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Wheeeee! Yes, it's done! That's a good feeling. :)
Anyway. Yes.
Back on Angel eps. now that we're done with Firefly and have seen the movie and... River and Drusilla have a *lot* in common, you know? I really do like her. The last Firefly ep was...odd, but lovely. I am...in love. :) I want to own them and and watch them again and again.
Ah, yes, Angel. Haven't had any thoughts about that in a while. We're up to...'Underneath' in season five. On re-watching this season, I'm not as annoyed and pissed off at the role Spike was given. It's a bit better now that i have some perspective and actually *like* the Angel crew. I still am not happy with the all-too-frequent court jester crap, but it's better than i remember. Loving Illyria all over again, and wow, did they push the totally-depressed-and-dark-Wes thing *hard*! Poor guy. Must have sucked to come into work some days!
And poor Lorne...Angel should just tell him to leave - go someplace else. It's tearing him apart to be there. No more happy, singing Lorne! *sniffle*
And how much do i love the Cordy/Angel scenes in her final day? So sweet. Stupid ME! And Angel and Spike, working and thinking like a *team*. Like you know they were for 18 years. Beautiful. I love the scene with the demons and the garrote wire and Angel says 'hold my hand' and Spike glances at him and then just does it with a little shrug. He trusts Angel's instincts in a fight and you know he does because they *fought* and 'had each other's backs' as it were. I wish ME had let that come through more often.
Gunn is so fucked up. I hate his massive inferiority complex, i hate his guilt. Damnit. I want him and Wes friends again!
Nina still annoys the fuck out of me. Harmony is so fun! Knox is fun, too, but ultimately annoying and i love that Wes just shot him in the middle of Angels big speech. Black hair? Not a good look on Spike and *why* did they write him so *spineless* in that ep? And man, Angel! What a bastard, turning Lawson without even asking or explaining and then kicking him to the curb with a deaththreat. And he *was* messed up, the soul *did* make a difference.
Food for thought for post-everything vamp!Xander stories! Heeeeee.
*Ahem*
Anyway, that's all of that, i do believe... And now to the fic! As always, a huge 'Thank you!!' to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
reremouse for being so damn helpful and prodding me along. You're the best, bay-bee!
Previous parts are here.
The rain had changed to ice sometime after midnight and Xander had happily snuggled down into Spike's bed, knowing the boys were safe and warm at home. He was pretty sure there was an electric blanket somewhere in the tangle of fleece and flannel and soft-washed cotton. Decadent hodgepodge all topped by a thick, heavy comforter called a Korean mink. It felt like mink, but really it was just about ten pounds of silky-soft synthetic - something. Grey and green and ghostly herons on an insubstantial pond's edge.
When he woke, he was alone. Xander lay under the covers for a while, just breathing. It was probably around ten and the sleet seemed to have moved on - there was light coming in that high, hidden window over by the tub. Insubstantial light, as November blew out in leaf-shaking storms and long strings of grey, drizzly days. From somewhere downstairs there was...music. As ghostly as the herons, full of gaps and hisses. It was oddly soothing. Xander finally slipped out of the covers - found his jeans and the thermal shirt he'd been wearing and padded downstairs, looking for Spike.
Xander found him in the second-floor sitting room. Floor to ceiling windows hung haphazardly with yards of dark red gauze and a fireplace made of cast iron, all Victorian curlicues and ribboned bunches of roses. Spike was actually sitting in a window - one hip up on the sill and his back against the frame. The gauze was bunched aside in a knot, the window itself swung wide on the day. A frail lemon light sparkled off the remnants of the melting ice that sheened the yard below, and the smoke from Spike's cigarette was thick and bluish-white.
Xander stopped in the doorway and Spike slowly turned his head. He was a match for the fireplace this morning, wearing some sort of dark trousers and an elegant ivory-colored shirt. Crisp pleats down the front and a loose looping of black silk around his throat - a cravat, maybe. Softly curling hair disheveled over his forehead. Victorian gentleman, a sketch in faded chalk. "Hey," Xander said.
"Morning, pet." Spike lifted his cigarette to his mouth and the illusion crumbled a bit. The un-linked cuff of the shirt fell back, showing a narrow wrist banded by leather and steel - twisted silver rings and worn polish, black and glitter.
"You all right?" Xander picked his way across the room, avoiding the spill of things from the four big steamer trunks Spike had brought home recently. Something he'd had in storage, he'd said. He'd opened one the night before - looked briefly inside before distracting Xander away from it and upstairs to a movie and cheesecake and slow, quiet sex that was so close to making love Xander had had to bite his lip to keep from saying...anything. Too soon, for things like that.
"Course I am," Spike said, but he looked back out the window, the light showing smudges of blue under his eyes. The music that had been playing - horns and strings and a piano - faded out, replaced by a soft hissing.
"It's cold in here," Xander said. There was a big iron hoop full of wood sitting by the fireplace - a wooden box of matches and some twists of newspaper and Xander crouched and made a fire, carefully constructing a sort of ti-pi shape and watching in satisfaction as it caught and started to burn. He closed the draw a little bit to keep the heat in, then went over to Spike - sat down cross-legged under the window, his knee just touching Spike's bare foot, his back against the curling plaster of the wall. "Been up all night?"
"Yeah." Spike smoked - moved his foot a little, so his toes were tucked under Xander's thigh. "Got to thinking about these trunks - what's inside... Wasn't sleeping so good so I just -" Spike gestured out toward the room and Xander nodded. All four trunks were open, their contents fanning out across the dark, polished floor. Clothes and trinkets, papers and books. Weapons and various sized wooden boxes and a great, disordered sheaf of the large paper sheets Spike called foolscap, all yellowed and brittle, chipped around the edges. Some of it was covered in looping lines of words, faded by the years. Spike's own jeans lay crumpled by one trunk and Xander reached out and stroked the fine wool of his trousers - saw there was a small hole near the knee.
"You've got moths," he said softly - looked up at Spike who was looking down at him, that shuttered look on his face. The one that meant he was afraid of something. "Did you - were you dreaming?" Xander asked.
"Oh...I..." Abruptly Spike got up - stalked to the fireplace and flicked the butt of his cigarette into the fire. He stood there, hands running slowly up his arms - plucking at the cravat. Pulling on the loose ends so that the loops around his neck slowly tightened. Xander knew he didn't need to breathe, but it made him...uneasy.
"Spike -"
"I was having nightmares, all right? Well, not really nightmares. Was remembering, is all. Got Wi- got the soul all...stirred up. So I just - wanted -" Spike shook his head - pulled the silk a little tighter, as if to make talking impossible.
*Oh, no. None of the not talking. We don’t do the not talking. I don't, so that means you don't, either...* Even in his head, he couldn't think of an endearment that sounded right. Xander got up - crossed over to Spike and stood behind him - carefully pried Spike's fingers loose from the brittle black silk. Put his palms over the backs of Spike's hands and laced their fingers together, arms crossing so they were both hugging him. The shirt smelled like camphor and citrus - very faintly of cloves and Xander put his chin on Spike's shoulder. "Wanted what, Spike?"
"He makes it all so...he makes it bad. Makes it ugly. It wasn't ugly." Spike's voice cracked and he stopped - swallowed. Xander pressed his chin down just a little, encouraging him. "It was - was like the skin of the world got pulled back. Like I could really see, for the first time ever. Everything - glowed. I just...wanted to remember that."
"Yeah." Xander lay his head down so the worn linen of the shirt was under his cheek - so he could see Spike's profile and his left eye. Blue with the tiny reflection of the fire dancing in it. Golden as the demon's eyes. *The world looks different through those eyes. I wonder...* "Did you find anything good? Something you'd forgot about?"
"Mmm?" Spike blinked - turned his head a little, looking at Xander. "Yeah, couple things. Some of Dru's things - forgot I had them." He uncrossed their arms, stepping out of Xander's hold and walking to a far trunk. He bent down, pushing aside a mass of pale lace and satin - a wedding dress? - and pulled out a carved box. He opened it, stirring the contents with his finger and Xander came over and looked in, too. The box was full of lengths of ribbon, long pins with fancy, jeweled heads, decorated combs and a long-handled brush that was probably made of ivory. It had a horse and carriage scene scrimshawed on the back. "I've got Dru's hair-things. All her hat pins and things... Well, nobody wears hats anymore. Doubt she misses any of it." Spike shut the box but his hand was shaking and Xander bent down and picked up a small, beaded purse - ran a finger over the flower pattern on the side.
"You miss her? Drusilla?"
"Bloody hell, Xander, I -"
"I'm not - I'd be kinda disappointed if you didn't, Spike," Xander said, looking at him and Spike's look of animosity faded.
"Yeah, I miss her. Loved her for a fuckin' hundred years or more, pet. Can't just...shrug that off. Even when I was chasin' after the Slayer, I..." Spike stopped talking - let the box slide from his fingers to thump softly onto the white dress. "Doesn't mean I don't - that I can't -" Spike ran his fingers back through his hair, wincing at tangles - looking at Xander with a mixture of frustration and worry in his expression.
"I know," Xander said - reached out and curled his finger in the cravat. *I know. You always felt...so much. It always took us by surprise.* He looked over at the trunk nearest the fireplace - deliberate change of subject. A tarnished brass horn - flared trumpet in fluted metal - stuck up over the edge. "Is that - what is that?"
"It's a Victrola," Spike said, little lilt to his voice that clearly said 'you ignorant Philistine'. Xander tweaked the silk, grinning, making an 'ah ha!' sort of face. "And...do you know what a Victrola is?"
"Yes. No. Sort of. Why am I flashing back to Wishbone?"
"What?" Spike gave him a thoroughly confused look and Xander pulled him close by the cravat and kissed him.
"I have no clue what it is or what it does. How about you enlighten me?"
"Don't we need to be in bed for that?" Spike murmured, and kissed him back. It took a few minutes for Xander to remember what they'd been talking about.
"Hey! Show me the Victrola! I wanna be a lo-tech geek."
"You're already a geek," Spike said, but he let his hand slide down Xander's arm to his hand - tugged him into motion and over to the trunk.
"It's not lo-tech, either. Finest of its kind, in its day. This one was made especially for traveling - me and Dru got it the first time we came over to America, so we could have music on the ship."
"It's a record player!" Xander said, peering down into the trunk, and Spike shook his head.
"Not geek - git. Yeah, record player, gramophone, whatever you wanna call it." Spike crouched down - lifted the arm of the player and set it carefully on the record. There was a moment of crackling hiss and then music started to play - something stringed, then horns - a medium-tempo melody without words. The underlying static of the battered record seemed a fitting background to the old-fashioned tune and Xander had to grin at Spike, moving a little to the beat.
"I like it. What is it?"
"It's Hoagy Carmichael and his Pals," Spike said.
"Ah." Xander couldn't repress the giggle that bubbled up and Spike stood up - grabbed him by a fistful of shirt and towed him to the fireplace.
"Come keep me warm. This was very popular 'round about - nineteen twenty....something. Stardust. Dru didn't like the piano part in the middle but I always did." They came to a stop at the fireplace and Xander wrapped himself around Spike, chest to chest and hip to hip. Spike's hands slipped up under his shirt and Xander shuddered.
"Jesus, you're freezing, Spike - c'mon, let's sit. Lean back on me." The settled on the hearth as close to the fire as Xander could stand, Spike between his thighs and his arms tight around Spike's ribs. Just basking in the heat, and swaying slowly to the music.
"Cab Calloway, he had words for this tune...I think Dru liked it more when there were words. When I'm all alone...And thought I was with you...I get so lonesome, honey, just for you, I love to hear you sing that song..." Spike chanted the words in a low voice, not quite in time with the music.
"'honey, just for you...'" Xander echoed. "It's sad, then," he added, and Spike slowly shook his head.
"Not sad. Just...memory, is all. Remembering. I remember so much..." Spike stopped talking for a moment - stopped moving and his hands, resting on Xander's forearms, tightened. "Remember being alone...too much. Don't feel like doing that anymore, pet."
Xander leaned his cheek into Spike's hair - took a long breath, smelling smoke and mint and cloves - something like earth and something like ozone. "I really don't either, Spike. I really don't."
"Xander! You're not actually keeping all these, are you?" Spike looked up from a drift of Art and Architecture and The Restorer's Guide.
"Of course I am! Those are the - the tools of my trade. My Holy Grail! My -"
"They've got silverfish," Spike said, pointing to a tiny, squiggling silver-grey - thing - as it scuttled across a magazine cover.
"What? Oh, shit! Throw 'em out - throw 'em all out! And keep 'em away from my comics!" Xander looked around his half-packed apartment, duct-tape roll dropping from his fingers. Danger lurked in every corner. "I'm gonna have to buy some of those little packets of silverfish poison - I didn't even check my comics over - I'm gonna have to check my comics - you just put those in a trash bag, okay?" *Ah ha! There - wallet - coat - where the hell are my boots? And what time is it?* Xander hopped over a pile of half-sorted art books. "I'm gonna have to get some plastic storage boxes instead of all this cardboard, they thrive in cardboard -" Xander snatched his coat up from the floor - yanked it on as he looked for his boots. He found one - shoved his foot into it and then pulled a glove out of his pocket and started to work it on, staggering awkwardly in a circle in his boot, trying to force his heel inside. From out of nowhere, a pair of arms circled his waist and pulled him tight to a lean, cool body. "Spike, you're not helping!"
"Course I am, pet. Just makin' you take a breath before you drop down dead." Xander looked up, straight into his entry mirror. His hair was still sticking up wildly from falling asleep on it wet, his oldest t-shirt and flannel were both torn and splotched with varnish and his coat-collar was twisted inside his coat. He looked -
"I look like that crazy guy on the corner by the bookstore."
"Oh, yeah, hadn't thought of that - think anybody'd give you money?" Spike's mouth nibbled kisses up his neck and into his hair and Xander watched his reflection tilt its head - watched his coat move aside and his shirt ruck as Spike's hands pushed up underneath.
"Okay, that's really disturbing. Spiiike! I gotta go get silverfish poison!"
Spike sighed heavily - a truly Herculean sigh for someone who didn't need to breathe. "Oh, sodding hell - get some Red Bull and some of those jalapeño chips, yeah?"
"Anything for the muscle," Xander said, twisting around and kissing Spike's pouting mouth. His eyes, though, were sparkling and amused and Xander got his boots on and grabbed his wallet - got in a last kiss before he darted out the door and down the stairs, humming Stardust. *Never enjoyed moving this much before. Must be 'cause...* Something was in his inner-coat pocket - he could feel an unfamiliar lump - and he reached in and pulled it out. It was a little bundle of paper fastened with a rubber band and Xander undid it as he strode down the rain-washed street. Inside were two heart-shaped tags for Spot and Jerome's collars, engraved with Spike's Wallingford house address. There was something written on the paper in Spike's upright, elegant hand.
'You are such a bloody push-over, Mao Ren.' The man at the store remarked that he'd never seen silverfish poison make anyone quite that happy.
Xander was sanding to the pitter-patter of tiny feet. Actually, the thunder of two crazed quadrupeds as Spot and Jerome hit their mid-afternoon peak. They ran past him, slipping and sliding on the kitchen floor and then pounded up the stairs. They sounded like Shetland ponies. Xander winced as something bonged on the second floor - hopefully not the antique Victrola - then there was more running. Xander finished sanding the cut edge on the back door and found the first piece of molding. There would be no rough edges. It looked ugly and besides, Spot or Jerome might get a splinter, going in and out the cat door he was installing.
Distantly, something went thud thump crash, and Xander winced. *Oooh, damn. I left all those CDs stacked up on the speaker and it was...tippy.* There was an inarticulate noise - sort of like someone had squished a cat, and then another series of thumps and thuds.
"Xander!" Spot and Jerome pelted through the kitchen and darted behind Xander's toolbox. Both of them had tails like bottle-brushes.
"Ahh, poor guys, you okay? Bet those cd's really freaked you out." Xander reached over and petted heads and scratched behind ears and listened as a series of peculiar shuffling thumps got closer and closer. Some truly spectacular swearing got closer, too. "Bet the grumpy vampire freaked you out too, huh?"
"Bloody fucking hell - do you know what they did? Those little bastards are banned from the upstairs! Tryin' to have a lie-in, tryin' to relax to the soothing sounds of Wendy O -" Spike stomped into the kitchen, struggling to button a pair of jeans. Xander's eyes got wide and he bit his lip, trying to suppress a hysterical bray of laughter. "And then, like a couple of Tasmanian Devils, those evil little sods come up and play havoc with the bloody stereo!" Spike looked down at the jeans, which were done up but still sliding off his hips. "What in bloody hell is wrong with these jeans?"
"Those are my jeans," Xander said - snorted helpless laughter as Spike looked down at himself, completely bewildered. His feet were swaddled in an extra four inches of leg, the waist was sliding down again and Spike's hair looked astonishingly similar to a hedgehog on crack. Xander flopped back on the floor, laughing, and Spike's look went from befuddled to calculating in an instant. Spot and Jerome - fright forgotten - went to investigate the food dish.
"Think its funny, do you? Waking a person up by sending the furnishings crashing to the floor. You go on then, laugh." Spike let the jeans go - let them slide down his legs. He stepped out of them - hooked them on his foot and tossed them at Xander. Xander batted at them weakly, still chuckling.
*Oh, naked vampire in the kitchen...* "They're very, very sorry, Spike. Aren't you, boys?" Spot and Jerome crunched kibble, tails switching.
"No they're not." Spike stretched - scrubbed at his hair, making it even more disorderly, and Xander started laughing again. "And neither are you. But you're gonna be, pet. 'Cause when they knocked everything loose up there, I discovered something very interesting."
"You did?" Xander sat up finally, pushing the jeans aside and looking around halfheartedly for his finishing nails. Spike was leaning on the doorjamb and Xander stopped looking as he realized that Spike's expression was one of pure, gleeful evil. "What - uh - did you discover?"
"That CDs fly," Spike said. A moment later he was gone, and Xander heard him pounding up the stairs.
"CDs fly... What does he -? Oh, crap!" Xander scrambled to his feet - looked around and grabbed the board he'd used to keep the cats away from the door until he was finished. He pushed it flat to the hole - shoved his tool kit against it to keep it there and ran. "Spike! C'mon, Spike, they were just playing! Some of those CDs are all that got me through some really - bad times! Spike?"
When he arrived, panting and cursing, in the attic - hopping on one foot because he'd whacked his toe into a riser - Spike was smirking, lying stretched over the bed, hands tucked behind his head. Waiting.
"I s'pose you owe me an apology, pet," he said. Xander pounced.
"Look, Christmas trees for sale!" Xander made a beeline for the light-strung lot, towing Spike reluctantly along behind him.
"We are not getting a sodding Christmas tree!"
"Ah, c'mon, where's your Christmas spirit?"
"In a bottle of the finest kind - Xander -" Xander grinned at Spike and ducked behind an enormous Douglas fir - wound his way deeper into the lot, the spicy scent of the evergreens thick in his nostrils. The air was damp - wet enough to see and everything was coated in a fine veil of droplets. There were multicolored twinkle-lights strung up everywhere and every limb and needle seemed to glimmer.
"Mmm - smells good. Spot and Jerome have never had a tree, Spike - it's their first Christmas!"
"Might be their last," Spike muttered, but he reached out and pulled Xander close - rested his chin on Xander's shoulder and surveyed the massed greenery. "I can see 'em now: batting at the fragile, glass ornaments, eating the tinsel and then puking it back up on our bed, climbing the tree every night and pulling it down, poisoning themselves on that fake snow stuff -"
"Eww - never use the fake snow stuff. It's gross and smells funny. Yeah, they'd probably make a mess of a tree, wouldn't they."
"Made a mess of most everything else," Spike said. He kissed the side of Xander's neck - tugged him around and straightened his cap a little. "How about let's just have a nice wreath, yeah? It'll smell good and if we hang it over the fireplace they won't dare jump up for it. Can put tinsel on it, if you like."
Xander had to grin at that - at the image of Spike decorating - anything - for Christmas. "Yeah, maybe. I like the smell of them but - I haven't had a tree since... Well, not for a long time. Christmas has never been a favorite holiday of mine."
"No?" Spike looked around - shuffled them over into the gap between to trees, so that the springy needles scratched their hands and caught in Xander's cap and camera bag. "Did Christmas in the Black Forest one year. Dru got it into her head that she had to see where the cuckoos come from. It was like this, outside the towns. Quiet and green...all damp earth and damp air. And -" Spike looked up, and Xander did, and Xander laughed. It was snowing.
"Did you do that with your mind?" he asked softly, and Spike pressed him gently into the wall of greenery - kissed him with a chilly mouth that tasted of black licorice.
"Did it just for you," Spike murmured.
"You're special that way," Xander murmured back, forehead to forehead and Spike's fingers slipping up under his coat-sleeves - circling his wrists and rubbing his thumbs slowly over the pulse there. His own hands were on Spike's waist, fingers curling around the sleek muscle.
"Am I?" Soft, soft voice - soft brush of lips.
"Mm-hmmm. Special. Short bus and everything."
"You git." Spike swooped in and kissed Xander hard - grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the trees and back to the street. The snow fell in swirling arabesques, wet and perfect, and Xander got dizzy watching it - hung on Spike's arm and smiled up at the maelstrom of drifting white until he tripped over something and Spike swung him down onto a brick wall, arm around his shoulders. Laughing.
*So damn pretty when he laughs. Never heard him laugh in Sunnydale. Things...amused him but... He never laughed. I make him laugh.* Causing laugher - something to be avoided at all costs in high school - made Xander feel a warm sort of glow, sweet and sparkling. He stretched his legs out long and watched the flakes fall onto his jeans; stiff little crystals pointing every which way, melting slowly. Spike took a piece of dense, black licorice out of his coat-pocket and chewed it slowly.
"Was snowing that first night, remember? First night I saw you again," Spike said and Xander nodded. "Sacha lettin' in all the cold so the place would air out and you standing there giving me the evil eye -"
"Hey! I did not! I was - I mean, you were -" Xander ducked his head, grinning down at his boots while Spike lit a cigarette.
"I was bloody gorgeous - sight for sore eyes and you -"
"I was trying not to embarrass myself. You looked -" Xander looked over at Spike - bumped him with his shoulder because Spike had a smirk on his face. "You know how you looked."
"And you - looked like something straight out of a wet dream. All that pretty hair curling around your neck - tight shirt, tight jeans, tight arse -"
"You did not check out my ass!"
"Course I did! Couldn't help myself. Saw you waiting on the street and I almost pulled over. Was just gonna grab you and drag you into the car but Sacha said I'd scare you." Spike snorted out twin puffs of smoke and Xander snickered. "Never could scare you - even when Angelus was handing you over to me, you were still a live wire, sparkin' all over the big nancy."
"He pissed me off," Xander said - poked Spike in the ribs. "So why didn't you give me a ride home? It was cold that night."
"Was a bit brassed off, wasn't I? Here you are, marching into my house and making me -" Spike cut himself off and looked up at the sky - leaned into Xander's shoulder and sighed, the cigarette rolling in his fingers, ash and smoke slipping in with the snow.
"Making you?"
"Making me miss things. Making me remember."
"Oh." Xander sat there, leaning back - watching the snow and Spike's restless fingers - watching the stuttery shine of random headlights slide over the puddled sidewalk and the tips of Spike's boots. *Is that bad? Or...good? Sunnydale probably wasn't the highlight of his life or anything... I wonder if -*
"There you go, thinking." Spike leaned even harder, making Xander put his hand flat on the wall so he wouldn't tip over. "Can always tell - you get too quiet. It's kinda scary, pet."
"I’m scary when I think?"
"Bloody terrifying." Spike leaned a little harder and Xander leaned back and they just sat there for a while, Spike getting out another cigarette and Xander watching the snow pile along his boot-laces. After a minute or two he dug into his bag and found his camera. Not his favorite one - he still liked the 'old fashioned' 35 mm best - but that one wouldn't work on Spike. He had to use his digital for this. *Freaky vampire...stuff. His clothes should show up at least.* He focused - adjusted - took the picture. Spike's boots and his - snow-dusted and streaked with reflected neon - resting together.
"What're you taking snaps of now, pet?" Spike asked, and Xander moved his foot until his boot and Spike's were touching a little more closely.
"Our feet." There was a moment of silence.
"Right, then. Time to go home - you must be fevered." Spike stood up - held his hand out and Xander took a picture of their boots toe to toe, Spike's left one a little bit between Xander's and the creases of his jeans drifted with white. "Xander. Are you daft? Who wants pictures of feet?"
"Me. I do. You know how people always get those cheesy pictures of their hands on some satin pillow, showing off their wedding rings?" Spike blinked down at him. "Oh, yeah - you probably never looked at wedding pictures. Umm. Anyway - they do, and they're cheesy. To me, at least - Willow always said she thought it was so romantic and -"
"Pet." Spike yanked Xander to his feet and put one cold, smoke-and-licorice scented finger to Xander's lips. "Get to the part where this makes you take snaps of our boots, yeah?"
"Oh, yeah. Well, they just - they're our boots. They're us. Work boots and - and boots to kick ass in and they're all together in the snow. They're - happy. They're gonna go home together and sit on some newspaper and dry off and...lean on each other." Xander watched Spike take that in - watched him look down for a few seconds - away - and Xander felt his heart drop.
Then Spike looked up, smiling at him. A small and slightly surprised smile and Xander grinned back, wrapping his arm around Spike and pulling him close - hard enough to knock a small oof out of both of them.
"Not gonna sit on any newspaper," Spike said, and Xander kissed him.
*Licorice, smoke, iron - cold. That's what happiness tastes like. Or like cheesecake. Or maybe it's pan-broiled scallops in butter sauce?*
"Thinkin' again," Spike murmured.
"You'll lean, though, right?" Xander asked, and for some reason his heart was in his throat. He watched Spike watching him and curled his fingers into the snow-damp hair behind Spike's ear. Waiting for his answer.
Spike's smile got a little bigger. "Yeah. I'll lean. Count on it, sweetheart."
"I'm gonna be," Xander said. Later, they got delivery Italian and Xander made sure their boots were touching on the mat of newspaper in the kitchen.
Anyway. Yes.
Back on Angel eps. now that we're done with Firefly and have seen the movie and... River and Drusilla have a *lot* in common, you know? I really do like her. The last Firefly ep was...odd, but lovely. I am...in love. :) I want to own them and and watch them again and again.
Ah, yes, Angel. Haven't had any thoughts about that in a while. We're up to...'Underneath' in season five. On re-watching this season, I'm not as annoyed and pissed off at the role Spike was given. It's a bit better now that i have some perspective and actually *like* the Angel crew. I still am not happy with the all-too-frequent court jester crap, but it's better than i remember. Loving Illyria all over again, and wow, did they push the totally-depressed-and-dark-Wes thing *hard*! Poor guy. Must have sucked to come into work some days!
And poor Lorne...Angel should just tell him to leave - go someplace else. It's tearing him apart to be there. No more happy, singing Lorne! *sniffle*
And how much do i love the Cordy/Angel scenes in her final day? So sweet. Stupid ME! And Angel and Spike, working and thinking like a *team*. Like you know they were for 18 years. Beautiful. I love the scene with the demons and the garrote wire and Angel says 'hold my hand' and Spike glances at him and then just does it with a little shrug. He trusts Angel's instincts in a fight and you know he does because they *fought* and 'had each other's backs' as it were. I wish ME had let that come through more often.
Gunn is so fucked up. I hate his massive inferiority complex, i hate his guilt. Damnit. I want him and Wes friends again!
Nina still annoys the fuck out of me. Harmony is so fun! Knox is fun, too, but ultimately annoying and i love that Wes just shot him in the middle of Angels big speech. Black hair? Not a good look on Spike and *why* did they write him so *spineless* in that ep? And man, Angel! What a bastard, turning Lawson without even asking or explaining and then kicking him to the curb with a deaththreat. And he *was* messed up, the soul *did* make a difference.
Food for thought for post-everything vamp!Xander stories! Heeeeee.
*Ahem*
Anyway, that's all of that, i do believe... And now to the fic! As always, a huge 'Thank you!!' to
reremouse for being so damn helpful and prodding me along. You're the best, bay-bee!Previous parts are here.
The rain had changed to ice sometime after midnight and Xander had happily snuggled down into Spike's bed, knowing the boys were safe and warm at home. He was pretty sure there was an electric blanket somewhere in the tangle of fleece and flannel and soft-washed cotton. Decadent hodgepodge all topped by a thick, heavy comforter called a Korean mink. It felt like mink, but really it was just about ten pounds of silky-soft synthetic - something. Grey and green and ghostly herons on an insubstantial pond's edge.
When he woke, he was alone. Xander lay under the covers for a while, just breathing. It was probably around ten and the sleet seemed to have moved on - there was light coming in that high, hidden window over by the tub. Insubstantial light, as November blew out in leaf-shaking storms and long strings of grey, drizzly days. From somewhere downstairs there was...music. As ghostly as the herons, full of gaps and hisses. It was oddly soothing. Xander finally slipped out of the covers - found his jeans and the thermal shirt he'd been wearing and padded downstairs, looking for Spike.
Xander found him in the second-floor sitting room. Floor to ceiling windows hung haphazardly with yards of dark red gauze and a fireplace made of cast iron, all Victorian curlicues and ribboned bunches of roses. Spike was actually sitting in a window - one hip up on the sill and his back against the frame. The gauze was bunched aside in a knot, the window itself swung wide on the day. A frail lemon light sparkled off the remnants of the melting ice that sheened the yard below, and the smoke from Spike's cigarette was thick and bluish-white.
Xander stopped in the doorway and Spike slowly turned his head. He was a match for the fireplace this morning, wearing some sort of dark trousers and an elegant ivory-colored shirt. Crisp pleats down the front and a loose looping of black silk around his throat - a cravat, maybe. Softly curling hair disheveled over his forehead. Victorian gentleman, a sketch in faded chalk. "Hey," Xander said.
"Morning, pet." Spike lifted his cigarette to his mouth and the illusion crumbled a bit. The un-linked cuff of the shirt fell back, showing a narrow wrist banded by leather and steel - twisted silver rings and worn polish, black and glitter.
"You all right?" Xander picked his way across the room, avoiding the spill of things from the four big steamer trunks Spike had brought home recently. Something he'd had in storage, he'd said. He'd opened one the night before - looked briefly inside before distracting Xander away from it and upstairs to a movie and cheesecake and slow, quiet sex that was so close to making love Xander had had to bite his lip to keep from saying...anything. Too soon, for things like that.
"Course I am," Spike said, but he looked back out the window, the light showing smudges of blue under his eyes. The music that had been playing - horns and strings and a piano - faded out, replaced by a soft hissing.
"It's cold in here," Xander said. There was a big iron hoop full of wood sitting by the fireplace - a wooden box of matches and some twists of newspaper and Xander crouched and made a fire, carefully constructing a sort of ti-pi shape and watching in satisfaction as it caught and started to burn. He closed the draw a little bit to keep the heat in, then went over to Spike - sat down cross-legged under the window, his knee just touching Spike's bare foot, his back against the curling plaster of the wall. "Been up all night?"
"Yeah." Spike smoked - moved his foot a little, so his toes were tucked under Xander's thigh. "Got to thinking about these trunks - what's inside... Wasn't sleeping so good so I just -" Spike gestured out toward the room and Xander nodded. All four trunks were open, their contents fanning out across the dark, polished floor. Clothes and trinkets, papers and books. Weapons and various sized wooden boxes and a great, disordered sheaf of the large paper sheets Spike called foolscap, all yellowed and brittle, chipped around the edges. Some of it was covered in looping lines of words, faded by the years. Spike's own jeans lay crumpled by one trunk and Xander reached out and stroked the fine wool of his trousers - saw there was a small hole near the knee.
"You've got moths," he said softly - looked up at Spike who was looking down at him, that shuttered look on his face. The one that meant he was afraid of something. "Did you - were you dreaming?" Xander asked.
"Oh...I..." Abruptly Spike got up - stalked to the fireplace and flicked the butt of his cigarette into the fire. He stood there, hands running slowly up his arms - plucking at the cravat. Pulling on the loose ends so that the loops around his neck slowly tightened. Xander knew he didn't need to breathe, but it made him...uneasy.
"Spike -"
"I was having nightmares, all right? Well, not really nightmares. Was remembering, is all. Got Wi- got the soul all...stirred up. So I just - wanted -" Spike shook his head - pulled the silk a little tighter, as if to make talking impossible.
*Oh, no. None of the not talking. We don’t do the not talking. I don't, so that means you don't, either...* Even in his head, he couldn't think of an endearment that sounded right. Xander got up - crossed over to Spike and stood behind him - carefully pried Spike's fingers loose from the brittle black silk. Put his palms over the backs of Spike's hands and laced their fingers together, arms crossing so they were both hugging him. The shirt smelled like camphor and citrus - very faintly of cloves and Xander put his chin on Spike's shoulder. "Wanted what, Spike?"
"He makes it all so...he makes it bad. Makes it ugly. It wasn't ugly." Spike's voice cracked and he stopped - swallowed. Xander pressed his chin down just a little, encouraging him. "It was - was like the skin of the world got pulled back. Like I could really see, for the first time ever. Everything - glowed. I just...wanted to remember that."
"Yeah." Xander lay his head down so the worn linen of the shirt was under his cheek - so he could see Spike's profile and his left eye. Blue with the tiny reflection of the fire dancing in it. Golden as the demon's eyes. *The world looks different through those eyes. I wonder...* "Did you find anything good? Something you'd forgot about?"
"Mmm?" Spike blinked - turned his head a little, looking at Xander. "Yeah, couple things. Some of Dru's things - forgot I had them." He uncrossed their arms, stepping out of Xander's hold and walking to a far trunk. He bent down, pushing aside a mass of pale lace and satin - a wedding dress? - and pulled out a carved box. He opened it, stirring the contents with his finger and Xander came over and looked in, too. The box was full of lengths of ribbon, long pins with fancy, jeweled heads, decorated combs and a long-handled brush that was probably made of ivory. It had a horse and carriage scene scrimshawed on the back. "I've got Dru's hair-things. All her hat pins and things... Well, nobody wears hats anymore. Doubt she misses any of it." Spike shut the box but his hand was shaking and Xander bent down and picked up a small, beaded purse - ran a finger over the flower pattern on the side.
"You miss her? Drusilla?"
"Bloody hell, Xander, I -"
"I'm not - I'd be kinda disappointed if you didn't, Spike," Xander said, looking at him and Spike's look of animosity faded.
"Yeah, I miss her. Loved her for a fuckin' hundred years or more, pet. Can't just...shrug that off. Even when I was chasin' after the Slayer, I..." Spike stopped talking - let the box slide from his fingers to thump softly onto the white dress. "Doesn't mean I don't - that I can't -" Spike ran his fingers back through his hair, wincing at tangles - looking at Xander with a mixture of frustration and worry in his expression.
"I know," Xander said - reached out and curled his finger in the cravat. *I know. You always felt...so much. It always took us by surprise.* He looked over at the trunk nearest the fireplace - deliberate change of subject. A tarnished brass horn - flared trumpet in fluted metal - stuck up over the edge. "Is that - what is that?"
"It's a Victrola," Spike said, little lilt to his voice that clearly said 'you ignorant Philistine'. Xander tweaked the silk, grinning, making an 'ah ha!' sort of face. "And...do you know what a Victrola is?"
"Yes. No. Sort of. Why am I flashing back to Wishbone?"
"What?" Spike gave him a thoroughly confused look and Xander pulled him close by the cravat and kissed him.
"I have no clue what it is or what it does. How about you enlighten me?"
"Don't we need to be in bed for that?" Spike murmured, and kissed him back. It took a few minutes for Xander to remember what they'd been talking about.
"Hey! Show me the Victrola! I wanna be a lo-tech geek."
"You're already a geek," Spike said, but he let his hand slide down Xander's arm to his hand - tugged him into motion and over to the trunk.
"It's not lo-tech, either. Finest of its kind, in its day. This one was made especially for traveling - me and Dru got it the first time we came over to America, so we could have music on the ship."
"It's a record player!" Xander said, peering down into the trunk, and Spike shook his head.
"Not geek - git. Yeah, record player, gramophone, whatever you wanna call it." Spike crouched down - lifted the arm of the player and set it carefully on the record. There was a moment of crackling hiss and then music started to play - something stringed, then horns - a medium-tempo melody without words. The underlying static of the battered record seemed a fitting background to the old-fashioned tune and Xander had to grin at Spike, moving a little to the beat.
"I like it. What is it?"
"It's Hoagy Carmichael and his Pals," Spike said.
"Ah." Xander couldn't repress the giggle that bubbled up and Spike stood up - grabbed him by a fistful of shirt and towed him to the fireplace.
"Come keep me warm. This was very popular 'round about - nineteen twenty....something. Stardust. Dru didn't like the piano part in the middle but I always did." They came to a stop at the fireplace and Xander wrapped himself around Spike, chest to chest and hip to hip. Spike's hands slipped up under his shirt and Xander shuddered.
"Jesus, you're freezing, Spike - c'mon, let's sit. Lean back on me." The settled on the hearth as close to the fire as Xander could stand, Spike between his thighs and his arms tight around Spike's ribs. Just basking in the heat, and swaying slowly to the music.
"Cab Calloway, he had words for this tune...I think Dru liked it more when there were words. When I'm all alone...And thought I was with you...I get so lonesome, honey, just for you, I love to hear you sing that song..." Spike chanted the words in a low voice, not quite in time with the music.
"'honey, just for you...'" Xander echoed. "It's sad, then," he added, and Spike slowly shook his head.
"Not sad. Just...memory, is all. Remembering. I remember so much..." Spike stopped talking for a moment - stopped moving and his hands, resting on Xander's forearms, tightened. "Remember being alone...too much. Don't feel like doing that anymore, pet."
Xander leaned his cheek into Spike's hair - took a long breath, smelling smoke and mint and cloves - something like earth and something like ozone. "I really don't either, Spike. I really don't."
"Xander! You're not actually keeping all these, are you?" Spike looked up from a drift of Art and Architecture and The Restorer's Guide.
"Of course I am! Those are the - the tools of my trade. My Holy Grail! My -"
"They've got silverfish," Spike said, pointing to a tiny, squiggling silver-grey - thing - as it scuttled across a magazine cover.
"What? Oh, shit! Throw 'em out - throw 'em all out! And keep 'em away from my comics!" Xander looked around his half-packed apartment, duct-tape roll dropping from his fingers. Danger lurked in every corner. "I'm gonna have to buy some of those little packets of silverfish poison - I didn't even check my comics over - I'm gonna have to check my comics - you just put those in a trash bag, okay?" *Ah ha! There - wallet - coat - where the hell are my boots? And what time is it?* Xander hopped over a pile of half-sorted art books. "I'm gonna have to get some plastic storage boxes instead of all this cardboard, they thrive in cardboard -" Xander snatched his coat up from the floor - yanked it on as he looked for his boots. He found one - shoved his foot into it and then pulled a glove out of his pocket and started to work it on, staggering awkwardly in a circle in his boot, trying to force his heel inside. From out of nowhere, a pair of arms circled his waist and pulled him tight to a lean, cool body. "Spike, you're not helping!"
"Course I am, pet. Just makin' you take a breath before you drop down dead." Xander looked up, straight into his entry mirror. His hair was still sticking up wildly from falling asleep on it wet, his oldest t-shirt and flannel were both torn and splotched with varnish and his coat-collar was twisted inside his coat. He looked -
"I look like that crazy guy on the corner by the bookstore."
"Oh, yeah, hadn't thought of that - think anybody'd give you money?" Spike's mouth nibbled kisses up his neck and into his hair and Xander watched his reflection tilt its head - watched his coat move aside and his shirt ruck as Spike's hands pushed up underneath.
"Okay, that's really disturbing. Spiiike! I gotta go get silverfish poison!"
Spike sighed heavily - a truly Herculean sigh for someone who didn't need to breathe. "Oh, sodding hell - get some Red Bull and some of those jalapeño chips, yeah?"
"Anything for the muscle," Xander said, twisting around and kissing Spike's pouting mouth. His eyes, though, were sparkling and amused and Xander got his boots on and grabbed his wallet - got in a last kiss before he darted out the door and down the stairs, humming Stardust. *Never enjoyed moving this much before. Must be 'cause...* Something was in his inner-coat pocket - he could feel an unfamiliar lump - and he reached in and pulled it out. It was a little bundle of paper fastened with a rubber band and Xander undid it as he strode down the rain-washed street. Inside were two heart-shaped tags for Spot and Jerome's collars, engraved with Spike's Wallingford house address. There was something written on the paper in Spike's upright, elegant hand.
'You are such a bloody push-over, Mao Ren.' The man at the store remarked that he'd never seen silverfish poison make anyone quite that happy.
Xander was sanding to the pitter-patter of tiny feet. Actually, the thunder of two crazed quadrupeds as Spot and Jerome hit their mid-afternoon peak. They ran past him, slipping and sliding on the kitchen floor and then pounded up the stairs. They sounded like Shetland ponies. Xander winced as something bonged on the second floor - hopefully not the antique Victrola - then there was more running. Xander finished sanding the cut edge on the back door and found the first piece of molding. There would be no rough edges. It looked ugly and besides, Spot or Jerome might get a splinter, going in and out the cat door he was installing.
Distantly, something went thud thump crash, and Xander winced. *Oooh, damn. I left all those CDs stacked up on the speaker and it was...tippy.* There was an inarticulate noise - sort of like someone had squished a cat, and then another series of thumps and thuds.
"Xander!" Spot and Jerome pelted through the kitchen and darted behind Xander's toolbox. Both of them had tails like bottle-brushes.
"Ahh, poor guys, you okay? Bet those cd's really freaked you out." Xander reached over and petted heads and scratched behind ears and listened as a series of peculiar shuffling thumps got closer and closer. Some truly spectacular swearing got closer, too. "Bet the grumpy vampire freaked you out too, huh?"
"Bloody fucking hell - do you know what they did? Those little bastards are banned from the upstairs! Tryin' to have a lie-in, tryin' to relax to the soothing sounds of Wendy O -" Spike stomped into the kitchen, struggling to button a pair of jeans. Xander's eyes got wide and he bit his lip, trying to suppress a hysterical bray of laughter. "And then, like a couple of Tasmanian Devils, those evil little sods come up and play havoc with the bloody stereo!" Spike looked down at the jeans, which were done up but still sliding off his hips. "What in bloody hell is wrong with these jeans?"
"Those are my jeans," Xander said - snorted helpless laughter as Spike looked down at himself, completely bewildered. His feet were swaddled in an extra four inches of leg, the waist was sliding down again and Spike's hair looked astonishingly similar to a hedgehog on crack. Xander flopped back on the floor, laughing, and Spike's look went from befuddled to calculating in an instant. Spot and Jerome - fright forgotten - went to investigate the food dish.
"Think its funny, do you? Waking a person up by sending the furnishings crashing to the floor. You go on then, laugh." Spike let the jeans go - let them slide down his legs. He stepped out of them - hooked them on his foot and tossed them at Xander. Xander batted at them weakly, still chuckling.
*Oh, naked vampire in the kitchen...* "They're very, very sorry, Spike. Aren't you, boys?" Spot and Jerome crunched kibble, tails switching.
"No they're not." Spike stretched - scrubbed at his hair, making it even more disorderly, and Xander started laughing again. "And neither are you. But you're gonna be, pet. 'Cause when they knocked everything loose up there, I discovered something very interesting."
"You did?" Xander sat up finally, pushing the jeans aside and looking around halfheartedly for his finishing nails. Spike was leaning on the doorjamb and Xander stopped looking as he realized that Spike's expression was one of pure, gleeful evil. "What - uh - did you discover?"
"That CDs fly," Spike said. A moment later he was gone, and Xander heard him pounding up the stairs.
"CDs fly... What does he -? Oh, crap!" Xander scrambled to his feet - looked around and grabbed the board he'd used to keep the cats away from the door until he was finished. He pushed it flat to the hole - shoved his tool kit against it to keep it there and ran. "Spike! C'mon, Spike, they were just playing! Some of those CDs are all that got me through some really - bad times! Spike?"
When he arrived, panting and cursing, in the attic - hopping on one foot because he'd whacked his toe into a riser - Spike was smirking, lying stretched over the bed, hands tucked behind his head. Waiting.
"I s'pose you owe me an apology, pet," he said. Xander pounced.
"Look, Christmas trees for sale!" Xander made a beeline for the light-strung lot, towing Spike reluctantly along behind him.
"We are not getting a sodding Christmas tree!"
"Ah, c'mon, where's your Christmas spirit?"
"In a bottle of the finest kind - Xander -" Xander grinned at Spike and ducked behind an enormous Douglas fir - wound his way deeper into the lot, the spicy scent of the evergreens thick in his nostrils. The air was damp - wet enough to see and everything was coated in a fine veil of droplets. There were multicolored twinkle-lights strung up everywhere and every limb and needle seemed to glimmer.
"Mmm - smells good. Spot and Jerome have never had a tree, Spike - it's their first Christmas!"
"Might be their last," Spike muttered, but he reached out and pulled Xander close - rested his chin on Xander's shoulder and surveyed the massed greenery. "I can see 'em now: batting at the fragile, glass ornaments, eating the tinsel and then puking it back up on our bed, climbing the tree every night and pulling it down, poisoning themselves on that fake snow stuff -"
"Eww - never use the fake snow stuff. It's gross and smells funny. Yeah, they'd probably make a mess of a tree, wouldn't they."
"Made a mess of most everything else," Spike said. He kissed the side of Xander's neck - tugged him around and straightened his cap a little. "How about let's just have a nice wreath, yeah? It'll smell good and if we hang it over the fireplace they won't dare jump up for it. Can put tinsel on it, if you like."
Xander had to grin at that - at the image of Spike decorating - anything - for Christmas. "Yeah, maybe. I like the smell of them but - I haven't had a tree since... Well, not for a long time. Christmas has never been a favorite holiday of mine."
"No?" Spike looked around - shuffled them over into the gap between to trees, so that the springy needles scratched their hands and caught in Xander's cap and camera bag. "Did Christmas in the Black Forest one year. Dru got it into her head that she had to see where the cuckoos come from. It was like this, outside the towns. Quiet and green...all damp earth and damp air. And -" Spike looked up, and Xander did, and Xander laughed. It was snowing.
"Did you do that with your mind?" he asked softly, and Spike pressed him gently into the wall of greenery - kissed him with a chilly mouth that tasted of black licorice.
"Did it just for you," Spike murmured.
"You're special that way," Xander murmured back, forehead to forehead and Spike's fingers slipping up under his coat-sleeves - circling his wrists and rubbing his thumbs slowly over the pulse there. His own hands were on Spike's waist, fingers curling around the sleek muscle.
"Am I?" Soft, soft voice - soft brush of lips.
"Mm-hmmm. Special. Short bus and everything."
"You git." Spike swooped in and kissed Xander hard - grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the trees and back to the street. The snow fell in swirling arabesques, wet and perfect, and Xander got dizzy watching it - hung on Spike's arm and smiled up at the maelstrom of drifting white until he tripped over something and Spike swung him down onto a brick wall, arm around his shoulders. Laughing.
*So damn pretty when he laughs. Never heard him laugh in Sunnydale. Things...amused him but... He never laughed. I make him laugh.* Causing laugher - something to be avoided at all costs in high school - made Xander feel a warm sort of glow, sweet and sparkling. He stretched his legs out long and watched the flakes fall onto his jeans; stiff little crystals pointing every which way, melting slowly. Spike took a piece of dense, black licorice out of his coat-pocket and chewed it slowly.
"Was snowing that first night, remember? First night I saw you again," Spike said and Xander nodded. "Sacha lettin' in all the cold so the place would air out and you standing there giving me the evil eye -"
"Hey! I did not! I was - I mean, you were -" Xander ducked his head, grinning down at his boots while Spike lit a cigarette.
"I was bloody gorgeous - sight for sore eyes and you -"
"I was trying not to embarrass myself. You looked -" Xander looked over at Spike - bumped him with his shoulder because Spike had a smirk on his face. "You know how you looked."
"And you - looked like something straight out of a wet dream. All that pretty hair curling around your neck - tight shirt, tight jeans, tight arse -"
"You did not check out my ass!"
"Course I did! Couldn't help myself. Saw you waiting on the street and I almost pulled over. Was just gonna grab you and drag you into the car but Sacha said I'd scare you." Spike snorted out twin puffs of smoke and Xander snickered. "Never could scare you - even when Angelus was handing you over to me, you were still a live wire, sparkin' all over the big nancy."
"He pissed me off," Xander said - poked Spike in the ribs. "So why didn't you give me a ride home? It was cold that night."
"Was a bit brassed off, wasn't I? Here you are, marching into my house and making me -" Spike cut himself off and looked up at the sky - leaned into Xander's shoulder and sighed, the cigarette rolling in his fingers, ash and smoke slipping in with the snow.
"Making you?"
"Making me miss things. Making me remember."
"Oh." Xander sat there, leaning back - watching the snow and Spike's restless fingers - watching the stuttery shine of random headlights slide over the puddled sidewalk and the tips of Spike's boots. *Is that bad? Or...good? Sunnydale probably wasn't the highlight of his life or anything... I wonder if -*
"There you go, thinking." Spike leaned even harder, making Xander put his hand flat on the wall so he wouldn't tip over. "Can always tell - you get too quiet. It's kinda scary, pet."
"I’m scary when I think?"
"Bloody terrifying." Spike leaned a little harder and Xander leaned back and they just sat there for a while, Spike getting out another cigarette and Xander watching the snow pile along his boot-laces. After a minute or two he dug into his bag and found his camera. Not his favorite one - he still liked the 'old fashioned' 35 mm best - but that one wouldn't work on Spike. He had to use his digital for this. *Freaky vampire...stuff. His clothes should show up at least.* He focused - adjusted - took the picture. Spike's boots and his - snow-dusted and streaked with reflected neon - resting together.
"What're you taking snaps of now, pet?" Spike asked, and Xander moved his foot until his boot and Spike's were touching a little more closely.
"Our feet." There was a moment of silence.
"Right, then. Time to go home - you must be fevered." Spike stood up - held his hand out and Xander took a picture of their boots toe to toe, Spike's left one a little bit between Xander's and the creases of his jeans drifted with white. "Xander. Are you daft? Who wants pictures of feet?"
"Me. I do. You know how people always get those cheesy pictures of their hands on some satin pillow, showing off their wedding rings?" Spike blinked down at him. "Oh, yeah - you probably never looked at wedding pictures. Umm. Anyway - they do, and they're cheesy. To me, at least - Willow always said she thought it was so romantic and -"
"Pet." Spike yanked Xander to his feet and put one cold, smoke-and-licorice scented finger to Xander's lips. "Get to the part where this makes you take snaps of our boots, yeah?"
"Oh, yeah. Well, they just - they're our boots. They're us. Work boots and - and boots to kick ass in and they're all together in the snow. They're - happy. They're gonna go home together and sit on some newspaper and dry off and...lean on each other." Xander watched Spike take that in - watched him look down for a few seconds - away - and Xander felt his heart drop.
Then Spike looked up, smiling at him. A small and slightly surprised smile and Xander grinned back, wrapping his arm around Spike and pulling him close - hard enough to knock a small oof out of both of them.
"Not gonna sit on any newspaper," Spike said, and Xander kissed him.
*Licorice, smoke, iron - cold. That's what happiness tastes like. Or like cheesecake. Or maybe it's pan-broiled scallops in butter sauce?*
"Thinkin' again," Spike murmured.
"You'll lean, though, right?" Xander asked, and for some reason his heart was in his throat. He watched Spike watching him and curled his fingers into the snow-damp hair behind Spike's ear. Waiting for his answer.
Spike's smile got a little bigger. "Yeah. I'll lean. Count on it, sweetheart."
"I'm gonna be," Xander said. Later, they got delivery Italian and Xander made sure their boots were touching on the mat of newspaper in the kitchen.
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This was a very sweet story. Thanks.
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:)
I liked the boots, too.