Come Undone
Everything was always so white. Why did it always have to be so bloody white?
It wouldn't be so bad if everything wasn't such a bright, shiny, celestial white and he didn't have a really stinking hangover. That was the last time he was going out on a pub-crawl with the seraphim. Mind you, he'd said that the last time.
It also wouldn't be so bad if he didn't have to be sociable right now, but it was the Powers That Be's Christmas party and you really didn't want to offend any of those by refusing their invite. The place might be giving him a headache but it was a damn sight better than the alternative.
Doyle slipped on his shades and floated into the massive, cathedral-like chamber that was acting as venue for the shindig. As soon as he surveyed the opulent surroundings, the sumptuous buffet and the enormous free bar, he felt a lot better. One thing about being at a higher level -- he didn't like to think of himself as an angel -- you got to go to some great parties.
Various deities stood in clusters discussing such topics as the ineffable mysteries of the universe, the great philosophical questions of life, and whether or not Picard was a better captain than Kirk, whilst cherubin fluttered about with trays of vol-au-vents and platters of cocktail sausages.
In one corner, the Oracles were getting really drunk on White Russians. Doyle had found his place.
Later, after he didn't know how many drinks, Doyle discovered that the Oracles had picked his name out of the hat in the Secret Santa.
However, the female Oracle confided that, "we have been unable to decide what you would desire most greatly."
The male Oracle concurred. "You are such an uncomplicated being. We are used to more complex matters. Your base impulses are many, and we cannot decide which to satisfy."
Doyle, who'd ended up buying Thor some vouchers for a hardware store, couldn't sympathise exactly, but he did appreciate how difficult buying a suitable gift could be.
He decided to be melodramatic, mostly because he'd drank a lot of whiskey and that always made him a little theatrical. "All I would ever want is one last night of passion with the one I love with all my heart."
"Oh," said the female Oracle, who was quite tipsy and had dribbled cream onto her robes. "That can be arranged."
"But mark our words carefully, my friend: what is done cannot be undone. This can be but one night," said the male Oracle gravely, swaying slightly as he tried hard to focus on Doyle.
"One shag is always better than no shag at all, I've always said."
The male Oracle nodded as if Doyle were speaking the wisdom of the ages, and then in unison they snapped their fingers.
There was a flash and Doyle found himself in bed, naked and sober. Next to Angel, who appeared to be asleep.
It wasn't quite what he was expecting, but given his previously expressed motto, he could hardly complain. And besides, he'd always had a thing for old Angel, indeed obviously more of a thing than he'd ever admitted to himself. Question was then, would Angel feel the same way? It'd be an awful waste of divine power if not.
He shook Angel awake, and received a hand gripped around his throat as reward. It relaxed almost immediately.
"Doyle!"
Angel's face was a picture. All sorts of emotions. It was really quite touching.
"Hey, Angel! I'm back! Quite literally for one night only."
Angel's hand slid down Doyle's chest a little, apparently to confirm that he was really there, flesh and blood. "But -- why? What's happened?"
"Um. Would you believe me if I said I've been sent by the Powers That Be to make sweet love to you for an evening?"
Angel considered this for a moment. "Actually, yes."
"Oh. Good. That makes things much easier."
"Is this for any particular reason?"
"Not as such. Probably some karma in it for you though."
"I guess I can always do with that."
"I also suspect I won't get to stay much longer if we don't make with the tongues pretty quickly. Not sure what the deal is, exactly, but they'll probably end up sulking if I don't keep my end up. So to speak. They don't like you to be ungrateful."
Angel blinked. "You asked for this?"
"Not in so many words, no. But I'm here all the same. And I don't want to leave."
The hand moved from his chest to cup his jaw. "Okay. Then we better get started."
Angel leaned down and placed his lips on Doyle's, then drew back all too quickly. "Hey!"
"Just to check, I'm not going to get any visions after this, am I?"
Doyle shook his head. "Oh, no, I'm vision-free these days."
"Good. Because I think we're going to kiss much longer than you and Cordelia ever did."
"I should hope so."
Angel leaned in again and this time he didn't stop for quite some time, and only then because he had some other uses for his mouth.
Back at the party, the Oracles looked down on the happy couple.
"I am finding this very arousing," remarked the male Oracle.
"Mm-hmm," said the female Oracle, who had decided she would quite like to be watching events on her own in a darkened room.
"Perhaps we could arrange for it to be an annual event."
"A tradition."
"Indeed."
"What is done is done. Except when it is not."
And then Doyle did something quite obscene to Angel, and they both completely lost the thread of the conversation.