*****

Dammit, Wesley isn't home. God damn it! I shouldn't have let him go out tonight. Yes, I know he was meeting Lindsey and I know how much he looks forward to their weekly fuck sessions, but dammit, he was too tired to go.

It's not that I don't trust Lindsey with him, but� well, no, I don't trust Lindsey with him. I don't think he quite realizes what he has, what he gets to have. I'm not sure if he'd hurt Wes, but he might, intentionally or not. Or the firm might.

They have to know. They have to. They haven't done anything yet, but that doesn't mean anything. The devils could just be waiting until they perceive me as vulnerable or decide that Wesley is taking up too much of their pet's time.

I will not allow anything to happen to my boy.

But then, I can't allow anything to happen to Lindsey either. After all, he is mine too.

When he came to me for help last year I thought... I hoped that he was giving himself to me. He is so God damned fuckable with those soft pouty lips and messy, silky hair. I had wanted him, but managed to convince myself that I didn't. I convinced myself I didn't care, even as I yearned to touch him, hold him.

I almost gave in and ran my fingers through that hair. Buried my face in it to breath him in. I allowed myself one unguarded moment just to look and admired.

Lindsey... Just one moment of weakness and you managed to get into my heart.

Damn you.

Perhaps Wesley is still at the apartment. Maybe he's just sleeping.

I've been so preoccupied with Darla lately that I've neglected him. I hadn't even noticed that he and Virginia weren't together anymore until I asked him about her tonight. I saw it in his eyes, the pain. How could I have missed that?

Darla. I am desperate to find her, just to try once more to save her. As if I wasn't obsessed with enough people, she has to be here. I'll find her, and I'll help her. But not tonight. Tonight...

Wesley. He's there. Asleep, beautiful and angelic as usual. I love watching him sleep. After he invited me into his place I began sneaking in at night, just to watch him. When he sleeps, the worry of the world slips away and he looks so young and peaceful. I wish I could give him the ability to have that look of peace always.

But not in our world. Never in our world.

One of them has invited me in. No barrier. I enter the apartment, quietly approaching the bed. I need, in this moment, to be near him. To, perhaps, touch him lightly and breathe him in...

Blood.

He's been bitten. By a human.

Lindsey.

Checking Wesley to make sure he is otherwise unharmed, I turn to go. Lindsey hurt him. He hurt what I *mine*. He marked my boy.

How dare he.

Growling softly to myself, I leave the apartment and go to the lawyer's house. He wants me, he wants to be mine? He's got me. He's mine, and now he gets to understand exactly what that means.

Maybe I should have given him Spike's number. Spike knows a bit about what happens when my possessions misbehave. Lindsey could have prepared, had time to understand. Vampire relationships can be intricate and it is the responsibility and, I'll admit it, the pleasure for the master to discipline his possessions when they misbehave.

Did anyone ever tell you that part, Lin? Did anyone ever tell you exactly what a master vampire can do to his toys? Or did you think my soul would prevent me from carrying anything out?

Right. I may have a conscience, but you hurt *Wesley.* You will be punished, my boy.

How the hell could I have allowed him to touch Wesley? Lindsey never deserved him, that dirty, fucking, Goddamn bastard.

He will pay.

I throw the door open, ready to demand he invite me in.

The words die in my throat.

I can see him across the room, facing a mirror. His eyes are dull and far away, his mouth bruised and puffy. His eye is swollen and his clothes are torn and askew. In his good hand is a pair of scissors; he is cutting his hair, not really paying attention. Only one side is short and looks bad.

He smells like blood and semen. He smells like...

Abruptly, I know. I've never met the man who belongs with that smell, but I know, dammit, I *know*.

I growl again, deep, loud, angry. Furious.

He turns, surprised. Apparently he didn't hear the door. This is the first indication I'm even there. Thankfully, some life coming back into his eyes.

"Angel." His voice is all but dead. He is looking at me as if he expects something. Something not so pleasant.

"Let me in," I demand. Then, "He is so fucking dead."

*****
Part 2:

Nononononononononononono.

This is not happening, this is not fucking happening.

Maybe he won't notice. Maybe it's possible he... Months ago, over the summer,after one of my dreams, I leapt up, stuck my head out the window and, screaming, invited Angel in. I invited the vampire into my home. There is no barrier. He can come in whenever he wants. I don't want him, not now. He can't come in.

I can't talk, I won't talk, and I won't invite him in.

"Lindsey." His voice is insistent.

I shake my head. Don't come in, don't look at me; this didn't happen, I swear, please.

But he's caught on. He's in the house, walking towards me.

I can't move.

He reaches out and takes something from my hand. Scissors. Where did those come from? I don't remember getting them. He's looking at me.

I touch my hair. It's been cut. I turn to face the mirror; sure enough, half of it's short.

Everything is a blur, past, present. I can see them all, every man who has ever used me, they are all right there. I wonder if Angel can see them.

The dam suddenly breaks and the words come. "They all like my hair. And he said that it makes me look more innocent if it's long anyway, so he encourages it. But everyone wants to touch it, they all have to touch it. Then, when I try to pull away, they hold on... he held on so tight, every fucking time, they all held on so I couldn't get away. I didn't need the grade that bad,but, but... part of me liked it, even though I was scared, you know? That's kind of when I knew, but I pretended it was just for the grade or to get what I need.I've never done it with anyone I love until... until I started with... but it's fine because I don't care. Love is stupid, right? Especially when I can have anything or anyone in the world. Then there's Wesley. He- he lets go. He never makes me... But that doesn't mean anything, right? I mean, I don't love him. I can't. ... .Holland... he just... he wouldn't let go."

I am able to stop talking. I have to; if I keep going, I'll cry and I *don't* cry.

Angel runs his eyes over me. "Lin�" He reaches out.

I jerk back. I fucking pull back. I've waited over a year for him to touch me and just when he's about to, I pull back.

Fuck.

He seems to understand. Keeping his hands to himself, he asks, "What happened?"

I need to move. Walking around the room, picking up stuff on my shelves and putting them down again, I start talking again. "Holland. He didn't want to wait anymore. I don't know what made it have to be tonight. Maybe his wife wouldn't put out or... I don't know. He knew where I was and he called me. We've been waiting for a call and I thought... but I didn't know why he wanted to be here. Not at first, I didn't understand. Stupid, huh? I saw the way he was tonight, before I left. When I got here, I knew. No witnesses. More private, more... more meaningful. At *my* place, my home."

"You sound as if you've been expecting this."

"Of course. He gave me this job, he's trusted me. He's given me my life. Of course I've been expecting this. It's how my world works. They scratch my back, I let them fuck me. I'm a fucking whore, didn't you know?" "How long?"

"I was thirteen the first time." It's so easy to say, just plain, straight forward facts. He doesn't say anything.

I risk looking at him.

Shit, that was a stupid idea. I can't take it. He- he looks sorry for me.

I've been a fuck toy since I was thirteen. I've never minded. It always felt like *I* was the manipulator, the one taking advantage of the situation. I've never felt...

I never felt dirty or used. I've never felt ashamed. Now. . . I turn away.

"Just leave, please. Go." My throat is closing up again and I'm close to tears. My legs feel like they are giving way. I have to hold onto the wall for support.

If he would just leave, just look like he disapproved of me, I could handle it. But not this. I can't handle him caring.

Why doesn't he just leave?

Fuck. He's got his arms around me, holding me. Whispering and making soothing noises.

It feels so good, but I will never be clean.

*****
Part 3:

I am out of my depth. I don't know what to do for him. All I can do is hold him, hold my boy, trying to comfort him through a world of pain.

I am going to kill Holland. Painfully, slowly, the good old Angelus way. He is going to die screaming, begging me to save him, begging me to help. Begging me not to let him die while I will have the satisfaction of knowing he will never hurt my Lindsey again. I enjoy thinking of the various ways to do this.

"Lin," I whisper, kissing his ear gently. I am not sure if I should do this, but it's all I know.

He shudders slightly, but burrows deeper into my embrace. I can tell he is crying, not sobbing, not hard. These tears are quiet, the type that can't be held back. They slip out of his eyes and into my shirt, creating a warm, wet patch. I can still smell Holland on him. He needs to be cleaned.

I lift Lindsey easily and carry him to the bathroom. He doesn't resist, but whether it is out of a desire for me to care for him or a lethargy setting in because of what happened to him, I can't tell.

As I run the water for the bath, I strip Lindsey. He is gorgeous, his body hard and strong. He keeps in amazing shape for someone whose profession does not require long hours of strenuous activity.

I try to resist the urge to run my hands over him and succeed partially. My fingers trail over his limbs and my gaze caresses his skin. I feel guilty, but cannot help myself.

I look into his eyes. They are half closed, lazily lustful as he watches at me. My lips curl slightly into a smile, which he tentatively returns.

The bath filled, I place him inside. I avoid touching his mutilated hair. He might misinterpret it and I don't want him withdrawing.

He is scaring me, slightly. This is not the Lindsey I know. I never really knew his past. I assumed some things, but I never thought he would have been so young the first time. I never thought of how he landed his position or what was required of him to keep it. I naively assumed things of the twentieth century and ignored the reality of life. Ignored the threat. Ignored Holland's proximity to my boy. Holland.

A growl starts in my chest again. Lindsey jumps slightly, then puts his hand over mine.

"You can't kill him, Angel. Not yet."

"What do you mean?"

He raises his eyebrow. "Just don't. He's looking for Darla. There are things..." He trails off.

I fight my anger down. Demanding answers about Darla now will not help. For all I know, if might send him over the edge and I can't let that happen.

I let it drop, promising nothing. "Can't you leave?"

"No. I belong to them."

"No." My hand tightens possessively on his shoulder.

He looks down, away from me. "Darla," he whispers.

I understand. He can't leave until Darla is resolved. Fuck.

Lindsey is withdrawing into himself. I can't let that happen. I'm angry, I'm pissed, but... I'm beginning to see he's not a sure as he pretends to be. He needs to belong to someone; I refused to claim him when he came for help. I lost him then, but I will not lose him now.

Slowly, I run the washcloth over his body, my stroke sure and sensuous. He needs to know. He needs to understand who he belongs to.

When he is clean and has washed his hair, I take him out and dry him off. He is hard. I take pity on him. He's got a pretty good grip himself.

"Angel," he gasps. Then he moans. I like that sound.

After I'm done, I lay him on the bed. His eyes are half closed again, a satisfied smile on his face. He looks like a cat after a bowl of cream.

I take off my shirt and lay on him, his skin hot and moist on mine. I've wanted to feel this, desired this, hungered for this moment for a long time. Now, I have him. I begin kissing him, trailing kisses down his face, his neck.

I can feel his blood coursing through his body. His pulse is strong and sure, pulling at me in an almost erotic way.

Without thinking, I vamp out and sink my fangs into him. He cries out, but instead of trying to push me away, he holds me closer.

I don't drink much, but I worry the wound, ensuring a scar. Pulling back, I press my lips to his willing ones again.

"Mine," I whisper fiercely into his lips.

He nods, desperately rubbing himself against me. We are both hard, now, and both unwilling to stop.

Ah, my poor Wesley. I had always planned to take you first when the time came. I love you just as much, perhaps more, but you are stronger. You don't need me as much as you think you do. You can survive on your own. I know this, I trust this. Deep inside, you must know this too.

Lindsey needs me. He is more lost than you will ever be. He knows more what it means to belong to someone, a demon. He needs, once, to be with someone, to make love to someone, and to feel clean.

I make him mine, taking his blood and his body, giving him my body, and try to erase his past. My soul is tainted, and I can feel myself giving into the demon a little more each day. My own damnation and salvation lie in the power of my boys.

My Wesley: pure, clean, strong. And my Lindsey: never pure, but always mine.

*end*