*****

Xander Harris has no business in Los Angeles. He's not in town on some mission of misery from Giles. The Scoobies aren't in town for a special guest appearance and it's not like there isn't a nightlife in Sunnydale - depending on your definition of *nightlife.* But he's still there, still in LA.

He had gotten in his car after work and just left. He hadn't left a note for Anya, hadn't said anything to Willow - he hadn't even informed his boss as to whether or not he would be back on Monday morning. It was less of a leaving and more of a fleeing-the-scene-of-the-crime episode. Not that Xander has done anything wrong. He just needs to get away.He needs some time on his own; some time where for once he isn't anyone's boy-toy or fetch-it man. He needs a time where he's just another guy, instead of some poor schmuck who's got himself involved in a relationship with an ex-vengeance demon that he's terrified to leave. He's not looking to undertake a complete transformation in the 137 miles to Los Angeles, he's just looking for something mindless - something that doesn't require any thought.

Driving didn't require any thought, so he stuck with it until his mind caught up with him. It caught up with him on La Cienega and Washington, in downtown Los Angeles, on a Friday night. To make matters worse, it had caught him so forcefully that he had just pulled over - cutting across three lanes of traffic in the process. The whole situation was laughable, except that Xander wasn't laughing about it at all - he could've been killed - if he had actually thought about it. Instead, he had parked his brand new, blue-gray Toyota Camry in front of a fire hydrant and abandoned it. He had no idea what he was doing then, and he *has* no idea what he's doing now. He has even less of an idea as to why he's paying some Weequay demon 10 dollars to let him into a hole in the wall. But Xander's tired of analyzing everything. He's tired of second guessing every move he makes and every word he says. So he just goes with it, no thinking, no second-guessing, no doubts - no regrets.

Unfortunately, it isn't enough that he is in LA with no reason. He's there with no reason, and now he's in a demon bar. It's one of those situations that you find yourself in and you so have no idea how you got there, so you just say 'fuck it,' and go with the flow. Xander is going to go with the flow - as long as the bright, green demon in the flashy, yellow suit stops staring at him like he's a side of raw meat for a ravenous hyena. Licking his lips, Xander orders a drink from the barman and tries to think about anything other than his life - baseball, demons, football, hyenas, girls, the army, the weather�.

"Did Christmas come early this year, because, sweetie - you are one present I'd definitely like to unwrap?"

"Do you think they get snow in Palm Springs?" Xander replies randomly, turning his head to the voice on his left.

The Host is temporarily startled, but not enough to show it. "Sweetie, the only kind of snow they get in Palm Springs comes from Columbia and gets shoveled up your nose with a rolled-up 20-dollar bill." Putting his drink down on the bar, the demon studies the brunette human before him. He can feel the confusion that he's radiating, it's so big it's even making *him* kind of fidgety.

Realizing what he's said, Xander blushes. "I'm sorry, I, uh. Did you say something about Christmas?"

"Oh, never mind, sweet cheeks. I haven't seen you around here before," the prescient demon answers, taking an appraising eye-full of Xander's dusty cargo pants and tight, white thermal shirt. "And you don't dress like you're from around here. What's the story? Did you come to the city to be a big star�or did you just run across the border? Cos with all the dirt you're sweeping in with you�"

"I just got off work - construction, work. I do those things," the young man responds, nodding his head. Yes, Xander certainly does do those things, but that's back in Sunnydale and that's someplace he really doesn't want to think about at that exact moment in time. Motioning to the barman, he orders himself another whiskey.

"What kind of place is this?" he blurts out, mentally kicking himself for his lack of tact.

Taking pity on what seems to be a hard situation for the young man, the Host smiles warmly and spreads his arms open in greeting. "Welcome to Caritas, a safe haven for demons in this city of, well - demons, amongst other things. You know, we don't get too many of your type down here. Looking for a little spice in your life?" he queries, with an arched eyebrow. It takes Xander a moment to realize that the Host is hitting on him. "No! No, I just. I dunno, I just sort of was driving and then, Los Angeles, and then, here and�" Instead of finishing his sentence, he shoots back two fingerfulls of Jack Daniels.

The Host looks Xander up and down for a moment and groans. "Please don't tell me that you just clicked your ruby red slippers together, Dorothy.""Hey, at least Dorothy got the dog and the shoes," Xander snaps.Throwing his hands up in the air, the Host turns to Ramon. "Sea breeze, sweetie - a strong one." Turning back to Xander, he gives him his most beguiling grin. "You wouldn't believe this, but I think you may be here for a reason."

"If this reason has anything to do with me slaying vampires, being split in two, joining the army, or being someone's man-bitch, you can forget it. That Xander's on vacation this weekend."

The Host considers this for a moment. "Okay. How do you feel about singing?"

****************************************

Lindsey's at Caritas. More importantly, Lindsey's at Caritas because he knows Angel isn't there and he wants to avoid the inevitable scene that always takes place whenever they're in the same five-block radius. He prefers to think that Angel is the only person he's attempting to avoid - but he hasn't even heard from Darla. He's not even sure that this is a bad thing. The last thing he needs it to have her come stalking back into his life, and crushing him like a fly hitting a window at 50 mph - yet, again. She's bad for him, he knows it - but it doesn't mean he doesn't want her. But what he definitely doesn't want, is to think about her.

Perhaps, however, the most important thing about his situation isn't where Lindsey is, or who he's avoiding - it's that he's singing. Lindsey McDonald can sing like a bird. His mama had even wanted him to sing in the church choir when he was small, but that wasn't what boys did in his family. Singing wasn't *for* boys, as his father constantly reminded him whenever he caught him singing. It was fine to listen to Willie Nelson and Johnny Cash, but any other sort of music was strictly forbidden - including, but not limited to - church music. Hence, no singing in the choir for Lindsey, and no singing in the house at all.

He had been allowed to learn to play the guitar, but had never sung along with what he played until he was far away from Council Hill, Oklahoma. By all accounts, Lindsey should have an irrational, deep and traumatic hatred of country music - but he doesn't. He craves it, thrives on it - he understands it. It's simple. It never asks anything of him - not his soul or his youth or his hand. He just manages to get lost in the words, in the music - it's a completely mindless activity. It's the only one he has left.

---
When they call your name
Will you walk right up?
With a smile on your face?
Or will you cower in fear
In your favorite sweater
With an old love letter?
----

The lawyer had never been big on the new country music - the Dixie Chicks, Faith Hill, Shania Twain. They were all pretty women, but they just didn't have that edge that he craved in his music. It was fluffy country, his father would've had a fit - it was the sort of music his sisters listened to. They were nice to look at, but it was too much spit and polish, too much glitz without the substance. He got that every day at work, the last thing he needed was it following him home at night.

Lindsey needed singers who had lived hard lives, who lived it like they sang it - people who understood about abusive parents and less-than-perfect childhoods. Singers who knew what real pain was about, about what it was like to sell yourself for the price of a ticket to Made-It-Ville. Lindsey's music collection is firmly divided into two camps, country and blues. He either wants BB King telling him that there's a better world somewhere or Hank Williams singing about never getting out of this one alive.

His selective nature makes it all the more unusual for him to be singing *this* song, because it's from some new kid. Ryan Adams. His assistant had bought the CD for him as a present and he had been to kind enough not to throw it away without listening to it. What did someone younger than Lindsey know about suffering? What could this kid possibly teach him about pain? And yet, teach him he had - and did. Now he was singing those words, his words - he was giving the ultimate praise to another singer. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

---
I wish you would
Come pick me up
Take me out
Fuck me up
Steal my records
Screw all my friends
They're all full of shit
With a smile on your face
And then do it again
---

As he sings the words, Lindsey has to struggle to keep from breaking down into the microphone or having some sort of psychotic episode. He's not suffering from stage fright, he performs every day of his life, but he's afraid of something. He's afraid of his emotions. His only requirement for his music is that it make him feel something and this song is making him feel so much he's in sensory overload. It's funny how he could beg to have a mindless experience, and still forget that when you shut off your mind, your heart takes up the baton and makes the 50-yard dash for the finish line.

All Lindsey can feel is his heart pounding, demanding some answers for what it's been put through. For all it's suffered through. All the years of neglect and punishment. The abandonment while he's been trying to make a success of himself at work. The constant coldness from pushing away everyone he meets.

His heart is furious at the way it's been ignored time and time again - no love, no attention, nothing at all. It's willing to accept someone who fucks him up and steals his records, as long as at some point they show him some form of affection. His conscious is struggling with a knowledge that somehow seems to have made itself known without actually having been thought about. Lindsey is going to have a nervous breakdown if he doesn't make a connection with someone soon, very soon.

The lawyer's gaze sweeps across the semi-packed room and rests on the green anagogic demon. The one that tells you all the things to need to hear, but don't want to know. The Host is staring at him with an x-ray zealousness that makes Lindsey's think he's looking through his skull, straight through the wall and into the next room. It takes him a minute to shake off the creepiness of this sensation before his eyes rest on the young man beside the Host.

----
When you're walking downtown
Do you wish I was there?
Do you wish it was me?
With the windows clear and the mannequins eyes
Do they all look like mine?
----

A heart that seconds earlier had been protesting and screaming about neglect begins beating to a different rhythm when ice-blue eyes meet liquid brown. But Lindsey isn't stupid. Lust isn't the same as love. One night won't erase a lifetime of hurt, but maybe it can be enough for temporary relief. A truce. A time-out. Maybe just one night of touching someone else will take some of the pain off, wear that impossibly sharp edge just a little, so that he doesn't bleed every time he touches it.

*************************************************

Xander is listening to the Host babble at him about some reason that he's at Caritas and frankly, he's getting a bit tired of it.

"You want Buffy."

That seems to shut him up for all of a second.

"Buffy?" the green demon dead-pans, wondering exactly how many Buffys can be in the greater state of California. "Is she like Poochie? Cos I love that little pink dog�it's so much better than this Pokemon stuff - ugh!""Buffy - the Slayer. The Chosen One. She does the *reason* thing. I do research, get kicked about. I have a big sign that says 'vampire bait' - but you can't see it cos you're not a vampire. But if I turn around," Xander demonstrates with flourish, "you can see the 'easy-for-demons' sign on my back. It's right below the 'kick me' sign."

And that shuts up the Host for two whole seconds. Xander is learning quick. Except it's not the spiel that shuts up the Host, or the sight of Xander's firm ass - it's the warbling coming from the voice on stage.

"Well, lookie, who's finally cracked open the safe," the demon murmurs, more to his sea breeze than Xander. "I thought he was locked up tighter than Fort Knox."

"Fort Knox? You mean like Goldfinger and James Bond? Can I be James Bond - he gets the girls and the good lines." The brunette is beginning to loosen up after his third whiskey. The first two were imbibed in short order until the Host pointed out the 'No Guns and Violence' sign on the premises and assured Xander that he wasn't going to be the Happy Hour special. "Sorry, kitten, - that role's already been cast. Anyway, I was talking about Sparky up there," the Host says, gesturing up on the stage. "Sparky? His name is *Sparky*? I'll never resent my parents for my middle name again." Xander groans into his last finger-full of whiskey, with a shudder. "Apparently I could've been Sparky Lavelle Harris which is ten times worse." Banging the empty glass on the bar for more service, Xander turns to see the aforementioned Sparky and feels the bottom drop out his stomach.

He takes it back about being named Sparky. Apparently in order to have a name that derogatory, you have to look like a god. It would figure. He's not really Xander's type anyway�if Xander *did* have a type, that is. Pale blue dress shirt, no tie, expensive pants - all screaming more money than Xander makes in a month. But he's stunning, regardless. What makes it even worse is that he's got that obvious confidence that beautiful people radiate. Xander doesn't know whether to hurl, hit him, or get on his knees and worship.

But alas, Sparky doesn't notice him. He's so involved in his singing on stage, that he isn't even bothering to look at the karaoke monitor. He's got his eyes closed and is singing into the microphone like he's making love to it, like it's the only thing on earth. Xander feels a momentary pang of envy towards the mic, but is shocked to see a mixture of sadness and pain on his face, a mixture that Xander only normally sees when he looks in the mirror for too long. What on earth could be so bad about *his* life that he has that look? And then Xander notices his hand, or lack thereof. It makes more sense now, but not enough for him to look so sad. Xander's thoughts begin to wander, wondering what happened - but they're repeatedly interrupted by the sweet voice on stage.

Xander likes country music, but he's never heard this song before. He wonders vaguely who it might be, but isn't really that bothered. Tonight he really doesn't mind much of anything. Not the fact that he left Sunnydale without letting anyone know where he was. Not that they all probably think he finally got vamped or something equally depressing. He doesn't care about girlfriends and best friends and responsibility because maybe he can finally be himself - whomever Alexander Lavelle Harris is - and he wants to know why the guy on stage seems so sad, when he looks like he has it all. "Such a shame really. The Powers gave him the face of an angel and he's more mixed up than a Strawberry Daquiri...but - far be it from me to get in the way of all this animal magnetism. So do you want to meet *gorgeous* or what?"

"Yea."

Xander says 'yes' on the tail-end of a conversation that he wasn't even listening to. What did he just agree to do? He shrugs as the Host takes him by the arm, and leads him over to an empty table. Whatever it is, it can't be any worse than anything else that's ever happened to him. As he plonks himself down on a chair, he recalls something about meeting someone and wonders if he was supposed to do that tonight. But tonight, no one's home to answer his inquiries and the question disappears, just as aimlessly as it appeared in the first place.

He's so involved in his internal monologue, and folding his napkin into those little origami shapes that Dawn taught him, that it takes a moment for him to register that the Host has apparently left and reappeared with 'Sparky'.

"I feel it's my duty to tell you to play nicely, but you'll notice there are no signs about exhibitionism on the premises. If you don't mind, I don't mind. Now, if you'll excuse me, all the images that I'm getting of you two are making me think I need to spend quality time with a cold shower." With a wink and a leer, the green demon is gone.

Shaking his head to try and find out exactly where in the book he's zoned off, Xander looks back up at where the Host was just milliseconds before. This time he's confronted with pink, pouty lips, and a crisp, blue shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, displaying this little patch of skin that Xander thinks would taste impossibly sweet. Exhaling deeply, he gestures to the chair opposite him and finds himself gazing into the bluest eyes he's ever seen, and wondering, if he got lost in them, could he find his way back out?

"I'm Lindsey."

"Alexander."

"That's quite a mouthful," the brunette with the blue eyes says with a laugh. "Is it always Alexander, or maybe Alex?"

Struggling to keep himself in check, Xander debates what he says carefully. He *could* be 'Alexander,' but he doesn't know Alexander, he doesn't even know 'Alex'. He only knows Xander and he may be a bit vacant at the moment, but he knows there's not enough room in his head for reinvention in the next five seconds.

"It's Xander," he says quietly.

"I like Xander - it suits you."

"Why?!" Xander snaps. "I couldn't be an Alexander, or even an Alex?! Do I just not carry it off? Is there something about me that screams that *I'm different*?!"

Lindsey is more than a little taken aback by the outburst. His 9-to-5, Wolfram and Hart predator-personality would chew Xander up, and spit out his bones out for his rudeness, but the out-for-a-one-night-engagement Lindsey is willing to give him another shot."No and yes."

Xander looks at him with wide eyes, almost begging for an explanation; a chance to apologize, a chance to yell more. Lindsey isn't quite sure what Xander wants from him, but he knows what he wants from Xander. "No, I don't think you could ever be an Alexander, it's too straight-laced and yuppie. It sounds like a Republican-voting, prep-school-attended, yachting-as-a-hobby, stick-up-his-ass, idiot." Inhaling deeply, the lawyer continues. "And Alex. Anybody can be an Alex; it's non-descriptive, non-gender specific - a generic name. Alex Trebeck. Alex Kingston. Alex Haley. It doesn't say anything about *you*."

Lindsey sees something flickering in Xander's eyes as he talks and he figures if he's going to try and win this boy for the night, he might as well lay it on thick. Leaning forward in his chair, he reaches across the table and tucks a stray piece of hair behind Xander's ear. "Xander is specific, it's *someone* specific. For whatever reason, good or bad, you are 'Xander' and you'll never be anyone else." Pulling his hand away, his knuckles brush against Xander's jawbone and Lindsey feels this massive stirring in his groin. "When someone calls 'Xander,' you automatically know who they're talking about. I can't really see that being a bad thing."

*****
Part 2:

Lindsey is aroused. At least, he's pretty sure that's what it is. It's been so long since he's had this sort of reaction to another person that sometimes he forgets how he's built and how his body works. When he tucks Xander's hair behind his ear, he feels the electricity shoot through his arm and into his stomach. He wants Xander badly. He wants to bottle what he sees in those chocolate eyes and keep it next to his bed, so that he always remembers that someone, somewhere, wanted him once. He knows inside - in that place that he never goes, let alone admits to possessing - that sex with Xander will be less of a mindless fuck and more along the lines of making love.

"Come home with me," he drawls quietly. His voice is husky with need, and it's so low that Xander almost misses the request. But he doesn't miss the lust that has Lindsey's eyes glowing like small blue flames. He doesn't know why he came to LA, doesn't know why he came to Caritas. He doesn't remember his abandoned car and the likelihood that it's been clamped and towed. The only thing he's thinking about at this moment in time is the sensation that Lindsey's touch has caused in his body. His heart is racing, he couldn't speak if his life depended on it, and his cock is about to jump out of his trousers and run across the table. He's not even asking why. This is not his weekend to ask why. This is his time to just be Xander - whomever that is. He gives Lindsey a small, uneasy smile and pushes back from the table. As he gets to his feet, he nods towards the door. The grin that he gets in return is all that he'll need to justify why he's doing this, whatever *this* turns out to be.

At the exit, the Host stops them, but for once, instead of saying anything, he just smiles and waves them on their way. Out on the street, the sounds and sights of late night Los Angeles assault Xander's senses. Hookers, pimps, demons, college kids, wannabes, have-beens, thumping car stereos, neon lights galore. His body sways slightly, but he's pulled back down to earth by Lindsey's tug at his sleeve - motioning for him to follow. The two men walk along in silence. Neither one is deep in thought, but neither wants to make the effort of small talk. Time is too precious. Thought and meaningless conversation take away from their time together. For something completely mindless, there's a lot of heart and emotion involved.

Enroute to Lindsey's Mercedes, they pass Xander's car - its windshield is a confetti of parking citations. He doesn't even notice. Upon arrival at the silver Benz, Lindsey chooses to open Xander's door for him rather than using the power lock. It's the little things that he still does that make it hard to understand why he's still alone. The smallest gestures of kindness: the opening of doors, the light touches, the beautiful smile. Tonight he doesn't work for Wolfram and Hart. Tonight he's just a single guy looking to make a connection with someone, trying to make his passage through this miserable life a little more bearable.

Xander would be impressed by the car - if he even noticed it. Instead, he's standing in front of the open passenger door, staring transfixed at Lindsey as he wets his lips and gives him a look of such longing that Xander's surprised he doesn't right there in the gutter. When Lindsey reaches out and strokes his cheek, Xander closes his eyes and the moan that escapes his lips could mean life or death; it's a rather strangled sound that gets drawn out as the lawyer caresses his lips with his thumb. It's a sound that might as well be a dinner bell to Lindsey. Restraint at this moment is a lot more than Lindsey can bear, and he leans over the door and presses his lips against the larger man's warm mouth.

It's a chaste kiss, a simple one, except for when Lindsey pulls away and catches Xander's bottom lip between his teeth gently. As he breaks away, he can feel the heat that Xander's generating, but it doesn't prepare him for when he's suddenly dragged around the offending car door and crushed against an impossibly hard frame. Opening his mouth to Xander's probing tongue, Lindsey meshes it with his own, struggling to push past it and explore Xander's mouth.

Lindsey's misjudged Xander a bit. The surface beauty is unmistakable, but the lean frame belies the muscles that Lindsey feels as he runs his hands over the white cotton. As teeth and tongues clash, Xander wraps his arms around Lindsey's back in a bone-crushing embrace, trying to keep him flush against Xander's own body.

Pushing away slightly, Lindsey rubs his hands over Xander's torso, reveling in the feeling of hard muscle. As Lindsey groans against Xander's mouth, he begins grinding his hips against the obvious evidence of his arousal, his own cock screaming for release. When he pulls his mouth away, his libido celebrates the small whimper that escapes Xander's lips.

Licking his lips, he studies Xander's narrowed eyes. "Want you," he mumbles. "Wanna touch you." He can feel his eyes widening as he stares at Xander's pink tongue, which has snaked out to lick his lips. Unable to break eye contact, Lindsey's hand travels downward to the fly of Xander's cargo pants, and he fumbles for a second before pulling the zipper down. Slipping his hand inside, Lindsey gropes momentarily for the opening of the boxers before making contact. Xander's body gives a small jerk in response to the feeling of Lindsey's warm hand. Glancing downward, he can feel his heartbeat racing in his head, and he's completely mesmerized by the contrast of Xander's pale skin against his gray pants. Gently, he rubs his thumb over the seeping precome that's oozing out and spreads it around the head. He only manages to drag his head back up because of the groan that rumbles in Xander's chest. The feeling of Lindsey's hand on someone else, someone that wants Lindsey as badly as he wants him seems completely foreign. He's almost not sure what to do as he gets lost in Xander's eyes again. He's hopelessly and mindlessly caught in the moment and is only pulled out by Xander calling his name.

"Lindsey. Linds - please."

Filling his lungs with air, the lawyer leans forward and covers Xander's mouth with his own. His first strokes are gentle, but as the pressure from Xander's embrace increases and their tongues begin dueling, his grip tightens. Lindsey finds himself rubbing up against Xander's thigh, trying to get a release. Lindsey relishes the feeling of warm flesh beneath his own, which he considered long dead. As he explores Xander with his fingers, he feels Xander's arms move down his back, his hands gripping his ass. He pulls his mouth away and grins as Xander begins thrusting his hips into Lindsey's hand and rubbing his thighs against Lindsey's erection. He inhales the smell of Xander's apple-scented shampoo as he buries his head in Lindsey's shoulder and nips at his neck.

"Lindsey�.Oh god!"

Lindsey can't remember the last time he's enjoyed himself this much without getting anything in return. The night could end right now, and he'd be smiling for a week. Just the sound of his name on Xander's lips is enough, but it strikes him rather forcefully that it's actually not enough. He's amazed at Xander's reaction to his touch, he knows how he craves it, but has never found anyone who responds the same way. Xander is panting heavily in his ear as he tightens his grip just that little bit more. His strokes are fast and hard now, accelerated by the thrusts of Xander's hips. As he calls his name again, something a bit disturbing occurs to Lindsey. He doesn't just want Xander to call his name once, or twice - he wants to hear it all night long. He wants to hear someone calling his name with some meaning behind it.. This could be a big problem, but Lindsey will worry about that later.

"Come on Xander. Come for me," he whispers, as he flicks Xander's earlobe with his tongue.

"Shit! Lindsey!"

The smile on Lindsey's face when Xander comes all over his hand will definitely last a while - even through the Monday morning meetings with Lilah. Inhaling deeply, he leans back, still in Xander's arms and rearranges the younger man's clothing so he looks presentable. Giving him a lascivious wink, he brings his hand up to his mouth and licks his fingers which are coated with Xander's juices. Enjoying the mixed expression of arousal and shock on Xander's face, he leans forward and brushes a kiss against his lips. Breaking away, he goes back to the other side of the car door.

"Gonna get in the car now?"

**********************************************

Inside the silver Mercedes 320, the air is stifling, but it's a cool night in the city. The windows are down, the vents are open, and yet, it seems as though there's no circulation - Xander's sweating like he stole something. Being in a car with a man who's last name he doesn't know, going to only gods know where, and intent on doing something that he normally struggles not to think about, is really taking it's toll. He's impossibly tense and fraught, trying so hard not to think, that it's all he can think about. He needs a release, an open valve - he's like a pressure cooker. He needs a reminder as to why he's gotten himself into this insane situation at all. His mind is starting to function again, the mindlessness is seeping away - he's going to freak out very soon. At least he thinks he's going to freak out, but there are all these soothing sounds coming from Lindsey's side of the car and maybe he can calm down a bit. Maybe he's not nearly as stressed as he thought. Maybe Lindsey's voice is the sam as hypnosis. Or maybe he would freak out if Lindsey's voice wasn't driving him crazy with need.

----
I wish you would
Come pick me up
Take me out
Fuck me up
Steal my records
Screw all my friends behind my back
With a smile on your face
And then do it again
---

Xander likes country music. He likes the blues and jazz - music that you feel, rather than listen to. Lyrics have never meant that much to him, so analyzing the words coming out Lindsey's mouth isn't really high on his list of priorities. However, he's catching a few words and it's more subliminal messaging that he can take. Take me�fuck me�screw�smile�do it again. Xander grins - he can do that. It's an automatic response. He's got a couple more automatic responses too, like the one that has him reaching over the armrest into Lindsey's lap and rubbing his crotch while he drives. It's an interesting concept. Xander could never be on the receiving end - he'd crash the car - but Lindsey seems to be doing a damn good job of concentrating. Xander is impressed. Xander is also beginning to think that maybe he's not doing a good job because Lindsey's not making any sounds. He's even stopped singing.

"You're not singing anymore. I liked it - why'd you stop?"

Lindsey grits his teeth together, trying to control himself. "Xan�"

Xander knows that tone, it means that he's done something wrong. He stops his ministrations and pulls his hand back into his own lap, lacing his fingers together. Lindsey's response is to slam on the brakes - in the middle of North Fairfax Avenue.

"Are you trying to get us killed?!" Xander yells, as he digs his palms into the dashboard and turns to Lindsey, eyes flashing.

"Am *I* trying to get us killed?!" Lindsey repeats incredulously, staring ahead into the night. "You must be fucking joking! *You* were doing a damn good job of trying that 30 seconds ago!"

"Well - you never told me that!" Xander shoots back, feeling very confused at this moment. "As a matter of fact, you weren't telling me *anything*! If you wanted me to stop - you could've just said something!"

Lindsey's response is to collapse headfirst into steering wheel. After a deep breath, he begins chuckling, and it takes him a few moments to compose himself before he can turn and meet Xander's perplexed expression. "The whole point was that I *didn't* want you to stop."

The light goes on, and Xander is finally home. "Oh. It was okay?" he inquires sheepishly. "I mean before, because I, I�"

Lindsey's reply is to grab a fistful of Xander's shirt and crush his mouth in a mind-searing kiss. Sliding his hand up Xander's shoulder, he buries his fingers in the long, dark brown hair and ravages his mouth with his tongue. The kiss is only broken by the angry blaring of numerous car horns as they swerve to avoid plowing into the stopped car and causing a massive pile up on the two-lane street.

Shaking his head, Lindsey's pulls away and studies Xander for a moment. He's definitely getting more than he bargained for. "Maybe we should just get home - before we really have an accident."

"Home. Yea - sounds like a plan," Xander agrees, swallowing and settling back in his seat.

Pressing heavily at the accelerator, Lindsey places Xander's hand back in his lap in encouragement, but this time Xander wants more than touch. "How far away are we?" he prods.

"About 15 minutes," Lindsey replies with a grin.

That's too long for Xander. "Pull over - now."

Lindsey opens his mouth to protest, but shuts up when Xander pulls down the zipper of his trousers and frees his aching cock.

"Okay - we can do this your way," the driver acquiesces, as he makes a sudden hard left onto a side street. He's about to say something else, but it gets lost because his synapses are firing short in response to Xander's stroking. Up until this point, Lindsey's been the one playing alpha male; but when Xander pushes up the armrest and lowers his wet mouth onto Lindsey's cock, all he wants to do is let him take charge. As Xander flicks his tongue along the underside of Lindsey's erection, he has to resist an overwhelming urge to just drag him in the backseat and get off. Instead he places wet open-mouthed kisses along the underside and the base of Lindsey's hardness. This isn't the first blow job Xander's given, it's been a while and he's out of practice, but he knows what feels good. He can feel the strain in his own pants as he runs his tongue around the edge of Lindsey's knob and laps at the weeping precome. He's rather involved in what he's doing, but it doesn't mean he doesn't appreciate Lindsey's groans. "Fuck. Xander�.Fuck!"

The younger man is actually quite pleased at the sounds his partner is making, he figures maybe he'll stop teasing them both. Pulling away momentarily, he looks up into blue eyes cloudy with lust, licks his lips and in one deft motion takes Lindsey in his mouth.

"Oh shit�shitshitshit�don't stop."

Moving a bit, Xander twists the lower half of his body into a more comfortable position before taking all of Lindsey back in his mouth. As he bobs his head up and down, his mind begins to swim. Nothing really matters. Nothing except the here and now, inhaling Lindsey, tasting Lindsey - his scent has gone into Xander's nose, and is swirling in his brain. It all brings him back to one thing, Lindsey's voice and the singing in the car and at the club. If Lindsey didn't have a voice like sex in maple syrup, he wouldn't be in this position.

He begins humming, trying to remember the song that Lindsey was singing at Caritas. It's just a bit more than the lawyer was anticipating. Xander can hear his moans getting louder, and he feels the pressure from Lindsey's hands on the back of his head and thrusting hips. Xander may be out of practice, but he's finding that this is a lot more like riding a bike than he ever thought - some things you just don't forget how to do. Xander remembers something else, but his body isn't really in the position for that right now - he makes a mental note that when they're actually on a flat surface, he'll try it out.

Xander hears Lindsey's voice drawling in his ears. "Gonna come�" he murmurs arching his hips out the seat as much as possible to meet Xander's warm mouth. Between his desire to bury himself in Lindsey's crotch, and having Lindsey's hands on the back of his head, pushing him down to the base of his cock, the younger man would probably be suffocating if he thought about it - but he's not. Xander's not thinking about anything but the hardness in his mouth and the salty tang on his tongue. Maybe that's why it's such a surprise when Lindsey finally does come with a howl.

Swallowing as much as possible, Xander pulls away and settles back in his seat, face flushed. His appearance though, is nothing compared to Lindsey's, who's concentrating on doing quite a bit of deep breathing in the driver's seat. Leaning back across the car, Xander places a light kiss on Lindsey's damp forehead and smiles down at him. "Okay - now we can go to your apartment."

*****
Part 3:

Xander has David Bowie on the brain.

Major Tom to Ground Control. We need to put a halt to all activities until further notice. Xander also has Apollo 13 on the brain as well. Houston - we have a problem.

He's just stepped into the elevator of Lindsey's building, and he's got cold feet. Not the kind of cold feet you get when you wear sandals in the winter, more like the kind you get when you go the mailbox, barefoot - right after a major snowstorm. He's well aware that he's certainly not acting like he's got cold feet. He didn't say a word when the smaller man pushed him against the back of the elevator car and began ravaging his mouth with his tongue. He didn't protest when he felt Lindsey's erection grind against his thigh. He did let a whimper or two escape, but he's gotta stop the ride for a second - make sure it's the right one.

He's not afraid of Lindsey. He's not even afraid of the fact that he's in the middle of nowhere and wouldn't even know which way to go to get out of the lobby. No, Xander's got much bigger fish to fry - he's got some questions about pretty much everything, and he's not going anywhere until he gets some answers.

"Why me?" he blurts out, griping Lindsey's shoulders and pulling him away from his tongue's exploration of the collar of Xander's shirt. The cloudy lust in Lindsey's blue eyes begins to dissipate as he senses the mood swing in Xander. Growling in frustration, he pulls back and runs his hand through his hair.

"You're having second thoughts," he groans, smacking his forehead with his palm. Not the response Xander was looking for at all, but he catches the note of desperation in Lindsey's voice. He wants him. Lindsey wants Xander. Lindsey *really* wants Xander.

Reaching past Lindsey, he jabs the 'STOP' button on the elevator. As it clanks to a halt, a small smile plays at Xander's lips. Now he wants to talk. Although, by the way the smaller man is pacing around the small elevator - the feeling may not be mutual.

"Well, don't you think it's only natural to have second thoughts?" Xander asks wide-eyed. "I mean I hardly know you, and this isn't really something I do on a regular basis. I'm not staking out the boys room at the YMCA or anything."

"What do you want to know?!" the lawyer snaps in exasperation.

"Well," Xander begins, "The Host kept calling you Sparky, but you told me your name is Lindsey. What gives?"

"Sparky?" Lindsey asks, almost appalled. "D'you really think my name is Sparky? Do I look like a 'Sparky' to you?!" he growls.

"No, not really," Xander admits, "but two and two don't always make four, so you never know."

Lindsey sighs and gives Xander a look of disbelief, he's praying he didn't pick up an idiot here.

"The Host likes to call me Sparky, it's what he thinks guys from the south should be called."

"Oh. So, you're from the south? Where?"

"Oklahoma�and if you've got some smart-ass remark about *that*, you can leave right now."

"Well, I don't have a smart-ass remark about Oklahoma," Xander replies with a grin, "but seeing as the elevator's stopped, it'd be a bit hard for me to leave."

Xander watches Lindsey closely as he rolls his eyes. "You stopped it, you can start it back up again, anytime you want."

Xander bites his lip as he ponders this remark. "Are we still talking about the elevator here, or something else?"

"You tell me."

"As long as you tell *me*�what happened to your hand?"

Lindsey's almost forgotten about that, almost. He could launch into a tirade, could berate Xander for even bringing it up, but he's invested too much already. He'll be damned if *that* vampire is going to fuck up his sex life anymore, not after losing Darla too.

"It was a workplace accident."

Xander's shocked, intrigued and a little concerned. "Damn, and they say construction is dangerous. Definitely feeling glad I do something nice and safe."

Lindsey shrugs, there's not really much to say - what's done is done. Xander will accept that, but he's not quite finished yet. "Tell me why you chose me."

"I didn't choose you," Lindsey grinds out slowly. "You chose me."

This statement is the funniest thing Xander's heard since he asked Willow if she and Tara could recommend some good sex toys for Anya."I-I chose you?" he finally manages to get out around his fit of giggles. Xander never gets to *choose* anybody. He was the last kid to get picked for teams at school. He's the boy who rarely brought anyone to his house for fear they would find out about his parents. He never chooses anything. Everything always seems to find him - like a homing beacon - whether or not he wants it to. But Lindsey obviously doesn't know this. Lindsey's under the delusion that Xander has some sort of control over his life - that's funny.

Lindsey, however, doesn't really see what the joke is, and he's beginning to get more than a little annoyed at the situation. He's trying to do all he can to relax Xander, and he's just playing with him, like a toy, like the way Darla used to. This is not what he's after tonight, he can get that for free anytime.

"Look!" Lindsey retorts, his voice much more harsh than he means for it to be. "I want you. I wanna touch you and hear you call my name. But that was pretty much apparent from the moment I saw you at Caritas and you know that! I don't want to be alone for *one* fucking night - is that so much to ask? I could give you fifty other reasons why I want you and if you let us out of here, I will," he adds, reaching out to pull the 'STOP' button back out. His hand is swatted away by Xander, and as he turns angrily to call the whole thing off, his body is eclipsed by Xander's presence. The smile on the younger man's lips is priceless.

"Sorry about the third degree - but I had to check and make sure you weren't some super tricky sex demon." Lindsey's audible growl only serves to spur Xander on more. "If *I* chose *you*, then I guess I'm in charge," he says with a lazy smile, as he presses Lindsey against the doors with his body, and traps his wrists on either side of his head.

The lust has returned to Lindsey's eyes, their color deepening from baby-blue to cobalt in record time. Leaning forward, Xander licks at Lindsey's lips with his tongue. He uses it with languid motions, ignoring Lindsey's parted mouth and whimpers. Lowering his head, he nudges at the collar on Lindsey's shirt seeking out that little patch of skin that had attracted his attention earlier. Drawing small circles on smooth skin with his tongue, Xander explores parts of Lindsey's collarbone.

"So good," he hears Lindsey's whisper in his ear. "Love your mouth, your tongue�" Which pretty much is what Xander's been waiting to hear for a couple minutes. Closing his mouth over the desired section, Xander begins sucking on Lindsey's neck hard - he's going to leave his own mark. The suction of Xander's mouth is driving Lindsey nuts, but it goes from bad to worse when Xander releases his hands, and begins rubbing Lindsey's cock ardently with his hand.

"Is this what you want?" he murmurs into Lindsey's neck, as he rubs his erection harder.

"Yes�" the smaller man moans.

"Is this how you want it?" he inquires, increasing his speed.

"Yes. Xander, yes!"

"And you're sure you want me?" Xander whispers, bringing his mouth up to Lindsey's ear.

"Yesyesyesyes," the lawyer babbles.

Lindsey's been up against Xander like a suction cup, so when he suddenly pulls away, Lindsey almost collapses to the floor at the sudden change. Reaching out, the younger man punches the "STOP" button and the elevator clangs back into operation.

"Good. Don't forget it."

***********************************************************

Lindsey is going to tie Xander up and make him remember who's in charge and who picked up whom. He picked up Xander, or maybe Xander *did* pick him up - his hormones are too off-balance, hee can't think straight. That whole episode in the elevator has him riled - and horny as hell. He gets shit all day from people he works with; he's not going to get it from the guys he fucks as well. That's just too much to put up with. *He* should be the one in charge for once, or maybe he could just let Xander take the lead - if Xander knows what to do. As he unlocks his front door and gropes for the light on the wall, he prays to some god he's never going to meet, that Xander knows what to do.

Just as his fingers make contact with the light switch, Lindsey feels Xander's body pressed against him, propelling him into the darkness of his living room. Turning around blindly, he tries to make contact with something, anything. He can't find the wall, and Xander's suddenly disappeared. At least he thinks he's disappeared, until he's pushed up against a wall roughly.

"OW!! Shit! Xan..." his words are cut off by Xander's mouth on his, soft and sweet. The action was rough, but the lips against his are so gentle, and the fingers exploring his torso are so light, that Lindsey can forgive pretty much anything right now. If he thinks about Xander's wet tongue, darting in and out of his mouth with butterfly movements, he can forgive the girl who made his latte with skim milk instead of two percent. If Lindsey concentrates on Xander's lips on his earlobe and his tongue flicking it softly and pulling on it with his teeth, he can forgive the guy who cut him off on the 405. If he focuses on Xander's tongue licking down his jawbone, and his hands pulling his shirt free of his pants, unbuttoning it slowly, he can probably forgive his assistant for not finishing that memo he needed to send to Holland. If he�Lindsey can't think about people he wants to forgive anymore. He's a bit preoccupied with Xander's talented tongue and the way it's laving at his left nipple, slowly, with alost ghost-like movements. His mind is beginning to fade into oblivion, but gets pulled back with Xander's teeth on his hard nipple, tugging on it - ordering Lindsey to pay attention to him.

"More!" he bellows into the quiet room. But instead of more, Lindsey gets an evil grin from Xander, who pulls away and crouches down, unfastening Lindsey's trousers. Unfurling himself to his full height, Xander pulls Lindsey against him and pulls Lindsey's shirt free from his body, buttons popping at wrists, starched cotton ripping from too much excitement. "Damn, Xander," he drawls playfully, "I liked that shirt."

"Looks better on the floor," his partner mumbles as he yanks down Lindsey's blue wool pants and striped Calvin Klein boxers. Lindsey's eyes have finally adjusted to the darkness, and he can read the look on Xander's face as he drinks in his naked body. And then he does something so unexpected that Lindsey's not sure what to say. Kneeling on the floor in front of him, Xander proceeds to untie Lindsey's shoes. Wordlessly, he wraps his hand around Lindsey's right calf and lifts it up to remove the shoe, the sock and that leg of the trousers. Hopping on one leg, Lindsey reaches down to steady himself. He's not sure where on earth Xander comes from, but he's never met anyone who had manners during sex. It's odd, but not so odd that Lindsey's about to protest. When he's done, he stands back up and regards Lindsey with a look that pretty much says that Lindsey's the only course on his dinner menu.

"Turn around." Xander's voice is raspy, but there's no mistaking what he says, and his next words may be a request but they sound more like an order. "Don't move."

Lindsey's suddenly feeling a bit worried. What exactly is Xander planning on doing? His curiosity is heightened when he hears Xander move off into the apartment. If Xander is going to rob him, he'll be really pissed off. Lindsey's suspicions aren't soothed any when he hears him banging around in another room of the apartment. He can't tell which one, because the light generated is so faint. A dull thud and a muffled curse are just serving to worry the lawyer all the more, and then - silence. It's quiet for a few seconds, until he hears Xander's sneakers sounding his return. "So - find what you were looking for?" he queries.

"Well, that depends on you really," Xander replies. "Do you prefer Johnson and Johnson or Petroleum?"

Lindsey's lost and then it hits him. Vaseline or baby oil. Xander *does* know what he's doing.

"Hurry up, sunshine," he hears, feeling hot breath on his neck, "or I'll decide for you."

Lindsey would decide, really - if he remembered any of the English language, anyway. Taking his silence as indecision, Xander lowers his head and nips at his shoulder. "Ground Control to Major Tom�are you still here with me?" Cocking his head to the side, Xander slips his arms around Lindsey's waist and gropes for contact. Wrapping his fingers around Lindsey's hardness, he begins to stroke him slowly and is finally answered by Lindsey's leaning back against him and moaning.

"For a minute there, thought I lost you," he whispers, dropping a kiss on top of Lindsey's head.

He's answered by a groan as Lindsey's begins thrusting into his fist. "Whoa, whoa - slow down there, cowboy," he murmurs stepping away. In the silence, all Lindsey can hear is his own deep breathing and the top being flipped on a bottle of baby oil. That would've been his selection too. Lindsey inhales deeply as he hears the sounds of a zipper being undone and cotton sliding down legs. He recognizes the sound of foil being torn on a condom wrapper, but he's perplexed when he hears two short dull thuds. Turning his head to investigate, he comes face to face with Xander. "Sneakers," he answers simply as he lowers his mouth to Lindsey's full lips. Lindsey reaches up to pull Xander's mouth deeper into his own, but is blocked when Xander instead places his hand on the wall and then reaches down to pull his hips back at an angle.

Neither one breaks the kiss as tongues mesh, and Lindsey feels cool oil dripping on his lower back. Moaning, he pushes back against Xander's hands as they caress his ass, and his fingers slide down, touching him gently. Groaning, he arches back against Xander's fingers urging him to explore. Pulling away from Xander's mouth, he braces himself against the wall and arches back. "Please�"

His request is answered by Xander's finger pushing agonizingly, leisurely, through the tight sphincter muscle. "OhgodXanderc'mon," he moans. He follows Xander's finger inside him, moving slowly, probing, exploring. It's soon joined by a second finger, and Lindsey is really beginning to lose it. "More...more�more," he moans as Xander's fingers begin searching, looking for that one spot where�jackpot.

"Xander!"

Yup, Xander's found his mark, and now that he knows that, his pace increases from snail crawl to warp speed. Lindsey doesn't seem to have a problem keeping up, at least that's what his howls are leading Xander to believe. "Shit! Xander harder�ohgodohgod." The younger man suspects that he's about ready and withdrawing his fingers, presses the head of his long neglected cock against the tight entrance. Rubbing one well oiled hand over his sheathed erection, he begins pushing in slowly, wanting to enjoy himself - unsure of the next time he may get to have this sort of experience again. After several seconds, he's buried deep inside Lindsey's impossible tightness. Groaning, he slides in and out, raggedly attempting to make a rhythm. He shouldn't have these problems, but being inside Lindsey is driving him crazy - Xander's thinking he's going to go to hell for an experience this good.

"Touch me�please," the lawyer moans, taking Xander's hand off his hip and wrapping it around his aching cock. That's all that Xander needs to get him going. Pulling out slowly, he thrusts back into Lindsey hard, sliding his oil slicked hand up and down Lindsey's cock. It's like Xander got touched by the rhythm fairy. Suddenly, he's moving in and out of Lindsey with blinding speed and a force he normally doesn't use. Whatever it is, both men are enjoying the fruits of their labor. He's thrusting hard and reveling in Lindsey's groans, whimpers, and variations of his name. Xander feels the familiar tightness in his balls, knows he's going to come, but he's enjoying himself too much, he wants to put it off - almost.

"Gonna come!!" Xander announces in Lindsey's ear, as he ejaculates. It's just the announcement his lover has been waiting for as he comes all over his living room wall and Xander's hand, shooting thick, sticky ropes all over the beige paint. He doubts the landlord will notice the stain there - doesn't really know about the carpet though.

With a loud groan, Lindsey collapses against the wall, bringing Xander down with him. "Can we go to the bedroom now?" he pleads, his voice thick with lust.

"You know," Xander drawls in his ear," I think beds are overrated. I'm kind of liking this whole living-room, carpet experience. I mean it *is* here and the bedroom, that seems kind of far," he adds, nibbling Lindsey's ear. Easing himself around, under the crush of Xander's body, Lindsey takes a moment to drink in the lean body and the shadows of light from the world outside the balcony doors.

"Point taken," he says with a nod as he brushes his lips against Xander's. "But you've obviously never suffered carpet burn. Unless you plan on being on the bottom *all* night long, I think we'd better make a move."

Kissing Xander's nose as he wrinkles it, Lindsey bends down and grabs the bottle of baby oil. Waving it Xander's face, he pushes him away slightly. "Ready when you are."

*****************************************************

Lindsey is dreaming of a life with Xander. He knows it's a dream because that's the only world in which someone could love him as much as Xander seems to. He's a better man for it. He smiles again, genuine smiles - not the fake plastic ones that seem to permeate his days at Wolfram and Hart. In his world, there is no Wolfram and Hart, no Holland, no Lilah, no Darla or Dru - no Angel trying to kill him repeatedly. In his world they share an apartment; they're a couple. He's finally found someone to accept him for himself. Of course in his dream world, he's never fucked it all up in the first place so there's really nothing for Xander to forgive. There's no abusive father to escape or questionable ethics to worry about. It's a nice place. He wants to stay there wrapped in Xander's arms. He wants to have this life, this better life. The life that he can have if Xander stays with him. All he has to do is stay safely tucked away in the warm bed. All he has to do is not open his eyes when he feels the eight of the mattress shift. All he has to do is keep his eyes closed when Xander gently calls his name, because he knows he's leaving, and Lindsey doesn't want to give up what he's found. He doesn't want to spend another day alone, another night of coming home to an empty apartment. He's almost wracked with pain when his mind tells him to quit fucking around and get it over with.

**************************************************

Xander stares at Lindsey as he sleeps; he's so beautiful it breaks his heart. In another life he would be taking his clothes off, instead of pulling them back on. He'd be unlacing his Adidas instead of tying the laces tight. He would be staying here with Lindsey and starting a new life, a better life. He would have no past, no alcoholic parents. He'd have a chance to go to college or start his own construction business. He wouldn't be anyone's 'man-bitch,' he'd be someone's partner, mate, lover. His night with Lindsey has shown him that something is missing from his life, something he doesn't have with Anya, something he *can't* have with Anya. Whether it's because she's an ex-demon, or a woman, or just not "the one" - he doesn't know, not yet. What he does know is that he doesn't have to think about any of it if he just stays there with Lindsey. All he has to do is climb back in the warm bed and burrow his head under the muscled forearm with the blonde hairs.

It would be so easy to start again, so easy to run-away. Last night he could've said yes - would've done it in a heartbeat. But today is another day and his mind has come back from its vacation. It needs to go find the car and get the hell back to Sunnydale. His last 12 hours of completely mindless behavior are over, he's Xander Harris again. He has a past and a life, somewhere else.

"Lindsey." His voice is more of a whisper than something he expects the other man to hear. Maybe his unconscious doesn't want Lindsey to hear him. Doesn't really want to say good-bye, not now, not ever - but he'll never know, because his mind is being summoned by cornflower blue eyes and a soft mouth. Despite what the two have shared, Xander knows it has to end, but he can't bring himself to say good-bye. Instead he crouches down by Lindsey and brushes a kiss against his lips.

"Thanks."

He stands back up and watches Lindsey rollover wordlessly and go back to sleep. Xander's not sure what he was expecting, maybe an invitation to stay. His brain kicks him silently - idiot. Mutely, he closes the bedroom door behind him and exits the apartment.

In the elevator, he hears Lindsey singing quietly in his ears. It's the first time he's had this sort of instant playback of their night, but he has a feeling it won't be the last - not by a long shot. As he leaves the building, he realizes he has no idea how to get back to Caritas and no method to get there even if he knew where he was going. He's saved by the doorman, who was on the phone when he first exited the entrance. "Mr. McDonald has called a car for you. It should be here in five minutes." Xander turns to the elder man with a graying beard. It takes him a minute to register what he's said.

"Thanks."

It's only the second conversation Xander's had this morning and both times it's been monosyllabic and the same word at that. Thanks. But what did he really thank Lindsey for? For holding him? For kissing him? For making Xander want him and see all that he can't have? For creating dreams that he wants to spend the rest of his life in, and be bitter because he can't? Not really the sort of thing you want to thank someone for.

As he gets in the back of the black sedan that's pulled up, he can hear Lindsey singing again - the way he had when they were parking the car last night.

Lindsey had pulled into his space and turned off the engine, but had refused to exit the car until he had sung the last verse of his song. Xander had been ready to knock him out and drag him to his apartment at that point. Instead, Lindsey had put his fingers to Xander's lips to quiet him while he sang. It was the only time that Xander had listened to the lyrics, and as the car drives back into downtown LA, Xander never even realizes that he's singing.

----
I wish you'd make up my bed
So I could make up my mind
Try it for sleeping instead
Maybe you'll rest sometime
I wish I could
I wish you would
Come pick me up
----

-finis-