by Amy Lane
Harry turned in his arms and buried his face against Suriel’s chest. When he spoke again, his voice seemed to echo from far away. “And now you want me, and you’re going to teach me all about what love should feel like, and you’re going to leave. Oh God… oh, Suriel—you thought I feared Cass. It’s nothing to what… what I feel… when I think of being here alone without you!”
Suriel’s own breath sobbed hotly in Harry’s ear. “And you’re going to face the fear all mortals face, Harry. And you’re going to do it beautifully. Because if you don’t face this fear, you will have to live your whole long life never knowing what love is.” His voice rose. “And that is unacceptable. I would bear a thousand years of torture, just to know my boy knew love.”
Harry pulled back enough to look up to see the lines of desperation and desire etched cleanly along Suriel’s cheekbones and the corners of his eyes. He was beautiful—still beautiful—but he looked powerful and grief-stricken in ways Harry had never fathomed.
Harry reached up to cup his cheek, feeling the heat of tears there, even if the water still coursed down. “Don’t cry,” he begged. “Don’t cry for me, my angel.”
Anything, anything but to cause Suriel grief.
Suriel cupped his cheek in turn, rubbing the tears away before the shower could. “What would you have me do, brave Harry? Give me something to do besides weep.”
Harry wanted to close his eyes, but Suriel was holding him as a man and looking at him with passion in his brown eyes. He’d been asked to be brave, to fight his fears, and he’d been fighting his whole life.
He thought that’s what he’d have to do.
But looking into the face of a weeping angel, he took a deep breath and did the unthinkable: he submitted. He gave in to the will of his heart, of Suriel’s love.
He submitted to loving a man, and losing him, and knowing the joy of love along the way.
Suriel’s grief eased, and he stroked Harry’s cheek again. “What would you have me do?” he repeated—but this time he sounded like he knew.
“Love me,” Harry whispered. “Love me, Suriel. Teach me what it is to love with all my heart.”
A smile broke through, sunshine through clouds. “You already know. You’ve known for years. But here I am, in a corporeal body, and I have never felt the stirrings of blood under skin until I kissed you under a starry sky. It’s you who must teach me.”
Harry cupped both his cheeks, stroking them in wonder. No beard stubble—not for his angel—and no roughness. Just silken skin and that surprisingly firm jaw. Harry stretched up on his toes and pulled Suriel down to meet him in a kiss.
Suriel groaned and lifted him up, supernatural strength making it easy for him to wrap two long-fingered hands around Harry’s muscled thighs so Harry could twine his legs around that slender waist. Their bodies, wet and slick, slid together, hot and needy, and Harry could have cried with the lack of friction. He tore his mouth away from Suriel’s and reached behind him, fumbling to turn off the spigot.
“Bed,” he ordered.
Suriel laughed throatily. “Towels,” he added. “And….”
Harry pulled back to see what made him pause. “Suriel?”
“Something slippery,” Suriel managed to say with dignity. “For, uh, penetration.”
Harry felt a wicked smile curve his lips. “Lubricant, Suriel. We’ve been calling it lubricant for years. There’s usually some in the drawers here.”
Suriel frowned and kissed along Harry’s jaw before asking, “Why is there a sexual aid in your parents’ cabin, Harry?”
Harry tilted back his head and let Suriel’s lips move on his ear, his neck—the vulnerable places he’d spent two lifetimes protecting suddenly open, accepting as they’d never been before. “Maybe for my parents,” he said, not thinking about it too hard. “Maybe for Edward—he takes lovers here sometimes.”
Suriel moved to Harry’s collarbone, licking a line to his shoulder, and Harry bucked against him, willing him to hurry. The cabin wasn’t that big! Harry wanted to be splayed on the bed, licked and stretched, accepting and ready, as soon as possible.
It was a thing he’d never allowed a lover to do to him.
Suriel would take care of him. Suriel had apparently been waiting a very long time to do just that.
True to his promise, he held Harry one-handed, taking his mouth again. Still kissing, he carried Harry—dripping and wet—to the bed in the corner of the cabin’s main room. The kiss continued, ravenous, never-ending, while he pulled the covers back. Then he set Harry down and grabbed one of two towels draped over the end of the bed to dry Harry off as he sat.
Harry rough-dried his sopping wet hair, then his torso, and then Suriel took the towel from him and began working on his own hair—but apparently he was still mulling the private lives of all the people Harry loved.
“Do you think Bel and Francis come here?” he asked, puzzled.
Harry had snagged the other towel and begun working on his thighs and creases. He paused then, gaping at Suriel in confusion.
“Bel? Francis?”
Suriel shook his hair out and ruffled his wings. The hair flew out, lank and still damp, like any human’s. The wings flicked water in a fine mist and then returned to their normal diaphanous semisolid dream state.
He looked at Harry’s shock and ran fingertips down his cheek. “They’ve become lovers this last year—I thought you knew.”
“No,” Harry said numbly, trying hard not to think about what that would do to their family.
Suriel sank to a crouch and ran his fingertips over Harry’s thighs. “You’re the first to fall, but hardly the only one, Harry. Why do you think your brothers want you settled so badly?”
Harry gasped as Suriel bent his head and replaced the wandering of his fingers with the silken tenderness of his lips.
“They’re waiting for me?” he gasped. His cock swelled, grew hard and aching, and Suriel teased his flanks, his hip bones, his thighs—everywhere but his genitals, the place he’d been sure sex was all about.
“You’re the last and the first.” Suriel looked up with a lick of his lips. “Are you ready?”
“Gah!” Harry ran his fingers through Suriel’s hair, untangling the wet strands, shuddering at the sensuality of having it dry and sliding against itself like raw satin.
“For me, Harry,” Suriel teased, flicking his tongue out to barely tease Harry’s cockhead. “Your family can wait.”
“Good,” Harry said shortly, fighting not to arch his hips up and simply ravish Suriel’s mouth. “For right now, it’s just you and me.”
“Always,” Suriel promised. “Here, touching skin, we’re the only two people in the world.”
His breath alone was like the brush of a feather. Harry keened, bucking because he couldn’t stand it any longer. “Suriel—oh God… touch me!”
Suriel spread his hand on Harry’s chest and pushed him gently backward. “Spread your legs,” he ordered, and Harry put both his feet up on the edge of the bed, his thighs spread wide. His barest, most vulnerable bits were on display, cooling slightly in the open air as he dried, and Suriel crouched a little lower, spreading his cheeks and blowing.
Harry closed his eyes. His body vibrated, so needy, hungry for an act he’d never experienced for his own pleasure.
Suriel seemed to know this. He plied his tongue along Harry’s taint for a moment and then dipped it lower, burrowing. Harry gasped, making a whimpering sound he’d never associated with himself and sex, and Suriel spread his hand again, pressing against Harry’s abdomen, making him flatten his hips against the mattress.
“I know you need,” he said, nuzzling Harry’s thigh. “I know you. This thing I’m going to do—where I’m going to go—this isn’t something you let yourself do.” He raised his face just enough for Harry to see a sweet smile. “Not trusting, my Harry. But you trust me.”
Harry nodded, his skin prickling with unanswered need.
“I do.”
Sur
iel spread him wide again, licked, softly first, then aggressively, and Harry closed his eyes and allowed himself to fall.
That insistent pressure, that wet, lovely softness, and then up… up… engulfing his testicles gently, then a long, delirious swipe from his base to his wet and aching bell.
Harry wanted to sob. His body blazed with desire, with need, and Suriel was exploring, nuzzling, and he had one thing to do. No fighting, no pursuing, no deciding—he had to abandon himself to Suriel’s ministrations and believe that someone cared enough about him to do what Harry needed most.
Harry had never fathomed how much he needed Suriel’s hands and mouth and tongue.
Ah! A finger penetrated him, then two, while Suriel’s other hand wrapped around his cock and stroked. Harry crossed his arms over his face, hiding from the sunlight, giving his whole being permission to be washed away in the onslaught of sensation.
Suriel’s mouth—treacherous, evil mouth, for an angel—sucked harder, played with his bell, the sensitive underside, the slit. Harry groaned, bucking off the bed because he had no choice. “Suriel, I’m going to… I’m… oh God, please—”
Suriel thrust hard into his backside and took him down to the root.
Harry cried out, grabbing the sheets on either side and letting the light of climax wash over him. A searing, scalding path of orgasm bolted through his body, and he clung to the blankets, to the feeling of Suriel’s hot mouth, his clever fingers, to help remind him who he was.
The giant wave receded, but he wasn’t out of hot water yet. His back end still ached, sensitized, needing, and his cock softened slightly but not entirely.
As the last shudder racked him, he found his body still trembling, still aroused to the point of pain.
“Suriel!” he sobbed. “Suriel, I can’t—”
Then Suriel withdrew his fingers and pushed up on the bed, covering Harry’s body and settling his hips between Harry’s thighs. Harry grunted and wrapped his legs around Suriel’s thighs in an attempt to get closer.
“Shh….” Suriel covered Harry’s mouth with his own, and Harry tried to climb inside the comfort of the kiss. Suriel leaned back and regarded him soberly, arching his back and pushing his erection against Harry’s. “Are you ready?”
Harry was crawling out of his skin. “Please….”
“I’m going to be inside you, and I’m going to fill the empty places. And even if I go, you’ll know I’ll always be in your heart.”
Harry nodded, closing his eyes, and Suriel nipped at his chin.
“Look at me, Harry. Watch me do this. I’m just as human as you.”
Harry’s eyes flew open just as Suriel positioned himself, biting his lip in concentration. Some of the intensity eased from the moment, and Harry said, “It’s not rocket scie—ahhhh….”
Suriel thrust inside.
Such a mundane human concept, stimulating nerve endings with an appropriately shaped object to inspire pleasure.
Such a stunning, glorious melding of pain and pleasure, sensation and sense, heart and body, as Suriel filled him, inch by all-consuming inch. Harry moaned, he gibbered, and then as Suriel seated himself completely, he screamed.
Suriel pulled out, and the emptiness consumed him.
“Again,” he panted. “Please, Suriel, again!”
Suriel rocked forward more quickly this time, and Harry saw stars as he bottomed out. Again and again and again, and Harry could do nothing but clutch him closer, clawing at his shoulders and upper arms.
“Look at me,” Suriel commanded. “See me!”
His voice didn’t thunder, didn’t echo, but Harry forced his eyes open, compelled because his lover asked him and he wanted to please.
Suriel’s head tilted back, his eyes half-closed, and the cords on his neck and chest stood out as he supported himself on the bed. His teeth were pulled back in a snarl, and he chased his own orgasm as relentlessly as Harry ever had during sex.
He was human, a person, a lover in Harry’s bed, a cock in his body—a pure shining soul in Harry’s heart.
“Suriel!” Harry gasped, and Suriel lowered his head and met Harry’s eyes. “I see you! I see you!”
A kiss then, ravening, starved, as Suriel’s hips pumped continuously, seeking oblivion.
“I see you too, brave Harry.”
Ah! Ah! Right there! Suriel’s body pushed up against Harry’s erection, and his cock inside Harry’s body found the spot, the place that sent another shower of sparks behind Harry’s eyes. “I see you,” Harry gasped again. “I see you. You’re beautiful.”
Suriel cried out, swelling against Harry’s opening, and Harry gripped him tight. Suriel gasped, in the throes of the short, hard thrusts that would bring him to climax.
“Harry!” He sounded frightened.
Oh, Harry’s angel—this was so new, so overwhelming.
Harry cupped his neck then and thrust back against him. “Suriel, I see you. Come for me, my lover. Come inside me. Make me yours!”
A slow, beatific smile spread over Suriel’s features, and time banked, crested. Stood still.
Broke ponderously, pleasure crashing over the both of them like a leviathan wave, and Harry finally closed his eyes as his whole body became the fiery white light of come. Suriel pumped orgasm into Harry’s body, and Harry whispered nonsense words in his ear.
“I love you, my angel. I love you. I love your sweat and your come. I love you inside me. I love you in my heart. I love you, Suriel. Don’t ever leave me. I need you right here. Don’t ever leave.”
Suriel sagged into him, let Harry bear his full weight. Harry fought to breathe, fought to keep him, right there where he belonged.
Finally he spoke, nuzzled Harry’s cheek, whispered in his ear. “I love you, brave Harry. And if I’m ever called from your side—”
“No!” Harry protested, already bereft.
“You need to remember.” Suriel pushed up on his elbows, his body sliding from Harry’s and leaving him cold and empty.
“Remember what?” Harry asked wretchedly.
“That I will be battling everything. I will be fighting heaven and hell to come back to your side. Can you remember that?”
And the warmth seeped back into Harry’s heart. “I hate that you’d be in pain,” he confessed. “I was trying to give you up, just so you wouldn’t have to be in pain.”
“Too late.” Suriel rubbed his lips along Harry’s cheekbone. “Probably the moment I arrived was too late, but I didn’t want to admit it. The moment we first kissed was my last chance to turn back, and I wouldn’t have done it for all the peace in heaven. But now, definitely now, it’s too late. Any pain. Any fear. Any fight. It’s worth it, Harry. For one more moment touching skin to skin.”
Harry bit his lip and nodded. Lovers had been making vows like this from the beginning of time, but from Suriel, the words had greater weight. Harry would never forget that moment he’d first seen what the Angel Who is Bound endured to alleviate the suffering of those who were bound against their will.
All these years and so many fears.
What Harry had feared most had been what Suriel would endure to be at Harry’s side.
“I’d do anything,” he said, even as Suriel slid off his body and propped himself on his side, head resting on his hand. “Anything to spare you that.”
Suriel’s smile held weariness and forgiveness both. “Including put this moment off for a hundred and thirty years,” he murmured, tracing idle patterns on Harry’s chest.
Harry looked at him curiously. “Would you really?” he asked, the pain of that time denied almost strangling him. “Would you really have risked everything to be with me back then?”
Suriel thought about it in all seriousness. “I would have,” he said, and Harry’s heart fell. “But it wouldn’t have worked then.”
“Why not?” Harry summoned enough control over his replete limbs to roll to his side so they could be face-to-face. Suriel’s hair spilled over his hand and pooled on the shee
t beneath him. His body, long and pale, fine and defined, stretched out, compelling Harry’s touch. He ran his hand along his narrow flank and smiled slightly when Suriel gasped and drew up his arm protectively. “Ticklish?” he asked.
“Apparently so!” The delight in his voice!
“I’ll be sure to tickle you,” Harry promised, breaking into a full-fledged grin. He sobered, though. “But you need to answer my question.”
Suriel seized his hand and squeezed. “I would have made love to you and never regretted it,” Suriel said, looking troubled. “It’s how angels created the Nephilim, you know.”
“I did not.” Harry didn’t think he could be surprised.
“They come down from heaven and make love to humans—much like elves do, come to think about it.” Suriel rolled his eyes. “The children of the divine, always playing with humans and breaking their toys. Anyway, I could have done that. Made love to you, put up a petty rebellion, tried to break away from my station and fallen.”
Harry regarded him soberly. “You don’t think you would have succeeded?”
“No,” Suriel said decisively. He traced the firm line of Harry’s jaw. “Because I hadn’t seen you suffer yet. Hadn’t seen you try so hard to not call me, hadn’t felt your heartache from heaven, wanting me by your side. You’ve been bound by love to me for over a century, Harry, and you denied it every day so I wouldn’t be in pain. How can I not return to you now, after seeing that? You were dying breath by breath, tempting fate every day, because you didn’t want to live without me. If I had to go back up to heaven now and stay, never to see you again until you died, ripping you from your family, I’m not sure whose pain would unmake me first—yours or my own. No. A hundred and thirty years ago, I would not have believed enough in you to break from my post and fall for our lifetime together. But today—today, you can have faith.”
Harry’s lips were parted and dry, and he licked them as he thought. “That’s….” His mouth quirked. “All these years, I assumed I wasn’t enough.”
“I wasn’t enough, brave Harry. But now I am. And I want you. I want our lives together, however long they may be. And our deaths together, and all the time after that.”