Fantasy Angels queer happy ending Christian mythos erotica

Switch

By KJ Kabza
Feb 23, 2019 · 5,229 words · 20 minutes


From the author: The angel Corusc has been sneaking away from Heaven to take a mortal form more often than allowed—and to explore the pleasures of the flesh. The angel Nix is manifesting a physical form on Earth for the first time—and Nix is Corusc’s secret crush. But sexual congress as an angel is often forbidden. Is Nix really worth Falling for? (Warning: erotica.)


[CONTENT WARNING: This story is erotica and contains explicit sexual situations.]

I placed my right foot on her nightstand, so she could admire the color of my panties, and zipped up my thigh-high boot. She watched me from the bed, lying on her side, propping up her head with one hand. Morning sun made her strawberry curls into a halo. Her bright gaze reminded me of Nix. I looked away.

"You're going already?"

I gave my best rueful smile. "Work."

She closed her eyes. A smile just barely lit the corners of her lips. I didn't want to leave her—the memory of all their hungry touches hangs upon my skin, and I never want to leave any of them—but if I were late, it would all be over. So I left her apartment without looking back.

Cut another notch on the bedpost for Tentatio.

On the street, a distant church bell tolled the hour. 7 a.m. I stepped into a narrow alley between two buildings, made sure I was not being watched, and demanifested all my clothes—boots, miniskirt, corset and all. I manifested my wings. Not Tentatio's wings—those are black and tipped with talons—but mine: Corusc's wings are snow-white, covered in owl-soft feathers.

And Corusc is not a woman. Or a man or some combination, either, because while Tentatio chooses a sex and gender each night for capturing and seduction, Corusc has neither of these.

No angels do.

All vestiges of my demonic persona gone, I spread my wings and flew home.

Heaven is an ecstasy of self-denial. Or so I'm told. Where the angles are, there is nothing but a misty white void in which to float. Talk is discouraged. Laughter is discouraged. Privacy is nearly impossible. All time and attention is reserved for the Sacred Contemplation of the Glory.

There are no items, except for the Reminders.

As soon as I entered the edge of that monastic stillness, I felt the Reminder coming. It coalesced between my legs, a smooth curve of impenetrable, solid gold. Its chains condensed around my hips, forever locking up my profane end in beautiful, ice-cold metal. They are placed there so that our perfect mental Contemplation may be properly balanced by perfection at the other end. Or so I'm also told.

I flew toward the center, where most of the angels float. Where Nix floats. Angels hung above and below me, suspended in silence and infinity, eyes closed. Ageless. Colorless. Unbreathing.

I found Nix.

I stilled myself a few angels away. Angels are everything at once, so they are not supposed to be so unbalanced as to feel any separate emotion. Like what Nix made me feel.

While the other angels Contemplated in the total stillness, Nix remained open-eyed and smiling. Sometimes Nix's slender shoulders shook in silent laughter. Or I'd watch a yawn and a stretch, as if Nix were bored.

Then I got caught looking.

I closed my eyes. But chill, wet wind moved over my bare skin. An owl-soft wing brushed my arm. I shivered.

"Do you ever feel it too?" Nix whispered.

My shivering didn't stop.

"I've seen you looking at me, sometimes. You aren't Contemplating either, are you?"

"Shh. We can't."

"Something's missing."

"Shh!"

Silence. I dared open my eyes, just a shade. Nix floated nearby, studying me with intense curiosity. I didn't understand how so much emotion could be coupled with so much steadiness. Each time I had distinct feelings, they left me in agony. Each time I slipped away to attend to my other, secret profession and manifested a body, I felt that wild chemical thrill that made me need. And lately, it's always you, I thought, as the warmth of Nix's body radiated toward mine. I never think anymore of whatever human is bucking atop me or beneath me. I think of you.

"I'm Nix. What's your name?"

Fingering the chains of your Reminder. Tugging at them. Slipping off that ice-cold gold, revealing smooth, featureless light beneath. And me, touching that light, putting my face there, drowning in it, while your head tips back with a blissful exhalation.

My throat was ash. "Corusc."

A warm hand alighted on my forearm in greeting. "Sometimes I think something's missing here. Do you ever get that feeling?"

Somewhere distant, thunder rumbled. I opened my eyes. Around me, the clouds of angels stirred and frowned at each other for the interruption. But I knew what it meant. Someone was not happy we'd been talking.

I looked Nix in the eye and shook my head for silence. Nix nodded.

We shut our eyes and floated without speaking, but Nix remained close. Warm.

When the mist began to dim with the onset of night, I didn't want to leave Nix's side. But a job is a job.

That night, Tentatio manifested as a man in khakis and a polo shirt. Tall, slender, dark-skinned, deep-voiced. Mirus still recognized me, when I reported to him on his favorite street corner, but of course he did. Besides, I always manifested horns that only demons and angels can see.

"Tentatio," said Mirus. He likes to manifest as a light-colored, heavy man wearing sloppy clothes. He says that he's being ironic, which I didn't quite understand, but being an angel, you miss out on a lot of humor. "Good work last night. Girl hadn't fucked in four years. You believe that? Tragic." He took a drag on a cigarette. "What you planning on tonight?"

"I thought I'd find a nice celibate girl."

"Aiming high?"

"I need a challenge tonight. Get my mind off of some things."

Mirus took another drag. He tipped his head back and blew fragrant smoke up into the night. "I'd ask you what's up, but you've never told me a damn thing about your personal life, and don't see why you'd start now. One day I'm gonna run into you somewhere down under, and it's gonna blow my mind."

"If that happened, it would blow my mind too."

"Tentatio, you're a puzzle wrapped in a riddle wrapped in a goddamn enigma." Mirus tossed the cigarette to the sidewalk and mashed it out beneath the heel of his sneaker. "I mean that affectionately. Now go forth and fuck. Those ascetics aren't gonna fix themselves."

I left Mirus and walked up the crowded street, passing restaurants and bars. Car horns blared and artificial lights blazed. I smelled frying potatoes, barbeque, exhaust. More fragrant cigarette smoke. Floral perfume, as a trio of women speaking Spanish flounced past me, laughing, neon lights sliding over their lustrous black hair. Oh, so much. So much everything. All the things on Earth are separated like this, into different colors and shapes and smells and ideas, a glorious, crazy riot of chaos I can never get enough of.

If this is what Earth is like, I sometimes thought, what must it be like down in the Infernal Paradise?

I passed the entrance to a bar and sensed something. Need. Loneliness. Someone who'd desire this body. Most angels who sense these things in humans use them as indicators of whom to avoid, but I am not most angels.

I entered. The place was magnificent, crowded, smelling of flesh and beer and bitter perfume, packed with young bodies of many colors. But I had barely oriented myself before the one I wanted pushed past me—a medium-colored woman, her arms folded, biting her lips.

I caught up with her just outside the door. "Wait."

She turned. She looked ready to cry. Emotion rushed through me, and I wanted to take those heavy lips between my teeth, gently, between whispers of, "Shh, it's all right. Let me make you feel good."

She wiped her eyes with a wrist. "What?"

I approached her. That chemical buzz within me was beginning. Her shapes and colors aroused me—the smoothness of her skin, the curves of her breasts pushed up beneath her folded arms, the tight spirals of her kinky locks brushing her bare shoulders. I wanted to touch her everywhere. Take everything into my mouth, stroke and taste it with my sensitive human tongue. "You don't look so good. Is everything okay?"

She folded her arms more tightly. Shook her head. "I'm not doing this."

"Hey. I just want to talk a little."

"Oh no. I know what you really want. This isn't me, and I'm not this kind of person, and this whole thing tonight was a bad idea. I'm not doing this."

"Listen—"

She stepped back and reached into her shirt to pull something out. A gold cross. "I'm not doing this!" she said, closing her fist around it. "God help me, I'm not doing this!"

A shock bolted up my spine, right at the moment an angel wearing a white tee-shirt and jeans manifested behind her. He was male, medium-colored, and short—on Earth, angels have to take a form, whether they like it or not. His build was slight, and his voice, a soft tenor. "Excuse me."

The woman jumped and turned. "What?"

The angel's eyes went to me. He stared at my horns, just as I stared at his celestial radiance.

"What do you want?" she demanded.

"I..." The angel was clearly at a loss. "Nothing. You were the one who called... er... what do you want?"

"I want you to get out of here," she said to him. "I don't need you up in my private business too, whoever you are!"

"I'm Nix."

Oh no.

"I don't care who you are," she said. She turned to me. "And I don't care who you are. I'm not going anywhere with you."

Nix's eyes went wide. He looked back and forth between us. "You're going to do something to her," he said.

"Oh no he isn't," said the woman, hotly.

"He's not," agreed Nix, still staring at me. At my horns. With such bright intensity. He stepped forward, interposing himself between the woman and myself. "You'll have to get through me."

I stared at him. My stomach did something strange, some fluttery somersault. "Are you saying..." I said. "Are you saying that you'd..."

The brightness in his eyes rose higher. A flush crept over his skin. "Whatever you're about to do to her—"

"I am not getting involved in this," said the woman. She dropped the crucifix back beneath her shirt and stomped off down the sidewalk, her shoes clacking on the cement, but I was barely aware of it. All I really noticed was Nix returning my stare.

He was breathing fast. Someplace on the edge of excitement and panic. "Don't go after her," he said. "I sacrifice myself."

My heart began to pound. Did he know? But how could he? "Do you."

Nix nodded, his eyes feverish. "Because I'm here to... protect her."

I stepped in. Close. I felt his heat upon my skin again, reaching out across this warm, wild Earth air. "Come with me."

I led Nix down the road, through the laughing, churning crowd. Electric night colors and a dozen manufactured scents swirled around us, and it was only my celestial powers that let me hear him beneath the noise: stepping lightly behind me, panting in exhilarated fear.

The lights and crowds dimmed and thinned. We reached the edge of the main drag. I swerved into a narrow alley between a clothing shop and a bakery, their storefronts dark. The alley smelled of sugar, fresh bread, molasses. I heard Nix lick his lips and swallow, bewildered, as his temporary body nudged him with the first hint of appetite.

I laid my broad, dark hand on his slender wrist and pulled him deeper into darker shadows, his pulse flying beneath my fingertips. His skin was so warm. Smooth. I pulled him around a corner, to where a dim light burned above the bakery's clean-swept back stoop.

"What is this?" he panted. In my grasp, his wrist trembled. "We're not fighting. I thought we'd fight. So what am I... what are you..."

I shoved him back against the brick with my hips. I grabbed his other hand and pulled his arms away from himself, leaving him against the wall, pinned and exposed like a fragile butterfly.

"This is called desire," I whispered, roughly, and pressed my mouth to his.

Nix made a small sound. He didn't pull away. I pulled his soft lips between mine, rolling them in my teeth and tongue. His slender jaw trembled. Fell open. Admitted me. His small body sagged, and his head rolled back, the better to connect to my kiss.

This was so wrong.

But oh. So perfect.

I pulled away, just enough to break contact, and Nix gasped for air. "I can't... I can't... oh..."

"You can," I whispered, and dove back in. I finally released one of his hands. It hung in space for a moment, trembling like a branch in a storm, before drifting toward me.

Touching my waist. Curving around my back. Still shaking.

I kept my mouth on his but stepped back. My other hand dipped to the waistband on his jeans. Unbutton. Unzip.

"What are you doing," he whispered. But the whisper was dreamy and weak, and when I moved my mouth to his ear, his words became lost in a feverish sigh.

I slid my hand down. I expected to find his desire rising in answer to mine, but I hit nothing but soft hair.

Oh. A woman's place.

I felt myself smiling. "This is your first time. To Earth. You've never manifested before."

Head tipped back beside my mouth, transported, Nix could barely manage a sound.

"Human males don't..." I started to explain. But perhaps Nix had meant to manifest as a woman to begin with. Or maybe Nix wasn't quite clear on the differences?

A sound finally escaped my angel's lips—a helpless, whimpering moan—and I stopped caring.

I twisted my neck and moved back in, teasing the edge of Nix's ear with my hot tongue. I moved my fingers down, further, curling them into careful hooks, to tease. My fingertips touched warmth and wet. She shuddered against me, against the wall, and her head rolled to the side, baring more of her smooth neck to the lamplight. I claimed it with my lips. She tried to part her legs within her jeans. Her body wanted more. My own desire was turning to hot iron against Nix's stomach.

"What's happening?" he gasped. His one free hand was curled tight around my back, his fingers splaying and squeezing, struggling to hold on. "What's happening to me?"

In the street, something clattered.

I froze. Nix trembled in place. I extended my senses outward. An angel was somewhere nearby, someone else who'd been called down tonight and had doubtless sensed that something in the neighborhood wasn't right. I knew how to dim my radiance and conceal myself, but did Nix?

"What—"

"Shh."

We waited. I listened. No more sounds from the street. I relaxed.

"Is it... are we...?"

In answer, I leaned forward and slid my fingers in deeper. Nix shivered, but with her pants on, I couldn't go very far. "Your pants," I whispered.

"What?"

I removed my hand. Nix uttered a tiny whimper, as faint as it was maddening. She couldn't think enough to demanifest her pants. I let go of Nix's other hand, stepped back, and pulled her jeans and boxers straight down to the asphalt, baring perfect, well-muscled legs. Her hair glimmered darkly in the street light.

Mouth open, Nix looked down.

I knelt in front of him on the pavement. Raised my hands. Parted her hair. I leaned forward, opening my mouth against that wet heat. The smell of her rose, swirling with fresh bread and molasses, and on either side of me, Nix's hard thighs shook, and twitchy fingers interlaced with my hair and clenched. His breath was a sprinter's, unable to get enough air. Against the brick and beneath my undulating tongue, his body began to writhe in crazed need. "What are you... don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop."

I didn't. But around my tongue, I grinned, more widely than the horns of the moon, and my own breath began to race in and out. If he could barely stand his pleasure, how could I?

I moved a hand to my own pants. Unbutton. Unzip. My other hand momentarily took the place of my tongue. She was soaking now, the heat dripping down to my palm, and once my fingers were slick with it, I withdrew my hand and moved it around her hard buttocks. Finding that other place.

My fingertips connected with that velvet spot just as my tongue returned to her heat. She squealed like a rabbit. My tongue and fingers slid, gently, in and out, loosening her. His knees were like saplings in an earthquake. "I can't—I can't—"

I pulled away to gasp. An ocean was roaring in my ears. "Lie on your back on the stoop—"

In the alley, something banged.

She nearly collapsed, floundering gracelessly into a sitting position on the stoop. Her jeans were still pooled around her ankles. He leaned back on the concrete on his palms, the cords of his forearms tense and trembling like live wire, his mouth open, trying to pull in noiseless gasps. He jerked his head to the alley in a wordless question, eyes wild and confused.

I turned in place, listening hard, my heart crawling up into my mouth. I couldn't sense clearly. Desire clouded my mind. My own loosened pants slid partway down around my hips, the open V of the fly revealing the full strength of my desperation. Shadows moved within shadows. I didn't hear a thing.

"Nevermind," Nix panted. "It's fine." He kicked at his pants, fighting out of them, still not bothering to demanifest them or even remove his shoes. "It's fine."

"I'm not—"

"Please!"

My own knees betrayed me at his plea. I knelt in front of the stoop, my hands gripping his thighs, staring at the slick sweat that coated his chest and the slicker wetness tangled in her dark nether hair. The stoop was low and the asphalt was unforgiving, but I folded up her discarded jeans and put them under my knees, and that was good enough.

I told her to lean back. We pulled her forward. I put her legs upon my shoulders, tilting her hips up to me, exposing her wet velvet to the hard orange light above. His pupils were fully dilated, his neck and chest flushed with red. "Do it," he begged. "Whatever it is, do it!"

Yes.

I freed myself from my boxers. I aligned myself against one of her places, and began the first, slow thrust. He squealed like a rabbit again, but as I moved deeper, the sound turned into a thin wail. Then a drawn-out moan.

When the sound sputtered out, I whispered, "Then I slide out, and do it again."

I eased back out. Paused. Slow thrust again. She made the same sound, only more urgent and frenzied, and arched her back. Her fingers clenched uselessly at the barren stoop. I moved out again, and on the third thrust, stayed still. Letting her feel it. Letting her take it all in.

But he was already moving his hips on his own, trying to coax my own motions along with his body, whether he was aware he was doing it or not. "Wait," I whispered, from a scorched throat. "There's your other one."

"My other—"

I pulled out, and this time, switched places. I eased myself into her other. She cried out, a howl of alarmed delight—"Oh!"—and I felt a subtle pop as her body succumbed.

I nearly lost control. For a moment, I had to squeeze my eyes shut and think of that bland white nothing we floated in that we called home, but even then, thoughts of beautiful gold chains around my hips filled my head, and I imagined the exquisite texture of warm metal against my arousal. I had to move again. Nix moved with me, a symphony of animal noises tumbling from his throat, echoing the dizzying roar of Earth's everything that I could never get enough of.

"I can't, I can't, I can't," he yowled. He was terrified, ecstatic. I pulled myself out of one place and plunged into another, insensible with the switching between warm and tight and wet and subtle. I was taking everything. Nix was taking everything. We rocked together, both riding and being ridden, and I began to rise to the place of everything and nothing.

"I—" cried Nix. "Something is—"

A flashlight blinded me. "What in the Name of Heaven is this?"

I threw an arm over my eyes and rocked back. Nix yelped. I heard him struggle and felt the jeans beneath my knees disappear.

It wasn't a flashlight.

I gingerly lowered my arm. A woman stood before the stoop, red-haired and fair, her fists trembling in barely-contained rage and disgust.

Around her flared the full power of her celestial radiance.

Flaming eyes locked upon mine, and her lips pulled back from her teeth. "Be gone, demon filth. Before I smite you where you kneel."

I gaped. I turned to look at Nix, but he was curled up on the stoop, staring at the angel in obedient, uncertain fear. "There was a human..." he said. "She was... the demon was going to... if I hadn't volunteered to..."

The angel said to me, "You have five seconds before I summon the others to tear you to shreds."

I yanked up my pants and ran.

I didn't have anywhere real to hide, of course. As long as I was on Earth, I could fool demons and angels alike, but when dawn came, there was only one place I could return to, in the end.

So I returned.

This time, the angels were not floating in misty silence, Contemplating the Glory. They were all crammed near the center, eyes open, facing inward.

"Corusc," one of them whispered, the barest trace of disapproval in the words. "This is what you get, for floating near the edge."

"What?" If I had had a heart in that form, it surely would've begun to pound. "What do I get?"

"Missing out on the news."

"What—" I began to ask. But I didn't need to ask.

I knew. When I saw Nix, floating in a ball near the very center, I knew. An angel I did not know was there too, body transformed into nearly transparent light, eyes blank windows of snow. Possession by the Glory.

"There are no circumstances under which angels may have congress with demons," Metatron was saying.

Nix's face was ashen. "I didn't know."

"You knew."

"I didn't!"

"You suspected."

Nix's head dropped in shame.

"Do you also not know what happens to an angel who has congress with a demon?"

Nix's response was barely a whisper, but everyone heard. "I know."

Metatron's near-blinding hand reached out to grasp a gilded chain on Nix's Reminder. "And do you not know why you wear this?"

The whisper was even quieter. "I know."

"I think perhaps you do not. And if you do not, Nix, you are worthy of it no more." Metatron's hand waved over the cruel gold. The chains began to crumble. Nix's eyes squeezed shut.

"Stop!"

All heads turned and looked at me.

I opened my mouth again. Nix's eyes were on me now, but I daren't meet them. I had to keep my voice even. My focus on Metatron only. "Nix didn't have congress with a demon."

"Wrong," said an angel, sharply. "I was there. I saw it."

"You didn't see a demon," I said. I had no heart in this form, true, but my chest was strangely tight, and pain moved through me. "You saw me."

The void filled with total silence.

Metatron's eyes were white-hot flames. "I go to Earth every night," I said to the flames. "I pass as a demon."

Silent as death.

I started talking. "Once when I was called down, I stayed for a while after I was done. I... I liked it down there. The colors. The smells. All the sounds and the way things move. There's so much. I couldn't see everything I wanted to, so I kept going back.

"I started figuring things out. Things I was capable of, down there. Like hiding the radiance, or sensing emotion or presence, or... making horns appear."

"Enough," said Metatron.

I kept going. "At first I just liked to walk by other angels or demons on the street. Have them glare at me or nod. I got a kick out of it. What I could make them see."

"Enough!"

"Then one night I dared to stand at the edge of a whole crowd of them. They were getting briefed by someone, some demon experienced enough to lead a bunch of other hobbyists. He pulled me aside afterwards and said I must be new at this. I said I was. Just for the heck of it. But then he suggested a basic challenge for me. And then I did it, and I... I liked it. More than anything I've ever done.

"And I wanted to do it again. So I showed up the next night. And the next. And—"

"I said that's enough!"

Around me, the angels cringed and whispered, moving away from where I floated. I was untouchable. In front of me, curled in a tight ball, Nix quaked, looking at me and yet not.

Let them whisper.

"You would do this?" said Metatron, voice tight with fury. "You would do such a thing?"

"I would," I said. "I have. And with You as my witness, I would do it again."

Metatron visibly swelled. The mist around us dimmed, just barely, as Metatron gathered up power from all the infinite reaches.

"Before You cast me out," I shouted, "tell me this: is there a law against angels having congress with angels? Is there? Because if there is not, You have no claim against Nix!"

Metatron's voice was a boiling ocean. "There is not."

The Reminder around my hips shattered into dust, and with a sickening lurch, I Fell.

I awoke on Earth, in the gutter, three blocks east of Mirus's street corner. I had horns. I had wings—black and tipped with talons. I was Tentatio, but this time, when I tried to become radiant, white-winged Corusc, I couldn't change back.

When night fell and Mirus's group appeared, I acted as though nothing were wrong. I had passed so well before, nobody noticed that anything was different. When dawn came, my homing instinct pulled me down, not up, so that's where I resigned myself and flew, as though the solid bedrock were as insubstantial as the sky.

I went down and down. Emptiness whistled past me, blackness that sizzled with the impressions of ten thousand burning, electric colors, and when I finally saw light and ground, I knew that I'd reached the Infernal Paradise at last.

My early memories of it are a bewildered blur. The Infernal Paradise is the riot of Earth times a thousand, a primordial chaos to a mind-breaking extreme. Objects there change shape, if you want them to. You yourself can change shape, if you want to. Reality is a dreamy slurry of clay, limited only by imagination and will, and I remember that for many days, going up to Earth at night—where the shape of the color pallet was known, the sky held the same stars, and the number of emotions was finite—was a blissful relief.

I began to understand why demons looked at human temptation as sport. When you offer someone the tiniest fraction of what you yourself can feel, and watch them react with so much desperate gratitude, it's too fascinating and sad to look away.

Mirus began to comment on my work. You're not as into this as you used to be, he said. You seem upset these days, he said. Everything okay? he said. I could've told him everything. I didn't.

But in the end, I didn't have to.

I was a woman that night, short and packed with curves, skin a tawny brown and bright red streaks in my hair. I was in a parking lot behind an apartment building, sitting on the hood of a stranger's car, my heels on the front bumper and my miniskirt riding up and offering all. The stranger himself was standing nearby, rooted to where he stood, car keys dangling from one astonished hand. His eyes were glued to my flesh. He mumbled for God to help him.

Light streaked down from the sky, into an adjacent alley.

I leapt down from the hood of the car, my heels clacking on the pavement. Angels are stronger than demons—I knew that now—and I got ready to run.

But when the angel walked into the parking lot, tall and androgynous with bright, shining eyes, I knew. Our outside shapes may change into an infinity of forms, but angels and demons see the inside.

The angel stopped. "It's you."

My spell on him broken, the man lurched from his spot, eyed me one last desperate time, and scurried into his car. He drove off behind me. "It's you," I said back.

Nix moved toward me again. Her brown hair shimmered softly beneath the streetlights, and when she smiled, her lips shimmered too. Lip gloss. Nix had been learning. "It's me..." She hesitated.

"Tentatio."

Nix kept coming. The closer she came, the slower she moved, like someone falling into a dream. I had forgotten how brightly her eyes danced. All the frantic fires and lights in Hell, and still, her eyes were the liveliest things I'd ever seen. "Tentatio."

I took a step back. "I'm so sorry. I never got to tell you I was—"

In one long stride, she moved to me, and her hands curled lightly over my wrists. Pulled them apart. Held them there.

I could not believe her gentle kiss.

My heart fluttered. For the life of me, I could not pull away. "What are you doing?"

"Shh."

"What are you—"

"Show me again," she whispered. "What you were showing me. Before. Every time I come down here, and every time I float up there, I think: I want you to show me again."

The flutter moved into a pound. Heat blossomed in my chest, and slid lower and lower. "But you could... Metatron could..."

She did not release me. I did not fight. She moved her mouth to my ear, trying to imitate the caresses I'd given her with my own tongue a lifetime ago. "You never got caught. You only Fell because you gave yourself away.

"So show me again," she whispered. "And keep showing me. I like it. I think... I'm like you. I want to feel things. Every time I come to Earth, there's more and more I see, and I never want to leave, because this is what was missing. And there's so much I don't know, and—and I want to. I need to know. What it's like."

Her whisper on my ear was eager fire. Around me, my world was spinning, and in its wildness and speed, I was reminded of the raw joy that surges throughout the Infernal Paradise.

"It's like this," I whispered, and moved my mouth home to hers.

This story originally appeared in LIKE HEAVEN AND HELL.


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IN PIECES

From a mechanical forest that constructs itself to the streets of Kyoto 8,000 years hence, the sometimes whimsical, sometimes cutting short fiction of KJ Kabza has been dubbed “Delightful” (Locus Online) and “Very clever, indeed” (SFRevu). Collecting all of his work published before May 2011 (plus 5 new stories, notes on the stories, and an interview by Julia Rios), IN PIECES offers glimpses into other worlds—some not unlike your own.

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