Subtext? We don't need no stinkin' subtext!
Secondhand Frustration by Moosesal
Rated R
Prequel to A Pound
of Pennies
Note: Post-Not Fade Away. Written for the Lindsey ficathon for
sullensiren. She requested a conversation about hands or the lack thereof,
and a mention of Darla & Connor. And she wanted Lindsey to stay bad, no
whitewashing.
Gunn's hand moved quickly. In time with his hips. Squeezing
just hard enough -- hurting, but not really. “You like my hands better than
your own, don’t you?”
Lindsey nodded. Gunn’s hands were amazing. Soft and gentle, yet firm and strong.
Whatever Lindsey needed, when he needed it. He always knew exactly how to
touch him -- from the rough pulls on his cock to the soft nudge on his lower
back when he pushed him out the door in the morning.
“What's it like switching between your own hands? Does one feel different?”
Lindsey's head fell back on Gunn's shoulder as Gunn's pulls became faster,
his grip grew tighter, his thrusts pushed harder.
“You like jerking off with that evil hand?”
Lindsey gasped as Gunn came inside him. He spilled over Gunn's hand then twisted
around, grinning. “Your hands are far more evil than mine. Yours are sweet
torture.”
“Yeah, yeah. And you like it. But--besides the great sex--why do you keep
coming back here? We still fight for different sides. That, and my whole turning
you down when you tried to get me to work with you.” Gunn rolled off the bed
and walked into the bathroom. “You do know that’s not gonna happen,
right?”
“If I remember correctly, you said the sex was never gonna happen again either.
But you haven't exactly been turning that down.” He followed Gunn and pressed
against his back as he looked at their reflections in the mirror. Light and
dark. Dark and light. Both a little bit grey. The impossibility of it all
reminded him of Darla. He had loved her. She'd been consumed by Angel. He
still was.
“Stop brooding. You look like Angel.” Gunn grinned at Lindsey’s scowl. “If
I wanted to fuck Angel,” his grin widened. “I would.”
Lindsey rolled his eyes. “You wish.”
“No,” Gunn turned serious. “You wish.”
Lindsey remained staring into the mirror as Gunn stepped away and started
the shower. Truth was he did wish it. And that sucked. Angel knew he
wished it. Gunn knew. Spike knew. Hell, even Illyria knew.
“...was kinda hopin' you'd prove me wrong, ‘n give me one more shot...” Lindsey had been singing softly, playing his guitar, enjoying some time to himself on this last day. He was to meet Gunn later, but right now they were each doing their own thing.
“You make music.” He looked up to find Illyria standing in the doorway. “The sound is pleasing to me.”
Her compliment might have been a little more impressive if she’d said it with actual feeling instead of in that weird monotone. But the words that followed assured Lindsey of her sincerity.
“I would make music, but ...” she held her hands out before her, “... my hands … Fred's hands touched gently.”
Lindsey looked down at his own hands with a half smile. “Mine aren't as gentle as they once were either.”
“You watch him with longing. I do not understand.”
The change of subject was abrupt, but strangely natural coming from Illyria. “Me neither.”
“You say you hate him. You fight him. Yet you look at him as Wesley looks at me when he thinks of her.” She tilted her head. “Why?”
He didn't want to answer. He knew better than to show even what could be perceived as weakness to an enemy--and they were all his enemies. Even Gunn. He had no illusions.
“You don't answer. But I see. Angel. You love him.”
Lindsey looked at her, tried to see through her, but saw nothing. He resumed playing.
“Your denial amuses me. He spends his last hours with the one he created, not with you.”
Spike? Lindsey wasn’t sure, but who else could she mean? “Glad to be of service.” He continued to play as she turned and left. Once she was gone, he stopped, staring at his hands in the silence.
“Hey? You comin' in?” He looked up to see Gunn peeking out of the shower.
Nod.
“Where'd you go?” Gunn’s tone was light. “Off thinking about Angel?”
“No. Illyria, actually.” Lindsey stepped under the spray of water and let his hands graze Gunn's chest. “We had this weird little conversation earlier.”
Gunn raised an eyebrow.
“About music and Angel and ... hands.”
“Hands?”
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Hands. Gentle hands.”
“Gentle? I'm not so sure Angel'd think either of you has particularly gentle hands.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But yours....” He raised Gunn’s hands and pressed his face to the backs of them. “Yours are gentle … and soft.” Lindsey moved Gunn's hands to the back of his head and dropped to his knees. “Or rough when I need them to be.” He pushed Gunn against the tile and put his own strong, wonderfully cruel hands to work as Gunn guided his head. “Angel told us to enjoy our last day. It’s probably the only order I’ll ever take without question.”
As Lindsey's hands moved over Gunn's body, they both closed their eyes and gave in to desire.
“You can't beat 'em.” Lindsey looked at Angel.
“Maybe they're not there to be beat. Maybe they're there to be fought. Maybe fighting them is what makes human beings so remarkably strong.”
Lindsey stood and moved to the edge of the table. “You're not talking about the kind of strength human beings have. This is not about coveting your neighbor's ass, your buddy's job, the last Mallomar in the box. You're talking about fighting flesh and something that passes for blood demons with enormous power, and they will mow you down.”
“Maybe... but I keep thinking that once this world was theirs and now it's not.“
“Isn't it?”
“Give me the hell on Earth speech, Lindsey. I know how bad things are, how much sway the demons hold. I happen to be the greatest mass murderer you've ever met.”
“Never given you props for that, have I?”
“There's always going to be power, and there's always going to be corruption.”
“So again I ask you--”
“'Cuz it's not what I'm expected to do. 'Cuz you're good in a fight. And let's say we come up rolling sevens and this does go our way. We tear up this firm, someone's going to have to step in. I know that's what you want. Now, I'm a lot more comfortable with the thought of you in that position than anyone else.”
“The devil you know.”
“That'd be you.”
...
“You haven't heard a word I've said. For, like, years back.”
“Well, you get a little speechy, all right? And I breeze out. I got the Cliffs Notes—honor and humanity. Absolute good. I heard it. So here's the plot twist—I'm in.”
And he was in. He was glad to be in. He smiled at Angel’s giving him this one last moment. This time to share with Gunn. He had no illusions that there would be a tomorrow or that even if there were it would mean they'd be together. Illusions weren’t his style. Or Gunn’s.
“You sure you wanna do this?”
“Huh?” Lindsey looked up. “Yeah, I'm sure.” He licked and nipped at Gunn's hips.
“No,” Gunn sighed. “I mean tonight. You don't really think Angel trusts you, do you?”
“No. But right now he needs me, and I need to be a part of this. There’s something in it for both of us. And when it's all said and done, we'll see what's what. I'll worry about Angel then.”
***
Lindsey slid to the floor and stared at Lorne. “Why -- why did you --”
“One last job. You're not part of the solution, Lindsey. You never will be.”
“You kill me?” It didn't make sense. “A flunky? I'm not just ... Angel ... kills me. You don't ... Angel ...” He collapsed and his thoughts were filled with Angel as he held his stomach. No. I'm not going out like that. Not like that. Not thinking about him. He let his thoughts turn to Gunn and hoped he survived, with strong, gentle hands and a kind heart.
***
In an alley across town, Gunn looked at Angel and knew that Lindsey wouldn't be joining them. He said a final, silent farewell to the man who had shared his last day.
.End
Disclaimer: The characters/concepts of Angel belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, et al. No infringement is intended and no profit is made. All fic and essay are copyrighted to their authors.