for the feedmykink Valentine's Day Challenge
Angel’s fingers were too long for the handle. It felt small in his palm, hard tortoise-shell brush that never warmed because he had no heat to give. He brought the soft bristles up and inhaled.
His eyes closed and his mind filled with her. Shining eyes, bright smile. Beautiful silk of blonde in his fingers. Long, short. He could see inside. See the change, see her heart grow and her soul expand. He could feel her love.
Even thousands of miles apart, a lifetime apart. All he had were these few pilfered trinkets. A shirt, a picture, the yearbook from her senior class and this brush that she’d used every night.
He remembered watching her as she counted. In front of a mirror, but she never truly saw her reflection. She would whisper. Each number a litany, a prayer.
Angel thought he was alone. In his penthouse bedroom, in the dark. Stiff bristles that were coated with Buffy’s scent on his lips, on his chest, on his cock. His dinner of blood gave him the appearance of life. Of humanity. Quiet moan. A name, a word, a feeling, a need … nothing.
Blue eyes watched as Angel closed his again.
Two nights later, Angel found Spike’s coat tossed over his bed. A black smear over the carefully neutral comforter.
He slammed the door to his bedroom and faced the offense as if it were the enemy. As if Spike was.
Angel picked up the leather. Intending to toss it in the corner, head into the shower. Wash off the day’s build-up of filth and lies, but his fingers didn’t let go. His arm didn’t move with the intent Angel had in mind.
Not at all.
It was sleek, supple in Angel’s fingers. It could be bent and folded. It could be crumpled and forgotten, left dusty and it still retained what had made it attractive in the first place.
Angel couldn’t let go.
His steaming mug of dinner was forgotten as he brought the coat up to his face, fingertips slipped over subtle memories. Smell of smoke and old blood when he inhaled.
Angel’s shirt fell to the floor, his slacks pooled around his shoes and his mouth opened as soft suede purred over his hardening cock. The daily grind of his destiny, his purpose put aside and he started sliding away from the harsh reality of his present. His palm pressed the leather over his balls, against his dick. Not thinking about how long it had been since he indulged in this particular pleasure.
Back on the bed, feet on the floor. Spike’s coat working along his chest and between his legs and Angel’s spine bowed.
“Want some company?”
Angel opened his eyes to find Spike looking down at him. Hands and knees, hard white skin, blond hair and blue eyes shining down. Angel stopped moving, coat falling from his fingers and he reached up.
“I always want you.”