'Worthy' and 'Smoke Signals', 2 for ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
slashthedrabble #64 'Habit'
Feb. 19th, 2006 04:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
darkhavensAuthor: darkhavens
Title: 'Worthy' and 'Smoke Signals'
Pairing: Spike/Xander, Spike
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Rating: PG for language
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Summary: A couple of moments out of time in the baby!vamp!Xander 'verse.
Worthy
Once turned, Xander looked at Spike as though he'd hung the stars, and tossed a silver coin into the sky to hang there as the moon. Every gentle touch sent a tremor rippling through his frame. Eyes that flashed from shag tobacco brown to gold and back again fought the urge to blink in case he missed his Sire's next move.
Even knowing that it couldn't ever last, Spike got used to being looked upon as Xander's shining god. But a tiny part kept waiting for the other shoe to drop - the moment Xander got a clue.
It's still waiting.
Smoke Signals
Slide. Tap. Snick. Flare. Snap. That first slow hissing drag. The slightest cracklecrack of fast ignition as the ember grows.
Draw it in, hold it - a measured count of one two three - then out, slow and steady, warm across the tongue.
Filters, full of chemicals and tar, steal the flavour; smother it in ethyl, methyl, isobutyl, phenyl cocktails. And worse.
Even loose tobacco doesn’t taste the way it used to - rich bodied, verdant scented green and full of life. Yet Spike still smokes. It's a habit, one of many, and it's his. He always did enjoy a damn good shag.
NEXT
Title: 'Worthy' and 'Smoke Signals'
Pairing: Spike/Xander, Spike
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Rating: PG for language
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Summary: A couple of moments out of time in the baby!vamp!Xander 'verse.
Worthy
Once turned, Xander looked at Spike as though he'd hung the stars, and tossed a silver coin into the sky to hang there as the moon. Every gentle touch sent a tremor rippling through his frame. Eyes that flashed from shag tobacco brown to gold and back again fought the urge to blink in case he missed his Sire's next move.
Even knowing that it couldn't ever last, Spike got used to being looked upon as Xander's shining god. But a tiny part kept waiting for the other shoe to drop - the moment Xander got a clue.
It's still waiting.
Smoke Signals
Slide. Tap. Snick. Flare. Snap. That first slow hissing drag. The slightest cracklecrack of fast ignition as the ember grows.
Draw it in, hold it - a measured count of one two three - then out, slow and steady, warm across the tongue.
Filters, full of chemicals and tar, steal the flavour; smother it in ethyl, methyl, isobutyl, phenyl cocktails. And worse.
Even loose tobacco doesn’t taste the way it used to - rich bodied, verdant scented green and full of life. Yet Spike still smokes. It's a habit, one of many, and it's his. He always did enjoy a damn good shag.
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no subject
on 2006-02-28 12:17 am (UTC)