Eternal: Rival Angels Spark Eternal Bliss

When angels meet, the sparks will fly

I very nearly tripped over my own damned feet. For an ethereal being that was supposed to be graceful, I could be a real clutz. I kicked off my boots and flopped down on the sofa.

I was exhausted.

Three days of tracking the same human, waiting for his time to come. He had been scheduled to die in a traffic accident on Tuesday. It was now Thursday, and I was becoming annoyed with the increasing incompetency of the Human Management department.

I leaned forward and poured myself a tall bourbon. Topped it up further. Alcohol had little effect on angels, but if we drank enough, we could achieve a semblance of relaxation.

I needed it.

I slumped back in my seat and put my feet up on the worn, wooden coffee table that occupied the center of the break room along with a broken-down sofa that was in dire need of replacement.

Not on my dime. We didn't exactly get paid in human money. We had an expense account, so we could blend in. Appear to be human by shopping? Bourbon and the occasional outfit revival were the only expenses that were on my radar. That and the shitty apartment that had been found for me. I couldn't have been put in a worse end of town if Angel Resources had tried to punish me on purpose. Maybe they were being assholes. I wasn't exactly known for my amiability.

I sucked back a swallow from my glass. The liquid burned the back of my throat and warmed my belly. Or what resembled a human stomach. Our anatomy wasn't exactly the same. We did not need food to survive. We existed upon pure heavenly light.

Or some shit like that.

All I knew was I needed very few things to maintain my existence and sanity. Alcohol, sleep, and an adventurous fuck every once in a while. I shifted, loosening my pant's grip on my groin. Why we had been created with cocks was anyone's guess. Why they needed attention—that was beyond me. The drive for sex was an obvious oddity, but the last angel I had been with had become clingy. Wanting more from our relationship. He had spoken of feelings.

It had upended me. We weren't supposed to have romantic feelings for anyone—human or angel. Soft emotions of any kind, if we could help it. It was a sign of weakness. Our job required us to be impartial and unfeeling. Checks and balances. Each human was judged by their actions in life. Positive or negative. Their fate was decided by a tribunal judge. If we felt empathy and became invested in the loss of each human to the dark underworld, it would drive us mad.

My cellphone buzzed in my pocket. I checked my messages. Apparently, my human target had left his house and climbed into his car headed for the pub. With any luck, the human's choice of outings would bring this case to a close. I needed to sleep.

I checked my appearance. Blue jeans, white t-shirt, and black leather jacket and boots. A face that was chiseled and angelic. Startling blue eyes, shocking white-blond hair spiked into a punk rock style. The early 70s had been my favorite time in history. That and the promiscuous classical era of 1775 – 1825. I slipped my dark shades onto my face.

I stuck out like a sore thumb in modern times of 2052. I knew that. Angel Resources knew that. I didn't give one damned fuck that I did. I had an infinity to live through. If I couldn't have a bit of fun with it, there was no point. Not that I had a choice. It was my destiny—eternal.

I decided to walk. I had time to arrive at the pub in plenty of time. Sometimes strolling the wet streets of London suited me. Reflected my mood. Sure flying would be easier. I felt more comfortable in the sky than I did on my feet. But sometimes these old boots needed a workout.

Approaching the pub, I scanned the interior. My human target was still there; half-cut. He was getting tired, though. It wouldn't be much longer until he decided to go home. I rose to my full height of seven feet … another damned reason I didn't fit in.

I cloaked my presence and extended my wings. I needed to be ready to fly. Snatch the human's soul before it escaped into the ether.

The thump-thump of massive wings approaching had me looking skyward. My counterpart from the underworld for the evening hovered above me. He wouldn't land. If one of us missed snatching the human's soul, the other was there to ensure it arrived safely at the tribunal.

I could feel the buffeting gusts generated by his pumping wings on my face. I peered up at him. Whereas my wings were white, his were black, signifying he was on rotation in the underworld. I didn't recognize him. His skin was the most glorious dark chocolate. Shimmering. His black hair hung in long dreads, framing a dramatic, exotic face with black eyes and full lips. His chest, arms, and abs were bare; wearing a simple loincloth, a curly black happy trail visible, his thighs thick and muscular. The immense bulge between them …

I have to admit, my heart stuttered a little.

"Dimitri," I offered.

"Likam," he responded.

"Slow night?"

"Seen slower. Been waiting on this human."

"Yeah, Angel Resources needs to update their alert system or something."

"Good luck … a thousand years hasn't seen a change."

I checked on our target—still drinking. "You new in the region?"

"Brought in from New York last week."

"Move go all right?"

"I like to travel light."

Smart. I had a habit of accumulating junk. Mementos from the different eras. I had been assigned to Earth some three-hundred-thousand years back, in time for the first evolved humans; when they started understanding right from wrong. The angelic counsel had felt it wasn't right to judge them before that. The creators had agreed.

 I studied Lakim. I felt sorry for the angels assigned to the underworld. Right or wrong, humans were the creators' invention. Punishing them for being, well human, seemed senseless. If they were meant to be perfect, then why not create them that way? It was a question for the ages.

Free will. That was the line.

Damned stupid in my opinion. Lakim and his co-workers had to collect and care for the humans that needed correction before sending them back into the world. It had to be frustrating work. If humans were passed my way, I saw them safely to their destination. Reincarnation or retirement. It was up to them. A few minutes of my time, and I was done with them.

"How you liking it so far?" I asked. "London."

"Dreary."

"They set you up with a decent place to stay?"

"Marginal."

Okay, Lakim wasn't a talker. I could take a hint. But there was something about his sultry appearance and countenance that made my cock take interest.

"Care to make a wager on our target? Into the light or to the underworld."

Lakim shook his head. "Not my style."

I respected that. It was a despicable practice. Given the choice, I wouldn't do it, but often my counterparts from the underworld insisted on it. I liked to keep the peace.

Our human target exited the pub and headed for his car.

"You go ahead," I said to Lakim. "You're already airborne. I'll follow you."

Lakim swooped off in the direction the car had taken. It took some precision to snatch a soul. It would be interesting to see if Lakim's technique was up to par. I beat my wings and took to the air, staying close to him. I had to keep a sharp eye. Sometimes souls had a habit of zig-zagging out of a body and escaping. Collecting lost souls was a time-consuming process. Often Human Management gave the order to leave them be; let them haunt wherever they chose to occupy until they decided to come into a tribunal court of their own accord.

I sucked in a breath as the human's car left the road and smashed into a tree. It was never pleasant, watching a human life be snuffed out. But it was all part of the cycle. They weren't lost. Just up for recycling. I had collected some of the same souls over one hundred times each. Some more. It depended on how many were retiring and how many new ones were being created.

Lakim was on it; the soul. He angled his body, soared toward the car, arms outstretched and encircled the escaping essence of the human, his strong biceps bulging as he struggled to contain the strength of the human's soul. His bare chest heaved as he tossed his hair off his shoulders.

My heart fluttered.

I was in awe. His catch had been textbook perfection.

I swooped down to meet him. It would take both of us to bring the soul to the tribunal. My presence usually calmed them. I gave off a light that souls found comforting.

"Nice work," I commented.

Lakim smiled at me and my heart nearly stopped. My cock, on the other hand, sprung to attention. He was beautiful. And our close proximity—he smelled of strawberries and cream.

It was distracting. I had to shake my head to get it back in the game. We combined our energy and arrived in the regional tribunal waiting room. We took a spot on the bench, the soul struggling between us. He was a feisty one. The chances of him wanting to retire were slim. You could always tell. The ones that were at the end of their reincarnation cycle were usually sedate.

Our docket number was called and we entered the plush room that held the fate of the human's soul. Lakim and I would argue for and against. The judge would decide.

I called up the soul's good deed sheet on my phone.

Lakim started. "Thomas Taylor. Thirty-seven. Married. Two children …" Not that any of that mattered. It just needed to be listed in The Book of Judgement.

"Second marriage," Lakim continued. "Some domestic disputes with his first wife."

I cleared my throat. "Unsubstantiated. She never pressed charges."

Lakim scrolled through his phone. "Age eighteen, he broke into and stole a car."

"He was pressured by bullies. They told him they were going to kill his dog." I looked at Lakim. His gaze was taking me in. He huffed out a grunt and went back to his phone.

"He gave to charity for years," I added. "Volunteered at an animal shelter."

"He didn't pay his taxes for two years."

"He was in distress after the death of his mother."

"He forgot his wife's birthday."

"Really?" I pressed a fist to my hip. "That's all you've got."

"She was feeling suicidal."

"Did she share that with him?"

"No."

I threw my hands up. "Then how was he supposed to know?"

"There were signs."

I coughed out a laugh. "Signs?" I scanned through my notes. "By all accounts, he was an attentive and caring husband. If he had known his wife was suffering, he would've been there for her. Every action he took during their marriage bears testament to that."

The judge folded his hands on the desk. "Lakim, do you disagree?"

Lakim huffed out a sigh. "I believe he would have come to his wife's aid."

"Then he goes back into circulation." The judge brought his gavel down on the desk. "Find out when he wants to go back, Dimitri. I'll allow a rest period if he desires."

"Sir." I bowed and took custody of the soul. I could manage him on my own from here. He had calmed down. The decision of reincarnation must have been a relief for him.

"It was good working with you," Lakim extended his hand. It was rare to shake another angel's hand, but Lakim seemed to be a different breed altogether. Decent—professional.

His firm hand took hold of mine. Strong—but hesitant. My mind wandered as I gripped it; my imagination picturing his strong fingers perusing my body. I may have lingered. I was certainly slow to release him. His fingers dragged along my palm as he drew away.

His deliberate, sensuous action produced a tingle straight up my spine.

I needed to go home. Go home and picture Lakim in all sorts of lurid positions. The angel had rattled me. My chest was tight—my hands sweating—my mind in spasms.

My cock—damn, my cock was rock hard.

It was difficult to fly, my mind kept wandering back to Lakim stroking his fingers along my palm. Had I imagined it? Did it mean anything? When would I see him again and find out?

I dumped the soul off in a holding cell, awaiting reincarnation. He had opted to be reborn right away. After a bit of paperwork was completed, he would be free to go.

I stumbled into my apartment, catching my foot on the edge of the door. My keys landed on the floor. Damned feet. I scooped the keys up and headed for the kitchen after locking the door behind me. It wasn't that I was afraid of anyone breaking in and roughing me up. I was immortal and had the strength of the sun behind me. I wanted to be alone. Alone with my thoughts of Lakim.

I lifted a tumbler of bourbon to my lips and sipped it as I sunk onto the bed in my dingy, cockroach-infested, one-room apartment. I set the glass on the bedside table and collapsed into the bedding. I drew my hand up along the fly of my jeans, my fierce, hard cock straining to be released. I unbuttoned my pants, unzippered, and released it.

The cool air surrounded my aching girth.

A tap on my window startled me. I lived on the sixth floor. No fire escape, no way to reach my window. It wasn't a burglar. Lakim's muscular form filled the opening of my window; his ebony wings flapping, suspending him outside my apartment window.

My chest rose and fell in anticipation. This wasn't a work-related call. The subtle hint he had stroked along my palm had meant something after all. I tucked my thumbs into the band of my jeans and hauled down, removing the clothing from my hips. Lakim pressed his hand to the window; watching. I shuffled the jeans down my thighs, my cock bouncing.

I sat up, removed my jacket, and pulled my t-shirt off over my head. I reached forward and tugged my boots off my feet. Jeans, underwear, and socks were next. Everything ended up on the floor. I stretched out on my bed and encased my cock with my fist, pulling—slow and steady. I rocked my hips up and back, panting with each pass over my shaft.

Lakim's breath fogged up my window. I decided to put him out of his misery and let him in. Not that he couldn't have found a way in on his own. Angels could pass through windows and walls with ease … but he was being a gentleman.

The force by which Lakim slammed me against the far wall from the window nearly winded me; his wings pounding out a steady thrum-thrum-thrum. His hand encased my throat, pinning me to the wall. I tipped my chin up, daring him to strangle me further. I stretched my arms out against the wall in submission. If this was the game he wanted to play—I was all for it.