TITLE: "Dancing About Architecture" (12/?)
AUTHOR: Marie-Claude Danis
EMAIL: mc@fangy.net
SITE: http://fangy.net
DISTRIB: My site, list archives, those who already have my stuff. Otherwise just ask.
SUMMARY: It's been eight years. Spike's changed. Xander POV.
THANKS: Mad Poetess. Alex "WD-40" Brown. Tara Blue. Meg Graham. Everyone with the wonderful feedback. Smooches to all.
NOTE: I have no idea what the NYU campus really looks like. I made it up. Go with it.

Previous parts at http://fangy.net/daa.html

* * *


"It's done."

"It's done?"

"Done. Packing up as we speak."


"I'll have the whole thing shipped to you overnight. Matt needs to tweak it."

"He knows this?"

"He does. But remind him."


"He can't mess this one up."

"I'll leave a note. You done with your day then?"

"Yup. Heading back to the apartment. Might go see Will."

"Can I whine?"

I smiled, tucking the phone between my shoulder and ear so I could use both hands to fold the tripod legs. "Whine away."


"Never. I have sex here. Here is good."

"You don't love me. And your dog is convince you've abandoned him. He's got this homicidal glint in his eye I worry about."

"Rub his belly."

"He wants YOU to rub his belly, Xander. We miss you over here."

I sighed. "I know. I miss you too. It's friggin' cold here. I like September better in California."

"I bet."

"But again, sex. Sex with a really hot guy I'm in love with. I'll handle the cold."

I heard her smile. "I like you this happy."

"You like me cranky, too. You're indiscriminate in your fondness of me."

"You're not making other friends, are you? Because we'd have to fly over and kill them."

"No no, I'm as anti-social as can be. Promise. A real bastard. Everybody hates me here."


"You're still scouting for me, right? I only have three things next week. Book me stuff."

"Yeah, okay. Not ideal, though, you know. The whole long distance thing. You'll have to figure something out."

"I will, I will."

"Alright. Go. Go have obnoxious afternoon sex with your boyfriend."

"I think I will. It's a lovely day to get laid."

Her laugh rang clear in my ear. I missed it. "I take it back. You're annoying when you're this happy."

"Bye, Sarah."

"Love ya!"

I flipped the cel closed and shoved it in my pocket, hoisting two folded tripods and three shoulder bags. I trudged out to the street where I hailed a cab and headed back to the place I'd started, in the last four months, calling home.

* * *

'You have three new messages.'


'Morning, boys. It's Sarah. Xander, you there? Pick up. Pick up! Alright, guess you left already. I'll try your cel.'


'Hi Will, it's Janet. Mom asks if you and Jules can come over for dinner on Sunday. Lizzie has the details. See you then, hopefully!'


'Hey luv. I'm having a late lunch - care to join me if you're done? I'll be outside the Commons around two. See you in a bit - love you!'


'End of messages.'

* * *

I strolled across the wide expanse of thick green grass by the NYU Commons, squinting behind my sunglasses at the bright afternoon sun. I spotted Will sitting under one of the neatly manicured trees, chatting with a few students. I stopped and just watched for a few minutes, smiling at the sight.

How pretty my boy was, again with the rolled-up shirt sleeves and the loosened tie. It had gotten warm around noon, and Will laid there, stretched out and propped up on his elbows, his legs crossed at the ankles, sans jacket. He had sunglasses on too, and he laughed at something the young woman next to him said. Their laughter drifted to me and I wandered over, hands in my pockets, their light mood contagious.

The students noticed me first. I had to walk all the way to him till the tips of my shoes touched his pants for him to notice me. He looked up and beamed at me, a hand up to block out the sun.

"Xander! You made it!"

"Yup. Shoot went well. I'm all yours."

"That's what I like to hear."

He got to his feet, retrieving his jacket from the ground, shaking blades of grass out of it. He excused himself and we walked away. Will threw his jacket over his shoulder, and his free hand brushed against mine, between us, the back of his fingers lingering against mine.

"What do you want to eat?"

"Dunno. How much time do you have?"

He looked at the inside of his wrist, where his watch always fell (it was too big for him, but I didn't say anything - I found it cute as hell). "An hour... and a half."

"Yeah? Wanna take a cab and go home? We can... eat there."

He smirked at me and we hit the street, where he finally took my hand in his, our fingers entwining easily. "Yes. Eating. Food. I said lunch, right?"

"Well we could also have sex. Sarah told me to have sex with you this afternoon. It would be rude not to, I would think."

Will peered at me suspiciously, a smile pulling at his mouth. "Sarah said this? Has she been talking to Liz?"

I hailed a passing cab and herded Will into it, my hand lingering on the small of his back. "You'd think. Sadly she is very capable of interfering in our sex life on her own."

"That's hardly interference," he pointed out.

I agreed. "Hurry up, time's a-wastin'. Sandwiches to make, head to give..."

* * *

True to my promise, once we got home I couldn't take my hands off him. He calmly perused the contents of the fridge, while I was more interested in the content of his pants, to put it bluntly. My hands were untucking the back of his shirt, feeling his back, his stomach, my arms around him, my face in his neck, in his hair, my mind in the dirty places he often took me just by suggesting we go there.

"Want some iced tea?"

"No. I want *you*."

A kiss on the neck, always a sure-fire way to redirect his train of thought my way. The cold from the refrigerator touched our skin, wintery, bracing. My hand traveled down while his own reached out blindly to hold on to the edge of a shelf. I pressed my body into his and both of us further into the cold. Bottles rattled in the door, some on the top shelf.

I turned him around and sunk to my knee, my hands working his belt. I didn't need to look; instead I watched him, his closed eyes, his hair mussed by my attentions, the serious but aroused part of his lips, the way his knuckles whitened from his grip on the cold plastic. He shuddered and licked his lips. He was warm in my mouth, achingly responsive.

My hands slid up the back of his thighs and I brought him closer to me. The tiles under my knees were cold and hard, but familiar. So was his hand in my hair, not gripping or pulling but caressing, fingers raking soothingly against my scalp, making me moan helplessly against his flesh. If I thought *I* knew him, how to work his body, what made him sigh and gasp - I had nothing on him, on how he played *me*, on his knowledge of the littlest things that made my knees go weak, that made my heart melt, that drove me absolutely out of my mind. His fingers traced lazy patterns in my hair and barely paused when my teeth grazed his skin. His breath hitched on my name, whispered like a thank-you. The last syllable was swallowed into a moan as I cradled his balls in my hand, kneading softly, loving the warmth and feel of my lover.

A gentle pull of his fingers. "Xander…"


I stood up on shaky legs and he turned back against me, looking at me move from over his shoulder. I kissed his neck, licked his throat, his ear, and he closed his eyes again, moaning happily. My fingers fumbled for my belt and moments later we were flesh on flesh and I pressed him to me eagerly, just wanting to feel him for a moment before I lost myself in him. He coughed in the cold air; a thin cloud of steam formed before his mouth to disappear immediately, leaving his lips dry. He licked them and coughed again.

I ran my hand along his arm. "Cold?"


"Come here."

I pulled him to me and closed the refrigerator door. He clutched at my hands around him and moments later I had him bent over the counter, on the cutting board, my slicked up fingers inside him, knowing just where to touch to make his hips rise involuntarily into mine. I cupped his body with mine and slid into him, hearing the sudden sharp intake of breath. His fingers clutched at the thick wood of the board; mine at his waist, his wrinkled shirt, and I rested my forehead on his back, between the shuddering muscles of his shoulders, keeping us together as much as I could, before starting to move.

Will was typically a quiet one during love-making, most eloquent with his hands or lips or eyes - when he opened them to look at me, which usually made me into a blubbering idiot - but today, in the midst of an afternoon tryst in his brightly lit kitchen, I heard soft moans fall from his lips, my name, supplications, my name again. All manners of deities were invoked - improperly, but not without heart - then dismissed in favour of me, it always came back to me. Only it was never said for my benefit, or even, I suspected, for his. The whispered words brushed onto the wood and died there, unchecked, while his hands gripped my arm laced around his waist.

I came with a shiver, the kind that starts at the base of your spine and just shoots up to your brain and straight into each of your limbs. My arm clenched around him and my mouth gaped wordlessly against the warm - warm! - cotton of his shirt. My eyes squeezed shut and everything went black, with the pounding in my ears and the throbbing in my gut, and next thing I knew it was minutes later and I hadn't notice Will coming. He had, I could feel it in the way his back heaved softly under me.

I smiled lazily and turned to rest my cheek against his back. "I love you..."

If Will was usually quiet during sex, he was even more so afterwards, and he did stay true to that now. My words were met with a sweet silence, one I treasured more than anything. His hand squeezed mine where they were still clutched together.

* * *

I sauntered over to the ringing living room phone, feeling too giddy for my own good, I'm sure.

"Sawyers residence!"


"Hey little man! What's up?"

"Nothing. I was bored. Mommy's napping."

"Yeah, you probably suck the life right out of her, don't you," I accused mockingly.

"I do NOT!" He laughed.

"You're a beast-child."

"I AM NOT!" Giggles. I'm good.

"You're not? I'm disappointed, Jules. Beast-children are cool."

"Beast-children are hairy."

"Hey, I resent that. I was a very well-adjusted non-hairy beast-child myself. With hair only on top of my head and all."

"You're lying!"

"I am. I'm sorry. I was hairy all over the place, clogging drain holes everywhere. Speaking of which, did you want to talk to your dad? He's in the shower. I could have him give you a call when he gets out?"

"No, it's okay. You'll do."

I'll do.

I love this child.