his hands matched his tongue

Levent Kartal · 03-20-2012, 08:44 AM

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Levent had never seen an angel before. Perhaps they were all afraid of him as this one seemed to be, shifting back, uncertain, too pure for his dirty hands to touch. Perhaps that was why he would walk through cehennem to achieve everlasting life through deals with devils such as the woman whose scent tainted the beauty’s silvery-white pelt. He could speak to demons, could go behind the god’s back to spin their power into his, but the thought of angels had never crossed his mind.

He eased his wild smile, halting his advance and simply letting the pair of them look at each other. The slender creature in front of him shimmered in the moonlight as if he were sculpted from it, the glow lovingly darkening shadows and highlighting curves that made him only more gorgeous. Only his voice ruined the illusion of perspective, coming out rough, but the Turkish man only nodded.

“Dhiate,” Levent echoed, tasting the name for a brief moment before cocking his head at him. He allowed the illusion that the moon had beamed on them to fade slightly by speaking more casually, friendly, although still he could do only so much to cover his growing hunger. He stretched his arms up over his head, tail flicking behind him, and asked an innocent question: “Too lovely a night to waste sleeping, or could you not sleep?” One did not have to be a sinner to fall prey to nightmares.

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