Angel/Doyle, NC-17, Strawberry Fields, 12/13
Title: Strawberry Fields, 12/13
Author: Keelywolfe
Series: Angel
Pairing: Angel/Doyle
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Any latecomers can find all the other parts here
You might notice I now have a definite part listing for this. That's right, there is only one chapter left in Strawberry Fields. That's because I realized the rest of the story belongs in a sequel. So don't weep, Doyle and Angel aren't done, they just need another story. :)
~~*~~
He had to admit it. If there was something Cordelia was good at, it was providing a distraction. Spending the morning trying to convince him that they needed a commercial to advertise their services was certainly a good way to keep him from wondering about Doyle. Not the best way, mind, but a way.
"I'm the dark avenger," Angel repeated her, slowly. As enjoyable conversations went, this wasn't one.
Cordelia was glowing with excitement, though whether it was for her idea or the fact that she was guaranteed the starring role in the commercial wasn't clear. "I know, it's perfect! We can do it ourselves on High 8. I'll charm a post-production house into doing the effects and we could have this on the air in a week, tops. Come on, it'll be great! We'll pull out all the stops."
"Why don't we just leave the stops where they are for now, okay?" Angel said tiredly. He got to his feet and walked to the elevator, trying to ignore her protests. Maybe he'd be better off to just get in a little exercise instead, before Cordelia had him agreeing to something he'd regret later, like wearing a Batman suit.
He started closing the gate and stopped when something in her voice changed, catching him.
"What's going on?" Cordelia was frowning at him. It made a little wrinkle appear between her eyebrows that he decided he should never tell her about.
"What do you mean?"
"No, you are not going to play big and dumb with me! Something is going on with you and Doyle. I thought it was because you had to see Buffy but that doesn’t explain why Doyle's been all spoggly. You've both been acting weird and I want to know why. I thought we were in this together." She faltered on that, looked down at the floor and took a deep breath before she met his eyes again. "There's no 'me' in team you know."
Angel blinked. "Actually-"
"I don't care! You two are keeping secrets and I want to know why."
She was right and he hadn't really thought about it when he'd agreed to keep this a secret. But what was he supposed to tell her, how could he even begin to explain. Suddenly, he couldn't look at her anymore, lifted a hand and pressed his thumb and forefinger against his eyes to forestall a growing ache.
"Something's really wrong, isn't it," she asked with quiet shrewdness. The door opening interrupted them. Doyle walked slowly inside, looking…completely normal, all told. Angel felt a surge of unexpected irritation. Shouldn't he be marked by this somehow? Or maybe he was just getting so used to seeing Doyle looking like hell that it seemed like he'd never seen him any other way.
"Hey," he said and shoved his hands in his pockets. He was wearing the red shirt but it was the wariness in his eyes that Angel thought might have finished him. He looked at Doyle in his brilliantly red shirt, felt something glowing and hot behind his eyes and suddenly this was all too much.
"Cordelia, why don't you go get some coffee and donuts." It was as close to an order as he dared.
"Oh, right, like you have sudden urge for a Krispy Kreme." But she took the twenty he offered, looking between them as she went out the door. It was rather a testament to the uneasiness between them that she didn't stay and demand an answer. That would come later, he was sure.
Doyle was studying the floor, his hands cupping his elbows.
"Sit down," Angel said, softly.
"Think I'd rather be standing, I-"
"Sit your ass down."
Doyle looked up then, his eyes wide and startled. It shifted quickly to irritation but he limped over to a chair and threw himself into it sullenly. Angel winced in sympathetic pain. Last night probably hadn't helped the healing wound but he didn't smell any blood. Not too badly strained, then. He sat in the chair with his head down looking for all the world like a teenager about to be punished for staying out too late, a mixture of anger and guilt.
That was fine. He could keep his anger, his bitterness, he could let it reflect from his eyes like a silver-cold mirror. Whatever he wanted to do with it, though, it was his and Angel was heartily sick of carrying the burden of other people's anger. He had enough to carry with him.
"I'm not doing that again, Doyle." Angel kept his words slow and calm. "I won't. If you don't want to do this then we need to figure out some other way to give the Powers a hint that we don't want it."
Doyle had his face in his hands, the dark hair at his temples ruffling beneath his fingertips, and he shook his head wearily. "I dunno how-"
"Well, we haven't exactly tried anything else!" Angel snapped.
"Doesn't matter," Doyle said dully. "That's not really the problem, is it."
Angel stopped. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Come on, you had me pinned on the fucking bed and I was still loving it," he replied angrily. Angel felt a flush of shamed heat and looked away. "Can't exactly hide it so I might as well say it." He glared at Angel. "Is that what you want, you want me to say it? Fine, I like it, all of it. I like sucking cock and taking it in the bum, all right? Been liking it just fine!"
"I like it too," Angel admitted, bewildered. "So what's the problem?"
"The problem? You tell me! I thought we were doing all right and you blew up at me yesterday like someone pissed in your morning coffee!"
His own sullen anger, banked to coals, surged to feeble renewed life. "How did you want me to act when you came to me after spending all day chasing Cordelia?"
Doyle stared at him. "Oh, for fuck's sake, what are you, sixteen? All that time with the high schoolers rub off on you? I wanted her to come with me to a movie, not to move in! I told you before I wanted to see it."
He had, Angel suddenly recalled. While they were twined in bed together, still naked and flushed with sex, Doyle had mentioned wanting to see a movie.
"I just didn't want to see the damned thing by myself! Figured you wouldn't want to go, you're not exactly a matinee guy."
"Then why did you ask me?" Angel blurted out.
Doyle gave him a disgusted look. "Hoped you'd say yes, didn't I? Instead, you tore my head off. That's fine though, if you want to go on about Cordy, that's all right. Why don't you tell me, when you were in the kitchen chatting up your ex about me, would you have chosen me over her?"
Startled, Angel frowned. "What-"
"You're not the only fucking demon on the planet with ears!" he snarled. "I could hear every damned thing you said! So tell me, would you? Huh?"
"No," he whispered. He felt stupid and ashamed, and of course Doyle was right. He had no right to be possessive, he'd always known that but it was only in this moment that he believed it.
"Fine. That's fine. So shut it about Cordelia, all right? Jesus, I--" He pushed himself roughly to his feet and his wounded leg had apparently had enough abuse for the day. It crumpled beneath him and Doyle barely had time to cry out in pain before he fell.
Angel grabbed him before he could hit the ground and yanked him back up. They ended up pressed together, Doyle's face so close to his own and his lips were parted, just the edge of his teeth visible. His breath was feather-soft, hot and damp, smelling of toothpaste and, God--
Angel couldn't even speak, just lowered his head and tasted Doyle's mouth. Soft, so soft, and hot, easy to slip his tongue inside and explore the slick heat of his mouth like he hadn't really been able to the night before and his mind was frozen, part of him already cringing from Doyle's stillness. He'd have every right to pull away, angry and swearing and he'd probably leave again, leave Angel alone until he came back that night because he had to.
Except he wasn't swearing, he wasn't fighting, his hands ghosted up the back of Angel's shirt to settle on his head, fingertips sifting through his hair as Doyle kissed him back. Kissed him back, God, kissed him back, his tongue sweet and alive against Angel's.
He was barely aware of stepping forward, carrying Doyle with him until the wall was there, holding them both up. It didn't matter, nothing so important as the slick mouth open beneath his own and he pressed closer, getting a leg between Doyle's and pushing against him the way Doyle liked. He was hard against Angel's thigh, his moan a soft vibration between their mouths and his tongue was hot and deft, flicking against Angel's lips, licking roughly.
Angel slid his hands down over the warm curve of Doyle's hips, thinking only of lifting Doyle up so he could grind against him and he was already half-convinced he was going to fuck him right here against this wall. Doyle had one arm around Angel, his head caught in the crook of Doyle's elbow and he was holding him in hard, biting his lips and soothing each nip with a light flicker of tongue.
He tightening a hand on Doyle's thigh, intent on hoisting him a little higher and Doyle's sudden yelp of pain was caught in his mouth and Angel jerked back, pulling both mouth and hands away the bare inch that Doyle allowed.
"Sorry," he panted, not needing the air but some reactions never really faded.
"S'ok," Doyle wheezed, eyes closed tightly. He started laughing then, suddenly, and Angel couldn't help smiling even though he had no idea why. They were still pressed together, chest to thigh and Angel relaxed back against him, careful of his injured leg.
"We suck at this, you know," Doyle said. He was still smiling, his lips damp and looking extremely kissable. Angel resisted the urge, for the moment.
"Yeah. We suck," Angel admitted. He leaned down to rest his forehead against Doyle's. "I'm sorry," he said, quietly.
Doyle sighed, deeply. "Yeah, me too. I guess if we're going to live in each other's pockets, we better declare all other pockets off limits, yeah?"
Probably a good idea, all things considered. "I'm not really good at this."
"I won't be winning any awards either. Not exactly flattering that the only way I can get laid is if cosmic forces send someone my way."
Angel snorted. "You're not the only one." It made them both chuckle, not a particularly comfortable thing the way they were standing but Angel didn't feel like moving and Doyle wasn't protesting. He opened his eyes, lazily, pale green that gleamed with humor and arousal.
"You have the nicest eyes," Angel said and immediately felt stupid.
Doyle laughed again, awkwardly this time. "If I had a quarter every time someone said that...I'd have to borrow a dollar from you to buy a coffee." Those eyes went suddenly wide, staring over his shoulder. "Cordy, don't!"
It was instinct to whirl around, holding Doyle behind him despite his protests. Cordelia was standing in the doorway, holding the crossbow they kept in the front office directly at them. "He's gone all evil again, hasn't he? I knew it, I knew something weird was going on!"
Doyle rudely shoved Angel aside, holding out both hands to Cordelia placatingly. "No, no," Doyle soothed, "We were just chatting is all, him and me."
"How do I know you're not all evil too?" she asked suspiciously. "He could have made you all 'grr' while I was gone."
"Princess, it takes a little longer to go to the vamp side than it does to get a coffee. Besides, we don't need any more evil around the office. We have you."
"Hey!" she sputtered, but she let him disarm her. "Something is still weird. How many people chat pressed up against a wall?" she asked skeptically. "Unless you're lip reading with your own lips or something, it doesn't really-" Dawning realization and Doyle winced.
"Oh," Cordelia pursed her lips. "You know, I think I need about ten more mochachinos. I'll leave you two to," she gestured vaguely. "Work it out or whatever."
She whirled on Doyle and smacked him hard on the back of the head, ignoring his yelp of protest. "After that, we’re having a long talk, Mister, do you hear me?" With that, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and strolled out.
"That didn't go quite how I planned," Doyle said wryly, rubbing his head, and then at Angel's expression, "What?"
"I don't know, you're just taking this so," he gestured weakly. "Well? I didn't think you wanted Cordelia to know."
Doyle shrugged. "I think I'm too freaked by my latest near death experience. Give me twenty and I'll see if I can work up some hysterics for you."
"You don't have to do me any favors." Angel sat on the desk and stared at his clasped hands. "Um, are you sure you're all right?"
"Yeah," Doyle said, heavily. "I think so. I mean, most of the demons in LA, all your pals in Sunnydale and even the blond party favor know we're making with the pelvic." He laughed a little. "Guess it was just getting old worrying about it. Never done anything like this before and I wouldn't be now if it weren't for the visions, but I like it well enough." He flicked Angel a glance. "You might have noticed that by now."
"A little."
"I don't mind it so much now, you know. You know what really gets me? I just-I can't leave," he whispered. "It scares the living hell out of me. I'm not saying I would, mind, but can't, that's something different." He scrubbed a hand over his face tiredly. "I'm not really keen on being stuck here. You, now, you can go anywhere you want and I'll be running after you like a lost pup."
"No, I can't," Angel told him, softly. He met Doyle's exasperated look evenly. He reached out and traced a finger down Doyle's cheek, felt the faint abrasiveness of stubble. "I really can't."
A long moment passed, and then Doyle seemed to give in and tilted his head a little into Angel's touch. "Yeah," Doyle sighed. "Yeah, you might be right."
~~*~~
End chapter
Author: Keelywolfe
Series: Angel
Pairing: Angel/Doyle
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Any latecomers can find all the other parts here
You might notice I now have a definite part listing for this. That's right, there is only one chapter left in Strawberry Fields. That's because I realized the rest of the story belongs in a sequel. So don't weep, Doyle and Angel aren't done, they just need another story. :)
~~*~~
He had to admit it. If there was something Cordelia was good at, it was providing a distraction. Spending the morning trying to convince him that they needed a commercial to advertise their services was certainly a good way to keep him from wondering about Doyle. Not the best way, mind, but a way.
"I'm the dark avenger," Angel repeated her, slowly. As enjoyable conversations went, this wasn't one.
Cordelia was glowing with excitement, though whether it was for her idea or the fact that she was guaranteed the starring role in the commercial wasn't clear. "I know, it's perfect! We can do it ourselves on High 8. I'll charm a post-production house into doing the effects and we could have this on the air in a week, tops. Come on, it'll be great! We'll pull out all the stops."
"Why don't we just leave the stops where they are for now, okay?" Angel said tiredly. He got to his feet and walked to the elevator, trying to ignore her protests. Maybe he'd be better off to just get in a little exercise instead, before Cordelia had him agreeing to something he'd regret later, like wearing a Batman suit.
He started closing the gate and stopped when something in her voice changed, catching him.
"What's going on?" Cordelia was frowning at him. It made a little wrinkle appear between her eyebrows that he decided he should never tell her about.
"What do you mean?"
"No, you are not going to play big and dumb with me! Something is going on with you and Doyle. I thought it was because you had to see Buffy but that doesn’t explain why Doyle's been all spoggly. You've both been acting weird and I want to know why. I thought we were in this together." She faltered on that, looked down at the floor and took a deep breath before she met his eyes again. "There's no 'me' in team you know."
Angel blinked. "Actually-"
"I don't care! You two are keeping secrets and I want to know why."
She was right and he hadn't really thought about it when he'd agreed to keep this a secret. But what was he supposed to tell her, how could he even begin to explain. Suddenly, he couldn't look at her anymore, lifted a hand and pressed his thumb and forefinger against his eyes to forestall a growing ache.
"Something's really wrong, isn't it," she asked with quiet shrewdness. The door opening interrupted them. Doyle walked slowly inside, looking…completely normal, all told. Angel felt a surge of unexpected irritation. Shouldn't he be marked by this somehow? Or maybe he was just getting so used to seeing Doyle looking like hell that it seemed like he'd never seen him any other way.
"Hey," he said and shoved his hands in his pockets. He was wearing the red shirt but it was the wariness in his eyes that Angel thought might have finished him. He looked at Doyle in his brilliantly red shirt, felt something glowing and hot behind his eyes and suddenly this was all too much.
"Cordelia, why don't you go get some coffee and donuts." It was as close to an order as he dared.
"Oh, right, like you have sudden urge for a Krispy Kreme." But she took the twenty he offered, looking between them as she went out the door. It was rather a testament to the uneasiness between them that she didn't stay and demand an answer. That would come later, he was sure.
Doyle was studying the floor, his hands cupping his elbows.
"Sit down," Angel said, softly.
"Think I'd rather be standing, I-"
"Sit your ass down."
Doyle looked up then, his eyes wide and startled. It shifted quickly to irritation but he limped over to a chair and threw himself into it sullenly. Angel winced in sympathetic pain. Last night probably hadn't helped the healing wound but he didn't smell any blood. Not too badly strained, then. He sat in the chair with his head down looking for all the world like a teenager about to be punished for staying out too late, a mixture of anger and guilt.
That was fine. He could keep his anger, his bitterness, he could let it reflect from his eyes like a silver-cold mirror. Whatever he wanted to do with it, though, it was his and Angel was heartily sick of carrying the burden of other people's anger. He had enough to carry with him.
"I'm not doing that again, Doyle." Angel kept his words slow and calm. "I won't. If you don't want to do this then we need to figure out some other way to give the Powers a hint that we don't want it."
Doyle had his face in his hands, the dark hair at his temples ruffling beneath his fingertips, and he shook his head wearily. "I dunno how-"
"Well, we haven't exactly tried anything else!" Angel snapped.
"Doesn't matter," Doyle said dully. "That's not really the problem, is it."
Angel stopped. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Come on, you had me pinned on the fucking bed and I was still loving it," he replied angrily. Angel felt a flush of shamed heat and looked away. "Can't exactly hide it so I might as well say it." He glared at Angel. "Is that what you want, you want me to say it? Fine, I like it, all of it. I like sucking cock and taking it in the bum, all right? Been liking it just fine!"
"I like it too," Angel admitted, bewildered. "So what's the problem?"
"The problem? You tell me! I thought we were doing all right and you blew up at me yesterday like someone pissed in your morning coffee!"
His own sullen anger, banked to coals, surged to feeble renewed life. "How did you want me to act when you came to me after spending all day chasing Cordelia?"
Doyle stared at him. "Oh, for fuck's sake, what are you, sixteen? All that time with the high schoolers rub off on you? I wanted her to come with me to a movie, not to move in! I told you before I wanted to see it."
He had, Angel suddenly recalled. While they were twined in bed together, still naked and flushed with sex, Doyle had mentioned wanting to see a movie.
"I just didn't want to see the damned thing by myself! Figured you wouldn't want to go, you're not exactly a matinee guy."
"Then why did you ask me?" Angel blurted out.
Doyle gave him a disgusted look. "Hoped you'd say yes, didn't I? Instead, you tore my head off. That's fine though, if you want to go on about Cordy, that's all right. Why don't you tell me, when you were in the kitchen chatting up your ex about me, would you have chosen me over her?"
Startled, Angel frowned. "What-"
"You're not the only fucking demon on the planet with ears!" he snarled. "I could hear every damned thing you said! So tell me, would you? Huh?"
"No," he whispered. He felt stupid and ashamed, and of course Doyle was right. He had no right to be possessive, he'd always known that but it was only in this moment that he believed it.
"Fine. That's fine. So shut it about Cordelia, all right? Jesus, I--" He pushed himself roughly to his feet and his wounded leg had apparently had enough abuse for the day. It crumpled beneath him and Doyle barely had time to cry out in pain before he fell.
Angel grabbed him before he could hit the ground and yanked him back up. They ended up pressed together, Doyle's face so close to his own and his lips were parted, just the edge of his teeth visible. His breath was feather-soft, hot and damp, smelling of toothpaste and, God--
Angel couldn't even speak, just lowered his head and tasted Doyle's mouth. Soft, so soft, and hot, easy to slip his tongue inside and explore the slick heat of his mouth like he hadn't really been able to the night before and his mind was frozen, part of him already cringing from Doyle's stillness. He'd have every right to pull away, angry and swearing and he'd probably leave again, leave Angel alone until he came back that night because he had to.
Except he wasn't swearing, he wasn't fighting, his hands ghosted up the back of Angel's shirt to settle on his head, fingertips sifting through his hair as Doyle kissed him back. Kissed him back, God, kissed him back, his tongue sweet and alive against Angel's.
He was barely aware of stepping forward, carrying Doyle with him until the wall was there, holding them both up. It didn't matter, nothing so important as the slick mouth open beneath his own and he pressed closer, getting a leg between Doyle's and pushing against him the way Doyle liked. He was hard against Angel's thigh, his moan a soft vibration between their mouths and his tongue was hot and deft, flicking against Angel's lips, licking roughly.
Angel slid his hands down over the warm curve of Doyle's hips, thinking only of lifting Doyle up so he could grind against him and he was already half-convinced he was going to fuck him right here against this wall. Doyle had one arm around Angel, his head caught in the crook of Doyle's elbow and he was holding him in hard, biting his lips and soothing each nip with a light flicker of tongue.
He tightening a hand on Doyle's thigh, intent on hoisting him a little higher and Doyle's sudden yelp of pain was caught in his mouth and Angel jerked back, pulling both mouth and hands away the bare inch that Doyle allowed.
"Sorry," he panted, not needing the air but some reactions never really faded.
"S'ok," Doyle wheezed, eyes closed tightly. He started laughing then, suddenly, and Angel couldn't help smiling even though he had no idea why. They were still pressed together, chest to thigh and Angel relaxed back against him, careful of his injured leg.
"We suck at this, you know," Doyle said. He was still smiling, his lips damp and looking extremely kissable. Angel resisted the urge, for the moment.
"Yeah. We suck," Angel admitted. He leaned down to rest his forehead against Doyle's. "I'm sorry," he said, quietly.
Doyle sighed, deeply. "Yeah, me too. I guess if we're going to live in each other's pockets, we better declare all other pockets off limits, yeah?"
Probably a good idea, all things considered. "I'm not really good at this."
"I won't be winning any awards either. Not exactly flattering that the only way I can get laid is if cosmic forces send someone my way."
Angel snorted. "You're not the only one." It made them both chuckle, not a particularly comfortable thing the way they were standing but Angel didn't feel like moving and Doyle wasn't protesting. He opened his eyes, lazily, pale green that gleamed with humor and arousal.
"You have the nicest eyes," Angel said and immediately felt stupid.
Doyle laughed again, awkwardly this time. "If I had a quarter every time someone said that...I'd have to borrow a dollar from you to buy a coffee." Those eyes went suddenly wide, staring over his shoulder. "Cordy, don't!"
It was instinct to whirl around, holding Doyle behind him despite his protests. Cordelia was standing in the doorway, holding the crossbow they kept in the front office directly at them. "He's gone all evil again, hasn't he? I knew it, I knew something weird was going on!"
Doyle rudely shoved Angel aside, holding out both hands to Cordelia placatingly. "No, no," Doyle soothed, "We were just chatting is all, him and me."
"How do I know you're not all evil too?" she asked suspiciously. "He could have made you all 'grr' while I was gone."
"Princess, it takes a little longer to go to the vamp side than it does to get a coffee. Besides, we don't need any more evil around the office. We have you."
"Hey!" she sputtered, but she let him disarm her. "Something is still weird. How many people chat pressed up against a wall?" she asked skeptically. "Unless you're lip reading with your own lips or something, it doesn't really-" Dawning realization and Doyle winced.
"Oh," Cordelia pursed her lips. "You know, I think I need about ten more mochachinos. I'll leave you two to," she gestured vaguely. "Work it out or whatever."
She whirled on Doyle and smacked him hard on the back of the head, ignoring his yelp of protest. "After that, we’re having a long talk, Mister, do you hear me?" With that, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and strolled out.
"That didn't go quite how I planned," Doyle said wryly, rubbing his head, and then at Angel's expression, "What?"
"I don't know, you're just taking this so," he gestured weakly. "Well? I didn't think you wanted Cordelia to know."
Doyle shrugged. "I think I'm too freaked by my latest near death experience. Give me twenty and I'll see if I can work up some hysterics for you."
"You don't have to do me any favors." Angel sat on the desk and stared at his clasped hands. "Um, are you sure you're all right?"
"Yeah," Doyle said, heavily. "I think so. I mean, most of the demons in LA, all your pals in Sunnydale and even the blond party favor know we're making with the pelvic." He laughed a little. "Guess it was just getting old worrying about it. Never done anything like this before and I wouldn't be now if it weren't for the visions, but I like it well enough." He flicked Angel a glance. "You might have noticed that by now."
"A little."
"I don't mind it so much now, you know. You know what really gets me? I just-I can't leave," he whispered. "It scares the living hell out of me. I'm not saying I would, mind, but can't, that's something different." He scrubbed a hand over his face tiredly. "I'm not really keen on being stuck here. You, now, you can go anywhere you want and I'll be running after you like a lost pup."
"No, I can't," Angel told him, softly. He met Doyle's exasperated look evenly. He reached out and traced a finger down Doyle's cheek, felt the faint abrasiveness of stubble. "I really can't."
A long moment passed, and then Doyle seemed to give in and tilted his head a little into Angel's touch. "Yeah," Doyle sighed. "Yeah, you might be right."
~~*~~
End chapter