Note: This isn't my favorite drabble, no particular reason why, but I thought I'd post it as sort of an apology for the last one which I liked a hell of a lot better. Ah well. Also I'd like to just say "thank you" to Ingridmr, should you ever read this know that I deeply appreciated all the reviews you've sent me on all of my Spander stories.
Xander rocks. Not in the traditional teenaged fantasy of owning your own guitar, beating the hell out of the villain, wooing the girl of your dreams, and still having somehow effortlessly perfect grades. No, he rocks in the physical sense, back and forth, one finger nearly in his mouth leaving tooth marks as he sits cross legged on the bed, reading his comics oh-so-slowly because he really takes time to appreciate the scenery or more often lose himself in grown-up thought. The other hand cradles his head – always ready to turn the page, but only doing so when all available information has been absorbed. He rocks in time to his own heart beat, Spike knows, and doubts he knows he's doing it, because things like heart beats aren't things humans notice, and he doubts that anyone else has witnessed this phenomenon of movement. Such minute little motions of back and forth, back and forth, as though his bones refuse to lay still in his skin and every thick, powerful pump rocks him forward, he doubts anyone else has noticed, doubts anyone else has seen him this still. It reminds Spike of other things, early in the afternoon where he can watch unobserved and uncared for, the rocking reminds him of other things, mother's favorite chair, Drusilla's madness, sex: and he wonders what Xander would do, how he would move, would he rock, if Spike stopped his heart? And the question is almost worth answering. Spike is fascinated by Xander lost in his head, and finds himself thinking far too much about that heart beat.