Prompt 024: Tired Of Pretending

[okdeanna.livejournal.com]

Title: Tired of Pretending

Author: OKDeanna

Rating: R, slash

Word count: 412, ficlet

Prompt: 024: Wisdom Of War

Characters/Pairing: Angel/Spike

A/N: Set during Not Fade Away, Angel Season 5

 

Tired of Pretending

By

OKDeanna

 

Angel couldn’t take it anymore. He tried to pretend it didn’t matter. That he didn’t see her face every time he looked at the beach blond menace. Her eyes begging him to understand. Pleading with him not to be upset. To let her go. To live her life. To bake.

 

But he didn’t know how.

 

Obsession had always been his strong suit.

 

Obsession.

 

Torture.

 

Death.

 

That’s what he did. Where he stayed. Where he reigned.

 

Loving her hadn’t changed that side of him. The darkness was still there. Churning in his gut. Twisting in his head. Over and over and over again. Just waiting for the chance to be released. To be redeemed.

 

It was driving him crazy. This need for destruction. For revenge.

 

He wanted Spike to hurt. To bleed. To suffer.

 

He wanted to hear him howl. Beg. Plead for his life. Plead for him to end his torment.

 

Because that’s the way it should be. The way it was meant to be. Only…it wasn’t the way that it was.

Not today.

 

Angel tugged against the chains that bound him to the wall, eyeing Spike with equal parts trepidation and anticipation. “Just get on with it,” he ground out finally, giving up on working himself free. “Some of us have other things to do today, you know.”

 

“’S that so, mate?” Spike watched him, tilting his head to the side, a knowing grin spreading across his face. “You know what I think, pet? I think you like this. I think you need this. Need me.

 

“So way I fig’re it…if we’re gonna die in this brawl tonight, might as well go out with style, yeah?” He twirled the objects in his hand, a wicked gleam coming into his eyes. “Now, what’ll it be, Angelus? The feather… or the whip?”

 

Angel groaned, tearing his gaze away from said objects, focusing on a spot just above Spike’s head. “I don’t care,” he hissed. “But if you don’t use one of them soon, I’m going to find a way out of these damn cuffs and teach you the real meaning of…” he paused, startled by the sudden closeness of the vampire next to him, “…torture.”

 

Spike’s only response was a low, mocking laugh, and then…Angel didn’t hear a thing over the roar of sadistic pleasure that broke beneath his skin.

 

Damn. He’d chosen the feather.

Comments

[okdeanna.livejournal.com]

Thank you. This is my first, and most likely only, slash fic. I sometimes read them, but never could quite get into writing them. This was a very rare aberration. :-)