“On the pillows?” she asked, still not looking at me bar one brief flick of her eyes.
“Yes. Um… I can pile up the blanket, and lean on that. And then when you want to do my wings we can… make a plan, I guess?
“Okay…” she said.
“Caitlyn?”
“Yeah,” she quavered.
“You’re… look, if this is going to make you uncomfortable…”
“No… no… I’ll be fine. It’s just… I’ve never had a naked girl in my room before and… and my mind is just being stupid and… I’m sorry. You must think I’m a complete mess…”
“It’s fine,” I said, gently. “How can I help?”
“Lets just get started,” she whispered, still pink as dawn. “I’ll… get over myself. Somehow or other.”
I sat down on her bed, and then nestled back against the pile of pillows and blankets. I lifted a knee slightly and twisted over towards her. I rested my head on my folded arm, then waved the second one at her. “Not sure what to do with this one,” I announced.
“Just… let it rest across your tummy, I think,” she managed. “No… not that low,” she said, with a choking laugh, as I curled it over my mons. “It’s… distracting. Shit.”
I watched her, sympathy and amusement warring.
“Cait?”
“Sorry. Just… just spazzing out. It will pass.”
“You haven’t been with anyone in a while, have you?” I asked
She started to place long, curving lines onto the fresh sheet of paper she’d clipped to her easel.
It took her a while to answer.
“I’ve… never been with anyone,” she said. Her ears were flaming.
“Oh.”
“I was, stupidly, saving myself in the hope that… fuck, I don’t know, that a bolt would come down from on high and Annie would… come to her senses. I’d have… I’d have let her have me. I’d have enjoyed letting her be my first.”
“It was a hard place to be,” I sympathised. “But… it’s been six months. I know that it’s probably still a raw wound, but has… has there really not been anyone?”
“You’re the only girl I spend any time with these days,” she murmured.
“Oh.”
I mulled that over for a while as she pinned more of me to paper.
“That sounds very lonely,” I said, softly.
“It is. I have… guy friends. But…”
“You’re gay,” I answered, without judgement.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Such a cliche. The gay and haunted artist. How droll.”
“Not at all.”
I watched her as she gave shape to my hips.
“Jenny?”
“Yes?”
“Do angels… um… you know…”
“Have sex?”
“Yeah,” she breathed.
“Not so much them, no. But… demons and Revenants like me go at it like bunnies,” I said. “Demons because, well… it’s their nature. And I guess it’s ours too, what with being… almost human.”
“Oh. The Church would throw a fit.”
“The Saints stick their fingers in their ears and pretend it doesn’t happen, but… everybody needs to be touched, and… the work is hard. Soul-destroying in some cases. Sometimes you just need someone to hold you.”
“And… do you?”
“Sometimes,” I said softly.
“With… boys?”
“No,” I said, with finality.
“Oh,” she whispered. Her pencil paused, then resumed.
“So you’re… like me?” she asked, softly.
“Very similar, in many ways, I think,” I answered. “But… gender doesn’t matter much up there. It’s just for me… it’s… it’s still hard, sometimes.”
She glanced up at me; still flushed, but also very grave.
“I… think I understand,” she said. “For what it’s worth… um…”
“What is it?” I asked, curious.
“It’s just… I wish…”
“Wish what,” I breathed.
“Wish I could meet someone like you,” she said.
She raised her haunted gaze to me, then looked away again. She rolled her shoulders and started shading in the shadows around my ribs and breasts.
I shifted my hips slightly, intensely conscious of two things. Firstly, we’d strayed into shifting sands. And secondly, my nipples were hard and there was a growing heat in my belly.
I was very aware of her gaze; she was trying desperately not to stare at my breasts or the framed vee of my sparsely-haired groin. There was a high colour on her cheeks and throat; I suspected that she, too, was not as unaffected as she might hope to be.
“Do you have a… partner?” she asked me, stammering slightly.
“Sometimes. But… her work is hard, so we don’t see much of one another.”
“It must be lonely.”
“It is very lonely up there. That’s part of why I enjoy these times with you.”
“I enjoy them as well,” she whispered. “They… you give me something to look forward to.”
“Sorry it’s so complicated.”
“Yeah. It’s… odd, isn’t it. It makes me wish you were human so I could see you more frequently.”
She sighed, and tried to roll some tension out of her neck.
I watched her, noting the way she winced.
“Cait? Are you sore?”
“Very,” she breathed.
“Hang on,” I said. “Let me help.”
I sat up and swung my legs off the bed, then padded softly over behind her. I put my hands on her shoulders, and pulled her backwards until her head rested against my belly. I began to rub her shoulders, to massage her, hyper-aware of the intensity of the sensation of her hair against my skin, of the warm and almost romantic soft lighting of the room, and of how my heart was racing.
Caitlyn let out a pathetic little whimper.
“That’s so nice,” she whined. “Oh, that’s so nice. Oh, your hands are so soft, so warm…”
I stared down at her, down into the gap between her small breasts. She was shivering against me and goosebumps had appeared on her arms. Her head slumped sideways, exposing the curve of her ear and sweep of her pale white neck under her shadow-black hair.
I stared at her earlobe, at her throat, at the small line of blue buttons that were all that kept her blouse on and the rest of her hidden from me.
I teased my fingers in under her collar, she moaned softly, turned her head further so her cheek was hot against my skin.
And I was led directly into temptation.
Her bra straps were in the way; I slowly nudged them outwards over her shoulders, enjoying the way her blouse hung just that little bit more open, exposing just that little bit more to my over-the-shoulder view.
“You’re… so nice,” she whispered.
She reached up, caught my hands in hers, held them for a heartbeat.
Then, not shifting in any other way, she fumbled at her buttons and popped them one after the other.
The fabric of her shirt fell in folds away from her; I could see her nipples peeking out from the gap between her little lace cups and the pale alabaster of her breasts.
She took my hands again and slowly, infinitesimally, eased them downwards and under the lace with a shivery little sigh.
I let out a low moan of need as I felt her nipples between my fingers. She shuddered, knees squeezing tight together, a wordless sound escaping her. I folded her top back, found the clasp of her bra, and unclipped it. I let bra and blouse slide down her back as I reached down and began to kiss the graceful arch of her neck. Her exquisite breasts were small and firm under my hands, and her heart was racing even faster than mine was.
“Tell me to stop,” I whispered to her.
“No,” she moaned.
“Tell me to stop or I’m not going to.”
“Never,” she whimpered. “I… I want you to touch me like this. I’m… ready for this…”
I bent forward further, began to tug at the fabric of her skirt, pulling it upwards along her thighs. She whimpered, squirming against me.
“Caitlyn”, I breathed.
“Uh… huh…”
“Do you… touch yourself?”
“Sometimes…” she gasped.
“Okay. So… you know what I’m about to do, then.”
And I slid my hand down between her thighs and found her panties and dragged them aside; she cried out in shock, then subsided in to a low, throaty moan as I found her soaking slit and fumbled for her firm little clitoris.
“Oh… oh God,” she whimpered as her thighs spasmed closed on me.
She was soaking wet, hot and ready.
I wanted her.
But the angle was too awkward.
So I pulled away and stepped around her.
She’d just drawn breath to begin to complain when I got my arms under her thighs and lifted her straight upwards.
She squealed, clutching her arms instinctively around me and staring down at me with an almost scared expression.
“Oh fuck me, you’re strong,” she said, shakily.
“No. You’re just very slender. Cait?”
“Yes?”
“Your bed would be… better… for this,” I whispered.
She nodded hesitantly.
And I carried her over and set her gently down. I tripped the buttons on the waistband of her skirt, and undid the little zip. I pulled it gently off her; she swallowed and then pushed her lavender panties (with their pronounced damp patch) down her legs so that I could finish the job for her. She struggled out of her bra and shirt. then eased backwards, staring up at me.
She was flushed, shivering slightly. Her nipples were pink and erect; I could almost hear her racing pulse. The thick black curls of her pubic hair – so foreign to me – were an enormously erotic marker. She saw me looking, squeezed her legs together as if shy before realizing what she was doing and slowly, hesitantly, opening herself for me.
Her lips glistened under the soft lighting, wet and ready; I felt a hot pulse of need.
“Cait,” I said, softly. “I’m not going to do this if you don’t want me to…”
“I do, I do,” she stammered. “I’m… I’m just so…”
“Nervous?” I whispered. “Don’t be.”
I sat down on the bed and curled my legs up. “We don’t need…”
“No!” she gasped. “I’m… I’m tired of not knowing. What it’s like. I want to do this. Please, just… can you take me?”
“I’m not going to take anything,” I said. “That’s not how it is at all. Not when it’s… agreed. Gentle. I want you to be comfortable. Will it help if… if I let you touch me?”
She swallowed hard, nodded.
“Okay. I’m… going to straddle you, okay?”
“Okay,” she said.
I shifted closer, threw my leg over her. She stared at my exposed and open crotch, and I felt a little shiver of delight as she swallowed, hard.
“You’re… so clean,” she whispered. “Do… do you shave?”