Fandom: Angel (tv)
Summary/Teaser: Lindsey finds himself craving.
Warnings: explicit sex between adult males
Spoilers: "Soul Purpose" (Angel 5.10)
Notes: Written for girlwithjournal for sarah_p’s *Spike ficathon. The request: Spike/Lindsey; Post-Soul Purpose, Lindsey's tattoos, Lindsey in over his head.
Word Count: 870
Standard Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and co. own the characters, I’m just playing with them. I do, however, own this story, so don’t steal it. Archive it anywhere; just ask first.
Feedback is always appreciated. Make me blush with praise or rip apart the story with criticism, or both.
His form was dark and looming above the pale young man as he pulled him up and kissed him. He tasted blood and sucked harder at the remnants of the boy’s last feeding. Soon they were both hard and naked and the boy’s lithe body appeared infinitely breakable. He moved away, leaving the boy on the bed, and stroked his cock lightly, watching him shiver. “That’s right, you’re not allowed to touch, good boy, you remember.” Then he flipped him over on the bed and straddled him, tracing designs on his back. Oh, it was good to hear him whimper and moan. He moved in closer now, cock stroking ass, mouth teasing neck.
Lindsey awoke with an aching hard-on. Was this the Powers’ way of getting back at him? For pretending he was the bearer of their precious visions? Were they the ones responsible for these dreams? These dreams he suspected were flashbacks they were so deeply real. He had never smelled or tasted in his dreams before, but he certainly did in these. And he remembered every single touch, which never happened after he awoke from dreams either.
He wanted to fuck him, and he wanted to destroy him. He didn’t want to be him. He supposed that was why he hated the big brooding do-gooder so much, because he had turned him into him. He was quite enjoying the thrill of kicking his way up the Wolfram and Hart ladder, and then Angel had come into the picture and made everything so complicated.
He’d been laying low and keeping an ear out ever since he left -- Wolfram and Hart took that eternal contract thing seriously, and he knew there could be hell to pay quite literally if they had ever wanted him back. So he had heard that Angel had taken over Wolfram and Hart, trying to change the world from inside the belly of the beast and all that, and he knew he had to come back and knock him down a few pegs. He also heard that Spike had saved the world, after having gone and gotten himself a soul no less, and a plan soon formed itself.
So now he was back and entangled and suffering these dreams.
He really needed a good fuck. Eve was that mom and pop grill where they fawned all over you, making as if to cater to you every whim, even when you and they all knew full well that all they had to offer was watery ginger ale and greasy burgers. Spike, he suspected, was an oozing steak that filled your mouth and wouldn’t let go. He knew, because he wasn’t blind, that Spike was the boy in those dreams. But he also knew the vampire had changed in the intervening century, that he was just as powerful as Angel.
He opened the door to Spike’s apartment and knocked softly on it, peering in almost bashfully. The vampire looked up in surprise. “Haven’t seen you in a while, mate. ‘Nother vision?”
He shook his head and took a deep breath as he walked into the room.
“When I got the visions, I got these markings as well. I don’t know what they mean, but they’ve been burning recently. I haven’t been getting any visions, but the burning just keeps getting worse, like whoever did it to me is angry at me or something. I don’t know what to do. I don’t have anyone.”
He was standing face to face with Spike now.
Aw hell, it had been months since he had gotten laid, Spike thought and, holding his head in his hands, drew in for a kiss. He was a bit surprised to find that the man tasted of peppermint candies. No surprise on his part to find that Spike tasted of bourbon and cigarettes.
They undressed each other slowly, discovering the angles and soft edges of each other’s bodies.
Lying on the bed, Spike traced one of the markings on his body and he shuddered. Spike looked concerned. “That hurt, mate?”
He shook his head. “No. No, it feels good; almost makes the pain go away.”
Spike leant down and began to kiss each tattoo, tracing them with his tongue. Breathing soon became shallow and ragged, and once Spike began to trace circles on his cock, he was ready to explode in his mouth. Spike, of course, took his sweet time before allowing him to come.
As he lay there recovering his breath, Spike hovered over his face with a wicked grin. “I trust you brought lube?”
“Pants pocket,” he whispered, gesturing to the heap of clothes.
He groaned as Spike slipped a slick finger into his anus. “What, you wanna wait until you’re all rested? Can’t get a guy all hot and bothered and then say you’ve got a headache.”
He shook his head. “No, please, just, fuck me.”
Spike grinned. “That’s the spirit.” He kissed him and went to work. He eased a passage and then thrust himself in, watching the body shudder below him.
After he withdrew, Spike lit a cigarette and took a long drag as he watched him fall asleep, and wondered what Angel would say when he found out about this.