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slashthedrabble Jun. 20th, 2008 02:05 pm)
shinodabear.livejournal.com posting in slashthedrabble Jun. 20th, 2008 02:05 pm)Faces
Fandom: Buffy
Rating: PG
Pairing: implied Angelus/William
Disclaimer: If Joss wants a small little ficlet, he can have it.
“So you were a poet?” Dawn innocently asked one night.
“Wasn’t anything special, pet.” Spike batted the question away.
“If you wrote it, it had to be special.” She blushed. “I mean . . . It’s unique.”
He scoffed, remembering his mother’s bemused smile, his peer’s cringes and chuckles, and Drusilla’s tinkling laughter. “Noone could read it with a straight face.”
“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Dawn pressed.
He remembered the grim set of Angelus’s mouth, the impassivity in his eyes, the meaningless comment as he walked off with an unfinished poem in his hands.
“It was.”
He remembered, one night, catching Angelus reading his writing journal by the fire. He had looked at those scribblings as he had any piece of art, composition, dying body.
He remembered the first time Angelus had quoted a line of his poem back to him. It had been snowing large, fluffy flakes, and they’d just been watching.
He remembered the joy he felt when Angelus asked him to recite the poem in its entirety, when Angelus sat closer and gave his full attention.
Then he remembered why he didn't remember anymore. Fool.
“Not a straight face among them. Finish your homework, pet.”
Fandom: Buffy
Rating: PG
Pairing: implied Angelus/William
Disclaimer: If Joss wants a small little ficlet, he can have it.
“So you were a poet?” Dawn innocently asked one night.
“Wasn’t anything special, pet.” Spike batted the question away.
“If you wrote it, it had to be special.” She blushed. “I mean . . . It’s unique.”
He scoffed, remembering his mother’s bemused smile, his peer’s cringes and chuckles, and Drusilla’s tinkling laughter. “Noone could read it with a straight face.”
“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Dawn pressed.
He remembered the grim set of Angelus’s mouth, the impassivity in his eyes, the meaningless comment as he walked off with an unfinished poem in his hands.
“It was.”
He remembered, one night, catching Angelus reading his writing journal by the fire. He had looked at those scribblings as he had any piece of art, composition, dying body.
He remembered the first time Angelus had quoted a line of his poem back to him. It had been snowing large, fluffy flakes, and they’d just been watching.
He remembered the joy he felt when Angelus asked him to recite the poem in its entirety, when Angelus sat closer and gave his full attention.
Then he remembered why he didn't remember anymore. Fool.
“Not a straight face among them. Finish your homework, pet.”
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Beautifully done.
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*hugs you*
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Thanks for reading.