Somebody

Somebody

Fuckin’ lying son of a bitch. Christ, ‘m such a bloody idiot. ‘The Powers That Be are counting on their champion.’ Bollocks, alla it. Shoulda bloody known better.

He had known the moment he tasted Cordelia’s blood, the bitter taste of lies and betrayal overpowering the hot, sweet taste. Blood that was by no means evil, like he had been led to believe.

Stalking quickly out the front doors of Wolfram and Hart, fists clenching in the pockets of his duster, Spike knew he should be following along behind Angel and Cordelia, being the good little back-up vamp he had been for so long, but he just couldn’t stomach it, not now. Not after being the hero, the bloody champion, false though it had been.

Besides, as much as he wanted to rip Doyle- no, Lindsey- to shreds at the moment, he didn’t want to face him. Didn’t want to see mockery in those pale blue-grey eyes, eyes that he could have almost sworn held grudging affection and respect, if not the beginnings of love. And as much as he hated the man now, he wasn’t sure he would be able to kill him or stand and watch as Angel did.

Not when he could still hear that low rough voice moaning a curse when he slid inside slowly, so slowly, encasing himself in that tight heat. Not knowing how he sounded when Spike was pounding into him, watching those pale eyes dilate black for him, those full, tempting lips swollen from Spike’s rough kisses.

It hadn’t been planned, at least not from his side. He wasn’t sure anymore about D- Lindsey’s, didn’t know if fuckin’ everything had been a bloody lie. He had complained about feeling like the man’s ‘kept boy’ when he had been walking around the small basement apartment Lindsey had set him up in and he had seen the flash of heat in the seer’s eyes at the thought.

It had been pure snark and fun after that, at first, flirting shamelessly with the man whenever he was around, but all too soon he had felt an answering heat coming from inside himself. The man was bloody gorgeous, no doubts about that. And fun, it was never boring when he dropped by, though Spike had still complained, of course. He could be himself with the seer; they bickered and snapped at each other, the other man just as sarcastic and bristly as he himself could be, but could also laugh and talk for hours over cold beers in between visions.

It hadn’t taken long before the slow, slow build up of heat had exploded, Spike shoving him up against the wall and devouring his mouth, two pairs of hands frantically undressing the other.

Part of him wanted to walk back in those doors, wanted to find Lindsey before Angel did, warn him, and get him the fuck out. A few startled vagrants flinched and backed away when the thought made him snarl, eyes flashing gold, that he had fallen that much. Bastard lies and twists him around on a string and he still wants to protect him. Protect him from the good guys, for fuck’s sake.

From Angel.

Ignoring the soft, awed voice in the back of his head that kept repeating, Angel called me a hero, Spike kicked an old cardboard box out of his path and growled.

Fuckin’ Angelus.

It was always Angel, everything was about Angel, even Spike’s so-called redemption. What made him more furious than anything was that even his lover’s world revolved around Angel. Once again. For the third fuckin’ time. Three times wasn’t a charm, it was a bloody strike and after this, he was totally giving up on the thought of love.

Not that he loved the lying prick.

But he could have. Just a few more short weeks and he would have fallen, totally, completely. He knew the signs by now.

“Fuck!” he snarled, turning and pounding his fist into the alley wall, smashing it against the wet brick. Closing his eyes, he panted harshly, trying to get the picture of lightly tanned skin covered with black tattoos writhing underneath his body, muscles bunching and teeth clenched as he adjusted to the feel of Spike inside of him for the first time, slow but rough, out of his head.

Of the seer preparing himself for Spike, looking him in the eyes as he did so, before sitting astride him and riding him slowly until they were both incoherant with pleasure, during those weeks that Spike still couldn't feel his hands.

Of wet, pale eyes staring up into his the first time Spike took him tenderly, just last night, budding emotions flaring inside his long-dead heart as he unconsciously murmured endearments and praises against those pink, swollen lips. Doyle had gotten up quick after they had finished, rushing into the small bathroom and Spike had heard his low curses and smelled the tantalizing hint of tears in the air. His concern had been forgotten when the other man had strode calmly out of the bathroom with his crooked smile in place, mindless of his nakedness, to climb back into the bed and curl up around Spike.

He had sung the vampire to sleep last night, running his hands through Spike’s hair, the rough, husky voice lulling him, making him smile as he slipped into dreams.

Not Doyle, damn it, he reminded himself again, turning away from the wall and the fragments of memories. Doyle was an illusion, a lie. Not real. As was his quest for redemption, which had felt so right, fleeting though it had been.

Jabbing his key into the lock, Spike flung open the front door, scowling blackly. He could smell him, smell him strongly. It made him ache and that infuriated him.

Slamming the door closed as he strode inside, he ripped off his duster and flung it against the wall. Stalking into the small living room, he stopped in his tracks, frozen.

Lindsey, slouched down on the threadbare old couch, booted feet up on the coffee table, absently moving his fingertips along the strings of his battered guitar as he watched Spike’s face intently. What the fuck was he doin’ there?

“What the bloody hell are you doin’ ere?” he growled, fists clenching as he felt his eyes flicker yellow.

Lindsey smiled, a bitter, shark-like smile, though his pale eyes were bleak. “Why, babe, I live here, don’t I? Did someone have a bad day at work?” he asked mockingly, fingers still playing the same low chord.

With a hair-raising snarl, Spike leaped the few remaining feet between them, punching him hard in the face before gripping Lindsey’s arm and flinging him from the couch, the old guitar falling to the floor. Slamming the brunette against the wall, he wrapped a pale strong hand around his throat and held him there, golden eyes blazing down into light grey.

“What the fuck,” he growled out slowly, enunciating each word, “are you doing here, Lindsey?” He expected those pale eyes to widen, show surprise, but all that was there was a bleak acceptance, without even the slightest hint of fear.

“Giving you a chance to kill me before I say goodbye,” the seer rasped out, throat still held in Spike’s powerful grip. He gestured over to the couch and Spike glanced over, seeing a small beat-up bag sitting beside it.

His hand tightened and he pulled Lindsey forward only to slam him back against the wall so hard that the plaster cracked. Blue eyes widened in pain as Lindsey groaned, the back of his head having knocked hard against the wall, but they still had no fear inside of them.

“Why?” Spike ground out, face rippling into the demon as he tried to control his rage, the single word asking so many of his questions.

When Lindsey started choking under his hand, he eased up the pressure, only to stare in befuddled fury as the younger man started laughing, first softly, then near hysterically with tears trickling down his face. Looking up into Spike’s confused face, he gasped out, “Sorry, but would now be a bad time to tell you that you’re really fuckin’ hot when you’re pissed?”

Jerking his hand back, releasing Lindsey’s neck, Spike glared down at the man as he slid down the wall, still trying to hide his laughter. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Shaking his head back and forth, Lindsey reached up with shaking hands to wipe at the tears on his cheeks, tongue coming out to lick at the trickle of blood on his bottom lip. “Hell if I know,” he finally said, sighing and leaning his head back to look up at Spike.

“And to answer your earlier question, ‘why’ what? Why did I lie to you? Why you? Why have I been letting you fuck me for months? Why am I not at Wolfram and Hart, tryin’ to kill Angel for good? Why am I here, instead?” he asked in his husky drawl.

Blinking down at him, Spike nodded, before dropping down beside him against the wall. “Yeah, those’ll do for a start.” He reached into his jeans and pulled out a fag, lighting it and drawing on it deeply, blowing out a stream of smoke towards the ceiling. Lindsey reached over and plucked it out of his mouth, bringing it to his own lips, grinning around it when Spike arched a scarred eyebrow at him.

“I lied to you because it seemed the best and most efficient way to get rid of Angel without the senior partners catchin’ on. You were really the only choice for the job. No other souled vampires out there that I know of,” Lindsey said softly, pausing to take another deep drag of the cigarette.

“It wasn’t personal. I had never met you, didn’t know anything about you other than you were Angel’s grandchilde, used to be William the Bloody, fell in love with a Slayer and got a soul. I think I expected you to be just like Angel, all soulful and guilt-ridden, annoyingly holier-than-thou and full of misplaced morals.” He ignored Spike’s snort at being compared to Angel and went on.

“The more I got to know you, though, the more I started to actually like you. Even though you’re an arrogant, prickly asshole most of the time. This wasn’t planned,” he said, waving a hand in-between them, “I don’t usually let everyone who looks twice at me fuck me. Besides, this would have gone a lot more smoothly if I hadn’t.”

When Spike said nothing in reply to that, Lindsey shrugged and continued. “Which brings me to the next question. Why am I here instead of reaping the benefits of my well-laid plans and kicking the shit out of Angel? It doesn’t matter anymore. None of it, not him choppin’ off my hand, not him takin’ away my career and then takin’ over the company I worked so damn hard for. He just doesn’t fuckin’ matter and I found it out too late.”

“You really expect me to believe that, believe you now? I might have been a bloody idiot for months, but even I learn my lessons eventually,” Spike finally bit out, unable to sit and listen to anymore. Pushing himself up, he started pacing around the room, snarling at Lindsey when he started to get up.

Holding his hands out in front of him in an appeasing manner, Lindsey settled back down against the wall and sighed. “No, I don’t expect you to believe me. Maybe if I had stopped fightin’ it in time to not send you after Cordelia earlier-” he stopped himself, growling deep in his throat and raking a hand through his long tousled hair.

Glancing back up, he caught Spike’s eye and said huskily, “It’s just that that hatred was all I had to hold onto for so long, it was all I had left. Nothing else mattered, I never expected to make it out of this alive. As long as I took him out with me, I woulda been fine with that. Then,” he cringed, waving a hand at Spike, looking as if he’d rather swallow his tongue than say what he was about to say, “you gave me hope, y’know. Sappy and stupid as that sounds. You’ve been down much lower than I have,” again he ignored Spike’s indignant yelp, “and you still care. About people, life. You’re still able to feel. I don’t know, it just.. made me start feelin’ a little, too?”

“Right, so you feed me a buncha bollocks about bein’ a hero and helpin’ people so I’ll help you kill Angel and get my bloody hands chopped off because I made you feel somethin’ besides hate?” Spike snapped out sarcastically, trying to ignore the wince that flashed over Lindsey’s face before the other man buried it.

“What, you think I wanted to start feelin’ again? All I wanted was for it all to be over when I started this, Spike. I wasn’t lookin’ for this, didn’t want this. You think I actually wanted to fuckin’ fall in love, knowing how absolutely hopeless this all was?” Lindsey finally snarled out, control broken. Then seeing Spike’s eyes widen, he blanched as he realized what he had admitted.

“Fuck,” he muttered, dropping his head to his knees.

“Don’t even start, don’t you dare,” Spike growled, coming to stand in front of him. “I’m not lettin’ you fuckin’ use me again. I’m not doin’ this, Lindsey.”

Lindsey lifted his head and pained grey eyes looked up into his. “You think I don’t know that? That I’ve fucked this up way beyond recognition? I know, believe me, I do. I just wanted to give you some kinda explanation, give you the option of killin’ me to save Angel the trouble if he ever catches up with me again and if you didn’t, then I was gonna get the fuck out.”

Spike glanced over at the small bag beside the couch again, then back down at Lindsey. “Where will you go?”

A tiny sliver of hope died in Lindsey’s eyes, hope that Spike hadn’t even seen until that moment, and he realized that no matter what the other man said, he had wanted Spike to ask him to stay. Closing his eyes for a brief moment, Spike shook his head. He couldn’t, not right now, not after everything that had happened. He couldn’t trust him.

“Back home. Maybe throw up a shingle, do some normal cases,” Lindsey finally said, voice laden with regret and pain, but a determined glint in his eyes. Pushing himself up, he stepped around Spike and reached for the guitar lying on the floor. Caressing it lightly with his hands, he placed it on top of the battered bag and turned to face Spike.

“I should get goin’ before Angel and Co. decide to come looking for you. I’m not sorry, Spike,” he admitted, staring him in the eyes, “I’m not. I wish I could be, but-” he shrugged and looked down at the coffee table, picking up a pen and scribbling something on a piece of paper.

Handing it to Spike, he said quietly, “In case you ever get tired of trying to be something you’re not.” At Spike’s puzzled look, he clarified, “Angel. You’re a great guy, Spike, more human than he’ll ever be. You’re so much better than that sanctimonious asshole; don’t lower yourself by trying to less than you are. You ever get tired of it and decide maybe we can start again, look me up.”

Looking down, Spike saw the number, followed be Lindsey's name and address and had to smile when he realized it was under the number for the pizza place he ordered from all the time. He'd have to look at Lindsey's name everytime he picked it up now and somehow he knew that was what the ex-lawyer wanted.

When Spike nodded, Lindsey stepped closer, tilting his head up to murmur against Spike’s lips, “One more for the road,” and slid his tongue deep into the vampire’s mouth. Spike’s hands came around to crush him to him, his own tongue delving deep, tasting the blood from the human's busted bottom lip and tangling slickly with Lindsey’s tongue, leaving them both flushed and breathless, lips swollen and eyes dazed when they parted.

“I do love you, Spike,” Lindsey said huskily, pressing his lips to Spike’s one last time, before turning and picking up his bag and guitar. Spike had to clench his fists to keep from reaching out to him, keep him from walking out the door as he watched Lindsey walk through the small living room.

The smaller man paused, standing near the door, then turned to look back at Spike. “Do me a favor and keep livin’ here. It’s bought and paid for. Don’t want you endin’ up over at the firm, that place has a way of draggin’ you down and swallowin’ you whole.”

When Spike simply nodded in agreement, afraid to test out his voice, Lindsey smiled and turned to go, pausing once more and saying quietly, “It wasn’t all a lie, you know. I chose you because you wanted to be somebody else, be the hero, the savior for once. You're already the hero, though. You fought for your soul, Spike, when life would have been so much easier without it. You fight for love and that’s a hell of a lot more heroic than fighting for your own redemption. You don’t have to be somebody else, Spike.”

Looking over his shoulder, he smiled his crooked grin one last time before walking out the door, blue eyes glistening with regret.

“You already are somebody.”