NOTE: //Xander's thoughts//, /Spike's thoughts/.
NOTE 2: A big thank you to x, beta extraordinary.
NOTE 3: Thanks for all the excellent feedback on previously parts. *beams*
Fortunately the door hadn't had one of those little bells, so Xander walked in mostly unnoticed. He got a glass of champagne off a tray sitting on a table and a thin catalogue from the small pile beside the glasses. He quickly walked over to the nearest painting and tried to look as if he was deeply studying the artwork. Hopefully no one would pay him any attention and he wouldn't have to make small talk, while trying to say something in- depth about the artist's use of colour.
The plan worked like a charm; no one seemed to have noticed his entrance and Xander visibly relaxed and took a sip of the champagne. Now that he wasn't trying so hard to go unnoticed, he took a quick look around. The gallery was composed of one big room with a smaller one in the back. A wide archway connected the two rooms. The walls were painted in a bright white, which was only interrupted by the artwork. If the William Southfork on the invitation was of the un-dead variety formerly known as Spike, and Xander was pretty sure he was, the artist was nowhere to be found. The people who was milling about, sipping their own champagne, looking at the paintings and making small talk, looked like your average art-lover. He was glad he had dressed the part and not showed up in jeans and a T-shirt, it would have made it impossible to not draw attention to him.
It didn't seem as if anyone, the gallery owner or otherwise, was going to walk over to him and. //greet him? Wish him welcome?// He really had no idea how these things worked. When no one attempted to drag him into a conversation, he released the death-grip; he unconsciously had had on the small pamphlet and looked at it more closely. It was a small booklet with the gallery's name, the name of the artist and the date the paintings would be shown on the cover. There was also the title of the exhibition, //"Memories long lost". How poetic// Xander thought, and remembered the time when Spike had let it slip that he had been a poet before Angelus came along. //That had been one drunken night.// Xander couldn't help but smile at the memory.
The rest of the catalogue was made up of small pictures of the paintings, all with a number, title, year and a price. Some of the titles were familiar, like Sunnyhell and The Initiative, but they were all worded so that an outsider wouldn't know the real meaning behind it. The dates of origin started a year after Spike had left Sunnydale and ran up until the current year. The prices were real high. But, then again, Xander wasn't at home in the artworld, for all he knew they could be among the lowest.
He looked up and his eyes was drawn to the nearest painting, the one he had been so intent on appearing to be studying that he hadn't really seen it. When he had first connected the dots and come to the conclusion that Spike apparently was a painter now, he had had a mental image of huge canvases splattered with thick layers of black and bright red. It was comforting, //or was that uncomforting,// to know that he hadn't been too far off. The frame-less canvases that hung from invisible lines from the ceiling was huge: about five feet high and seven or eight feet across. They all appeared to be non-figurative, but they were in all sorts of colours. The one he had ended up in front off after his stealthy entrance //yeah, right// was done all in nuances of blue, from baby blue to a deep rich almost black navy colour. It was mesmerising; like the sky minutes before a summer storm, or the ocean settling down after a good bout of thunder.
Xander sank deeper into his thoughts. The gallery with the silent murmur of people gave way to the memory of the summer before his sophomore year. The summer before Buffy, before vampires and hellmouths. The last summer of childhood and innocence.
Willow and him had been vegging on her back lawn, lapping up the sun, when all of a sudden dark clouds had gathered on the previously clear July-sky. The rain and thunder had started almost immediately, giving the two teens no time to get inside. They were drenched within seconds, but Willow had only turned to him with a big smile on her face and started to dance around in the heavy rain. He had laughed at her antics and happily joined her in their own version of a rain-dance. //That had been one great summer,// Xander thought. The memory so vivid that he could almost taste the rain on his tongue, smell the roses that Sheila took such great care of, and hear Willows laughter as she spun faster and faster; arms stretched out, head turned up laughing against the rain that had dared to interrupt their sunny day.
*******
Xander remained deep in thoughts, unaware that his entrance had been noticed. Spike had heard the door opening, over the quiet murmur of voices, from the room in back and looked over just as Xander walked trough the door.
He hadn't really believed that the boy would actually show up. But now that he had, Spike couldn't take his eyes of him. He watched the younger man snatch a glass and a catalogue and then quickly walk over to pretend to be a part of the fixtures. Spike shook his head lightly. /Still trying to sink into the background, Harris?/
The woman beside him kept talking about how wonderful she thought his work was. Spike listened with half an ear, made some noise when appropriate and continued to look over the young man he hadn't seen in over five years. /He looks older, well duh as the bit would say. He also looks broader. Doing some weightlifting probably. The hair is nice, always did like long hair./ The mental image of the two of them naked on a bed, with him running his hands trough that thick dark mass of unruly locks, made Spike fall out of sync with the woman talking to him and she walked away offended after he had made an uh huh-sound instead of an hmm-sound. Spike shrugged. /No greater loss./ Now he could concentrate on his Xander-watching, which was a whole lot more interesting.
Xander chose that moment to look up and scan the crowd. Spike ducked behind the dividing wall between the gallery's two rooms. He waited, and when he wasn't yanked up by the collar, he was relieved that he hadn't been seen, and stepped out from his temporary hiding. His ducking for cover had gotten a few eyebrows raised, but they probably chalked it up to strange artistic behaviour 'cause no one came over. Either that or they just didn't care, it made no difference to him as long as he was left alone to continue his voyeurism.
He looked over the other man's clothes and was pleased to see that the often miss-matched outfits Xander had favoured in the past had been exchanged for a more subtle grey shirt and black slacks. It didn't hurt that the trousers were tight enough to show off a pretty impressive firm ass and muscular thighs. /Didn't hurt at all./ Spike discreetly adjusted himself and stared down the older man across the room that had raised an unapproving eyebrow. /If you don't approve, go stare at some other paintings./ Half the people that were mingling about the gallery had only showed up for the free champagne anyway.
The object of Spike's viewing was still deep in thoughts and hadn't moved since his quick scan of the room. /Time to greet my newest fan./ Spike chuckled silently to himself and started to make his way towards one of the few people he personally had invited. /He's so lost in thoughts that he doesn't even hear me./ Spike tsked to himself and noticed the stake-induced bump on Xander's lower back. /Well at least he's still wearing a stake./ He took the last step up to the younger man's back, leaned forward and whispered directly into his ear.
"See something you like?"
Fortunately the door hadn't had one of those little bells, so Xander walked in mostly unnoticed. He got a glass of champagne off a tray sitting on a table and a thin catalogue from the small pile beside the glasses. He quickly walked over to the nearest painting and tried to look as if he was deeply studying the artwork. Hopefully no one would pay him any attention and he wouldn't have to make small talk, while trying to say something in- depth about the artist's use of colour.
The plan worked like a charm; no one seemed to have noticed his entrance and Xander visibly relaxed and took a sip of the champagne. Now that he wasn't trying so hard to go unnoticed, he took a quick look around. The gallery was composed of one big room with a smaller one in the back. A wide archway connected the two rooms. The walls were painted in a bright white, which was only interrupted by the artwork. If the William Southfork on the invitation was of the un-dead variety formerly known as Spike, and Xander was pretty sure he was, the artist was nowhere to be found. The people who was milling about, sipping their own champagne, looking at the paintings and making small talk, looked like your average art-lover. He was glad he had dressed the part and not showed up in jeans and a T-shirt, it would have made it impossible to not draw attention to him.
It didn't seem as if anyone, the gallery owner or otherwise, was going to walk over to him and. //greet him? Wish him welcome?// He really had no idea how these things worked. When no one attempted to drag him into a conversation, he released the death-grip; he unconsciously had had on the small pamphlet and looked at it more closely. It was a small booklet with the gallery's name, the name of the artist and the date the paintings would be shown on the cover. There was also the title of the exhibition, //"Memories long lost". How poetic// Xander thought, and remembered the time when Spike had let it slip that he had been a poet before Angelus came along. //That had been one drunken night.// Xander couldn't help but smile at the memory.
The rest of the catalogue was made up of small pictures of the paintings, all with a number, title, year and a price. Some of the titles were familiar, like Sunnyhell and The Initiative, but they were all worded so that an outsider wouldn't know the real meaning behind it. The dates of origin started a year after Spike had left Sunnydale and ran up until the current year. The prices were real high. But, then again, Xander wasn't at home in the artworld, for all he knew they could be among the lowest.
He looked up and his eyes was drawn to the nearest painting, the one he had been so intent on appearing to be studying that he hadn't really seen it. When he had first connected the dots and come to the conclusion that Spike apparently was a painter now, he had had a mental image of huge canvases splattered with thick layers of black and bright red. It was comforting, //or was that uncomforting,// to know that he hadn't been too far off. The frame-less canvases that hung from invisible lines from the ceiling was huge: about five feet high and seven or eight feet across. They all appeared to be non-figurative, but they were in all sorts of colours. The one he had ended up in front off after his stealthy entrance //yeah, right// was done all in nuances of blue, from baby blue to a deep rich almost black navy colour. It was mesmerising; like the sky minutes before a summer storm, or the ocean settling down after a good bout of thunder.
Xander sank deeper into his thoughts. The gallery with the silent murmur of people gave way to the memory of the summer before his sophomore year. The summer before Buffy, before vampires and hellmouths. The last summer of childhood and innocence.
Willow and him had been vegging on her back lawn, lapping up the sun, when all of a sudden dark clouds had gathered on the previously clear July-sky. The rain and thunder had started almost immediately, giving the two teens no time to get inside. They were drenched within seconds, but Willow had only turned to him with a big smile on her face and started to dance around in the heavy rain. He had laughed at her antics and happily joined her in their own version of a rain-dance. //That had been one great summer,// Xander thought. The memory so vivid that he could almost taste the rain on his tongue, smell the roses that Sheila took such great care of, and hear Willows laughter as she spun faster and faster; arms stretched out, head turned up laughing against the rain that had dared to interrupt their sunny day.
*******
Xander remained deep in thoughts, unaware that his entrance had been noticed. Spike had heard the door opening, over the quiet murmur of voices, from the room in back and looked over just as Xander walked trough the door.
He hadn't really believed that the boy would actually show up. But now that he had, Spike couldn't take his eyes of him. He watched the younger man snatch a glass and a catalogue and then quickly walk over to pretend to be a part of the fixtures. Spike shook his head lightly. /Still trying to sink into the background, Harris?/
The woman beside him kept talking about how wonderful she thought his work was. Spike listened with half an ear, made some noise when appropriate and continued to look over the young man he hadn't seen in over five years. /He looks older, well duh as the bit would say. He also looks broader. Doing some weightlifting probably. The hair is nice, always did like long hair./ The mental image of the two of them naked on a bed, with him running his hands trough that thick dark mass of unruly locks, made Spike fall out of sync with the woman talking to him and she walked away offended after he had made an uh huh-sound instead of an hmm-sound. Spike shrugged. /No greater loss./ Now he could concentrate on his Xander-watching, which was a whole lot more interesting.
Xander chose that moment to look up and scan the crowd. Spike ducked behind the dividing wall between the gallery's two rooms. He waited, and when he wasn't yanked up by the collar, he was relieved that he hadn't been seen, and stepped out from his temporary hiding. His ducking for cover had gotten a few eyebrows raised, but they probably chalked it up to strange artistic behaviour 'cause no one came over. Either that or they just didn't care, it made no difference to him as long as he was left alone to continue his voyeurism.
He looked over the other man's clothes and was pleased to see that the often miss-matched outfits Xander had favoured in the past had been exchanged for a more subtle grey shirt and black slacks. It didn't hurt that the trousers were tight enough to show off a pretty impressive firm ass and muscular thighs. /Didn't hurt at all./ Spike discreetly adjusted himself and stared down the older man across the room that had raised an unapproving eyebrow. /If you don't approve, go stare at some other paintings./ Half the people that were mingling about the gallery had only showed up for the free champagne anyway.
The object of Spike's viewing was still deep in thoughts and hadn't moved since his quick scan of the room. /Time to greet my newest fan./ Spike chuckled silently to himself and started to make his way towards one of the few people he personally had invited. /He's so lost in thoughts that he doesn't even hear me./ Spike tsked to himself and noticed the stake-induced bump on Xander's lower back. /Well at least he's still wearing a stake./ He took the last step up to the younger man's back, leaned forward and whispered directly into his ear.
"See something you like?"