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.
END