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slashthedrabble Feb. 22nd, 2007 07:07 pm)
shinodabear.livejournal.com posting in slashthedrabble Feb. 22nd, 2007 07:07 pm)Masked Robbery
Fandom: Angel
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Lindsey/Connor, implied Lindsey/Angel
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon is a figment of my imagination.
He’s seen the headlines. He’s watched the news. It’s all while he paints on his tattoos and whispers the words of the Old. He’s not a coward. The brave know when it’s smart to hide, and hide is what he needs to do for now. He can’t be seen by Them. They’re looking for him, out for his hide, and all that will result is pain on his part. He can’t be seen by Him just yet. The time’s not right and everything needs to be perfect.
So he watches.
He waits.
It takes a lot of research. It takes a lot of dirty work, with all of the mojo Angel screwed around with to make the kid disappear. Whoever took on the task of altering the world was a pretty good craftsman. It isn’t enough to hide the truth, though. Everyone leaves paper trails, even wizards, and with the fine knowledge he’d gained at the prestigious law firm of Wolfram & Hart, Lindsey knew his way around papers.
With the awfully good feeling of a thief, he gets in his truck and follows the papers.
He finds him in the corner, nursing a beer that he’s not old enough to be drinking — though he is legal for other things. College parties. Lindsey had almost forgotten those. Almost. The skittish look on the boy’s face is enough to remind him. Of what it’s like to be an outsider. Of what’s it like to have butterflies dancing in his stomach. And, as the girls and androgynous boys pass by the boy, what it’s like to have fire and lust burn in his body. No one asks Lindsey what he’s doing there. Supplying them with a few six-packs is enough to get him through the door and allowed to stay as long as he wants.
“You look new.”
“You look old.” The counter is quick, and accompanied by a smart smile. Of course, at this age, he thinks he knows it all. It’s a mask, though, of bravery and courage. It’s one that Lindsey’s worn more than a few times. Right now, though, it's time to try out a new one.
“Name’s Doyle. You wanna go somewhere?” He makes sure to bite his bottom lip and sweep his eyes down the boy's slim frame. It’s no surprise who his parent’s are. His real parents.
The nervous college boy puts down his cup and shifts his weight. “I’m Connor.” (The first of the stupid moves.) “I don’t think —”
“I never promised sweets, kid. Just a good time.” And the charming woo of the South shines through the holes in Doyle’s enlightened mask. The boy is his.
Later, as Lindsey muses under damp sheets, he realizes Connor didn’t have the least fucking clue that he was going through the motions of a false life, that he was wearing the mask his lawyer-father carved for him. Somehow, that makes the taste of Angel’s precious son so much sweeter and so much better than Daddy's.
Fandom: Angel
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Lindsey/Connor, implied Lindsey/Angel
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon is a figment of my imagination.
He’s seen the headlines. He’s watched the news. It’s all while he paints on his tattoos and whispers the words of the Old. He’s not a coward. The brave know when it’s smart to hide, and hide is what he needs to do for now. He can’t be seen by Them. They’re looking for him, out for his hide, and all that will result is pain on his part. He can’t be seen by Him just yet. The time’s not right and everything needs to be perfect.
So he watches.
He waits.
It takes a lot of research. It takes a lot of dirty work, with all of the mojo Angel screwed around with to make the kid disappear. Whoever took on the task of altering the world was a pretty good craftsman. It isn’t enough to hide the truth, though. Everyone leaves paper trails, even wizards, and with the fine knowledge he’d gained at the prestigious law firm of Wolfram & Hart, Lindsey knew his way around papers.
With the awfully good feeling of a thief, he gets in his truck and follows the papers.
He finds him in the corner, nursing a beer that he’s not old enough to be drinking — though he is legal for other things. College parties. Lindsey had almost forgotten those. Almost. The skittish look on the boy’s face is enough to remind him. Of what it’s like to be an outsider. Of what’s it like to have butterflies dancing in his stomach. And, as the girls and androgynous boys pass by the boy, what it’s like to have fire and lust burn in his body. No one asks Lindsey what he’s doing there. Supplying them with a few six-packs is enough to get him through the door and allowed to stay as long as he wants.
“You look new.”
“You look old.” The counter is quick, and accompanied by a smart smile. Of course, at this age, he thinks he knows it all. It’s a mask, though, of bravery and courage. It’s one that Lindsey’s worn more than a few times. Right now, though, it's time to try out a new one.
“Name’s Doyle. You wanna go somewhere?” He makes sure to bite his bottom lip and sweep his eyes down the boy's slim frame. It’s no surprise who his parent’s are. His real parents.
The nervous college boy puts down his cup and shifts his weight. “I’m Connor.” (The first of the stupid moves.) “I don’t think —”
“I never promised sweets, kid. Just a good time.” And the charming woo of the South shines through the holes in Doyle’s enlightened mask. The boy is his.
Later, as Lindsey muses under damp sheets, he realizes Connor didn’t have the least fucking clue that he was going through the motions of a false life, that he was wearing the mask his lawyer-father carved for him. Somehow, that makes the taste of Angel’s precious son so much sweeter and so much better than Daddy's.
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