![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
doyleTitle: Beautiful Buddy-Movie Kind of Way
Author: Doyle
Pairing: Angel/Lindsey
Rating: R. Very very mild R, at that.
Summary: Reworking of the last scene of Dead End.
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elenabtvs who wanted A/L; in the bed of Lindsey's pickup truck; at the end of Dead End; with use of the phrase "Honk If You're Horny!" I didn't manage to work that last one in... please forgive me.
If Angel had known the key to shattering Lindsey McDonald's arrogant composure was sucking him off in the back of a pickup truck, he'd have done it long ago.
He sat now with his back against the truck bed's high walls, waiting for the guy to get his breath back. Lindsey was still flat-out, eyes closed, gulping down air like it was a billable activity.
Nice to know a couple of decades hadn't made him completely lose his touch.
He didn't have much to occupy his mind except checking out the truck (which really was a good one, he noted appreciatively - Gunn would like it, he was sure). Looked like Lindsey was taking travelling light to an extreme. The only things in sight were a duffel bag, guitar case and - Angel grimaced - a tyre iron. The case was beside him, and he flipped it open.
"Don't mind if I take a look, do you?"
Apparently still incapable of speech, the instrument's owner paid him no heed.
Angel shrugged, and settled the guitar over his knee. He barred a finger across the neck, giving it an experimental strum. Discord. He frowned. Lindsey made this look far easier. "I always wanted to learn how to play one of these. Robbie Zimmerman - before he changed the name and everything - tried to teach me a time or two, but I never had the knack. Good guy. Not a great singer, but..."
He broke off at a small, strangled sound.
Sounded like Lindsey was back on the planet.
"What. The hell. Was that?"
"Good to see you back to your coherent self," he said, putting the guitar back and closing the lid. "Y'know, Lindsey, before I met you? When I thought of lawyers I'd always picture Atticus Finch. Or that guy who got O.J. off. These master orators, dominating a courtroom with their presence. You're ruining the whole profession for me."
"Yeah, sorry 'bout that," Lindsey murmured, eyes still a little glazed, staring up at the night sky. "I obviously missed the part of that book where Atticus gets a blowjob from the vampire who cut off his goddamn hand."
"Are you still on that? You got a new one." He remembered pained, despairing eyes behind glass, and couldn't stop himself from adding, "thanks to good old Brad, anyway."
He hoisted himself into a sitting position, his expression darkening. "I didn't know."
Angel shrugged. "You knew Wolfram and Hart."
Lindsey stared at him silently for a long moment, and said, "it really is that simple for you, isn't it?"
"Your bosses... evil. Yeah, pretty simple."
"Ex-bosses."
"Think this time it'll take?" he challenged. This was more familiar territory than what had happened an hour ago: kissing Lindsey with no intent except one last headfuck; almost laughing at the outrage and the urgency on the man's face when he'd suggested taking it somewhere less public; his intended Bon Voyage somehow descending into hands bunched in his hair and warm skin under his mouth.
Arguing, though, was as natural to them as breathing. Well, he amended, natural as breathing was to one of them. He was sure that if, for some reason, he and Lindsey were locked in a room together for a hundred years, by the end they'd still be rehashing old wrongs done to one another.
"Y'know," his sparring partner said, self-righteous passion rising in his voice, "when I came to you, looking for help, looking for that one shot at redemption, you could've helped me out. Could've said 'Lindsey, you may've thrown in with the wrong crowd, but I can see you're a good guy. Ditch the evil lawyers and come fight for the white hats.'" He was in courtroom mode, now; the jacket and faded jeans could have been one of those Armani suits that somehow hadn't looked nearly so sexy. "But you didn't want to help me out. Didn't believe there could be good in me. Didn't feel that anyone but you," he jabbed a finger at Angel, "deserved a second chance." He sat back. Prosecution rests.
Angel realised suddenly, and with some surprise, that he was going to miss this verbal back-and-forth after tonight.
He'd lay money on Lindsey feeling the same way.
"You practise that speech, Counsellor?" he asked, hint of a smile just breaking through.
For a second the fight looked set to go on - Angel shifted a little closer to the tyre iron, just in case Lindsey felt inclined to resume their unique style of foreplay - then his ex-nemesis grinned and said "some, maybe" and the tension evaporated.
It was probably the first comfortable silence they'd ever enjoyed together.
"Seriously, though," Lindsey finally asked. "Why this? Why'd you decide 'hey, forget this deadly enemies thing, let's send him on his way with a smile'?"
"You started it," he said, briefly wondering what it was about this man that could reduce him to a twelve-year-old in the schoolyard.
His eyesbrows shot up. "Remind me, who just went down on who? 'Cuz, uh, where I come from, that might be considered as 'starting it'."
"Come on, Linds. All the taunts, the fighting, the thing with Darla." He smirked. "Gotta say, nobody ever hit me with a truck to get my attention before. All that raging sexual tension? I just thought we should... bring it to a head."
Lindsey laughed. "Yeah. Nothin' says 'take me' like beating you to a pulp. What's that say about all the times you tried to kill me?"
"Probably that I wanted to fuck you in the back of a pickup truck," Angel said reasonably. "Also, I hated you for everything you'd done to me and my friends, but, hey, you're leaving town and I was feeling mellow."
The space between them seemed to be decreasing.
"Mellow?" There was a teasing challenge in the question.
"Yeah."
Now Lindsey was all but straddling him.
"Maybe it's not the best word," he admitted. Parts of him definitely weren't feeling mellow at all. "I have a hotel," he offered. "Lots of empty..." He drew in breath sharply as Lindsey's hand - the non-evil one, he noticed, though that was currently debatable - started to slowly inch south.
He closed his eyes, arching back against the cool metal, and gained a new appreciation for the Oklahoma accent as Lindsey murmured, "you had me at 'fuck'" close to his ear.
If he'd been paying attention, Angel's vampire hearing could have picked up the car two blocks away. Distracted as he was, he didn't even register the vehicle pulling up alongside them until they both froze in the glare of the flashlight.
"Step out of the truck, sirs."
"Shit," Lindsey whispered.
"Least we know some lawyers," Angel pointed out, mentally weighing up the odds of them running like hell without Lindsey getting shot versus Wes and Cordelia's reaction if he called from a police station.
He just hoped the cops would appreciate the irony of the sign on the tailgate.
END
Author: Doyle
Pairing: Angel/Lindsey
Rating: R. Very very mild R, at that.
Summary: Reworking of the last scene of Dead End.
Notes: Written for
elenabtvs who wanted A/L; in the bed of Lindsey's pickup truck; at the end of Dead End; with use of the phrase "Honk If You're Horny!" I didn't manage to work that last one in... please forgive me.If Angel had known the key to shattering Lindsey McDonald's arrogant composure was sucking him off in the back of a pickup truck, he'd have done it long ago.
He sat now with his back against the truck bed's high walls, waiting for the guy to get his breath back. Lindsey was still flat-out, eyes closed, gulping down air like it was a billable activity.
Nice to know a couple of decades hadn't made him completely lose his touch.
He didn't have much to occupy his mind except checking out the truck (which really was a good one, he noted appreciatively - Gunn would like it, he was sure). Looked like Lindsey was taking travelling light to an extreme. The only things in sight were a duffel bag, guitar case and - Angel grimaced - a tyre iron. The case was beside him, and he flipped it open.
"Don't mind if I take a look, do you?"
Apparently still incapable of speech, the instrument's owner paid him no heed.
Angel shrugged, and settled the guitar over his knee. He barred a finger across the neck, giving it an experimental strum. Discord. He frowned. Lindsey made this look far easier. "I always wanted to learn how to play one of these. Robbie Zimmerman - before he changed the name and everything - tried to teach me a time or two, but I never had the knack. Good guy. Not a great singer, but..."
He broke off at a small, strangled sound.
Sounded like Lindsey was back on the planet.
"What. The hell. Was that?"
"Good to see you back to your coherent self," he said, putting the guitar back and closing the lid. "Y'know, Lindsey, before I met you? When I thought of lawyers I'd always picture Atticus Finch. Or that guy who got O.J. off. These master orators, dominating a courtroom with their presence. You're ruining the whole profession for me."
"Yeah, sorry 'bout that," Lindsey murmured, eyes still a little glazed, staring up at the night sky. "I obviously missed the part of that book where Atticus gets a blowjob from the vampire who cut off his goddamn hand."
"Are you still on that? You got a new one." He remembered pained, despairing eyes behind glass, and couldn't stop himself from adding, "thanks to good old Brad, anyway."
He hoisted himself into a sitting position, his expression darkening. "I didn't know."
Angel shrugged. "You knew Wolfram and Hart."
Lindsey stared at him silently for a long moment, and said, "it really is that simple for you, isn't it?"
"Your bosses... evil. Yeah, pretty simple."
"Ex-bosses."
"Think this time it'll take?" he challenged. This was more familiar territory than what had happened an hour ago: kissing Lindsey with no intent except one last headfuck; almost laughing at the outrage and the urgency on the man's face when he'd suggested taking it somewhere less public; his intended Bon Voyage somehow descending into hands bunched in his hair and warm skin under his mouth.
Arguing, though, was as natural to them as breathing. Well, he amended, natural as breathing was to one of them. He was sure that if, for some reason, he and Lindsey were locked in a room together for a hundred years, by the end they'd still be rehashing old wrongs done to one another.
"Y'know," his sparring partner said, self-righteous passion rising in his voice, "when I came to you, looking for help, looking for that one shot at redemption, you could've helped me out. Could've said 'Lindsey, you may've thrown in with the wrong crowd, but I can see you're a good guy. Ditch the evil lawyers and come fight for the white hats.'" He was in courtroom mode, now; the jacket and faded jeans could have been one of those Armani suits that somehow hadn't looked nearly so sexy. "But you didn't want to help me out. Didn't believe there could be good in me. Didn't feel that anyone but you," he jabbed a finger at Angel, "deserved a second chance." He sat back. Prosecution rests.
Angel realised suddenly, and with some surprise, that he was going to miss this verbal back-and-forth after tonight.
He'd lay money on Lindsey feeling the same way.
"You practise that speech, Counsellor?" he asked, hint of a smile just breaking through.
For a second the fight looked set to go on - Angel shifted a little closer to the tyre iron, just in case Lindsey felt inclined to resume their unique style of foreplay - then his ex-nemesis grinned and said "some, maybe" and the tension evaporated.
It was probably the first comfortable silence they'd ever enjoyed together.
"Seriously, though," Lindsey finally asked. "Why this? Why'd you decide 'hey, forget this deadly enemies thing, let's send him on his way with a smile'?"
"You started it," he said, briefly wondering what it was about this man that could reduce him to a twelve-year-old in the schoolyard.
His eyesbrows shot up. "Remind me, who just went down on who? 'Cuz, uh, where I come from, that might be considered as 'starting it'."
"Come on, Linds. All the taunts, the fighting, the thing with Darla." He smirked. "Gotta say, nobody ever hit me with a truck to get my attention before. All that raging sexual tension? I just thought we should... bring it to a head."
Lindsey laughed. "Yeah. Nothin' says 'take me' like beating you to a pulp. What's that say about all the times you tried to kill me?"
"Probably that I wanted to fuck you in the back of a pickup truck," Angel said reasonably. "Also, I hated you for everything you'd done to me and my friends, but, hey, you're leaving town and I was feeling mellow."
The space between them seemed to be decreasing.
"Mellow?" There was a teasing challenge in the question.
"Yeah."
Now Lindsey was all but straddling him.
"Maybe it's not the best word," he admitted. Parts of him definitely weren't feeling mellow at all. "I have a hotel," he offered. "Lots of empty..." He drew in breath sharply as Lindsey's hand - the non-evil one, he noticed, though that was currently debatable - started to slowly inch south.
He closed his eyes, arching back against the cool metal, and gained a new appreciation for the Oklahoma accent as Lindsey murmured, "you had me at 'fuck'" close to his ear.
If he'd been paying attention, Angel's vampire hearing could have picked up the car two blocks away. Distracted as he was, he didn't even register the vehicle pulling up alongside them until they both froze in the glare of the flashlight.
"Step out of the truck, sirs."
"Shit," Lindsey whispered.
"Least we know some lawyers," Angel pointed out, mentally weighing up the odds of them running like hell without Lindsey getting shot versus Wes and Cordelia's reaction if he called from a police station.
He just hoped the cops would appreciate the irony of the sign on the tailgate.
END
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2003-07-12 03:20 pm (UTC)