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Title: Through a Glass Darkly
Author: Elynross
Pairing: Angel/Lindsey
Rating: NC-17
Setting: Immediately after 'Underneath'


Angel flipped on the bathroom light, the noise sharp in the quiet penthouse. Quiet, if not peaceful. There wasn't much peace available these days, what with the death, and the possessing, and the stabbing and abandoning of friends.

He wasn't sure why he'd headed for the penthouse after their new liaison left, instead of his office -- probably just habit. It was the gathering place, the place they came to order Chinese, to brainstorm, to blow off steam -- only "they" didn't really exist anymore, and he thought maybe that had been true for a long time. They weren't a team anymore, just ragged remnants, and even before they'd lost Fred, the gatherings had been one more failed attempt to pretend that everything hadn't changed. That was a laugh -- he was the only one who knew exactly how much things had changed. Cordy had known, but he'd let Cordy die, just like he'd let Doyle die. And then he'd let Fred die, failed Wesley, abandoned Gunn...

Lorne was the only one left, except for Spike, and Spike... They'd been many things, at many times, but they'd never been teammates. He turned on the faucet, shrugging off his jacket and draping it on the counter. Spike had taken off first, alone, although he'd invited the others along to hoist a pint. Lorne tried to be cheery, but it rang hollow, and while Lindsey had taken a couple more jabs at Eve, mostly he'd watched Angel, that damn smile always tucked in the corner of his mouth.
It hadn't taken long to run out of things to say, and Angel hadn't given them any reason to linger, ignoring them to stare bleakly out over the city. They'd left quietly, without much more noise than the soft slide of the elevator doors. He wasn't sure what happened to Eve and Lindsey; he'd left it up to Lorne to sort it out. After all, that's what he did now: he let other people take care of things for him. Other people sacrificed; other people died. He just made people forget what they were fighting for.

The hot water felt good on his face. He thought about taking a shower, but even that seemed like too much work. It was probably a good thing he had no idea what to do now, because he didn't have the energy for any of it. He fumbled for the towel, then looked at the image in the mirror while he dried off, as long as he could stand it.
Fred had-- Fred had tried to explain it to him once, excited as always by the mathematics, something to do with the frequency of light used in the bathroom, and holographic imaging, and magic. Something that let him look at himself in the mirror. He didn't really like what he saw anymore.

Early on it had been a thrill, a novelty, but it didn't take long to make him uncomfortable. It felt...wrong. It felt like cheating. Not being able to look himself in the eye was part of the package. Not only that, but after a couple of hundred years shaving by touch, he cut himself more his first week at Wolfram & Hart than he had since he'd first been turned. He started shaving with his eyes closed, and it felt like someone was watching him. He'd taken to opening his eyes suddenly, as if to make sure the reflection's eyes were closed.

Being able to stand in the sunlight, being able to see himself in the mirror: it was as if Wolfram & Hart saw vampirism as a challenge, rather than a curse. Maybe they needed a vampire union -- no discrimination on the basis of solar orientation. He'd even heard that the research division was close to a breakthrough on some kind of sunscreen that might let him walk outside in the sun. He wondered if it was something they'd been working on before he signed his contract. How long had they been planning to turn him?

He kept drying his hands long past any hint of dampness, eyes anywhere but straight ahead. Turned and turned again, from faithless son to inhuman spawn to castrated loser to reluctant, incompetent Champion to... What was he now? If Lindsey was right, he was nothing but a pawn, and though not for the first time, now it was for the other side, and he was fast losing the ability to delude himself that he was working for any greater good. Lindsey hadn't really said anything new; he'd just refused to pretty it up. Hell, Cordy had warned him, even Buffy thought he'd changed sides. Somehow in looking out for the big picture he'd lost sight of the details -- and it was all in the details. In the fine print.

Some people got pieces of silver; he got sunlight, a personal assistant, and all kinds of cool toys. He wondered if vampires had mid-life crises.

He looked into the mirror again, one long look down, then up, stopping at the eyes. The punch was hard and fast, right into his jaw line, and he watched with pained satisfaction as his reflection splintered into myriad broken images before vanishing, as the spell shattered along with the mirror.

He looked down at his battered hand, blood welling up around splinters of glass. He picked the larger ones out before wiping the blood away with the towel, watching dispassionately as the minor cuts healed. He thought about licking it clean, but there was something pathetic about drinking your own blood.

"What the fuck are you doin'?" Lindsey leaned against the doorway, taking a drink from a large tumbler of whiskey.

Angel refused to be surprised and kept his eyes on his fist a moment longer, then looked at him and wondered whether he'd splinter, too, whether that malicious smirk would disappear as fast as Angel's reflection had. "I'm wondering what the hell you're still doing here." He grabbed the whiskey away, too easily, and the smirk just widened. He drained the glass, then put it down on the counter. He saw Lindsey stuff his hands in his pockets out of the corner of his eye. "And what are you doing in my liquor cabinet?"

Lindsey wheeled around, ignoring him. Angel followed, leaning on the doorjamb himself, watching Lindsey swagger back to the bar. His feet were bare. Even dressed like a refugee from a honky-tonk bar, mere hours away from demonic torture, held prisoner -- at least in theory -- by a man he'd try to kill, he still swaggered.
Angel thought that he hated him, and wondered what it would take to get rid of him for good. He wondered why he hadn't killed him already. Wondered if it was because he still thought he was the good guy. "Why are you here, Lindsey?"

Lindsey waved his newly filled glass around, then sank down into one of the oversized chairs. "I seem to remember you rescued me. My knight in shining armor.That makes you responsible for me, or something, doesn't it? Or me for you. Right? Besides, I felt like having a drink, and I'm broke."

"I'm sure you put some away for emergencies."

"Wolfram & Hart is pretty good at the fine print. I think something I signed at some point gave them the right to everything I own in perpetuity if I mess with them, and I think what I did constitutes 'messing.'" Lindsey looked at him as if just realizing something. "Hey, maybe that means you have all my stuff! I think a drink or two is the least you can do in exchange."

Angel stalked over and tried to pluck the glass away again, but Lindsey fended him off, managing to splash whiskey over the arm of the chair. His sniggering made Angel feel foolish, so he stopped and thrust his hands in his pockets to keep from throttling him. "Mind the furniture."

Lindsey rolled his eyes. "One call, they'll have a replacement up before the booze dries. That's one of the perks, right?" He rubbed one finger along the damp cloth, then stuck it in his mouth and sucked on it. "Waste not, want not." He looked up at Angel through too-thick lashes.

Angel's throat was tight. He headed for the elevator. "I want you out of here."

"Not in the mood for company, huh, boss?"

Angel pushed the call button, hitting it again when the door didn't open immediately. "When have I ever wanted your company? You tried to kill me, remember?"
Lindsey laughed, a rough, appealing sound. "You don't hold that against me, do you? You'd have done the same thing in my place."

"I'm not you." He could hear the elevator rising.

"Maybe we have more in common than you think."

His voice was closer than Angel expected, and he turned to find Lindsey standing behind him, sipping his drink, the sly smirk back on his face. Angel flexed his hand as if it still stung from the mirror. He didn't think Lindsey had ever known his place. "What are you doing here?" he asked again. "Don't you have something better to do than piss me off?"

Lindsey appeared to consider, then shook his head. "Nope. No, I don't think there's anything I'd like better in life right now than to piss you off." He took a step closer.

"Don't make me regret rescuing you."

"Hey, I didn't ask for any help. I was doing fine. Perfect wife, perfect son--"

"With machine guns--"

"Those didn't come out until you showed up."

"--and a demon in the basement that ripped your heart out every day."

"You think this is a better place for it?"

Angel just blinked at him. "Am I supposed to know what you're talking about?"

The bitterness in Lindsey's smile made Angel uncomfortable. Lindsey didn't say anything, just watched him. The elevator doors slid open, and Angel stood back to usher him into the car. When Lindsey didn't move, Angel grabbed his elbow and pulled him forward, trying to force him.

"Go find Eve, Lindsey. She'll be glad to see you."

Lindsey leaned against the sliding doors, keeping them from closing. Angel let go of his arm. "I don't know where she is. She was tired. Lorne said he'd find her someplace." He smiled again, and this time Angel thought the malice was self-directed. "I'm not sure she's as glad to see me as she'd thought she'd be."

He stood there, one hand in his jeans pocket, swirling his drink in the other, as if waiting. Angel wondered what he was waiting for, and considered just knocking him out, shoving him in the elevator, and punching the button for the lobby. "She gave up everything for you. Don't you care?"

Lindsey shrugged one shoulder. "Eve can take care of herself. The Senior Partners made her with plenty of ambition. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time for her to decide I was her best bet." He took a drink. "Too bad for her our ambitions didn't match as well as she thought."

"What do you mean?" Angel felt an itch between his shoulders, a tightness in his gut that had him ready to punch something again, and Lindsey was oh, so available.
"Doesn't matter now." Lindsey finished off his drink and tried to push past Angel, back towards the bar.

Quicker than thought he'd grabbed Lindsey's shoulders and slammed him up against the wall next to the elevator. A look of smug satisfaction crossed Lindsey's face, as if he'd been expecting this. The elevator doors slid closed again, but Angel barely noticed as he and Lindsey stared at each other. He heard the rhythm of Lindsey's heart increase and wondered what it was like to have your heart ripped out. He stared at Lindsey a while longer and thought maybe he knew.

Something had changed inside Lindsey, and Angel couldn't read him. He used to think he could, that he knew what motivated him: ambition, lust for power, the standard lures of evil. It had all seemed so simple, so much clearer then. Angel was the good guy, working for truth, justice, and the protection of the innocent; Lindsey was the bad guy, using and sacrificing those innocents, willing to do anything to feed his ambition and thwart Angel's plans. The lines were clean, sharp, and crystal clear.

Then Lindsey had started confusing him, blurring the lines, and Angel never had been sure whether he'd acted out of principle, or pure self-interest, or some particularly aggravating combination of the two.Then Lindsey was gone, and if he were honest, Angel had missed him. Almost missed him. Missed the personal element, at least. He'd been a genuine pain in the ass, but he'd had flair. There had always been something invigorating about a fight with Lindsey.

And then he was back again, like a bad penny, and things were clear again, because Lindsey was trying to kill him, and that made him the bad guy, because Angel was the good guy, and Lindsey attacking him proved Angel was the good guy, right? But if Eve was right and Lindsey was also attacking the Senior Partners, if he saw Angel as working with them... But he wasn't, he was working against them, which put them on the same side, right? Would an evil man feel he deserved to have his heart ripped out? Would a good man come away from it still so intact? Angel made an inarticulate sound of frustration, almost a growl, and was back to wanting to hit him, because that, at least, was simple and clear.

Lindsey's smile just widened, as if he'd followed Angel's every twisting thought, and Angel realized he'd stopped staring into Lindsey's eyes at some point and started staring at that maddening mouth. It was almost demonic.

"Hard to tell, isn't it?" Lindsey said.

Angel blinked, then realized that Lindsey couldn't possibly be responding to his last thought, and he didn't know what he was talking about, so he ignored him. "What the fuck do you want?" Angel thought maybe if he just knew that, things might start to make sense again.

Lindsey just shrugged, one time too many, and once more Angel's body moved ahead of his brain as he grabbed Lindsey by the shoulders and slammed him back up against the wall. The glass went flying, a few mouthfuls of liquor splashing, and there was a moment of relief as the jolt wiped the smile off Lindsey's face -- and then he started laughing, as if it was all too funny, and the more Angel shook him, the harder he laughed.

"Will you shut up?" Angel could hear the pounding of Lindsey's heart, the pulse of blood in his veins, and he didn't know whether he was screaming or whispering. He thought of the mirror and decided to hit him just to watch him break, but when he moved, the world slipped, and his hand crashed into the wall next to Lindsey's head, and then he was pressing Lindsey up against the wall, and he was kissing him, and Lindsey was kissing him back, as if this was what he'd been waiting for. Mad laughter dwindled to small, wet, hungry noises, and then Lindsey's hands were on his hips, legs sliding apart as he pulled Angel in close and opened his mouth, no resistance in him at all. Mouth to mouth, they were still fighting for control -- but there was no control. It felt like clarity.

Then Angel was licking the pulse-point of Lindsey's throat, and his too-large shirt was in the way, so Angel ripped it open, pushing it back off shoulders broader than he remembered, and he wondered when he'd taken the time to notice Lindsey's shoulders. He brought his mouth to rest where shoulder curved into throat, and he scraped it with his teeth as he rested his hand on Lindsey's chest, over his heart, digging his fingers in as if to rip through muscle and bone. And Lindsey was arching into him, hands squeezing and kneading, sliding up under a shirt he'd pulled out while Angel was busy, heart like a jackhammer and breath gone crazy. Angel could feel Lindsey's fingers digging into his back, his sides, slipping along the edge of his waistband, and the blood just under the surface of that smooth skin was driving him mad. He could feel the almost sensual tightening across his face as the blood called him. He closed his teeth more firmly over Lindsey's flesh, enough in his mouth to leave a good-sized hole if he were to take a bite, and Lindsey didn't react except to groan and tighten his grip.

Angel growled a little, fighting back the change, allowing himself only to suck on Lindsey's throat, hard, feeling it heat up as the capillaries burst and blood welled up against the fragile skin holding it back, grazing it with teeth that wanted to sharpen and pierce. Erotic torment as his mouth craved flesh and blood, and Lindsey pinned Angel's leg between his own and rocked hard.

Too much, too fast, and Angel moved to kiss him again, one arm sliding around to hold Lindsey still as the other stroked down his chest to cup the length of him and squeeze. He pulled away to see if that smile was still there, and it reappeared as he watched, distorted by the trouble Lindsey seemed to have breathing. Angel kept watching him as he tore open Lindsey's jeans and took him roughly in hand, feeling his own grin go feral as the smile flickered and dimmed. He pushed him back against the wall, freeing both hands to spread the jeans wider, tearing them to leave Lindsey's clothes hanging as if he'd been gutted from crotch to throat, the blood-rich mark on his neck matching the crescent moons on his chest and his jutting cock.

And then Angel was on his knees, taking that thick, hot length into his mouth, and it was like sucking on Lindsey's shoulder, only better, Lindsey's cock filling him, blood pulsing against his tongue, hot and rich just below delicate skin. He pushed the jeans down farther so he could curve his palms over Lindsey's ass, pulling him close to swallow him deep, drinking him down in the only way he could allow. And Lindsey swore, when he wasn't whimpering, and Angel thought maybe his hands were the only thing holding Lindsey up.

Caught up in the tastes and sounds, Angel didn't realize he was changing, the blood calling him forth, until his teeth got just sharp enough to snag tender flesh, and then he was tasting blood, and Lindsey was yelling and shoving him away, bending over protectively.

Angel fell back on the floor and caught himself on one hand, wiping his mouth with the other, his teeth and features equally sharp. He thought maybe that smile was gone for a while, if not for good, replaced by a grimace of pain. He hadn't done it intentionally, and he felt for the poor guy, but he could also feel that smile crawling across his own face as Lindsey looked over at him, still panting. Angel pulled his hand away and found a stain of blood on his thumb, and he took it into his mouth and sucked it clean while Lindsey watched, frozen.

And then Lindsey stood up and leaned back against the wall, and he was still hard. Angel licked his lips as he saw the blood beading in two parallel lines, brilliant red against purple. Without looking, he knew that that maddening smile was back in its proper place, because he could feel it leaving his own face as he watched Lindsey take himself in hand, stroking once, twice, three times. Then Lindsey held out a hand covered with a light sheen of blood, beckoning with his fingers, once, twice, three times, faster strokes than those he used for himself. "C'mere," he said roughly, and Angel went, on his knees.

He knew it was wrong, but he was already damned, and it tasted so fucking good as he licked Lindsey's hand clean, as Lindsey slid those lightly-blooded fingers in and around Angel's sharp, sharp teeth, while his other hand traced the ridges of Angel's face, his true face, and Angel didn't know which excited him more. He just knew that he was aching and hard and untouched, and both his hands were busy holding Lindsey's hand still while Lindsey's cock waited for him to clean its blooded length, and he thought he might burst at the sheer mindless pleasure of it all.

Finally, Lindsey sank the fingers of his other hand into Angel's hair and pulled back, and Angel let him, waiting, Lindsey's wrist still held in one hand, pulse strong and steady, thick in Angel's head, driving him a little crazy still. Lindsey looked down at him, shaking Angel's head back and forth gently. "This isn't you."

Isn't it? Angel thought, but he didn't say anything, just pushed back the change, then closed his eyes as Lindsey traced fingers over his now smooth face, wondering how those fingers would feel on his cock. He opened his eyes as Lindsey took hold of his head in both hands, fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him forward until Angel swallowed him down again with a groan. What had been frantic was slower now, but no less desperate and hungry for that. Angel paid attention this time, feeling strangely fragile as he tasted the blood, forcibly keeping the change at bay and gentling his mouth until Lindsey started thrusting into him roughly, clearly wanting more, and Angel gave it to him, the necessity of breathing one more thing he did without, a benefit here as he took everything Lindsey gave him and asked for more. When Lindsey came he filled Angel's mouth; it ran down his chin, and he could still taste traces of blood.

Angel kept sucking softly until Lindsey pushed him back, shuddering. Then Lindsey leaned back against the wall again, hands at his sides, the picture of debauchery, and he seemed all the more naked for the tattered clothes that framed his nudity. The smile was still there, if a bit dazed, and Angel found he was almost fond of it.
Angel sat back on the floor and propped himself up on one hand, shifting his legs around to ease the pressure on his cock. "Get what you wanted?" he asked. He wiped his mouth with his thumb and licked it clean again, eyes on Lindsey close enough to see him shiver as he did.

"Not even close," and Lindsey's voice was a thick rasp that sent a jolt up Angel's spine. Lindsey pushed himself off the wall with a flex of his shoulders, tugging his jeans up just enough to let him move. He left them hanging open as he walked lazily over to the bar, and Angel followed him with his eyes, his mind a whirl of confusion and lust. Lindsey grabbed the whiskey bottle and took a long drink, leaning one shoulder on the wall, turned so Angel could see his nakedness. Every time a thought tried to settle, he focused on Lindsey -- his bruised shoulder, his marked chest, his belly, his bare feet. His only lucid thought was that maybe he'd wanted this for a lot longer than he'd have thought possible, or believable.

Lindsey walked back over, hips swaggering even in his exposed state -- maybe especially so -- and held out the bottle and one hand. "C'mon."

Again, Angel didn't think -- thought had no place here -- just rolled to his feet. Lindsey smiled, and this time Angel definitely liked it. Then Lindsey stepped in close, sliding a hand into Angel's hair to pull his mouth down and take it, and again, Angel didn't have to think, didn't have to make any decisions.

He tasted the whiskey in Lindsey's mouth and deepened the kiss, feeling the rasp of Lindsey's cheeks on his palms as he framed his face and held it for better access. Lindsey started out lazily, but that didn't last, and soon they were back to fighting for control, mouths deep and hot and wet and open. Lindsey pushed forward, backing him up until Angel's hips hit the edge of the chair Lindsey had splashed with whiskey, and that was all he could smell: Lindsey, sex, and whiskey, and he realized that Lindsey had dropped the bottle.

Long, endless moments passed, Lindsey between his legs, their mouths always in motion. Lindsey slowly unbuttoned Angel's shirt, fingers brushing cloth aside to trace his ribs, stripping the shirt off before sliding under the edge of his waistband, while his mouth licked and sucked back and forth across Angel's chest, and Angel dug his hands into the whiskey-damp chair. A sharp bite on his nipple had him pulling unneeded air deep into his lungs, trying to catch the breath he no longer had, hands moving restlessly through Lindsey's hair, over his shoulders, finally pushing him away so he could pull Lindsey's shirt off entirely. Lindsey didn't want to move until he figured out what Angel wanted, and then he stepped back and shrugged out of his jeans, as well.

He held out his hand again, and Angel took it, following him into the bedroom, where he let Lindsey push him down on the bed. He watched Lindsey open a drawer in the bedside stand and pull out a jar, and just raised an eyebrow.

Lindsey opened the jar and set it beside Angel on the bed. "Standard issue for firm apartments. I stayed in one when I first got to L.A." He grinned. "All the conveniences of home."

It was so easy to just let Lindsey make the decisions, to let him strip off the rest of Angel's clothes, to enjoy it as hands stroked over his feet, along his calves and up his thighs, warm and firm. Angel felt detached, floating in a haze of need and continued confusion, and Lindsey watched him the whole time, the smile hidden for now, lurking only in the corner of his mouth. There was an intensity to his gaze that made Angel even hotter, made him want to squirm, an insect pinned to a board -- or a sacrifice spread on an altar. It was as if Lindsey knew him, could see right inside him, straight to his dead, dried-up heart, holding secrets and mysteries in his eyes that Angel thought just might kill him.

Then the smile was back as Lindsey spread Angel's legs up and impossibly wide, a hand on each thigh, and lowered his head to swallow him down. Finally able to look away, Angel dug his fingers into the spread and stared up at the ceiling, opened up and vulnerable, pinned and unable to move, only to feel that hot, wet suction as Lindsey moved up and down, slowly, slowly. He tried to close his eyes and that left him even more off-balance, as if he were falling, so he opened them again and leaned up to anchor himself in watching Lindsey's head slide up and down, and he was mesmerized, his skin tight and hot.

He let his head drop back on the bed as Lindsey started moving faster, sucking harder, with the occasional graze of teeth, as if for payback. Lindsey kept him wide open, and Angel didn't notice that one hand had moved until he felt the slick glide of fingers against him, smoothly pressing inside him, twisting, and then he knew Lindsey was going to fuck him, and he knew he was going to let him, and he wondered if he'd always wanted this, too.

Then Lindsey was sliding up into his arms, body brushing along his aching cock, mouth on his again, laying claim while his fingers kept working, kept Angel hot and open, one leg still pressed up by Lindsey's other arm. Lindsey only pulled back as he guided himself inside Angel, a firm press followed by a steady push, and Angel felt like he needed to catch his breath as Lindsey tried to fill him, fill his emptiness, and Angel realized how very empty he felt, how alone. There was nowhere to look but into Lindsey's sleepy, hot eyes. It was hard to hold that implacable gaze, but impossible to look away, everything right there between them as Lindsey stroked into him, one long, smooth slide after the other, the loathing, the lies, the violence, the need, not for each other, but for anything, for everything they'd ever wanted and lost.

Angel came out of his daze, then, grabbing the headboard and arching under him, teeth bared and clenched tight, meeting an answering grin from Lindsey, like two animals testing each other, eyes hot and burning as neither could look away, neither could give in. Lindsey was drenched in sweat, and it was running between their bodies, easing the slide of skin, and Angel wanted to taste it, taste him, but he couldn't look away from the mirrors of his eyes, and Lindsey was slamming into him, trying to break him, break into him, break him apart, and then he stilled, eyes glazing over, the reflection vanishing, and that was all it took and Angel came, splintering into a million shattered pieces.

When the room stopped spinning, Lindsey was sprawled across him, head resting high enough Angel's shoulder that his hair tickled Angel's nose. At some point Angel must have wrapped his arms around him, and he raised one hand to brush Lindsey's hair down, then did it again, just to make sure, and then left his fingers tangled in the longest part of it -- just to keep it in place. He could feel the solid thrum of Lindsey's heartbeat, slow and steady.

"So," he said, and had to swallow a couple of times to clear his throat, "is this what you wanted?" He'd asked before, without getting an answer. It didn't feel like the same question.

"Don't flatter yourself," Lindsey said, but his voice was thick and lazy with sleep, and it sounded almost affectionate. He yawned. " 'm fine. I don't need anything." He was asleep in moments, his breathing slow and deep, before Angel could even point out that that wasn't what he'd asked. Peering down, Angel could just see that even now, he was smiling, but the edges were softer, and he looked almost at peace.

Angel watched him for a moment, then stared back up at the ceiling. He thought it would have been better to just hit him -- simpler and cleaner. But nothing was simple and clean anymore. Everything was twisted and dark, wrong somehow, like his image in the mirror.

And yet right in this moment, he felt a strange sort of peace, a reflection of the look on Lindsey's face. He wasn't sure if it felt like a reward, or a punishment; maybe it was a little of both: a kind of salvation -- or damnation. He wondered if Lindsey felt the same way.

He wondered what part of Lindsey thought he deserved to have his heart ripped out, over, and over, and over -- and why.

He wondered if Lindsey ever sang anymore. He wondered what he'd done with his guitar.

-End

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