![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
keelywolfeTitle: Strawberry Fields, 13/13
Author: Keelywolfe
Series: Angel
Pairing: Angel/Doyle
Rating: NC-17
Notes: This entire story is now available on my website, here, with lovely, lovely cover art by the equally lovely![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kirbycrow:
http://www.ravenswing.com/~keelywolfe/enter.html
So if anyone was waiting to read it when it was finished. It is. :)
~~*~~
He'd never really planned on coming here again. Not quite on 'penalty of death' planning, but at least on the absolutely certainty of not a chance in hell. But he'd done a lot of things in the past few years that he had sworn he would never do, and sometimes there was just no other choice. He was just grateful that Doyle and Cordelia weren't here to see it.
"…don't let the suuuuun, go down on meeee…"
Angel kept his eyes glued to the lyrics screen. If he pretended that there was no one in the audience watching him, he could get through this. He'd heard once that imagining people in their underwear was the cure for stage fright but frankly, if he started picturing demons in thongs, he was going to have to stake himself. There were some things that were just too painful.
The last lines finally scrolled off the screen and a green hand snatched the microphone away.
"Well, move over Elton, I think we have a new performer in the house," he said over the feeble applause. "I'm going to have a little one on one with our sharp dressed man, here, and Muula the Mahwi is going to smooth things out with a little Motown."
The tune for 'I Second That Emotion' cued up as Angel followed the demon offstage. He motioned to a chair at an empty table and Angel sat, clasping his hands together on the table and looking at them. He waited in silence while the waitress brought a tray of drinks to their table and drank his single shot of whiskey in one swallow. Maybe Doyle was rubbing off on him in unexpected ways. His mind gleefully ran away with that double entendre and Angel crossed his legs self-consciously. Information, he reminded himself.
The demon gave him a charming smile. "Interesting choice of songs. You might need to work on your sense of irony a bit. I'll tell you one thing, though, you give off vibes that make my hormones stand up and do the cha cha cha."
"What did you see?"
"Well, I can tell you I didn't see a first look meeting with Virgin any time in your future." Angel looked at him blankly and he sighed. "Put down a note for a tune up on your sense of humor, too."
"Did you see anything?" Angel asked impatiently. He'd had two hundred years to avoid getting a sense of humor, he didn't need one right now.
"In a rush, are we?" The demon sipped his drink, not hurrying at all. "Of course, I saw something. You're not dead," he paused, "All right, let's just imagine we said all the little witticisms that go with that and move on. Yes, I saw something but nothing that needs to be said."
"What?" Angel frowned. He'd paid the price and now he wanted the full service.
"Look, sweetie, no one ever wants to believe this but sometimes you already have all the information you need." He shrugged. "I can usually get around it, throw them a couple bones that won't send them teetering the wrong way but for you, I'll tell the truth."
Angel tore a hand through his hair in frustration. "That's not enough. I want to know what's going on with all the visions. I want to know why." And if Doyle didn't want to know, he was going to find things out on his own. At the moment, Doyle was back at the office without the slightest clue that Angel was here and for that, he was grateful. As far as Doyle knew he was meeting someone about getting some rare books for his collection. He really needed to write down the good excuses when he thought of them, he didn't work well under pressure.
Part of him was not at all pleased with this plan, and not just because of the karaoke. If they found out all the details then there was a chance the visions would stop and if the visions stopped, the sex would stop, and that idea had absolutely no appeal at all. But he couldn't shake the feeling that something in this was strange. The two of them had been so involved with the result of the visions that they'd forgotten there had to be a cause. He'd been unhappily reminded of that today when he'd suggested they find a way to stop it. He owed it to Doyle to see if it was possible.
He'd decided it would be better if Doyle wasn't here, just in case the information was upsetting, like there was no way to stop the visions and had left him in Cordelia's tender care. And he was going to keep telling himself that because if there was a way to stop the visions, he would tell Doyle. He would.
"And I thought you were going to get Irish to spill everything to you?" His expression must have revealed his growing frustrating because the demon sighed and shook his head. "Look, you may be the lowest man on the totem pole around here but Doyle and I are only standing on your shoulders. The big kahunas don't give us all the juicy details. So really, I just don't have anything. Their reasons aren't for us to know right now."
Angel frowned. "I thought you said it was because they didn't want me getting distracted."
"I did," he agreed. "That's what Doyle believes, one hundred percent."
"But—"
"Tell you what, I'm going to do something else for you," the host interrupted smoothly. "I'm going to give you some advice."
"Advice," Angel repeated dubiously.
He waved an idle hand. "All advice is the same, you know. I'll admit, peeking into the spirit gives a good helping hand, but if people had half the common sense they think they do then most bartenders would be out of work. " He smirked and pointed a finger at Angel. "You have a hard time with the obvious, don't you. You and everyone else, don't feel too bad about it. Okay, here's the thing, you're the hero of this story, right?"
"Yes."
"So tell me, then, what's this all really about?" he prompted. Angel said nothing. "The visions, right? Come on, this isn't the home version of the game, we're live and on the air, work with me! Now, what are the visions?"
"They're pictures, information..."
He flapped a hand impatiently. "No, no, that's incidental. Try harder, just take your time...did you get your IQ on loan from Dan Quayle? Let's try this, if you don't know what they are do you know what they're not? The visions aren't for helping you."
"Of course they are," he said, exasperated. "All they do is help me."
"Oh, really? Help you what?"
"They help me..." Help others. It clicked in his mind like a puzzle piece.
The demon smiled. "Ah, a light dawns. I can see it in those big beautiful eyes of yours. You don't really need him, you know. If he died tomorrow you'd get on just fine without him – ease up on those guns, Jethro, that wasn't a threat. I'm just saying you don't need him. You can fill in the rest of the blanks, big guy."
"He needs me," Angel whispered.
"And the scarecrow got a brain." He looked amused. "I guess we'll see later if the tin woodsman gets a heart. I'm really getting to like you, you know. Have a drink before you go, on me." The demon patted him lightly on the shoulder. "Next time you come, wear that coat. It really is divine." He started away and then turned back, "Oh, and as long as you have him, could you try to do something about Doyle's wardrobe. Sweet guy, but really." He shivered delicately as he walked back to the stage.
He sat at the table a little longer and listened to a remarkably well sung version of 'Yesterday'. Demons brushed past him, to and from the bar, carrying on with their lives or unlives; Angel barely noticed. Advice instead of information, such a fine line, and yet—
Angel peeled off a twenty and left it under his glass for the waitress.
~~*~~
If Angel were honest, he'd admit that he'd learned more about Doyle in the past week than he had in all the months he'd known him. And not just things like that he was extremely ticklish behind the knees and that if you gave one of his nipples a light pinch, his cock would give a little bounce all by itself. Though those were true, too. Now he could add one more thing to his list.
Doyle could not dance.
Admittedly, he might do a better job if he wasn't cooking at the time but from what Angel could see of his sense of rhythm, there was a pretty good chance of white man syndrome going on.
That was one thing they had in common.
It didn't stop him from watching though, noting with amusement the towel Doyle had tucked into his waistband as a makeshift apron. The Stones were blaring on the stereo and Doyle was singing along. Karaoke night seemed to have infiltrated the city. At least his singing was a marked improvement on his dancing.
"I can't get no, no, no, no, sat-is—fucking Jesus hell!" A wooden spoon went flying through the air and by some miracle, landed in the sink. Doyle had a hand pressed against his chest as he staggered over to the stereo and turned it down. "Christ, could you knock or something?"
"It's my house," Angel pointed out mildly. He lifted the lid on one of the pots and frowned at the bubbling red contents. Tomato sauce, he realized.
"Then wear a bell or get a bike horn or something," Doyle grabbed a clean spoon from the rack and stirred the pot. Casual and easy, like this was all completely normal for them "I'd say I was making a dinner for two but Cordelia went home and you like a different kind of red sauce. By the way, you owe Cordelia a shopping spree and I think you owe me a couple bottles of Jim Beam for talking her down. She's right inventive with the torture ideas. What do they teach in that High School in Sunnydale?"
Angel winced in sympathy. "Rough conversation?" He really had gone down to the karaoke bar for information, not to avoid that particular chat with Cordelia. Really. He had.
"I'd rather mate repeatedly with a Cuisenart than ever do that again. Would you want to admit to a gel you enjoy getting fucked up the arse?"
"I don't know, I've never tried it." Doyle was tasting the sauce and added some salt and some kind of herb Angel didn't recognize. Another detail, Doyle didn't seem to be a bad cook. And he needs me. "Do you want to?"
Doyle spilled the spoonful of sauce down the front of his shirt and fumbled to keep his spoon from hitting the floor. Angel waited patiently for him to finish his impromptu Stooges impression as he swore and scrubbed the front of his shirt with his towel. He slowed to a stop, biting his lip, and tossed the towel on the counter.
"You'd let me?" He was blushing, Angel saw, his cheeks flushed with ruddy color. This man could suck the copper off a penny and he was blushing now?
"I just said I would."
"Right." Doyle didn't move. He looked rather like his IQ had just dropped about fifty points. "But that's not in the vision," Doyle said dumbly.
"So what? You think somebody is going to slap you on the hand with a cosmic ruler?"
"S'not my hand I'm worried about." But Angel could tell the idea had some appeal. He could smell it, the first wisp of arousal, and Doyle needed him. Needed. There was a stain from the sauce on the front of his shirt and Angel gave a moment to mourn the loss, he really did like that red shirt. Maybe if he soaked it right now...
Doyle stepped in and kissed him, hard, shoving him back against the kitchen counter and all Angel could do was hold on to him. He tasted horribly of tomatoes and his mouth was brutal, teeth pressing painfully into his lips before his tongue slid over Angel's.
Fuck it, he'd buy him a new shirt.
Suddenly, Doyle pulled away, his eyes wide and his breathing harsh.
"What?" Angel asked, confused.
"Fucking...bad...timing..." he gritted out, pressing a hand against his forehead.
Just about the worst timing in the world. Doyle sagged against the other wall, twitching with the pain and Angel pulled him into his arms so that his back was against his chest and he could rest his chin on Doyle's shoulder, waiting for it to ease.
Doyle took a deep, shuddering breath and leaned back against him, pressing his cheek to Angel's. "I guess dinner and everything else is gonna have to get put in a cooler. Something big is going on and we need to go."
He pulled free and switched off the stove, snatching up the pot and shoving the entire thing into the refrigerator. "We better give Cordy a call, she's feeling a little left out right now and—"
Angel kissed him, just tangled his hand in that oh, so red shirt and yanked him forward, sliding his tongue between those soft lips before he could even protest. Just a short one, as short as he could manage and when he pulled away Doyle looked a little dazed but pleased enough. "Now that you've got that out of your system, can we go?"
"Lead on," he said, following Doyle to the lift. There was evil to fight for now and spaghetti and sex would wait for later. This wasn't finished and Angel knew it. Something was still not right. But Doyle needed him.
And that was just fine.
-finis-
Whew. Would you believe this was only going to be a little 10 page PWP? Ninety pages later, this is the second longest thing I've ever written and I even like it. *G* Thank you so much everyone for reading it and letting me know you've been enjoying. Your comments really helped me keep the energy and inspiration going to finish this. Thank you. :)
Stay tuned for the eventual sequel, Blackbird.
Author: Keelywolfe
Series: Angel
Pairing: Angel/Doyle
Rating: NC-17
Notes: This entire story is now available on my website, here, with lovely, lovely cover art by the equally lovely
kirbycrow:http://www.ravenswing.com/~keelywolfe/enter.html
So if anyone was waiting to read it when it was finished. It is. :)
~~*~~
He'd never really planned on coming here again. Not quite on 'penalty of death' planning, but at least on the absolutely certainty of not a chance in hell. But he'd done a lot of things in the past few years that he had sworn he would never do, and sometimes there was just no other choice. He was just grateful that Doyle and Cordelia weren't here to see it.
"…don't let the suuuuun, go down on meeee…"
Angel kept his eyes glued to the lyrics screen. If he pretended that there was no one in the audience watching him, he could get through this. He'd heard once that imagining people in their underwear was the cure for stage fright but frankly, if he started picturing demons in thongs, he was going to have to stake himself. There were some things that were just too painful.
The last lines finally scrolled off the screen and a green hand snatched the microphone away.
"Well, move over Elton, I think we have a new performer in the house," he said over the feeble applause. "I'm going to have a little one on one with our sharp dressed man, here, and Muula the Mahwi is going to smooth things out with a little Motown."
The tune for 'I Second That Emotion' cued up as Angel followed the demon offstage. He motioned to a chair at an empty table and Angel sat, clasping his hands together on the table and looking at them. He waited in silence while the waitress brought a tray of drinks to their table and drank his single shot of whiskey in one swallow. Maybe Doyle was rubbing off on him in unexpected ways. His mind gleefully ran away with that double entendre and Angel crossed his legs self-consciously. Information, he reminded himself.
The demon gave him a charming smile. "Interesting choice of songs. You might need to work on your sense of irony a bit. I'll tell you one thing, though, you give off vibes that make my hormones stand up and do the cha cha cha."
"What did you see?"
"Well, I can tell you I didn't see a first look meeting with Virgin any time in your future." Angel looked at him blankly and he sighed. "Put down a note for a tune up on your sense of humor, too."
"Did you see anything?" Angel asked impatiently. He'd had two hundred years to avoid getting a sense of humor, he didn't need one right now.
"In a rush, are we?" The demon sipped his drink, not hurrying at all. "Of course, I saw something. You're not dead," he paused, "All right, let's just imagine we said all the little witticisms that go with that and move on. Yes, I saw something but nothing that needs to be said."
"What?" Angel frowned. He'd paid the price and now he wanted the full service.
"Look, sweetie, no one ever wants to believe this but sometimes you already have all the information you need." He shrugged. "I can usually get around it, throw them a couple bones that won't send them teetering the wrong way but for you, I'll tell the truth."
Angel tore a hand through his hair in frustration. "That's not enough. I want to know what's going on with all the visions. I want to know why." And if Doyle didn't want to know, he was going to find things out on his own. At the moment, Doyle was back at the office without the slightest clue that Angel was here and for that, he was grateful. As far as Doyle knew he was meeting someone about getting some rare books for his collection. He really needed to write down the good excuses when he thought of them, he didn't work well under pressure.
Part of him was not at all pleased with this plan, and not just because of the karaoke. If they found out all the details then there was a chance the visions would stop and if the visions stopped, the sex would stop, and that idea had absolutely no appeal at all. But he couldn't shake the feeling that something in this was strange. The two of them had been so involved with the result of the visions that they'd forgotten there had to be a cause. He'd been unhappily reminded of that today when he'd suggested they find a way to stop it. He owed it to Doyle to see if it was possible.
He'd decided it would be better if Doyle wasn't here, just in case the information was upsetting, like there was no way to stop the visions and had left him in Cordelia's tender care. And he was going to keep telling himself that because if there was a way to stop the visions, he would tell Doyle. He would.
"And I thought you were going to get Irish to spill everything to you?" His expression must have revealed his growing frustrating because the demon sighed and shook his head. "Look, you may be the lowest man on the totem pole around here but Doyle and I are only standing on your shoulders. The big kahunas don't give us all the juicy details. So really, I just don't have anything. Their reasons aren't for us to know right now."
Angel frowned. "I thought you said it was because they didn't want me getting distracted."
"I did," he agreed. "That's what Doyle believes, one hundred percent."
"But—"
"Tell you what, I'm going to do something else for you," the host interrupted smoothly. "I'm going to give you some advice."
"Advice," Angel repeated dubiously.
He waved an idle hand. "All advice is the same, you know. I'll admit, peeking into the spirit gives a good helping hand, but if people had half the common sense they think they do then most bartenders would be out of work. " He smirked and pointed a finger at Angel. "You have a hard time with the obvious, don't you. You and everyone else, don't feel too bad about it. Okay, here's the thing, you're the hero of this story, right?"
"Yes."
"So tell me, then, what's this all really about?" he prompted. Angel said nothing. "The visions, right? Come on, this isn't the home version of the game, we're live and on the air, work with me! Now, what are the visions?"
"They're pictures, information..."
He flapped a hand impatiently. "No, no, that's incidental. Try harder, just take your time...did you get your IQ on loan from Dan Quayle? Let's try this, if you don't know what they are do you know what they're not? The visions aren't for helping you."
"Of course they are," he said, exasperated. "All they do is help me."
"Oh, really? Help you what?"
"They help me..." Help others. It clicked in his mind like a puzzle piece.
The demon smiled. "Ah, a light dawns. I can see it in those big beautiful eyes of yours. You don't really need him, you know. If he died tomorrow you'd get on just fine without him – ease up on those guns, Jethro, that wasn't a threat. I'm just saying you don't need him. You can fill in the rest of the blanks, big guy."
"He needs me," Angel whispered.
"And the scarecrow got a brain." He looked amused. "I guess we'll see later if the tin woodsman gets a heart. I'm really getting to like you, you know. Have a drink before you go, on me." The demon patted him lightly on the shoulder. "Next time you come, wear that coat. It really is divine." He started away and then turned back, "Oh, and as long as you have him, could you try to do something about Doyle's wardrobe. Sweet guy, but really." He shivered delicately as he walked back to the stage.
He sat at the table a little longer and listened to a remarkably well sung version of 'Yesterday'. Demons brushed past him, to and from the bar, carrying on with their lives or unlives; Angel barely noticed. Advice instead of information, such a fine line, and yet—
Angel peeled off a twenty and left it under his glass for the waitress.
~~*~~
If Angel were honest, he'd admit that he'd learned more about Doyle in the past week than he had in all the months he'd known him. And not just things like that he was extremely ticklish behind the knees and that if you gave one of his nipples a light pinch, his cock would give a little bounce all by itself. Though those were true, too. Now he could add one more thing to his list.
Doyle could not dance.
Admittedly, he might do a better job if he wasn't cooking at the time but from what Angel could see of his sense of rhythm, there was a pretty good chance of white man syndrome going on.
That was one thing they had in common.
It didn't stop him from watching though, noting with amusement the towel Doyle had tucked into his waistband as a makeshift apron. The Stones were blaring on the stereo and Doyle was singing along. Karaoke night seemed to have infiltrated the city. At least his singing was a marked improvement on his dancing.
"I can't get no, no, no, no, sat-is—fucking Jesus hell!" A wooden spoon went flying through the air and by some miracle, landed in the sink. Doyle had a hand pressed against his chest as he staggered over to the stereo and turned it down. "Christ, could you knock or something?"
"It's my house," Angel pointed out mildly. He lifted the lid on one of the pots and frowned at the bubbling red contents. Tomato sauce, he realized.
"Then wear a bell or get a bike horn or something," Doyle grabbed a clean spoon from the rack and stirred the pot. Casual and easy, like this was all completely normal for them "I'd say I was making a dinner for two but Cordelia went home and you like a different kind of red sauce. By the way, you owe Cordelia a shopping spree and I think you owe me a couple bottles of Jim Beam for talking her down. She's right inventive with the torture ideas. What do they teach in that High School in Sunnydale?"
Angel winced in sympathy. "Rough conversation?" He really had gone down to the karaoke bar for information, not to avoid that particular chat with Cordelia. Really. He had.
"I'd rather mate repeatedly with a Cuisenart than ever do that again. Would you want to admit to a gel you enjoy getting fucked up the arse?"
"I don't know, I've never tried it." Doyle was tasting the sauce and added some salt and some kind of herb Angel didn't recognize. Another detail, Doyle didn't seem to be a bad cook. And he needs me. "Do you want to?"
Doyle spilled the spoonful of sauce down the front of his shirt and fumbled to keep his spoon from hitting the floor. Angel waited patiently for him to finish his impromptu Stooges impression as he swore and scrubbed the front of his shirt with his towel. He slowed to a stop, biting his lip, and tossed the towel on the counter.
"You'd let me?" He was blushing, Angel saw, his cheeks flushed with ruddy color. This man could suck the copper off a penny and he was blushing now?
"I just said I would."
"Right." Doyle didn't move. He looked rather like his IQ had just dropped about fifty points. "But that's not in the vision," Doyle said dumbly.
"So what? You think somebody is going to slap you on the hand with a cosmic ruler?"
"S'not my hand I'm worried about." But Angel could tell the idea had some appeal. He could smell it, the first wisp of arousal, and Doyle needed him. Needed. There was a stain from the sauce on the front of his shirt and Angel gave a moment to mourn the loss, he really did like that red shirt. Maybe if he soaked it right now...
Doyle stepped in and kissed him, hard, shoving him back against the kitchen counter and all Angel could do was hold on to him. He tasted horribly of tomatoes and his mouth was brutal, teeth pressing painfully into his lips before his tongue slid over Angel's.
Fuck it, he'd buy him a new shirt.
Suddenly, Doyle pulled away, his eyes wide and his breathing harsh.
"What?" Angel asked, confused.
"Fucking...bad...timing..." he gritted out, pressing a hand against his forehead.
Just about the worst timing in the world. Doyle sagged against the other wall, twitching with the pain and Angel pulled him into his arms so that his back was against his chest and he could rest his chin on Doyle's shoulder, waiting for it to ease.
Doyle took a deep, shuddering breath and leaned back against him, pressing his cheek to Angel's. "I guess dinner and everything else is gonna have to get put in a cooler. Something big is going on and we need to go."
He pulled free and switched off the stove, snatching up the pot and shoving the entire thing into the refrigerator. "We better give Cordy a call, she's feeling a little left out right now and—"
Angel kissed him, just tangled his hand in that oh, so red shirt and yanked him forward, sliding his tongue between those soft lips before he could even protest. Just a short one, as short as he could manage and when he pulled away Doyle looked a little dazed but pleased enough. "Now that you've got that out of your system, can we go?"
"Lead on," he said, following Doyle to the lift. There was evil to fight for now and spaghetti and sex would wait for later. This wasn't finished and Angel knew it. Something was still not right. But Doyle needed him.
And that was just fine.
-finis-
Whew. Would you believe this was only going to be a little 10 page PWP? Ninety pages later, this is the second longest thing I've ever written and I even like it. *G* Thank you so much everyone for reading it and letting me know you've been enjoying. Your comments really helped me keep the energy and inspiration going to finish this. Thank you. :)
Stay tuned for the eventual sequel, Blackbird.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-08-06 09:21 pm (UTC)But it died for a good cause. A true hero of a shirt. ;)
Lovely fic -- so looking forward to the next one. :)
Thank you so much for sticking with this one to the end. I was dreadfully nervous through, well, most of it, since I've not really written Angel before. I'm rather happy and relieved it turned out pretty well. ^_^