Disclaimer: Not mine
Note: A few weeks ago, I wrote a ficlet for the prompt "Silver Lining" at slashthedrabble. Only when I went to post it, I realized the prompt was not, in fact, "Silver Lining" -- I had mistaken the title of someone's posted drabble for the prompt. Anyway, here it is. 300 words.
Spike prefers to be the big spoon. This is fine with Xander, but also, kinda funny, in light of their relative sizes. Funnier still, he'd never realized Spike was smaller, until, in an effort to reach Spike's lips, he'd needed to lower his head. Huh, he had thought, with startled delight, before bliss slammed the brakes on cognition.
Perhaps he'd missed this obvious fact due to lack of proper perspective. Pre-kissage, he'd rarely been near enough to gauge Spike's height; and when he had, he'd been unconscious, or trying not to look. The thing is, from a distance, Spike seems deceptively huge -- an enormous presence that fills up a room, stomping and swearing and swirling his coat. Like a rolling storm-cloud, all sound and fury; but if luck was with you, and he let you get close, you'd notice the silver lining. If he did, you'd see his pleading expression, watch his eyes flutter shut as you clasped his thin wrist. You'd hear the deep sigh as your arms wrapped around him, feel him melt at the press of your body to his.
For once, Xander has gotten lucky. He knows both sides of Spike: the Big Bad, and the Little Hurt; the soft, gooey center, and the hard candy shell. Spike has layers, like everyone else. People are a mass of contradictions, himself included. Because when it comes to Spike, Xander feels protect-ive, and protect-ed, at the very same time.
When they're curled up together, Spike's leg slung possessively over his, it doesn't matter that he's been fired again, or that his folks are plastered and shouting upstairs. "You're alright," Spike says. "Safe as houses." And somehow, the bad fades away.
Spike should be the last guy to make him feel safe.
He's the first one who ever has.