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Title: in the (post-tequila) morning
Author: [livejournal.com profile] waltzforanight
Fandom: Flashpoint
Pairing: Spike/Lew
Word Count: ~1,500
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Summary: Spike has a hangover, and Lew is not at all sympathetic.
Notes: I needed a break from my depressing as hell [livejournal.com profile] ds_c6d_bigbang story, so I wrote unrelated fluff for the [livejournal.com profile] c6d_universe challenge "mortal sins". Yes, I wrote fluff about sins. I'm just like that. :D

If there's one thing Spike has come to learn about Jules, it's that she throws a wicked party for any occasion.

So when he wakes up one Saturday morning and finds himself laying on her couch, he's doesn't exactly remember how he got there, but he's not really surprised either. There are a lot of things he doesn't remember from the night before, but as he lays there debating the likelihood of being physically sick when he sits up, a few things come back to him. He remembers having a really serious talk with Wordy about Lady Gaga. He also has a vague recollection of something involving a lampshade, Ed, and a rabbit, but the details are hazy and really, Spike isn't so sure he wants to know what that was all about.

He definitely remembers tequila.

Having decided that his need to pee outweighs any vomit risk, Spike struggles to sit up, choking back a groan as his head starts to throb from the sudden movement. Note to self: no more drinking, he thinks as he stands up, pausing for a moment to regain his balance. He picks up the hoodie he'd been using as a pillow and tugs it on over his head as he navigates his way across the room. He narrowly avoids stepping on Ed's face as he does this, but once he gets to the bottom of the staircase, the rest of his trek is without incident.

He manages to take care of business without throwing up, which he thinks is pretty impressive, and he decides to just go back downstairs and sleep some more because he has no idea what time it is - at some point today, he'll have to find his watch, since it's no longer on his wrist - but it's barely light outside and that means too early. As he passes the back patio doors, though, he sees Lew outside, sitting on the porch steps and staring up at the sky.

Spike immediately changes tracks, quietly sliding the door open and slipping outside. His bare feet hardly make any noise as he crosses the patio and sits down on the top step next to Lew, who starts visibly but looks happy when he sees it's Spike.

"Hey. Kinda early for you, isn't it?"

Spike pretends to be confused. "Is it early? I thought this was sunset."

"Nope," Lew replies, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "It's almost six. In the morning."

"Gah!" Spike exclaims, clutching his heart with one hand dramatically, then wincing as all that flailing makes his head ache and his stomach lurch unpleasantly. He looks pitifully at Lew and whines, "Tequila is mean."

Lew shakes his head, not looking at all sympathetic. "This is what happens when you accept a drinking challenge from Ed, Spike, you know that. It ends the same way every time," he points out. "Badly for you."

Spike sulks for a moment, because Lew should learn to have some faith here, but he's too tired to keep it up. "Next time, I'm gonna get him," he vows in a mumble, resting his head on Lew's shoulder. "Next time."

Lew tenses at first, and okay, that's understandable. No one really - they never told anyone that they're together, even though they don't try to hide it either. A big reason they never said anything is because of work, and there's a house full of their colleagues behind them. Sure, it's too damn early o'clock and everyone inside, except for the boss, is passed out in a drunken stupor, but still.

Besides that, it's not in Lew's nature to call attention to himself and Spike respects that, even though if it's more in his nature to tell everyone he meets. They're both good at compromising, though, so they decided to just let it be. Maybe people know, maybe they don't. Spike's not worried about it either way, because Lew relaxes just as fast as he tensed, and Spike can hear the smile in his voice when he says, "You say that every time."

"This time, I really mean it."

"Sure," Lew laughs. The sound is low and sleepy, and Spike can feel the vibrations of it against his cheek as Lew's shoulders shake. Spike likes that, but his hangover doesn't and he makes a noise of protest at the sudden movement.

Lew, because he is mean like tequila, just laughs again. "You wouldn't have this problem if you learned how to control your urges," he points out. "Gluttony is a sin, you know."

Spike lifts his head - slowly. He doesn't have to fake the confusion this time. "I thought that one was about food."

"It is. And drink."

"Huh. Good to know," he replies, then covers his mouth with one hand as he yawns. "I probably won't remember that next time."

Lew just smiles. "Don't worry, I'll remind you."

"Good," Spike says seriously, and that's as far as he gets because Lew closes what little distance there is between them and kisses him. Kissing happens to be one of the few things Spike enjoys more than talking, so he shuts up quick and kisses back. He can taste toothpaste in Lew's mouth, and he simultaneously wonders how long Lew has been awake if he's already done that, and worries that his own mouth tastes like the floor of a Mexican bar or something.

If it does, Lew doesn't seem to care. He just puts a hand on Spike's knee and sucks hard on Spike's tongue, so there's probably nothing to worry about. Except for the fact that Spike's head feels like it's going to explode, loudly and with confetti. Like a pinata, only with little tequila bottles instead of candy. That part sucks, but he still can't bring himself to stop because it still feels good, with Lew seemingly everywhere and the early morning chill forcing him to wake up a little. In fact, if it weren't for the whole miserable hangover thing, this would be near perfect. But miserable is an understatement, and -

Lew puts him out of his misery a few moments later, pulling back with another one of those quiet laughs that makes Spike want to start kissing him again. Or at least, it would make him want to do that if he didn't feel like he was dying. But he does, so instead of more kissing, he puts his head back on Lew's shoulder and closes his eyes. "Just give me a minute. Or, like, a few hours to get rid of this headache. Then more of that, okay?"

"You're ridiculous," Lew says in response, a mix of exasperation and fondness, a tone Spike knows well.

"Yes. Because you're hot. Not my fault." Spike opens his eyes, but he doesn't have to look to know that Lew is rolling his eyes. He's probably blushing, too, because he does every single time Spike states the obvious like that.

"Yeah, well - you'll have more luck with the headache cure if you take something for it. And if you eat."

This is probably very true, yet... "Jules'll get mad if I use her kitchen when I'm hungover again," Spike points out. He's actually a really good cook, but he tends to forget things that involve logic when he's not feeling so great. "Remember last time?"

"You mean when you forgot that blenders make less mess when you put a lid on them? Yeah, I remember," Lew says with a grin, his hand tightening on Spike's knee. "I also remember how she made you scrub her entire kitchen clean after that. And the apron she gave you to wear."

Spike lifts his head and winces. "Exactly," he replies seriously. "Jules is a cruel woman and I don't wish to feel her wrath again."

"Wuss," Lew replies, even though Spike knows for a fact that Lew is just as afraid of Jules' devious mind as he is. "Come on, then. I'll buy you breakfast. Cora's?"

Immediately, Spike perks up, his head full of waffles and omelets. "Yeah? Awesome," he says, reaching up and grabbing Lew's hand so that Lew can help him to his feet. "Then we can go back to your place and make out some more, right?" he adds hopefully, following Lew across Jules' lawn and back to the street.

"Lust is next on your list of sins, is it?" Lew asks, amused.

Spike grins. "It is my favourite," he replies.

Lew rolls his eyes. "Somehow, man, that doesn't surprise me."

As they reach his truck, Spike digs through the pockets of his jeans for the keys. "That was a yes on the making out thing, right?" he asks, eventually emerging with his keys in hand.

"Damn right it was."

"Good," Spike says, then tosses the keys to Lew, who catches them without any trouble, even though he threw them at a weird angle. Sober reflexes beat hungover aim, apparently, and he makes a mental note to remember that, too. "Then you can drive, buddy. I have a hangover to will out of existence."
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August 2010

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