Fear of Angels
by ClarySage
I've always felt like fate was saving up something horrible for me. Right around the corner I reasoned, was my death awaiting me. What would it be? A knife? A gun? Rape? A psychopath on the rampage? Perhaps a runaway semi loaded down with 3 tons of concrete debris? It could be anything and at any time. So, it didn't surprise me when I decided to take a short cut through an alleyway and wound up with a knife pressed to my throat.
My money or my life, sex or death, the choices were bewildering. It could be for any reason, it could be just to watch the fear travel across my face.
"You're too beautiful to be roaming around alone in alleys." A voice whispered, ruffling the hair at the back of my neck. It was a he, a he and a he and all involving me. Thoughts collided in my head, banging and strapping, a he and me.
"You do realize I'm a male?" I asked as calmly as possible. The knife shifted, sliding down my neck to prick the skin at my collarbone.
"Oh yes, and I like it."
There wasn't much to say to that, except perhaps the obvious. "What do you want from me?"
"I want you, and I also want the sound of your screams to remember on lonely nights."
The darkness in the little alley was blinding, I felt his hand shift, running down my waist and pushing me forward while at the same time pulling me backwards. The result was my head colliding gently with the alley wall while his hips smacked forcefully into me from behind.
"If you're going to kill me, at least let me see you." I panted out against the wall, closing my eyes and feeling the tickling trickle of sweat slip down my temple.
"Why?" The rough movements of his hips stopped for a moment, the knife sliding sharp edged against my neck once more.
"Because, it wouldn't matter, would it?"
"I suppose not, you are after all going to die this night, you might as well see an angel before you go."
"An angel?" I chuckled nervously, my neck bending and bobbing against the blade.
"Yes."
And the hands in the darkness turned me around, there was an angel indeed standing before me.
"Why?" The word trembled out of my mouth to fall between us.
"I need to."
Ah, an angel in need then.
His hair fell long and unfettered down to the backs of his knees, the large violet eyes shimmering in the blackness of the alley. His mouth curved upwards at the corners, full and inviting, his nose a tiny upturned thing. From what I could see of his black clad body in the black clad alley, he was slim and inviting. It was hard to believe that body contained such strength.
"An angel who rapes and kills. It seems the world has played a cruel joke."
"Yes." He nodded in agreement and moved forward again. "What is it you're most afraid of?" He asked in a soft whisper.
"Life."
"And if you have no fear, will you like what I do to you?"
"Strange questions from a strange angel, I think I would. If you bring me death tonight, then I have no more fear."
"This works well." He nodded once more, the knife slipping beneath the collar of my shirt to slit its way down in a sharp strike. The shreds fluttered in a slight breeze, we both glanced down to watched them wave.
"Do angels of death kiss the doomed before they die?" I asked, still with my eyes glued to those gently blowing shreds of my shirt.
"A gentle act for rape wouldn't you say? But then you don't act like a man about to be raped, why not? Don't I scare you? Aren't you in fear for your life?"
Silence. Our eyes met, glints in the dark.
"No." I said.
"No." He echoed.
The smirk on his lips curved upwards even more, becoming a smile of truth. "If you weren't going to die, I might learn to like you."
"If you let me live, I would learn to hate you."
"Is this true?" An elegant eyebrow rose in surprise.
"No."
"Lying does not become you."
"It is already me, therefore it does not have to become what I am."
A kiss before dying, I thought as his mouth finally made a move towards my own, slamming down and spreading it for the taking. His tongue was hot and slick, slithering inside to thrust and parry against mine. I vaguely noted the clattering of the knife to the ground, the sound of my own breath whooshing out as his arms gripped my own throwing them hard against the wall.
"For a few seconds of your life I can make you feel complete pleasure or complete pain, if this changes your mind, it won't matter much."
"Poetry for death."
"Life."
"Hm." I smiled. Have you ever danced with darkness in the alley of death? I have. A waltz, I thought, was slow and curving like a knife lying on the ground glinting in the moonlight. Like his smile that glinted white in an arch. Or like the whiteness that comes with the end of the tunnel.
Fate does strange things with the path your life can take, it twitches threads and leads you astray, it led me here to this time and place, certainly not without a meaning.
"No more talk now." The knife was back, sliding down flat and cool against my skin, flicking out and slitting open my pants at the crotch. Quick flashes and it slit up the thighs slid down my back, arched over my hips, flayed my cuffs. More flaps of shredded cloth in the midnight alley. We watched them fly on the small gusts of wind that washed over us.
"Pain or pleasure, the choice is yours."
"I have a choice then?"
"You always have a choice in life."
The knife slid and slipped along my skin, goosebumps arose in its wake, tiny upraised flesh of fear. "Pleasure."
"Good choice, unfortunately pain must be involved in all pleasures, I'm sorry for this."
"Really?"
"No." A glint of teeth in the blackness before the white flash of my head striking the alley wall.
***
"What?"
Sometimes when you wake up from a dream the first question that forms on your lips is what you wonder most about life. What... what was my first question, not who or why or how it all came to be, but what.
No dripping water, and not in a basement. It was not cool and damp; my skin had the fine sheen of sweat that strikes with adrenaline and fear. A house, an apartment, an abode, a dwelling, the place I was.
"Waking is like rising, from the sea from the grave. Good evening and good morning."
"What?" I cleared my throat, rolling my eyes, hands twitching in bindings. I was on a bed, sheets below, and a pillow beneath my head. "What do you mean?"
"Riddles, solve one and another is set before you. So, would you like to play a game?"
"What prize?"
"Nothing."
"Low stakes."
"Alright, everything then."
"Take off this blindfold." And it came out as a soft plea from my mouth.
I felt his hands steady, slipping the knots from the cloth and taking it off. Vision again. "An angel?"
"What do you think?"
Now I had light and now I saw what was before me. Golden glints in his hair, eyes like jewels, and the body was black clad and lithe crouching down so low. "Poetry."
"Human murdering scum." He responded.
"Not possible."
He flicked his fingers, a gesture of dismissal. "Everything is possible."
"Tell me, have I died?" I asked.
"Oh no, not yet."
"Why am I here?'
"Less disturbances, more fun."
I tested my wrists and ankles, wrapped in rope and bound down to what apparently was a bed frame.
"Freedom is not something at your disposal at this time, please don't try and gain it." He said, moving closer and running his hands down one of my bare legs, calling to attention my nudity.
"Will you torture me?"
"No, not too much." He said quietly, caressing the skin of my inner thighs and spreading my legs for an invitation that was never sent. "What I like about you, about this, is all of your helplessness." His tongue flickered out to lap at my stomach, sending the muscles into a surge of tightening at the contact.
"Divine." I breathed.
"Tsk tsk, an angel is of course divine." His teeth sunk into my skin, a bruise left behind and surprisingly no blood. "But a riddle is what I asked of you, will you answer one?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Not now."
"Then of course I will answer."
His fingers pale and slim, settled on the collar of his shirt. With another smirk, he slid the shirt over his head, tossing it to one side and stretching. He was pale like moonlight, alabaster and white. In contrast, lay his lips and eyes, rosy red and amethyst jeweled. As my eyes slipped lower, I amended my list of colors, dusky pink for nipples. The long slender fingers of his hands gripped the dark fabric of his pants, unzipping and slipping the black cloth from his hips.
"A feast." I murmured.
"Victims shouldn't be hungry."
Another set of colors, the silver of the knife and the red of blood.
I didn't cry out, frozen into silence by the crimson streak on his fair arm.
"You didn't cry out." The cherry color of it dripped, trailing and splashing onto the white of the sheets. He leaned forward, the blood spattering onto my skin, dripping up my chest until it was poised before my eyes. "This is not life." He said.
My eyes flicked up to meet his over the bleeding arm. "What does this mean?"
Slowly he dipped a finger into the bright flow, covering the tip with blood. He brought it to my mouth, slipping it past slack lips. Without meaning it to, my tongue danced forward and tasted.
"Here's the riddle. How can you die and yet live on through eternity?"
The knife flashed briefly, slicing through the bindings holding my hands in place.
"Give me of your own free will, your life and your blood."
"Yes." I answered, and held out my rope wrapped hands to him. The knife slipped between my cupped palms and lightly scratched them, and then the pain came on in a sharp flash as I realized my palms wear gaping open. The blood did not drip steadily; it flew to gravity's call, sluicing to the bedding. I watched in horror, unable to respond, only tightening my hands hold on one another.
"That is life."
"What... what now?"
"Now you'll die." His eyes remained calmly on my quivering and clasped palms. "And then, you'll live."
In movies and books vampires are these dark and tragic souls, sometimes ruled by class and clan, sometimes not available to sunlight. So what if everything I'd read and seen had been wrong? What if a true vampire was not like myth or legend, but ate and laughed and bled like humanity. What if true vampires were angels in disguise?
What does a vampire truly feed off? Life.
My hands were back above my head and tied down once more, the palms of them already itching and healing, the blood but a trickle.
"Lesson one, blood does not a good lubricant make." He said, cracking a smile and showing white and long fangs set off by the ruby of his lips. He raised my knees, spreading my thighs again, opening them wide and bracing my feet upon the bed. I watched him, silent but for the quick draws of breath through my nose and mouth.
He stood, circling the bed, passing behind my head and reappearing with a jar in his hand. He held it close to my face, letting me read the label. "Petroleum jelly?"
He nodded, the silk of his hair swaying and bobbing, swirling around his alabaster body. The lid popped off with a flick of his thumb, flying to land on the floor. He bent his head, hair hiding his face as he dipped those slim fingers into the jar. "Lesson two, when preparing the sacrifice, ignore all pleas and moans."
His fingers slid between my legs, moving lower still until they found what they were looking for, delving inside my body with one quick push.
My back arched off the bed. A bridge in the shape of a human body. "No!"
"Yes." He said calmly, his hand moving in a rhythmic motion within me, sliding, slipping, plunging.
"Stop... please!"
"No." Relentless motion, deeper and wider, stretching gliding, sliding slipping. Then he stopped.
"Lesson three," He paused to chuckle and brushed his free hand over the erection that stood proudly from my body despite all of my horror. "Lesson three, you cannot rape the willing."
My mouth fell open to gape in amazement as he slipped between my legs, lifted them and plunged deep inside my straining body. And then my eyes closed of their own volition, unable to bear sight one moment longer. If I could, I would have closed my ears to his voice and to the sounds that assailed me.
"You see it's a philosophy of mine," He said as his hips met my ass, banging and raising my body, delving deeper still, "You can't take what is willingly given." The slapping sounds of flesh meeting flesh accompanied this statement.
He shifted slightly, turning and slitting the bindings on my ankles, raising my legs to his shoulders. "There are three ingredients for turning a human into an angel."
Those long fingers drifted over my cheek, slid across my eyelids, and pried open my mouth, dipping inside as if trying to touch my moans. "Bite."
I did, biting down until I felt a trickle of blood slip down my throat.
"The first ingredient is of course blood."
The fingers slipped out of my mouth again, tracing the contour of my neck and briefly twisting one my nipples on the way down my chest.
"The second ingredient is sweat." He wiped at my chest, slicking his fingers with a thin veneer of the sweat made of fear that had been soaking my body since I'd awakened. My eyes followed his hand as it met his lips and tongue, my body reacting by bucking and sending him in deeper and harder.
Our gazes met again. "Guess what the third and last ingredient is?" He whispered, as his lips hovered over my face.
"I... I d-don't know."
His hand circled my length, stroking it in rough slick motions that matched the pounding pace of his cock inside me. The gripping of my muscles became a vise as pleasure tunneled from inside out. In a bright flash of bliss that approached pain, I felt everything come to a point as sharp as his knife, and I erupted into his palm, coating his fingers with hot and sticky fluid.
His head fell back, rolling with the moan that clamored from his lips and upon my ears.
I gasped as the heat filled me up, drenching my insides with his burning.
"The last ingredient." He said softly, holding his fingers between our faces. His tongue darted out, catching a drop of my cum as it fell from his index finger. "Delicious."
"Why me?"
He cocked his head to one side, slipping out of my body, leaving me trembling on the blood soaked sheets. "I've already told you." He leaned in and kissed me again, running his tongue in a soft slide against my lips. "You're too beautiful to be roaming around alone in alleys."
***
On nights like tonight, when I stand at a window and watch life flow past, I know now what he meant, what he always meant.
If you have no more fear of dying, then you have no more fear of life.
"What are you thinking?"
"How sometimes you should try taking a short cut on the plans fate has for you."
"Interesting thought, how about you stop thinking and come back to bed."
I turn and gaze at him; the city lights wash the perfect whiteness of his skin with dancing colors. "Thank you."
A shift of his eyes and he nods slightly. "It was the most I could do for someone who wanted to die so badly."
"Did you ever want to die?"
"I've never had fear."
"Are fear and death so close?"
"They are the same."
My eyes look to the window once again, the lights of humanity calling my attention. Until the shutter rolls down to cover the view, his hand open palmed in front of me.
"There is one rule to life Heero. No fear."
No fear. Never fear for an angel.
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