Season 4 Ats
NC/17 ~ Non-consensual sex
Not mine, never will be.
Written for tesla321’s Birthday Ficathon
Pairing choice/prompt by ely_jan
Beta by menomegirl
This is a work of fiction.
No offense intended towards anyone.
I love and have the greatest respect for lawyers, paralegals, secretaries and junior high school basketball coaches.
And sometimes Vampires.
The pain seemed to separate in Lindsey’s mind. Sharp stabbing tears reflected over here, on the right side. Low, dull, throbbing aches stayed up front, just above his eyes. The constant, simple hurt coated his entire brain in shades of red and every time he passed out and woke up, it started all over again. Like a band of unruly school children on a field trip, Lindsey thought, if he could just gather all the different shades and forms and get them in one place in his head, it would be finished.
It took a few hours passing, a solid realization that he was not going to be saved, not going to escape before he knew that without a doubt, he was going to die. This was it, story over, chapters edited, last punctuation put into use and Lindsey slumped, hung from the ropes that bound him and watched through swollen eyes as his blood ran down his soaked, expensive dry-clean only pants to puddle in the dirt at his bare feet.
His fingers were broken, one shoulder dislocated. His shirt hung in tatters from his shoulders, too many cuts to count, too many bruises running together. He licked over his bottom lip and winced at the open slice there, he would’ve smiled at that pain, if everything else didn’t hurt so fucking much. At least that one he’d gotten from someone else, not the twisted vampire that paced and circled around him, his boots kicking up packed dirt from the barn’s rotted wood floor with every pass.
Lindsey would look up occasionally, squinting at the face he thought he had known. His traitor mind would attempt to distract him from the pain that racked his body when all he wanted to do was sink into it, roll around in it. Shit, propose to it, love it, marry it and fuck it and please, just let me die. Let me die … and he would try to figure out why he hadn’t immediately known that this wasn’t Angel.
Lindsey’s evening had started normally enough …
“Are you going to be at Sam’s birthday party tonight, Mr. McDonald?”
“No. I’m going to have to miss it, Lisa and would you please stop calling me Mr. McDonald?” Lindsey shook his head, put a manila file in his briefcase and snapped it shut. He looked up at his secretary and ignored, for the thousandth time, the puppy love he saw in her eyes. Women were the same all over, LA, Oklahoma City, Denver and here, Baton Rouge. Falling in what they thought was love with someone that treated them with sugarcoated, southern respect.
“I’ve got a game to coach and too many briefs to go over, but give her my best wishes, okay?”
His secretary nodded and he noticed the light dim in her eyes as she collected her purse and jacket from her desk.
“Oh, I almost forgot. Someone called for you this afternoon while you were in court, wouldn’t leave his name or a number. I’m not sure if this is important, but the only thing he said was to ask you if you’d gotten any tickets when you left LA? I thought you said you moved here from Denver, Mr. Mc-, Lindsey.”
“I did.” Lindsey stopped moving altogether for a moment. Stopped breathing. Then instinct took over, his briefcase in hand, his suit jacket slung over his arm and he turned the lights out, shut the door behind them both.
“Just a case of mistaken identity, I’m sure. Don’t worry about it, Lisa.”
She nodded and they separated at their cars. Lindsey drove to the junior high school gym, so distracted that he ran two red lights and almost hit another automobile in the parking lot.
Two years plus since he’d left LA. Two years of pro-bono bullshit. Two years of working for the courts, defending anyone that couldn’t afford an attorney and startling every state’s DA office with both his natural and learned ability to circumvent the law. To make even the most heinous criminal look innocent, to make even the most innocent victim look worse. Child molesters. Rapists. Shoplifters and vandals. People too poor to pay their rent and people too innocent to know that they were being taken advantage of.
It wasn’t redemption, fuck no. Lindsey didn’t give a shit about that. It was busy work, it was something to do, it was time spent when he was not thinking about his skyline apartment in LA. Not thinking about the stretch limousines that used to ferry him to and from work. Not remembering ordering silk, handmade Italian suits and arguing cases in front of Grand Juries and paychecks that he would forget to deposit, a check book he never needed to balance because it was never anywhere near zero.
It was simply what Lindsey knew how to do and he did it well.
Coaching the junior high basketball team, though, was just for fun. The kids were old enough to listen and learn and young enough that they were not jaded with opinions and ideas that just ended up weighing them down.
Lindsey left his briefcase and suit jacket in his leased nondescript Ford sedan and started toward the gym. His head was down and he was thinking about LA, about Wolfram and Hart and the sign he’d found on the back of his truck before he’d even gotten out of California that night. His mind raced, until the boys and the game demanded his attention. They were playing a good team tonight, one that would test them, but even as Lindsey pumped the boys up and went over plays and strategies, his eyes scanned the crowd for that old, familiar face.
Three minutes to go and his team was down by six. Their expressions were drawn and worried, the gym was warm and smelled of sweat and Lindsey’s ears rang with the sound of the buzzers and whistles and the high, sharp sound of tennis shoes on varnish as the boys ran from one end of the court to the other. His sleeves rolled up, his hair curled at the ends from the humidity that clung in the air and made the sweat that ran down his neck to the collar of his shirt seem cool in comparison. Lindsey made a decision and sent in a boy that didn’t usually play in moments like this. A boy that wasn’t on the ‘A’ team, wasn’t even on the ‘B’ team, but someone that if he’d been hard pressed enough, if he was forced to tell the truth … reminded Lindsey of himself at that age.
A parent in the stands took offense to this decision and Lindsey ignored the voice that yelled behind him. He focused on his team and making up those 6 points in one hundred and eighty seconds, but before he could, he felt a hand on his shoulder and a sharp, bright pain in his jaw as the father came down from the shaky wooden platforms and punched him. Linsdey’s head rocked and his mind exploded with pent up rage. He had to be pulled off the other man by a crowd and was forcibly ejected from the game, probably from the first thing he had truly enjoyed since he left LA. The first thing that had nothing to do with getting ahead, with making a buck, with hiding from … something and everything to do with just living his life.
“I’ll take him home.”
Lindsey had turned at the voice, his eyes rolling and his tongue tasted copper and iron on his lip.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” He asked without surprise.
“Just came looking for an old friend.”
They were outside now, the sultry Louisiana evening settling around them as the other parents went back inside the gym.
“We were never friends, Angel.”
“That’s good to know, boy. Because I am not Angel.”
Lindsey’s balls felt like they were crawling right back into the groin from where they’d descended about twenty-six years ago, give or take a month in utero, but he didn’t show it. Too many years at Wolfram and Hart. Too many days when something went wrong, days where everyone knew that someone was taking the fall and it could have been him. Every damn time … it could have been him.
“You don’t seem surprised to see me, Lindsey.”
Lindsey wiped the blood from his bottom lip and tried not to notice the way the vampire’s eyes tracked his stained fingers as they rubbed against his pants.
“I’m not. Figured one of these days somebody would make a mistake. Did you finally get a blowjob from your pretty secretary, the actress wannabe? Or did that Slayer come into town for a visit?”
Lindsey saw Angelus’ hand move and he ducked, but it was as if he moved in slow motion. As if he was walking through syrup and Angelus hit him. The pavement rushed up to meet Lindsey’s face and the next thing he knew he was here. In this barn, strung between two huge beams of wood. Crickets and cicadas sang outside, the stale straw in the corners moved occasionally as the bright eyes of rodents peered at him, waiting for him to die. An oil lamp burned brightly, hanging from a hook beside the door and the old, thick smell of the smoke was enough to make Lindsey want to gag, if he could’ve found the strength. Sweat ran down his cheeks and dropped into the torn material of his shirt. Blood seeped from cuts on his face and chest and arms. His neck burnt from the tear of razor-sharp teeth. The pain in his hands and shoulder had gone beyond hurt. It just, simply was.
“Just kill me already, Angelus. This is getting old and I’m bored.” Lindsey whispered, his voice hoarse and rough from screaming. He spat blood on the dust and dirt-covered floor and tried not to wince when he saw Angelus’ boots stop pacing.
“Kill you? You think I’m going to kill you?”
Lindsey felt those long fingers in his hair, the dull pain of his head being wrenched back and up and Angelus stood in front of him. Chocolate eyes that danced with a poisoned glee, his lips drawn back in a smile too wide. It didn’t fit the face Lindsey knew.
There was no brooding, no sadness, no guilt and absolutely no compassion in those eyes. There was only lust and an evil passion that far outstripped the most demented, the most depraved and vile demon that Lindsey had ever seen.
“Not even you can torture me forever, Angelus. Sooner or later I will die. I am only human, after all.”
And as soon as Lindsey said it, he knew. His biggest mistake. His only fault and Angelus saw the knowledge dawn in Lindsey’s eyes.
“Not going to kill you, boy. But I am going to torture you with forever.”
Part of Lindsey wanted to start fighting, wanted to pull at the ropes that bound his wrists. Wanted to kick out at the vampire and fight for his life. Struggle and bite, hit and scream and cry.
The part that won, however, was the part that had always won. The part that hadn’t shrunk from signing the contract with the law firm that paid for his college education. The part that didn’t care he’d never see his family again. The part that craved the twelve year old scotch and the board meetings where associates that had been employed, owned, longer than him sweated and cried and begged for their lives. He would sit, silent and attentive and watch as they were carried away, spit dribbling from their mouths, tears staining their faces.
“Do it, Angelus. Do it. Kill me, turn me, make me your child. I always knew you were a pedophiliac shit. I always knew you wanted me.”
Angelus laughed, one last hard pull in of Lindsey’s hair as he stepped back to watch.
“Oh, I will, Lindsey. I will. Soon enough, but this is just too much fun right now and your blood smells too damn good.”
“Fuck off, Angelus.” Lindsey couldn’t stop talking, even biting his tongue didn’t help. He couldn’t stop pushing Angelus. Testing him, finding what buttons worked and what didn’t. Lindsey blamed it on the pain. “Angel was more threatening than you. At least he didn’t fucking tease me. He just did.”
The back of the vampire’s hand shot out and hit Lindsey’s head, rocking it back. Lindsey blinked past the fresh pain and smiled.
“Angel cut off my hand to save his precious prophecy. Beat me with a sledgehammer to save his friends. What have you done lately?”
Six months after he’d left LA and Lindsey still looked over his shoulder. Still avoided being outside after dark, as if flimsy man-made buildings could ever keep him from the Senior Partners should they, when they came looking for him. Like pulling up threadbare blankets over his head when he was a child and frightened by the creeping shadows of the trees that surrounded the farmhouse he grew up in, Lindsey was, after all, human. Getting back in his apartment before sunset, his hotel room, staying in his office all night with the shades drawn and the door locked made him feel safe. Even if he knew he wasn’t, really.
A year passed and he took the chance, spent the evening at a country bar drinking shots of tequila and whiskey. A silent toast at midnight to the things that had let him live three hundred and sixty-five more days than he expected.
Last call at two thirty in the morning and Lindsey had stumbled out into the first dark night he’d seen for a year. He walked back to his tiny, filthy pay-by-the-week apartment, carefully stepping over drunks in doorways.
“You’re not, you know.”
A quiet, softly lilting voice that spoke just before he turned the key to his room. Lindsey let his breath out with a rush, unconsciously held as he had walked down the urine-soaked hallway. He turned slowly, feeling every muscle creak with the sudden tense strain, his heart pounded in his chest.
A man stood there, leaning against the far wall. Bright blue eyes and curly black hair and Lindsey knew him from somewhere. He shifted position and Lindsey realized he could see the wall through the man. A ghost.
“I’m not what?” Lindsey asked, his palms cold with sweat and he hated that, hated this feeling. Fear, weak, powerless, he’d thought he was ready. All this time, thought he had prepared for this, for being taken, punished, tortured, killed and now he knew he’d only been fooling himself.
“Safe, dumbass. You’ll never be safe from your destiny.”
A few more words and Lindsey’s mind moved through the file cabinet in his head. He knew who he was.
“Doyle, Angel’s buddy. Didn’t know you were working for the Partners too.”
The ghost laughed, flickering, almost disappearing and returning.
“You are stupider than Angel said if you truly think that. There are others, you know and I’m just here to deliver a message. You’ve been spared for a reason, Lindsey. Don’t fuck up when the chance comes again. Don’t let what happens between then and now make you choose the wrong side. Again.”
“What?” Interested in spite of himself, Lindsey had to know. “What will happen?”
The ghost shook his head, laughing softly and Lindsey was caught by the warmth that he could feel coming from those blue eyes.
“Life wouldn’t be half as fun if I told anyone what was coming down the lane, would it?”
“Fucking ghosts. Always with the cryptic. If you’re not going to tell me what, why tell me anything?”
“Just giving you a head’s up, lawyer. Remember you always have choices.”
Lindsey didn’t open his eyes when the pain that never truly left, slammed full-force back into his consciousness. He turned his head to the right, wiped fresh blood from his lips and chin on his shoulder. Sometime when he’d been unconscious, Angelus had relocated his shoulder back into it’s socket and instead of the sharp, dagger-like pain of that one thing, there was only a dull ache of muscle strain and nausea to mix with all the others.
He looked through slitted eyes at the floor in front of him and couldn’t help feeling relief that those boots were not standing there. A little wider now, he lifted his head slowly even though he knew, by now, that he was alone in the barn. Angelus might be many, many things, but he was never quiet.
Lindsey looked up to the window in the rafters above him, he wanted to see the sky lightened with dawn, but it was still dark out. He pulled against the ropes that held him and tried to ignore that faint spark of fucking hope that lit inside him. Left alone, there might be a chance and he jerked with surprise when the barn door was slammed open. The tiny flame died inside as if it had never been there at all.
Angelus strode into the barn, kicked the door shut behind him and dropped the woman he carried in an unceremonious heap on the floor. Lindsey squinted at the short, dark red hair, at the dress he recognized when he didn’t want to and he knew who it was. Lindsey heard her moan when she hit the floor, and although she didn’t move after that, at least he knew she was still alive. Cold comfort, for now.
Angelus smiled as he approached him.
“A little snack for you, boy. When all is said and done.”
Lindsey looked at Angelus and couldn’t understand how he hadn’t known before that this was not Angel. Where Angel had simmered in a slow rage of denial, Angelus reeked with satisfaction and an unending lust. Angel wore black as a penance and his guilt weighed his shoulders down with an almost visible presence. Angelus moved sinuously in leather and silk. Angelus completely occupied the space around him, he seemed to never stand still and jesus, god he never shut up.
“Did you talk like this all through the middle ages, Angelus? Fuck, you didn’t kill most of your victims did you? They probably committed suicide.”
That earned Lindsey another hard slap across his face and he ground his teeth at the pain that flared like fire up his arms when his hands tried to clench into fists. Angelus stood directly in front of him, so close that Lindsey could smell his skin. The cool, inhuman musk, the scent of dirt and time and it reminded him of Darla after Drusilla turned her. When he should have been terrified of her and he wasn’t. When he should’ve ran from her and he was drawn to her. When he should have staked her and instead, he got down on his knees and touched her, worshipped her.
Lindsey wondered if he too, would smell like this when Angelus was through with him.
Cool hands with long fingers slid down his arms to his shoulders and Lindsey looked away, up into the dark rafters above them as Angelus’ head dipped down. Lindsey could hear Angelus breathing, sniffing as he got closer.
“Did I ever tell you that your blood smells like wine, Lindsey? Even Angel thought so. He used to think about you, late at night when he was alone, in the dark. Did you know that?” Angelus’ mouth grazed the stubble on Lindsey’s cheek and jaw up to his ear and for once, Lindsey couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
“Angel would touch himself, there, in the dark, with you on his mind. His hand slipping down under the covers to wrap his fingers around his cock and he would wonder just what sounds you might make when you came. He wondered just how hot it felt to be buried inside your body, to fuck you down into his bed, over his desk, in an alley up against the bricks. He wondered if you made any noise at all, if you whimpered and whined, if you moaned and screamed, if you talked dirty and would curse him, struggle underneath him. If you would tell him to go to Hell even as you spread your legs further apart.”
“Fuck off, Angelus.” Lindsey replied weakly, having a hard time keeping up the level of anger he knew he should feel. Hypnotism, he’d heard that vampires were good at it, fuck, that some of them were experts. How else did they get inside some people’s rooms, some people’s heads? That had to be it, because Lindsey had never once entertained those thoughts on his own. Never once.
Lindsey made the mistake of raising his eyes and looking into the deep, dark brown of Angelus’. The smile that curved his lips as his tongue slipped out and licked a trace of blood off the soft fullness, the pale pink, the white flash of teeth behind. The way Angelus could loom over him and make him feel small and helpless and … shit.
“Me, I’d prefer if you screamed. I like that.”
“I’m not going to scream for you, Angelus.” Lindsey whispered, his voice hoarse and rough. Although he knew, he probably would.
He felt Angelus’ hands move down his chest, a slick wet feeling. Over blood and sweat to the waistband of his pants. His belt unbuckled and pulled through the loops, dropped off into the dirt. The button undone and the zipper lowered.
“I have to be naked for this? Is that part of it, Angelus?” Lindsey asked as his pants slithered down his legs to puddle at his feet.
“It is tonight.”
He felt, rather than saw, Angelus duck under one arm and move behind him. Those long fingers never leaving his skin, sliding up and down his chest to his hips, between his legs, behind him. Such a cold touch, even wet with his blood.
Angelus’ mouth on the back of his neck, on the skin of his shoulder and Lindsey pulled on the ropes, hopelessly tried to step away, pull away, get away.
“Relax, boy. It only hurts for a moment.” Angelus growled and Lindsey laughed.
“What? Dying or getting fucked?”
The metal teeth on the zipper of Angelus’ leather pants seemed to echo against the barn’s walls and Lindsey tensed, despite the fresh pain that caused. The flashing white lights that played behind his closed eyelids, the copper taste in his mouth when he bit down on his tongue to stifle the panicked sound that threatened to spill from his lips.
“Dying, actually. Getting fucked by me is something you’ll have the memorable pleasure of enjoying over and over and over.”
“Great. I’ll try to remember to take pictures next time and send them to my family.” Lindsey jerked forward from the cool feel of Angelus’ body behind him. Chest to back, groin to ass, thighs to thighs.
“Don’t worry about that, counselor. We’ll go find your family, one by one, and show them in person. Look,” Lindsey opened his eyes automatically at the request. Angelus’ hand was in front of his face, his palm red with blood. “See how much I want you? I’ll even use lube.”
Angelus’ hand moved and Lindsey closed his eyes and promised himself he would.not.scream. Even as the dim, musty interior of the barn became daylight in his mind and his body arched when Angelus thrust into him. Hands on his hips, pulling him forward and back. Holding him in place as Angelus’ cock tore into his body and Lindsey screamed. Fingers pressing into cuts made by knife and teeth, into bruises that had just blossomed purple and red and he could feel blood run down the inside of his thighs. It felt cold.
Angelus’ mouth on the back of his neck, his hand tangled in Lindsey’s hair as Angelus pulled his head to the side and Lindsey winced at the feel of teeth too sharp to be human slipped into the skin there. A wet tongue pressed in behind them and lips sealed around the wound. The balls of his feet skidded on the barn floor beneath them as Angelus fucked him and bit him, pulled him closer and went deeper. Lindsey’s world started sliding away in a mist until all he could hear was the slowing beat of his heart, until all he could feel was the pounding, driving, burning cock in his ass. The pain splintered in his mind, became a kaleidoscope of color, each pigment representing a place on his body that was torn or cut or bruised or bleeding and Lindsey waited for them to come together, to create a mural of his life and let him die.
“Shut up!” Angelus screamed and Lindsey blinked. Opened his eyes and tried to focus on something, anything.
Lindsey’s back felt cold suddenly and he realized that Angelus had moved away. Even as cool as the vampire normally was, he had soaked up Lindsey’s body heat and when he left, it was gone.
“Shut up!” Angelus yelled again and Lindsey struggled to look over his shoulder. Angelus staggered around him, clutching his head. His eyes flashed yellow, his teeth long and sharp, dripped with blood. My blood … Lindsey thought and felt the trickle of it down the skin that covered his spine.
Angelus straightened up, shook his head and looked around for a moment, as if he couldn’t remember where he was. Then he smiled and took one step toward Lindsey only to double over, his fingers sinking into his own hair.
“All right! Fucking Christ! I’m coming back.” Angelus shouted at no one and Lindsey couldn’t help but cock an eyebrow as he watched the vampire.
Angelus grabbed his pants and pulled them on, stuck his feet in his boots and picked his silk shirt up off the floor.
“I’ll be back for you. This is not finished.” He looked as if he wanted nothing more than to step forward and kiss him and Lindsey almost expected it. Almost wanted it, but Angelus simply growled something in Latin, turned and left the barn. The door swung open and a warm breeze blew into the room, it made the flame in the oil lantern flicker and dim before it sputtered and went out and Lindsey was left alone in the dark and the pain fragmented inside him.
It was past dawn when his secretary stirred, mid-morning before she woke up, holding her head in her hands and looking around blearily. She screamed when she saw him and Lindsey supposed that she thought he was dead. It took him fifteen minutes to convince her that he was alive and to untie him and another thirty before he could get up from where he’d fallen on the floor after she did. Lisa helped Lindsey pull his pants on, helped him out to his car and was too shaken to fight him on a trip to the hospital or his apartment.
A long shower later, clean clothes and T-shirts used as bandages and splints. His bags packed, his few possessions gathered and Lindsey was moving slow, but he was out of Louisiana and headed for the Deep South. For a Voodoo Priest he’d once heard of, a long time ago. For a second chance, for revenge. For a choice, wrong or right, that would help him find his destiny.