The alley was cold, and seemingly empty

Strutting his stuff, looking hot. One shot, two shot, three.

Or, at least, it seemed empty ; a large, cardboard box was overturned.

Nobody ever looked this good in leather, nobody noticed his horns.

The rain was soaking through it, softening it to a crumpled, folded quality.

A decoration.

The box shuddered, and hoarse, heavy sobs wavered out into the cold, wet night.

His winks killed the rooms. He wasn't supposed to use his powers but

Whispered, unhappy words in a language nobody on earth could speak.

Who cared ?

If one where to look closer, they would notice that a pulsing white light was coming out from under the box…

He was living the high life… He didn't need Azriel anyways… Who really did ?

And, upon even closer inspection, one might notice the feet peeking out from beneath the box.

He was actually hurting, torn apart on the inside.

The glowing, the light, you'd notice, was the feet. There was a man underneath the box.

He'd never admit it of course.

And he was glowing.

He wouldn't cry, he promised himself. Having too much fun.

He was crying, curled in upon himself. Naked as a jaybird and sobbing like a child.

He didn't look much more than seventeen.

He thought he might die, watching the silver substance pooling at his feet.

He just wanted to get fucked. And, ultimately…

He shuddered, feeling it running down his back, from his shoulder blades to his pale tailbone

Forget all about it…

And dripping to the floor.

He has another shot, and keeps dancing after He wishes he were anywhere but here, that this was Big mistake

Nothing but a dream.

He wavers a bit, and heads out back His tears are like starlight… To puke out his guts, and maybe cry…

His sobs like music… and….

Just a little.

He was a fallen angel.

His t-shirt said little devil…

His wings were torn and broken.

Oh the irony.

He'd never fly again,

That he was a demon of hell…

He'd never be loved by god again.

And lucifer's most cherished (ex)lover.

The sound of the alley door swinging open had the angel's downturned head snapping up, his eyes wide and alert. A boy, with darker, bronze skin and eyes caught somewhere between green and blue, stumbled out of the loud place, giggling to himself.

The angel knew this only by getting on his knees and peeking out from beneath the box. The giggles stopped abruptly, and the boy keeled over, gagging ; the splash and reek of vomit was inevitable. The rain pattered on his leather clothing, and, as he bent, the angel caught sight of them – two horns, deep black in colour were growing out of his head, peeking out from betweeen wavy locks of deep red hair. At the sight of them, the angel gasped, and, insinctively, shoved himself back. The result was for the box to keel backwards right way up, with the angel in it.

The demon boy's head turned, his eyes wide and glazed over, and catching sight of the box, and the two legs, glowing white, peeking out from the box, he started --- An angel…. Here ? He advanced slowly. His feet shuffling on the ground. The angel could here him. Flushing and shivering slightly, he squeezed his eyes shut, trying, in vain, to protect himself from what he couldn't. What he did not know, but feared on principle.

When he opened them, his eyes were met with two wide, bright turquoise ones.

« Hi. » the demon boy greeted, quietly. « What's your name ? »

« Illiande. » the words were so soft and wavering and deep, the demon boy scarcely heard them. They came out like a sigh, and ended that way.

Onid didn't like angels. But he liked Illiande. He like the way his lashes got thick and black and stuck together with tears. And he glowed, which was pretty. « I'm Onid. »

He angel said nothing, only shuddered. His eyes seemed impossibly pig in his sad face. Filled with fear and anguish.

« Are… Are you cold, Illiande ? » Onid asked, a little less surely now.

The nod was slow and mistrustful.

« Come on, I'll warm you up. » Onid said, his smile blinding and sweet in the dark and the rain. His hair had already been soaked dark auburn, and was plastered to his head. He backed away.

Slowly, two long, well formed arms rose from the box to clamp onto the edges.

Illiande used it as leverage, and managed to lift himself from the box and into a puddle of his own blood, silver in colour.

Onid blinked as the two shredded skeletons of wings fluttered uselessly in the air, splattering silver. Then his eyes drifted, over the clean, beautiful roman face, across the broad, pale shoulders, over the curves and angles of the angel's chest, around therounded angles of Illiande's hips, and then lower…

« Oh . So you're a guy angel, huh ? »

Illiande made no effort to shield himself, he had no idea or conception of clothes whatsoever. But he wasn't fond of the manner in which Onid studied him.

« Hey, don't worry about it. I've got an idea. »

KKKKKKKKKKK

Less than ten minutes later, a boy, skinny and angular like most teenagers, was strutting down the street, talking a mile a minute. Despite his age, he was dressed in a promiscuos get-up of leather, he was soaking wet, and his clothes squeaked when he walked.

Behind him was a man. At least six feet tall, well formed, with impossibly long, silky black hair hanging in ropes down his back. Two shredded wings were growing from his back, and everywhere he walked he dripped a pool of silver.

But the strangest thing was this…

This… man.

He appeared to be glowing.

Author's Note

Yeah, I know, I should be finishing all my other ventures into literature before attempting to do this one. But who can resist such an adorable little yaoi pairing ? And, also, I'm in love with Illiande.