*****

Once upon a time, before Wolfram and Hart, before meeting Angel, before losing his hand, Lindsey's mother had taught him this lesson. He remembers when, one afternoon his father was MIA and the twins couldn't stop screaming from hunger and his sister was in her third consecutive day of not talkingand everything had seemed so hopeless. Momma, after sitting on outside,gazing at nothing, had risen, taken Lindsey's hand, and walked him into the place they were living at and into her bedroom. In the closet, kept ina box, was a wig. That wig went on Lindsey's head and Momma had taught him how to sing. He can still remembering her whispering those words: "Sex sells." They were the most important words she could give him, to prepare him for what he needed to do.

That day is so clear in his memory: Momma kneeling on a chair,talking to him, encouraging him, eyes determined, painting his lips with the pretty red lipstick he had always wanted to try on but she wouldn't let him. Until now.

She let him wear the bright red lipstick. The pretty red.

The whore red.

Because sex sells.

In his memory of that day, those words mingle with others: her sadly whispered apology, her stories of her life on the boards, and her blunt statement: 'we need to eat.' But she knew him, knew it wouldn't be hard for him. She knew Lindsey would like this, would grow to love performing, which is why it was Lindsey in the wig and in the dress, painted pretty, and not his oldest sister. After all, Lindsey was Momma's best girlfriend.

"Just sing," she had told him, "just make them *think *. . ." But Lindsey hadn't just made them *think*. Not after the first week. Making men *think * he was for sale was not as lucrative as actually *being*for sale. And when he told Momma, shamefaced yet pleased with his ingenuity, that not all the money came from *just * singing, a profound look of sorrow had entered her eyes, quickly devoured by a hard sense of purpose. And she shrugged, pulled her Lindsey tightly to her, and said, "Yes. Well. Sex sells."

An easy lesson.

Men want to see sex personified on stage when they go out at night. They want someone sleek, smooth, sexy, with satin skin and sinuous movements. No subtext for these men; they don't want the shy virgin, the innocent maidenof spring. Not Dulcinea, they want Aldonza, the wanton harlot.

And this is what Lindsey gives them, every night, on stage at Caritas.

"You had plenty money in nineteen twenty-two You let other people make a fool of you Why don't you do right? Like some other men do," he croons into the microphone.

He runs a disdainful eye over the crowd. He sings to every man, exclusively. It's a challenge, making each man think that he alone is receiving the attentions of the fabulous Lady Lindsey. A private performance in front of a crowd. It is a trick of the trade, rule number two. Be a whore, make them *all * want you, but make each and every man think that he and he alone is The One.

This, Lindsey can do. It's a game: Let's Pretend. Let's pretend I want you, let's make-believe I do. In the glitter and the magic and the swirling smoke and the too much to drink, it's true. And, every man - every demon -has a hard on. And every man is panting in his seat. And every man is willing to pay whatever it takes to make Lindsey keep singing. Because every man knows that Lindsey wants him, but every man knows deep down that he can never have Lindsey. The song is all the time they have together.

And even with that rub, even with that heart wrenching knowledge, they cannot stop themselves from going to Caritas, night after night, to hear Lindsey sing. Better they had plugged their ears with wax than to have allowed themselves to hear his siren song. For no man can resist him, try as they might and there isn't a mast in sight to be tied to, to keep from being drawn to him.

Lindsey's voice is the ultimate high: dipping low, cresting high, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, sometimes rough. Sensuality tingeing every word, tantalizing the senses, tickling, teasing, and pulling away, leaving them wanting more.

"Get out of here.Get me some money too."

The Host wants Lindsey to play the audience. It's what he pays him for,after all. Lorne, like Lindsey, like Lindsey's momma, knows the power of song. He wants the sexual being on stage, the voice that laps at the senses of everyone, that arouses like nothing else. But he wants it to be safe for Lindsey. Lorne would never ask the fabulous Lady Lindsey to compromise'her' values. In fact, he provided a contractual clause to forbid it. He needs this to be safe for Lindsey, to make it the first safe job the drag queen has ever had.

Lindsey wonders what he has done to deserve this.

"You're sitting round wondering what it's all about," Lindsey sings when his eyes catch a welcome sight at the back of the bar.

Angel.

Angel staring at him with smoldering eyes, searing Lindsey with a heat that makes the drag queen's legs weak.

Lindsey may be able to put sex on like a garment, but Angel *is * sex.Pure, raw, unadulterated sexual fire.

Beneath his dress, Lindsey feels a stirring in his groin and is glad that1)the dress flows enough to cover a swell and 2) that he is safely strapped down.

On second thought, number two sucks.

He finishes the song and curtsies. "Thank you," he whispers breathlessly into the microphone before heading off stage. There is a little room directly behind the stage. It is where the Host keeps the equipment and where Lindsey waits to on stage. It connectsto his dressing room, two feet away, a small, cramped room with a vanity, amirror, a chair, and just enough room to hang his dress.

He has barely stepped in before Lindsey finds himself shoved against awall,a heavy weight pressing against him.

"You looked like such a little whore on stage," Angel whispers roughly inhis ear. "I don't understand how someone with such an innocent face can look theway you do when you sing." He is unzipping the dress and yanking it offLindsey savagely as he speaks.

"Talent," Lindsey says. His head falls back onto Angel's shoulder."Practice." Behind his back, the fingers on his only hand fumble with Angel's belt and zipper.

Angel spins Lindsey around before pushing him against the wall again. Witha single-minded concentration, he rips off Lindsey's garments, a lustful,almost evil, smile gracing his visage at the satisfying sound of material tearing. Lindsey's cock comes free, achingly hard, already throbbing with need. A cold hand wraps around it and begins to stroke it none to gently.

"Angel," Lindsey moans.

Somehow, Angel manages to pull his pants down with one hand. He turns Lindsey around, bending the drag queen over his dressing table. Reaching across, he dips his hand into the open jar of cold cream and coats his cock liberally.

"I'm going to fuck you, Lindsey. I'm going to fuck you until you beg me tostop because it's too much and then beg me for more because you never want it to end." He rips the wig from Lindsey's head and slowly, slowly, eases his way into the tight passage.

As he passes the tight ring of muscle, Lindsey whimpers and pushes eagerly back against Angel.

The vampire holds Lindsey by the hair as he begins to pump. With each thrust, Lindsey is pushed forward, the vanity hitting the wall with a bang. Out of the corner of his eye, Lindsey can see himself in the mirror, alone, face twisted in a expression so close to pain that he is reminded how thin the line between pleasure and pain can be. He wonders how he can feel so whole, so complete when he looks so alone. He wonders if the image in the mirror is indicative of his life.

And then, his reality hits him so hard he can't breathe. Because this can'tbe real. He is really alone and the proof is in the mirror. With an aching certainty, Lindsey knows that soon it will all disappear and the mirror image is all he will have.

Empty body, empty spirit.

Unable to vocalize anything, Lindsey begins to pull away. Angel, caught up in the passion, grabs him by the hips, fingers bruisingly real. A welcome pain that brings Lindsey back to the moment. The hard, cold cock thrusts deeply, hitting Lindsey's prostate and, suddenly, all thoughts of the mirror and himself and the emptiness flee his mind and all he can think of is Angel and Angel fucking him and Angel inside him and God! his need to come.

Angel hits his prostate again and Lindsey cries out, muffling the sound against the hard wood of the table, conscious of the patrons only a few feet away.

"That's right, baby, I want to hear you," growls Angel, thrusting harder, faster. "Scream for me."

Lindsey's aching cock is hitting the edge of the vanity. He presses against it, whimpering loudly, moaning Angel's name, trying to get more pressure,striving for release.

Angel's hand clamps over the base of his cock. "It's not your turn to come yet." He moves Lindsey against the wall, hand still tight on Lindsey's hard cock. He begins to thrust with his whole body, slamming his lover against the wall, his face vamped, sharp fangs pressed against Lindsey's shoulder.

The new angle and pressure is too much. "Angel! Angel, oh God, please let me come. Please," Lindsey begins babbling, his body moving with Angel's in a perfect rhythm. The vampire's cock hits his prostate again and Lindsey screams, almost in tears.

"Almost." Angel is making sounds deep in his throat, licking the beads of sweat rolling down Lindsey's neck. His tongue is rough on Lindsey's hyper-sensitive skin, sending shudders of pleasure through the drag queen.

"Angel, please . . please bite me. . .just do it, please."

It's all the invitation Angel needs. His hand begins to stroke Lindsey's cock as his sharp fangs sink into the creamy skin of Lindsey's neck. Lindsey is beyond screaming, reduced to small, desperate sounds as he thrusts alternately against Angel's hand and against his cock.

As the rich, fragrant blood gushes into his mouth, Angel stiffens. He sucks hard on the wound and comes, moaning, "Lindsey!" through the blood. Cold semen shoots deep inside the drag queen, filling him.

A few tears roll down Lindsey's face from the pleasure. His hand cover's Angel's, forcing it to move faster, bucking his hips so the head of his cock brushes against the wall. He can hardly breath, but doesn't care. This is too good.

He thrusts again, his legs getting weaker. Angel supports him, moving his hand with Lindsey's, pumping the weeping cock. It all begins to overwhelm Lindsey: Angel still inside him, blood trickling from the wound that Angel's tongue is licking, sucking, biting, loving and suddenly, Angel moves again causing Lindsey's cock to press against the wall and their hands still hold him tightly and Lindsey is THERE. Violent tremors wrack his body from head to toe and he comes, hoarsely shouting his lover's name. His hot seeds hoots out, coating their hands and spraying the wall.

"Oh, oh God. Oh fuck," Lindsey babbles as his legs give out.

Angel sinks with him to the floor, his half hard cock still inside Lindsey. They are both exhausted but only half sated.

Cradling Lindsey against his body, Angel covers the nape of his neck with kisses.

"Jesus Christ, Lindsey," Angel pants. His tongue begins exploring a spot behind Lindsey's ear. "You are delicious. So good."

"We should do this more often," Lindsey mummers sleepily, thrusting his hips against Angel's swelling member, hungry for more.

Lips smile against Lindsey's skin. "You working tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

Angel licks Lindsey's ear, then tugs on the lobe with his teeth. "Then I'll be here too."

~Fin~