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sb_fag_ends2013-03-24 12:59 pm
drizzlydaze.livejournal.com) wrote in sb_fag_ends2013-03-24 12:59 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Professor
Title: Professor
Creator: drizzlydaze
Rating: PG
Setting: Post series
Word count: 311
Prompt: chalk burst
A/N: A riff on an old theme. Apologies in advance for unoriginality. >.<
She sits at the very back of the small lecture hall with a notepad and pen laid out tidily on the desk. She has her bag placed neatly on her lap. She has her serious face on, her interested face, as she looks to the front of the hall. The first comfort is that the hall is entirely full. The second is that he is late. He’s more of the same, if he’s late.
Then he finally rushes in, coattails (coattails!) flying behind him, and he is most definitely not more of the same.
She expected the hair, that brown, curly, longish, messy hair. She expected the colour in his cheeks, the wire frame spectacles. She expected the raw shock of the sight of him.
She doesn’t expect that quirk of a smile, embarrassed and slightly nervous; the clumsiness of his movements—she doesn’t expect his words. He is a professor, they said, in a small, unknown town (like Sunnydale, minus the demons). She doesn’t know why the passion catches her by surprise, the fervour of his words, the meaning of his speech; it makes him all the more Spike-like, even if he’s waxing on about the love of dead poets rather than his own. (Still, she supposes he was once a dead poet.)
She quietly enunciates his title to herself—Professor Pratt—and admires the way it clicks from her tongue. Then she mouths William Pratt with all its foreignism, and decides immediately that she likes it. She glances down at her notes, realises that they look a lot like absent-minded doodles from a high schooler, and flushes.
Then once the lesson has ended—once she has drunk in his sweeping hair, his cutting cheekbones, that sharp jawline, his lovely words, that human form, the slipping spectacles—she leaves.
There is something for her here, but nothing she can give.
Creator: drizzlydaze
Rating: PG
Setting: Post series
Word count: 311
Prompt: chalk burst
A/N: A riff on an old theme. Apologies in advance for unoriginality. >.<
She sits at the very back of the small lecture hall with a notepad and pen laid out tidily on the desk. She has her bag placed neatly on her lap. She has her serious face on, her interested face, as she looks to the front of the hall. The first comfort is that the hall is entirely full. The second is that he is late. He’s more of the same, if he’s late.
Then he finally rushes in, coattails (coattails!) flying behind him, and he is most definitely not more of the same.
She expected the hair, that brown, curly, longish, messy hair. She expected the colour in his cheeks, the wire frame spectacles. She expected the raw shock of the sight of him.
She doesn’t expect that quirk of a smile, embarrassed and slightly nervous; the clumsiness of his movements—she doesn’t expect his words. He is a professor, they said, in a small, unknown town (like Sunnydale, minus the demons). She doesn’t know why the passion catches her by surprise, the fervour of his words, the meaning of his speech; it makes him all the more Spike-like, even if he’s waxing on about the love of dead poets rather than his own. (Still, she supposes he was once a dead poet.)
She quietly enunciates his title to herself—Professor Pratt—and admires the way it clicks from her tongue. Then she mouths William Pratt with all its foreignism, and decides immediately that she likes it. She glances down at her notes, realises that they look a lot like absent-minded doodles from a high schooler, and flushes.
Then once the lesson has ended—once she has drunk in his sweeping hair, his cutting cheekbones, that sharp jawline, his lovely words, that human form, the slipping spectacles—she leaves.
There is something for her here, but nothing she can give.
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Thank you!
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The angst in the last sentence just killed me. I was going for fluffy and happy reconciliation, you know?
But anyway it's a lovely fic and seeing Spike as William, with curly and darker hair ... it's such a lovely surprise. I have a soft spot for Spike's human side and I loved his flashback curly hair. <3
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*throws paper cups*
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Can't you throw something small and edible instead?
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gKosmXx1gkc
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And the ending is thought provoking, the reason she gives for leaving.
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Great fic. Thanks!
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