Wings, Flings, and Demon Kings || COMPLETE

Chapter 3: Fondling Faces, and other Faux Pas

November 26, 2006 AD, 6:13 A.M.

Apartment

Well, oops. The whole recounting-the-elevator-incident was taking longer than I'd intended, so I laid my head down for a nap. Next thing I knew, it was 6 in the morning, and the alarm clock was blasting Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto Opus 64 in my ear.

Which means I have only two hours to finish this story before I'm supposed to head over to the youth volunteer program to convert some misguided souls to the light. (Which, by the way, I am incredibly excited about! Working with humans brings a level of joy I never thought I'd see. They're all so interesting, and unpredictable, and funny in their own ways.

And no, that wasn't sarcasm, Mister Stick-In-The-Mud Orientation Preceptor.)

But back to the kissing.

Er—the near-kissing. I believe I left off the last entry with me sprawled on top of the demon, our lips two inches apart.

6:18 A.M.

Okay, so I reread my entry from last night and realized it makes me sound like a far worse student than I am. I have been paying attention in my Remedial Goodness classes, I swear. I only fell asleep during one of them. Maybe I got unlucky, and that particular class was when they told us not to get close to demons. Maybe they never told us not to get close to demons, and I can blame my moral ineptitude on the shortcomings of our curriculum.

After all, if they never explicitly told us not to do it, how was I expected to predict what might occur?

I also realized I've painted a much worse picture of Archangel Ramiel than I intended. He's done so much for me, and I ought to be grateful. I am grateful! He puts up with a lot, especially since I'm not the most competent angel.

I did accidentally collapse a row of his favorite bookshelves three weeks ago.

And let's not forget about the incident that sent me into the Remedial Goodness Program in the first place...

But anyway.

Back to the kissing.

...The near-kissing.

The part where I'd just smacked the panel at the top of the elevator, and then I'd fallen on top of the demon, and our mouths were two inches apart.

6:26 A.M.

Human bodies are not designed to fall from great heights, and our tumble definitely did something wonky to my brain.

Azerath also seemed befuddled by the fall. He was mumbling a litany of curses beneath me, though thankfully this time he refrained from describing Our Holy Father's nonexistent genitalia.

The sound of his cursing was vibrating through my chest in an incredibly ticklish way.

When I first got my human body, I'd spent a considerable amount of time examining it. Not because I was trying to be weird, or perverted (is it even possible to be perverted when it's your own body?) but because I was curious about how it worked. I'd prodded various parts of it and gotten a gauge on their... consistency, as it were.

Azerath's body beneath me felt... different. It was certainly much more solid, and a lot less jiggly in the chest area. One of my hands was resting near his sternum, just above his heart, and I could feel what seemed to be muscles through the fabric of his shirt.

Or perhaps they were ribs?

I was never very good at biology.

Whatever they were, they felt... well-defined. Quite a contrast from the soft, jiggly bits on my chest. In fact, they were so nice that I began to run my hands up and down his chest without even thinking about what I was doing.