All men are frauds
The whiskey was well aged. The lawyer’s smile was full of teeth, blue eyes sharp as knives.
“I don’t need the details of his life. Just where he was Tuesday night.” Seeley sat back in the leather chair. His eyes never left the face of the man across the desk. “What he was doing.”
“Sure you don’t have any relatives from Ireland?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Can you answer the questions, Mr. McDonald?” Seeley put the empty glass on the lawyer’s desk and rolled his tongue over his bottom lip.
“Absolutely. Have another drink, Mr. Booth. This could take a while.”
The only difference between them is that some admit it.
The second glass of whiskey was spiked. A little bit of drugs, a bit of simple magic and Lindsey watched as Seeley was pulled under. Those keen, dark eyes grew dim. His questions became vague. That big body relaxed into the chair, long fingers loose on the padded arms.
“What did you–"
Quick move from behind his desk and Lindsey stood in front of Booth. He reached out, touching a face that he didn’t know and one that he knew too well.
His thumb brushed over Seeley’s lips.
He pushed inside. Perfect lips separating, slow lap of a wet, warm tongue and Lindsey was groaning. Rubbing the palm of his other hand over the crotch of his slick, Italian silk slacks. Unbuttoning. Unzipping. Working his thumb in and out of the FBI agent’s mouth as his fingers wrapped around his hard cock.
He caught the light of something sparking in Seeley’s eyes, even through the haze of a drugged spell. Lindsey felt the low vibration of a moan, a growl through his hand, up his arm, down his chest and straight to his aching cock.
He picked up the phone.
“Angel, someone here you need to meet.”
I myself deny it.
Angel ghosted through Wolfram and Hart. He slipped into Lindsey’s office and didn’t even pretend to not notice the way the lawyer jerked away from the man in front of him. He’d like to have ignored the way Lindsey smirked at him as he took his time tucking in his shirt and buttoning his pants.
“What do you want?”
“Besides sweeping up your ashes? I want you to meet your twin.”
Angel approached silently. His eyes took in the man without changing expression. A single breath and Angel knew he was human. Not some spirit or demon conjured for amusement.
“Who is he, Angel? A long lost relative?”
“No. I don’t have a blood-line, Lindsey.”
“That you know of, Angel. Who knows how many servants and tavern sluts your father fucked back in the day?”
Angel looked as if he was idle, unworried, but he was already escaping. Weighing the man in the chair, carrying him as they broke through thick glass. Falling to the street below and weaving past speeding cars.
“Not my father.”
The man’s eyes moved to meet his and Angel knew he saw him. Inside him. Through him. They knew him.
He was not a stranger.