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    Nephylim
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

In The Arms of an Angel - 3. Chapter 3 - Oh Heavens

Pasha pulled away. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Giving you what you want.”

In the light of the living room the blue of the angel’s eyes, which he’d fist noticed in the yard, was intense and otherworldly. They were wide and innocent but there was something deep within that screamed ‘danger’ at him.

“That’s not what I want. You… you’re a man and I… I don’t… I’m not gay.”

“I don’t understand what that means, but I know you desire me, as the other two desire each other.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I’m never wrong.”

“How can you know that. You don’t remember.”

The angel shook his head. “No, I don’t remember. But I do know.”

“You… you must have hit your head when you fell. You’re obviously in shock or… or something. It was a heck of a fall. And you’re hurt, and…”

“All true.” The angel frowned and thought deeply. “I still don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Why you are so afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of you.” Pasha glared at him and backed away, his eyes wide and his heart pounding.

“Then you are afraid of your desire for me.”

“For the last time… I don’t desire you.”

The angel opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head and closed it again. He sighed and closed his eyes. “I’m very tired. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel now.”

“What do you mean? Feel now?”

“Now I’m here.” He frowned again, then said slowly, his blue eyes open and gently puzzled. ”I was there, and now I’m here and it’s… different. I’m different. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.”

“Well… I… I suppose you just feel… like you feel.”

“There are many things I feel that I don’t remember having felt before. It hurts… here.” He put his hand over his heart. “It’s strange. I… It gets worse when I try to think about… before. Is that right?”

Pasha looked into the angel’s face and wondered what the hell he’d gotten into. There was such sweet innocence there but an innocence that was, in itself, dangerous as hell.

“I… I think so. I think what you’re feeling is homesickness and maybe fear.”

“Fear? Yes, I am afraid. What is the home… sick?” He rubbed his temple and frowned. “This is all so difficult.”

“Homesickness is missing your home. Being sad because you can’t go home.”

“Yes,” the angel said softly. His eyes slipped away from Pasha’s gaze and seemed to be looking inwards. “I am… sad. But… I don’t remember my home. How can I be sick for it, when I don’t remember it?”

“I think maybe…” Pasha floundered. He wasn’t good at this kind of thing. Where was Anna? She was the one who knew what to say in these kinds of situation. “I’ll just get Anna, she—“

“No.” The angel’s hand shot out and grabbed Pasha’s hand. His eyes were wide and suddenly very frightened. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m only going into the next room.”

“No. I… need you.”

“What do you mean, you need me? Don’t be silly?” He tried to pull away but the angel’s grip was strong. “Let me go. What the fuck…?”

“Please Pasha. Please stay with me.”

Pasha shook his head and turned away. Then the thought occurred to him that the angel was more totally and utterly alone than anyone else on the planet. “Alright. Okay, I’ll stay with you. But no more crazy talk about me desiring you okay?”

“If that’s what you wish?” He looked very confused.

“Yes,” Pasha said firmly, “it is.”

The angel sighed and closed his eyes. “I’m very tired. Might I sleep now?”

“Of course. Don’t you want to eat first?”

The angel opened his eyes and frowned at him. “Yes,” he said softly, “I do but I don’t think I can.”

“You don’t think you can eat?”

“No,” the angel said, that same puzzled expression on his face. “I can eat… I think, but not… not before I…” He closed his eyes again and never completed the sentence. As soon as his hand relaxed enough to release Pasha, he pulled away and sat down suddenly in a chair.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself. “What the fuck?” The fact was that he had desired the angel, and that scared the hell out of him. He’d never in his entire life had sexual thoughts for another man, never. He couldn’t be gay. Surely he would have known, would have had some inkling before now. No, it was impossible. It was just because it was an angel… an angel for fuck sake. They probably made everyone feel like that. Yes, that was it. He was some kind of fucked up cupid that made people love him.

Lukas and Anna startled him out of his uncomfortable thoughts.

“Oh, is he asleep?”

“Yes. I suppose— well— falling from heaven, or whatever, then getting hit by a car, is very tiring.”

“I suppose. Has he talked to you at all?”

“Um…” Panic fluttered in his breast but he battered it down. “A little. He feels sad and homesick and doesn’t really understand what’s happening. I would have thought he’d have been more scared.”

“He’s an angel. What do we know of how their minds work?”

****

Pasha insisted on sleeping downstairs with the angel. He remembered the look of panic on his face when he thought Pasha was going to leave him alone and thought it was safer that way. He couldn’t stand that screech. That was the entire reason, of course, for wanting to sleep close to the angel. It was the screech, and the fact that the angel was alone and scared and… and it had nothing whatever to do with the fact that he might be an angel but he was hotter than hell…

Check out my other stories, thoughts and some beautiful art at nephylim-author.blogspot.comBe sure to leave a comment
Copyright © 2013 Nephylim; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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