Fic: I Might Be... (Doyle/Angel)
Originally written for the delightful tesla321's Birthday Ficathon.
nwhepcat requested early Doyle, with Angel.
I Might Be...
Doyle/Angel, set during Epi 1.4, I Fall to Pieces
Not mine. No profit. No gain.
Fictional, delusional.
Slash, Adult but not too porny.
Special thanks to bittersweet_art for her help in giving me a starting point. *hugs and adores*
Angel’s coat flares out behind him, flipping up at the edge enough to show the curve of his thigh under his tailored wool pants before settling around his legs. Leather worn, supple enough to flow around his body as he walks out into the night.
“Aw, flippin’ hell.” Another pencil lead snaps under the pressure of his fingers and Doyle looks up to find their client looking at him speculatively. “Um, these word jumbles can be killer, you know?”
Melissa manages both a nod and a noncommittal smile before turning her attention back to her work and Doyle swallows another sigh. Looks out the window, his eyes scanning the skyline as the memory of last night continues to play out in his mind.
Unable to tear his eyes away from Angel in time, Cordelia’s elbow jabbing him none to softly in his ribs jarring him. His voice defensive, a bit too strident…more than a little too loud. ““Maybe I’m a little attracted.”
Her eyes going wide before sliding from his to look at the doorway where Angel pauses, half-turns. The sharp profile delineated by the bright streetlights just beyond and he fucking smirks. Smirks and adjusts his collar before walking out into the night all dark and broody super-hero like leaving behind a crimson faced Irishman and an overly curious wannabe actress behind.
“Crap.”
Melissa looks up from her paperwork once more, Doyle’s voice soft enough that no one else pays much attention, but after the week she’s had…the weeks…she’s maybe a bit more sensitive, aware of her surroundings. The man sitting watch over her looks in need of someone to watch over him a little. His gaze distant, his body hunched in the chair as if he’s braced for something.
“Girl trouble?”
Doyle jumps, starts at the sound of her voice before blushing furiously. Some great bodyguard he is. “Nah, nothing like that really. Trust me on this one, miles away from girl trouble.” Forestalling anymore questions he can’t…won’t…answer, he grabs his cup of cold coffee and nods toward the machine sitting in the corner in silent question, picks up her cup and goes to get them both some fresh.
Watching him walk away, Melissa shakes her head slowly as she returns to work.
“Not like I’m exactly the world’s best person to be offering relationship advice anyway.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The next few days provide an escape of sorts. Doyle’s able to avoid Angel’s eyes enough to get out the door and head out to watch over Melissa in the daylight hours while Angel and Cordy work on finding out a bit more about the creepier than creepy Dr. Meltzer. He of the detachable body parts and disturbed mind, and except for one poorly timed, ill fated attempt at a joke about the possibility of the doc having certain other part of his body that might be detachable, Doyle’s not said much.
Not to Angel, certainly not to Cordy. She of the all knowing glances and probing questions. No probing necessary, thank you very much, Doyle’s doing well enough paddling up shit creek without additional nudges.
He sits, turning a roll of duct tape in his hands as Cordelia follows Angel to the elevator, tries to convince him of what Doyle already knows. This is a freaking stupid plan. Leaving the woman they are trying to protect in their hands while Angel goes off to save the day, faces the not-so-good doctor on his lonesome. Doyle can feel it, deep down in his gut like he always does when Angel walks off, walks away. Heads out into the night to fight the evil that walks among men. The evil Doyle sends him out to face every time his head nearly splits open thanks to the fickle whims of Powers That Be.
Disgusted with himself, Doyle stands and rips off another length of tape and starts taping another vent in an attempt to keep out literally prying eyes and fingers and just…ew.
There’s nothing either of them can do, both of them have their jobs, their destinies and he tries to be satisfied. Tries to console himself with the thought that at least their destinies are intertwined. The fates saw fit to give him that much.
Melissa sleeps off the tea laced whiskey Doyle had placed in her trembling fingers while he and Cordy nervously pace the apartment and each time she checks her watch, it takes all he has not to do the same.
“What if Angel doesn’t come back?”
Doyle wheels around at her question, avoiding her gaze and adding yet another layer of silver tape to one of the vents. He can’t trust he’ll be able to hide the worry, the fear he knows shadows his eyes, and he has to swallow more than once to choke back the lump in his throat before he can find his voice…the right one, the one that comforts. That can lie to her and won’t admit he’s wondering the same damn thing.
“Ah, he’ll be back.”
“What if Dr. Chopped Salad shows up before he does?” Doyle can’t fight back the sigh of frustration, but he still manages to not snap at her. He knows she loves Angel, cares about him almost as much as…
“I have this place sewed up tighter than…” Both of them jump, wide brown eyes staring into even wider blue ones. Slipping some weapons from the wall, Doyle presses one into her hands and they try to speak normally…cards and teasing each other…their eyes peeled for the source of rattling sound which drew their attention and sent a bolt of fear down Doyle’ spine.
Chewing on his lip, he tries to focus…not to panic wondering what the hell happened to Angel, not to even think the worst, and maybe that’s what costs him. Distracts him from the disembodied hand that grabs Cordy as he opens the trap door and peers down into the darkness. Doyle’s only begun to turn around when he finds himself tumbling ass over teakettle down to the base of the ladder, his head hitting the concrete floor with a dull thud.
The last thing he sees is the thin sliver of light from above disappearing as the trap door slams shut.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
He’s not sure how long he’s out, but when he comes to, the light’s back and two familiar faces look down on him, and he’s not lying when he says he’s okay. Sure, his brain a bit scrambled and some of it might have splattered on the walls, but he is okay. They all are and that’s all that matters. That all of them are okay.
The next morning dawns after another sleepless night, and Angel isn’t the only one sticking to the shadows. Doyle slumps in his chair, eyes half closed against the searing sunlight that seems to seek him out for the sole purpose of torturing him half to death. Head pounding, he still smiles and even means it when Melissa drops by with a plant that will be dead in less than a week and a check for services rendered. They did good. Real good.
Even Angel’s smiling and that’s just…enough to send him into the killing sunlight with the equally radiant Cordy, because if he’s maybe a little attracted to the dark, broody avenger Angel, the one who smiles…Christ and all the Saints…he doesn’t stand a chance.
Most of the day is wiled away out of the office. Visiting a bar or two maybe, but connections are…an excuse and he knows it, but Doyle’s been able to avoid looking Angel in the eye since his little exclamation and denial’s lovely this time of year. A couple more whiskeys and he’s thinking about buying a condo there. Spending summers, hell, maybe year round.
By the time Doyle stumbles home the pain in his head is blunted and if the voices aren’t silent, he can’t exactly make out the words either and he’s hoping that’s good enough to let him have one night. One night between clean sheets. One night of dreamless, visionless sleep. One night of peace.
He dozes in the shower, swaying on his feet until the water turns icy and he’s barely able to escape while he’s still warm inside. The damp towel lands on a chair in the corner and a sigh of bliss escapes Doyle’s lips as his feet and legs slide under crisp cotton, a luxury he’s learned to appreciate very, very much in the past couple months.
The escape of sleep is a heartbeat away when Angel’s hand slides across his belly, fingers circling his navel...plucking at the hair growing just under.
“You might a little attracted?”
Doyle can feel the smile that curves the lips pressed to his shoulder and his face burns, cheeks stained crimson as he turns in Angel’s arms and does his best to kiss that smile away only to end up smiling back. Laughing into Angel’s mouth as practiced fingers skirt across his ribs, and find all the spots that make him smile, laugh…moan softly as their bodies fit together.
He flicks his tongue into the shell of Angel’s ears as slick fingers push past his balls, whispers, “Maybe more than a little.” This earns him a soft laugh, a softer kiss before all communication becomes limited to the more nonverbal expressions as Doyle’s legs splay open, Angel’s hips pushing them even wider.
Long, deep kisses reflecting the emotions hidden in covert glances throughout the day, whispers making up for all they keep silent, can’t say. Loving each other in the dark before separating during the day because Doyle can’t…admit…who he is. Has never been able to admit…anything.
After, his head doesn’t hurt anymore and when he turns his head, Angel’s eyes are open, watching him and Doyle looks, really looks at the man, the demon who shares his bed. His mission. His life.
“What say we invite Cordy for breakfast? Here, at home…with us?”
~fin
*blows kisses*
nwhepcat requested early Doyle, with Angel.
I Might Be...
Doyle/Angel, set during Epi 1.4, I Fall to Pieces
Not mine. No profit. No gain.
Fictional, delusional.
Slash, Adult but not too porny.
Special thanks to bittersweet_art for her help in giving me a starting point. *hugs and adores*
Angel’s coat flares out behind him, flipping up at the edge enough to show the curve of his thigh under his tailored wool pants before settling around his legs. Leather worn, supple enough to flow around his body as he walks out into the night.
“Aw, flippin’ hell.” Another pencil lead snaps under the pressure of his fingers and Doyle looks up to find their client looking at him speculatively. “Um, these word jumbles can be killer, you know?”
Melissa manages both a nod and a noncommittal smile before turning her attention back to her work and Doyle swallows another sigh. Looks out the window, his eyes scanning the skyline as the memory of last night continues to play out in his mind.
Unable to tear his eyes away from Angel in time, Cordelia’s elbow jabbing him none to softly in his ribs jarring him. His voice defensive, a bit too strident…more than a little too loud. ““Maybe I’m a little attracted.”
Her eyes going wide before sliding from his to look at the doorway where Angel pauses, half-turns. The sharp profile delineated by the bright streetlights just beyond and he fucking smirks. Smirks and adjusts his collar before walking out into the night all dark and broody super-hero like leaving behind a crimson faced Irishman and an overly curious wannabe actress behind.
“Crap.”
Melissa looks up from her paperwork once more, Doyle’s voice soft enough that no one else pays much attention, but after the week she’s had…the weeks…she’s maybe a bit more sensitive, aware of her surroundings. The man sitting watch over her looks in need of someone to watch over him a little. His gaze distant, his body hunched in the chair as if he’s braced for something.
“Girl trouble?”
Doyle jumps, starts at the sound of her voice before blushing furiously. Some great bodyguard he is. “Nah, nothing like that really. Trust me on this one, miles away from girl trouble.” Forestalling anymore questions he can’t…won’t…answer, he grabs his cup of cold coffee and nods toward the machine sitting in the corner in silent question, picks up her cup and goes to get them both some fresh.
Watching him walk away, Melissa shakes her head slowly as she returns to work.
“Not like I’m exactly the world’s best person to be offering relationship advice anyway.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The next few days provide an escape of sorts. Doyle’s able to avoid Angel’s eyes enough to get out the door and head out to watch over Melissa in the daylight hours while Angel and Cordy work on finding out a bit more about the creepier than creepy Dr. Meltzer. He of the detachable body parts and disturbed mind, and except for one poorly timed, ill fated attempt at a joke about the possibility of the doc having certain other part of his body that might be detachable, Doyle’s not said much.
Not to Angel, certainly not to Cordy. She of the all knowing glances and probing questions. No probing necessary, thank you very much, Doyle’s doing well enough paddling up shit creek without additional nudges.
He sits, turning a roll of duct tape in his hands as Cordelia follows Angel to the elevator, tries to convince him of what Doyle already knows. This is a freaking stupid plan. Leaving the woman they are trying to protect in their hands while Angel goes off to save the day, faces the not-so-good doctor on his lonesome. Doyle can feel it, deep down in his gut like he always does when Angel walks off, walks away. Heads out into the night to fight the evil that walks among men. The evil Doyle sends him out to face every time his head nearly splits open thanks to the fickle whims of Powers That Be.
Disgusted with himself, Doyle stands and rips off another length of tape and starts taping another vent in an attempt to keep out literally prying eyes and fingers and just…ew.
There’s nothing either of them can do, both of them have their jobs, their destinies and he tries to be satisfied. Tries to console himself with the thought that at least their destinies are intertwined. The fates saw fit to give him that much.
Melissa sleeps off the tea laced whiskey Doyle had placed in her trembling fingers while he and Cordy nervously pace the apartment and each time she checks her watch, it takes all he has not to do the same.
“What if Angel doesn’t come back?”
Doyle wheels around at her question, avoiding her gaze and adding yet another layer of silver tape to one of the vents. He can’t trust he’ll be able to hide the worry, the fear he knows shadows his eyes, and he has to swallow more than once to choke back the lump in his throat before he can find his voice…the right one, the one that comforts. That can lie to her and won’t admit he’s wondering the same damn thing.
“Ah, he’ll be back.”
“What if Dr. Chopped Salad shows up before he does?” Doyle can’t fight back the sigh of frustration, but he still manages to not snap at her. He knows she loves Angel, cares about him almost as much as…
“I have this place sewed up tighter than…” Both of them jump, wide brown eyes staring into even wider blue ones. Slipping some weapons from the wall, Doyle presses one into her hands and they try to speak normally…cards and teasing each other…their eyes peeled for the source of rattling sound which drew their attention and sent a bolt of fear down Doyle’ spine.
Chewing on his lip, he tries to focus…not to panic wondering what the hell happened to Angel, not to even think the worst, and maybe that’s what costs him. Distracts him from the disembodied hand that grabs Cordy as he opens the trap door and peers down into the darkness. Doyle’s only begun to turn around when he finds himself tumbling ass over teakettle down to the base of the ladder, his head hitting the concrete floor with a dull thud.
The last thing he sees is the thin sliver of light from above disappearing as the trap door slams shut.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
He’s not sure how long he’s out, but when he comes to, the light’s back and two familiar faces look down on him, and he’s not lying when he says he’s okay. Sure, his brain a bit scrambled and some of it might have splattered on the walls, but he is okay. They all are and that’s all that matters. That all of them are okay.
The next morning dawns after another sleepless night, and Angel isn’t the only one sticking to the shadows. Doyle slumps in his chair, eyes half closed against the searing sunlight that seems to seek him out for the sole purpose of torturing him half to death. Head pounding, he still smiles and even means it when Melissa drops by with a plant that will be dead in less than a week and a check for services rendered. They did good. Real good.
Even Angel’s smiling and that’s just…enough to send him into the killing sunlight with the equally radiant Cordy, because if he’s maybe a little attracted to the dark, broody avenger Angel, the one who smiles…Christ and all the Saints…he doesn’t stand a chance.
Most of the day is wiled away out of the office. Visiting a bar or two maybe, but connections are…an excuse and he knows it, but Doyle’s been able to avoid looking Angel in the eye since his little exclamation and denial’s lovely this time of year. A couple more whiskeys and he’s thinking about buying a condo there. Spending summers, hell, maybe year round.
By the time Doyle stumbles home the pain in his head is blunted and if the voices aren’t silent, he can’t exactly make out the words either and he’s hoping that’s good enough to let him have one night. One night between clean sheets. One night of dreamless, visionless sleep. One night of peace.
He dozes in the shower, swaying on his feet until the water turns icy and he’s barely able to escape while he’s still warm inside. The damp towel lands on a chair in the corner and a sigh of bliss escapes Doyle’s lips as his feet and legs slide under crisp cotton, a luxury he’s learned to appreciate very, very much in the past couple months.
The escape of sleep is a heartbeat away when Angel’s hand slides across his belly, fingers circling his navel...plucking at the hair growing just under.
“You might a little attracted?”
Doyle can feel the smile that curves the lips pressed to his shoulder and his face burns, cheeks stained crimson as he turns in Angel’s arms and does his best to kiss that smile away only to end up smiling back. Laughing into Angel’s mouth as practiced fingers skirt across his ribs, and find all the spots that make him smile, laugh…moan softly as their bodies fit together.
He flicks his tongue into the shell of Angel’s ears as slick fingers push past his balls, whispers, “Maybe more than a little.” This earns him a soft laugh, a softer kiss before all communication becomes limited to the more nonverbal expressions as Doyle’s legs splay open, Angel’s hips pushing them even wider.
Long, deep kisses reflecting the emotions hidden in covert glances throughout the day, whispers making up for all they keep silent, can’t say. Loving each other in the dark before separating during the day because Doyle can’t…admit…who he is. Has never been able to admit…anything.
After, his head doesn’t hurt anymore and when he turns his head, Angel’s eyes are open, watching him and Doyle looks, really looks at the man, the demon who shares his bed. His mission. His life.
“What say we invite Cordy for breakfast? Here, at home…with us?”
~fin
*blows kisses*