keelywolfe (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
keelywolfe) wrote2004-07-11 10:22 pm
keelywolfe) wrote2004-07-11 10:22 pm
Entry tags:
Angel/Doyle, NC-17, Strawberry Fields, 7/?
I'm sorry this chapter is shorter than usual, but my hand seems to be attempting to turn itself inside out and, well, this segment doesn't fit with the next one so it's on its own. *G*
Title: Strawberry Fields, 7/?
Author: Keelywolfe
Series: Angel
Pairing: Angel/Doyle
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Any latecomers can find all the other parts here.
In his dream, he was fever-hot, damp with sweat although his real memories of being feverish were old and crumbled to dust. He had been a kind of ill not all that long ago, shivering with heat and poison but that had been a deep, sickly heat, blurred with delirium.
Angel woke enough to realize the heat was from Doyle and one side of him plastered to the blankets with sweat that wasn't his own. For some reason Doyle had decided on wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants to bed and he was apparently baking in them; his face was flushed and most of him was damp with sweat. It filled Angel with a resigned exasperation that he chose to ignore, for now. Sleeping with someone else always had a share of discomforts. With Doyle it was apparently going to be a nightlong sauna.
There was a cheap plastic clock near the bed, its glaring numbers declaring that it was just past ten am. That meant he'd only slept for about four hours and his body was decidedly unhappy about that. It didn't matter; his dreams had been unsettling and they were already starting to fade from his memory.
It was easier to forget when Doyle made a tired, snuffling sort of noise and nudged closer. One of his legs was thrown over Angel's and he was pressed firmly against his hip, shifting gradually until Angel could feel the hard press of his morning erection. Morning wood, his brain blared at him, apparently deciding to be vulgar today. A piss hard-on, such a human thing and it made a response echo in him, dull warmth low in his stomach even though the past week should have left him ready for another century of abstinence.
He wondered idly if it was because they were guys that they were so eager for the sex, wanting more as they got more, or maybe Doyle woke up like this every morning. He was young enough that it wasn't strange. There was something to be said for it, anyway, something good.
One of Doyle's arms was draped over him, fingers resting lightly on Angel's belly and it was easy to push it lower, to tug his boxers out of the way and wrap their combined hands around his cock. Doyle's palm was hot and damp from sleep, and Angel pulled him closer, sighing into his hair. If Doyle was still asleep, maybe he could pretend to still be asleep and they could both pretend that this was just fine.
Doyle grunted and moved against him more deliberately, his hand tightening infinitesimally. His shirt was riding up and Angel found the edge with his free hand, fumbled beneath it to touch the smooth skin at the small of Doyle's back, resisting the temptation to slide his hand lower. Forced himself to be satisfied with just this.
The phone rang and they both startled, would have separated if Angel hadn't tightened his arm around Doyle. His hand was sticky as he pulled it away from Doyle's and snatched up the receiver. He expected Doyle to stop, to pull his hand free and stumble off to the bathroom, had to close his eyes when he didn't. His touch lightened briefly, uncertainly, before it tightened and moved with true purpose. Angel nearly forgot he was holding the phone.
"Hello?" Angel said hoarsely. He cleared his throat before he tried again. "Hello?"
"Angel? This is Giles."
Like anyone else would call. "What's going on?"
"Firstly, don't panic. Buffy is fine, but she was attacked. And I'm afraid your Father Gabriel is dead."
"She's not hurt?" He thought of Buffy as the hand around him tightened, the soft, tentative rub of a broad thumb just beneath the tip nearly an agony.
"No, no, but it seems we are dealing with some sort of vengeance demon." She'd been beautiful, the one time they had been together. Slim fingers touching him, nervous and eager at the same time and her mouth had tasted like bitter lipstick and innocence. The rest of her had only tasted light and womanly, a familiar melting sweetness with nothing unusual to declare her a slayer. It came to him that she would have liked that idea.
The sound Doyle made was nearly a whine, louder than his breathing and Angel yanked his hand from under Doyle's shirt and covered his mouth instead, felt stubble scraping his palm, a merciless sign of his masculinity. She had flinched when he first pushed inside and it hadn't been pain, he knew, just a pained catch of fear. Not of him, no, not then, fear of the unknown, the same simple emotion of any girl who was losing her virginity. Only it had been hers and he'd tasted her fear the same way he'd tasted her skin, and had only loved her more.
"Apparently, we're all to meet over here," Giles sounded resigned and Angel made a sound of agreement, wondered exactly what he was trying to convey and didn't care. "Angel? Are you still there?"
The voice buzzing in his ear was just a reminder, a puzzle piece from the town he'd been unable to leave behind. He'd heard that voice screaming once, in pain, he'd caused that pain and God, don't think of that, not now. Doyle's breath was hot and moist against his palm, coming in quick spurts.
"Yes," he said, sounding strangely, utterly normal and he thought of Buffy's eyes, about the way she smelled after she'd been fighting vampires, like sweat and lust, about the one time she'd been beneath him, and he arched off the bed and came into the warm cup of the hand surrounding him. He felt the sudden rush of heat against his hip, the choked off moan as Doyle followed him and there was no sweet womanly scent, only semen, glossy-wet and heavy.
"We'll meet you in twenty minutes or so," Angel told the voice on the other end of the phone and he set the receiver down gently. Reached down and rubbed his thumb through the slick mess in Doyle's palm. He said, quietly, "We need to get going."
"Yeah," Doyle sat up, his back to Angel as he gathered clean clothes and went to the bathroom. The click of the shutting door made him close his eyes again, and he thought of Buffy and wondered what the hell he was going to do.
end chapter
Title: Strawberry Fields, 7/?
Author: Keelywolfe
Series: Angel
Pairing: Angel/Doyle
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Any latecomers can find all the other parts here.
~~*~~
In his dream, he was fever-hot, damp with sweat although his real memories of being feverish were old and crumbled to dust. He had been a kind of ill not all that long ago, shivering with heat and poison but that had been a deep, sickly heat, blurred with delirium.
Angel woke enough to realize the heat was from Doyle and one side of him plastered to the blankets with sweat that wasn't his own. For some reason Doyle had decided on wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants to bed and he was apparently baking in them; his face was flushed and most of him was damp with sweat. It filled Angel with a resigned exasperation that he chose to ignore, for now. Sleeping with someone else always had a share of discomforts. With Doyle it was apparently going to be a nightlong sauna.
There was a cheap plastic clock near the bed, its glaring numbers declaring that it was just past ten am. That meant he'd only slept for about four hours and his body was decidedly unhappy about that. It didn't matter; his dreams had been unsettling and they were already starting to fade from his memory.
It was easier to forget when Doyle made a tired, snuffling sort of noise and nudged closer. One of his legs was thrown over Angel's and he was pressed firmly against his hip, shifting gradually until Angel could feel the hard press of his morning erection. Morning wood, his brain blared at him, apparently deciding to be vulgar today. A piss hard-on, such a human thing and it made a response echo in him, dull warmth low in his stomach even though the past week should have left him ready for another century of abstinence.
He wondered idly if it was because they were guys that they were so eager for the sex, wanting more as they got more, or maybe Doyle woke up like this every morning. He was young enough that it wasn't strange. There was something to be said for it, anyway, something good.
One of Doyle's arms was draped over him, fingers resting lightly on Angel's belly and it was easy to push it lower, to tug his boxers out of the way and wrap their combined hands around his cock. Doyle's palm was hot and damp from sleep, and Angel pulled him closer, sighing into his hair. If Doyle was still asleep, maybe he could pretend to still be asleep and they could both pretend that this was just fine.
Doyle grunted and moved against him more deliberately, his hand tightening infinitesimally. His shirt was riding up and Angel found the edge with his free hand, fumbled beneath it to touch the smooth skin at the small of Doyle's back, resisting the temptation to slide his hand lower. Forced himself to be satisfied with just this.
The phone rang and they both startled, would have separated if Angel hadn't tightened his arm around Doyle. His hand was sticky as he pulled it away from Doyle's and snatched up the receiver. He expected Doyle to stop, to pull his hand free and stumble off to the bathroom, had to close his eyes when he didn't. His touch lightened briefly, uncertainly, before it tightened and moved with true purpose. Angel nearly forgot he was holding the phone.
"Hello?" Angel said hoarsely. He cleared his throat before he tried again. "Hello?"
"Angel? This is Giles."
Like anyone else would call. "What's going on?"
"Firstly, don't panic. Buffy is fine, but she was attacked. And I'm afraid your Father Gabriel is dead."
"She's not hurt?" He thought of Buffy as the hand around him tightened, the soft, tentative rub of a broad thumb just beneath the tip nearly an agony.
"No, no, but it seems we are dealing with some sort of vengeance demon." She'd been beautiful, the one time they had been together. Slim fingers touching him, nervous and eager at the same time and her mouth had tasted like bitter lipstick and innocence. The rest of her had only tasted light and womanly, a familiar melting sweetness with nothing unusual to declare her a slayer. It came to him that she would have liked that idea.
The sound Doyle made was nearly a whine, louder than his breathing and Angel yanked his hand from under Doyle's shirt and covered his mouth instead, felt stubble scraping his palm, a merciless sign of his masculinity. She had flinched when he first pushed inside and it hadn't been pain, he knew, just a pained catch of fear. Not of him, no, not then, fear of the unknown, the same simple emotion of any girl who was losing her virginity. Only it had been hers and he'd tasted her fear the same way he'd tasted her skin, and had only loved her more.
"Apparently, we're all to meet over here," Giles sounded resigned and Angel made a sound of agreement, wondered exactly what he was trying to convey and didn't care. "Angel? Are you still there?"
The voice buzzing in his ear was just a reminder, a puzzle piece from the town he'd been unable to leave behind. He'd heard that voice screaming once, in pain, he'd caused that pain and God, don't think of that, not now. Doyle's breath was hot and moist against his palm, coming in quick spurts.
"Yes," he said, sounding strangely, utterly normal and he thought of Buffy's eyes, about the way she smelled after she'd been fighting vampires, like sweat and lust, about the one time she'd been beneath him, and he arched off the bed and came into the warm cup of the hand surrounding him. He felt the sudden rush of heat against his hip, the choked off moan as Doyle followed him and there was no sweet womanly scent, only semen, glossy-wet and heavy.
"We'll meet you in twenty minutes or so," Angel told the voice on the other end of the phone and he set the receiver down gently. Reached down and rubbed his thumb through the slick mess in Doyle's palm. He said, quietly, "We need to get going."
"Yeah," Doyle sat up, his back to Angel as he gathered clean clothes and went to the bathroom. The click of the shutting door made him close his eyes again, and he thought of Buffy and wondered what the hell he was going to do.
end chapter