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Tired. So very, very tired. Hot and cold and tired.
Can't write. G/X ficathon fic just crashed and burned when I realised my plot was utterly vomit inducing. LJ birthday S/X fic got off to a good start and then I read that fic by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
entrenous88 and misanthrope7842 ::broods sadly:: It was so funny. Such a searing indictment on those silly authors who litter the pages of their S/X fics with cliches like eye colour and have a sub-like Xander (did I just use a hyphen there?) chained to the bed. I laughed heartily and turned back to my S/X. Which opens thusly:
Xander stirred when the cuff wrapped around his wrist but only woke when his hand was pulled up high and the cuff clicked closed around the bed frame. Being awake didn’t mean he could stop the process being repeated on his other wrist though; Spike didn’t even let him struggle.
Xander tugged once, gave in, and glared. “Spike, I’m all for fun but it’s a work day.” He twisted and squinted at the alarm clock. “And I’m going to be late, so what say we –”
“No work,” Spike said. “Bloke rang; the delivery of lumber’s been cancelled, not paying the men to sit around and it’s pissing it down so - I stopped listening but it doesn’t matter. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Brian? Brian rang?”
Spike’s shrug said he didn’t know the name and he definitely didn’t care. Xander thought about it, filled in the blanks and smiled. “Well...OK, then. Still curious though; why the cuffs?”
It wasn’t that they didn’t use them but not all that often and never in broad daylight – or as much of as it as was filtering through heavy clouds and thick curtains. But Xander knew outside it was breakfast and coffee time and somehow the cuffs belonged at night, in the dark, when Spike sent him into dreams with a smile on his face.
This felt...kinky.
Spike was dressed, if a pair of unzipped jeans riding low counted as dressed. Xander had the quilt lapping around his waist. There was nothing around the bed that gave any clue as to what Spike had in mind at all.
“Special day.”
Xander frowned. “No, it’s not. Not a birthday, not the anniversary of you moving in, or us fucking for the first time or – it’s not anything.” That earned him a raised eyebrow. “Fine. It’s a special day. So tell me why.”
“It’s three years –”
“What? You can’t go back that far! That’d make it -”
Spike placed two fingers across Xander’s lips. “Xander, there’s a gag in that box of tricks you used to think made you cool even though you didn’t know what half of them were for. Never used it on you yet because I get a kick out of the sounds you make when I’m fucking you and you could beg for England –”
“U.S”
“What?”
It was a snarl and Xander bit his lip. Spike’s hand fell away. “American; not going to beg for –”
“It’s a fucking expression, Xander.” Spike’s voice had gone flat and his eyes were hard. Xander was a man. If he’d been asked to describe Spike’s eyes, he’d have said ‘blue’ and turned so his back could be patted for being so observant. Now he was staring at them and thinking about the blue that hid at the core of something very hot or very cold. Flames and ice and a clear, intense painful blue. Panic brought out the poet in him. Who knew?
“Sorry.”
And so am I ::cries:: I wrote that and it seemed fine. I'd have changed bits here and there probably, but a good enough start. Now it reads like an unintentional parody at best.
I think I'm going to go to bed now and cry some more.
(And btw, the S/X spoof badfic fic was brilliant; if you haven't read it, you really should. I keep remembering bits and giggling. This has happened to me before; you read badfic, real or parody and everything looks like it; it's like garlic. It'll pass - but I'm still putting this fic out of its misery.::grin::)
Can't write. G/X ficathon fic just crashed and burned when I realised my plot was utterly vomit inducing. LJ birthday S/X fic got off to a good start and then I read that fic by
entrenous88 and misanthrope7842 ::broods sadly:: It was so funny. Such a searing indictment on those silly authors who litter the pages of their S/X fics with cliches like eye colour and have a sub-like Xander (did I just use a hyphen there?) chained to the bed. I laughed heartily and turned back to my S/X. Which opens thusly:Xander stirred when the cuff wrapped around his wrist but only woke when his hand was pulled up high and the cuff clicked closed around the bed frame. Being awake didn’t mean he could stop the process being repeated on his other wrist though; Spike didn’t even let him struggle.
Xander tugged once, gave in, and glared. “Spike, I’m all for fun but it’s a work day.” He twisted and squinted at the alarm clock. “And I’m going to be late, so what say we –”
“No work,” Spike said. “Bloke rang; the delivery of lumber’s been cancelled, not paying the men to sit around and it’s pissing it down so - I stopped listening but it doesn’t matter. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Brian? Brian rang?”
Spike’s shrug said he didn’t know the name and he definitely didn’t care. Xander thought about it, filled in the blanks and smiled. “Well...OK, then. Still curious though; why the cuffs?”
It wasn’t that they didn’t use them but not all that often and never in broad daylight – or as much of as it as was filtering through heavy clouds and thick curtains. But Xander knew outside it was breakfast and coffee time and somehow the cuffs belonged at night, in the dark, when Spike sent him into dreams with a smile on his face.
This felt...kinky.
Spike was dressed, if a pair of unzipped jeans riding low counted as dressed. Xander had the quilt lapping around his waist. There was nothing around the bed that gave any clue as to what Spike had in mind at all.
“Special day.”
Xander frowned. “No, it’s not. Not a birthday, not the anniversary of you moving in, or us fucking for the first time or – it’s not anything.” That earned him a raised eyebrow. “Fine. It’s a special day. So tell me why.”
“It’s three years –”
“What? You can’t go back that far! That’d make it -”
Spike placed two fingers across Xander’s lips. “Xander, there’s a gag in that box of tricks you used to think made you cool even though you didn’t know what half of them were for. Never used it on you yet because I get a kick out of the sounds you make when I’m fucking you and you could beg for England –”
“U.S”
“What?”
It was a snarl and Xander bit his lip. Spike’s hand fell away. “American; not going to beg for –”
“It’s a fucking expression, Xander.” Spike’s voice had gone flat and his eyes were hard. Xander was a man. If he’d been asked to describe Spike’s eyes, he’d have said ‘blue’ and turned so his back could be patted for being so observant. Now he was staring at them and thinking about the blue that hid at the core of something very hot or very cold. Flames and ice and a clear, intense painful blue. Panic brought out the poet in him. Who knew?
“Sorry.”
And so am I ::cries:: I wrote that and it seemed fine. I'd have changed bits here and there probably, but a good enough start. Now it reads like an unintentional parody at best.
I think I'm going to go to bed now and cry some more.
(And btw, the S/X spoof badfic fic was brilliant; if you haven't read it, you really should. I keep remembering bits and giggling. This has happened to me before; you read badfic, real or parody and everything looks like it; it's like garlic. It'll pass - but I'm still putting this fic out of its misery.::grin::)