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Passion.
It had ruled their existence for more than two hundred years. It didn’t matter if they were fighting or fucking, hunting or arguing, loving or hating. Passion was at the root of it all.
And both of them were too damn stubborn to admit it.
They buried it deep under layers of feigned indifference, but it burst forth in odd moments. Take, for example, the two of them watching the love of their unlives dancing with their common enemy. In that moment, they wanted nothing more than to tear the Immortal apart, but one look at Buffy’s face stalled them. She looked…happy. Neither one of them was willing to take that away from her.
Angel and Spike glanced at each other and agreed without words to leave her be. And if their hands brushed each other’s as they walked away, if the fight they started in the back alley of the club led to tangled sheets and wordless cries and hard bodies coming together for the first time in longer than they cared to admit, well, it was nobody’s business but their own.
-30-