Snow (sweptawaybayou) wrote,
Snow
sweptawaybayou

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Whoot! into_trouble Boy!Band Slash . . .

Part One ~ Audition and Boy Number One by entrenous88 (Giles/Xander) NC/17

Part Two ~ Dance Audition by sweptawaybayou (Angel/Wesley) NC/17

Part Three ~ Count of Four by entrenous88 (Spike/Xander) Rish

Part Four ~ Lessons

Another Not For Profit Venture by Snow
Angel/Lindsey
AU
NC/17
into_trouble boy!band slash
Beta by viciouswishes and tesla321
Thank you!
*loves on you both*



Lindsey slipped through the barely opened front door and shut it soundlessly behind him. He put his key into the front pocket of his jeans and moved through the dark, quiet house carefully. Since the first night he’d sneaked out, drunk too many beers and bruised his shin on the coffee table; he’d learned not to drink quite as much and memorized the small apartment the boys shared. The layout of the central living room with couch, end-tables, lamps and TV. The two hallways that split off on either side, one leading to the bedroom that Spike and Angel shared and one leading to the room Lindsey split with Xander. A small kitchen with a breakfast nook was located at the other end, straight across from the front door.

It wasn’t the Hilton and not even close to the mansion that Lindsey knew he’d end up living in, eventually, but it beat the hell out of living on the streets to avoid going home. Lindsey had found out at a young age that he preferred the hard, dangerous life out there, to being teased or smacked around by his mother’s endless chain of boy friends. To being unable to sleep at night because the sounds of their endless fucking came through the paper-thin tenement walls as if they were all in the same room.

Stupid curfew. Lindsey rolled his eyes. Like he was a child that needed to be watched. He’d been on his own since he was twelve, singing and drinking in bars with a forged i.d. since he was fifteen. He sure didn’t need some old man like Giles, telling him when to go to bed. Although he did like this gig, fleeting thoughts of fame, groupies, and impossible to spend amounts of money danced in his mind. He wasn’t going to screw it up, at least not on purpose, hence the sneaky, quiet, careful movements.

He walked silently into the dark hallway, running his hand along the wall and immediately fell over something that shouldn’t have been there.

“Shit,” Lindsey whispered. What the fuck was that? He reached out, feeling the hard shape in the shadows. A suitcase? His? Suddenly Lindsey was scared. He was sure that his nightly excursions had been discovered and he was going to be kicked out of the band and find himself back on the streets.

“Not your room anymore.”

Lindsey heard Angel’s low voice from the other side of the living room and stood up.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Angel snapped on the hallway light behind him and Lindsey squinted against the sudden brightness. He could see the outline of Angel as he leaned against the wall across from Lindsey, bare to his waist, wearing only a loose pair of cotton pajama pants. Damn. He’d probably been standing there the entire time Lindsey had been sneaking into the apartment, thinking he was so smooth.

“We changed rooms tonight. You’re over here now. With me.” Angel was motionless as he spoke, and Lindsey tried not to let that bother him. Truth was that Angel had kind of freaked Lindsey out since he’d met him. So deeply intense and serious, more so than anyone Lindsey had ever met. Lindsey had yet to see him crack a joke or smile or lighten up for even a second. It wasn’t right. But he wasn’t going to let Angel see that. Lindsey picked up his suitcase and walked to the other side of the living room.

“Fine. Great. Whatever. Didn’t want to room with that punk ass bitch anyway.” He moved past Angel quickly and into the bedroom, throwing his suitcase on the nearest bed. Without warning, he found himself up against the wall. Angel held him, his big hands on Lindsey’s shoulders. Angel leaned down, staring right into him, and Lindsey met his eyes, surprised to find himself thinking that he’d never seen such a rich, dark brown color before.

“There’s gonna be some more changes. You are not fucking with Xander anymore, hear me? If we’re going to do this thing, we have to all work together, and I’m not putting up with any shit from you. Got that?”

“What? I didn’t,” Lindsey stopped talking when Angel’s grip became tighter, his fingers digging in harder.

Angel shook his head.

“Don’t even start. And no more sneaking out. You don’t like the rules? Go tell Giles you quit.”

Lindsey laughed.

“Fuck you. You’re not my father or my brother or even my friend. Get off me.”

“No, I’m not any of those things. What I am, though, is the guy that’s going to kick your ass six ways to Sunday if you don’t start towing the line and stop screwing around. Your choice.” Angel abruptly turned away from Lindsey and moved to his side of the room. He turned off his lamp and slid into his bed, ignoring Lindsey completely, as if he wasn’t still standing there, churning with anger at being caught. At Xander tattling, at having to change rooms, and the warm burn inside that being held up against the wall by Angel had created. Lindsey bit the inside of his cheek as he undressed, dropped his clothes on the floor and got into bed, trying to make both the feeling, and his hard-on, go away.

~~

After two weeks of rooming together, Lindsey wasn’t any closer to figuring Angel out. Not that he was looking for some revelation or insight, but he liked knowing what made people tick, because then they were easier to manipulate. So far, all he’d found out about Angel was that he was totally anal and completely uncommunicative. He kept his side of their room immaculate and Lindsey was having fun with the idea that the mess on his own side might be bothering Angel. Not that Lindsey was a slob, but he was not at all neat and organized. He tended to drop his clothes where he took them off, never make his bed and his clean laundry was scattered over the top of his small dresser. And he started being more deliberate about it, even if it was just to counter the fact that he found himself watching Angel undress every night. Looking over in the dark, the room lit only by streetlights from outside and see Angel laying in his bed, blankets pulled down to his waist, his smooth chest slowly rising and falling with each breath. Getting up in the morning, his cock hard between his legs, his brain filled with dreams of that body pressed up to his and feeling the strength in those arms holding him again.

“Pick your crap up,” Angel growled at him when they’d all just gotten back from a long morning with Wesley at the dance studio. Lindsey grinned at Angel, happy with the confirmation that he was getting under his skin, finally.

“Bite me.” He laughed and left the room, slamming the door behind him. He had to get away from these jerks, at least for the afternoon. Lindsey headed for the front door and out, into the cool fall day. He didn’t know where he was going, but anywhere had to be better than there right now.

When he returned, Spike and Xander were sitting together on the couch, watching TV. They both looked up at him, then at each other and burst out laughing. Lindsey scowled at them.

“What the hell is wrong with you two?” He ignored their continued laughter, went into the kitchen, and grabbed a Coke out of the refrigerator, wishing that it were beer. Then he headed to his room where he stopped, as soon as he entered. His side of the room was perfectly clean and his bed made. Lindsey walked slowly over to his dresser, set the can on the top and pulled open a drawer. It was empty. He pushed it closed and opened another, then another. They were all empty.

Back out in the living room he found Spike and Xander, still convulsing with laughter, and Lindsey was furious. He shook with rage as he spoke.

“Where the fuck is my shit?”

Spike wiped tears from his cheeks and pointed at the front door. “Might want to check the nearest dumpster.”

Down in the gloom of the alley between their apartment building and the next, Lindsey stood in front of the huge metal garbage bin. He lifted the lid and jumped back. The over powering smell of rancid food and trash made him gag. The dumpster was full to overflowing with black plastic and brown paper grocery bags, Styrofoam meal containers from the next door Chinese restaurant. Lindsey forced himself to reach up and pull a few of the top bags off. There, underneath another bag, one that was leaking with what looked like spilled pop and something, whatever, Lindsey didn’t even want to know, he saw one of his shirts and pulled it out.

Two hours later, covered in slime and garbage, his fingers, hands, hell, everything about him was filthy and smelled, Lindsey came back into the apartment. He’d thrown his clothes into the washers in their building floor’s laundry room and was headed directly for his bathroom. All he wanted was to get into the shower; he couldn’t even stand to breathe anymore. The stench had finally overpowered him, and he’d spent the last half an hour vomiting between searching though the trash to find the last of his clothes.

Thankfully, Spike and Xander were no longer in the living room when he opened the front door; Lindsey was so far beyond anger that he was almost scaring himself with the out-of-control rage he felt inside. He grabbed a trash bag out of a kitchen cabinet and took it with him, back to his bedroom. In the bathroom, Lindsey stripped off his clothes while the water ran, steam curling over the shower door as the water heated up. He put his shirt, jeans, and underwear into the bag.

Under the hard spray, the sting, and burn of the hot water on his skin, Lindsey let it all go. His rage, denial of the loneliness buried deep inside, and yes, his physical and emotional attraction to Angel. Tears ran down his face, unseen as they mixed with the water that poured over his head. He stood with his arms against the tiles, fists clenched and cried. Cried for every time in his life he’d heard . . . . . . ‘Come’ere boy. Let me see you smile. . . ’ And . . .‘Lord, you sure have pretty eyes and such long lashes. Sure you’re not a girl?’ He cried for every time he’d run away from home, from his mother who laughed at him and didn’t seem to care, from those men and their groping, dirty fingers. Lindsey’s cheeks would be red, his lips tight and thin with anger and his dick hard in his jeans. Cried for every boy he’d find on the streets. Someone younger and weaker and prettier than him, someone like Xander. Someone that made him feel powerful and good for a moment, even if they couldn’t take away the nightmares or the fear. He cried because he’d never found anyone that could make him feel safe. Lindsey cried for the fact that no matter where he went, no matter who he was with, he never seemed to fit in; he was never, really part of the crowd.

He washed his long hair mechanically, lathered, rinsed, and turned off the water. Grabbed a couple of the soft, large towels off the rack and dried himself. He brushed his teeth until his gums were sore, then wrapped a towel around his waist, and opened the door. Lindsey felt drained and empty at the sight of Angel, reclining on his bed, his back against the wall, feet on the floor, and a book in one hand. He set his bag of dirty clothes by the door, knowing he should go down to the laundry room and put his clothes in the dryer; they all had an early photo shoot, some magazine publicity and posters. But right now, Lindsey was just unable to care, unwilling to move, still caught up in pain and memories. He didn’t realize that he was staring at Angel until the older boy looked back, one eyebrow arched up.

“Why?” Lindsey heard himself ask.

“I will not live in a dump.” And Angel’s eyes went back to his book, dismissing him.

Lindsey felt the rage slam back into his body, and he stepped forward, grabbed the book out of Angel’s hands and threw it across the room.

“Don’t you ever fucking ignore me.”

Angel was up, off the bed in one fluid motion. Suddenly the room seemed smaller to Lindsey as Angel stood in front of him, towered over him. Angel’s chest was bare, and he was so close Lindsey could feel heat radiate off of his skin.

“You’ve got some serious issues, boy.”

. . .boy . . . was all that Lindsey heard and his clenched fist was swinging towards Angel’s face. Angel countered his punch and used his taller frame to hold Lindsey’s arms down, back him up to the bedroom wall. Lindsey knew he was yelling, curse words and threats and profane positions for Angel to use with his mother. But he didn’t realize he was crying again until he heard Angel’s voice, low and soothing and constant in his ear, speaking to him as if he were a wild horse or a feral dog.

“Shhhh. Linds, it’s okay. It’ll be all right. Let it out. It’s okay.” Over and over and Lindsey finally stopped fighting; and at that moment, those lips he’d dreamt of were on his own. Angel’s kisses were soft and gentle, and Lindsey was so taken by surprise that he almost forgot to kiss back. When he did, Angel’s hands stopped gripping his arms so tight and dropped to his waist, pulling their bodies together. Lindsey gasped in Angel’s mouth when their cocks bumped and rubbed between them, only the towel and Angel’s cotton pajama pants separating them. Angel pulled his head back and grinned, and Lindsey thought he could lose himself in Angel’s eyes and the steady, comforting calm of his stare.

“I want you. I want to make you feel good. That okay?”

Lindsey was struck dumb. He was asking? He nodded, and Angel’s smile widened. The big hands around his waist pulled at the towel, loosening it, dropping it to the floor. And Angel kissed him again, not as gentle this time; his tongue filled Lindsey’s mouth, exploring and tasting. His hands and fingers mapped Lindsey’s chest, pulling and pinching his nipples until Lindsey was groaning and pushing against Angel’s body, nudging his cock against his thighs and trying to pull Angel closer.

Angel’s mouth moved from lips to neck, then his tongue traced patterns on Lindsey’s chest; leaving hot kisses that cooled in the air as he continued down, kneeling before Lindsey, his hands on Lindsey’s hips. Lindsey still felt disconnected from his body as he watched Angel suck his cock into his mouth and wet warmth engulfed him; the scrape of teeth made him slam his head back against the wall.

“Fuck, yeah. Angel.” He closed his eyes and his hands found Angel’s head, the soft feel of that hair between his fingers, the back and forth, tight lips, the pull of Angel’s mouth and all the nights that he had spent, thinking of nothing but this.

Angel let Lindsey fuck his mouth, let him set the pace, and Lindsey felt the room spin around him at the suction Angel was applying and the squeeze on his cock. Lindsey’s eyes were closed tightly. When Angel started humming around his dick, he couldn’t hold back and came, his hands moving Angel in time with his thrusts.

Lindsey could barely breathe as Angel let his cock slip gently out of his mouth and stood up, kissing him. Angel’s were lips soft and hot and Lindsey let him pull him over to his small bed. Angel’s palms on his shoulders, pushing him down to the mattress and he watched through his lashes as Angel slipped off his pajama pants and moved onto the bed, beside him. Angel turned off his reading lamp, and they were left in the dark; only shadows of gray light came through the window.

Lindsey felt Angel’s hands sliding over his body, his shoulders, his arms, his chest, and down between his thighs. Angel pushed them apart, reaching out to his dresser again, and Lindsey felt the hot, hard rub of Angel’s cock on his leg. He moved his hand and wrapped his fingers around it, squeezed, and was immediately rewarded with Angel’s lips on his jaw and his cheeks and then, his mouth. Lindsey heard the flick of a cap and Angel’s hand was back, between Lindsey’s legs. Cold lube on the fingers that touched him, coaxed his thighs further apart. Lindsey bit and sucked at Angel’s bottom lip, his breath coming faster as Angel slowly pushed one slick finger inside of him. Angel’s head moved to Lindsey’s chest, his tongue licked on a nipple.

“Does that feel good, Linds? You like that?”

Lindsey barely heard the low rumble of Angel’s question over the blood that rushed through his brain. “Yesssss. God. So good.”

“Want more?”

Lindsey nodded, his hands clutching at Angel’s shoulders as another long finger joined the first, inside of him. He moaned when Angel scissored them and scraped one gently across his prostate.

Angel worked his fingers in and out, sometimes one, sometimes two, then suddenly, three all at once, and he went deep, up to his palm. Lindsey arched up against him and cried out. Angel took his hand away, moved over him, tangled fingers in Lindsey’s damp hair and pushed his cock in, slippery and hot and hard and huge. Lindsey opened his eyes; his breath caught in his throat. Angel stared back, thrusting into him, all the way in, all the way out. Lindsey rocked with him, tried to spread his legs more, tried to pull Angel in deeper, to make him move faster. Angel kept the rhythm slow, steady, burning and Lindsey couldn’t help but struggle under him. He couldn’t stop trying to control the movement, until Angel whispered in his ear, “Let it go, Linds. Let it go. Relax. Stop fighting. Stop fighting me. Just let it happen.”

And when Lindsey did, Angel’s hand was between them, on his cock. His mouth was back on Lindsey’s lips, the soft, wet heat of Angel’s tongue and the tight burn of the slick palm. Squeezing, twisting fingers that pulled him up to the edge, then loosened and dropped him back, only to increase the friction and do it again and again and again. Lindsey’s fingernails scratched down Angel’s broad back as he came in hot spurts, coating their chests, and Angel gave in to the moment and the rush; Lindsey felt him shudder and stop and he pushed against Angel one last time as he was filled.

Angel pulled out of Lindsey slowly, reluctantly, and then Lindsey was wrapped in those big arms, moved so that his back was against Angel’s chest, warm skin wet with sweat and come. Angel’s long legs tangled with his, and they fell asleep, locked together.

They were woken in the morning by the sound of Spike’s fist, banging on the bedroom door and Xander’s voice, telling them that they were going to be late for the photo session.

Angel got up and pulled Lindsey out of the bed. “Come on, we only have time to shower.”

Under the hot water, in the small space, Angel took Lindsey again. Pressed his chest and face against the wet tiles, Angel’s strong hands holding his hips still, fingers bruising his skin and his mouth sealed to the back of Lindsey’s neck, then turning him around when he was done. Kissing him, tongue fucking him, and jacking Lindsey off as the air filled with steam and the scent of sex.

They ended up being only thirty minutes late to meet Giles at the photography studio and Lindsey felt uncomfortable in his borrowed clothing: Xander’s jeans, just a little too loose for his taste, but comfortably worn, and Spike’s T-shirt, too tight around his arms and chest. But he was thankful that Angel had taken care of it. He wouldn’t have been able to ask those two for anything, let alone if he could wear their clothes. Lindsey was still stunned by the events of the previous evening, by this morning, and his attitude showed it. He was quiet and reserved and didn’t customarily snap back at Giles when the older man scolded them for being late.

Lindsey stood, and smiled. He still felt the phantom touch of Angel’s hands on him and in him. The way Angel made him feel, suddenly wanted, and included, and safe.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Giles watched his group as the photographer worked with them, fascinated by the dynamics between the four boys. Angel had taken easy control of the other three; it seemed that they all looked to him before making decisions. Spike and Xander were almost lovingly affectionate, laughing at private jokes and constantly touching each other. But it was Lindsey, the boy he had serious doubts about making the final cut, the boy whose voice, Giles knew, had the potential to make him a star, he was acting different this morning, and Giles watched him curiously, wondering at the change.

Then, he saw it. When the photographer positioned them for a group shot, and told Lindsey to kneel in front of the other three - putting Spike at Lindsey’s right shoulder, Xander at his left, and Angel directly behind him - Lindsey’s eyes flashed with anger at being told what to do instead of being asked, and Angel reached over. His hand tightened on Lindsey’s arm, Angel’s head shook once, and Lindsey’s mouth shut immediately; he did as he was told.

Later that afternoon, when Giles was looking over the proofs in his office, he was amazed at how the camera had picked up the just-fucked look that Lindsey couldn’t begin to hide: the swollen, kiss-bruised lips, the dazed emotion in his smoky blue eyes. And Giles smiled, looked again, and then laughed out loud.

They all had it, all four of them. They were truly gorgeous boys.

His boys.

He glanced over the pictures once more, then started sifting through the studio session resumes he’d collected. It was time to hire some real musicians.

~~ End



*bounces to the beat*
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