Trafficking

***



Being at home is the only place I can truly relax. On the fortieth floor of an okay building, I acquired the loft from someone recently deceased. Rent is cheap and easily affordable for someone with my hobbies, and it is facing the gate, not the Church. Most importantly, it gives me room to really stretch out.



Floor to ceiling windows gives me a view of the city and at night, it is my favorite. The drab gray buildings are transformed into an amber sea of stars high above the smog that lessens the view below. I cannot hear the sound of cars, only the occasional police ultra light that hums past. Best part; no one can see me with the mirrored windows which gives me the privacy I desperately need.



My floor and ceiling is concrete and unfinished, giving it an unintentional rough, modern look. I have a basic kitchen, no table, and a single couch with piles and piles of books next to it. Upstairs I have a mattress on the floor, a couple blankets, and a simple closet where I keep my clothes. The bathroom, large for the size of my loft, has a shower pleasantly large.



It is drab but it fits my needs, so I love it.



I enter my loft and immediately throw my things to the ground by the door. I then head to my kitchen, dumping my gun and vials of elixir carefully on the countertop. Peeling off my body armor is next, and it is a taxing endeavor. I unzip the outer, protective portion, before unfastening the jacket underneath and slipping my arms out. Without the confines of my body armor I feel like I can breathe, but it also releases the tensions in my back and shoulders, causing a dull, aching pain to begin spreading.



I wince as I begin unfastening the belted harness around my body, angry red marks showing up from where they had been biting into my skin for hours. I let it drop to the floor, and begin unfurling my wings.



My feathers, dark as night and hued purplish-red in some areas, are crinkled and ruined where the binds had kept them bound against my body. My muscles at their stems burned with the movement of stretching them out. I let them unfurl completely, huge and massive behind me, the weight of them making me feel like I am going to tip over. I keep them bound up so often that when I let them loose at home, they feel strange.



I know the glory of my wings is anything but - ragged and unkempt, they are pitiful excuses for wings. I hate them.



Rolling my shoulders, I try to shake the pain away but it is there; it is always there. I open the fridge and pull out leftover Chinese, fork still in the box. I dig into the carton, cold, but delicious. Flopping onto the couch, I also reach for a copy of Paradise Lost; not exactly the real deal, but it makes me feel better about myself.



I start reading the book, flipping pages between mouthfuls of noodles, when I hear a sound from upstairs.



Smooth shuffling, barely audible, like someone retreating into the darkness of shadows; someone is here.



I slowly close my book, setting the carton of noodles on top of the stack. I glance upward, towards the low wall that separates the upstairs portion of the loft to the downstairs. I can see the flickering of shadows from my fan, but nothing else in the dark void of the upstairs. Still, my senses are alert; I know someone is up there, or something.



Standing, I softly pad my way towards the stairs, grabbing my gun from the countertop that is, thankfully, only a couple of feet away. The weight of it in my hands gives me confidence.



I ascend the stairway, thankful I have taken my boots off. I make no sound as I climb the stairs and know that the attacker has no tactical position at the top of the stairs; thanks to a wall and the stairway, I will see them the same time they will see me. This gives me little reassurance, but I am strong and can withstand damage pretty easily.



Once near the top I crouch, pulling my wings tight against my body, even though it hurts. I am not afraid of the attacker seeing them; either I will be dead or they and I do not give a shit what happens once I die. Still, they actually provide a tactical defense as a distraction to an attacker who probably assumes I am human.



Raising the gun, I click the safety off and round the corner.



Standing in the middle of the room, unperturbed, is an angel.



"Hello, Jacen."



My blood goes cold and a shiver runs up my spine. Instead of feeling strong, I am suddenly weakened by the other presence. I now wish for my body armor and weapons below; even with the gun in hand, I have never felt so exposed. And my wings...I feel ugly and abused in the glory of an angel, who\'s wings unfurl tall and high behind him, full of unblemished feathers, a clear, beautiful white.



I pull my wings tighter against my body, ashamed.



"Azrael."



The angel slowly walks towards me, barefoot, wearing only simple white linen slacks and a band around his neck. His face is, of course, both beautiful and threatening at the same time. Golden hair curls on his head, kept short for an angel, and his eyes are a heavenly blue. His mouth is kept stern, but behind those closed lips is a pearly, winning grin. His skin is pale and creamy, perfect.



"It\'s been a long time...friend," Azrael speaks, his voice deep and grating. The inhuman ring of it will never allow him to conceal himself and play human like I do, not that he ever would. "I don\'t think it\'s necessary to ask if you\'re staying out of trouble. Of this I doubt."



I say nothing. Angels are unpredictable, almost fiendish, sometimes. Everything they say means something else and I do not want to provide the wrong answer.



He watches me, calculating. "How is my favorite halfsie doing?"



Wincing, I drop my gaze to the floor. "I\'m fine."



"Still avoiding the worlds?"



"I\'m not avoiding anything, Azrael," I snap. I look up at the angel and he is grinning at me, knowing he has pushed a few buttons. "Just doing what I have to do. How\'s enforcing Will on others?"



His smile drops and his look grows stern. "I came here to talk about serious things, Jacen. Not play your blasphemous games."



I resist the urge to roll my eyes at the angel, knowing the last thing I need is to piss him off. "What is it?"



"Rumors, I\'ve heard. From other Enforcers. Of disappearing humans, nonhumans, in this area. Higher Enforcers than I are going to begin investigating, more so than they already have. Do you want to guess what they\'ve found?" He pauses, as if seriously waiting for me to answer. "They\'ve found nothing."



"Why are you telling me this?" I ask. The angel ignores me, instead approaches me. He towers over me by at least a foot, huge and imposing. He sees my discomfort, relishes in it, and walks around me. The hairs on my neck stand as I feel his fingers against my back, where my wings meet my shoulder blades. I tense, feeling exposed; his fingers are touching an area more intimate to me than any other, caressing sensuously. It feels good but wrong, but I do not trust it. I do not trust him.



"Jacen." He breathes my name against my neck, his warm breath causing an erotic tingle throughout my body. My eyes flutter close; I am unable to resist this. His hands are tracing heavenly patterns over my shoulders, weaving a healing pattern over my tired muscles. It feels so good, good enough for me to become aroused. My wings extend themselves out; the shuffling movements of the feathers are the only sound in the room, except for my harried breathing. He goes with this movement, letting his fingers trail to the now extended muscles of the stems of my wings, causing, me to let out a soft groan of both surprise and pleasure. His fingertips are playing with the base of my feathers, tantalizingly tender, and now he is pressing his body against me, his chest like fire against my cool back. I lean back into him, craving his touch, desiring more-



-when suddenly he slams his knee into the back of my knees while simultaneously grabbing hold of the sensitive, delicate stems of my wings and squeezing tight enough to make me cry out in pain. I crumple to the floor, but he does not allow me to fall; he holds me in place by my wings, commanding full control of my movements. I am beyond helpless, I am paralyzed and completely at his mercy.



"Do you remember how we met?" he growls threateningly into my ear, a rhetorical question. "We were investigating the kidnapping and murders of some humans and nonhumans in this jurisdiction and someone led us to you. Interesting enough, they had no idea of who or what you are. You were just some kid whose face was recognized. Not a suspect, just a lead. You\'re lucky you had me as your Enforcer because if any of the others had been there to investigate, once they\'d seen you had no soul and therefore isn\'t human and therefore undocumented, they would have had a field day. And then to find out your a halfsie, you would have been fucked. But I saw in you potential to be something else, if you kept your shit together."



He squeezes harder, his fingers digging into my skin with incredible strength. I feel as though he is going to rip out my wings and let out another cry of pain. "We had you tagged, Jacen. From the second you left the city until you got back. We\'re raiding that human\'s place as we speak."



Sam. My pain is forgotten for a moment as I think of the man who had no idea what is coming. He will be taken by the Enforcers, punished by the Church, and then killed. He knew the risks, as did I, but it is not a fate I would wish on anybody.



My fate will be different.



"What was the human doing?"



I clench my teeth as he squeezes the stems to the point I see stars. "I don\'t know. All I know are the names and locations of the women. I know they don\'t come back. Nothing else."



He pushes me forward, guiding me towards my mattress by the gripping pain in my wings. He then shoves me onto the mattress and I finally crumple. My chest heaves with each breath and my wings ache unbearably. I scramble onto my knees as Azrael stands near the bed. He is watching me with malicious triumph in his eyes. Beads of sweat begin forming on my chest from the pain of it all. "What do you want?" I ask him, my voice laced with pain. "I told you all I know."



His wings furl inward and he kneels on the bed in front of me. His blues eyes flash animalistic as he reaches out with one hand and grasps the back of my neck, smashing our mouths together.



I do not have time to think, just react. His mouth is dominating mine, his lips soft and sensuous and perfect. They are pillowy and envelop mine, prying kisses and demanding attention. Though my body aches, I feel warmth beginning to spread, like he is sharing his goodness with me.



His tongue, warm and soft, swirls over my lips and commands entrance. I barely open my mouth, more shocked then willing, and his tongue slips inside. I cannot hold back a moan as my mouth is pillaged by the angel, and in answer to my lust is a feral groan from him.



My hands brace my body as he pushes me into the bed, and though I\'m taken by surprise at this assault, I\'m not ready for that yet. I distract him by allowing my passion to take form and answer his kisses with moves of my own, using my tongue to taste and caress his, and then to battle for some sort of dominance in the situation.



His other hand finally finds some use, trailing down my chest until it reaches the top of my pants. I tremble beneath his white-hot touches, goose bumps appearing all over my body. I begin craving his touch, fully aroused, and reach up with my own hands to touch and feel all the contours of his perfect body; the curve of his pecs, the cut hardness of his chiseled abs, the perfect softness of his face. He uses my imbalance to push me back until I\'m laying against the bed, wings curled up defensively, and he is crawling on top of me, the weight of him feeling protective and safe. My hands are reaching for contact, finding the curve of his hips, and resting on the tops on his pants. I am too scared to take it further because I still do not understand what is going on.



He breaks contact for just a moment to whisper my name against my lips. His eyes bore into mine, the heavenly blue that is just too perfect to ever be even remotely mistaken for a human color. He is being almost romantic with me, and it sends a warm feeling to my heart. He slows down enough to let me breathe and I realizing I am craving him.



The weight of him is almost crushing me as I take the initiative and capture his lips with my own. His hands fumble at my pants, unfastening them, causing my heart to race nervously. II have never been with another man but I was not going to stop him. Not when he is making me feel so fucking good.



His hands get impatient and slip into my pants before they are undone. He roughly grabs for my hard-on, squeezing me almost too tightly, but I cry out lustfully against his mouth instead of in pain.



The angel lowers his body until we are sandwiched against together and he begins rutting against me, his hard body rubbing against my wanton one. His hand is wrapped around me, squeezing and sliding up and down, and I can feel an orgasm beginning to build.



His wings flutter above us, beating the air wildly as his whole buddy shudders. A couple loose papers fly as he kicks up a bit of wind. The sight of him unfurling turns me on even more and gives me confidence; I reach out into his pants and grasp his own member, my hands timid. He reacts by biting my lower lip, and the feel of the pain is almost good. I stroke and feel him, large and hard as fuck, enjoying the way his face just shows the pleasure I\'m causing him.



His hands return to unfastening my pants, finally gets the job done, and he breaks away from me, panting. He pulls down my pants, finally freeing me, before shedding his own slacks. He then lowers himself once again, grinding his hips into me, and then grabs us both in one hand and begins furiously pumping us together.



I cry out with this sudden, intense pleasure like nothing I have ever felt before. He is sliding his hand up and down both of our shafts, building our orgasms together. I am helpless beneath him, hands loosely by my side, as I am pumped into oblivion.



"Bite me," he suddenly growls against my skin, almost pleading. "Fucking bite me, Jacen."



I hesitate, but not for too long. My lust and the strangeness of this entire situation does not give me time for self-consciousness or embarrassment. I hiss in pain as my fangs to emerge, eyeteeth sharpening and incisors extending out, exposing the other side of me I keep hidden. There is a sudden change in the darkness and I can see better, knowing my eyes have shifted into slits. My claws also extend, ripping from my nail beds painfully. His eyes do not show fear as my features change; if anything he rids my pain with pleasure because he shifts his movements from simple pumping motions to twisting, squeezing motions that drive me crazy; and he is looking at me with crazed, lust-filled eyes like I was the best thing he has ever seen.



Teeth bared, I lean up to bite into his neck, just above the band that marks him, when he stops his ministrations to push me back. "Bite me where they can\'t see," he warns, and I know why. What we are doing together is wrong, so wrong, and so many different levels. There is no way in any of the worlds an angel could be involved with another being, let alone one as blasphemous as me. An angel with a halfsie is bad enough, but with me? A horribly rare hybrid of two conflicting natures, angel and demon? I would be killed by any other.

He grabs the back of my head and leads me to his chest. He heaves deliciously, covered with a soft sheen of sweat, and he smells amazing. His nipples, light pink and perfectly set in his hard pecs, are begging to be touched. I glance up at him, watching him watch me with unashamed lust, before turning my attention to one of his nipples. Reaching out with my tongue, I flicked his nipple, enjoying the way his entire body trembled, before sucking and teasing them. He moans with both impatience and pleasure, so I give him what he wants, sinking my fangs into the soft skin, marking him.



Azrael cries out in pain and pleasure and I\'m thankful I do not have neighbors. He grabs my head and smashes it against his chest, groaning out, "Fuck yeah, Jacen....fuck yeah."



I swirl my tongue, tasting his blood, his sweet, perfect, heavenly blood. I am caught up in it for a moment, my eyes glazing over with a different type of lust, and I sink my teeth in more, relishing in the flow of blood flooding my mouth. He cries out and grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls my head roughly back. I bare my teeth at him, blood dripping down my chin, and for the first time there is a look akin to fear in his eyes. There are twin bloody marks around his nipple, dribbling blood in tiny rivets down his chest. It mars his beauty and awakens me from my lustful haze. My teeth and claws retract, and the room darkens as my slitted pupils return to normal. His chest is heaving, pumping more of his sweet blood before the skin appears to stitch itself together until the marks appear like small bruises. Though they have healed they are discolored, almost purplish. They would remain there for a couple of days.



"Turn around and lay on your stomach," Azrael commands me. I stare up at him, frowning slightly.



I shake my head, wiping the blood from my mouth with my arm. For a second I am afraid he is going to get angry with me, or worse, force me to do something I do not want to do. "Azrael, I\'ve never-"



He licks his lips, contemplating my words. His face softens very slightly, almost unnoticeably, but I know he is listening. He opens his mouth to say something, thinks better of it, and simply leans in to kiss me, slowly, softly, wonderfully.



We kiss, his hand cradling my face, and I close my eyes, enjoying the feel of the angel. For a moment I feel like I belong to him, and him to me, like this is not anything more than a brief affair.



His mouth suddenly stops moving against mine, and his hand tenses against my face. I pull away from him and see him frowning.



"What is it?" I ask, concerned. I prick my ears, listening closely, in case he heard something in the loft. "What\'s wrong?"



Azrael\'s hand leaves me face and clutches at the area I bit. His wings flutter sporadically behind him, but if he is in pain his face is not showing it, only confusion. He pushes away from the mattress and stands, still clutching the area.



I follow him, standing as well. From behind his hand I can see the purplish bruise spreading, getting darker. Black lines looking like veins begin appearing. Demon bites bruise, feel sore, but this...I have never seen this before.



"Jacen," he whispers, his voice weak. He glances at me and there is terror in his eyes. His complexion is dimming, a gray tinge affecting his skin. His whole body is trembling and his wings are flapping weakly, like he is trying to fly away. "Jace-"



He falls to his knees with a clunk, bracing himself with one hand on the floor and the other gripping the now decaying area on his chest, looking like he has been shot. I scramble to his side, horrified. His skin is cold to the touch as I push away his hand to assess the damage. "Azrael, I don\'t understand what\'s happening-”



His wings fold against his body like he is too weak to keep them erect. His skin is now distinctly gray, like his whole body has lost its luster. "Jacen...help me..." he pleads softly, even though we both know there is nobody to call. "Please..."



His eyes slowly close, and he pitches forward. I catch him in my arms, but he is too heavy for me. I maneuver him onto the mattress and turn him onto his back, unable to do anything for his delicate wings trapped beneath his body. I touch his temple and feel no pulse. His chest in unmoving.



I collapse beside him, holding onto his limp wrist. I do not have to voice anything, I just know; he is dead.



***