"This isn't going to be
another birthday at the strip club is it, Spike?" Lindsey locked the door
behind them and trotted down the hall after Spike.
"Nah. Got you somethin' you're gonna like this time. Promise."
"My brother from
"Oh sweet holy Jesus," Lindsey breathed, watched Will ride down the escalator at LAX.
"He's like you - but better."
Spike muffled a snort. "Ta, mate."
Lindsey only grinned, whipped off his hat as William approached and held the other hand out to him in greeting. But at the first touch of that cool dry skin, little tingling cat feet scampered up Lindsey's arm to grab onto his tongue and hold tight.
Fortunately - or maybe unfortunately - Spike's tongue was ready willing and available to bat for him. "Will, this is Lindsey. Lindsey, this is Will. Try not to keep me up nights while the two of you shag."
Lindsey lunged to catch the suitcase before he realized what Will had said and turned to Spike with an expression on his face stuck half way between surprise and laughing his ass off. "Your name is
"Sod off. Only room for one punk in this world named
Spike snickered. "Go on, Will. It's Angel. You remember him, right? That tall, stick up his arse?"
William fixed Spike with an arch look. "Yes. And a certain bleached blond punk mooning across two continents after him? I believe I remember him."
"Fuck off." Spike shot the two of them a two-fingered salute and slid into his duster.
"Thanks man," Lindsey called after him.
Spike smirked, walking backwards to give the two of them his most suggestive leer. "Many happy returns, mate."