Fic: Therapy Sessions, Spike/Xander
Nov. 9th, 2007 07:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
darkhavensAuthor: darkhavens
Title: Therapy Sessions
fandom: Pairing: Buffy: Spike/Xander
Rating: R
Words: 3x100
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, clowns, shopping for bed linen.
Summary: baby!vamp!Xander still has nightmares. Spike helps him cope.
Notes: These can be read as a standalone set of drabbles, but are also a part of the baby!vamp!Xander 'verse. Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
mini_nanowrimo day 8, and also for my Spander Big Damn Table.
47. Feathers
Xander woke to a mouthful of feathers, and strips of expensive cotton wedged between his fangs like shredded skin. The scratchy tickle at the back of his throat had him hacking so hard he was sure he resembled Seven when she'd coughed up her first kitten-sized hairball.
The heap of quilts beside him rippled and heaved before finally giving way to Spike's half-hearted struggles. Eventually he emerged, rumpled and bleary-eyed, to watch Xander spitting up duck down and picking six-hundred thread count Egyptian cotton from between his teeth.
"Another nightmare? What was it this time?"
Xander pouted.
"The clown again."
60. Paint
"Trust me, luv, this'll work, and if it doesn't, well, you've got to eat anyway, right?"
Xander watched from the doorway as Spike dabbed white facepaint around the mouth of the unconscious snackpack on the motel bed.
"One final touch," - Spike tugged a curly orange wig into place - "aaaaaand, I'm done." He checked over his shoulder to see how Xander was doing. "Just a bloke off the street in some cheap slap and a funny wig, Xan, yeah? Not a thing worth fretting about. Now get your pretty arse over here and grab a bite, before the wanker comes round."
58. Cotton
Spike took a last long draught of sales clerk and turned to see what monstrosity Xander had chosen this time. Each one seemed worse than the last.
"What are they, silk? You ever tried to fuck on silk sheets, luv? There's no bloody traction with 'em, you end up sliding off the bed mid-shag." He let his dinner drop to the floor behind the counter and vaulted over. "None of that polyester shite either, with its static cling. We want-"
"Egyptian cotton, high thread count, nothing with superheroes on," Xander recited along with him. "I know th- Ooh! Body pillows!"
mini_nanowrimo running total: 3490 words
NEXT
Title: Therapy Sessions
fandom: Pairing: Buffy: Spike/Xander
Rating: R
Words: 3x100
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, clowns, shopping for bed linen.
Summary: baby!vamp!Xander still has nightmares. Spike helps him cope.
Notes: These can be read as a standalone set of drabbles, but are also a part of the baby!vamp!Xander 'verse. Written for
mini_nanowrimo day 8, and also for my Spander Big Damn Table.47. Feathers
Xander woke to a mouthful of feathers, and strips of expensive cotton wedged between his fangs like shredded skin. The scratchy tickle at the back of his throat had him hacking so hard he was sure he resembled Seven when she'd coughed up her first kitten-sized hairball.
The heap of quilts beside him rippled and heaved before finally giving way to Spike's half-hearted struggles. Eventually he emerged, rumpled and bleary-eyed, to watch Xander spitting up duck down and picking six-hundred thread count Egyptian cotton from between his teeth.
"Another nightmare? What was it this time?"
Xander pouted.
"The clown again."
60. Paint
"Trust me, luv, this'll work, and if it doesn't, well, you've got to eat anyway, right?"
Xander watched from the doorway as Spike dabbed white facepaint around the mouth of the unconscious snackpack on the motel bed.
"One final touch," - Spike tugged a curly orange wig into place - "aaaaaand, I'm done." He checked over his shoulder to see how Xander was doing. "Just a bloke off the street in some cheap slap and a funny wig, Xan, yeah? Not a thing worth fretting about. Now get your pretty arse over here and grab a bite, before the wanker comes round."
58. Cotton
Spike took a last long draught of sales clerk and turned to see what monstrosity Xander had chosen this time. Each one seemed worse than the last.
"What are they, silk? You ever tried to fuck on silk sheets, luv? There's no bloody traction with 'em, you end up sliding off the bed mid-shag." He let his dinner drop to the floor behind the counter and vaulted over. "None of that polyester shite either, with its static cling. We want-"
"Egyptian cotton, high thread count, nothing with superheroes on," Xander recited along with him. "I know th- Ooh! Body pillows!"
mini_nanowrimo running total: 3490 words
no subject
on 2007-11-09 07:29 pm (UTC)