a.connor  a.doyle  a.lindsey  a.oz  a.spike  a.wesley  a.xander  a.other  three.somes  het.fic  character.study           
Title: Wet
Author: MonaR.
Pairing: Angel/Doyle
Rating: NC-17
Setting: AtS S1
A/N: Third story in the "Alternative Beginnings" series (after "Could I Be Your Girl", and "A Little Death").
Can also be read as a stand-alone.

"So." Doyle took a swig from the bottle in his hand, and passed it over to Angel. "That wasn't *the* most humiliatin' night of my life, but I believe it's somewhere in the top ten."

Angel took a healthy drink, feeling the burn of the alcohol, wishing he could taste it more clearly. "You must have a pretty tame top ten," he said to Doyle. "That didn't even make my top twenty."

Doyle laughed. "Yeah, well, *I* haven't been alive as long as some people in the room." He paused long enough to allow Angel to nod at him, acknowledging the truth of his words. "Give me another century or two, and I'm sure that tonight's episode will slide down there, in retrospect. Although," he paused, "maybe I shouldn't be hoping for that."

"What?" Angel asked. "Living two centuries? No, you shouldn't."

Doyle grimaced at him. "Thanks for wishing an early death on me. I meant, that I shouldn't hope to go through things more humiliating than tonight."

"I didn't - " Angel started, but Doyle just stood up and waved his hands at him. Then he took his jacket off, and Angel forgot what he was going to say, anyway. His mouth gaped open slightly when Doyle's shirt hit the floor. "What - ?" he managed, but nothing else.

"I've got the stink of a horde of dead demons on me," Doyle said, and sniffed the air. "So do you, my friend," he added, and toed off his shoes. "I bet Cordy's been in a bubble bath for an hour by now." He shook his head and hissed breath through his teeth. "Now *there* is an image that is going to stay with me for a while."

Cordelia hadn't been close enough to the horde of foul-smelling demons to actually fight any of them, unlike Doyle and Angel, but she'd gotten a lungful after they were dead and insisted on cab fare home, refusing to even ride in Angel's car with the two of them - after she made sure that they weren't hurt, of course. Rather than putting up a fight, Angel just gave her the money and called the cab.

"Yeah," Angel said, still only halfway coherent. Doyle was efficiently removing his belt and pants, which slid down his legs to the floor.

"Hey," Doyle said, sharply, "no fantasies about Cordelia. That's my prerogative."

"Sorry," Angel said, and turned his head away. He closed his eyes and took another swallow from the bottle.

"S'alright." Doyle walked to the bathroom and flicked on the light, and then stepped out of his underwear. Although Angel had told himself he wasn't going to look, he couldn't seem to stop himself from watching, and the flash of taut, pale buttocks was instantly burned onto his memory. Doyle disappeared, and then craned his head around the corner. "Ya don't mind if I take a shower?" he asked, with a completely straight face, although bright humour danced in his eyes.

Angel shook his head.

Doyle grinned at him. "Cheers," he nodded.

Angel picked up the bottle and waved it at him, and then took a drink. The bottle was getting low. He wondered if he had anything else alcoholic in the place. Something told him things would turn out a lot better if he got really, really drunk tonight.

**********

Angel rested his face against the cool door of the fridge. The fifth was gone - although that wasn't surprising, since it had already been mostly gone when Doyle pulled it out of his secret hiding place - and there wasn't anything else to drink in the entire place. Nothing except blood, that is, and that wasn't the sort of hunger that he was looking to slake, at the moment. It might be dangerous, under the circumstances, to confuse those two appetites again. Doyle had been in the shower - forever, it seemed. At least five minutes. Angel wondered what the hell he was doing in there.

A sudden, crystal-clear mental image of Doyle standing under the shower head, completely naked and dripping water as he washed away soap residue, flashed into Angel's mind, and he groaned right out loud, hands gripping the edges of the fridge
door hard enough to leave marks. He tried to think of something else, something non-sexual and safe, but the sound of the shower suddenly seemed to fill the too-still apartment, along with heat and a clean smell of soap, and made it impossible to concentrate on anything else.

He told himself all the way across the room that he was just going to close the bathroom door, which Doyle had forgotten to do. That's all. Nothing else. He wasn't going inside, wasn't going to take his clothes off, wasn't going to step into the shower along with his friend and -

"It's about damn time," Doyle said, when the shower curtain pulled back to reveal a naked Angel. "Too much more of this and I'd've removed a layer of skin." He looked at Angel critically. "Does it always take you this long to figure out a clue? No wonder we don't attract any paying customers."

"I - " Angel said.

Doyle pulled the vampire under the shower spray and pushed him up against the sweating tiles. "You what?"

Angel shook his head. Drops of water shook free from his hair. "I forget."

"You want me to kiss you?" Doyle actually waited until Angel nodded almost imperceptibly in the affirmative before doing it. He kissed Angel's top lip, and then the bottom - almost chastely, just raking his teeth over them before brushing them with his lips, softly, almost like they could do this and still pretend that they were just two friends who were not standing together naked in the shower - and then devoured Angel's mouth entire, thrusting his tongue in between those lips.

Angel was immobile, palms flat against the tile, senses assaulted by pheromones and the carnal onslaught of Doyle's wet, naked body pressed up against his, coupled with the beat of warm water on both of them. He couldn't seem to do anything but let himself be kissed, and then Doyle was prying his fingers away from the wall, and placing them on his own body. When Angel suddenly found himself holding Doyle, something changed - snapped, maybe. He turned them around and picked Doyle up by the hips, slamming him back against the wall, and then kissed him - not just a reaction to a kiss, not just acquiescence - he kissed Doyle like the world would end if they ever broke the kiss, like air only existed because it came from Doyle's lungs.

Angel freed one hand and dug between their bodies, finding Doyle's cock. He could feel the moan that travelled from Doyle's chest and up into his mouth, even though it was muffled by Angel's own tongue. Angel rubbed his thumb over the soft, sensitive cockhead, around the tiny slit, and Doyle's entire body shuddered, and he broke from the kiss, desperately gasping for air, arms wrapped around Angel's neck.

Doyle brought one leg up and curled it around Angel's thigh, and started to thrust into the hand that was stroking his cock. The pained look on his face told Angel just how good it felt, and how much he wanted it - no, *needed* it. Angel wondered suddenly how long it had been - not for him, because he knew the answer to that question in hours and seconds, but for Doyle. How long it had been since someone had touched him with love; how long since Doyle allowed himself to be touched.

Doyle frowned at him when Angel pulled his twining leg free, but his expression changed to surprise and then shock when Angel knelt on the floor of the bath and took Doyle's hardened cock down his throat, and stilled. Doyle didn't react at all until the moment of shock wore off, and then he whipped his head back so hard it made a sharp crack against the sweating tile and Angel worried that he'd knock himself out. Doyle just cried out, and thrust himself forward in such a way that Angel *knew* he wasn't in any sort of pain.

Not yet, anyway. Angel grinned around the thickness in his mouth, and started to lick and suck Doyle's cock in earnest. If there was anything at all that he was good at, this was it; it might be the only thing that centuries of vampirism had qualified him for.

Doyle seemed to think he was perfection, and wondered if he hadn't perhaps been responsible for the invention of the blow job, and kept up a breathy, gasping, mindless sort of chatter along those lines, all the while Angel was trying to blow his mind. The vampire decided that he really mustn't be doing that good of a job if Doyle still had the presence of mind to talk, and kicked things into overdrive by thrusting a finger in between his buttocks.

That stopped Doyle talking, for a moment. It also had the consequence of drawing Doyle's balls up tight to his body, while his fingers dug into Angel's skull. It wasn't much longer after that that Doyle came, with some sort of moaning shouted hail Mary and a general bonelessness in his legs; Angel had to catch him quickly before he collapsed into a shaking, wet, blasphemous heap on the shower floor.

They sat there for a few minutes, while Doyle tried to remember how to breathe on his own and Angel realized that the water had turned from comfortably warm to downright chilly. He reached over and turned the spray off and looked at Doyle
critically.

"Wha - ?" Doyle managed, looking a little dazed.

Angel didn't say anything. He drew the shower-curtain back and stepped out, and then reached for Doyle - not for his outstretched hand, since he was almost certain that Doyle's legs probably hadn't restored themselves from jelly, yet, and would be incapable of supporting his body weight even long enough to get out of the shower. He caught Doyle around the waist and slung him over one shoulder, in a fireman's grip.

"Towels," Angel thought Doyle said, in a throaty rasp, but he ignored him. He walked from the bathroom to the bed, and threw Doyle down on it on his back, and then climbed up from the end, until he was straddling Doyle's body. Water was still dripping down off of both of them; he could see the splashes from his hair and face on Doyle's chest, and saw the puddles soaking into the blanket underneath them. It felt incredible to be on top of him, to be pinning him down, and he knew that Doyle wasn't putting up any sort of fight to this dominating stance. Angel leaned down and kissed him, and then kneeled back on his heels and lifted Doyle's legs, so that the ankles hooked around his neck, and ducked his head.

The first taste of him was clean - like soap and water - but when Angel burrowed his tongue deeper inside, he tasted the spark of sweat and musk that was Doyle. Nerve endings all along his sex organs seemed attached directly to his mouth, and Doyle called out, again. It somehow delighted Angel to hear the things that Doyle said, when he was thoroughly distracted by lust: bits of prayer, recently promising horses at the track, 70's song lyrics. He only hoped that a vision didn't hit - it might kill both of them.

Angel removed his mouth and shifted up his hips, lowering Doyle's torso in the process, until they made a perfect fit together. Pushing inside felt *right* - like more than the natural progression of sex. Florid sorts of romantic ideals came to mind, and then Angel looked at Doyle - face screwed up, head thrust back, neck muscles taut, completely illuminating every motion in stark relief as he swallowed, chest heaving for breath as he was fucked, hands desperately clenching until they found purchase with the bed-clothes below him. It was the personification of Lust come to life. Taken this instant, Doyle's picture could have been in the dictionary, under the 'l's.

Angel thrust in again, perfectly sheathed, and felt the beat of another heart - it had been too long since he'd felt that persistence of life. Everything had felt like death for too long; this - this naked, primal coupling, *this* was life. It was almost enough to make Angel believe that everything didn't come to an end, everything didn't die, every movement wasn't a step towards the inevitability of loss.

Almost. He thrust harder, slapping his balls against the pale skin of Doyle's ass, and clenched his teeth when he felt his own body straining for release. He *needed* this, needed this cleansing, needed to wash away the past and forget about the future and just live in this one single moment of time. His eyes clenched tight, he thrust and held and felt himself breaking free of his body, and he came, silently, listening to Doyle speak.

**********

Doyle's shoulder blades made sharp points in his back; too sharp, Angel thought, as he lay a kiss upon the one closest to his own mouth.

Doyle turned his head, and grinned, green eyes blazing with good humour and life. "'Mornin'."

"Morning," Angel said.

"We should get up."

"Mm." It as a non-committal non-answer.

"The princess'll be here soon."

"Yeah."

Doyle raised an eyebrow. "Unless you'd like her to find us - ?"

Angel shrugged. "It wouldn't do you any good in your quest."

"And what quest would that be?"

Angel gave him a blatant look. "The same one you've had since I first met you - to get into her- " He paused. "Good graces."

"Nice save," Doyle said, with a laugh.

"I thought so," Angel grinned, and wondered why he felt so delighted with himself, all of a sudden.

"Well, you're not very bright, but you do get a good idea every once in a while." Doyle threw his legs over the side of the bed, and stood up, scratching his stomach as he looked critically at Angel, still on his back on the bed.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, just something about you and clues." Doyle rubbed his hand over his belly, and grimaced. "Ugh. Messy." He walked over to the shower, and turned the light on.

Angel followed him with his eyes.

Doyle popped his head out of the doorway, and asked, "Ya don't mind if I have a shower?"

Angel shook his head.

"Cheers," Doyle grinned, and disappeared.

Angel started to chuckle, and waited until he heard the shower turn on before he got out of the bed. "I'm just going to close the door," he said, under his breath. "I really have to remind him to close the door, next time."


The End


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