Fic: The One Who Pulls the Strings

[allyndra]

Title: The One Who Pulls the Strings

Author: Allyndra

Pairing: Lindsey/Spike

Rating: R

Spoilers: AtS through "You're Welcome"

Disclaimer: I've been working on my Joss impression, but I'm not quite ready to claim ownership yet.
Summary: Perhaps a recently souled vampire recovering froma trauma wasn't the best choice for manipulation, after all.

 

Notes: Written for the Lindsey round of maleslashminisfor urbangonzo, who wanted handcuffs, a blindfold, and whiskey. Beta provided by the spectacular and forgiving sublimatedangel.

 

Lindsey loved the feeling of a plan coming together. When he was a boy, he would lie awake at night, blocking out the sounds of his family snuffling in their sleep, of the wind whining through the cracks in the walls, of the mice under the floor and the owl waiting to catch them. He'd block out all the noises until he could concentrate on his plans for the future, for escaping his roots, for becoming someone important. Now he was not only important, he was the one pulling the strings. He smoothed the grin from his face and opened the door to the apartment he’d gotten for Spike.

 

The Mario Brothers were cavorting in go carts on the screen, and Lindsey had to wonder if Angel had gotten all the evil genes in the family. Surely any vampire worth his fangs would be playing something with a little more carnage. He mentally shrugged. He wasn’t here to judge; he was just here to check up on his investment. He needed to know that Spike was still in.

 

Spike was still in. “You just get one of your visions to tell me when and where,” he said, barely looking up from his game. Lindsey smirked at him.

 

“That’s what I like to hear,” he started to reply. He was cut off by his cell phone before he could complete the sentence. When he turned to answer it, he missed the look that came into Spike’s eyes. He missed the way the vampire tested the strength of the cord to his game controller, wincing a bit as his pull tensed reconnected muscles.

 

He wished he could have missed the blow to the head that laid him flat on his face, Eve’s voice twittering in his ears, high over the growl that said, “You tell me when and where, but I’ll say how.”

 

Lindsey was unconscious before Spike finished tying him up with the cord.

 

***

 

Lindsey blinked into the darkness, letting the ruffle of his eyelashes against the fabric remind him that there was more to the world than the press of steel around his wrists. His hands were in front of him today, and he made the most of it, running his fingers over his shirt and pants, raising his hands as high as he could and stroking the roughness of his chin. It wasn’t much, but it helped to keep the frustration of sensory deprivation at bay. He couldn't reach the blindfold, though, no matter how he bent his neck or tugged at his bonds.

 

In the early days of Spike's apartment, he'd still had plans and schemes. He'd tried to wheedle his way out of the cuffs, tried his usual mindfucks and manipulations. They'd all ended right back here, muffled in a blindfold and cuffed to the wall. He felt emptied out, resigned and barren of ideas as he strained to catch a sound, any at all.

 

But especially that one. The click of the lock. Then came the scrape of the door and the quiet thud of heavy boots worn by a graceful creature. Spike was home, and Lindsey hated himself for the joy that surged through him. A cool hand slid against his face, pulling the blindfold away. He found it ironic that he'd claimed to be a seer, and now he only saw what Spike allowed him.

 

"How'd it go?" he asked, drinking in the sight of lamplight on white blond hair, on smooth, pale skin, on dusty leather. His voice was dry. At first he'd spent a lot of time talking to himself when Spike was gone, just to hear it, but talking to the empty apartment only made him feel more alone. Now he waited for Spike.

 

The vampire grinned at him. "Was a tidy little fight, mate. You done good." He stroked a finger over Lindsey's jaw, and Lindsey did his best not to lean into it. The finger retreated as Spike stood, shrugging out of his coat. He draped it over the couch and bent over Lindsey, unlocking the cuffs and tossing them to the floor. Part of Lindsey wanted to tense, to spring at Spike and rush for the door the moment the cuffs came off. Part of being a planner, though, meant knowing when to bide his time. Lindsey didn't have a hope of getting past the vampire's faster reflexes, so he didn't try. He stood and rubbed his wrists, adjusting to the feeling of naked flesh where metal should be while Spike sauntered to the kitchen. Lindsey listened to the clink and slosh of drinks being poured, and then Spike was back in view, two glasses in hand. He passed one to Lindsey and sipped at his own. Lindsey savored the smoky taste of the whiskey on his tongue, the burn in his throat. The mission must have gone well if he was being rewarded.

 

Spike watched him drink, blue eyes bright. "So, Doyle," he said conversationally. "Had any good visions lately?" Anyone else might have heard the light tone and assumed it was a casual question. Lindsey knew better. The visions were Spike's path to redemption. They were the things keeping Lindsey chained and keeping him alive. He hoped like hell he'd be able to keep making them up.

 

The information about vampire nests, demon lairs, and evil bastards he used to defend was his most valuable asset, and Lindsey usually tried to space out his 'visions,' to prolong his usefulness. But Spike was in a rewarding mood...

 

He cleared his throat. "Friday night. Three Hlraghn demons are going to sacrifice a young woman to ensure the fertility of their tribe." He felt safe making that prediction. The Hlraghns had been holding the sacrifice on the third Friday of every month for years now. He'd been in charge of bribing the police to stay away during his first year with Wolfram & Hart. "Here, I think I've got the address," he said, reaching for a piece of paper. 

 

***

 

The first time Spike rewarded him, it had been with food. Barbeque instead of the bland sandwiches he’d been living on. It had been before he’d trusted Lindsey enough to uncuff him, so the lawyer had had to submit to being fed. He seethed at the thought of being grateful while being treated like a dog, but hating the gratitude didn’t stop it from coming. He would lie awake when Spike was gone, reciting examples of Stockholm Syndrome to himself and making silent promises to be stronger.

 

The second time his reward had been touch, and he’d wanted to beat the vampire bloody just for knowing how much Lindsey wanted that – contact with another person. He’d been chained up for nearly two weeks at that point, and Spike had kept his touches infrequent and impersonal. Lindsey had just given in and handed Spike the information on an old client, and Spike smiled and reached out a hand.

 

Cool, smooth fingers stroked over his face, down his throat, and Lindsey stopped breathing. He stilled under Spike’s hand, not daring to move. When the hand pulled away, Lindsey peered up trough his lashes to find Spike staring at him. The vampire’s eyes were calculating, but his mouth was gentle. He stooped down, and Lindsey was reminded of the hours he’d spent watching hawks as a boy. He’d always been so very sure he was a fellow raptor. Ironic.

 

The kiss was not the hard, claiming thing Lindsey would have expected. It was as gentle as Spike’s smile, as cold and purposeful as his eyes. It left Lindsey shaking. He couldn’t think about anything but the aching absence of touch in his life for the next two days, right up until he told Spike he’d had another ‘vision.’ It was the fastest turnaround time ever. He gave Spike the address of a nest of vampires that had been taking out runaways for decades. Spike gave him whiskey and a hand job.

 

***

 

It didn’t bother Lindsey that he was sending Spike off to kill people and things that had once been clients. What bothered him was that he was giving the information away for free. He’d been so close to taking over, to being the one in charge, and now he wasn’t even pulling in a fee.

 

He told Spike about the Hlraghns’ sacrifice with concern on his face, playing the seer for all he was worth. And if all he was worth was a pulled pork sandwich and a quick fuck, he’d take what he could get. But he was more valuable than that. Spike left him on the couch and returned with a guitar in his hands. Lindsey felt his fingers reach out without his permission. Spike watched him with whiskey in his glass and an amused smile on his lips. Beneath the shame and the gratitude and the hate, Lindsey was glad to be pulling some of the strings again. Even if they were only steel.