AtS: Nothing Like Perfection

[tmbreck]

Title: Nothing Like Perfection
Author: tmbreck / eclectic_tongue / eclectic
Beta: velvetwhip
Rating: FRM
Pairing: Angel/Spike
Warning: none-graphic depictions of sex... possibly bad writing. Hey, it's 6 yrs old!
Summary: They can never be gentle, not with each other.
A/N: Like my warning says, this was written 6 years ago and is set post NFA. Apparently, I only posted it at my personal journal and nowhere else. Enjoy!


It’s nothing like perfection; it’s not even happiness really. The feel of the mouth on his cock is so familiar though that it conjures up memories of the past and he can forget about those he’s recently lost and pretend it’s a simpler time. There’s no redemption, no guilt, only pleasure and pain. But these aren’t in fact simple times any more, and this isn’t the same creature he’d once molded in his own image. Any pleasure given is expected to be returned, preferably with interest. The odd part is that he no longer minds. It’s a small price to pay for what Spike gives him.

This isn’t love; it’s not even friendship really. They are family, the only thing either one has left. They still fight, but they aren’t fighting now. Now it’s just the slide of flesh against flesh as Spike makes his way up Angel’s body, the growl of crude words telling him in no uncertain terms what’s expected of him. Angel’s not passive though, not by any stretch of the imagination. His every kiss is a demand, every stroke an attack. He knows Spike’s body better than his own now, and knows just what to say to get what he wants. He knows all he has to do after patrol is give him a look and Spike is ready to go. When he wakes him up, just gruff words of want and nothing else are all that are really needed.

Every time they come together it’s a battle. They can never be gentle, not with each other. There is far too much history between them, too much bad blood. There are no soft words, only grunted demands and curses. Under it all though, there’s a bond, something close to affection. Neither examines the situation close enough to see let alone acknowledge, it. To do so would mean an end to what they have, and that’s something Angel wouldn’t be able to bear. Instead he gives his praise in strokes, and his endearments in moans. Every time he buries himself deep in Spike, he looks him in the eyes, lets him know that he’s not imagining it’s someone else. Maybe part of him is hoping something will show in those looks, but most of him won’t even admit there’s something there to show.

It’s nothing like perfection; it’s not even happiness really, but it’s what they have. It’s enough most of the time.