As Fucked as You Were the Day You Lied
Set between the end of Ats 4 and the beginning of Ats 5
Beta by lady_t_220
Name/LJ name: crazy_girl_mary
Ficathon in which your request wasn't written: BtVS/A:tS Challenge Plus Ficathon
REQUEST: First character you want: Lindsey
Second character you want: Gwen
Challenge: I don't care when it takes place, but these two characters have a tumultuous relationship, feeding off of each others power.
Do you mind a slash story if you chose two characters of the same sex?: No slash.
How high a rating can the author write?: As high as you dare deary
What genre(s)can the author choose to write this in?: dark, angst, just not fluff or comedy, although a little humor never hurt anybody.
Third character: Lilah
Quote: "Even if you think the flame has died, there's at least one lyric that'll hit that last hot spot, and then you'll find yourself as fucked as you were the day you lied and said you never wanted to see her again." - John Mayer
Song: "The Pretty Things Are Going To Hell" by David Bowie
Object: A black eye
Episode: Blind Date (A:tS)
From where Lindsey was sitting, she looked like trouble.
He rested his back against scarred wood of the wall and tilted the stool back on two legs, trusting unknown workmanship that he wouldn’t fall and really not giving a shit if he did. After all, this place was a dive in a dumbass hick town in Montana and he was on his fifth water spotted tumbler of whiskey, no ice and leave the bottle. If he fell on his ass on the grimy floor, who would be surprised? Not the bartender who served him with a sneer, who took the fifty from Lindsey’s fingers so carefully, as if he expected it to bite him. Not the waitress who had offered three times to take Lindsey in the back and blow him and, each time he turned her down, she narrowed her eyes just a little more. Finally called him a faggot and flounced off, her ass bouncing unattractively in a too short skirt and Lindsey smiled into his glass, draining it, amused that being called a homosexual was apparently worse, in her world, than being a full time bar slut/part time whore.
And then she had walked in.
Raven hair, porcelain skin, eyes as bright blue as his, sparkling as they caught the dim lights when she looked around. She stared down everyone that was looking at her, and that meant every single breathing male in the bar and not a few of the female patrons. She moved with a confidence that reminded him of Lilah. Powerful sex and magnetism and not a Don’t fuck with me attitude. No. These women smiled and said, Yes. Come on. Fuck with me all night. When I’m tired of it? I will leave you bleeding and broken and begging for more.
Her body was wrapped in latex and leather, red and black that left absolutely nothing to the imagination and diamonds sparkled in the lobe of each ear. Her lips were painted a glossy red that matched her fingernails and for one brief moment all Lindsey could think about was feeling those nails on his cock. He shifted on his stool and barely managed to stay upright, letting it fall forward until he was stable on all four legs again.
What the fuck was she doing here?
He was sitting at the end of the bar when Gwen walked in and even though she didn’t look directly at him, she knew he was there. She knew he was watching her, checking her out, wondering about her. His hair long, strands hanging over his eyes, past the collar of the flannel work shirt that made her smile widen. As if he’d ever done a single day of manual labor. She could smell money, see it in the aura that surrounded him.
This was a man used to three thousands dollar suits and the backs of limousines. Cigars from Communist countries and drugs direct from the distributor. He might be sporting the remains of a black eye, his hands might be stained with dirt, his boots with mud. His jeans might have a fine coating of horsehair around the calves and ankles and be worn in the ass from hours in a saddle but this was a man that worked with his mind, not with his back. He could show her muscles that bulged in his arms from lifting bales of hay or flipping calves on their backs and calluses on his fingers from tying leather around hooves, burns on the back of his hands from sparks flying from red hot brands, but she already knew him. He was no ordinary cowboy and she was curious.
What was he doing here?
“Buy you a drink?” His voice was low and soft, gravel on pavement under tires at night and Gwen nodded. Too long without a man, too long without being touched and held and invaded and fucked, she told herself. Too long with this control and nothing, no one to unleash it upon and she ached. The client could wait. This was more important, right now … this was everything.
“Got a name?” He asked as they danced in slow motion to old country songs on the jukebox. The bar was quiet, empty of everyone but just the last men who stood, watching. He smelled of smoke and shadows, the scent of wilderness and magic in his clothes, on his skin. His hand twined with hers, his fingers pulled and twisted. His palm heavy and hot on the small of her back.
“What are you-"
Her index finger on his lips stopped his questions. She trailed a long red nail around his thick lips, lips that looked as though he’d already been kissed, as though he’d already been fucked. He smiled and the muscles around her spine tightened and heated. His groin pressed into hers, leather and denim rubbing and she could feel him as if he were naked against her. Hard and hot and full of a desire that intrigued her.
“I am no one.” Her lips brushed against his, their tongues meeting in fleeting glances. Tasting each other, testing each other.
“That’s my line.”
Lindsey pressed her against the drywall of the hotel room. Hands on her waist, thumbs on the tender skin that covered the bones of her ribs. His mouth moved up her perfumed neck, his nose brushing through the soft long hair until he found her lips and felt the force of a kiss from a hungry, confident woman. Nothing like that in the world. Her teeth raked over his lips and Lindsey had to pull away once again, regain an inch of self-control.
“Where are you from?” He groaned as her long fingernails drew pictures of lust down his shoulder blades.
“What?” She laughed, her teeth flashed white in the room. Only the neon of the bar sign through the sheers that covered the window lighted them and they stared into each other’s eyes, cautious amusement and undeniable attraction.
“You don’t think I could be from here?”
“No.” Lindsey shook his head. His fingers in her hair, he brushed it back from her face.
“You’re right. I’m not from here, wherever the fuck here is.” She moved away from him, walked through the multicolored light that came through the window, then stopped. Turned and looked at him. “I’m a thief. I’m from LA. I’m here to meet a client, or I was, until I saw you. Now all I want to do is strip you down and taste your skin and roll around on that very fragile, lumpy looking bed over there until I forget what day of the week it is. You game?”
The sound of Lindsey’s laughter filled the room and when he stopped he realized he was feeling probably the first real smile he’d had on his face for a long time.
“Fair is fair,” She whispered, walking back to him with a dangerous gleam in her eyes. “You’re not from here either. Spill.”
“I’m from LA. I’m a lawyer, or I was. Now I’m just a simple cowboy, trying to–" One blood red fingernail on his lips stopped his words once again and Lindsey watched as she shook her head.
“Don’t even try.”
“You’re right.” The smile slipped from Lindsey’s face, gone as quickly as it had come. His fingers moved on the buttons of his shirt and he pulled it off. Watching her dark eyes widen at the sight of the tattoos that covered his arms. He crossed his wrists at his waist and flipped the tank over his head, exposing more on his chest and abdomen. Her hand reached out and this time Lindsey caught it before she could touch him.
“Powerful mojo.” He whispered, “Protection.”
Her mouth quirked up into that little smirk and with a twist of her wrist, she was free of his grip.
“Protection? For you or for me?”
“When you’re with me? Both.”
She laughed. A low, rich sound that Lindsey thought he could get used to hearing.
“I’ve got my own, cowboy. Don’t need yours.” Her hand reached out once again and she followed the pattern of one tattoo across his chest. Lindsey felt a slight burn, a charge in the air. The small hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he dropped her stare, looked down and watched as a tiny trail of white sparks danced on his skin, tracking behind her touch.
“I think I’m in love.” He looked back up and she smiled again, wider this time. Took that last step that separated them and ran both hands over his smooth, round shoulders.
“Let’s just fuck, babe. We can talk about love later, okay?”
Gwen pushed on his chest lightly, backing him up to the bed. She let her hands move down, tracing over the tightly defined muscles in his chest, his abdomen, to the buttons of his jeans. Popped them open just as his calves hit the mattress and reached inside, let a small charge run down her arm as her fingers wrapped around his cock. Just enough to tighten every muscle in his groin and thighs, and then her hands were pushing worn denim down to his knees.
“Fuck, Jesus …”
Gwen smiled as he shuddered. This lawyer boy was cute and those tattoos were sexy. She was too curious and needed to nip it in the bud. Had to, she was not here to find a man, to get involved, to help him. The only missions Gwen wanted from now on involved money. For her. Not saving the world or helping out souled vam- Nothing like that. Ever again.
“Can you do that … with all of your body?”
Gwen let this faux-cowboy stop her thought processes with his pretty smile and beautiful body and husky bedroom voice.
She pushed him back and climbed up over him, her knees straddling his thighs. Leaned down until their lips were touching and she could feel his breath matching hers, fast and hot.
“Yes.” She met his blue eyes with her own. Then her head dipped as she moved to his chest, she left a line of wet, sparking kisses on the straight line of his sternum. “With,”kiss "every” kiss "part” kiss "of” kiss “my” kiss “body.”kiss …
Gwen could see his hands digging into the cheap comforter, clenching around material when she flicked her tongue over the head of his cock. His back arching up when she sparked a line of fire on the vein that pulsed underneath. That voice curling like smoke through her mind, making her want to do all kinds of things to him just to keep him talking.
So she did. For hours. Kept him on the edge until he was whimpering under her, her clothes stripped off and tossed to the floor. Gwen straddled him, riding his cock, feeling the burn of him splitting her wide open, the ache in her thighs when she lifted off until only the head of him rested inside her and then plunging down and rocking against him. Pinching his nipples between finger and thumb, she gripped him through orgasm after orgasm. Let them rush together and drawing them out until she was panting, sweat dropping and mixing on his chest and cheeks.
Gwen let him roll her. Let him have the control, take it from her because it felt so damn good to be under a man. To feel his weight on her, crushing her down into the mattress, spreading her legs. Pounding his big cock into her over and over. She drew his blood with her nails, left smears of it on his arms and ass and knew his hands were bruising her hips and shoulders, that she would be covering his kisses on her neck with makeup for a week and she didn’t give a shit. This was heaven. This was perfect. This was just what she needed at just the right moment, on just the right night and this used-to-be-a-lawyer/cowboy wannabe was just the perfect man.
Dawn was beating the neon out for light when Gwen slipped out of the bed. She showered and dressed, used his brush that sat by a small leather shaving kit on the counter to pull the snarls out of her thick hair. She smiled at her reflection as she reapplied her lipstick and mascara that she carried in her tiny black purse.
He was sitting up against the headboard when Gwen came back into the room. She looked for her boots and pulled them on, ran her tongue over her teeth at the sight of him. The tattoos stood out against his skin, against the white of the sheets that were gathered around his waist and his hair was messy, but his eyes were as sharp as they had been last night, even after the whiskey and beer and mindblowing sex.
“At least tell me your name. I might be going back to LA one of these days.”
Gwen stood by the door and watched him for a moment. Considering her options, her needs, her life. Then she shrugged and opened her purse, poking through the contents with a nail until she found just the right card.
“It’s Gwen, and these people, they usually know how to get in touch with me.” She set it on the table and blew him a kiss. Opened the door and was gone before Lindsey could get out of the bed.
Too far away by the time he picked up the card to hear the sound of his fist hitting through the drywall. In her car and out on the road and she couldn’t see the card fluttering to the floor, spatters of blood staining the white with red, covering the line drawing of an Angel.
We Help the Helpless
I hope that somewhat met what she was looking for ... just a side note ... The first ficathon I ever signed up for, theantijoss's Angel Ficathon, I wrote for crazy_girl_mary! Heh. Small world, I guess.