Bad Angels: Falling

by Belinda McBride

  Every inch of his skin was soft and fine, but when his hand cupped Hunter's shaft, Rex knew without a doubt that this was the smoothest, silkiest spot on the angel's body. He leaned in, resting his head between Hunter's broad shoulders, letting his fingers guide the journey he was taking. Down the rigid shaft, to the delicate orbs, and back to the tender skin just behind. Rex ran his tongue slowly up Hunter's spine, moving the heavy braid over the front of his shoulder.

  Both men were shirtless; Rex had left his behind at the cottage, and Hunter's had floated to the ground just moments ago. Hunter inhaled deeply and let his breath out on a long, shuddering sigh. Rex smiled and pressed a kiss on the back of his neck, nipping lightly. His free hand wandered over Hunter's flat belly, dipping into his navel. It then wandered up to circle and pinch his flat nipples. He couldn't see, but he could feel them tighten and pucker.

  It seemed a good time to get rid of the pants, but because of his precarious perch on the tree, Hunter was unable to lift his feet to step free, and with one foot elevated, they wouldn't drop far. His legs were trapped.

  Rex solved the problem by simply tearing them away, ripping them down the seams. He grinned as a tiny bead of moisture trickled from Hunter's cockhead and onto his own fingers. He rubbed the slick moisture between his fingers and carried it up to his lips, savoring the salty taste of his lover.

  He slipped his own breeches down a bit, enough to release his cock. He wasn't ready just yet, but casually thrust his hips forward, letting his erection slide between the silky squeeze of genitals and thigh. He nudged past Hunter's stones, his cock stroking back and forth in a slow caress. When their ridged heads caught lightly, he shivered at the sensation.

  Rex focused once again on the task at hand, one hand fondling, arousing Hunter but never giving him a steady rhythm, never allowing him to rise too high. He laughed gently when Hunter's hips bucked in frustration.

  "You like this ... you like me holding in place..."

  He gently rubbed Hunter's ass and then slapped sharply. The sound carried through the trees, startling birds into flight. He wrapped a hand into the angel's long braid and pulled his head back, running kisses down his jaw, and biting gently into the tender flesh of his neck. The sound that escaped from the angel was more than a sigh, yet less than a moan.

  "Tell me to stop if you need to,” he whispered, trailing the tip of his tongue into the shell of Hunter's ear.

  "Don't ... don't stop ... please..."

  Hunter's voice was raspy with need, husky with desire. His breath came in short, staccato bursts, arousing Rex even more. He thrust his hips a bit faster, his cockhead bumping Hunter's stones, causing both men to gasp.

  "I need you. God in heaven, Hunter, I need you now!” Rex spit into his palm, wetting his already slick shaft. “I'll be careful ... Tell me to stop if it hurts...” He pressed Hunter slightly forward, nudging his elevated foot to the right, opening him up a bit more. Slowly, gently, he pressed in, pausing every few moments to recapture his control. Hunter didn't help with that. He met Rex's every movement, pressing back to meet him, arching his back just a bit.

  "Keep going, Rex. Please, please don't stop!” His hands shifted on the branches that he clung to, grasping them tighter. As Rex nudged and pushed and gently pressed his way into that tight passage, the soft sounds from Hunter's throat developed into gasps and moans. Rex pulled back, gliding out, and then he pumped in hard. The next thrust was harder, and the next harder still.

  He steadied Hunter with one hand on his hip, his tail wrapped securely around his waist. With his free hand, he stroked the fine white feathers of Hunter's wings, resting his face in the center of his back, feeling the flex of the angel's muscles. He trailed fingers over his chest, and as his climax drew near, Rex reached down, clasping Hunter's cock. He pumped it in time to his thrusts; the stimulation forced Hunter into an answering movement. His hips thrust back to meet Rex's cock, and then forward into the tight clasp of the Sidhe's heated palm.

  Hunter's deep, gravelly moan grew into a low keening cry, and even as his balls contracted, as the muscles in his pelvis twisted in climax, Rex felt the warm spill of seed over his hand, between his fingers and down his wrist. He cried out, slick hand flat to Hunter's taut belly as he spilled into the other man. The force of the orgasm snapped his head back, his mouth opened in a wordless cry, and he collapsed forward, unable to move or think or even breathe.

  He tasted the sweat on his lover's skin, felt the cool breeze stirring their hair. When his eyes fluttered open, Rex could see the white flag of Hunter's shirt tangled in a bush. A brilliant red fox examined it, nose twitching.

  "I love you, Hunter.” He pulled back stiffly, watching the angel's skin pebble as his flaccid cock slipped free. Carefully, he loosened his hold on Hunter. “You all right?"

  "Fine.” Hunter tried to straighten, but was still clinging to the tree. “I just feel a little stuck here."

  "You aren't afraid of heights, are you?” Rex grinned at the idea of the high-flying angel being stuck in a tree.

  "Not afraid of heights. Very afraid of falling."

  Rex's heart constricted a bit. Did Hunter have to battle that fear every time he climbed into the sky? He'd never shown delight in flying, just a grim determination to do his best.

  "Want to see another of my tricks?"

  Hunter didn't answer, but he looked over his shoulder with a slight smile.

  "Trust me?"

  "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

  "You'll love it.” And with that, Rex wrapped his tail around Hunter's waist, dropped their weight to nil, and together, they floated to the ground, light as thistledown. Hunter's legs were still stiff but he laughed as they landed. Hunter slid to the ground in a heap. Rex rescued the tunic from the sharp teeth of the fearless little vixen and helped Hunter work the garment around his wings. He quickly rescued his own trousers and tied them on. He bent down and picked up the tattered remains of Hunter's pants.

  "Sorry about your breeches. I was in a bit of a hurry."

  For a long moment, Hunter stared at him. His expression was so odd that Rex was unable to read it. And then he lit up. For a moment it seemed that he'd lost control of that angelic glow that radiated from him in unguarded moments.

  But it wasn't that at all.

  Hunter's smile was radiant, and his husky laugh was like music. He wrapped his arms around his belly and collapsed backward, face to the sky. Rex couldn't help laughing with him. Hunter reached out and pulled him down till they lay together, both looking up into the sky, laughing until they were both exhausted.

  "What do you see when you look up into the clouds, Rex?” His laughter had faded, but a smile still played over his lips. His blue eyes glowed with happiness.

  "I see all kinds of things in the clouds, Hunter. What do you see?"

  Rex watched his face as he carefully examined the fluffy clouds that drifted lazily in the sky. His face looked more alive, more intent than Rex could recall seeing. He looked happy, and that look pulled at his heart.

  "You. I see you in the clouds.” Hunter turned from the sky to look deeply into Rex's eyes. “And now I understand what love is."

  "And what is that, Hunter?” He cocked a brow, waiting for the angel to answer.

  "I care more for your happiness than for my own."

  He pressed a kiss gently to Rex's lips. “I love you, Rex."

  Hunter looked back up to the sky, watching the clouds pass by.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Nine

  Brita had timed their exit to the minute.

  Rex and Hunter stepped into the dark Edinburgh alley just as dawn broke. They'd donned their old worn clothing and had made certain that their hair was the correct length. As they stepped from one world to the next, Rex's face became lined and merry, his hair streaked through with glints of silver.

  Hunter's wings folded away, his otherworldly glow faded. Though they had discussed the need to not display their affection open
ly among the dour Scots, Hunter's fingers brushed Rex's hand. He squeezed the angel's hand gently and let his fingers loose.

  "We're to meet Patrick Keenen at a tavern up the street a ways. He'll ask about the gardens in the new city, perhaps what you think of the architecture."

  Hunter nodded; he'd seen enough of the new developments in the city to answer correctly. Together, they turned and walked slowly uphill to the Royal Mile, pausing to watch the sun rise in the east. The smells of the city assailed his nostrils, and the sounds of a new morning came to them through the muffling layer of fog. Together, they stepped onto the cobbled street, dodging wagons and early morning pedestrians. Smoke from morning fires mingled with the mist that swirled in the air.

  "It still smells bad, but I prefer this older part of the city to the new city below."

  Rex glanced around at the gray stone walls, the cobbles on the street they walked on. The new city was golden and bright and symmetrical. The old city was dingy and gray; the buildings rose in a haphazard fashion. Age and magic swirled around them in invisible waves. “I prefer this part of the city too."

  They continued in silence until Rex tapped Hunter's arm. “Up here a ways..."

  Hunter followed Rex's slender form as he took a dizzying series of turns, ending up in front of a decrepit-looking tavern. A figure parted from the shadows, a black-haired, blue-eyed man with a smile that was a bit too easy.

  "Patrick, this is Hunter."

  The man grinned a little wider, extending his hand to Hunter. Reluctantly, he clasped it, not knowing what to expect.

  Nothing happened, and he glanced at Rex, who was busy adjusting his pack.

  "Have you eaten this morning, Patrick?"

  The Irishman shook his head and caught a loaf that Rex tossed to him, biting into it with relish. His black curls were tied back, falling over his shoulders in a tousled spill. By the looks of his wrinkled clothing and damp hair, he'd been living hard.

  Without further conversation, the three men headed west down the Royal Mile, eventually leaving Edinburgh behind. Busy roads gave way to dirt tracks, and while the Irishman spoke little, he hummed tunelessly, sometimes breaking into song. To Hunter's amazement, he often broke into dance, grinning and clapping his hands.

  "Do ya sing, Mr. Hunter?"

  "Hunter's fine. And no, I've no ear for music.” Hunter's amusement fled and he caught Rex's eye, silently begging him to interfere.

  "Patrick, there's a small estate this direction. We'll wait for you off by that burn. If you don't return, we'll know you found work."

  Patrick's countenance fell for a heartbeat, and for the briefest moment Hunter felt uneasy. But the smile returned in a flash, and Patrick was on his way. He walked backward, facing them.

  "If I'm back, I'll teach you some good Irish songs ... no man should be without music in his life."

  Rex squeezed his arm briefly, and then nodded to a tree near the rushing water. The ground was fairly dry and they pulled out food, setting some aside for the Irishman.

  "Was it wise to invite him along?"

  Rex paused as he bit into an apple, chewing slowly as he looked into Hunter's face. “Does he worry you? I didn't sense any glamour or magic."

  "No, I don't see anything untruthful, but he seems ... wrong."

  "Are you sure it's not because he's a bonnie-lookin’ fellow, and he's been noticing that same fact about you?"

  Hunter flushed in embarrassment. “Truly, Rex, except for you, my taste runs to females."

  "I know that, Hunter ... and wasn't it nice of Carly to give us such a nice fare-thee-well?” Both men grinned at the memory of the three of them tumbling in the sheets, nearly forgetting that they intended to return to Edinburgh. Oddly, now that he was away from the female, he could barely bring her face to mind. Her gift was forgetfulness, but in a way, it was also her curse. Hunter wondered if anyone had ever truly loved Carly.

  "So you're worried about him then?"

  Hunter took a moment to gather his thoughts. “He seems right, but there's something underneath. Something wrong."

  "Some humans are like that.” Rex drew his knees up, lacing his fingers over his knees. “He may have been touched by something dark, once upon a time."

  Hunter stared at the Sidhe; the sun was coming out, and caught the silver in his hair. Now that he had time and practice behind him, he could see past the edges of Rex's magic. The wings took phantom shape and then vanished. He could see the true form of Rex's body and face as though they were layered under a mist.

  But it took concentration and skill, and he didn't think the Irishman had any powers to see past illusion and glamour. If Patrick had powers of his own, he'd have sensed it. And if he hadn't, then surely Rex would have.

  "Well, we'll be heading north tomorrow, and I've let him know we've no room for him on the croft. He'll be out of our hair soon enough.” He leaned back against the tree, holding a blade of grass to his lips and sending out a delicate melody. It was sprightly, yet oddly soothing. Through heavy eyes, Hunter watched a small gray rabbit approach. The tall grass seemed to sway to the melody of the grass flute, and a pair of songbirds landed in the tree, lending their song to Rex's.

  Hunter had nearly dozed off when he heard the familiar voice singing a jaunty tune. It clashed with the melody that had surrounded them.

  Patrick was returning, obviously still unemployed.

  He sat and listened to the two men chatting while the Irishman ate his noonday meal, chattering about everything and nothing while Hunter stared, trying to shine the light of knowledge and truth on a surface that reflected nothing back.

  * * * *

  The evening was cold and quiet. Even Patrick wasn't inclined to sing or tell chatty stories. Once the sun fell past the horizon, the men hunkered around the small fire and warmed their hands, listening to the sounds of the night. It didn't rain, but the mist came in waves, cool and unsettling. One moment, Rex could clearly see the sky, the stars, but the next, the three men were enshrouded in a moist blanket of gray.

  Normally he didn't spook over such things, but perhaps Hunter's nerves were contagious. The angel had rolled into his blankets, his back to the others. Rex could see that he was feigning sleep through the stiff set of his shoulders. Patrick sat staring off into the distance. His expression never changed whether the air was misty or clear.

  Rex dug into his pack and pulled out a pipe, filling it with tobacco laced with other less common herbs. He rose and stretched, slowly pacing a circle around their little camp, letting the smoke form a ring of protection. Patrick didn't seem to notice, so Rex paused at north, south, west and east, blowing an offering to the gods at each direction.

  When the bowl of his pipe grew cool, he sat down cross-legged, tapping the ash out and putting it away. There were other spells of protection, but he didn't know whether he was keeping something out, or something in. Once Patrick was asleep, he'd lay another circle, a small circle just for Hunter. He'd never seen the angel spooked like this. Insecure, yes, but not afraid.

  He settled on the ground, wrapping himself in a woolen blanket, noticing how the night birds had fallen silent. The very air grew still within the circle. A slight sensation of breathlessness told him that the wards were being tested, that something was afoot, whether it be good or evil.

  Not all things that roamed the night meant harm. Not all things that walked in the light were benevolent. He lay awake for hours watching the tiny fire struggle against death, rising once to give it fuel and encouragement.

  Hunter's face was peaceful in sleep. Patrick wore a frown; a slight pall of tension lay over his body. Either he sensed something, or he was the something that Rex was blocking. He wished to roll next to his lover, to share blankets and warmth and comfort. He wished the long, cold night would come to an end.

  While he was wishing, Rex drifted off, carried away into dreams of darkness and melancholy.

  * * * *

  He was cold. So cold that the very sensation burned down t
o his bones like fire. He was hot, burning with sensations that a man should never feel. The fire was in his brain, the cold was in his heart.

  Hunter opened his eyes, seeing nothing but the faint flicker of light. To his horror, he was held solidly immobile; his eyes were frozen, though he could see. Maybe it was his imagination, but there seemed to be a crust of ice over their surface. He couldn't blink it away.

  Water had flooded his ear canals and was now solid, yet rather than deathly silence, he heard unearthly screams. His heart stuttered and lurched into a sluggish beat. He opened his mouth to scream, but the water had frozen deep into his throat.

  How could ice be so hot? How could blind eyes see fire?

  Flames licked and grew higher until the ice grew thin, and it cracked ... melted away from his ... not his eyes. Because now Hunter knew that this wasn't his nightmare. Someone else was navigating him through this horror.

  He woke, panting, a scream on his lips, looking across the camp at Patrick, who lay still and asleep. However, Rex's eyes came wide open in panic. “C ... c ... cold..."

  His lips were blue, his face deathly pale, and Hunter quickly wrapped him in his own blanket, then tossed extra wood onto the fire. Rex recovered quickly, for in truth, the cold was from the dream, not from reality. They huddled for a moment, grounding themselves in the comfort of touch.

  "Did you dream of ice? Fire?"

  Hunter nodded, wrapping his arms around Rex, pulling him tight to his chest.

  "I set a ward. Something tested it ... couldn't get in."

  "So it invaded us in a dream."

  Rex nodded jerkily. “You think he's all right?"

  Patrick appeared to sleep peacefully. Could he have been the source of their monstrous visitation?

  "It's hours yet till dawn."

  "I'll keep watch."

  Truthfully, Hunter didn't think he could return to sleep. He didn't want to return to sleep if all that waited him was ice and fire and fury. Whatever, whoever had shared that dream was fearsome and terrifying. Nothing he knew, nothing he remembered could have prepared him for that outpouring. He was afraid, but more to the point, he pitied that being. So much agony, and there was nothing he could do to help.