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It ends like they all do, the assignment.
Bloody whites and torn blacks, addled minds and sore muscles as they stumble into their hotel room.
Angel strips down as soon as the door shuts behind them, leaving a trail of clothes like breadcrumbs to follow on his way to the bathroom. The water switches on, pipes groaning and rattling. The shower curtain is drawn with a metallic shriek.
Not nearly as ambitious, Aki only urges his tired feet to make it the ten steps to the sofa back against the windows. It’s that or slide down in a heap against the nearest wall. He doesn’t want that. Dignity, or whatever. He’s better than that.
Navy blue evening, the twinkling glitter of city lights, a twin bed, a desk, a television console, and the sofa, so old and worn it feels like sinking into a cloud. That’s all there is. That’s his reward for surviving.
His head falls back against the cushion. He loses time, perhaps consciousness, perhaps not, and when his eyes open again the bathroom door is open, Angel’s preternatural silhouette dark against the glowing backdrop. Fitting. Like he’s at the pearly fucking gates.
“Have you gone and died?” Angel asks.
“No.”
He blinks and the light is off and Angel is closer. The hotel bathrobe hangs like a cape over his little frame, loose enough to fit his wings. He’s hovering over Aki with his damp hair and twisted pout like he’s been ordered to come and lead him away to the afterlife. The seraphim are doing overtime. Clearly unhappy with it. They’re not being paid enough.
“Did you hit your head?”
“No.”
“You look fucked up. What’s wrong with you?”
“Tired, sore. Too damn keyed up to sleep, I think,” Aki says. “Take your pick.”
Silence. The clock ticks, the one hanging over the bed. He’ll need to take the batteries out before he turns in for the night. The sound of it makes him uneasy.
“Want me to help with that?”
“With what?”
“Taking the edge off.”
He blinks again and Angel is on his knees between his parted legs, hands firm on his thighs, gaze fixed on his slack-jawed face.
“I have eyes, you know.”
Aki doesn’t understand.
“You look at me like you want to eat me alive.”
He flushes.
“No, no,” says Angel. “It’s a good look on you.”
Nimble fingers reach out and undo the button, the zipper, pale knuckles pass over clean cotton like a barely-there whisper, and Aki jolts awake.
He sits up, and Angel snatches his hands away.
“What are you doing?”
“Propositioning you.”
There’s a hint of a smile on his lips.
Aki swallows. “How? You can’t—”
With a hum, Angel rocks back on his heels and bounces up to his feet.
“That’s not a no,” he says. He’s across the room, rummaging through the pockets of his discarded suit.
His voice is soft and inviting. He’s pretty, he is, it’s true. Aki has been looking. He’s been watching.
He takes a breath. Heart suddenly pounding like a stampede. Ribcage tightening. Blood pumping. Heat flaring, burning, burning, he’s burning.
He catches the glossy packet Angel tosses at him, instincts honed to perfection, still doped up to the gills on adrenaline. He turns it over between his fingers.
“Just had that on you? You do this a lot?”
Ice cream, straws, suckers, might as well.
“When it serves a purpose.”
“And what purpose do I serve?”
He gets no response. A blank look, head tilted like a cat.
Then, Angel is down on his knees again, splaying his fingers across Aki’s thighs. He gestures at the condom with a jut of his chin.
“You’re going to have to get that on yourself, given the circumstances.”
With a flick, he sheds the robe and lets it pool around his pale, little waist, shakes his wings out like a bird, watches with keen interest as Aki slips himself free from his boxer briefs.
Breath stuttering. Feels good. He’s so hard already. It’s been too long. His hand is so, so warm, the steady pressure of it setting him ablaze.
He wants it, that soft, pink mouth on him. The thought of it makes him dizzy. Delicate shoulders, collarbones jutting, a smattering of freckles across the bridge of the devil’s nose. He’s a vision, a dream, a miracle carved straight out of the recesses of Aki’s mind.
“You’re big.”
“Second thoughts?”
“Never.”
“Regrets?”
“Sometimes,” says Angel. “Gloves?”
The gloves came off as soon as he sat down; he slips them back on now with unsteady hands. Itching to reach out and touch, curl his fingers into that silken, ruddy hair and guide that pretty pink mouth between his legs, use it to chase his selfish pleasure.
“Go ahead.”
Like a mind reader.
“Go for it.”
His arm moves and he can’t believe he’s been given permission to this. Fingers grip and tighten and Angel’s eyes go dark with want as his head is pushed down.
The first burst of heat around the head of his cock makes him gasp. Hips jerking. Mind blank. Slow and teasing, languid strokes of tongue, the slightest scratch of teeth. Not enough to satisfy—but then Angel bobs his head down, all the way down, takes him right to the hilt.
“Shit, Angel.”
It’s torture, how little he feels through the gloves. He pulls that pretty, red hair so hard he’s sure it hurts and feels none of it. It must be soft. As soft and good and angelic as the rest of him. Perfection so stifling he can’t bear it. He wants to ruin it.
Helplessly, reason lost to sensation, he fucks up into that impossible, wet heat. Too fast, too deep, bruising the back of Angel’s little throat, but he can’t possibly stop his body from reacting the way it does. It’s too much. It’s building up. He’s hurtling through the air, about to hit the ground hard.
“Shit, that feels so good.”
His eyes were closed, he realizes. He opens them; they’re adjusted to the dark now. His heart is pounding in his ears. A steady beat, like a war drum.
His Angel is small and flushed between his legs, whimpering around his cock, wings fluttering like he’s trembling, all of him.
One hand just above Aki’s knee, slim fingers digging viciously into the fabric of his uniform. The other between his own thighs, getting off on Aki shoving himself down his throat, suffocating him, on his absentminded words of encouragement, the rough hand in his hair maneuvering his head like a puppet.
It’s obscene.
It’s amazing.
“God, I want to kiss you so bad right now,” he says. “I wish—”
Tumbling out like his brain is out of commission.
Angel looks up, Aki’s cock wet and heavy against the flat of his tongue. It slips free. Sinfully red, spit-slick lips, eyes wide and gold like the sunset. Aki can see the city lights in them, he can see the whole fucking world in them.
“What else would you do to me? Tell me. If you could—”
He’s holding Angel’s chin, then, hand curled around his jaw, the pad of his gloved thumb pressing down on the glistening plush of his bottom lip, his teeth, his tongue, Angel opening up for him. Willingly, beautifully.
The hand moves to the back of Angel’s head. Cradles it, deep breath, forces it back down. He’s delirious with need.
Tumbling out, tumbling out. Thoughts scattered to the wind.
“I would touch you everywhere, every part of you. Your wings, I bet they’re sensitive—I’m right, aren’t I? I’d put my mouth on you everywhere, too, kiss you and tease you until your legs are shaking and you’re sobbing and begging and you don’t even know what for.”
Voice hoarse, foreign to his own ears.
“I’d drag you up and into my lap and fuck you deep, open you up with my fingers, get you ready to take me. You’re so small, Angel, I bet you’d be so fucking tight—and I’d have you tell me just what it feels like, having me inside. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d be good for me, yeah?”
There’s a strangled sob from below, a moan that reverberates straight through him, settles deep in his gut. Angel’s hand between his own legs moves with purpose now, with a wound up, needy desperation.
“You would.”
Aki rests his free hand over Angel’s where it claws into his thigh. Skinny fingers twitch and lift and coil around his own. Deceptively delicate. A devil in disguise. Neat nails digging painfully into the stiff leather, pressing down against his bones, seeping into his very soul.
“I’d stuff you so full and fill you up again and again, see how much you could take. Mark you up, every inch of you. Everyone would see. You would look so pretty, Angel, bruises on your neck, come dripping out of your little hole. I’d make a mess of you—of your face, your pretty lips. You’d swallow it all like a good boy, though, wouldn’t you? You’d be a good boy for me, yeah?”
Angel whines and his rhythm falters. No no no, not good. Leather creaks as Aki’s glove tightens. He yanks that pretty mouth back down and uses it how he likes. Hard and fast and too rough. He’s playing with fire. His vision blurs. There are tears in Angel’s eyes. He’s fucking beautiful, and he chokes and swallows roughly around Aki and—
Aki comes with little more than a strangled gasp, so suddenly it surprises him.
He doubles over. Like a gunshot to the gut. Curling in on himself, he shudders and spills. There’s a high pitched whine screaming in his ears. White noise, every frequency, everything, all at once. For a blissful few seconds, he’s gone from the world.
All there is is television static, whites and yellows and pinks exploding beneath his eyelids, screwed shut as he breathes through the assault of sensation. Sparkling, shimmering, drowning him. He’s drowning drowning drowning, he’s floating, he’s dead, he’s never felt more alive.
Angel is sitting back on his heels when Aki comes to. A pale, little shape in the navy blue haze of the room, breathing hard and fast.
His hands are in his lap, his thighs and his belly covered in his own mess. Eyes a little glassy, a little unfocused, he’s a little lightheaded.
“Sorry,” Aki murmurs. Sucks in a mouthful of air. “Did you—?”
Angel nods, dazed. “You have a very filthy mouth for such a nice boy.”
He laughs, breathless and hoarse.
With only a tiny stumble, he’s on his feet, dashing to the kitchenette. Unbothered by the state of himself. Free and untethered and unreal.
Cabinets slams and drawers clang. There comes a triumphant sound, a happy hum, then rustling.
When Angel returns, his hands are tucked behind his back, wings halfway unfurled to hide his surprise.
“Put your dick away,” he says bluntly. “No skin.”
Dumfounded, Aki does as he’s told. Strips the condom and ties it off. And then he’s got a lapful of devil, and his gloved hands settle on Angel’s bare hips. Pure instinct, like they were shaped that very way to hold him.
“You said you wanted to,” Angel laughs. “This is on you.”
There’s a strip of cling wrap in his hands, the mystery unveiled. He laughs again, earnest and infectious, and brings it up between their faces. Aki’s heart is in his throat. It’s crawling up and spilling out past his teeth.
“Second thoughts?”
Aki shakes his head. “Never.”
“Regrets?”
“Unlikely.”
It steals the breath from his lungs when it happens. It lasts all of a second, short and sweet and chaste, but tastes like forever. Feels like forever. He can have forever, he can. Like this. This is his forever.
But then Angel is breaking away—
Aki’s hands move of their own accord, grasp at the backs of Angel’s bare thighs and yank him closer, flush against him. The pressure is too much, he’s too sensitive where Angel’s weight settles, but he ignores it.
He offers a kiss of his own, filthy and vindictive. Pours everything into it. Pushes their flimsy limit. Tempts fate, he does. Come get me. Come fucking get me, he screams.
But it doesn’t. He keeps his time.
When they finally do part, when Aki burns with the furious need to breathe, the plastic drops between them, fluttering down down down.
Small hands settle softly on his chest, and inexplicably, Aki wants to cry. They’ve been dealt a fucking ridiculous hand. Somewhere up there, the heavens are watching and laughing. Kicking their legs and cackling. Life and its sick, little ironies, and all that.
There’s a flush all the way down across Angel’s heaving chest.
Gloved fingers trail over that over-warm skin, coaxing shivers to the surface. They pause for an instant, flat against his pounding heart, then travel north, molding into a gentle collar around his throat.
Angel blinks at him like he’s seeing him for the very first time. It twists at Aki’s heart. He offers him a smile.
“Next time, I’ll get you off,” he promises.
“Next time?”
“I could fuck you. We could do it. Keep all our clothes on. I’m sure we could.”
Golden eyes fill with mirth: teasing, joyful, unspeakably lovely. And he smiles, all sharp teeth and no inhibitions.
“Oh, you want a next time? What happened to hating—”
“Shut the fuck up, Angel.”