When he runs through all the curses he’s ever known in English, Lindsey switches to the demonic ones picked up through years spent wandering the halls of Wolfram & Hart in the dead of night. Good to know those long hours of overtime weren’t worthless after all.
His lips still moving almost soundlessly, he tips his head back to look in his rearview mirror, squinting against the flashing red and blue lights that whirl on top of the cruiser that pulled him over before he even made it across the state line. Shaking his head, Lindsey slumps down in his seat and props his knee up on the dash. Curls his lip and mockingly remembers the words of the undead comedian who so graciously came by to see him off.
"Oh, I really like this truck. '56, right? First year they had that wrap-around windshield. You know, back in the fifties we all thought life was gonna be like in the Jetsons by now. Air cars, robots. - I'd love to have an air car. Wouldn't that be cool?"
Wrapping his arms around his chest, Lindsey tries to blame the chill that creeps down his spine on the cool night air blowing through the open window and ignore how long the trooper’s been sitting in his car with his driver’s license in one hand and his radio in the other. Jesus, if the Partners know already…
“Yeah, really cool. Fucker.”
His heart is still slamming against his ribcage. Has been ever since the flashing lights rolled across his field of sight and he realized he was the one the trooper was after. He had his good ole boy grin plastered on his face and his fingers curled around the butt of the pistol under his thigh, but his normally agile tongue had lain like a dead thing in his mouth as the trooper had slapped a fucking huge sign across his windshield with one hand and looked at him through the window. Asked for his license and registration in a tone that brooked no argument and was completely devoid of amusement.
Cops suck. Brilliant. Wonder if the cheerleader helped him with the spelling.
It’s only the faint crunch of footsteps on the gravel that keeps him from jumping when the flashlight blinds him. Prevents his finger from tightening and blowing a hole in his own fucking leg. For an endless moment, he sits like a wild animal. Blinded and still, this side of flight by sheer will alone. The trooper doesn’t even try to hide his disgust as he shoves Lindsey’s papers through the window.
“Well, Lindsey McDonald, Esquire, looks like you got lucky. I woulda thought a big time lawyer like yourself would have better taste in friends.”
The large sign is ripped from under his windshield wiper and rolled up, pushed through the window with such force that Lindsey can almost hear his momma’s bitching about someone losing an eye. But he can breathe again. Breathe and talk and he does with the skill and ease earned time and time again trying to stay alive by the seat of his pants and the skin of his teeth, and the trooper might not be smiling by the time he heads back to his cruiser, but he’s a bit less likely to follow up on anything else, file any special reports and that’s enough. Enough to keep him alive a little bit longer and give him a chance to find someone who can help him hide forever if he has to. Like he has to.
Pushing the gun back down into the fold of the seat, Lindsey watches the trooper pull out and reenter the highway. Gives him a little two-fingered salute when he’s sure he’s well out of his line of vision and then rips the sign in half and tosses it to the floorboard. Starting up the truck, he takes another deep breath and shifts the truck into gear and checks the traffic behind him.
Slamming the gas pedal to the floor, Lindsey looks over his shoulder and reverses at full speed until his tailgate slams into the monolith Angel’s sitting in. Has been sitting in probably laughing his fucking ass off this whole damn time. Twisting the wheel just enough to knock it off the shoulder of the road, Lindsey laughs as the back end of Angel’s car slides into the ditch and Angel’s mouth forms a perfect dark “o” of surprise in his pale face. Hot damn…that’s an expression. Didn’t know he had any of those.
Lindsey gives the fucking thorn in his side a little waggle of evil fingers and shifts gears again, revs the engine and roars off into the night. Grins at the screeching tear of metal and probably drags Angel’s bumper a good half mile or so before it falls off with a raining spray of sparks. Much better. Yeah. Cracking his neck with a sharp toss of his head, Lindsey settles in behind the wheel and checks his speed. The state line can’t be much further and then he’s going to find a room, a bottle and sleep the sleep of the righteous for a change. Try it out for size.
The grin splitting his cheeks lasts all the way into Arizona and Lindsey takes the first exit that seems it might lead to anything resembling civilization and pulls up to the first motel with a vacancy sign. The clerk barely takes his eyes off the cheap pay-for-view as he slides the registration book and key across the counter, takes the pile of crumpled bills tossed in return in grubby fingers and bypasses the dusty cash register sitting on the counter, shoves it into his pocket. Lindsey shakes his head, picks up the pen in his left hand instead of his right and uses the skills picked up before he got the new one to sign the book.
The sun’s just beginning to paint the horizon pink as he climbs back into his truck and drives around to park in front of his room. Hauling his bag out of the back, Lindsey takes a few minutes to fit the crooked key into the lock and push the door open. It’s a room. Not much else, but there’s a bed and a television a few decades old bolted to the wall as if it’s priceless. Once he flicks on the light, he can see his pale reflection in the rippled mirror above the small cracked porcelain sink in the cell-like bathroom.
The whole time he stands under the trickle of warm water spitting from the shower, all he thinks about is the bottle in the bottom of his duffle bag, the look on Angel’s face when he crashed into his car, and the bed that waits like an oasis in hell. The sliver of soap is almost dissolved by the time he steps from the stall and scrubs his skin almost raw with the scratchy but surprisingly, blessedly clean towels provided by an obviously more caring member of the staff than works the desk.
His face is covered with white terry as he towels his hair, but it doesn’t matter. When he steps from the bathroom, he can feel the breeze from the half open door and the hand wrapped around his neck is enough to tell him who his visitor is.
“What are you? Four?”
“You tried to kill my car.”
“You cut off my hand.”
“You tried to kill my friends.”
“I’m going with the hand thing again.”
“You tried to kill me more times than I can count.”
“Yeah, figured you would have problems with the bigger numbers.”
That’s another thing he’s had a lot of practice doing…landing wherever he’s tossed without breaking anything. In this case half on the bed and half on the floor, but the fingers rubbing at the bruises already ringing his throat are a constant. Flicking the towel that’s slipped from his hips over his lap to cover himself, he looks up at Angel. Raises an eyebrow.
“Raised in a barn?”
“You left the door open.”
Angel’s eyes barely miss rolling out of his skull as he walks over and kicks it shut, shrugging his jacket off and then standing there looking for somewhere to leave it.
“Waiting for the valet?”
“Watch it, that was almost a scowl. You might pull a muscle.”
“Dickweed? Your redneck’s showing, cowboy.”
He tries. Fuck, he tries so hard, but Lindsey can’t stop the laughter that sneaks up his throat no matter how hard he tries and that? That is Angel’s smug smile. Taking the hand offered, he pulls himself up leaving the towel pooled on the carpet and keeps walking until Angel’s back hits the shit ugly paneling.
“You gonna do more than strangle me?”
Angel’s hands seem to cover the whole of his back and they definitely cover most of his ass.
“Thinking about it.”
Lindsey sets his teeth in Angel’s chin, gives his head a good shake.
“No.” One word fed into his mouth, pushed in by the smooth slide of Angel’s tongue and black silk gives under his hands. Buttons fly off to ping off the television and dot the carpet. Angel’s hands leave his skin long enough to send his slacks sliding down to pool around his ankles, his mouth glued to Lindsey’s and then it’s simply a matter of writhing bodies falling and hoping there’s a bed underneath and not really caring either way.
They had history. There had been a few kisses, angry and rough, full of fire. Doubt and mistrust always clouding blue eyes, dying dark brown black. Words spat and hissed, whispered pleas for help lost in shuffle, the good fight. Glancing touches that left bruises more often than not, and shattering blows meant to maim and hurt. Kill. None of it a lie, nothing ever really changed. Nothing will ever change, but then there were kisses.
Shoving each other against the pale green walls of a hospital corridor. Mostly ignored in the rush to treat those led from the basement of Wolfram & Hart’s body part repository. Angel voice raw, cracking…almost willing to beg him to get the fuck out. To do it this time. Lindsey’s fingers digging into the back of his neck, foreheads sliding together as he nodded over and over. His clear…fucking crystal clear blue eyes found Angel’s and he knew. Knew that this time Lindsey meant it. That he was going to run. Escape.
From everything. Everyone. Including Angel.
The screaming squeak of busted bedsprings is lost in the groan forced from Lindsey’s lips as Angel’s fingers spread his thighs wide, roll him up so he can shoulder between his legs. Lick around and under his balls, push the slick thickness of his tongue deep inside him. Coaxing him open with teasing licks, slipping fingers in to curl and scrape until Lindsey’s cursing. Tearing at Angel’s hair and shoulder as waves of sound escape full lips already swollen from hard, hungry kisses.
“Fuck, Angel…inside me, fuck me…now...” A
ngel’s tongue slips from Lindsey’s ass, slides up the length of his cock as his fingers push deeper into clenching heat. Lips close over the head and suck hard, his forearm pressing Lindsey’s hips to the bed as he sucks his cock into his throat, curls his tongue around silken skin and growls at the salt that threads across his tongue.
One night and he won’t be rushed.
Not that Lindsey stops trying.
Fucking, making love the same as everything else has been. A struggle, a fight…a contest of wills…a combination lust and adrenalin that calls a golden glimmer to Angel’s eyes and a flash of teeth to his smile. Blows blue eyes midnight black and adds a harsh snarl of truth to a voice trained to seduce juries with endless falsehoods and sing the angels down from heaven in smoky bar right after.
The only moment of stillness when Angel’s cock slides home, pushes deep and they stare at each other as if afraid this dance might actually have an ending if either of them moves. But then they do. Have to move. Hands opening wide to push and pull from beneath and above as they roll on the bed. A symphony of moans and whispers, promises they can’t keep and wishes that will never come true spilling into kisses sweeter for the bite of teeth and taint of copper. Tongues follow scratched furrows dug by nails, and thighs flex around hips, muscles clench and toes curl into bedding to find more leverage. Each strives for more until it’s right there…the killing edge slicing through them both to leave them in a tangle of limbs sprawled across a garden of stained polyester flowers.
A shiver chases Angel’s fingers down Lindsey’s spine and he opens his eyes, looks at the demon…the man that’s been the center of his existence for what seems his entire adult life.
“How will I find you?”
Lifting his hand, Lindsey wipes away a crimson smear from Angel’s cheek with the pad of his thumb. Smiles.
Their bodies fit together like remnants from the same cloth many times mended, and Lindsey’s lips curve into a devil’s grin hidden behind a kiss.
Angel won’t find him, but that doesn’t mean won’t see each other again.
Just means Angel won’t see him coming.
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Summary: Set immediately after Dead End, Ep. #40, Season 2 of Angel the Series. Small section of dialog quoted directly from the episode as it aired.
Not mine. No profit. No gain. Fictional, delusional.
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