Not Quite Hearts and Flowers
The location was certainly romantic: moonlit beach, no one there but the two of them, balmy breeze. Of course, the timing could be better. Romance and the imminent end of the world weren’t exactly a matched set. That and...well...he and Spike had really never been about hearts and flowers. More like curses and fangs and bruises and blood. Still, right now they were both afraid (though neither would admit it), lonely (also not something they’d admit), and tired of keeping each other at arm’s length (something they admitted just by being here together, though they hated themselves for it). So it happened, for the first time in a long time and the first time ever like this - caring and fulfilling and mutual and...right.
He’d forgotten how good it could be, how good it was with Spike, with his William. The way his body felt as if it had been made to fit beneath his as Angel pounded him into the sand. And when it was over, yeah, he did feel almost romantic. Almost, that is, until:
“Get off me, you big, broody git. I’m not staying here getting sand up my arse. I’m going home and sleeping in a real bed. Some of us have to get some rest and save the world, you know.”
No, he and Spike would never be about hearts and flowers.