Buffy leans over abruptly and jabs at the stereo. Sound blares through the interior of the car, she listens for about five seconds, then punches another button and changes the station.
She's not big on patience. Lindsey knows the feeling, but he's learned that honing that particular virtue can be very beneficial. It's amazing that she's lasted this long in the evening, that she even agreed to it in the first place. Buffy seems the type who defines people and situations instantly, quick to cut her losses.
"You can listen to anything you want."
He's rewarded with a stare that says-I am.
No difficulty admitting he asked for that one. Lindsey slides over a bit and pops the glove box open, trying not to think about how close she is, remembers how adverse she is to having anyone touch her. Perversely tries to get as close as he can without actual contact while hoping he can pull off innocent indignation if she gets too violent, convince her *she's* paranoid.
He realizes he's pushing it and sits upright again in his seat, nods to the rows of plastic CD cases lining the small compartment that he's revealed. "I've got all kinds of stuff, pick whatever."
He still has all his extremities and guesses she's decided to cut to cut him some slack. He'd kill to have some inside track as to what's going on in her head right now, he's usually pretty dead on when readings people, but he just can't pigeon hole the Slayer into a nice, comfortable box. That's what he thinks is causing this obsession with her, can't stand to have something that eludes the neat organization of all variables in his life.
Wants to file her under disenchanted soldier locked in a war she's doing her best to survive, but there's something else in there that he can't quite put a finger on, a shadow of something that hasn't been allowed to surface very often. It's not quite been exterminated entirely yet and he wants to dig just enough to expose it, name it and exorcise it from his psyche.
She sifts through the titles of music silently, making a grimace when she passes one that she hates.
"What are you in the mood for: Italian, French, Thai?"
She doesn't look up, but decides on a selection, shoves her rejects back into the glove box and slides the disc into the stereo. "I don't care…food."
With any other date, this would be a coy attempt to make him feel in charge. Buffy probably has never had a coy moment in her life, and if she ever let him have the upper hand, he'd drop dead of a heart attack. Lindsey feels a twinge, faced with her apathy…then chastises himself. Is he looking for mushy declarations and dramatics? No, that would be a definite turnoff, must be the rejection he craves? What kind of a sick fuck does that make him?
He automatically comes around to her side of the car; she's already out by the time he crosses around. Shrugs, suspects he's going to have to rewrite a few date rules before the evening is over.
"Lindey McDonald?" He knows better than to acknowledge that. Anyone he wants to talk to him already knows who he is. If they have to ask, they're either serving a summons or carrying out a hit.
"I'm sorry, I think you've mistaken me for someone else." Deny all knowledge until he assesses the situation a little more. Turns around and sees two men, familiar, but he can't quite place them at the moment. Quick run down the mental list, pegs them as someone hired to do grunt work for Wolfram and Hart.
Whatever. He knows he doesn't want The Slayer too ingrained in business matters, doesn't want to have to justify whatever office politics she might witness. A quick glance at her and he sees she's looking from them, to him and at her watch in boredom. Maybe he can cut this short before too much damage is done.
"Gentlemen, whatever this is…it can wait until morning." A quick nod goodnight and he moves to sweep past them into the restaurant. It doesn't work out quite the way he's planned it.
Both start to shift and then it hits him-fucking vampires. He should remember that, this pair is usually called for a hit. This time the contract's on him. Searches for a responsible party and Lilah's image immediately pops to mind. Must not have enjoyed that little field trip he sent her on.
Lindsey hears Buffy's annoyed, "You've got to be kidding me?" and sees her land a kick to the stomach of one of them. Unfortunately, the other vampire lunges at him, taking Lindsey over the hood of his car. Both of them land on the gravel near the front tires.
There's not much room to maneuver, since his head is jammed against the wheel, he manages a punch or two before the vampire incapacitates him with a blow to the solar plexus that paralyses him. All he can do is gasp for air as his attacker moves in for the carotid.
Morgan's going to pay for this, yes she will. If he makes it through that is. Luckily he's out with a slayer, but not really feeling the benefit of that fact right now. Barely notices the vampire's stopped until he feels the dust settle on him, spraying him with a fine powder that clogs his throat and replaces silent gasping with loud, violent hacking as he tries to clear his airway.
"I guess dinner's off?" Buffy leans over him and offers a hand to grab. "I'd better get you home."
Hopefully, saving his life is some kind of turn on for her. He thinks that's probably too much to ask.
Lindsey opens the door and swings it inward, stepping back to allow her first access. Something inside of him rolls over at the thought of letting a girl face his dangers for him, but she's the professional and he's seen her kill statistics. He doesn't dwell on it, just delights in the fact that he can breathe relatively normal again.
"Let me check it out. See if there's any surprise visitors who skipped the invite."
This is a very hard way to get a girl up to your apartment.
He's proud to show it to her, then realizes she probably doesn't give a shit about where he lives or how many clients he had to take to afford it. She doesn't care how hard it was to achieve the perfect statement of success and prestige that calls to him and silences the nagging grumble of what he's come from, what he's left behind.
He's the only one who knows what he tries to leave behind, recalls the last ten years of struggle to burn that bridge behind him. Mostly he can do it, occasionally it rears its head on a quiet Sunday afternoon, when the hours stretch out before him and he feels the first tickle of panic in his gut. He's always quick to smash it back down though, before it can get a good hold on him again.
Buffy checks the rooms with that swagger that Lindsey suspects no one else really has the balls to attempt. She's mastered it; any other gait would be unnatural, like tits on a boar- he tries not to laugh out loud like he's five years old. The Slayer returns to stand in front of him as he remembers to shut the door.
"No boogeys."
Lindsey's drawn to the movement of her hands. Every other part of her is a study in apathy, but those hands clench and unclench in an uncontrolled manifestation of agitation, of energy coursing through her with no outlet.
He chooses to ignore it, but can't quite seem to take his eyes of her. "You want something to drink?"
"Trying to get me liquored up?" She looks disdainfully at him. "I could probably drink you under the table."
Something warns him not to take that bet and he can't take his eyes off of her hands yet. She fidgets-pumps fist and relaxes, repeats that endless cycle. "You okay?" The concern isn't entirely a socially mandated nicety. He can't explain why the plump artery running over her wrist bone fascinates him. It just seems to grow fatter and fatter, rising in a traceable cord on the surface of her skin.
"I just get a little pumped after a kill."
It must be murder to compartmentalize that maelstrom of power, but if anyone has the willpower to do it-it's her. "What do you usually do to blow that off, kill something else?"
"Sometimes."
He feels the contact seconds before she raises her hand and gives a little shove that causes him to take a step back into the closed door."
"Sometimes I try something new…just to spice it up a bit."
"A sense of adventure is an admirable quality." Her hand slides down a few inches until it's resting directly over his breastbone; can she feel his pulse jump a little? His balls contract and he tries to convince himself he's not a dirty old man. Keep a neutral face.
"You should be up for a ride McDonald. You've been sniffing around hard enough today. Why don't you show me just what Wolfram and Hart can do for me, how much better my life's going to be?" she steps into him and doesn't bother with any pretense, smashes into him and her teeth pinch his lip.
He's not a stranger to a rough date, and fuck…it's been a while since he's met someone who's intrigued him this much. He tries his own assault, reaching between them until his palm meets her top rib, slides his hand up and encircles her breast from underneath, holding it and stretching his fingers until they span the circumference. Small squeeze, just enough so that he knows she feels it. He decides- what the fuck, there's a freezer full of ice.
"I could snap you in two McDonald."
The velvety material of her tank is too much of a barrier; he slides it up, past the plain, white cotton bra; it's serviceable, no nonsense and right now, it's the sexiest thing he's ever seen. "Call me Lindsey." Wants her to moan it, scream it, he'd be happy just to hear it pass her lips.
"What did you think I was going to do McDonald?" Deliberate flaunt of his request. Bitter smile before her hand circles his throat, knocking his head against the door. She was obviously aware of his connection to the vampires at the restaurant. "Kill the vamps that you don't need anymore and ignore the ones that are still useful to wolfram and Hart?"
Actually he did think to skew their arrangement in exactly that direction. Is he losing his poker face? Probably not, just forgetting that he's not dealing with the average Friday night pick up. She may be young, but she's anything but stupid.
"Maybe this is more what you had in mind?" she clamps her mouth over his and he feels her teeth digging into the outline of his lips, starts sucking his tongue into her mouth until it feels she'll suck the air out of his lungs.
He doesn't care because all he can think about is how badly he wants to fuck her. Whatever she wants to do, he's ready to comply.
Her tank gets thrown hastily halfway across the room and she's already unbuttoned his shirt by the time he backs her over to the couch. She pushes it down off of his shoulders and a button scratches a red line as it scrapes down his bicep, he barely notices.
Lindsey doesn't want to analyze what they're doing, what they're possibly going to say to explain this, all he knows is he can't bear to take his hands off of her. Brings her bra down, straps at her elbows and she's popping out of it when his thumb scrapes over her nipple- just as she yanks his shirt to his elbows. He wants to protest out loud as he's pulled away, as she tugs hard and the sleeves snap his arms down to his sides, the material inverts over his wrists.
She makes up for it when she has to reach around him to get his shirt off and her tits slide up against his chest. Remember to breathe and try not to shoot right here. He doesn't know if he'll make it when she finally pulls Armani over his wrists and steps back triumphantly. Balls it up and tosses it into the wastepaper basket sitting by his desk.
Briefly, questions of who usually helps her out like this after a kill circle through his brain. Who reaches over, jabs her in the ribs when they see her frowning and orders," smile"? Who will tomorrow?
He decides this is the longest amount of time he ever wants to go without touching her and reaches out to grab either side of her jaw, thumbs hooking behind her ears. Doesn't care that his hands have tangled in her hair, just pulls her down until he can finally taste her again. Lindsey knows she's thinking the same thing because her tongue is in his mouth the moment their noses touch.
For a moment, she fumbles with his zipper, but soon tugs his pants down past his hips. Hand snakes in and reaches for his cock, coolness envelopes him. Pulling. Squeezing. Coaxing him to swell and it's not three seconds before he obeys, his cock shiny, darkening as the blood rushes to fill it. Skin stretched tight and it feels like he's going to burst. Has he ever heard of that happening to anyone? Can the skin split wide open? Is that medically possible?
Attention refocused as she pushes him down and he lands, sitting on the couch in slight shock, wondering what he's done to fuck this up. There's no softening from passion, no dewy eyed romantic gaze. She stares at him like she's pissed and he frantically searches for anything to say to keep her from leaving. God. He doesn't think he can take it if she leaves right now.
Then- knows she won't, because he catches that need looking back at him. She bends over and pushes her pants down over her hips, bends down with breasts hanging. Kicks them over her ankles as she straightens up. Says it slowly and deliberately, "L. I.N.D.S.E.Y."
Tries not to visibly exhale in relief because she's not leaving. When she eases herself over him, knees on either side of his hips, he reaches up and pulls her down. Kisses her mouth once more before working his way down. Reaches her nipple and licks it. Vertically. Concentrically. Takes the nub of it in his mouth and sucks hard…harder. Curls his tongue in a u around the underside to increase the pressure. Knows she appreciates the details when she grabs his head in both hands and draws him into her.
Both hands circle her waist, feel the muscles there, then one slides down to pet the triangle of fuzz between her legs, part it with his fingers until he finds her cunt lips. Traces. Separates them. Works his finger around her protruding little clit until he finds her hole slick and ready. One finger slides home all the way to the knuckle and she moans low in her throat, so low, he can feel it vibrating in his lips as he suckles her.Withdraw finger, slide back into her. Moans himself when she grinds against him so hard his hand is trapped between his chest and her pelvic bone.
Lindsey brings his other hand around to push her back a little, guide her. She soon substitutes his cock for the finger and he's in her to the hilt, feeling her wrapping around him. He fits so perfectly and it occurs to him again that he's not the first. He laughs and calls himself seven kinds of foolish to think that a seventeen-year-old slayer would have saved herself for him.
Knee on either side of his ribs, she leans back a little. Squeezes her ass tight and brings him *that* much farther into her. When she does, he can't help it, "Oh…jesus." Throws his neck back to curve over the couch. Stares up at the ceiling and tries to stop the pressure that starts his balls jerking. Not yet.
Her thigh muscles hunch…proving no one escapes the Slayer and his resolve spits away in the semen that shoots into her. Leans head forward, hiding his red face in her shoulder. Hopes she doesn't say anything…no jokes, doesn't think he can laugh it off right now. Doesn't have to, she's quiet for about fifteen seconds before she's pushing him away, trying to stand.
He reaches for her by the time she has one foot on the floor, but she breaks his grip and rises, silently pulling on her jeans. She doesn't once look at him.
Think of something witty. Nothing. Realizes she's retrieved her tank from the garbage can and it heading for the door, she's going to leave. "I'll call you tomorrow. "
Don't think about what's going on behind those eyes. They belong to a stranger even after what they've just done. "We can finalize some kind of…agreement."
"Can't. I'm heading down South. Some town called Sunnyvale…Sunnydale?" Buffy shakes her hair out, combs fingers through it roughly and re twists it into a knot on the top of her head. Takes a bobby pin from between her lips and scrapes it through the strands, takes another…and another until it stays. "Something like that. Guess they're having some problem with a hell mouth, I've got to go check it out."
Visions of promotion drift somewhere behind the frown, but they're sinking fast. He quickly wipes the disappointment from his face. "But you'll be coming back?"
Her hand is on the doorknob. "If I do, you won't be seeing me." Twists the knob and pulls the door open." I don't think Wolfram and Hart is an option I'm going to take."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Feet up on the windowsill, he rocks the leather chair back and forth. The sun reflects from a window of the building across the street. Lindsey squints his eyes, but doesn't close them. Won't turn his head to alleviate the blinding glare because he's feeling just that stubborn today.
The door opens without his secretary's warning. "Well I see you're not dead."
He doesn't pivot the chair, because Lilah really *is* the last person he wants to see right now." I wouldn't take another step. There's a highly sensitive trip wire. Just had it installed this morning…could get ugly." She pauses and he knows she's thinking about it.
"How's your slayer project?"
(Fucked up beyond all recognition) "I decided it wasn't going to be as beneficial as I thought. She didn't really embrace the mission statement."
"In other words, you screwed it up."
Wishes he really did install that trip wire, or a fucking alligator infested moat. "Something like that."
[END]