~~~~~

Angel's Apartment - 10pm, Saint Patrick's Day

~~~~~

Squeeeeaaaaall…..the high-pitched noised echoed through the empty apartment as the door above the stairs opened just an inch. A tiny, rosy face peered through the cracked door, looking left and right before sliding its super petite form past the metal. Faster than the human eye could register, the little being, clad entirely in a fresh shade of green, dashed down into the apartment. It quirked its head as it rested at the entrance to the bedroom before leaping into the small kitchen area.

The being regarded the white refrigerator with some consternation - after all, the door was closed and it was admittedly rather…height-impaired. Whipping out a small golden wand with a glowing emerald tip, the little creature gestured wildly at the door and grinned as the door squeaked open. The being jumped into the cold fridge, landing in front of a plastic carton of blood. Wrinkling its nose (little green creatures have VERY sensitive noses), it took out a diminutive tool box, emerald green in color, and set to work. Withdrawing a gold contraption, a beaker of green liquid on one side and a sharp needle on the other, the creature stuck the needle into the carton of blood, depressed a tiny red button with his tiny pink thumb, and snerked as the shiny goo joined the dark, red blood. Once all the liquid had entered the carton, he packed up his tools, jumped out of fridge, dashed back up the stairs, and with a tiny bow and a snerk, closed the door.

~~~~~

Two hours later…

~~~~~

"Yeah, night Cordelia, Wesley…Wes watch out for the…damn." Angel winced as his eager-to-please new partner tripped on the ripped linoleum near the door to the office. Cordelia grabbed Wesley's arm, and with a quick, bright smile for her boss, hauled the inept man out of the office.

With a relieved sigh, Angel turned towards the elevator. As he entered the freight elevator, he gave thank to The Powers That Be, God, Buddha, and maybe a few of the old gods that he had the apartment to himself. No Cordy, no Wes, just lots of nice dark space to brood in. He liked to brood. The vampire hadn't gotten any serious brooding in since Wesley's arrival - he was too busy preventing his secretary from adding the bumbling Englishman to her collection of ghosts.

Nope, tonight, of all nights, was strictly reserved for some intense brooding. The kind of brooding that lead most humans to bloody, violent suicide, but usually just left the hunky vampire with a bad migraine and a vague desire to watch Jerry Springer. Due to his desire for a dark, dank night, Angel didn't turn on any lights as he strode into the apartment. He unerringly headed for the fridge. After that night's fight with a Mokras demon (why did anyone need that many feet?), Angel craved one thing - some nice 0-postive to make his tummy happy. Angel grasped the plastic carton, ripped off the top, and guzzled the heavy, cold fluid. In his hurry to consume the blood, the usually attentive vampire failed to notice that the carton glowed light green. As he considered whether to bother microwaving the next carton, something odd happened.

A sharp tingle raced from his gut to his toes to his fingers up into his skull to burst into a kaleidoscope of brilliant green and gold lights behind his eyes. Angel gasped and felt his knees weaken, and he tried to keep his balance by grabbing onto the fridge door. An hauntingly familiar voice came from the direction of his bedroom.

"Are ya gonna stand there all night, man, or are ya gonna come celebrate the holiday with me?"

Oh dear…Angel was hallucinating, he was sure of it. 'Cause that sounded an awful lot like - Doyle??? Angel rubbed his broad hand against his eyes, prepared to look into the bedroom and see nothing but an empty bed, as he had for so many nights now. He lifted his head, and peered into the darkness broken only by the harsh light from the fridge.

Leaning against the doorway to his bedroom stood Allen Francis Doyle, alive, breathing, and…clad in the ugliest neon green suit ever seen on the face of any dimension. Angel was pretty sure even Whistler wouldn't have been caught dead in that suit. To make matters worse, the suit greatly resembled that of John Travolta's from Saturday Night Fever (what? a vampire can't watch bad movies sometimes?). Angel's eyes traveled up from the edge of obnoxiously wide bellbottoms to the top of a wide green shirt collar, then finally to bright, open, twinkling peridot eyes.

For quite possibly the first and only time in his long life, Angel's jaw dropped open.

"Look man, it's bad enough I have to appear to you in this shoddy get up, but could you at least say somethin'? After all, it's not everyday a dead man pops up in your be…okay, so maybe it's not all that unusual for you, you bein' dead and all, but com'on Angel, say somethin'!" A little bit of the twinkle left the short half-demon's eyes as he broke contact with Angel's eyes.

There were probably a lot of ways to deal with this. Ask Doyle why he was back, where the hell he got that outfit, call Cordelia, visit the Powers that Be…but only one thing appealed to the vampire. A man could only hold out against his fondest desire for so long, and when it was handed to him on a sliver platter with an apple between its teeth, only an idiot would refuse.

And Liam/Angelus/Angel had been many things in his life, but rarely an idiot. Rarely.

The fridge door shut with a crash, and Angel strode across the space separating he and Doyle with quick, sure strides. Hands ripped off clothing and feet kicked off shoes during the short trip. He couldn’t see his target, but he could smell the ripe, human/demon hybrid before him, and he could almost taste the heat, the tinge of fear, and the rising lust. Yum, yum.

Angel grabbed Doyle's head between his cool hands, hauling the mortal's face up to his, but he didn't kiss him. Instead, he laid his face against the other man's and inhaled, rubbing his nose into the warm skin. Doyle smelled so wonderfully alive that Angel could have wept, but the vampire didn't want to waste whatever time they had together on weeping and wailing. No, Angel had better pursuits in mind.

Nipping and licking at the half-demon's tender lips, Angel lowered his hands to the vile green shirt and ripped it off the smaller man. Doyle grunted. "I'll have you know that was my only shirt." But he didn't seem too upset as his tongue made its first hesitant request to enter the coolness of his lover's mouth. Sucking the molten, wiggling bit of flesh between his lips, Angel made his desires quite clear. He broke the kiss and shoved Doyle into the room and onto the bed, attacking the man's pants, stripping his fellow Irishman bare until he wore nothing but a grin. Angel swooped down on the fat, hefty length of Doyle's pulsing erection, forming a tight seal with his lips and sucking for all he was worth. The mortal bellowed, his hips thrusting up, driving his cock deeper into the strangely enticing coolness of Angel's mouth. Without further thought, Angel sank down onto the rock-hard, steaming sword, enveloping the cock with his throat in one swift move.

"Jesus, man, where in the hell didja learn to do that." Doyle's fingers plunged into his lover's gelled hair, gripping tightly as his hips pumped into the velvety sweetness of Angel's mouth. Angel drew his throat off the cock, and licked the tiny slit at the head, sipping at the leaking come. He captured Doyle's perfect lips in a swift, brutal kiss. Breaking the contact, he locked eyes with the half-demon again, his eyes tinting golden yellow with lust when his lover huskily whispered,

"Fuck me."

Never one to look a gift vampire in the mouth, Allan Francis took his lover's dark gold eyes and vampiric ridges as a sign of willingness, and scrambled out from under the vampire, drawing his legs up. Puzzled at first, Angel nearly fainted as he saw his lover suck on his fingers, then plunge one digit into the tight, dark rim of flesh between his legs. The vampire's body trembled and shook with the effort to control his demon, and the animalistic urges which accompanied that entity, as he surveyed the trembling, pale perfection of Allan Francis Doyle. Another slick finger plunged in and Doyle growled as his fingers undoubtedly brushed against his prostate. He finished his preparations with a soft sigh and pounced on the vampire, who was reclining on his side.

Laughing and groaning at the same time, Angel spoke. "Doyle, don't you think it would be easier…"

Doyle halted the vampire's speech by tweaking a cool, sensitive nipple. "Nah, man, I got it under control…and believe me, I know what I'm doin' here." With that, the half-demon raised his ass up, grasped Angel's hard, pale cock in one hand, and positioned his ass over the straining length. The two men sighed in unison as Doyle sank onto Angel's cock with an ease that was almost criminal. Rising up, the smaller man slammed down on the thick piece of flesh, and both men howled. Angel felt too many things at once; there was the smell of the racing blood under Doyle's salty skin, the heated lust filling the other man's cock, the intense crushing sensation around his erection. Doyle's hands grasped Angel's nipples, almost using them as reins as he rode the vampire, hard and fast. As Angel felt his own balls draw up, ready for the coming orgasm, he also felt his lover slow down, and lean across the alabaster flesh of the vampire.

As the rapid beat of the jugular vein neared his fangs, Angel growled, and tried to shove Doyle away. But Doyle would have none of that, grasped Angel's head with one hand and then bared his own neck to the deadly teeth.

"Trust me, man."

Unable to resist the scent and rush of blood, as well as the willingness of this fabulous creature, Angel ripped into the throat, gorging on the mad flow of blood over his tongue, down his throat. The blood pulsing into his mouth, his cock throbbing in Doyle's tight passage, Angel couldn't hold out. His orgasm ripped through him and he dimly heard a strangled scream issue from the mortal body still moving on top of him. Doyle's body collapsed onto his own, and Angel felt the soft squish of the mortal's warm come between them. Ignoring everything but the warm, still alive and breathing figure in his arms, the vampire snuggled Doyle close and drifted into sleep.

~~~~~

The Day After St. Patrick's Day

~~~~~

Cordelia Chase crept down the stairs into her employer's apartment as quietly as humanly possible when one was wearing three inch spiked heels. She flicked on lights as he entered the doom of the main space. Sniffing the air, her delicate nose wrinkled at the acrid, alcohol smell filling the apartment. She noticed the large pitcher of oddly tinted beer on the kitchen table and shrugged her shoulders. Vampires. Go figure.

"Angel? Are you here, or are you dust?" Dumb question she supposed, but hey, she had a right to ask, right? It was after noon and Angel hadn't made an appearance in the office. Angel always showed up before noon. Always. So, Cordelia had ventured into the Great Brooding Sanctum to find her undead boss.

Looking into the bedroom, she saw the nude, sprawled figure of Angel on the bed. She stalked up to the bed, ready to awaken him with the dulcet tones of her sweet voice, but halted when she saw the…thing on his ass.

Smack in the middle of his right cheek was a large, leafy-green shamrock, with "Doyle Was Here" written across it in lacy script. The stem of the shamrock curved towards the center of his ass, disappearing under the sheet covering the rest of the vampire's body.

A perfectly pencilled eyebrow arched, and Cordelia surveyed the scene. Wake the boss up, and find out exactly why he had their dead friend's name tattooed on his ass, or grab a camera and take blackmail pictures in the event that Angel ever got completely fed up with her?

Cordelia ran up the stairs as fast as she could on her spindly heels, nearly tripping as she hurried to get her camera.

~~~~~

Somewhere far, far away

~~~~~

The tiny mischievous creature chortled and clapped its hands as it watched the tableau unfold below. It always enjoyed getting an early start on April Fool's, and that nice Doyle had been so very cooperative.

Ah, it was certainly fun being a leprechaun.