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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.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Spike's eyes flicked up to meet Xander's, just briefly. They held a question, and Xander realized what he'd said.

"Stand! Stand, I mean stand. Right there." He pointed to a wide, solid table in the center of the room, and Spike immediately walked over to it and hoisted himself up. He knelt down in the center and assumed what Xander was beginning to think of as "the waiting pose" - eyes down, hands behind the back, head bent forward a little so the back of his neck was bared, spine straight.

This, Xander knew. Okay, still a little shaky from that incredibly embarrassing Freudian slip, but still: paint, stand, model. I know this. Xander closed his eyes for a moment, composing himself. It was a familiar process � going to paint. Center. Focus. He opened his eyes and looked at his model on the stand. First, since he was to be bent backward, he'd need a support. Xander walked in behind the stand and selected a curved, narrow block of wood he'd had made for the purpose, and came around front again.

"Okay, shift around to your right. Hold the pose." When Spike complied, Xander put the block of wood behind him. "Lean back over the wood." Spike raised up on his knees, then laid back over the support. Taking a breath, Xander walked around to the front of the stand.

Spike's body was stretched out just as Xander'd seen it in his mind. The tension was there in the muscles, the clean lines flowing along pale flesh, beautiful but fragile. The only part he hadn't imagined was the hard, flushed cock lying against Spike's belly, but it too was perfect in it's way � strong but exposed, ultimately private but on display for the world. He was perfect, and Xander once again felt a surge of pride at having found him, having brought him here.

Xander stepped forward, took Spike's right wrist and laid the black-tipped fingers on the pale thigh. Taking the other wrist, he placed Spike's hand on the stand, arranging the fingers so that Spike appeared to be supporting himself. Finally, he took Spike by the chin and brought his face to the side. The icy eyes opened wide, looking straight through him, and for a split second, Xander felt like he was the one on display.

"All right. This is the pose. Hold this as long as you can, but if you start to cramp, tell me, because if you don't, your muscles will start to spasm and I'll lose the light. Understand?" Spike nodded. "Good. You can relax your eyes for now, just look where you want to." Spike nodded again, and Xander felt more solid. Looking over Spike one more time, his eyes lingered at Spike's erection. I've seen a hundred models with a hard-on. I've seen it; it's totally natural, or, okay, sometimes it's a kink, but it never means anything. I want...

Almost without any conscious thought, he raised his hand. He watched it move toward Spike, almost surprised. His breathing got heavier, his vision narrowed. Then, a terrible thought struck him, and he turned to look at Spike. I couldn't take advantage of you, I absolutely could not do that.

Spike was looking at Xander's hand, inching toward his cock. As he noticed Xander's head turning toward him, he met Xander's eyes, and Xander was floored. There was only one word for the emotion in his eyes: need. Spike's eyes were needy, filled with it; they asked � no, begged � Xander to keep going.

Xander wasn't going to disappoint.

He touched delicate fingertips to the base of Spike's cock and began to slide them upward. Spike groaned loud, eyes closing tightly, head flung backward. "You're being so good," Xander crooned. "So good for me." Xander's eyes were locked to Spike's cock. The feel of the flesh beneath his fingers, so soft and tender, but with the steel underneath � just as perfect as the man himself. Xander's fingers encountered slickness, and he gathered up as much as he could. When he reached the tip, his slippery fingertips danced over the delicate skin, and Spike's voice climbed into the higher registers, breaking on his ragged breaths.

Xander drew his fingers away, a little shell-shocked. Before him, Spike sighed deeply and settled onto the block. Xander tried to gather himself again, walked back to the easel and looked at his fingers. Still look like mine, he thought. I wonder... He lifted the fingers to his lips and let his tongue sneak out to slide over the wetness there. Not exactly the same as me. But close.

Still in that vague, stunned state, he began mixing paints. He breathed in and out, taking care to go slowly, trying to still fingers he realized were shaking. Miraculously, the tones and hues came out perfectly under his brush. Everything matched, perfectly, and he chose to take that as a sign.

The air was close in the studio � humid and hot and everywhere. Xander marvelled that he didn't feel suffocated by it. It felt like it was simply body temperature everywhere, like his body wasn't just confined to the mass of skin and bone and blood, but was instead expanding, filling the room, merging with the things in it. He could still feel Spike's cock sliding along his fingers.

He studied his painting. The form was sketched in, because he'd known the pose he'd want his model to take. The light black marks over the canvas only needed a little modification, which he did with a grease pencil. His fingers flickered in the amber light, and later he wouldn't remember moving them, or what he'd been thinking, only that the image had come effortlessly, like heart beats.

Then, raising his brush, he painted. Long strokes of a wide brush left pale skin in its wake, a small fan touched it with highlights from candles, or maybe a fire. Pink toes, dark shadowed places that the light couldn't reach, the curve of his buttock resting on his heel. Beautiful, his mind kept repeating. Just beautiful.

Finally, he was ready to paint the two parts left. He glanced up from his work. "You all right?" Spike nodded. "Okay. Turn your head the way I had it. No, a little up. There. Okay."

Xander moved out from behind his canvas. "I need an expression now." Spike nodded gravely. "I need to see you, Spike. I need your deepest, darkest places." Xander let his fingers brush along Spike's side, and Spike shivered. "Trust me. Let me in." He met Spike's eyes. "I'll take care of us, Spike. I promise."

Spike swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing along the pale column of his throat. Then he closed his eyes. Xander stood and stepped back around the canvas, picked up his paintbrush. This is it. This is where I see if this was all worth it.

Spike opened his eyes.

Perfect.

Hurt and pain, yes, but above all, sadness. Soul deep, filling his blue eyes, tugging at his lips, there was sadness. Sadness like that didn't make you angry. It didn't make you want to protect or rage against whatever'd hurt him. What it did do was crawl into your own soul and find your sadness, your pain, and make you share it. That face would make the strongest man cry. He's absolutely perfect.

Xander's hand blurred as he tried to capture the look in Spike's eyes, pale cream and pink and bright white and deep rose, and finally the rich, vivid blue. He almost cried with relief when he stepped back from the canvas and realized he'd done it justice. Still drying, the image almost leapt off the page, and it was just as evocative, just as moving as the man before him.

Xander looked back at Spike on the table. "Okay, you can stop." Spike relaxed, closing his eyes and letting his head fall backward, clearly relieved. The rest of his body relaxed, too, and Xander caught the little movement in the corner of his eye where Spike's cock bobbed against his belly.

Okay, Xander thought, stilling himself. Last part.

"Don't move," he said, moving toward the canvas again. Spike froze, perfectly obedient, and Xander felt that thrill rise through him again. He began to touch the brush to the canvas, and as the dusky color spread Xander got more and more tense. He painted skin he'd touched, wetness over places he'd gathered that wetness from. Glancing back and forth from the canvas to Spike, Xander began to get impatient.
- 5
- 6
- 7
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Chiaroscuro