DISCLAIMER: I don't own Cowboy Bebop; Sunrise Inc. does. I do, however,
own this original story.
Beyond Beautiful
By The Lady Razorsharp
Lyrics: "Beyond Beautiful" by Aerosmith
Part 3: Angels in Hell
Yeah she's a beyond beautiful
Yeah she's never been nobody's
Fool that you be stuck with
Yeah it's all about me and you
Believe it or not
This love that we got
Is beyond beautiful
"Julia, wait!"
Spike chased after the blond woman, his long black coat flapping as he dashed across the polished granite floor of the lobby. The glass doors parted for him, and he finally caught up with her as she was waving her hand for a taxi. Several sped by her, their drivers either not noticing or not caring about an agitated female in evening dress.
"The car's this way," Spike said, trying to take her arm to lead her back to the underground parking garage, where the Syndicate driver was waiting with a discreet black sedan. To his surprise, she shook off his touch and resumed trying to hail a cab.
"Spike, you yourself said it; you're not made of stone. You don't have to see me home. I can make it there just fine." Another cab whizzed by, and she growled in frustration.
"Maybe you're not showing enough leg," Spike joked, his grin widening when she smiled despite herself. "Ah, you'd better not smile! Don't smile!" He cackled as she grinned and shook her head. "Seriously, though, Vicious asked me as a personal favor." Spike watched the passing traffic for a moment. "Besides…I want to."
Julia gathered her wrap closer around her shoulders. "I know. That's why I'm getting my own ride home."
Spike sighed; she could be so headstrong sometimes. That was one of things he loved about her, that she wasn't the porcelain doll everyone thought her to be. "At least let me get a cab for you." He held out a hand and put the fingers of the other hand between his teeth. The resulting whistle was loud even above the traffic noise. "Taxi!"
As if by magic, a yellow hovercar purred up to them. The driver--a teenage boy who looked barely old enough to drive--poked his head out of the right side. "Need a ride for y'self and the missus, Gov'nor?" the boy chriped in a Cockney accent.
"Take this lady wherever she wants to go," Spike said, his voice flat and businesslike. He slipped the boy a hundred-woolong note, then held the door for Julia and guided her into the taxi. When she was settled, he shocked her by getting in beside her and shutting the door.
"Spike, what are you doing?" she hissed.
"I'm doing what Vicious asked me to--making sure you get home safely." He rapped on the plexiglass separating them from the driver.
"Where to?"
"Twenty-third avenue and Janus Street," Julia intoned, her eyes never leaving Spike's face.
"Right-o," the driver said, switching on the meter and pulling away from the curb.
* * *
Julia turned the key in the lock, pushing her front door open slightly. "Thank you for seeing me home, Spike. Goodnight."
The lanky gangster leaned against the doorframe. "What, just 'goodnight Spike', and you send me on my merry way? That's no way for a man to be repaid for doing his duty." He stepped closer, and Julia had to make a conscious effort not to dive under his arm and slam the door. "I should at least get a kiss for my trouble."
"You don't know what you're asking, Spike." Julia sighed and leaned her head against the door. "You know as well as I do that it won't stop there."
With reflexes made lightning-quick from his martial arts training, Spike pulled her into the room and shut the door, pinning her against it with a hand on either side of her. "Then it won't stop there." He nuzzled kisses along her jaw and down her neck, making her want to sink to the worn floorboards in a puddle of satin and flesh. "Julia…please."
"I can't," she whispered, her fingers already working at the clasp of his coat. "He'll kill me."
"Then he'll just have to kill me too," Spike rasped, his hands at the zipper of her gown. Proving that he had all the gallantry that Vicious would never have, he swung her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. He lay her on the bed as gently as if she truly had been made of porcelain, her wine-dark gown spreading like a bloodstain against the white sheets.
Spike's garnet eyes never left Julia's cerulean ones as he quickly divested himself of gangster finery; the black coat draped across the foot of the bed, the shirt and tie laying where they fell on the floor. Shoes and pants and boxers all melted away like snow in the current running between them. Then Spike removed her gown, kissing every inch of skin he revealed to the cool night air.
"Is this the way it's supposed to be?" she whispered as he slid into bed next to her.
He smiled--not his lopsided grin, but a soft smile, with his heart in his eyes. "Yes. This is the way it's supposed to be."
* * *
Spike was finally asleep, his body strewn across hers with his head buried in her shoulder. She stroked the fine hairs on the back of his neck, staring up at the ceiling beyond his shoulder. Her body ached from making love to him all night long, but that was nothing compared to the ache in her heart.
~We're all going to die,~ she thought, watching the dawn paint Spike's hair a brilliant green. ~Or maybe we're already dead, and this is hell--loving someone you can't have.~
His eyes were open now. He'd felt her stir beneath him, and he slid off of her to lie beside her on the mattress. "You look like an angel," he murmured, pulling her into his arms and kissing her.
~Yes,~ she sighed, her body responding to his all over again. ~This is hell.~
Beyond Beautiful
By The Lady Razorsharp
Lyrics: "Beyond Beautiful" by Aerosmith
Part 3: Angels in Hell
Yeah she's a beyond beautiful
Yeah she's never been nobody's
Fool that you be stuck with
Yeah it's all about me and you
Believe it or not
This love that we got
Is beyond beautiful
"Julia, wait!"
Spike chased after the blond woman, his long black coat flapping as he dashed across the polished granite floor of the lobby. The glass doors parted for him, and he finally caught up with her as she was waving her hand for a taxi. Several sped by her, their drivers either not noticing or not caring about an agitated female in evening dress.
"The car's this way," Spike said, trying to take her arm to lead her back to the underground parking garage, where the Syndicate driver was waiting with a discreet black sedan. To his surprise, she shook off his touch and resumed trying to hail a cab.
"Spike, you yourself said it; you're not made of stone. You don't have to see me home. I can make it there just fine." Another cab whizzed by, and she growled in frustration.
"Maybe you're not showing enough leg," Spike joked, his grin widening when she smiled despite herself. "Ah, you'd better not smile! Don't smile!" He cackled as she grinned and shook her head. "Seriously, though, Vicious asked me as a personal favor." Spike watched the passing traffic for a moment. "Besides…I want to."
Julia gathered her wrap closer around her shoulders. "I know. That's why I'm getting my own ride home."
Spike sighed; she could be so headstrong sometimes. That was one of things he loved about her, that she wasn't the porcelain doll everyone thought her to be. "At least let me get a cab for you." He held out a hand and put the fingers of the other hand between his teeth. The resulting whistle was loud even above the traffic noise. "Taxi!"
As if by magic, a yellow hovercar purred up to them. The driver--a teenage boy who looked barely old enough to drive--poked his head out of the right side. "Need a ride for y'self and the missus, Gov'nor?" the boy chriped in a Cockney accent.
"Take this lady wherever she wants to go," Spike said, his voice flat and businesslike. He slipped the boy a hundred-woolong note, then held the door for Julia and guided her into the taxi. When she was settled, he shocked her by getting in beside her and shutting the door.
"Spike, what are you doing?" she hissed.
"I'm doing what Vicious asked me to--making sure you get home safely." He rapped on the plexiglass separating them from the driver.
"Where to?"
"Twenty-third avenue and Janus Street," Julia intoned, her eyes never leaving Spike's face.
"Right-o," the driver said, switching on the meter and pulling away from the curb.
* * *
Julia turned the key in the lock, pushing her front door open slightly. "Thank you for seeing me home, Spike. Goodnight."
The lanky gangster leaned against the doorframe. "What, just 'goodnight Spike', and you send me on my merry way? That's no way for a man to be repaid for doing his duty." He stepped closer, and Julia had to make a conscious effort not to dive under his arm and slam the door. "I should at least get a kiss for my trouble."
"You don't know what you're asking, Spike." Julia sighed and leaned her head against the door. "You know as well as I do that it won't stop there."
With reflexes made lightning-quick from his martial arts training, Spike pulled her into the room and shut the door, pinning her against it with a hand on either side of her. "Then it won't stop there." He nuzzled kisses along her jaw and down her neck, making her want to sink to the worn floorboards in a puddle of satin and flesh. "Julia…please."
"I can't," she whispered, her fingers already working at the clasp of his coat. "He'll kill me."
"Then he'll just have to kill me too," Spike rasped, his hands at the zipper of her gown. Proving that he had all the gallantry that Vicious would never have, he swung her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. He lay her on the bed as gently as if she truly had been made of porcelain, her wine-dark gown spreading like a bloodstain against the white sheets.
Spike's garnet eyes never left Julia's cerulean ones as he quickly divested himself of gangster finery; the black coat draped across the foot of the bed, the shirt and tie laying where they fell on the floor. Shoes and pants and boxers all melted away like snow in the current running between them. Then Spike removed her gown, kissing every inch of skin he revealed to the cool night air.
"Is this the way it's supposed to be?" she whispered as he slid into bed next to her.
He smiled--not his lopsided grin, but a soft smile, with his heart in his eyes. "Yes. This is the way it's supposed to be."
* * *
Spike was finally asleep, his body strewn across hers with his head buried in her shoulder. She stroked the fine hairs on the back of his neck, staring up at the ceiling beyond his shoulder. Her body ached from making love to him all night long, but that was nothing compared to the ache in her heart.
~We're all going to die,~ she thought, watching the dawn paint Spike's hair a brilliant green. ~Or maybe we're already dead, and this is hell--loving someone you can't have.~
His eyes were open now. He'd felt her stir beneath him, and he slid off of her to lie beside her on the mattress. "You look like an angel," he murmured, pulling her into his arms and kissing her.
~Yes,~ she sighed, her body responding to his all over again. ~This is hell.~