Chapter 10
Author: Ellen
Rating: NC-17 (overall)
Spoilers: Somnambulist
Summary: In order for the three to survive a new challenge, Doyle must learn to accept his inner demon.
Disclaimer: Angel, Doyle, Cordelia and all other characters from the Angel television series belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and/or 20th Century Fox and other entities who aren't us. We only wish that we owned them and could keep them safe and happy and loved.
Thoughts between Angel, Doyle and Cordelia are marked //like this.//
"You're absolutely sure that we won't need..." Cordelia hesitated momentarily.
"As far as I can tell, the renewal of the original spell should not require repeating the act of, ah, intercourse," Wesley answered awkwardly.
"But are you absolutely sure?"
"Well, no, with magic one can never be absolutely sure," he admitted. Cordelia gave him one of her best furious glares. The effect was magnified by the fact that she was in demon form at the moment. Faced with her red eyes and her bristling spines, Wesley instinctively took a step backward.
Harry moved forward protectively, putting her hand on Wesley's arm. "Cordelia, both Wesley and I are doing the best we can. There are no guarantees."
"Well, he had better be right, because I am not into that kind of public performance."
"Secondin' that motion," Doyle agreed, trying to break the tension as best he could. "Actually, I've never even been too fond of public urinals, m'self," he joked.
Cordelia turned her glare on him and he immediately fell silent. They all arranged themselves in the room. Wesley sat in a chair, some distance outside the circle. Harry had insisted on sitting on the floor next to him, rather than in a chair. Angel, Cordelia and Doyle were within the circle and none of them were sure which one was the most nervous of the three.
"The spell is extremely similar to the one that Angel originally performed with Cordelia," Wesley explained, for the second or third time. "The few additions that we have made should take the place of the original, ah, act."
"I certainly hope so," Cordelia huffed.
"Are we all ready, then?" Wesley looked most pointedly at Doyle, who met his gaze.
"I'm as ready as I will ever be," he answered and turned his gaze toward Harry.
"You're a brave man, Francis. Then again, I always knew you were."
"Well, that made one of us."
As the spell began, Harry whispered in Gaelic, "Gura slán an scéalai." Doyle recognized the words to mean 'may the storyteller be safe.'
The storyteller... or the messenger.
He smiled briefly at his ex-wife, before closing his eyes to concentrate on the magic.
It was a bizarre sensation to be present at the repetition of the spell which had restored him to life. His skin, already cool, felt positively chilled as Wesley began the chant.
As they had rehearsed, Cordelia took one of his hands and Angel took the other. Both their hands felt warm and solid, clasped around his. As Wesley's voice continued, he felt his hair beginning to stand on end, his body tingling all over with a prickling electricity.
Fear began to stir inside him, instinctive and deep, despite their comforting presence. Angel and Cordelia both sent him unspoken waves of reassurance and love and he absorbed it from them eagerly but it did not banish the fear.
He could feel energy moving as Wesley spoke and he struggled against panic. The first time this ritual had been performed, he had been dead at the beginning; and the second time, when the reversal spell was performed, he had been effectively dead at the end. He knew that no one in the room meant him harm. He knew that everyone in the room but Wesley loved him and that Wesley cared deeply enough for all of the others that he would never hurt them by hurting Doyle.
Still, somewhere buried within him, he didn't trust Wesley and he was afraid. It wasn't Wesley's life at risk here; it was his own and with it, the lives of those he loved.
Only the knowledge that Angel and Cordelia were with him, that Harry was watching over him, and that all of them trusted Wesley, kept him from jumping up and running out of the circle.
He could feel power building, flowing through both of his hands to Angel and Cordelia and back to him, as their link seemed to pulse with a rhythm of its own. It was as though the bond was itself a living entity, breathing with their breathing, a heartbeat pumping for and with, all three of them.
He recognized some of the new words which had been added to the spell, as Wesley spoke them carefully, slowly, uncertain of the Gaelic.
"Caith amach an coimhthíoch, mar sin, le go rachaidh an Cara isteach ina bhaile."
"Cast out then the stranger, that the friend may enter his home."
Fear spiked in him then, so much so that he could hardly bear it. Something was moving out of him now, a cold energy beginning to pour out of his body.
Was it the vampire leaving him? Or was it his life?
The memory of dying for the second time was too fresh for him to suppress and with it came terror.
Angel and Cordelia tried to soothe him but the painful fear was too much. He gritted his teeth, barely aware that he still had fangs and that they were piercing his lips, drawing blood.
He was still a coward. He was still afraid. And his fear was going to kill him. It was going to kill them all.
It was Cordelia who realized what to do and she sent the thought to Angel and to Doyle.
//Wesley was wrong. We have to — //
//Yes,// Angel agreed quickly.
//In front of Wesley and Harry?// Doyle panicked even more as he realized what they meant.
//We have no choice,// Angel sent back. //It's the only way.//
//I can't. I can't. I can't.// Doyle's thoughts were verging on hysteria.
//Shhh, it's okay. I'm embarrassed too but it's okay,// Cordelia soothed him, moving closer. She began to loosen her clothing, casting a bitter look at Wesley over Doyle's head. //It will be all right.//
As Wesley met her eyes and saw what she was doing, he hesitated for a moment in his chanting. Harry, sitting beside him, shook her head vehemently. "Keep going," she hissed at him. "Don't stop."
Pinned between Cordelia's glare and Harry's, Wesley continued the spell, his heart sinking as he realized what was going to happen. Even if they all survived, he was sure none of them would ever forgive him for this. He kept speaking the words of the spell but his eyes were drawn irresistibly to the sight of Cordelia taking off her clothes.
Doyle moaned an inarticulate protest but he was too locked in terror to do much else, as Angel helped him to undress. His hands were cold and his whole body felt like ice. He could barely move.
He had never been so afraid, not even when he disarmed the Beacon, knowing that he would die. Then he had been overwhelmed by burning heat; now, he was being pulled down into cold, the deepest freezing cold that he'd ever known.
It was Death waiting for him, Death which had been cheated twice, Death, which was not willing to be cheated a third time.
And then the warmth began to return and he knew where it was coming from.
It was Angel and Cordelia, touching him, sending him the heat of their love. He reached out desperately for it, as their arms went around him.
//Love you. Now and forever,// they were sending to him, their flesh warm against his, fighting back the chill of Death that threatened to claim him again.
//Claim you. All of you.// Their thoughts overlapped, chasing each other in echoing chorus as their hands and then their mouths moved over his body. He wasn't sure which thoughts came from Cordelia and which from Angel and it didn't matter.
//You are ours. We love you. You are part of us.//
//Here is where you belong, here with us.//
//Today, tomorrow, always, we are yours and you are ours.//
The bitter cold was receding now under the force of their minds against his, their bodies against his. Doyle could still feel that cold energy moving out of him but this time it was being replaced immediately by heat, sweet and strong, filling every empty space that the cold left behind.
New waves of energy, heated and powerful, were sweeping over all three of them now. Doyle gasped as his lovers' bodies melded themselves into his own, surrounding him and penetrating him, sliding into place with a familiarity that was almost agonizing in the power of its perfection.
As the spell continued, energy filling the room, the force of their passion was reaching Wesley and Harry as well. Wesley, watching them as he chanted, seeing Angel's body cover Doyle's and seeing Doyle's body moving eagerly into Cordelia's embrace, shifted awkwardly in his chair. Under Harry's intent gaze, he did not pause in reciting the spell but he was becoming extremely uncomfortable.
He knew that Harry was noticing and that only made it worse.
Then he noticed that Harry had her legs folded underneath her, with her heels up against her crotch and that she had started to rock slowly against her heels. The sight only increased his own excitement to the point that he could barely maintain the pace of the spell.
He began to stutter slightly as he spoke. Acutely embarrassed by his arousal in Harry's presence and by Harry's own obvious reaction to what they were watching, he wanted nothing more than to relieve some of the pressure that was building in his body.
He had to keep speaking. He couldn't do anything about it, not with Harry watching him, not when it was vitally necessary that he continue the spell through to its completion.
He shifted his weight from one side of the chair to the other but it did nothing for him. He wasn't sure if he would be able to finish. He kept on speaking but he had to pause longer and longer for breath between phrases.
If he stopped now, the rebound effect might kill them this time. He had to keep going, even though he felt like he was going to scream.
Wesley tried to close his eyes and found that he could not. He watched, unable to look away, as every thrust of Angel's body was carried through Doyle's, the movement echoing into Cordelia's body.
He could barely breathe at all. His voice was becoming erratic. Athough he fought to keep control, he feared that he was losing the battle.
Harry moved toward him. "Don't stop," she warned him in a whisper. "Keep going, no matter what I do."
Desperately, he nodded, trying to keep his voice from stumbling to a halt.
Then he sucked in his breath painfully, as he felt Harry's hand reaching for him, loosening his pants. He shook his head but she just glared at him. "Keep going," she hissed again, as her fingers reached for him, to give him the relief that he so desperately needed.
He thought he would die of the humiliation, as without his own volition, his body thrust eagerly forward into her hand.
"Don't stop," she whispered to him, as she stroked him, gently at first and then harder. If he could have said anything other than the words of the spell, he would have said the very same thing to her. Instead, he let his eyes say it, as he fought to keep the spell going, to keep saying the words in the right order, even though all he wanted to do was moan her name.
Oh, God, she was good. She knew exactly what to do. How had Doyle ever let her go? Concentrate on the spell, Wesley, the spell – say the words – just say the words.
Every bit of his control was going to maintain his voice, trying not to let whimpers or gasps interrupt the flow of the spell while his body responded to Harry's caress, lifting off the chair and slamming back down again. His buttocks would be bruised tomorrow but her fingers curling around him, then her palm, felt so good, so good.
He was almost done and in more ways than one. He just had to struggle his way to the end, just a few more sentences, then just a few more phrases...
The sounds that Angel and Doyle and Cordelia were making, their three voices overlapping as their bodies moved together as one, were almost enough to drive him over the edge right now. He couldn't stop yet, he was almost finished, he had to get all the way to the end.
Just a few more words...
He finished the spell, then released all control with a shout as the force of his own response lifted his body completely off the chair and then brought it crashing down. As the convulsive movement of Wesley's body carried him away from her hand, Harry lunged forward, to catch him as he fell.
He was sprawled on the floor, crying out incoherently and oh, God, Harry was – no, she couldn't do that – and he couldn't stop – no – The heat of her mouth closed over him and he did something that a gentleman would never, ever do without asking first.
But he couldn't have spoken another word to save his own life.
When all of them had recovered enough to be able to speak again, the first thing Wesley tried to do was apologize, not only to Harry but to all of them.
Harry wouldn't allow it. "If it's anyone's fault, Wesley, it's probably mine. This isn't really my area of expertise. If you had a research helper more experienced with magic, we wouldn't have made our mistake and it was our mistake, not just yours."
He stared at her, amazed that she could even speak coherently, so soon after they had all been caught up in such intense sexual magick.
"You're a remarkable woman, Harry," he said humbly.
"I could've told you that," said Doyle. Judging by his expression, he was not going to be nearly as forgiving as his ex-wife.
Angel, Doyle and Cordelia had put their clothes back on but they were still sitting very close together, so that each of them was touching both of the others. Although the force of the magick had dissipated somewhat, Wesley couldn't help but notice how the three of them kept on touching each other, caressing each other gently with expressions of wonder on their faces, as though they were discovering their bond for the first time.
"Something is different," Angel said, speaking aloud for Wesley and Harry's benefit. "I don't know whether it is because the two of you were drawn into the magick, or for some other reason but we're different than we were."
"In what sense, Angel?" Wesley asked, glad for the diversion of all of their attention away from his behavior with Harry.
"I can still feel the presence of both the vampire and the Brachen," Angel answered slowly, thoughtfully, seeming to puzzle it out as he spoke. "But they don't seem to be anchored to any one of us, specifically. It's more as though they are anchored equally in all three."
Cordelia, her face human now, nodded. "I can feel it too. You're right, it's like they're here inside all three of us at once."
Doyle brushed his fingers lightly over her lips. "You said you were willin' to share the demon with me, darlin'. I'm guessin' that's exactly what we'll be doin' from now on."
"So," Wesley said. "It appears that the gestalt among the three of you has progressed somewhat further than before, is that correct? It is as though each of you will now have equal shares of human, vampire and Brachen."
"What's a gestalt?" Cordelia asked and then kissed Doyle's fingers.
"A union of parts to make a whole," Angel explained, reaching over to stroke back Cordelia's hair, which was beginning to fall over her face.
"Well, that's us," she agreed.
Harry said, "Francis, maybe you have found your freedom from your demon after all."
"It's still part of me, Harry, even though it's part of them as well. But since they're part of me and I'm part of them, I can't say that I mind it, not any more."
"Sounds like a happy ending to me," Harry concluded, with a grin. "So, I think it's time that Wesley and I gave you three some belated privacy and maybe found a little privacy of our own."
"What?" Wesley just stared at her, unbelieving. "Ms. Doyle, I don't expect that you will ever want to see me again, after my unforgivable actions."
"You're already forgiven, Wesley. We did the research together, remember? As I said, it was as much my mistake as yours. Besides, I rather enjoyed the overflow effects."
"Enjoyed?"
"I'd be happy to explain that concept to you, in full detail. But I think we've all had enough of public performances for a lifetime, don't you?"
"Ah, errr, I quite agree," Wesley stammered.
Cordelia laughed. "Be gentle with him, Harry. He doesn't quite get it yet."
"He will," Harry promised. "I'm used to men being somewhat slow on the uptake where women are concerned."
"Hey," Doyle protested. "I resent... Mmm, let me rephrase... I resemble that."
"So you did, Francis, so you did. You resembled that closely. But not any more, I suspect."
"No, I think I get it now," he agreed, looking at both Angel and Cordelia. "I really think I do."
Harry tugged insistently on Wesley's arm and they moved away, as Doyle lost himself once again in the sight of his lovers' faces, the nearness of their bodies, the presence of their minds in his.
//Now and forever, my loves.//
And without needing words, they agreed.
The End
