When Doyle reached the outer office door of Angel Investigations, he was surprised to find that the knob turned easily in his hand. On a Saturday night, he didn’t really expect to find Angel upstairs in the office at all, and he knew Cordelia couldn’t possibly be at work on date night when the world wasn’t threatening to end. Still, someone had to be there, because not only was the outer door unlocked, but the office lights were on and the door to Angel’s inner office was slightly ajar. Doyle moved uneasily inside and shut the door behind him. As he crossed the office, noise from Angel’s apartment made him cock his head and focus his demon hearing solely on the sound. It sounded like...music. Classical music. Now classical music had never exactly been Doyle’s forte, but as an elementary school teacher he had tried to expose his kids to a little bit of culture, here and there. And this sounded like Chopin, maybe.
Doyle got into the lift and noisily slammed the door, hoping to give Angel an awareness of his presence before he just walked into the vampire’s apartment. Of course, he expected that his employer had either heard or smelled him as soon as he walked into the office, but Doyle had on occasion managed to unintentionally sneak up on the brooding wonder while the dark-eyed man had been lost on one of his stomps down bad memory lane. [I knew I should have called first.] Until that moment, it really hadn’t occurred to Doyle that Angel might have things to do outside of work. This idea was especially enforced when, as the lift was halfway between floors, Doyle heard an unmistakably feminine laugh waft up from the basement.
However, as the elevator churned to a stop, Doyle realized who the laugh belonged to, and relaxed for a fraction of a second, then froze again while his eyes assured his brain that what he thought he was seeing was really not some kind of demented figment of his imagination. In the cozy, candlelit apartment, Angel and Cordelia were...dancing?
But not just dancing, oh no. This was more like vertical fucking, really. Sure, they were moving with the music, more or less, but their bodies - and their crotches especially - were constantly rubbing or alternately thrusting against one another. Either unaware or simply uncaring of his presence, the sensual movements continued between the dance partners as Doyle looked on. His astonishment abruptly gave birth to an intense jealously, and, if he were really being introspective, a not insignificant amount of hurt for being kept in the dark about what was obviously a highly sexual relationship between the two people he considered his best friends.
For several long moments Doyle did nothing but stand in the gated lift, watching the entwined couple glide around the floor and feeling his jealousy and anger rise to the point of nausea. Just as he was about to throw back the gate and do something certainly rash and most likely violent as well, he noticed another feeling gaining momentum in the myriad of emotions that had taken hold of his mind and body. His hands stilled as he took a moment to consider what it might be. Anger? No, already have that. Pain? No, got that, too. Hatred? Hmmm...not yet. Hatred would come in the days and weeks after he had ripped their lying, laughing heads from their shoulders and proceeded to do something painful and mutilating to their bodies, although at that point it really would just be a waste of time because they’d already be dead, and Angel would most likely be a big pile of dust as well. Not a lot of mutilation one can do to a big pile of dust. But the intention was there, at least.
Doyle’s brow knit suddenly as he realized what he was feeling, and he was quickly angered and disgusted at his realization. Lust. He was feeling lust. Watching Angel and Cordelia “dance” was turning him on. [Wow. I know I haven’t really had a date in a while, okay, a LONG while, but can I get back to feeling my righteous anger now? Because this lust thing is definitely spoiling my nice holier-than-thou-lying-assholes feeling.]
It was at that point that Doyle had a second startling realization. His keen half demon nose had picked up the heady scent of another man’s arousal in the room. This wouldn’t have been such a shock to Doyle [how could those two be doing that and not be getting aroused?] except that that scent had not been there a minute ago.
Doyle raised his eyes and was suddenly drowning in two molten brown pools. The heat of that gaze, Doyle was staggered to grasp, was not directed at Cordelia, but at him. Angel was getting hard for *him*.
Doyle took an involuntary step back until his back touched to far wall of the lift. His earlier anger and jealousy had all been sandblasted away by the force of this unexpected turn of events. After a moment, a slow smile began to make its way across his handsome features. [This is an opportunity I’d be a fool to waste, I think.] He reached forward to unhurriedly slide open the lift’s gate, then stepped out.
Immediately, there were two pairs of hands on him, pulling him further into the room. Angel’s usual dark silk shirt was soft against Doyle’s left upper arm, balanced out by the answering softness of Cordy’s red silk dress against his right side. Then there were the lips. Cool ones starting high on his cheek bone and warm ones already making their way down his jaw to his neck. Doyle tilted his head back and let out a low moan as a cool tongue encircled the shell of his left ear. He felt himself being half-led and half-dragged over to Angel’s supremely uncomfortable couch. Cordelia’s manicured nails slid up under his shirt to rub and pull his nipples, which were obviously enjoying the attention, much like certain other parts of him. His desire-addled brain was shaken out of its daze as he felt Angel’s large hands rip both of his shirts above his head, then shove the half naked younger man down onto the couch, rolling him onto his back. Doyle’s eyes rolled back in his head as he felt Angel’s lips, teeth and tongue begin to attack his bare chest, and his breath caught when what could only be Cordelia’s small hands began stroking the bulge in his pants. When those same nimble fingers worked open the button and fly, he thought that he was going to die of pleasure. This was exactly what he had been wanting for so long...
The jarring of the lift as it braked on the basement level woke Doyle out of his momentary fantasy. As he peeked through the bars of the gate, he felt again the bitter pang of jealousy as he took in the scene before him. Angel and Cordelia...dancing. Angel and Cordelia...waltzing? He yanked the gate back, prepared to go into full accusation mode.
Both Angel and Cordelia looked up at the loud bang that emitted from the abused gate. Angel’s arms dropped from Cordelia’s waist and he stepped away from her toward the green-eyed man. “Doyle? What are you doing here? Did you have a vision?”
It took Doyle a second to rewind the scene in his mind and realize that the real Angel and Cordelia were both looking at him with concerned eyes. There was no scent of arousal in the room.
Still and all, he couldn’t understand what was going on. “What am *I* doing here? What are you doing here?” he snapped at the former cheerleader.
His fuming tone immediately succeeded in getting Cordelia’s hackles up. “Excuse me? For your information, Angel is teaching me how to ballroom dance for my audition tomorrow morning. Now what crawled up your ass?”
Comprehension dawned on Angel, as he quickly took two steps back from the bristling secretary. “Doyle...it’s not what you think. Really. I’m just showing her a few dances.”
Too late, Doyle become fully conscious of the innocence that pervaded the incident. The blood rushed to his face as he tried to think of any time in his life when he had felt like a bigger ass. “Well, right then, I’ll be on my way,” he sputtered, as he turned and ran up the stairs conveniently next to the lift.
Angel and Cordelia watched him go. “I wonder what he wanted, anyway,” Cordelia said, restarting Angel’s record from the beginning as they heard the office door upstairs slam.