Many a Mused Rhyme
by Zenia
Pairing: Doyle/Angel
Sequel to "Love and Other Musings"
Disclaimer: They're not mine, never will be.
Notes: LoCs are loved whether you wanna critique me or just say how you like
it. Flames are laughed at. The second story in my Love and Other Musings
series. Title is stolen, um, I mean taken from Keats "Ode to a Nightingale".
Many a Mused Rhyme
There were moments when he imagined he could still taste Doyle in his
mouth, bitter and warm. He could not help but regret that night and the
torture that followed: the uncomfortable silences, the stammered
conversations, and the eyes that refused to meet his. Angel wanted him, in
bed; legs wrapped around him or maybe on his stomach, face pressed into a
pillow to muffle his groans of pleasure. But he wasn't sure he could hurt
Doyle that way, the way he hurt Buffy. God, it always came back to her
didn't it. He loved her, even knowing they could never be, he loved her with
the purity of fire.
And Doyle loved him. He had seen it in his eyes, the way they softened
before sliding away, the way he said Angel's name in the heat of passion. If
he closed his eyes he could see the warm, sated look on Doyle's face after he
had, well, after. He had hoped that the need to fuck him would pass, but it
only grew worse. But then, it wasn't really about fucking him was it? No,
if it was plain lust he could handle it. A few sessions of masturbation and
a little use of his imagination could take care of that. What he wanted was
Doyle's pleasure, to watch his face as he slid deep inside of him, to kiss
him as he moaned, his body moving underneath him.
This was not helping at all.
But what was he suppose to do when all he could think about was Doyle?
What the hell was he supposed to do?
He was burrowed under the covers this time. A shield against vampires
who might molest him as he slept. God, he shouldn't do this. If he had any
conscience at all he's walk away. He pulled the covers off and stared at the
boxer-clad figure. He looked so young and vulnerable against the pure white
sheets. Angel traced the side of Doyle's face with a knuckle. He jerked
away, his eyes opening wide.
"Angel" He scrambled into a sitting position. "What are you doing here?"
He sat down, and ran a thumb over Doyle's lips. "I think you know."
Doyle frowned and shook his head.
"Tell me no, that you don't want this, and I'll go." He trailed his
fingers over Doyle's chest.
"I can't" A look of shame crossed the demon's face.
"I know." Angel grabbed him by the hair and pulled him close. Their lips
brushed together lightly.
"What about the curse?" His voice was soft, distant.
"I love Buffy and Buffy loves me. We don't have to worry about that, do
we." Angel swept him up into another kiss, ignoring the look of pain on
Doyle's face. He refused Doyle's love, denied his own. Better this, the
absence of affection, than the alternative. Surely Doyle understood this.
He broke the kiss and pushed Doyle back against the mattress. He stood
and undressed quickly. Doyle's eyes traveled over is body, breath ragged.
Angel slid the boxers from the demon's body, staring at the erect penis. He
ran a finger of the head, feeling sticky wetness. Doyle groaned and lifted
his hips.
"Tell me you want this Doyle. Say it." It was a plea, an affirmation
that what he was doing wasn't completely wrong.
"Yes, my- Angel, please." His eyes were squeezed shut, hands fisting the
sheets.
Angel straddled his body, bending his head to lick Doyle's sternum. The
taste of salt and warmth tickled him to the core. His tongue tasted flesh,
licked at the hardened nipples, teasing them with gentle nips. He ignored
the writhing of his bedmate, the hands that now clenched his hair, trying to
coax his mouth between parted thighs. He nuzzled Doyle's belly, then sucked
the tender flesh, leaving red bruises.
With gentle nudges he rolled Doyle onto his belly. The demon buried his
face into a pillow, clenching it in both hands. His hips thrusted
rhythmically into the mattress so that Angel had to still them with his hands
and a kiss on the small of his back.
Angel fumbled with the clothing he had left strewn on the floor and after
a moment produced a bottle of oil. His hands shook slightly as he poured it
into his palm and slicked himself. When had he gotten so hard? He parted
Doyle's ass cheeks and began to run an oiled finger over the opening there.
Doyle's body flinched away and he murmured something reassuring. The finger
slid in easily and he fucked Doyle with it a moment before adding a second
then a third. Doyle was making noises that came very close to sobs and Angel
might have stopped except that he was thrusting back against the fingers.
Doyle was close, so close, and so was he, just from the heat and
tightness surrounding his fingers. He pulled them out and positioned
himself. In one swift movement he was in and Doyle had cried out in a ragged
groan and still was. He gave the demon a moment to adjust before moving,
enjoying the heat and smell of sex. He kissed the back of Doyle's neck,
letting the sweat soaked hair tickle his face.
It was so good, almost more than he could bear. It was sticky and slick
and messy and he was groaning now, speeding up. Doyle's body met his thrusts
and soon he was there, his hands ripping sheets, and teeth, biting till he
broke the skin of Doyle's shoulder and the taste of blood flooded his mouth.
No! He pulled away, too roughly for any comfort, but he would not allow
his hunger to get the better of him. Doyle was sobbing again, from pain or
pleasure, he could not tell. He wanted to take him in his arms, kiss him and
tell him it would be all right, that he…cared about him. But he couldn't.
He got up and began to dress though his body wanted nothing more than drowse
in bed.
"You're leaving?" Doyle's accent was even thicker than usual.
"Yeah." He looked over at him, noticing that Doyle's face was wet.
"You could stay?" He said it shyly, like a little boy.
"I have things to do before I go to the office." He finished tying his
shoes.
"Okay."
"Doyle, if it could be different-" He broke off. "I love Buffy. I care
about you, but I love Buffy. Don't make this difficult. I wish it could be
different, but it can't. Do you understand?"
Doyle stared up at the ceiling. "I understand. I'll see you at the
office then?"
It hurt, it shouldn't have, but it did. Breaking someone's heart was
never easy, especially when yours was breaking at the same time. He touched
a cheek with his fingers and kissed him gently on the mouth. Doyle smiled at
him, a wry, sad smile.
Then Angel got up and walked out, again, knowing that he had made the
biggest mistake of his life, knowing it was the only thing he could do.
Laimia@aol.com
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