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Mile High

by spikeNdru, November 2005

Pairing: Spike/Angel

Summary: Airplane!Sex: A Love Story in Two Parts. 

Part I: The Snark; Part II: The Sex

Warnings: Part I contains atrociously bad language, Part II contains explicit M/M slash

 

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Part I — Snark (PG-13/FR13)

Angel turned the last bottle of Jack Daniels in his fingers.

“You really can't get drunk on these little bottles, can you?”

“Well, I'm operatin' on the premise that since they purport to contain actual alcohol, you can — eventually. You just have t' drink enough of 'em.”

“How many have you drunk?”

Spike closed one eye and looked at the miniature bottles lined up in front of him.

“Thirty-four.”

Angel opened the door of the mini-fridge.

“There's just gin here. Spike! You drank all the good stuff and left me the gin.”

“That's only 'cause I don't like gin.”

“Nobody likes gin.”

“Well, it's your bloody plane—why'nt you tell 'em nobody likes gin?”

“Maybe there's some more in storage somewhere?”

“Check th' kitchen.”

“It's not a kitchen on an airplane, Spike. It's called a 'galley'.”

“How the fuck was I supposed t' know that? I've never flown in a bloody plane before!”

“Well, neither have I! Although, I did fly in a helicopter once when we first took over W&H.”

“Bully for you.”

“But just because I've never flown in one, doesn't mean I don't know about them.”

“Right, then. You're a bloody aerodynamic engineer. So, tell me, Mr. Know-it-all, how does this huge, heavy piece of machinery stay up in the air?”

“It has to do with thrust and velocity and thermal currents—”

“You are so full of shit! You don't know any more about it than I do.”

“Shut up, Spike.”

“An' why are you still sittin' here on your enormous ass when you're supposed t' be checkin' the galley for decent booze?”

“My ass is not enormous!”

“Is so. It's three times the size of mine.”

“My ass is perfectly normal! Yours is just . . . deficient.”

“Deficient? Deficient! I'll have you know I'm lithe and . . . wiry.”

“Scrawny.”

Spike stumbled to his feet, gathered his duster in his hand and stretched his neck, trying to look over his shoulder to see his own ass.

“ 's not scrawny! 's firm an' perfectly formed.”

Angel leaned back in his seat and narrowed his eyes, concentrating on Spike's ass.

“Well?” Spike demanded.

“Can't really get a feel for things with you just standing there. Why don't you walk around for awhile or something so I can see it in motion?”

Spike threw off his duster and walked to the end of the cabin. He glanced at the galley directly to his left.

“You worthless, lazy git! You just wanted me t' look for the booze!”

Angel grinned. “Fell for it, didn't you?”

Spike muttered something under his breath and shoved back the sliding door to the galley. A series of banging and slamming noises followed as Spike searched the small space. He returned carrying a largish box and slammed it down on the table.

With a smirk, Angel reached forward and ripped off the top of the cardboard box. Cardboard partitions cradled dozens of small bottles. Angel began picking out the scotch.

“Hey! Don't take all the good stuff!”

“You already had your share. Here.” Angel flipped Spike a miniature bottle of vodka.

“It's better'n the gin, I guess.”

When the box had been denuded of all non-gin spirits, Angel placed it on the floor and shoved it away with his foot. Spike was sprawled on the banquette — which looked much more comfortable than the chair in which Angel was sitting. Angel got up to move, just as the plane hit a spot of turbulence and lurched, causing him to plop down next to Spike, elbowing him out of the way.

“Hey! Watch it! There's enough room here for even your huge ass without havin' to be on top of me!”

Angel's mind went to an interesting place.

They proceeded to drink their way through the new supply of non-gin airplane mini-bottles.

“ 's a good thing we've both got vampire constitutions, mate, 'cause mixing this many different kinds o' booze otherwise? Blaagh!”

“What was that disgustin' noise y' just made, boyo?”

“A renact . . . a reinact . . . wha' would happen if we were human—an' I was right! Y' can get drunk if y' drink enough of 'em.”

“I'm not drunk.”

“Yes, you are!”

“No, 'm not.”

“Yes, you are. Know how I know? 's 'cause your Irish is comin' out.”

“Out of where?”

“How the hell should I know? Wherever y' keep it, I 'spose.”

They both found that statement highly amusing, and hilarity ensued.

Angel wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. “So, wha'd'we do now?”

“Wha'ja mean?”

“We've drunk all the non-gin drink—you wanna drink the gin, or do somethin' else?”

“We could always join the Mile High Club.”

“What's that?”

“What's what?”

“The Mile Run Club.”

“ 's not the 'Mile Run Club', you bloody great ponce! 's the Mile High Club.”

“Oh. How d'you join?”

“You fuck in an airplane bathroom.”

“You're fulla shit, Spike! You can't fuck in an airplane bathroom! Have you seen the size of the bathroom? 'Tis no more than a foot square!”

“ 'Tis? An', yes you can. People do it all the time. That's how y' join the Mile High Club. Where've y' been for th' last hundred years?”

“Brooding . . . mostly. But I'm sure I would've heard about something like that!”

Spike handed Angel the phone. “Y' don't believe me? Call someone an' ask!”

“Who should I call?”

“How th' fuck would I know? I don't know everybody you know. Why'nt'ya call the pilot an' ask him?”

“I can't call the pilot and ask him that! He'd think we were planning to fuck in the bathroom!”

“We are plannin' to fuck in the bathroom.”

“But we can't tell the pilot that! He's my employee! I'm the CEO.”

“So, call somebody else!”

“Who should I call?”

“Paris Hilton.”

“The hotel?”

“No, you nit! The girl.”

“What girl?”

“Paris Hilton—I'm sure she's fucked in a whole fleet of airplanes.”

“How would I get her number?”

“ 's prob'ly already programmed into your phone. Seems to be in everyone else's.”

“Spike! I can't call some girl I don't know and ask her about fucking on airplanes. T'wouldn't be . . . seemly.”

“Then you'll just have to call someone else.”

“I can't think of anyone to call.”

“Then you'll just have t' take m' word for it.”

“Alright.”

“What's alright?”

“I'll take your word for it.”

“Well . . . good.”

“Good.”

“Fine.”

“So, what do we do now?”

“Haven't you been payin' attention, you wanker? We fuck in the bloody bathroom!”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

“Fine.”

~*~

“Uh . . . Spike?” I don't think there's enough room to fuck in here.”

“There has to be! Other people do it.”

“How do you know that they do it?” Maybe they just say they do it.”

“Where's the fun in that? Why would they just say they do it if they don't really do it?”

“So they can join the Mile High Club?”

“That's cheating!”

“So, maybe they cheat. Did that ever occur to you, Spike? Maybe there is no Mile High Club because it's physically impossible for there to be one.”

“There is one! An' we are goin' t' join it. We are goin' t' fuck in this bathroom if it bloody well kills us!”

“We're already dead.”

“That was a figure of speech an' you know it.”

“With the toilet an' the sink an' you an' me all in this wee little space, there's not enough room to move let alone fuck.”

Spike gritted his teeth and ripped the sink from the wall. He opened the bathroom door and threw the sink in the galley.

“There. Now there's more room.”

“Spike?”

“What now?”

“We're not gonna be able to take our clothes off in the bathroom.”

“Well then, we'll get out of the bathroom an' take our clothes off an' get back in.”

“If we're getting out of the bathroom anyway, why don't we just fuck in the nice, big bed?”

“Because it has to be in the bathroom or it doesn't count!”

“You are the most stubborn person I have ever known in my entire life! An' that's counting the years I was human, the years I was a vampire and the hundred years I spent in hell!”

“Just take your fucking clothes off an' get back in here!”

“Alright! I'm here. Stand on the toilet so I can fuck you and we can get out of this bathroom—I think I'm getting closetra— claustra— the thing you get when you're trapped in a wee little space with an insane, stubborn vampire!”

“Why do you get to fuck me? Why can't I fuck you?”

“ 'Cause it was your idea in the first place.”

“Oh. Right, then. You're takin' up too much room—I can't bend my knee to get up on the toilet.”

“Here—I'll give you a boost.”

“Wait! M' foot's in the bloody toilet.”

“You're s'posed to stand on the rim!”

“I'm tryin', you git!”

“Ready?”

“Angel! You're not fucking me standin' on an airplane toilet without any lube.”

“Well, I don't have any. Do you?”

“Does it look like I have any? 'm standin' here starkers and you want to know if I have any . . . Wait! What about the liquid soap stuff?”

“An' that would be where?”

“Right there! Are y' blind? It's attached t' the—”

“The sink you ripped out of the bathroom, perhaps?”

“Well—go check th' kitchen. There should be somethin' in there.”

“The galley.”

“An' you call me stubborn? You're so anal-retentive you're prob'ly still carryin' around the last meal y' ate before you were turned!”

“That's it! We are not fucking in this bathroom! The bed in the sleeping compartment is just as high in the air as the bathroom is. Did'ja ever think of that, Spike? If th' bathroom's a mile high, the bedroom's a mile high, too, because they're Both. On. The. Same. Fucking. Plane!”

Angel kicked out behind him and the bathroom door slammed open. He backed out of the bathroom, lifted Spike from his perch on the toilet seat and threw Spike over his shoulder. He strode the length of the cabin, threw open the door of the sleeping compartment and dumped Spike on the bed.

“There! Wha'd'ye think of that, Spike?”

Part II - Membership

 

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