kissbingo: body : fingers
Title : In his hands
Pairing : Spike/Xander
Rating : R for language
Summary : Unable to sleep, Spike considers Xander's hands...
Listening to the soft snores, Spike held up Xander's hands, looking at the shape and size of his fingers. They were long, strong with calluses on most of the fingertips. Construction work had caused many of them, at least that's what he assumed. But lately, Xander had been doing lots of carving around their home.
It had started with stakes for the Slayer. Simple bits of wood because she had a really bad habit of leaving the stakes in the vamp as it turned to dust. Funnily enough, Xander had been the one to cure her of that - he'd made her a stake to replace a favourite (ruddy Mr Pointy which had gone missing and Spike would never admit to anything). It was an intricate design, scroll-work and runes with her name engraved of all things. She had been so touched (more ruddy tears) that she'd promised never to lose it. Spike had sniggered when his boy made her days of the week stakes, especially when he explained that he used to be fascinated with girls having days of the week underwear! Of course, his fake pout had got him a bleedin' good shag once the bint had gone home, but he thought it was cute and since when did the Big Bad think anything was cute?
For Giles he had made a set of bookcases - fuckin' gorgeous they were - for his living room. The glass front had been a bitch (according to Xander) to fit, but they looked amazing when he'd finished the job, and the Watcher finally had somewhere to hide all those naughty books he didn't think 'the children' should be getting into. A bit too late for that, if you asked Spike, since a few of the things that Xander had done for him in the bedroom proved he had definitely got into a few of the more adult vampire literature.
The latest thing he had made, the cause of quite a few cuts and nicks in his fingers that he swore over then offered his hand to Spike to lick the blood off, was a writing desk. For Spike. It had intricate carvings down each leg, a roll-top that slid back incredibly smoothly to reveal an inkwell and lots of different shaped alcoves. They held all sorts of paper and vellum, feathers for making old fashioned quills, new things appearing regularly although Spike had never caught Xander actually putting anything in there.
He was even talking about quitting construction altogether, about maybe turning one of the downstairs rooms into a workshop and making things for people for a living. And Spike wouldn't object - when his boy had been outside carving he smelt of wood shavings, fresh air and the sun, his skin holding onto the heat so when Spike wrestled him into bed he almost felt like he'd been out in the sun himself. Spike's only objection would possibly be the damage the boy did to his hands, specifically his fingers - some of the cuts were deep, almost gouges and he worried that he might hurt himself badly.
Shifting up, Spike took both hands in his, and laid gentle kisses up and down each finger. So gently that Xander barely stirred, his snoring not even faltering as he turned towards Spike in his sleep. Wrapping himself in Xander's arms, Spike snuggled back under the sheets, kissed each finger one more time then closed his eyes. There was plenty of time to think about Red's claim about the chip later. For now, he was safe in these hands.