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Suffocation
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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.

“Spi…” 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. Spike had stopped heating up two cups of blood and bringing them to bed while making a crack about Angel being a fat lazy ass. Yet when he watched Spike sipping the blood, Angel felt no hunger. Emptiness seemed to fill his body, and Angel didn’t feel like analyzing how nothing could satiate hunger.

The name-calling was gone, replaced with a soft-spoken “Angel”. Unbelievably, Angel missed being called a “poof”, “ponce” or some other variety of insults. His name, the name he had thought would make him a better person, only made him feel worse.

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 disappeared 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 Angel 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 stop, 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 immediately. He hadn’t set foot in the bar since 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. Perhaps if he waited long enough, she would come back. After all, he had a pretty secure guarantee to be around forever.

But 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 imprinted on his skin. When he found himself drowning in Spike, he panicked. He wasn’t supposed to have feelings for Spike. Angelus was the one who loved Spike, loved William, and he 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.

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 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.

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. 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.

Which would never happen. But Spike apparently didn't know that.

Spike didn't know that Angelus and Angel had found a common ground to stand on and a common interest to protect. The soul tempered the demon’s violent nature while the demon made the soul more aggressive and fight for what was important: Spike.

Now it was only a matter of letting Spike know and making him believe. Angel knew that it wouldn't be easy, but they had time. And 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 ~