Boy Toy

He was practically a child among angelic circles. Only one million years old but already decisive in his actions. He would not be anyone's follower, whether they partied up in the clouds or down in the depths of brimstone and fire.

He didn't see himself as a god. Call him an atheistic angel, if you will. While he had traits that would put one in mind of the Fallen, he hadn't cast his lot with them and so remained free to make his way among mortals without consequence. In his depths, he suspected that his essence was somehow corrupted at the moment of creation but of course he could never know for sure. He wasn't willing to let some high-and-mighty look into his soul and tell him for sure. He belonged only to himself, an outcast with no desire to step among the cosmos he'd abandoned the first time he walked among mortals. The heavens held no appeal. He liked mortals.

Especially men.

Earth has been his home these last three centuries and in this time he has watched the fashions change from scruffy men with bushy beards and bristling mustaches, fighting in haggard lines for Life, Liberty and the pursuit of The Almighty Dollar to smooth-chested boys horrified by the appearance of a single chin hair. The male form is a lure to him, an irresistible attractant that will cause him to throw caution to the wind even on the high holidays when there was a chance some more noble member of his race might finally step in and reprimand him for causing men to sin.

He will do anything, alter his appearance in any way necessary, to lure men to his bed. He will appear as the stunt double of that one particular movie star or assume a face so like that of a lost lover that the man in question is putty in his hands.

What he can't do is make the first move. He offers temptation. He teases mercilessly and plays on their every emotion but in all such transactions, the mortal must be the one to make his approach. Losing prey is not unheard of and frustrates him nearly to the point of infernal rage. No true hunter simply bows their head in defeat when denied their dinner.

Every man he tempted was a source of fuel to keep his holy energy up, keeping him strong and allowing him to alter his appearance at will. His appetite, like his powers, was mighty. He could survive on one feeding a day but would not be satisfied until he'd had at least three. He would never say no to a little dessert, either.

He never fears the future. Consequences be damned. If he had a slogan tattooed anywhere on his body, it would be this.

He has no name for lovers to cling to when he abandons them in the middle of the night. Names are for mortals. They all remember him fondly as "just a boy toy".
A title he relishes.

Story by Pureflower
art by Sunday & boy
profile by boy
background from iStock