Working Title: White Marble
Archived at: http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=rngrdead
Rating: Mature Audiences – for content and themes.
Summary: Exquisite statue… admirer… magic… and everything changes.
Warnings: M/M – if you don’t like boys together, don’t play here!
Disclaimer: Don’t own the characters nor make any money from stories etc, and bow down to their original creators Joss, et al., plus all the wonderful online writers who continue to give the Buffy/Angel verse characters life.
Instinct took over as Spike flew upward to escape the downpour, then headed out high above the clouds.
The call was desperate and from a voice known to him. Illias’ boat was struggling in the rough seas but worse, his son’s boat had hit a shipping container, a random and potentially deadly item in the sea for any smaller vessel. The high seas found them struggling anyway, and before they registered the larger object, were upon it, on it, and punctured by it.
The young captain was still at the helm despite two of his crew desperately trying to deploy a life raft. As the young fisherman sent the distress message, he also prayed for his crew and his father, and his father’s crew, and his mother and his wife and his son… and all the while trying to manage a boat that was obviously destined for the bottom of the ocean.
The crew had called to him desperately, but in the end had to make a decision as the fishing boat leaned dangerously then was hit by another huge wave. There was no choice – the small escape vessel launched itself, leaving the captain behind.
Yanos was still desperately trying to control the lost boat, as a fourth huge wave hit. The angel picked his moment. As Yanos was shocked by another wave the angel landed. Spike’s wings seemed impervious to the soaking rain as his bare feet landed softly on the badly listing boat. He plucked the young captain from the control cabin now filling fast with water.
The trip to shore was the first of many for the night. He left the bewildered man on the shore of Gajeta then went back to find his colleagues who were bobbing around in their life boat in horrendous seas. He found the rope and began to tug them toward shore, knowing full well that the final landing might be a ‘bit rough’ if beaching in the current surf, but managed to pull them just inside the sea wall. They were duly found and rescued.
Spike then went back for Illias’ boat. The old man had already started back to shore by the time he arrived. The difficulty was the ridiculous size of the waves and their erratic nature. Illias knew his boat and these waters but this was just crazy. They had taken two hits from breaking waves almost thirty feet high, he was fairly certain his wrist was broken, he had heard the mayday from his son but had not sighted their vessel – merely saw the flare. He was in as much trouble and with all the best intentions had no hope of helping. So he prayed.
Illias was not a zealot, but certainly took his religion very seriously, so when he fancied he saw an angel land on the rear of his boat, just prior to the waters around them calming enough to allow him to make a run for home, he didn’t question – merely thanked and prayed and thanked, and headed back to port. It was his sixtieth birthday the following day. If an archangel was necessary for him to spend that with his wife then so be it. Illias’ two crew members were desperately tying things down and tethered to the rear of the boat, and would endorse his miraculous story later, but for now they were all focused on escaping the wild seas.
As Illias’ boat pulled into port and rounded the sea wall, he turned and would later swear that he saw the angel clearly as the pretty male took off toward the sky.
Three more boats were returned safely to port before an utterly exhausted Spike made his way back to Xander’s home only to land a little too heavily in the back yard and collapse face down under the small lemon tree.
Xander stirred, registering that his dear friend was not in his bed, and heard the odd thunk outside. He rose to find the nightmarish image of his dear angel face down in the back yard, and not moving.
It was a critical situation, he could see that, so despite a still mending shoulder, Xander careful to gently folded the wings then lifted the smaller man and carried him inside, directly into the bathroom.
Spike’s wings were sodden, his face covered in dirt courtesy of the landing, but also utterly drawn with fatigue. He was ice cold, had cuts and bruising all over his body, plus rope burns up his arms that cut far too deep for Xander’s liking – but one could hardly attend a hospital with an angel in tow. Xander placed him lovingly on a towel beside the ancient bath before turning the faucet and beginning to fill said item with as much hot water as his little heater could produce.
Belatedly he worried how feathers would go if thoroughly submerged. He need not have worried.
Easing the dear friend into the warm water he noticed tiny bubbles surrounding the perfectly white feathers, feathers that seemed to have escaped the dirt of the fall or soiling at any point.
Xander gently sponged the wounds and wiped clean the face of his beloved. That really was how he saw Spike now… his beloved. He then lifted the sodden angel from the bath, again careful to contain the lax wings of his unconscious friend, and lay him in the centre of his bed, uncaring of the damp as he retrieved a towel from the bathroom.
As Spike returned to consciousness Xander’s first touch elicited a knowledge of where his charge had been and what had been ….done… and for whom… and Xander loved him all the more. Spike woke on a comfortable bed as his wings were being stroked dry, which was so extraordinarily stimulating that he contemplated mentioning his difficulty, given that he was face down and erection pushing hard against the bed. But then strong, familiar hands began to massage the base of his extra appendages and rub liniment into stiff shoulders and a sore neck, and an aching back. And then oil was added to a tired lower back and tight hamstrings and everything seemed to relax at once and the hand with the oil found its real mark as he groaned his approval and lifted just a little to indicate his need.
Xander saw the response and shifted around to simply add a finger find the spot and tug his lover to completion before watching him fall asleep and the majority of wounds close over and heal.
Xander woke the following morning early to a panicked phonecall detailing the events of the previous night. The surprise party was still on but plans had changed as the majority of Gajeta’s fishing community and many others were to attend church and give thanks for the safe return of so many of their husbands and sons.
Xander looked through the door to his own bed and remembered the warmth of those wings over him the previous night, and despite the injuries, the love and caring they engendered.