Disclamer: Does it look like I own Angel... No I didn't think so.

Notes: I very mature piece on Angel and Lindsey very heavy slash. If you have problems don't read rasther than sending angery letters.

Last Hours

Their relationship consisted

of discussing if it existed.

Thom Gunn, Jamesian, 1991

Lindsey's P.O.V. (Point Of View)

I lay there in the dark and contemplate. The cracks in my life have finally given out under the pressure. The accomplishments I was once so proud of now seem small, insipid and pathetic. My life reduced to a petty position, in a scheming, dirty, revolting company and that's what I am. It's all reflected in me, I try to scrub the dirt away but it never works. The filth of working for Wolfram and Hart is embedded in my skin, I know it will never leave me.

Yet I try anyway, I've showered three times in the last few hours and yet it's still there, that dirt, that feeling. Then again perhaps this is normal, I do have a friends hand, someone who didn't quite make the cut. I consider my words more closely and then brush it off, I will not make inappropriate jokes about someone I killed less than four hours ago.

"Your company in action Lindsey, lot to be proud of." Angel had mocked, looking at the missing body parts and of course he's right. He's always right. I should be so proud of myself. Bile rises in my throat and suddenly I feel dirty again.

I sit up ready for another shower, even though they don't help any. But I never get to the shower, I never even make it off the bed. I sit up and see him standing there, leaned leisurely against the wall at the foot of my bed. I've been staring at the ceiling so intently and for so long, that I wasn't even slightly aware of his presence. It doesn't surprise me that he can just walk in uninvited, this building is owned by Wolfram & Hart.

Moonlight spills quite freely into my bedroom. I can see almost every detail, even his eyes, but at this distance they've turned from that soulful, vulnerable brown to glistening obsidian pools. There were times when I hated those eyes, mainly because of who their owner is. After he cut off my hand, which as much as I won't admit it to him... ever. I did deserve a lot, I tried to take away someone he loved and for what? A pat on the back. But after that I spent the whole weekend building up walls, about my hand, about my work, about everything. One look for those fucking eyes and they disintegrate. He fucking peels them off of me like a wrapper, leaving me naked and bare for him to stare at.

But then I've always felt naked under those eyes, every time he even glances at me I get the sickening feeling that I've left home without getting dressed. It always comes back to his eyes, no matter how righteous I feel about something, those eyes bring me right back down to earth. Even when he slept with Darla, those eyes saved him and made me feel like shit. Looking up at me from the road full of pain and apology and also the question, what do you want from me Lindsey? What else can I possibly do? It's written right across his face and steals what little anger I have left. God this is fucking complicated.

So here I am yet again, confronted by those eyes when I'm confused and trying to put my life back together. Here he is to mock me and my attempts at having a life. The situation's even a little poetic considering I feel stripped and I am. A day of upheaval, three showers later and I've been robbed of all my bullshit and my crisp pressed suit. It should really be enough for the PTB's, to simply leave me alone in this state. But I get the impression they don't like me very much, because they've just gotta send him over as well.

"What are you doing here?" I wince slightly at how weak my voice sounds. I must look pathetic to him right now, the way I'm cowering to life with he faces it so often.

"Just seeing how Wolfram & Hart's elite spend their time when their not defending their star clients. Feeling dirty Lindsey." Condescending, his voice is always condescending and the last part pisses me off.

"How long have you been standing there?" I ask indignant, don't I even deserve some privacy.

"Oh, I just got here and surprisingly could walk right in. Don't worry I didn't see any of the four or five showers you had."

"Don't you have someone else to torture." I hiss.

"Not really. Besides I was curious about whether you had actually seen anything yet. Or are you still Wolfram & Hart's lap dog?"

"That's really not your business is it." I reply icily.

"Oh, come on Lindsey share, share." He replied mockingly.

"I think I've shared quite enough with you." I bit. Staring into those daunting eyes.

"Are you still cranky about Darla. 'Cos Lindsey I don't know what else to say besides,... she was mine first." Still joking, thinking my life is something for his amusement.

"You think this is about Darla?" I spit, taking tally of all the other crappy things he's done.

"Your saying your not upset about Darla sleeping with me?" Amusement oozing from his voice. Usually I would take offence, try to defend myself, but I'm exhausted. If not physically then certainly emotionally.

"What does it matter..." I murmur, my energy all but gone.

"She borrowed everything else that was mine anyway." I whisper dejectedly, bitterly, the words leaving my mouth without much consideration to what I'm actually saying. The minute I speak them though I know I'm it trouble. It registers somewhere in my foggy, sleep-deprived mind what I've actually said and what it means. I've never thought of Angel like that, not consciously, but I know instinctively it's what I meant. I want him not Darla.

"Well what can I say about Darla, she not exactly the giving ty... wait you said..." I've never seen Angel be dense before.

"You said that she..." I can see him trying desperately to grasp something he can't quite get his mind around yet. I remain quiet, unable to speak. I can usually come up with bullshit in seconds, but now I cannot... or will not. Maybe I want him to know the full weight of what I've just said and everything that it entails.

"Why would you say that I'm...yours."

"I meant you...borrowed..." I stumble quickly as realisation slowly creeps into his expression. Suddenly I'm not so confident, what can I possibly expect from him? What do I expect from him?

"You said she." He says simply, the look in his eyes something I can't discern.

"I meant you." I bite back, this isn't the reaction I was expecting. Disgust, arrogance, cruelty, any of those but not... amusement, curiousness.

"You said..."

"Did you want me to mean you?" I challenge. He simply smiles.

"Is that what your upset about Lindsey. That I went to Darla. Drown myself in her. 'Cos if so that's kind of pathetic." He pressed, pushing me.

"You gave her more than you would ever give me." It wrenches itself from my throat and he smiles having gotten what he wanted.

"Do you want me Lindsey?" He asks, mocking amusement laced through his voice, wanting a straight answer though he already knows I do. I won't give him it.

"Fuck you." I hiss throwing back the covers and standing up in front of him.

"I'll take that as a yes." He says smugly. I swing at him, trying to punch him, trying to make him feel just as angry as I am. He catches both my arms with ease pulling me towards him. My bare chest pressed against his cool shirt. Thank god I decided to wear shorts to bed tonight, most nights I usually just sleep naked.

"Go fuck yourself." I yell struggling in his arms. He shoves me roughly against the wall, pinning me with his body.

"Now why would I do that?..." He whispers, as he grabs my wrists and traps them above me with his left hand. Leaving his right free, resting below my chin, his thumb pressed gently against my bottom lip.

"When I have your willing body right here." He finishes leaving me mute, unable to comprehend what is exactly happening as he leans in to taste my lips. I struggled against him something shocking, worse than when he tried to choke me, twice. It didn't seem to phase him at all, he just stood there and waited for me to calm, his lips deafly caressing mine. Eventually I must have stopped, because suddenly his lips were gone and I was gasping raggedly for much-needed breaths.

"There now that wasn't so bad was it?" He whispered kissing me again, obviously not wanting an answer. The shocking part is though, I let him. Well maybe let is the wrong word, but I sure as hell don't try to stop him. No, I just stand there like the slut I am and kiss him back, grind my body against his. Thrilled at how hard I can get him and then just as inexplicably I knee him. Not in the groin, no that would just be too painful, but his inner thigh is just as delicate. It must hurt like a bitch, even though I didn't put that much force behind the action. He pulls me away from the wall and throws me back down across my mattress.

"God damn it Lindsey!" He doesn't sound very human at the moment, the sentence being something between a hiss and a growl. I'm not sure whether that scares the hell out of me or just makes me hotter. Probably both, that's how fucked up I am. Luckily at this moment my brain feels numb and I don't really care about the consequences or logistics of what I'm doing. Have you ever noticed how at times like these when you need rational thought the most, your blood is never flowing the right way?

I groan as he climbs atop me, I'm surprised he still has the nerve considering what just happened. But then again he fights demons on a daily basis, what could I possibly do to hurt him. Hell I took to him with a sledgehammer and a truck once and he still kicked my ass. One of the perks of being undead I suppose. He pins my hands back above me and straddles the bottom of my thighs, making it impossible for me to move. Then his lips are back too mine warm and insistent. I part my mouth slightly, feeling his tongue dance across mine, exploring the warm depths of my mouth. I groan, his toned stomach grinding teasingly against me. I bite his tongue as it caresses my mouth. He draws back as if burnt and I see him lick a droplet of blood from his swollen lips. I must have drawn blood then, yes I can taste the faintest traces of it left in my mouth. Almost like copper and sugar. I expect him too be mad like before, but he's not, he smiles devilishly and begins to lap at one of my taut, stinging nipples. I realise then that like Darla he must enjoy pain to a certain extent, must savour it on some basic level that he keeps hidden most of the time. Darla, shit! She's not apart of this, it has nothing to do with her, so I forget the name and instead wonder if pain would have the same effect on me, or is it simply a vampire thing. No it can't be, there are certainly people out there who get off on pain,... but is it the same.

Angel moves slowly across to my other nipple and I strain to pull my hands free of his grasp, wanting to touch him. To make him moan the way he is me, but he won't let go, not a chance in hell. He tastes my other nipple his tongue lingering, in long cool strokes, making me close my eyes and arch my back, still fighting against his hands. He answers my question though when he suddenly bites into my flesh, leaving a ring of teeth marks around my areola. I cry out and thrash pitifully beneath him, stopping after he begins to suck at the bruise. No, the wound I realise by the way he's sucking, he must have broken the skin and now he's... drinking. Strangely it doesn't bother me.

A quiet moan escapes his lips as he drinks and he moves his body even closer to mine. I wince at how much harder I've gotten, my length throbbing painfully, blood pounding threw my body. Angel's silk shirt rubbing torturously across me. Obviously pain does something for me.

Angel shifts slightly, making me tense in pleasure. Then abruptly stops, pulling himself away from me. God what's wrong with you? Can't you see the state I'm in? Both my head and body scream, my hips thrust forwards as far as they can trying to find some kind of friction. Even if it is just his shirt and stomach. I look up at his eyes just about ready to beg him to continue, when his expression stops me, my body suddenly stilling.

"What's wrong?" I blurt out huskily.

"Are you sure you want this Lindsey?" He whispers. Am I sure? Is he serious? How can he ask a question like that.

"Yes, why wouldn't..."

"I bit you. I could hurt you." He answers before I even finish asking. His voice seems sorry, but there's something wild in his eyes, something his conscious has barely managed to leash and frankly if it's what's been giving me so much pleasure that's certainly not how I want it.

I take a breath realising that I'm playing with matchsticks by being in bed with Angel, he is still technically a killer and having him loose control is something that only looks good on paper.

"And you were so close that you must have felt what it did to me." I say tossing caution to the wind, an expression I have never gotten.

"I can't Lindsey. I could hurt you." Moving himself to sit beside me on the edge of the bed instead of on top.

"Funny how hurting me didn't seem to be a problem when I came to you for help. Or when you cut my hand off or when you took Darla." I yelled sitting back up, I shoved Angel off the bed in frustration. But he didn't hit the floor, quick reflexes saved him and he spun around, grabbing my wrists.

"What do you want from me Lindsey?" He asked wornly, I knew he wasn't tired in the most literal sense. But he was tired of something.

"I just..." Suddenly I wasn't even so sure of what I wanted.

"What?" He hissed climbing back astride me, shoving me back down onto the bed. This time straddling my waist instead of my legs. His hands were resting on either side of my head, a wrist in each, his face inches from mine.

"What. Do. You. Want?" I stared at him silently, suddenly realising what he'd been holding back.

"What Lindsey? You want a good, hard fuck?" He paused but I got the distinct impression that anything I had to say would probably only make things worse.

"Or maybe it's that you want to be fucked good and hard?" It took me a moment to realise the difference in the two.

"No,... your too much of prude for that. I think maybe what you really want... is this." Both my hands were up above me once again as Angel moved back to where he was originally sitting. Sliding his body down mine in the process, I whimpered slightly as my shorts were pulled down with him. He smiled nastily and my entire body tensed, making me cry out in surprise when he began to suck lazily back at my nipple. I relaxed considerably, but was still a little puzzled, he seemed so intent on something and I refused to believe it was simply my chest.

I closed my eyes feeling his mouth and his hand gently working across my flesh. His hand slipped down and started caressing small circles around my navel. I relax a little more, his hand slowly undoing the stress threaded through my body. I groan as his hand slips lower, capturing my length between cool fingers, my eyes snap open staring at the ceiling.

My body begins to move of it's own accord, my hips gently plunge into Angel's hand. I groan again, my temperature rising a degree or two, flushing my face with an excess of colour. Angel's mouth slowly leaves my areola, working his way up, brushing kisses along my neck, across my jaw. He looks down at me, but I won't look at him. His hold tightens and I gasp, my body stilling, my eyes now focused on his face. His grip isn't at all painful, actually just having his hand resting against me like that is making me want to moan, is making me ache with need. But obviously he wants my attention and how much rougher will he get if I don't give it too him.

Angel simply looks at me, a smile playing across his lips. His eyes flicker down for a second.

"Go on." He whispers looking back up at me, I pause perhaps for a little too long.

"Fine then..." He hisses and for one terrible moment I think he's going to leave. But no, he simply moves his knees up a bit so that I can't move at all...

"I'll do it." He finishes his hand beginning to move across my hardness.

"...An-gel..." I sighed breathlessly.

"What Lindsey?" Contentment clear in his voice. Though what he could be contented about is anyone's guess.

"I...I..." Was all I could get out, my lips trembling, my breathing shallow and clipped. My nerves on fire, every breath, every touch, every word sending shivers of pleasure through my body.

"Tilt your head to the left Lindsey." I hear dimly, not particularly inclined to listen or oblige. Not when I'm like this.

"Now Lindsey or else I'll stop." God no. I tilt my head up and bury my face between my arm and my pillow gasping hoarsely. I don't realise why he wants my neck exposed, though I probably should. When he bites me I know, but it gets pushed to the back of my mind, as I focus on the feeling. His grip has tightened even more, the friction there bordering between painful and pleasurable, so in-between the two that it sends quivers up my spine, numbing my brain. Worse is my neck it's on fire and frozen at the same time, racked with a numb ache. An icy-burn, that moves through my body in ripples, ripples that slowly become less painful and more pleasurable the farther they travel.

I struggle in Angel's grasp again trying vainly to relieve some of the tension in my body. He looks up at me from my neck.

"Are you that anxious to have my blood Lindsey?" What? His blood... who bit who here.

"What?" I stumble.

"My hand Lindsey." He shows me, still holding my wrists, tiny pools of blood seeping from where my nails have dug in too deep.

"I'm... I didn't... I... ooohhh" Trying to form words right now is possibly the hardest thing I've ever done. Every part of my body is tensed and hot and quivering torturously. I can barely breathe with what Angel's doing to me and it's even worse when he stops.

"ANGEL." I cry out pathetically, so close to coming that it's dizzying. He's leaning over me once again, his free hand resting near my arm.

"Calm down Lindsey." He says amusedly. Bastard! How the hell can I calm down when I can't move at all and he's sitting so that that damn cold silk shirt is brushing right where I want him most. He smiles at my expression and unbuttons his top. Purposely brushing against me as he undoes the last one. I wince at the brief contact and watch disinterestedly as he runs his thumb across his chest, below the depression in his throat. I stare transfixed, suddenly very interested as blood begins to trickle from the cut. Thick droplets slipping down his chest, my heart skipping a beat. He releases my hands, shifting so that my legs are wrapped around his waist instead of trapped under him. I prop myself up on my hands once again.

"Angel what..."

"Drink." I realise that he's giving me a choice, we're not playing anymore, right now it's everything or nothing. I look at his blood.

"Won't that..."

"Just drink." He won't answer me I know. I also know that although he doesn't add trust me onto the end it's what he means. What he wants. I bring my mouth to his chest timidly, my lips shaking. I move my tongue slowly across his skin, in one long hot stroke, leaving nothing but a slight pink tinge. The taste is something between sugar and copper and has the same kind of cool after burn as mint. As strange and impossible as this sounds I can feel it moving through my body, spreading a bizarre fluttering feeling. I wonder briefly if my blood does the same to him, then his hand slips back down below my waist and I don't think at all.

I drink down even more of his blood sucking impatiently at the wound. For the second time during the entire night he moans, it's deep and throaty, somewhere between a growl and a pur. An entirely animal sound that sends shivers dancing across my skin.

My mouth leaves his blood as I lean back to cry out, small waves of desire starting to wash through my body, making every other feeling seem lacking, diluted. My hips begin to move in sync with him, following some silent rhythm, my hands tearing at the bed-sheets. He traps my lips with his, pulling me closer to him, his free hand resting below my shoulder blades. I wrap my arms around his neck leaning into the kiss, exploring his mouth deeply with my tongue. Grinding my body shamelessly against the hardness that I can feel constrained beneath his pants.

I cry out and bury my face in his shoulder, when I finally come. Panting and gasping breathlessly, spilling warmly into his hand while I'm ripped apart by tremors that seem to clash painfully within my body. I really do mean painfully too, not pleasure so intense that it boarders on painful, though there was that too. It's like pleasure and pain twisting together so much so, that by the end you don't know where one ends and the other begins. So much so that I didn't want one without the other and by the end I wasn't sure which I enjoyed more.

I let go of him weakly, leaning back against my arm, my left hand resting against my flushed face, my hot breath coming out in short puffs. I fall back against the bed my arms shaking slightly, along with the rest of my body. I move my hand from my face and look up at Angel, he's the same as he was a few minutes ago, only now he's lapping leisurely at his hand. His eye's are closed and I stare fascinated and a little sickened by the display. Surely I can't taste that good.