Rain in the desert
Jul. 26th, 2003 08:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
essene_backupMore wet Xander.
Spike turned and perched on the hood of the Desoto, grinning as he smoked his damp cigarette, watching the boy search for his wits and adjust his pants.
He waited.
Finally, a rear door of the Chevy opened and Xander stepped/stumbled out. Spike's smile grew wider as he lit a fresh cigarette and followed the youth’s hunched attempt to walk coolly to where Spike was.
Spike quickly adopted his sullen anarchist attitude when Xander’s face came into crisp view.
“What...what are you...how...” Xander’s words tripped out of his mouth as he raised a shaky hand and raked it through his sopping hair.
Spike had the nerve to look calm, punkish and damn him, dry.
With a sardonic tilt and raised brow, “Driving. Car.” Spike patted the hood.
“But here? Why out here?” Xander half wanted to know the answer to this, but the other half wanted to know EXACTLY how long the vamp had been...watching.
“On my way to Santa Fe. Big brouhaha every year ‘bout this time.” Spike took another drag and exhaled at Xander.
Spike pushed up off the car. Flicked his cigarette away with thumb and middle finger. Turned and walked to the driver’s door. “I only saw the ‘Uhhhnnnhhh’,” Spike mimicked Xander, head thrown back hand at crotch and a thrust forward. With a deep chuckle Spike said, “Get your shit Harris and get in.”
************
It had been 2 days. 2 days of cigarettes, single malt and The Ramones. With patches of The Cure, Violent Femmes, The Clash, a Fosters and an occasional butcher shop.
Spike hadn’t said a word. Not ONE word. It was amazing. It was quiet. It was weird. It was against God and nature and it was grating on Xander’s one last tightly stretched nerve.
After the first hour of silence Xander had attempted conversation only to be put off by that razored blue gaze.
He tried again a few times after that, only to be...looked at. Spike had this way of stilling you and slitting you open with those eyes. Whether through drowsy lids slit and creased, or just a frank, open appraisal.
Xander wasn’t good with silence. He sucked at quiet. He couldn’t even be quiet by himself. So to soothe his nerves and his boredom he began to just...speak.
“Since my last road trip to see America was a bust, I was just going to hit all the National Parks. There’s a bunch in that area: Zion, Bryce, Arches...”
“Uncle Rory made me swear on Aunt Dahlia’s grave that I’d bring the car back in one piece...”
“...and then Willow totally kicked John Sack in the balls. It was so great! We called him Blue for months.”
“...so she sort of coerced me into going to the dance with her. All truthy and puppy dog eyes. Kinda reminded me of Cordy with her view on tact.”
“Will you shut up.” It wasn’t really a question. The words were ground out. Slowly and from between clenched teeth.
Xander looked at Spike gape mouthed.
From beneath a hand that was propping his head and shielding his eyes Spike continued, “You natter on like a woman. Shit, I think you talk even more than Dru--if that’s possible. Watch the road you git.”
Xander forced his eyes back to the highway and jerked the wheel to the right, narrowly missing a red semi.
“I...I’m bored. And nervous. I’ve been bored and nervous for 2 days straight. It gets to a person!” Xander was indignant and surprisingly, hurt.
“I don’t care if you’re under a Flemoth curse. Shut. Up.”
Curious, Xander glanced at Spike, “What’s a Flea-moth curse?”
Sighing heavily, Spike spoke slowly, “Flemoth. A curse to speak or die. Now, shut your gob.”
Spike reached over, turned up the radio as loud as it would go, readjusted in his seat and closed his eyes.
Xander pulled the car over. “Now look! I haven’t staked you--mostly because I think you’d come back and kick my ass..."
Spike narrowed his eyes at him, “And I haven’t bitten you.”
“Oh like you could!” Xander waved his hands around his head. “You’re all neutered and humane society-like, remember?”
“It’d be worth it.”
“Hey! I...”
And suddenly Xander wasn’t speaking anymore because Spike had grabbed his head and pressed his mouth firmly on Xander’s.
Xander’s eyes widened and everything else stopped. His breath, his blood, time.
Spike was kissing him. The vampire had his fingers curled at the base of his neck, tugging on the hair there, yet pressing Xander closer at the same time. His lips were cool, firm, soft too. They were moving in slow circles and he was starting to...
Xander jerked back. “Hey! Hey with the,” Xander made a frantic pointing gesture from his lips to Spike’s, “the mouth!”
“Are you saying you don’t like it?”
“No, I…” woah. Did I just say no? I did. I said no. Is that right? Can’t be right.
“Again with the open mouth. You do know that there are better things you can do with it?” Spike smirked.
Xander closed his mouth so hard and fast his teeth clicked.
Spike turned and perched on the hood of the Desoto, grinning as he smoked his damp cigarette, watching the boy search for his wits and adjust his pants.
He waited.
Finally, a rear door of the Chevy opened and Xander stepped/stumbled out. Spike's smile grew wider as he lit a fresh cigarette and followed the youth’s hunched attempt to walk coolly to where Spike was.
Spike quickly adopted his sullen anarchist attitude when Xander’s face came into crisp view.
“What...what are you...how...” Xander’s words tripped out of his mouth as he raised a shaky hand and raked it through his sopping hair.
Spike had the nerve to look calm, punkish and damn him, dry.
With a sardonic tilt and raised brow, “Driving. Car.” Spike patted the hood.
“But here? Why out here?” Xander half wanted to know the answer to this, but the other half wanted to know EXACTLY how long the vamp had been...watching.
“On my way to Santa Fe. Big brouhaha every year ‘bout this time.” Spike took another drag and exhaled at Xander.
Spike pushed up off the car. Flicked his cigarette away with thumb and middle finger. Turned and walked to the driver’s door. “I only saw the ‘Uhhhnnnhhh’,” Spike mimicked Xander, head thrown back hand at crotch and a thrust forward. With a deep chuckle Spike said, “Get your shit Harris and get in.”
************
It had been 2 days. 2 days of cigarettes, single malt and The Ramones. With patches of The Cure, Violent Femmes, The Clash, a Fosters and an occasional butcher shop.
Spike hadn’t said a word. Not ONE word. It was amazing. It was quiet. It was weird. It was against God and nature and it was grating on Xander’s one last tightly stretched nerve.
After the first hour of silence Xander had attempted conversation only to be put off by that razored blue gaze.
He tried again a few times after that, only to be...looked at. Spike had this way of stilling you and slitting you open with those eyes. Whether through drowsy lids slit and creased, or just a frank, open appraisal.
Xander wasn’t good with silence. He sucked at quiet. He couldn’t even be quiet by himself. So to soothe his nerves and his boredom he began to just...speak.
“Since my last road trip to see America was a bust, I was just going to hit all the National Parks. There’s a bunch in that area: Zion, Bryce, Arches...”
“Uncle Rory made me swear on Aunt Dahlia’s grave that I’d bring the car back in one piece...”
“...and then Willow totally kicked John Sack in the balls. It was so great! We called him Blue for months.”
“...so she sort of coerced me into going to the dance with her. All truthy and puppy dog eyes. Kinda reminded me of Cordy with her view on tact.”
“Will you shut up.” It wasn’t really a question. The words were ground out. Slowly and from between clenched teeth.
Xander looked at Spike gape mouthed.
From beneath a hand that was propping his head and shielding his eyes Spike continued, “You natter on like a woman. Shit, I think you talk even more than Dru--if that’s possible. Watch the road you git.”
Xander forced his eyes back to the highway and jerked the wheel to the right, narrowly missing a red semi.
“I...I’m bored. And nervous. I’ve been bored and nervous for 2 days straight. It gets to a person!” Xander was indignant and surprisingly, hurt.
“I don’t care if you’re under a Flemoth curse. Shut. Up.”
Curious, Xander glanced at Spike, “What’s a Flea-moth curse?”
Sighing heavily, Spike spoke slowly, “Flemoth. A curse to speak or die. Now, shut your gob.”
Spike reached over, turned up the radio as loud as it would go, readjusted in his seat and closed his eyes.
Xander pulled the car over. “Now look! I haven’t staked you--mostly because I think you’d come back and kick my ass..."
Spike narrowed his eyes at him, “And I haven’t bitten you.”
“Oh like you could!” Xander waved his hands around his head. “You’re all neutered and humane society-like, remember?”
“It’d be worth it.”
“Hey! I...”
And suddenly Xander wasn’t speaking anymore because Spike had grabbed his head and pressed his mouth firmly on Xander’s.
Xander’s eyes widened and everything else stopped. His breath, his blood, time.
Spike was kissing him. The vampire had his fingers curled at the base of his neck, tugging on the hair there, yet pressing Xander closer at the same time. His lips were cool, firm, soft too. They were moving in slow circles and he was starting to...
Xander jerked back. “Hey! Hey with the,” Xander made a frantic pointing gesture from his lips to Spike’s, “the mouth!”
“Are you saying you don’t like it?”
“No, I…” woah. Did I just say no? I did. I said no. Is that right? Can’t be right.
“Again with the open mouth. You do know that there are better things you can do with it?” Spike smirked.
Xander closed his mouth so hard and fast his teeth clicked.
