[Original] Messenger
Sep. 19th, 2011 02:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesadeTitle: Messenger
Source: Amnesiac Angel
Genre: Urban Fantasy/Erotic
Characters: Daniel Messenger
Word Count: 837
Summary: When angels make friends with young women, they should take care that they don't encourage the young women to put trophy marks on them.
A/N: Written for the![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kink_bingo prompt "Collars"
His brother, who now called himself Martine, filled his thoughts far too often these days. Far more often than he should have for being a write-off, but he couldn't bring himself to let go so easily.
Maybe it was a factor of being here, in this city, surrounded by human influence and human constructions and the weight of mortality. Everything smelled and sounded hard against his senses. Too loud. Too bright. No wonder, really, that many of the brethren who came down and took human bodies suffered from migraines and overload, not just because there was too much life crammed into too small a body but because they weren't used to life on this frequency.
And yet, he was getting used to it. Which frightened him, a little.
"You all right?"
And that was the coffee house girl, as he'd come to know her. They sat together, these days, talked in more or less broad terms about their lives and their work. Him in more broad terms and her, he assumed, in less.
She still didn't believe he wasn't a priest, but he had gotten used to that.
"Just worried about my brother, again, yes," he added with a smile, before she could point out that he was always worried about him. Which was true. She tilted her head and looked at him, mouth twisting to one side as she considered something, then took his hand and tugged him out of the coffee shop.
"Let's go for a walk."
It was the first time they had ever been out of the range of the small commercial district near the college. He knew there was a park nearby but he had never been in it; she, evidently, had. A large park, with walking paths and benches here and there and little alcoves with gazebos and stands of flowers and trees marked by signs where visitors could read the names of the plants and a little bit about them. They chatted, or rather she chattered on about what she knew, a little bit of each of them, until he was good and distracted.
He smiled when he realized. He was aware enough to appreciate that.
"You shouldn't be so serious all the time," she told him, smoothing down the fabric of his coat even though it didn't need it. "You're off duty. Relax."
"I'm not..." But her fingertips were already tracing the neck of his shirt. "I've told you I'm not a priest." He frowned. She didn't believe him.
"You look like you should be a priest," she said, and there was a breathy quality to her voice that he didn't entirely understand. "Here', I'll help you out. Priests are identified by their uniform, aren't they? By their priest's collar..."
And her fingertips pressed against his throat, gently, where the collar would have fastened. But then she rose up on her tip-toes and pressed her mouth against his neck and he forgot all about priest collars and priest uniforms as the blood rushed to the place where her lips sucked against his skin. Blood and heat pooling there. He felt his heart beating in his blood, pushing with the rhythm of his pulse against the tiny and not-so-tiny veins in his neck as she made a circle of bruises, one after the other, over the neck of his shirt. Love bites. He shouldn't just stand there, he should stop her, do something. This wasn't what they were made for, to enjoy human passion like this.
Her kisses slowed as she reached the other side, and he could hear his breathing again. Quickened in his ears. Belatedly, he realized he'd reached up and grabbed her arms just below the shoulders, not to push her away but to pull her closer. He had no idea what that meant.
She looked at him, wary, until he let her back down onto flat feet again, and then she smoothed down the lapels of his coat a second time and grinned up at him. The sort of grin that shared a secret. Or had a plan well done. "There. Now you have your priest's collar."
Priest of what, though? Did she know what she was saying? He wondered if maybe she did, after all.
She made some sort of polite demurral, said something about an early shift and slipped out of the clearing with him still standing there blinking behind her, down the path and out of the garden. It was another five or six full minutes before he thought to pull a phone out of his pocket and call Martine. If anyone knew what was going on, his wayward brother would.
He also didn't realize until his brother picked up, answering, impatient, wondering aloud who was on the other end of the line, that he was still running his fingertips over the ring of love bites she had left.
Source: Amnesiac Angel
Genre: Urban Fantasy/Erotic
Characters: Daniel Messenger
Word Count: 837
Summary: When angels make friends with young women, they should take care that they don't encourage the young women to put trophy marks on them.
A/N: Written for the
kink_bingo prompt "Collars"His brother, who now called himself Martine, filled his thoughts far too often these days. Far more often than he should have for being a write-off, but he couldn't bring himself to let go so easily.
Maybe it was a factor of being here, in this city, surrounded by human influence and human constructions and the weight of mortality. Everything smelled and sounded hard against his senses. Too loud. Too bright. No wonder, really, that many of the brethren who came down and took human bodies suffered from migraines and overload, not just because there was too much life crammed into too small a body but because they weren't used to life on this frequency.
And yet, he was getting used to it. Which frightened him, a little.
"You all right?"
And that was the coffee house girl, as he'd come to know her. They sat together, these days, talked in more or less broad terms about their lives and their work. Him in more broad terms and her, he assumed, in less.
She still didn't believe he wasn't a priest, but he had gotten used to that.
"Just worried about my brother, again, yes," he added with a smile, before she could point out that he was always worried about him. Which was true. She tilted her head and looked at him, mouth twisting to one side as she considered something, then took his hand and tugged him out of the coffee shop.
"Let's go for a walk."
It was the first time they had ever been out of the range of the small commercial district near the college. He knew there was a park nearby but he had never been in it; she, evidently, had. A large park, with walking paths and benches here and there and little alcoves with gazebos and stands of flowers and trees marked by signs where visitors could read the names of the plants and a little bit about them. They chatted, or rather she chattered on about what she knew, a little bit of each of them, until he was good and distracted.
He smiled when he realized. He was aware enough to appreciate that.
"You shouldn't be so serious all the time," she told him, smoothing down the fabric of his coat even though it didn't need it. "You're off duty. Relax."
"I'm not..." But her fingertips were already tracing the neck of his shirt. "I've told you I'm not a priest." He frowned. She didn't believe him.
"You look like you should be a priest," she said, and there was a breathy quality to her voice that he didn't entirely understand. "Here', I'll help you out. Priests are identified by their uniform, aren't they? By their priest's collar..."
And her fingertips pressed against his throat, gently, where the collar would have fastened. But then she rose up on her tip-toes and pressed her mouth against his neck and he forgot all about priest collars and priest uniforms as the blood rushed to the place where her lips sucked against his skin. Blood and heat pooling there. He felt his heart beating in his blood, pushing with the rhythm of his pulse against the tiny and not-so-tiny veins in his neck as she made a circle of bruises, one after the other, over the neck of his shirt. Love bites. He shouldn't just stand there, he should stop her, do something. This wasn't what they were made for, to enjoy human passion like this.
Her kisses slowed as she reached the other side, and he could hear his breathing again. Quickened in his ears. Belatedly, he realized he'd reached up and grabbed her arms just below the shoulders, not to push her away but to pull her closer. He had no idea what that meant.
She looked at him, wary, until he let her back down onto flat feet again, and then she smoothed down the lapels of his coat a second time and grinned up at him. The sort of grin that shared a secret. Or had a plan well done. "There. Now you have your priest's collar."
Priest of what, though? Did she know what she was saying? He wondered if maybe she did, after all.
She made some sort of polite demurral, said something about an early shift and slipped out of the clearing with him still standing there blinking behind her, down the path and out of the garden. It was another five or six full minutes before he thought to pull a phone out of his pocket and call Martine. If anyone knew what was going on, his wayward brother would.
He also didn't realize until his brother picked up, answering, impatient, wondering aloud who was on the other end of the line, that he was still running his fingertips over the ring of love bites she had left.