(BtVS) A Necessary Diversion (Spain) - S/X, for fall_for_sx
Title: A Necessary Diversion (Spain)
Author: shighola
Rating: PG
Words: 702
Summary: The perils of football.
Notes: AU, post S3; Beta'd by geniusartist, but all mistakes are mine. Written for fall_for_sx.
Part of the Road 'verse; Takes place after Continental Divide (Africa)
Disclaimer: The boys aren’t mine. They belong to Joss.
“Spike! We have to go now!”
Xander eventually succeeded in dragging his lover off into the night, nervously peering over his shoulder the entire way home.
***
They should never have gone to Barcelona. Oh, the city was beautiful. They visited the Barri Gotic and the Picasso Museum, developed an unhealthy fixation with siesta, and reawakened Spike’s inner hooligan.
Despite the fact that he had lived for over a century and traveled the world, Spike was still very British. Specifically, an English youth circa the late 1970s. Xander often wondered about that. Was it normal vampire behavior to just pick an era and stick with it for a century or two? Were they just waiting for their clothes to come back in style? Wouldn’t it make more sense to stick with the era when you were alive or newly-dead? It seemed like other vampires did that, if the ridiculous ensembles he’d seen over the years were anything to go by. Maybe Spike was just the exception to the rule. It wouldn’t be the first time.
So yeah, Barcelona. Great food, beautiful weather, and a religious devotion to football. Xander had become more familiar with football (not soccer, lest Spike give him that look, the one that meant a lack of “fun touching”) during their travels. It turned out that Americans really were wrong and the rest of the world was right about football. Who knew? Football was in every country they visited, and Spike always made a point of finding somewhere to watch the games, even occasionally checking scores online. Xander sometimes came along, eventually getting to know enough not to root for the wrong team, even the appropriate time to yell at the referee.
But Barcelona was a revelation. The locals' passion for football and their very Spanishness seemed to make Spike more English by default. The vampire found a local bar and made friends both ex-pats and Catalan. It was a good group, men and women, all very friendly to him and ready to argue football for hours. All, until that Cup Final. What had been friendly banter turned vicious. Thrown insults became bottles and a tense silence settled over the group for weeks. The ice finally thawed, coincidentally, during the next big match.
***
But this wasn’t their local. The couple had traveled to Madrid to see the sights. Xander didn’t want to relocate from Barcelona just yet, so they’d opted for a short trip. But he forgot about the football. Apparently it was a Cup League match or a Champions Group or something. He just knew that Spike had looked at him aghast when he suggested skipping it in favor of a trip to the Prado Museum.
So there they were, in some dive on a side street near the Bernabeu. Xander was nursing a beer, but Spike was throwing it back like water. As the English team dispatched their Madrid rivals, the atmosphere in the bar changed. People began to pay more attention to the loud Brit and his partner.
As expected, it all came to a head. Xander wasn’t sure what exactly Spike had said, but given his knowledge of terrace chants and the liberal use of “merda”, it wasn't hard to imagine. Just as the crowd decided to make their displeasure known, Xander dragged his lover from the bar and back to the hotel.
***
Once safely back in their room, Xander considered slapping Spike, but opted, instead, for pressing him against the door and kissing him within an inch of his unlife until the need for oxygen became too great.
“Xander! There was only ten minutes left. You couldn’t wait for a shag?”
“Me? What about you Mister God Save The Queen?! You almost got us killed back there with your uncanny impression of a hooligan.”
The vampire opened his mouth to defend his good, or very very bad name, but paused. A very sexy and slightly sinister smirk spread across his face as he replied, “You’re right pet, I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you?”
Xander eyed his lover suspiciously, then let out a very manly scream as the vampire tossed him over a shoulder and set off for the bedroom.
Author: shighola
Rating: PG
Words: 702
Summary: The perils of football.
Notes: AU, post S3; Beta'd by geniusartist, but all mistakes are mine. Written for fall_for_sx.
Part of the Road 'verse; Takes place after Continental Divide (Africa)
Disclaimer: The boys aren’t mine. They belong to Joss.
“Spike! We have to go now!”
Xander eventually succeeded in dragging his lover off into the night, nervously peering over his shoulder the entire way home.
***
They should never have gone to Barcelona. Oh, the city was beautiful. They visited the Barri Gotic and the Picasso Museum, developed an unhealthy fixation with siesta, and reawakened Spike’s inner hooligan.
Despite the fact that he had lived for over a century and traveled the world, Spike was still very British. Specifically, an English youth circa the late 1970s. Xander often wondered about that. Was it normal vampire behavior to just pick an era and stick with it for a century or two? Were they just waiting for their clothes to come back in style? Wouldn’t it make more sense to stick with the era when you were alive or newly-dead? It seemed like other vampires did that, if the ridiculous ensembles he’d seen over the years were anything to go by. Maybe Spike was just the exception to the rule. It wouldn’t be the first time.
So yeah, Barcelona. Great food, beautiful weather, and a religious devotion to football. Xander had become more familiar with football (not soccer, lest Spike give him that look, the one that meant a lack of “fun touching”) during their travels. It turned out that Americans really were wrong and the rest of the world was right about football. Who knew? Football was in every country they visited, and Spike always made a point of finding somewhere to watch the games, even occasionally checking scores online. Xander sometimes came along, eventually getting to know enough not to root for the wrong team, even the appropriate time to yell at the referee.
But Barcelona was a revelation. The locals' passion for football and their very Spanishness seemed to make Spike more English by default. The vampire found a local bar and made friends both ex-pats and Catalan. It was a good group, men and women, all very friendly to him and ready to argue football for hours. All, until that Cup Final. What had been friendly banter turned vicious. Thrown insults became bottles and a tense silence settled over the group for weeks. The ice finally thawed, coincidentally, during the next big match.
***
But this wasn’t their local. The couple had traveled to Madrid to see the sights. Xander didn’t want to relocate from Barcelona just yet, so they’d opted for a short trip. But he forgot about the football. Apparently it was a Cup League match or a Champions Group or something. He just knew that Spike had looked at him aghast when he suggested skipping it in favor of a trip to the Prado Museum.
So there they were, in some dive on a side street near the Bernabeu. Xander was nursing a beer, but Spike was throwing it back like water. As the English team dispatched their Madrid rivals, the atmosphere in the bar changed. People began to pay more attention to the loud Brit and his partner.
As expected, it all came to a head. Xander wasn’t sure what exactly Spike had said, but given his knowledge of terrace chants and the liberal use of “merda”, it wasn't hard to imagine. Just as the crowd decided to make their displeasure known, Xander dragged his lover from the bar and back to the hotel.
***
Once safely back in their room, Xander considered slapping Spike, but opted, instead, for pressing him against the door and kissing him within an inch of his unlife until the need for oxygen became too great.
“Xander! There was only ten minutes left. You couldn’t wait for a shag?”
“Me? What about you Mister God Save The Queen?! You almost got us killed back there with your uncanny impression of a hooligan.”
The vampire opened his mouth to defend his good, or very very bad name, but paused. A very sexy and slightly sinister smirk spread across his face as he replied, “You’re right pet, I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you?”
Xander eyed his lover suspiciously, then let out a very manly scream as the vampire tossed him over a shoulder and set off for the bedroom.