Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (tv)
Characters: Angel/Lindsey
Summary/Teaser: What if Lindsey hadn't accepted the penthouse suite at the end of "Blind Date" (1.21)?
Warnings: explicit sex between men, master-slave dynamic
Spoilers: "Blind Date" (Angel 1.21)
Notes: Written for sweptawaybayou for The Original Flashfic-a-thon Reunion. Inspired by a passage in Olwen's fic "The Longest Night."
Word Count: 1455

Standard Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and company own the characters; I’m just playing with them. I do own this story, though, so don’t steal. If you want to archive this anywhere, just ask.

Feedback is always appreciated. Make me blush with praise or rip apart the story with criticism, or both.

Thanks to: Olwen for the fic that inspired this one, Lar for an essay which put forth Lindsey’s history in an easy-to-follow format, buffy-vs-angel.com for episode transcripts, and CityOfAngel.com for episode summaries.


What Is This About?
by Elizabeth Scripturient
"It's not about good or evil - it's about who wields the most power. And we wield a lot of it here, and you know what? I think the world is better for it." -Holland to Lindsey near the end of “Blind Date” (though it's from a scene that never happened in the universe of this fic)
It is a Sunday and Angel has given everyone the day off. The past few days have been slow, and they certainly deserve some time off.

There is a knock at the front door, and Angel smells Lindsey before he even opens the door. He hasn’t seen him since they worked together on the Vanessa Brewer case.

“What do you want now?” he asks, his voice low and menacing.

“What, you aren’t going to invite me in?”

“If I have to invite you in, this’ll be last sight you ever see.”

Lindsey feigns shock. “Angel! Are you prejudiced against our undead brethren? I don’t believe it.” Angel glares at him. “No, don’t worry, I’m still very much one of the warm-blooded.”

“As much as lawyers ever are,” Angel mutters under his breath, with the intention that Lindsey will hear him. Lindsey does, but does not respond.

Angel walks back to his chair, and Lindsey follows him. “Holland offered me the penthouse suite.”

“My congratulations.”

“I didn’t take it.”

Angel looks up in surprise.

“I don’t want to worry about the good and the bad anymore. I just want to be...”

“Be what?”

“Yours.”

Angel leans back in his chair. The young lawyer reminds him of the young poet of old.

“I don’t do things halfway.”

“I know.”

“You commit to this and you’re committed. No going back.”

He picks the young lawyer up by the collar. Listens to Lindsey’s hitched breath and rapidly beating heart. He pushes him up against a wall but still holds all of his weight in his hands. He savages his lips with his blunt teeth, feels how Lindsey neither resists nor responds, except for the rapid increase of his heartbeat, knows they are both testing each other. He lets go, and Lindsey falls to the floor.

“I want you to work in the office.” Lindsey is silent.

“If you have connections that you can utilize to help us in our work, use them. But don’t ever endanger any of my employees.”

Lindsey nods mutely, can feel his lower lip already swelling with the bruising.

“You start tomorrow morning. 8am. If I don’t see you then, I never want to see you again.”

***

Still riding high from a day off, Cordy has taken the guys out to lunch and they are gabbing and laughing as they walk through the doors of the Hyperion together. Seeing Angel and Lindsey bent over some files, they stop dead. Angel looks up.

“Cordelia, Wesley, Gunn. I believe you’ve all met Lindsey before.” Everyone begins to talk at once, but Angel cuts them off. “He’s working for us now.” He holds up his hand to preempt any more talking. “No argument.”

***

It is late, and everyone else has gone home. Lindsey has been working for them for a week now. Wesley has been pleased to learn that the lawyer knows a couple demon languages. They are ones that Wesley knows, too, but it does mean that someone else can work on translations, though he still doesn’t trust Lindsey enough to give him anything sensitive, like the Prophecies of Aberjian, to work on. Gunn has been pleasantly surprised to find that the man not only owns street clothes but can hold his own in a fight. Cordy is still suspicious but figures she’s hardly one to talk about people switching sides when it is deeply unprofitable to do so.

Lindsey is sitting at a desk covered in papers. Angel comes up behind and puts a hand on his shoulder. “This will all still be here in the morning. Come down to the basement with me.”

Lindsey follows him.

“Take off your clothes. All of them. Lie down on that bed,” Angel gestures, “legs apart.”

After Lindsey complies, Angel traces his chest with his finger, then begins massaging his cock. They are silent, but Lindsey is panting and just as he is about to come, Angel stops. Lindsey stares at him wide-eyed.

“Tell me,” Angel says slowly, “why. Why does someone like you, who’s fought so hard for everything, suddenly give himself up as a slave to the good guys?” He shakes his head. “No, I know the answer to that one already. I know struggle, I know what it feels like to want to give up, to pick one side, doesn’t even matter which one really. So I’ll ask something sexier. Have you always wanted to be dominated in bed? Why? Tell me, in excruciating detail.”

Lindsay swallows. “I always had to work hard for everything, fight to be on top, to be in control. So sex was a release, sex was the one place I wanted to not have to think, not have to be in control. The first time I got fucked was in the boys’ locker room. High school, first baseball game of the season. We had lost, though not by much. A girl came in, thick blond curls, tight red outfit--tube top and a skirt the width of a belt with matching dainty high heels. I had taken a shower and was changing into my clothes. I didn’t even notice she was there until she was standing right in front of me, kissing me, pressing me against the wall with her entire body. Her hands were on my crotch, undoing the pants I had just put on. Bitch must not have been wearing anything underneath her skirt because then she was fucking me. And after she was done, she just left. Turned on her little heel and walked out.”

Lindsey is hard with the memory and when Angel idly strokes his cock with his thumb, Lindsey shivers. Angel looks down at him. “No, boy, you don’t get to come yet. You still haven’t made me hard. Tell me another story.”

Lindsey looks up in disbelief. “That’s what this about? Making you hard? I bare my soul to you--”

Angel laughs. “Don’t you understand, boy? This isn’t about souls. This is about power and this is about sex.”

He gets up. “Put your clothes back on. But don’t touch yourself. Ever. Remember, I’ll be able to smell it on you. And you will be punished.”

Lindsey gulps.

“I own you, and you haven’t even seen the half of it yet.”

***

They never talk about that night, or any of the other nights. Lindsey always stays later than anyone else, even Wesley. He only leaves when Angel decides he is done working for the night and makes Lindsey go home. Lindsey never asks if Angel trusts him alone in the office.

Some nights Angel takes him down to the basement, tells him to bend over and pull down his pants, whips him raw while verbally taunting him. Lindsey is always hard and shuddering, and Angel never lets him come. Except for that first night, Angel never touches him skin-to-skin.

One night Angel pulls up a chair next to Lindsey. Angel holds a wooden paddle in his hand, stroking it with his fingers as he speaks. Lindsey wants to feel the wooden paddle on his ass, to burn beneath his clothing. And he wonders, idly, if redemption feels like orgasm.

“Were you ever Catholic, Lindsey?” Lindsey shakes his head. “The Catholics really knew how to do guilt. They got it from the Jews, of course, but I think it was the Catholics who really made it into an art form.” A pause. “I could set you on fire, rip you open, and make you beg for more.”

“You’ve already done that,” Lindsey whispers.

Angel laughs. “Well, so I have then.” Another pause. “You want me to rape you. I’m not sure if it’s because you’re trying to do penance or if you’re just a sick fuck with a hard-on for me, and frankly I don’t care. I could torture you like you think you deserve and then some. I was Angelus after all. Scourge of Europe. And I still could be. I wanted to find out if I really could, and the answer’s yes. I like to fool myself, that Angelus is somehow a wholly separate entity, but the demon is always there. A soul doesn’t make a difference. It’s all about the choices you make. I could choose to become Angelus, but I’m not going to. If you’re going to fight, do it because it’s the good fight, not because I own you.”

“You’re making it sound like this all about you rather than about me.”

“Is that a bad thing? You came to me and wanted me to OWN you. McDonald. This has ALWAYS been about me for you. It needs to stop being about me and start being about the world.”

Lindsey thinks this is the worst torment Angel could inflict upon him.


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