I never liked how Darla kissed. She was all about dominance and possession. She'd plant her tongue in my mouth as if she were claiming territory, and all I could do was lie back and let her invade. I did kiss back, but it was only because she wrapped her tongue around mine and pulled me into her mouth. She took and I gave.

Despite our seemingly eternal bond, she kissed like there was no tomorrow - like our relationship had no future. Maybe it was because of our personalities. Monogamy wasn't in our vocabulary just as it wasn't when we were mortals.

We shared a demonic love, the kind that would literally last forever. A love painted bright with blood and passion, stimulated with pain. Our love wasn't a burning candle; it was an inferno.

Buffy was the complete opposite of Darla. She was all about the giving. So timid and soft, just like the virgin she was. Her kisses allowed me to take what I couldn't get from my sire. She surrendered herself to me without a word. Or maybe she simply wasn't aware of how much she'd given until it was too late. Until Angelus came back.

There was one way her kisses resembled Darla's. She kissed like there was no tomorrow. After all, why wouldn't she? She was the slayer who lived on the Hellmouth.

Those days spent with her soothed my soul. It was nice, quiet and almost like a love that would last forever. There was no blood spilled, no torture and no rough sex in a sea of screams. There were scented candles and holding hands and low whispers of tenderness.

Dru was nothing like Darla or Buffy. I can't say I ever kissed Dru. I've always believed that kissing requires participation from both sides. With her, it was like kissing the dolls she adored so much. She didn't take or give. She did nothing. I got on with the torture then.

"Ponce." Spike swaggers in. With his unique sense of grace, he makes strutting an artform.

"Hey."

"No brooding allowed, especially not when I'm in the room." He smacks me lightly on the head. "It's insulting."

As much as I want to frown and tell him to stop hitting me, I simply smile. But the annoyance isn't lost on him. He knows me so well.

A hint of mischief glitters in his eyes as he sits down on my lap. He doesn't think I caught it, but I know him too well.

"Angel," he says softly, the word barely audible as it caresses my neck. "Know why I always smack your head?"

"Huh?" That's the best I can manage. He always reduces me to monosyllables whenever he's close. So tantalizingly close and so agonizingly far. Why can't he lean into me more?

"Because it flattens your poofy hair." He snickers and breaks into a full-hearted chuckle when I self-consciously touch my hair.

"Spike…" The warning in my tone dissipates as he leans in and tilts his face up to me. "I…" Words fail me when he presses his lips to mine.

I love how he kisses. He isn't just a taker or a giver - he's both.

He is never only tender and sweet or forceful and aggressive. His kisses are a curiously perfect mixture of all these things. Underneath the sweetness of Will, there is Spike, and laced with the passionate love is a long lasting tenderness.

I once thought that passionate love was doomed to fade and burn out. How wrong I was. This passion will never burn out because gentleness fuels it. It will never fade into something boring and domestic because it is spiced by Spike's adventurous nature.

I love him and his kisses.

Spike kisses like there will always be a tomorrow.