First Steps
Firsts Steps
First Steps
By Spartan5000
Totally gen, might-be-pre-slash
Had a longer one, half written. The flu intervened so I found this one from a few years ago and polished it up a bit. I may post the other on one of the empty days when I feel better, if it‘s allowed, if it’s finished.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was easier than he’d thought it would be, taking that first step. That first small step.
Snagging Spike’s sleeve.
Six months earlier, even getting close enough to Spike’s sleeve to snag it with his fingertips would have meant there would be somebody’s blood on the carpet soon after.
Now though, Spike just turned his head and peered back at him with calm curiosity.
The next bit was harder. It was obvious Spike wouldn’t react well to tiny tugs reeling him in, would probably balk and dig in like a stubborn mule, but it also should have been fairly obvious to anyone who bothered to pay attention that he himself was open to compromise, willing to make accommodations for other people’s quirks when necessary. So, with every tiny tug on a leather sleeve, it was himself he reeled closer. Small steps. Well, more like a quick shuffle.
At the first tiny tug, Spike’s eyes had narrowed in suspicion.
He’d planned on distracting Spike with some carefully prepared and carefully rehearsed banter but the words had flown out of his head the moment his fingers touched leather.
But Spike hadn’t moved. That was a positive sign. Possibly. Spike might have been attempting to beat his brains out instead. Might still be thinking it over.
He’d thought about the spot carefully.
The forehead was out, too symbolic of times best left forgotten.
The eyes were the object of many a daydream; the thought of being able to stare into those windows to the soul for as long as he liked, without consequence, without getting Spike riled up and on the offensive -- but he doubted Spike trusted him enough to close those pretty eyes long enough to let him kiss that tender skin… unless he knocked him out first. Counterproductive. At best.
The soft skin at the temple might make Spike think he was making some comment about his height.
Too soon for the neck.
The cheek was inadequate. Not that it wasn’t a very nice kissable cheek, but it just didn’t make the right statement.
The mouth it was. Not a full-out, right-on-the-lips kiss. He wanted to check out the reception before he risked getting bitten. Small steps after all. Just lean in, a small brush of the lips right there at the corner of the mouth.
He’d be less nervous if he was a male preying mantis.
It was time. First kiss. Spike’s shoulder was right against his chest, Spike’s eyes were looking up at him, wide now with that slightly confused look that was really… adorable and funny and sweet.
He leaned in…
The End
First Steps
By Spartan5000
Totally gen, might-be-pre-slash
Had a longer one, half written. The flu intervened so I found this one from a few years ago and polished it up a bit. I may post the other on one of the empty days when I feel better, if it‘s allowed, if it’s finished.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was easier than he’d thought it would be, taking that first step. That first small step.
Snagging Spike’s sleeve.
Six months earlier, even getting close enough to Spike’s sleeve to snag it with his fingertips would have meant there would be somebody’s blood on the carpet soon after.
Now though, Spike just turned his head and peered back at him with calm curiosity.
The next bit was harder. It was obvious Spike wouldn’t react well to tiny tugs reeling him in, would probably balk and dig in like a stubborn mule, but it also should have been fairly obvious to anyone who bothered to pay attention that he himself was open to compromise, willing to make accommodations for other people’s quirks when necessary. So, with every tiny tug on a leather sleeve, it was himself he reeled closer. Small steps. Well, more like a quick shuffle.
At the first tiny tug, Spike’s eyes had narrowed in suspicion.
He’d planned on distracting Spike with some carefully prepared and carefully rehearsed banter but the words had flown out of his head the moment his fingers touched leather.
But Spike hadn’t moved. That was a positive sign. Possibly. Spike might have been attempting to beat his brains out instead. Might still be thinking it over.
He’d thought about the spot carefully.
The forehead was out, too symbolic of times best left forgotten.
The eyes were the object of many a daydream; the thought of being able to stare into those windows to the soul for as long as he liked, without consequence, without getting Spike riled up and on the offensive -- but he doubted Spike trusted him enough to close those pretty eyes long enough to let him kiss that tender skin… unless he knocked him out first. Counterproductive. At best.
The soft skin at the temple might make Spike think he was making some comment about his height.
Too soon for the neck.
The cheek was inadequate. Not that it wasn’t a very nice kissable cheek, but it just didn’t make the right statement.
The mouth it was. Not a full-out, right-on-the-lips kiss. He wanted to check out the reception before he risked getting bitten. Small steps after all. Just lean in, a small brush of the lips right there at the corner of the mouth.
He’d be less nervous if he was a male preying mantis.
It was time. First kiss. Spike’s shoulder was right against his chest, Spike’s eyes were looking up at him, wide now with that slightly confused look that was really… adorable and funny and sweet.
He leaned in…
The End