Chapter 7

Lynsael couldn't force himself to move off the comfortable mattress. He'd been lying there all morning on his stomach with his left arm stretched the width of the bed, fingers dangling to the floor. The roar of a truck driving outside made him flick his eyes to the window. When it was gone, he focused back in on the light tan colored carpeting underneath his arm.

Earlier in the morning, he'd been awakened by the buzz of the alarm clock, and Blaine rustling with the sheets. He'd lain in bed, listening to the running shower on the other side of the bathroom door, and imagined his human charge under the raining water. Blaine's broad chest gleaming with soap; hot drops of water beading across his skin...

The only thing between them was the closed door. Blaine had locked it this time, making sure Lynsael didn't try anything like yesterday. But if Lynsael couldn't win the human's heart, he had no chance to love Blaine anyway. And the way it looked now, Blaine wasn't going to crack.

Lynsael sighed.

Out of curiosity, he reached under the bed and pulled out a stack of Blaine's magazines. Everything from Playboy to Men's Health splayed before his eyes. As he turned the pages of the February issue of Maxim, the living room door slammed, and he bounced off the bed, prepared for Blaine to come into the room.

The jangle of keys hit the counter top. Then he heard Blaine mumble to himself and call out, “Hey, Lyn. Where are you?” Footsteps stomped on the floor, and the bedroom door flew open. “What are you doing?”

Lynsael smiled and spread his arms wide in hopes for a hug. “Welcome home.”

Blaine furrowed his brows. “My magazines? Really?”

Lynsael peered at the pile of magazines. He didn't think he'd get into trouble for looking. “Is that okay?”

“As long as you pick them up when you're done,” Blaine said, leaning down to stack the magazines on top of each other. “You didn't read this, did you?” He held up a magazine, a partly naked woman stretched on her back with her hands spread against her naked thighs on the cover. Lynsael shook his head. “Good, cause you don't really need to look at that. You know, the whole purity, good virtue thing and all.”

“Sex isn't all that evil,” Lynsael said, watching the man stuff the magazines under the bed.

Blaine popped his head up; his jaw clenched. “I never said it was.”

“It's one of the most greatest things in the world.”

“Okay. Yeah, that's wonderful.” Blaine stood quickly. “Have you been in here the entire day?”

Lynsael nodded, a coy grin spread on his lips. “There's not really anything to do when you're not around.”

“I already said you could watch television. Just don't turn it up too loud.” Blaine motioned to the living room, to the equipment on the other side of the wall. “And you could always make yourself a snack.”

“Your cooking is really good, though. I'd rather save my appetite,” Lynsael said, a flush building through his cheeks.

“Right... Well, I'll tell you what. I'll make us something for lunch.” Blaine slipped his green work shirt over his head. “Let me get out of these nasty clothes first, though.”

The harsh scent of fried foods drifted towards Lynsael as Blaine threw his shirt on the bed next to him, but the horrid smell wouldn't make Lynsael drop his eyes from the strong, athletic body in front of him. As Blaine moved across the bedroom floor, shadows stretched along the creases of muscles in his back. The light curved over the black outline of a full tattoo, the Celtic dragon stretching from Blaine's shoulder blades to his lower back, and Lynsael tried to fight the flush from building through his face.

Blaine unbuckled his work slacks, letting them fall around his waist to the floor. Blaine's tight boxers hugged his firm backside as he dug through his dresser drawers. The sudden carelessness on Blaine's part had Lynsael's thoughts in a fury. His cock thumped inside the barrier of his uncomfortable jeans. He wanted to dash up behind Blaine and surprise him with sultry kisses, while pressing his hardness into the crease of Blaine's boxers. It could work; he could steal Blaine's heart instead of trying to win it over.

Lynsael slid off the bed, trying his best to remain quiet as he advanced closer to Blaine, but his toe caught on a pair of dirty pants and he had to stop to shake them off.

But Blaine turned around, buttoning on a clean pair of jeans. “You ready?”

Lynsael straightened his spine. “Yep.” His rigid hard on still aching underneath the rough fabric.

“You okay?” Blaine asked, as Lynsael tried to adjust himself.

“Never better. So what are you making this time?”

“Um, I was thinking of flatbread wraps. Sound good?”

Lynsael nodded; a rumbling in his stomach.

***

“You seemed kind of mad when you got off of work,” Lynsael said, the stuffed, toasted flatbread wrap close to his lips. “Don't you like your job?”

“Yeah...” Blaine rolled his eyes. “No, actually, it sucks. Working fast food always sucks, though.”

“Fast food?”

“Yeah, you know. Serving food to people in a hurry.” Blaine took a small bite from the corner of his wrap. “It's nasty, greasy, and...” he choked down his bite. “Bleh.” Blaine trembled from head to toe just thinking about everything he'd gone through during his shift.

“Why don't you leave?”

“I can't. I really need the money. Besides, even if we get that gig at the club, it won't pay for everything like rent and utilities.” Blaine paused a moment. “I wonder if Vanessa's going to call,” he murmured. He looked up at Lynsael, who sat stock-still, eyes dead set on him and sparkling in the lights. “Vanessa's the co-owner of the club,” Blaine continued. “It's really important that the band get this gig.”

“Will you be gone more?” Lynsael asked.

Blaine shrugged. “Friday nights, yeah. But you'll be fine by yourself, Lyn.”

“What do you do in this band?”

“Play the bass. Don't you know what a band is?”

Lynsael nodded. “I've watched concerts before from—“ He pointed up into the air. “—but I always wondered how great they would sound right next to the stage.”

“Oh, it's awesome, actually. Loud. You gotta have an ear for it, though. If metal isn't your thing, then you wouldn't want to come see us play.”

“Think I could see your band someday?”

“Not with those—“ Blaine stilled. He narrowed his eyes on Lynsael, noticing that his wings weren't spread as far as normal. “What's going on with your wings?”

Lynsael turned and grasped the tip of his right black, feathered wing. He ruffled the feathers through his fingers, concern etched into his face. “I don't know. They're shorter... Why are they shorter?” He turned to his left and spotted his other wing had also shrunk.

“Are you okay?” Blaine watched Lynsael turn his head left and right in worry.

“This is... Weird. I just cannot... Were they this short earlier?”

Blaine chuckled to himself. “Look, I wouldn't worry so much abou—“

“No.” Lynsael interrupted. “This is bad. I mean, there's a story that guardians tell each other about an angel who went into the mortal world and lost his wings.”

“But your not losing feathers.” Blaine stood, leaned over the table, and stacked the dirty plates. “Seriously, they look fine. Don't get worked up about it.”

“You think they look okay?”

“Yeah.” Blaine let a smile spread on his lips to the fact that Lynsael's wings looked more adorable than ever.

The dishes rattled under Blaine's hand. When he picked them up, the clanking stopped, but the trembling didn't. Nothing could stop the flush, the boiling heat rising through Blaine's face as Lynsael peered at him with those majestic eyes. Something unraveled within him; he had found himself enjoying Lynsael's company.

“I'm... um, I'm going to jump in the shower,” Blaine choked out.