February 12th, 2005

Supernatural - Castiel fresco

Hallmark Sucks

Title: Hallmark Sucks
Author: Emella
E-mail: kevy_s__girl@hotmail.com
Rating: PG
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot.
Notes: Set in the New York, New York!verse. Set February 2005, spoilers up through ‘Not Fade Away’ I suggest you read 'Crying' and 'Punching' first.
Notes: Thank you to my new beta umbralillium

Thanks! Please review!


“Alright, I’m chucking this thing out the bleeding window.” Spike glared at the TV and tossed the remote control to the couch cushion next to him. It bounced and flopped, wedging itself between the cushion and the back of the couch. “Two hundred channels and they’re on almost every soddin’ one.”

Xander looked up at the TV and frowned. “Ok, I know it’s bad, but really? Out the window?”

Spike glared at the TV and then looked back to Xander, who was sitting at the kitchen table. “Well look at it! I mean it’s horrible! How can they put this crap on TV? It’s not right. Not constitutional or somethin‘.”

Xander snorted, “How are Hallmark commercials unconstitutional?”

“You seen ‘em? I mean usually they’re bad enough, but now? S’like every sappy stupid thing they can think up they put on. It upsets my constitution.” Spike gave him a look somewhere between smug and disgusted.

“Well it’s not TV-chucking worthy.” Xander set his pencil down as Spike flipped channels with the re-captured remote.

He made a disgusted scoffing noise and then flipped off the TV. “Stupid bloody day. Make it out to be all hearts and flowers, s’all bollocks if ya ask me.”

Xander frowned and looked down at his math book. Dumb math. He looked back up at Spike and cocked his head.

Spike caught the look, “What?”

Xander’s frown deepened ever so slightly, “You don’t like Valentine’s day.” It wasn’t a question.

Spike stared at him a minute before his face softened a bit, “S’not that, ‘m just not good at it.”

Xander nodded absently, remembering the botched up love spell from 11th grade.


“How’d the test go, luv?” Spike asked upon entering the apartment. He took off his coat and was slipping off his boots when Xander answered.

“Ah, well it doesn‘t matter, I mean how much math goes into architecture anyway?” Xander’s hand fiddled nervously with the hem of his shirt as Spike came toward him.

“ ‘m sure you did fine.” He nodded at the living room before continuing, “What’s goin’ on, why’re you blockin’ the doorway?”

Xander bit the inside of his cheek and then moved quickly into the living room. “Well, I kindagotyouaValentine’sdaypresent.”

“What?” Spike blinked in confusion.

“Erm… Well I, kinda got you a present.“ He gestured to a large red wrapped package. “For Valentine’s day.“ He added quickly.

Spike looked from the simply wrapped package to Xander before smirking. “Aww Xan, got me something’ to show your undyin’ love and devotion?”

Xander glared at him, “I can always take it back you know.”

Spike smiled before grabbing it and ripping the paper from it. His eyes grew wide before he looked up at Xander. “Where did you find this pet?” It was an old autographed Sex Pistols album.

Xander smiled, nervousness redeemed, “Ebay.”

“This, this is just, wow.” He smiled up at Xander.

“You like it? Good. I was so nervous, I mean I’m not good at getting presents in the first place, but I mean what do you get a guy? I mean a girl you can get candy, jewelry, you have all sorts of options. But guys don-” Xander was stopped abruptly when Spike kissed him.

Xander closed his eye and Spike gently probed his mouth, eliciting happy sounds from Xander. Spike ran his tongue along Xander’s lips, teeth, tongue, anything he could reach. He cupped the side of Xander’s head and leaned into the kiss even more. Xander nibbled gently on Spike’s lower lip and ran his hands up along Spike’s chest, making sure to pass over a hardened nipple.

One thing he never got over was how good Spike kissed. Sometimes you were kissed, and sometimes you were kissed. A hundred years of kissing really showed. When Spike had kissed him that day at Wolfram & Hart it was like coming home, and ever since Xander didn‘t stray far from the house. They’d spent forever just talking and arguing but that kiss was the one thing that kept them grounded.

When they broke apart they were both hard and Xander was flushed slightly. Spike smiled and let his hand come to rest on the small of Xander’s back. “So pet, want your gift now?”

Xander blinked slowly and then shook himself out of the post-kiss haze that Spike always left in his wake. “You got me something?”

Spike grinned and pulled a small pink and red box from his pocket. He shook it like you shook a pill bottle.

Xander snorted, “You got me candy hearts?”

“Well that, and these,” and with that Spike held up a pair of fur-lined handcuffs.


Supernatural - Castiel fresco

Ghosting Hands

Title: Ghosting Hands
Author: Emella
E-mail: kevy_s__girl@hotmail.com
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: PG-13ish
Summary: Xander likes Spike’s hands.
Notes: Drabble-ish. Set in the New York New York!verse. (though you can’t really tell)
Notes 2: I was reading and listening to music when this story hit me like a ton of bricks. I was inspired by the music of Dashboard Confessional’s ‘Ghost of a Good Thing’ The slow-Sunday-morning relaxed feeling of the music.
Thanks to my beta umbralillium

Tell me what you think. Thanks!


Xander loved Spike’s hands.

He was lying in bed, propped up against Spike’s chest when he thought this. Spike’s arms were around him, his hands resting against Xander’s stomach. Xander’s hands were atop his.

His hands were large, but delicate looking, with long fingers that were meant for writing or art. Not piano-fingers, they weren't long enough, but meant for art just the same. His knuckles were sharp and smooth, small curves of pale skin.

Xander ran his hands along Spike’s slowly; up his forearms and back down again. Small blond hairs tickled Xander’s hands.

Spike had done so many things with his hands. He’d killed with his hands. Probably strangled someone with them, or cracked someone’s neck. Creaks and pops beneath his palms.

He’d also done amazing things with his hands: saved Xander and the Scoobies a time or two. He’d written poetry with his hands, words flowing from thought to existence with a stroke of the pen. Spike’s handwriting was elegant and soft. Beautiful and flowing like something old and worn but still strong as the day they were made.

Sometimes Spike would write notes to Xander maybe even about him; usually grocery list items or phone messages, but once in a while he would see something on TV or while out and he would write a few nonsensical poetic words. Xander kept them in a shoebox in the closet. Old napkins, scraps of paper and crumpled note pages all secured away in the box.

Spike’s hands were soft and smooth, calluses from slaying worn away. His hands slid across Xander like creamy silk; grazing over his muscles with passion, lust, and love.

Xander arched into his touch and his body burned whenever a hand found the small of his back or his shoulder. Everyday touches left Xander feeling giddy and warm. Hands that ghosted over his spine, his arms, his soul.

The intimacy between them stretched and expanded, sex becoming less like fucking and more like making love. Their hands became searching, meeting and tangling together, intertwining their lives as well as well as their bodies.

It didn’t matter that Spike had killed people, things, with his hands. All that mattered was the feeling he got when Spike touched him. When he knew what Spike felt. When he knew that Spike felt the same way about Xander as Xander felt about Spike.

The times when he realized what it was all about. What they were feeling; about their relationship; about each other. The times when Xander experienced his feelings in wide blaring 3-D. The times when Spike communicated to him on a level that neither talked about but both understood. When they didn’t need to say a word because the touches said it all. When Spike touched him like more than just a lover; when Spike touched him like a soul mate.


Supernatural - Castiel fresco

Fucked up dream

Ok I'm going to write about a dream I just had that was sooooo odd. I'm also so sleepy that My words are just ...sucky.

Ok, So I wasn't in the dream at all. It was like a movie with a family and a group of people I've never seen. It's all in the future, like centuries in the future. It's like this family, dressed like cave men, and they are walking in this huge group of other cave-men type people, through the snow/shoveled sidewalks, and they are going to this huge museum. Like a Nautral history museum, to live. It's also apparently in California. They are the last humans on earth, and they're gonna live there. (I realize later that they live there together locked down so that the monsters don't get them.) So then they start talking about why they're there. Apparently sometime after the 21st century all the cows died out or got eaten up or something because they talked about people wanting to eat meat a lot. And things just went down from there. Then the little girl of the family asks if people were happy. She's like 10 or so. She wonders if maybe, like back in the third century if they were still happy. (like they aren't now)I also know she is refering to the 3000's. Then it like morphs or something and this family is living in a wing of the museum with other people and they keep their wing all locked up except when they need to go to community things or to get dinner or whatnot. It's kinda like a college campus type deal, food elsewhere.

So then Vincent Karthreiser and some girl are like crushing on each other, and he's about 15 and she's 13 or so. So it's raining in the museum for some reason, but not in their wing and the two leave to go shower. (They have community showers.) They had had this whole conversation before but I can't really remember it, something about being surprised and Connor feeling dirty, like physically dirty and needing to shower. So they leave, into the rain, and they are walking down these steps when there is a growl. I'm watching this like in 3-D. And then their back in the wing and the whole family is debating what to do and then the monster gets in and it's actually not that scary. It's kinda like thoose monsters from Star Wars that people ride, huge lizard horses or something. Anyway, they 'fight' the thing and then the scene morphs and this guy who like takes care of the museum or something is in a car, driving home and he says something ironic and witty and completely scary before holding up a 1950's milk bottle with milk in it. Implying he's managed to breed cowns or clone them or something.

That dream was just so bizarre. And I have a headache. :(
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