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Lessonsby WesleysGirlRating: NC-17 Angel/Doyle For Wolfling's birthday, 2004. Angel was waiting on the living room couch at the end of the day with a book open, face down over his knee, trying to look like he'd been something other than waiting for Doyle to come home. When he heard the soft footsteps in the hall, he picked the book up and turned it over, focusing his eyes on words that, in that moment, meant very little. The key in the lock, the door swinging open, and then he looked up into Doyle's face anxiously. For the first second he was worried -- Doyle looked worn out -- but then he saw what was behind that, the light in Doyle's eyes, the secret smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and it was all Angel could do not to surge up off the couch and go to him, pull him into his arms and hold him. "How was it?" he asked, trying to keep his voice casual. "Good," Doyle said, shrugging the satchel off over his head and setting it on the floor near the door. "The budget's crap, of course. No way anyone'd be able to make do on what they give you." Angel had heard that before. He waited to see if Doyle was going to come over and join him, or if he should get up and follow wherever Doyle was headed. "That's not important," he said patiently, not for the first time. "We have plenty. Whatever you need, it's yours." Doyle flashed him one of those rare, brilliant smiles, the kind that lit up his whole face, and moved over to the window, barely shifting the thick curtain to look out at the setting sun. "Thanks." He turned back around, crossing the room toward Angel, who set his book down and stood up, letting himself be towed forward by Doyle's hand on his wrist. Doyle pulled him down for a kiss. "Man, I'm starved. Any chance a guy could get some food around here?" Taking advantage of their position, Angel put both arms around Doyle and kissed him again. "Yeah, I think something could be arranged." "Good." Doyle moved away with an apologetic glance, but Angel didn't take it personally because he could tell that Doyle was all wound up, full of energy as a result of his day. "I could make you something?" Angel offered. "Or we could go out, if you don't mind waiting another twenty minutes." "Anything's fine," Doyle said, going back for his satchel before heading for the kitchen. Angel followed, watching as Doyle put his bag down on the table and opened it, pulling out a pile of folders. Pens -- red, black -- scattered out across the table, rolling, one hitting the floor, but Doyle didn't seem to notice or care. "Pasta?" Angel asked. "Or there's some of that chicken stuff from the deli." Doyle glanced up at him, distracted. "Hm? Oh. Anything, really." Smiling to himself, Angel got out a loaf of bread and the chicken salad, starting to make a sandwich for Doyle, who was obviously caught up in the papers he was looking through. By the time Angel had finished adding lettuce and cutting the sandwich in half, Doyle was sitting on the edge of a chair, flipping through loose pages and occasionally muttering something under his breath. "Here," Angel said, setting the plate down on the table and shoving Doyle's thigh with his knee. "You could try actually sitting on that chair, you know. That's what they're for." "What?" Doyle blinked and looked up at him, eyes focusing. "Sorry. I was just... did you know that some of these kids can barely speak English? And God forbid I ask for an aide that can translate for me." "I thought you were hungry," Angel said. "Yeah, I am, it's just..." Doyle sighed. "They really want to learn, you know? It's not right that it's all so complicated. They should just be able to be kids." Angel moved around behind Doyle and started to rub his shoulders, digging his thumbs into the tense muscles on either side of Doyle's neck. "That's why you're there -- to make things better for them. And you're going to do it. Those kids are lucky to have you." Doyle sighed, a lot of the tension in him rushing out with the air. "I forgot about this part of it. When I thought about what it was going to be like -- going back, I mean -- I pretty much only remembered the good parts." That, Angel thought, was because Doyle was an eternal optimist. Sure, you could put him in a mood -- sometimes one that would last for days -- but for the most part, he saw the good in people. The bright side of life. It was one of the things Angel loved about him. "Eat your sandwich," Angel said, "and tell me about your day. Not just the annoying parts, either." He patted Doyle's shoulders and then turned back to the refrigerator to get himself some blood. "I've got two Emilys," Doyle said. "And two Matthews. Not that I should be complaining -- there are five Michaels altogether in the third grade class. Five. What were these people thinking, I ask you?" He took a huge bite of his sandwich and chewed as Angel put his mug into the microwave. "Maybe they liked the name Michael?" Angel suggested. "I think someone should have told them to like it a bit less," Doyle said. "And there's this one little girl with a perfectly good name, until you see it written out and realize that all the vowels were replaced with the letter Y. It's unnatural." "This wasn't a problem the last time you taught the third grade?" Angel asked. Doyle shrugged. "Well, yeah, but I was still wet behind the ears then. And Harry, she..." He trailed off, looking down at his plate. "You're supposed to be eating that," Angel said, trying to hide his own discomfort at what Doyle wished he hadn't said. He turned as the microwave beeped, then, while his back was still turned, said, "You miss her." There was the scrape of chair legs across the floor, and then Doyle was hugging him from behind, both arms around his waist. "Sometimes, yeah. But I'm where I want to be -- you know that." "Yeah," Angel said. He set his mug down on the counter and turned in Doyle's arms, kissing the other man with a little more desperation than he probably should have been showing. "Hey... Angel..." Doyle's hands were on his face, forcing him to meet Doyle's gaze. "I love you. I'm right here, and I'm staying." "I know," Angel lied -- Doyle had said that before, and he still couldn't quite believe it. Everything that Doyle wanted pointed toward normal, and Angel was anything but. There was no way he'd be what Doyle wanted, not in the long term. Doyle was still looking at him intently. "You don't believe a word I'm saying, do you." "Yes, I do," Angel said quickly, then he sighed and pulled away, rubbing a hand across his face. "Okay, so, no. But it's not... I mean, it doesn't have anything to do with you." "I'm not sure I understand how it's got nothing to do with me," Doyle said. Angel could hear the frustration in his voice, and that just upset him more. "Look... I love you," Angel said, knowing that his desperation was showing through plainly now. "I just..." He didn't know what to say. Doyle came over and took his hand. "C'mere." "What?" "Come here," Doyle repeated, tugging at his hand and leading him toward the bedroom. Once they were there, Doyle let go of him long enough to light some candles and pull down the sheets. Then he came back over to Angel and started to unbutton his shirt, starting at the top. "What are you doing?" Angel asked. "Unbuttoning your shirt," Doyle said slowly, like he was humoring him. "I know that." Doyle's eyes were shining in the low light, his lips slightly parted. "Showing you that I love you, okay? Now just shut up and stop interrupting me." When Doyle looked at him like that, Angel wasn't sure it was possible to argue with him. He stood quietly and let Doyle undress him -- first his shirt, unbuttoned and pushed off his shoulder, and then his trousers, letting them fall to the floor but leaving the silk boxers around his waist. "Lie down," Doyle said, and Angel did, not taking his eyes off the other man as he started to take off his own clothes. Stripped to the skin, glowing in the candlelight and quite possibly the most beautiful thing Angel had ever seen, Doyle crawled onto the bed and pressed his mouth to the front of Angel's boxers, blowing warm air through the fabric and making his already-hard cock that much harder. "You're what I want," Doyle said softly, running his hand up Angel's thigh and under the edge of the silk, making him tremble. "Always. The rest of it's just window-dressing. As long as I have you, that's all that matters." Angel wanted to pull Doyle up and kiss him, but Doyle seemed to want to be the one running the show, so he stayed still, contenting himself with resting a hand on Doyle's warm shoulder. For a few minutes, anyway, until the feel of Doyle's mouth and the damp silk covering his cock got to be too much. Then staying still was more than Angel could manage -- his hips pushed up, and he grabbed onto a handful of the pillow and twisted it, groaning softly. "I was thinking I might like to take these off too," Doyle said, almost conversationally, tugging at his boxers. "That'd be... good," Angel managed, swallowing. Doyle grinned and helped Angel shimmy out of the underpants, tossing them over his shoulder onto the floor and then, to Angel's dismay, getting up. "Where are you going?" he asked. "Relax," Doyle said, going to the bedside table and coming back with a bottle of lube in his hand. "Gotta be prepared, right?" "I think that's the Boy Scouts' motto," Angel said shakily, watching as Doyle knelt on the bed and flipped the cap on the bottle up, slicking two fingers and pushing them into his own body with a muffled groan. "I could... I could help with that." "No, I've got it," Doyle said, looking into Angel's eyes, gaze heated, erection standing up hard and straight. The wet sound of Doyle's fingers, moving... "Fuck," Angel said, out loud. "Uh-huh. That's pretty much where I thought things were headed." The tip of Doyle's cock was slick and wet, and when Doyle reached out the hand he'd been using to prepare himself and curled his fingers around Angel's erection, Angel thought he might explode right then. "God, Doyle." Then somehow Doyle was straddling him, and Angel's cock was rubbing up against Doyle's ass, slippery, soft skin, and Doyle sank down and Angel was inside him, so hot and tight, and they were moving. Angel wanted to be gentle, but he was too eager, his body doing what it needed to do without thought, thrusting up into Doyle quickly and fiercely. Doyle's hands clutched at his shoulders, green eyes dilated, and Angel groaned. "Yeah," Doyle said, breathless, urging him on. "Like that. God." Angel held onto Doyle's waist, fever-hot against his hands, and pushed deeper, circling his hips. "Fuck. Doyle..." "Can't..." Doyle was already panting, his cock swollen and flushed. "Gotta..." Angel watched as Doyle's hand folded around that gorgeous cock and stroked, one, two, three quick strokes and Doyle was coming, crying out, throwing his head back, the line of his throat perfect and beautiful in the candlelight as his body clenched around Angel. He held off, too rapt in Doyle's racing pulse and soft moans to lose himself completely. He didn't stop the strong rocking of his hips, though, the slick push and slide into near-scalding heat. Doyle gave a final shudder and collapsed down onto Angel's chest, his weight more than welcome. Angel could feel warm breath panted across his skin, and then Doyle turned his head and pressed a damp kiss to Angel's chest. "Christ," Doyle said, still breathing heavily. His tongue flicked out and licked Angel's nipple. "Love you. You're the only thing I want, Angel. Just you." The words had power that Angel hadn't anticipated -- orgasm ripped through him and he groaned, feeling like he was being torn in two as the pleasure flashed through his nerves. By the time he came down, Doyle's mouth was on his, soft, gentle kisses that made Angel feel suddenly chastened, guilty. Doyle pulled back and must have seen it in his eyes, because he said, "Whatever it is you're thinking, stop." Angel blinked and curled his hand around the back of Doyle's neck, bringing him down for another kiss. "I love you," he said softly against Doyle's lips. "Well, okay. That you're allowed to think." Doyle gasped in surprise as Angel rolled them over so that he was on top, still buried inside Doyle's body. "This, too." "I love you," Angel said again, thrusting in and out slightly just so he could watch the way Doyle's eyes widened, the way his lips parted. "Everything you do for me... I don't deserve it." Doyle shook his head. "Uh-uh. No. See, that's another one of those things I don't want you thinking, because it's not true. This is good, Angel. Us, together. It's the way things are supposed to be." It felt way too perfect -- well, not really, but it did -- for it to be the way things were meant to be, but Angel didn't want to argue with Doyle. He kissed him again, slowly, then pulled back and lay down with both arms around Doyle, holding him close. "You okay?" Doyle asked after a little while. He was running his fingertips along Angel's arm lightly, up and down. "Hm? Yeah. You?" Angel turned his head so he could inhale the scent of Doyle's hair, sharp and clean, with the faintest lingering wisp of cigarette smoke that told him Doyle had been in a room where someone else had been smoking, but hadn't done so himself. "Yeah." But there was something in Doyle's voice that told Angel he wanted to talk. "Tell me how it went today," Angel said. "Everything." Doyle lifted himself up onto an elbow and looked down at Angel. "You really want to know?" "Of course I do," Angel said, and he knew he'd made the right call when he saw Doyle's eyes light up. As Doyle animatedly started telling him about his first day back in the classroom, Angel thought to himself that those kids weren't the only lucky ones. Doyle was teaching him a lot, too -- stuff he needed to know. He'd just have to make sure he learned it. End.
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