Heaven Can Wait

He sat watching TV, the patterns of color projected across his shirt.

She descends in the corner with her little smile and tucks her wings into a jaunty angle, kneeling at his feet. "Hello."

Only his eyes move, then they slide over her with the impersonal flow of water over rocks. His head moves briefly up in the economical acknowledgment involving the minimum amount of effort or interest.

"Hello again." She holds out one pale hand and extends it, her eyes meeting his with polite reproach. "This is a handshake. It is customary to extend your hand in greeting."

He stares through her, then raises his hand, shakes hers briefly and then drops his hand to the chair arm. "You're greeted. TV's on." His voice twisted into a mockery of hers. "It is customary to leave a gentleman the fuck alone when he obviously doesn't want to be disturbed."

She smiled. "You're right. I'm so rude. I should knock." She reaches over and raps on his head a few times. "Hello." She moves out of the way of the set and settles on the chair arm, scooting his arm out of the way by inches.

He moves his arm aside and it drops into his lap. His eyes roll and he takes a sip of his drink.

She turns to him. "What are we watching?"

His voice is monotone. "Nothing. There's nothing on."

Her brows draw together. "Nothing?" she makes a face. "What's the fun in that?"

He shrugs. "Fun is overrated."

Her eyes light up and the halo around her head sparkles briefly with the flashes of other places.

She breathes in excitement "There's so much to do, there are so many places to go."

His voice raises mockingly again "Yes, please, let's have a picnic and I can feed you morsels from my fingertips. I can watch the sunlight in your hair. Freakin' women, man. I swear, anytime I see one, it's because they want something. Nothing is on and that is the way I like it. Blow me."

Her eyebrows waggle and she appears in fine-grained leather from neck to toe. "Now we're getting somewhere."

He shrugs. "Been there, done that. Your tail is blocking the view."

She pouts. She sticks out her tongue, taps her foot for a moment and her eyes flash red. She climbs onto his lap slowly and leans forward to block his view with breasts in only enough restraint to tickle a questing mind's love for pushing boundaries.

He blinks deliberately and raises his eyes to hers. His voice hardens and there's inflection now. "BEEN there, DONE that. Now your tits are blocking my view." His hands slide along her thighs and cup under her ass, then he shoves her off his lap with a wicked smile.

She bounds to her feet and smiles, dusts herself off and where her hands pass the leather disintegrates and she's dressed in a cascade of silk that forms as her fingertips create the fabric like calligraphy strokes, graceful and organic.

She winks. "Gotcha. Knew you were in there somewhere."

He smiles, his lips pressed together. "Am not."

She steps forward and kneels, her hands sliding along his thighs and through his skin in ripples. His eyes close and his head tilts back in anticipation. His skin begins to darken and curl. His blood races across the surface of his wavering form, along emerging obsidian channels. Smoke rises and her hands boil in the heat until they evaporate. She falls forward and through, until she is gone from all sight and there are only wisps of steam and smoke rising from a man whose wings, horns and claws recede back into his body with a roll of his neck as if to release a muscle kink. He takes a sip of his drink.

He calls down to the coalescing puddle on the floor that reconstitutes into a woman. An ordinary woman without her wings or claws visible. His voice is soft with intertwined steel and velvet. "When are you going to stay?" he asks simply. There is a soft aura of his halo that glows and draws her nearer. She gazes with adoration and love at this man and soaks in the blends of energy pouring off him in waves. She stands and basks in joy, then tilts her head to look at him.

She knows she won't be heard, he won't listen because he doesn't know how. She states her simplest truth. A destination but no directions, because he has to find his own way. "When you can go with me. When you can join me where I live like I can join you where you live. Until then…if all you have to give is hell…I'll take it."

She kisses the center of his forehead and grace tumbles through him like a shot of whisky to the soul. He tightens and recoils from the sensation.

His eyes harden and he stares at her and she knows it is time to go. Panic washes through his eyes, and then is gone, replaced by the control and detachment worthy of the demon, then fades to nothing at all. She is gone.

He takes a sip of his drink. "Whatever."

He sat watching TV, the patterns of color projected across his shirt.