Work Text:
Owning the angel
by Psycho
My hands ran over the silk his skin was, and I urge to pull him into embrace, so hard it’d merge us into one. Still, I don’t dare. He’s so fragile, so delicate, like a beautiful statue that you can only worship but never touch. Like any touch I’ll provide would bring him into the sin. Then, wasn’t he the sin himself?
The gorgeous fallen angel, who fell from the night sky into the unworthy hands of mortal being like me. What have I done to deserve him, to touch the beauty he is?
Here, he lays on my chest, light like a feather, silky auburn hair falling over my skin, dark strand tickling my nipple as my chest rises and falls. Here he is, his delicate fingers almost on my shoulder, pale on the background of my heavily tanned skin.
When I found him, he was so lost. Lost in the world that was so unlike the night sky he belonged to. The world that fed off him, tried to spoil him, to break him. But fragile as he was, each time he found enough strength to get up and go on with the life, with his wings broken and soul wracked.
That was how I found him, crashed down again, gathering strength to get up and take several more steps before life pushes him down on the dirty pavement. And I reached out my hand, and he took it, and I didn’t let him fall again. The time passed, and the hope I placed in his heart healed him, and the moment came when he straightened up and spread out his dark angel wings, and the world shook at the sight of the beauty he was.
And I shook too, from the thought all that beauty was mine. From the very first hair on his head to the pinky finger on his delicate toes. He was mine, and I wanted the world to know it. And I pulled him tighter against my chest, warming his small body with the heat of mine, and I knew whatever happens he’ll be still with me. Until I die. Because I knew I’d die the moment he leaves me.
END