something that vaguely resembles fic

[essene_backup]

So this is what comes from watching waaaaaaaay too much American Chopper.

Title: Beautiful Bitch
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: S/X
Author's Note: Human A/U, unbeta'd. I apologize for the funky formatting, Semagic doesn't like to copy from Word apparantly.

Xander strode into the shop, notes and magazine clips in
hand.  He’d been planning and saving and
dreaming about this for what seemed like years.  He inhaled the scent of motor oil and singed metal and couldn’t
stop himself from grinning like a kid in a candy store at the sound of drills
and air guns and assorted machinery.  It
was not that difficult to understand the throbbing in the crotch of his pants
was it?  A throbbing that only
accelerated when the side door to the disorganized office opened and a lanky
man covered with tats and a shock of white-blonde hair entered.

He was wiping his hands on a grease towel, arms flexing and
stretching the languorous blue lines on his arms as he moved towards
Xander.  He tossed the dingy towel
nonchalantly on the desk and then threw out his hand, “Spike.  Can I help you?”

Blinking, Xander cleared his throat and resisted the urge to
adjust his pants as he automatically gripped the offered hand in his and
uttered, “Xander Harris.  I called
earlier.”  It was a firm, warm grip,
bones laying close to the surface, lean fingers rasping out of Xander’s own
callused palm, leaving it feeling warm and empty.

“Right. Want a chopper. 
Said you had some ideas.  Well,
let’s see ‘em then mate.”

Goddamn.  British
accent.  Fucking Billy Idol, Sean
Connery, Mel Gibson (okay, so he was Australian, but damn if the accent didn’t
have the same result) stormed through his brain.  Spike had a striking resemblance to Billy Idol, but was closer to
smooth perfection than the craggy angles Idol offered.  Xander swallowed hard and stepped close to
the counter top, pulse starting to race when Spike stepped next to him.

He laid the assortment of papers on the counter, struck by
the diamond plate it was covered with. 
Only in a chop shop.  He took a deep
breath and started pointing to the things he liked; curves, chrome, hand
stitched seating, powder coating, laced wheels not billet, hand painted tins,
motor by Harley, carb by DaVinci, lean lines, reminiscent of old school, but
some stretch. Rancid green paint with black accents. The more he spoke, the
more Spike leaned in--questioning and probing his exact tastes and making
suggestions, getting nearly as animated as Xander.

By the end of the discussion Xander was breathless, and not
all of it was due to the excitement of finally getting his own chopper built to
his exact specifications.  He looked
close at the bones in Spike’s face, the fullness of his lips, the ice blue of
his eyes and struggled to keep his hands to himself.  This guy was hard-core.  Xander
had seen some of his bikes on the covers of American Iron and Steel
Dreams.  You couldn’t get to the top
of the bike sub-culture by being…well…fucked in the ass--at least not in
bed.  Control, Xan, control.

Spike looked at him briefly, and Xander hastily looked
away.  Spike walked to the other side of
the desk, grabbed a sheet of drawing paper from under a pile of binders and
wrenches and started sketching.  Xander
watched as a bike started to flow from pencil to paper, lean lines, some sharp
angles in the fenders metered by a softly curving gas tank and a low-slung
seat.  Belt pushed out, suicide
shift.  Handlebars raised, but bowed out
and back, oil tank hidden discretely, exhausts swirling gently before drawing
back and along the tire.  Back tire wide
and stable, front tire lean and mean. 
Xander’s pulse raced as his bike, HIS chopper was brought to life on
paper by this brilliant, vibrant man in front of him.  If he could have jacked off right here, right now, he would
have.  He was so hard his balls were
drawn up and ready to explode.  And all
it had taken was the man and the bike. 
Fuck.

Spike tossed the pad up to the counter after a few more
hasty strokes and said, “That’ll get us started, then.” 

Xander placed his fingertips on it and turned the paper to
face him.  A gorgeous, lean, long
motorcycle faced him from the page.  HIS
motorcycle.  His jaw worked as he
struggled to keep his emotions—and dick—in check.  He so needed privacy right now. 
Just a few short moments with this sketch and Spike’s body in his head
was all it was gonna take.  He took a
long, slow breath.  “It’s perfect.”

Spike hiked his boot heels up on the stool rungs and put his
hands on the exposed stool between his thighs. 
He grinned with an open mouth, tongue pressed against his front teeth;
he looked cocky and embarrassed all at once, and startlingly boyish.  Xander felt his cock leaking, the tip
twitching against the seam of his underwear.

“Thanks, mate,” Spike said. 

Xander cleared his throat a bit, as every part of him seemed
to be swelling just by being in the presence of this man, “So…how do we go
about this?”

Sliding off the stool, Spike came back to the counter and
heaved out a large leather-bound book and started flipping grease stained
pages.  A nail haphazardly coated with
black paint trailed down a column before stopping and tapping in a square.
“Next Tuesday is the earliest I can start. 
Want to see to this pretty baby myself.”

Xander’s head nearly exploded—both of them.  “That’s very…kind of you.”

“Shit, kind ain’t got nuttin’ to do with it.  I like you, like your ideas, plus, this is
gonna be one beautiful bitch when she’s finished and I don’t want anyone else
claiming her as theirs.”  Blue eyes
looked predatory and teasing all at once. 
Christ, if Xander didn’t know better, he’d think this man was flirting
with him.

“I'll do some better mock-ups and you can come ‘round
on…Saturday, to check ‘em out, yeah?”

Xander nodded, momentarily dumbstruck by the combined
intoxication of Spike, and getting his own bike built—by Spike.  As soon as Spike looked back down at the
drawing, scribbling notes at the edges, he bolted for the door, knowing he
wasn’t going to last one more second inside the shop without completely
humiliating himself.  It was an eternity
to get to the safety of his car, and a huge relief to slide into the leather
and let the tinted windows hide him from the outside. 

He knew he shouldn’t but his brain had been hijacked as he
hastily tugged down his zipper and reached in to pull out his rock hard prick.  He let his thumb run over the already slick
head, dragging the wet of his pre-come down to coat his path.  A few brief twists and tugs and Xander was on auto-pilot;
undressing that lithe, sinuous body, licking tattoos, kissing hollows, sucking
what was bound to be an equally fantastic cock.  He lifted his palm to his mouth and licked a wide swath of skin
to wrap around his throbbing dick for a few final turns before he came with a
tense jaw, gritted teeth, feet firm against the floorboards and scalp pressed
into the head rest.

He let his eyelids stay closed while he reveled in the crest
and wave of his orgasm, sparks flashing here and there in the dark, sound
slowly coming back to him. 

Sound.  Sharp rapping
at his window.  Holy fuck!

Xander zipped up as quickly as he could manage, nearly
catching his balls in the process and then hit the switch for the window.

“You left these,” Spike held up his folder with the
clippings he’d brought to the shop, “but, I think I’ll keep them here until
Saturday.  You can think about some way
to get them back from me then.”  With a
wink and a cocky grin, Xander watched the British badass saunter back to the
cement block building from which he’d come.

As Xander remembered how to breathe, he realized he was
going to enjoy this experience much more than he had ever expected.

Comments

[ladycat777.livejournal.com]

*swallows*

Um, you need to write Saturday now. Cause Xander needs to go back and pay homage to the guy making this beauty for him. Preferably on his knees.

[essene.livejournal.com]

Paying homage. mmmmmmmm. I'll definitely take that into consideration.

*wink*

[moosesal.livejournal.com]

I have to agree with LadyCat. I must have missed this in the ordeal of not having a computer at home. Grr. Argh. But oh my, so yummy. So very, very yummy. I can smell the grease. Garage smell is my favorite smell in the world - makes me lucky to have a mechanic of my very own. *g*

[lumenara.livejournal.com]

RAWR.

So, what happens next? *waits anxiously*

[essene.livejournal.com]

Well, I wasn't sure, but slanted_truths had some pretty inspirational ideas down there so....

anything could happen!

[darkhavens.livejournal.com]

I don't know whether to swoon over the hotness of the Spander or the hotness of the bike, cos that sounds like a gorgeous piece of machinery. ;)

Saturday just can't come fast enough. *g*

[essene.livejournal.com]

As Paulie Jr. would say it's, "sick". At least in my head it is.

Saturday is in...4 days.

[kenyacandoit.livejournal.com]

This not only resembles fic, it is fic!! Hot fic! Very steamy, somebody-fan-me sexy fic!!

Write more, please. We *so* need to see what happens when Xander returns on Saturday!

[essene.livejournal.com]

I'm glad that it's fic shaped, delighted that you enjoyed!

[spikes_heart.livejournal.com]

**grins** What else do you watch too much of, love? And if this is the result... go watch some more. Please? With a pad and pen nearby. Or a laptop. I'm easy.

[essene.livejournal.com]

Hmm, Iron Chef doesn't lend itself to slash very well. heh

So pleased you liked!

[estepheia.livejournal.com]

Perfect!
Very very yummie!

[essene.livejournal.com]

Thank you!!!

[ponders-life.livejournal.com]

I'm glad I read this before my co-workers arrived this morning. ::points to icon:: Hmm, maybe I'll start watching American Chopper... ;)

Please say you'll write the next part?

[essene.livejournal.com]

I can't promise because then I'll feel bad if I don't deliver. But...I will say that things are...percolating.

And American Chopper is the best reality show on TV. IMO. *wink*

[brandil.livejournal.com]

::gulps:: I need more of this, beautiful bitch indeed.

[essene.livejournal.com]

So happy you enjoyed!

[aimeelicious]

Yeah, um, okay, wow!!! Two of my favourite things all together in one fic, motorcycles and Spander. I loff you. *hugs*

[essene.livejournal.com]

Hee. I'm so happy you're pleased! Motorcycles = sexy, Spander = sex. They're kinda like peanut butter and chocolate that way. ;-)

[slanted-truths.livejournal.com]

Guh. The image that won't leave my head right now?
Bike. Christening. Xander, back to handle-bars, legs splayed, back arched. Spike fucking him hard and rough, face intent, brows drawn, mouth in moue of concentration.
In other words? Is melted puddle.

[essene.livejournal.com]

GAH. Now that image won't leave my head either. And I thought I was done with this fic!

*sigh* What torture to have the need to write pretty pretty boy sex.

Thanks for the further inspiration!

[slanted-truths.livejournal.com]

Well, you know, being a loyal fangirl, I would never let you suffer alone.
I suppose if you must write it, then we must read it.
*extremely put upon sigh*
::squeees over the promise of pretty chopper!sex::
Ahem, yes.

[paperk8.livejournal.com]

Holyhell. That's just scorching. And I have to go to work now... damnit.

*squeaks*
More?

[essene.livejournal.com]

*pets you*

There may be more. If you're good. Can you be good? *wink*

[paperk8.livejournal.com]

*purrs*

Can I be good? I'm always good. I go to work. I don't molest boys. I'm generally polite.
Now ask me to be bad... that may be a challenge and a whole hell of lot more fun.
*grins*

[dancetomato.livejournal.com]

1. I take back every teasing comment I have ever made about your love for American Chopper. Because damn, not only in the story hot, but it's incredibly sexy that you know so much about it.

2. You need to be here now, because my car does not have tinted windows and I could use some help.

*snogs you wildly*

[essene.livejournal.com]

Heh! Never did think my white trash tendancies would pay off in your favor now did you? *wink*

Mmmmmmmmmmm...car masturbation. Is a pretty. *snogs you back*

[rubywisp.livejournal.com]

Unh. GAH.