, no," Xander says, hands raised up as if to ward off the inevitable. "This has nothing to do with me. Get somebody else to bail you out. What about Devon?"

Oz shrugs, adjusting a dial on the sound board. "Can't make it. Stomach virus."

"Xander," Tara says, her gentle voice sounding ever so slightly disappointed in him.

Xander bristles, casts about wildly. "What about Larry?"

Oz shrugs again. "Working on another gig as we speak."

"Forrest?"

"Booked."

"Graham?"

"Vacationing in Belize."

"Adam?"

Oz just looks at him.

"Yeah, okay, not Adam. But there's got to be another option! Hell, send in Faith with a strap-on; it'll be a crossover hit!"

"Xander." Dawn also looks disappointed in him as she shifts about her production notes. "This is an all-male movie. The distributors will never go for a new pitch now and Anya will have a hissy fit if we go any further over budget. You know what we need to do."

"Oh, it's what we need to do, is it?! Funny how you're all looking at me!" Xander's crossing the line over into hysteria, but he thinks he's entitled. "I don't have to put up with this crap, alright? You want him, you call him." Being Alexander Steel's gotta count for something around here, right?

There is a sudden slam from the studio doors as the disconsolate new guy runs out.

Lindsey's hand is steady and warm on Xander's, and his big blue eyes are sincere. "Xander," he says. "It's okay. I'll be here. You can do this."

Dawn hands him his cell phone and Xander closes his eyes in defeat, dialing from memory even after all this time. "Hello, Spike? It's me, Xander. Listen, I need a favor."

---

There is a long silence on the other end of the line, so long Xander begins to wonder if the connection fell through or if his cell fritzed out.

"Xaaan-derrr Harris," Spike finally says, mockingly drawing out each syllable. "I didn't realize Hell had frozen over."

"Yeah, well, uh, something came up. Or didn't, really."

A longer pause this time. "I take it that's your cute way of saying you have a problem on one of your movies? And you somehow figured calling me was a good idea?"

"Look, Spike, I just... this is important, okay?" It rankles but he says it anyway. "Please?"

The longest pause yet, long enough to get a guy really twitchy. "I guess Hell really has frozen over."

"Look Spike, just--please, okay? We're in studio B, everything's all set up, just one scene. Please?"

Spike's tone is almost frighteningly flat. "Group thing?"

"Yeah, it's a cowboy deal, me and two other guys, only now it's just me and one other guy, so--"

"I'm not fucking you."

That really stings more than it should, probably, but Xander decides to ignore it and just demand a big fat bonus come payday. He is, after all, a professional. And, well, Spike already hung up.

---

Xander does his best to maintain this professional demeanor as he and Lindsey shoot some darts in the cluttered little studio office while they wait for Spike to come save the day. Lindsey would probably be just as happy to play the game naked, but Tara got him to don his satiny blue between-scenes robe anyway. Xander wears his own battered red robe and the requisite cowboy boots, having ditched his hat a while ago. Naked darts, man. That just sounds like a recipe for disaster.

"You sure he's coming?" Lindsey asks, all fake-casual.

"He'll be here," Xander tells him.

"Well, what exactly did he say?"

"He said..." Xander frowns. "Look, it's not what he said, it's the way he said it. He did have one little corollary against fucking me personally, but other than that, he's in."

Lindsey's dart hits the wall. "What?!"

Xander just pretends to concentrate on aiming his next throw. It's not the kind of comment one cares to repeat. He ends up way off center anyway, hitting Dawn's ironic "Happiest Place on Earth" Disneyland poster instead of the dartboard.

Damn. Mickey gets it right between the eyes.

---

There is an awed sort of silence on the set as Spike arrives, all movie-star good looks and dark sunglasses even though it's night. He's let his hair grow chin-length and free of bleach; conditioned into submission, the soft sandy curls frame his face. He dumps his duffel bag into a corner and strides onto the set. "Let's get to work," he says.

Dawn rushes up to him, tackling him in a fierce hug. "Spike! You made it!"

The impact knocks his sunglasses askew, but there is a slight smile on Spike's face as he takes them off and hugs Dawn back. "Finally made intern, did you Little Bit? What's Big Sis have to say about that?"

Dawn tosses her hair. "Hey, I can work my way through college any way I choose."

Spike just raises an eyebrow.

"As long as it's behind the cameras," she relents, rolling her eyes.

The crew choruses the rest along with her: "'And absolutely no fluffing!'"

Dawn grins. "So how'd you get away? How long are you here for? Can I book you for some more stuff? There's a new film coming up with Parker and Harmony, we're calling it 'Revenge of the Fluffers' around the office, and, um, some stuff with..." she trails off. "But you probably don't want to think about all that just now, right? Why don't you go get changed and I'll get Giles. You want a bottled water or anything? Dresser? Fluffer?"

"No worries, luv. I'm sure Tara here can look after me just fine." He gives the woman in question a saucy wink and a slight leer.

Tara grins back, simultaneously ducking her head and biting her lip. "It's good to see you again, Spike," she says.

Spike greets the rest of the crew, hugs and backslapping all around, until he gets to the spot just outside the office, where Xander is still rooted to the ground, with Lindsey hovering nearby in solidarity.

"Lindsey Long," Spike smiles, blue eyes meeting blue. "Been a while. Hear you've made quite a name for yourself."

Lindsey shrugs. "It's still 'MacDonald' back home," he says. "'Lindsey' to my friends." He shakes Spike's hand, throws in a little arm clasp. Hell, they'll be screwing like bunnies later, anyway; Xander can't really expect too much standoffishness.

Would be nice, though.

Spike's eyes flicker over Xander, like he's just a blip on the radar. "Harris," he says evenly.

"Spike."

Spike just stands there a minute, not quite looking anywhere in particular, then nods to himself with a grim little half smile and walks away.

---

"I told you, Ripper," Spike says, arms crossed and jaw firm, looking oddly at home in the worn cowboy getup. "I'm not fucking him. This is not Spike's heartrending reunion with Alexander Steel." He turns, gesturing at Lindsey. "I'll fuck that one."

Lindsey rolls his eyes at Xander.

"But the script," Giles points out, "the script calls for--"

"Look. I'm doing you lot a favor, which I should have known would be the only reason Harris there would ever have called me, so we're just gonna play this my way. I don't fuck Harris. Work around it or bloody well get someone else."

"Yes, yes, of course," Giles relents, keeping a wary eye on the clock. "Let's just get on with it, then."

---

Lindsey is a trooper, going all out helping Xander forget Spike's self-righteous crap as they set up their scene. He takes his time, licking and nibbling in all Xander's favorite spots, doing that thing with his tongue that Xander taught him one night when they'd slipped off to Mexico to get sloshed. That very same thing that Spike had taught Xander, back when--Xander's brain really needs to shut up now.

Cut and Spike comes into the barn as wide-eyed as that Randy-Riley-whatever guy could ever have hoped to look, taking in the hot cowboy action on the barnyard floor. He clutches a toolbox and a little can of WD-40, stutters as he asks about greasing the stall door hinges. He's donned a soft Southern twang not unlike Lindsey's own, and he even manages to blush charmingly as he averts his eyes from the writhing pair.

When Lindsey grins and suggests a better use for the oil, Spike fumbles and drops it, scandalized.

Those are the little details that make Spike tops in this business, no pun intended. Well, that and his bigger-than-average dick, but that's kind of a given around here. One quarter of the original Scourge of Europe, Spike's been one of the golden boys of the pornography industry for more years than anyone can remember, even after the members of that wildly successful foursome stopped making movies together. Eighteen blockbuster sequels testify to the dedication of Scourge fandom, spawning hits like "The Scourge of Glasgow," "The Scourge of Seville," "The Scourge of Luxembourg," "The Scourge of Venice," "The Scourge of Ibiza," and the memorable "The Scourge of the French Riviera."

But it's not like Xander spent a lot of time looking that stuff up, or owns any of them or anything.

Even in a room full of people, with Giles periodically stopping and repositioning them and calling out directions and Jesse's and Scott's cameras swooping around, Spike still manages to make the most mundane scenes and dialogue hot. The toolbox and WD-40 are soon forgotten in the corner, Spike's thrusts perfectly timed as he fucks into Lindsey's ass while Lindsey blows Xander and Xander can almost imagine it's him. Spike's cool fingers on his skin, inside him, Spike's cock pounding away at that little bundle of nerves deep inside.

Xander keeps in character 'cause he's a fucking professional, pun definitely intended, but it's not easy. There are so many memories to draw from and they're all so good and it's hard to remember what the hell he's so angry about when Spike pulls Lindsey up and Lindsey flips Xander over and slickly pushes into him. Suddenly they all become some kind of crazy sex engine, pumping and churning and even though it's Lindsey's cock they are Spike's thrusts and it's so hard not to imagine things are the way they used to be before Spike... before Spike... Before Spike did that very bad thing he did to Xander, even if Xander can't remember what it is right now because he sees sparkling colors when he closes his eyes.

---

Later still it's Lindsey's turn to fuck Spike, and Xander thinks he might come apart from the agony of not touching. Spike is on his back against a hay bale, knees up over Lindsey's shoulders, face and body straining for release. Hands off, hands off, hands off, Xander chants inside his head even as he strokes off while he watches, sensing the cameras in the periphery of his vision swooping around to capture everything. He subtly angles his body toward camera two, concentrating on the heavy, flushed organ in his hand, curling his fingers just tightly enough and drawing the palm ever so slowly up and jerkhardfast down.

He does not imagine it's Spike's small, hard, clever hand on his aching flesh because Spike is a bastard.

---

"I need a big fucking drink," Lindsey declares, throwing an arm around Xander's shoulders. His hat is long gone, his hair mussed beyond redemption, blue irises almost drowned out by his immense dark pupils, lips pink and swollen. He stumbles a little, wincing. "That was..." One look at Xander's stony face and he wisely opts not to say anything further. "Come get a drink with me, Xander. Gonna get haaaammered."

"You don't need a drink, Linds, you need a fucking shower."

Oz ambles over, equipment put away for the night, and sniffs at Lindsey. "You kinda do, man."

Lindsey transfers himself from Xander to Oz, curling in to press his face into the curve of Oz's neck. "I though you liked me all aromatic."

A little Oz smile blooms. "I always like you. Come on, I'll help you shower. It'll be a public service."

The pair head off in search of soap and water, and Xander is left alone in the echoingly empty studio. He runs a hand through his own shower-damp hair, shrugs, and grabs his messenger bag, the one Dawn teasingly calls his "manpurse." His walk out to the parking lot is halted by a lone figure wreathed in cigarrette smoke standing just outside the lobby doors.

"Spike," Xander says, letting the "you bastard" remain unspoken. He figures it's a given by now, anyway.

Spike doesn't look at him. "Harris."

They just stand there for a minute. Xander considers and discards a dozen comments. "Looks like you're still a hell of a fuck" is the one that slips out, unfortunately.

Spike snorts. "Yeah, I'm a real pro at sticking my dick wherever it's wanted."

"You--you changed your hair."

"Oh, yeah. A while ago." An absent-minded tug at a curl, a shrug. "Darla wanted something different for a couple of new movies."

"It's... I like it." Hell, the guy did them a favor, after all, even if he was insufferable about it. And Xander does like the hair, kind of. It looks soft. His hand twitches a little, for some reason.

---

Part 2