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The Road Less Traveled
by Christie
E mail: tinamishi@yahoo.com
Category: Angel/Lindsey; Lindsey POV
Rating: NC-17
Content: m/m slash
Spoilers: "Blind Date"
Summary: Lindsey makes one more stop the night of his promotion. Takes place immediately after"Blind Date".
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt. I am just borrowing them for this not-for-profit story.
Feedback: Makes me one happy puppy.
Distribution: Those who have my fic archived, anyone else please ask!
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I don't know what made me go into that office, close the doors and sit down at the desk. I don't know what made me take the phone off the hook, and once I did, what kept me from dialing. I was intending on calling Angel. Telling him plans changed and I wouldn't be needing his services after all. But none of that happened. I couldn't bring myself to do it. So I sat there. And thought.
The desk had called to me. The office, the raise. They all said Lindsey, come and get it. If you knew how few times the world had been offered to me, you'd understand why I took it.
But I couldn't get that nagging conscience to shut up. It was now in the form of a dark, handsome souled vampire. Trust me, having Angel as your conscience is, to say the least, distracting.He's menacing, for one thing. You know he's not going to bite you, but the fact that he could beat you to a bloody pulp isn't very comforting.
It's not even that though. It's his eyes. I know, it sounds cheesy, but you can lose yourself in those eyes. I'm not going all soft on him, but you gotta understand he's a hard guy not to notice. He tries to stay hidden, yet he unknowingly commands a presence wherever he goes. That's damn sexy. It's the power he exudes, the aloofness. It makes the competitive spirit in me come alive. The one that says, this guy doesn't give a shit about anything, and I'm gonna make him give a shit about me.
It's false, cause he does care, about making the world a better place, about his friends, and probably about a ton of other stuff I just wouldn't fathom. But he doesn't care about me. Not yet anyway.
For some reason, I'm driven to make him start.
So, I'm at a cross roads. One path leads me to the world I've always wanted: power, money,security. A life with Wolfram & Hart. They can give a person everything; I've seen it.
The other road leads me into Angel's good graces. Oh, I'll still take the position with the firm,but I'll let Angel think I'm using it to supply him with information he could find nowhere else.Its stupid, dangerous, and likely to get me killed.
But if I can get close to Angel in the meantime, maybe its worth it.
Yes.
I think I'll take the road less traveled by.
**
On the drive to Angel Investigations, I'm hard. I've got to get myself together before I get there or he'll think I want to fuck him into the floor and ask questions later.
Which I do.
But he doesn't need to know that yet.
So I sit in my car outside the building and jerk myself off into the towel from my golf bag. Its crude, but at least it gets the job done. I feel slight victory as I push my softened dick back into my pants.
He's there, still in his office actually, which surprises me. I don't know why, but I expected him to be out, doing whatever a vampire with a soul does at night. He's at the computer, the screen casting an eerie blue glow in an otherwise dark room.
He barely glances up as I let myself in, and begins speaking to me as though I've been there the whole time.
"This one's about a trio of warlocks who can turn things to stone just by looking at them."
I'm confused for a second, wondering why that sounds familiar, until I realize he's still going through the pile of zip discs he'd taken from the firm. Interesting reading for a demon hunter, I suppose.
"Makes you wonder how many statues are actually people."
His eyes crinkle slightly and I realize he's made a joke. I wish I could see the rest of his face that's hidden by the computer screen--I don't think I've ever seen him smile.
The safest thing to do, though, is to sit in the chair across from him and let him take the lead.I assume Angel doesn't like not being in control, since the only time he hasn't been is when I got Vanessa Brewer off on all charges. He'd looked downright miserable then, and if you look into the corner of his office, you can still see the remnants of what used to pass as a phone.
After what seems like an eternity, Angel finally clicks the computer off and looks up at me. "So what are you doing here this time?"
I pause. I'd had plenty of time to think about it, but when it came to saying it out loud, I had to make sure I was doing the right thing. One look into those eyes - god, I swear they're looking right through me - told me I was.
"I was offered a promotion at the firm. I took it."
Darkness settled over Angel's face. It was then I realized we were sitting in the dark, only the light filtering in the glass from the hallway.
"So what are you doing here?" He stood and rounded the desk, leaning against it directly in front of me. I was staring directly at his crotch. It was hard to look away.
"What do you want?"
You! I wanted to shout it, jump up, and press myself against that glorious wall of solid muscle.Instead, I look at my shoes.
"I thought I could use my position there to get you inside information. It would help you--"
I trail off, feeling completely exposed. Can he tell I'm full of shit? I'm a defense attorney.I lie for a living. But right now, it's not working. Why don't I just lay myself across his desk and beg him to take me? Accept me, Angel. Take me into your fold. Please.
Pathetic. I'm ashamed.
"Forget it," I grumble, standing abruptly. I am going to walk out of there, get in my car, and drive far away from LA. Far from Wolfram & Hart, far from that damn vampire with a soul.
"Lindsey." Angel's voice stops me before I reach the door. It was the first time he'd said it without sarcasm dripping from every syllable. This time, it was soft, smooth, like honey dripped from his tongue. I wanted to hear him say it again and again.
I'm beginning to feel like a fucking woman.
He walks toward me. I'm sure he can hear my heart pounding in my chest. I've heard they can even hear human blood running through their veins. He can probably hear mine rushing south.
He cocks his head, listening, then sniffs slightly. A pause, then he reaches out one elegant hand, a hand you would never guess fights hard every night, and puts it on my arm. His fingers are long, impossibly long and graceful. He has an artists hands. I can't take my eyes off of them.
He steps forward once more until there is barely a hairs breadth between us. "What did you come here for, Lindsey?" His lips part after the words, and he brushes them against mine. "This?" His lips touch mine again, this time the tip of his tongue tracing along the bottom. "I can smell you."
Oh right, forget the hearing thing. He can smell my emotions. Control. He has it again.Surprisingly, my desire for it is gone. My heart is thundering in my chest, legs shaking, barely holding my body weight up, and I want him to take complete control. Forget fucking him into the ground, he can fuck me any which way he wants.
He hasn't kissed me again, and I want him to. I want him to so badly my next breath surfaces as a whimper.
"Lindsey, I asked you if you want this."
Shit. He won't do anything without an answer.
"Yes."
His lips capture mine again, this time with so much force, we're pushed into the door. The glass rattles under our combined weight. His tongue is entwined with mine, sucking, teasing every inch of my mouth until I'm shaking with pleasure.
He's pressed up against me, and I can feel every inch of his hard body through his clothes. The extreme hardness between his legs leaves no room for doubt that he wants this too. He knows I fully intend to go back to Wolfram & Hart tomorrow and find every way I can to screw him over.But right now, he doesn't care as much as I don't.
We're interested in a different kind of screwing each other over right now. Wolfram & Hart feels a million miles away.
His mouth has moved from my lips to my throat, and I'm panicked. He could bite me, kill me right now, and probably have an orgasm while doing it. He'd love it that much. He'd say he wouldn't,but he would. We both know it.
He's only running his tongue, such a cold tongue, over the pulse point in my neck. It's driving me completely out of my mind. I had no idea he'd be this cold. I must feel like fire to him.
Polar opposites. That's us in every way. And right now, I can't think of one person I'd rather have doing this to me than my arch enemy.
We are sick bastards, aren't we?
Perverse pleasure. Forbidden fruit. It's been written every which way. We are two animals of very different natures, acting on primal, unheeded urgings. Good thing we're in LA. A fucking support group for everything.
The long fingers I was entranced by before are now unbuttoning my shirt, cold pads of fingertips pinching and tweaking my nipples. Shit, he's good at this. I want his shirt off too, but without the patience to wait until he's available for me to pull it over his head, I grasp blindly for it,tugging it every which way until he groans in annoyance and stands erect, pulling it off himself.
He sheds his pants and boxers too, and all I can do is lean there, against the door, my sticky flesh pressed against the glass reading Angel Investigations, and watch. His cock is rock hard,and he seems content to ignore it, but I can't. It's straining upward, engorged with borrowed blood.
Without warning, I sink to my knees. I've never given a man a blow job before, but hey, there's a first time for everything. And no one would ever dare accuse me of not being a go-getter.
It's warmer than I expect, and he bucks at the mere contact of my breath against the purplish head. Swallowing hard, I take him into my mouth, enjoying the soft, resonating purring sound I can hear rumbling up from his chest. His hands thread into my hair, guiding me, and I fall into a steady rhythm he seems to like, one that I am enjoying immensely.
I can feel the sticky fluid easing its way down my throat; it's bitter, but not entirely bad tasting, and I find myself wanting to draw more and more from him. It's like a challenge to me,bring the stoic vampire with a soul off with my mouth.
Control has returned. This is my arena.
Hey, whatever keeps me going. He groans and bucks feverently as I scrape the length of his underside with my teeth, then lav it with my tongue, pressing the entire length of him as far into my throat human physiology will allow it to go. Then, I swallow - I've had a couple of girls do that to me - and he nearly pulls a good chunk of my hair out of my head.
He's purring steadily now - and I'm not kidding when I say purring - it's kind of a rumbling, like a growl but softer, and I realize that he is indeed a demon, always was a demon, always will be a demon, and how easy it is to forget when he walks the world as a man.
He's pushing into my mouth like a man too, like a man who is desperate to release. One more swallow, and it happens, he jerks violently above me, then shudders visibly as his semen pours from him, nearly choking me.
But I swallow, like a good girl would, and suckle at his softening member until he pulls away,chest heaving with breath I know he doesn't really need.
I stand, and he reaches out to me, at first I think he wants a hug but he just pushes the shirt off my shoulders and finishes unbuckling my pants, pushing them impatiently down my hips in one fluid movement. I briefly wonder at the fact that he's standing, moving, and initiating more sex after coming in my mouth, but again, it's the demon in him, insatiable and voracious, topping me in sexual energy and prowess tenfold.
My cock is still raging hard, almost painfully so, and he rubs it through his cool palms, causing my knees to shake and my back to clatter once again against the glass partition in the door. He descends on me, a lion stalking it's prey, snaking one powerful arm around me and yanking me to him, sliding his tongue into my mouth without so much as preamble and sinking me down into a breathless kiss.
When we break, we're kneeling on the floor, faces only centimeters apart.
Control. I need to remind myself that I want it. I have it. I'll fucking always have it.
"I want to fuck you."
It's a command, not a request, and who is he to deny such passion anyway? He crawls down to the floor, using his mouth to lubricate me, and I pause. Is it enough? I can't believe I give a shit.
Sensing my apprehension, he looks back from where he has knelt on all fours - and trust me, a powerful vampire on all fours, submissive for me, is the most erotic sight you might ever hope to see in your life - and nods his approval.
"Okay. Now."
I guess it's his way of saying, "It's okay, you won't hurt me," in not such flowery words. I really don't give a shit because the site of him, offering himself, is too damn much to pass up anyway. I shuffle forward and ready him with my fingers before finally sinking into the cold,steel trap of his flesh.
He's gripping me so tight I wonder if I'll be able to move at all. But with a few rocks to get the channel used to me, we begin to fuck steadily, me pushing as roughly into him as he pushes back against me, both groaning loudly in response to the incredible friction: heat against cold,demon against human, good against bad.
It doesn't take more than a few good, hard pushes into him until I'm ready to come, and I briefly- briefly - wonder if I should try to hold back and bring him off with me.
Doesn't matter, because he's got his own cock in his hand and is pumping at it as he pushes back into me, growling with the perverse pleasure he undoubtedly knows he shouldn't be partaking in.His face goes vamp, surprising me enough to make the breath catch in my throat, but not enough to keep me from shuddering violently and spilling into him.
He's coming too, I can tell it in the sporadic movements of his back muscles as he jerks himself roughly, more roughly than I could ever imagine treating any man's penis, much less my own.
But then, he's a vampire, and that fact is as clear as crystal in his yellow demon eyes, the ruminating growls of sedation, and quite simply, that he hasn't collapsed from all fours into the puddle of his semen pooling on the floor.
I've buckled into his back, unable to reposition. Panting heavily, my sweat coated chest sticks to his cold back. I feel numb. I can't bring myself to move.
I'd better though, before he gets the idea that I want to cuddle. I came here to fuck the vampire with a soul that's dedicated his life to ridding LA of evil; evil that includes my clients and my law firm. I didn't come here for conversation or to apologize for going back to W&H after everything Angel had done to help me.
I certainly didn't come here to spill the Firm's secrets in exchange for the occasional hand job.
Right?
No. I didn't.
I pull myself out of Angel and back away, not watching for his reaction as I put my pants, shirt and coat back on. I'm headed home. For a snifter of cognac and a quick perusal of my 'AngelFile'.
Holland wants a projection report on ridding ourselves of this particular thorn in our side on his desk by end of day tomorrow. I suppose it's his way of ensuring that I am indeed planning on remaining loyal to the Firm.
I'd better get cracking.
END.
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