Entry tags:
Beginnings
Disclaimer: Don't own or claim rights to Buffy (or the song Do-Re-Mi)
Notes: Written for![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fictionland, prompt = Beginnings. Two stories (separate) about how Spike and Xander began.
Choices
Let's start at the very beginning
A very good place to start
When you read you begin with A-B-C
When you sing you begin with do-re-mi
How do you choose a starting point? Life is a continuum, and even when you die, that doesn’t necessarily finish. And we present vampires as our prime example. So how does he choose a starting point for his story? Does he go all the way back to the day before Buffy arrived, and Jesse left? Or that momentous night when Spike turned up, luring them out into the open with his false-wolf’s cry in the Bronze? Or the even more momentous occasion of that rat fink bastard … sorry, Angel giving him to Spike? Because they were all pretty significant points in time, and all worthy of being beginnings, surely.
Or how about that first kiss? The first time cold fingers slid through his hair, tilting his head just right, so that their mouths met just right, so that he could melt against the other man, sliding his arms under that duster and around a narrow waist? The first time they acknowledged that the fire between them was lust, not hate? The first time that word (love) was mentioned between them?
How do you choose?
Trashy Romances >
“Oh my God!” Xander exploded. “It’s like you’ve been reading Buffy’s trashy romance novels that she thinks she keeps hidden, but everybody knows she has, and everyone also knows is about the only thing she does read.”
Spike snorted. “You got that right, Harris. God! You’d think she’d figure out by now that we all know about it.”
Xander glared at the coffee table, wondering if it was strong enough to cope with his head being banged somewhat forcefully against it, and then at Spike for being the one to make him want to bang his head. “You know, I sometimes wonder if you’re intentionally obtuse, or if that really is your natural hair colour. Because you just don’t get it.”
Spike rolled his eyes. “Get what? What is there to get?”
“You, Bleachy,” Xander fumed. “It’s like…” He growled in frustration. “You hang around, torturing me all day and all night, and if I didn’t know better I’d think you’re doing it on purpose to get me to notice you so that I’ll stop … whatever … and fall in love with you. Just like Buffy’s stupid books,” he bellowed.
“You bloody think I’m that hard up I’d go for the puppy-boy?” Spike demanded.
“If I didn’t know better,” Xander growled.
“Right,” Spike sneered. “’Cause you want me as much as I want you.”
“Got it in one,” Xander snapped back.
There was a sudden, tense silence, which neither man seemed to want to break. They stared at one another, unable to tear their eyes away.
“’Cause you want me as much as I want you,” Spike repeated, voice low and gravelly.
Xander’s stomach seemed to kick. “Got it in one?” he tried, voice breathy.
Spike slid closer, and raised tentative fingers to Xander’s face, watching in awe as the human’s eyes fluttered closed and he leant into the touch. He slid his hand further in, relishing the soft strands slipping over his skin. He canted the other man’s head just right, and brought his face close, feeling the warm touch of Xander’s breath against his lips. He touched once, twice, then pressed his lips to Xander’s, taking in the soft moan, and making use of the softly parted lips to smuggle his tongue into the hot mouth. Work-roughened hands wrapped around him, guiding him onto Xander’s lap, clutching at his shirt, holding him close.
Lips parted, and hot breath mingled with cool as Spike pressed his forehead to Xander’s and both men strove for calm.
“Whoa,” Xander whispered.
Spike chuckled. “Got it in one, love.”
Notes: Written for
fictionland, prompt = Beginnings. Two stories (separate) about how Spike and Xander began.Let's start at the very beginning
A very good place to start
When you read you begin with A-B-C
When you sing you begin with do-re-mi
How do you choose a starting point? Life is a continuum, and even when you die, that doesn’t necessarily finish. And we present vampires as our prime example. So how does he choose a starting point for his story? Does he go all the way back to the day before Buffy arrived, and Jesse left? Or that momentous night when Spike turned up, luring them out into the open with his false-wolf’s cry in the Bronze? Or the even more momentous occasion of that rat fink bastard … sorry, Angel giving him to Spike? Because they were all pretty significant points in time, and all worthy of being beginnings, surely.
Or how about that first kiss? The first time cold fingers slid through his hair, tilting his head just right, so that their mouths met just right, so that he could melt against the other man, sliding his arms under that duster and around a narrow waist? The first time they acknowledged that the fire between them was lust, not hate? The first time that word (love) was mentioned between them?
How do you choose?
“Oh my God!” Xander exploded. “It’s like you’ve been reading Buffy’s trashy romance novels that she thinks she keeps hidden, but everybody knows she has, and everyone also knows is about the only thing she does read.”
Spike snorted. “You got that right, Harris. God! You’d think she’d figure out by now that we all know about it.”
Xander glared at the coffee table, wondering if it was strong enough to cope with his head being banged somewhat forcefully against it, and then at Spike for being the one to make him want to bang his head. “You know, I sometimes wonder if you’re intentionally obtuse, or if that really is your natural hair colour. Because you just don’t get it.”
Spike rolled his eyes. “Get what? What is there to get?”
“You, Bleachy,” Xander fumed. “It’s like…” He growled in frustration. “You hang around, torturing me all day and all night, and if I didn’t know better I’d think you’re doing it on purpose to get me to notice you so that I’ll stop … whatever … and fall in love with you. Just like Buffy’s stupid books,” he bellowed.
“You bloody think I’m that hard up I’d go for the puppy-boy?” Spike demanded.
“If I didn’t know better,” Xander growled.
“Right,” Spike sneered. “’Cause you want me as much as I want you.”
“Got it in one,” Xander snapped back.
There was a sudden, tense silence, which neither man seemed to want to break. They stared at one another, unable to tear their eyes away.
“’Cause you want me as much as I want you,” Spike repeated, voice low and gravelly.
Xander’s stomach seemed to kick. “Got it in one?” he tried, voice breathy.
Spike slid closer, and raised tentative fingers to Xander’s face, watching in awe as the human’s eyes fluttered closed and he leant into the touch. He slid his hand further in, relishing the soft strands slipping over his skin. He canted the other man’s head just right, and brought his face close, feeling the warm touch of Xander’s breath against his lips. He touched once, twice, then pressed his lips to Xander’s, taking in the soft moan, and making use of the softly parted lips to smuggle his tongue into the hot mouth. Work-roughened hands wrapped around him, guiding him onto Xander’s lap, clutching at his shirt, holding him close.
Lips parted, and hot breath mingled with cool as Spike pressed his forehead to Xander’s and both men strove for calm.
“Whoa,” Xander whispered.
Spike chuckled. “Got it in one, love.”