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The roaring in Alex’s ears subsides and the panic cinching his throat closed recedes enough for him to take a deep breath. It feels so good he takes another. Like a radio station being dialed to the right frequency, he’s finally able to hear Henry instead of static. Henry, who has been babbling since the moment Alex busted into the room unannounced and caught him… caught him…
Alex’s brain starts going fuzzy again, so he clenches his teeth and forces himself to look at Henry and focus on what he is saying.
“The idea that GAs—”
“GAs?” Alex interrupts.
“Guardian angels.” Henry purses his lips in that prissy way of his that shouldn’t be attractive but makes Alex want to kiss his face off anyway. “Have you been listening? As I was saying, the idea that GAs are sent to protect or guide a single person is an idea first posited by Pseudo-Dionysis the Areopagite in the fifth century.”
Alex drags his eyes away from Henry’s mouth with difficulty. “Who now?”
“It doesn’t matter. Google it later.”
“Also, posited? Really?”
“You can google that later, too, Alex. Keep up.”
Alex’s comeback, which would obviously be amazing and put Henry thoroughly in his place, dies before it can be born. All he can think about is getting his hands on Henry, getting his mouth on Henry. And getting his… whatever… on Henry’s—on Henry’s—on Henry’s wings.
Alex’s dick twitches at the thought.
What the hell is wrong with him? Not five minutes ago, he burst into a room to the biggest shock of his life: his boyfriend has wings. That piece of insanity was followed by the second-biggest shock of his life: Henry is an angel, an actual, literal, fucking angel.
Is Alex shocked by this discovery? Confused? Frightened?
Yes.
No.
Maybe?
He’ll probably be those things later.
Right now? He’s distracted. He’s distracted by Henry’s soft, smug mouth and his long, long legs and his fucking wings. Every filthy thing he’s ever done with Henry is flashing through his mind like a fever dream. He’d done those things with an angel. Are angels even allowed to do that stuff? Are they both going to hell now? And, more importantly, will they still get to be together there? They fucking better.
Alex’s mind goes blank as he stares at Henry’s bare chest and his broad shoulders, and the way the curve of his wings makes those perfect shoulders seem even broader. He instantly decides he doesn’t give a single shit what the consequences might be. He needs to do very bad things to Henry. Very. Bad. Things. Immediately.
Henry, oblivious to the situation developing in Alex’s mind, and his pants, continues his lesson. “The complete fallacy of GAs for individuals was made worse by Abraham of Worms in the fifteenth century.”
Alex blinks out of his horny stupor. “Now you’re just making shit up.”
“I most assuredly am not,” Henry sniffs. "He was a German Cabalist.”
“A German Cabalist?”
“Yes.” Henry raises his eyebrows, as if daring Alex to challenge him on it.
Alex has no interest in learning anything else about angels right now, guardian or otherwise. “Of course he was. Listen. Henry, can we get back to the whole wings thing here? I don’t need an ancient history lesson.”
Henry opens his mouth, almost certainly to express his affront on behalf of angels everywhere, followed by his insistence that Alex be made to understand everything, especially whatever his point is about guardian angels not being assigned to individuals. But Alex claps a hand over Henry’s mouth and steps into him until their chests bump. He’s close enough to kiss him, to lick him, and he wants to do both, and so, so many other things. “I want to hear all about this stuff, sweetheart—what kind of angel you are and where you came from, and what the fuck is happening, I promise. But also—” Alex drops his hand and exhales shakily against Henry’s lips.
Henry swallows. “Also?”
Alex can barely get the words out. Need grips him, overwhelming him, making his heart pound and sweat break out along his hairline. “Can I touch them?” he chokes out.
Henry stares at him, forehead furrowing in confusion. “So this whole thing…” He lifts his shoulders uncomfortably and then brings his shoulder blades together, forcing his wings to tuck closer to his body. "It doesn’t bother you?”
“Fuck no. Maybe? I don’t know. But I really, really want to touch them. You. I want to touch them and you. Fuck, Henry. I need…” Alex trails off and bites his lip, his eyes roaming over Henry’s body. “I mean, look at you! Jesus Christ. You have no idea what you look like right now. You’re gorgeous and nearly naked and you have fucking wings. I’m going to die if I can’t touch them—you—fuck—both. This is a lot right now, Henry. It’s a fucking lot.” Alex’s breathing is weird and out of rhythm. He’s having to, like, think about it. Isn’t breathing supposed to be automatic?
Henry looks him over, suspicion narrowing his eyes. It’s clear he thinks Alex might be having him on, but then his gaze flicks down to the obscene bulge in the front of Alex’s too-tight pants. “Oh,” he whispers. He takes a step back. “Alex, you cannot be serious.”
Alex closes the distance between them again. “I assure you I am.”
“You’ve just discovered, in the most astonishing and unexpected way possible, that I am not… human. And instead of losing your tiny mind over that revelation, you’re losing your tiny mind over my…” Henry looks over his own shoulder.
“Your wings,” Alex breathes. “Yes. Yep. Wings. You have wings. And I want to—I need to—” He lifts a trembling hand toward them. It takes every ounce of willpower he has to pause and wait for Henry’s permission. “Please.”
Henry’s eyes go dark and he licks his lips. His wings flex and shudder. “You can do anything you want to me, Alex.”
“Thank Christ,” Alex gasps and grabs him.