Impersonal

by SpikesKat

Spike paused outside the door and mentally squared his shoulders before putting his key in the lock and letting himself in. Angel’s apathy was slowly wearing him down, and if he didn’t love the bastard as much as he did, he would have left a long time ago. 

It wasn’t like Angel was the only one that loved – had loved – the Slayer. But, the writing had been on the wall the moment Buffy finally realized she was slowly losing the thing that had made her what she was, that with each new slayer being called, she was finally becoming just an ordinary girl. 

Her obligation complete, her body no longer endowed with the slayer’s essence, she’d taken Dawn and disappeared. Away from her watcher. Away from her friends. 

She’d cut her ties and hadn’t looked back. 

He didn’t blame her, far from it, in fact. Buffy deserved her own life… a nice, safe, normal life, free from all the heartache and pain that had defined her existence, especially during the last few years. 

Angel, naturally, hadn’t understood. Claimed they were forever, the two of them. What he failed to realize was that demons couldn’t have forever with a mortal, no matter how much they might want it. 

At least not without damning them first. 

For a minute there, Spike had thought Angel was going to do it too. 

That’s when Angel had seemed to close in on himself, refusing to feed, or do anything really, but sit in his chair in the apartment they shared and stare off into space, his face devoid of expression. Wasting away before Spike’s eyes. 

Desperate, Spike had tried to goad some type of response from Angel. Fighting was what they did best, second only to fucking, and even that had bordered on violent. 

Even now, he still winced at the venom that had spewed forth from his mouth, a bit of it true, the good majority of it not. 

Angel hadn’t even lifted an eyebrow. 

Not until— 

What followed hadn’t been pretty, but it had been good. Damn good. 

“Oi! Angel! I’m home!” Spike snapped as he stepped over the threshold and shut the door. 

Silence greeted Spike, but then he’d expected nothing else. He walked into the kitchen and set the bag on the counter. 

“I’ve got blood. ‘nough for a few days, at least,” he called out. 

Still nothing. 

Sighing, Spike pulled a large jug out for himself and put the rest in the refrigerator. He didn’t bother with heating it since it was still warm from the butcher’s, instead drinking the blood down in a few swallows. 

“Right then,” he muttered to himself, tossing the empty container into the sink before he went in search of Angel. 

The living room chair was empty so Spike continued on into the bedroom. Angel was there, in bed. His eyes were open, but he gave no indication that he was aware of Spike’s presence. 

“Guess I’ll start things off,” Spike said as he began pulling off his clothes. “Selfish git. Fat lot of good— You know? Never mind.” 

Normally, he’d take his time. Build up to getting under Angel’s skin. Chip away at his grandsire’s armor piece by piece in the hopes of having it permanently destroyed. 

Honestly, though, tonight he just wasn’t in the mood. Wasn’t willing to lay his heart on the line, only to have it stomped on once Angel got his end away and retreated back inside his shell. 

He brought up the one subject guaranteed to get an immediate response – his past relationship with Buffy. Taunting Angel with the varied ways he’d fucked her, and how, as much as she might have protested at the time, that she loved every dirty little thing he’d done to her. 

Spike didn’t resist as he was thrown face first down on the mattress. Ignored, too, the growled threats and name-calling by Angel as he was slicked up and roughly penetrated. 

Being used for sex was nothing new to him. That it was rough and impersonal made it all the more familiar. 

He sighed and closed his eyes and waited for it to be over. 

The End

Sequel: Personal

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