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Beaten Paths
by Christie
Email: ((tinamishi@yahoo.com))
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: A/L
Summary: Angel hits the road in an effort to help
Lindsey. Set after 'Dead End'.
Spoilers: Pretty much the whole Lindsey arc.
Disclaimer: The Angelverse was created by Joss Whedon
and David Greenwalt. Angel is copyright Twentieth
Century Fox. I also don't lay claim to COPS, Del Taco
or Jack In The Box, thank goodness. No profit is made
off this story.
Distribution: List archives, those with previous
archiving permission. Others, ask.
Note: I was supposed to get this done in time for the
ships improv, but ((*laughs*)) no. So...Improv #17:
ragged, cascade, invent, decade
Dedication: To Lar - Happy ((Belated)) Birthday. To
Mazal - Visions of the high desert dance in my head.
*
Dark desert stretched for miles in every direction.
Only the occasional glare of twin headlights cut a
swath through the still blackness, and in minutes they
were gone again, leaving behind a woosh of dusty,
stale, warm air. The raido was quiet, sound only the
hum of tires against blacktop as the Plymouth shot
down Interstate 15.
Billboard after billboard promised great food, great
shopping, and hidden treasures in California's high
desert. Angel seriously doubted anywhere around there
could deliver anything remotely close to what they
affianced. Except for McDonald's, maybe; they were
the same no matter where you went. The billboard he
was looking for finally loomed out of the darkness and
he read it, not without a certain degree of fruition.
"BAKER, CALIFORNIA...Home of the World's Largest
Thermometer. Exit 2 miles."
Every town had to lay claim to something, he supposed.
What else in Baker but Joe's World Famous Blueberry
Pie, and the World's Largest Thermometer. Just what
the hell anyone was thinking when they inhabited this
place was beyond his 247 years. But at least they'd
built a thermometer. That made it all worth it.
There was only one Motel 6 in Baker, right off the
interstate on the main road, sandwiched between a Del
Taco and a Jack In the Box. Across the road a gas
station was charging near $2.50 a gallon for the cheap
stuff. Dust plumed up as the Plymouth came to a stop
next to the orange Ford truck. 1956 - first year they
had wrap-around windshields.
The scrap of paper crumpled in the left pocket of his
pants was scrawled in Cordelia's hurried post-vision
hand. "Baker. Motel 6. Room 4." He shoved it back
where it came from and knocked on the door marked with
a rusted 4.
Lindsey answered shirtless, faded jeans and bare feet,
hair mussed, bottle of cheap whiskey in his hand. A
girl on the bed behind him, who couldn't have been
more than 21 or 22, in nothing more than a white
t-shirt, cigarette dangling from long, slender
fingers.
"You look like someone about to get arrested on COPS."
Angel pushed in the door before Lindsey had a chance
to slam it in his face, stepped over the threshold and
inhaled deeply: alcohol, cigarette smoke, sex.
He eyed the girl, who eyed him back, finally nodded
and she smiled. Made no move to cover herself, but
pulled her legs underneath her and sat a little
straighter, took a drag off her cigarette and blew it
toward an unoccupied corner of the room. Her eyes
lost focus then, Angel watched as she took stock of
the air conditioner rattling away in the corner, it's
hum only slightly louder than the clanking of inner
parts as it recycled otherwise stagnant air, pushing
it out only a little cooler than when it had sucked it
in.
Struggling with the defiant doorknob momentarily,
Lindsey had finally shut the door and turned, anger
now seeming to sober him, if only enough to glare in
rage at his unlikely visitor.
"What the hell are you doing here? And how did you -
"
Smartly stopped himself, turned his eyes on his young
friend and inclined his head. She stood obediently,
stubbed her cigarette on the small table, ignoring the
ashtray just a few inches away, and flicked the butt
into the corner of the room. Pink polished nails
scraped against the carpet as she snatched up her
jeans and pulled them over long, thin legs. Her white
bra was stuffed into her purse, feet slipped into a
pair of scuffed keds, and she flipped her hair - knots
and tangles cascading over narrow shoulders - without
glancing at either man.
"See ya," was all that was said in parting, and the
door reverbrated the walls as it slammed behind her.
Angel could have sworn he heard the soft clink of the
rusted metal 4 on the outside of the door hitting the
concrete.
*
Bringing his hand up, Lindsey rubbed over his face,
took a long swig of whiskey from the bottle clutched
in the other hand - stuff so cheap he'd never have
looked at it before - and held it in his mouth for a
long while. Forced himself to swallow, grimmaced
slightly at its acerbity and put the bottle down next
to the unused ashtray on the night table.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
Calmer now, Lindsey repeated his question and sat,
edge of the bed that hadn't been made in two days
because the 'do not disturb' sign hadn't left the
doorknob. He looked up at Angel, still surprised to
see him standing there - seemed so large in a room so
small - but not surprised enough to lose the
comfortable buzz he'd gotten going since he'd arrived
four days ago and had managed to keep up with only
brief intervals of sleep inbetween.
It was easier that way, a muted hum of blissful
nothingness reverbrating between his ears made it
easier to ignore the fear, the lonliness, the failure.
All of the unpropitious choices he'd made disappeared
behind that alcohol-induced stupor and reliving it was
not an option anymore; no amount of scrutiny would
change what had actually happened, no amount of
contrition would make things alright for the hundreds,
perhaps thousands of people he'd helped hurt, even
kill, while in the employ of Wolfram & Hart.
In a rare moment in which he was honset with himself,
usually the few minutes after he woke up, washed his
face and brushed his teeth, before attempting to
bypass his hangover by tearing into the bottle again,
he knew he didn't really feel bad about most of the
people he'd hurt. Only the ones he'd seen, been
forced to see because of the very man that stood
before him right now.
He felt bad about those, yes. And he was still pissed
at Angel for cutting off his hand. None of those
things would ever change. Ever.
"Cordelia had a vision of you in trouble."
Angel's tone was the same matter-of-fact tone with
which he said nearly everything, and Lindsey felt
oddly comforted; finally, something familiar as he
sat, drunk, surrounded by only the unfamiliar, biding
time pretending to be the same aw-shucks country boy
that had left Oklahoma for law school what seemed like
a lifetime ago.
How desperately he wanted to be that boy again. But
he wasn't; never would be, because that boy didn't
believe vampires and demons were real. He didn't
even invent them in make-believe. That boy believed
in God and Heaven and the devil and Hell, and that as
much as the passage to Heaven was apparent, the
passage to Hell was even more clear.
No, he'd never be that boy again, because by that
boy's standards, Lindsey McDonald was now going to
Hell, and no amount of rebirth could save him.
That boy wouldn't believe in the vampire named Angel
much less anything he said about a girl with visions
who helps the helpless.
"A vision?" He'd heard, but didn't understand, and
really just wanted to hear the vampire he knew was
real speak again, it was the only way to stay on the
ground, in the real, in the now. His guitar used to
do that, used to keep everything solid, helped him get
a hold on things he didn't want to know were true.
Now it made him fly: drifting his head into clouds and
dreams and places where life was good and things were
the way his mama always wanted for him.
He felt betrayed by his guitar. Couldn't pick it up
for fear of smashing it into the nearest wall. It
lied to him now; used to be the only thing that would
tell him the truth.
Angel hadn't responded, only nodded minutely and
stared at him with those eyes - eyes that promise to
burn a fucking soul into you if you act like you don't
have one: rules notwithstanding to the vampire doing
the burning, of course.
The hand that was once evil now only knots into a fist
then opens, runs through Lindsey's mussed hair and
flops to his lap again. "What kind of trouble?"
The vampire shrugged, looked around the room as though
taking stock, until amused eyes glinted back. "I can
see a million things wrong right now."
Lulling his head back pulled Lindsey in the direction
of nausea, but he swallowed another mouthful of
whiskey and chased it away. "Just because I don't
call a gigantic hotel home - "
Sharp intake of air, possibly followed by a sarcastic
chuckle cut Lindsey off in mid-rant. "You call *this*
home? Have you seen this place? The main road - "
vague guesture toward the door and the sleeping town
beyond, " - isn't even paved. It's dirt, Lindsey."
"Yes, I know what 'not paved' indicates." Lindsey
meant to have more bite to those words than delivered.
To his own ears, he just sounded tired. "I don't
call this home. I call it - "
It was necessary to trail off because there really
wasn't an end to the statement. He didn't call it
anything, because it wasn't anything. It wasn't even
a stop, because that would indicate a journey - a plan
- would begin again eventually. And he wasn't sure it
would. He was just - there - in Baker because that
was when he'd run out of cash and his truck had run
too close to empty to be comfortable driving it.
Angel stopped looming and sat; was adjusting the coat
- always with the coat - so he wouldn't crease the
leather.
"Did you see the big fucking thermometer? It's 104
degrees." Lindsey hadn't meant to snap, but didn't
really care that he had. It was the desert, it was
fucking hot, and Angel shows up in that damn leather
coat.
As though it genuinely bothered him, Angel tilted his
head slightly, a knit in his brow. "Why does a place
that gets so hot have a thermometer that big?"
Another swig of alcohol, finishing off the bottle,
Lindsey shook his head and swallowed. "It's the
largest one in the world." He closed his eyes, the
room spun, and despite better judgement, he lay back.
"You say that like you're truly impressed." The voice
washed over him like a welcome darkness, and Lindsey
heard the bulk of the vampire rise again, maybe to
shrug off his coat, and felt a threadbare sheet pulled
over him. Softer voice now, or perhaps fading;
Lindsey didn't care: "The main road isn't even
paved." Another pause - longer. "It's dirt."
*
When the air conditioner stopped clanking and switched
off with a loud, tired woosh, Lindsey awoke. Didn't
bother to open his eyes and reached blindly, palm
hitting the stand next to the bed with a hard slap
that reverbrated through his skull.
"Son of a bitch!"
He might have said it aloud, perhaps in his head,
Lindsey had no idea - nor did he care - and continued
to flail for the bottle, any bottle really, to help
ease the malevolent pounding between his ears.
A bottle and a glass were handed to him - both were in
Lindsey's hands before he realized it wasn't the right
kind of bottle, and wasn't the right kind of glass.
Finally opened his eyes and met those of his supposed
worst enemy. Looked down in his hands: a bottle of
extra strength asprin and a glass of water.
"You went through my stuff." A statement of fact, no
anger behind the words though he pretended to care.
The asprin had been at the bottom of his bag, stuffed
down the side as an afterthought when emptying his
apartment - most of the other stuff in the medicine
cabinet had gone into the trash for fear of a weak
moment coupled with the desire to sleep into forever.
It hadn't really crossed his mind, but it crossed his
mind that it might cross his mind, so he'd tossed it
away. Besides, everything in there had been
prescribed by doctors bankrolled by Wolfram & Hart.
No telling what was really in those little blue
capsules prescribed to take the pain away from the
healing stump where his hand had once been.
The vampire made no move to explain or apologize, and
Lindsey was glad. If there was one thing he didn't
want, it was Angel going all save-a-soul soft on him
right now. It was bad enough he was being forced to
take two asprin and down a glass of water. Bad enough
Angel rathered he got over his hangover than die alone
at the Motel 6 in Baker, California. Bad enough Angel
was here at all, an oddly comforting reminder of every
reason he'd left L.A. in the first place.
Guess it didn't matter where he was; anywhere, he was
fucked.
The asprin didn't go down easy: cottonmouth was a
bitch and Lindsey had to drink nearly half the glass
of water before getting the little round pills to go
down with it. He choked, reluctantly took the towel
Angel was handing him and finally looked his
counterpart in the eye.
"You're still here." Another statement, purposely
flat - wouldn't ever let Angel know it was somewhat
pacifying to have him around, or that it was strangely
touching that he'd stayed the whole night, nevermind
that he was pretty much a prisoner to the day now that
the sun had risen on the tiny little town.
*
Taking the now-empty glass and opened bottle of asprin
out of Lindsey's grasp, Angel only shrugged at the
statement. Cordy gets the visions, he responds. That
was the deal, and according to the prophecies, if he
kept that up, he'd shanshu one day. Granted, there
were a few famines and an apocolypse to deal with
before that, but no need to dwell on the details.
He decided against telling Lindsey any of this; he was
too hung over to care and Angel didn't feel like
justifying himself anyhow. Seemed that Lindsey was
the only person he didn't bother explaining himself
to. Maybe that was why he stayed. It was more
peaceful, here, trading verbal insults than it was
sometimes in L.A.
"So, this trouble I'm in, any specifics you can give
me?"
The deep, raspy voice sounded just a bit more
cognizant, and Angel assumed the pain killers were
doing the trick. He folded himself into a
straight-backed, extremely uncomfortable chair - the
same one responsible for his standing nearly all
night, just to avoid having to sit in it - and rested
his elbows on his knees.
"I had assumed it was Wolfram & Hart, maybe I was just
early. But now I'm thinking I was late, and the
trouble is - " A wave of his hand, gesturing the
entire room in horrid disarray - "this."
Lindsey turned his head only a fraction of a
centimeter - didn't really need to look - and lifted
his shoulders in a gesture of discountenance. Silence
for another moment, then his eyes narrowed and dropped
from Angel's face.
"You *are* going to go all save-a-soul on me." The
defeated, near whining tone made the corners of
Angel's mouth twitch upward. "Shit, Angel..."
The vampire raised his bulk from the chair - couldn't
stay in it for long or he'd break it into splinters
and stake himself - and took one step closer to
Lindsey. "What the hell do you want me to do? Beat
you to a bloody pulp?"
Blue eyes, still hazy with sleep, and alcohol, and
cigarette smoke, blinked up at him. "Is the choice
between that and a lecture? I say let's take a trip
down memory lane."
"Believe it or not, I don't really feel like it,"
Angel countered, raising his eyebrows for a fraction
of a second before slipping back into the blank mask
he always wore.
Lindsey looked at him for long moments - Angel counted
68 faint ticks from the silver Rolex Lindsey was
wearing around his wrist - and finally spoke.
"You really did have an epiphany."
"I told you."
"Well have another one: we're not friends." Anger in
Lindsey's voice, put there in effort to drive the
point home.
Unfazed, Angel offered a tight-lipped smile. "I know,
Lindsey." As though speaking to a child, "for us to
be friends, I'd have to like you, which I don't."
A curt nod from the other on the bed, hands clasped
and went behind his head, Lindsey leaned back. "Good.
Cause I don't like you either."
A matching nod from the vampire. "Yeah, I've kind of
gotten that vibe from you."
*
At first, the silence was welcome. The asprin Angel
had dispersed to him nearly an hour ago was working,
it just wasn't strong enough. Not for a four-day
whiskey binge anyway. The dull thumping was there; in
the back of his head, behind his left ear, stretching
all the way around his brain to his right temple.
Pain gripped him there like a nagging stream of
conscience that wouldn't let go - not firey and severe
- but constant, muted; shadowed its strength behind
dullness.
Eventually, though, even silence became too much. The
desperation would set in, and Lindsey would be forced
to think about what the hell he was supposed to do
with his life now. He didn't have the answer to that
one, and it scared him more than he'd ever admit.
"So why are you still here?"
The comment drew Angel's eyes over to Lindsey, and was
rewarded with another smile. It was probably the most
Lindsey had seen Angel smile at one time - ever. He'd
only said it to break the silence, knowing full well
why Angel was still around, and honestly not minding
the company much at all. Even if it was Angel, and
not the girl who was too much of an expert at giving
head not to be doing it professionally in this dismal
little town.
"It's sunny out. I burn too easily," was the reply,
and Lindsey noticed that Angel kept a close eye on the
thin shards of light angling across the room, let in
where the curtains didn't quite meet, and managed to
avoid them as the sun rose in the sky and they danced
across the floor, mocking him.
"Woudn't bother me." Again, Lindsey said it just to
speak, words more callous than he actually felt.
Still, Angel called him on it. "Yes it would. You
like having me around. It's a place to focus your
rage."
Lindsey's arms came down from behind his head. He ran
his right hand over his bare left arm. "You flatter
yourself."
"Uh huh. Look what happens when I'm not around."
Angel ticked off on his fingers: "You're drinking
yourself into a stupor, sleeping with whores - "
Shake of the head. "She wasn't a whore."
Dark eyes widened and eyebrows traveled northward.
"No? Soulmate?"
"Just a girl - " Lindsey paused, defiant. "I don't
have to spell out my sex life for you."
"Nope." The vampire nodded in agreement. "Cause I
don't really care. I just don't want to see you kill
yourself right after you did the first noble thing in
your life."
"What? Quit my job?" Lindsey chuckled without mirth.
"Lost my benefits, my stock options, my 401K? Left
myself broke, alone, and running from the Firm the
rest of my life? Yeah, real noble." Long pause,
Lindsey watched Angel watch him. Finally, "I'm
fucking brilliant."
More silence between the two. Lindsey saw no change
of expression on Angel's face, but somehow knew he was
thinking - planning - what he wanted to say. Lindsey
wondered why the hell Angel bothered to put any
thought into it at all. Wasn't like he could hurt his
feelings or something. This was as close to sharing
as they were likely to get.
"Look, there was a time when I thought you were
completely evil. No hope for redemption. But you
showed me - twice now - that somewhere, deep down,"
Angel paused, pointed a finger at Lindsey's bare
chest, "in there, you wanted to change. So that's a
good thing."
Angel's words made Lindsey's stomach turn. "Oh god,
shut up."
"What?"
Anger surged through him, though Lindsey wasn't
exactly sure why. All he knew was that he either
wanted Angel to throw down, or get out. Cause this
other shit - the sharing - it wasn't working for him.
"Shut up! Just - I don't even know why the fuck
you're here."
"Lindsey - "
"No!" For the first time that morning, Lindsey stood.
"I don't want you to tell me how I did the right
thing. I'm not going to tell you I'm all redeemed and
ready for a better life. I'm not going to indulge
your stupid ephiphany and start to *share* so you can
feel better about one more soul you saved." He
ignored the shaky feeling in his legs, ignored the
urge to vomit all over the burnt orange shag carpet
circa 1972 on the motel room floor. "You want to be
here, you throw down. Otherwise, leave me the fuck
alone."
*
A fleeting moment of surprise blended into a burst of
realization, and Angel couldn't contain the wonderment
in his voice when he declared, "I just figured it
out."
"What?" Lindsey didn't sound as angry anymore, just -
defeated.
Angel started to walk around the bed, to face Lindsey,
then thought better of it and stood where he was.
"You're not comfortable being around me unless I'm
trying to kill you." A pause - no reaction from the
other. "You expect that from me - it's nice to have
somewhere to focus all your anger and pain."
Now, a new surge of energy, Lindsey stood, hands
clenching into fists and causing the muscles in his
arms to tense and flex. "I focus all my anger and
pain at you because you deserve it." He held up his
new hand, the scar of his operation now faded into a
dull pink ring just above his wrist. "You cut off my
fucking hand!"
"You say fuck way too much."
Couldn't help baiting Lindsey, it was too easy - and
Angel added insult to injury by punctuating his
observation with a cheery smile.
The former lawyer's face slid from incredulity to rage
near instantly. "Oh my god. Shut up!"
Games were over; Lindsey was pushing breath in and out
of his lungs with great effort - Angel hadn't seen him
this mad since the night he'd found out about Darla.
Advancing, eyes hardening and face giving way to the
demon inside, Angel snarled low in his throat.
"Alright. You want to fight? Let's fight."
The vampire didn't wait for an acquiescence, simply
pounced, connecting solid fist with Lindsey's chest,
hearing the heart beat of the mortal quicken before
his loud, startled yelp, and the sprawl of body and
limbs on the disgusting carpet. Angel landed atop
him, used his lower body to keep Lindsey pinned below
him, grasped each forearm into his grip holding fast,
and leaned forward until glowing yellow eyes were only
centimeters away from wide, frightened blue ones.
"This is what you want, isn't it? You're more
comfortable with me like this than you are talking,
right?" Angel's voice was low and tight, had anyone
else been in the room they would not have heard the
exchange.
Lindsey spoke equally low, equally tight when he
answered. "Yeah."
Now, Angel allowed his human mask to slip back on, and
he released Lindsey's arms, jumped up from the prone
body below him and wiggled his shoulders, loosening
up. "So come on, get up and fight."
Angel counted forty-seven heartbeats before Lindsey
got to his feet, grunting a little and holding his
chest where the skin had just begun to purple. He'd
have a nasty bruise there in a little while, and Angel
gleefully realized he didn't feel the least bit
guilty. He even laughed a little when Lindsey lunged
at him, connecting his fist square in Angel's jaw and
sending him staggering backward.
It hurt like a bitch and only spurred Angel on,
relishing the contact as Lindsey pummled him again,
this time managing to knock him down to all fours,
pulled one of his arms around his back and twisted,
hard. Angel growled, pulled his arm free with more
effort than he expected and flipped them both, Lindsey
once again landing beneath him with a muted thud.
Angel paused, sharpening every one of his senses and
taking inventory: ragged pants escaping Lindsey's
parted lips, a cacophany nearly drowning out the
thundering heartbeat; cigarette smoke and rancid
alcohol mingled with sweat and the faintest hint of
arousal; hard, muscled limbs splayed beneath him,
tense and coiled, anticipating the next blow. Just
the faintest stirrings where Angel's thigh parted
Lindsey's legs - a human wouldn't have noticed it - so
subtle even Lindsey probably wasn't aware.
Rearing his fist back, Angel watched Lindsey react,
every muscle tensing just a bit more, face turned to
the side, reactionary for someone wanting to avoid
getting their nose broken. It gave Angel a strange
sense of satisfaction, knowing he could kill Lindsey
right now - just one swift punch could smash his
entire skull right into his brain.
Instead, he dropped his fist, used his other hand to
grip either side of Lindsey's face and turn the head
back to face him, then kissed Lindsey square on the
mouth.
Muffled grunt of surprise, and Lindsey struggled for a
brief moment, Angel insistent at lips that remained
pressed closed, face turning slightly in retraction
before another grunt, this one softer and slower, then
opening his lips to not only receive the kiss but to
return it.
*
When Lindsey and Angel fought in Lindsey's head, it
always ended like this. When they fought in real
life, it always ended with Lindsey wishing Angel had
just killed him this time - the fight in which Angel
had smashed his plastic hand resulted in three broken
ribs and the inability to breathe without severe pain
for over a week.
Now the fight was ending the way Lindsey thought maybe
it would one day - but not *really* - and Angel was
surprisingly gentle. Not so much that you'd forget he
was a vampire, because you just wouldn't, but he'd
moved his bulk mostly to the side, and breathing was
much easier that way. He'd brought Lindsey's
semi-erection into full just by moving those large,
cool hands across his bare chest, in patterns that
mostly seemed random but sometimes were predictable in
the way that you knew they weren't random at all.
Lindsey almost laughed when Angel removed his shirt,
one button at a time, then neatly folded it and placed
it on the nearest chair. Almost laughed again when,
after divesting them both of their pants, folded both
pairs, blissfully ignorant of two straining erections
begging to be touched, toyed and fondled. Placed them
next to the folded shirt on the nearest chair.
Now lay down once more, resumed the kissing and the
touching, all the while not speaking, probably for
fear of what either one would have to say at this
particular juncture in their relationship. No
whispers, no laughter, no promises - not even much eye
contact - just physical closeness, what their
relationship has always been: touching - always
touching.
It was a first, the non-violent touching, but touching
all the same.
When the cool tongue traced a path down his belly,
dipping into the curves of his muscles before moving
lower - tepid breath on the head of his wanting cock,
a word was uttered - God was blasphemed - then a
rhythm began and the two fell into silence once more.
Just harsh pants, Lindsey squeezed his eyes shut and
pumped his hips in the rhythm of Angel's mouth, gasped
louder as he was swallowed deeper - felt himself
bumping the back of Angel's throat, Angel's teeth -
sharp teeth - scraping his underside. Let himself
drift into a haze very close to what he imagined
heaven would be before tearing his eyes open, finding
little white splotches on the air before him.
He looked down, saw the short, dark hair moving
between his legs - not the skinny town tramp he'd met
days before at the only bar in town - and came. Hard.
He wasn't expecting it, and swore loudly as he
released, going turgid before every muscle in his body
gave out and he lay limp, panting, on the ugly orange
carpet that was decades past it's time.
Lindsey saw Angel rise, watched him walk into the
bathroom, perfect view of his pale, firm ass from his
position on the floor. Angel had one hand around his
cock when he reappeared, the other hand holding a tube
which he dropped on the floor beside him and kneeled,
going about his business as though his hand stroking
up and down his hard-on wasn't affecting him in the
least.
Momentarily jealous at the vampire's obvious stamina,
Lindsey forgot every notion in his head when Angel put
his free hand on Lindsey's shoulder and guided him
over onto his stomach. There wasn't much effort in it
- Lindsey was still a bag of bones - and it felt
almost surreal as Angel straddled him, using two
gelled fingers to part the backs of his thighs and
venture inward.
In the time it took Angel to prepare him, Lindsey
hardened again, and rubbed himself against the shag
carpet in time to Angel's fingers behind him. Then
the fingers were gone, replaced with the head of
Angel's cock, and it hurt, enough to make Lindsey cry
out as Angel pushed forward, easing himself half-way
in before stopping, bracing himself on either side of
Lindsey's head with his hands.
Lindsey heard the low growls and knew that if he
looked, he'd see yellow eyes and a rigid face. Didn't
care, and pushed back, giving Angel permission to
continue, knew that if he didn't, they could remain in
limbo for a very long time.
Angel kept it slow and steady, even after moments when
Lindsey tried to speed up, pushing his own erection
over and over into the carpeting, breath coming
harsher and quicker; finding it impossible to find
release in the orange sea of really ugly old carpet.
*
Angel dropped his head, reached around for Lindsey's
cock and pumped its length, quickening his own pace
and pushing - just a little - harder. Lips grazed
over a spot of flesh just above the shoulder blade;
mouth opened, closed - no - and growled loudly in
frustration.
Lindsey moaned loudly, jerked and spasmed a little but
didn't come, and Angel pumped harder, faster -
becoming frenzied and near brutal. Again, the mouth
coveted it's spot, this time Angel felt the demon
surge, he hissed as he came, and bit. Blood flowed
over his tongue for a few moments before he felt
Lindsey arch up and come, felt the warm stickiness
coat his hand and he used it to pump a bit more until
Lindsey collapsed beneath him. Angel let his hand and
his mouth go, didn't take any more blood even as it
seeped out of the wound and down Lindsey's back,
simply pulled himself up, ignoring the mess, and
retrieved a towel from the bathroom. Mopped up the
blood, the come from the both of them - ignored the
carpet - and helped Lindsey crawl into the bed.
Still, they didn't speak, and Angel only watched as
Lindsey fell asleep. With Lindsey was the only place
Angel could blur the line: give in, even a little, to
the demon inside of him and still be perceived as the
better of the two. He brooded on this for a while,
then took a shower and crawled, naked, into bed next
to Lindsey - didn't touch the boy - and fell into
deep, dreamless sleep.
*
When Angel woke, night has fallen, and Lindsey was
just coming out of the bathroom, mussing his wet hair
with a towel. He stopped, looked at Angel, gave a
half-smile and set out gathering every piece of soiled
clothing in the room and shoving it into a pillowcase.
Angel watched him for a moment, smiled slightly as he
rummaged through first his pockets, then Angels for
any spare change for the washers, and finally spoke
when Lindsey had more or less tidied up the entire
room.
"Nice, isn't it?"
Blue eyes caught his. "What?"
"Letting go. Of everything."
Lindsey shrugged. "I guess."
"I know what you're going through, Lindsey," Angel
told him, reclining both arms behind his head.
Lindsey rolled his eyes and straddled a chair, leaning
both arms on it's back, preparing himself for Angel's
lecture.
Angel ignored him and continued. "When my soul was
restored, all I wanted was to be evil again. I'd have
given anything to revert to Angelus. Life had been
simple, pleasureable. No conscience means
clarity...it's an easy way to live."
Eyes flickered for some understanding; Angel got a
small nod and continued. "There's never a question of
right or wrong, or whether you're going to regret
something later on. You just do, because you want to,
and honestly don't care."
Then, Lindsey shook his head and sat up, bracing the
back of the chair with his hands. Muscles strained
beneath his white t-shirt. "You can't compare us.
You were the Scourge of Europe for a hundred and fifty
years. I was with an evil law firm for four years."
He raised his eyebrows and added, "and I always felt
dirty when I got home at night."
Angel nodded. "I know." He inclined his head and
ammended, "I mean, I know that now. You chose evil
time and time again because it was the easiest choice.
It meant being protected, by the Firm, having money,
benefits, a retirement - a life. And when you were
alone, at night, with nothing to distract you, you
felt bad. But you justified it, because it was the
only way."
He paused, considering. "But this time, you chose the
other way. You chose your humanity, and that's
admirable. It was the harder choice." There was
genuine deference in Angel's voice.
"You know why I chose it, right?"
The vampire gave a small smile. "You were afraid I'd
kick your ass again?"
"No."
Angel thought it was all Lindsey was going to say, and
they sat in silence for a long time before Lindsey
spoke again. "I don't want to say something sappy
here like 'you made me want to be a better man' but
the truth of it is, if it wasn't for you, I'd have
never left the Firm. I'd have been promoted to Head
of Special Projects, and Lilah would be dead. I'd
have an evil hand."
Angel stood, still naked, and walked over to the
chair. "How is that hand doing anyway?"
END.
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