13THE BOY WHO DYED RED
3. Corner of Your Eye
Chance awoke to the sound of Jackal coming home.
He shot up and dashed for the boy. As Jackal was shutting the front door, Chance slammed into him, sending the contents that had been in Jackal's arms flying this way and that.
With a wayward grin, Chance searched the bag of goodies.
"Uh, ouch?" Jackal snapped.
Chance gave him an uncaring look. "What did you buy me, kid? More cake, I hope."
Jackal looked momentarily stunned before shaking himself out of it. "You ate my entire birthday cake three days ago, and you want more?"
Chance stood up with a bag of cheese strings. "What might this be?"
"My coworkers gave me that cake!" Jackal was yakking. "It was white cake with cream cheese icing, and I was saving it for a sad day. Ironically, you ate it and every day after have been sad days."
"Like you were gonna eat the whole thing in one go," Chance muttered. He walked into the kitchen.
"You did!" Jackal shouted.
Chance walked.
How did one find a demon?
He'd never actually gone out of his way to find one. No, this one had found him and made him fall.
Hands in his pockets, Chance looked right and left as his feet took him down sidewalk after sidewalk. He'd mugged some cash from his roomie — kid kept crumpled bills all over the house that he thought were well hidden — and although he had no intentions of using it, he thought it might come in handy just in case.
There wasn't really much to do when you were walking, he soon realized. Well, one could argue. You could skip or prance or pop n' lock your way down the street, but Chance didn't fancy doing any of that shit.
He did fancy heavying his steps so he was practically stomping. Seriously. Seriously. How the hell did one find a fucking demon on this forsaken planet?
His teeth grit.
"Foul tempered anti-angel," came a translucent, dark voice from above somewhere. Chance lifted his head to see the very demon of his desires lying atop an old, cracked, flashing sign. He lounged like a panther, toned body stretched out, and Chance wanted him spread so he could see every goddamn inch of the critter.
He tried to shake off his lustful thoughts. "Found you, fucker," he said.
The demon cocked his head. "Did you? Or did I appear above you and speak to you, therefore getting your attention?" He rolled off the sign and landed on all fours in front of Chance. Chance would've stepped back a little had it been anyone else so close, but this was the demon he wanted to have writhing and gasping beneath him, so as far as he was concerned — the closer, the better.
The demon straightened and stood before Chance. "Or would you still take credit for 'finding me'?" he asked, softly.
Seriously, man. The mere sound of this guy's voice made Chance's body ignite. Were all demons this shaggable? Why hadn't he been born a demon? He'd love life...
"I guess it doesn't matter," Chance muttered. "You're here, and I don't have to look for you anymore."
"Stupid anti-angel," the demon said, and his voice was so fucking throaty and lazy and Chance couldn't take it — he couldn't — "stop looking for me."
Chance arched an eyebrow. "I have, I said. You're right here."
The demon took a step closer, and Chance's pulse went rapid. So close, so torturously close. He felt himself react a little, felt an unignorable heat. "I'm telling you to fuck off."
Get the fuck off, perchance?
"Every time you think of me — which is frighteningly a lot — I get a nudge, so I repeat: fuck off," the demon explained.
The demon was aware of when someone thought of him?
"What?" Chance said, dumbfounded.
"Just what I said," the demon sighed. "You think of me, and I get notified. Like an annoying text message built into my body. Zrrr, that weak minded angel is jacking off at your memory again. Zrrr, angel is again fantasizing about you. Zrrr, angel is looking for you." His lips pulled back as he bared his teeth. "Can you imagine how gyrating that is?"
"Gyrating..." Chance echoed. "That's an odd ability."
"It's a curse, shitface."
"Curse?"
"Never mind," he said, brushing a hand through the air in a no-care way. "Find someone else to bang."
Chance smirked and shook his head. "No way, demon. I lost my wings for you. You'd better give me something for that."
The demon lifted an eyebrow. Then, his expression changed to one full of thought. "Or should I be using you, anti-angel..." He turned to the side, his eyes stuck on the pavement.
Yes, yes, oh god yes. "Use me," Chance said, dead serious. "However you like. Please, fucking use me until I'm useless."
The demon blinked up at him. "You've got some serious pent up sexual frustration, don't you..."
Chance smiled. Well, he couldn't deny that.
The demon shrugged, and Chance watched as the muscles in his chest and arms moved. Don't salivate, he ordered himself.
"I'll think on shit," the demon.
"Like what?"
"Maybe you'll find out," the demon, "or maybe not. Haven't decided yet."
Cryptic.
"I'm not put off by kink," Chance threw in.
"Stop thinking about me."
The demon was gone in the next instant, and Chance groaned in frustration. Yep, pent up frustration.
Jackal wasn't home when Chance got back. Kid was likely off working. He worked at so many different places, day and night. Sometimes he'd come in looking like a zombie... well, who was Chance kidding? Jackal always came back looking like a zombie. Or a zombie's meal. Which was also a zombie... so a zombie made by a zombie made by a zombie?
Whatever, it didn't matter.
He draped himself down on the floor and fell asleep. He wasn't sure how long he was out for — not long, he believed — when he heard movement.
He opened his eyes and saw a white-winged blond boy peering down at him with a put off expression.
"You're the Prince of White Wings?" the boy asked. He looked to be about nineteen or so, and wore a form-fitting white shirt and light blue pants. Nothing covered his holy little feet.
"And you are who?" Chance asked, sitting upright.
"Kaze. I'm a retriever."
"Like the dog?"
"Like a person who retrieves the garbage that missed the bin," said the angelic dude.
"Um, trash collector? Doesn't sound elegant."
"Neither does being the actual trash, Prince," the boy retorted, his tone hard.
Chance lifted an eyebrow and smirked. He supposed not. "What's the point in retrieving trash? I fell. What the fuck do you want?"
The boy sat down on the couch next to Chance. Kaze. What a ridiculous name. "Just because you fell doesn't mean you're forgotten. I mean, normally, yeah... but you're you. You're the Prince of White Wings. Mind you, your wings are nothing but tatters, but we can restore them."
Chance watched him, his smirk freezing.
He had a chance to go back?
He could?
Here he thought he may as well fuck around, find that demon, bend him over and destroy his ambitions...
He thought he may as well fuck up since he could never be redeemed...
Kaze was smiling at him — a warm smile, oddly enough — with shining blue eyes. Blond hair, blue eyes, wasn't he just a perfect picture. And yeah... he was kinda cute. For a fluttery thing. "You didn't think you could come back, did you?"
Quiet, Chance shook his head.
Kaze traced his fingernails down the couch's armrest. "All you gotta do is prove to me that you want to come back, that you won't ever give into temptation again, that you will always be an example for the angels who look up to you."
Chance's eyebrows rose. "You're not just a retriever, but also someone who can pass judgement like that?"
Kaze nodded, expressionless. "I can lift you back to your glory, my prince."
They locked eyes.
Chance didn't know what to do.
He really, really wanted that demon. He really, really needed that demon.
But he had a chance to go back, if he didn't give into temptation.
Kaze smiled reassuringly and Chance smiled back, wondering if quenching the beast inside of him could really be done.
AN: lol it's like... a shoulder angel and shoulder devil situation. I didn't even do that on purpose... but I'll roll with it ;)