Title: Sneak
Author: Flannery
Rating: PG
Pairing: Andrew/Spike... kinda.
Summary: Something formerly evil lurks in the shadows of the basement.
Warnings: Partial male nudity. Excessive dust. May cause sneezing and watery eyes.
Notes: Takes place circa "Bring on the Night", but no spoilers.
* * *
He'd sneaked down to the basement in the darkest hours of the morning. While teenaged Slayerlings slept, while sexy souled vampires prowled, Andrew lurked. He imagined himself swathed in shadow, simply shining eyes and wide, predatory grin like the Cheshire cat. If only he had a tail to swish about as he padded stealthily across the cement floor. Somehow, a tail would make the sneaking better.
If one looked past the weapons hung along the walls, ignored the presence of the chains and manacles, paid no attention to the random bloodstains and didn't notice the huge box marked "outfits Buffy's already worn", one would think this was any other typical basement. Of course, ignoring all that was a big thing to ask; fortunately Andrew had already done his share of snooping the week before, so wasn't too distracted by the assorted oddities lying about.
The basement was all hard floor, stacked storage boxes, cobwebs and dust. There were few traces of Spike in the room, though he'd been dwelling there for weeks. Only the rumpled sheets of the cot betrayed his residence. Beneath the bed, a small pile of black clothes was barely visible and next to the pile, a mug encrusted with old blood.
Andrew wrinkled his nose up at the sight of the cup. Had that been sitting down here all week? Buffy would just have to throw the mug away. Seriously, Andrew would NOT be washing it. If they tried to make him, he'd drop the mug and shatter into a thousand icky pieces. He may have given up his evil ways, but his dark side still extended to doing dishes.
Crouching behind dust-covered cardboard boxes, Andrew realized how badly thought-out his plan was. Spike wouldn't be home for a while yet, so this would be a good opportunity to work on the details. The plan currently was this: hide in basement, watch Spike undress. Andrew decided he'd better formulate a cover story, just in case. And maybe an escape route. And if Spike caught Andrew watching him from the shadows and found his voyeurism to be flattering and a turn-on?
His brain abandoned specifics of the plan and found itself caught up in fantasy. Lost in thought, Andrew shifted on the floor and awaited Spike's return.
Return he did, after nearly an hour. By then, the dust had been causing Andrew to sneeze, and his legs had developed painful cramps from the strange position he was in on the concrete floor. Annoying, yes, but not unbearable. He was glad he didn't have that tail -- the last thing he needed was another body part in which to get a cramp.
Spike stepped through the door at the top of the stairs, carefully shut it behind him to avoid making too much noise. The world around the vampire slowed to a glamorous shampoo-commercial crawl as he descended the stairs, peeling off his tight black shirt as he moved. Andrew bit down on his lip. Those abs were worth all of the pain and allergy he'd been suffering.
Then Spike paused at the foot of the stairs, shirt still wrapped around his forearms.
"I can smell you, you know," growled the vampire.
Andrew swallowed hard.
"You reek of pheromones and Yoohoo."
He cursed himself for not spending more time working out a backup plan rather than fantasizing about being caught. Because now that he'd been caught? Not so much fun as Andrew had imagined.
Shakily, he rose to his feet. Spike directed his cold gaze toward Andrew, one eyebrow raised expectantly.
Blushing furiously, the boy blurted out, "I was looking for, uh, for a... well, it doesn't matter, 'cause I couldn't find it, and I thought I'd ask you where... it wasn't so important really, so never mind..."
Spike's chest was all hard muscle under marble-white skin and it was so, so distracting. Five minutes later, if one had asked Andrew what he'd offered in explanation, he wouldn't have been able to repeat it. He'd been brainwashed by half-naked vampire body.
There was a pause. Andrew felt a sneeze coming on and wondered if he was allergic to awkward silence.
Finally, Spike narrowed his eyes at the embarrassed youth. "I see," he said in a low tone, an amused smirk threatening to break through the icy expression.
Andrew shifted uncomfortably under the heavy stare.
"Well then," Spike breathed out, gazing sensually at Andrew, "Since it gets quite lonely down here, and I haven't had a nocturnal visitor in ages..." He wadded up his shirt and dropped it to the floor. "Why don't you have a seat on the cot and I'll give you a little show?"
To his shame, Andrew nearly fell down in shock. "Really?" He squeaked.
"No, of *course* not really!" Spike snapped. "Get outta my space, you creepy little twit!"
This time, Andrew did fall down. Without pausing to think, he scampered across the basement, past the scowling vampire and up the stairs. Spike couldn't physically harm him, of course. Andrew knew this. But it was better to quit while one was ahead. To retreat with one's dignity still intact.
Mostly intact.
Well, barely intact, but not completely in shreds.
Andrew's theoretical tail would've been tucked between his legs.
* * *
Author: Flannery
Rating: PG
Pairing: Andrew/Spike... kinda.
Summary: Something formerly evil lurks in the shadows of the basement.
Warnings: Partial male nudity. Excessive dust. May cause sneezing and watery eyes.
Notes: Takes place circa "Bring on the Night", but no spoilers.
* * *
He'd sneaked down to the basement in the darkest hours of the morning. While teenaged Slayerlings slept, while sexy souled vampires prowled, Andrew lurked. He imagined himself swathed in shadow, simply shining eyes and wide, predatory grin like the Cheshire cat. If only he had a tail to swish about as he padded stealthily across the cement floor. Somehow, a tail would make the sneaking better.
If one looked past the weapons hung along the walls, ignored the presence of the chains and manacles, paid no attention to the random bloodstains and didn't notice the huge box marked "outfits Buffy's already worn", one would think this was any other typical basement. Of course, ignoring all that was a big thing to ask; fortunately Andrew had already done his share of snooping the week before, so wasn't too distracted by the assorted oddities lying about.
The basement was all hard floor, stacked storage boxes, cobwebs and dust. There were few traces of Spike in the room, though he'd been dwelling there for weeks. Only the rumpled sheets of the cot betrayed his residence. Beneath the bed, a small pile of black clothes was barely visible and next to the pile, a mug encrusted with old blood.
Andrew wrinkled his nose up at the sight of the cup. Had that been sitting down here all week? Buffy would just have to throw the mug away. Seriously, Andrew would NOT be washing it. If they tried to make him, he'd drop the mug and shatter into a thousand icky pieces. He may have given up his evil ways, but his dark side still extended to doing dishes.
Crouching behind dust-covered cardboard boxes, Andrew realized how badly thought-out his plan was. Spike wouldn't be home for a while yet, so this would be a good opportunity to work on the details. The plan currently was this: hide in basement, watch Spike undress. Andrew decided he'd better formulate a cover story, just in case. And maybe an escape route. And if Spike caught Andrew watching him from the shadows and found his voyeurism to be flattering and a turn-on?
His brain abandoned specifics of the plan and found itself caught up in fantasy. Lost in thought, Andrew shifted on the floor and awaited Spike's return.
Return he did, after nearly an hour. By then, the dust had been causing Andrew to sneeze, and his legs had developed painful cramps from the strange position he was in on the concrete floor. Annoying, yes, but not unbearable. He was glad he didn't have that tail -- the last thing he needed was another body part in which to get a cramp.
Spike stepped through the door at the top of the stairs, carefully shut it behind him to avoid making too much noise. The world around the vampire slowed to a glamorous shampoo-commercial crawl as he descended the stairs, peeling off his tight black shirt as he moved. Andrew bit down on his lip. Those abs were worth all of the pain and allergy he'd been suffering.
Then Spike paused at the foot of the stairs, shirt still wrapped around his forearms.
"I can smell you, you know," growled the vampire.
Andrew swallowed hard.
"You reek of pheromones and Yoohoo."
He cursed himself for not spending more time working out a backup plan rather than fantasizing about being caught. Because now that he'd been caught? Not so much fun as Andrew had imagined.
Shakily, he rose to his feet. Spike directed his cold gaze toward Andrew, one eyebrow raised expectantly.
Blushing furiously, the boy blurted out, "I was looking for, uh, for a... well, it doesn't matter, 'cause I couldn't find it, and I thought I'd ask you where... it wasn't so important really, so never mind..."
Spike's chest was all hard muscle under marble-white skin and it was so, so distracting. Five minutes later, if one had asked Andrew what he'd offered in explanation, he wouldn't have been able to repeat it. He'd been brainwashed by half-naked vampire body.
There was a pause. Andrew felt a sneeze coming on and wondered if he was allergic to awkward silence.
Finally, Spike narrowed his eyes at the embarrassed youth. "I see," he said in a low tone, an amused smirk threatening to break through the icy expression.
Andrew shifted uncomfortably under the heavy stare.
"Well then," Spike breathed out, gazing sensually at Andrew, "Since it gets quite lonely down here, and I haven't had a nocturnal visitor in ages..." He wadded up his shirt and dropped it to the floor. "Why don't you have a seat on the cot and I'll give you a little show?"
To his shame, Andrew nearly fell down in shock. "Really?" He squeaked.
"No, of *course* not really!" Spike snapped. "Get outta my space, you creepy little twit!"
This time, Andrew did fall down. Without pausing to think, he scampered across the basement, past the scowling vampire and up the stairs. Spike couldn't physically harm him, of course. Andrew knew this. But it was better to quit while one was ahead. To retreat with one's dignity still intact.
Mostly intact.
Well, barely intact, but not completely in shreds.
Andrew's theoretical tail would've been tucked between his legs.
* * *