Say a Little Prayer

SAY A LITTLE PRAYER by Clare London It was too late for tourists to have strayed on to the beach by accident; too early for midnight lovers to be trespassing. This part of the beach was privately owned by the nearby hotel, which was why I was here. My first week at the job and I’d had enough of it already. Just a few moment’s peace after a long and hot day’s work, that was all I needed. Just one blissful, quiet half-hour away from the frenzied shrieks of holidaymakers and beach balls bouncing sand in my face, and my tight white catering cap causing rivulets of sweat to run down behind my ears. A Baywatch boy I wasn’t. Just a young man trying to earn extra money in his summer holiday, wheeling ice creams around in a cart along the promenade, from morning until late afternoon, advertising the local hotel chain. But I’d never realised it was going to be damned hard work. And I wasn’t even going to get a tan because of the smart shirt and trousers and long apron the hotel manager wanted me to wear. Then I saw the man. I walked towards him because that was the direction I was going anyway. Plus, he needed to know this beach was closed to the general public, and the hotel security could get a little heavy-handed. He was sitting on the sand, his back to me. The late afternoon light lit him from behind, setting a golden glow around his dark curls. He was … No. Surely not. I came to a sudden halt as he turned his head to face me. He probably heard the squeaky wheels of my cart, even on the sand.

I stared back, temporarily speechless. “Hello,” he said, and smiled broadly. “I’ve been waiting for you.” “I’m sorry?” It was the nakedness that startled me. Smooth skin, shining with the sweat of a hot afternoon, dappled with the shadows of a sinking sun. Broad shoulders, tight muscles across his back and arms. A slight dip in at his waist, then back out into the plump, fleshy mounds of his buttocks. No sign of any inhibition or embarrassment that I could see. He was sitting comfortably crosslegged, gazing out over the sea, as the day wore on and the vigorous ebb and flow of the water eased to something more sensual. They must have missed me on the memo declaring this a nudist beach. He yawned gently and raised his arms into a stretch. The muscles at his sides clenched into a tight formation. There was no blemish to his skin that I could see, no T-shirt tan marks, no odd freckles on his shoulders, no dimpling on his thighs from growth spurts, a problem I seemed to be getting sadly obsessed with every time I took a shower. “It’s getting late,” he said, though without any trace of complaint. “But now you’ve arrived.” I stared. “You shouldn’t be here.” I sounded like some kind of officious traffic warden. “This stretch of beach belongs to the Royal Hotel, it’s not open to tourists. And you really shouldn’t be …” I swallowed. “You know. Like that. Not here.” He smiled straight at me, his eyes catching the orange flickers of the sun, his mouth wide and welcoming. “Where are we going, then?” “We?” He stretched out his long, lean legs and began to stand up. It was like one of

those tense movie moments, when you can see what’s going to happen and you know you need to stop it, but your limbs move in agonizing slow motion. I raised a hand, preparing to call out, to warn him, to … what? Protect my modesty? He stood, his back straightening, his shoulders fully extended, his skin flushed and dusted with sand. Then he turned to face me. Full on. My hand fell back down to my side. Oh God. A full body flush hadn’t happened to me since the high school stage production of Macbeth when I realised in the middle of the murder scene I’d left my fly unzipped, but it all came back to me now. His six-pack was just defined enough to fit my dream-man checklist, his torso leading down to a firm waist and narrow, masculine hips. A small trail of sweat trickled down between his nipples, glinting in the sun. It bobbed down his torso, glistening over the gentle swell of his belly. It followed the thin, dark trail of hairs that ran down from his navel into a small, curly bush of pubic hair. He was really beautiful. And oh … God. Erect. **** The man smiled at me and held his hands out to the side as if in offering. “This is good?” “This …?” I couldn’t seem to manage more than one word at a time. He laughed, much

too loudly for my liking. What would happen if someone heard him and found us here together, like this? Someone with pre-school kids, or someone working for the council decency committee, or – God forbid – someone who knew my Gran? “You’re very red,” he said, concern in his voice. He took several slow, graceful steps towards me. The muscles in his calves tightened, and his … everything bobbed about between his thighs. “The sun isn’t good on your skin. Take me somewhere you can be in the shade. You’ve finished …” He waved his hand in the direction of my empty cart, as if searching for the description, “… this exercise, haven’t you?” I nodded. My tongue felt very thick, and I struggled to speak. “I have to put the cart away. In the shed at the back of the beach.” He shrugged, smiling. “That’s good, whatever it is. I’ll help you.” “No!” His eyebrows raised and he paused in his walking. “You’re upset, Jonathan.” I blinked harder. “How do you know my name?” Not that anyone called me the full Jonathan except for Gran. He ignored the question. “You like this, don’t you?” He glanced down his body and back up to me. A brief frown passed over his brow. “You like men?” I swallowed past the lump of shock in my throat. “Of course I do. Some of my best friends …” I stopped. From the puzzled look in his eyes, he wasn’t getting the joke. “I mean, I have lots of male friends. A couple of cousins. Workmates at the hotel.” He frowned even more but his reproach was playful now. “Yes, but I mean sex. You like to have sex with men.”

I felt very, very hot and it was nothing to do with the lowering sun. “What did you say?” He smiled. “You’re charming. You are passionate, I know. And I’m the kind of man you like. So we’ll have sex.” There was a small, shocked silence. I cleared my painful throat. “Is this your attempt at a joke?” He tilted his head to the side, still looking puzzled and maybe a little offended. He flexed his back as he moved. Something rustled behind him. “Don’t you agree?” “I can’t…” “Can’t?” He looked as if the word was something new and astounding to him. “I can’t … I don’t talk about those things.” With strangers. With forward strangers. With anyone, really, except for Gran – and that was only because she always bloody talked to me first. He smiled. “I know.” How could he? Plenty of the staff at the hotel were out and proud, and good luck to them. But me? I just didn’t feel comfortable with everyone knowing my business. Mum said I was shy; Gran accused me of being in denial. “Please don’t,” I said. “You’re upset because of me.” He looked stricken. “No. It’s okay.” Maybe I broadcast more about myself than I thought. I flushed even more, wondering how many of my workmates knew. Coward, I told myself. What was the point of denying it? I did like men. Very much. And I’d

definitely like more sex with them, too. If I ever got the chance, that was. I told myself there wasn’t much time for socializing, studying at college during term time, then working every evening and holiday at various casual jobs. There wasn’t a lot of money to go around, in our small, off-beachfront B&B, and Mum needed the help. “You need to get a life,” Gran had said, the previous evening. She said it very carefully, obviously mimicking whatever she’d been watching on YouTube during the day. “Find another nice gay boy and go dancing. After all, this place is full of them, the little darlings, there’s plenty of choice. You’re nearly twenty two, and who knows when your hair might start going?” Her eyes filmed with the beginning of tears. “I pray hard for you to find someone who’ll be good to you. You deserve it, Jonathan, putting up with us old folks. And I know what men like, believe me…” “So you’ve told me, Gran.” Unfortunately. “…and they’ll snap up a cute thing like you, like a double scoop of strawberry ice cream with a chocolate flake.” She jabbed me in the ribs and wheezed with a hearty laugh, the tears gone as quickly as they arrived. “You just need to get out there and go for it. I have to assume you know the facts of life, tab A, slot B –?” I coughed loudly as Mum came in with a tray of tea. She glanced at Gran, assumed – rightly – the worst, and blushed scarlet. “Jonny’s shy,” she said, weakly. Gran snorted. “Shy rumples no sheets, Gill. He needs to get out to that beach and get hold of some nice, firm ars–” And that’s when the conversation ended as abruptly as it usually did, with me being sent out of the room to finish the washing up while Gran cackled with crude laughter and Mum tried to make her own mother appreciate the difficulty of raising a young man on her own.

But they both always agreed I should get out more, so that was why I was here on the beach, sweating away at my new job. It would help pay the way at home, especially now that Gran had come to live with us and ate as much as I did, but it was apparently also going to help me meet people and make friends. Well, that’s what Mum said when she waved me off on the first morning, telling me to bring home chips for supper. Gran just grinned and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “get shagging”. And guess what? I was certainly meeting someone today. **** “Jonathan?” The man on the beach smiled encouragingly at me. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from his naked body. The heat of my blush was turning into some other kind of flush. Warmth ran through me like drinking in sunlight, my senses wallowing in the golden colour of his skin, the glow of his flesh. It felt incredibly good – the best I’d felt for a very long time. And stupidly, that scared me. “Look, what’s going on here?” He shrugged again. “Things like this happen.” “Not on Swanage beach, they don’t.” My voice was a bit of a squeak. He smiled, more slyly. “Is that a joke?” He used the same tone my little cousins used when they saw a small, fluffy kitten on the TV. But he used it towards me. I rolled my eyes. “I’m going to put the cart away and then I’m going home.” I pushed at the damned thing, trying to get the momentum going again. I could feel the sweat dribbling down under my hairline. “I’ll follow,” he said. “You can’t,” I snapped, striding on as best I could.

He shook his head tolerantly. I could smell the sea air on his skin as I passed him. I could feel the air shifting with his stride as he fell into step behind me. Something rather shockingly primal stirred deep in my gut. What was I doing, even talking to him? I reached the small maintenance hut at the perimeter of the hotel grounds, wrenched open the door and shoved the cart inside. Not my most careful work, but I was under pressure, right? I locked it quickly behind me. I was on duty the next day as well, so I’d just take the key home with me tonight. I turned around and he was right there, at my shoulder. “Let me help, Jonathan.” “No. Please. Just … go away.” You’re not real. This isn’t happening. Maybe he was right, and I had had too much sun. But no way was I telling Mum; no way was she making me wear her cheesy purple straw sunhat to and from work… “Jonathan, please.” He didn’t even look out of breath, having kept up with my indecent rush up the beach as I tried to escape my hallucination. “I understand.” “You do?” I stopped and turned warily to face him. “What’s this all about, then?” Was I mad? Sunstroked? Waiting for the TV camera team to leap out from behind a breaker with a gleeful cry of You’ve been Framed? He was only six inches away. He was exactly, perfectly my height. I could see grains of sand on his shoulders. When the wind lifted his hair, it brushed against my chin. God. “I’ll come home with you and we’ll talk about it. Or not. We can have the sex. Or not. Whatever you want,” he said, simply. His eyes had golden lights in them; his expression was full of concern again, and suddenly that concern seemed to include himself. “I have to come with you, Jonathan.”

My mouth opened and shut. Then opened again. “What do you mean? You can go back to wherever you came from.” His smile was nervous. “No. Not yet. Please believe me. Meanwhile, I’m here for you.” I was still doing the gaping goldfish impression. “So how’s that going to work?” “What do you mean?” I shook my head so vehemently my little white cap fell off. The man bent down more quickly than I did – those superb muscles tightening across his belly – and snatched it up. As he handed it back to me, he beamed as if he’d found me a fifty pound note on the pavement. He clutched it just a little too tightly as I took hold, making me tug at it, and his fingertips grazed mine. A cool, sensual shiver ran down my spine, despite the heat and swelter of the day. When his gaze ran covetously over the top of my bare head, my scalp tingled with delight, as if he’d actually run his fingers through my sweaty hair. Madness. I sighed. “Look, even if I said okay, come home with me, you can’t come on the bus like …” I waved my hand in his direction, trying so very – very – hard to stop myself touching him again. “Like that.” His smile didn’t diminish, as if he had no idea what “bus” meant, let alone what my problem was. “You’ll scare the pensioners,” I said. “And cause a riot with schoolgirls, and get us both locked up for gross indecency.” He was gazing at my mouth as if carefully following the words as they came out, but from the bemused look on his face, he was understanding only one in three. He was still smiling, though. “And is that what you want?”

“That’s not the point –” “So what is?” he asked, quite calmly. And then I laughed. What else was a guy to do? The most perfect specimen of manhood – and definitely far above number one on my fantasy wishlist – was standing naked in front of me, his bare toes wriggling in the sand, his eyes following my every word with devotion, and his cock … well. Gorgeous, and still erect. I had to admit, a man would be mad not to be flattered. And even without the cheesy straw sunhat, I wasn’t that disturbed. “Okay,” I said. “Okay, yes, you can come home with me.” **** He looked delighted at my change of mood. “You’re no longer upset by the sun or your bus,” he said. “That’s good.” “Yes, it is.” I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. Hell’s bells, I’d had enough of my boring life, nothing but essay writing in my spare time, making beds every morning for Mum’s guests, and now doling out pistachio ice cream all day to sweat-shiny people who had nothing more to worry about than factor 25 or 30. Go for it, Gran had said. God knows what this experience really was, but I felt myself step, mentally, a little closer to the cliff edge of adventure. “Whatever I want, right?” He nodded. “We need to travel,” I said. I felt dizzy at the thought of it. “You need clothes on for that.” He frowned slightly, as if the thought was unpleasant but he knew it was necessary. “Like yours?”

There was no sign of any other clothes around. But I remembered I had an old hooded sweatshirt and a pair of beach shorts in the hut, in case I didn’t want to stay in my work uniform until I got home. The day was still warm and no one was going to care if a friend accompanied me in shorts and bare feet. I unlocked the door again and rummaged around until I found the clothes. He looked crestfallen, but I waved them at him until he accepted defeat. It was a terrible pity, I thought to myself as he wriggled the shorts up over his arse, to hide any part of that glorious body. They clung to his thighs, obviously small for him: the purple paisley looked ludicrous against his golden skin. But they did offer a tantalizing frame for the tight lines of his torso, and the treasure trail down under the waistband. I cleared my throat and surreptitiously adjusted the front of my trousers again. “I don’t know you from Adam, of course.” “I’m nothing like Adam,” he said, with careful patience. “I’m Admael.” “Okay.” What else could I say? “And you’re going to need the hoodie as well, Admael.” “Hoodie?” “The jacket. Sweatshirt. For your …” I swallowed hard. Maybe the hood would cover him. Maybe I could swaddle his torso in an extra beach towel. Whatever. My hand lifted from my side again, waving in confusion in front of his chest. “Jonathan?” He caught my hand in his, and squeezed gently. The caress ran goose bumps of pleasure all the way down to my toes. “You’re still upset, aren’t you?” “Can’t you see the problem?” I said. “You mustn’t use that word.” “Problem?”

“Can’t.” He ran his fingers along my forearm, stroking the hairs up against their lie. “Tell me about it. Let me reassure you. I’ll attend to it all.” “Oh yeah?” I took a deep breath and put out my own hand, touching him properly at last, running my palm over his shoulder and down onto his back, savouring the warmth and firmness of his muscle, exploring the bones under his taut skin. He arched like a cat under my touch. “So …?” he murmured. “So,” I replied, hoarsely. “What’s with the wings?” **** Half an hour later, Admael stood in the middle of my small room in the family B&B, looking down at himself. “This is normal for you, you say?” I winced. “Yes, of course it is.” He frowned, marring the beautifully smooth forehead. Lifting one leg awkwardly, then the other, he took a hesitant step towards me. “Why do you suffer such punishment? Have you been very wicked?” “Wicked?” I shook my head. Like I’ve had the chance. “No, I haven’t been wicked. It’s not punishment.” Admael laughed softly, shaking his head. “Prisoners often do not realize their own servitude. They accept the pain that binding brings them, without questioning.” I grit my teeth. “Look, it’s not binding, it’s a pair of jeans. And socks, and boots. Not some instrument of torture. And you refused the briefs, remember?” I blinked hard. That was a mistake. The thought of Admael going commando seemed even more provocative than when I’d smuggled him virtually naked

into my room. “It’s just clothing. We all wear things like that.” He stretched as he had done on the beach, his arms high above his head, reaching up for the sky. He looked very large in my small room, a bold, masculine, alien presence. His heels were butted up against the foot of my bed, he had to lean to one side to avoid a basket piled high with clean laundry I was meant to have sorted out for ironing, and when his hand snagged on the bookcase, he snatched it back, startled. As I’d suspected, my hoodie was too small for him and it had ridden up at his side. My eyes were drawn to the sliver of his skin exposed above the waistband, and the lines of muscle that ran down his torso and into my spare pair of jeans. The denim looked cold and harsh, as if it chafed against his perfect skin. He stood awkwardly in the boots I’d lent him, though we appeared to be the exact same foot size. For a couple of moments that was all we did, stare at each other, Admael half dressed and me thinking I needed to have worn more relaxed clothes myself, especially around the groin area. “Jonathan,” he murmured, laughter running under his voice. “This is just one of your jokes, isn’t it? You prefer me natural, really.” Without waiting for me to deny it – as if I would have - he reached behind his neck and pulled the zippedup sweatshirt right off. His shoulders relaxed as if they’d been unbearably crushed inside the fabric. He sighed, and I heard the rustle of feathers at his back, shaking themselves like a duck coming out of the water. The wings! I’d never been a regular church-goer, much to Gran’s disappointment. I didn’t think I believed in either angels or devils. But there was no denying the amazing creations that sprang from Admael’s shoulder blades. From a distance on the beach, they’d looked like a shadow on his back. It was only as I’d got closer that I realized they were furled, black-feathered wings, gathered in against his spine. When he stood to greet me, I’d been distracted by … well, other parts of his body. But when I’d tried to fit my thin, worn sweatshirt over his broad shoulders, I couldn’t help but acknowledge them. They shivered against my hands as I pressed them down. The feathers were smooth, silky black and tightly woven: they smelled of salty sea air and something that I couldn’t quite

identify, but which was much, much sweeter. The touch of them made my whole body thrill. I genuinely don’t know how we made it back home from the beach on the crowded number 7 bus without a scene. Yet, surprisingly, no one made a fuss when we scrambled on. I wriggled in between a group of Chinese tourists and a young woman with half a dozen kids. I scrabbled in my pockets for Admael’s fare as well as mine, but the driver waved me through. Waved both of us through, actually, yet never lifted his eyes from the ticket machine. Odd. The bus pulled away with a squeal of brakes and diesel fumes, and I was squashed against a window. Admael seemed to find a space to stand with less trouble. He’d seemed my height at the beach, but now he was a head taller than anyone else, seemingly an oasis in the middle of squalling babies and pinkburned teenagers. And he glowed so strongly with health and charisma, I was expecting rays to burst from his ears. “Low profile,” I muttered to him, but he smiled his special smile of incomprehension and straightened even further. I wriggled back off the bus at the Library – with no one screaming at the fit young Adonis beside me, or gasping with evangelical fervour at Admael’s inimitable brand of backpack wear – and bundled him up the side street to our B&B. **** And now here we were: I was trying to dress Admael as a more typical young man, and he was trying … not to be. His body was a glorious presence in my rather dull room, he filled it with his strong limbs, perfect proportions, the lustre and musky aroma of his skin. And those fantastic, unbelievable wings. Staring at him was rude of me, but his smile in return never faltered. “Shall we do it now?” His voice woke me from my erotic daydream. “What?”

He was wriggling out of the second boot, his muscular feet bare once more. “I will kiss you. Then we’ll have sex.” For a shocked second, I thought my mind had flipped, not able to tell fantasy from … well, what my traitorous body had responded to, the minute I first saw him on the beach. “What the hell game are you playing?” “Game?” He looked worried, as if he’d forgotten a critical step in his instructions, but couldn’t remember where they were for him to double-check. “Look, I don’t know where you come from, but here, people get to know each other before they have sex. You don’t know me…” “Of course I do!” I laughed roughly. “Don’t you think I’d remember if I’d met you before?” He was watching my expression and he grinned. “You certainly wish you had.” “And you can stop that.” “What?” “That strange way you talk. Like you read my mind. Like you know what I…” “…Want?” He shook his head gently. “Need?” He pushed the laundry basket to one side and stepped up close to me. I could feel the heat from his body, warming me. “Deserve?” he murmured against my cheek. God, a million times, God. “Yes,” Admael said, as if I’d spoken aloud.

“Admael. Wait.” I tried not to feel intimidated, but he’d pressed me up against my clothes chest, and I couldn’t retreat any further without spearing one of my kidneys with a drawer knob. And did I really want to retreat? “You would like to be natural, too,” he said. His voice was soft, like the feathers that whispered at his shoulder blades. He reached behind my neck and pulled my own t-shirt up and over my head. I lifted my arms, helpfully. The protesting didn’t seem to have any effect on him, whereas the nudge of his naked torso against mine sent every nerve I had into overdrive. “Lying in wait for men on the beach … do you do it often?” My throat felt tight. His lips brushed just below my ear. “Never before.” It jolted me with shock. “My God, if you’re being forced to do something against your will –” “This is my will,” he interrupted. His smile became beatific and he placed his hands on either side of my face. “I want to do everything, and I want to do it with you. I want you, Jonathan.” He didn’t really mean me, did he? Of course not. There was serious miscommunication somewhere. He didn’t really know me, couldn’t really have selected me from among all the other, properly gorgeous, sun-worshipping, easy-going, gym-buffed young men that paraded along the sea front, couldn’t … … have just kissed me, in my own room, crushing up to me, with my lower back pressed up against my dresser and my hands clutching at the air in shock, until … … I kissed him back.

He tasted of the sun, his skin smelled of summer. His lips were firm but surrendered perfectly to me. I ran my hands over his strong shoulders and he leaned in close. He breathed into my mouth and his tongue slicked against mine. The wings fluttered: I felt the vibration on my palms. It was as if their movement ran along my fingers, flowing into my arms and my body. The feeling was warm and energising, like the sun itself, like a burst of pleasure and joy that had no limits or shortfall. Just pure, total happiness. God. He was the most beautiful thing I’d ever tasted; the richest emotional flush I’d ever felt. “This isn’t real,” I whispered. “You do not believe it?” Admael laughed softly. “I must convince you better.” He lifted his hands to hold either side of my face and he kissed me again. And again. The wings rustled and a shadow settled around us, as if they’d gathered us both into their shelter. His hands slid down my bare back and I sucked in a breath. “Where did you come from? What are you, Admael?” He frowned as if he wondered about the right words to use. “What do you think?” “You’re like …” I sighed. The wings seemed to whisper around me, like sea shells mimic the sound of the sea. “An angel. But that can’t be, can it?” “Whatever you want to call me,” he whispered back. “I’m yours.” **** “Jonathan, are you up there?”

I pulled away from Admael, the call from downstairs a sudden shock, a reminder of real life. “Gran?” I called back. My heart was hammering fiercely like I was a schoolboy caught looking at a sports magazine under the bed clothes, all over again. “I’m just getting ready for work.” I could hear her shuffling step at the bottom of the stairs and the tap of her stick on the linoleum in the hall. “I’m making your sandwiches,” she shouted. I winced. Banana and tuna had been yesterday’s combination. “That’s great,” I replied loudly. “I’ll collect them when I come down.” “I’ll give you ten minutes.” Her voice carried clearly even though my bedroom door was closed between us. “You need to eat more, to keep your strength up. Who knows when your knees will start going? I pray for you to keep strong limbs and supple joints.” I smiled and shook my head at her nonsense. Admael’s teeth worried gently at the lobe of my ear. “You’ll never get the most out of sex without Olympic training,” Gran continued, undeterred by no reply. “You just listen to my advice, and you’ll have a gold medal in the bedroom at least.” I flushed, even though she couldn’t see me, even though it was exactly that kind of exercise that was running through my imagination at this moment, with Admael’s arms around me, his leg nudging between my knees, his naked toes stroking mine on the carpet. “I have to go to work again,” I said. Admael nodded, his lips damp and hot on my throat. “That’s good.”

“No, I mean it.” I craned my neck around to peer at the digital clock on my bedside table. “In less than an hour.” Damn. “Another holiday job. Money for college.” I didn’t seem to be able to phrase a decent, full sentence. Admael nodded again. His breath was shallow, hot on my ear, his hand stroking the skin above my breastbone. I sighed. “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?” He smiled happily. “You can tell me.” “I work four nights a week in the local disco bar on the sea front. On those days, I dash back from the ice cream job, make myself a quick snack, have a shower and get changed, maybe call Ruth to let her know what time I’ll be there.” “The shower sounds good.” Admael’s close attention seemed doggedly selective. My body shivered with need. I tried not to imagine Admael naked with me in the small private shower along the corridor. The sight of his golden skin through the steam. The warm water, glistening on his shoulders, droplets snagged in between the silky feathers. Soap on my hands, ready to smooth it all over him … “Excellent.” Admael’s smile was even broader. His gaze was shamelessly fixed on my groin. “I see I am the kind of man you like for sex.” “Sandwiches ready!” Gran called from downstairs. “I have to go,” I gasped. “And I’ll come with you.”

“What? You can’t come … like that.” He tilted his head to the side, questioning me. I stared at him. “The … wings. Admael, you must see you can’t –” “Can’t?” He frowned. “I have told you, it will all be fine.” “Are you coming out, Jonathan?” Gran screeched. Coming out? Surely I misheard that… “I’m coming out, too,” Admael smiled, with obviously no idea of what it meant. His gaze flickered down to his own groin and back up to my face. “And aren’t you pleased I’m coming up, as well?” **** I snuck him out of the B&B again, by pushing him quickly out of the front door while I provided cover in the hallway, pausing at the lounge door to distract Mum and Gran’s curiosity. The room was available for our guests but as Gran usually monopolised it in the evenings for her TV reality shows, it was lucky most of them went out into town and didn’t come home until late. “I’m off to Terry’s Bar now, it’s my last shift this week,” I said, probably more loudly than I needed to. “That’s nice, dear. Have a good evening.” Mum was in the kitchen along the corridor, washing up. I couldn’t see her but I could hear her working. “Mum, I’ll help you set up the tables for breakfast tomorrow morning, before I go down to the hotel again.” “I’m perfectly capable of a few place settings, if she needs help,” Gran grumbled from the living room.

I smiled at the back of her head over the top of the sofa. “I know, Gran.” I scooped up the foil packet of sandwiches she’d made me, and turned to go. “It’s peanut butter and hot dog,” she said. “I made two rounds for you tonight.” She was already engrossed in the TV, flicking through channels to find the X Factor auditions. “Thanks. But I usually get something extra to eat at the bar…” “The second round is for your date,” Gran said, very clearly and very firmly. “Not that he looks like he needs feeding up like you do. Nice abs.” I froze in the hallway, startled. “No point in hiding him, Jonathan. Better out than in, I always say. Don’t I?” “Uh … yes, Gran.” “Make sure you close the door properly behind you both,” Mum called. “So Gran doesn’t sit in a draft.” I darted out the house to the sound of Gran cackling behind me. And I couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like she said “Nice wings, too.” **** The bar was quiet in the early evening, with Ruth and Mikey were there to help me stock up and get ready for the later rush. The new DJ was mixing a low but steady beat and some customers were already dancing out on the handkerchief-sized dance floor. Mikey’s flatmate Danny was one of our early patrons, dressed in ludicrously tight shorts and sipping at something that looked as if a mix of melon and chocolate had been thrown up in a glass. “So who’s the new man? I’ve never seen him around. Local, or day tripper?” Ruth had an armful of bar towels she was meant to be laying out on the

counter, but instead she was hopping from one foot to the other with barely suppressed curiosity. She hadn’t taken her eyes off Admael since we arrived. “He’s amazing, Jonny.” I looked at her, sharply. “Look, I should explain…” “I bet he works out,” she sighed, ignoring me. “A lot, right? Those pecs are some of the best I’ve ever seen. And have you looked closely at his back? I’ve never seen anything like –” I sucked in a breath. “– that skin quality on a man outside of Baywatch.” I swallowed hard. “Look, glad you enjoy the view, but we are meant to be working here.” She stuck out her tongue at me. “Okay, I get the picture, he’s yours, so hands off.” “He’s Jonny’s date?” Mikey passed us with a box of bagged nuts, his eyebrows lifted up into his curly fringe. “No, I didn’t mean …” “You sly bastard.” Danny smirked at me from the other side of the counter. His gaze flickered admiringly over Admael who was leaning casually against the end of the bar, apparently doing nothing but watch me work. “That’s one fine catch. You get bored with one-on-one and you wanna share, you call us first thing, okay?” “The very first thing,” Mikey called back over his shoulder, laughing. “That’s not going to happen.”

“And, tell me …” Danny started. I wasn’t really listening to him. “Admael and I, we’re not …” “… what’s with the wings?” There was a sudden, shocked silence from all of us. Oh God, this is it. My heart stuttered to a stop. I glanced quickly at Admael, who was smiling calmly at us all, especially Ruth. Ruth blinked hard. “It’s fancy dress,” she said, brightly. “What?” Danny and I chorused, both of us startled but for very different reasons. Ruth shrugged. “He’s taking Jonny to a party after we close. Something about mythical beings.” She frowned. “I think that’s what he said.” I felt my heart start up again. What had just happened? Did she really believe that? Why wasn’t anyone screaming or calling the Daily Star? “Mythical beasts?” Danny’s eyes got wider and he took a long slurp of his cocktail. “Cool.” Mikey appeared back at my shoulder, growling into my ear. “You’ll be sharing that invite, Jonny boy, or what?” “No,” I said. They all believed it? “Sorry, team. It’s … a private thing. Exclusive.” Admael’s gaze met mine and he winked at me. Danny grumbled; Ruth gave a low catcall. Mikey slapped me on the shoulder so hard I stumbled forward a couple of steps. “About bloody time you scored.” “That’s not just scoring,” Ruth said wistfully. “It’s championship league promotion.” She blushed, raised a hand and gave a small, girlish wave to

Admael. He – of course – smiled and waved back. **** When the rest of them were busy at the other end of the bar, I scooted up to Admael. I’d got him a glass of iced water so he looked marginally more like a normal customer, but he hadn’t touched it. He just stood there, leaning contentedly on the bar, watching me as I dashed about. He was dressed in nothing but my shorts again and an old pair of flip-flops that I’d lent him. The jeans and boots had just seemed too cruel, in the end, and this way he looked a little like one of the seasonal surfers. Well, apart from the bloody wings, of course. “What did you do to her?” I hissed. “To all of them?” Admael tilted his head. “You work so hard, Jonathan. Will you have time for sex soon?” I rolled my eyes. No, I wasn’t going to be distracted, though someone ought to tell that to my hopefully twitching cock. “Why aren’t they scared or shocked? I mean, they can all see the wings, but it doesn’t seem to bother them.” He smiled. “Admael…” He was bloody impossible. I felt an unfair but fierce spike of anger. “It’s not normal. No one else has wings. No one else is built like a young god, like you. No one else talks in that weird way, like they’ve never been on a bus, or worn boots, or drunk at a bar.” I swallowed hard. “No one else is bothered about watching me wear myself out behind a sweaty bar under neon lights with heavy dance music throbbing in their ears.” His smile – just for that small, sudden moment – faltered. “Jonathan. These

things happen.” “No, they don’t,” I snapped. A customer had been weaving his way to the bar – maybe for drinks, maybe just to be near the godlike, weird-talking fellow customer I was currently snapping at – but he diverted nervously at the sound of my voice. “What I mean is, they don’t happen to me. I’m just ordinary. Doing my best. Not making enough money, not finding much time for fun, not sure what’ll happen in life, where I’ll end up.” Admael gazed at me. Funny, the lights over the bar made it look like there were tears in his eyes. “It’s time things happened for you, Jonathan.” I laughed. “God knows it’s way overdue.” “Yes he does,” Admael said simply. I stared at him. Ruth called for some help and Mikey wriggled past behind me. The DJ pumped up the volume on the dance music. The bar was always busy on a weekend night. “So what is it you did to the others?” He knew what I meant. “They are all quite well, please don’t worry. I just suggested to their mind that they should keep their distance, that what they see is quite acceptable. I gave them comfortable explanations for the unusual things they see. I would not want them disturbed or scared.” “No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” But it was obviously all right for me to feel that way. I still felt childishly annoyed. Admael reached over and took my hand. “Do you want me to go?” “No.” I answered absentmindedly, but I realized how true it was. “I … no.” “Good,” he said. “I have to stay with you now.” He seemed to relax, despite the

fact he had never really looked tense, even when he was trying to squeeze into a pair of my socks. “But I don’t know how the mind meld thing can work longer term,” I persisted. He tilted his head in that encouraging yet uncomprehending way he had. “I have to work most days. I travel on the bus. I buy food in the supermarkets, I watch TV, I play football sometimes with the guys at the hotel, I keep Mum’s garden tidy, I read the occasional car magazine.” None of it was sparking familiarity in his expression. “I go out and about and do ordinary things. I can’t…” I paused and re-phrased. “I don’t see how you can do all that with me without drawing attention to yourself. Without …” My throat felt horribly dry. “Without being really bored.” Admael was quiet for a moment. “I understand. You are concerned for me. That’s wonderful.” He gave an elegant shrug, his half-naked body leaning closely in towards me. “But you need not worry. That’s for me to attend to. I want to be with you, to watch you, to please you. All the time. Everything else will be all right.” The bar was getting busy and I knew I had to get back to work. I looked into his wide, sparkling, earnest eyes and I almost believed him. I knew I wanted to. “We’ll talk again at the end of my shift,” I said, turning to take an order from a bunch of giggling girls on a hen night, all of them with pink fluffy rabbit ears on their heads. “You forgot to mention your gay porn channel subscription,” Admael called after me, his voice as clear as a bell, a huge grin on his face. “We can watch that together, can’t we?” **** At two a.m. the final call came over the speakers, last orders for drinks. “Long night, eh?” Ruth passed me, grinning, her face shining with sweat, her

hands clasping a bunch of glasses for washing. “Soon be on our way home.” “Yes.” I just stood there, momentarily frozen, as patrons clustered around the bar calling for last minute drinks, as the music lowered its techno beat to something less aggressive, as the muted lights at the far end of the room started to flicker back on. Some couples groaned, disentangling themselves, distracted from groping in the semi-dark; others darted on to the dance floor to take advantage of the final tracks. Many of them were regulars and knew our routine. We stayed open late, but when the call came, we closed promptly. I could see Danny over at a far table, sipping from another obnoxiously coloured drink, his arm slung over the shoulders of one of the gym-buffed young men he’d been paying court to. They’d probably go on to one of the smaller, unlicensed clubs, or maybe one or other’s flat. They were laughing, and Denny was nuzzling the other man’s neck. Ruth was moving around the mess of tables, wiping spillages, scooping up glasses, moving people on. Her eyes were bright and her movements hurried. Her boyfriend would be picking her up in the next half hour, and they’d go back to their shared rooms behind the Chinese takeaway, to chat about the tiring night and share the latest stories. I could see plenty of people together, friends and lovers, finishing their happy evening as a pair. In a sudden ache of need and worry, I scanned the crowd. Was he still here? Was Admael still waiting? Or had he really been a dream, some cruel hallucination created from my own loneliness, some lunacy brought on by the sun and thwarted lust… He was still there, and his eyes met mine. He stood over by the door now, but he seemed to rise above the dancers and the swaying drinkers so that I had no trouble seeing him, head and shoulders above them. Plenty of guys had removed their shirts as the night got darker and dirtier, but Admael’s bare chest looked as if it glowed with something other than a dancer’s sweat.

“Jonathan?” There was no way I could have really heard him over the noise, but his voice was in my head. His smile was broad. “Now?” “Yes,” I said. I didn’t bother raising my voice because I knew he heard me. Then he was there beside me, quite suddenly, my height again and in the perfect position to look into my face. No one’s eyes followed him except mine; no one’s hand touched him except for mine, as I reached out and took his arm. “Why me?” I asked. “I’m nothing special.” He laughed, a musical sound that I heard perfectly well over the raucous laughter and thudding musical beat. “You’re everything special, Jonathan.” I shook my head. My eyes were stinging. “You’re perfect. I never had someone like you look at me like … you do. Like you don’t care I don’t have money or qualifications or a six-pack.” He peered thoughtfully at my chest. “I could…” “No!” I only suspected what he was going to say but I thought I ought to stop him promising me things I wouldn’t know how to explain next time I played beach football. “I just meant I never expected…” He waited for me to finish what I was going to say, but of course I didn’t know how to without sounding even more of a loser. “You’re not a loser, Jonathan,” he said. “You will get a good degree, an interesting job, and probably enough money to meet your needs, whatever they are. At least, that’s if you can stop Gran from using your bank card for the TV phone-ins.” I started to laugh but he caught my chin in his hand and looked straight into my eyes. “You are bright, funny, honest, compassionate and generous. You look after your mother and your Gran, even though you had to apply to a local

college and forego many parties, so that you can help in the B&B. And I know so much more.” “You do?” I said weakly. “In kindergarten, you gave your favourite ice cream to Sarah Jones’s little sister because she dropped hers in the paddling pool. In junior school, you refused to follow your friends in beating up Charlie Perry even though he cheated in Maths and took your prize. When you were fifteen, you gave Donna Thomas your coat on that very cold New Year’s Eve because she’d lost hers after a party, and you contracted flu coming home in your shirt sleeves. In sixth form, you climbed Mr Allen’s tree and rescued his nephew’s kitten, even though you twisted your knee and missed the football trials. Nowadays, as an adult, you help the children at the karate club for free, and sign on for fundraising events at the hospital charity every year. Last Christmas, you sat up all night to comfort Ruth when she and her boyfriend nearly broke up. Two months ago, you drove Mrs. Peters from next door to hospital when she went into labour early at three a.m. even though you had an exam the next day. You even offered to stay and be her birthing companion …” He smiled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Though luckily her husband turned up shortly afterwards. You were afraid you would faint at the crucial moment.” I gaped at him. No one knew all that. “No one knows all that!” “Those are just a few examples. You are a good man, and the kind who deserves the very best in return.” He snickered, startling me even further. “And luckily you are also the kind of man I would most like to have sex with. You always have been.” “I always…?” I was hot with shock and embarrassment. “You’ve been stalking me?” He shrugged gracefully. The wings fluttered suddenly and stretched out from behind his back. I was awed by how large they looked unfurled. They glittered under the bar lights, the feathered tips vibrating with the closing music. I found

myself taking a step towards him, as if to huddle in under their protection and care. “It’s not stalking if it’s fate. But yes, I have watched you, for a long time. You’re my …” He smiled, but this time it was a special, soft smile, that seemed just for me. “My man.” His wings shuddered as if electricity had suddenly run through them, and they folded forwards around us both, drawing me in. I took another step forward. My mind was confused, my heart was aching. “Jonny!” Mikey called over from the other side of the room. He’d just shuffled a group of over-happy tourists singing hits from Mamma Mia out into the street. He slammed the door shut behind them, brushed his hands off with a satisfied grunt, then turned to me “Just get off to your party, will you?” “Party? Oh, right.” I flushed, my eyes still on Admael. “I haven’t finished the tables by the snacks area yet.” “Leave them to me,” Ruth said, appearing behind me. “Just this once.” She frowned, but she didn’t look really cross: in fact, she was grinning at Admael. “Jonny, you’re wearing way too many clothes.” “I …?” “You should match Admael’s fancy dress, shouldn’t you? Keep up, kid.” I stared between the pair of them, simpering at each other. When did they get so chummy they were organizing how I should get half-naked on my date? When you finally got one, Jonny. Admael glanced at the last few customers stumbling out of the bar, many of them arm in arm. “Let’s go, Jonathan,” he said, and he carefully linked his arm into mine, in just the same way.

**** Admael hugged me on the bus, when we walked up the promenade, when we let ourselves back into the B&B. I didn’t want that to stop, even though it meant I took three goes to get the key in the lock. We laughed when we bumped into each other on the stairs, and I got one of my bootlaces knotted when I tried to pull them off too quickly. I peeled off my tee shirt and scrambled out of my jeans to stand in just my boxers. He kicked off his flip-flops and loosened the waistband of the shorts. It was all fun: I felt relaxed and good with him. This was right, and I was ready. And then his wings unfurled again. They looked much larger in my small room. They made me feel breathless, just from gazing at them. They shimmered like black pearls, even under the dim bedroom light, and after having been clutched against his back for some time, the feathers seemed to ruffle on opening, one by one, coming back to glorious life. I could smell hunger in them for their freedom, hear their sensual flutter as they reached for space and air. I desperately wanted to touch them, but I didn’t know if I should – or could. What was it going to be like, sex with an angel? Would I hear heavenly choirs? Would I grow wings myself? Would I be a horrible, clumsy disappointment to him with my lack of six-pack and an overexcited libido and a bed that creaked if you pushed too hard on the headboard …? “Jonathan? You’re upset again. Would you rather join up with Mikey and Danny?” I stared back, startled. “Of course not.” Admael looked both relieved and worried. “Yet I am concerned there will be disappointment.”

“What the hell?” Had he been reading my mind again? “With what?” To my astonishment, he blushed. “With me. I haven’t … things are very different here. I want to please you. But maybe …” “Maybe, what?” And then the penny dropped. “Admael, have you had sex before?” His eyes widened, and two small spots of pink appeared on his cheeks. He was impossibly gorgeous and my cock swelled painfully – and dangerously – inside my boxers. I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or pump my fist in the air. Performance anxiety, be damned! We were novices together. “Jonathan?” “Here’s me, imagining you’re all doing it on the wing, night and day with the sun perpetually shining and no one ever coming too soon, in fact before they even get their boxers off…” “Jonathan, is that another joke?” I laughed, happily and eagerly. “It will be, if we don’t get on with it. Let’s not worry about disappointment, it’s not likely, is it?” Before I could lose my nerve, I slid to my knees in front of him and peeled down the shorts. His cock bounced out of the garish fabric, nearly smacking me on the nose. God. He was as erect as the first time I saw him. Magnificent. The skin was flushed and hot against my cheek. A small drop glistened at the tip. I licked at it, tentatively. It tasted the same as my other modest experience of come, and yet … so very, deliciously different. Admael cried out and shuddered. “Oh. More, please!” Grinning, I slid my mouth over the head and started to suck. Admael shivered

and whimpered very gratifyingly. In fact, at one stage I told him to shush in case he woke Gran, or at least put his mind meld on her for this evening. He looked shocked at the idea, until I boldly ran my hand between his thighs and brushed the skin behind his balls. He nearly lifted off the ground with shock, but he obediently lowered his voice. “Let me do that, too,” he gasped. “Jonathan, please. Please.” I tumbled us both on to the bed and shifted around as best I could in the space so that each of us could reach the other’s cock. His hands were very firm on my arse, kneading the flesh like a favourite toy. His breath was clumsy but eager and hot on my hole, and when he sucked one of my balls into his mouth he gave a shocked, delighted gasp. “It’s wonderful! You taste wonderful. We must do more and more of this.” “I can certainly live with that.” My laugh was mixed with my own gasp, I was fighting the very serious threat of coming too soon. I tried to concentrate on peanut butter, or ice creams, or Gran’s teeth soaking in a glass by the bathroom cabinet, but nothing could eclipse the pure thrill of Admael’s enthusiastic mouth on my cock and balls. “I’m coming,” I groaned. “You’re …?” Too late to run a course on climax etiquette for him, because it happened. I moaned and my whole body flushed and shook. The ecstasy curled up from inside my gut and through every one of my nerves. I felt my cock bump against his teeth as it swelled. Come spat out on his tongue and my thighs tensed up either side of his head. Oh God. Thank you, God! I cried out some other nonsense sounds, my lips still around his cock, my hands clutching his hips much too tightly. I’d lost all control. It had been the best thing in the world.

The very best. “Oh,” Admael whispered. Trying to recapture my breath, I peered awkwardly back up his body and saw drops of me on his lips and chin. He looked astounded but excited. In fact, he looked like the most sexy, fabulous, adorable thing I’d ever seen. “It’s … I … something’s coming for me, too. Jonathan!” His voice was fractured. Reluctantly, I dragged my mouth off his cock and replaced it with my hand. I started to stroke him, firmly but carefully. It wasn’t that I didn’t want him to come in my mouth in return – I wanted to know, would it really taste different? Should I have worried about safe sex with an angel? – but I wanted to see his face this very first time with another man. “Oh. Oh. I can’t… Jonathan, your hand…please, yes…” His pleas were both amusing and awesome. I leaned over him, pressing against the slick skin of his torso, feeling the sweaty curls of his hair lick around my face. I stroked, lazily, relentlessly and he tossed his head about on the bed, his eyes half closed. I dropped my own head and kissed him full on the mouth. His desire was sweet, delicious. I licked up a stray blob of my come on his lower lip and he wrinkled his nose as if it tickled. The gesture made my heart beat twice as fast and a small tear prickle at the corner of my eye. God. How stupid I felt. Then his eyes opened wide, he stared at me and smiled, a smile as beautiful as the angel he was. How stupid? How perfect. I bent over again and sucked at his nipple, loving the shudder through his body. His skin tasted of the sea, of sweat, of the cool night air. As he came, his wings spread even wider than before, the edges brushing

against the wall of my room, the feathers seeming to crackle, a blue-grey, glistening hue to his skin blending with their raven darkness. He raised his upper body off the bed, clutching his arms around me, his hips jerking and his come trickling out over my fisted hand, his mouth pressing hard against mine, more a claim than a kiss. He sank back on to the bed, still holding me tight, my face against his neck, both of us panting. “Oh,” he said again, almost reverently. I chuckled. “Yes, I know.” I felt him frown. “I did not know you had the same skills, to know my thoughts.” I shook my head, smiling. “Will we do it again, Jonathan?” I rolled my eyes but of course he didn’t see. “Give a man a chance to rest first. But, oh yes, we will. We definitely will.” I snuggled against him, listening to the sound of his wings furling up again, nestling on my pillows like they belonged there. “Stay with me.” I yawned, suddenly tired. “Of course,” he whispered in my ear. “Almost always.” “Sorry?” What did he say? But his arms were warm and strong around me and I couldn’t fight off the sleep any more. **** A few weeks later, I woke suddenly in the middle of the night without any

explanation. It was dark outside and Admael wasn’t beside me. His side of the bed was cool. Yawning, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and reached for my jeans and a sweatshirt. Mum had fitted up one of the larger bedrooms for me, after Admael moved in. She seemed perfectly happy with that, even finding us some new furniture and a small TV/DVD combo so we could watch movies in private, when I came home from working at the bar. Admael liked us to have plenty of privacy, mainly because he was always keen for sex. Always. But was I complaining? If I did protest at being dragged into the bedroom before I’d barely had time to kick off my boots, he suggested sweetly we could have sex on the stairs instead or in the bathroom, or on one of the rides on the pier that Gran had recommended … so after I stopped laughing, I’d let him have his way. In fact, he assimilated into the family like any much-loved son-in-law would do – so seamless, I never even saw it happening. Mum did his washing, too, whereas I’d always had to do my own. And Gran made him a round of sandwiches whenever he accompanied me to work. Except, whereas I passed mine tactfully on to someone else – or to be honest, binned the more inedible creations – Admael seemed to finish his with great gusto every time. And no one ever seemed to have any problem with the wings. I pattered around on the landing and peered into the lounge, but couldn’t see him anywhere. The house was quiet, we only had a few guests at the time. I slipped on my clothes, coat and boots and let myself out of the front door. Somehow I knew he’d be down on the beach. No buses were running at that time of night and I couldn’t afford a taxi, so I walked there. It didn’t seem to take as long as usual. I trudged across the sand, grey in the cloudy moonlight, and there he was – at almost the same place as I originally found him, looking out to sea. He was dressed in loose jeans and a thin tee shirt with Kiss Me Quick, or else in neon pink on the front. We cut holes in the back nowadays to let the wings

through, but clothes still seemed to fit him beautifully. He always looked different, of course, but tonight there was something else: a glowing mist around him that owed nothing to the glint off the lapping waves. A cold fear settled in the pit of my stomach. **** I settled clumsily on the sand beside him. He must have heard me coming but all he did was rest his head on my shoulder, still staring out at the sea. There was no one else on the beach but us. “Trouble?” I asked softly. “Of course not.” I snorted. “That everything will be all right crap doesn’t always ring true, you know.” “You mustn’t worry.” “You can’t stop me. Not when it’s for you.” He tensed up against me. “For me? I … that’s not what I expect.” I shifted so that my arse was better settled in the sand and I could turn my head and press my lips to his cheek. “I want you to be happy, Admael.” “I am!” He turned back, his mouth catching mine, and we kissed deeply and comfortably. “But…?” He sighed and looked away again. “I’ve spent many weeks here, Jonathan. This world is so very different.”

I had no idea what his world was like to compare, but I stayed silent. I slid an arm around his waist to hug him to me. His warmth slipped through me as if it had its own waves. “I … there has been a lot to learn. The weather is an astonishing surprise every day, people abuse their natural habitat most dreadfully. Your bodies are restricted by awkward and sometimes painful bindings, yet you seem proud of it all. You’re always in such a rush, yet your actual steps through life are slow and confused, and you seem impossibly shy of connections.” I chuckled. “Yeah, that about sums us up.” “You all struggle with disappointment and anger, and you pursue work that is ridiculously hard in proportion to its reward. And yet …” “Somedays we can look forward to peanut butter and hot dog sandwiches?” He didn’t acknowledge my weak joke. “I wanted to be with you, Jonathan. I’ve looked out for you all your life. And then, I reached a point where I wanted to be in that life. To actively share it, to live it. To enjoy the physical things, to see what it was like to be a man like you. To be with you each day. All days.” I let my head drop to his shoulder this time. His wings rustled at his back and I could feel the steady throb of a pulse in his neck. “And I’m so pleased you’re here.” “But they didn’t want me to come. It’s not allowed, you see. Not encouraged, anyway. We’re not really meant to do more than …” “Watch?” He smiled, rather sadly. “Yes. But when the opportunity came, I demanded to use it. In fact, I demanded in a very insistent way.” He seemed embarrassed, something I’d never seen in him before. “But in mitigation, I had to agree to

exile, to be cut off from my original life. No contact, no support, no position there.” “Exile?” I was horrified. “You can’t go back? But that’s not fair, Admael –” “Hush.” He shook his head. “Please don’t be upset. They agreed to reconsider after a while, to see whether I wanted to go back, whether they … wanted me back.” We were silent for a moment. The sea murmured in the background; the indigo night settled around us both like a blanket. **** Admael stirred beside me. “There were other reasons, Jonathan.” “There were?” He nodded. “The tangled, tortured life here is punishment for past sins, whereas I live … lived in a paradise. But you know, if I am honest with myself. I wanted some time away.” His voice was so soft, I wasn’t even sure if it was me he was talking to. “From relentless happiness, you understand?” Of course I didn’t, but I hugged tighter. “The sun always shines, the air is perfectly balanced, the nights are cool. There is no struggle, no work, no bindings, no argument, no …” “No Gran?” I said, with a rueful grin. His head twisted back around and he met my eyes. I was startled at how intense he looked. “I think the punishment of life here is also your prize.” “What’s that mean?” His mouth pressed wetly on the juncture of my neck and shoulder. “You said it

just now.” I cast my mind back. “Gran? Hot dogs? He rolled his eyes. “Your sense of humour, Jonathan. We have no need for that when everything is good, when there’s no conflict or differentiation or mistake.” When I laughed, he hugged me. “Jonathan, it seems I have come to rely on you. To need you, in a physical sense as well as my watch over you.” I licked my suddenly dry lips. “I know I’ve never had sex like it…” He smiled, a return to the sexy, hungry smile I knew so well. “It’s marvelous, isn’t it? I had no idea it would be so much fun. But I’m confused by the other things I feel. I like to be with you, to laugh with you, to hug you. I appreciate your care and comfort, your generosity in sharing your life, the way you try to protect the people you’re close to. You listen to me, you share your plans, your jokes, your worries. I’m grateful for the way you’ve helped me adjust.” “But that’s what love is,” I blurted out. I’d never really announced the L-word before, at least not to a boyfriend. To a lover. But that’s what Admael was, wasn’t he? “You’re everything to me. I want your life to be as good as you’ve made mine.” He stared at me. His cheeks went a dusky pink in the half-light. He didn’t speak. I drew a deep breath. “They’ve called you, haven’t they? Reconsidered your exile?” He nodded, his eyes never leaving my face. “You’ll go back?” There was a small silent moment. Then he said, “Of course I will go back. It’s my world, where I come from.”

“Okay.” The night seemed much colder but I was determined to put a brave face on it. “Of course you will. It’s where you belong.” “Jonathan?” Admael slid his hand behind my neck and pulled my face around to meet his. “Could I ever belong here, too?” “Of course you could. You do!” He smiled, mischievously this time. “And did you think that if I went back, I’d never come again?” “You will?” I just stared at him. “I mean … I won’t lose you?” “Never.” He leaned in and kissed me again, very, very sweetly. “I have demanded insistently again, that I travel between there and here when I wish. I think I have assimilated more assertiveness from this world than they expected.” “But you’ll be …?” “Mainly here,” he whispered against my mouth, answering the question I didn’t dare ask. “Almost always here. I will never leave you. I never want to!” **** We walked back to the B&B arm in arm, still seeing no one. It was an unusually peaceful, but wonderful time together. Dammit, I’d have been happy for the walk to take forever, but I was glad to reach home with him eventually. We snuck in the door as quietly as we could, but as we crept across to the stairs, Gran popped her head out from behind the kitchen door. “Can hear your rustling from fifty paces,” she hissed, her gaze fixed on Admael’s back. Her eyes looked very bright. “Gran? Did we wake you?”

She brandished a sandwich in the air. Something dripped from the edge of it that looked like a cold baked bean. “Just getting a midnight snack. Then I heard you love birds creeping around at the dead of night, like we didn’t give you enough shag time the rest of the week.” I frowned at her. “Thanks, Gran.” “Yes, thanks!” Admael said brightly. Obviously his sarcasm skills needed more work. “Get yourselves back off to bed now,” she ordered, waving the sandwich so that another few beans plopped on to the carpet. “If you weren’t such a good boy, Jonathan, I wouldn’t have to pray so hard for you. So make the most of it. Who knows how long libidos last nowadays?” “Judging by yours, Gran…” I muttered under my breath. She snickered, though I was sure she couldn’t have heard me. “Sometimes prayers get answered, you know.” “Gran?” I paused on the lower stair. She just leered at us both and dipped back into the kitchen. I turned and stared at Admael. Did Gran’s determined prayers for my love life actually do something? “Was that the opportunity you told me about? The opportunity you were offered, to come and see me in the flesh?” “I like that phrase,” Admael said. He often ignored my questions, and this time I was sure it was deliberate. “The flesh part of it.” I put a hand on his shoulder. His eyes shone, his face was flushed from the evening air. I could smell the salt on his wings again, the sweet tang of their warmth.

“I love you,” I said. “Wherever and whatever you are.” His eyes widened and his smile broadened. I ran my hand down the front of his tee shirt and dipped inside his jeans. He sucked in a harsh breath, his belly tightening under my palm. “I’m still working on dressing,” he said quickly, defensively. “I don’t always remember the boxer garments.” “You heard what Gran said,” I muttered, grinning. “Get back to bed, now!” **** The bar was frenzied on club night. There were dancers on the small stage at the back of the room, heavy techno beat throbbing up through my feet from the floor, and barely time to turn back from ringing up one drinks sale to face the next. Ruth nudged me in the ribs as she passed with a tray of beers. “You sure he’s doing this for free?” I glared at her. “Okay, okay.” She backed away, shaking her head. “I love him too, Jonny, no need to growl at me. He never has eyes for anyone but you, you know that. I just thought he’d expect tips at least, even if he’s not taking a cut of the wages.” I glanced to the other end of the bar where Admael was producing cocktails like he’d been born to it, shaking and pouring swiftly, balancing them on trays and twisting napkins into fancy little creature shapes. All at the same time. “It’s fancy dress,” I saw him mouth cheerfully in answer to a buxom young

woman who was leaning over the bar, face flushed, her fascinated gaze on his wings. He was drawing a beer and topping up two gin and tonics, yet not a drop of liquid spilling. As I watched, she made a sudden, clumsy grab over the bar for him. I gasped, immediately on alert, ready to run to him and keep interference at bay. But he sidestepped swiftly and easily, and was suddenly two feet away from her. Her hands closed on empty air. He turned his head and winked at me, then switched back to his work. “No, I’m not offended at all,” he said to the bemused customer, his voice rippling with happiness and confidence. “You know, some of my best friends are angels!” As I started to laugh at the joke, I knew everything would be all right. THE END Author bio: Clare took the pen name London from the city where she lives, loves, and writes. A lone, brave female in a frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home, she juggles her writing with the weekly wash, waiting for the far distant day when she can afford to give up her day job as an accountant. She’s written in many genres and across many settings, with novels and short stories published both online and in print. She says she likes variety in her writing while friends say she’s just fickle, but as long as both theories spawn good fiction, she’s happy. Most of her work features male/male romance and drama with a healthy serving of physical passion, as she enjoys both reading and writing about strong, sympathetic and sexy characters. Clare currently has several novels sulking at that tricky chapter 3 stage and plenty of other projects in mind . . . she just has to find out where she left them in that frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home.