He'd finally found something bigger than the miniaturized Jack bottles. An entire case of Tattinger Champagne had been stowed in the stewardess area.
Angel had stopped his pointless questions about morality hours ago, and Spike was setting into a nice, calming drunken binge with the pilfered champagne. It wasn't his drink of choice, maybe, but it worked in a pinch. When all's said and done, alcohol is alcohol.
Spike wasn't sure how long it had been, how many hours they had left in the air. He was counting on Angel rousing him when they got back. He let himself drift, pleasantly warm and cloudy, when suddenly a rough, slightly chapped pair of lips were over his own, forcing him into a kiss.
As the minutes tick by and the kiss went on and on, Spike relaxed into it. Hands, big and friction-warmed, pulled at his clothes, tugging them off. There's solid warmth above him, smooth and masculine and comforting, and that slightly chapped mouth was kissing and licking and making Spike feel better than he had in years.
His lover was gentle, hands and mouth playing Spike's body like a well-loved guitar or maybe a harp. Whoever this is (Spike was drunk enough that he didn't care) he knows Spike's body. Which means it's one of three people. First is Drusilla, but she's off being completely batty in Russia. They like Dru in Russia. Second, it might be Buffy, but Buffy is never this gentle with him. Ever. Plus, not a man. Which leaves the third option. Angel. The one who taught him how vampires love, the one who showed him how vampires live, and the one who led him (albeit inadvertently) into being a hero.
He'd been drifting through most of the foreplay, he realized, his body responding while his mind was elsewhere. There are fingers in his ass, making him feel stuffed, but at the same time, not full enough. Spike shifted his hips, seeking something un-nameable.
He didn't notice when cock replaced fingers, barely noticed when they came. Spike was more interested in the mouth on his, and the comfort the heavy weight of a male body--Angel's body--brought to him.
Angel was dressed and off the plane almost as soon as it landed, and Spike took it for the busy CEO off to troubleshoot the company he hated, and not the insult he thought it might have been with anyone else. Still, he cried for the lost moments with Angel.
Finally he gathered himself back together and picked up the bottle of champagne next to him. Checking the label almost absently, he read the words printed there and sighed. "Tattinger Champagne," he read aloud. "Heart's Desire Label." He read the disclaimer printed beneath silently. Hallucinations, visions, and other phenomena may occur while drinking. Tattinger Co. is not responsible for these visions, or the results there-of.
It took Spike a long time to stop crying after that.