The Angel's Sin

Violet eyes met silver ones.

And then, the time stopped.

You can cut the tension with a butterknife.

There was no God in this room.

Only a gun.

A sinner.

And an ‘Angel’.

The air in the suite hummed with a silent extravagance—mixed with the smell of sweat and sex.

Thick, velvet drapes, the color of plum, were half drawn against the city’s night light.

Muffling the sounds of the world outside.

It created a suffocating intimacy inside the room.

Tony was kneeling. Angel was standing.

Eye to eye. Face to face.

The sinner was looking up. And the ‘Angel’ was looking down.

And the gun?

Its muzzle was inside the sinner’s mouth.

Being pointed by the ‘Angel’.

Fingers were curled in the trigger.

They are so close—they could feel the heat of each other’s skin.

Can hear each other's breathing.

Their heartbeats collided in the space between them.

It was so… suffocating…

This was the second time tonight that Tony found himself with something shoved past his lips.

But this time, it wasn't passion that stole his breath—it was of how goddamn sexy the ‘Angel’ was.

‘Angel.’

The name flowed smoothly on his tongue.

It suited him.

Like it was made purely for him.

‘My ‘Angel’. Mine.’

Tony found himself salivating more. 

Wanting more!

Angel had sides to him that Tony hadn't tasted yet.

He gulped.

The cold metal was wedged between his lips.

Making it hard to breathe and to swallow.

Slick with his own spit and the taste of the man who held it.

His knees ached from kneeling.

Joints screaming in protest.

But still, he didn't move.

Couldn't.

Wouldn't.

No.

‘Never gonna let go.’

His hands were still touching Angel’s hips.

Like a devotee that’s worshipping his God.

The vision in front of Tony looked like—an ‘Angel’ had fallen from heaven—just to ruin him.

To deliver justice or wrath, in silk and bruises.

The ‘Angel’ stood tall.

Trembling.

Defiant.

Desire.

His royal blue robe hung loose from one shoulder.

Barely clinging to the sharp edge of his collarbone.

It was scandalous.

Erotic.

Obscene.

A battlefield of a body on full display—thin, supple and graceful, with smooth porcelain skin that would bruise easily when grazed.

Flawless, hairless—every inch was begging to be touched!

It was flushed in blotches from rough touch and harder love.

Tony’s member stirred again—harder than earlier.

Raring to have another taste.

He never imagined craving a man’s body like this!

He had always been straight as an arrow.

Now all those past sexual partners are blurred.

Non-existent.

Angel’s chest rose and fell rapidly.

Breathless and shaking.

Nipples tight and erect from the cold—or from an afterglow…

Tony desperately wants to know.

Angel’s lips.

‘God, those delicious lips!’

Red. 

Wet. 

Swollen.

The kind of mouth you'd die to have a taste.

The kind Tony had just devoured before going down on the ‘Angel’.

And there was no hiding the evidence.

Tony’s chin was slick with it.

He felt no shame for what he did.

No.

Only lust.

Reverence.

The taste of the ‘Angel’ still lingered on the tip of his tongue.

Addictive.

Bitter.

Sweet.

Tony stared up at Angel—not with fear, but with hunger.

The gun between his lips trembled.

Angel was breathing heavily.

Shivering.

He could feel the sinner’s gaze on his body!

Trailing and igniting fire.

He cocked the gun with a soft click that echoed like thunder.

There was a hint of determination in Angel’s eyes.

He was finally delivering his judgement.

It was time.

“I said,” he whispered, voice like velvet, laced with venom.

”I’m not an object.”

It was an answer to Tony’s possessive statement from earlier.

Tony exhaled slowly, the barrel was nudging against the roof of his mouth.

Angel’s hand was now steady.

Determined.

Fingers long and elegant, clutched the weapon like a divine object.

Angel refused to give in.

Even with the evidence of pleasure still dripping down between his thighs.

“Nobody owns me,” he continued. 

Violet eyes narrowing.

“Not you…”

He pulled the gun just an inch.

“Not them...”

To let Tony speak.

“Not even God himself.”

But Tony didn't.

He bit the metal instead—like he’s catching it back.

Hard.

The crunch of his teeth against the metal sounded painful.

‘This crazy son of a bitch!’ the ‘Angel’ cussed.

A sick grin crept up Tony’s face.

He licked the tip of the gun.

Re-enacting what he did earlier.

Eyes never leaving Angel.

Seducing.

But, Angel’s lips twitched.

It wasn't a smile.

It was a grimace.

And it was him declaring war to Tony.

“Only—I—own—myself,” he finally hissed.

Enunciating every word.

Angel stepped back, slowly.

Like a prey gradually retreating from a beast.

Trying to get out of Tony’s grip on him.

Letting the hem of his robe fall completely open—for distraction.

Moonlight shone across his naked body.

Glistening with sweat, and bruises.

His thighs were full of bite wounds down to the sole of his feet.

A testament to the way Tony had claimed him not ten minutes ago.

But he wasn't the one conquered.

Angel refused to believe it.

He was the one holding the weapon, did he not?

So why is it that he still felt threatened by Tony’s presence?

The hair at the back of his head stood up, as if screaming at him that Tony was dangerously unhinged!

And that he has to get out!

Run!

Away from this bastard!

‘Before it's too late.’

Tony’s hand, resting lightly on Angel’s hips, twitched.

It moved fast.

Then it slithered around Angel like a snake.

Strong.

Measured.

Cold. 

Possessive. 

Unrelenting.

Effectively stopping his hunt from stepping back.

Away from the hungry wolf..

Two hands were now on both Angel’s ass cheeks.

Strong fingers pinching it.

Angel groaned.

‘It hurts.’

Tony then pressed sensually to it—massaging as if saying sorry—before placing his hands.

But unable to resist..

He started cupping it.

Long fingers digging in on the soft flesh.

As if all of his strength lived in that grip.

It almost made Tony lose his mind.

Angel’s round buttocks fit perfectly into his hands!

‘You’re not going anywhere,’ he thought darkly.

There was now madness in his eyes.

His shoulders and arms tensed.

His veins bulge.

Angry.

And not letting the ‘Angel’ step back again.

Holding him in place.

‘Where he belongs.’

Angel’s legs now couldn't move.

He stilled.

Careful not to hurt Tony with the gun still inside his mouth because of the sudden move.

‘I almost pulled the trigger! This crazy bastard!’ Angel’s face twisted.

He glared him.

But Tony’s mind was already in a frenzy.

He ached to drag Angel down onto the carpeted floor.

And have his way with him.

To claim him all over again—slow, filthy and without mercy.

He imagined Angel laying down on his back to the soft carpet.

The sea of deep sapphire contrasting to his milky white skin.

‘What a sight!’

Then kiss him until they forgot that they were running for their lives.

With an annoyed ‘tch’, Angel pulled the gun from Tony’s mouth.

‘Threatening him with a gun was useless.’

A long saliva dripped down the gun.

The silence was so loud.

Then—

“You said you loved me,” Tony murmured, lips curling upward.

Dangerous and knowing.

Angel scoffed, “You must be hard of hearing. I never said that.”

“You said I'm yours,” Tony insisted.

“No!” Angel pointed back the gun at Tony.

While his other hand reached for the bastard’s face.

Angel wanted to tear it! Claw it!

But unable to hold anything on the bastard’s face, he reached for Tony’s dark hair instead.

It felt silky between his fingers.

Then he pulled it—lifting Tony’s head.

“You were the one who said that! I never! I-I just moaned!” Angel could feel his face reddening—even though he was the one with the gun.

The weight in the air thickened.

Tony’s silver eyes darkened.

A storm behind glass.

Still on his knees.

Dripping in sweat and Angel’s taste. 

Mouth was bleeding a little on the corner.

‘Maybe from the gun,’ Angel felt guilty.

And yet, even kneeling, with only his tight jeans on, Tony looked like a king.

‘A barbarian king,’ he groaned inside his mind.

Angel hated him for that.

And craved him all the same.

“I'm not a masochist or a sadist,” Tony whispered, smiling.

“But I like it. I like how you hurt me.”

His hands gripped Angel’s ass—hard.

Fingers were brushing over his bruised hole.

Angel flinched.

In pain and in hunger.

He could feel himself hardening again.

‘He already wrung me dry earlier! Cruel bastard!’ he groaned.

“Fine. You’re not an object,” Tony finally relented. 

Voice was quiet and raw.

“But Angel…”

He paused.

“You’re still mine.”

**