Desperately Familiar (1/1)
Aug. 9th, 2009 08:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sevendeadlyfunPairing: Spike, Xander (pre-slash)
Rated: R
Summary: Comics canon compliant, future fic. He can remember a few moments like this from Sunnydale, all misinterpretation and humiliation. So he stands in front of the bed, watching Xander watching him.
A/N: A continuation of my comics canon fics A Spot of Trouble and Nearly Triumphant. Contains spoilers for Buffy S8 up to Issue #26.
“So, this Twilight actually managed to convince the world that Slayers are evil?” Spike says incredulously. “Who’d they get to pull that off, bloody Goebbels?”
“Possibly,” Xander replies. “Will did mention they were messing around with some mixed- up techno-magic stuff. They probably channeled him up through an enchanted iPod.”
Spike turns his head to stare, eyes narrowing suspiciously. He lifts an eyebrow as Xander grins, a simple twist of the lips that should be innocent and could be innocent, but isn’t actually a convincing portrayal of innocence. The red that climbs up his neck to stain his cheeks gives him away.
The blushes strike him as funny. Xander blushes a lot these days and it’s just odd. Spike’s been there for the tragic highlights, watching all of the Scoobies hit bottom at one time or another. But he and Xander have a whole history of tragic lows together.
Dossing down in that basement, him tied to the late and unlamented comfy chair, Xander tied to his own fears and failings, has to be in their mutual top three most embarrassing moments. They’ve got time and all those mutual embarrassments between them. So, he’s left to wonder what sets Xander’s heart thumping a deafening tune, sending blood racing to his neck and face, every time they’re together. He can’t ask, so he wonders.
“And that time in Italy,” he continues, choosing to ignore the sly grin in favor of getting more information, “when Angel and I saw Buffy…”
“It was really a decoy Buff,” Xander finishes for him.” After all the attention she was getting from the good guys and the bad guys, we decided it wouldn’t be such a bad idea if Buffy could be in a few places at once. Misinformation apparently works outside of the movies, too.”
“I can’t believe Andrew double-crossed us twice,” Spike muses. “One day he might add up to a whole useful person.”
“So Buffy keeps claiming,” Xander rejoins wryly.
Spike nods once, an upward twitch of his head. He and Xander both know how powerful it can be to have the Slayer believe in you, want you by her side. He can’t fault the slimy little sod for wanting to be part of the grand show.
“This Twilight,” Spike says inquisitively, leaning against the bed frame. “Ended badly, I take it?”
“When does it not?” Xander sighs. “Why do you think we’re in a not very safe safe house in the middle of London?”
“Won’t look for you among the palace guards, eh?” Spike says softly, watching in fascination as Xander’s hands begin to trace nervous grooves along the bedspread.
“Something like that,” Xander answers, not looking at Spike. “We tried the middle of nowhere and they found us. We managed to get out of Tibet without too many losses, but it wasn’t easy. Without Oz’s help we might never have slipped under their magic radar. “
“So with London being full of magic and magical beings and magical artifacts, there’s no way they’ll be able to tell your group of witches apart from all the others. Makes sense,” Spike says, following the story to its inevitable conclusion.
Xander nods once, fingers busily fraying the already frayed edges of the coverlet. “So here we are,” he mumbles.
“Yeah,” Spike says agreeably. “Here we are.”
Xander’s hands never stop, the hypnotic movement a counterpoint to his frantic heartbeat. Spike sways slightly, the dueling rhythms an almost snake-charm. The odd syncopation travels up through his bare feet, setting up a sympathetic vibration under his skin.
Xander watches him not very surreptitiously, eyes cutting back and forth until Spike feels dizzy. He watches back, moving closer. Xander’s tongue peeks out, moistening full lips gone dry in this odd standoff.
There’s only a few inches of floor between them, an almost vast chasm Spike finds he’s worried about crossing. This whole situation is desperately familiar. He can remember a few moments like this from Sunnydale, all misinterpretation and humiliation. So he stands in front of the bed, watching Xander watching him.
Could be worse, he supposes. He can’t think of precisely how, but after his time with Angel he’s learnt it can always be worse. He shivers imperceptibly, shaking away memories he knows will only lead to a long night spent trying to be drunk enough.
He drops the pretense of not staring.
Xander’s grown into a lovely man. Watching him fidget, Spike gets drawn into the details of his body. The way his bicep flexes tight as his muscles pull over his shoulder, creating shadows in his skin; the curve of his belly, rounding out over his hip; but he keeps coming back to those twisting, twining hands. The fluid grace of those hands mystifies him, keeps him enthralled. He reaches out, one finger stroking lightly over the veins and tendons that stand out in stark relief across tanned skin.
“Spike?” Xander’s voice, low and uncertain, breaks his concentration.
“Right. Anyway,” he says briskly, “ sun’s going down.”
Spike turns away, reaching out for his jacket. His hand, wrapped around the soft leather, still twitches and tingles, the feel of Xander’s skin almost an imprint on his own. Time for patrol, time to take the kiddies for a walk, time to be somewhere not here. He’s heard the whole of this tune, played along with it ‘til he went half-mad. Burnt up, broken, and almost ashes at Angel’s feet because of Sunnydale.
His hand on the door, he pauses. Bugger. Bits of sentiment he can’t fight stick him in place and he closes his eyes, tilting his head towards the ceiling. These damn Scoobies and their silences, their needs, their bloody Scooby-ness, and he just can’t fight it. Them. He can’t even remember why he tries now.
“Coming?” he asks, forcing impatience into his voice. He throws open the door, listening half in pleasure, half in dismay to the mad staccato of Xander’s heart as it follows him down the hall.
Rated: R
Summary: Comics canon compliant, future fic. He can remember a few moments like this from Sunnydale, all misinterpretation and humiliation. So he stands in front of the bed, watching Xander watching him.
A/N: A continuation of my comics canon fics A Spot of Trouble and Nearly Triumphant. Contains spoilers for Buffy S8 up to Issue #26.
“So, this Twilight actually managed to convince the world that Slayers are evil?” Spike says incredulously. “Who’d they get to pull that off, bloody Goebbels?”
“Possibly,” Xander replies. “Will did mention they were messing around with some mixed- up techno-magic stuff. They probably channeled him up through an enchanted iPod.”
Spike turns his head to stare, eyes narrowing suspiciously. He lifts an eyebrow as Xander grins, a simple twist of the lips that should be innocent and could be innocent, but isn’t actually a convincing portrayal of innocence. The red that climbs up his neck to stain his cheeks gives him away.
The blushes strike him as funny. Xander blushes a lot these days and it’s just odd. Spike’s been there for the tragic highlights, watching all of the Scoobies hit bottom at one time or another. But he and Xander have a whole history of tragic lows together.
Dossing down in that basement, him tied to the late and unlamented comfy chair, Xander tied to his own fears and failings, has to be in their mutual top three most embarrassing moments. They’ve got time and all those mutual embarrassments between them. So, he’s left to wonder what sets Xander’s heart thumping a deafening tune, sending blood racing to his neck and face, every time they’re together. He can’t ask, so he wonders.
“And that time in Italy,” he continues, choosing to ignore the sly grin in favor of getting more information, “when Angel and I saw Buffy…”
“It was really a decoy Buff,” Xander finishes for him.” After all the attention she was getting from the good guys and the bad guys, we decided it wouldn’t be such a bad idea if Buffy could be in a few places at once. Misinformation apparently works outside of the movies, too.”
“I can’t believe Andrew double-crossed us twice,” Spike muses. “One day he might add up to a whole useful person.”
“So Buffy keeps claiming,” Xander rejoins wryly.
Spike nods once, an upward twitch of his head. He and Xander both know how powerful it can be to have the Slayer believe in you, want you by her side. He can’t fault the slimy little sod for wanting to be part of the grand show.
“This Twilight,” Spike says inquisitively, leaning against the bed frame. “Ended badly, I take it?”
“When does it not?” Xander sighs. “Why do you think we’re in a not very safe safe house in the middle of London?”
“Won’t look for you among the palace guards, eh?” Spike says softly, watching in fascination as Xander’s hands begin to trace nervous grooves along the bedspread.
“Something like that,” Xander answers, not looking at Spike. “We tried the middle of nowhere and they found us. We managed to get out of Tibet without too many losses, but it wasn’t easy. Without Oz’s help we might never have slipped under their magic radar. “
“So with London being full of magic and magical beings and magical artifacts, there’s no way they’ll be able to tell your group of witches apart from all the others. Makes sense,” Spike says, following the story to its inevitable conclusion.
Xander nods once, fingers busily fraying the already frayed edges of the coverlet. “So here we are,” he mumbles.
“Yeah,” Spike says agreeably. “Here we are.”
Xander’s hands never stop, the hypnotic movement a counterpoint to his frantic heartbeat. Spike sways slightly, the dueling rhythms an almost snake-charm. The odd syncopation travels up through his bare feet, setting up a sympathetic vibration under his skin.
Xander watches him not very surreptitiously, eyes cutting back and forth until Spike feels dizzy. He watches back, moving closer. Xander’s tongue peeks out, moistening full lips gone dry in this odd standoff.
There’s only a few inches of floor between them, an almost vast chasm Spike finds he’s worried about crossing. This whole situation is desperately familiar. He can remember a few moments like this from Sunnydale, all misinterpretation and humiliation. So he stands in front of the bed, watching Xander watching him.
Could be worse, he supposes. He can’t think of precisely how, but after his time with Angel he’s learnt it can always be worse. He shivers imperceptibly, shaking away memories he knows will only lead to a long night spent trying to be drunk enough.
He drops the pretense of not staring.
Xander’s grown into a lovely man. Watching him fidget, Spike gets drawn into the details of his body. The way his bicep flexes tight as his muscles pull over his shoulder, creating shadows in his skin; the curve of his belly, rounding out over his hip; but he keeps coming back to those twisting, twining hands. The fluid grace of those hands mystifies him, keeps him enthralled. He reaches out, one finger stroking lightly over the veins and tendons that stand out in stark relief across tanned skin.
“Spike?” Xander’s voice, low and uncertain, breaks his concentration.
“Right. Anyway,” he says briskly, “ sun’s going down.”
Spike turns away, reaching out for his jacket. His hand, wrapped around the soft leather, still twitches and tingles, the feel of Xander’s skin almost an imprint on his own. Time for patrol, time to take the kiddies for a walk, time to be somewhere not here. He’s heard the whole of this tune, played along with it ‘til he went half-mad. Burnt up, broken, and almost ashes at Angel’s feet because of Sunnydale.
His hand on the door, he pauses. Bugger. Bits of sentiment he can’t fight stick him in place and he closes his eyes, tilting his head towards the ceiling. These damn Scoobies and their silences, their needs, their bloody Scooby-ness, and he just can’t fight it. Them. He can’t even remember why he tries now.
“Coming?” he asks, forcing impatience into his voice. He throws open the door, listening half in pleasure, half in dismay to the mad staccato of Xander’s heart as it follows him down the hall.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2009-08-10 02:33 am (UTC)Moarplzkthx!! *g*
no subject
on 2009-08-10 03:08 am (UTC)I can't wait for more.
no subject
on 2009-08-10 06:47 am (UTC)The tension between them, coloured by their history and their ultimate cowardice (for now *g*) in not facing it. Yes, very nice.
I really loved this line - He and Xander both know how powerful it can be to have the Slayer believe in you
no subject
on 2009-08-10 04:39 pm (UTC)This was a vivid, emotional description of Spike being drawn in: Xander’s hands never stop, the hypnotic movement a counterpoint to his frantic heartbeat. Spike sways slightly, the dueling rhythms an almost snake-charm. The odd syncopation travels up through his bare feet, setting up a sympathetic vibration under his skin. Fortunately, I think Xander's right there with him, fearing rejection but still being caught in attraction's web. It's wonderful.
no subject
on 2009-08-10 05:51 pm (UTC)RYL
no subject
on 2009-08-11 03:58 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-08-14 01:09 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-08-14 01:11 am (UTC)Seriously, though, I love the idea of the two of them facing off against all these nasties and on the run and still too scared to be honest with each other. I love that both of these guys will jump into a fight without even a hope of winning, but tell someone how they feel? They'd never! It's almost adorable (and so much fun to write!).
Glad you enjoyed this, hon.
no subject
on 2009-08-14 01:15 am (UTC)I'm so pleased you liked the line about Buffy. I was reading some fic the other day (Spike/Angel) and it was so full of Buffy bashing I could barely finish it. I think that Buffy was really inspirational for the people in her life, even when she did mess up (and did she ever sometimes!). But still, she had (has) a huge impact on the lives of those around her and it's mostly positive. I think it's definitely worth pointing out sometimes. :)
no subject
on 2009-08-14 01:17 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-08-14 01:19 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-08-14 01:21 am (UTC)Yes, I am a sad sad little fic writer. :)
no subject
on 2009-08-14 04:08 am (UTC)Joss is definately part-demon.
I like to think of those early fics as AU, branching out from our own reality, what could've/should've happened.
But I'll be good and contain myself and practice patience. *G*
no subject
on 2009-08-17 09:20 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-08-25 07:30 pm (UTC)