Angel

by Todd Young

  “You said a hug.”

  “Right.”

  “Well?”

  “Here, then,” Finn said, and reached for Angel. His fingers brushed Angel’s ear and then, as Finn got to his knees, skipped over Angel’s shoulder and trailed down the smooth skin of his back. A moment later, Finn’s other hand gripped Angel’s ass and began to lift. “Get up on your knees,” he said.

  Angel hauled himself to his knees hesitantly, worried about the jism on his torso. He supposed Finn would feel it, but he might not, and after all, it was only a hug. As he slipped his arms around Finn’s waist, however, and moved up into the hug, his cock licked Finn’s. It tickled impossibly, an electric spark prancing between them. A moment later, Angel’s cock was lengthening, pressed against Finn’s thighs and hanging almost to his knees, Angel said to himself with self-deprecating humor. He shut his eyes tight and tried to stop it, but his body didn’t work that way. His cock bulged until it was rigidly trapped between Finn’s thighs with the tacky attraction of hairless skin. When Finn unexpectedly separated his legs, it sprang into the cleft of his ass.

  “Oh, man!” Finn said.

  Angel cleared his throat. Pulling away occurred to him. He knew he should do it, but somehow checked the impulse as it began to recur with insistence intermittently. Instead, he found himself sinking, sinking into warmth and darkness and into … Finn.

  It was as though he were sinking into quicksand quite happily, sure that at the bottom of the mire there lived a heaven, and that that was what he was approaching. A warm light wavered in his mind, and from within it, Cole emerged dressed in white robes. He looked impossibly clean and was standing by a pool in what appeared to be ancient Greece, backlit by a salmon colored sunset. In the afternoon light, his skin held a rosy promise, but the expression on his face was severe. He turned to Angel, scowled, and then emptied an urn he was holding into the pool.

  It appeared to contain blood.

  Again, though this time with the rushing persistence of a train, Cole burst into Angel’s mind. It was as though Angel’s skull had the ability to contain an explosion. With the sensation of his ears having popped on a mountain pass, Angel was suddenly and acutely aware of Cole. He was so close to Angel it was as if they were sharing the same skull.

  Then, as though the tension had been too great, something loudly snapped, a sound Angel heard, though it then occurred to him that it had been an auditory hallucination. Cole fled with the sound like a light bulb blowing. Angel opened his eyes on darkness and began to weep. He loosened his grip on Finn, sure he didn’t want this now, but what did it matter? Any warm body offered comfort.

  A lone voice broke across the darkness. “Aaron!”

  “That’s Ben,” Finn said, and pulled away.

  Angel twisted his head and glanced across the passageway. In the deepening gloom, he glimpsed a dark-haired boy gripping the bars of the cell opposite. Momentarily, the guy wavered, ghostlike into the darkness. Then he emerged solidly as though surfacing from a dark, muddy pool.

  “Aaron!”

  “Ben!”

  “Aaron!”

  Silence.

  Angel took a step toward the bars. Ben had his head angled expectantly in the direction of Aaron’s voice. Angel gripped the bars on his side and Ben turned his eyes on him. They stared at one another in a fragile silence. Ben was corpse-white, his skin gleaming in the shadows with all the attractiveness of congealed fat. He looked as though he hadn’t seen the sun in years, and if what Finn had said were true, he hadn’t. His wings were dark, apparently black in the gloom of the cells, though Angel thought he saw something golden in them, a highlight like the ocher in Ben’s tangled hair.

  Other angels began to call.

  “Shane …?”

  “Caleb …?”

  “Dean …?”

  “You don’t want to reach for Cole?”

  “Call to him?”

  “No, it’s only those that have been down here for years who call to their mates. Their bond’s been stretched so long they need the reassurance of sound.”

  Angel turned to Finn and glimpsed something solicitous in his expression. Concern for him? Apparently. Angel began to frown at the idea and then remembered his tears. He imagined them gleaming on his cheeks in the dim light and brushed them away.

  “You can reach for him. Think of him. Try to picture him and you’ll find him flowing into your mind.”

  Angel knew what Finn meant, but he was momentarily stunned by the consideration in Finn’s voice. Finn’s eyes were flashing in the darkness like the eyes of a maniac, as though they’d been dabbed with phosphorescent paint, but as Angel caught a glimpse of the expression on Finn’s face, he yearned for him. Finn was looking at him with all the care and concern of a brother. It was unexpected, and it forced Angel to reconsider his idea of Finn all over again.

  He turned away.

  But Cole!

  Angel sighed.

  More because Finn was expecting him to than for any other reason, Angel closed his eyes and reached for Cole. Almost immediately, Cole burst into his mind again, though he was full of anxiety now. He’d been waiting for Angel. Still, they met gladly, and as Cole erupted into his mind, Angel was overwhelmed by tenderness and care.

  How could he ever forget Cole? How could he ever want Finn when he had Cole? And even if he did want Finn, it couldn’t happen. Cole was relying on him. Hell, he was a poor, messed up kid.

  He groaned.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You with him?”

  “Yeah.”

  The words didn’t exactly materialize in Angel’s mind, but as Cole thought them, Angel knew what he meant. He wanted to know if Finn was there, and along with the question, Angel felt what he thought might be the first tendrils of suspicion and jealousy.

  Yeah, Angel said, and nodded his head, though he didn’t expect Cole to hear him precisely. Cole understood somehow, however, and an answer surfaced in Angel’s mind, an image of Cole and Jason sitting in the corner of a cell side by side.

  “Cole’s with Jason,” Angel said.

  “Yeah. I thought so. But try not to think about it. Hunter might pick up on it. And I can hear Jason now — a little, at any rate.”

  Again, Angel considered the expression on Finn’s face. Now it was full of apparent love for Jason. As Finn’s eyes met Angel’s they wavered uncertainly, seeking to connect but darting away again. It was reassuring in an odd way, because it did at least indicate to Angel that Finn was feeling some measure of consternation over the situation between them. He must love Jason, and as Angel thought it, it surfaced on his lips.

  “You really do love him?”

  “Jase?”

  “Yeah.”

  Finn frowned. “Well of course I love him,” he said. “He was the only one anywhere. The only one who’s ever tried to understand me.”

  “And does he understand you?”

  “A little. We were getting somewhere. But there was a knock on the door.”

  “Hunter?”

  Finn nodded and hung his head, staring downcast at the floor.

  “How did he get you …?”

  “Hell. I don’t know. He told me he had Gary.”

  “Gary?”

  “The guy who used to talk about the Realm.”

  “So you followed him?”

  Finn lifted his eyes, his voice infused with a renewed determination to explain. “It was pretty stupid, but it wasn’t like I could leave Jason behind. I felt … invincible. I felt like …”

  “You’d finally got what you wanted?”

  “I could feel the power coursing through me. And with Jason, we’d just started connecting. His mind was opening up to me.” Finn hesitated. “I guess I never realized how different I was — how different I am. But with the connection, it was like a key to a maze for Jason. He was revealing himself to me, and reflecting back to me who I am, who he is, and how we fit together. It was a revelation for the t
wo of us. And we were angels. What the hell could happen to us?

  “So we rode in the taxi together, and didn’t even question Hunter as he led us down here. I thought I could beat him with any trick he pulled.”

  “But you couldn’t?”

  “He’s strong. He has some enormous … power. He isn’t just a lord, he’s an … overlord. A being who’s mastered the darkness.”

  Angel considered Finn for a moment and then lurched toward him with a sudden jolt. Hell, he was a friend. Angel really had to get a grip on himself and get a grip on himself now. He slid his arms around Finn’s waist and up, trailing his fingers along Finn’s spine before gripping his shoulder blades. Finn’s wings shot outward, enveloping Angel, and in answer, almost without thought, Angel’s wings unfurled to encompass Finn.

  Now he felt like kissing Finn.

  67

  “You, today,” Hunter said.

  “What?”

  “It’s your turn.”

  Angel turned to Finn and frowned, overwhelmed with confusion and anxiety. From the expression on Finn’s face, Angel guessed what Hunter wanted. Without thinking, he backed away from the bars. It wasn’t as though Hunter hadn’t fucked him before, and Angel was sure he didn’t want it to happen again.

  Finn stepped forward, a hand on Angel’s chest. “You won’t get anything out of him,” he said.

  Hunter smiled. “And what about you, Finny? Will I get anything out of you?”

  “I’ve told you what’ll happen if you touch me.”

  “And you know what, Finn? I’m starting to doubt you’re telling me the truth.”

  Angel glanced from Hunter to Finn, suspicion flooding him. He wasn’t entirely sure, but he had a hunch Finn was lying — about something. The conversation had drawn to a halt. Hunter and Finn were frozen warily, contemplating one another in the melancholy gloom. As Angel began to wonder what it might be about, Finn unknowingly (or at least Angel supposed it was unknowing) let his hand down Angel’s chest and onto his stomach. His fingers flittered over Angel’s navel, touched his penis, his hip, and then left him naked all over again, alone in the dark, clammy cell.

  His cock began to lengthen and he swore.

  Hunter lifted his eyes and Finn turned to him.

  “You okay?”

  “No I’m not fucking okay.”

  An iron key screeched in the rusty lock. Angel backed quickly and hit the rear wall. He turned and gripped the handle of the door Hunter had originally thrust him through, but obviously, it was locked. Nevertheless, Angel continued to rattle and pull on it, blind to Hunter and Finn, who were standing, watching him in stunned silence when he finally turned.

  Hunter had the door open, and one hand on top of it, an arrogant sense of assumed power in the way he was standing, a posture that said he could do whatever he liked to whomever he chose. In his other hand, hanging limply by his side, he was holding what Angel guessed might be a cattle prod, though he couldn’t be sure.

  “Come on,” Hunter said.

  “What?”

  “I said, come on, ‘Angel.’ It’s your turn.”

  Angel crossed his arms over his chest, determined to hold his ground. He set his expression and tried to ignore how defenseless he felt, standing naked in the cool, subterranean air.

  “Fancy a shock,” Hunter said, turning to Finn, who was standing in the way, and pointing the cattle prod at his penis.

  Finn backed away, glancing at Angel guiltily as he did so.

  Hunter stepped into the cell. “Come on, ‘Angel.’ It’s not like we’ve got all of eternity — or no, wait, we do.” He grinned.

  Angel shivered spastically, jerking his arms into the air. He backed into the far corner and gripped his genitals, sinking to the floor.

  “Come on,” Hunter said, mock gentleness in his voice now. He advanced into the cell until he was standing in front of Angel. But by that time Angel was cowering in the corner. “Come on, ‘Angel,’ Hunter said, his voice quieter now. He placed his hand on Angel’s hair.

  Angel recoiled and knocked his head against the cold stone wall. “Fuck,” he said, and stumbled to his feet.

  Hunter gripped his wrist. Angel spun toward him and they collided. For a moment, Angel’s naked body was pressed against Hunter’s, the sensitive head of his penis rasping against the coarse woolen fibers of Hunter’s trousers. Horrified, Angel placed both hands on Hunter’s chest and pushed him away. Hunter stumbled and tried to regain his balance with a few backward steps. He was brought up short when his head crashed into the bars with a clang.

  In the darkness, Angel couldn’t make out the expression on Hunter’s face, at least, not exactly. But once he’d pushed himself forward out of the gloom, he backed again rapidly.

  “How about I go and prod Cole just for the hell of it.” Hunter lifted the cattle prod menacingly. “Or no, I tell you what, you be difficult, and I’ll shove this fucking thing — on maximum — up his fucking ass.”

  Angel winced, and then quietly began to accept that he wasn’t going to get out of it. Hunter was going to fuck him — again. Resigned, he began to weep in silence.

  “Come on!” Hunter said, visibly angry now, his veiled face distorted in the inky murk. He took a breath. “Are you fucking coming?”

  Reluctantly, Angel nodded.

  He hung his head as Hunter led him from the cell.

  68

  As they walked along the corridor, the memory of their night together in the institute flared in Angel’s mind. He glimpsed Hunter’s face hanging over him, a rictus of determined hatred as he drove his cock into Angel’s ass. It had hurt like hell, and Angel wasn’t about to repeat the experience. Certainly not fifteen or sixteen times.

  “You know? You’re not touching me,” he suddenly said, and pulled his wrist out of Hunter’s grip. “You’re not fucking touching me!” he said again, perhaps a little hysterically, his voice breaking. He backed against a cell, his feathers crumpling, a cold bar slipping between the cheeks of his ass.

  “I wasn’t joking about Cole.”

  “What?”

  “I wasn’t joking.”

  Angel frowned.

  “I really would like to jam this up his ass.” Hunter lifted the cattle prod and turned it over, considering it affectionately. “Well, I’d get a kick out of it, even if no one else did.”

  Angel stared at him as though spellbound, his mouth a little slack.

  “Or I could stick it up your ass. Or someone’s. Hell, I’m going to do it anyway now that I’ve thought of it. It’s really just a question of whether it happens to Cole, or to you, or to … someone else.”

  Angel winced.

  “So, would you like it up your ass, Cole’s, or someone else’s?”

  Angel shrugged stupidly, unable to speak. Then the cattle prod was between his thighs — not charged, though a flick of the switch would do that — but tickling his hairless skin. It touched his balls and Angel sucked a sharp breath through his lips. Hunter grinned, his eyes locked on Angel’s, Angel’s locked on his.

  The tip of the prod stuttered over Angel’s sac and onto his perineum. He closed his eyes, unwilling to admit that part of him yearned to know what it would feel like. He jumped as it tapped the tender skin of his hole. A clang rang out, the cattle prod striking the bar of the cell wedged firmly in Angel’s cheeks.

  “Separate your thighs.”

  “What?”

  “Move your feet apart.”

  “I … I … I’m …”

  “Just fucking move.”

  Perhaps a minute passed.

  Hunter, in an angry but resigned voice tried again. “I said move.”

  In an attempt to stall him, Angel laid his fingers on Hunter’s chest. Something liquid shifted within him and he said, “You could do it to someone else,” his voice barely audible.

  “What did you say?”

  Angel didn’t want to repeat it. In fact, he was wondering all over again whether it wouldn’t be okay to let Hunter do it
to him. It might be good. Almost instantly, he recognized this as the attitude he’d had in the institute, when he was so sexually pumped he’d got a kick out of the idea of Hunter dominating him.

  Using him. Abusing him even.

  Destroying him.

  Fucking him.

  Angel shivered.

  “Did you say — perchance — I could do it to someone else?”

  Angel nodded, his eyes wide, his mouth slack.

  “Cole?”

  “No,” faintly.

  “Finn?”

  Angel pictured Finn’s ass, saw what it might be like to watch the cattle prod slide into it. He imagined the current flowing through it, Finn’s legs spasming, and then he became aware of Hunter in front of him once again.

  He shook his head.

  “Anyone else you want to protect?”

  No, Angel thought, and turned his face to the floor, his wings folding limply.

  69

  At the end of the corridor stood a large wooden door, incongruously set in stone. It looked as though it had been varnished a century ago. A large brass handle was set low in the center. On either side, a blind, many-paned window protruded into the corridor as though it were rising from a vat of chocolate, the stone of the corridor forming the glass and crossbars.

  “This is my house,” Hunter said, stepping under the portico and opening the door on what appeared to be the lobby of a nineteenth century home.

  Angel stepped in wonder onto a polished parquet floor. Inside, it was warm and dry, a marked difference from the atmosphere in the cells. To the right of the door, there was an umbrella stand with seven or eight umbrellas in it, a curiosity that Angel stared at as Hunter led him through a further door. This opened into an enormous hall. A pair of wide, dark staircases curled upwards, high to the balcony above. The floor was checked with black and white marble, and by the foot of the stairs stood a statue, a merman by the look of it, a creature with no visible means of reproduction. As he was holding a trident, Angel’s first thought was that it was Poseidon. Then he saw the tail.