Angel/Doyle, NC-17, Strawberry Fields, 10/?
I haven't been talking much except for posting chapters, I know. Home things aren't bad or anything, just time-consuming so I have about enough time to write a little and go to work. *G* I would like to say that I think the two-way calling on the Sprint phones is super cool. Unlimited time and it's like using a little CB radio! I'm such a technogeek.
Title: Strawberry Fields, 10/?
Author: Keelywolfe
Series: Angel
Pairing: Angel/Doyle
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Any latecomers can find all the other parts here. I keep copying and pasting this intro because I'm LAZY! Laaazy!
~~*~~
"I'm really sorry to hear about the accident," Cordelia said. She was filing her nails and casting the occasional pointed glance at their silent telephone as though it would ring by her will alone. Angel, who was listening from his office, wasn't entirely sure that it wouldn't. Cordelia possessed powers that were not to be understood by mere mortals, even undead ones.
It took a few minutes but finally, with a tone of resigned amusement, Doyle gave in and asked, "What accident?" Angel didn't look at them but couldn't help a small smile. Every morning Doyle fell for the bait and every morning he paid for it. Really, it was better than paying for cable.
"Well, the only way I could think to explain how you looked today was that you were attacked by a rogue weed whacker in your sleep. It's a good thing you got out when you did."
"Cute, princess," Doyle grinned and shook his head. He flipped another page on his newspaper. "D'you stay up late at night thinking of those?"
"Strictly improv," she told him sweetly. "I do my best work with you."
"I always knew you would," Doyle said smugly. He slapped a hand against the paper. "Which is exactly why you should go out with me tonight. Think of the movie as a research opportunity!"
The moment the conversation swerved in that direction, Angel began trying to tune it out. It wasn't easy, being that they were only ten feet away and Angel could hear their hearts beating. He finally had to stand up and shut the door before going back to the same page in his book that he'd been reading for the past twenty minutes. If Doyle was supposed to distract him from thinking about Buffy, it was working fairly well. But who was going to distract him from thinking about Doyle?
If only he'd stop trying to ask Cordelia out. This was his third try of the day and it was driving Angel quietly out of his mind. It wouldn't be so bad if he didn't have to listen to it each and every time. The walls were no barrier for him and listening to Doyle fumble his way through yet another failed attempt was shredding his nerves. Considering how easily he'd been seduced, it was sort of embarrassing to listen to the 'master' at work. But that wasn't quite fair to either of them; if Doyle was crying and shaking with pain on the floor in front of her, there was a chance even Cordelia would go out with him.
He reminded himself to never mention that to Doyle.
They were talking about him now, in hushed tones that weren't nearly quiet enough, wondering if he was moping over Buffy and he might have been doing just that if he would stop trying to not look at Doyle.
Three times this morning. Even Doyle wasn't usually this persistent, running more on the theory that getting shot down once every twenty-four hours was fine, and tomorrow was another day. Who knew, the planets might align perfectly one day and you might get lucky. Cordelia might get desperate. But three times in one day was unheard of.
He was probably bored, which was understandable. A hole in your leg does tend to put a damper on the evening festivities, something they both had learned in the past couple days since they came back from Sunnydale.
He remembered coming back early that morning, dawn just starting to fade the horizon. Doyle had protested sleepily that this wasn't his house when Angel helped him inside. Carrying him more than not but a masculine understanding at just how much Doyle would be pissed if he just scooped him up again had kept Doyle's feet on the floor while they shuffled inside. They had both promptly fallen asleep, Doyle not even bothering with a protective coating of flannel, and they'd woken early enough for a quick handjob before Cordelia had come into work.
A few days later and he was still sore and limping but not so sore he couldn't manage a nice blowjob, twisted on the bed so they could both do it to each other.
Angel closed his eyes almost reluctantly, not wanting to think about it just now and also wanting to remember every single detail. His cheek pillowed on Doyle's good leg, soft hair against his cheek an absent reminder of maleness. As if he could forget while he was carefully sliding his tongue around the head of Doyle's cock, just to see if he could make him whimper.
As it turned out, he could.
They were neither of them very good at it and it had made for a strange sort of competition, muffled laughter and embarrassment while they both tried to figure out the best way to manage. Much harder than going down on a woman, trying to remember to suck and to move and not to drool too much all while you were losing it to the heat, God, the heat and slick tongue of someone on you. Laughter had dissolved into soft moans, choked off cries and hands clenched together in a knot of fingers.
The first spurt of semen on Angel's tongue had been hot enough to burn, searing the roof of his mouth for just a second and then it was just faintly bitter and salt, not quite blood but oddly tempting just the same. He could have spent hours learning the curve of Doyle's lower lip that night and the way it looked just after Doyle licked it, wet and glistening and a little swollen.
He could have done it all night long and well into the morning. Instead, he was spending his day listening to him cozening up to Cordelia.
Xander Harris would have had a perfect phrase for this. Angel was pretty sure it went something like, 'This sucks.'
Angel wondered what Cordelia would think of Doyle's hands, sweaty and hot with desire and if she'd ever brush the dark hair at his collar upward so she could kiss that spot. Or the softer spot just behind his knee that could only take the lightest touch because Doyle was ticklish.
He wasn't so oblivious that he didn't know he was jealous. It was stupid because Cordelia wasn't a threat. It would probably be in insult to her if she was and he didn't even have the right to be jealous. Saying Doyle was trying to cheat on him would be like trying to match plaid with polka dots. No matter which way you turned it, it wouldn't match up. It was stupid, it was childish, and at two hundred and some change years, he should know better than any of this. Apparently, in all that time he hadn't learned much.
The demon inside him didn't give a damn about any of his mental ramblings and that part of him watched Cordelia pat Doyle's hand in a sweetly condescending way that said, 'not a chance' and would have happily ripped her fingers off just for touching him. Angel reminded himself forcibly that he actually liked Cordelia.
Not yours, he told it firmly. It's all about the visions, it's smoke and mirrors so just enjoy what you're getting. They were lucky to be getting just that, they'd hit the sexual lottery and got their installment in person every night. Deal with it.
But she'll never hear that little sound he could make when he really liked something and there were three tiny bruises just under Doyle's ear where Angel had held him a little too tightly. He reminded himself, again, that he needed to be gentler. Doyle had never complained but he didn't need to come away with fresh injuries every time they made lo-
Had sex. Every time they had sex. Every time they fucked.
Do you love him? Buffy's voice in the back of his mind.
He took great pleasure in doing something he was never able to do in reality. He told his mental Buffy to shut up.
Lovely. Demon voices, Buffy voices, and the Powers That Be all conspiring about Doyle.
He wondered if he was going insane.
The sudden explosion of glass into his office from the window interrupted even his most persistent thoughts about Doyle and the demon whose entrance it announced did the rest. He caught a glimpse of a lumpy green face and a flash of red. There wasn't time to do much more than defend himself from the sudden attack, rolling out of the way from the sudden thrust of a sword.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Doyle and Cordelia helplessly watching by the door, and he risked a second to wave them back, they couldn't help him fight this. All they would do was get killed. A sudden flash of pain across his arm was his reward, the scent of his blood in the air.
Whatever it was, it was strong and fast, and it managed to get him pinned on the floor with the blade of the sword inches from his neck. It was taking all his strength just to keep it from slicing his head off and that would make for a dusty finish. The demon's face was twisted into a grotesque leer and a trail of spittle dangled from one corner of his mouth, trailing wetly against Angel's cheek.
"The jewel!" Doyle yelled suddenly, "Hit the jewel thing!"
There was a dark red jewel in the middle of the demon's forehead. If he didn't kill it, it would finish with Cordelia and Doyle, splatter their blood over the old floor and walls.
Doyle.
Fury was numbingly cold, easily blocking any other emotion and it gave him a sudden surge of strength and he pushed back on the sword as hard as he could, catching the demon hard on the forehead. The jewel cracked, fissures of light showing through it and splintering downward into its face. It screamed its agony just once before vanishing into an implosion of red light.
Angel got slowly to his feet and leaned against his desk. "How did you know that?" he panted.
Doyle shrugged. "It's always the jewel or the horn or the weird tentacle thing, isn't it? Classic Trek, man."
"Well, good thing you were here, Doctor Frankengeek," Cordelia said, picking her way through the broken glass to peer out the window. "One little broken window sort of converts this room from an office to a temporary flaming death trap, doesn't it."
Angel was still thrumming inside from the fight, brief as it had been. He felt a hot ripple of pure desire go through him but Doyle was looking at Cordelia and so he stepped around him to the elevator.
"Call someone to fix the window," he told Cordelia and hit the down button before she could protest. He needed a shower, and if he could get the water with chunks of ice in it, all the better.
~~*~~
It was hours later that Doyle wandered downstairs to find him. Angel was sitting at the table, drinking his third glass of water because if he drank any more coffee, he'd be jittery all night long. It had taken him a long time to get this calm, going through his tai chi exercises over and over until the throbbing desire to fuck, to kill, had eased back into something manageable. He was in control again, better than he'd been in over a week, and he had been quietly reading for some time.
Doyle turned one of the chairs around and straddled it. "Window's fixed," he announced. "Cordelia went home because according to her, the stench of the guy who fixed it had permeated through all the layers of her clothing and she needed a bath before it started eating her flesh. Makes for an interesting mental picture, don't you think?"
"Mmhmm," Angel murmured, not looking up from his book. It had taken a long time but he had finally managed to move on from page ten. Now page two hundred and nine was calling to him and so long as he didn't look at Doyle, he could get to the next chapter.
"I was thinking, why don't you and me go to a movie?"
"Why?" Still perfectly calm, on page two hundred and ten.
"I dunno, just thought we could do something else other than wild fucking an' fighting, so..."
"So what you're saying is you want to go on a date." Page two hundred and eleven was put on pause with a promise to return while he glanced up. Doyle was looking at him earnestly, his chin resting on his folded hands. Three strikes with Cordelia, possibly more since they'd been up in the office together for hours, had led him down to ask Angel.
Doyle rolled his eyes. "No, I'm saying that I wanted to get out of here for a bit-"
"-and go out together, which is, as far as I am aware, a date. My last girlfriend was a teenager, Doyle, I am well-informed about the specifics involved." He shook his head and went back to his book, very aware that Doyle smelled faintly of Cordelia's perfume. He didn't particularly care. He was calm, cool and easy within himself and all he wanted to do was read. "Forget it."
"Aw, c'mon, remember the whole spendin' time around people that you're supposed to be doing?"
"What I remember is that the Powers have forced us into bed together," Angel said calmly, not looking up again. The faintest spark of temper was lit inside him and he banished it quickly, speaking in a cool, measured tone. "I remember that the only reason you're sleeping with me is so your brains won't leak out on the floor. I remember that I'm being forced into all of this. So I'll save their victims, I'll be their champion and I'll even fuck their Messenger every night if I have to but that is as far as it goes. Do you understand?" This was a dangerous game the two of them were playing and he didn't intend to forget the rules again.
He could see Doyle just out of the corner of his eye without looking away from the pages. Doyle wasn't looking at him. "Yeah. I get it." He stared at the table, drumming his fingers. "Right. I'll be back later then."
"Fine." Angel went back to his book. He didn't look up when the door closed softly.
~~*~~
end chapter
Title: Strawberry Fields, 10/?
Author: Keelywolfe
Series: Angel
Pairing: Angel/Doyle
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Any latecomers can find all the other parts here. I keep copying and pasting this intro because I'm LAZY! Laaazy!
~~*~~
"I'm really sorry to hear about the accident," Cordelia said. She was filing her nails and casting the occasional pointed glance at their silent telephone as though it would ring by her will alone. Angel, who was listening from his office, wasn't entirely sure that it wouldn't. Cordelia possessed powers that were not to be understood by mere mortals, even undead ones.
It took a few minutes but finally, with a tone of resigned amusement, Doyle gave in and asked, "What accident?" Angel didn't look at them but couldn't help a small smile. Every morning Doyle fell for the bait and every morning he paid for it. Really, it was better than paying for cable.
"Well, the only way I could think to explain how you looked today was that you were attacked by a rogue weed whacker in your sleep. It's a good thing you got out when you did."
"Cute, princess," Doyle grinned and shook his head. He flipped another page on his newspaper. "D'you stay up late at night thinking of those?"
"Strictly improv," she told him sweetly. "I do my best work with you."
"I always knew you would," Doyle said smugly. He slapped a hand against the paper. "Which is exactly why you should go out with me tonight. Think of the movie as a research opportunity!"
The moment the conversation swerved in that direction, Angel began trying to tune it out. It wasn't easy, being that they were only ten feet away and Angel could hear their hearts beating. He finally had to stand up and shut the door before going back to the same page in his book that he'd been reading for the past twenty minutes. If Doyle was supposed to distract him from thinking about Buffy, it was working fairly well. But who was going to distract him from thinking about Doyle?
If only he'd stop trying to ask Cordelia out. This was his third try of the day and it was driving Angel quietly out of his mind. It wouldn't be so bad if he didn't have to listen to it each and every time. The walls were no barrier for him and listening to Doyle fumble his way through yet another failed attempt was shredding his nerves. Considering how easily he'd been seduced, it was sort of embarrassing to listen to the 'master' at work. But that wasn't quite fair to either of them; if Doyle was crying and shaking with pain on the floor in front of her, there was a chance even Cordelia would go out with him.
He reminded himself to never mention that to Doyle.
They were talking about him now, in hushed tones that weren't nearly quiet enough, wondering if he was moping over Buffy and he might have been doing just that if he would stop trying to not look at Doyle.
Three times this morning. Even Doyle wasn't usually this persistent, running more on the theory that getting shot down once every twenty-four hours was fine, and tomorrow was another day. Who knew, the planets might align perfectly one day and you might get lucky. Cordelia might get desperate. But three times in one day was unheard of.
He was probably bored, which was understandable. A hole in your leg does tend to put a damper on the evening festivities, something they both had learned in the past couple days since they came back from Sunnydale.
He remembered coming back early that morning, dawn just starting to fade the horizon. Doyle had protested sleepily that this wasn't his house when Angel helped him inside. Carrying him more than not but a masculine understanding at just how much Doyle would be pissed if he just scooped him up again had kept Doyle's feet on the floor while they shuffled inside. They had both promptly fallen asleep, Doyle not even bothering with a protective coating of flannel, and they'd woken early enough for a quick handjob before Cordelia had come into work.
A few days later and he was still sore and limping but not so sore he couldn't manage a nice blowjob, twisted on the bed so they could both do it to each other.
Angel closed his eyes almost reluctantly, not wanting to think about it just now and also wanting to remember every single detail. His cheek pillowed on Doyle's good leg, soft hair against his cheek an absent reminder of maleness. As if he could forget while he was carefully sliding his tongue around the head of Doyle's cock, just to see if he could make him whimper.
As it turned out, he could.
They were neither of them very good at it and it had made for a strange sort of competition, muffled laughter and embarrassment while they both tried to figure out the best way to manage. Much harder than going down on a woman, trying to remember to suck and to move and not to drool too much all while you were losing it to the heat, God, the heat and slick tongue of someone on you. Laughter had dissolved into soft moans, choked off cries and hands clenched together in a knot of fingers.
The first spurt of semen on Angel's tongue had been hot enough to burn, searing the roof of his mouth for just a second and then it was just faintly bitter and salt, not quite blood but oddly tempting just the same. He could have spent hours learning the curve of Doyle's lower lip that night and the way it looked just after Doyle licked it, wet and glistening and a little swollen.
He could have done it all night long and well into the morning. Instead, he was spending his day listening to him cozening up to Cordelia.
Xander Harris would have had a perfect phrase for this. Angel was pretty sure it went something like, 'This sucks.'
Angel wondered what Cordelia would think of Doyle's hands, sweaty and hot with desire and if she'd ever brush the dark hair at his collar upward so she could kiss that spot. Or the softer spot just behind his knee that could only take the lightest touch because Doyle was ticklish.
He wasn't so oblivious that he didn't know he was jealous. It was stupid because Cordelia wasn't a threat. It would probably be in insult to her if she was and he didn't even have the right to be jealous. Saying Doyle was trying to cheat on him would be like trying to match plaid with polka dots. No matter which way you turned it, it wouldn't match up. It was stupid, it was childish, and at two hundred and some change years, he should know better than any of this. Apparently, in all that time he hadn't learned much.
The demon inside him didn't give a damn about any of his mental ramblings and that part of him watched Cordelia pat Doyle's hand in a sweetly condescending way that said, 'not a chance' and would have happily ripped her fingers off just for touching him. Angel reminded himself forcibly that he actually liked Cordelia.
Not yours, he told it firmly. It's all about the visions, it's smoke and mirrors so just enjoy what you're getting. They were lucky to be getting just that, they'd hit the sexual lottery and got their installment in person every night. Deal with it.
But she'll never hear that little sound he could make when he really liked something and there were three tiny bruises just under Doyle's ear where Angel had held him a little too tightly. He reminded himself, again, that he needed to be gentler. Doyle had never complained but he didn't need to come away with fresh injuries every time they made lo-
Had sex. Every time they had sex. Every time they fucked.
Do you love him? Buffy's voice in the back of his mind.
He took great pleasure in doing something he was never able to do in reality. He told his mental Buffy to shut up.
Lovely. Demon voices, Buffy voices, and the Powers That Be all conspiring about Doyle.
He wondered if he was going insane.
The sudden explosion of glass into his office from the window interrupted even his most persistent thoughts about Doyle and the demon whose entrance it announced did the rest. He caught a glimpse of a lumpy green face and a flash of red. There wasn't time to do much more than defend himself from the sudden attack, rolling out of the way from the sudden thrust of a sword.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Doyle and Cordelia helplessly watching by the door, and he risked a second to wave them back, they couldn't help him fight this. All they would do was get killed. A sudden flash of pain across his arm was his reward, the scent of his blood in the air.
Whatever it was, it was strong and fast, and it managed to get him pinned on the floor with the blade of the sword inches from his neck. It was taking all his strength just to keep it from slicing his head off and that would make for a dusty finish. The demon's face was twisted into a grotesque leer and a trail of spittle dangled from one corner of his mouth, trailing wetly against Angel's cheek.
"The jewel!" Doyle yelled suddenly, "Hit the jewel thing!"
There was a dark red jewel in the middle of the demon's forehead. If he didn't kill it, it would finish with Cordelia and Doyle, splatter their blood over the old floor and walls.
Doyle.
Fury was numbingly cold, easily blocking any other emotion and it gave him a sudden surge of strength and he pushed back on the sword as hard as he could, catching the demon hard on the forehead. The jewel cracked, fissures of light showing through it and splintering downward into its face. It screamed its agony just once before vanishing into an implosion of red light.
Angel got slowly to his feet and leaned against his desk. "How did you know that?" he panted.
Doyle shrugged. "It's always the jewel or the horn or the weird tentacle thing, isn't it? Classic Trek, man."
"Well, good thing you were here, Doctor Frankengeek," Cordelia said, picking her way through the broken glass to peer out the window. "One little broken window sort of converts this room from an office to a temporary flaming death trap, doesn't it."
Angel was still thrumming inside from the fight, brief as it had been. He felt a hot ripple of pure desire go through him but Doyle was looking at Cordelia and so he stepped around him to the elevator.
"Call someone to fix the window," he told Cordelia and hit the down button before she could protest. He needed a shower, and if he could get the water with chunks of ice in it, all the better.
~~*~~
It was hours later that Doyle wandered downstairs to find him. Angel was sitting at the table, drinking his third glass of water because if he drank any more coffee, he'd be jittery all night long. It had taken him a long time to get this calm, going through his tai chi exercises over and over until the throbbing desire to fuck, to kill, had eased back into something manageable. He was in control again, better than he'd been in over a week, and he had been quietly reading for some time.
Doyle turned one of the chairs around and straddled it. "Window's fixed," he announced. "Cordelia went home because according to her, the stench of the guy who fixed it had permeated through all the layers of her clothing and she needed a bath before it started eating her flesh. Makes for an interesting mental picture, don't you think?"
"Mmhmm," Angel murmured, not looking up from his book. It had taken a long time but he had finally managed to move on from page ten. Now page two hundred and nine was calling to him and so long as he didn't look at Doyle, he could get to the next chapter.
"I was thinking, why don't you and me go to a movie?"
"Why?" Still perfectly calm, on page two hundred and ten.
"I dunno, just thought we could do something else other than wild fucking an' fighting, so..."
"So what you're saying is you want to go on a date." Page two hundred and eleven was put on pause with a promise to return while he glanced up. Doyle was looking at him earnestly, his chin resting on his folded hands. Three strikes with Cordelia, possibly more since they'd been up in the office together for hours, had led him down to ask Angel.
Doyle rolled his eyes. "No, I'm saying that I wanted to get out of here for a bit-"
"-and go out together, which is, as far as I am aware, a date. My last girlfriend was a teenager, Doyle, I am well-informed about the specifics involved." He shook his head and went back to his book, very aware that Doyle smelled faintly of Cordelia's perfume. He didn't particularly care. He was calm, cool and easy within himself and all he wanted to do was read. "Forget it."
"Aw, c'mon, remember the whole spendin' time around people that you're supposed to be doing?"
"What I remember is that the Powers have forced us into bed together," Angel said calmly, not looking up again. The faintest spark of temper was lit inside him and he banished it quickly, speaking in a cool, measured tone. "I remember that the only reason you're sleeping with me is so your brains won't leak out on the floor. I remember that I'm being forced into all of this. So I'll save their victims, I'll be their champion and I'll even fuck their Messenger every night if I have to but that is as far as it goes. Do you understand?" This was a dangerous game the two of them were playing and he didn't intend to forget the rules again.
He could see Doyle just out of the corner of his eye without looking away from the pages. Doyle wasn't looking at him. "Yeah. I get it." He stared at the table, drumming his fingers. "Right. I'll be back later then."
"Fine." Angel went back to his book. He didn't look up when the door closed softly.
~~*~~
end chapter