Fic: Seal It With A Kiss. L/A
I promised this to killerweasel ages ago. Maybe not quite what you wanted dear but damn, I just can't control my whorish muse. She is a dictator, a very evil one too. Anyway, hope it's okay.
This is Lindsey/Angel, my friends. No warnings needed except for naughtiness.
Seal It With A Kiss
Blankly he studied the man reflected in the mirror before him. Skin darkened by childhood years spent under the harsh Texan sun. Fine lines of anger and worry on his face. Scars of payment to his masters on his body.
His body.
There was hardly an inch of him that hadn't been touched by Him in some way. Mockingly, violently, even gently. Sexually...
The story of their relationship was written on his skin as evidently as if each touch had made a permanent mark, an invisible pattern of tattoos to remind him for all times of what had passed. Some faint, others screaming at him in their invisibility.
Above his heart. A light pat that had graced his nipple through the thin layers of fine fabric. The golden glinted eyes had been sarcastic, the words mocking, but his touch was so much more. Like a promise, or maybe rather a threat, of what was to come.
He raised his gaze. For a moment he felt the cool presence of a dark figure standing behind him. He resisted the urge to look back, used to the feeling creeping up on him whenever he stood in front of a mirror, the possibility of it being true enough to send shivers down his spine. After all Angel did have a nasty habit of sneaking up from behind and...
He could still feel the thin cable tighten around his throat, the wind of malicious words brushing his ear. Feel the blood trapped in his head, pounding in his jugular vein. So very close to those smirking lips, those very, very sharp teeth. He could hear the soft flaring of nostrils, the low chuckle as his scent gave away his secret. Taste the humiliation bitter on his tongue as he was left, stained by his own betrayal.
He blinked, bringing the image in front of him once again into focus. There was no scar of strangulation around his neck, no letter of shame on his forehead. The only evidence lay in the memories haunting his soul.
Well, not only his...
He closed his eyes for a moment, running the different touches through his mind like a flickering movie. Hands squeezing his neck, fists hitting his face, arms pressing the air out of his chest, feet kicking him, fingers digging into his flesh, steel...
He sucked in his breath. Though he lived to be a hundred the scorching pain, the mind-blowing shock as the sharp blade sliced through flesh and bone, cutting off his hand, would never leave his memory. And above everything else what stuck in his mind was the heat in Angel's eyes, staring down at where he lay, cradling his stump, too shocked to really grasp what had happened.
That was the touch he remembered best. Cold steel sent from a safe distance but in his mind it was Angel's cool skin that touched him, eyes of fire burning into him.
He opened his eyes. Then raised his hand and turned it slowly in front of his face. He slowly flexed the fingers, watching them tap the air like an invisible piano. Slender and strong like his own. The fingertips a bit flatter, the nails thicker. Other than that it was like it had never happened. If he only could fool his mind, erase the memories like they'd erased the scar.
It didn't matter how well it had been done. No scar anymore, not even a change of skin tone. He would still always know it wasn't his. He missed the tiny scars on his fingers, gathered like trophies from stupid childhood stunts and even dumber adult blunders. The graze of a stone, the cut of a bottle. It had taken him months to grow the calluses he'd been so used to he hadn't even noticed them until they were gone. Months of rough strings leaving his fingertips red and sore but he didn't mind that. Each ache reminded him of what he'd lost and miraculously gained again. Although he sometimes wished the hand didn't have such a passion for cheesy ballads. It really blew his style.
He hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers and slowly pulled them down until they fluttered to the floor on their own accord, forming a pool of black silk around his ankles. Cool and smooth. Indifferent he stepped out of them and pushed them to the side, before giving himself a critical look. This was where it got interesting.
Fingerprints on his hips, his buttocks, the inside of his thighs. Again, not visible but still there. Scratches down his groin, bruises in places he couldn't see. Fingers pushing inside him as teeth tugged at his earlobe, precum burning its way between his cheeks.
“Fuck, Lindsey. So tight.”
“Shut up and just do it, you asshole.”
That low chuckle. Killed him every time. So infuriating. So damn sexy. So...
Pain turning into pleasure, grunts into moans, curses into pleads for more. Going to heights he'd never even dreamed of. Exploding into million suns. Then lying still, feeling a strange pride in having made this creature breathe, the air forming goose bumps on his skin. Getting up and straightening clothes before turning around only to find him gone.
The shock of that more severe than losing a limb.
Leaving the motel in the dark of the night and swearing to never return.
“Are you ready?”
He took a deep breath, giving himself a last long look before turning around, giving the girl a cold smile. It was time to swap these invisible tattoos for some real ones.
Because there was one way they'd never touched and he'd be damned if he'd let Angel get away with that.
Hope you feel better soon, darling.
This is Lindsey/Angel, my friends. No warnings needed except for naughtiness.
Seal It With A Kiss
Blankly he studied the man reflected in the mirror before him. Skin darkened by childhood years spent under the harsh Texan sun. Fine lines of anger and worry on his face. Scars of payment to his masters on his body.
His body.
There was hardly an inch of him that hadn't been touched by Him in some way. Mockingly, violently, even gently. Sexually...
The story of their relationship was written on his skin as evidently as if each touch had made a permanent mark, an invisible pattern of tattoos to remind him for all times of what had passed. Some faint, others screaming at him in their invisibility.
Above his heart. A light pat that had graced his nipple through the thin layers of fine fabric. The golden glinted eyes had been sarcastic, the words mocking, but his touch was so much more. Like a promise, or maybe rather a threat, of what was to come.
He raised his gaze. For a moment he felt the cool presence of a dark figure standing behind him. He resisted the urge to look back, used to the feeling creeping up on him whenever he stood in front of a mirror, the possibility of it being true enough to send shivers down his spine. After all Angel did have a nasty habit of sneaking up from behind and...
He could still feel the thin cable tighten around his throat, the wind of malicious words brushing his ear. Feel the blood trapped in his head, pounding in his jugular vein. So very close to those smirking lips, those very, very sharp teeth. He could hear the soft flaring of nostrils, the low chuckle as his scent gave away his secret. Taste the humiliation bitter on his tongue as he was left, stained by his own betrayal.
He blinked, bringing the image in front of him once again into focus. There was no scar of strangulation around his neck, no letter of shame on his forehead. The only evidence lay in the memories haunting his soul.
Well, not only his...
He closed his eyes for a moment, running the different touches through his mind like a flickering movie. Hands squeezing his neck, fists hitting his face, arms pressing the air out of his chest, feet kicking him, fingers digging into his flesh, steel...
He sucked in his breath. Though he lived to be a hundred the scorching pain, the mind-blowing shock as the sharp blade sliced through flesh and bone, cutting off his hand, would never leave his memory. And above everything else what stuck in his mind was the heat in Angel's eyes, staring down at where he lay, cradling his stump, too shocked to really grasp what had happened.
That was the touch he remembered best. Cold steel sent from a safe distance but in his mind it was Angel's cool skin that touched him, eyes of fire burning into him.
He opened his eyes. Then raised his hand and turned it slowly in front of his face. He slowly flexed the fingers, watching them tap the air like an invisible piano. Slender and strong like his own. The fingertips a bit flatter, the nails thicker. Other than that it was like it had never happened. If he only could fool his mind, erase the memories like they'd erased the scar.
It didn't matter how well it had been done. No scar anymore, not even a change of skin tone. He would still always know it wasn't his. He missed the tiny scars on his fingers, gathered like trophies from stupid childhood stunts and even dumber adult blunders. The graze of a stone, the cut of a bottle. It had taken him months to grow the calluses he'd been so used to he hadn't even noticed them until they were gone. Months of rough strings leaving his fingertips red and sore but he didn't mind that. Each ache reminded him of what he'd lost and miraculously gained again. Although he sometimes wished the hand didn't have such a passion for cheesy ballads. It really blew his style.
He hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers and slowly pulled them down until they fluttered to the floor on their own accord, forming a pool of black silk around his ankles. Cool and smooth. Indifferent he stepped out of them and pushed them to the side, before giving himself a critical look. This was where it got interesting.
Fingerprints on his hips, his buttocks, the inside of his thighs. Again, not visible but still there. Scratches down his groin, bruises in places he couldn't see. Fingers pushing inside him as teeth tugged at his earlobe, precum burning its way between his cheeks.
“Fuck, Lindsey. So tight.”
“Shut up and just do it, you asshole.”
That low chuckle. Killed him every time. So infuriating. So damn sexy. So...
Pain turning into pleasure, grunts into moans, curses into pleads for more. Going to heights he'd never even dreamed of. Exploding into million suns. Then lying still, feeling a strange pride in having made this creature breathe, the air forming goose bumps on his skin. Getting up and straightening clothes before turning around only to find him gone.
The shock of that more severe than losing a limb.
Leaving the motel in the dark of the night and swearing to never return.
“Are you ready?”
He took a deep breath, giving himself a last long look before turning around, giving the girl a cold smile. It was time to swap these invisible tattoos for some real ones.
Because there was one way they'd never touched and he'd be damned if he'd let Angel get away with that.
Hope you feel better soon, darling.