Title: New Year's Slash Author: Ashtareth Website: http://internetdump.com/users/ashtareth Pairing: Angel/Doyle Rating: NC-17, graphic m/m sex. ----------------------------------------------- Angel moved around his spacious apartment restlessly, cleaning a little, rearranging books, trying to distract himself from his own bleak thoughts. It was nine-thirty on New Year's Eve. Angel hated holidays, when people tended to gather and party. Those nights left him feeling his status as an outsider acutely. Going out to revel alone had no appeal, and he knew that even if he'd been on the streets tonight, he would have done nothing but hunt for bad guys to dispatch. He dropped into his favorite leather chair. "You need to loosen up some," he muttered to himself, mocking Cordelia's words to him earlier that day. "Right. I wouldn't know how." He heard noises outside his door, familiar voices. He sighed and stood up. Cordelia and Doyle, no doubt come to dutifully wish him Happys and escape him quickly once the niceties were done, to go party with the rest of the human race. He snarled a little and yanked the door open before his visitors could knock. His friends waved bottles at him. "Time to party, m'friend!" exclaimed Doyle, looking a bit shnookered already. "Ringin' in the new year an' all that!" "Yeah," chimed in Cordelia, her eyes bright, "Happy Auld Lang Whatever!" He stared. "Auld Lang Syne," he said, the first thing that came to mind. "Yeah, that. Well, let us in!" ordered Cordy cheerfully, and slipped past him. "Wow, Angel, great decorations!" "What?" Angel said blankly. "I didn't put up any - oh." Doyle ducked in under his arm, still holding the door open. "Don't you have a television in here someplace? We got to watch Dick Clark an' all. You know, I really think that man must be undead. Do you know he's seventy years old?" "Face-lifts," said Cordelia, from the kitchen. "Lots of face-lifts. The man is, like, a god to me. He gives me hope. Angel, do you have champagne glasses? And ice?" "Ah, in the cabinet - of course I have ice! What are you two doing?" "You really don't have a bleedin' television, do ya?" said Doyle, prowling, checking every nook that might conceal a television, even a tiny one. "How are we gonna know when the New Year comes in if we can't watch the big ball fall down?" "No, I don't. Look, when the big hand and the little hand are both on twelve and the clock goes bong-bong, it's midnight, okay?" "Oh, listen, Doyle, Angel made a funny!" "Amazin'. Wonder what happens when we get him drunk?" the Irishman pondered, walking behind Angel, close enough that Angel could feel his body heat. Which wasn't really all that close, but still it put him off-guard. Angel was never entirely sure what to do with people who put him off-guard but weren't in the killing-and-eating category. He backed up to the dividing wall, trying to keep both his visitors in sight, as Cordelia skillfully opened champagne and Doyle circled the living room like a vulture waiting for dinner. "Can vampires even get drunk?" Doyle continued. "Let's find out!" Cordy said brightly, pouring bubbly. "Why do you want me drunk?" Angel asked nervously. Doyle stopped in front of him - very close - Doyle had a tendency to stand very close to him, Angel realized with an irrational prickle of apprehension - and looked up at him with huge innocent eyes and spread his hands wide. "It's New Year's, ya big doof! You're supposed ta get drunk! It's tradition!" "And we're here to ensure that you keep that tradition," Cordelia stated firmly. "We'll help, o'course," added Doyle. "Provide an example and that sort o' thing." "Look, don't you two want to, to party with, uh, your friends or something?" Angel asked, uncomfortably. Cordelia put a glass of cool sparkling champagne in his hand. "Yes, we do," she said firmly, "that's why we're here." She handed another glass to Doyle, picked up the bottle and a third glass, and sat down in Angel's favorite leather chair, pouring champagne for herself. "No television, huh?" Angel rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Mind the chair; you're dripping," he cautioned. He tossed her a packet of napkins from the top of the old refrigerator and took a sip of his champagne. It wasn't the best, but it was certainly not bad. "Where'd you get the champagne?" he asked, sure that neither of them could have afforded it, not on the salary he paid them. "I stole it from my dad," Cordelia said, delicately dabbing up droplets of champagne from the buttery leather. "He'll never miss a few bottles; he had like a stockpile of the stuff. I thought you were supposed to stock up on water for Y2K, not booze." Doyle sat down across from her on the couch. "Depends on your priorities, I guess." He grinned and sucked down his champagne noisily. Angel gave in to the inevitable. He headed to the end of the couch closest to Cordelia and the champagne bottle, forcing Doyle to scoot over to give him room to sit. Doyle didn't slide very far away; instead of leaning against the other arm of the couch, the Irish seer elected to curl up in the middle, draping an arm over the back and letting his hand dangle close to Angel's shoulder. Angel decided the most likely explanation was that Doyle wanted to be close to the alcohol. "Pass the bottle," said Doyle. "You drink too fast," scolded Cordelia. "Don't you know that stuff will make you burp if you - " Doyle belched, right on cue, and smiled beatifically at her. "Eww!" she yelled. "Doyle!!" Angel sighed dramatically. "First hell, now this." He took a larger, careful drink of his champagne, enjoying the way it bubbled and tingled on his lips. "I should drink more," he mused. "A fine idea," agreed Doyle. "You need to loosen up some." The clock bonged gently. "Ten o'clock," announced Cordelia. "Only two hours left in this lousy millennium!" "Actually, the new millennium doesn't start til next - " "Angel, I'm going to *kill* the next person who tells me that!" Cordelia growled. "I don't *care* when the next millennium really starts! Nobody cares, okay?!" "Uh... okay," said Angel, confused. Doyle snickered. "And I want to spend the remaining two hours of this one getting plastered," Cordy finished, and refilled her glass even though it wasn't empty yet. Doyle raised his glass. "To a better millennium," he said. "I'll drink to that," Angel muttered, tapping his glass against Doyle's. Cordelia leaned forward enough to clink glasses with theirs, and they all downed their champagne with a gulp, heedless of the consequences.