Chapter Four: Redefinition. Humor, angst, sex, and hangovers... it all comes together. Well, most of it, anyway.
"Wes, why are you in my lobby?"
Wes blinked as he looked up at Angel's slightly blurry face. "I was drunk," he explained. "And was afraid that I would hit something if I tried to drive all the way to my apartment. Here was closer."
Angel shrugged and turned back to Cordelia's desk, where he was looking through something. Wes struggled up to a sitting position, blearily trying to convince his head that it wasn't really attached to the rest of him, because hopefully that way it would hurt less.
"What are you looking for?" he asked Angel, hoping that the vampire would respond civilly and not snap at him, because that would make his head hurt worse and that was a thought not to be born.
"It's an old case file I asked Cordelia to dig up this morning," Angel said distractedly, scanning through the file folder. "We got the demon, but it got stuck in my head a few weeks ago and I thought that maybe something was off about it. I asked her to dig it up, and I'm just trying to see if there's anything that can tell me what's got me feeling so off about this case..." He trailed off, staring hard at the page, and then his gaze met Wesley's again. "I found it. The report said that the body was found in the small garden behind the house. Next to it was two pairs of footprints: your typical club-footed demon type, and a much smaller pair, almost like bird tracks. We dismissed the second pair because the wife was an avid bird watcher and kept several bird feeders, so we just assumed that it was a regular bird. But there were also small traces of salt in the throat wounds that killed him, and the bird seed was untouched. What does that add up to in you head?"
"I'm hungover," Wes informed him. "You'll have to tell me."
"Lesseine demon," Angel told him, sounding exasperated. "You should be able to get that one in your sleep, much less hungover."
"Angel, I'm not just hungover, I'm really hungover," Wes said tiredly. "And it's a little too early to be playing Watcher. Just tell me, please?"
"Very small, very vicious demon. Very similar to the birdlike dinosaurs from... some era or other. Blood drinkers, like vampires, but they have a thing for tearing the victim's throat open and drinking that way. They also excrete a sodium compound, very similar to salt, as a sort of mating call. They're also extremely intelligent and very rare, probably because salt is such a common substance and it's hard to actually find the demon to mate."
"Now I can connect them," Wes said, starting to look more awake. "And the demon that we tracked and killed?"
"Polvarish demon," Angel said. "Carrion feeder."
"And we thought that the Polvarish was the killer," Wes said, shaking his head. "I should have known better, at least- we did case studies on Lesseine demons for weeks. Either way, what are you intending to do now? Track the Lesseine?"
"Exactly," Angel said grimly. Wes looked at him for a long moment, measuring the look on his face, before he decided to open his mouth.
"Angel, how do you intend to find out where he was, much less where he is? The case was weeks ago. For all we know he could be in another country right now, much less out of LA."
"I have to do something, Wes," Angel said, and his eyes were shadowed by pain when he lifted his head to meet Wesley's steady gaze. "Besides, I was thinking of going to Caritas, see if the Host has heard anything. If anyone has heard something, it'd be him. And if not, I could always sing."
Wes winced. Doyle, at Caritas, and Angel, at Caritas, was a very bad combination. Throw in Angel singing and, well... he was just too hungover to deal with it.
"Do you want me to go?" he asked quickly. "You can always chat up Merle- he's certainly usually well-informed on the comings and goings of the demon community."
"I'd really prefer to go to Caritas first," Angel said. "Then I can track down Merle and hit him up for some information."
"We," Wes said wearily, thinking that really, he had way too much loyalty to his friends if he was doing this. "I'm going with you."
"Why?" Angel demanded, and luckily Wes had an answer ready for him.
"I don't have anything better to do with my day, frankly," Wes said, keeping his voice light and vaguely bored. "Besides, if anyone has a decent handover remedy, it's the Host." He'd heard Doyle calling the Host "Lorne" the whole evening, but he didn't have the friendship- or the comfort level- to use what seemed to be the Host's real name. Wes was surprised that Doyle did- he'd known that the half-breed was friends with the green demon, but he hadn't realized just how close they were.
"True enough," Angel responded, and Wes refocused his thoughts on his present company. How, exactly, was he supposed to keep Doyle and Angel from coming into contact with each other- in a less literal sense- when he could barely keep his head from splitting in two?
Doyle knew the instant that Angel walked into the bar. Just because he wasn't exactly a real solid part of the world around him didn't mean that he couldn't feel when his lover was anywhere near by, and so when he saw Wes casting a frantic glance around, he had to smile. Poor Wes was looking slightly greenish from all the alcohol he's consumed the night before, and still he'd come with Angel this morning when it was obvious he would much rather be sleeping it off. He'd come to warn him, Doyle was sure, and he closed his eyes in sympathy as he winked out of visibility. He shifted across the bar floor to the steps near the base of the stage, where Lorne was waiting to give his advice to the singer currently onstage.
"Lorne," he hissed, and the demon jumped as if something had bitten him before glancing towards where he assumed Doyle was standing. Doyle shifted till he was hidden by the Host's larger form and then shimmered back into visibility. "Wes and Angel are here. Angel wants something, and Wes is here to try to warn me that Angel is here before we could run into each other, and he looks hungover. Really hungover. Can you do me a favor and get Ramon to fix up the special cure to give him? He looks like he desperately needs it."
"No problem, cutie," Lorne told him. "Just as soon as I help our beastie friend, here," he added with a nod to the singer on the stage. "Just stay out of sight, and we can handle this, alright?"
"Alright," Doyle said, and vanished again before drifting over to hear what Wes and Angel were talking about.
"Where's the Host?" Angel was demanding to Wes, who pointed with an unenergetic hand towards the stage steps where Lorne was talking to the demon who'd just sung. "I've gotta ask him if he's heard anything about the Lesseine."
"Yes, Angel, I know," Wesley said ever-so-patiently, while Doyle's invisible eyebrows rose. A Lesseine? Nasty little buggers, they were. He hadn't heard anything about one being in LA, and he was pretty well connected to hear things like that. Why was Angel hunting one now?
"That is why we're here," Wes continued. "Why I'm here with a splitting headache, instead of still asleep on your couch and not feeling a thing. But I'm sure that your questions can wait until he's finished giving his advice to... whatever he's giving his advice to."
"I know," Angel said glumly. "I just want to be... doing something."
"I know," Wes said, slightly more gently this time. "But I doubt anything terrible is going to happen in the next minute or so that will keep you from talking to him."
And of course, that was the moment that the lights went out.
Over all the various noises of surprise and discontent coming from the various humans, demons, and other things in the bar, Doyle heard Wes sigh and add, "You'd think I'd learn not to say things like that, wouldn't you?" He didn't hear Angel's scathing response, because he heard Lorne calling his name at the top of his very powerful lungs and was zooming back across the floor to the stage to see what his friend wanted.
"The electricity went out," the Host told him. "And something happened to the backup spell. You've got some form of telekinesis, don't you?"
"Only little stuff," he said. "I can't really pick up anything heavier than a small book, or push anything heavier than a door."
"Little stuff's all I need. Can you look at the wires for me? I don't have to worry about you getting electrocuted since you're not solid, and you can see well enough in the dark to see what you're doing, and your touch- so to speak- is more delicate than any demon in the bar. You'll do it for me?"
"Sure," he said. "Stall Angel. I'm sure he heard you call for me, and he's gonna be looking for me. Don't let him find me."
"Gotcha," Lorne said, and as Doyle winked out of visibility and ghosted through the curtain to the electrical box at the back, he heard his friend exclaim, "Angelcakes! Didn't see you here. Probably something to do with the utter blackness in here, right?"
He pulled the other half of his mind out of the Dreaming to devote more attention to the confusing welter of wires in the electrical box in front of him, but left his ears cocked to hear the rest of Angel and Lorne's conversation. "Where's Doyle?" his lover demanded, and Doyle had to smile a moment at Angel's directness before glaring at the wires. Who had designed this system, a Kesslar demon?
"Not here," Lorne said. "Let me get you a drink, something to tide you over until the lights come back on."
"I don't want a drink, I want Doyle," Angel said, as Doyle mentally flipped through the wires, tracing the cords back to their outlets, which oh thank god were labeled properly. At least, he hoped they were labeled properly.
"Well, since you can't have Doyle at the moment," Lorne said with an unusual bite to his voice, "why not have a drink instead? The lights will be back on in a few, I'm sure- someone's backstage right now, working on them."
Angel's head snapped up and he stared at the curtain for a long moment, then muttered, "Doyle." Doyle, finally figuring out which wire was defective, gripped it with his mind, preparing to pull it out and replace it with a slightly less fried wire. He took a deep breath and yanked it out, and Angel rushed backstage just in time to see his lover engulfed in writhing blue flames and collapse slowly to the floor.
Lorne, following just behind him, held him back when he would have charged forward and gotten himself electrocuted as well. Angel threw him off and reached for Doyle as the last blue sparks faded into nothing, and scooped the smaller man into his arms.
Doyle blinked slowly into consciousness, and when his eyes fluttered open he slid straight through Angel's arms and hit the floor with a loud thump. He sat up and rubbed the back of his head, green eyes cloudy with confusion, then blinked down at the floor. Angel watched him with agonized eyes as he stroked one hand over the smoothly polished wood floor, then slid his hand through the floor, then drew it out and pressed down on the wood without slipping through. He looked up at his lover with a wholehearted smile in his eyes.
"Cool," he pronounced, then laughed as Angel lunged forward to haul him up into his arms again and proceeded to kiss him with rough desperation. The laughter faded from his eyes and he wrapped his arms around Angel, kissing him hungrily and running his hands up and down his back as if he couldn't get enough of his newfound sense of touch.
Lorne cleared his throat and looked up at the ceiling, absently rubbing his arm where it had connected with the wall when Angel had thrown him aside. Wesley charged in, then stopped and did a comic double take when he saw Angel and Doyle entwined around each other.
"I'm not dreaming, right?" Wes asked Lorne. "They can't touch in the waking world. Just in dreams. Because Doyle is incorporeal."
"Was, apparently," the Host corrected him. "Because I'm pretty sure I'm awake. My dreams tend to be more along the lines of the beach, a Sea Breeze in my hand, and a young hottie rubbing on tanning oil. And I'm seeing them...." He paused for a moment, staring at the still embracing couple. "Whoa, I didn't know you could do that with your tongue."
Wes winced as he reflexively looked over at the couple. "That's, um, rather unusual. Certainly nothing I've seen before." His eyes got larger. "That's... very impressive."
"Someone's gotta break up the love-fest," the Host pointed out. "Otherwise they'll be here all night. And I can't let them have sex backstage. Bad for business."
"If you think I'm getting in the middle of that," Wesley said as he pointed to Angel and Doyle, "you're sadly mistaken."
The Host sighed. "Always left to me," he muttered. "I always get the worst jobs." He took a deep breath, then yelled, "Hey, loverboys! Get your tongues out of each others throats and take it somewhere else."
Wes winced as Angel slowly disengaged from the kiss- and Wesley was sure that they were both glad they were already dead, because otherwise they would have suffocated by this point- and shot a lethal glare at the Host. "Excuse me?"
"You heard right," Lorne told him. "Get your asses off my stage and outta my club before you do that. Try not to crash and kill anyone on the way back to the hotel."
Angel growled and tightened his possessive hold on Doyle, but Doyle detangled one hand from Angel's shirt to stroke two soothing fingers over Angel's cheek. "He's right, Angel. 'Sides, faster we get back to the hotel, faster we can crawl into bed and stay there for a few days."
Angel's completely unneeded breath caught in the back of his throat. "I like that plan," he said, and his voice was inhumanly low, an almost inaudible rumble. "Very good plan."
"Glad you like it," Doyle said, and then waved to Lorne and Wes. "If you'll excuse us, we'll see you in a couple of days."
"Have a nice time, kiddies," Lorne said, laughing under his breath and Angel towed his smaller lover out of the club. He and Wes followed out to the club floor at a more leisurely pace, and Wes sat down on the barstool while Lorne leaned against the smooth metal bartop next to him. Silence reigned for a few moments, and then Wes said, "I need a drink."
"You're going to crash into something," Doyle pointed out as the squealed around another turn. "And if you kill us, then we can't have sex." He stopped to consider this. "No way a car crash could kill us. We're already dead. Okay, so it would delay us having sex. You'd better slow down."
Angel slowed down a little, then shot a glance at Doyle, sprawled out on the seat next to him. He made a little growling noise in the base of his throat, and then hit the accelerator again. "Alright, just so's you know that if we get a speeding ticket, I'm not taking the blame. Just a warning," he added cheerfully when Angel glared at him. "Wouldn't want to not have sex, or anything."
"You're not helping me slow down," Angel gritted out. "Every time you say the word 'sex' my foot hits the accelerator again. It's like it's instinctive, or something."
"Sorry," Doyle said, and then waited till Angel was just turning a corner before he added wickedly, "It's just that I really want to have sex."
The car actually tilted a little, this time, and Doyle watched the pavement with interest as it got a little closer to him. "Careful, there. Might break something."
"Play nice," Angel said, and this time Doyle managed to hold his tongue until they'd actually parked in front of the hotel.
They stumbled into the foyer, tripping over each other and grinning madly, hands already touching and stroking and squeezing in utter desperation. "Bed?" Doyle questioned in a half-hoarse whisper, and instead of answering Angel gripped his hips and lifted him flush up against his chest. Doyle's eyes rolled back into his head as his cock pressed against Angel's through the layers of slacks and boxers. Angel freed one hand, holding Doyle against him one-handedly and mentally sending frantic thank you's towards the joys of vampiric strength, and tilted Doyle's chin up so that he could devour the smaller man's mouth. Doyle moaned and rolled his hips, and then Angel's eyes started to roll back into his head.
Doyle tore his mouth free and said, "We'll never make it to the bed like this." Then a wicked look danced across his face, and he said, "Last one there gets the bottom," before simply melting away in Angel's arms.
He reappeared at the top of the steps and waved cheerily down at his lover. "Uh, hello, vampiric speed? I'm sure you can make it up to the room pretty quick, though you're still gonna get bottom."
"Why are you so sure that I'm getting bottom?" Angel demanded as he sprinted across the floor and up the steps. He yanked Doyle up against him and kissed him again, sliding his hands down his lover's back and into the loose pants to squeeze his ass. Doyle moaned into his mouth, just as Angel, mentally celebrating the fact that his soul didn't stop him from a little torture, just enough to get his way, pulled himself completely away and ran down the hall. He leapt onto the bed just as Doyle materialized in the room and jumped for it too, but Angel landed on the bottom with Doyle sprawled over his chest.
Doyle blinked and propped himself up. "So, you made it here first. Let's see, that makes me the bottom this time... Oh, what a shame," he said with a grin, and Angel mock-glared at him.
"No fair making me work to get you where you wanted to be in the first place," Angel said. Doyle just grinned at him.
"Obviously, you're going to have to punish me. Later," he added, when Angel gaped at him. "Because, sex? You almost crashed your car on the way here to get us both naked, and here we are, all comfy-like on the bed and not a stitch of clothing has yet been removed."
"Working on that," Angel told him, and grabbed the soft shirt that Doyle was wearing with a firm grip before ripping it clean in two. Doyle grinned against the mouth that was suddenly pressed against his and rubbed his tongue against Angel's as he took advantage of his very convenient ghostly powers to unbutton and tug off Angel's shirt while his hands were busy on the buttons of Angel's slacks. He noticed with a vague corner of his mind that his mind-moving powers seemed a tad bit stronger, but he wasn't exactly paying a lot of attention, distracted as he was by the hands that were busily unzipping his slacks and pulling them off. He laughed and Angel encountered difficulty getting them down over his hips, and caused them to just melt away.
"Ghost-fabric, heart," he told Angel. "Same thing happened to the shirt, when you took out your frustrations on it." He shifted his weight to his knees so that he was straddling Angel, instead of sprawled across him, and nodded at the slacks. "You might want to take those off the more normal way, though."
Angel grinned at him and stood up. He was in too much of a hurry to make a proper show of it, so he just yanked open the button fly of his black jeans and wriggled out of them with little ceremony, kicking them into a corner before diving back onto the bed. Doyle laughed and rolled on top of him again, diving into a sudden kiss with enthusiasm as he groped at the bedside table for lube.
Angel had gotten there first, and he grabbed it and pressed it into his lover's hand. Doyle pulled back from the kiss enough to get the cap off and squeezed some onto Angel's hand, then guided the vampire's hand around to his ass helpfully. A soft breath of laughter huffed against Doyle's mouth, and Angel said, "Coulda found the way all by myself, you know," before sinking one finger all the way in with little ceremony and less warning.
Doyle threw his head back and gasped, one small corner of his mind focused on staying solid but just solid enough that Angel's touch didn't hurt. "Yeah, well, I'm a helpful sort of guy," he got out, and Angel laughed again as he slowly worked a second finger, and then a third, into Doyle's ass.
Doyle grabbed the little tube of slick from the extra pillow that it had been dropped on, and squirted some on his own hand before spreading it over Angel's cock with a firm touch that had Angel arching up into his hand and groaning. "Shit, it's been too long," Angel growled, and pulled Doyle up the couple inches that was needed to align everything properly, and sank oh-so-slowly into his body.
Everything froze for a moment, and they both looked at each other, panting. Then Doyle thrust his hips back, causing Angel to go those last few inches in, and they both moaned a little at the sensations that streaked through them.
Holding each other's gaze all the while, they slowly rocked together, enjoying the sense of connection almost more than the physical sensations. But then matters abruptly became urgent for both of them, and Angel rolled the smaller man underneath him to get a better angle before thrusting harder and faster than before. Doyle wrapped his legs around Angel's waist and draped his arms around his neck, sinking his short fingernails into the solid packs of muscle flexing in Angel's shoulders. Angel felt his rhythm deteriorating as he drew closer to orgasm, and twisted to get one hand between them and wrapped firmly around Doyle's cock. A few long pulls and Doyle was bowed backwards, his spine bending to an almost impossible angle and his mouth framed into a perfect "o" as he came so hard he could barely breathe. Angel wasn't far behind, slamming into him once more and losing his iron grip on control as he felt Doyle contract around him, and roared as his orgasm poured out of him.
They both collapsed into a boneless heap, and Doyle started to waver out of tangibility before he growled something under his breath and snapped back into solidity. Angel laughed under his breath and wrapped his arms around his lover's waist, rolling over till Doyle was draped over him, and Angel grinned up at him.
"Go to sleep," he said. "We can deal with everything in the morning."
"Dream of me?" Doyle said, and Angel pressed a kiss to his forehead.
"You know I always do," he said, and with a happy sigh Doyle snuggled down, tucking his head under Angel's chin. Both of them drifted off to sleep, content in the knowledge that everything would still be there to deal with in the morning.