Disclaimer: A full disclaimer can be found here, but please be assured that none of this is mine.
Warnings and Other Notes: Reference to past Angelus/William. Inspired by a request from quoshara. Betaed by darkhavens.
Summary: At 468 words, this is the drabble that wanted to be a ficlet. Dust, cream soda and office supplies. Be careful how you’re photographed.
Xander sighed in relief as the cool vanilla wave made its way down his throat, gathering into a chilly pool deep within his belly.
“Nothing like a cold drink after a long day of sitting on your arse, eh, Xan?”
Xander snorted and shot a glare at Spike. “Shut up, you. It was hard work not leaping from the car every time you decided that the road signs didn’t really apply to you.”
Spike grinned and pressed a kiss to Xander’s chin before settling on the ground.
Laughing, Xander ran his thumb through the layer of dust covering the sides of the bottle. His gaze caught on the too familiar face pouting at him from the label.
“Spike,” he gasped.
“Hmm?” Spike grunted from his position lying at Xander’s feet.
Spike scowled as he sat up, his eyes seeking out what had distressed Xander.
A shaking hand held out a clear glass bottle in his direction. He accepted and took a swing before handing it back to Xander. The thump in the middle of his forehead caused him to scowl again.
“Fuck, Xan! What’s the problem here?”
The bottle found its way in front of his face again. “Look, Spike. At the picture.”
Spike’s eyes widened as he recognized the photo gracing the label of the Jones Soda Company Cream Soda Bottle. “That’s impossible. I tore up every fucking cop…” his voice dropped off as his bones shifted to reveal the demon inside.
A roar and the bottle was thrown to the ground. Xander didn’t have time to object as he was dragged back to the car and thrown into the passenger seat.
“Fucking Angelus!” echoed through the air as dirt and gravel flew from spinning tires.
A tsk sounded as aged, dark fingers picked up the discarded bottle. “Kids these days.”
Eyes crinkled and a smile broke out as the photo came into focus. “Ah, would you look at that? Lovely, that is!” and the bottle crackled as it banged into the sides of the trashcan, the label held tight in wrinkled hands for a moment before being pinned over the tops of several vintage photos. “Lovely girl.”
From the photo, William looked out over the edge of a boa held loosely in pale fingers. A mound of curls, framing a mask of heavy makeup and dark lips, was cropped to a neat bob that just reached the point of his chin. His pale, thin arms were bare, and his flat chest emphasized through a simple plunging neckline. A long-lined waist draped over slender hips, soft, white fabric covering him modestly to the knees. Thick silk stockings and heavy satin shoes held slight legs and dainty feet, and although a smile wasn’t present, love and lust was shining visibly in his eyes.
For those who don’t know of the history of Jones Soda Company and their intriguing labels, you can find more information at their site. And personally, I recommend the Green Apple Soda.