You move fast and rough, teeth and nails biting and scratching and fingers tearing cloth to get to skin.
Almost like an animal.
Lindsey's eyes have gone at least four shades darker and the lust there takes your breath away.
You lean forward to bite along his collarbone and he groans as your hands finally work loose the top button of his fly. You grin against his neck as you stop. Teasing him.
He moves quicker than you think possible and suddenly your back's against the wall and the rough plaster digs into your skin as he pins you there. He kisses you, long and hard, and you can taste the whiskey-honey taste that is all Lindsey. You don't want this moment to stop but then he's sucking on your tongue and his hands are inside your pants, stroking, touching…
It's your turn to moan and he swallows the sound as he works your fly and ducks down before you know it. Your lips cry out from the absence of his but all you can do is stare as his tongue flicks out and tastes the bead of pre-come. He glances up and meets your eyes as he takes you into his mouth and your head falls back as he grins.
You don't think it's possible to feel any closer to heaven but he proves you wrong by circling the fingers of his right hand around the base of your cock and pumping in rhythm as he draws his mouth back, letting you almost fall from his lips before surging forward again. His left hand grips your hip tight enough to bruise but the pain only heightens the pleasure.
You know you can't last long and you try to choke out a warning but he can already tell and he takes you in as deep as he can and hums as his hand not-so-gently squeezes your balls. The vibration is enough to send you over the edge and you swear you can see stars as you come into his mouth, down his throat.
It takes you a minute to come down from the high he's taken you to and you're more than a little grateful that he's still there holding you upright because without support you're pretty sure you'd be a puddle on the ground.
Part of you wonders just how come Lindsey got so good at giving mind-blowing blowjobs, but mostly you're just really grateful. And that's when you realize that you have the whole night to show him just how grateful you are.
Sammy can get his own room for once. There's no way you're letting Lindsey leave until you've familiarized yourself with every part of his body and found the sensitive spots that will make him groan your name in that smoky voice.
You gather the strength to push him onto the bed and you just stand there, staring as he stares right back at you.
This time it's slow, almost gentle. You take your time, covering his body with yours before tracking your lips down the taut muscles of his abdomen. As you come back up to claim his lips, he shifts a little, grinding his denim-clad erection against your hip. You smile as you pull back and slide the zipper down. He lifts his hips, letting you do whatever you want, and as you peel off his jeans you see he's not wearing anything else. Makes things easier for you.
You trail your hand up his thigh, watching in fascination as the muscles there quiver under your touch. Lindsey groans and you look up, he's letting you take control but it's clear the anticipation is almost killing him. You come up quickly and kiss him again, watching his eyes as your hand reaches between you and you trail your hand up the length of his dick.
You watch, intoxicated, as his eyes go still darker as you begin to pump and twist with your hand. You feel a sudden need to taste his skin and you duck your head to lap and bite at his collarbone. He bucks upwards as you do and you know you've found one of his sweet spots. You begin to pump faster as his hips rise and fall, fucking your hand, and your tongue matches the rhythm.
You know he's close and you bite down hard enough to mark his skin. He groans your name as he arches up and you feel his come coat your hand, your belly. You slow your hand, stroking now, as he shudders a little more and then he's done.
You roll off him and onto your side, propping your head in your hand and watch as he slowly turns to you with his usual shit-eating grin replaced by a smile so soft that you wouldn't have recognized him if you and he weren't in the middle of testing the endurance limits of the motel's beds.
Lindsey says he's been to hell, or some kind of hell anyway, and he says he knows how to get you out of it. Says he'll do for you what some guy called Gunn did for him. You want to believe him, but you know there isn't a way. You know you're damned so what's the point in pretending.
You see anger in his smoky blue eyes as he sits up, turns away from you. Calls you an idiot. Your own anger flares and you lash out, does he think you want this? Does he think that if you thought there was even half a chance of saving your soul you'd ignore it? He's just like all the others, trying to placate you, trying to stop you living in the time you've got left. You don't want to die. You don't want to become the very thing you've always hated most. But you can't stop it.
He's holding you before you realize he's moved. You hate yourself a little for lashing out, but you thought he was different. You thought you could stay here with him until they came for you. But he's just like the rest, wasting time on pointless quests.
It can't be done. You're going to hell and it'll take more than some ex-lawyer hunter to find a loophole in the deal.
Lindsey lets you yell, even lets you take a swing at him, but he keeps coming back. Keeps telling you there's a way.
You want to believe him, you really do but…
He tells you he knows what he's doing, that you can trust him.
You don't trust anyone. Not even Sam. It hurts you to admit that, but you still feel the pain like fire from your shoulder when he shot you. You know it could happen again, charmed ink or no.
Lindsey's fingers trace the outline of your tat and you crave more contact. You don't want to talk anymore, what's the point of talking when you and he could be trying your best to screw each other into the mattress.
The dark in his eyes show you he wants it as much as you do, but he won't stop talking. Telling you he can fix it. He can get you out of the deal. If you trust him.
You're stubborn, it's both your best and worst trait, but he's wearing you down.
Eventually you agree and the two of you spend the rest of the night satisfying every urge either of you has.
The next day you wake to find him gone and the sheets cold. You'd feel betrayed if you let yourself, so you don't.
You pack up, get in the car and hit the road.
Two months later you wait to hear the hellhounds but they don't come.
Midnight comes and goes and nothing, you walk away from the circle that Sammy had insisted on drawing, and you're still here.
A year passes since the day you should have died. Sammy makes you stand in the circle again in case the demon was fucking with your mind. Nothing.
Eighteen months pass and you start getting calls from some woman called Fred. She says she knew Lindsey and your heart stops beating. She knew him. Past tense.
You meet her in LA, the city looks the same as it did before the shit hit the fan there, and she tells you about Lindsey. Something about her sets off your radar, but you let her talk. And then she tells you how they got him out of the hell he'd found himself in. How 'Charles' stayed in his place.
You ask what Charles' surname is, even though you already know.
You don't say anything when she tells you.
You're going to get Lindsey back.