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Chiaroscuro	By : winterlive Category: > Spike(William)/Xander > Spike(William)/Xander Views: 1952 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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"What?" Xander spluttered.

"I said, you're no Master." The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Any man who takes me wants to tame me. I've been punished for breathing too slow, for breathing too fast, for breathing at all." He shook out a cigarette and replaced the pack, digging in his pocket for his lighter. "You spank me once for speaking out of turn and when I crack jokes at your expense, you call me 'impertinent'. If you wanted to call somebody 'impertinent', you'd have taken Wesley." He fished out the silver lighter and flicked it open. "So the question is, who the hell are you and what do you want from me?" He lit the zippo and held it to the cigarette.

Xander was completely shocked. Zero to cocky in 2.5 seconds! How the hell did he know? Xander did the only thing he could think of. He reached out and plucked the cigarette from between his lips.

"No smoking."

The man looked at him, eyebrow raised. Then he shrugged, "Fine." He put the lighter away and looked Xander up and down as Xander put the cigarette carefully on the table. Then he held out his hand. "Name's Spike."

Xander breathed a sigh of relief. Oh, thank God. We're being normal people. If I'd had to do that Master/Slave thing for one more second... "Xander," he said, taking the man's hand and shaking it.

"So, Xander. You a cop?" Spike's eyes were keen, sharp, searching Xander's for any kind of deception. Xander was a little taken aback by how much those eyes seemed to see. He felt weirdly vulnerable under them.

"What? No, no, I'm not a cop."

"Uh huh. So, why'd you drop three large on me if you're not a Master? Your flat's certainly posh enough," he said, gesturing around to encompass the twelve foot ceilings, expensive artwork and polished floors, eyes still glittering hard.

Xander squirmed under those eyes for a second, then turned and walked into his living room, hoping Spike would follow after. "Well, it's kind of complicated. Thing is... can I get you a drink?" By the bar, he mixed himself a rum and coke. "Yeah," Spike said, strolling into the room after him, all bravado and swagger. "Got any Jack?"

"Sure." Xander poured the drinks into glass tumblers and brought them to the middle of the room. He sat down on his white leather sofa, which stood in front of the stone fireplace, and passed Spike his drink. The blond dropped onto the sofa, whiskey dangling from his fingers, and looked expectantly at Xander. "See, thing is, I'm a painter."

Spike's eyes went flat, and his lips tightened. "You've got to be kidding me. A bloody painter?"

Xander swallowed nervously. "Yeah, a painter. And I've been doing this one painting, or trying to, y'know, and everything's set except for the person in the painting. I mean, I've got the backdrop and the whole thing, and I know how I want it to go, y'know? But no matter how hard I look, and trust me, I've looked... I mean, high and low; I've done model agencies and auditions for movies and just wandering around on the street and everything, I..." Xander realized he was babbling because he didn't want to say it. It just sounded lame, and this guy was clearly pissed. But, he thought, I might as well just get it over with, and then he can storm out in a righteous fury. "I just can't find a model."

Spike took this in, taking another sip from his drink, glaring at the fire. After a few moments, he said, "But you figure I'd do, that it?"

Xander drained his own glass. "Pretty much, yeah."

The blond sat, staring into the fire. He was angry, but he was thinking about it. You can tell, just by looking at him. He wears every emotion he has on his face. That's it, that's exactly what I need. He's perfect. The light played over his classical features. Well. That, and he's freakin' beautiful.

Finally, Spike seemed to gather himself. He put his glass down on the table and cocked a knee up on the sofa to look at Xander. "Right. Here's the thing. You broke every rule in the book." Xander tried to talk, but Spike held up a hand before he could start. "No, just listen to me. You broke all the rules, and don't think for a second that I'm not mightily brassed off about that. But, as luck would have it, I'm not totally averse to this idea of yours, so I'm considering it." Xander nodded, relaxing a bit. Luckiest guy ever.

Spike finished his drink in one big swallow. "I want to see this painting," he said, looking into Xander's eyes. "Okay?"

Xander didn't even think. "Okay, of course, no problem."

He stood and led Spike through the big set of double doors at the other side of the room, into the studio. He flicked on the overhead lights, the ones intended to show the paintings to the best effect, walked straight to the center of the room and pulled the covering sheet off of the easel in the center.

Spike walked slowly to the painting. His blue eyes roved over it, taking it in. Emotions played across his face: understanding, wonder, hurt, pain, and finally resolve. "Here. I'd be here, on my knees, yeah?" He let his finger trace over the air above the canvas, pointing as he spoke. "Bent back, leaning on my hand, head back."

Xander nodded fervently. He understands. Oh, thank God. "Yes, yes, exactly. That's exactly it. And I want you to be..."

"...hurt," Spike said, interrupting. "You want me to be hurt... and beautiful. You need me to be both, isn't that right?"

"Yes," Xander whispered, struck to the core. I want to explain, but I think he'd already know. If he does know... if he understands what I want to do here and he decides to help me... Oh, God, please let him do this. Xander looked at Spike. Sad blue eyes met his, and he was all of a sudden sorry for even asking. The man was so expressive, and Xander could so perfectly read the emotions on his face. He couldn't believe the words that came out of his mouth, even as he spoke them.

"Listen, I'm sorry. You don't have to do this."

Spike nodded. "I know." He dropped his eyes and turned away, walking idly around the room. Xander saw him think about it, saw him consider what he'd have to show. He saw the worry as Spike peeked under the drop cloths and looked critically through books of prints. Had Spike been anyone else, Xander would have completely lost his mind. As it was though, Xander thought he had the right to. He was judging Xander's work, judging Xander himself, deciding whether or not he would allow Xander to see what Spike could show him.

The moments stretched on and the tension in Xander mounted. The rain pattered on the windows and now and again there was the sound of far off thunder. Spike's boots squeaked on the floor and Xander stood, fidgeting with the edge of the drop cloth, sweating in the warm, humid air. Finally, when Xander was at the breaking point, Spike turned to him, blue eyes and pale beauty burning into his soul.

"All right," Spike whispered, "I'll do it."

Xander let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Thank you," he breathed.

"Oh, don't thank me, pet," Spike said, eyebrow speaking irony. "I'll need something from you."

Xander nodded right away, knowing it was stupid to agree when he didn't even know what Spike wanted, but willing to promise him anything all the same. "Anything you want."

Spike looked at him, wary but smiling. "Don't make promises you can't keep, love." He walked over to Xander and took his hands. Xander blinked, but held on and looked up at the stunning man before him. He looks almost shy.

"It's complicated, you understand. I need... I need you to..." He stopped, breathed in. "We'll do the painting, I'll hold myself still and you draw or whatever it is. But then, when you're done, we do my thing. I've got to, you've got to understand, or I'll just..."

He trailed off and tried to pull his hands away, but Xander was nodding before he'd finished, and held on. "It's okay. It's fine, Spike, we'll do whatever you need. I'll do it. It's okay."

And because he couldn't think of anything better to do, he pulled Spike into his arms and held him, stroking one hand up and down his back.
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Chiaroscuro