I shot an angel, kept it in my backyard
Hung it out to dry on the clothing line
Pinned above my bed like the cross of Jesus Christ
On the wall
The air is thick with heat, heavy and wet as it settles in Jehan’s lungs wrapped in a deep heaved sigh. The shops are busy today, the smell of blood cutting sharp against the smell of death, of livelihood, of him. Emilein has his arm draped across his shoulders, heavier still than the humidity, wafts of smoke and sweat and spice, the aftertaste of him sticking to the back of Jehan’s tongue like a promise. Parrain holds up a necklace that settles nicely against his chest, claw stretching towards the scar that lives down his belly. He likes it, he thinks. A bracelet of teeth joins the necklace as they thank the taxidermist in straight cash.
A truck a lot like theirs is pulling up as they are pulling away, a 'gator flopping weighty and lifeless down onto the tailgate, eyeing Jehan with an open, smiling maw that made his eyes flicker towards Emi, who is crawling a hand from the gearshift towards his thigh with the same smile. “C’mere, p’tit.” All predator, pawing at the supple skin. “Gimme a kiss, hmm?”
Em has his cock out before they’ve even left town, and Jehan’s heart rate spikes. Towns talk, what if someone saw, or heard, or even just noticed that Emilein always stands a little too close, or touches him a little too long my, that poor boy, having to live with a man of that nature no wonder he’s so quiet, lord help him. Emi pets Je’s head, dragging his nails across his scalp in the way that makes him prickle, sucking a little harder as the road becomes uneven beneath him, forcing him to sway and bob in an unorthodox way that makes parrain growl and swear and finally jerk him away to spill across his swollen mouth.
Their home sits quiet, set far back in the trees, further back than most would dare to go in the marsh. Their own little piece of the world. It’s small and homely, pushes right up against the edge of the murky water. The ground is soft beneath their feet as they trek towards the door, their new angel slung over Emilein’s shoulder like a rag doll.
By the time that Jehan's got her tied up and strung christly on the wall, Em has stripped down to a white shirt and his briefs, reclined in the large chair nearest to the small fan that's mostly just succeeding in circulating the same wet, hot air. He's got a glass of scotch in one hand and a smoke burning in the other when Jehan comes back in, shirt being peeled over his head, and billowing shorts are dropped and leaving him bare, save for his new jewelry. He lands demanding in Tiefer's lap, lanky little arms draped across his Parrain's shoulders and huffing as their skin sticks together where it touches. "Thank you for the gifts, Emi." It's sarcastic, all sixteen year old snark and dripping with contempt.
"You wanna thank me, huh sugar?" The older man blows a single smoke ring, before stubbing the butt out on the small of Jehan’s back, angular little body writhing in his lap as he sips from his glass, indifferent. The butt lands in the overflowing bucket near his boots, and Em straightens up, abandoning his drink in favor of turning the boy’s head to look at the angel, blonde hair hiding her sniffling face.
Jehan spots her from a few booths away, she’s smiling at a salesman, sunlight dancing across her pale skin. Emi follows his line of sight, and grips his shoulder a little tighter. “That the one, hm?”
With a small nod, he separates himself, approaching meekly.
She turns her attention on him and his heart skips. Her eyes are beautiful, and he has to swallow harshly to get his mouth working again. “Could I have a hand?”
“Think I should be thankin’ you, anje,” A warning disguised as a brush of lips across his jaw and the hand at his hip tightening just this side of bruising. “She’s perfect.”
Emilein has his arm slung over her, draping his body across her own, as he imitates blindness. The thick black lenses he wears keeps her from seeing his eyes rake over her, waiting until they had gotten to the alley where the truck lay in wait to flick the knife into his palm and pass it against her jaw.
“Scream, and I gut the boy. Get in the truck.”