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The Cowboy and the Lady

by spikeNdru

Written for the hallows_eve_fic Lindseython

Timeframe: AtS Season 2

Pairing: Lindsey/Darla

Rating: NC-17/FRAO

Length: 1880 words

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

It had begun as a game. Well, not so much a game, as a mindfuck. Lindsey McDonald was a world-class game player, but he had his blind spots. One of those blind spots was his inability to admit to himself that he wanted to fuck the bastard who had cut off his hand. So he told himself that he wanted to fuck with Angel's mind. And how better to do that than with Darla? Angel's sire.

Wolfram and Hart had their own plans for Angel by way of Darla, but that didn't mean he couldn't get in the game. Play along with the big boys, but still find a way to advance his own agenda. There were risks involved — wouldn't be any fun if there weren't — but he was gonna fuck Angel over . . . one way or another.

Then something totally unexpected happened — a risk he hadn't factored into his game plan at all. Lindsey began to care about Darla, in her own right. And that wasn't part of the plan. It should have been so easy; use Darla to stick it to Angel and get away clear. Funny how things never seemed to work out quite like you planned.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Lindsey turned the tasteful cream-colored envelope over and over in his hands; or rather, in his hand and that plastic monstrosity stuck on the end of his wrist where his hand used to be. Was it that time already? Must be, 'cause here was his invitation, done in hand-lettered calligraphy, to the annual bacchanalia known as The Wolfram and Hart Halloween Party. Power politics at work. Costumes mandatory.

Lindsey smiled. Had to hand it to whoever thought up that one. The strategy was brilliant. Halloween as come-as-you-aren't — or wish-you-were. The choice of a costume would reveal more about an individual than an entire battery of psychological tests.

Unlike a lot of Wolfram and Hart employees—and clients, for that matter—Lindsey had never tried to hide who he was. Or who he'd been: a dirt poor Oakie who'd clawed his way to the position he now held on his own merits. He'd never been ashamed of his past; it had informed what he was today. And what might that be? Lindsey asked himself. Smart, ruthless, rich, a damn fine lawyer an' secure enough to beat 'em at their own game.

Lindsey wouldn't have to purchase a costume—all he'd need to do was to assemble it from his own closet.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Lindsey entered the ground floor lobby of W&H and paused, his eyes taking in the scene before him. Damn! It looked like one of those David Lynch-like artsy-fartsy versions of Dante's hell. With everyone in costume, you couldn't tell which were the demons, which were the humans dressed up like demons and which were the demons pretending to be human. This was gonna be a real fun night.

Lindsey decided he'd work the room; get noticed by everyone important—if he could figure out who actually was important at this fucking masquerade—and then maybe he could slip out early. He could plead work pressures if asked; he did have to be in court on an important case bright and early Monday morning, after all.

Lindsey tipped his white Stetson further forward, shading his eyes. He rolled his shoulders, settling his soft black leather vest vest over his black cowboy shirt with white embroidery on the yoke. He ran his hand around his waist, making sure the shirt was smoothly tucked into his tight Wrangler jeans, and adjusted the handmade turquoise and silver belt buckle.

“I'm a cowboy, baby. I ain't straight outta Compton; I'm straight out' the trailer”. Yep. Me an' Kid Rock, both. Lindsey smiled. His well-worn Tony Lama boots clicked on the marble floor, as he began to circulate.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Lindsey was taking a break from glad-handing, leaning against a pillar and sipping a drink when he heard the soft, breathy voice in his right ear.

“Hello, Lindsey. Mind if I join you?”

He turned slowly, his breath whooshing out of his lungs as he caught sight of her. She was breathtakingly beautiful, wearing a gold brocade gown with enormous skirts that made her waist look impossibly tiny. The skin-tight bodice showed her creamy breasts to perfection. Her blonde hair was piled high on her head in an intricate design that made her appear taller than he was. She smiled.

“Darla . . .” he whispered, unable to say more as his breath caught in his throat.

Her hands indicated the costume.

“Do you like it? I wore it especially for you, Lindsey.”

“You look . . . you're . . .” Lindsey was stammering like a green schoolboy. To make matters worse, he could feel the blush suffusing his face. He swallowed hard, gaining control of his voice.

“You're gorgeous, darlin',” he said, the Oklahoma accent creeping into his raspy voice.

Her tinkling laugh sounded like wind chimes. “Thank you.” She leaned closer and whispered into his ear. “This is an exact copy of the dress I was wearing the night I seduced another beautiful boy, and then turned him into Angelus.”

She pouted, her pink lips forming a perfect moue. “Of course, I'm no longer able to turn anyone into anything while I'm locked within this human shell, but that doesn't mean I've lost all my powers. Would you like me to seduce you, Lindsey?”

He felt his breathing hitch as his heart rate sped up.

She noticed, of course. Even without vampiric senses, Darla could tell when a man wanted her — would do anything to have her.

She smiled wickedly and reached for his hand. “Come on . . .” she urged, hurrying him through the crowd. They slipped into an elevator and the instant the doors closed, she pressed herself against him.

“Do you want me, Lindsey?”

“You know I do.”

“Yes.”

She slid her hand to the back of his neck, and he shivered; his neck hairs mirrored his cock as they quivered and stood erect.  She must be wearing impossibly high heels, he thought, because their lips were level as she pulled his head toward her for a kiss. Their lips touched, and she sucked his full lower lip into her mouth and then bit down hard. Lindsey jerked away in surprise at the sudden pain. Her blue eyes darkened as she stared at the drop of blood glistening on his lip, and then she caught it on her forefinger. She brought her finger to her mouth, never taking her eyes from his, and her tongue flicked out to lick the blood from it. Her thick eyelashes veiled her half-closed eyes and she moaned. Lindsey felt his cock straining against the denim of his jeans.

The elevator doors opened, and she grabbed his hand once again, hurrying to his office. She tapped her foot impatiently while he fumbled for his keys. Lindsey glanced at her and felt a momentary flash of annoyance. She made him feel young, gauche and unpolished. He didn't like the feeling, but he had wanted her for so long, he would put up with damn near anything to have her.

Lindsey finally got the door unlocked and she swept into the room before him. He locked the door, and then Darla was in his arms, kissing him frantically. Her tongue sweeping through his mouth, her teeth biting at tender flesh. She slid the soft vest over his shoulders and it dropped to the floor. She gathered the starched material of his shirt in her deceptively delicate hands and yanked it open, the pearl snap buttons making popping sounds as they parted.

She left a series of reddened marks on his neck and chest as she kissed and bit her way down his throat. He grasped her full breast, cupping it with his left hand, rubbing his thumb across her erect nipple, as she flicked her tongue across his nipple and then sucked it into her mouth, rolling it with her tongue.

She placed both hands on his chest and pushed. Lindsey stumbled backwards until the edge of his desk pressed into his thighs. Darla leaned forward and swept the folders, blotter and pens from the desktop, clearing a space. She shoved him hard, and he fell back on the desk top. She leaned over him, her breasts spilling from the low-cut bodice of the 18^th century gown she wore. Lindsey pressed her breasts together and raised his head, sucking both nipples into his mouth at once, forgetting all about his desire to keep his prosthetic hand hidden from her sight.

Darla unclasped his belt buckle with such force the heavy metal and turquoise stonework flew back, bruising his hipbone. She unzipped his fly, freeing his cock and ran her nails from the base to the sensitive head, glistening with pre-come. Darla gripped his cock, running her hand up and down its length.

She pulled away, and he fell back against the desk, with a groan of frustration. She thrust her hand into a pocket hidden within her full shirts and ripped open the wrapper of a condom. She arched a delicate brow and laughed.

“The last time I actually had to use one of these they were made of cured sheep's entrails. Isn't progress wonderful?”

She slid the lubricated condom over his cock and then climbed on the desk, kneeling on either side of his hips. She grasped his cock, guiding it into herself and thrust down hard on him. Lindsey's hips bucked as he rose to meet her. He shoved her voluminous skirts out of the way, his hand reaching to stroke her clit as she rode him harder and faster. She slid her hand behind her to cradle his balls and ran her nails over the sensitive skin behind them.

He tried to hold back, to make it last longer, but she was doing things to him—making him feel . . .

She ground down on his cock, inner muscles clenching around him, and he . . . couldn't . . . hold . . . back . . . any . . . longer . . .

“Darla—” he gasped. “. . . so good . . . you make me feel so good . . . love you.”

“Of course you do, my darling boy.”

Lindsey came with a rush and she gripped him tightly, riding it out. His head fell back on the desktop with a thunk; he gasped for breath, his whole body quivering. She held him tightly in her warmth for a moment longer, his cock pulsing with the remnants of his orgasm. She then slowly lifted herself until his spent cock slipped out of her, gathered her skirts in her hand and stood. The grandfather clock in the hallway niche outside of his office began to chime midnight.

“Happy Halloween, Lindsey,” she said, raising her hands to her hair. She ran her nails around the hairline, loosening the wig she wore and pulled it off. She ran her fingers through her dark hair. Lindsey frowned in confusion. Her sharp nails picked at her hairline and she peeled off her skin? No, it was latex—a mask of some kind. What the fuck?

The clock finished striking and the remains of the mystical glamour dissipated.

“Trick or treat!” Lilah said, with a self-satisfied smirk.

 

 

The End

 

 

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