Title: "Nocturne"
Author: Mala
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com
Spoilers: Pre-"Dear Boy."
Rating/Classification: R, Lindsey/Darla, angst, sexual situations.
Disclaimer: Grrr. Aargh.
Summary: What if Darla had been a vampire when she came back...how would she thank Lindsey for his help?

"Brahms' Lullaby". Music to soothe the savage beast. And soothed she was. She was curled up in his black leather desk chair, staring out at the sparkling lights that dotted the city's skyline.

"My boy is out there," she whispered. Certain of it.

She had become more lucid as each month of the summer had passed. More sure of who she was. Of the things around her. The firm was pleased with her progress. Was sure she would be ready to tear down Angel soon. Lindsey was pleased, too. He was practically salivating for the day when they could bring that cocky bastard to his knees and spread his ashes across the county. "Yeah, he is, Darla. He's out there waiting to get what's coming to him."

"I'm coming to him," she purred, drawing her knees up to her chest.

He couldn't help it. He was fascinated. She was a mixture of woman and child. Of human and monster. He had seen her, wild and trapped in the box, tear a full grown man to pieces and suck the marrow from his bones. And he had seen her sway to a Chopin nocturne as if the tender notes and the minor key could take her to Heaven.

He wanted her.

Astute conclusion, Counselor.

He snorted, dragged plastic prosthetic fingers through his hair, moving towards the expansive windows. "You'll see him soon," he assured. Always the tactful attorney. The good little soldier. He'd even given a limb to the cause.

Darla cocked her blond head. Almost wolf-like. Her green eyes focused on him as he sat down on the edge of his desk, next to her. "He turned his back on you, too. And you want him to pay." Statements. Not questions.

"I do," Lindsey admitted, simply.

Her feet were bare. The toenails the same shade of deep rose as her blouse. She fiddled with her big toe, staring down at it with her lips pursed in concentration. And then she looked up at him again. "Do you know how vampires punish their naughty children?" she asked, voice as innocent as a baby's and as cold as ice. "We fuck them until they bleed."

He tried to swallow a gasp as his knees wobbled and he struggled to keep leaning casually. His prosthetic scraped the obsidian desktop. "Oh?" Real smooth, McDonald. "I think I read that somewhere."

She laughed. A sound he hadn't heard from her before. A sound like clear bells calling a crowd to a hanging. "You're pretty," she observed, showing teeth. "You're the prettiest solicitor I've ever seen."

"Th-thanks." Christ, now he was blushing. Lindsey's tongue felt like lead...like someone had pumped him full of sedatives that affected his entire body except for the insistent, pulsing, area between his legs. He was wearing a cross below his shirt, for protection, but he didn't feel protected at all. He felt naked. Stark naked.

Darla swiveled the chair around, leaning forward as if she had a secret. "I could eat you," she whispered. "I could eat you for dessert."

He yelped. Or was it a moan? "Uh...Darla...I don't think the partners would appreciate that."

Her slender hand stole out. Closed around his thigh. "Partners don't need to appreciate it, Blue Eyes. You do."

She moved so swiftly, he didn't have time to blink.

And he had the sensation of flying. Of landing hard. And coherency flew by like a jet plane. Her strong legs straddled him, pinning him to the flat surface of the desk. She was unknotting his tie...pulling apart his shirt and sending buttons flying.

"D-darla!"

"Shush, Blue." She pressed her mouth to the place where prosthetic met skin. Licked her way around the edge of his wrist. And then she brought her tongue to his chest. She chuckled at the chain. The silver cross. And traced the skin around it with her lips and teeth. "Let me thank you," she urged. "Let me thank you for all of this."

He didn't have much of a choice.

And he was glad.

It would be easier to explain to Holland that way.

He jerkily pulled the cross over his head and dropped it over the side of the desk. And then he brought his hand up to gently grasp her shoulder. His real hand. He could feel the chill of her skin through the thin rayon of her shirt. She rubbed against his crotch, toying with the buckle of his belt. Unbuckling. Unbuttoning. Unzipping.

The gasping breaths had to be coming from his own throat. The only sounds she was making were low purrs. Her skirt rode up, climbing up her thighs. And he was delirious. He could feel her lack of hose...her lack of underwear. The mark of the animal...putting nothing between her and her needs. And it was all cold. Like having his cock encased in liquid nitrogen. He was sure he would shatter inside her.

"Will you bleed for me?" Her eyes sparkled like the shiny gates of Hell. Her hips moved in a fierce rhythm, slapping his and he clutched her shoulder, bucking up against her. "Will you bleed for Darla, Blue Eyes?"

"Yes!" he groaned. "Yes, I will."

He would. Over and over. Into her. Like screams. Like skin. Like the desk banging the back of his head. Like the base of his wrist tingling. Like sweet, aching, music. Notes poured from his throat. And she drank them up. With her sharp white teeth. Plunging true. As he thrust up into her...she dove down into him. He bled for her. She came for him. And then they came together.

She laughed as Brahms turned to Chopin. As a nocturne began. Somber minor key. Her hair wound around his throat as she traced her own bite with her fingertips. He held her quite well with one good hand.

"I'll make Angel pay," she said, staring down at him.

He had no doubt she would. He had no doubt that Angel would bleed.

Any man would bleed willingly for her.

For the music.

"You're welcome," he told her, softly.

And the notes began anew.

--fin--

September 2000.


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