Pairing: Angel/Spike
Spoilers: none
Summary: Red.
Warning: angst
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If anyone asked him what color he hated the most, he'd
answer "red" without hesitation. Truth was, though, he
never thought he'd hate the color. It was the color of
the sunset and sunrise he so craved to see again. The
hue in the kissable lips of his lovers. The blood that
filled his cock as he moaned in pleasure.
Red was the color of blood.
As a vampire, he should love red; embracing it, taking
it deep within his body. Because it was. It was the
fuel that kept him going, his life source. Even when
he was deep in guilt over the lives he'd taken, images
of his victims flashed before his eyes in a various
shades of red depending on how long the tortures had
gone on, he didn't hate it. He regretted his actions,
but never did his emotions stray to the blood. The
hatred and regret and pain and worthlessness were all
aimed at himself.
But now, he hated the fucking color. It mocked him as
he pressed his hands uselessly over the gaping hole in
his lover's chest, the wound's silent laughter stung
his ears -- is it possible to hear red? It taunted him
as it seeped into his shirt, flowed over his lover's
duster, gathered underneath his nails. So much red
until it blinded his sight.
So yeah, if anyone fucking asked him what color he
hated the most, he'd say...
Gray.
Gray like the ashes settled over him.
END