Archangel

Connor, now... oh god, he was something else. Unkempt and touselled but so, so delicious underneath the weather-beaten exterior. Something about him bypassed all my usual mental blocks and went straight to the core of me, flicking every switch and lighting every candle as it capered down.

I squeezed my legs together, bouncing one knee half in frustration, half out of nerves. "Careful, Ceri," I cautioned myself. "Don't go off the map. Dragons. Dragons and sea beasts out there."

But it was no use. I pictured him; the dark stubble of several days softening his jaw, the ragged, un-ironed collar of the blue cotton shirt under his waxed cotton jacket; the glimmer of his smile in the dusk. And I hoped he'd not be long.

Time had other ideas though. ITV filled the background with white noise, and a Patrick O'Brien novel served as a moderate distraction against my urge to play with myself. As the evening turned into full night, though, I grew more and more nervous and more and more worried that Connor wouldn't at least come to say hello and goodnight.

8:30pm came and went, and I ate some rye and cheddar and tried to take the edge off my nerves with a glass of nondescript red. 9:30pm followed, thumbing its nose at me in passing. Outside, groups of men and women passed, either going out or coming home.

I could almost feel the muscles of his arms around me if I closed my eyes.

I checked my phone, hoping for something, any contact. But silence was my sole companion.

I slumped back onto the couch, feeling deflated and morose, and pulled a fluffy blanket over myself to take the chill out of the air.

"He obviously had something important to do; that must be it." I sighed, and picked up my kindle again, determined to at least not shame myself by moping over a missed connection.

.:.

My phone woke me, and I sat up, bleary eyed. I fumbled for it, and answered, my voice a sleepy croak. "Ceri, hello."

"Hey. I wanted to apologise."

"Connor?" I murmured. "Are you OK? I fell asleep waiting for you."

"I'm so sorry, Ceri, I meant to come by earlier than this."

"Earlier? Are you here?"

"Sitting on the wall across from your doorway; I wasn't sure whether I should wake you or not."

"No, I'm glad... I'm glad you did. Wait. Let me come let you in, it must be cold as a witch's tit out there."

"It's not warm, no."

"Hold on. I'm coming." I stumbled to the front door, opened it, and watched him as he crossed the road and climbed the three worn steps up to me.

He looked drained. Almost without thinking I stood on tiptoes and wrapped my arm around his neck, pulling him against me. I felt the sigh he let out and felt the pressure of his arms around me, and melted in against him with my own sigh in return as he buried his face in my hair. Some uncountable time later I let go and stood aside, letting him in so that I could close the door on the chill air.

He hung his coat up, and hooked his scarf over it. His face was bleak.

"Connor? What's wrong?" I reached out to touch his chest.

"Sorry, Ceri, I don't mean to bring my own troubles to you, but it's been a long night and I needed to end it with a friendly face and a tender voice."

"You have that and more here," I murmured as I took his hand and led him through to our couch. "Sit. Sit here. Can I get you something? Tea maybe?"

"Coffee would be great if you have?"

"Coming right up." I watched him a moment as I limped to the kitchen counter. "Connor, talk to me?"

He ran his hands through his hair, sighing. "You have enough to deal with without the personal issues of a near-stranger, Ceri."

"Hey."

I waited till he met my eyes.

"You and I have a connection, mister," I said, levelly. "You started it by being a gallant. That's on you. So now you're going to have to deal with it - now we're joined by something. We're not quite strangers any more. So don't you dare try to turn down my sympathy or the offer of my time. God knows you've earned it from me with interest."

I poured hot water into a mug, added some instant coffee and a little bit of milk and stirred it; when I turned back to face him he was still watching me. I flushed.

"Don't look at me like that," I said, softly.

"Sorry." Followed by a quiet "Thanks," as I set the coffee down in front of him.

"Hey. Talk to me. Tell me what it is. Girl trouble? Boy trouble?" I sat down next to him, not quite touching.

He took a deep, shuddering breath. I watched his hands shaking as he lifted the coffee cup.

"Connor? What's wrong?"

"My sister is in St Thomas," he breathed. "My baby sister. She was cycling to classes at UCL. A goods vehicle hit her."

"Oh my god."

He set the coffee down and leaned backwards, squinting up at the ceiling. "She's comatose. Has been for several weeks. We're not sure she's going to wake up. And tonight they had to amputate her leg below the knee because of infection."

"Oh Christ. Connor... I..."

"I needed to stay there until she was out of theater, and I knew she was going to live through the night at least."

He turned his white face to me. "She was so quick. So nimble. She used to love running so much..."

I heard the break in his voice, and without thinking I leaned forward to wrap my arms around him, to hold him as he started, quietly, to cry. I held him as he shook and quaked; as he gasped, hoarsely, for breath, as he sobbed incoherently, soaking both of us with tears. I ached for him, hated the fact that I couldn't help, that all I could do was hold him until, exhausted, he calmed, quietened, drained of the ability to cry any more.

I kissed the tears away from his cheeks, and hugged him as hard as I could with my one arm.

"Sorry," he gulped. "Sorry."

"Shh," I breathed. "Shh, Connor. There's no need."

And then I stood, took his hand, led him to my room. Gently I helped him remove his shoes and shirt; gently I pulled the covers back so he could lie down. Gently I covered him. I quickly killed the lights and tv in the flat, returned to my room, closed my door, crawled in behind him and then just held him, never once speaking or intruding on his grief, just being there and letting the warmth of my body give him what comfort it could.

Somehow, sometime, both of us slept.

.:.

The lightest of touches woke me.

"Hey," I murmured, sleepily.

"Hey."

"Are you OK?"

"I am now."

"Did you sleep enough?" I yawned.

"Better than I have in a while."

"Mm. Good. I'm glad. What's the time?"

"Quarter to six. I have to go home now if I'm going to have any hope of making work on time."

"You can shower here. I can iron your shirt and pants while you do. Nobody will know you didn't go home once I'm done."

"Temptress."

"Gives me a bit longer with you," I murmured, sleepily.

He was silent a moment, and I felt myself flushing, embarrassed.

"You are a sweetheart."

"Nah, I'm a harlot," I squinted at him in the half-light. "It's been a long time since I've had someone to fall asleep next to. I missed it and I don't want it to end just yet."

"It's been a long time since someone was there to just hold me."

"I will hold you any time you need me to," I whispered. I made a small noise as he leaned in to place a kiss on my brow. His eyes were dark and unreadable, but he stroked my cheek gently and I turned my face into the palm of his hand.

"I think I'll take you up on that shower."

"Blue door next to this one," I said softly. "Keep an eye out for my feral roommate, she may be home. There's a clean towel hanging on the rail. Watch out, it goes from cold to hot in a very small change on tap. It's a piece of shit shower."

"It's hot and it's wet. That's good enough for me ," he said, as he rolled out of bed.

I watched him as he stretched; admiring the shape of his back in the half-glow from the streetlights outside. Then I felt a jolt of excitement take me as he undid his belt and dropped his pants, leaving only his tight cotton briefs to preserve his modesty. He turned to look down at me. "Where can I put my trousers?"

"Leave them," I murmured. "I'll pick them up and go iron them for you."

"You're an angel, Ceri."

"Nope, that's you, remember. Uh, Connor?" I added.

"Yeah?" he answered, from the doorway.

"Nice bum," I leered.

"Hah." He grinned and went to shower.

I took a breath, then another. Then I crawled out from under the duvet, shivering slightly as I slipped my feet into my slippers.

I listened to the sound of the shower as I broke out our iron and tatty ironing board. I quietly put a crease into the pants, then set them aside and went to work on sorting out his shirt. And as I ironed his clothes, I fought the urge to go watch him, to go climb into the shower with him.

Instead, I bit my lip, squeezed my thighs against each other, and carried on.

I thought about the water that would be running down over his shoulders.

I bit my lip harder.

I thought about the shape of his legs; the fine hair that I'd seen highlighted by the passage light. The lean, wiry muscles. The bulge; the suspicious bulge that looked almost like a partially erect cock.

I moaned softly. I could feel the ache in my belly, and I knew that I'd have to do something about it if I wanted any chance of being productive at work today. So I counted to fifty as I ironed his shirt, pressed my crotch against an angle of the ironing board, and somehow managed to not burn his clothes.

.:.

I tugged his collar straight and wrapped his scarf around his neck. It was bitterly cold outside, and I wished he had something warmer to wear. His eyes crinkled as he smiled down at me.

"Stop that," I murmured. "You're making me lose my concentration."

"I knew there was a soft thing hiding under the spines."

"Mm. You've seen through my defenses. Alas."

"You're lovely. Don't be hard. At least, not to me. You are so, so much nicer soft."

I squinted up at him. "I can't make any promises."

He reached out and touched my face gently, then stepped into me. I gave way, but was brought up short by the passage wall. Connor stepped into me again, and my heart hammered in my chest as I stared at him; as I felt the gentle pressure of his body against me. I reached up, crooked my arm behind his neck, and pulled against him, hard, letting him feel my body. Both of us made a sound; not English, not intelligible - that quiet moan of presence, of immediacy, of need. I could feel him against me, and I ached for him. His lips were warm and soft, and he left me weak at the knees as he released me.

"You are a wicked, wicked man," I panted as I leaned my head against him.

"I do not apologies."

"Don't. Don't ever."

"Tell me if I go to far."

"I will. You haven't." I paused, took a breath. "You need to go to work, now. Go, now."

"I don't want to," he murmured, pressing himself to me.

I kissed him again, a quick one, and stepped to the side and then out of range, flushing furiously. "You have to. Get going. Be safe. Come visit tonight."

"Or else?"

"Or else face the wrath of Ceridwen, before whom even the Gods tread lightly."

.:.

His laughter warmed me for long after he had left, and the memory of the taste of his lips and the feel of him against me drove me back to my room. I closed my door, dug furiously into my dresser, way into the back of my underwear, and retrieved my dildo. I didn't even bother to strip; I just slid my gym pants down my legs, pulled my panties aside and pushed my dildo into me, not even bothering to slick it with saliva or lube first. I needed to be filled in a way I hadn't felt for months; the immediacy of my need overwhelmed me.

"Oh god," I moaned as I penetrated myself. "Oh fuck... ungh... fuck..."

I knelt gingerly on my bed, then slumped forward, heedless now of my aching body, conscious only of the feeling of the toy in me and of the pressure on my breasts and face as I leaned on my bedspread. I drove the ridges of my toy in and out of my aching body, muffling my quiet moaning in my pillow. I could feel the craving in me, the need for him, for Connor, hard, thrusting between my legs, his flat stomach against mine, against my thighs, his cock in my pussy, in my mouth, in my pussy again... I felt a spasm and arched, groaning, forcing my dildo deep into myself, spreading my tight, aching vagina over it, distending over the base, feeling the cool silicone of the fake scrotum nestling against the hood of my clit.

I hunched down on it, then rose, then slid down again, impaling myself with a grunt. Again, and again, and again I lifted and pushed back. But I needed it deeper, and I rose to my knees and sat back, toy buried deep in my dripping pussy, and squirmed my hips back and forth over it, feeling myself building, feeling my climax bearing down on me like a tidal wave.

"Uh... uh... fucking... goddamn... uh... " and from there, a wordless wail, my bandaged left hand clamped over my mouth in case our neighbors heard as my orgasm took me, dragged me by the scruff of my neck and flung me face-first into a crashing set of contractions. I collapsed forward, sobbing for breath, spasming against the solid rod in me, wishing that it was Connor, wishing he had just filled my pussy with his hot, sticky come.

Convulsion followed convulsion, and I fell onto my side, shivering uncontrollably as my body let me know in no uncertain terms that I had been neglecting it. Eventually, I was able to regain my breath, and slowly pulled the dildo out of me, moaning again as the wide, flared head popped out of me.

I lay, then, for a while, not willing to abandon the state of glorious lethargy that took me. I felt warm, and my immediate need faded slowly into the background. Eventually, however, I stirred, cleaned my toy with a hygiene wipe and packed it away.

I had to start my day, and I couldn't delay any longer.

.:.

"Did you get to the office OK?" His voice, delicious, smooth like cream on velvet. I felt it deep in my chest.

"Yeah, eventually," I breathed as I stirred my tea, phone clamped to my ear by my shoulder.

"You went back to bed, didn't you?"

"It was warm. And..."

"And?"

"And it still smelled of you."

"And that's a good thing?"

"It's the best thing."

"You're a decisive little thing."

"I'm not little. You may be tall but I'm not tiny. Just scrawny."

"Mm. You're not scrawny, and I like your height. It's a lovely height. A perfectly kissable height. And you're delightful in Lycra..."

"Connor, stop flirting with me at work."

"Why?"

"Because," I whispered. "Because you're very distracting. And I have to concentrate here."

"Good," he laughed. "I'm glad I distract you."

"I suppose I'd be pushing my luck to ask whether I'll see you tonight or not."

"I need to go to St Thomas." His voice changed, became softer, and I sighed, sorry I'd popped the bubble.

"I could come with you..." I left the sentence hanging, half statement, half question.

"I'd rather come see you after if that's OK, Ceri? I don't... I don't want you to see me how I am there."

"I could wait downstairs. I'd be there for you when you were done, and I wouldn't intrude."

"There's not much to do there."

"I'd be waiting for you. That would be more than enough for me."

He was quiet a moment.

"Connor?"

"I'll be there from about six thirty onwards, Ceri. Where shall I meet you?"

"The coffee shop."

"Ceri?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. You're an angel. You have no idea how much it helps to know you'll be there."

"See you later. I won't say I'm looking forward to it, Connor, but I'm looking forward to hugging you."

"Likewise, Ceri."

"Mwa. Go to work. Mwa."

I hung up and took my tea back to my desk, hoping the day wouldn't drag.

.:.

I sat, watching the people in the St Thomas entrance foyer. They were a disparate bunch; people from all walks of life - rich and poor, normal and touched, all united by this place, this gate of Tartarus. Many looked tired. Some sat, eyes vacant, or cried quietly either to themselves or with family. Others walked briskly through in the blue scrubs of nurses or green of ambulance staff. People passed in and out, carrying balloons, plastic packets of toys or food. Sometimes flowers, sometimes not.

I decided I didn't like hospitals one little bit, and I almost regretted coming here.

Then I saw him and my regrets blew away like leaves. I stood, shouldered my handbag, and walked out to meet him. His hug was gentle, but he held me a long time, and I for one was content to listen to the gentle thump of his heart as I pressed my cheek to his chest.

"You OK?" I breathed after a while.

"Almost," came his equally quiet response.

"Is your sister OK?"

"Gemma is still alive, for what that's worth. The surgeon is cautiously optimistic. She's responding to antibiotics now and the surgery was successful... I just wish it hadn't cost her her leg is all."

"Is there any sign she's improving other than that?"

"No. She's still not there. Limited neurological activity. No change."

I squeezed him to me, ignoring the pain of my bruises, trying to give him what comfort I could.

"Come," he said. "Lets get out of here. I hate this place. Too many open wounds."

We made our way through the hospital grounds and from there to the Jubilee walkway,where we turned west towards Lambeth. I held Connor's hand and tried to match stride with him, and after a brief moment he shortened his to a pace comfortable for me.

"Sorry," he said. "I forget sometimes that I lope."

"You're quick," I agreed. "I need to scurry to keep up."

He smiled. "I see you more as a sprinter than a scurrier. You're too lithe to scurry. You're more... feline. Graceful. A panther, maybe, with your dark hair and those eyes of yours."

"Jaguar. I love them."

"Mm, beautiful cats. But not exactly native to Wales either."

"They are in my head. They guard the dragons," I added.

He shook his head, amused, and we walked slowly on, watching the lights of the piers and riverboats reflecting in the chop on the Thames.

"Do you ever get the feeling that things happen for a reason?" he asked, after a while.

"Sometimes."

"I feel like I was meant to meet you."

"I hope that whatever force set you on me didn't arrange for my fall purely to give you an in."

"Ditto. I'd never want you hurt on my behalf."

I moved in, my hip against his as we walked. We watched another couple kissing, and he squeezed my hand.

"Do you feel rushed?" I asked, after more silence.

"Rushed?"

"By this. By me. I like you. I really, really, like you," I added breathlessly.

He stopped, and I turned to face him.

"Not rushed, no," he said after a while. "It's weird... but... the first word that I can think of is safe. Like I'm home." He pulled me to him and lifted my chin, staring down at me. "But that doesn't mean I want to rush," he added. "I know you but don't know you at the same time. I want to learn who you are. In case it's not obvious, I really, really like you too, you know."

"That's comforting to hear," I murmured, giddy.

He let me go, and we walked on a short distance until we found a sheltered spot to lean on the rail and watch the tide flowing under Lambeth Bridge.

"Can you make up your mind about someone in two days?" I mused.

He frowned. "We make decisions about people in two seconds. Two days seems an eternity by comparison."

"Yet you admit you hardly know me."

He smiled, wistful. "You held me when I was crying, and I felt safe enough to cry in front of you." He glanced away, watching a boat as it slipped downstream with the ebb. "That tells me a lot about you, and about me."

"I'm a hotheaded, foulmouthed harridan."

"Nonsense. You're a healthy, opinionated woman. A beautiful, healthy, opinionated, sexy woman."

"Sexy?"

"Incredibly. You make my head spin. You make it impossible for me to think. I'd love the chance to see you in last night's outfit again," he added. "I'm sorry I wasn't more appreciative at the time."