Love actually... fic + vid
Title: Love actually
Rating: PG
Pairing: Spike/Angel
Warning: hilariously bad video editing, no beta
Word count: ~750
Disclaimer: Videos borrowed from the movie “Love actually” and Ats - none of this is mine, obviously.
Summary: Spike and Angel suck at talking so Spike has to find another way to tell his lover how he feels. And when would be a better time than Christmas?
Written and vided for rekindlespangel. Thank you cafedemonde for hosting!
"’s not like I didn’t try,” Spike pouted, glaring into his empty glass. “Wanker just won’t listen. Told me to get lost so he can go on wallowing in his pansy misery. We saved the bloody world together!”
The bartender regarded Spike quizzically and raised a perfectly plucked eye brow. She poured the blond another drink, debated internally if asking would be a good idea and decided against it. Better not give one more lonely drunk the idea he could unload his sob story onto her. The Christmas crowd had been depressing enough so far without this one spilling his marbles too. Then again she had to admit that the drunk in question had something about him. Probably just the British accent, she thought.
Spike downed his drink in one go, then burped. Staring at the tv screen hanging over the bar, he made a face when Hugh Grant as the British Prime Minister failed at chatting up his sexy maid. Ponce.
“’s like that every time,” he rambled on when the bartender was in earshot again. “I say something - nicely - he glares and suddenly, everything goes to hell.”
“I presume he’s not so big on the talking?” the bartender asked and Spikes shook his head, sighing miserably.
“Guess not.”
“Ever tried to get your point through without talking?”
Grinning crookedly, Spike shot her an ambiguous glance. “The fucking’s not the problem, luv. On the contrary, shagging him is bloody fucking fantastic. It’s just-Guys got feelings too, you know?”
“I’ve heard something like that,” she smiled, unable to resist the man’s sudden puppy dog expression, “though I think it’s a rumour.”
Spike shrugged and smiled weakly. “Let’s make that the official version.”
Biting her lip, she turned her back at Spike, looking up at the screen, and then turned back to him. “You know the film?”
“Love actually,” Spike mumbled, blushing when she grinned at him widely, and added “never seen it. Fucking chick-flick.”
“U-hu,” she grinned and pointed toward the screen where Keira Knightley jumped off her couch to open the door.
“Wot?” Spike asked, puzzled. Not like a sappy Christmas movie could help him getting through to his broody, emotionally challenged grouch of a lov-oh.
Oh.
No, that would be--. Just no.
“Your choice,” the bartender said, “risk something, maybe loose but know you’ve tried at least, or sit here on your own again next year. It’s up to you.”
°°°
Click to view°°°
Spike lets the last piece of paper fall to the ground, turns the music off, nods briefly at Angel who seems to be frozen in shock, and walks away.
He walks down the street, past the brightly lit windows in the neighbourhood, leaving the street Angel lives in behind, one step in front of the other.
Snowflakes get caught in his lashes and he blinks, swallows, feeling like the temperature drops with every step he takes, freezing his dead heart until he’s afraid it’ll shatter.
He calls himself a sad fool, it’s not like he expected Angel to act like some damn rom-com lead, rushing after him in his ridiculous wallowing black wool coat and sweeping Spike into his arms before declaring his undying love.
It’s not them, Spike knows that. It hurts anyway.
Throwing the CD player in the trash and kicking at a can half buried under the fresh snow, Spike nearly loses his balance when a strong hand grabs his shoulder from behind.
“Will you wait already!” Angel growls and Spike turns around, taking in the picture of Angel standing barefoot in the snow, frowning.
“That was-“ Angel starts.
Spike raises an eye brow. Angel frowns harder.
“That’s what I thought,” Spike says, trying to sound unfazed but failing miserably.
“Oh dammit,” Angel growls and pulls Spike to his chest, strong arms pressing him close, mouth meeting Spike’s.
It’s a first kiss, new and intense and something’s Spike’s never felt before. Not with Angel. There have been kisses, yes, and lots of them, hard and bruising, but nothing like this one. This one is an avowal, it says “I understand” and “me too” and “always”. It says all the things Angel cannot.
After they’ve parted, they stand there, in the snow, foreheads touching.
“So you know the movie,” Spike smiles.
“What movie?” Angel asks.
“Doesn’t matter,” Spike answers and interlaces their fingers to pull Angel back to his place, into his bed, which, for the first time, they are going to share as lovers.