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The Thin Red Line
by Dana Woods (c) 2004
Email: danawoods at gmail dot com
Rating: NC17
Personal Website: Broken Symmetry
Pairing: Gunn/Lindsey
Part of Smoke and Mirrors.
Timeline: Set the morning after The Thin Dead Line.
Disclaimer: Characters/Concepts of Angel belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, et al.
*
Gunn's too tired to even think right about now. His last bit of thinking drove off in the cab he hailed for Cordy a few minutes ago. He knows he should probably be doing something productive, like hailing a cab for himself, but damn if it doesn't seems like too much effort. About all he can do is stand on the street, just a few feet from the hospital entrance, and stare blearily at the red line painted on the curb.
He hears a car slowing down, but he's fixated on that slash of red. And since his thinking is offline, he's definitely not thinking about other red stuff that maybe spilled out of a nasty gunshot wound that someone he knows took last night. No, not thinking about that at all. Just seeing it. Constantly. Eyes open, or closed.
A set of tires comes into view, lining up perfectly with the curb.
"Gunn."
He blinks slowly, shaking his head a bit and then lifting his gaze. He considers walking back into the hospital, because he's obviously hallucinating. There's no way that Lindsey's in front of him, at the wheel of a classic truck that Gunn would be envious of if his mind was working right. Just...no.
"If I get ticketed while I'm waiting for you to snap your jaw shut and acknowledge me," Lindsey says, "you're paying it. Get in."
And, yeah, that's Lindsey. In a truck.
Gunn shakes his head again then walks around the truck and gets in on the passenger side. Lindsey pulls away from the curb, and Gunn looks back to watch the red line disappear.
When it's out of sight, he looks at Lindsey tiredly. Lindsey's suit jacket is off, his tie is unknotted and hanging loose around his neck, and his sleeves are rolled up. It's casual time. "What are you doing here?"
Lindsey shrugs. "Heard about what happened," he says quietly.
Gunn raises his brows. "Heard about--oh. Yeah. Guess your bosses haven't realized yet that Angel ain't coming back. No need to keep an eye on us anymore."
Lindsey slants him a look and makes a sound at the back of his throat. "I'm not here because of them."
"Didn't say you were," Gunn mumbles. In fact, his thinking is so jacked up he's kind of kicking himself for not thinking that first and foremost. "But since we're on the subject, maybe you could say some more to make me believe it."
"You gave me a ride that first night. Just thought I could return the favor."
And Lindsey's voice is so quiet that Gunn almost misses it. That's what gives away the fact that Lindsey's spouting off the truth. Casual honestly? Yeah, Lindsey delivers that all smooth and lawyerly. Bullshit? Same way. But real truth? It always comes out so soft, like Lindsey hopes it'll evaporate like smoke before it reaches someone.
Darla's done a job on him. Is still doing a job on him. When Gunn's alone with Lindsey he barely sees any of the arrogant bastard that he heard so much about. Instead, there's just a guy who the term "gun shy" doesn't even begin to describe. It's like Lindsey just stripped himself down for Darla. Opened himself up to anything she had to offer, and got all sorts of shit that he wasn't expecting--none of it good.
And now he's stuck. Can't just cover himself back up because it ain't that easy. Darla fucks with Lindsey's head, and Lindsey lets her. Darla backs down, and Lindsey thinks it'll be what he wants this time. But it never is. Never will be.
Gunn figures Lindsey will be a blind fool about Darla until the day he dies. That's how things go.
He and Lindsey? Who the hell knows where things will go with that. Gunn only knows where they are. Or, where they're supposed to be. There's a lot that's hazy on that subject. Hell. Everything's hazy.
They're not friends. Not really. They're something else that's a whole lot of nothing and a whole lot of something at the same time. Their lives should follow separate paths, and just kind of touch each other when they're together.
They shouldn't intersect when there isn't really a reason to. Lindsey shouldn't have come to the hospital. Gunn shouldn't have gotten in the truck.
But, the thing about him and Lindsey? It ain't ever been clear and simple. Not even that first night, because Gunn wasn't just thinking about himself then, like he should've been. He was thinking about Lindsey. Maybe even thinking about Lindsey more than himself.
It's the latest complicated thing in Gunn's life, but he thinks it might actually be the simplest thing when he takes a step back and looks at everything as a whole.
Gunn leans his head back against the seat and rubs his forehead. "Returning the ride. I can deal with that."
It's a damn shame that his life has come to this fucked up standard of normal lately, but there ain't a damn thing he can do about it.
"Where do you want to go?" Lindsey asks him.
"Doesn't matter. Gotta be back at two for visiting hours, so you might as well just drive. Kill some time."
Lindsey nods, turns right, and comes to a stop at a red light. "You all right?"
Gunn doesn't think there's an answer to that question. There might have been, over a dozen hours ago, but now there isn't.
"Don't know," he says. "Think that means something?"
"Means you've had a lot of shit to deal with," Lindsey says tightly.
Gunn shrugs and lets his head fall to the side so that he can watch Lindsey drive. A truck like this needs a two-handed driver, but Lindsey...Lindsey manages it just damn fine. Careful crossing of left hand to the gearshift. Plastic hand keeping the wheel steady for gear changes. Real hand taking over for lane changes, turns and a sudden swerve when the asshole in front of them just stops in the middle of the street for no good reason.
Lindsey pulls into a parking lot, then turns into the lane for a fast food drive-thru.
"What do you want?" he asks Gunn.
Nasty gut shot, blood that kept coming, and the cold, cold, coldness of Wesley. Gunn swallows. "Nothing."
Lindsey looks at Gunn's hands, which are trembling where they rest on his knees. "It'll just make things worse if you pass out when you go back there."
And he's right. Cordy's keeping up a brave front, being steady and cool, but Gunn figures she's probably a shaking, sobbing mess at home right now. She don't need to start worrying about Gunn, too.
He gestures at the menu. "Whatever."
Lindsey orders him a burger and fries, and Gunn silently thanks him when he asks for no ketchup anywhere on anything. They crawl from the order speaker to the window, then Lindsey steers the car into a parking spot. Digs through the bag and hands off a plain burger and some fries to Gunn, settles back with some kind of chicken sandwich.
The food is dry and tasteless, and Gunn has to stop eating three times because he thinks he might throw up. But Lindsey talks to him, tells him about the truck, and the nausea passes and Gunn finishes his burger and half the fries.
Gunn yawns as the truck starts again, and Lindsey tosses him a look. "Want me to drop you at home so you can get some sleep?"
He doesn't want to sleep. He's fucking afraid to sleep because he doesn't think his dreams will be about anything except Wesley and blood. At least when he's awake he can distract himself. Ignore the pictures in his head a little. Asleep? There'd be no ignoring them.
"Just...drive. Okay?"
Lindsey stares at him, something in his eyes that Gunn ain't used to seeing there. "All right."
*
Lindsey can't take the blank look on Gunn's face. It makes him want to slam his foot down on the gas and barrel through the city to that damn hotel and have a go at Angel. That wouldn't do much of anything for Gunn, though, so Lindsey settles on slamming his foot down on the gas and barreling out of the city entirely.
Driving fast is better than wondering what the fuck he's doing or why the hell he gives a shit about the look on Gunn's face at all.
Takes them on the freeway for a little bit, steers the truck to a scenic rest stop and they sit in silence, neither of them seeing the view. Cuts his eyes in Gunn's direction every so often, and his fist clenches when he sees Gunn's hands shake.
Lindsey wants to do something about that. Not make it better, because he knows that things like this can't be made better. But he wants to take Gunn away from it for a second-minute-hour-day-week. Send it out of Gunn's head for as long as he can manage. Give the man a fucking bit of peace.
Because it's hard to come by for normal people, almost impossible for people like them. Lindsey's own life only comes into contact with that state on the nights he's with Gunn, and maybe that's why there've been so many of those nights in such a short period of time.
On those nights, Gunn captures his eyes, won't let him look away, and Lindsey can't think about all the shit in his head, just about him and Gunn. And everything is so goddamn intense that it empties Lindsey entirely, and afterwards he can only lay there like something leaden and struggle to stay awake.
Lindsey knows that Gunn gets something out of this too, but it's not what he's giving Lindsey. Right now, Gunn needs some of that.
And Lindsey? He needs to actually give something and have it taken. He gives and gives to Darla, but it's not what she wants or needs. That's all tied up in Angel, and Lindsey's hope that she'll suddenly see and need him is fading more and more with each taunt, with each coolly arched brow, with each time she gives him her back on her way out the door.
He shifts, angles himself so that he's almost sitting sideways, then reaches out to cup the back of Gunn's neck and turn his head. Gunn blinks slowly, like he's in a stupor. Lindsey meets those eyes dead on, rubs his thumb along the spot behind Gunn's ear that makes him shiver.
Gunn jerks his head away, his eyes glittering. "Not the time to be messing around, Linds. I mean it."
Lindsey takes hold of his chin, brings his head around again. "It's not about messing around," he says softly.
He leans forward, presses his lips against Gunn's, and for a long moment it's completely one sided. But then Gunn's mouth opens and it's like they're in the eye of a hurricane all of a sudden. The wind carrying trees and cars and fucking houses in chaotic patterns of flight just a few feet away while they sit in stillness.
Gunn kisses him like he's throwing everything he has into the moment and Lindsey squeezes his eyes tightly in relief, but opens them when Gunn starts to lean him back. Gunn's eyes are already dazed, already clouded with what's to come, and that look almost makes Lindsey lose himself, too.
He flicks his tongue out, traces the outline of Gunn's lips, and Gunn sucks in a shuddering breath. Lindsey opens his eyes, does it again while staring at Gunn's lids. It's like Gunn can feel Lindsey staring, which Lindsey was counting on. He sees those brown eyes come into view and he doesn't look away when he flicks his tongue inside. Runs when Gunn's tongue tries to follow. Leads him outside his mouth.
Lindsey can feel the tension in Gunn so he slides hand to the side of Gunn's neck and rubs, hard and sure, his eyes still locked with Gunn's, their tongues still twirling and spinning out in the open.
Flinging yourself into the moment has its benefits. But doing it too fast makes it pass before it really even happens. Take it down a notch? Keep that moment but put the flinging on slow-motion? Keeps everything intense. Makes it last longer.
Lindsey captures Gunn's tongue with his lips, sucks long and slow, then lets it slide out. His lips brush against Gunn's jaw, his chin, then down along his neck. Gunn tastes like strength. Resolve. Purpose. It's addictive. Lindsey can't draw his mouth away from it, can't stop tasting it, grazing his teeth along it, rubbing it into his gums.
Gunn is shuddering and one of his hands is in Lindsey's hair, the grip only a little tight as he steers Lindsey to the juncture of his shoulder and neck.
They've had a lot of nights together in apartments, motels, hotels and--once--an alley. They've learned secrets and spots and kinks; they've learned when to go with them, when to avoid them.
Lindsey opens his mouth and bites down. It's not gentle. It's not a nip. It's blunt teeth set deep and hard in muscle, and usually neck biting is a thing that doesn't get done. By either of them. Comes with the territory, the hesitancy to let anyone's teeth near your neck.
So does the dark side of that coin. The need to have someone's teeth near your neck. To understand the draw. To touch what it was that took away someone you cared about.
Gunn convulses when Lindsey bites, then curls forward. Curls into Lindsey's teeth, against Lindsey's chest, and his hand is clenched around Lindsey's arm and shaking with how hard he's grabbing.
Lindsey is shaking, too. That dark side of the coin...it also works the other way around. Brings a rushing, dizzying sense of pleasure to have flesh between teeth, to bite until your jaw is almost popping.
There's a noise from Gunn, an indecipherable, guttural sound that breaks through the crazed buzzing in Lindsey's head and has him easing away. Gunn tries to push his head back, but Lindsey ducks away, swiping his tongue against the grooves in Gunn's neck before kissing his mouth again.
Lindsey knows from experience that Gunn's neck is going to ache later. He's going to feel that bite when he turns, when he nods, when he leans his head back. If he forgets and cradles a phone receiver between his ear and shoulder, he'll cause a flare of dull pain that will spiral to every other point on his body.
Gunn will feel him long after Lindsey drops him off back at the hospital, and Lindsey is hard as hell at the thought.
It's a heady rush of power, being able to make someone feel long after it's all been said and done. But that's not what makes Lindsey hard. He's thinking about Gunn remembering the moment, getting a small nano-second of peace long after Lindsey's back at Wolfram & Hart and Gunn's back at the hospital with his family.
And that isn't power, it's...something else that Lindsey doesn't have the capacity to name right now, because they're both in the moment.
"God, Linds. Fuck," Gunn mutters, his mouth falling away from Lindsey's. "Fuck."
His forehead is pressed against Lindsey's shoulder and he's twitching a little. Slight jerks that Lindsey imagines start in the middle of his body and roll up and down simultaneously.
Lindsey shifts to the edge of the seat, sets his hand on the inside of Gunn's left thigh and pulls the leg up so that it's up on the bench seat, Gunn's foot resting against the driver's door. Tugs awkwardly until Gunn reclines as much as he can.
And he looks in Gunn's eyes again and Gunn sucks in a shaky breath. Lindsey removes his prosthetic, and he's done it so often now that he doesn't have to look away from Gunn. Tosses it up on the dash and then works at the buttons on his shirt. Gunn watches him expectantly, only looking way for as long as it takes for him to pull his own shirt over his head and drop it on the floor.
Lindsey shrugs his shirt off, makes sure the tie goes with it, then kneels on one knee in the vee of Gunn's legs and braces himself on the backseat so that he can look down at Gunn.
Gunn's eyes get dark and smoky, and his hands come up to Lindsey's chest. Gunn has long, elegant fingers, more suited to pianos than stakes, in Lindsey's opinion. They whisper along Lindsey's skin, making him arch his back instinctively to get more friction, more pressure.
Last week, Gunn spent an hour just touching Lindsey's chest and after forty minutes, Lindsey was sure they'd both come just from that constant touching and constant staring.
Gunn pushes himself up, brings his lips close to Lindsey's ears. "Need you, Linds. So fucking bad." He lifts his right leg, shoves at Lindsey's knee with his foot so that Lindsey just falls on him, and they both groan. "Need you."
Not want. Need. Not making do. Fucking need. Gunn needs every little goddamn thing Lindsey has to offer, even if it's only right here and right now. It strips Lindsey. Takes away every layer of learned behavior and reduces him to something raw and true and base.
He grinds himself hard and desperate against Gunn, and his lips pull back from his teeth. He thinks that maybe he shouldn't be going with this, because he wanted to do something for Gunn, wanted to lean him back and suck him off until he came. Lick him clean and put him away, then maybe let him rest.
But it's impossible to resist. Need. Need. Need. Can't be resisted.
There's a hand in his hair and it's not gentle. It's hard and rough and it yanks Lindsey's head back. He keeps his eyes on Gunn, sees the same stripping away happening.
"We're not doing this here," Gunn says, his jaw is so set that the words are almost ground into powder before they make their way to Lindsey.
Lindsey blinks. Not doing this? Oh. Here. He looks around, taking in the cramped confines of the cab of his truck. He hasn't fucked in a car since he was twenty. Considering that his shoulder is already aching from holding himself up at such a strange angle, he's not all that interested in doing it again.
"Think we passed a hotel," he says, sitting up.
"You gonna give me what I need, Linds?" Gunn asks, reaching up to touch Lindsey's lips.
"Depends on what you need," Lindsey tells him, reaching for the prosthetic.
It's not a rebellion, it's a challenge, and Gunn knows it because Gunn is right where Lindsey is right now. They're not Gunn and Lindsey, not men, not people. They're the instincts at the back of their necks given full reign.
And Lindsey doesn't want to think of Darla right now, but he does. Because he's like this with Darla--a desperate attempt to bring her out from behind her impenetrable walls--but she's never there with him. She's always off some place else even if her body is there.
This is different. Gunn's out here with him, away from all things safe and civilized.
Gunn twists around, shoves Lindsey back against the seat and reaches down to take hold of Lindsey's cock, pumping it. Lindsey groans, his good hand clenching around the prosthetic he's holding.
"Drive us to that motel," Gunn says roughly. "Can you do that?"
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Lindsey growls, his hips rolling up and pushing his cock into Gunn's hand. Drive the truck? Gunn's lost his goddamn mind. Lindsey can't even fucking see straight right now. Shakes his head no, and Gunn pumps him harder.
"I need you to drive us to that motel. Can you do that for me?"
And it's not the same demand, or the same question. Not even a little.
"Fuck. Yeah, I can do that."
Gunn pulls away and Lindsey takes a breath. Leans his forehead against the steering wheel and tries to find some kind of temporary sanity to cling to for as long it takes to find a motel. It'd be a lot easier if he actually fucking wanted to be sane, even temporarily.
Then Gunn's hand is at his back, and it's moot because there's no way sanity is even coming within a mile of him when Gunn's touching his back. Gunn's mouth is suddenly at the center of his back, and Lindsey wants to fucking cry at how good it feels, and sanity is pushed a continent away.
"Change my mind," Gunn says against his back. "Switch places with me."
They change places, and Lindsey almost falls under the dash because Gunn won't stop touching his back. Gunn makes him sit sideways, leaning against the passenger door, and Lindsey takes a shuddering breath at the weight in Gunn's eyes as they take him in. Lindsey grins, wild and feral, and licks his lips slowly.
"Hell," Gunn grits out, his eyes flickering. "You'll pay for that. Sit right," he adds, and starts the truck. Lindsey smirks when he sees Gunn's hands shaking as he pulls out of the rest area.
It takes ten minutes for them to get to the motel, Lindsey directing Gunn, and in that time everything slips further and further away from Lindsey. Gunn is a coiled rope of muscles beside him and he's driving just fine, but Lindsey knows--he just fucking knows--that Gunn's falling in just as deep.
Gunn jerks his shirt on and slams the door of the truck when he goes to check them in, and again when he comes back. Drives them around the side of the small building and Lindsey is half afraid he broke the damn gearshift when he shoved it into park.
Lindsey fumbles for his briefcase, which is only in the truck because he thought he might actually make it into the office in the afternoon, which he knows won't happen now. Brings it and his shirt with him into the room and drops both when Gunn slams him against a wall and rubs against him.
He touches Lindsey's lips with a finger that's trembling with the effort it's taking to stay in control. The little bit of Gunn that returned on the drive recedes and Lindsey lets the small, tiny bit of himself that returned do the same.
Gunn kisses him and it's sharp, bruising, and it's so fucking predictable and psychiatrically pat how they keep leading with teeth. Lindsey wants to laugh hysterically about that, but he can't because it's not really funny.
He pulls at the hem of Gunn's shirt, lifting it up a little, sliding his grip on the material to the side, lifting it up more. Does that until he can't lift it anymore, and Gunn pulls away to strip the shirt off and toss it across the room.
He turns back slowly. He's towering above Lindsey like something dark and terrible, and there's a flash of white teeth. Brings his hands to Lindsey's pants and undoes the belt, unhooks the button, pulls down the zipper with swift movements.
Does the same with his jeans, then steps away. They stare at each other and then Gunn toes off his shoes, his socks, and Lindsey's world narrows down to Gunn's eyes, and the movements in his periphery vision that he mimics. Their pants and underwear go next, and Lindsey moves forward, because he needs to be pressed against Gunn, but Gunn has other ideas.
Gunn hooks a hand around his waist, drags him away from the wall, shoves him back on the bed. Lindsey does laugh then, a wild sound that's not about laughter, but about something else entirely.
The laughter cuts off when Gunn comes crashing down on him, and then Lindsey isn't capable of any sound at all, because there's skin. Gunn's skin. His skin. Gunn's skin pressed against his skin. Pressed everywhere except where Lindsey really needs it pressed.
Gunn is holding his hips up, not bringing their cocks into contact, and Lindsey sucks in a breath of air that feels too heavy and humid and wonders if sanity is ever on the goddamn planet when he's around Gunn.
They didn't turn a light on, and the curtains at the window are closed. The air conditioning is on low, and the room is cool and dark but Lindsey's sweating. Stares up at Gunn and realizes that sanity is never even in the fucking galaxy when he's with Gunn.
Gunn kisses him, just a brushing of lips, and he doesn't let Lindsey deepen it. Pulls back, over and over, when Lindsey tries, until he's so caught up in trying to reach Gunn's tongue with his own that he's forgotten all about how Gunn's holding himself.
Lindsey's head falls back, his neck arching along with his back, when Gunn lowers himself fully.
"Linds," Gunn groans, rubbing against Lindsey. "Goddamn."
Lowers his head, tongues the shell of Lindsey's ear and causes a wave of shudders to ripple over every inch of Lindsey's skin. His mouth moves down to Lindsey's neck, licking just the way Lindsey likes it--hard, long strokes that make his hips jerk up, again and again, and Gunn's cock is hot and heavy and hard against him, and Lindsey is choking for air.
Sometimes he wonders if one day he'll choke for air so long that he'll skyrocket out of his own body. Look down from the ceiling for one long moment while he's still holding the shape of himself, then lose even that semblance of form and get eaten up by the air. He thinks it can happen. Thinks it could get so intense that he'll just scatter.
Gunn drags his mouth to the front of Lindsey's neck and his tongue is twirling in that spot right above the center of Lindsey's collarbone.
"Let you at my neck," Gunn breathes against his skin. "At my neck."
Lindsey's breath hitches and he bends his legs at the knees, brings one up and around Gunn's waist.
Gunn's mouth travels up, his lips bracketing Lindsey's chin, teeth settling in just above and below so very gently before he's back at Lindsey's mouth, eyes open and glittering. Levers himself up on the palms of his hands, and his arms are so fucking long that he seems like he's a mile above Lindsey. His eyes are pinned on Lindsey's face as he grinds against him, teeth clenched.
"So fucking hot, Linds. This what you wanted? This what you were after in the truck?" he asks, pressing hard and long against Lindsey's cock for emphasis.
Lindsey raises his hips and groans. Reaches for the back of Gunn's neck and brings his head down until their faces are only inches apart. Grins wildly. "I was looking to blow you."
Gunn's eyes roll back in his head. "Son of a bitch."
Secrets. Spots. Kinks. Gunn's got a few of each.
"Figured I'd push you back," Lindsey goes on. "Suck your cock right in the middle of that rest stop until you came." Pulls away and licks his lips. "But this is good, too."
Just like that, Gunn rolls them until Lindsey's on top. He stays there long enough to let Gunn's hands run across his chest, play with his nipples, then slides to the side. Gunn moves down to the edge of the bed, leans back to brace himself on his hands, and Lindsey gets on the floor in front of him.
He could do it from the bed, but it's too hard to manage with the one hand. Can't support himself and hold Gunn's cock at the same time. This way is easier, and Lindsey thinks that he wouldn't be able to do it this way with someone else. Be on his knees like this.
Slides his hand along Gunn's thigh, stares up into eyes that seem as dark as obsidian in the dim room and brings his mouth close to the tip of Gunn's cock so that his breath blows against it.
Gunn's threads his fingers through Lindsey's hair and cups the side of his neck. "Yeah, Linds. Let me feel that mouth."
Flicks out his tongue and tastes the pre-come. Gunn bites his lip and grunts. "Oh, yeah. Yeah."
Lindsey tongues the head of his cock and Gunn groans loudly, his fingers caressing Lindsey's scalp. His eyes flare when Lindsey pulls back and lets him slide out. The hands in his hair tighten a little, then relax.
Lindsey wraps his fingers around the base of Gunn's cock, stares up at him as he pumps it twice, three times. One hand leaves Lindsey's hair, long fingers tracing his lips. Two slide in and Lindsey closes his mouth around them, twines his tongue around them. Gunn's pushes himself into Lindsey's hand.
"Don't tease," he says, his voice thick, and he takes his fingers away.
"No teasing," Lindsey breathes, and he doesn't look away from Gunn's eyes as he lowers his mouth. Takes the head of Gunn's cock in his mouth and Gunn is already panting.
Lindsey sucks on it, slides his mouth down as far as he can go, pumps his hand up with a twisting motion that makes Gunn almost scream.
Gunn talks while Lindsey sucks him. A constant stream of hissed and grunted phrases, sometimes just words, only very rarely entire sentences.
"...fuck, yeah...oh, yeah, yeah, that's it...god, you're so good..."
And he doesn't stop. Tells Lindsey in jerky, half-sentences what he looks like down on his knees. Says that he gets hard just thinking about it when they're not together. It goes on and fucking on and Lindsey finally has to pull his mouth away so that he can suck in large gulps of breath.
Listening to Gunn talk during sex is like getting buzzed on tequila: rough and gritty going down, then a burning heat spreading across the skin, a settling fog that's dizzying. He leans his head against Gunn's knee and tries to regain some kind of...not sanity, but here-ness, so that he can continue.
Gunn's got other ideas, though. He urges Lindsey's head up and tugs him back on the bed. Lindsey feels the dizziness get worse, in a good way, when Gunn automatically settles Lindsey to the right of him so that the good hand is free. There's no thought to it, Gunn just does it.
Lindsey will never get used to the missing hand; there are comments from Lilah, looks from strangers, and a guitar in his closet that all cause him to remember. And there are suggestions from Darla that he doesn't really want to think about right now.
But Gunn's making him forget. He homes in on Lindsey's chest like nothing else exists, and Lindsey tries. He does. He tries not to move so that those long, strong fingers aren't brushing over his back, but he can't. Gunn smiles knowingly at him as he twists his torso just a little, dips down to kiss his lips, then gives him what he wants.
Secrets. Spots. Kinks.
Lindsey is a shuddering mess of a man in less than thirty seconds. Gunn turns him on his stomach, perches on his thighs, and those hands cover every inch of Lindsey's back. Light fluttering touches, deep rubbing, and the scratching of blunt nails. No discernable pattern. Nothing for Lindsey to anticipate and expect. Just random touches, each one better than the last.
Then Gunn leans forward, and it's hands and nails, and lips and tongue, all following each other up Lindsey's spine. Lindsey arches into it, curls away from it, rubbing his cock against the bedspread and feeling Gunn's slip between his cheeks, hips thrusting as he fucks the groove.
Gunn leans forward, chest pressed against Lindsey's back, and his mouth is at Lindsey's ear. Lindsey notices the stillness. The absolute lack of any kind of movement from Gunn and he makes a questioning noise.
"Linds..." Gunn jerks his hips forward, his cock still rubbing Lindsey. Just once, but it's enough.
Turns his head to the side and finds Gunn's face right there, eyes questioning, pleading, demanding. It's been years since Lindsey was fucked. Years. And then, it was only once. A drunken disaster during college that he remembers mostly for the pain the next day. He didn't give Gunn any of the details, just stated his boundaries without explanation.
This is the first time Gunn's ever brought it up. That, combined with the desperate look in Gunn's eyes makes Lindsey nod his head.
Gunn moves off of Lindsey and turns him on his back, and then Gunn's mouth comes crashing down on his, and there are words between kisses. "It'll feel so good...I'll make it so good for you."
And Lindsey doesn't doubt that, because it's Gunn. It'll be damn good, having Gunn in him. Gunn's mouth leaves his, moves down to his chest. Licks and scrapes his teeth against Lindsey's nipples.
Shifts back on his calves, angled forward so their cocks line up. Wraps his hand around both of them and slides it up and down.
"You want me to fuck you, Linds?"
Lindsey groans, jerks his hips up. "Yes," he says, teeth clenched. "Fuck, yes."
Gunn smiles, his hand moving away from their cocks, and Lindsey makes a noise that's almost a growl, and it trails off into a moan when Gunn's hand simply moves lower. Gunn slides one long finger, slick with their pre-come, into Lindsey.
His legs fall to the side and his back arches. Gunn slides another finger in, fucking him slow and easy, and Lindsey needs more. More fingers, harder. Gunn holds his hand still when Lindsey's hips start moving on his fingers.
"I could do this all day. Watch you fuck yourself. Hottest thing I've ever seen."
"Goddamn it, Gunn," Lindsey cries out wildly, hips slamming up and down on those fingers.
Gunn sets a large hand on Lindsey's hip, forces him to slow down his thrusting by small increments until he's just lying there, Gunn's fingers in him, gasping for breath.
"Easy," Gunn whispers, pressing soft, dry kisses on Lindsey's shaking thighs. "Calm down. That's it."
When Lindsey is as calm as he can get, Gunn removes his fingers. Runs his hands along Lindsey's thighs, strong and steady.
"You're going to kill me, Gunn."
Flash of white teeth. Another quick kiss to his thigh. "That a complaint?"
Lindsey shakes his head. "Just a statement."
Gunn's thumbs are rubbing tiny little circles on Lindsey's legs. "Bring that briefcase in for a reason, Linds?" he asks knowingly.
"Yeah, I thought I might get some work done. Is that a problem?"
A sharp slap to his leg, but it's playful. "Does that mean, 'yes, Gunn I have lube in there'?"
"In some demon language, maybe." He studies Gunn for a moment, sees the memories crowding in the dark eyes. "Bring it over."
Gunn moves quickly, and Lindsey doesn't think that all has to do with anticipation. Lindsey knows about movement, knows that it's a distraction, and Gunn needs it. The briefcase is tossed. It lands by Lindsey's hip, on his left side right by his good hand. Goddamn. Goddamn. How the fuck can Gunn be so damn...good, without being so damn good?
Lindsey shakes his head and thumbs in the combination for the lock on his briefcase. Flips it open and reaches into the pocket on the lid, feeling around for the small tube at the bottom. Gunn's over by their discarded clothing, picking up his pants and taking out his wallet.
No, they've never fucked. Done pretty much everything else, hence the lube. Gunn's got a condom because he's a guy; Lindsey's a guy, too, but he stopped carrying a condom after he brought Drusilla to town--and he's cutting off that line of thinking right now.
Gunn slinks back to the bed and Lindsey fumbles his briefcase shut before shoving it to the floor.
The kisses are frantic now, sloppy and messy and just about perfect in Lindsey's mind. Hands everywhere: chests, necks, hair, backs, cocks. Sliding and moving and cupping and pumping. Then full body contact again, and he sighs, just sighs as Gunn settles on top of him.
More tequila from Gunn, offered to Lindsey as Gunn kisses down his chest to his cock. Lindsey pushes his head away before his mouth can make contact. He's going to get fucked. Gunn is going to fuck him. There is no way in hell he'll last thirty seconds if Gunn blows him. None at all.
Gunn urges him over, his mouth and tongue just suddenly there, and Lindsey bucks wildly. He's shaking and twitching and twisting and writhing--he's doing everything--all because of that tongue. Frantic jerks of his hips to get friction for his aching cock and it's all too fucking much. What's happening now, what's going to happen. It's too damn much and he wants to scream.
Maybe Gunn senses it, because his hands start stroking Lindsey. Rubbing his sides in a hard, soothing pattern, and Lindsey is glad the hands stay away from his back, that the touches are firm and not teasing, because the screaming would start and never end otherwise.
There's chaos in Lindsey's head right now. It's pleasure and need, want and have. It's nothing outside of this room mattering in this instant. If that first night with Gunn made Lindsey's world into a snow-smattered mess of white noise, this time turns it inside-out and upside down, makes everything Technicolor and warped until it's all just a caricature of itself. Until all that's real is Gunn, is Lindsey.
Gunn pulls away from Lindsey. There's a shifting of the mattress under him, and the clicking sound of the tube being flipped open. A long moment of nothing. No contact. No voice. Nothing. Before Lindsey starts to settle down again, Gunn is back, long slick fingers making their way into him with the ease of practice and knowledge.
Gunn drapes himself over Lindsey's back, his fingers thrusting and crooking in Lindsey, scissoring over and over again. Wet lips at the nape of his neck, tequila shooting past his skin and right into his bloodstream making him drunker than he's ever been.
And then the fingers slide out and the head of Gunn's cock is pressing against Lindsey, thick and rounder and fuller than what he's used to, and it's only Gunn's hands that keep him from jerking back faster than he should.
Lindsey wants to pay attention to it all. Memorize the words Gunn's saying, the path of his hands, the breaths against his neck, but he can't. There's only Gunn pressing forward, Lindsey bearing back, and then a sudden release of muscle that makes them both groan in a combination of pleasure and discomfort--he can't call it pain, because that's not really what it is, not when it's coming from Gunn--before they stop moving, muscles dancing under their skin.
"Linds?" Gunn asks, and his voice is full and stretched, just like Lindsey is.
Words tumble towards Lindsey's tongue but dissipate before he can say them. All he can do is groan and nod his head awkwardly against the pillow. It's enough for Gunn, and he starts moving.
It's slow and steady. So slow and steady that Lindsey is almost crawling out of his skin five strokes in. Gunn shushes him, literally shushes him. Keeps the pace where he wants it, and clamps his hands on Lindsey's hips to prevent him from thrusting back.
Everything is raw for Lindsey right now. There aren't any buffers, aren't any spins he can put on this. It's raw and true and he thinks that everything in his life is that much more of a lie now that this has been added into the equation.
Gunn changes his angle just the slightest, and then lies and truth fly out the window, because Lindsey can only feel. Feel Gunn in him, moving and hitting that spot more often than not. Feel Gunn's hands switch from restraining to soothing. Feel the friction of his cock against the bed, all that much more now that Gunn's leaning harder against Lindsey. Fee; Gunn filling him, Gunn being in him, which is an entirely different thing that Lindsey being in someone else.
Whispers against his ear, dirty-sweet words that have Lindsey's hips lifting, that make his back arch against Gunn's chest, even though he's not really sure what Gunn is saying because it feels like Gunn's so deep in him that he takes up every bit of space Lindsey himself should be occupying. Takes his sight. Takes his hearing. Takes everything.
He takes. Takes what Lindsey is giving him. Takes it with those dirty-sweet words and soothing hands, and Lindsey's done. Grinds against the bed beneath him and finally screams, screams as he comes. Gunn makes a choked noise behind him, and his movements are harder and faster now, and it's only moments until he stills, some kind of guttural shout that's almost a war cry making its way to Lindsey's ears.
The shallow breath leaves Lindsey's lungs as Gunn collapses against him, trembling in aftershock, sweat dripping onto Lindsey's shoulders.
There's a significance here, but Lindsey can't be bothered to contemplate it. He just waits until Gunn rolls to the side and collects himself, then sets the cheap alarm clock on the nightstand.
When he turns around, Gunn is trying to stare at him. Trying being the key word there. He's beat, exhausted, and he's slipping into sleep. Lindsey untucks the covers from the side of the bed, shoves the bedspread between him and Gunn, settles the blanket over Gunn and the sheet over himself, then follows Gunn into sleep.
*
When Gunn wakes up, he hears Lindsey in the shower. He has to open his eyes and force his mind to focus on all the buttons on the motel's generic clock in order to find out how to turn it off.
Sits up and runs a tired hand across his face. He's going to be worth shit at the hospital, but he figures Cordy'll probably be in the same state so he won't draw attention.
The shower turns off in the bathroom and Gunn sighs tiredly, watching Lindsey pad into the room, a towel around his waist. There's a familiar catch of Gunn's breath, because Lindsey is just...there aren't words. Pretty is too feminine, except when it's applied to Lindsey's mouth. Gorgeous seems superficial. Beautiful is too flowery. Handsome doesn't come anywhere near close.
Lindsey is a wild thing. He seems calm, civilized, but he isn't. He's got this intensity in him that hums and vibrates. When Gunn looks at him, when his breath catches, it's not just because Lindsey has the fucking hottest body Gunn's seen in a long while. It's not just because Lindsey has those pretty lips, or those blue eyes. It's because of everything that's simmering under the surface. All that wildness, waiting to creep on out.
Gunn sees him, and the first thing he wants to do is fuck Lindsey still. Fingers, dick, tongue--doesn't matter how. Just give the boy a chance to just be, without everything in him screaming for movement and action.
"There's still hot water left," Lindsey tells him as he gathers up his clothing, and Gunn nods. "Did the sleep help?"
"Yeah, guess it did," he answers. Gets up and stops Lindsey as he's about to step into his pants. Meets that blue gaze steadily and thinks about how he asked for something Lindsey had told him from the start he didn't want to give. "I'm sorry."
Lindsey frowns. "About what?"
"I pushed."
A heavy sigh and Lindsey tosses the pants on the bed. "You asked and I didn't need any convincing. Nothing to apologize for."
But it's a technicality and lately Gunn isn't about technicalities. "Look me in the eye and tell me you would have said yes any other time."
Lindsey tilts his head to the side, his mouth set. "Tell me you would have asked any other time."
Gunn looks away, damning Lindsey's law degree to hell and back because he's too damn good at spinning things. A warm, tan hand takes hold of his face.
"You wanted it and I wanted it," Lindsey says, and his eyes are so bright and blinding that Gunn wants to look away. "The rest of it didn't have anything to do with that. Not really."
But it did, even if Lindsey thinks otherwise. Because Gunn knows. He knows just how damn desperate Lindsey is to be something to someone. How needy he is to be the one who makes someone happy, even for just a minute. He feels like he took advantage of Lindsey. Played on that needy streak to get himself some escape from that picture in his head.
There's no taking it back and that's the coward's way out anyway, in Gunn's mind. Lindsey sees it on his face, because the boy is always on high alert, always trying to anticipate what he can give, whether it'll be accepted.
He sidles up, leans his forehead against Gunn's shoulder and wraps his good arm around Gunn's waist. Gunn closes his eyes for a long moment, and he knows that somehow, he doesn't deserve this. Doesn't deserve Lindsey thinking--even in these short times they have together--that he's worthy of what Lindsey has to give.
And he can't fucking deny him. Can't. Lindsey is so fucking fragile underneath it all that Gunn wants to bring him home, lock out the world, and...feed him. Not food, but everything else. Fatten him up. Get him stronger.
Lindsey sighs the tiniest bit when Gunn's wraps his arms around him, head tilted to the side to rest against Lindsey's wet hair.
"I would have said yes because you asked," Lindsey says oh-so-quietly. "But I didn't."
It's Lindsey truth, and it's humbling in a way that Gunn hasn't experienced since his first days in charge of his crew. Pulls back from Lindsey and sets his hands on either side of that tan face.
"Don't want you saying yes to anything just because I asked," Gunn says steadily. "Understand?" He sighs and leans his forehead against Lindsey's.
"Jesus Christ, Gunn," Lindsey tells him, and there's something like steel in his voice. "It's not a fucking crime for you to take once in a while."
Lindsey pulls away and snatches his pants from the bed, getting them on with angry motions. His face is closed off and Gunn realizes what he just did. He moves behind Lindsey, reaches around and takes his wrists in hand.
Presses his lips against Lindsey's neck and whispers, "Thank you."
Lindsey brushes Gunn's hands aside, which makes Gunn tense for the moment it takes Lindsey to spin around, take his face, and plant a quick, hard kiss on his lips.
"Go. Shower," Lindsey tells him.
The ride back to the hospital is quiet. Not tense, but wary. Gunn can tell Lindsey wants to say something, but doesn't know what. Gunn just wants to sleep some more. He got about three hours before that alarm blared, and he was too tired to dream. He needs more non-dreaming sleep, a lot more, to keep up a good brave face for Wes. Since he won't be getting any more, he'll have to settle on a so-so brave face.
Gunn sees the red line at the curb when they get to the corner. Doesn't look away until Lindsey pulls up next to it, making it impossible to see. He can feel Lindsey's eyes on him, but he just looks at the street, at the people coming and going.
Lindsey's hand touches his shoulder. "You'll be all right, man. So will he. Go in."
Gunn nods, risks a quick glance back at Lindsey--has to be quick or he just might tell Lindsey to him somewhere else--and says, "Thank you."
It's for showing up here to begin with. Maybe for some other stuff, too.
He slips out of the truck and heads inside. Lindsey's still next to the red line when Gunn looks back from the doors. Gunn's lips twitch and he heads for the elevator.
*
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