Ducks: Queen of Frickin' Everything

TITLE: Perpetuity Clause: A Dream of Fear and Desire
AUTHOR: Ducks, theantijoss
E-MAIL: ducksfanfic@gmail.com
FANDOM: Angel
DISCLAIMER: Wow, so not mine! If FOX decides to sue, there's certainly nothing I can do about it. But Joss said it was okay to slash his babies, so here I go!
RATING: NC-17
WARNINGS: Bondage, Slashy Goodness, bloodplay, begging, first time, dub-con (or rather, dubious state of mind)
PAIRING(S): Angel/Lindsey
TIMELINE: Post-NFA
SYNOPSIS: Cat or Mouse. It's all the same when the Senior Partners are in charge of your eternity.
WORD COUNT: ~4300
DISTRIBUTION: Please ask. Chances are good that I'll say yes. :)
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This began life as a request by obsessedmuch for the creep_fest ficathon, but it got canceled, so I decided to use it here! The requirements for that request are at the end.
FEEDBACK: Sure! Even if it's just to say "Guh." That's what porn is for! *G*
PROMPT(S): 100moods .076 Predatory, getlaid25 .05 Angel/Lindsey, all_hallows_fic theme: Hunted


"Perpetuity Clause"
by Ducks

~

In broken crypts where ghouls had slept
I saw how muttering devils sate
(Knowing the final grasp of Fate)
And told grim augeries, and wept.

-- George Sterling, "A Dream of Fear"


~

There were a lot of ways this could have gone. Lindsey McDonald had imagined many of them over the years, in quiet moments at the office, feet kicked up on his desk, staring out at the sparkling LA night. Had nightmares of such rich, visceral detail, just recalling them later on made him a little sick, made him wake in a frigid sweat, skin swarming with goosebumps. But this was...</p>

Well, shit, this was way beyond any vision of Hell even his Wolfram & Hart-twisted imagination could have stirred up. The air stunk of the expected sulfur and blood and rotting bodies, the hot mist hanging all around stung his skin as if made of some kind of acid. He could hear screaming somewhere in the unseen distance, wind whipping through invisible trees, and the darkness was so thick that he could see nothing but an eerie red-tinged fog, like blood evaporating from the ground into the night air.

Like a scene from some 80's slasher flick, and his skin crawled accordingly.

Of course, in the really good slasher flicks, there was lots of t-n-a, and a whole lot more action than this sort of aimless wandering around, staring at the red-black nothing. Not this psychological creepy shit. Which, of course, made it the perfect choice for his personal damnation. A place where everything felt and seemed like something was about to happen, but nothing ever did.

He knew from experience that existing in this constant state of tense readiness could drive a man insane. Waiting always for the other shoe to drop. Or the literal axe to fall.

There were a lot of things Lindsey McDonald should have been more afraid of, but after years first working for the legal team for the root of all evil itself, and then scouring the Earth searching for magicks to defeat them, there was little left that he hadn't seen. Still, that lounge lizard demon Lorne had taken advantage of one of bigger blind spots -- lack of fear of firearms, with a dose of his stupid misplaced trust in Angel's inherent goodness for extra humiliation.

Killed by a frickin' fruity-ass singing demon. With a gun. Fuck.

"Linnnnnndseeeeeeeey..."

Speaking of the... shit.

He closed his eyes, tried to convince himself that he hadn't just heard what he knew he just heard. If this was Hell, then anything was possible, and the thing that would cause him the worst pain would slit his throat with the sharp edge of Occam's Razor.

Most likely to happen, in other words.

One of the things Lindsey should have been far more afraid of was vampires. Vampires of a certain family line in particular, and the voice that echoed through this crap movie rip-off that his afterlife turned out to be was one of two that had undone those sharp edges of fear that any normal human being would possess toward the bloodthirsty undead.

Damned if it wasn't just like the last time he was almost -- probably should have been -- slaughtered by a vampire, and part of him was looking forward to the sensation of fangs in his neck, his sense of survival overwhelmed by his fucked up libido. Why couldn't he have a nice, natural kink, like bondage or pain or a shoe fetish? But no. He had to have a thing for vampires, particularly this one, who wanted him dead more than anything in its unnaturally long life.

Problem was, it seemed they were both already dead, and if this was eternal damnation, Lindsey'd be playing out this scenario forever.

Should Hell give him a hard-on? That just couldn't be natural.

A noise echoed off somewhere to his left, deep in the mist. The thick fog made sounds do funny things -- he could swear it was the scuff of a boot heel. But... vampires were perfectly silent when they hunted, weren't they? Didn't his own experience show him that silence was a part of the whole perfect predator thing?

Shit. This really was Hell. He was managing terror and desire all at once.  He wanted to run, scream, drink, fight and fuck at the same time. Another minute or two, and he was bound to explode... in any of a number of possible ways. The tension just kept rising, the distant noises of almost corny Halloween horror rising exponentially, growing more frantic, wilder, as if in anticipation of something.

"Boo," Angel whispered into his ear, and part of Lindsey was burning with shame as he screamed like a little girl and ran off into the nothing as fast as these slippery-ass goddamn boots would take him, even as the bastard cackled like a stoned freak behind him.

What the fuck was he running for? If he was dead, and this was Hell, Angel was going to catch him sooner or later. And again and again, for fucking ever, right? Might as well have a seat, save his energy, and wait for it.

Screw that, his monkey brain said, and made him keep running until he couldn't hear the laughter anymore. Funny, it seemed he should have been tired, considering how long he'd been running. But he felt like he could go another hundred miles. Probably should, too, his sense of survival reminded him. Although running wouldn't do a damn bit of good, his cynical realist cut in.

"Now, Lindsey, is that any way to greet an old buddy?"

The voice came from right behind his ear again, and for some reason this time he chose to spin and face his stalker rather than run away.

Angel was Right. There. Cool breath on Lindsey's skin, wearing that goddamn son of a bitch, holier than thou, shit-eatin' smirk of his. Lindsey wanted to step back so badly he could taste it, but he wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction of knowing he was half-ready to piss his pants... half ready to mess them up with other bodily fluids.

He reached up as if his hands had a mind of their own and gripped the cool, slippery black silk of Angel's shirt. They both stared at the place where he was crushing the fine fabric, then their eyes rose and their gazes locked.

"Now... where am I going to get that dry cleaned in this place?" the vampire said, voice a velvet purr of seduction, one of his big hands reaching up to mirror the offending motion on Lindsey, but rather than grabbing Lindsey's shirt, his long fingers clutched around his neck instead. Crushing vice grip closing slowly, slowly, and Lindsey could hear his final breaths wheezing in, his heartbeat struggling fiercely, hands scrabbling, feet kicking as Angel lifts him off the ground with one hand.

Smiling. The bastard was throttling him to death, just standing there, smiling.

"Son... bitch!" Lindsey choked.

"Good idea, Lindsey. Insult my mother. That'll help." He tightened his grip, just a little. Lindsey watched white sparks flit around the edges of his quickly greying vision.

Jesus H. Christ, wouldn't he ever get a respectable death? Getting shot, now choked with no preamble at all?

Just as things went black, Angel let him go. Lindsey crumpled to the ground, coughing, hand to the tender bruises blooming on his throat. He glanced up, shooting daggers with his eyes and wishing they were stakes. Wishing he could see this batshit motherfucker's dust whisked away on the wind, scattered to the eternity he expected to live through.

Angel was still smiling down at him, looking so fucking smug, that Lindsey couldn't help himself -- he rolled onto his back and kicked full strength up toward the bastard's crotch. Angel caught him easily, of course, but the smile disappeared. The pale hand gripped his foot with reined strength that told Lindsey in no uncertain terms that Angel could just tear the whole thing right off if he had a mind to.

Not that there had been any question before this. Frankly, Lindsey was half-surprised the fucker hadn't dismembered and eviscerated him already. Of course, the other half was perfectly happy playing this cat and mouse game, as evidenced by his erection keeping on like he'd downed a fistful of Viagra recently. As terrified as he was, as certain of his impending death, he was equally turned on.

Just as his cock twitched a little in response to his train of thought, Angel's nostrils flared and he took a deep whiff of the sticky humid air around them. A creepy ghost of his smile returned, this new one much more serial killer than arrogant son of a bitch. He gave Lindsey's leg a yank, dragging his whole body closer in spite of Lindsey's scrambling to get away.

"Oh, Lindsey. Lindsey, Lindsey, Lindsey." He tsk-tsked like an old grandma as he gave the foot a wrenching turn, forcing a shout from his captive. "I always knew you wanted me. I could smell it on you. Lust is this hot, sticky stink, like motor oil and musk. It's hard to explain. Pheromones, they say. You smell them too, you just don't know it."

The vampire knelt down, running the fingertips of his free hand along the inseam of Lindsey's jeans, a touch that heated every nerve ending like a raging wildfire right up until he reached the apex. That big hand cupped his raging hard on through the denim, squeezing it just enough to make him afraid he was about to jiz his drawers any second.

"See? This is the result of pheromones. Hormones. Adrenaline. And, obviously, the culmination of years of unrealized desire. How's it feel, Lindsey, to want me as much as you hate me?"

"FUCK YOU!" Lindsey roared. With the accompanying explosion of the very adrenaline Angel was going on about, arched his body up off the floor and slammed his other foot into the vampire's jaw. Angel's head snapped back and his grip fell away from Lindsey's balls, distracting Angel enough to let go of the human's other leg, which opportunity Lindsey then used to whale Angel in the chest and send him flying.

There was no way he could win hand-to-hand with the friggin' Scourge of Europe, so instead of leaping into a fighting position, he got his feet under him and started running again. His mind drifted back to high school, when the only goal of running was to win. Had he ever in his entire existence had to run for his life?

No matter how fast he ran, or how far he got, he could still hear Angel's voice, taunting him. Laughing. Promising that he would die, slow, screaming, in pain. But it was less agonizing death that spurred him, and far more something else. Something he'd been aware of, of course, but had never fully admitted the depth of until Angel so helpfully pointed it out.

It was that damn curse again -- Lindsey's, not Angel's. His weakness. Angel was right -- Lindsey was so fucking hard for that goddamn vampire, he could barely run.

Angel's laugh changed. It got closer, the edge turned from menacing to sultry, and Lindsey realized, if this was Hell, Angel knew his every thought. His every filthy, dirty, horny dream of the two of them and the depravity they'd get into together if their mutual animosity ever burst into the flaming passion he knew burned beneath.

"So slow on the uptake for such a big brain, aren't you, Lindsey?"

Lindsey turned to look over his shoulder, and slammed full speed into Angel's waiting arms. The shock of it, and the fact that the vampire was in full demon mode when he hit him, made Lindsey lose it completely, shrieking like a girl in one of the slasher flicks he'd been thinking about earlier, and pissing his pants at the same time.

Fuck.

Angel's arms closed around him, and the world went black.

~

He woke with a headache the size of Texas banging in his skull, and he wondered how the Hell he was going to run in this condition.

After a moment, he realized that he was lying prone, on his back, spread-eagle and... chained? What the hell? With a shudder running down his spine, he peeled open his bleary eyes. Had he been drugged?

When he got a look around, he forgot about wondering where he was and how he got here, and started flipping out over just exactly what this setup meant.

The room looked like something out of Arabian nights, all dim lights and jewel toned silks and velvets everywhere. Pillows on the floor, curtains surrounding the enormous, plush bed where he was bound to head and foot posts. The walls alternated between sensual, filmy hangings and the most disturbing collection of S&M toys he'd ever seen, all laid out for easy access. There were several pieces of oddly-shaped furniture here and there that he didn’t even recognize, but thought looked uncomfortably like something meant to force the human body (or undead body?) into positions it wasn't made to be in.

He would have liked to pretend he was surprised, but frankly, he'd imagined exactly this sort of lair for Angel. After all, it was always the quiet, stoic ones who were the kinkiest. Everybody knew vampires got off on weird shit.

"Oh, Lindsey... do you really think your kinks are any less twisted? I'd venture to say they're more so."

That voice. The very last one he thought to hear ever again. One of the most terrifying things he'd done so far was to make his head turn to the right and see who lay beside him in the sumptuous bed.

She was propped up on one elbow, her fine blonde hair falling loose in waves over her pale shoulders, and she wore a snow-white nightgown so sheer that she might as well not have been wearing anything at all. He could clearly see the blushing peach of her nipples, and the sandy hair between her slender legs. Topping it all off, she wore an expression that made him think she might literally devour him whole.

Lindsey opened his mouth, but absolutely nothing came out. All he could do was lie there and gape at her.

"What's the matter, Lindsey. Cat got your tongue?" And then she vanished, leaving a sleek white cat with creepily human blue eyes purring in her place. He swore the cat winked at him, then leapt off the bed and sped away through the double hardwood doors.

"Darla!" he cried after her.

"Close enough for hand grenades," snarled a voice that was definitely not Darla. Lindsey frantically glanced around the room as much as his bindings would allow, but saw nothing.

Until he looked up. Angel grinned down at him from his perch on the ceiling, lying in a position precisely mirroring Lindsey, arms and legs spread, completely naked. Pale, muscular body shining in the eerie reddish light of the room, generous -- okay, maybe enormous -- cock poking down at Lindsey like an accusing finger.

Lindsey laughed, and there was no mistaking it was getting a little hysterical. "What the fuck is this? Are we playing Dracula now? Woooooooo! Do you vant to suuuck my bloood?"

Angel chuckled, a sinister sound that grew and expanded until his evil cackle was choking the air of the room just as thoroughly as his hand had crushed Lindsey's throat earlier in this nightmare. Lindsey stopped laughing, and started screaming. He struggled against his chains, desperate to get free, but before he could even be reminded that there was nowhere for him to go, Angel let loose from the high ceiling and flew down at him, slipping into game face as he fell.

Lindsey screamed louder, struggled more fiercely as the vampire landed on top of him, but the terror merged with something else just as elemental, just as paralyzing as Angel kissed him, hard and brutal, fangs cutting tender flesh and tongue slipping along his lips to sip the blood away. A moan forced itself from deep in Lindsey's chest, and the slide of cool skin along hot skin let him know that he was naked too.

This was one of those times he knew he should be petrified. Should be frozen in mortal terror. One of those times when a normal human being would be begging for his life, afraid to be eaten by the frigging monster pressed full length against him, licking and biting along his jaw, nibbling his jugular with razor sharp teeth, opening tiny wounds, and lapping them closed again.

Instead, he struggled against his chains for an entirely new and different reason -- desperation. He wanted --no, fucking needed -- to tangle his fingers in Angel's thick hair, claw marks down his broad back.  Wanted some control over what was happening to him. What would pass between them over which right now he had absolutely no control.

But Angel was having none of that. He widened the net of his attention: over Lindsey's clavicle, licking a cool, wet line in the hollow of each before tracing his breastbone down the center of his chest, detouring to his left nipple. He worried the hardened peak between tongue and lip, pressing his teeth just hard enough to break the skin and draw more blood, then suckled it away before moving on to repeat the whole thing on the other side. Stinging, burning, searing electric bliss shooting through Lindsey's every nerve, sending shudders rioting up and down his spine.

He could hear horrible keening noises, grunts and cries of earth-shattering pleasure-pain coming from somewhere in the echoing distance, and realized he was making them.

Angel wasn't even close to done with him. Once Lindsey's nipples were thoroughly abused, left twitching and throbbing, aching for more, the vampire moved on again to the meridian of Lindsey's body. He paid careful attention to all the most sensitive spots: along his rib cage; in the shadow of his hipbones, the tight muscles of his inner thighs. All the way down his body, culminating in the long, lingering time Angel took to suck on his toes, drag shallow, bloody lines up his insteps, behind his knees, and back to his hips again.

All the while being very, very careful never to come in contact with Lindsey's cock.  Hell, Angel wouldn't need any of the toys hanging on the walls to drive Lindsey insane -- he was doing just fine with fingers, tongue, and fangs.

"Fuck, Angel, will you fucking untie me?"

Angel paused in his current activity -- licking slow, torturous circles around Lindsey's belly button -- to peer up at him. His demon visage still dominated, and his lush mouth and vicious fangs were tainted with Lindsey's blood.

"Maybe. When I'm done."

Jesus, by the time the bastard was done, Lindsey was pretty damn certain he'd be dead. The idea that he might die this completely helpless, with this fierce of a hard-on, sent a whole new wave of panic rushing through him, that overwhelmed even the twisted bliss Angel had engendered with his special brand of kinky foreplay.

"Let me the fuck go, you son of a bitch!" He shrieked, struggling.

He felt Angel smile against his upper thigh. "Oh, yeah, baby. Keep struggling. I love that. I'd like it even better if you screamed."

Just out of sheer ornery rebellion, Lindsey shut his mouth and let his body go completely limp. Closing his eyes, he started reciting the L.A. County property tax code in his head to bring his body back down and distract himself from whatever Angel had in mind.

Which was all well and good, until Angel started giving him head. And the vampire had apparently spent a good chunk his two hundred plus years perfecting his technique, because in no time flat, Lindsey was hard as fucking diamonds again. His body strained against his bounds, bucked up into Angel's face and his mouth poured forth a litany of foul language that he would bet had his sainted mama and spineless daddy spinning in their graves.

Lindsey felt as though he was perched on the end of the universe, and that next suck, or lick, or hell, just a cool breath on his dick would send him rocketing over.

Of course, Angel chose that moment to stop. Lindsey's dick made a small "pop!" as Angel let it go from the unreal vacuum seal of his mouth.

"Well, Lindsey, I have to tell you, I'm getting mixed signals here." He pushed up and braced his entire body on hands and toes, keeping just him far enough above Lindsey that there was no chance of contact. "I think maybe we should cut this part of the program short and get right to the killing. Whatdya say?"

"NO!" Lindsey cried before he could stop himself. Angel laughed.

"See, that's what I'm talking about. You should know by now that if you want something, you have to take it. Or if you have to..." His smile went pure evil. "Beg for it."

"Fuck you."

"Only if you beg. At least ask nicely, Lindsey. Your mother must have raised you with some manners. Otherwise, I think I've got a cursed knife around here somewhere with your name on it. Or maybe I'll just have you shot again."

Rage mixed with his desperation, his lust, his fear. His heart thundered in his chest, his blood felt like it was boiling, and if this was Hell, he could hardly think of a better way for the Senior Partners to torment him through eternity. At least right now.

Then it dawned on him. Angel wasn't really here. This place didn't really exist -- this was all an elaborate scene built solely to drive him insane. To punish him for his insolence, his rebellion. They meant for him to choke on his pride, to explode from this heinous desire because they thought he would never, ever beg Angel for anything. Especially not this.

Well, they didn't know Lindsey McDonald, Esquire As well as they thought they fucking did, then. He had vowed a long time ago to never let pride get in the way of the things he wanted. Never to fear stepping on anyone, doing pretty much anything on his way to the top. If he had a chance to get something he wanted in Hell, shouldn't he just shut up and take it?

"Angel, please," he forced out, his voice sharp with shame and need. "Please make me come. Fuck me. Drink from my throat."

Hell was the place for sinful dreams, right? And those were pretty much all his worst ones.

Angel didn't hesitate. He reached for the bedstand and took up the bottle of lube that sat there. (Lube? In Hell? Seriously?)  Lindsey watched, his body pulsing harder, faster at the sight of Angel's magnificent body, his awesome cock as his big hands slipped up and down it's length, making it shine, making it slick. Their eyes stayed locked to one another's. Lindsey let himself fall into those mahogany depths, let himself drink in the beauty of this thing he hated and wanted so badly all these years. His arch-enemy.

The vampire hadn't been in any way gentle so far, and Lindsey didn't expect him to start now. So he wasn't shocked when Angel slid three fingers straight into his virgin ass, stretching him beyond the limit, and eliciting another involuntary scream from him..

But god DAMN it felt good! This was a kink he could easily understand -- he had always liked a little pain with his pleasure. It was the smell of blood on the air, the feel of it drying on his skin, the sight of it staining Angel's mouth that was twisted. And now, coating Angel's fingers as he fisted Lindsey's ass. That blood made him hot... oh, who was he trying to kid? At this point, it was all just par for the course.

"Jesus Christ!" Lindsey cried. "Just fuck me! Just fuck me, goddamn it!"

With a demon snarl, Angel leapt on him, slamming their mouths together even as he rammed his cock where his fingers had just been. At this point, Lindsey was a ball of painbliss, and this new invasion was exactly what he'd been waiting for.

Yeah, it was hellish. It hurt like the devil. All that shit, and when Angel grabbed his cock and started jerking Lindsey off in time with his vicious thrusts, it took about five seconds for Lindsey to come so hard, he was sure he was having a triple coronary. Or his head exploded. But he knew he was still alive when Angel roared his name, tearing into his throat even as he came deep inside Lindsey's ass.

The last thing he knew was the feeling of his blood gushing into Angel's mouth while waves of ecstasy washed him into oblivion.

Now that was the kind of death he'd been expecting last time!

~

Lindsey woke somewhere that was definitely not his bed. Slowly, he remembered that he hadn't been in bed when he lost consciousness -- he'd been sprawled on the floor of the ratty apartment he'd rented for Spike as part of Operation Kill That Son of a Bitch Angel, dying with three bullets in his chest. Now, he was... in almost total darkness. It didn't take long to figure out exactly what the hell was going on.

There were a lot of ways this could have gone. He'd imagined many of them over the years, in quiet moments at the office, feet kicked up on his desk, staring out at the sparkling LA night. Had nightmares of such rich, visceral detail, just recalling them later on made him a little sick, made him wake in a frigid sweat, skin swarming with goosebumps.

Well, shit, this was way beyond any vision of Hell even his Wolfram & Hart-twisted imagination could have stirred up.

~

Three to five of your preferred slash pairings (Please spell out all character’s names. Do not just give initials.): Dean/Sam, Angel/Lindsey, Lindsey/Xander, Lindsey/Riley, Lindsey/Gunn, Gunn/Wes, Chris Kane/David Boreanaz, Chris Kane/Nick Brendan

A listing of kinks you would like to see in your gift, if any: Not necessary to use any of these but if a prompt is needed -- rough sex, first time sex, bloodplay, bondage, D/s without humiliation