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All's Fair in Love and War	By : QueenB Category: Angel the Series > Slash - Male/Male > Angel(us)/Lindsey > Angel(us)/Lindsey Views: 4123 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Angel: The Series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Author: Queen Boadicea
Email: queenboadiceaoftheiceni@yahoo.com
Disclaimer:

This belongs to the great and powerful Joss and the usual gang of idi…uh, geniuses.
Spoiler

Warning: Angel: The Series, season five (after “Damage” but before “You’re Welcome”). Since I haven’t seen any episode of season five except “Smile Time” I’m unaware of the exact color, appearance and extent of Lindsey McDonald’s tattoos. So if there are discrepancies between my description and the tattoos as they actually appeared on the show, you’ve been warned.
Feedback:

Do your worst—it can’t compare to my worst ;)
Pairing:

Lindsey/Spike, Lindsey/Angel
Notes:
Bloodplay, light bondage

Lindsey grunts as the lifeless creature fucking him plows his ass—hard. Spike isn’t bothering to be gentle. Lindsey can count himself lucky the vampire let him get greased up first. He closes his eyes tightly and braces his arms against the hood of the car and strives to remember why he is doing this.

The ex-lawyer had fled as fast as his battered pickup truck could take him when he’d run away from the twisted mess his life had become. That flight out of Los Angeles had been slowed slightly by the police car that stopped him for the “Cops Suck” sign Angel had taped to his rear bumper. Damn the vampire anyway; Lindsey hadn’t thought Angel capable ofsuch childish pranks.

But underneath his fuming anger had laid a faint hint of joy that he’d something to take away with him from the tall brooding vampire who’d made his last two years with W&H such hell. He’d kept that stupid sign a lot longer than he should have before he’d mentally smacked himself in the head for such idiocy and thrown the thing out during a night of drunken self-pity.

Yeah, Lindsey often felt sorry for himself in those first few months after his escape from the City of Angels. In his sober moments he knew he had no one but himself to blame for the downward spiral his life had taken. He’d walked the broad, easy, primrose-laden path to success and he remembered well enough from bible class where such temptation led. But he was miles and years away from the innocent he’d been in his youth. Hatred of poverty and fear of winding up a loser like his dad had been all the incentive he needed to chuck away his catechism and sign up with Wolfram & Hart.

Lindsey had hoped—prayed even—that Angel would open his doors to him when the young man had shown signs of wavering in his devotion to the law firm. But the self-righteous bastard had shown no pity nor interest in him besides the help he’d provided in saving those kids. What the hell could Lindsey have done other than go back to W&H when the vampire had proven so unyielding? Was he supposed to camp out on Angel’s doorstep until the vampire softened and took him in? Guess the motto of helping the helpless didn’t extend to guys who wore Armani suits.

How had Angel done it? How had such a killer turned his existence around to pursue the path of redemption? His hands were far bloodier than Lindsey’s yet the demon had been picked by the Powers That Be to serve them as their champion.

Champion. The very word conjured up visions of saviors of old. A hero, a knight in shining armor—or in Angel’s case shining leather coat. Lindsey recalled how well that coat had fit Angel, how it had flared around him when the vampire moved or fought, how it draped over those broad, muscular shoulders. He’d lain awake nights contemplating that body until he’d worn himself out and fell into troubled, erotic dreams that never failed to leave him hard and aching when he awoke.

He was fairly sure Angel had had help in getting his feet on the road to redemption. Did he honestly believe that Lindsey didn’t deserve assistance as well? And more than Angel’s assistance, Lindsey craved the vampire’s respect, his admiration, his… He tried never to complete that sentence even in his mind. The southern boy who’d vowed openly to destroy Angel had become adept at cutting off that thought. It had hurt too much to crave what he’d known he could never have.

He’d been in fear for his life for a while—fear that Wolfram & Hart would come after him, that they’d track him down, that he’d wake up one night to find himself surrounded by Cleaners. Or worse. But as the weeks trickled past and nothing out of the ordinary happened, he’d relaxed little by little. It looked like the prominent members of the law firm had put him out of their collective minds. Somebody else appeared to have forgotten him as well and he tried to tell himself that the loss of his attention didn’t rankle. Yeah, right.

He hadn’t taken up the law again. The legal profession had lost its appeal and he was afraid that any venture in that direction might bring unwelcome attention. He’d gone back home, a place as poles apart from the Californian high life as you could get and still be on the same continent, and managed to eke out a small living for himself. He’d reconciled somewhat with his father and siblings. It wasn’t a completely happy family reunion; he’d done such terrible things he couldn’t tell them about and the shadows of those secrets hung between them like an ugly odor in the air. In the end, he’d separated from them yet again and settled for living on his own.

Even in a rundown burg such as where he’d grown up, there was entertainment to be had. There were frequent changes of bed partners to fill his evenings. He wasn’t a monk, for Christ’s sakes, and others still found him attractive. There were a few women and quite a lot of men. He avoided the tall, dark ones, though, whether they possessed gray eyes, blue eyes or ones that smoldered with the right charcoal tint. He had too much pride to accept a second-rate version of what he desired the most.

So the loneliness was bearable. He’d become hardened to it while working for Wolfram & Hart. Even with Darla the ache hadn’t been too much. As a human she’d been distant and half-crazed, needy but not for him. Having her around had been a constant reminder of the vampire they both wanted and couldn’t possess. He’d taken a kind of twisted comfort in their mutual yearning. By wallowing in her hunger, it had been a way of alleviating

his own. Misery did like company, after all.

It was the emptiness of spirit that gnawed at him. He’d left his evil life behind him, dammit! So he wasn’t working to right wrongs or helping the helpless. He wasn’t a hero like…some. He couldn’t go into the streets and fight the darkness. He’d lost a hand working on the wrong side and had turned his back on it in consequence. Okay, he’d gotten a new hand as compensation for the loss but Lindsey felt he’d paid his dues. Why wouldn’t the nightmares stop? Why did sights of his victims still swim behind his eyelids during his sleep? It was enough to drive anyone insane. How had Angel handled it all these decades?

There were the other nocturnal fantasies, the ones even more haunting than the nightmares. The dreams hummed with sweet, heavenly delusions of that large frame shifting over him, the cold length forcing him open until Lindsey thought the vampire could see his heart, whispers in the vampire’s whisky-laden tones crooning Lindsey’s name. And the bite…he’d heard rumors of what a vampire’s bite did for its victims, had listened to Darla taunt him with the erotic promise even before she’d been turned again.

When she’d bitten him at that party, there hadn’t been any pleasure only searing pain and he’d been pathetically glad. In the end he hadn’t wanted to experience that bliss with her. It wasn’t what he’d wanted—she wasn’t what he’d wanted and he’d silently cursed Angel for locking the door on them and leaving them to the meager attentions of his Sire and crazed Childe. The brunette vampire hadn’t even cared enough about Lindsey to do the deed himself.

Working beside Angel to unravel the mystery of his twitchy new hand had been like a dream come true. It hadn’t been like the first time when the vampire and his smug crew had tossed him to the sharks and left him to sink or swim. They’d been partners, almost, and he could see them becoming so much more if the demon only allowed it.

But the vampire had been brusque with him to the point of dismissal and any hopes Lindsey cherished for closeness were ruthlessly dispelled when he’d seen Angel’s face as he killed Bradley Scott. There was neither condemnation nor disapproval. Angel had expected nothing from Lindsey; he wouldn’t have been disappointed if the young man had left the poor guy hanging in that tank like a dead goldfish. He would have felt nothing at all. He would have taken care of matters himself and left Lindsey behind—again.

That was what finally drove Lindsey away for good. Such indifference was worse than hatred. At least with hatred, Angel had exchanged harsh words, searing glances from his eyes that had promised a world of pain if Lindsey hurt his friends. And Lindsey had glimpsed hints of other promises deep within those shadowed eyes, eyes that flickered with amber more often than they should and caused the lawyer’s heart to flutter with emotion he had told himself was fear.

Often Lindsey had wondered what would have happened if he’d simply attacked Angel, had grasped him by the lapels of that shiny coat and stretched himself up to plunder that smirking mouth. Would Angel have responded by kissing him back? Would sucksucking kisses have been sweet and tender? Would Angel have bitten him? He was fairly certain it would have been as good as his dreams—better, for nothing beat reality.

But it wasn’t reality only stupid self-torture. So he’d kicked the dirt of Los Angeles from his heels. He’d half hoped that Angel would follow, call him back, that the irritating Cordelia might get a vision of him in trouble and send the vampire racing to his rescue. Ridiculous, of course. He’d made it home with only minor hitches and proceeded to live a life of pure monotony. Angel was part of his past. Most times he managed not to feel the sting of regret that notion brought with it.

The nightmares grew less frequent. He wanted to thank the god he no longer believed in for such small mercies. But the dreams didn’t lessen. If anything, they intensified, became more vivid and powerful over the passing months. At times he could feel the exact cool temperature of the vampire’s body as it lay over his own, the stretching of the muscles under the skin, expressions in Angel’s piercing eyes too lucid for any mere dream.
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All's Fair in Love and War