"I didn't want to control you, Spike."

"Then what did you want?"

"To make you understand." Angel snapped back, standing and towering over the sofa. Spike pulled back slightly, closing his eyes and shaking his head, confused.

"Understand what?"

"That I care about you."

"Oh, come off it, Angel! You don't give a piss about me," Spike snarled, standing and coming toe to toe with him. "You never have. I wasn't much more than your fucking post back then. That's all I still am."

"You wanted it, Spike. You came to me that day, remember?"

"I was," Spike stopped, thinking. "Confused." he said finally, turning his back to Angel and stalking toward the fridge. He heard Angel heave a sigh and he knew he must be shaking his head.

It was getting too complicated for Spike, Angel realized. The questions were getting too hard for him to answer without his pride getting in the way. So, he regrouped as Spike popped the top on a beer and sank into the near-bye kitchen chair.

"Do you remember when you came home that night we were in Brussels and you asked me to set your wrist? You'd broken it in a fight at a pub."

Spike thought for a moment. "Yeah, I think so." he said softly, taking a sip of his beer.

"I never set your wrist. I broke your arm."

Spike looked up in confusion, hatred coloring his eyes. "Why you tellin' me this?" he asked, scoffing.

"After I broke your arm, I—"

"Reamed me royally?" Spike supplied, unphased. He sipped his beer again. He was beginning to understand where this conversation was going.

"You never got into a pub fight again."

Spike stopped drinking his beer and let it come to rest on the table again with a 'thunk'. He was starring at the floor.

"So, what's your point? You were still going to fuck me sideways a week ago." he drank again, still looking at the floor. "Last time I looked we stopped playing Sire and Childe years ago. I asked you to hurt me, not rape me." he stood up quickly, abandoning his beer.

Angel wasn't really sure what to say next. Spike was right, but on the other hand, he wasn't even sure what Spike meant.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"You used to call it being "intimate", all those times. I never had the balls to tell you it was just cold, hard sex." Spike replied coolly, cocking his chin upward. "Used to tell me you loved me."

"I did."

"May I point out the usage of the past tense?" Spike said sarcastically, shaking his head and picking up his beer again. He started to pace.

"I don't know what you're getting at, Spike." Angel replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. Spike was making no sense to him at all. Intimacy? Rape? Sex? Angel knew it was all different, but Spike never seemed to care back then. Angel only did what he felt Spike wanted him to do. Back then Spike had never stopped him; he let it happen and he never said otherwise. Spike was simple and Angel kept it so.

So what was so different now?

As if reading his mind, Spike stopped pacing and sighed, "Back then I was too weak to fight back." he shrugged. "Just wanted someone to love. Guess I never knew the difference between love and hate."

"Spike…" Angel tried, but Spike interrupted.

"Do you love me?" he asked suddenly.

Angel looked up and stared at him, hard. "Yes." he replied truthfully after a moment of thought.

Spike laughed slightly and put the beer bottle onto the table. He took a step toward Angel, who was still starring at him with a wary, stone cold expression. Spike nodded and leaned forward, pressing his lips against Angel's in an innocent kiss. At first Angel began to pull away, but Spike put a hand to the back of his neck and held him where he was, just as Angel had done with him.

After a few moments, Angel finally managed to pull away, a questioning expression crossing his face. "What the hell are you doing?"

Spike smiled and nodded, "Getting what I came for a week ago."

Angel cocked his head, leaning forward and kissing Spike full on the mouth. Spike accepted his Sire and pulled him closer. It wasn't the deep invading kisses that Spike had learned to accept from Angelus. It was the sweet, delicate kiss that Spike had felt a little over a week ago. It was the gentleness he had dreamed of and nothing like the time of Angelus and Will.

It was intimacy.

Angel gently maneuvered Spike toward the small bed at the other end of the apartment, pulling the dark shirt over his head. Spike fumbled with the buttons of his Sire's pants. Angel just chuckled and gently pushed his hands away into the mattress of the bed.

Angel was beginning to understand Spike now. He didn't want to be fucked, or "had" or any of the other brutal things Angelus did to him once upon a time. He wanted to be intimate with Angel; he always had. Some part of Angel knew, he supposed, but he just didn't want to believe it or deal with it at the time.

So, Angel's kisses were gentle and precise, finding their target and lingering like a million tiny flames.

"Don't hurt me…?" Spike whispered, pleading. Angel nodded into his neck, kissing him again.

"Never."

Spike looked at him, breaking away from the kiss. Heard that before… Spike thought, suddenly wary. Angel just sighed and kissed him again.

"I promise."

- - -

Illyria walked behind him, trailing him as he followed the scent of the demon. They were close.

"You'll have proof soon enough. A corrupted ruler on such a path sees treachery and betrayal all around him. He cannot suffer intimates and will eventually turn against them." she said, preaching as she always did.

Spike laughed, "Guess I don't have to worry about that, 'cause Angel and me have never been intimate."

Suddenly, Spike remembered something. Something important.

'Cept that one…"