Dancing About Architecture

by
Collapsible

Part Seven

I gotta say, as far as pairings went, there was no way this particular one could've produced anything short of perfection. I had to give it to 'em - way to improve the local gene pool. Really. This was something I could admit to myself even through the thick haze of shock. I stood there wordlessly and just let the events unfurl around me. Like water to a duck. This kind of thing happened all the time, right? Exes, people having kids. Fairly common, right?

Spike was still standing next to me, close enough to make a point out of it, but he was looking away, speaking to "Liz". Instead, I had another pair of pale blue eyes looking at me quizzically from under unruly blond hair. Julian, was it? all of, what, five? was peering at me from over Spike's shoulder, with his little arms wrapped loosely around his father's neck. His father's neck. His father. Spike.

Oh good god.

I cleared my throat nervously, the sounds around me suddenly rushing back to my ears. Spike turned to me, as did Liz, with a synchronicity that could only be born out of intimacy. Dammit.

I was fidgeting. "Listen, I better head back. I... Yeah." I turned around and hailed a passing cab. It pulled up next to us. I turned back to them, and Spike was looking at me with wide eyes, and something in them that resembled... terror. Julian had turned in his arms to look at me, and he looked everything like Spike. And that was almost too much, right there. I turned my attention to Liz, suddenly all smiles.

"Liz, it was very nice meeting you. I have to run, sorry this is so hurried. Hope we can do this again sometime."

She shook my hand, smiling genuinely. "Sure. It was nice meeting you too, Xander."

I opened the taxi door behind me and looked at Spike. He looked like I had just kicked his puppy. I felt like crap, but I didn't know what else to do. "I... I'll call you, alright? Tomorrow."

He let Julian down, and the boy stayed next to him, peering up at me intriguingly. Spike's voice was laced with emotion. "Xander..."

My voice hushed, too. "I will. I promise."

He stared at me for a moment, uncertainty etched in every line of his face. Then he nodded. "Okay."

I stepped behind the car door, reaching to touch his sleeve. Too briefly. "Really. I will."

"Yeah."

I nodded, tearing my eyes off him to wave goodbye at Liz again. She smiled back. Next to Spike, Julian smiled too and waved at me. I slipped inside the vehicle, pulling the heavy door closed after me. My hand was shaking. I told the driver where to, and sank back on the used upholstery, exhaling nervously. I made the mistake of looking up just as we pulled away and caught Spike's eye. Then we were pulled apart and distance rushed between him on the sidewalk with his family, and me in the cab, alone and suddenly very miserable.

I breathed out a trembling sigh and fished out my cel, shoving my bag away from me across the backseat. I held off any self-deprecation until I heard the familiar voice ring in my ear.

"Hello."

"He has an ex and a kid who looks exactly like him and he kissed me and I left."

There was silence for a moment. I held my breath, resisting going off into a full-on rant. Sarah cleared her throat. "You what?"

"I took off. I'm in the cab now."

"What? Hold on. You're not making sense. You're nonsensical."

"We went out."

"On a date?"

"Yes. Well, no. Not initially. But... it was very much a date when we left the restaurant."

"Oooh," she cooed excitedly. "Xander's got a boyfriend!"

"Listen to me. He kissed me outside the restaurant. It was good. It was really, really good, Sarah," I whined, squirming. "And then his ex-wife and kid showed up, and I... I wimped out."

"Oh, is she like one of those horrible exes with a grudge and a wart on her nose?"

"What? No. No, she's really nice and really pretty and she seemed... I think she liked that Spike was with someone. It was FREAKY, Sarah!"

"Calm down. Geez!"

"I won't! Sarah, I was kissing Spike, and his ex caught us, and I didn't even KNOW he had an ex!"

"Oh."

"Or a kid!"

"Hm."

"And he's really, really great, Sarah. This... I like him. A lot. He's like... a whole new person. He's Spike, but he's not. He's... 'William'. And I like him. And, and I screwed up."

There was another pause. "Sarah?"

"Let's get this straight. He kissed you."

"Yes."

"Then his kid and ex showed up."

"Yes."

"And she seemed pleased to see her ex kissing a guy."

"Yes."

"She wasn't mad."

"No."

"And Spike, I mean William - this is confusing - he wanted you to stay."

"I think so."

"And he tried to get you to stay."

"Yes." I winced.

"And he was disappointed when you left."

"Yes. Possibly hurt, too."

"And you took all this to mean that he didn't want to be with you."

"Well..."

"You are an idiot."

"I agree."

"Xander!"

"I know he likes me too, I mean, that was definitely fondness. But... I need to digest all this. I was making out with the guy, and then poof - BAGGAGE!"

"So?"

"So??"

"What are you going to do now, genius?"

I sighed. "I said I would call him and I will, I just need some time."

"But Xander--"

"I know I'm being an ass but I just can't right now, Sarah, I can't, I need some time, so I'll just call tomorrow."

"Xander."

"It'll be okay. I'll just call and apologise and it'll be okay. Can you maybe check on changing my flight back though, just for a few more days... Don't change it yet, I still have to see how it goes when I talk to him. Maybe I'll go back on Sunday too. I don't--"

"ALEXANDER LAVELLE HARRIS."

I flinched as she screamed in my ear. "Jesus, Sarah, what!"

"Do you even have his number?"

I felt a sudden chill spread across my body. I stared blankly at the dirty plastic partition between me and the driver. "I think, I mean..." I squeezed my eyes shut. "No." Shit. I rubbed painfully at my forehead. "No, I'll look it up though, when I get back to my room. At the hotel."

"And you think he's listed?" I could her the incredulity in her voice. "Xander, you haven't had a listed number in like what, six years? I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you fucked up. Big time."

I let out a huge sigh, my head falling back and striking the back of the seat hard. "I want to kiss him again, Sarah."

I heard her smile. "Yeah."

"I'll... I'll figure something out."

"I'm pushing back your flight. There's nothing going on here that needs you. Do something, patch it up, because if you come back here like that you'll be impossible and I'll have to kill you."

I rubbed at my eyes. "I won't be able to sleep."

"And you think he will?"

If my guilty assumptions were correct, she had a good point.

Part Eight

I stepped inside my hotel room and closed the door behind me with a discreet click of its lock. I stood there dejectedly, against the door in the dark, for what seemed like a small eternity. I dropped my camera bag to the ground, gently, and made my way towards what I could see of the bed. It's not that it was that dark; I just wasn't seeing anything.

I couldn't remember feeling this bad about myself since my painful teenage years. The feeling was at once unsettling and oddly familiar.

There were two issues battling for the fore. First, that I had screwed up. Monumentally sabotaged my own chances at something that might have been really, really good with the right amount of work. Secondly, the reason itself why I had screwed up. Spike had a child. With a perfectly nice woman who seemed to like him making time with guys. Or maybe just with me. Either way, I wasn't too sure why this was bothering me so, but it most definitely was.

Why? Because he had moved on and gotten more of a life than me? Because he had outplayed me in the grown-up game? Any reason that came to my mind seemed ridiculous, and I became less and less impressed with my earlier actions.

Had I reacted that way simply because of timing? Had we met Liz before dinner, would I have had acted differently? And why had I acted that way in the first place? Because I thought I knew everything about William after a three-hour dinner spent talking about anything but ourselves?

Argh, so many questions, all of which only made me more annoyed at myself as I lay there wide awake, much too sober for my taste. Truth is, I knew the answer to most of those questions, and I only really needed to talk to him. I wasn't sure what I'd say, or even what I really wanted from him at this point, but I needed to let him know whatever had happened, it wasn't him. It might've been me on an overload of stimuli. Might have been that dinner had been too perfect, that the kiss had been too good, that his ex-wife was too beautiful and too Sarah and his little boy was too much like him and everything had looked too perfect without me in it.

Might have been all that. Might have been that I had felt like I was sixteen again, pining after the unattainable, the too perfect, the ideal. Took me years to convince myself I was good enough for the elite, why not, and once I had figured it out, they were fresh out of perfection.

But I wasn't asking for best in show - I just wanted another shot with Spike.

I was going to pat myself on the back and call, perhaps only to have him send me off back to California without much of a second thought for the guy who bailed on a divorced dad. My problem was that I had to stop thinking of him as Spike 'from back home', good ol' vamp, all-around bad guy, who had happened to get a make-over. It was clear to me by now that very little of what I knew of that Spike remained in the updated version - and that changed everything. I had to accept that he had attachments, a new history, decisions made that hadn't included things I knew about. Sunnydale wasn't only a continent away for him, but a whole lifetime away, and while I had successfully distanced myself from my hometown as well throughout the years, I'd remained the same old guy with the inappropriate sense of humour. I had my Sarah, Spike had his. Spike had a little more, but that I could deal with if I was going to deal with any of it at all.

The absurdity of the situation hit me, and I laughed listlessly in the dark. It took a certain talent to go from reunion to kiss to disaster in a matter of hours.

This would've been hilarious had it not been so fucking aggravating.

I toed off my shoes and let them fall to the carpet, sighing explicitly loud in the otherwise silent room. I threw both arms out on each side of me and stared hard at the peeling plaster of the ceiling above me.

Then I remembered my earlier freak-out and almost fell off the bed trying to reach the phone book in the nightstand. I fished it out and sat up, flipping the thing open on my lap. Sawyer. Sawyer. Could be listed. Just because mopey-pants Sarah said it wouldn't... I pawed at the thin pages, looking through the S's and momentarily forgetting my alphabet. Ah! Sawyer. Now, William. W. My finger ran down the column of fine print, past the D's and the M's and the R's and all the others letters that came before W, to finally find three names of interest: two W's, one William. The William fellow lived on 10th, and the two others on 45th and 58th.

I blinked, looked at the phone on the nightstand, then flopped down on my back, grinning and feeling absurdly pleased with myself suddenly. Yay, me. Seems like I'd get my chance to make it up after all.

Now if I could just get this pesky night time over with.

I'd figured, sometime a few hours ago in my not sleeping, that seven am would be okay. He might be up at seven am on a Saturday morning, right? He was a teacher. As far as I knew, they did crazy things like that - although my knowledge of teacher-related things was limited to whatever cliché was bandied around in my youth. But still. Seven sounded good to me right now. And seven, most importantly, was only four minutes away.

I was lying on my side, utterly still by now. The rough hotel bedspread was twisted under me after a whole night of shifty restlessness, and I was wearing the same clothes as the night before. In fact I hadn't moved from the bed at all since I'd found Spike's phone number. Instead, I'd stared at the ceiling until morning light crept across it. By now I was sick of the sight of this room. I was staring intently at the red numbers of the alarm clock, inches from my face, phone number memorized right next to his complete address and how he smelled.

It's this kind of thinking that got me in trouble in the first place.

T-minus one minute. Sixty seconds, and I had better drag the phone right here in bed with me so I could reach for it the second I allowed myself to.

Wait.

What kind of crazy-ass thing was this? I wasn't diffusing a bomb, I was calling a guy. I'd called thousands of guys before. Very few of which I had feelings for, but we could just stick a pin in that for now. I grabbed the phone off its hooks seconds before the numbers turned to 7:00, and dialed the number, sombering up rather quickly.

Time to grovel. Or something. Was groveling even in anymore?

The rings grated at the inside of my head, and every time they stopped I almost hung up. I swear I was about to do it when the ringing stopped and I heard a faint click followed by a quiet:"Hmgh?"

Huh? I squinted. "Spike?"

I heard the sound of fabric ruffling around, and he coughed away from the handset. His voice came back groggy and slightly disoriented. "Xander?"

I twisted my finger around the phone cord nervously. "Yeah, um, hi. It's me."

There's another long pause. Then, "You called."

"I said I would..."

"Yeah, well..."

This time the pause was awkward, but I was determined to get through this even if I had to walk on coals doing it. "So... Your ex-wife. Liz. She's really nice."

"Yeah... yes, she is."

"When, when did you two meet?" We could pretend we were back into our catching-up mode. It had worked fine the night before; we were getting pretty good at it, too.

"Oh, we... I met her at school. She, she does a lot of research at the library there."

"Yeah? She teaches too?"

"No no, she's an art historian. Mostly she's a dealer. But she was writing her doctoral thesis, so she was there a lot."

"Wow. People actually do that for real?"

Spike laughed lightly. "Her family is quite well-off. She could've done anything she wanted. She loves art so much... she has this uncanny knack for what she does." There was something in his voice, something about her, that made something in my belly flip nervously. I ignored it the best I could.

"How long have you been, um... divorced?"

"Three years now."

"You seem close."

"We are. The split was amicable. Basically we realised we liked each other too much to be married to each other..." He paused and laughed weakly. "Does that make sense?"

I smiled a bit. "I think it does."

"She's the best thing that happened to me, Xander. After? When I got here? Took me a while, but then I found her and everything was better."

I nodded. Somehow, I could imagine how that felt. "Does she know about..." The demon thing. Because if she did and she still stuck around, she deserved some kind of medal. And a hug.

"Yes, Liz knows. I told her. I had to. It still haunted me, it didn't seem fair to hide it from her." I heard what sounded like the creak of bedsprings. "It wasn't easy, not exactly something you bring up over a light lunch. 'By the way, I used to be one of the undead. Pass the bruschetta.' But I did."

I was breathless. Didn't even want to think how hard that must've been. The thought of scaring away someone you care so much about. "How did she react?"

Spike laughed. "Well, she stared at me over her tempura, then she picked up her jacket and walked out. I didn't hear from her for two weeks. Then she came back and we moved in together."

"Wow."

"Yeah. She's incredible. She's... my anchor. And she gave me Julian," he added, pride ringing clear in his voice.

"How..." I wasn't sure what I was asking, here. I stared at my free hand. "How does that feel? Being a father?"

"It's like nothing you've ever experienced, Xander. And I've been through a lot. It's the hardest yet most rewarding thing I've ever done. It's..." His voice got quieter, and I heard him get up, heard the cracking of the hardwood under his feet. "It's something I never ever thought I'd get to have, you know?"

"He looks just like you," I added timidly, heart swelling with something unidentifiable at the love his words contained. I wanted to hear it again.

But he didn't speak for a moment, and I listened to him move around the room, stalling. When he spoke again, he sounded a lot closer, and that took me off-guard.

"I'm sorry that I didn't tell you about them, Xander..."

"It's okay," I breathed out.

"No, I mean... I didn't know, I mean, this is hard enough as it is, I wasn't trying to hide anything..."

"It... It is hard," I confessed. "Not just the kid, the wife thing, but - the whole thing." Where did that come from? I did not just hint at wanting to discuss feelings. Oh, hell.

"I know." More pacing on his end, maybe the sound of him taking off his t-shirt. "I know." He was as lost as I was. He cleared his throat. "This isn't how I meant for things to go, I didn't expect you to come out, I mean, I thought, maybe, I just wanted you to know that I was, that--" his voice trailed off and I swallowed. Hard.

I didn't say anything for a long while. I was staring at the ceiling again, but not really seeing it. "I'm... I'm glad you wrote..." I murmured.

He stopped moving, and his breathing came to my ear more loudly, a bit out of whack. "You are?" Christ, how could two words contain so much? His tone was clouded with several emotions I couldn't quite decipher.

"Yeah, I... I hadn't thought of you in years, I really hadn't, well maybe in passing, but... Spike, we all thought you were dead." I didn't mean the last bit of that to come out strangled. I hadn't done all this in too long.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have written. It was better that you thought that, it's, I wanted, I couldn't let you think--" I heard a loud thump. It sounded almost like something hit a wall. I heard a loud inhalation of breath and then his voice, firm now, strong, determined, and completely miserable. "Xander. I'm sorry. I can't do this. I shouldn't have written. I'm sorry you came all the way out here. Don't worry, I won't bother you again."

Ouch. That hurt. What about the kiss? I never thought he'd just want to go back to how things were... Agh, I didn't know what to think. Suddenly I panicked. I gripped the handset tighter. "Wait, no. That's not... I'm glad you wrote. It came out of nowhere and it took me a while to accept that you were around still, but... I came out here because..." Gah. Words? Please? Actual sentences? "Look, I'd like to see you again. Last night was... It was nice. Really really nice. And I feel like shit that I bailed on you like that. I just... It was a lot to take all at once, and the kiss, it..."

"Don't apologize, I understand." A low chuckle and god that sound was so familiar it hurt. "I would have done the same thing." A moment's pause, then so quietly I almost didn't hear it. "And I'm glad I kissed you."

I grinned. "Yeah?"

"Oh hell yeah." I could hear the shy smile in his voice.

I just stared at the ceiling some more, grinning like an idiot and feeling like my lottery numbers had just come up. "So, um, I can see you again?" And I heard my voice crack just like when I was thirteen. I didn't know it could still do that. It was good to know.

"If you like." His voice cracked too, and the grin stretched even wider. Ow, my face.

"I leave Sunday morning..." Tomorrow.

"Well, I guess, it's what? 9:00, 10:00?"

I grinned. "I'm on my way."

Part Nine

I spent the eight-minute cab ride fighting the very strong urge to hurl the cabby out of his seat and drive the goddamn car myself. We, of course, had to hit every single red light. By now I was expecting some kind of elaborate parade to pop out of nowhere and block the next four city blocks for a couple of hours. You know, just to irk me.

I sat back, hands patting my legs with idle frustration, and peered at the back of the driver's head. If this... this... GUY was in any way, shape or form the reason why I was in here instead of over there, there would be some kind of nasty retribution. Karma, baby. It's all about who you piss off.

Whine. If this had been a movie, I would've been there seconds after hanging up, thanks to a collaborative and violently overzealous taxi person, and/or clever editing. But as it was, I had time to come up with a billion different things I could say or do once I got to Spike's door. Which was to say - I had no clue what was going to happen. And maybe I was a little thrilled about that.

"I said WE'RE HERE."

I blinked confusedly at the driver's scowl and realised that in the midst of my being mad at the world, I'd gone off into my own little world with no car windows to show me we were now parked in front of Spike's building. Hey, look at that!

I threw what must've been an obscene amount of money in the general direction of the front seat and propelled myself out of the vehicle and onto the dirty sidewalk. The cab peeled off in a cloud of dust and a light spray of gravel, all of which settled nicely around me as I peered up the impressive building.

Predictably enough, now I couldn't move.

But that lasted about four seconds. Then I was sprinting past the doorman and skidding across the pristine lobby. I hit the elevator button a good dozen times, just to make sure. A decade later the door binged open, then closed, then opened again, and this time I praised the good lord that Spike's door was right there in front of me. Can I get an Alleluia?

The door swung open as I reached for it and with a momentum I didn't realise I had, I stumbled into the apartment - and into Spike. Before I knew what was happening I had a warm mouth pressed against mine and we went from zero to full-fledged in whatever amount of time was no time at all. Hands clutched, tongues pushed, bodies curved into one another with clumsy, clingy need. I couldn't see, didn't want to open my eyes and risk losing that feeling of something spinning majestically out of control - or clicking into place, I wasn't sure which.

Blindly I felt my way up his arms, encountering only flesh, warm skin, shuddering muscles under my fingers, then cotton over firm shoulders. My brain paused just long enough to conjure up the image of Spike, William, Will, in a t-shirt and whatever else he wore when he slept alone. And that, that - I had to see.

I tried to pull away but his hand behind my head held onto me, fingers digging in the short hair there. The kiss broke messily and we both gasped for air against each other's lips.

"I'm not going anywhere, Will..." I whispered and he nodded, panting. Our gazes didn't meet, and I still felt a pang of regret for what I had done the night before. My hands on his arms moved to his neck, where I could feel his heart race. Then they slipped up to the sides of his face. My thumbs caressed his cheeks. I made him look at me, our foreheads touching. "I'm not leaving."

He nodded again and licked his lips, but I knew I had to do more than this. I wouldn't let myself off the hook this easily. He deserved more than that.

Our mouths met again, hotly. My lips parted his and just like that tongues slid against each other in that wet, silky warmth mouths have. I swung the door shut blindly and pushed Spike up against it. There was none of the awkwardness of our first kiss, with limbs in the way and the balance all wrong. I was amazed at how our bodies just leaned into each other, hands finding the right places to hold, cling, feel.

"Xander," he tried between breaths.

"Yeah."

"I don't mean to be too forward, but--"

"Bed."

"Yes."

"Absolutely." Then I felt like smiling, and I did. I must've been grinning, because he answered in kind, and although I was already gasping for air, this took my breath away.

He grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled me along, walking backwards close to me. I guessed the door off to the far left to be his bedroom, and I stole a few kisses on the way there.

Then my cel rang.

"Fuck."

"Leave it."

"Yeah." He went for my mouth again, but the damn thing kept ringing. I broke our kiss. "Argh. No. Hold on. She won't stop calling until I pick up." Completely unwilling to extricate myself from Spike's hold, I clumsily reached into my back pocket and fished out my cel, flipping it open with one hand. My eyes never left Spike.

"What do you want, Sarah."

"Stop it."

"What?"

"What you're doing right now. Cut it out."

"How do you DO that?"

"I don't want you gallivanting around and catching cooties."

"Gallivanting?"

"Cooties."

"I'm not entirely sure, but I think our boy cooties kinda cancel each other out in this case."

"Hm. You're right."

Spike nibbed at my bottom lip and our tongues touched again. I heard Sarah say something else, but it was a faraway sound. I managed to bring the phone back to my ear. "Look, m'kinda busy here, Sarah..."

"Right. With all the sex. Go have it. I'm gonna stay here and, you know, do laundry or something."

"Atta girl. Do Matt's while you're at it, will ya?"

"Ew!"

"Cooties?"

"The size of cats."

I sank into Spike's kiss, mumbling. "Alright, I'm done talking to you now. Later." I flipped the phone shut and threw it on the nearby couch.

Spike herded me into his bright bedroom, fingers working at the buttons of my shirt. I looked at him again, this time much more calmly. He wasn't looking at me, but I was struck once again by how truly beautiful he was. The slight flush of lust across his cheeks made pale blonde freckles stand out. I wanted to touch him all over, undress him and run my hand everywhere, feel the warm curves, the softened muscles, see where else I could make the sprinkled skin rise up and meet my mouth, my skin, me. We stood so close, cheeks almost touching now, and his ragged breath caressed my ear, tickling gently. Painfully arousing. His mouth brushed against my cheek. I squeezed his arms again, closing my eyes.

I laughed, a little, because it felt new, and it shouldn't have. "Spike--"

"Will."

"Wha?"

"Will. I'm not Spike anymore. You... you didn't like Spike," he whispered.

"It's not that I--"

"It's okay."

I didn't say anything. Maybe he was right.

"Spike wouldn't do this. Not like this. This... this is me." He slipped both hands into my opened shirt, and the sudden, craved skin-on-skin made me shiver.

My hand ran along the curve of his spine, over his t-shirt, distracted. "Will, I--" His tongue flicked into my ear. My knees buckled. "Oh god."

Will held onto me as I spoke and I felt the mattress hit the back of my knees. Then he was over me, and I'd imagined it would be the other way around, but it wasn't, and it felt just right. We crawled up the bed and I pulled at his t-shirt until it came off. His leg parted mine and straining arousals met, making both of us stop in our tracks, panting. Propped up on his elbows on each side of me, Will looked down at me amidst a mess of blond curls. The bright morning light made everything - hair, eyes, lips, chest softly heaving - look impossibly warm and real and immediate. And I needed to make sure.

"Will, you--"

"Yeah."

He leaned in and kissed my neck, and the sensitive spot right underneath my jaw. I forgot what I wanted to ask. I was breathing against his neck and my fingers drummed an impatient little rhythm on his shoulder blade. He faced me and kissed my lips, and it felt like my first time, but for him. Awkwardly he reached down between us and cupped my erection through my jeans - and although the touch was almost too calculated, too nervous, I could feel the genuine need in it, and I bucked helplessly into his hand. I opened my mouth to ask again, but he spoke first, against my mouth.

"I haven't done this in lifetimes." It sounded more apologetic than pitiful, and I searched that part of my mind I used to store arcane trivia in for that particular piece of Spike lore.

Oh.

"Angelus." The word spilled out of my lips, meant as a question, but not quite sounding like one.

He was studying me, quiet. He nodded absently. "That was a long time ago."

"Yeah," I breathed out, not really caring whether it had been centuries ago or last night. It didn't matter.

"And it wasn't... It wasn't this."

"I know." Then something occurred to me. "Do you want me to top?" I hated how the word came out of my mouth, anti-climactic and stale. But mostly, I hated that I wasn't new at it. I wanted the shared awkwardness, the anticipation of the new and different. But I was a twenty-eight year old guy with a relatively active sex life, and I could do this with my eyes closed.

And that single thought terrified me.

My touch on his shoulder became a tight hold as I let my mind think up all the ways I was screwing this up. But Will leaned on an elbow and reached up to run his fingers through the loose curls that fell obstinately on my brow. He just grinned.

Score!

Dancing About Architecture

by Collapsible

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

by
Collapsible