Angel with a Messenger Bag

A/N: These characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The twisted tale I weave is something else. I've gone five chapters with no lemonade…a personal FF best. You and Edward have been patient, and patience is a virtue.

Seduct-a-fic-'ccasion: Part 2.

Chapter 6: A Thorn in the Flesh

The Front Hall of Claridge's in London is all golden hues, high ceilings, plaster friezes, and terrazzo floors. Not exactly 'home,' but I know it well enough. I've taken refuge behind it's expensive walls too many times when extended press junkets prevented me catching my flight back to California.

The Hotel is lovely, the service efficient, sincere, and impersonal. I wonder, if I were still alive, how many here would recognize me or even notice or care that Jasper Whitlock, one of a dozen of bankable leading men, is checking into a double room with another man?

And would it be the 'man' or Edward's splendiferous 'wings' that would cause the most uproar?

I can't decide, because I'm immediately choking back laughter thinking of all the Paparazzi denied the photo sensation of the year simply because I'm mostly dead. Assuming that Edward and I can't be photographed…

Edward nudges me with his nose to get my attention before reluctantly setting me down. Shielding his messenger bag from my avid eyes, he calmly unzips the pocket for his credit card without flashing the bag's contents at me.

To distract myself from the sudden urge to grab the bag and sprint for the doors, I turn and leave his side, hands twitching. The stone floor is chilly on my bare feet, meaning my body temperature must be fairly normal. That's odd; I should mention it to Edward when's he's finished checking us in.

Puttering around the lobby, I catch sight of an antiqued mirror in the corner of the reception hall. Approaching it from the side, I'm almost afraid to look. But my reflection is normal; the edges of my body may be a little fuzzy, but I'm guessing it's the antique sheen, not me. I'm still tall and slender, with blond hair, wide blue eyes, and a distinctive mouth.

When I push Edward into the shower later, wings and all, I'll insist he stop and pose in front of the mirror for me. If he doesn't have a reflection, then maybe we'll revisit our earlier discussion about Vampires.

Getting to our rooms is a little awkward, as the Angel is still expressing his horror at riding 'the lift.' But we make it, and are soon standing outside our suite.

The fatted calf (me!) stands fidgeting beside him before Edward catches on and quickly dismisses the hotel staff without a tip. They depart in a daze, instantly forgetting our very existence if Edward was telling the truth outside Carlisle's Clinic.

His hand slides into mine as we halt just inside our entrance hall, quiet in its plush fabrics and muted colors. The Linley Suite is a sensuous explosion of Dupioni, Vicuna, and Swiss Voile fabrics, deployed against a backdrop informed by cool English reserve. The heavily padded carpet muffles my steps as I pull away from him, following the hallway into the main sitting area warmed by hushed hues of taupe and navy with black and cherry wood accents.

The room's scheme is very masculine, even with the vibrant, aromatic Stargazer Lilies overflowing several large clear vases. Something about the space hints at a slight naughtiness, as if the design was rendered with much more than a guest's restful slumber in mind.

Perhaps that's why I've always preferred a Linley to the other Suites.

My gaze roams over the casual arrangement of two-by-two elegant armchairs and settles on a high-back couch with deep cushions. It's covered in golden damask with narrow bands of silver thread. I'm stalling now, and I know it. Still, I imagine us reclining as one on the sumptuous furniture: back to naked chest, his hands clasped over my midsection, our long legs perfectly matched and knees drawn up as we drift off…

"Come here and let me hold you, then, my Michale," Edward's sultry voice spins like a web through the room, the first words either of us has spoken.

He beckons to me with a graceful gesture of his long-fingered hand as his other arm spreads wide in entreaty. "I'd like to view your back."

At my raised eyebrow, he clarifies with, "I'm hoping your wings are regenerating. It wouldn't be unusual after your defensive reaction to the spiritual interlopers outside the Hotel."

I nod, but remain standing at the edge of a large curtained window, the one furthest from his position by the archway. It's the view behind Edward that's reawakened my earlier skittishness: I can see most of a huge, sumptuously swaddled bed, sheets turned down and ready for immediate occupancy.

Edward's pale skin will look amazing against those dusky pink-brown sheets.

My eyes dart to his in a panic, certain that he just 'heard' that thought. He dips his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before he reminds me why we are here. "Jasper, I've missed resting inside those wings of yours now for centuries, but never as much as I've missed you."

I snort, seriously doubting he spent the time inside my long-lost wings just resting.

Edward is too modest to protest.

I roll my shoulders in an unconscious movement to relieve the tension crackling in the space between us, and that's when I finally feel it, or rather, them. It's the return of my wings, the small buds snagging on the back of the tee-shirt.

The realization shocks me into action: I'm across the room like a shot, jumping into his arms, our limbs entangled as his hands eagerly trace the growths beneath the cloth.

"Two of them, just the two, for now," he confirms, his relief evident as his eyes bore into mine. "It will be a gradual unfurling. Try flexing the cartilage some."

I do, and he moans in delight. "Larger, already minutely larger. It's happening, albeit slowly. You are home, dearest Michale. We are together again, as it should be."

Edward's excitement isn't confined to his words, of course. His Angel barometer is set at straight-up granite, and I swallow down a small tremor of fear as he presses his length against my hip.

My former partner, his entire being trained on me, misses nothing. He soothes me, fingers tracing a random path through my closely trimmed hair until he's clasping the back of my neck. "Of course, this changes little, if you still don't remember me, Michale?"

My all-too-guilty look gives it away.

His hands fall to his side, and he takes one step back from me, his earlier hopes dashed. "I guess I should continue calling you Jasper, then."

I mirror his actions in reverse, and end up sitting alone cross-legged on the golden couch, needing to think. Dejected, he gives me some space and moves to stand silently beside a window, his back to me. I observe his drooping wings with envy as he shifts them unconsciously, the smallest movements rippling through the glossy feathers. It calms me to watch him, my gaze traveling slowly down his long legs to his shapely bare feet.

Those same feet are hovering effortlessly above the carpet. Reminding me that, Angel or not, I'm grounded, unlike Edward, or Uriel, or Jacob.

"Give it time," Edward offers from across the room, the platitude only serving to further emphasize the wide gulf still separating us.

Trust Jasper Whitlock to make his own death a series of bitter disappointments to be endured, rather than a shedding of earthly burdens.

I pause, disgruntled and uncertain what to do next. Sure, I'm growing a pair of wings, but why do I still feel like Jasper instead of The Angel Michale?

But Jasper Whitlock, successful actor, deeply closeted confused single man, and reckless motorcycle enthusiast is only my Human manifestation; I'm undeniably an Angel, or I wouldn't be growing wings...that itch!

Jesus himself called me his Angel. It's confusing, but how much more evidence do I really need?

Nor can I deny that holding Edward close seems to relieve an emptiness I've borne in silence since my teens.

I'm lucky Edward isn't pressuring me, giving me space to process all these disparate thoughts. Even if I'm irked that he's listening in again.

"Sorry," he offers, sounding genuinely contrite.

I rub a hand across my face and around my throat before letting it drift down the front of my tee. It's a simple gesture and it feels good; so good that, kicking restraint to the curb, I keep going, and yank the tee up and over my head. Free! I drop the crumpled garment beside the couch and push my shoulders forward to better scrape my growing, itching bumps against the cushions behind me. Yep, still there.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see my companion's head turned to check me out.

"They're beautiful, Jasper, as are you. I knew you'd regain them."

Edward, you've been telling me the truth all along, haven't you? I silently ask, not really expecting an answer.

He sighs and resumes gazing out the window before replying, "About you, about us? Always."

And I slowly begin to feel better about him, about us.

"Just better?" asks my erstwhile and impatient partner from across the room, his meaning unmistakable.

Why-the-fuck-not? I silently reply, aware that Edward's shoulders jerked at the obscenity and close my eyes to concentrate.

Realistically, I can't expect to be resurrected from the Dead anytime soon, and Edward's cough confirms this. And I'm not a masochist: being alone or an unmated eunuch like Jacob for eternity? There are worse things than allowing Edward to sink his dick into me. (I hear Edward's fist bang the wall; guess we agree on that one.)

And, finally, the phrase, 'female angel' being an apparent non sequitur certainly limits my choices.

For a dead guy in my position, it's brilliantly, gloriously black and white: rejoining the Angelic ranks, I'll find as gay-friendly an environment as it's going to get. Edward and I will be just fine. And no women, anywhere, unless I get the wild hair to seduce the bella Goddess.

I grin as Edward groans, "If she heard that, you just may have earned yourself another century or two of punishment."

I'll just have to live with the consequences, as it is way past time to…well, if not exactly to 'live my life,' at least, certainly to enjoy my death.

Because, the truth is…

Gorgeous Edward is a fucking turn-on, thickly feathered wings and all.

I want to grab great fistfuls of his windblown, mutinous curls as he sucks my cock down his tight throat, breathing optional!

I want to rock my hips into his pretty mouth and watch his eyes widen in pleasure as I shoot my load!

I want the silky swag of Edward's angelic dick grinding into me as he loudly, petulantly huffs out his unbearable need for me against my burning skin!

Overhearing my silent proclamations, Edward immediately whirls around to face me again. Flashing a dark smile, he floats closer, open palms held out before him in silent invitation. I stand to meet him, pulling him close, his subtle scent calming my last jitters.

His lips find my neck, kissing and nipping his way underneath my jaw as I shift once, twice, before we finally settle. In the space of a few seconds, we've completely relaxed into the comforting shape of one other, clicking into place like two interlocking Legos.

My earlier uncertainty disappears beneath the insistent push of his tongue against mine, his hands clamped possessively on my waist. Just as I'm prepared to give in completely, granting him whatever he wants from me for the promise of exploring every inch of him, Edward slowly releases me.

And scrutinizing my face for any signs of deception, asks: "Do you long for me, Jasper, in your heart, as I've done for you since your punishment began? Or are you simply hoping to learn more about your past, anticipating you'll soon regain your exalted position as Chief of Virtues?"

I reluctantly pull back from the tractor beam of his luminous emerald pools, telegraphing my total ignorance of the whole 'Chief of Virtues' subject.

"Forget the title; I want your response to the first part."

Does he expect my unconditional love on the first day? I haven't even…

"I have my..my answer, then, haven't I," he barely stutters, resignation deadening his register.

As I hurriedly blurt every soothing line I can summon, none of which make much sense, Edward's muted sigh stops me.

"So maybe I don't care about your motivations very much, beautiful Jasper. Perhaps I'll have to begin all over again to win back my Michale, whenever he finally reappears." He pauses, the tears welling in his eyes before he continues with, "Yes, it hurts. I wasn't the one who was punished for my misdeeds; I've just had to survive the loss of my partner."

The twinge of guilt I feel for something I don't even understand is disconcerting, but I still try to fix it. He listens patiently, until my voice winds down, and we are left staring quietly at one another.

He doesn't look convinced.

I try one last time, reaching for the best truth I can offer to him.

"Edward, you hold the key to everything I desire in this twilight of an Afterlife. It's your unwavering devotion here that convinces me I'll regain my memory, relearn to float, remember how to use a sword…" Although I hope that last one won't be necessary.

"Don't count on it."

I have no love to give you at present, Edward, but my affection is sincere. Can you accept it?

"A brotherly kiss is just the first step in an Angel regaining a lost memory," he sniffs.

"Implying there are other steps?"

"More extreme…" he falters, needing a moment before resuming. "A strong physical connection has yielded good results. Are you willing to try to establish one with me, to see if it helps you remember?"

I swallow once, and nod. Wasn't that exactly where we were headed, anyway?

"Now, please?"

Impatient much? "Could we take it slow? It's been a few centuries."

"Granted," he replies soberly as he shrugs off his open jacket.

Shrugs: such a vanilla verb. It doesn't come close to capturing the exaggerated twisting of his upper body and folding in of his wings. His sleek, unblemished frame, marked with splotches of deep pink from earlier exertions, eventually emerges from the green wool covering like a colorful Easter egg from a field of grass.

I'm biting my lower lip as he raises each foot to step out of his trousers and then straightens: his tall, slim marble perfection held proudly up to my appreciative stare. Drawing in a deep, unnecessary breath, I ache to stroke his wings, lifting each feather and examining it, tugging lightly and running nail edges along his tender flesh as he whimpers for a release. I have in mind the slowest of tactile explorations, the Angel prone beneath me, arms stretched high above his head…

"You, too," he softly encourages, breaking into my reverie. Deadly serious now, he motions to me to remove the jeans I'm wearing.

Never taking my eyes from him, I deliberately hook my thumbs beneath the low-slung material just barely riding my hips, leaving the zipper intact. It's my turn to sensuously flex and bend for him as I manhandle them earthward. My hardening cock gets tangled up in the cloth for a moment; Edward murmurs his frustration with the delay before reaching in to release me.

"Never must you suffer for me, Beloved," he admonishes, his mouth forming a sly grin as he looks up at me from beneath his auburn lashes, confidently maintaining his grip on my girth.

Once my jeans hit the floor, the Angel rakes his eyes over me with a happy sigh. Leaning in for a delicately rendered kiss, just a brushing of our lips, he distracts me as his long, supple fingers begin riding up and down the shaft, his other hand cradling the flesh of my ass.

Edward's handjob is nothing like Alice's: his touch is the perfect mix of rough and gentle as he kneads the angry-red tip, adopting a stroke that sends me soaring on the sensation. His mix of angelic noises and throaty groans as he expertly draws out my natural lube plucks deeply at the repressed feelings churning inside me.

I'm almost there, Edward. Fuck…me! You truly must know me.

He hums in agreement, rhythmically sliding his hand up and over, his face inches from mine but refusing my kisses.

"I'm already on the edge here…" The rest is drowned out by a long, low moan I can't stop, can't help, and Edward of the eager eyes decides he wants a taste of it.

His faintly crooked smile grows before he firmly covers my mouth with his soft, pliant lips. The pull in my lower belly is all-consuming. I slam forcefully into his chest, twining my arms around his neck, his steadying pressure acting as anchor for my frantic reactions.

My tongue feels swollen and greedy as he methodically caresses me with both hands and mouth, murmuring his love through our molten kissing. His other hand slips between my legs to cup my balls against his curving palm. My legs are flexing, toes clenched as he lifts and massages me lovingly, possessively with the fleshy pad of his thumb, "my Michale" issuing explosively from his mouth when he briefly pulls back to assess my reaction.

And then I'm being pushed onto my back against the deep cushions, legs up, as Edward drops to his knees in front of me. I watch, mesmerized, as his mouth descends to skin, pausing before he begins placing open-lipped kisses on my chest, ribs, and abdomen, slowly feeling his way down. He hesitates, and then shoves his shoulders hard against the backs of my thighs, his eyes flickering up to mine before his tongue begins teasing me, taking long swipes at my slightly curved dick. I angle my hips higher, unwilling to pull away from the intense intimacy of Edward bathing my dick in wide wet swirls, his tongue curling lovingly around the ridge and up over the head, again and again.

It's too much; my head falls back, eyes closed as I feel him engulf my full length, his lips drinking me in. He swallows my cock down to the base, and holds it there as I buck hips against his face, his throat muscles closing convulsively over me as I struggle not to come. I curse, Goddess be damned; no woman's mouth was ever this fucking talented!

He must hear me, because he starts to chuckle around me, the sweet reverberation travelling the length of his body. If he doesn't stop, I'll spill down his throat before either of us is ready.

Mercifully, he pulls off me and pushes up, hands clamped firmly underneath my knees, not letting go. He stills for a few charged moments, looking me over as if he's not sure what Jasper-flavored treat to consume next. It's a possessive assessment, letting me know I belong to him.

"Angel-brother, you are all mine," he whispers, strong emotion flooding his features. I nod, content with his statement, ready to submit to whatever he wants from me. He draws me closer, my ass hanging over the edge now as he hooks my leg up and over his shoulder, letting the other fall to the side. And damn, exposed to the cool air, I'm suddenly, unaccountably, desperate for him to touch me.

I writhe against him, shamelessly begging for more. My eyes devour every line, every angle, shadow and glow of Edward's beautiful face as my palm hugs my dick, tugging hard and blindingly fast, consumed by need and anticipation.

Knowing exactly what I want from him, the Angel sucks loudly on his fingers before sliding them beneath my balls, along the stairway to heaven. I barely flinch at the intrusion as he toys with the damp skin at my sensitive opening. Wordlessly soothing me, he moves with purpose, slipping a fingertip past the ring of muscle to lightly twist it inside me, taking his time to stretch me well before adding a second finger.

Twin arcs of mild pain and intense pleasure radiate outward. He watches me carefully as he makes me shiver, repeatedly whispering his declarations of love and admiration. "Te Amo, Te Amo, Te Amo, bell'uomo," is his personal litany as I arch for him, and pushing gently, he taps the spot that no one else has ever felt.

All too soon, my concentration fails as I let go and blindly shout "Edward, Edward…" into the stillness of our room. Clenching and shaking, my cock jerks and releases in sharp spurts, marking my hand and his chest with the hot white creaminess of my abandon. My head lolls back, and Edward is there to catch me, muttering something to me in Latin. I shake my head in denial, and he tries again, in English.

"Umm, when I'm inside you, Beloved, your orgasm will be even more intense."

I'd like to tell him to go ahead. I try, but I'm far too wracked to move, let alone find the will to form the words.

Understanding my helplessness, he tells me, "I can't bear to stop holding you. Lean into me, and I'll move us to the bed. Relax and stretch out, Jasper. I'm here to keep watch over you while you relax." Guess even angels need some recovery time after an intense orgasm.

His kiss, gently ghosting over my lips, is the last thing I remember before falling unconscious, but not before thinking, This changes nothing.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO