Angel was roused from his sleep when Spike shifted. He smiled, remembering the night before.

The bite from the night before was still clear on Spike's neck. He leaned down and kissed it. It was proof. Proof that Spike gave himself to him.

"I love you," Angel whispered. It was so easy to say when he knew Spike couldn't hear him.

Spike grumbled in his sleep and flopped onto his back.

"Adorable," Angel said, caressing his cheek.

He kissed along his jaw. He wanted to memorize everything. He wanted to etch the moment in his mind.

"I wish you loved me back."

He kissed his cheekbone. Spike was gorgeous. He was perfect. He brushed his lips over his and Spike returned the kiss, even in his sleep.

Angel growled when a knock on the door disturbed Spike from his slumber.

"Mmm, morning, mate." Spike stretched out as the banging continued. "Bloody hell, who's at the sodding door."

"Open up, Angel!" They heard Buffy yell.

Spike's eyes widened. "Shit!" he hissed and jumped out of the bed.

Angel felt his heart sink. He knew that it was supposed to be a one night thing, but he hoped Spike might have changed his mind.

"Don't just lay there, get dressed!" Spike pulled on the sweats he had discarded the night before.

"Right." Angel rose out of bed.

Spike started at Angel's nude body, feelings, images of the night before bombarded him. He tore his eyes away and pulled his shirt on.

"I'll let her in. Be dressed!" Spike said in a hushed tone.

He left the room swiftly, closing the door quietly. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to will away the memories so he could handle Buffy without leaving her in favor of jumping back in bed with Angel.

You love Buffy, he told himself.

He opened the door and Buffy stormed in without even looking at him.

"I can't find Spi- Spike?" She looked him over. "Did you spend the night here?"

Spike tightened his jaw. He certainly did spend the night. He couldn't shake off the image of Angel.

Or the memory of the beautiful release of him inside of me, he thought.

"Yeah. I crashed here."

Buffy glanced at Angel as he exited his room. She caught the fiery look in Spike's eyes as he looked at Angel.

"Morning," Angel said stiffly as he walked into the kitchen.

"What's his problem?" Buffy asked.

Spike found it hard to concentrate on her. He could smell Angel on his clothes, and on his skin. He could taste him on his tongue.

"What? Um, what was that, pet?"

"Are you okay?" She frowned. "What's that?"

"Huh? Buffy, please, be coherent this morning, I'm not in the right mood to decipher what you're talking about."

Buffy clenched her teeth. "What. Is. The. Damn. Mark. On. Your. Neck. Coherent enough?"

Spike quickly covered his neck, his eyes widening. Shit. He forgot. How could he forget?

"Nothing. It's nothing, pet."

Buffy was cut off by a timid knock. "It's Willow. I'll let her in."

"You two make yourselves comfortable, I'll go make coffee, or tea, or whatever Angel has."

He quickly made his escape into the kitchen. He saw Angel leaning against a counter as he heated blood.

"You," Spike whispered. "You did this to me."

"What the hell-" he was cut off by Spike's lips. He melted into the kiss that ended too soon for him.

"I can't stop thinking about you," Spike said softly. "I smell you, taste you, hear your cries, see you when I close my eyes. What have you done to me?"

Spike knew there was no answer. Whatever was happening was his own fault. He let Angel in, just like he always craved when he was younger. Angel thought he didn't remember that night over a hundred years ago, but he did. He claimed not to, but it was there. Always. He was too afraid then to act on his feelings. He was still afraid. He touched Angel's cheek pressing a soft kiss against his lips. He had to end it before he was hurt, or before he hurt Angel.

"Spike?" Buffy said with barely contained anger.

Spike spun around. Shit!

"Buffy, it's not..."

"Not what it looks like? So you're not kissing Angel? 'Cause that's what it looks like. What the hell is going on?"

Spike swallowed hard, looking at Angel. He sighed. He had to own up. He couldn't run anymore. He couldn't pretend, or hide.

"I'm in love with him," Spike whispered.