"What I see" - S/B/A - Three utopian!drabbles
This is not the Spangel porn that you all want to wrest out of me, and I apologize for that.
Title: "What I see"
Pairings: S/B/A, S/B, B/A, S/A
Rating: PG13 for wistfulness
Disclaimer: Belongs to Jossity-Joss-Joss, not me.
Summary: Set sometime later in the Utopian Superhero Threesome 'Verse, which means: post-NFA. Spike, Buffy and Angel all love and snog each other with accompanying history, occasional melancholy and joy intact.
Author's Note: One of those "3-69" thingies that all the cool kids are doing, linking 3 separate "drabbles" of 69 words each that are linked thematically. Loosely inspired by rahirah's meditation on the same threesome which is very good (as is the way with Barb), much angstier than this, and most likely more probable.
Angel
Their hips grind together as though out of habit. Fluid. Magnetic. Slippery-hot.
They both seem so young in this moment. In a way that’s not possible for him.
Spike’s cooing nasties into Buffy’s ear. Or maybe jokes too, since she’s laughing.
And it’s not just Angel’s eyes that are trained on them, because they glow. Blonde on blonder.
He wonders if they do this often.
But Angel doesn’t dance.
*****
Spike
He’s teaching her to cook this visit. It’s a project.
Secretive looks, longing sighs and fluttering lashes
Over the sauce pot.
Ol’ Spike just smokes and looks on.
They are dark and light. Past and present. Here and now.
Some things he can’t touch. Doesn’t even want to anymore.
They’re beautiful, in a fairytale way.
Guess Angel doesn’t know that it’s pizza every other night here.
Bastard doesn’t eat.
*****
Buffy
“Hey, I was watching that!”
“Well, bugger that. Passions is on. And besides, your team is losing.”
Glower. Smirk. Sideways glance.
Hand meets hand over the remote control and Buffy can just about see the sparks go off.
The silence is electric.
Because they don’t always say what they want and don’t always want what they say.
From the doorway, she watches and shakes her head.
Boys are weird.
*****
Title: "What I see"
Pairings: S/B/A, S/B, B/A, S/A
Rating: PG13 for wistfulness
Disclaimer: Belongs to Jossity-Joss-Joss, not me.
Summary: Set sometime later in the Utopian Superhero Threesome 'Verse, which means: post-NFA. Spike, Buffy and Angel all love and snog each other with accompanying history, occasional melancholy and joy intact.
Author's Note: One of those "3-69" thingies that all the cool kids are doing, linking 3 separate "drabbles" of 69 words each that are linked thematically. Loosely inspired by rahirah's meditation on the same threesome which is very good (as is the way with Barb), much angstier than this, and most likely more probable.
Angel
Their hips grind together as though out of habit. Fluid. Magnetic. Slippery-hot.
They both seem so young in this moment. In a way that’s not possible for him.
Spike’s cooing nasties into Buffy’s ear. Or maybe jokes too, since she’s laughing.
And it’s not just Angel’s eyes that are trained on them, because they glow. Blonde on blonder.
He wonders if they do this often.
But Angel doesn’t dance.
*****
Spike
He’s teaching her to cook this visit. It’s a project.
Secretive looks, longing sighs and fluttering lashes
Over the sauce pot.
Ol’ Spike just smokes and looks on.
They are dark and light. Past and present. Here and now.
Some things he can’t touch. Doesn’t even want to anymore.
They’re beautiful, in a fairytale way.
Guess Angel doesn’t know that it’s pizza every other night here.
Bastard doesn’t eat.
*****
Buffy
“Hey, I was watching that!”
“Well, bugger that. Passions is on. And besides, your team is losing.”
Glower. Smirk. Sideways glance.
Hand meets hand over the remote control and Buffy can just about see the sparks go off.
The silence is electric.
Because they don’t always say what they want and don’t always want what they say.
From the doorway, she watches and shakes her head.
Boys are weird.
*****