TITLE: One In The Hand, or Why Lindsey's Hand Won't Be Reattached
AUTHOR:  Randomus (kemarx@swbell.net)
RATING:  NC-17 for sex, lanugage and violence
CLASSIFICATION/PAIRING: Slash, Masturbation, Lindsey/Other, a bit of
Lindsey/Angel
DISCLAIMER:  Joss and Greenie own the characters.  Nods to Sam Raimi and
Bruce Campbell.
DISTRIBUTION:  Just let me know.
SOILERS:  Shanshu
WARNINGS: This is gross, and a bit evil.  Read at your own perril :)


The ancient peoples believed that every body part served a specific,
metaphysical purpose. The eyes were windows to the soul, spirits entered and
exited the body through the mouth, eating the enemy's heart would transfer
power and courage, and the hands served a divine purpose.

The hands always held a certain mysticism. The hand that rocks the cradle,
the hands of time, the hand of God, being in good hands. Idle hands were the
devil's toys. One in the hand was worth two in the bush. The hands could be
used to create, or destroy. They were the source of a man's power.

The storm continued to rage outside. Lightning flashed through the floor to
ceiling windows, briefly flooding the messy bedroom with light. Lindsey lay
tangled in the dark sheets, unable to find a comfortable position in his
large bed. Despite his exhaustion, he couldn't sleep with angry thoughts of
vengeance filling his mind.

He had been released from the hospital earlier that afternoon, in pain and
no hope of ever seeing his right hand again. The doctor had told him that
even if it was found, it was too late to reattach it, and the best they
could do was fit him for a prosthesis. It would take some getting used to,
he was told, perhaps even years, and even though the technology had improved
greatly over the years, his range of motion would be greatly limited. The
good news was that with the latest technology, a prosthesis was hardly
noticeable.

Lindsey briefly considered getting a hook, which he could use to gouge out
Angel's eyes and possibly castrate the ensouled vampire with, but in the end
conceded that something realistic looking would be more beneficial for his
career. That, and he could already hear Lilah's new nickname for him. He
shuddered at the thought of being known in the office as "Long John
Lindsey."

With a prescription of painkillers, ironically packaged with a childproof
cap, and an follow-up appointment scheduled the next week, Lindsey was
allowed to go on his merry way. Only his way was not so merry, and more of
an angry joyride of hatred.

Angel would pay for his pain, Lindsey vowed. He sighed and rolled to his
back, tucking his arms behind his head. A slow smile spread across his lips
as he began to imagine the tortures he could inflict on his nemesis.

In his mind's eye, Lindsey saw Angel naked to the waist with a look of
despair in his dark eyes. With his brooding superhero persona stripped away,
the vampire looked like any other darkly handsome man chained to a wall.
Angel's eyes were pleading, begging Lindsey for something. Lindsey could get
lost in those eyes, let them devour him whole, make him beg for a release of
his own.

Lindsey's cock began to swell, tenting the green sheet around his hips.
Closing his eyes, he indulged in a familiar fantasy.

Angel was on his knees now, a sheen of sweat shining on his skin, and he
slowly stroked Lindsey's thighs, caressing his hip and lower abdomen.
Lindsey took in a shuddered breath, the fantasy so vivid, he could actually
feel the vampire's cold hand rubbing against his heated flesh.

Slowly, Angel's fingers tangled in his pubic hair, caressing the crease of
his thigh, and finally cupping his heavy sack. Lindsey's cock throbbed in
anticipation, as the delicate touch carefully circled his rigid member.

Lindsey's breathing grew heavier, the pleasure building to an excruciating
level. His hand finally closed around the soft flesh of his cock and began
to pump, slipping over the satiny skin of his shaft, slowly building in
tempo. Lindsey was so close, so very close.

Pressure began to build up in his spine, his body demanding for a release.
He felt himself near completion, and his eyes snapped open as the last few
strokes pushed him over the edge.

It had happened so suddenly, Lindsey didn't even realized he'd touched
himself. The hand on his cock squeezed gently, and his left hand grabbed at
his pillow as his hips slowed their bucking. Still in the haze of orgasm, it
took him a moment to realize that he hadn't touched himself.

Horrified, he threw the sheet off his sweaty body and looked down. Gripping
his cock was the gray-green remnants of his right hand. It had the small
scar over the ring finger Lindsey remembered from when he punched Jimmy
Henderson in the 10th grade for calling him a fag. The nails were still
perfectly manicured. It was paler, plasma oozing out the remains of the
wrist where it had scabbed over. A thick vein under the surface of the skin
pulsed like a heart beat, squirting pus on to Lindsey's stomach.

A garbled shriek escaped Lindsey's throat as he jumped up, trying to knock
the severed hand off his body. It's grip was true, and it squeezed Lindsey's
now-flaccid penis tighter. Lindsey grimaced, and tried to pry the fingers
free.

The hand dangled between Lindsey's legs for several seconds before falling
to the floor. Lindsey blinked and without a moment's hesitation, he stomped
on the offending member like a roach. He felt a bone crunch under his foot.

Slowly, he took a step back and gingerly regarded his lost hand. The blue,
pulsing vein was visible through the palm, but the hand did not move.
Lindsey carefully crouched over it, examining the strange phenomena.

The middle finger slowly rose up, slightly crooked from the broken bone,
using the only expression it could to tell Lindsey what it thought of him.
Lindsey reared back in surprise, and the hand flipped over to hobble away on
its broken fingers.

"Not so fast, you little fucker," Lindsey muttered as he stomped on his hand
again. He could almost hear it squeal in pain. Not allowing it to escape, he
scooped it up and carried it by the thumb to his kitchen.

He flipped on the overhead light with his bandaged stump, inadvertently
turning on the garbage disposal. Having an idea, Lindsey dropped the hand in
the sink and shoved it down the drain.

The blades of the garbage disposal caught on bone and cartilage, growling
angrily as it chewed at the flesh. Blood and pus spurted into Lindsey's
face, and he laughed maniacally.

"Die, you fucker!" he chortled over the noise, one day hoping he'd be able
to do this to Angel's hand.

When the grinding noise dropped to a low whirl, Lindsey turned on the faucet
and washed out the sink. He cleaned his face and his body, and only then did
it sink in that he would never have his hand reattached.

And it was all Angel's fault.