It was the hunt. Pure and simple. When there was nothing to do, when Doyle was gambling and Cordelia was on one more audition/date. When Angel found himself with a night full of hours that could be filled with nothing but reading or sitting in the dark, alone … he pulled on his coat, rode up the elevator. He would smell the air from the roof of his building. Filter through the pollution and decay and non-stop noise that called and haunted until he would find that certain scent.
He’d step off the edge or jump to the next roof. He’d crouch in alleys and walk invisible through crowds. He’d follow that scent until he found whatever bar or whatever restaurant or whatever meeting that Lindsey was in and he would stalk soundlessly, up behind him. Buy a whiskey or a scotch and sit and watch and stare. Until Lindsey felt him there.
Until that head would turn, until those blue eyes would meet his and the smirk would become a sneer. Angel could hear the sound of Lindsey’s fingernails scraping as his hands clenched on silk suits.
Then two minutes or two hours later, Lindsey would join him. Drunk or high, bangs falling over his eyes, his Oklahoma bullshit just a little thicker. The heat from each panting breath a little warmer than the peppered vodka.
Angel’s arm would slide under the table, under the bar. His fingers wrapped around the hard length of Lindsey’s cock and he smiled. Amusement that never reached his eyes. His lips thinned and his teeth shone white and he slipped forward in his chair just an inch or two. He leaned closer to Lindsey and inhaled. Devoured the hot scent of lust and desire and passion, the boil of blood so close to the surface. The bleach and caramel spice of Lindsey’s come when his hips snapped forward and his grip tightened around his glass or his bottle or his cigarette.
The way Lindsey’s eyes would lower as he followed Angel to a bathroom or a hallway. His fingers already unbuttoned his pants. His tongue licked over his lips. His hands braced against drywall or metal or brick. His thighs spread just enough. Angel’s teeth on the back of his neck. Low voice in his ear as white lightning shot through his mind.
“Fight with me, Lindsey … come with me …”
I just finished watching all of Ats3. And I had to jump to Deep Down to keep from completely losing my mind tonight ... so much pain. So much subtext ... so much there, still. In every single episode. Will there ever be another series as brilliantly done? Will there ever be characters as perfect and real and incredibly human as they were?
I love this show. And I miss it. So very much.