The next morning, Blaine rolled onto his left side and peered out with drowsy eyes, spotting Lynsael curled on his stomach. He was still there; it hadn't been a dream at all. To top it off, the blanket had shifted with his movements in the night, revealing a strong lower back, and his right ass cheek.

Blaine was tempted to touch the creature in front of him; to draw his fingers across Lynsael's wing and arm just to make sure he was real. A heady warmth radiating from Lynsael's presence certainly made him feel authentic but the pale skin, and black wings and hair, made Blaine reconsider.

Unsteadily, he reached out between them and confirmed his suspicions, brushing his fingers against Lynsael's feathered wing. Each soft feather rustled under his fingers before settling back into place. Intrigued, Blaine trailed his hand across Lynsael's elbow. Warm, smooth skin, made his fingertips tingle. Unbelievable. Blaine ran his hand up Lynsael's bicep, noting the strength despite Lynsael's lean figure.

Lynsael twitched, and Blaine pulled his hand away quickly. “That tickles,” Lynsael chuckled.

But his reaction didn't stop there, Lynsael continued to writhe and kick his feet. The blankets rustled around him, quickly wrapping around his legs and Blaine sat up and fought to take back what was rightfully his. “Stop... it tickles.”

“Would you knock it off?” Blaine groaned.

Lynsael popped up off the bed, eyes wide, and turned to Blaine as he was pulling the blankets back to his side. “Wh-what's wrong?”

“You're...” Blaine threw his arms in the air in frustration. “Oh, never mind.” He rolled out of bed and staggered to the cold floor. “I might as well get up anyway.”

With a plop, Lynsael flattened across the width of the entire bed causing the springs to hitch as he took up Blaine's spot and let his wings stretch their fullest. “What are we doing today?” A bright smile spread on his lips.

“We? No. I am going to Katlinne's for practice. You are going to stay here.” Blaine slid on his slippers and went to the dresser to dig out some clean clothes.

“Aw, but I thought we were going to look into what happened with the statue.”

“You can do that, right? Just don't go out of the house.” Blaine turned back to find Lynsael on his feet, stretching his arms high above him until every muscle in his back and sides went taut. Blaine felt a flush through his cheeks as his gaze traveled down to Lynsael's flaccid member. He turned around and huffed, “Does every angel run around naked?”

“It's a sign of purity, you know. This is how we're born into the world. It's man's true form.”

“Well, you are not going to be flashing everyone that comes in here,” Blaine said, as he dug through his dresser and pulled out an extra pair of jeans. “Here.” He tossed them to Lynsael. “Put those on, please.”

Lynsael yanked on the rough fabric over his legs, and shuddered. Once they were buttoned around his waist, he looked down at the stonewashed blue jeans and said, “Too loose.” He wiggled his hips and the jeans threatened to fall around his ass.

“I'll fix that,” Blaine said with a brown belt in his hands. He approached Lynsael and began stringing the belt through the jean's loops, allowing Lynsael to turn as he threaded the belt through the back. “There,” he said, as he tightened the buckle.

When Blaine tipped his head, he caught Lynsael's sparkling baby-blue eyes, and his heart threatened to choke him. He couldn't drag himself away from those lush, full lips, nor that exotic lean, curved face. For a second, he imagined smelling Lynsael's long, dark hair, and brushing his lips against that white, perfect skin under his chin.

It wasn't until Lynsael furrowed his brows that Blaine straightened and looked away. “Guardian angels are from Heaven, right?” Blaine murmured.

Lynsael's once proud smile wavered and he nodded in agreement.

“Then why are your wings black?”

“I've... done something,” Lynsael sighed. “Let's say, it's not acceptable in His eyes.”

“Is that why I've always been a fuck up?” Blaine grabbed his jeans from the bed and stepped away.

“Certainly not, Blaine. My failures have nothing to do with you. There was a time I was in the Palace, a guardian of several beautiful children,” Lynsael said. “It was something I'd always wanted and I dedicated myself to be the best guardian ever. But... things changed...”

“Sixteen years ago,” Blaine finished where Lynsael's voice had faded. “I-I'm going to take a shower. If the phone rings, don't answer it, okay?”

Lynsael plopped on the bed. Silence invaded the room behind Blaine as he disappeared through the bathroom door.

***

The gush of the shower filled the unsteady quiet. Lynsael sat perfectly still, his hands stuffed between his thighs against the unfamiliar rough jean fabric. They were itchy, and he tried not to scratch his legs, knowing he needed to get used to the humans' way of life. No one ran around in the nude here, he knew that well by looking over his young children.

Within the palace in the clouds, only a few went nude as well, he remembered. Many of his fellow angels chose to wear dresses or, at least, frocks around their most private of areas. He was different; something about being pure seemed so right.

He scratched at the belt digging into his abdomen. This thing had to go, but his pants would fall to his ankles if he decided against it. Instead, he stuffed his hands back between his legs.

A mirror hung from above the dresser, and he flicked his eyes to his appearance before scanning the rest of the bedroom. Blaine kept it clean, for the most part, despite for a few pieces of clothing spread around and the corner of a Playboy peeking out from under the bed. The woman's face stared back at Lynsael, her eyes covered in the blackest eyeliner like the kind that Blaine wore.

Lynsael fiddled with the belt around his waist again, this time pulling the end of it through the first loop and then adjusting it back. He examined the brown leather and its shadowed creases, before unbuckling it and loosening it from his waist.

That felt better. What would feel ten times better is if he stripped right out of them and swore never to wear them again.

A clunk from the bathroom broke his attention away from his itchy skin. A soft yellow light shined through the crack in the door; Blaine had left it opened and Lynsael could smell the strong scent of soap escaping with the steam.

Curious, Lynsael stood and approached the door. Inside, the fleshy figure of Blaine against a light beige shower curtain made Lynsael pause with interest. He pressed a hand above his head, and creaked open the door.

Blaine's broad, muscled chest moved as he spread his hands out in his hair; the shower spray hissed when he tipped his soapy head under the running water. His private member bobbed, the silhouette framed perfectly against the only protection between them, the shower curtain. Just then, drops of hot water fell across the curtain, the steam rose into the air, fogging up Lynsael's view.

Lynsael, tempted with the strange sensation between his legs, slid just inside the bathroom to get a better look.

A hand darted between the tiled wall and the curtain to grab a clear blue bottle of cream. Blaine stood upright, squirted the cream onto his palm, and massaged it in his hair. More drops of water sprinkled against the barrier, plunk plonk plunk.

With his fingers jammed close to the button of the agonizing jeans, Lynsael wrenched them loose from his waist, and let them fall down around his naked thighs. Carefully, he stepped out of them, leaving them in a bunch on the floor.

The only thing he could think of was how wonderful it would be to slide under the water and take Blaine into his arms. He could only imagine how smooth Blaine's tanned skin felt under his fingertips, and Blaine's heavy breath if he'd kiss the tender spot of his neck just above his shoulders. It had been crowding his mind since yesterday when he'd been freed from the statue.

Before he could take another step, Blaine bent down and the hissing of the water died. Four fingers clenched on to the side of the curtain and it rolled back on the plastic hangers.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Blaine cursed as he grabbed for a towel and wrapped it around his waist.

Lynsael bounced back and retrieved the jeans from the floor. “Nothing. I was... needing to use the bathroom.” It was insane to hope that he could have a chance with Blaine, a human. Although he'd wished for the day to come that his human ward's age would grant him the freedom of choice, there was always the fact that he was still an angel. A magical, and sometimes, unreal creature in the humans' eyes.

“Yeah?” Blaine stepped out of the tub basin. His eyes flicked to Lynsael's rigid length and he sneered. “You don't have to be naked to take a piss.”

Lynsael tightened his jaw, face flushed in embarrassment. “I know that. It's just these things are horrible. Have anything... smoother?” He tugged at the waistband in hopes that his human charge would agree.

“No. Now do you mind? I have to get ready to go.”

Lynsael dropped his head, his long mane curled across his face and neck. “Sorry for bothering you,” he whispered before leaving the bathroom.

As guardian of the Palace, despite a fallen one, he still had to follow a sense of dignity and accept that Blaine couldn't possibly be interested.