keelywolfe (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
keelywolfe) wrote2004-06-17 01:58 pm
keelywolfe) wrote2004-06-17 01:58 pm
Entry tags:
Angel/Doyle, NC-17, Strawberry Fields, 3/?
My cable is out because of some problem from the storms we've been having, so I won't be online much the next few days except to check my mail, so if anyone misses me that's what's up. ^_^
Title: Strawberry Fields, 3/?
Author: Keelywolfe
Series: Angel
Pairing: Angel/Doyle
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: So not mine. Not even vaguelly mine. (Gee, it's only taken me what, four years to write Angel and Doyle? Not dating myself or anything.) Apologies to the Beatles from whom I stole the title.
Summary: Set after Bachelor's Party, with the slight AU of Doyle not getting the 'Save Buffy at Thanksgiving' vibe yet.
He'd always thought he'd seen the worst in his lifetime. During his time, Angel had seen war and plague, famine and filth. He had seen death in flowing rivers of blood, a greater portion of it inflicted by him. He'd slaughtered the friends of the love of his life, tortured her mentor and seen the burning pits of Hell itself. Somehow, none of it had prepared him for listening to a Kroyak demon singing 'Jumping Jack Flash'. Singing being used in the loosest sense of the word.
The demon was gamely honking its way through the song and not altogether poorly when you considered that it didn't have what could be called a working mouth. Otherwise, Angel suspected that the thinning crowd would consist of one vampire and one half-demon, possibly the bartender. The owner of this bar would probably make a fortune selling earplugs at the door.
Angel took a sip from his drink, barely enough to taste the liquor. He'd been nursing this same glass since they got there a few hours ago and it was just barely half-full. The other side of the table was littered with smaller glasses, empty of the double shots that had been in each one. It barely seemed to have affected Doyle. He was sitting quietly, watching the Kroyak like this was a particularly good off-Broadway play.
The rest of the patrons were watching with varying degrees of disinterest/polite attention. Angel gamely tried not to notice the various demons around them; at least half he would have killed if he'd bumped into them on the street. There was something surreal and disturbing about just sitting here with them drinking their various liquors and other fluids. He grimaced, squeezing the glass in his hand until he felt it start to tremor on the breaking point. Or not maybe not so surreal. More like a memory from the past century, buying a drink for a pretty girl and leading her away to a darker corner.
A particularly sour note had Angel rubbing his temples, trying to look at Doyle without seeming to look at him. They'd barely spoken a word since Doyle had left the night before, his clothes clinging to him and his hair still dripping from the shower. He'd walked to the elevator steadily enough, and just before he closed the door, he'd looked up, his pale face all dark hair and eyes. Then he was gone, without saying a word.
Angel wondered if it had made it hard to come back tonight. He'd been expecting Doyle, of course he had, had spent the entire day trying to think of something to say. Something reasonable and gentle, something that would help Doyle stay calm until the figured out what they could do about this. Something that wouldn't draw attention to the fact that Angel got hard any time he remembered what'd they'd done. Insane hormones aside, they couldn't keep on like this.
It was this strained silence that was the worst of it, hurting him more than he would have considered. When he'd first come to LA, Angel hadn't realized how lonely he had been, how desperate for company before Doyle had put in his unexpected appearance. Somewhere between his easy smile and his laidback attitude, he'd become a friend. More than any amount of sex, no matter what his body thought about it, he wanted his friend back, and the thought that this bizarre aberration in their relationship had ruined their friendship didn't bear thinking about.
This whole situation was making his head ache worse than the singing.
Doyle was getting a fresh drink from the waitress, another glass brimming with whiskey, and Angel made a mental note to ask her about the tab. The very least he could do was pay the bill, even though it looked like Doyle wasn't a very cheap date. His mind shied from the word 'date' and went back to the matter at hand; staring at Doyle without letting him know about it.
It wasn't that difficult. Doyle was slouched back in his chair, drink in hand, and he never looked away from the stage. Now it was a Y'rrk demon, singing a decent version of 'Proud Mary', her damp proboscis curling up and down to the beat. He wondered idly where Doyle found those shirts he always wore. Tonight he was wearing the one he'd had one when they'd met, brilliantly red to Angel's eyes and it drew him automatically in the most primal of ways. Strange how he knew in his head vampires were drawn to bright colors and yet, knowing it didn't make it easier to resist. His eyes always strayed back to that shirt, the mesmerizing pull of it.
Doyle seemed to have a never ending collection of those bright, ugly shirts. Maybe it was just part of his destiny to follow strange men with a poor sense of fashion. Then again, he'd never had to sleep with Whistler.
A hand appeared on the back of Doyle's chair and Angel stiffened, resisting the urge to remove it physically. Doyle had told him before they got here, his voice stilted and his eyes down, that there was someone at this bar who might be able to give them some insight on the situation. They probably wouldn't be as willing to help if Angel removed their arm. The arm in question was attached to a demon of a type Angel didn't recognize, green with red eyes and in a suit that made Doyle's clothes look sedate in comparison. He smiled down at Doyle, swirling the sweet-scented drink in his other hand. "I was wondering when we'd see you again. You didn't stay for the encore last time."
Even after their long wait, Doyle didn't seem eager to chat. He kept his eyes on his drink, downing the last of it before he managed, "What, you didn't know I'd be back?"
The demon laughed lightly. "Well, someone's in a mood tonight, aren't we." He shook his head and moved to sit across from them, lounging in the chair easily. Setting his drink aside, he reached out took Doyle's hand in both of his own, squeezing gently. Angel ground his teeth and looked away. Instincts, he told himself. Vampires were notoriously fickle about sharing and his demon seemed to think Doyle was his. Better to tame it back now before it started wanting him to go shopping for matching bloodstained his and his towels.
Their host's expression was filled with a worrying amount of sympathy. "Doyle, honey, shamrock, much as I appreciate how good you are for business," he circled a finger over the rim of one of the numerous glasses and a wavering note rang out. "You're wasting your time."
"Can't tell me what I need to know," Doyle said tiredly. He looked somehow smaller, hunching into himself and it was difficult not to touch, to soothe. Angel resisted the urge, uncertain as to how Doyle would take it and realized that before all this he never would have hesitated. It made the ache in his chest sharpen.
"Of course I can, but I'm not the only one who's taken a sip from the foretelling pool. Sweetie, you already know what I'm going to say." The demon's eyes were surprisingly gentle and met Doyle's steadily. "You just don't want to hear me say it."
Doyle's mouth tightened and he pulled his hand free to stumble off in the direction of the bar. Angel started to go after him but a hand on his arm gave him pause, gesturing for him to stay sitting. Slowly, Angel lowered himself back into his chair. The demon sighed and shook his head. "Sweet kid, but once he gets that temper up." He clicked his tongue in dismay. "Well, big guy, it doesn't look like he wants to dish to you."
"What do you mean?"
The demon gave him a wry smile. "If he'd told you everything, do you really think you'd be here right now?"
Fair enough. "So can you tell me what's going on?"
"I could. For a song." Angel looked at him blankly and he rolled his eyes, gesturing to a waitress, "Dee, get me a refill and I'll be yours for life. Look, here's the way it works," he explained patiently. "You get up on stage and sing me a little tune, and I give you a little insider information on your problem."
There wasn't a description for the terror that idea filled him with. He'd almost rather spent five minutes in a tanning bed because at least then the pain would end quickly if a little dusty. Something niggled in his memory, the demon's perplexing conversation with Doyle. "But you said Doyle already knows what's going on. I could just wait for him to tell me."
The host laughed. "Got me there big guy. I was wondering if you'd catch it. Tell you what, I'm getting to like you, so instead of making you wait for short, dark, and pissed over there, I'll fill you in. The Powers are afraid you might get distracted by a pretty face while you're busy with the hero bit, so they decided to give you and Doyle something to do. To keep you," he coughed delicately. "Occupied."
"That's ridiculous," Angel sputtered. Wonderful, now he had cosmic forces governing his relationships as well as his life in general. He wondered if he'd be better off leaving out an organizer for them to fill at their leisure. He leaned closer, whispering fiercely, "I don't have any plans on getting involved with anyone. I help people and I read books. I don't date."
"And I'm sure your last relationship went exactly as you planned it," the demon replied dryly. He raised his hands defensively when Angel would have burst out a reply. "Calm down, lover, I don't know a bit about it but I've been at this gig a little while now. You don't get to peek at the various auras of worlds without realizing that happily ever after is only good in Hollywood. And this is LA, honey."
He sighed deeply and looked up at the stage, eyes resting briefly on the latest singer. "We're going to have to speed things up a bit. To shorten an already long story, they started to send the visions to your walking satellite dish over there to get the two of you between the sheets."
"But why Doyle? Neither of us are...gay." He stumbled over the word and was glad he couldn't blush.
The demon shrugged. "I can only give you the condiments; I can't make the whole enchilada for you. I can tell you this," His voice became one of apologetic sympathy. "If you two don't keep doing the horizontal mambo, the visions will keep coming." Rising, the demon patted Angel on one shoulder before adding, "Good luck, and stop by again."
Angel sat there for a little longer, listening to the last chorus of 'Crimson and Clover.' Then he stood up and went to look for his friend.
He was easy enough to find, slouched against the bar with a drink in his hand. For the first time that night, there was still liquor in it, and Doyle was twisting it in his hands, watching the tiny waves against the sides of the glass. The seat next to him wasn't empty but the vampire sitting in it vacated quickly when Angel looked at him. He sat down next to Doyle and watched him toy with the glass, and couldn’t think of anything to say.
He settled on a banal, "Are you all right?", wincing at how weak it sounded.
"Am I all right?" Doyle laughed, the sound hard and bitter. "Am I all right. You know, I don't believe I am all right, and do you wanna hear why?" He slammed the glass down on the bar, a wash of liquid spilling unnoticed over his hand. "Because I love women," he said fiercely. "Small ones and big ones and anythin' in between! I love tits and strip clubs but because the Powers That Fucking Be seem to think it's for the best," he spat. "I have to spend my nights bending over for you, playing drop the soap!"
Doyle looked around, suddenly noticing the entire bar was silent and staring at him. "What?" he snarled, "None of you have problems?" He snatched his coat off the bar and stormed off towards the door, demons parting the way in front of him like water.
Angel wished very, very much that changing into a bat had really been part of the vampire package. He managed a weak smile for the demons still staring at him and after a moment, the music slowly wavered back into existence. Picking up the abandoned glass, he tossed back the rest of Doyle's drink, choking briefly on the cheap scotch.
"Can I get another?" he called to the bartender. She shuffled over to him, her one eye glistening and wary, and set the bottle on the counter.
"Keep it."
He was surprised to find Doyle sitting in his living room when he got home, although perhaps he shouldn't have been. The slightly abused sofa was back in it's normal spot, scrubbed fresh with Resolve. Doyle was sitting in one of the side chairs, his head tilted back so he could stare unblinking at the ceiling.
Angel walked past him and hung up his coat. He was trying not to linger at it, hating this unbearable awkwardness. Back in the living room, he sat in the chair across from Doyle's because he always seemed to loom when he was standing.
"I thought you went home," Angel said finally, quietly.
Doyle made a sound that might have been a tired laugh. "Why bother? We both know I'd be back. Least this way I don't need to find another parking space." He traced a slow pattern on the leather arm of the chair with the tip of a finger, dreamy and slow. "He told you, didn't he."
Angel didn't see any point in denying it. "Yeah."
"Yeah," Doyle breathed slowly. "Saw him the other night and I knew he knew, I just—" He closed his eyes and shook his head.
"Look," Angel raked a hand through his hair, tearing through gel-crisp tangles. "Shouldn't we make the best of this? I mean, I'm not really looking forward to having to do this every night for however long they expect us to do it, but—"
Doyle cut him off with a laugh, and it was like the creaking of branches, rattling with ice. "No? You're the one who gets to take a vacation up the back road every night."
He shouldn't have been so shocked, hurt, even as it made guilt blossom in him, because hadn't he enjoyed it, wanted it again…"I'm not any more comfortable with this than you are," Angel said, harsher than he'd intended. "But I don't understand why you're so...this isn't my fault, Doyle. What do you want me to do?" Doyle just stared at him, something like hate in his eyes and, God, that hurt, and how was this supposed to keep him from being distracted from his mission. "You want to come here and make me rape you every night, is that it?"
"Make you rape me. I like that." There was a flicker of red in Doyle's eyes, a reminder of his demon ancestry and for a minute Angel thought Doyle was going to attack him. Wished he would, wished they could just do it and get it over with. He'd always been better at battling with his hands than with words. But Doyle wasn't finished, too much pain from the past week boiling into his words. "It's not your fault? Bullshit to that, if you're not the star of this fucking movie then who is? It's sure not me. You're the hero, babe," he sneered. "You're the one who's special. I'm just the little sidekick fucktoy."
It drew the rising anger out of him like a puncture wound, leaving him empty and tired, and Angel looked away, pressed a shaking hand to his forehead. A soft touch startled him and he looked up to see Doyle standing in front him. His eyes were bloodshot, the red in them this time from simple exhaustion and humanity. He looked lost and this was the Francis in him, so rarely seen, the one who looked barely old enough to legally buy beer, the schoolteacher whose life took a turn. He pulled his hand from Angel's arm and shoved both hands into his pockets, his eyes never leaving Angel's.
"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I had no right to say that." Angel was reminded of the first time he'd met Doyle, his easy honesty so long as it was nothing to do with himself.
"Yes, you did. You're right, you are here because of me."
Doyle snorted and rolled his eyes, slouching back into his chair. "Yeah, maybe, but not directly, like. I doubt you yelled to the heavens that you wanted a half-demon to make squooshing noises with at night." Doyle shot him a look of amused doubtfulness. "Did you?"
Angel smiled, a little. "No, I think I'd remember that." They sat in silence, more comfortable than not and Angel felt some of his tension easing, seeping out of him slowly and taking the beginnings of his headache with it. It finally occurred to him to ask a question he'd wondered about before. "How long have you been having these visions?"
Doyle didn't answer for a long time and Angel was beginning to think he'd fallen asleep when finally, "I had the first one just after we met. Wasn't so bad then. I'd get one every few weeks, brush it off. This last week though…" he shuddered silently.
The soft call of his pain pulled Angel to his feet and he moved slowly, sliding across the floor until he was kneeling at Doyle's feet. His eyes were unreadable but he didn't flinch when Angel laid tentative hands on his knees. He put his own hands over them and they moved restlessly, uncertain as to whether they were pushing away or not.
"Atonements a tough thing," Doyle said with weak humor. "But I never expected I'd be putting gay half-demon seer on my resume, you know?"
"You're not gay."
"No?" he shook his head. "No, I know. It's just…I've been getting better at all this, what with living in California and all but where I grew up if there was even a hint that you were getting pelvic with another guy--"
"Doyle, no one has to know about this."
"'cepting all the demons that do." He brightened. "But not Cordy, right?"
"Not Cordy," Angel agreed, watching the flex of Doyle's throat as he swallowed. His lips were chapped and dry, and his tongue flicked out to wet them as Angel leaned in.
Doyle flinched, pulling back. "No, I can't…not…"
No kissing, all right then. Instead, he laid his head on Doyle's chest, listening to the speeding flutter of his heart. His shirt stank of cigarettes and whiskey and sweat, of reality, no sweetly perfumed flesh here and he pressed a kiss against it, felt the startlement in the body beneath him. Didn't care.
Silence was as good as permission and it was easy to flick open all the buttons, careful not to tear the shirt that he was growing fonder of every time he saw it. Red and red, parted to show white flesh beneath it and here was better, crisp hair against his chin. Much better, all the same smells but more underneath it. He could taste the first faint flickers of lust and that was good.
He felt Doyle inhale sharply as he moved on to the fly of his pants, easing down the zipper but still no protest. He had to trust Doyle to tell him to stop if he didn't want something, fast losing his own capacity to do so. The want that had been hammering at the bars within him was howling now in the back of his head, demanding that he do it, do something, do it, do it, doit.
Easy to slip his hands into the opening of Doyle's pants, felt him gasp at the coolness against his own hot skin. "Have you done anything like this before?" he murmured, already knowing the answer, wanting to hear it anyway.
"Angel," Doyle laughed weakly. "I hadn't done more than stand on the same carpet as another man before we started up."
"Mmmhmmm," Angel mumbled, pressing his face against Doyle's belly. He hadn't done much more than that, certainly not this, but the smell had been tempting him for days, since before he known what it was. He pushed Doyle's pants down a little more, felt him lift up a bit and try to help.
Angel let his eyes drift shut as he leaned in, let Doyle's cock paint a line of scalding wetness down his cheek as he rubbed softly against it. He could smell the blood, feel the pulse of it and was barely tempted. He'd been craving a taste of something else, laid the flat of his tongue against soft, soft skin and finally got it.
Doyle made a sound that he ignored, lost in the explosion of flavor across his tongue, and he wanted more. Took it deeper, let it glide slowly into his mouth. Strong flavor, rasping over his tongue and he sucked automatically, trying to get more.
"Christ!" Doyle's knees jackknifed up on either side of his head, accidentally pulling him down hard, and Angel was briefly glad he couldn't choke. Sucking, right, he was a vampire, suction he could do. Apparently, Doyle agreed, strangling out a shout, his hands scrabbling to clench into Angel's hair.
It was easy like this, with his eyes closed, and his hands clenched into fists, resting against Doyle's hips. Not holding him still just, holding, and he whimpered, actually whimpered a protest when Doyle pulled him off.
"Come on," he whispered, not quite into Angel's mouth, and pulled him along. Until they were in the bedroom and he could push Doyle down into the blankets, on his stomach and they both made sounds there in the dark, the bed creaking with them and the light wavered over sweat-slick skin like candlelight as Angel came to the sound of his own name on someone else's lips, almost like a prayer.
Apparently, when he wasn't dropping into unconsciousness or running out the door, Doyle was fairly chatty after sex. Angel didn't mind, lazily stroking his back and listening to Doyle talk. About his hometown, the dog he'd had when he was twelve, coming to the states; about what it was like to teach young children their letters and numbers; about the demons they'd fought the week before; about the new movie he'd been meaning to see, with that actress whose name Angel didn't recognize. A literal gush of information that made him smile and just listen, answering the occasional query.
One question made him pause. "Have you ever done this before?" Curiously.
"What, have sex with someone by the order of otherworldly beings?" he asked dryly. "Not as often as you'd think."
He jumped when Doyle bit him, actually sank his teeth into Angel's chest. It made his cock leap to attention with embarrassing eagerness and Angel shifted so the sheet hid it better. It was one thing to have sex once a night on demand; asking for seconds was pushing matters.
"I meant, have you ever been involved with another guy." Doyle was looking at him with great interest, apparently unperturbed by the thought that Angel might have been sleeping around with most of the men in Europe back in the day.
"Why is it that everyone thinks that about vampires these days?" Angel mused aloud to the ceiling. "Nobody used to ask me that." He frowned. "Of course, I didn't talk to people so much back then as—"
"Right, right, the good old bad days," Doyle interrupted, rolling his eyes. He shifted up so he was lying on Angel's chest, resting his chin on his folded hands. "Does that mean no?"
Angel shifted uncomfortably. "I may have, um, experimented a time or two," he admitted. "There was this one time with Spike." He yelped when Doyle bit him again, harder.
"Details would be a no," he said with a shudder. "I was just curious."
"Why?" Angel asked. "Have you?" Softly mocking because Doyle had answered this question once and he blinked in surprise when the answer changed.
"No more than a kiss, and that was because...never mind," Doyle muttered. Reluctantly intrigued, Angel lifted his head to look at Doyle better. He was blushing hotly.
"Because why?"
"I was trying not to come here, all right? Thought maybe if I, you know, got the rocks off with another guy it would help." He shrugged a little, ducking his head. "Changed my mind before I went through with it though."
"Your lip," Angel said slowly, remembering. "He hit you."
"Yeah, got me a good one," Doyle said ruefully. "But never fear, I fell down and had a ruddy awful vision and that scared the bejesus out of him. Took off and left me there and—hey, easy, man!"
With a bit of effort, Angel managed to force his demon face back. Doyle was looking at him with alarm, not quite as comfortable to be lying naked with a vampire as he had been a few minutes ago.
It hadn't been intentional, just thinking of some bastard punching Doyle, leaving him there convulsing on the ground while he gasped in pain. He could see it clearly for a moment, the sweat trailing down Doyle's face as he shook and that other man, the unknown one turning his back and running. Maybe afraid he'd done the damage and so he'd left him there to possibly die while he saved his own skin.
He was losing it again and Doyle was watching him with increasing nervousness, looking like he was half a minute from scrambling into his pants and out the door. Angel gave him what he hope was an apologetic look and after a moment, he crawled back. Angel pulled him against his chest and ran a soothing hand down his back, stroking him until he relaxed, his breathing even and deep. He thought Doyle was asleep until he spoke again, his breath warm on Angel's skin.
"Cordy was right," he said sleepily.
"You're in my bed thinking about Cordy?" Angel asked, amused.
"Mmmhmm. Don't worry, you're too tall for role playing. Said you were cuddly for a vampire, didn't she? She was right; you've been petting me like a hound dog for twenty minutes." Embarrassed, Angel started to pull away. "Didn't say you should stop," he yawned. A few minutes later, Angel knew he was asleep. It didn't take long for him to follow, drowsing slowly as he gently stroked Doyle's back and simply enjoyed having someone who cared, at least a little, so close to him.
end part 3
Title: Strawberry Fields, 3/?
Author: Keelywolfe
Series: Angel
Pairing: Angel/Doyle
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: So not mine. Not even vaguelly mine. (Gee, it's only taken me what, four years to write Angel and Doyle? Not dating myself or anything.) Apologies to the Beatles from whom I stole the title.
Summary: Set after Bachelor's Party, with the slight AU of Doyle not getting the 'Save Buffy at Thanksgiving' vibe yet.
~~*~~
He'd always thought he'd seen the worst in his lifetime. During his time, Angel had seen war and plague, famine and filth. He had seen death in flowing rivers of blood, a greater portion of it inflicted by him. He'd slaughtered the friends of the love of his life, tortured her mentor and seen the burning pits of Hell itself. Somehow, none of it had prepared him for listening to a Kroyak demon singing 'Jumping Jack Flash'. Singing being used in the loosest sense of the word.
The demon was gamely honking its way through the song and not altogether poorly when you considered that it didn't have what could be called a working mouth. Otherwise, Angel suspected that the thinning crowd would consist of one vampire and one half-demon, possibly the bartender. The owner of this bar would probably make a fortune selling earplugs at the door.
Angel took a sip from his drink, barely enough to taste the liquor. He'd been nursing this same glass since they got there a few hours ago and it was just barely half-full. The other side of the table was littered with smaller glasses, empty of the double shots that had been in each one. It barely seemed to have affected Doyle. He was sitting quietly, watching the Kroyak like this was a particularly good off-Broadway play.
The rest of the patrons were watching with varying degrees of disinterest/polite attention. Angel gamely tried not to notice the various demons around them; at least half he would have killed if he'd bumped into them on the street. There was something surreal and disturbing about just sitting here with them drinking their various liquors and other fluids. He grimaced, squeezing the glass in his hand until he felt it start to tremor on the breaking point. Or not maybe not so surreal. More like a memory from the past century, buying a drink for a pretty girl and leading her away to a darker corner.
A particularly sour note had Angel rubbing his temples, trying to look at Doyle without seeming to look at him. They'd barely spoken a word since Doyle had left the night before, his clothes clinging to him and his hair still dripping from the shower. He'd walked to the elevator steadily enough, and just before he closed the door, he'd looked up, his pale face all dark hair and eyes. Then he was gone, without saying a word.
Angel wondered if it had made it hard to come back tonight. He'd been expecting Doyle, of course he had, had spent the entire day trying to think of something to say. Something reasonable and gentle, something that would help Doyle stay calm until the figured out what they could do about this. Something that wouldn't draw attention to the fact that Angel got hard any time he remembered what'd they'd done. Insane hormones aside, they couldn't keep on like this.
It was this strained silence that was the worst of it, hurting him more than he would have considered. When he'd first come to LA, Angel hadn't realized how lonely he had been, how desperate for company before Doyle had put in his unexpected appearance. Somewhere between his easy smile and his laidback attitude, he'd become a friend. More than any amount of sex, no matter what his body thought about it, he wanted his friend back, and the thought that this bizarre aberration in their relationship had ruined their friendship didn't bear thinking about.
This whole situation was making his head ache worse than the singing.
Doyle was getting a fresh drink from the waitress, another glass brimming with whiskey, and Angel made a mental note to ask her about the tab. The very least he could do was pay the bill, even though it looked like Doyle wasn't a very cheap date. His mind shied from the word 'date' and went back to the matter at hand; staring at Doyle without letting him know about it.
It wasn't that difficult. Doyle was slouched back in his chair, drink in hand, and he never looked away from the stage. Now it was a Y'rrk demon, singing a decent version of 'Proud Mary', her damp proboscis curling up and down to the beat. He wondered idly where Doyle found those shirts he always wore. Tonight he was wearing the one he'd had one when they'd met, brilliantly red to Angel's eyes and it drew him automatically in the most primal of ways. Strange how he knew in his head vampires were drawn to bright colors and yet, knowing it didn't make it easier to resist. His eyes always strayed back to that shirt, the mesmerizing pull of it.
Doyle seemed to have a never ending collection of those bright, ugly shirts. Maybe it was just part of his destiny to follow strange men with a poor sense of fashion. Then again, he'd never had to sleep with Whistler.
A hand appeared on the back of Doyle's chair and Angel stiffened, resisting the urge to remove it physically. Doyle had told him before they got here, his voice stilted and his eyes down, that there was someone at this bar who might be able to give them some insight on the situation. They probably wouldn't be as willing to help if Angel removed their arm. The arm in question was attached to a demon of a type Angel didn't recognize, green with red eyes and in a suit that made Doyle's clothes look sedate in comparison. He smiled down at Doyle, swirling the sweet-scented drink in his other hand. "I was wondering when we'd see you again. You didn't stay for the encore last time."
Even after their long wait, Doyle didn't seem eager to chat. He kept his eyes on his drink, downing the last of it before he managed, "What, you didn't know I'd be back?"
The demon laughed lightly. "Well, someone's in a mood tonight, aren't we." He shook his head and moved to sit across from them, lounging in the chair easily. Setting his drink aside, he reached out took Doyle's hand in both of his own, squeezing gently. Angel ground his teeth and looked away. Instincts, he told himself. Vampires were notoriously fickle about sharing and his demon seemed to think Doyle was his. Better to tame it back now before it started wanting him to go shopping for matching bloodstained his and his towels.
Their host's expression was filled with a worrying amount of sympathy. "Doyle, honey, shamrock, much as I appreciate how good you are for business," he circled a finger over the rim of one of the numerous glasses and a wavering note rang out. "You're wasting your time."
"Can't tell me what I need to know," Doyle said tiredly. He looked somehow smaller, hunching into himself and it was difficult not to touch, to soothe. Angel resisted the urge, uncertain as to how Doyle would take it and realized that before all this he never would have hesitated. It made the ache in his chest sharpen.
"Of course I can, but I'm not the only one who's taken a sip from the foretelling pool. Sweetie, you already know what I'm going to say." The demon's eyes were surprisingly gentle and met Doyle's steadily. "You just don't want to hear me say it."
Doyle's mouth tightened and he pulled his hand free to stumble off in the direction of the bar. Angel started to go after him but a hand on his arm gave him pause, gesturing for him to stay sitting. Slowly, Angel lowered himself back into his chair. The demon sighed and shook his head. "Sweet kid, but once he gets that temper up." He clicked his tongue in dismay. "Well, big guy, it doesn't look like he wants to dish to you."
"What do you mean?"
The demon gave him a wry smile. "If he'd told you everything, do you really think you'd be here right now?"
Fair enough. "So can you tell me what's going on?"
"I could. For a song." Angel looked at him blankly and he rolled his eyes, gesturing to a waitress, "Dee, get me a refill and I'll be yours for life. Look, here's the way it works," he explained patiently. "You get up on stage and sing me a little tune, and I give you a little insider information on your problem."
There wasn't a description for the terror that idea filled him with. He'd almost rather spent five minutes in a tanning bed because at least then the pain would end quickly if a little dusty. Something niggled in his memory, the demon's perplexing conversation with Doyle. "But you said Doyle already knows what's going on. I could just wait for him to tell me."
The host laughed. "Got me there big guy. I was wondering if you'd catch it. Tell you what, I'm getting to like you, so instead of making you wait for short, dark, and pissed over there, I'll fill you in. The Powers are afraid you might get distracted by a pretty face while you're busy with the hero bit, so they decided to give you and Doyle something to do. To keep you," he coughed delicately. "Occupied."
"That's ridiculous," Angel sputtered. Wonderful, now he had cosmic forces governing his relationships as well as his life in general. He wondered if he'd be better off leaving out an organizer for them to fill at their leisure. He leaned closer, whispering fiercely, "I don't have any plans on getting involved with anyone. I help people and I read books. I don't date."
"And I'm sure your last relationship went exactly as you planned it," the demon replied dryly. He raised his hands defensively when Angel would have burst out a reply. "Calm down, lover, I don't know a bit about it but I've been at this gig a little while now. You don't get to peek at the various auras of worlds without realizing that happily ever after is only good in Hollywood. And this is LA, honey."
He sighed deeply and looked up at the stage, eyes resting briefly on the latest singer. "We're going to have to speed things up a bit. To shorten an already long story, they started to send the visions to your walking satellite dish over there to get the two of you between the sheets."
"But why Doyle? Neither of us are...gay." He stumbled over the word and was glad he couldn't blush.
The demon shrugged. "I can only give you the condiments; I can't make the whole enchilada for you. I can tell you this," His voice became one of apologetic sympathy. "If you two don't keep doing the horizontal mambo, the visions will keep coming." Rising, the demon patted Angel on one shoulder before adding, "Good luck, and stop by again."
Angel sat there for a little longer, listening to the last chorus of 'Crimson and Clover.' Then he stood up and went to look for his friend.
He was easy enough to find, slouched against the bar with a drink in his hand. For the first time that night, there was still liquor in it, and Doyle was twisting it in his hands, watching the tiny waves against the sides of the glass. The seat next to him wasn't empty but the vampire sitting in it vacated quickly when Angel looked at him. He sat down next to Doyle and watched him toy with the glass, and couldn’t think of anything to say.
He settled on a banal, "Are you all right?", wincing at how weak it sounded.
"Am I all right?" Doyle laughed, the sound hard and bitter. "Am I all right. You know, I don't believe I am all right, and do you wanna hear why?" He slammed the glass down on the bar, a wash of liquid spilling unnoticed over his hand. "Because I love women," he said fiercely. "Small ones and big ones and anythin' in between! I love tits and strip clubs but because the Powers That Fucking Be seem to think it's for the best," he spat. "I have to spend my nights bending over for you, playing drop the soap!"
Doyle looked around, suddenly noticing the entire bar was silent and staring at him. "What?" he snarled, "None of you have problems?" He snatched his coat off the bar and stormed off towards the door, demons parting the way in front of him like water.
Angel wished very, very much that changing into a bat had really been part of the vampire package. He managed a weak smile for the demons still staring at him and after a moment, the music slowly wavered back into existence. Picking up the abandoned glass, he tossed back the rest of Doyle's drink, choking briefly on the cheap scotch.
"Can I get another?" he called to the bartender. She shuffled over to him, her one eye glistening and wary, and set the bottle on the counter.
"Keep it."
~~*~~
He was surprised to find Doyle sitting in his living room when he got home, although perhaps he shouldn't have been. The slightly abused sofa was back in it's normal spot, scrubbed fresh with Resolve. Doyle was sitting in one of the side chairs, his head tilted back so he could stare unblinking at the ceiling.
Angel walked past him and hung up his coat. He was trying not to linger at it, hating this unbearable awkwardness. Back in the living room, he sat in the chair across from Doyle's because he always seemed to loom when he was standing.
"I thought you went home," Angel said finally, quietly.
Doyle made a sound that might have been a tired laugh. "Why bother? We both know I'd be back. Least this way I don't need to find another parking space." He traced a slow pattern on the leather arm of the chair with the tip of a finger, dreamy and slow. "He told you, didn't he."
Angel didn't see any point in denying it. "Yeah."
"Yeah," Doyle breathed slowly. "Saw him the other night and I knew he knew, I just—" He closed his eyes and shook his head.
"Look," Angel raked a hand through his hair, tearing through gel-crisp tangles. "Shouldn't we make the best of this? I mean, I'm not really looking forward to having to do this every night for however long they expect us to do it, but—"
Doyle cut him off with a laugh, and it was like the creaking of branches, rattling with ice. "No? You're the one who gets to take a vacation up the back road every night."
He shouldn't have been so shocked, hurt, even as it made guilt blossom in him, because hadn't he enjoyed it, wanted it again…"I'm not any more comfortable with this than you are," Angel said, harsher than he'd intended. "But I don't understand why you're so...this isn't my fault, Doyle. What do you want me to do?" Doyle just stared at him, something like hate in his eyes and, God, that hurt, and how was this supposed to keep him from being distracted from his mission. "You want to come here and make me rape you every night, is that it?"
"Make you rape me. I like that." There was a flicker of red in Doyle's eyes, a reminder of his demon ancestry and for a minute Angel thought Doyle was going to attack him. Wished he would, wished they could just do it and get it over with. He'd always been better at battling with his hands than with words. But Doyle wasn't finished, too much pain from the past week boiling into his words. "It's not your fault? Bullshit to that, if you're not the star of this fucking movie then who is? It's sure not me. You're the hero, babe," he sneered. "You're the one who's special. I'm just the little sidekick fucktoy."
It drew the rising anger out of him like a puncture wound, leaving him empty and tired, and Angel looked away, pressed a shaking hand to his forehead. A soft touch startled him and he looked up to see Doyle standing in front him. His eyes were bloodshot, the red in them this time from simple exhaustion and humanity. He looked lost and this was the Francis in him, so rarely seen, the one who looked barely old enough to legally buy beer, the schoolteacher whose life took a turn. He pulled his hand from Angel's arm and shoved both hands into his pockets, his eyes never leaving Angel's.
"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I had no right to say that." Angel was reminded of the first time he'd met Doyle, his easy honesty so long as it was nothing to do with himself.
"Yes, you did. You're right, you are here because of me."
Doyle snorted and rolled his eyes, slouching back into his chair. "Yeah, maybe, but not directly, like. I doubt you yelled to the heavens that you wanted a half-demon to make squooshing noises with at night." Doyle shot him a look of amused doubtfulness. "Did you?"
Angel smiled, a little. "No, I think I'd remember that." They sat in silence, more comfortable than not and Angel felt some of his tension easing, seeping out of him slowly and taking the beginnings of his headache with it. It finally occurred to him to ask a question he'd wondered about before. "How long have you been having these visions?"
Doyle didn't answer for a long time and Angel was beginning to think he'd fallen asleep when finally, "I had the first one just after we met. Wasn't so bad then. I'd get one every few weeks, brush it off. This last week though…" he shuddered silently.
The soft call of his pain pulled Angel to his feet and he moved slowly, sliding across the floor until he was kneeling at Doyle's feet. His eyes were unreadable but he didn't flinch when Angel laid tentative hands on his knees. He put his own hands over them and they moved restlessly, uncertain as to whether they were pushing away or not.
"Atonements a tough thing," Doyle said with weak humor. "But I never expected I'd be putting gay half-demon seer on my resume, you know?"
"You're not gay."
"No?" he shook his head. "No, I know. It's just…I've been getting better at all this, what with living in California and all but where I grew up if there was even a hint that you were getting pelvic with another guy--"
"Doyle, no one has to know about this."
"'cepting all the demons that do." He brightened. "But not Cordy, right?"
"Not Cordy," Angel agreed, watching the flex of Doyle's throat as he swallowed. His lips were chapped and dry, and his tongue flicked out to wet them as Angel leaned in.
Doyle flinched, pulling back. "No, I can't…not…"
No kissing, all right then. Instead, he laid his head on Doyle's chest, listening to the speeding flutter of his heart. His shirt stank of cigarettes and whiskey and sweat, of reality, no sweetly perfumed flesh here and he pressed a kiss against it, felt the startlement in the body beneath him. Didn't care.
Silence was as good as permission and it was easy to flick open all the buttons, careful not to tear the shirt that he was growing fonder of every time he saw it. Red and red, parted to show white flesh beneath it and here was better, crisp hair against his chin. Much better, all the same smells but more underneath it. He could taste the first faint flickers of lust and that was good.
He felt Doyle inhale sharply as he moved on to the fly of his pants, easing down the zipper but still no protest. He had to trust Doyle to tell him to stop if he didn't want something, fast losing his own capacity to do so. The want that had been hammering at the bars within him was howling now in the back of his head, demanding that he do it, do something, do it, do it, doit.
Easy to slip his hands into the opening of Doyle's pants, felt him gasp at the coolness against his own hot skin. "Have you done anything like this before?" he murmured, already knowing the answer, wanting to hear it anyway.
"Angel," Doyle laughed weakly. "I hadn't done more than stand on the same carpet as another man before we started up."
"Mmmhmmm," Angel mumbled, pressing his face against Doyle's belly. He hadn't done much more than that, certainly not this, but the smell had been tempting him for days, since before he known what it was. He pushed Doyle's pants down a little more, felt him lift up a bit and try to help.
Angel let his eyes drift shut as he leaned in, let Doyle's cock paint a line of scalding wetness down his cheek as he rubbed softly against it. He could smell the blood, feel the pulse of it and was barely tempted. He'd been craving a taste of something else, laid the flat of his tongue against soft, soft skin and finally got it.
Doyle made a sound that he ignored, lost in the explosion of flavor across his tongue, and he wanted more. Took it deeper, let it glide slowly into his mouth. Strong flavor, rasping over his tongue and he sucked automatically, trying to get more.
"Christ!" Doyle's knees jackknifed up on either side of his head, accidentally pulling him down hard, and Angel was briefly glad he couldn't choke. Sucking, right, he was a vampire, suction he could do. Apparently, Doyle agreed, strangling out a shout, his hands scrabbling to clench into Angel's hair.
It was easy like this, with his eyes closed, and his hands clenched into fists, resting against Doyle's hips. Not holding him still just, holding, and he whimpered, actually whimpered a protest when Doyle pulled him off.
"Come on," he whispered, not quite into Angel's mouth, and pulled him along. Until they were in the bedroom and he could push Doyle down into the blankets, on his stomach and they both made sounds there in the dark, the bed creaking with them and the light wavered over sweat-slick skin like candlelight as Angel came to the sound of his own name on someone else's lips, almost like a prayer.
~~*~~
Apparently, when he wasn't dropping into unconsciousness or running out the door, Doyle was fairly chatty after sex. Angel didn't mind, lazily stroking his back and listening to Doyle talk. About his hometown, the dog he'd had when he was twelve, coming to the states; about what it was like to teach young children their letters and numbers; about the demons they'd fought the week before; about the new movie he'd been meaning to see, with that actress whose name Angel didn't recognize. A literal gush of information that made him smile and just listen, answering the occasional query.
One question made him pause. "Have you ever done this before?" Curiously.
"What, have sex with someone by the order of otherworldly beings?" he asked dryly. "Not as often as you'd think."
He jumped when Doyle bit him, actually sank his teeth into Angel's chest. It made his cock leap to attention with embarrassing eagerness and Angel shifted so the sheet hid it better. It was one thing to have sex once a night on demand; asking for seconds was pushing matters.
"I meant, have you ever been involved with another guy." Doyle was looking at him with great interest, apparently unperturbed by the thought that Angel might have been sleeping around with most of the men in Europe back in the day.
"Why is it that everyone thinks that about vampires these days?" Angel mused aloud to the ceiling. "Nobody used to ask me that." He frowned. "Of course, I didn't talk to people so much back then as—"
"Right, right, the good old bad days," Doyle interrupted, rolling his eyes. He shifted up so he was lying on Angel's chest, resting his chin on his folded hands. "Does that mean no?"
Angel shifted uncomfortably. "I may have, um, experimented a time or two," he admitted. "There was this one time with Spike." He yelped when Doyle bit him again, harder.
"Details would be a no," he said with a shudder. "I was just curious."
"Why?" Angel asked. "Have you?" Softly mocking because Doyle had answered this question once and he blinked in surprise when the answer changed.
"No more than a kiss, and that was because...never mind," Doyle muttered. Reluctantly intrigued, Angel lifted his head to look at Doyle better. He was blushing hotly.
"Because why?"
"I was trying not to come here, all right? Thought maybe if I, you know, got the rocks off with another guy it would help." He shrugged a little, ducking his head. "Changed my mind before I went through with it though."
"Your lip," Angel said slowly, remembering. "He hit you."
"Yeah, got me a good one," Doyle said ruefully. "But never fear, I fell down and had a ruddy awful vision and that scared the bejesus out of him. Took off and left me there and—hey, easy, man!"
With a bit of effort, Angel managed to force his demon face back. Doyle was looking at him with alarm, not quite as comfortable to be lying naked with a vampire as he had been a few minutes ago.
It hadn't been intentional, just thinking of some bastard punching Doyle, leaving him there convulsing on the ground while he gasped in pain. He could see it clearly for a moment, the sweat trailing down Doyle's face as he shook and that other man, the unknown one turning his back and running. Maybe afraid he'd done the damage and so he'd left him there to possibly die while he saved his own skin.
He was losing it again and Doyle was watching him with increasing nervousness, looking like he was half a minute from scrambling into his pants and out the door. Angel gave him what he hope was an apologetic look and after a moment, he crawled back. Angel pulled him against his chest and ran a soothing hand down his back, stroking him until he relaxed, his breathing even and deep. He thought Doyle was asleep until he spoke again, his breath warm on Angel's skin.
"Cordy was right," he said sleepily.
"You're in my bed thinking about Cordy?" Angel asked, amused.
"Mmmhmm. Don't worry, you're too tall for role playing. Said you were cuddly for a vampire, didn't she? She was right; you've been petting me like a hound dog for twenty minutes." Embarrassed, Angel started to pull away. "Didn't say you should stop," he yawned. A few minutes later, Angel knew he was asleep. It didn't take long for him to follow, drowsing slowly as he gently stroked Doyle's back and simply enjoyed having someone who cared, at least a little, so close to him.
end part 3
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*Hugs*
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BTW, I love your icon. *G*
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"Why is it that everyone thinks that about vampires these days?" Angel mused aloud to the ceiling. "Nobody used to ask me that."
*snerk* Poor Angel. It's all Anne Rice's fault.
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Though I have to wonder about the Powers That Be, really. I mean, who'd have thought they were slash writers? *g*
But of course they would be. ^_~
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Oh, not at all, it's a relief to hear that each section works on its own. Thank you. :)