Title: Home Sweet Home
Author: Corinna Lael
Feedback: is better than feed forward.
Pairing: Angel/Collins
Word Count: 700
Rating: PG
Genre: Romance
Summary: Angel and Collins move into their first home.
Notes: Couldn't think of a thing at first. The idea came to me in my Sensory and Perception class. Also, I pander to self-identification, so Angel is referred to as "she" for the duration of this fic.
Special Thanks: to my school's A Capella group for turning me down so I had a chance to write this.
Spoilers: Um, Rent.
Warnings: Dear Lord, they're too cute. Two boys kissing?
Disclaimer: I own no anarchists or drag queens.

It was beautiful; nine bedrooms, five and a half bathrooms, even a view overlooking Central Park's Upper West Side. Angel swore that she even heard the stereotypical birds singing in the cute little evergreens in what passed for a front yard in front of the classy blue-and-white facade, even though it was well past sunset. Eyes widening, she exclaimed, "It's lovely!" and threw her arms around the man of the hour.

Laughing, Collins swept her into a sweet kiss. "And it's all ours. You sure you like?"

Angel nodded, a playful smirk resting on her delicately painted lips. "I love," she replied with another quick kiss. Reaching down and picking up her pickle tub, containing a pack of ice and a bottle of champagne, she inquired, "Shall we christen our new home?"

Arm in arm, they walked happily past the front door, over to the side of the house. With a quick glance left and right, Collins hoisted Angel up over the fence separating the front and back yards. With a soft click, she unlocked the gate, opening it for her love. "Come on in," she whispered, a smile in her voice.

The pair crept up to the backdoor, Collins pulling out his trusty kit, Angel standing behind, hands on her lover's waist. As the lock picks glinted in the moonlight, the taller man murmured, "Baby, go keep a lookout."

His lover whispered back, "I thought you said they'd be gone for two months!"

"Yeah, but just in case they have a neighbourhood watch program or something."

She shrugged, muttering something in Spanish that would have translated to 'The rich never look out for each other,' had Collins spoken the language, but dutifully took up a post perched on the patio table. "All clear," she announced softly, just as Collins signalled to her that the lock was open for business.

Carefully creeping inside the mansion, the platform-clad street drummer asked quietly, "Aren't there alarms or something?"

Collins shook his head. "Nope. And that is why it pays to keep in contact with grad students. Apparently, Renee's parents—did you ever meet Renee? Sweet girl--are going to be in Europe until the end of August. So we, my dear, are going to be living in style."

Angel was puzzled. "If she turned off the alarm, why didn't she just unlock the door for us?"

Collins laughed, teeth almost startlingly white in the darkness. "She wanted to leave us a challenge. No fun if it's all done for us!" He wrapped his arm around Angel's waist, scooping her up in spite of her squeals.

"Collins...ai, you bad man, put me down!" A lone platform shoe went flying across the room, thankfully not hitting anything breakable. Laughing, the pair dropped onto the ridiculously expensive couch, holding onto each other as tightly as possible without hurting anyone. Angel turned her head, smile turning subdued. Softly, she murmured into her lover's chest, "I wish we could stay like this forever."

Collins kissed the top of her head, not wanting to think about their last visit to the hospital, not wanting to think about the grim diagnosis that they'd both known was coming. Instead, he reached across her slim body to deftly pluck the bottle of champagne out of the pickle tub. "Me too, baby. But as long as we're here...can I get you a drink?"

And on the floor of a mansion on the Upper East Side, on a midnight in June, Angel and Collins had their first moonlight picnic.