ethrosdemon & Lar ||| Buffy & Angel

Falling II: Toehold
by Lar and ethrosdemon

EMAIL: naturallycalm@yahoo.com =and= HERE
Distribution: List archives, people who beg, you know the routine.
Disclaimer: Joss and Mutant Enemy own the boys, we just pretend that we do. We have nothing of value, do not sue us.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: X/L, X/A
Spoilers: 5x5
Summary: Some discoveries are made.
Notes: The mad rampage continues.

====================

Another night out patrolling, and to add to his misery, Anya has decided she needs to experiment with the various things she's found on her favorite, obsessive topic. Cosmo headquarters needs to go up in a fiery ball of flame. He's still her fucktoy; she undresses him, tells him what she's read and nags, wheedles, pushes him into letting her do whatever it is. He goes blank now as soon as they're alone, wonders if he ever answers her in any way that's even mildly related to whatever she might ask him.

She finishes; she leaves; he showers. Sometimes he finds himself in the middle of a crying jag and wonders how long it's been going on. If the water's still hot, he has no way of knowing if it was two minutes or twenty.

Stumbles to the couch, drags off the sheets because he is *not* sleeping on anything that smells like her, because, really, it's too painful. He knows he's screwing her as hard as she's screwing him. That he should have told her the truth and waited out the tears and spite on her part. Just can't bring himself to be that kind of an asshole twice in so short a time. She needs someone. He seems to be enough. Besides, Willow told him something about her being able to get her powers back if she's spurned again. Danger Will Robinson. When he pulls the sheet off the bed, he catches a peek of the baggie when the cushions pull out of the corner. Lays down and holds the sealed plastic in his hand. It's a good stash now; he's been able to take two at a time right after she refills it. Wonders briefly if he would go to sleep and just not wake up, or if it would make him sick, vomiting it up until he pukes blood.

Not something he wants to repeat. The blood in the toilet bowl scared the hell out of him, and he made himself stop somehow. Snooped though his mom's dusty old Family Medical books and decided he's either given himself an ulcer, or he's ruptured something in his stomach from all the stress of the almost nightly event that is his worship at the porcelain altar.

His clothes are falling off of him, and yet no one seems to notice except Dawn, who has taken to giving him brownies, cookies, granola bars, anything she can slip into his hand as she walks by on her way out the door or up to her room. There's something old and understanding in her eyes which gives him pause, but life is weird, and Dawn is the only 12 year old he knows; they all might be like that. He takes the offerings, usually just to make her happy. They end up in the trashcan.

Tonight, though, the pills are looking mighty fine. Like they might be the best thing he could eat, solve all his problems, and if there's a little upchucking involved maybe that's fine, too. Weighs the bag in his hands, one then the other, beanbag effect. Sees Dawn handing him the last goodwill package on the sly, chocolate chocolate-chip cookies wrapped in a piece of notepaper from her school books. Scrawled on it in purple pen was a big four armed monster with buggy eyes and a drooling tongue. Her carefully-printed, child-like letters underneath saying "Eat this or else." She prints her name with a tiny heart drawn inside the 'a', and he wants to cry again remembering how solemnly she had been staring at him from the top of the steps.

Tosses the pills back under the couch cushions, puts an arm over his eyes and lets exhaustion claim him for another few hours. If he's lucky.

++++++++++++++++

"Glenfiddich, neat." Lindsey motions to the waiter to take Lilah and Faith's orders as well. He could think of few places he would rather be less, but this girl had demonstrated her willingness to get her point across physically, and he knows that's exactly what they need to deal with the Angel situation.

*ring. ring *

Lilah pulls her cell out of her pocket and leans away from Faith and Lindsey. Finger to her ear and her head down, hair hiding her mouth so no one can read her lips. Paranoia as a lifestyle.

"I'll have a beer. Not a lite." The waiter pulls a sour face, but doesn't ask for Faith's ID. Turns to Lilah, but she motions him away, impatient swish of her hand dismissing him, earning her a look that signifies her order will come with the complimentary spit.

She snaps her cell closed and turns back to the table. "Well, goddamn it, I have to go."

"Time for your monthly bile transfusion?" Lindsey doesn't even crack a smile. Knows that wasn't a very good one, but he has other things on his mind than living up to the cat-fight grind he and Lilah have going on. Cat-fight. He does smile at that.

"Your wit has really gone down the shitter since you went on the liquid diet, McDonald. Faith, we'll see each other again soon. Glad to have you on-board."

"Yeah, whatever. Eat something. Your legs might break like twigs soon." Lilah tightens her smile and leaves when Lindsey doesn't even suppress the laughter.

"We *are * glad to have you on-board. She's a harpy, but your skills are something we've been looking for quite some time." That's an understatement if he ever made one, but no sense letting her in on the "No way out" clause in her contract. He'll wait and see what goes down with Angel, and if it turns out like he expects, then there's a huge future at the firm for someone with her particular talents, if not, she'll end up n an acid bath somewhere in the Valley.

"Glad to be out of Sunnydale." Faith twirls the stem of her empty water glass between her fingers, nerves bundled tight in this place where she's entirely out of her element. There's more silverware at her place-setting alone than there ever was on her mother's entire table at one time. It makes her jumpy and awkward to be so visible, sitting in the middle of the room with no wall or even booth-back behind her.

"Where?" //Speaking of jumpy// She sees the lawyer get one of those moments of clarity for some reason. He looks like someone finally flipped his switch or something, blue eyes more alive than they were since the first time she clapped eyes on his fine form. Gorgeous eyes, she thinks, pretty face. Long lashes and soft mouth. She's been down this road before more than twice, knows how easily he would break, and how much fun it would be for them both for her to do it...

"Sunnydale. Turn up your hearing aid." Stops playing with the glass and lets her senses read him. Excitement, some anger, lots of adrenaline. He's wired now, although he's got a reign on it. Faith decides this might be more interesting than the job itself.

"Where is that exactly?" Lindsey leans back, wills himself still and calm. No emotional outburst required, he tells himself. Gathering data, recording information; this is what he does every day, and he does it well. The waiter brings their drinks, and he doesn't even touch the glass.

"The Hellmouth?" She grins, forearms on the table, looking at him like she doesn't know what to file him under in her own personal catalogue. He knows the look, uses it himself to make the other person aware they're being assessed, rattling their nerves. He's rattled, but it has nothing to do with the way she's looking at him.

She continues. "You gotta be kidding. I would've thought that law firm of yours would've been on that one like a crack-fiend on a rock. It's a coupla hours north of here."

"The Hellmouth? What's that?" He nods to her, just a slight inclination of his head. Less interruptions mean she's more likely to keep running her mouth and telling him everything he wants //needs// to know.

"Mouth of hell. Pretty self-explanatory. What's your damage?"

"How big is this town?" Getting into cross examination mode, he can tell she's onto him, but he's not letting go until he's got all he can get from her.

"Town is pushing it." She blows a breath of air out that ruffles the hair hanging in her face and rolls her eyes.

"How many high schools?"

Now she's getting annoyed. What is he, a census taker on the side? "One public one. Why're you riding my ass?"

"What year did you graduate?" Same calm tone of voice, like a computer, marking it down in his head. There's a vague rushing sound of blood in his ears, the signal that his temper is wanting to make itself known. It wants control like it's had so much lately. He damps it down for the minute.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? I *didn't * graduate." Faith, on the other hand, knows no restraint. She looks at the water glass again to gauge it's weight and heft, takes stock of how much damage it will do if he continues to annoy the hell out of her with is lameass questions. And oh fuck, if this is about Almighty Buffy, he's leaving here in an ambulance. Her fists will do that all on their own.

"Fine, you wouldn't happen to know a guy about your age named Alexander Harris, would you?" The way he glances away gives up the jig right away, even to him. Doesn't want her to see the way that he *knows* his eyes have gone glassy with anger, hope, need. Would rather have her wonder at his thoughts than just bare them completely. Things like that were life and death in the courtroom, and his recent downward spiral has left him with just enough to get him through those situations and nothing left over for anything else. Like this conversation, for instance.

Short bark of laughter from Faith, hand slapping the table loud enough to cause several patrons to look up and stare before looking away again. "How the hell do these things happen to me? Know Xander? I fucked his brains out."

//she did not just say that, she must be confused. Fuck, after Angel, she is gonna be in a world of hurt, but for now, keep it together McDonald//

"When would this have been?" Waits to hear her say that it was last week, last night, give him an excuse to walk out of here and flat out kill someone.

"It would have been before the goddamn coma his best friend Buffy caused." The name comes out sounding as sour as it tastes in her mouth.

"Didn't mean to hit a nerve." Glad to have company in the hell that is this conversation, Lindsey notes her reaction and lets her know he's seen it, heard it. Not even footing here, but a leg up for him at any rate.

"I think I'm the one who hit the nerve." Predatory smile. She leans way over the table, breasts spilling out of the little scrap of fabric that masquerades as her shirt.

"What makes you say that?" Carefully, slowly, Lindsey leans back. Personal space. Increasing his bubble so if this goes south he has enough room to get away before she's at his throat. He's thinking the scotch would taste good in his mouth right now, but he's not letting her rattle him enough to take it.

"Oh, nothing besides the attack you're having. Wanna tell me how you know Xander?" Sharp eyes glittering at him, and there's not a chance in this world, or any of the others he knows of, that he's telling her anything. She's picked up enough already.

"No." Polite, but a rebuff just the same. She thinks a minute, decides not to take it personally.

"You play for the all boy's team?" Because he is such a pretty thing, and she does like her toys.

"Why do you ask?" Amusement in Lindsey's tone. First time someone's come on to him in so long, and of course it would be her. If she hadn't spilled on Xander, he might have even taken her up on it. She doesn't leave much to the imagination, and a quick, hard fuck might just be what he needs right now.

"Because if you don't I can show you the only other up side to being the Slayer besides all the killing." Smirk and pout in one, and Lindsey has no doubt that she could snap him in two and make him beg for more the whole time. Not what he wants, not anymore.

"Not all boys, switch hitter, but not tonight." Reaches for the drink now, takes a sip, realizes he's back in control of himself.

"Does that mean you're interested?"

He has to give her points for persistence. It's a good trait; she must fight like something possessed if this is the way she goes after her nightly bump and grind. "No, it means you'll have to find someone else to injure tonight, I have other priorities."

"Riiiiiight," draws the word out to a moan. Another smile this time, hard edge behind it that wasn't there before, although he knows this one's made of steel. "When you find Xander, give him a kiss for me for old time's sake. Later." She pulls her jacket on with syrupy motions, letting Lindsey have an opportunity to change his mind. He watches the performance. Nods his head when she makes a move to leave, throws some bills on the table and heads for his car.

Starts the engine and listens to his mind ramble at him. He could have found him before this. He has his resources. It would've taken him about a half hour to track the boy through his social security number. Didn't do it. Didn't even try. Xander had left no doubt in his mind that the clandestine relationship fun-and-games wasn't for him. The empty apartment and lack of any contact whatsoever announced that loud and clear.

But Lindsey believes in luck, fate, kismet, some force propelling his life. Why else would Holland have found him out of the sea of somewhat sketchy law students at Stanford? Why would have picked * him* for Wolfram and Hart? Lindsey can find no answer to that. Nor can he find one as to why Xander stumbled into his life and blew it apart. And he's considered it from every angle, many times over.

Luck brought Faith to him, as a double bonus. She'll take out the biggest thorn in his side professionally and lead him back to his one shot at happiness personally. Why else would he have gotten her case? Luck, that's all there is to it, and Lindsey plans to ride that wave while it lasts.

==========

Contrary to popular misconceptions, Xander is clued in to the fact that no matter what he says, nobody is listening to him. He's going to test the theory one of these nights when they're all hanging out. Bust out with a little soliloquy about S&M or Dawn having his love-child. Something really fucked up. He's coupled up with Anya, God help him, and no one hears what he suggests. Good excuse to stop even trying to think about anything at all other than the self-hating stream of consciousness he's got on the automatic loop.

Research mode in full swing for everyone but him. He's turning the pages and moving his eyes, but he sees nothing at all. Suddenly, Buffy has identified the demon du jour, and Anya is chattering about her deep and intimate knowledge of all things slimy. He's panicking slightly, because the session means delays in alone time with her, and he just doesn't know if he can take it tonight. Not again, he just needs a break, and why can't she be one of those girls who wants to be left alone 5 days a month?

Then Giles, his savior, speaks the most beautiful words he's heard in a long time. "Anya, I need you to stay here a bit and give me all the background information you have on these creatures. The texts have lost quite a bit in the translations."

She burbles her agreement, and Xander is on his feet so fast he gets a head rush. "I'll patrol while you guys do the demon mind meld. No contact, just recon, OK?"

Out the door before anyone can voice much of a protest and he's free, thankyoujesus. No real plans to patrol, and unless the thing walks up to him on the way home, he's not going to need to report any sightings.

Walks with his head half way down, although he knows it's begging any random vamp to see him as the blue plate special. He can't even get all that worked up about it, really.

Suddenly he realizes that there is, in fact, something taking the stroll with him, uninvited guest, and he gets the uncontrollable fight-or-flight rush. It makes him shiver once as the adrenaline floods his system, and he glances once over his shoulder, risking it to see if he has a shot of outrunning whatever it is that thinks he's for dinner tonight. Sees a dark shape getting out of a car and just breaks.

Sprints about half a block and realizes he is a dead man, he's got no energy, no stamina, and the thing behind is fast and gaining. It hits him in a tackle, and they both fall heavily to the grass on the edge of someone's lawn. Dampness soaks through his shirt, and he just lays there, gasping and wondering why he isn't dead yet. Hears whatever has managed to catch him breathing heavily as it sits on his back.

Turns his head to the side and pants out, "Ok, you got me. Yay you. Just don't suck my eye-balls out. Make it quick."

"I ate earlier, and I'm not much of an eyeball man."

Oh no. No no no. That's just wrong, for the fates to bring him death at the hands of something that could conjure up the exact voice he's been hearing in his head, in his dreams, in his every waking or sleeping moment ."Great, a demon who reads minds. And can throw their voice. Get on with the killing part."

"So, that answers my question about you knowing about demons or not." Weight lifting and hand on his shoulder, rolling him over. Xander closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see the face of the thing that has stolen Lindsey's voice and is using it to torture him.

Peers out cautiously, and "Oh even better, a shape-shifter."

"Xander, I'm not a goddamned demon. Why would I go for you if I was, is there something ELSE I don't know about you?"

Southern drawl, just creeping in under the last few words and Xander's heart thuds hollowly for a split second. "Lindsey?" Negates it before he's even finished saying the name, shaking his head. "I'm not even gonna get my hopes up. Demon-magnet, that's what you don't know, evil guy. I'm one. Do I smell tasty or something, just tell me before I die."

"You smell like coffee and incense. You want me to prove I'm who I say I am?" It's coming down, closer, and look, it has blue eyes; he sees it has the exact shade of Lindsey's eyes plucked fresh from the middle of Xander's bright-sharp recall.

"If you read minds, you can trick me." Puts his hands up, childish gesture because he can't stand seeing the face he has missed so much right here and not have it be real.

Hands pulled away, pinned to the grass beside him. "Shit. Fine. How about this?" And, oh God, mouth on his, not too hard, just right, just the way he'd kissed him goodbye, soft lips and slip of tongue; and it even tastes like Lindsey. Smells like him too, sharp clean cologne and the dampness releases the scent of his shampoo into the air.

Xander's heart is racing, painfully fast hummingbird beats as hope and need and every wish he's ever had are thrashing at the door of his mind to break free. "Still could be mind reading." He's panting again, out of breath from the kiss.

"You wanna get in my car anyway?" Familiar tone, hello Counselor.

Heartbeat not slowing in the least, Xander closes his eyes and nods. "Sure, why not, I got a death wish. Fulfill me."

Lindsey's taking no chances, grabs Xander's arm, and hauls him to his feet, drags him unprotesting behind him back towards the car. Feels his fingers almost meet around the forearm, refuses to acknowledge that they both went down in the tackle because Lindsey hit him with a force gauged on Xander's well-remembered former bodyweight. Wasn't expecting to hit something that was all skin, bones, and clothing, like knocking over a scarecrow. He could feel the way Xander's heart was pounding right though his chest when he was laying there, straddling him, and what the hell has he been doing to himself?

"Hellmouth. What the fuck?" Growls this as soon as he's put Xander in the driver's side and pushed him over. Slams the door shut and hits the door lock control. All trapped and comfy now, and time to talk on his terms.

"Huh?" Not even an actual word, more of a grunt from Xander. He notes the glassy eyes, the dark circles underneath, and here's someone who almost looks worse than Lindsey feels. Felt.

Turns and looks out the windshield at the sleeping town in front of them. Nice, normal, single houses, trees and flowers, swings and fucking picket fences. He should have known. "You live on the Hellmouth."

"Yeah. That's what this is. It's why you're here, right?" Xander's back in the conversation, alternating between staring at Lindsey and examining the dashboard with great interest. Nice to see that his whole recall of the way Xander deals with less-than-pleasant things hasn't been warped, because he can see him doing this same thing in a different setting, the last night they were together.

Lindsey softens for a minute. Hears the echo of Xander saying he loves him. Sighs and tells him, "I'm here because you are."

"You're sticking to the party line on that one, huh?" Shifting eyes catch his for a minute, and the shaking hands could be equal parts fear, anger and from what Lindsey has seen, possibly malnutrition.

Both hands running through his hair now. "Xander, you're about to really fucking piss me off. I thought you might be glad to see me. I see now that when you left you meant it." Hurts to say it, but he's hoping for the reasons to come out. Something, anything other than the not knowing.

Spark of anger in Xander with that one, and he turns in his seat. "Whoa. Hold up. I did that for your own good, Lindsey-form-thing. And wait, what's all this Hellmouth crap?" Still shaking now, Lindsey sees, and that's just too fucking much. Can't take it any more.

"When was the last time you ate?" Wants to put his hand out and touch Xander's face, all cheekbones and tight skin, but thinks he might startle if he does.

"Is that important for your feeding arrangements?" Blinking eyes and Lindsey begins to wonder if Xander hit his head when he fell, maybe that's what this is all about. He's stunned and more confused than usual. Or he's being deliberately obtuse, which is also a strong possibility.

"I'm not going to fucking eat you!" Hand clenched, the one Xander can't see because he's gone beyond the limits of the little self control he has left. Having him here, right here, and not touching him is sapping the willpower he's burnt up managing his rage lately. The veil is thin and it's stretching, and in a minute or two something is going to snap.

"Right, that's what they all say." Dismissive wave of his hand as Xander turns away to look out the window. Lindsey wonders if there're any cops in this town who bother to come out at night, and what Xander would do if one drove by them parked here. Would he start banging on the window, attract the attention, use that to get away?

"I should've had a drink." Thinking out loud again, not a good sign, but it's been a frustrating four hours for him, finding the place, tracking Xander down and waiting to get him alone, away from the group where he seems to be a member of the fringe faction.

"I could use one myself."

Something they agree on at last, and Lindsey knows he's clutching at straws. "You want to grab a beer and some nachos? Any place around here to eat?"

"A few, but you better have human money. I'm not floating you." Arms across his chest. Could he be carrying on this act?

"Let's get back to the 'they all' then. How many times have you been attacked by demons?" Lindsey checks Xander's forehead surreptitiously for any signs of bruises or lumps that might indicate concussion. No, from what he can see under the much longer mop of curls then he remembers, it's all fine. Xander's just weirded out.

"That would have to be a rough estimate, and wait, nope can't give that either. A shitload." Wave of his hand that eerily echoes the one Lilah gave the waiter that night.

"Let's get you something to eat, you look like hell." Reaches out to start the car, turns the key in the ignition and the dashboard lights come on.

Petulant whine in Xander's voice when he answers. He also sounds suspiciously close to tears, but that could just be the overload of the whole stalker-tackle-kiss-kidnap thing working on the boy. "I'm not hungry. And I know you're not really Lin, so you can give up the act."

"And how do you know that?" Patience might work, it might, and Lindsey can try it. For a few minutes at any rate.

"Because you're talking about demons, you stupid puss-brain. Lindsey doesn't know about that whole demon-subculture thing." Complete and total conviction in his statement, spoken as if Lindsey is dumb as dirt, and he looks both shocked and insulted when Lindsey laughs out loud.

"How wrong can one guy be? Xan give it up, you're batting a thousand tonight." Leans his head on the steering wheel for a minute, and thinks about how natural it felt to laugh. With Xander. How he hasn't had a real laugh, one that felt this good, since he left.

"I see now you try to trick me with the wily sports references." An odd reply, and when he looks over again, Xander is staring at the dashboard, much the same way cavemen might have stared at fire the first time they ever saw it. Transfixed by the fucking Mercedes logo of all things. Christ!

"Xander, lord love a duck! Get a grip. It's me. Ok?" Reaches over, the hell with being calm and letting him get his bearings, there's no way he can stand to not be touching him right this minute.

Slides his hand into the black curls at the back of his neck, and just takes his face right on in, nose to nose, eyes open and staring.

"Mercedes sedan." Xander's voice breaks.

"Yeah. Silver, Mercedes sedan, you knew before you even saw it, remember?" Mouth parted, licks his lips, waits for it. //give me the words, Xan, let me see you back here with me//

"Lindsey?" Voice thick and hopeful. Lindsey's hands tighten in the curls, and he closes his eyes for a second. Swallows hard.

"It's me, Xan." Kisses him then, mouth open and full of need and want, all the missing he's been doing focused in to the way his tongue traces Xander's lips before sliding inside. He devours him, every inch of his mouth, teeth and tongue and the ridges on his palette and realizes he's tasting salt.

Xander tastes like tears.

Desperate arms around him then, familiar sigh against his mouth, and Lindsey wishes for it to be weeks and weeks ago so he could have that night back, stay there, the hell with Holland Manners, and Wolfram and Hart be damned. Can't do it, so tries to make it up the best he can. Slips and slides against Xander, gets them halfway down on the seat. Looks down to see complete recognition in Xander's eyes before they drop closed and thinks his heart might just explode with the feelings that conjures up for him.

Strokes Xander's hair, combs his fingers through it, shifts a little, and this is familiar, front seat, loose limbed sprawl of the man under him, every part of his body knowing where to be. Fitting himself into the hollow between Xander's hipbone and his erection, slow thrust of his hips, gasp and sigh from them both.

"God, baby, you're disappearing on me," Lindsey's voice is rough as he slips up Xander's shirt and sees ribs and the dip of his belly. Lowers his head to lick, kiss, lick his way from navel to neck. "I wanna take your shirt off, let me take it off for you." Urges him up, peels the baggy thing away and has a pang for the pile of ashes he created from another shirt that used to be Xander's.

Pops the buttons on Xander's jeans and slides the zipper down, but they're so loose he could have pulled them off the way they were. Xander's hands work the buttons of Lindsey's shirt, and there's no time for that so Lindsey helps him, tugging at the buttons until they open or fly off. Pulls off his undershirt, and they're skin to skin again, Xander's body full of heat.

Back to his mouth, Lindsey needs that mouth again, hot and pink and all his. Bruised already from the way they've been kissing, urgency without the fumbling, and Xander rocks his hips up, writhes. "Missed you, Lins, missed you so much. What took you so long?"

Lindsey groans, hears the hurt there, knows Xander's been waiting for him to do what he proved he does so well, for him to find him, come and get him if he really wants him. Kisses him again, tries to explain it without the words, uses his hands and his mouth instead. Slow stroking hips, and he wants far too much to be inside of him again, he can almost taste it. His head's spinning as he reaches down and undoes his own pants, feels Xander's hands eager to help him, pushing them off his hips and arching up to so they're pressed together as soon as he's able.

Wet warmth between them as soon as Lindsey gets his cock against Xander's, rush of precome from them both, and this is going to be so fast. Xander's pulling him down, and Lindsey knows he can't do it, not here, not now, he'll hurt the boy, but oh god he wants to, needs to. Face buried in Xander's neck, licking the skin there as they rock once, twice, three times, and it's over. Flooding heat then, his shout muffled in the muscles of Xander's shoulder, stopping himself from biting down at the last second, and hearing Xander's low, long moans, so loud inside the car.

Harsh breathing for a few minutes and Lindsey realizes he's shaking. Xander's hands twisted in his hair, holding him still, and he lets himself rest for one minute. One perfect minute, skin on skin, breathing leveling out, matching each other, in-and-out, in subconscious need to be in sync.

He pulls back enough to get eye-contact with the boy. "You wanna get a burger now?"

Xander drops his eyes closed, but smiles all the same. "You gonna tell me how you know about demons?"

Lindsey smiles back, sits up and lets Xander right himself as well. "Food and talk. That's what it's gonna be." He fumbles for his under-shirt, pulls it over his head and starts the car.

=end part II=

Falling Part III: Updraft



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