Pairing: Angel/Spike
Spoilers: The Gift, Bargaining
Timeline: Post-The Gift. Spike came to LA after Buffy's death.
Summary: Suffocation shouldn't apply to those who don't breathe.
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“You’re suffocating me.” Angel said with a cringe when Spike draped his body over him like a blanket.
“You don’t breathe.” Spike stiffened on top of him and rolled off without another word.
“Spike…” The name died on his lips when the blond leaped off the bed and started getting dressed.
“Be back later.” With those muttered words, Spike stormed out and didn’t return till early morning, merely a couple minutes before dawn.
Then everything changed.
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The familiar bleached-blond head no longer rested on his chest when they slept and Angel felt hollow – as if he would actually float up without the weight holding him down. Instead of cuddling up next to him after sex, Spike moved to the other side of the bed and Angel never thought he could feel colder. It was like he slept on a bed made of ice.
He stopped heating up two cups of blood and bringing them to bed while making a crack about Angel being a fat lazy ass. Yet while watching Spike sipping the blood, Angel felt no hunger. Hollowness seemed to fill his body, and Angel didn’t feel like analyzing how hollowness could satiate hunger.
The name-calling was gone, replaced with a soft-spoken “Angel”. Unbelievably enough, Angel actually missed being called a “Poof”, “Ponce” or some other variety of insults. His name, the name he had thought to make him a better person, brought a wince to his face.
When they had sex, the passionate cries, moans and screams were muffled as Spike bit the pillow and sometimes his arm. Angel worked harder to entice those sounds from Spike and failed every time when the pillows tore and the bites were deep enough to see bones.
The morning kisses from Spike became nonexistent as Angel woke first. But that wasn’t what bothered him the most. What bothered Angel was the look in Spike’s eyes when the blond woke up, a surprised look that said, “You’re still here”. The blue eyes that used to make him weak in the knees still did, but for a different reason; now Angel felt like someone had taken out his kneecaps.
Angel wanted that surprised look to disappear, wanted the insecurity to vanish, wanted whatever demons lurking in Spike’s mind and heart to materialize into something he could kill.
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When he learned from Lorne that Spike went to Caritas that night, Angel rushed over there immediately. He hadn’t set foot in the bar since his mourning period for Buffy’s death. When he had sung for Lorne, all he could think about was that perhaps Buffy would return to him one day. Perhaps some higher power didn’t want to lose such a powerful slayer and he would be right there, waiting. After all, he had a pretty secure guarantee to be around forever. Eventually, he learned to let her go, and while it wasn’t easy to let go of someone who had once given him a moment of perfect happiness, Spike’s presence in his life made it bearable.
At first, Angel thought it was because the smell of Buffy lingered in Spike’s hair and her taste on his skin. And when Angel found himself drowning in Spike, he panicked. He wasn’t supposed to have feelings for Spike. Angelus was the one who loved the blond vampire and he surely wasn’t Angelus.
Passing off the moment of tenderness as a fluke, Angel became more distressed when the feelings intensified. He spent hours, days, debating if Angelus were free, or the possibility he didn’t want to contemplate: him and Angelus were one. How could he deal with his guilt then?
So when Spike nuzzled his neck while using his shoulder as a pillow that night, Angel snapped and told Spike that he was suffocating him. After all, Angel reasoned, it had to be partially, if not all, the blond’s fault. Spike caused this chaos in Angel’s life, made him feel alive again only to experience the sensation of drowning. If Spike hadn’t come to him, hadn’t offered comfort, hadn’t made Angel love him… Before Angel could process that thought, Spike had left. The room never felt emptier.
But now, as Spike rested a few feet away with his back to him, Angel couldn’t stop but to wonder why.
Angel remembered the anger on Lorne’s face as the green demon refused to supply more information. He had to wrap his hand around Lorne’s neck and threatened mutilation to get the confusing reply, “He’s waiting”.
No matter how many questions Angel asked, no explanations were offered.
No one could, or would, tell him what was wrong with Spike, and Angel was too cowardly to ask the question himself. What was Spike waiting for? Did whatever it was have anything to do with the shock on Spike’s face every morning when he found Angel was still next to him? Maybe it was time to actually fight for someone he loved instead of hiding in the corner and praying that things would work out miraculously by themselves.
Gently, he shook Spike’s shoulder and whispered, “Why don’t you wake up before me anymore?”
Spike groaned at the interruption to whatever dream he was having and mumbled, “Won’t see you leave.” before falling back asleep.
Angel froze, and for the first time in his life, felt like the corpse he really was – dead, cold and absolutely disgusting. Was that what Spike was waiting for? No, it was more of an expectation, Spike prepared himself if – no, when, at least in Spike’s mind – Angel left. Maybe he thought waking up to an empty bed was better than to witness Angel walking out the door.
Then what was Spike waiting for? It wasn’t about Angel leaving; Spike had obviously thought that to be a certainty. So, what could it be? Spike was waiting…to leave?
As soon as the idea entered Angel’s mind, all the pieces connected and missing blanks filled. The distance Spike placed between them, both physical and emotional, made perfect sense. Spike was going to wait for the day when he no longer loved Angel and walked out the door.
Well, Angel thought with determination shining in his eyes, the chance of that happening was slimmer than Cordelia wearing socks with sandals – which would be never.
He considered that maybe the tenderness wasn’t a fluke when he glanced at a wound on one of the girls he saved and felt no blood thirst, but only the urge to return home to Spike. His demon and soul were at peace and found a common ground to stand on – love. The soul tempered the demon’s violent nature while the demon made the soul more aggressive and fight for what was important.
Angel realized that he loved Spike when Buffy, raised from the dead, called him and instead of the joy he thought he’d feel, all Angel could say was “Congratulations”.
Now it was only a matter of letting Spike in on the secret. Angel knew that convincing Spike would be hard work, but they had time. If they were really cautious, they’d have eternity and eternity was a long time.
“I love you.” Angel pulled Spike on top of him, draping the languid body over his.
“Thought you were feeling suffocated.” A pair of wide sapphire eyes met his and Angel winced at the disbelief in them.
“I love you,” he repeated and tightened his arms to secure Spike in place. Placing a gentle kiss on the younger vampire’s lips, Angel whispered softly, “And I don’t breathe.”
~ END ~