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darkhavensAuthor: darkhavens
Title: A Good Night For Hunting
Fandom: Pairing: Buffy: Spike/Xander
Rating: PG
Words: 201
Concrit: darkhavens @ slashverse.com. If you spot a typo, please feel free to tell me in comments. I want you to!
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Warnings/Squicks: Vamp!Xander.
Summary: Spike marvels at his own creation.
Notes: Written for challenge #33 - 'Marble' - on my long-neglected Spander Big Damn Table and for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
mini_nanowrimo.
Mini-nanowrimo word count: 986
It's been raining for hours. The forest is redolent with the scents of wet earth, rotting vegetation, grass - the copper-iron tang of life.
He stands at the edge of shadow, the moonlight throwing the planes and angles of his face into stark contrast. He's a lethal work of art, a deadly labor of love. A rabbit screams, high-pitched and terrified, and he doesn't even blink.
If he was stripped of the leather and silk and cotton that clings to his skin, he would outshine Michelangelo's David in his pale, marble beauty; a living - though neither live nor breathing - statue, carved from the ruins of a lost, depressed soul. Spike feels real pride in his work.
There are people approaching now, sending up a beacon of laughter and chatter, the stench of too much alcohol and too little sleep, of paper and cheap ink - students. Spike is amazed at how stupid people can be. Despite the recent spate of murders and disappearances, there's always someone who thinks a shortcut through the woods is a good idea.
Xander finally blinks, flashes a gleeful grin in Spike's direction, and steps out onto the path.
It's a good night for hunting.
Title: A Good Night For Hunting
Fandom: Pairing: Buffy: Spike/Xander
Rating: PG
Words: 201
Concrit: darkhavens @ slashverse.com. If you spot a typo, please feel free to tell me in comments. I want you to!
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Warnings/Squicks: Vamp!Xander.
Summary: Spike marvels at his own creation.
Notes: Written for challenge #33 - 'Marble' - on my long-neglected Spander Big Damn Table and for
mini_nanowrimo.Mini-nanowrimo word count: 986
It's been raining for hours. The forest is redolent with the scents of wet earth, rotting vegetation, grass - the copper-iron tang of life.
He stands at the edge of shadow, the moonlight throwing the planes and angles of his face into stark contrast. He's a lethal work of art, a deadly labor of love. A rabbit screams, high-pitched and terrified, and he doesn't even blink.
If he was stripped of the leather and silk and cotton that clings to his skin, he would outshine Michelangelo's David in his pale, marble beauty; a living - though neither live nor breathing - statue, carved from the ruins of a lost, depressed soul. Spike feels real pride in his work.
There are people approaching now, sending up a beacon of laughter and chatter, the stench of too much alcohol and too little sleep, of paper and cheap ink - students. Spike is amazed at how stupid people can be. Despite the recent spate of murders and disappearances, there's always someone who thinks a shortcut through the woods is a good idea.
Xander finally blinks, flashes a gleeful grin in Spike's direction, and steps out onto the path.
It's a good night for hunting.
