S/X Kiss meme
Sep. 28th, 2003 11:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
darcydodoThere is an S/X kiss meme going around, started unconsciously by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
green_luv and very consciously by eliade. And I felt like I'd vaguely promised to write more S/X at some point, so now I have.
There is a night. Deep in summer's heat, hidden away in Spike's crypt, because Xander has gone there to kick Spike's ass and maybe feel a little better, and Spike has let him, and then poured him glass after glass of liquid fire. In Xander, it brings maudlin silence, a wet clotting of his eyelashes, the slip of a single tear along his nose. Spike, though, soon can't shut up, reviling himself with bitter words and remorse, as Xander suspects he does every night anyway, when Dawn's not there. So he slides unsteadily across the couch, touches his fingers to Spike's cool cheek. Blue irises, bruised purple with weeping, cling to his face, and suddenly Spike's mouth is on his, teeth and tongue grinding at lips until they open, and he tastes the faint tang of cigarettes. Xander caresses his hand up the smooth cheek, tangles it in stiffened curls, finds un-gelled hair at the nape of Spike's neck that confirms to his fingers how soft and silky those curls should be. It's not a gentle kiss; neither of them wants it to be, and that's for another time, years before or hence, when sorrow doesn't lay so heavily against their every thought. But it deepens into something akin to passion, tongue twining against tongue, gliding across slick teeth, and Xander wonders, in a muzzy, half-coalescing thought, how many nights he'll find himself back here, kicking Spike's ass and drinking his rum.
green_luv and very consciously by eliade. And I felt like I'd vaguely promised to write more S/X at some point, so now I have.There is a night. Deep in summer's heat, hidden away in Spike's crypt, because Xander has gone there to kick Spike's ass and maybe feel a little better, and Spike has let him, and then poured him glass after glass of liquid fire. In Xander, it brings maudlin silence, a wet clotting of his eyelashes, the slip of a single tear along his nose. Spike, though, soon can't shut up, reviling himself with bitter words and remorse, as Xander suspects he does every night anyway, when Dawn's not there. So he slides unsteadily across the couch, touches his fingers to Spike's cool cheek. Blue irises, bruised purple with weeping, cling to his face, and suddenly Spike's mouth is on his, teeth and tongue grinding at lips until they open, and he tastes the faint tang of cigarettes. Xander caresses his hand up the smooth cheek, tangles it in stiffened curls, finds un-gelled hair at the nape of Spike's neck that confirms to his fingers how soft and silky those curls should be. It's not a gentle kiss; neither of them wants it to be, and that's for another time, years before or hence, when sorrow doesn't lay so heavily against their every thought. But it deepens into something akin to passion, tongue twining against tongue, gliding across slick teeth, and Xander wonders, in a muzzy, half-coalescing thought, how many nights he'll find himself back here, kicking Spike's ass and drinking his rum.
