keelywolfe (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
keelywolfe) wrote2005-01-30 04:41 pm
keelywolfe) wrote2005-01-30 04:41 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: Only the Color Blue 1/1 (Angel/Doyle, NC-17)
Title: Only the Color Blue
Author: Keelywolfe
Series: Angel
Pairing: Angel/Doyle
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Restless nights come and go, but vampires are forever.
~~*~~
It was always hunger that made him restless. Nights filled with dreams of spattered blood, dreams of true things and lies of perfection, pools and rivers of blood, and he always woke to an ache in his gut that no amount of animal's blood could fill. It was true that he never drank quite as much as he should; he kept himself above starvation only because he needed his strength. It didn't matter. Even if he'd lived in a slaughterhouse, he would only be wrapping his hunger around a full belly of what his tongue and senses told him was barely above filth.
Instead of gorging uselessly, Angel sat in the dark, in his office, in his living room, and tried to ignore the edge of hunger that gnawed at him, always. A home version of Prometheus, he'd thought once with dark humor, but he banished the idea. If the gods had thought Prometheus deserved punishing, well, at least he'd brought a housewarming gift before he got himself chained to a rock. Angel would sit until the ache became something bearable, until he could stand without the tremble of it in his hands, his voice, and memories stopped moving like ghouls in the back of his mind.
Sitting in the dark, he could hear clearly if he bothered to listen. He was listening tonight, anticipating the sound of a door opening and closing, the low hum of the elevator as it lumbered downward. Angel closed his eyes and just listened, to the scrape of the grate as it was pulled back and soft, sneaker-clad footsteps coming towards him, the click of the side table lamp.
It was his own fault for not saying no the first time.
Hands on his shoulders, warmth bleeding through his shirt and into his skin, and Angel had never asked how he knew to come. He hadn't dared, more than a little afraid he would get an answer.
Doyle's face was washed out in the yellowish lamplight. Moon-pale skin bleached to the color of ashes and it was disturbing to see in a way that Angel couldn't quite express. The smell of cheap alcohol and cheaper perfume was on him. It made Angel wonder exactly what he'd just walked away from, what or whom.
The hands on his shoulders drifted like sentient creatures, roaming upward to cup his cheeks, strong fingers petting and stroking. Not love, but comfort, something that should have been cold, hollow, but instead was warm beneath Doyle's hands.
"Doyle, just, go home. Just…go." Familiar protest, weak and useless and it earned him the same reply as always.
Warm, damp breath against the back of his neck. "No."
The feeblest of battles, a mockery of denial, and he pulled Doyle to stand in front of him without another word.
Doyle stank in a way that reminded him of whores, something sharp and almost bitter layered over his skin. It hung about him in a way that made it difficult to tell if it was a scent he owned or if he were just borrowing it for a time like a ratty old coat, and it brought with it a new hunger to tear at him with sharp teeth. With his hands warm on Angel's jaw and his eyes shadowed in the dim light, it was an invitation to take and Angel would, did, each time.
Was it a vision that told you I need you, Angel wondered, nosing aside worn denim and he could smell it here, too, a smell he knew coupled with the wet, strange stink of an unfamiliar cunt. He pushed Doyle's jeans further down, hobbling him with zippers and cotton. Doyle's fingertips were gentle against his cheeks and if his mouth was too clumsy, Angel didn't hear any complaint. He sucked Doyle's cock as tenderly as he possibly could, pressing his tongue against warm, stretched skin with a new sort of thirst.
The taste of other lingered and Angel carefully pushed down the foreskin to slide his tongue against the slit, to get a purer taste of Doyle. It earned him a gasp, fingers tightening their hold on his face. There was a sleek dampness on his tongue, warm salt flavor that was only Doyle and just the trace of it made him suck harder, wanting to coax out a little more of that taste.
This was a man's weakness; he'd agree to anything with a mouth wrapped around his cock. A vampire's weakness was something else entirely and it was only on these nights that Angel allowed himself to think of it. Dreams didn't count; dreams of hot, sweet crimson and the sudden rush of heat across his tongue was nothing less than purely human.
He pulled back enough to bury his face into the warm skin of Doyle's belly, holding the flavor of it in his mouth for a long moment, until the heat of it began to seep away in the coolness of his mouth. Slowly, Angel swallowed, the edge of bitterness catching at the back of his tongue. Doyle was breathing loudly over him, his fingers sifting mindlessly through Angel's hair in a way that was both soothing and irritating.
"D'you want me to stay?" Doyle asked, quietly. Sometimes Angel did. Some nights he pulled Doyle into his bed and stroked that smooth, pale skin for hours, soaking in his warmth and humanity like bathwater.
Tonight, he shook his head slowly; Doyle's pushed up t-shirt rubbed against the top of his head. Sometimes the very humanity he craved was too much to take for very long, even with the taste of semen still lingering in his mouth.
Doyle only nodded, a gesture felt more than seen, and tugged his pants back up. The sudden touch of his mouth pressing a kiss on the back of Angel's head startled him enough that he looked up, meeting Doyle's gaze for the briefest of moments before he flicked his eyes away, back into the dark.
It was like a tape playing in reverse, the lamp, the footsteps, the elevator, but for one flaw. The edge that had been gnawing at him was eased, pushed back into its cage as much as it ever was and when Angel finally went back to bed, his sleep was deep and untroubled, colored as blue as the sky he could never really see.
-finis-
Author: Keelywolfe
Series: Angel
Pairing: Angel/Doyle
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Restless nights come and go, but vampires are forever.
~~*~~
It was always hunger that made him restless. Nights filled with dreams of spattered blood, dreams of true things and lies of perfection, pools and rivers of blood, and he always woke to an ache in his gut that no amount of animal's blood could fill. It was true that he never drank quite as much as he should; he kept himself above starvation only because he needed his strength. It didn't matter. Even if he'd lived in a slaughterhouse, he would only be wrapping his hunger around a full belly of what his tongue and senses told him was barely above filth.
Instead of gorging uselessly, Angel sat in the dark, in his office, in his living room, and tried to ignore the edge of hunger that gnawed at him, always. A home version of Prometheus, he'd thought once with dark humor, but he banished the idea. If the gods had thought Prometheus deserved punishing, well, at least he'd brought a housewarming gift before he got himself chained to a rock. Angel would sit until the ache became something bearable, until he could stand without the tremble of it in his hands, his voice, and memories stopped moving like ghouls in the back of his mind.
Sitting in the dark, he could hear clearly if he bothered to listen. He was listening tonight, anticipating the sound of a door opening and closing, the low hum of the elevator as it lumbered downward. Angel closed his eyes and just listened, to the scrape of the grate as it was pulled back and soft, sneaker-clad footsteps coming towards him, the click of the side table lamp.
It was his own fault for not saying no the first time.
Hands on his shoulders, warmth bleeding through his shirt and into his skin, and Angel had never asked how he knew to come. He hadn't dared, more than a little afraid he would get an answer.
Doyle's face was washed out in the yellowish lamplight. Moon-pale skin bleached to the color of ashes and it was disturbing to see in a way that Angel couldn't quite express. The smell of cheap alcohol and cheaper perfume was on him. It made Angel wonder exactly what he'd just walked away from, what or whom.
The hands on his shoulders drifted like sentient creatures, roaming upward to cup his cheeks, strong fingers petting and stroking. Not love, but comfort, something that should have been cold, hollow, but instead was warm beneath Doyle's hands.
"Doyle, just, go home. Just…go." Familiar protest, weak and useless and it earned him the same reply as always.
Warm, damp breath against the back of his neck. "No."
The feeblest of battles, a mockery of denial, and he pulled Doyle to stand in front of him without another word.
Doyle stank in a way that reminded him of whores, something sharp and almost bitter layered over his skin. It hung about him in a way that made it difficult to tell if it was a scent he owned or if he were just borrowing it for a time like a ratty old coat, and it brought with it a new hunger to tear at him with sharp teeth. With his hands warm on Angel's jaw and his eyes shadowed in the dim light, it was an invitation to take and Angel would, did, each time.
Was it a vision that told you I need you, Angel wondered, nosing aside worn denim and he could smell it here, too, a smell he knew coupled with the wet, strange stink of an unfamiliar cunt. He pushed Doyle's jeans further down, hobbling him with zippers and cotton. Doyle's fingertips were gentle against his cheeks and if his mouth was too clumsy, Angel didn't hear any complaint. He sucked Doyle's cock as tenderly as he possibly could, pressing his tongue against warm, stretched skin with a new sort of thirst.
The taste of other lingered and Angel carefully pushed down the foreskin to slide his tongue against the slit, to get a purer taste of Doyle. It earned him a gasp, fingers tightening their hold on his face. There was a sleek dampness on his tongue, warm salt flavor that was only Doyle and just the trace of it made him suck harder, wanting to coax out a little more of that taste.
This was a man's weakness; he'd agree to anything with a mouth wrapped around his cock. A vampire's weakness was something else entirely and it was only on these nights that Angel allowed himself to think of it. Dreams didn't count; dreams of hot, sweet crimson and the sudden rush of heat across his tongue was nothing less than purely human.
He pulled back enough to bury his face into the warm skin of Doyle's belly, holding the flavor of it in his mouth for a long moment, until the heat of it began to seep away in the coolness of his mouth. Slowly, Angel swallowed, the edge of bitterness catching at the back of his tongue. Doyle was breathing loudly over him, his fingers sifting mindlessly through Angel's hair in a way that was both soothing and irritating.
"D'you want me to stay?" Doyle asked, quietly. Sometimes Angel did. Some nights he pulled Doyle into his bed and stroked that smooth, pale skin for hours, soaking in his warmth and humanity like bathwater.
Tonight, he shook his head slowly; Doyle's pushed up t-shirt rubbed against the top of his head. Sometimes the very humanity he craved was too much to take for very long, even with the taste of semen still lingering in his mouth.
Doyle only nodded, a gesture felt more than seen, and tugged his pants back up. The sudden touch of his mouth pressing a kiss on the back of Angel's head startled him enough that he looked up, meeting Doyle's gaze for the briefest of moments before he flicked his eyes away, back into the dark.
It was like a tape playing in reverse, the lamp, the footsteps, the elevator, but for one flaw. The edge that had been gnawing at him was eased, pushed back into its cage as much as it ever was and when Angel finally went back to bed, his sleep was deep and untroubled, colored as blue as the sky he could never really see.
-finis-