“Dean, huh? My name’s Gabriel.”
A name like that on a pretty face like his could only mean trouble. Nadine knew better. But knowing better had never stopped her before.
“How Abrahamic of you,” she observed, cocking an eyebrow, sipping at a beer that was half water and half swill. He only smiled, all charm, and she could have sworn she saw a spot of light reflect off his perfect teeth.
“A little,” he admitted, and she was charmed by his restraint; his type had a tendency toward melodrama, and she’d half expected him to spread a hitherto unnoticed set of wings to let her bask in his glory. His hair looked gold – not blonde, but gold – and she wondered if the carpet matched the drapes.
“You look human enough – you got all human parts, or are you missin’ some bits?” She was never one to beat around the bush, but it wasn’t as if the question were out of nowhere. He had to have come to a seedy bar like this for some reason, and he wasn’t shy about checking her out, letting his unnaturally blue eyes roam over her figure. The way she was standing admittedly invited such appraisals, bent with her elbows resting on the bar, legs straight and backed arched.
“Not all human,” he said with a grin, having to lean down to speak with her, tall as so many Gaians were – six and a half feet, if she had to guess. “I like to think that what parts I have are… better.” This made Nadine’s eyebrows shoot up, adjusting her glasses and looking him over again. She ran her fingers through her hair, thick black curls falling to her shoulders with a bounce, considering the possibilities. When she stood suddenly straight, he mirrored her action and stood as well. She could tell he wasn’t just watching her – he was watching the room, keeping an eye out for… something. She stood on her toes, feet clad in converse, and held up a hand as if measuring his height. Then she lowered the hand to her own height with an impish smile.
“I think you might be too big for me, Gabriel.” Her tone was breathy with feigned awe, fluttering her thick lashes, clasping her hands behind her back and bending one knee in a coy pose. He smiled, all sweetness, leaning down again to look her in the eye – face only inches from her own.
“Worried I’d hurt you?” he asked, and Nadine would never understand why so many men were thrilled by the notion of causing their partners terrible physical pain, so long as their dicks were to blame. Hardly anyone crowed about being able to tear women open with their fists, but apparently it was worth bragging rights if they used their cocks instead.
“What would you do if you did? Hurt me, that is?” Her head cocked to the side, on alert for potential red flags.
“That depends on whether or not you liked it.”
She grinned at that; he was a clever one. “Let’s assume I didn’t – just out of curiosity.”
He took the hand not holding her beer, kissed her knuckles as if she were a lady of class and not a barfly with nails chewed short. “Stop immediately, and beg your forgiveness.” She smiled despite herself, though there was no way of knowing if he was being honest; it was just as likely that he simply knew how to best assuage the fears of paranoid women. She took another swig of her beer, set it down on the counter.
“Is this how makeouts work where you’re from, or do you kiss mouths, too?” Gabriel smiled his dazzling smile again, kissed along her arm like Gomez Addams before pressing his lips gently to hers. When he deepened the kiss, explored her mouth with his tongue, she didn’t even mind that he was still watching the door. He tasted divine.
Which was appropriate.
When he finally broke the kiss, she was about ready to rip his clothes off right in the middle of the bar. It was doubtful anyone would even notice, judging by the couple in the corner booth. It was one of those places – which is to say, Nadine’s favorite. He held her chin in his fingers to tilt her face toward his, and for one hopeful moment she thought he was going to kiss her again – but then his gaze went to the door, all pretense of focusing on her abandoned. “Dean?”
Please don’t ask me to do anything dangerous please don’t say you’re too busy with bullshit for a quickie c’mon now.
His hand took hers, and he handed her something – a keycard, the sort from a hotel. “The hotel and the room number are on the key – can you wait there for me?” He nodded his head toward the back door, but her gaze went instead to the front, to see what exactly he’d been waiting for all this time. A black-haired man, as tall as Gabriel – she supposed she ought to have guessed. With a sigh she accepted the keycard, grabbed her bag and headed in the direction he’d indicated.
“Try not to keep me waiting too long,” she called over her shoulder; shortly after she’d left, the explosions started.
♡♡♡♡♡
Gabriel had gotten larger in her absence – not that she was complaining. She supposed it was the fight that had done it, that perhaps he was one of those multiform sorts. She’d met his chatting up ladies face, and here was his face after getting it smashed in. His lip was bleeding, and when he kissed her he tasted like copper and gold – which would normally be quite the party foul, as far as Nadine was concerned. Strange bodily fluids were a one-way ticket to burning sensations, after all. But based on how quickly the gash in his side was knitting itself, she could only assume he had some sort of healing hoodoo.
If nothing else, she could now throw caution to the wind and enjoy what other bodily fluids he had to offer.
His skin had gone from white to gold, presumably around the time he’d sprouted up a foot. Had he always been able to wrap his hands around her waist and have his fingers touch? Not that she had that large of a waist, but it still seemed entirely too large and long-fingered for hands to be, as he lifted her in the air and kicked off his boots.
The wings were a bit disconcerting, but it wasn’t as if she hadn’t dealt with those before. As long as he didn’t go flapping them around to perform a mating dance, she couldn’t care less.
“Sorry about the delay,” he apologized into her mouth, and his voice had gone deeper and had somehow acquired the accompaniment of chiming bells. She giggled as she licked along his lower lip, running her fingers along the sides of his face.
“Why do I get the feeling this is going to sound like fucking a wind chime?”
“Does that mean you’ve changed your mind?” he asked, still chiming along with his words.
“Fuck no, son, I wanna know what fuckin’ a wind chime sounds like.” He fell backward onto his bed, carrying her with him and setting her on his stomach. His wings were folded on either side of him, and she wondered if it was uncomfortable to lay on them like that.
“I am at your mercy,” he declared, taking his hands off her and lacing his fingers behind his head. “Be the wind.” She laughed, at that, loud and husky – such a serious declaration from a golden god in bloody trousers.
“I’ll try not to tip over your lawn chairs?” she murmured, unbuttoning his shirt with the quickness of someone with a great deal of practice. “Or maybe I will. I’m not really sure how the wind fucks, I’ll have to find that out sometime.” She’d half-undressed already, and her bare legs straddled him at she slid his shirt open, all evidence of his earlier altercation having healed. The spot where the gash had been was still slick with iridescent blood, and she wondered if tasting it would be weird. Almost immediately she did it anyway, running the full length of her impressive tongue along the spot where the wound had been, tasting copper and gold once more. He made a noise like church bells, hips bucking, and she had to hitch her fingers in his belt to keep from falling off him.
“Sorry,” he said, but somehow she doubted his sincerity.
“How do your clothes still fit?” she wondered aloud, running her fingers along the leather of his belt; he shrugged, took his hands out from behind his head to wiggle his fingers in the universal sign for ‘wibbly wobbly hoodoo bullshit‘. She traced his muscles with her fingertips, occasionally following them with her tongue, noting with some interest that he didn’t actually have nipples. Nevermind that it didn’t make any sense at all for him to have had them – it didn’t make sense for a lot of people to have nipples, and they had them anyway. It made his entirely practical anatomy fascinating, and she licked at the spot where they ought to have been. Combined with his lack of body hair – “You look like a trophy in a wig.”
He pulled her higher on his chest so that her mouth met his, a convenient way to quiet her gleeful cackling. “You’re being very insensitive to my cultural differences,” he scolded dryly, but his feigned indignation only amused her more. “You don’t see me critiquing your anatomy.”
“What’s there to critique?” She pulled her dress off over her head with ease, leaving her in nothing but a pair of black boyshorts, small breasts sitting high on her ribcage, almost worryingly slender. The look she gave over the frames of her glasses, eyebrow crooked, was a dare; he was sensible enough not to take it.
“Absolutely nothing,” he agreed, running his hands along her ribs, brushing her nipples with his thumbs. One hand went to her face to cup her cheek gently, and she took it as an opportunity to slip her mouth over his thumb, sucking at it eagerly.
The size of his fingers made the prospect of actually getting into his pants a bit worrying, but she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.
“I could watch you all day,” he said earnestly, an undercurrent of sanctus bells, almost worryingly affectionate.
“I don’t know that I have the patience for that,” she pointed out as she pulled her mouth off his hand, and he slid it down her chest, her stomach, rubbing idly between her legs in response. She groaned, grinding her hips and running her fingers through her hair.
“No, I suppose you wouldn’t,” he agreed, sliding a finger under her panties and pushing it inside her. She gasped, tightening around his finger, and bent down to kiss him again.
“Can I touch them?” she murmured into his mouth, eyes on his wings, even as the finger slowly sliding in and out of her made her slick and throbbing. He answered with a soft smile, wings flaring out on either side of him, tips pointed toward the ceiling. “How do they bend like that?” she wondered, trying to visualize the shape of his skeleton and the locations of his joints, as if golden men whose clothes grew with them were required to make sense. He didn’t answer, only kept pumping his finger inside her and watching as she ran her fingers over his feathers. “Flight feathers… primaries… secondaries…” She pulled her hand away, rubbed her fingers together and noticed they were oily. “Motherfucker don’t tell me you have a preen gland.”
He laughed at her incredulity, sounding like a bell choir, pulling her down to kiss him again; his finger was moving easily inside her now, and her hips were rocking against his hand, riding it even as she puzzled over his nonsensical anatomy. “Dean, do I look like a duck?”
“Seeing as ducks are the corkscrew-dicked rapists of the animal kingdom,” she giggled, “I sure as shit hope not, Oscar.”
“That is the worst nickname,” he chided, emphasizing his point by pushing his finger deeper, harder, making her arch her back and flatten her palms against his chest for support. His free hand slid through her hair, moving the black curls from where they’d fallen over her face. “My name isn’t that difficult, is it? Gabriel. Yes?”
“Yes!” The exclamation may have been more general than an answer to his question, his fingertip massaging just the right spot as he curled it inside her to make her vision start dancing and light explode in her brain. “Gabriel,” she groaned, and he smiled as he slid his hand out from between her legs. She grabbed his hand to lick it clean, and he cocked his head to the side as he watched her. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” she decided, rolling off him to slide her boyshorts off her legs.
He acquiesced, pulling himself up with his arms to sit straight, wings flexing now that they weren’t half pinned beneath him. There were already holes in the back of his shirt where his wings had burst through, and so he simply tore the rest off, discarding the shirt by the side of the bed as he stood. “Now,” he said seriously, as he unbuckled his belt, “I understand completely if this changes things and you don’t want to keep going. Okay?” He had his back turned to her, so she could see where his wings met his back, and she ran her fingers over the area curiously, admiring his musculature and where downy feathers transitioned to glittering golden skin.
“Because your dick is so huge? Because you’re smooth like a Ken doll? Because you’ve actually got an innie? Because you’re a hermaphrodite? Because you reproduce by budding? Because you mate like a leopard slug? Oh fuck, do you mate like a leopard slug?” This last was said with such genuine excitement that he turned his head to give her a look over his shoulder, half impressed and half baffled.
“Uh, no. None of those. Not the way you mean, anyway. Leopard slugs?” His voice was accompanied by pyeongyeong, and she wondered what sort of mood that indicated.
Before she could explain the fascinating mating ritual of leopard slugs, his jeans fell to the floor, and she admired his unbelievably perfect ass before he turned around.
Huh. Never seen that before.
“Dendrophylax lindenii,” she murmured, cocking her head to the side.
“What?”
“A ghost orchid. Your junk looks kinda like a ghost orchid. Not exactly, but… would not have predicted that.”
“Like I said, if you’re not–” His considerate behavior was cut short when she reached out to touch one of the ‘petals’, a long white tendril that then followed her hand. He made that noise like a church bell again, and she giggled.
“Give a girl a minute to figure out what she’s doing before you go putting your pants back on,” she chided, and she pulled him closer. He sat on the edge of the bed, oddly gratified, as she slid to the floor to run her fingers along his skin.
“I didn’t mean to – it looks more human, in my other form, and I meant to use that form with you, but…”
“Boooring,” she sang, entirely serious. Not that she didn’t enjoy cock, but given the option, she preferred to expand her metaphorical horizons. There were five of them, three shorter and wider, two long and twisting; she ran her fingers along each of them in turn, warm and smooth, biting her lip as they moved beneath her hands. Was she imagining things, or were the longer tendrils growing larger? She licked one of them, experimentally, and there was that church bell noise again as it wrapped around her tongue and then pushed into her mouth. “Mmph!”
“It has a mind of its own,” he apologized, like so many men before him. She sucked at it, tasting honey, and yes – it was definitely getting bigger. The other long tendril wrapped around each of her nipples in turn, and she raised an eyebrow. “… not entirely its own,” he admitted with a grin, the tendril in her mouth sliding down her throat, throbbing. She might have been annoyed if it weren’t intensely arousing. One tendril tugged at her nipples, the other pumped in and out of her throat, he ran his fingers through her hair and she traced heart shapes in his thigh with her fingertip as she sucked.
It wasn’t until two of the smaller and more petal-like tendrils gently cupped her face that she stopped, slowly tilted her head back to pull her mouth free. “That… might be a little too facehugger-y,” she admitted, and he laughed his bell-choir laugh. He pulled her up and into his lap, tendrils dragging along along the length of her body as she rose. Straddling his legs, the longer tendrils wrapped themselves around her thighs, the shorter ones gently rubbing between her legs.
“Whatever makes you comfortable,” he assured her, kissing her again, apparently not bothered by the taste of honey on her tongue.
“I don’t know if comfortable is the word I’d use,” she purred, before sucking on his tongue. Her groan was muffled when one of the smaller tendrils rounded itself out to push inside her, the other two stroking and undulating against her clitoris. The longer ones were still wrapped around her legs, occasionally stroking gently at her inner thighs.
“You’re taking this remarkably well.” He had, it seemed, underestimated her willingness to ride cocks that were not actually cocks. She ran her fingers through his hair, spun gold in long waves; one of his hands held her hip, and the other fondled her breasts. His wings flared out, wrapped around them briefly so that feathers brushed her spine before folding to their usual position.
“Taking things well is my specialty,” she grinned. He answered her clever rejoinder with a buck of his hips, driving the tendril inside her deeper, making her buck in return. Between his fingers on her breasts, the tendrils on her clit, and the one inside her, it didn’t take long at all for her to scream his name again; he answered with church bells, rolling her over so that he pinned her to the bed, penned her in with his wings so she could only see him.
“Is it?” he wondered, and one of the long tendrils holding her knees up by her chest unwrapped itself, stroked her ass suggestively. That shorter tendril was still buried inside her, though the others had stopped their relentless stroking of her clit.
“Got lube?” was her eyebrow waggling answer; she was glad she’d kept her glasses on, because the look on his face was positively adorable. The church bell sound he made when he was aroused was starting to turn into a two-octave carillon, and she stroked his cheek affectionately.
“That sort of happens automatically,” he explained sheepishly – and the tendril stroking her asshole did seem remarkably slick all of a sudden.
She reached up with both hands to cup his face, a serious look on her own. “You’re fucking magnificent,” she said seriously, because he seemed entirely too self-conscious for a man with multiple self-lubricating dicks. She pulled him down to kiss her, moaning long and low onto his tongue as that probing tendril worked its way into her ass, the one inside her pussy slowly pumping again.
It had started rather slender, but it seemed to be growing wider even as it pushed its way further into her ass, and she could feel it throbbing and pulsing. As if that weren’t enough, she felt another of the shorter tendrils pressing against the slick entrance to her cunt, wrapping itself around the one already inside her.
Curving his spine enough to suck at her left breast couldn’t have been comfortable for a man his size, but he did it anyway, and she didn’t bother trying to restrain her screams of delight now that she was no longer silenced by his kiss. He was large enough to fit her whole breast in his mouth, tongue tracing circles around her areola while his hand rolled the nipple of her other breast between two fingers. Wrapping her legs around his waist, two tendrils rammed into her pussy as he rocked his hips, the one in her ass still pumping away. When the third short tendril began gently rubbing her clitoris again, she found her nerve endings exploding once more, back arching and fingers digging into the bed.
Once again her clit was left to recover, though he never stopped pounding into her, burying his face in her neck. His lustful groans were accompanied by a chorus of bells, and she reached out to brush his wings with her fingertips again.
Why do I usually fuck humans, again?
That second long tendril was prodding at her ass, and she felt the first one thin itself out, as if to make room. She cried out as the second successfully joined the first, tendrils winding around each other inside her, both growing thicker as soon as they were inside.
“Fucking fuck,” she gasped, both holes stretched to hold him, tendrils buried impossibly deep in her ass.
“Too much?” he asked breathlessly in her ear, though he didn’t stop pounding, the only tendril not penetrating her fluttering softly against her clit.
“Never.” She arched her back, ground her hips, and he laced his fingers with hers to pin them to the mattress beside her head. The tendrils in her ass began sliding in and out of her with his thrusts, and the fact that they were wound together made them feel ribbed and made her scream again. “You’re fucking perfect, oh my fucking fuck you are so fucking good Gabriel, don’t you dare fucking stop.”
He was ramming into her hard now, thick spiraling tendrils sliding in and out of her, wiggling inside her so that she writhed underneath him and cried out with each thrust. There was an increased urgency to his pounding, the sound of bells becoming cacophonous, until suddenly he drive his tendrils as deep as they’d go – too deep, too thick, twisting inside her and making her throw her head back to scream. They twitched and they throbbed, pumping her full of something hot and sticky that tasted of honey, a concert carillon ringing in her ears that drowned out his groan of completion. His wings were outstretched to their full span, like he might take flight at any moment, nearly touching the walls of the room.
The feel of him shooting her full of something – save for the tendril that had been fluttering against her clit, now emptying on her stomach – pushed her over the edge a final time. It washed over her in waves, fireworks behind her eyes, and her screaming was loud enough that Gabriel kissed her again to swallow the sound. His wings beat a few times, perhaps as a reflex, fanning her with cool air as she slowly relaxed and became capable of thought again.
Gently, his tendrils slid out of her, left her empty save for the stickiness and the soreness he’d left there. He trailed his fingers down her stomach, brought them to her mouth covered in something iridescent; she closed her eyes and sucked on them lazily, enjoying the sweetness as she came down from her high. She opened them again only when she noticed that his fingers had gotten smaller, and he slid them out from between her lips.
“It’s an adrenaline thing,” he explained as he collapsed beside her, back to the human-looking form she’d met him in. She observed with a grin that he had nipples now, and his tendrils had shrunk and wound themselves into a shape that more resembled standard human genitalia. His voice no longer had that odd depth, and there were no more bells to chime with his words.
“… so if I want to do that again, I’ll have to punch you first?”
He laughed quietly, kissed her on the forehead. “Doesn’t work when I’m tired. After a good night’s sleep and some breakfast – then you just have to ask nice.”
Nadine yawned, stretched like a cat before cuddling close to him. Unlike some other sluts of which she was aware, Nadine was never opposed to a good cuddle – but Gabriel made it even more tempting. He was like cuddling with a sunbeam, even when he tried to look human.
“Fucking a wind chime,” she declared, “is awesome.”
Nadine Pascal-Said 