Disclaimer: Hi. My name is Al, and I have a slashing problem. I take people that aren’t mine and put them in my stories. I’m not ready to seek help for this addiction, so just enjoy it.
Summary: Food and Spike. Life is good. Set in my Human AU Disney-verse at the Food and Wine Festival at EPCOT.
Written for fall_for_sx.
The Bible was wrong, and so were the ancient Greeks; the real food from heaven wasn’t manna or ambrosia, it was cheese soup. Xander scraped his spoon across the bottom of his bowl, frowning when it came up empty. Casting the spoon aside, he dragged his finger around the inside of the bowl, gathering the last traces of creamy, golden soup and lifting it to his mouth.
“Are you tryin’ to kill me, love?” Spike asked. Xander looked at him in surprise, index finger still in his mouth. Spike hadn’t even started on his own food, holding the plastic cup of custard loosely as he watched Xander suck the last of his soup from his fingers. Xander wiggled his eyebrows and drew his finger from his mouth slowly, slowly, slowly, lips tight around it the whole time.
“You have a dirty mind,” Xander accused, tossing the bare bowl into a trash can. “I was just enjoying my food.”
Spike raised an eyebrow. “So you wouldn’t think anything of it if I ate my custard like this?” He dipped one pale fingertip into his cup, scooping up mound of thick, rich custard and bringing it to his lips. His lips parted, and Xander froze, waiting for Spike to suck the finger inside, mimicking what Xander had just done with his soup. Instead, Spike’s tongue flicked out, pink and pointed, and delicately lapped at the custard. It took Spike approximately five hundred years to eat that fingerful of custard, one tiny lick at a time, an eternity in which Xander stared, transfixed, his brain shut down and his pants far too tight for such a public place.
When his fingertip was clean, still wet from his mouth, Spike lowered it slowly back down to the cup for another scoop. Xander groaned out loud. “You’re evil,” he said.
Spike smirked. “Course I am,” he said cheerfully. “But at least I’m honest about it.” He reached out his hand and slowly painted Xander’s lower lip with custard. He watched with darkened eyes as Xander sucked his lip into his mouth to get at the custard. It was sweet and tasted like maple. “You’re the real bastard,” he said, his voice light even though his expression was intent. “Acting all sweet and innocent and then tormenting a bloke.”
Xander flushed at the look in Spike’s eyes. If they’d been in his bedroom instead of in the middle of Canada … But they weren’t. He scrubbed a hand through his hair to ground himself. “I was sweet and innocent before I started dating you,” he claimed. “Ask anyone.” He gestured at the crowd thronging around them, as though the tourists around them could all vouch for Xander’s pre-Spike purity.
“Ooh, so I corrupted you, then? I like the sound of that.” Spike leered and popped another fingerful of custard into his mouth.
“You can corrupt me some more later,” Xander said. “Just not in the middle of the park.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Spike swore. He was still trying for a worldly leer, but the blush mounting his cheeks ruined the effect. Xander grinned at him and grabbed his elbow.
“Come on,” he said. “Corruption will have to wait. We have to make it around the entire lake before the fireworks start.” Spike rolled his eyes, but he came without complaint, threading easily through the crowd at Xander’s side.
The United Kingdom was right next to Canada, and Xander twisted around to watch Spike’s reaction over his shoulder. “What do you think?” he asked. “Does it make you feel all homesick and British?”
Spike glared at him. “Oh, quite,” he snorted. “I feel so much more English than I did five minutes ago.” He threw his custard cup away and looked around at the pub, at the fish and chips stand, at the red telephone booth. “I don’t know how I’ve been able to stand it in Florida, so far from home,” he said in a tragic voice. “With the sunshine and the people driving on the wrong side of the street and all.”
Xander slapped Spike’s shoulder lightly. “Smart ass.” Despite Spike’s mockery, Xander vowed to come back soon and buy him a chocolate bar from the candy shop. Nothing made you feel more at home than the candy of your childhood.
They walked slowly over the little bridge from the United Kingdom to France, and Xander glanced over at Spike to tell him a joke or mock the fanny pack worn by the man in front of him or something. He couldn’t actually remember what he’d meant to say, because a beam of sunlight fell on Spike and lit him up, just for a second, painting him with unearthly beauty, like a stained glass angel or a carefully retouched supermodel.
His breath caught in his throat, and he wanted to laugh at the cliché of it all, but, of course, the lack of breath wouldn’t allow it. Spike noticed him looking and smiled, and it was all too much. Xander raised a hand and touched gentle fingers to Spike’s face.
“You are so beautiful,” he said. And Spike glowed even more. He leaned into Xander’s touch, stepping closer and leaning up for a kiss. Just before their lips met, a rude shove knocked Xander aside, and he lurched into the bridge’s railing.
A man was glaring at them bitterly, his family ranged behind him. “Don’t do that in front of my kids,” he snapped. “You wanna be fags, go do it at home. This ain’t the place.”
Spike stepped forward, chin jutted defiantly and hands clenched into fists. “What is it the place for, then, aye? Can I do something manly here? Like kick your arse?” The man flushed an ugly red from the collar of his Animal Kingdom tee shirt to the brim of his Goofy hat.
“This is a family park,” he insisted loudly. “And if your kind don’t care about the kids, I do.” He shifted in his stance, ready to meet any attack Spike might launch.
Part of Xander wanted to let Spike deck him, but the other part of him did care about the kids, and Bigot Man had three of them. They all had blond hair and big, dark eyes, and they were staring at him and Spike like they were monsters. Xander grabbed Spike by the shoulder and drew him away.
“Don’t,” he said. That was it, just ‘don’t.’ Not his most convincing argument ever (and Willow would be terribly disappointed in him, after the way she’d trained him in debate for an entire semester of Rhetoric in high school), but Spike let his hands unclench and took a half step back.
“If you’re so worried about your brood, might want to move along with them, then,” Spike told the man.
The man gave Spike one more long, measuring look, then nodded sharply and started herding his children on toward the United Kingdom. Spike reached down and defiantly took Xander’s hand, pulling him toward the other bank, away from the man who’d confronted them.
Xander cleared his throat awkwardly. “I, um. I really don’t want you to get terminated for beating up a guest,” he said. “I mean, who would I ogle when I go to the Mansion on Sundays?”
Spike shook his head hard, like he was trying to dislodge something. “You could always ogle Dru, but she might hit you for it,” he said. Any other time that would have sounded light and teasing, but now it sounded like a warning.
“Yeah, I think she wants to hit me most of the time already,” Xander told him. He knew Drusilla was a friend of Spike’s but she and Xander didn’t get along. She always made it a point to sneer especially rudely at him whenever he rode the Haunted Mansion. Xander gave Spike’s hand a gentle squeeze. “You okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” Spike replied. The tension in his voice and in the line of his jaw said otherwise. “It’s just so bloody stupid. This place was meant to be some kind of future utopia.”
Xander nodded. “Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow,” he supplied helpfully.
“Exactly. If the future’s going to be so bright and enlightened, it seems like it’s better suited to a bit of innocent snogging than to a pillock like him shoving people about. He doesn’t want a happy future. He wants a future like … Star Trek,” Spike said in tones of disgust.
Xander frowned. “What’s wrong with Star Trek?” he asked. He liked Star Trek.
“Everything’s all,” Spike waved an angry hand, “Clean and shiny. But have you ever noticed that there’s no queers? Anywhere? It’s scary, is what it is. I keep waiting for the day when they show the Federation concentration camp, or the hospital where they ‘cure’ us.” He shuddered. “Hate that bloody program.”
Xander’s eyes were wide and horrified. “Oh, my God!” he said. “If you’ve ruined Star Trek for me, I’ll never forgive you.” He rubbed his free hand over his face. “I’m going to have to go home and put my Kirk and Spock action figures into compromising positions now.”
Spike laughed, a harsh bark of a laugh that seemed to take most of his anger with it. “That’ll show ‘em.” He looked small and tired all of a sudden, and Xander hated it.
“Hey,” he said, yanking on Spike’s hand to pull him closer. “I wouldn’t want to be part of any future where I couldn’t kiss you.”
“That’s good,” Spike said, releasing Xander’s hand and wrapping his arms loosely around Xander’s waist. “Cause you’re stuck with me now.”
Xander bent his head and claimed Spike’s mouth, kissing him like he could drive the bitterness and frustration out of him by sheer force of will. And possibly tongue. Spike clung to him, kissing him back fervently. Xander didn’t remember moving, but suddenly they were pressed up against a wall, the rough bricks at his back a contrast to the warm, yielding strength of Spike pressing all along his front. It wasn’t about sex, which was odd. Usually big, wild, unbridled kissing was totally about sex. And sometimes the small things like holding hands and hugging were about sex, too. But this was something else, and if Xander hadn’t had his hands full (literally) with Spike, he would have analyzed it.
When they separated, Spike looked flushed and well-kissed, and significantly less pissed off than he had before making out against a wall. Xander felt even smugger than he usually did after kissing Spike (which was pretty damned smug to start with, because Spike was so hot that Xander still felt obnoxiously proud just to be with him). Gradually their breathing evened out and they started to take notice of the world around them. And Xander became aware that someone was staring at them.
He spun around, determined to send whoever it was away without letting them ruin the day any further. But instead of an angry tourist, he saw a still, white figure. Its head was cocked and its eyes were fixed on them as it stood, posed gracefully standing on the pavement.
“What the hell is that?” Spike demanded.
Xander laughed. “It’s a Living Statue.” He slung an arm around Spike’s neck and said, “Watch.”
They watched. The Statue stood facing them for a long moment, completely frozen, then suddenly shifted. It swung into another pose mechanically, as though it were a robot. “They just do that all day?” Spike asked disbelievingly.
“It’s their job,” Xander pointed out. “You snark at guests, I sweep up trash, they pretend to be statues. It could be worse.”
“I reckon so,” Spike agreed. Then his chin lifted and his gaze sharpened, and he started dragging Xander toward France’s food booth. “They have escargot,” he said.
“I am not eating a snail,” Xander said unequivocally. “You can’t make me.”
“You sound all of five when you sulk like that,” Spike told him. “You can have the quiche. And then we’d best get a move on. If we’re to make it all the way around, I mean.”
Xander smiled his agreement and joined Spike in a long line to pay a ridiculous price for a tiny portion of food. Xander hadn’t ever known anyone like Spike, prickly and rude and funny and sweet. He was glad he got to share this day with him.
But that didn’t mean he was going to share his food.