Lar ||| Buffy & Angel

Crenellation
by Lar

EMAIL: HERE
RATING: NC-17
COUPLE: A/L
DISCLAIMER: Lindsey needs some serious attention and I'd love to be the one who gives it, but neither he nor Angel are mine.
SPOILERS: Angel S2 up to and including "Epiphany"
DISTRIBUTION: List archives, my sites, all others please ask first.
SUMMARY: Lindsey wallows in a little self pity.
NOTES #1: Set immediately after "Epiphany"
NOTES #2: crenellation (n.) : notch, indentation
DEDICATION: For ethrosdemon who gave me the line, Rabbit who gave me the order, Sam who helped me get in the right frame of mind, and Donna who gave me the spur of the moment beta (she spoils me so!)

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Lindsey sits alone in the dark apartment. Lit only with the reflected glow of the lights from the open curtains, he can see well enough to locate the bottle on the table in front of him, and the glass in his hand when it needs to be refilled.

Trying unsuccessfully to reach the state of drunkenness where memory fades to a smeary blur, and right now all he has been able to do is make it sharp. Remembering this feeling of not-good-enough, ingrained so deep that it'll mark him forever, and there's a parade of flickering images through his mind. Darla at the top of the stack, wisp of blonde and cold beauty, cold even in human form. Remembers seeing Angel for the first time, reflecting the desire every other person has ever felt on meeting Angel for the first time, and how it withered on better knowledge. Flutters through a few more, finds the roommate from Hastings, the one who used him through his second year, letting him believe that he cared, that he desired. That he loved. Dumped him after finals because he was going into contracts, the roommate was going somewhere else, and Lindsey couldn't tutor him to a passing grade anymore. //really, Lindsey, we're hardly compatible outside of class//

Fills the glass again. Drinks.

Leans his head back against the couch, eyes closed and mind drifting back and forth, out of sync and random recall. High school dance. Mary Jane Pettygrew, achingly beautiful and he was so in love. She danced with him, two slow dances, and let him kiss her on the mouth. She tasted of cherry punch and smelled like lavender. Her father was killed the next week, and her mother moved home to Georgia, and he never saw her again. Some nights he dreams of her, and she's still young and sweet, still his girl.

Thirteen, smartest in the class and the one most ostracized. Even in the small towns there has to be the whipping boy, and there he was, just begging for the post in his too big shirts and too short jeans, holes in his shoes and thin as a rail. Welts on the skin and bruises on the psyche, and only one of them will ever heal.

Seven years old, and the men took the house. Scorn in their eyes for his father, disdain for all his brothers and sisters, and he remembers feeling so small.

Refill the glass, drinks. Considers the place where his hand used to be. Almost a year now, and the scars are still angry and red. He hates the way it looks, physical evidence of his status, one he can't hide despite the thousand dollar suits. He loathes the prosthetic he wears, was almost glad to have it shatter under the blow of the hammer. Welcomed the ringing agony that shot up his arm from the reverberation, let it tune him in from the red rage that had driven him that far. Clarity though pain, the story of his life.

Later, when the guy in the tow truck looked him up and down several times before deciding he would haul the truck and replace the windshield, Lindsey fought the urge to just tell him to forget it. To empty his wallet, and offer the guy everything in there for the keys to his truck and a chance to disappear. But he doesn't. No running away, that's not what he does. Cowards run and he's never been that. Pays the guy a fee that's twice what the truck is actually worth to tow it to the garage and calls a cab.

Strips and showers, letting the hot water burn him a little, wincing when it reminds him of the bruises all over his body, and trying to forget that the last time he showered Darla had been there, and he'd been thinking for a while anyway that he might be good enough for this one. He'd shown the devotion, and what had it gotten him? Full color graphics of how she'd spread herself for another man, the one she chased down like a bitch in heat while he waited and waited. And then waited a little more, undemanding and all hers if she'd only give him the sign.

Knock at the door brings him out of his reverie, and when he stands he realizes he's achieved the goal for tonight, he is staggeringly drunk on scotch and self-pity. Congratulates himself as he sets the glass down with the exaggerated care of the intoxicated, shuffles to the door, bare feet dragging on the carpet. Opens it wide and takes in the sight that waits for him.

Angel leans in the doorway, and Lindsey notes with satisfaction that his face is bruised. He eyes Angel head to toe, takes in the black on black ensemble, the worn leather, the keys to his truck that dangle from the tip of one pale finger. Black jeans and black boots and Lindsey stares at those for a minute. Fixates on them. Work boots, of course, possibly Docs, and certainly not the kind Lindsey himself tossed to the back of his empty closet a few hours ago.

He leans against the open door, mirroring Angel's posture. Looks up into his face and says, "Nice shoes. Wanna fuck?" Brain to mouth, no stop at the place where logic will censor him, and too drunk to care anyway. Safely behind the barrier of the uninvited.

Angel actually reacts to the question, and that pleases Lindsey to no end. He sees the key jump and sway as Angel laughs, sharp and abrupt before he can stop himself. Smirks then and says, "And that's not even the first time I've heard that line."

Lindsey nods absently. "Right. You've spent time with Faith." Grins at Angel's narrowed eyes, lets him wonder if he's speaking from experience or second hand information. Doesn't really care whether he figures it out or not and adds another memory snapshot to the pile he was rifling through earlier. Faith, leather pants in a ball on his desk, straddling him in his extremely expensive leather executive chair. Riding him until she came with a shuddering sigh, then telling him to hurry up and finish, she had things to do. He'd been happy to oblige.

They stand there staring at each other stone faced and lost in their own thoughts until Angel finally makes the move to break it. Jangles the keys at eye level and says, "Do you want these or not?"

Lindsey considers. This is just a taunt, just another game in the debacle that Fate seems determined to make of his life. Keys to the truck he'd stolen and then dropped off outside of the Wolfram & Hart building. "If you wanted me to have the keys, you would have left them in the truck. So I'm thinking that you couldn't really care less about the damn keys. And you never answered my question."

"You're drunk." Flat statement of fact. Angel is not amused. Lindsey regrets not having this conversation months ago.

He shrugs, shoulder of his injured side lifting slightly. "I'm a whole lotta things. Drunk. Pissed. Stupid. Alone."

"I'm not what you want or need, Lindsey." Keys are gone now, disappearing into Angel's hand and then his pocket. Lindsey tracks the progress with his eyes. Hears the vampire sigh and shrugs again.

"Maybe not. But you're not what your little gang of do-gooders thinks you are either, their little pet vampire, all cured of his darkness. You're not fooling me, even if they do buy the act."

Still leaning over in that elegant and casual tilt, hands in his pockets and Angel manages to look so very bored as he asks, "Is there a point to this?"

Lindsey grins at him. "I was thinking I had made that pretty clear. Did I slur?" Runs his hand absently down his chest, sees Angel follow the trail, pauses with his thumb hooked in the waistband of his jeans. "And since you haven't left, I'm thinking that you must have some interest in the proposition."

Angel regards the hand there, fingers curled slightly as they splay across the button fly. His gaze flickers to the arm, takes in the place where he marked him, and he says without looking up, "So you think I'll just come in there and we'll fuck and everything will be right? You'll be converted to the light and we'll be what? Best friends? Partners?" Pause, and then in a voice dripping sarcasm, "Lovers?"

Voice low and steady, Lindsey tells him, "No, we'll still be what we are right now. But I won't be alone for a while."

That earns him a look, a deep stare of sable into sapphire, and Angel sees the symmetry. "Invite me in, Lindsey."

Lindsey cocks his head to the side, pops the buttons on his jeans as he stands there, slow one handed movements, his eyes never leaving Angel's as he tugs them open. Licks his lips as he steps back into the apartment and lets the pants fall down his hips a little with the movement. Barely has the words out of his mouth before he's moving under the impetus of Angel's headlong rush into the room.

Hears the door slam as he hits the wall and inhales the scent of Angel and leather when he catches his breath. Feels long fingers threading in his hair, tugging his head back so Angel can cover his mouth with a hard kiss that takes the air out of his lungs again. Presses into the cool body, leaning away from the wall and letting his hand tug at the black leather belt while his other arm wraps around Angel's waist. Hard length rubs against his own when Lindsey shifts his weight, groans against those lips, and pulls the belt free. He reaches up, fingers shoving at the jacket until Angel breaks the kiss, steps back and pulls it off. Tosses it behind him and then drags the hem of his shirt out of his pants, crosses his arms and raises it over his head in a fluid motion, baring himself to the waist.

Lindsey's eyes rove over pale skin marked with bruises and he steps forward, closes the gap between them. Brushes his fingers across the black and blue places and skirts them down to the button of Angel's pants. Grabs the waistband and tugs sharply, button snapping its threads, zipper opening. Lindsey's mouth makes a slow wet trail from neck to nipple, tongue flicking out to taste the hard little peak. He drops to his knees, drags the pants down with him, hears Angel inhale once when Lindsey's tongue finds the ridged vein on the underside of his heavy cock.

Hand wrapped around the width of Angel, pulling back the skin to expose the paler pink head, and Lindsey takes it all into the heat of his mouth. Tastes the salty droplets when he tongues the slit, and imagines for a second that he can taste Darla there, too, hidden in the folds of skin that have known her far more intimately than he was ever granted access. Sucks the head into his throat, hard pressure from his tongue, and now there's hands in his hair again, pressing him down to take more. He lets Angel slip from his mouth, drops his head a little lower and licks at the crease of his thigh, the bump of his hipbone, rubs his thumb along the tight silky skin beneath his sac.

Angel drops down to his knees, mouth wet and hard, tongue thrusting into Lindsey's mouth and body pressing him back to the floor. They tumble awkwardly, Lindsey grunting at the impact on his shoulder and the weight of Angel as he sprawls his naked body across Lindsey's. Rough denim rubbing sensitive skin until Angel sits back on his heels and pulls the offending jeans down and off. Kicks his own boots off, sheds the dark pants in a tangled heap and tears the t-shirt from Lindsey's torso with single jerking motion. Lindsey hisses when the collar rubs his neck before it gives; he'll have another welt there tomorrow.

He props himself up on his elbows as Angel straddles his hips, says, "The bedroom's right in there, you know."

"The floor's right here." Stops further discussion of the matter by reaching down and fisting Lindsey's cock with his wide, cool hand, palm sliding across the head to gather up the slick precome and ease the strokes. He's dripping strands of sticky opalescence onto his own thighs, over Lindsey's as well, and there's a slippery rush of fluid when Lindsey sinks down and arches his back into the rhythm. His eyes are midnight blue, wide open and watching everything as Angel makes him sigh and shudder and gasp.

"Angel." More of a moan than a word, and his eyes do close now, he's getting close to the edge, wants to stop and make it last but it's just impossible to say so, unthinkable to halt that rough grasping motion of Angel's hand wrapped around him.

"Not yet, Lin, not yet." And the hands leave him there only to return, roll him over onto his stomach, tug at his hips until he gets to his knees. Lindsey presses himself back, feels the slick pressure of Angel's cock against his ass, sliding in the cleft, Angel's hand on his hip holding him still so he can slip his fingers into Lindsey's mouth, brushing over the full lips before finding entrance. He licks and sucks at them, tasting himself on his own tongue when broad fingertips glide there and gather moisture.

Opens his mouth when the fingers withdraw, and feels them cool and probing, seeking entrance. Moans when the first one slides into him, past the tight ring of muscle, pressed in and in until it's joined by a second. Burning pain when he stretches for the third but Angel strokes and turns them, and he can feel himself wanting more. Hand on his shoulder then and he's empty for a second, forces himself to relax when the fingers are replaced with the broad head of Angel's cock, slicked with his precome and Angel's blood from a raggedly bitten wrist, pushing inside.

Moment of panic then, and Lindsey falters, starts to fall forward and is caught up short by a hard arm tight around his chest. Another hand comes around to trail through the shiny strands that lie across his belly, and as Angel presses further inside, he wraps his hand around Lindsey's cock, thumb brushing over the slit and gathering the wetness there before swiping it over the head. Lindsey lets his head drop back onto the hard shoulder behind him, feels Angel nuzzle into his warm bare neck, lick along the vein that pulses pale blue under the skin. He shudders at that cool tongue, feels the ridges on Angel's forehead as his demon rises. The thrusts into his body increase as sharp canines graze the place he's just been tasted. Tiny scratch, barely enough to raise a single drop of blood, but enough to make Lindsey cry out, buck into Angel's hand and climax, thick streams of white hitting his belly, thighs and the carpet.

Growling deep in his chest, Angel grabs at Lindsey's hip, pushes him forward until he he's down on his elbows and knees, and Angel can press in deeper with cock and fang. He feels the bright sharpness when the skin breaks this time, back and high on his shoulder, just at the surface and not pressing through muscle and into bone, and Angel gulps at the blood as it wells up from the puncture marks. Mouth moving to his ear now, slick marks of copper staining the skin. Hips working slow and easy, long deep strokes from the man above him, and Angel whispers that he never wants to stop, wants everything sharp and clear as the taste of Lindsey's blood on his tongue. He gasps at the ragged sound of Angel's voice, the words he says, and when Angel pulls his head back, Lindsey can feel the slow hot crimson trail wind its way over the muscles of his shoulder, into the hollow of his spine and down to where Angel is buried inside of him. Shivers when Angel bends to lick what he can reach, chasing it up to the origin and then laving the mark with broad strokes of his tongue.

The scar will never show when he's dressed.

Angel murmurs to him, how warm he feels, how he tastes in his mouth, and Lindsey's head reels, hips writhing back and close again to his second climax. Can't reach down to touch himself without falling and he has to tell Angel to do it.

"Need you to..." is all he can manage, but he's understood. No finesse this time, just a tight grip and a steady motion that matches the way Angel pounds into him. Deeper now and he arches his back at the pain from the penetration, torn between that hurt and the exquisite release that's so close. Urges Angel to hurry, begs him, words tumbling out in a gasping litany of "please, god, please" over and over again.

Shout from Angel, and reflexive grasp tightening around his cock, borderline pain response that surges Lindsey right over into orgasm, muscles quivering everywhere and unable to hold up the weight when Angel collapses on his back. Goes down with a groan, Angel's hand still trapped beneath his hip, pressing into his twitching flesh and the complete ruination of his carpet. Lindsey lies there and pants, waits for his heartbeat to return to normal.

Waits for Angel to roll off of him, grab his clothes and walk out, leave him to his exhaustion, but the other man makes no immediate sign of going. He feels the bulk of Angel's weight shift from his back, and then fingertips ghost over the tender spot on his shoulder. Lindsey keeps his head averted, prefers not to see regret in those dark eyes because he knows there isn't any in his own.

There's a stir of air when Angel rises and still Lindsey remains lying on the floor. His skin creeps into goose bumps, and he shivers once from the cold, wants to draw his legs up in that instinctive curl to seek warmth and refuses to give in to the need. Waits until he sees the leather jacket that lies on the far edge of his peripheral vision disappear and knows that Angel is dressed again and leaving.

He hears the keys hit the surface of the coffee table, skitter across it and brush the bottle of scotch with a tinkling sound, and he does sit up then, last glance before the door closes.

"Angel." Waits for him to turn. "I'm revoking the invitation tonight."

Angel nods. "That's a good idea."

Closes the door behind him with a soft click.

=end=



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