Archive: Dead Girl Walking, 3/?
Original post is here.
Continued from here.
III: Chick Flick.
~*~
Spike stood in the middle of Xander’s living room, watching as the man made a makeshift bed for Spike on the couch. Xander was so occupied with the task at hand that he wasn’t really paying much attention to Spike, which left the newly female vampire plenty of time to watch Xander without getting caught.
It was a surprisingly pleasant occupation. It had been a long time since he’d really looked at Xander, and he’d forgotten how pleasant the view was.
In fact, it had been almost two years since he’d really looked at Xander, and even now he wanted to gnash his teeth at the memory. He’d been tied to that hellish chair in that hellish basement, and the only thing to look at had been the boy. The first night, stretching on endlessly, staring at taught golden skin where he’d kicked off the blanket, his hands twitching in their bonds, able to look but not to touch. Redefining Hell, and he’d made himself forget about it later, because his unlife didn’t need to get any more pathetic.
Unfortunately, he found himself unable to forget about it now. Sexually, his body was wired the same way it had been, as a male, only backwards. He still walked the straight side of bi, but now that meant that he preferred mostly men, and Xander was, whatever else his faults, definitely male. Spike’s hands itched with the need to touch, and he shoved his hands in the pockets of his borrowed jeans to keep from giving in to the temptation.
Xander finally finished fussing with the makeshift bed and turned around, smiling a little at Spike. His smile was surprisingly… gentle, considering that he hated Spike. At the moment, though, his eyes weren’t shooting miniature stakes of hate; they were inviting Spike to lean a little. Only pride built up from over a century of being on his own kept him from doing just that.
“Bed’s ready,” Xander said unnecessarily. He sort of waved one hand towards it, then returned both hands to his pockets, obviously feeling almost as uncomfortable as Spike was. “That is… if you’re tired?”
“Not really,” Spike said, hunching his shoulders in a half-shrug. “Nocturnal, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” Long, uncomfortable silence. “Um, I don’t have to work tomorrow ‘cause it’s a Saturday, so if you want I can stay up with you…”
“Don’t need looking after,” Spike snapped. “I’m fine.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Xander said. “I just meant… I could keep you company. With movies, or whatever. If you wanted.”
Spike thought about it for half a second. Considered his already annoying lust for the man. Considered how stupid he would look if he accepted, as if he needed someone to stay with him and hold his hand to keep him from getting hysterical like some chit. Then he considered that he was a chit, and chances were good that Xander’s presence was the only thing holding him together right now, and how much he would hate it if Xander buggered off to bed and left him alone with his thoughts and his all-too-female body.
“Alright,” he said. “Why the hell not.”
~*~
It had to be four or five in the morning, Spike thought, but Xander showed no sign of wanting to be in bed instead of watching late-night Law and Order reruns with Spike. Spike was grateful, though he’d rather have his intestines pulled through a needle than admit it.
He was paying more attention to Xander than the telly, though, and he wasn’t oblivious to the fact that Xander was doing the same thing. They kept sneaking glances at each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking, and both refused to acknowledge that they were doing it. Spike knew why Xander was playing coy- evil vampire, newly female, shame and disgust, blah soddin’ blah- but he couldn’t figure out why he was hiding it. He was Spike. He was never shy. About anything, much less about sex.
But this was different. He was still Spike, but he wasn’t. He looked different, though he couldn’t see himself in the mirror and dearly wanted to know what he looked like. He also felt different, though whether that was female hormones or just shock was yet to be determined. He was himself, but at the same time he was someone completely different, and that threw him off and left him not sure of what rules he was supposed to follow.
Finally Xander stretched and yawned. “Sun’s gonna be up in another hour or so,” he said. “And I really do not want to see it. Bad enough when I’m up researching all night, but sitting up watching tv till the sun rises reminds me way too much of freshman year of high school and the accompanying insomnia.” He grinned over at Spike. “I practically sleepwalked through all my classes. Good thing I had Willow to help me out, right? Otherwise I’d probably still be in high school, trying valiantly to remember the difference between an isosceles triangle and a hypotenuse.”
“Thought you blew it up,” Spike said, casually, like the man’s grin hadn’t hit him like a fist to the solar plexus.
“Ah, that we did. Well, I don’t know where I’d be, then.” He stood up, stretched again. “Nor do I want to know. I have may regrets, but passing Geometry is not one of them.”
Spike looked up at him. “Headin’ to bed, then?”
“Yeah,” Xander said. “You should probably do the same. Buffy’s taking us shopping this afternoon, remember?”
“How could I forget?” Spike said. “Hittin’ the mall with the Slayer- now that’s somethin’ I just dream about. Especially at high noon when I can get fried by any passing beam of sunlight. Fun.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Xander said, with an exaggerated and (mostly) faked shudder. “She’s a shopping machine. If she ever turned her attentions towards the military instead of shoes, well, she’d be a general in no time.”
“I’ll look forward to it, then,” Spike said, relaxed a little because of the teasing. Xander grinned at him, then turned to go to bed. Spike resisted the urge to call him back, and just said, “Goodnight.”
Xander turned and looked at him for a moment, his gaze disturbingly acute. Then, he bent down and planted a swift kiss on Spike’s forehead.
“Goodnight, Spike,” he said, still with that observant look, and went into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
Spike turned off the telly and sat in the abrupt darkness, wondering why he suddenly felt so alone.
Continued here.
Continued from here.
III: Chick Flick.
~*~
Spike stood in the middle of Xander’s living room, watching as the man made a makeshift bed for Spike on the couch. Xander was so occupied with the task at hand that he wasn’t really paying much attention to Spike, which left the newly female vampire plenty of time to watch Xander without getting caught.
It was a surprisingly pleasant occupation. It had been a long time since he’d really looked at Xander, and he’d forgotten how pleasant the view was.
In fact, it had been almost two years since he’d really looked at Xander, and even now he wanted to gnash his teeth at the memory. He’d been tied to that hellish chair in that hellish basement, and the only thing to look at had been the boy. The first night, stretching on endlessly, staring at taught golden skin where he’d kicked off the blanket, his hands twitching in their bonds, able to look but not to touch. Redefining Hell, and he’d made himself forget about it later, because his unlife didn’t need to get any more pathetic.
Unfortunately, he found himself unable to forget about it now. Sexually, his body was wired the same way it had been, as a male, only backwards. He still walked the straight side of bi, but now that meant that he preferred mostly men, and Xander was, whatever else his faults, definitely male. Spike’s hands itched with the need to touch, and he shoved his hands in the pockets of his borrowed jeans to keep from giving in to the temptation.
Xander finally finished fussing with the makeshift bed and turned around, smiling a little at Spike. His smile was surprisingly… gentle, considering that he hated Spike. At the moment, though, his eyes weren’t shooting miniature stakes of hate; they were inviting Spike to lean a little. Only pride built up from over a century of being on his own kept him from doing just that.
“Bed’s ready,” Xander said unnecessarily. He sort of waved one hand towards it, then returned both hands to his pockets, obviously feeling almost as uncomfortable as Spike was. “That is… if you’re tired?”
“Not really,” Spike said, hunching his shoulders in a half-shrug. “Nocturnal, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” Long, uncomfortable silence. “Um, I don’t have to work tomorrow ‘cause it’s a Saturday, so if you want I can stay up with you…”
“Don’t need looking after,” Spike snapped. “I’m fine.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Xander said. “I just meant… I could keep you company. With movies, or whatever. If you wanted.”
Spike thought about it for half a second. Considered his already annoying lust for the man. Considered how stupid he would look if he accepted, as if he needed someone to stay with him and hold his hand to keep him from getting hysterical like some chit. Then he considered that he was a chit, and chances were good that Xander’s presence was the only thing holding him together right now, and how much he would hate it if Xander buggered off to bed and left him alone with his thoughts and his all-too-female body.
“Alright,” he said. “Why the hell not.”
~*~
It had to be four or five in the morning, Spike thought, but Xander showed no sign of wanting to be in bed instead of watching late-night Law and Order reruns with Spike. Spike was grateful, though he’d rather have his intestines pulled through a needle than admit it.
He was paying more attention to Xander than the telly, though, and he wasn’t oblivious to the fact that Xander was doing the same thing. They kept sneaking glances at each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking, and both refused to acknowledge that they were doing it. Spike knew why Xander was playing coy- evil vampire, newly female, shame and disgust, blah soddin’ blah- but he couldn’t figure out why he was hiding it. He was Spike. He was never shy. About anything, much less about sex.
But this was different. He was still Spike, but he wasn’t. He looked different, though he couldn’t see himself in the mirror and dearly wanted to know what he looked like. He also felt different, though whether that was female hormones or just shock was yet to be determined. He was himself, but at the same time he was someone completely different, and that threw him off and left him not sure of what rules he was supposed to follow.
Finally Xander stretched and yawned. “Sun’s gonna be up in another hour or so,” he said. “And I really do not want to see it. Bad enough when I’m up researching all night, but sitting up watching tv till the sun rises reminds me way too much of freshman year of high school and the accompanying insomnia.” He grinned over at Spike. “I practically sleepwalked through all my classes. Good thing I had Willow to help me out, right? Otherwise I’d probably still be in high school, trying valiantly to remember the difference between an isosceles triangle and a hypotenuse.”
“Thought you blew it up,” Spike said, casually, like the man’s grin hadn’t hit him like a fist to the solar plexus.
“Ah, that we did. Well, I don’t know where I’d be, then.” He stood up, stretched again. “Nor do I want to know. I have may regrets, but passing Geometry is not one of them.”
Spike looked up at him. “Headin’ to bed, then?”
“Yeah,” Xander said. “You should probably do the same. Buffy’s taking us shopping this afternoon, remember?”
“How could I forget?” Spike said. “Hittin’ the mall with the Slayer- now that’s somethin’ I just dream about. Especially at high noon when I can get fried by any passing beam of sunlight. Fun.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Xander said, with an exaggerated and (mostly) faked shudder. “She’s a shopping machine. If she ever turned her attentions towards the military instead of shoes, well, she’d be a general in no time.”
“I’ll look forward to it, then,” Spike said, relaxed a little because of the teasing. Xander grinned at him, then turned to go to bed. Spike resisted the urge to call him back, and just said, “Goodnight.”
Xander turned and looked at him for a moment, his gaze disturbingly acute. Then, he bent down and planted a swift kiss on Spike’s forehead.
“Goodnight, Spike,” he said, still with that observant look, and went into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
Spike turned off the telly and sat in the abrupt darkness, wondering why he suddenly felt so alone.
Continued here.