Accismus
Fandom: Angel (Buffyverse)
Rating: T
Pairing: Spangel
Word Count: 414
Warnings: angst, pining
Summary: Accismus - Pretending to be disinterested in something when you actually want it.
A/N: prompted over on 1_million_words. I don’t often write things from Angel’s POV, but this one seemed to fit him better.
How much longer could he keep up this act? How long did he have to hide behind a wall of indifference and distaste while the one thing left that he still wanted wandered around the building all hours of the day?
He was glad, at least, that Spike’s ghostly form left no trace of scent behind. He might’ve gone mad if he'd been made to suffer the enticing smell of his Grandchilde that would have lingered in every room the spirit wisped through.
Spike hated him now, of that, he left no doubt. Had hated him for years, probably since he’d left the younger vampire behind to care for Drusilla on his own and suffer the foul humor of Darla in her anger over the curse. He’d seen more evidence of that hatred in the past few years than he had in the scant crossing of paths over the decades; his mind offered up images of a warehouse filled with the sound of Bach and screams wrenched from his throat by hot pokers. Yes, his boy hated him. At least it helped sell the act.
It wasn't only for the sake of his own abused heart that he kept up the pretense of returning that same repulsion. Showing his true feelings for his estranged Childe would be tantamount to painting a blaring red target on his back. He’d finally learned his lesson with the loss of Cordelia. Show the world he cared too much for someone, something came and took it away. The Powers had taken Cordy from him when he needed her most, and he knew here, in this tower of evil, if he let anyone see how deep within his heart Spike was, the Senior Partners would find a way to use his love to break him.
So, he endured. To keep his Most Favored safe and in the world, in one form or another, he hid his desire behind hurtful words. Took solace in his Childe’s continued existence, and dreaded the day when Spike was made solid once more and he would have to refrain from pulling that slim body into his embrace, would have to use his hands, not to caress and rememorize every plane and angle of pale flesh, but to bruise and bloody it, just enough to convince those who watched him of his disdain for the younger vampire. His heart would break with every landed blow, but he would suffer it if it prevented losing him again.