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sb_fag_ends2014-10-24 11:09 am
drizzlydaze.livejournal.com) wrote in sb_fag_ends2014-10-24 11:09 am
Entry tags:
Fic: Pain
Title: Pain
Creator: drizzlydaze
Rating: PG
Setting: Post-series, after L.A.’s done being in Hell
Word count: 354
Prompt: Eleonora
A/N: There’s some Buffy/Angel in here. Blame the prompt.
By the time Spike came back for the third time, Buffy and Angel had moved on. Together. He’d been dithering outside the door for an age, maybe too preoccupied to hear or scent what was going on inside, and when he finally walked in he walked in on a snogfest. At one point in time, he might have thought it disgusting. Now, it was only painful.
It appeared Angelus had been too preoccupied to sense him outside as well—that was the official story, anyway. In any case, once he went in, they broke apart and stared. He could hear Buffy’s heart racing, but that was no different from before. He could smell her arousal now, and that certainly was no different from before.
“Honey, I’m home,” he said, because he was a bastard and a masochist. Mostly, he ran his mouth without thinking and, with his soul, regretted the words after. “Before you say anything, I don’t know how I came back, I didn’t come straight here, and it’s just Rupes who knows I’m kicking—he invited me in.” Then he walked out the open door. It wasn’t escaping or retreating; it was just resignation. That was another thing his soul had taught him to feel.
He could feel the tableau frozen behind him, still staring after him.
Rupert hadn’t warned him about this.
He would be generous, he decided. Give his blessing and all that, if they wanted it, if they cared. And he’d stay the hell away. Oh, he’d be generous. He’d be bloody generous, and noble, and a regular pup.
He hated how his soul was clogged up with guilt, like he didn’t have the right to be angry about this. He hated how he was shaky and uncertain when he knew—he could be pissed, which he was, had a right to.
So when he rounded the corner well out of sight, he punched the brick wall and tried to stop thinking. But his throbbing fist only made him more alert. Physical pain always did. In the end, it was the hurt heart that blurred his sight and mind.
Creator: drizzlydaze
Rating: PG
Setting: Post-series, after L.A.’s done being in Hell
Word count: 354
Prompt: Eleonora
A/N: There’s some Buffy/Angel in here. Blame the prompt.
By the time Spike came back for the third time, Buffy and Angel had moved on. Together. He’d been dithering outside the door for an age, maybe too preoccupied to hear or scent what was going on inside, and when he finally walked in he walked in on a snogfest. At one point in time, he might have thought it disgusting. Now, it was only painful.
It appeared Angelus had been too preoccupied to sense him outside as well—that was the official story, anyway. In any case, once he went in, they broke apart and stared. He could hear Buffy’s heart racing, but that was no different from before. He could smell her arousal now, and that certainly was no different from before.
“Honey, I’m home,” he said, because he was a bastard and a masochist. Mostly, he ran his mouth without thinking and, with his soul, regretted the words after. “Before you say anything, I don’t know how I came back, I didn’t come straight here, and it’s just Rupes who knows I’m kicking—he invited me in.” Then he walked out the open door. It wasn’t escaping or retreating; it was just resignation. That was another thing his soul had taught him to feel.
He could feel the tableau frozen behind him, still staring after him.
Rupert hadn’t warned him about this.
He would be generous, he decided. Give his blessing and all that, if they wanted it, if they cared. And he’d stay the hell away. Oh, he’d be generous. He’d be bloody generous, and noble, and a regular pup.
He hated how his soul was clogged up with guilt, like he didn’t have the right to be angry about this. He hated how he was shaky and uncertain when he knew—he could be pissed, which he was, had a right to.
So when he rounded the corner well out of sight, he punched the brick wall and tried to stop thinking. But his throbbing fist only made him more alert. Physical pain always did. In the end, it was the hurt heart that blurred his sight and mind.