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Breathless

Author: spikeNdru

Pairing: Spike/Angel

Rating: PG

Posting date: 8/25/05

Song Prompt: Breathless

Written for ms_bear's:

Summer Fun Slash-a-thon—an angstless 'thon. The fic should not contain angst. We want fun or fluff here, thank you.

 

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2005

Angel stretched, feeling quite pleased with himself. He looked fondly at the sleeping vampire next to him. Now that they'd finally gotten over their rivalry regarding Buffy and admitted that she had essentially been a substitute for the person—okay, vampire—they really wanted to be with, things were looking up.

Angel fiddled with the dial of the radio on the bedside table. A series of squawks, screeches, hisses and snatches of songs filled the room. Angel wondered if this is what it sounded like to any extraterrestrial life forms picking up signals from earth. He wondered about this because he'd watched Contact last night on SciFi—probably because he couldn't find the remote to change the channel.

Spike bolted upright in bed, reaching for his knife to kill the demon making those awful sounds.

Angel's fingers stilled on the dial.

Go on, go on

Leave me breathless

Come on . . .

Angel smiled happily.

“What's that you're listening to, you pillock?”

“The Corrs.”

“Coors? You woke me up so you could crush on a bloody beer commercial?”

“Not 'Coors', Corrs.”

“Oh, and that just explains everything, dunnit?”

Angel smirked. “Not up on popular culture, Spike? Where have you been the last few years?”

Spike counted off on his fingers. “Let's see . . . Africa. Insane. Dead. Ghost.” He paused and then raised his thumb as he glowered at Angel. “Bitch.”

“It's an Irish band. The Corrs.”

“Feelin' a bit nostalgic for the auld country, are we then?”

“Shut up, Spike.”

“Make me!”

Angel pressed him into the mattress, covering Spike's mouth with his own.

That shut him up all right.

And if there's no tomorrow

And all we have is here and now

I'm happy just to have you

You're all the love I need, somehow

It's like a dream

Although I'm not asleep

And I never want to wake up

Don't lose it, don't leave it
 

So go on, go on

Come on, leave me breathless

Angel finally broke the kiss and looked down at Spike, staring at the half-closed blue eyes and soft full lips, as if to burn the image into his brain.

“You do, you know,” Angel said softly.

“Do what?”

“Leave me breathless.”

“Angel, you git — you don't breathe.”

 

2030

Covered with demon goo, the two vampires made their way back to the Hyperion.

“Spike, we gotta talk.”

“Not now, you git! 'm not doin' anything till I get a shower.”

Angel grinned. “Anything?”

“You're a sick pup, Angel.”

Angel reached out and pulled Spike close, wrapping his arms tightly around him. Spike relaxed into his hold, laying his cheek on Angel's chest.

“Y'know, Spike, I think that particular shade of blue slime really brings out the blue in your eyes.”

Spike let out a bark of laughter.

“ 'm sure I look quite fetching, luv, but this stuff's startin' to congeal an' it itches.”

“And you always accused me of being the fastidious one! Here I am, putting time with you above my personal desire for cleanliness, and you can't appreciate my romantic sacrifice! All that matters to you are your own selfish needs.” Angel put his hand over his heart and declaimed dramatically. “The bloom is off the rose! After only a quarter-century together! I'm deeply hurt!”

Spike was laughing so hard, he clutched Angel's arm for support, getting his hand full of demon goo in the process. “You idiot! Who ever said you didn't have a sense of humor?”

“You did.”

“Yeah, well . . . I was apparently mistaken.”

Spike slid his hand down Angel's arm and grasped Angel's hand.

“Ew! Spike! You got the goo on my hand.”

“Thought our bein' together was more important that a little goo? Here — I'll take care of it . . .”

Spike scraped the demon slime from Angel's hand into his own. Before Angel could guess what he meant to do, his hand shot out and he rubbed the goo into Angel's hair.

“Not the hair!”

Angel grabbed for Spike, but Spike was faster. He tore up the stairs, Angel in hot pursuit. Shedding his clothes as he rushed across their room, Spike jumped into the shower. Angel followed momentarily.

***

The water was running cold and they both bore a strong resemblance to raisins when Angel finally reached out to turn off the shower. He rested his forehead against the cool tile.

“Spike . . . even after 25 years together, you still leave me breathless.”

Spike smiled and pressed a gentle kiss on Angel's hipbone, then gracefully rose to his feet.

“Pet . . . you still don't breathe!”

 

2055

Spike had been planning this trip for months. Back in the day, Anya had convinced him to invest a night's poker winnings in a demon-run mutual fund a friend of hers was trying to get off the ground. Spike had completely forgotten about it until a few years ago when he was notified that the 50-year maturity had occurred. Spike now possessed a tidy sum, and he knew just what he wanted to do with it. His and Angel's 50^th anniversary was coming up, and he wanted to plan something spectacular to commemorate the occasion.

One of the grand old luxury liners had been completely refitted and a long, slow, relaxing cruise was planned for her inaugural voyage. The itinerary included Hawaii, Tahiti, Fiji, Bali and New Zealand. One could book to any of the ports of call, or straight through to the end. Spike spent days calculating just how much time he and Angel could spend cooped up in a stateroom together before driving each other batshit crazy. He wanted a romantic get-away—no jobs, no apocalypses, no pressing business—just the two of them with a chance to completely focus on each other. He figured one stop past Hawaii would be just about right. He'd arranged for a Nabbit NightRanger to fly them back. Everything was organized—all his ducks were in a row. Now, he just had to keep Angel from finding out! He wanted this romantic get-away to be a surprise.

***

Angel grinned. Spike thought he didn't have a romantic bone in his body? Hah! He'd show him!

He and Spike had been together for nearly fifty years, and in all that time, Angel had never been bored. Aggravated? Sure. Frequently ready to rip his hair out and spit nails? Definitely. Bored? Never.

But in all that time, he'd never once given Spike all of himself. He'd always held back, for fear of getting too happy and losing his temporary soul. Finally, something occurred to him — and it only took fifty-some years. He wasn't slow on the uptake, Angel qualified. He was just weighing all the options!

A half-century together deserved something special to mark the occasion. Spike had undergone the demon trials to win back his soul; why couldn't he do the same thing to permanently anchor his?

Once he had conceived the idea, Angel set about the execution of his plan with single-minded intensity. He couldn't ask Spike, because he wanted this to be a surprise. He'd managed to discover the location of the mystical cave in Africa, and now he just needed to book the trip.

“Nabbit Enterprises. Mrs. Nabbit,” he spoke into his personal communication device.

“Hello?”

“Harmony, it's Angel.”

“Ohmigod! Angel! I haven't heard from you in ages! How've you been?”

“Fine. And you?”

“Great! The business is doing really well. Daveykins always said I had a good head for business and he wasn't wrong! We've expanded like you wouldn't believe!”

“That's good, Harmony. Uh . . . I was sorry to hear about your loss.”

“Thanks. I guess I can't complain. We had 43 good years together. What can I do for you, Angel?”

“I need to charter a NightRanger for about a month—along with a pilot who knows how to be discrete.”

“Sure. No problem. You know, Daveykins built the first NightRanger just for me? It was so cool. He couldn't believe I'd just happened to write my shopping list on the back of the formula for necro-tempered glass! But it was my idea to build four more of them and use them for charters. When do you need it?”

***

“C'mon, Spike—it's a beautiful night. Let's go for a drive up the coast.”

“Can we take the Viper?”

“You've always had a thing for old cars—remember that DeSoto you used to drive?”

“Not senile yet — 'course I remember the De Soto. An' I seem to remember someone else toolin' around in a more than 35-year-old Plymouth, too.”

Angel smiled reminiscently. “That was a great car. Do you think it's because we're vampires?”

“Think it's what 'cause we're vampires?”

“That we don't generally go for the new and shiny—that we can appreciate a well-made car, even if it is an older model?”

“Nah. You were just too cheap to buy a new one an' I was perpetually broke. We made do.”

“Is that what this is? Making do?”

“What are you blatherin' on about now?”

“Us. You and me. Together. Are we together because we really want to be, or are we 'making do' because everybody else we loved is dead and we never bothered to develop any new relationships?”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “You're extra-broody tonight. Get in the car — I'll drive. I think better when I've got somethin' else to do.”

Spike patted the inner pocket of his duster to make sure the tickets were still there. He'd drive until he came to an overlook he remembered, then he'd present Angel with his anniversary present. Maybe when the wanker saw how much planning he'd done to set up a special, romantic get-away, he'd stop questioning their relationship. And, he might just tell Angel how he really felt, too.

Spike had never actually told Angel that he loved him with all his heart and soul. Angel just wasn't the kind of guy you said those things to. Plus, if he never said the words, he wouldn't feel rejected if Angel didn't reciprocate. There was so much history between them that Spike had thought discretion was the better part of valor. He didn't think he could stand to have another declaration of love thrown back in his face the way Buffy had done. It was better to just keep it to himself and accept only what Angel was able to give. Still . . . maybe it was time to rethink that policy.

The timeless scent of the ocean encompassed them as they roared through the night with the windows open. Spike switched the satellite radio to an oldies station. This seemed to be a night for nostalgia. The final lines of Queen's “The Champions” blasted through the car.

We are the champions. We are the champions. We are the champions . . . of the world.

Spike started to snicker and glanced at Angel. A muscle was twitching in his jaw. He met Spike's eyes, and they both laughed.

Angel suddenly felt young and carefree. It would be okay. When they stopped the car, he'd tell Spike about the anniversary present he'd arranged. And maybe it was time to tell Spike how he felt. Angel wasn't comfortable expressing emotion. He'd tamped down his feelings for so long out of fear of losing himself to Angelus that he'd been afraid to let himself love Spike with all his being. But, when he told Spike he'd planned for them to go to Africa so he could permanently anchor his soul, maybe Spike would understand what he hadn't been able to verbalize.

Angel was yanked out of his reverie as a new song came on the radio.

I remember all my life, raining down as cold as ice. A shadow of a man . . .

Angel knew he was grinning like an idiot. Mandy! His favorite song! It was like a sign from God, or The Powers That Be—or whoever programmed the satellite radio, in any event.

“Spike! Pull over as soon as you can. I've got something to tell you.”

Spike lifted an eyebrow, but didn't argue. They hadn't yet reached the overlook at which he'd been planning to stop, but an overgrown access road turned off to the right, so he guided the car into it. It was barely a track; he couldn't have seen it without his vampiric night vision. He drove in a few hundred yards and cut the motor, but left the radio on. He knew better than to shut off Mandy in the middle of the bleedin' song! The car was surrounded by leafy greenery—it felt like they were cocooned from the world. Angel shifted in his seat and took Spike's hand.

“I've never been good with words — not like you. You've always seen the world through the eyes of a poet. I'm more of a man—pire of action. So, I'm kinda hoping that actions really do speak louder than words. I don't know if you've realized, but we've been together for nearly fifty years—”

Spike's other hand touched the tickets in his pocket to make sure they were still there.

“Well . . . yeah. I've noticed—”

“Shut up, Spike. I'm trying to tell you something important here.”

Spike wisely shut up.

Angel continued. “I just wanted to let you know how much you mean to me. I've never told you, and I know I'm not the most romantic bastard, but . . .”

Angel reached into his pocket and produced an envelope that he handed to Spike.

“Happy Anniversary, Spike.”

Spike felt a momentary twinge of resentment that he hadn't gotten to give Angel his gift first. He'd spent so much time and effort planning a special gift, and now it looked like Angel had had the same idea; but once again, Angel had gotten there first.

Spike swallowed his disappointment and opened the envelope. Bloody hell! Angel had chartered a NightRanger to take them to Africa for a month. Africa! A south Pacific cruise was much more romantic! Why in hell would the git choose Africa? Africa brought back memories he'd tried to bury—memories of the demon trials, getting his soul, the guilt, The First . . . Hold on!

Spike stared into Angel's eyes. “Why Africa?” he asked carefully.

“Well, I thought . . . you went through the Trials to get your soul back on your own. I figured if you could get through them, it'd be a cake-walk for me.”

“Yeah, right!”

“Anyway . . . I've never been completely there for you, Spike. I've never allowed myself to love you the way you deserve to be loved because . . . because . . .”

“You were afraid of unleashin' your alter ego?”

“Yeah. So I thought . . . if my soul was permanently anchored, like yours, without the gypsy curse provisions, I could . . .”

Mandy faded away and a new song began playing.

Go on, go on; leave me breathless . . .

“I could tell you . . .”

The daylight's fading slowly

But time with you is standing still

I'm waiting for you only

The slightest touch and I feel weak

I cannot lie, from you I cannot hide

And I'm losing the will to try

Can't hide it; can't fight it

“Dammit, Spike! I'm in love with you!”

So go on, go on, come on; leave me breathless

“Well? Aren't you going to say anything?”

“Can't.”

“What do you mean, you can't? I've just spilled my guts and you can't say anything?”

“Bloody hell, Angel—this time you've left me breathless!”

 

The End

 

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