__Dead Man's Passtime__
By Criss Moody
Whispery cool kisses ran up Wesley's bare stomach,
producing the most delicious of reactions in his groin. He
arched into the touch to further encourage his lover. Airy
touch by airy touch, the taunt skin above the rising
manhood tingled with anticipatory delight. One hand
lowered to caress the soft hair of his lover, only to find
air. Confused, Wesley opened his sleep thickened eyes and
found that, contrary to his assumptions, Angel was not the
person placing soul searing kisses on Wesley's torso. In
fact, it wasn't a person.
It was a ghost. Across the bed and the still sleeping
Angel, with a grin to rival the Cheshire Cat's, sprawled an
alarmingly insubstantial Allen Francis Doyle.
Wesley reared up in bed and scrambled backwards, meeting
the wooden headboard with a sharp smack. Wide eyed, he
threw a desperate glance over to the left side of the bed
to find his lover deep in slumber.
"Watch it there now. I want all your parts in good working
order."
Unable to speak, other than to grunt, Wesley flailed wildly
at Angel's shoulder. The vampire snorted and turned over,
beginning to snore as he settled on his back. The former
Watcher began to slap Angel's chest, all the while keeping
track of the newest appearance in Angel's bed. Finally,
one liquid brown eye creaked open to glare balefully at the
offending cause of it's opening.
"Who died?"
"No one, but."
"Go back to sleep. Wake me if there's dead people."
"Well, to be precise, there is a dead." The apparition
interrupted, with some vehemence.
"Hey, now, I prefer the term 'vitally challenged'. None of
that dead crap."
The unexpected sound of Doyle's voice kicked Angel's
reluctance to awaken right out the proverbial window.
Sitting up on his hand, he looked at his panicked lover and
his translucent, supposed to have been blown to smithereens
partner. Not even bothering to grace the situation with a
comment, Angel collapsed back onto the bed, throwing one
arm over his head.
"Don't tell me, you came back to have sex with me, right?"
Stunned by the vampire's quick grasp of the situation, the
ghostly figure of Doyle couldn't find the words to answer
at first. "Um, well, yeah, that's about it. Howdja guess
so quickly?"
"Please, every other fan fiction writer with a Doyle muse
has written the 'Doyle comes back' story, and about half of
those throw you together with me, and sex ensues. Don't
you keep up on that?"
Angel had recently adopted a very firm 'just go with the
flow' policy. This policy explained Cordelia's raises,
Wesley's choice of pastels for their bathroom, random dead
people showing up in his bed, and kooky writers who thought
he was a creation of some whackjob by the name of Joss
Whedon. No fuss, no muss, no brain strain.
"Angel man, don't I even get a hello?" The half-demon
raised himself up on his own arm, matching Angel's stoic
face with a mocking impression of it.
"Sorry. Hey. What are you doing here?"
"Um, well, it's like this, I been kinda bored since gettin'
blown up, and watchin' you and PastyFace here make the
beast with two backs hasn't made my afterlife peaceful.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Angel, phone sex? Chains? I've
had the worst case of blue balls since seventh grade when
my best friend's older sister discovered the pleasures of
nude sunbathing in their backyard."
Blue balls? No, bad place. No need to ask exactly how a
ghost could get blue balls. "So, you came down for a
little entertainment? Sex? Voyeurism? What?"
"Er, the Powers gave me 24 hrs, and a bit of solidity on
the condition that I make you happy. Call me a little
early Christmas present."
A perturbed British voice broke into the calm exchange of
words. "Excuse me, but do you mind not talking as if I
weren't here? PastyFace? At least I'm not dead!" Wesley
nearly snarled at Doyle, not at all happy with the way the
man looked at his lover. Wesley had a possessive streak of
his own and Angel was not public property. Then again, the
ghostly hand tracing small fingers on his upper thigh was
creating a great deal of interest in Wesley's pelvic area.
"Doyle, 24 hrs for what exactly?" Angel chose that moment
to stop a possible tirade from his lover, who was not known
for his monosyllabic speech habits.
"To make right, to fix a few things. I never said the
things I should have said. If you agree, I'll get solid
enough to play. The Powers figured they owed it to me."
Doyle gave the two men his most winning smile. "What do
you say?"
Angel ignored the smile to look at his lover. Wesley had
squinched himself up against the headboard, his arms
crossed over his knees as if to protect himself. This
wasn't going to be easy. Doyle proved his growing
substantial form by forcing Wesley's knees down and sitting
on his legs.
"Oh, come on, whadya say? You get him all the rest of the
days of the year, and I've had a yearnin' for a while now
to make you moan for our man Angel here." With
heavy-lidded eyes, Angel glided up to Wesley's side,
nipping his way up the Englishman's arm, licking the
shoulder, before sucking hard on the jugular. The blood
pulsed hot and fast underneath as Wesley's reaction belied
his stiff demeanor. Angel nodded imperceptibly at his
fellow Irishman who dove for Wesley's lips. Wesley almost
forgot to breathe as Doyle sucked hard enough on his tongue
to nearly rip off a layer of skin. The ferocity of the
kiss settled into a fast, rocking motion as Doyle mimicked
the sex act with his tongue's movements.
Wesley gasped into Doyle's mouth when he felt Angel place a
lubed finger at Wesley's puckered entrance. Quickly
nodding assent, Wesley sighed into the kiss, rocking
himself back onto Angel's finger. One finger became two
and Wesley broke the kiss, panting, as the fingers crooked
to make contact with his hidden nubbin of nerves. Angel
slapped Doyle's ass lightly and the Irishman rose into the
sharp contact, only flipping over when it happened again.
Keeping his hot, golden brown eyes on Wesley, Angel sank
his mouth onto Doyle's rock hard manhood, sucking the
ghostly flesh down to the hilt. Doyle cried out, his
fingers gripping spiky, silky strands on Angel's scalp.
Angel sucked without mercy, withdrawing only to grease his
hand with lube and apply it to the saliva damp cock. After
making sure that Doyle was properly prepared, Angel
withdrew to Wesley.
Straddling his lover, Angel rained light kisses over
Wesley's chest, down his torso, and onto his thighs. He
used both hands to raise his love's knees, placing them so
that the rosette entrance to Wesley's body was revealed.
He swung himself around and behind Wesley, settling himself
so that his purpled cock rested against his lover's
shoulder. Doyle cast a questioning grin at both men before
placing his hands in Wesley's and raising them to the top
of the bed. Taking one hand back, just for a moment, Doyle
guided his bobbing cock, leaking precum, to the dark rosy,
winking hole. With a low grunt, he began to push in,
gripping Wesley's hand as the Englishman's body accepted
him.
Goodness.oh my goodness.dead men weren't supposed to be
that hot, or that hard, or that.Wesley let out a
half-squeal, half-grunt when Doyle's charmingly tangible
cock brushed against his prostate, sending little shocks of
electric pleasure up his spine. When Doyle's hand slipped
between their bodies to firmly grasp Wesley's hungry
manhood, the Englishman bucked into the caress, wild with
the full, sharp pleasure coursing through his body. Gentle
glide gave way to rocking hard thrust as Doyle gave his
body over to the higher purpose of transcendent sexuality,
losing himself in the very real connection between his body
and Wesley's, the spicy, coppery kisses with Angel, and the
peppermint flavored taste of Wesley's skin. Too soon,
Doyle felt his balls tighten, warning him of his imminent
orgasm. His hand roughly sped up on the long, slender cock
beneath it, wanting Wesley to shatter with him. The inner
muscles of Wesley's ass began to contract, pained pleasure
flooded Doyle, and he split, a million different
directions, as ghostly semen gushed into Wesley. Hot,
creamy spunk fountained up from Doyle's hand and he took
his hand up to Angel's mouth, watching as the vampire
eagerly suckled at the fingers coated in the white essence.
In unison, Wesley and Doyle parted and turned, laying down
on either side of the vampire. Dueling tongues battled
over the silky skin stretched tight over Angel's cock. He
gasped, almost afraid to look down. When he did, he
groaned and came, the sight of two tongues flicking madly
over his rampant erection erasing all desire to hold off
the orgasm. Both men greedily licked up the cool come,
occasionally meeting for small kiss, nipping and biting at
each other's lips. Finally, they fell apart, breathing
heavily as they collapsed against the bed.
As Angel spooned up against Wesley, slipping off into
sleep, he heard Doyle's Irish brogue whisper in his ear.
"Gotta go see about a girl.do ya think Dennis would be
amenable to a little menage a trois?"
Doyle's only answer was the shadow of a grin on Angel's
craggy face.
* * *