“What are you majoring in?” asks the angel “I feel like I should’ve asked that before I was like ‘hey you’re a succubus let’s bang’.”
“So you waited until we were both naked and about to fuck.” asks the succubus dryly “Right now, apparently, theology.”
“Religious academia, worship, and eating out an angel aren’t the same thing.”
“Give me five minutes, I can change your mind.”
“You should bring your friend!” chirps the relative stranger “It’ll be fun, you know? A night at the bar, just us first years!”
“Uh,” says the succubus “My friend?”
“You know, [Angel]! You two seem like really good friends.”
“Yep.” says the succubus “That’s one way of putting it. Friends. Totally platonic.”
“What happens when it’s time for you to go home?” asks the succubus
“Hm?” the angel hums “What do you mean? I go home.”
“I mean, is it going to be okay?” the succubus says slowly “You’ve been sleeping with me, keeping me fed-”
“You’re wondering if I’m damned because I fuck, and I fuck demons?” laughs the angel “Because I,” the angel kisses the succubus’ cheek “Love,” xe kisses zir nose “You?” xe kisses zir lips, gently “Is there anything more holy than to help and love?”
“Hey,” says the angel “Check it out.”
At the base of xir shoulder blades, the place where xir physical vessle begins to thin and the succubus can see into xir True self, little downy feathers cover the space where xir wings are supposed to extend from.
The angel has never had red feathers before.
“I think I’m growing,” says the angel “I think I’m changing.”
“Hey,” whispers the succubus “[Angel], are you awake?”
The angel doesn’t stir.
“Okay,” the succubus places a gentle kiss on the angels cheek “I love you.”
“You look at me like you’re asking for forgiveness, did you know that?” says the angel, leaning in close “[Succubus], I can’t offer you benediction.”
“I’m a creature of the damned,” agrees the succubus lazily, but the angel cuts xir off
“Of course not.” says the angel “You’re a creature. A being. There’s no such thing as an inherent sin. I can’t offer you benediction because I gave that away to be with you.”
“Hello, angel,” the succubus purrs “You look dashing.”
“I’m wearing your clothes, you big possessive dork.” the angel sniffs “None of them actually fit.”
“It’s cute. I like it.”
There are only a few rules to this game. The first is: Never. Ever. Talk about it.
There’s demons in the sewers calling out to cats and lost children, mermaids swimming in muck with song like grief and hatred, angels over by the bus stations offering peace to the ill and eating the fever warmed marrow.
There are those who can see, the young and curious and old and unlucky, those who know, but you must never talk about it.
The second rule is: There are a lot of things worse than death. Be ready to get it over with if one of those things turns it’s eyes on you.
It’s not as fancy as war spies with their false teeth- knives hidden in the folds of your jeans or a syringe of contaminate drugs in the lining of your bra will do just as well, really. It’s better. And if you’re in the know, you should be beyond fear, anyway.
The third is: that kid over on fifth street should not exist.