Title: A Slight Change of Plan, an Angel/Lindsey story
Author: Brenda Antrim
Email: bren@bantrim.net
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.
Spoilers: For To Shansu in L.A. with significant alternate universe elements (no paw lopping, people die, choose your own ending). Caveat lector - Reader beware!
Author's Notes: Direct sequel to His Place in the World. With thanks to Kevin R., the direct inspiration for Plan B.

Angel heard the quaver in Wesley's voice and wholeheartedly agreed. Life. His reward for fighting the good fight, redemption, was to be life. As a human. No more torment. No more eternity.

Death had never sounded so good. Real death, final death, after real life, human life. He smiled, faintly, too overwhelmed to say much. Popping the lid on the plastic container of blood, he absently raised it to his mouth and took a swallow.

Yuck.

Cow was bad enough. Chilled cow was truly disgusting.

Catching his grimace before it could escape, knowing Cordy wouldn't understand, he forced himself to swallow and quirked a reassuring half-smile at his friends. Cordy beamed back, and Wesley smiled more sedately, but with a gleam in his eye that gave Angel the uncomfortable feeling Wes knew precisely what he was thinking. That thought brought the other side of his mouth up, and he gave them both a small but real smile before heading off into the kitchen to put Cordelia's microwave to good use.

The rest of the week was quiet. Angel thought of thanking the Powers that Be for it, but every time he thought of Them he remembered the Oracles. So he tried not to think too much, tried not to wonder what would happen now. Tried not to dwell either on the darkness behind him or the uncertainty ahead, and took the rare luxury of enjoying the present. On Friday afternoon, he got at least a partial answer to his mental questions.

Cordy had a vision.

As he eased the trembling girl down into a chair, he couldn't help quietly rejoicing that the visionary purgatory the Beast had delivered her into hadn't burned out whatever part of her mind it was that received the visions. He also sent up a quick thanks to whomever might be listening that the Powers that Be hadn't turned their backs to him when he'd failed to protect the Oracles. Wesley brought over Excedrin migraine tablets and a notepad, scribbling clues down as Cordy grumbled them out.

Three miles away he and Wes cornered the pack of Mipok demons, fought and slew them, and got covered from hair to shoe soles in sticky lime green goo. Again. Life was back to as even a keel as it ever got in L.A. Stumbling wearily into the office a little after midnight, they tossed a quarter for who got first shower, and Angel won. For once, he was glad of the toss. Vampiric noses were very sensitive, and the lime goo stank. Badly. It was sheer bliss to scrub the crap off. Wrapping a towel around his hips, he shooed Wesley into the shower stall with a courtly bow. Wes broke land speed records getting under the water.

Hm. It would appear human noses found it as appalling as vampiric noses did.

Angel grinned and stepped out of the towel, shrugging into his robe. It hadn't been a long battle, but it had drained him, and he wasn't completely over his fight with the Beast earlier in the week. Placing a beaker of blood in the microwave, he pushed the button and leaned against the counter, closing his eyes.

A change in the air brought his head up and he opened them again to see Lindsey standing in front of him.

The lawyer didn't look much better than Angel felt. He could see the outline of a bulky bandage along the man's left shoulder, running down over his collarbone. He was pale, green eyes red-rimmed, slumped with exhaustion. Even his hair looked tired.

Before either could say a word, Wesley wandered out from the shower, a towel around his waist and another over his head, rubbing his hair vigorously. Angel watched as Lindsey started, stared back and forth between the wet, naked Wesley and the robed, obviously retired for the evening vampire. For an instant, Angel thought he saw what looked like betrayal in those wide, startled eyes, then a shutter fell down over them, leaving them blank, completely expressionless.

"I'm sorry."

Wesley stopped dead at the sound of Lindsey's voice, pulling the towel from his head and staring at the lawyer. He looked rather like a surprised hedgehog poking his head out of a bush. His mouth opened but nothing came out. Angel could relate to the feeling.

"This is ... a bad time. I'll just go." Lindsey turned to leave. He made it two steps toward the stairs before Angel could shake off his weird paralysis and move. He caught Lindsey by the arm, ignoring the hiss of pain as Lindsey's injuries were jarred by the movement.

"No. Why did you come?"

Behind them in the bedroom, Angel could hear Wesley moving around, the rustle of cloth as he dressed, the thump of shoes and slap of wet toweling on the floor. All the noises were incidental to the sound of Lindsey breathing. His heart beating. He sounded trapped.

Funny thing. Angel could relate to that, too.

Hesitant footfalls paused behind them.

"Would you like me to stay?" Wesley's question was only the first layer. Do you need back-up? Should I break out the sword or the crossbow or just hand you a cudgel to beat him to death? Should I let you have him or may I kill him myself? Such support, all unspoken. Angel grinned. It wasn't a pleasant expression.

"No. Thanks, Wes. Go home." I can handle it. Him. I want to handle him.

There was too much truth in that thought for the smile to remain. It slipped, leaving him staring as wide-eyed at Lindsey as Lindsey was staring wide-eyed at him.

Clearing his throat, Lindsey finally forced some words out, just when the silence was becoming oppressive. "You okay?" The southern accent was pronounced, and Angel could tell by the slight flush in Lindsey's pale cheeks that he heard it and was discomfited by it.

"Why are you here?" The heat was seductive, and Angel shoved Lindsey away from him before he could give into temptation.

Lindsey shrugged gingerly, settling the suit jacket back in place over his shoulders. His slight grimace of pain was quickly hidden. He didn't answer, choosing instead to wander further into the room. He picked up the short sword Wes had used that night against the Mipoks, sniffing curiously at the layer of goo along the edge. His nose wrinkled.

God help me, Angel thought. He's cute. He's amoral, vicious as a cornered wildcat, too damned smart for his own good and stupid as a plank when it comes to seeing where his plans were leading him. He's running down the road to hell of his own accord, refusing to be turned from his path, and taking everyone and everything he can along with him for the ride. And I want him.

Anger burst through the confusion in his thoughts, and he found himself leaning over Lindsey, pushing him onto the sofa, knocking the sword from his hand to the carpet, growling down into his face.

"What do you want, Lindsey? You said you wanted out, then you chose to go back. You took over the bloody spell to raise my Sire, then forced me to kill her again to save your miserable life. You want to win! Well, fine! Go back! Leave! What the hell are you doing here?"

"I want you."

The whisper cut across his tirade, robbing him of momentum, taking his breath. He stared down into those unblinking eyes, trying to read the lies there, seeing nothing but shadows.

And truth.

Lindsey was speaking again, and Angel forced himself out of those shadows long enough to hear what the man had to say. Not that he would believe it. Not that he could.

"Wolfram and Hart is the only thing I've known since I was nineteen years old. They've been my home for fifteen years. My mentor's there, the only person who has ever shown an interest in me, ever put himself out for me. Ever believed in me. I don't agree with everything they do, and sometimes they scare the hell out of me, but I didn't want to leave."

Angel nodded, noting both the past tense in the last sentence and the fact that he'd finally heard Lindsey admit he was scared of something. It was progress, of a sort. "And now?" he prompted.

Lindsey bit his lip and turned his head away slightly, staring off into the distance over Angel's shoulder. He shifted against the cushions, and Angel instinctively moved with him, pressing closer while at the same time moving his weight further down Lindsey's body. This took the pressure off the wounded shoulder. It also ground their pelvises together. Angel growled under his breath and shook off the distraction.

"The Raising was my last chance," Lindsey admitted, still not looking at him. "As you know, it was a fiasco. The Beast was killed, the Raised was killed, hell, half the senior clerks at the Firm got eaten." He finally looked back at Angel, and this time it was easy to read the expression in his eyes. Trepidation. Strong trepidation. "I don't know what new plans they have for me, but I have a feeling my days are numbered. I need a bolt hole for when the time comes to run, and I'm willing to pay for it."

He moved his groin against Angel's, the message unmistakable. Angel snarled at him. "I knew lawyers were whores, I just never knew one who'd be so eager to admit it."

Lindsey surged underneath him, trying to escape, growling back, "Fuck you!" Angel pinned him easily, one hand clamping into the bandages over his collar bone. He could feel the stitches, the hot fevered skin beneath the gauze. Lindsey gasped and fell back against the sofa cushion, not fighting any further.

"If it's not your body you're offering, then what is it?" Angel asked conversationally, ignoring his own growing arousal.

"Information," Lindsey hissed at him. "I want to turn a losing hand into a winning one."

"Is that all this is to you?" Angel couldn't help asking. "A game, to win or lose?"

There was a long silence, and he stared down into Lindsey's face. Expressions chased themselves across the normally stoic features, alarm, uncertainty, resolve. Desire.

"No," he finally admitted. Electricity was practically visible, crackling between them.

"What about this?" Angel prompted him again, pressing his firming erection against Lindsey's. The heat coming from Lindsey's body ratcheted up several degrees, and he could smell the want in the air. Coming from both of them.

"That's between us," Lindsey said very softly, more an exhalation than a whisper.

Angel's eyes flashed yellow as he read the message, loud and clear. He leaned in closer, the heady mix of blood and arousal coming from Lindsey drawing him in. He opened his mouth, set to make him explain, clarify exactly what he meant, when Lindsey hooked an arm around his neck and drew him down into a kiss.

Thought evaporated. Tension that had been building since he'd followed the lawyers to the crypt for the Ritual the night before exploded between them. Open mouthed kisses sucked bruises on pale flesh, needy hands stripped wool and linen and cotton from Lindsey's body, heedless of the pain inflicted, as he drowned in the need washing over him. Lindsey wasn't protesting. On the contrary, his own hands were pulling ruthlessly at Angel's robe, stripping him as efficiently as he was being stripped.

The hands were too distracting, and as soon as shirt and jacket were tossed on the floor Angel pulled Lindsey's wrists behind his waist and looped his thin leather belt around them. Then he pulled Lindsey flat on his back on the sofa and ran his palms from the rounded buttocks to the back of Lindsey's knees. Crouching over him, Angel clamped Lindsey's bent legs against the sides of his ribs, holding them in place with his elbows, leaving his hands free.

Lindsey was whimpering and squirming beneath him, thrusting up against him, his erection slapping against his belly. Angel leaned down and sucked him, once, hard, and the whimper broke into a sharp yelp. Then Angel reared back, spread Lindsey's buttocks with his hands, and thrust home.

The yelp escalated to a scream.

Momentum built, and Angel slammed into Lindsey, rocking them both, jolting the sofa. It was hard and faster than he would have liked, but neither one of them could stop themselves. A tiny stain began to spread through the bandage at Lindsey's collar bone, and the fresh blood from the torn stitches roused Angel to fever pitch.

Loosening his grip on Lindsey's knees, he let the man's legs slip around his waist and leaned in further, his hands going behind Lindsey's back to pull his wrists further down, throwing his shoulders into stark relief. The small stain grew rapidly, and Angel bent over, ripped the bandage off with his teeth, and fastened his mouth over the newly opened wound.

Lindsey screamed again, pain mingled with pleasure, and bucked harder against him. Between their bellies he felt Lindsey's cock spit, and felt his own caught in a vise grip in response to the orgasm. He growled, knowing he was shifting form, unable to stop himself. His fangs bit deeply into the wound his Sire had made as his climax ripped through him, and the circle was complete -- fluid streaming from him, fluid streaming into him, life given and received.

The struggles against him weakened rapidly until Lindsey lay unmoving beneath him. Calling on every reserve of strength he had, Angel reined in the demon, and cautiously extracted his fangs from Lindsey's flesh.

He didn't want to leave. Not the blood, not the ass, not the arms now draped limply over his back, belt dangling uselessly from one wrist. Angelus was shrieking, wanting more. Angel was shaken, too close to losing everything. He forced himself to withdraw from Lindsey's body, slowly and carefully.

Peering intently down at the unconscious man, Angel was relieved to see a faint pulse at his throat. He climbed gingerly off the sofa, lifted Lindsey with care and brought him over to his bed. The warmth was still there, faded but intact. Angel took a deep breath. Slipping Lindsey under the covers, easing the belt from the limp arm and tossing it away, he stared down at the now quietly sleeping man. So fragile, this way. So mortal.

Angel turned away abruptly and headed for the kitchen. When Lindsey woke up he was going to need lots of fluids. Orange juice, water, apple juice, whatever. Angel licked his lips and tasted Lindsey's blood.

So sweet.

He shook his head viciously. Too sweet. Too tempting. Too utterly wrong. Lindsey said he wanted out -- again. He might just mean it this time. But caring for him -- falling in love with him -- would be the second stupidest thing Angel had ever done in his life. He had to make sure it didn't happen.

Again.

Lindsey woke late Saturday morning feeling like he'd been plowed by a ten ton freight train. He bit back a groan as he rolled over, careful of the freshly bandaged shoulder that felt like it had been through a meat grinder. His mouth was sore. His ass hurt.

He hadn't felt this content in so long he couldn't remember.

A glass of orange juice appeared in front of his face and he started. "What the hell?"

"Drink it. You need the fluids."

He took the glass from Angel's hand and peered over the rim of it as he drank. The vampire looked haunted.

Good.

"How are you going to swing it?" Angel asked abruptly. Lindsey cocked a brow at him. "The mind readers."

Lindsey grinned. "By the time I get back to the Firm, I'll firmly believe we're makin' love because I'm infiltrating your organization."

"Sex," Angel ground out.

"Huh?" He drained the juice and sat the glass down, licking the last drops from his lips. Angel's eyes followed his every move.

"It's sex. Not love. I don't love you."

Lindsey nodded slowly, then pulled himself out of bed and got dressed in the clothes Angel thrust at him. Not yet, he thought triumphantly, noting how Angel watched him like a hawk the entire time. But soon.

Pausing at the entrance to the tunnels, he looked back over his shoulder at Angel, who was brooding against the wall, watching him leave. There was hunger in the dark eyes.

He smiled. "Later," he said softly. Angel simply nodded. And watched.

Step one. Complete.

The next month was strange. Lindsey contacted Angel once a week, and Angel found himself lurking around the Wolfram and Hart offices much more than he probably should. He found himself listening for Lindsey's heartbeat. Shadowing him on the way home.

Watching through the windows as he went to sleep.

Cordy had another vision, and he and Wes had another night of demon hunting. Gunn and his gang kicked up a hornet's nest and he plowed in to help the kids against the vampires. Kate rang him up once and ranted at him. He hung up on her. Wesley ate him out of house and home, and Cordy went shopping.

Lindsey showed up late on a Thursday night and kissed him. He couldn't stay. He'd dropped off a packet of papers, on a client of Wolfram and Hart who was planning to push up the flow of tainted heroin among the street kids, a Pu'tr'ser demon who fed on hallucinations and violence.

Angel killed it. The pipeline was closed before it could even open.

Wesley was cautiously optimistic, seeing the latest activity as an indication that Lindsey meant it when he said he wanted to change. Cordelia summed up her opinion pithily, "When did hell freeze over?" Angel forced himself to be neutral. It was hard, when the only thing he really wanted to do was bury himself in Lindsey again and forget everything. Suspicions, frustration, expectations, disappointment, everything.

The third Saturday night of the month, about eleven, Lindsey knocked on the door from the tunnels. Angel let him in. He barely got his mouth open on a greeting before Lindsey's tongue was filling it.

When they broke apart, not much, but enough for Lindsey to speak, what he said surprised Angel. "Thanks.

"For what?" he managed, distracted by Lindsey's hands on his ass, Lindsey's breath on his throat, Lindsey's warmth in his arms.

"You're the only thing I have left I can depend on," Lindsey told him. Angel had no idea what the man meant by that cryptic remark.

"Are they coming after you?"

"Soon, I have a feeling," Lindsey muttered around a mouthful of Angel's chest through the thin silk shirt he wore. Every nerve in Angel's body sparked at once.

It was unlike any other time they had ever had sex. Time slowed down. Textures, tastes and scents absorbed them, turning their usual frantic rut into a nearly ritualistic dance. Angel was lost in the taste of Lindsey's mouth, the silk slide of Lindsey's hair through his hands. The curve of biceps, the scattering of crisp curls on his chest, the heaviness of his sac, the length of his shin. The fleshy palm of his hand, the hollow at the base of his throat. The sweet strength of his thighs, parted and clenching around him. The strength of the line of his spine, arching below Angel's chest. The nape of his neck. The underside of his wrists. The almost silent moan that escaped when he came.

When it was over, they lay together, wrapped around one another in Angel's bed. He made a move to pull away and Lindsey caught his arms, pulling them back around him. "Stay?"

It was a request with the edge of command behind it. Angel paused, staring at the contrast between his pale, muscled arms and the warmer skin tone of Lindsey's chest. "Why?"

Lindsey stilled. After a long moment, he said softly, "You make me feel safe."

Angel took a deep breath, tightened his arms around Lindsey, and allowed himself to be drawn back into the web being spun around him.


Choose your own ending -- pick your poison -- Go to Plan A or Plan B