When did I start to get old?

The question ran around and around Lindsey's head as he let himself into his apartment. When did I start to get old? Was it when he graduated from college? Maybe it was when he got that promotion at the firm. Or maybe it was just a slow process, dating from when he started selling his soul, one piece at a time. Whenever it was, he felt time starting to tell on his body. Especially after a long day at work. Especially after a night like this.

He emptied his pockets onto the designer credenza, the one that had been carefully chosen by somebody else to go with his apartment, which also seemed to go with somebody else. As the change spilled out of his hand and onto the floor, he tried to ignore the twinge in his back that told him he'd regret it if he bent over and picked it up. He debated with himself, finally deciding to let it lie, knowing that the maid would pocket it, and that she was welcome to it. He began half-heartedly undressing, kicking off his shoes and socks as scenes from the club replayed themselves in his head. He knew he shouldn't have asked that girl to dance, he realized, but she had looked like she was over 18. What the hell was she doing in that place, anyway? Shouldn't let girls like that in, he grumbled to himself. Not if they're going to laugh in a guy's face.

Lindsey unbuttoned his cuffs and untucked his white shirt from his leather pants as he shambled lazily across the living room to the bar. He poured himself a healthy shot of Glenlivet, picked the heavy tumbler up, and made his way to the couch, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. With a thankful sigh he sank down onto the firm leather cushions. This was the one piece of furniture in the entire apartment he felt was truly his. He had insisted on it when the decorator was working with him, over all her objections. He loved the feel of smooth, resilient leather under his fingers, under his body. This was one of the luxuries he had worked so hard for, dreaming of it when he was a poor-as-shit kid from a poor-as-shit town.

The pants he wore were another of those luxuries. Leather, while practical for vampires and Slayers alike, was impractical as all hell for lawyers. The knees always got stretched out, it was a bitch to clean, and people never knew whether to take him seriously in it. But none of that mattered as soon as he felt the leather's caress on his skin. He habitually wore his leather without any underwear beneath, craving the kiss of the natural fabric on his ass, on his cock. His cock. He was always half hard in leather pants, his arousal stoked with every twist of his body.

As he stretched his bare feet out in front of him now, slouching on the couch, he felt the leather he wore sliding over the leather he sat on. A little thrill ran through him at the delicious friction. He took a sip of the scotch, and let his eyes fall shut and his head loll back as it burned a path to his stomach. He had never liked whiskey as a kid, but most of the senior partners at the firm drank it, and they invariably offered him a glass when they wanted an excuse to partake. It had seemed like a good idea to develop a taste for the stuff to keep his chances for a promotion strong. A self-conscious smile crossed his face. Maybe that's when I started to get old: when I started drinking whiskey for social advancement. He followed the thought with a wry toast to himself and another swallow.

The Glenlivet joined forces with the booze already in his system to send Lindsey to a pleasantly hazy place. Behind his closed lids he replayed his visit to the Mash Room, a bar he had known he shouldn't have bothered with. But he hadn't been able to resist when one of the interns had invited him along, giving him shit about being too old when he tried to decline. He had done fine so long as he was just nodding along to the band like all the young guys around him, but once he had gotten caught in the ever-expanding mosh pit it had been a fight for survival. What the fuck is the point of a mosh pit, anyway? he found himself thinking from the comfort of his couch. They just go round and round and beat the shit out of each other. Yeah, that's fun. It had been after he emerged from the pit, sweaty and battered but exhilarated, that he had made the humiliating mistake of forgetting that he was older than practically everyone else in the bar - including the bartender - and asked that girl to dance. He squirmed in his seat as the memory of her laughter filled his ears. She had tried to be nice, but it had been pretty clear that she thought he should be home trimming his ear hairs, or whatever it is old people do. In self-defense, his brain slid quickly away from that uncomfortable moment.

Unfortunately, what it landed on wasn’t much more comfortable. His mind's eye was filled with a vision of Angel, striding intently down a long hallway, leather coat billowing out behind him. He had never actually seen Angel in said hallway, but his inebriated imagination cobbled together the picture from snippets of meetings with the vampire, and from his...fantasies? Yeah, fantasies, he admitted to himself. As he shifted again on the couch, restless in his acceptance of this, he was startled almost out of his reverie by the feeling of the seam of his leather pants pressing against his growing erection. Almost, but not quite. The alcoholic haze held strong enough to let him enjoy the sensations without worrying too much about their inspiration. After all, it's just in my own head, and what's in my own head can't hurt anyone, can it? Satisfied with his rationale, Lindsey leaned into the seam of his pants again, feeling it stroke the underside of his balls with just a tantalizing scratchy pressure. He amused himself by rocking back and forth for a minute, letting just this sensation work him to a higher level. Finally he let his left hand rise to his chest, then drift down his body to the front of his pants, where he let it rest for a moment. Just touching his erection through the leather felt so good. Experimentally, he stroked downward a little more firmly. Oh yes, that definitely felt good. Smooth cow hide rubbed softly against the smoother skin of his erection. He began petting himself gently through the pants, gliding over his penis with just his fingertips.

The pictures in his overstimulated mind got stranger and stranger. First it was Angel, just looking at him with that steely glint in his eye, then it was a vision of Angel pressing Lindsey's body against Lindsey's office wall, rubbing his preternaturally hard erection against Lindsey's leather-clad one. Lindsey gave a juddering sigh at this, and began rubbing his cock in earnest. Next came a vision of Cordelia's delicate little hand slipping around Angel's body to press and pinch at Lindsey's nipples. She slipped out from behind her boss and pressed herself against both men, twining her arms around their bodies. Angel turned his intense gaze from Lindsey to Cordelia, pinning her with a look. In Lindsey's mind's eye they stared each other down, until Angel finally gave in and captured her mouth with his. Lindsey's lips cocked in a smile as he visualized the coworkers smashing the boundaries of acceptable office behavior in favor of rampant passion. The smile only grew larger as he imagined the two of them turning their attentions to his own neck and torso. Soft lipsticked lips plucked at his nipples, while slightly chapped lips distended by unnatural teeth played at his neck, teasing him with just the suggestion of a bite, but never following through.

It was Cordelia's lips he imagined sliding slowly down his body, pausing for a moment at his fly. Lindsey visualized her gently removing his cock from his pants, but made no such move for himself. He merely cupped his erection more firmly as he stroked it from outside the leather and imagined Cordelia's mouth on him. As her lips and tongue worked him, he gazed over her head at Angel, who had settled himself on the edge of Lindsey's desk, pants open and cock in hand. Lindsey laughed softly as he imagined Angel's solution to his pesky soul problem: apparently jerking off while watching Cordelia give head to Lindsey was almost as good as getting head himself - or giving it.

Lindsey's attention was drawn back to his own cock as the sensations started swirling faster and faster. With every stroke up his cock, the seam of his pants was drawn up tight against his asshole. Without thinking, he spread his knees further apart to get more contact there. Behind his eyelids Cordelia was frantically swallowing him, working as much of him into her mouth as she could while fingering her own pussy. Her eyes were closed in concentration, her brow furrowed just the tiniest bit. Behind her, Angel leaned one hand back on the desk while he worked himself with the other. His eyes flicked back and forth from Cordelia's pussy to Lindsey's face, unable to decide which was prettier. Finally his eyes slid halfway closed, and his face began to morph as he neared his limit. Lindsey felt his blood rushing through his veins as he came close to his own completion. The sensation of being watched was intoxicating, even if imagined. He was almost hurting himself as he clutched his cock through his pants, but the edge of pain gave him the momentum he needed. With a violence that was almost a burning, he shot jet after jet of come into the moist container of his leather pants. The liquid heat boiled out of him, convulsing his body until he was shuddering from head to toe. In his mind's eye Angel spilled his cold seed onto the rug in Lindsey's office, and Cordelia clamped her mouth even tighter around Lindsey's cock as she made herself come with a finger on her clit and two in her pussy.

Lindsey sat in blissful contentment on his couch, drifting closer and closer to sleep. Periodically his body gave a shudder as his muscles relaxed and his blood began flowing normally, but he edged further towards unconsciousness after each one. Finally he slid all the way there, only to be awoken seconds afterward by the crash of his glass as it hit the ground, having slipped out of nerveless fingers. He jolted awake, blinking the remnants of fantasy out of his brain. After a few owlish moments he was able to assess the situation and lever himself up off the couch, stepping carefully to avoid getting glass in his feet. As he went to the kitchen for a towel, he felt his come start to cool and run down the leg of his pants. He shook his head and smiled at himself. May be a bitch to clean, but definitely worth the effort.