Say a Little Prayer
By Clare London

Published by Less Than Three Press LLC

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or
reproduced in any manner without written permission of the
publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

Edited by Jasmine Ang
Cover designed by Aisha Akeju

This book is a work of fiction and as such all characters and
situations are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people,
places, or events is coincidental.

First Edition October 2012
Copyright © 2012 by Clare London
Printed in the United States of America

ISBN 9781620040188

Say a Little Prayer

Clare London

4 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

It was too late

for tourists to have strayed on to

the beach by accident; too early for midnight lovers to be
trespassing. This part of the beach was privately owned by the
nearby hotel, which was why I was there. My second week at
my summer job and I'd had enough of it already. I needed just a
few moments of peace after a long and hot day's work. Just one
blissful, quiet half-hour away from the frenzied shrieks of
holidaymakers and beach balls bouncing sand in my face, and
my tight white catering cap causing rivulets of sweat to run
down behind my ears.

I mean, my ambitions in life were modest enough–I didn't

want to be a rock star or a nuclear scientist. I was determined to
make my own way and I wasn't afraid of hard work. But the
summer was proving to be more of a struggle than I'd hoped.
Here I was, a young man trying to earn extra money wheeling
ice creams around in a cart along the promenade, from morning
until late afternoon, advertising the local hotel chain. I would
have finished earlier if I hadn't offered to take Mandy's shift as
well, but she was excited at the offer of a last-minute interview
for a TV soap. And I'd lent Paul my travel pass so he could visit
his sister after her operation, so I needed the money to cover
extra fares this week. And … well, Mum needed as much help as
possible from me. Even though she hoped this job was going to
be fun for me, soaking up the holiday spirit.

5 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

I smiled to myself. Soaking up sweat, more like. I wasn't

even going to get a tan because of the smart polo shirt and
trousers and long apron the hotel manager wanted me to wear.
Obviously I wasn't meant to be a sexy beach god, either.

Then I saw the man.
I walked towards him because that was the direction I was

going anyway. Plus, he needed to know this beach was closed to
the general public, and the hotel security could get a little
heavy-handed. He was sitting on the sand, his back to me. The
late afternoon light lit him from behind, setting a golden glow
around his dark curls.

He was …
No.
Surely not.
I came to a sudden halt as he turned his head to face me.

He probably heard the squeaky wheels of my cart, even on the
sand.

I stared back, temporarily speechless.
"Hello," he said, and smiled broadly. "I've been waiting for

you."

"I'm sorry?" It was the nakedness that startled me. His

smooth skin was dappled with the shadows of a sinking sun, the
hollow of his throat glistening with the sweat of a hot
afternoon. His shoulders were broad, displaying tight muscles
across his back and arms. The lines of his body narrowed at the
waist, then eased back out into the plump, fleshy mounds of his
buttocks. He was sitting comfortably cross-legged, gazing out
over the sea, as the day wore on and the vigorous ebb and flow
of the water eased to something more sensual. He showed no
sign of any inhibition or embarrassment that I could see.

I must have missed the memo declaring this a nudist beach.
He yawned gently and raised his arms into a stretch. The

muscles at his sides clenched into a tight formation. There was
no blemish to his skin that I could see, no T-shirt tan marks, no
odd freckles on his shoulders, no dimpling on his thighs from
growth spurts, a problem I seemed to be getting sadly obsessed
with every time I took a shower.

6 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

"It's getting late," he said, though without any trace of

complaint. "But now you've arrived."

I stared. "You shouldn't be here." I sounded like some kind

of officious traffic warden. "This stretch of beach belongs to the
Royal Hotel, it's not open to tourists. And you really shouldn't
be …" I swallowed. "You know. Like that. Not here."

He smiled straight at me, his eyes catching the orange

flickers of the sun, his mouth wide and welcoming. "Where are
we going, then?"

"We?"
He stretched out his long, lean legs and began to stand up.

It was like one of those tense movie moments, when you can
see what's going to happen and you know you need to stop it,
but your limbs move in agonizing slow motion. I raised a hand,
preparing to call out, to warn him, to … what? Protect my
modesty? He stood, his back straightening, his shoulders fully
extended, his skin flushed and dusted with sand. Then he
turned to face me. Full on.

My hand fell back down to my side.
Oh God.
A full body flush hadn't happened to me since the school

production of "Macbeth" when I understudied for the head boy
who was vomiting in the toilets from stagefright, and I realised
in the middle of the murder scene I'd left my fly unzipped. But it
was repeating with a vengeance right now. The naked man's six-
pack was just defined enough to fit my dream-man checklist, his
lithe movement enough to fascinate me like a rabbit caught in
shining headlights. A small trail of sweat trickled down his chest,
glinting in the sun between his nipples. It slid down his torso,
glimmering on the gentle swell of his muscles. It followed the
thin, dark trail of hairs that ran down from his navel into a small,
curly bush of pubic hair.

He was really beautiful.
And oh …
God.
Erect.

7 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

The man smiled at me and held his hands out to the side as

if in offering. "This is good?"

"This …?"
I couldn't seem to manage more than one word at a time.

He laughed, much too loudly for my liking. What would happen
if someone heard him and found us here together, like this?
Someone with preschool kids, or someone working for the
council decency committee, or–God forbid–someone who knew
my Gran?

"You're very red," he said, concern in his voice. He took

several slow, graceful steps towards me. The muscles in his
calves tightened, and his … everything bobbed about between
his thighs. "The sun isn't good on your skin. Take me
somewhere you can be in the shade. You've finished …" He
waved his hand in the direction of my empty cart, as if searching
for the description, "… this exercise, haven't you?"

I nodded. My tongue felt very thick, and I struggled to

speak. "I have to put the cart away. In the shed at the back of
the beach."

He shrugged, smiling. "That's good, whatever it is. I'll help

you."

"No!"
His eyebrows raised and he paused in his walking. "You're

upset, Jonathan."

I blinked harder. "How do you know my name?" Not that

anyone called me the full Jonathan except for Gran.

He ignored the question. "You like this, don't you?" He

glanced down his body and back up to me. A brief frown passed
over his brow. "You like men?"

I swallowed past the lump of shock in my throat. "Of course

I do. Some of my best friends …" I stopped. From the puzzled
look in his eyes, he wasn't getting the joke. "I mean, I have lots
of male friends. A couple of cousins. Workmates at the hotel."

He frowned even more but his reproach was playful now.

"Yes, but I mean sex. You like to have sex with men."

I felt very, very hot and it was nothing to do with the

lowering sun. "What did you say?"

8 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

He smiled. "You're charming. You can be passionate, I know.

And I'm the kind of man you like. So we'll have sex."

There was a small, shocked silence.
I cleared my painful throat. "Is this your attempt at a joke?"
He tilted his head to the side, still looking puzzled and

maybe a little offended. He flexed his back as he moved.
Something rustled behind him. "Don't you agree?"

"I can't …"
"Can't?" He looked as if the word was something new and

astounding to him.

"I can't … I don't talk about those things." With strangers.

With forward strangers. With anyone, really, except for Gran–
and that was only because she always bloody talked to me first.

He smiled. "I know."
How could he? Plenty of the staff at the hotel were out and

proud, and good luck to them. But me? I just didn't feel
comfortable with everyone knowing my business. Mum said I
was shy; Gran accused me of being in denial.

"Please don't," I said.
"You're upset because of me." He looked stricken.
"No. It's okay." Maybe I broadcast more about myself than I

thought. I flushed even more, wondering how many of my
workmates knew. Coward, I told myself. What was the point of
denying it? I did like men. Very much. And I'd definitely like
more sex with them, too. If I ever got the chance, that was. I
told myself there wasn't much time for socialising, studying at
college during term time, then working every evening and
holiday at various casual jobs. There'd never been enough
money to go around, not from our small, off-beachfront B&B.

"You need to get a life," Gran had said, the previous

evening. She said it very carefully, obviously mimicking
whatever she'd been watching on YouTube during the day.
"Find another nice gay boy and go dancing. After all, this place is
full of them, the little darlings, there's plenty of choice. You're
already twenty, and who knows when your hair might start
going?" Her eyes filmed with the beginning of tears. "I pray hard
for you to find someone who'll be good to you. You deserve it,

9 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

Jonathan, putting up with us old folks. And I know what men
like, believe me …"

"So you've told me, Gran." Unfortunately.
"… and they'll snap up a cute thing like you, like a double

scoop of strawberry ice cream with a chocolate flake." She
jabbed me in the ribs and wheezed with a hearty laugh, the
tears gone as quickly as they arrived. "You just need to get out
there and go for it. I have to assume you know the facts of life:
tab A, slot B–?"

I coughed loudly as Mum came in with a tray of tea. She

glanced at Gran, assumed–rightly–the worst, and blushed
scarlet.

"Jonny's shy," she said, weakly.
Gran snorted. "Shy rumples no sheets, Gill. He needs to get

out to that beach and get hold of some nice, firm ars–"

And that's when the conversation ended as abruptly as it

usually did, with me being sent out of the room to finish the
washing up while Gran cackled with crude laughter and Mum
tried to make her own mother appreciate the difficulty of
raising a young man on her own.

But they both always agreed I should get out more, so that

was why I was here on the beach, sweating away at my new job.
It would help pay the way at home, especially now that Gran
had come to live with us and ate as much as I did, but it was
apparently also going to help me meet people and make
friends. Well, that's what Mum reminded me when she waved
me off on the first morning, telling me to bring home chips for
supper. Gran just grinned and muttered something that
sounded suspiciously like "get shagging."

And guess what? I was certainly meeting someone today.
"Jonathan?" The man on the beach smiled encouragingly at

me.

I couldn't tear my gaze away from his naked body. The heat

of my blush was turning into some other kind of flush. Warmth
ran through me like drinking in sunlight, my senses wallowing in
the golden colour of his skin, the glow of his flesh. It felt

10 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

incredibly good–the best I'd felt for a very long time. And
stupidly, that scared me. "What's going on here?"

He shrugged again. "Things like this happen."
"Not on Swanage beach, they don't." My voice was a bit of a

squeak.

He smiled, more slyly. "Is that a joke?" He used the same

tone my little cousins used when they saw a small, fluffy kitten
on the TV. But he used it towards me.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm going to put the cart away and then

I'm going home." I pushed at the damned thing, trying to get
the momentum going again. I could feel the sweat dribbling
down under my hairline.

"I'll follow," he said.
"You can't," I snapped, striding on as best I could.
He shook his head tolerantly. I could smell the sea air on his

skin as I passed him. I could feel the air shifting with his stride as
he fell into step behind me. Something rather shockingly primal
stirred deep in my gut. What was I doing even talking to him? I
reached the small maintenance hut at the perimeter of the
hotel grounds, wrenched open the door and shoved the cart
inside. Not my most careful work, but I was under pressure,
right? I locked it quickly behind me. I was on duty the next day
as well, so I'd just take the key home with me tonight.

I turned around and he was right there, at my shoulder. "Let

me help, Jonathan."

"No. Please. Just … go away." You're not real. This isn't

happening. Maybe he was right, and I had had too much sun.
But no way was I telling Mum; no way was she making me wear
her cheesy purple straw sunhat to and from work.

"Jonathan, please." He didn't even look out of breath,

having kept up with my indecent rush up the beach as I tried to
escape my hallucination. "I understand."

"You do?" I stopped and turned warily to face him. "What's

this all about, then?" Was I mad? Sunstroked? Waiting for the
TV camera team to leap out from behind a breaker with a
gleeful cry of "You've been Framed"?

11 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

He was only six inches away. He was exactly, perfectly my

height. I could see grains of sand on his shoulders. When the
wind lifted his hair, it brushed against my chin.

God.
"I'll come home with you and we'll talk about it. Or not. We

can have the sex. Or not. Whatever you want," he said, simply.
His eyes had golden lights in them; his expression was full of
concern again, and suddenly that concern seemed to include
himself. "I have to come with you, Jonathan."

My mouth opened and shut. Then opened again. "What do

you mean? You can go back to wherever you came from."

His smile was nervous. "No. Not yet. Please believe me.

Meanwhile, I'm here for you."

I was still doing the gaping goldfish impression. "So how's

that going to work?"

"What do you mean?"
I shook my head so vehemently my little white cap fell off.

The man bent down more quickly than I did–those superb
muscles tightening across his belly–and snatched it up. As he
handed it back to me, he beamed as if he'd found me a fifty
pound note on the pavement. He clutched it just a little too
tightly as I took hold, making me tug at it, and his fingertips
grazed mine. A cool, sensual shiver ran down my spine, despite
the heat and swelter of the day. When his gaze ran covetously
over the top of my bare head, my scalp tingled with delight, as if
he'd actually run his fingers through my sweaty hair.

Madness.
I sighed. "Look, even if I said okay, come home with me, you

can't come on the bus like …" I waved my hand in his direction,
trying so very–very–hard to stop myself touching him again.
"Like that."

His smile didn't diminish, as if he had no idea what "bus"

meant, let alone what my problem was.

"You'll scare the pensioners," I said. "And cause a riot with

schoolgirls, and get us both locked up for gross indecency."

He was gazing at my mouth as if carefully following the

words as they came out, but from the bemused look on his face,

12 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

he was understanding only one in three. He was still smiling,
though. "And is that what you want?"

"That's not the point–"
"So what is?" he asked, quite calmly.
And then I laughed. What else was a guy to do? The most

perfect specimen of manhood–and definitely far above number
one on my fantasy wishlist–was standing naked in front of me,
his bare toes wriggling in the sand, his eyes following my every
word with devotion, and his cock … well. Gorgeous, and still
erect. I had to admit, a man would be mad not to be flattered.

And even without the cheesy straw sunhat, I wasn't that

disturbed.

"Okay," I said. "Okay, yes, you can come home with me."
He looked delighted at my change of mood. "You're no

longer upset by the sun or your bus," he said. "That's good."

"Yes, it is." I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. Hell's bells,

I'd had enough of my boring life, nothing but essay writing in my
spare time, making beds every morning for Mum's guests, and
now doling out pistachio ice cream all day to sweat-shiny
people who had nothing more to worry about than factor 25 or
30. Go for it, Gran had said. God knows what this experience
really was, but I felt myself step, mentally, a little closer to the
cliff edge of adventure. "Whatever I want, right?"

He nodded.
"We need to travel," I said. I felt dizzy at the thought of it.

"You need clothes on for that."

He frowned slightly, as if the thought was unpleasant but he

knew it was necessary. "Like yours?"

There was no sign of any other clothes around. But I

remembered I had an old hooded sweatshirt and a pair of beach
shorts in the hut, in case I didn't want to stay in my work
uniform until I got home. The day was still warm and no one
was going to care if a friend accompanied me in shorts and bare
feet. I unlocked the door again and rummaged around until I
found the clothes. He looked crestfallen, but I waved them at
him until he accepted defeat.

13 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

It was a terrible pity, I thought to myself as he wriggled the

shorts up over his arse, to hide any part of that glorious body.
They clung to his thighs, obviously small for him: the purple
paisley looked ludicrous against his golden skin. But they did
offer a tantalizing frame for the tight lines of his torso, and the
treasure trail down under the waistband. I cleared my throat
and surreptitiously adjusted the front of my trousers again. "I
don't know you from Adam, of course."

"I'm nothing like Adam," he said, with careful patience. "I'm

Admael."

"Okay." What else could I say? "And you're going to need

the hoodie as well, Admael."

"Hoodie?"
"The jacket. Sweatshirt. For your …" I swallowed hard.

Maybe the hood would cover him. Maybe I could swaddle his
torso in an extra beach towel. Whatever. My hand lifted from
my side again, waving in confusion in front of his chest.

"Jonathan?" He caught my hand in his and squeezed gently.

The caress ran goose bumps of pleasure all the way down to my
toes. "You're still upset, aren't you?"

"Can't you see the problem?" I said.
"You mustn't use that word."
"Problem?"
"Can't." He ran his fingers along my forearm, stroking the

hairs up against their lie. "Tell me about it. Let me reassure you.
I'll attend to it all."

"Oh yeah?" I took a deep breath and put out my own hand,

touching him properly at last, running my palm over his
shoulder and down onto his back, savouring the warmth and
firmness of his muscle, exploring the bones under his taut skin.

He arched like a cat under my touch. "So …?" he murmured.
"So," I replied, hoarsely. "What's with the wings?"

*~*~*

I genuinely don't know how we made it back home from the

beach on the crowded bus without a scene. Yet, surprisingly, no

14 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

one made a fuss when we scrambled on. I wriggled in between
a group of Chinese tourists and a young woman with half a
dozen kids. I scrabbled in my pockets for Admael's fare as well
as mine, but the driver waved me through. Waved both of us
through, actually, yet never lifted his eyes from the ticket
machine. Odd.

The bus pulled away with a squeal of brakes and diesel

fumes, and I was squashed against a window. Admael seemed
to find a space to stand with less trouble. He'd seemed my
height at the beach, but now he was a head taller than anyone
else, seemingly an oasis in the middle of squalling babies and
pink-burned teenagers. And he glowed so strongly with health
and charisma, I was expecting rays to burst from his ears. "Low
profile," I muttered to him, but he smiled his special smile of
incomprehension and straightened even further. I wriggled back
off the bus at the Library–with no one screaming at the fit
young Adonis beside me, or gasping with evangelical fervour at
Admael's inimitable brand of backpack wear–and bundled him
up the side street to our B&B.

Half an hour later, Admael stood in the middle of my

bedroom, looking down at himself. "This is normal for you, you
say?"

I winced. "Yes, of course it is."
He frowned, marring the beautifully smooth forehead.

Lifting one leg awkwardly, then the other, he took a hesitant
step towards me. "Why do you suffer such punishment? Have
you been very wicked?"

"Wicked?" I shook my head. Like I've had the chance. "No, I

haven't been wicked. It's not punishment."

Admael laughed softly, shaking his head. "Prisoners often

do not realize their own servitude. They accept the pain that
binding brings them, without question."

I grit my teeth. "Look, it's not binding, it's a pair of jeans.

And socks, and boots. Not some instrument of torture. And you
refused the briefs, remember?" I blinked hard. That was a
mistake. The thought of Admael going commando seemed even

15 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

more provocative than when I'd smuggled him virtually naked
into my room. "It's just clothing. We all wear things like that."

He stretched as he had done on the beach, his arms high

above his head, reaching up for the sky. He looked very large in
my small room, a bold, masculine, alien presence. His heels
were butted up against the foot of my bed, he had to lean to
one side to avoid a basket piled high with clean laundry I was
meant to have sorted for ironing, and when his hand snagged
on the bookcase, he snatched it back, startled. As I'd suspected,
my hoodie was too small for him and it had ridden up at his
side. My eyes were drawn to the sliver of his skin exposed
above the waistband, and the lines of muscle that ran down his
torso and into my spare pair of jeans. The denim looked cold
and harsh, as if it chafed his perfect skin. He stood awkwardly in
the boots I'd lent him, though we appeared to be the exact
same foot size. For a couple of moments that was all we did,
stare at each other, Admael half dressed and me thinking I
needed to have worn more relaxed clothes myself, especially
around the groin area.

"Jonathan," he murmured, laughter running under his voice.

"This is just one of your jokes, isn't it? You prefer me natural,
really." Without waiting for me to deny it–as if I would have–he
reached behind his neck and pulled the zipped-up sweatshirt
right off. His shoulders relaxed as if they'd been unbearably
crushed inside the fabric. He sighed, and I heard the rustle of
feathers at his back, shaking themselves like a duck coming out
of the water.

The wings!
I'd never been a regular church-goer, much to Mum's

disappointment. I didn't think I believed in either angels or
devils. But there was no denying the amazing creations that
sprang from Admael's shoulder blades. From a distance on the
beach, they'd looked like a shadow on his back. It was only as I'd
got closer that I realized they were furled, black-feathered
wings, gathered in against his spine. When he stood to greet
me, I'd been distracted by … well, other parts of his body. But
when I'd tried to fit my thin, worn sweatshirt over his broad

16 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

shoulders, I couldn't help but acknowledge them. They shivered
against my hands as I pressed them down. The feathers were
smooth, silky black and tightly woven: they smelled of salty sea
air and something that I couldn't quite identify, which was
much, much sweeter.

The feel of them made my whole body thrill.
And now here we were: I was trying to dress Admael as a

more typical young man, and he was trying … not to be. His
body was a glorious presence in my rather dull room, he filled it
with his strong limbs, perfect proportions, the lustre and musky
aroma of his skin. And those fantastic, unbelievable wings.
Staring at him was rude of me, but his smile in return never
faltered.

"Shall we do it now?"
His voice woke me from my erotic daydream. "What?"
He was wriggling out of the second boot, his muscular feet

bare once more. "I will kiss you. Then we'll have sex."

For a shocked second, I thought my mind had flipped, not

able to tell fantasy from … well, what my traitorous body had
responded to, the minute I first saw him on the beach.

"What the hell game are you playing?"
"Game?" He looked worried, as if he'd forgotten a critical

step in his instructions, but couldn't remember where they
were for him to double-check.

"Look, I don't know where you come from, but here, people

get to know each other before they have sex. You don't know
me …"

"Of course I do!"
I laughed roughly. "Don't you think I'd remember if I'd met

you before?"

He was watching my expression and he grinned. "You

certainly wish you had."

"And you can stop that."
"What?"
"That strange way you talk. Like you read my mind. Like you

know what I …"

17 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

"…Want?" He shook his head gently. "Need?" He pushed

the laundry basket to one side and stepped up close to me. I
could feel the heat from his body, warming me. "Deserve?" he
murmured against my cheek.

God, a million times, God.
"Yes," Admael said, as if I'd spoken aloud.
"Admael. Wait." I tried not to feel intimidated, but he'd

pressed me up against my clothes chest, and I couldn't retreat
any further without spearing one of my kidneys with a drawer
knob.

And did I really want to retreat?
"You would like to be natural, too," he said. His voice was

soft, like the feathers that whispered at his shoulder blades. He
reached behind my neck and pulled my own shirt up and over
my head. I lifted my arms, helpfully. The protesting didn't seem
to have any effect on him, whereas the nudge of his naked
chest against mine sent every nerve I had into overdrive.

"Lying in wait for men on the beach … do you do it often?"

My throat felt tight. His lips brushed just below my ear.

"Never before."
It jolted me with shock. "My God, if you're being forced to

do something against your will –"

"This is my will," he interrupted. His smile became beatific

and he placed his hands on either side of my face. "I want to do
everything, and I want to do it with you. I want you, Jonathan."

He didn't really mean me, did he? Of course not. There was

serious miscommunication somewhere. He didn't really know
me, couldn't really have selected me from among all the other,
properly gorgeous, sun-worshipping, easy-going, gym-buffed
young men that paraded along the sea front, couldn't …

… have just kissed me, in my own room, crushing up to me,

with my lower back pressed up against my dresser and my
hands clutching at the air in shock, until …

… I kissed him back.
He tasted of the sun, his skin smelled of summer. His lips

were firm but surrendered perfectly to me. I ran my hands over
his strong shoulders and he leaned in close. He breathed into

18 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

my mouth and his tongue slicked against mine. The wings
fluttered: I felt the vibration on my palms. It was as if their
movement ran along my fingers, flowing into my arms and my
body. The feeling was warm and energising, like the sun itself,
like a burst of pleasure and joy that had no limits or shortfall.
Just pure, total happiness.

God. Again. He was the most beautiful thing I'd ever tasted;

the richest emotional flush I'd ever felt.

"This isn't real," I whispered.
"You do not believe it?" Admael laughed softly. "I must

convince you better." He lifted his hands to hold either side of
my face and he kissed me again. And again. The wings rustled
and a shadow settled around us, as if they'd gathered us both
into their shelter.

His hands slid down my bare back and I sucked in a breath.
"Where did you come from? What are you, Admael?"
He frowned as if he wondered about the right words to use.

"What do you think?"

"You're like …" I sighed. The wings seemed to whisper

around me, like sea shells mimic the sound of the sea. "An
angel. But that can't be, can it?"

"Whatever you want to call me," he whispered back. "I'm

yours."

"Jonathan, are you up there?"
I pulled away from Admael, the call from downstairs a

sudden shock, a reminder of real life.

"Gran?" I called back. My heart was hammering fiercely like

I was a schoolboy caught looking at a sports magazine under the
bed clothes, all over again. "I'm just getting ready for work."

I could hear her shuffling step at the bottom of the stairs

and the tap of her stick on the linoleum in the hall.

"I'm making your sandwiches," she shouted.
I winced. Banana and tuna had been yesterday's

combination. "That's great," I replied loudly. "I'll collect them
when I come down."

"I'll give you ten minutes." Her voice carried clearly even

though my bedroom door was closed. "You need to eat more,

19 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

to keep your strength up. Who knows when your knees will
start going? I pray for you to keep strong limbs and supple
joints."

I smiled and shook my head at her nonsense. Admael's

teeth worried gently at the lobe of my ear.

"You'll never get the most out of sex without Olympic

training," Gran continued, undeterred by no reply. "You just
listen to my advice, and you'll have a gold medal in the
bedroom at least."

I flushed, even though she couldn't see me, even though it

was exactly that kind of exercise that was running through my
imagination at this moment, with Admael's arms around me, his
leg nudging between my knees, his naked toes stroking mine on
the carpet.

"I have to go to work again," I said.
Admael nodded, his lips damp and hot on my throat. "That's

great."

"No, I mean it." I craned my neck around to peer at the

digital clock on my bedside table. "In less than an hour." Damn.
"Another holiday job. Money for college." I didn't seem to be
able to phrase a decent, full sentence.

Admael nodded again. His breath was shallow, hot on my

ear, his hand stroking the skin above my breastbone.

I sighed. "You don't know what I'm talking about, do you?"
He smiled happily. "You can tell me."
"I work four nights a week in the local disco bar on the sea

front. On those days, I dash back from the ice cream job, make
myself a quick snack, have a shower and get changed, maybe
call Ruth to let her know what time I'll be there."

"The shower sounds good." Admael's close attention

seemed doggedly selective.

My body shivered with need. I tried not to imagine Admael

naked with me in the small private shower along the corridor.
The sight of his golden skin through the steam. The warm water,
glistening on his shoulders, droplets snagged in between the
silky feathers. Soap on my hands, ready to smooth it all over
him …

20 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

"Excellent." Admael's smile was even broader. His gaze was

shamelessly fixed on my groin. "I see I am the kind of man you
like for sex."

"Sandwiches ready!" Gran called from downstairs.
"I have to go," I gasped.
"And I'll come with you."
"What? You can't come … like that."
He tilted his head to the side, questioning me.
I stared at him. "The … wings. Admael, you must see you

can't–"

"Can't?" He frowned. "I have told you, it will all be fine."
"Are you coming out, Jonathan?" Gran screeched.
Coming out? Surely I misheard that…
"I'm coming out, too," Admael smiled, with obviously no

idea of what it meant. His gaze flickered down to his own groin
and back up to my face. "And aren't you pleased I'm coming up,
as well?"

It took me a flustered half hour to change clothes and get

ready for work. All Admael did was sit on my bed and smile at
me, but I'd never been so distracted in my life. I snuck him out
of the B&B by pushing him quickly out of the front door while I
provided cover in the hallway, pausing at the lounge door to
distract Mum and Gran. The room was available for everyone
but Gran usually monopolised it in the evenings for her TV
reality shows. Luckily most of the guests went out into town and
didn't come home until late.

"I'm off to Terry's Bar now, it's my last shift this week," I

said, probably more loudly than I needed to.

"That's nice, dear. Have a good evening." Mum was in the

kitchen along the corridor, washing up. I couldn't see her but I
could hear her working.

"Mum, I'll help you set up the tables for breakfast tomorrow

morning, before I go down to the hotel again."

"I'm perfectly capable of a few place settings, if she needs

help," Gran grumbled from the living room.

21 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

I smiled at the back of her head over the top of the sofa. "I

know, Gran." I scooped up the foil packet of sandwiches she'd
made me, and turned to go.

"It's peanut butter and hot dog," she said. "I made two

rounds for you tonight." She was already engrossed in the TV,
flicking through channels to find the "X Factor" auditions.

"Thanks. But I usually get something extra to eat at the

bar…"

"The second round is for your date," Gran said, very clearly

and very firmly. "Not that he looks like he needs feeding up like
you do. Nice abs."

I froze in the hallway, startled.
"No point in hiding him, Jonathan. Better out than in, I

always say. Don't I?"

"Uh … yes, Gran."
"Make sure the pair of you close the door properly behind

you," Mum called. "So Gran doesn't sit in a draft."

I darted out of the house to the sound of Gran cackling

behind me. And I couldn't be sure, but it sounded like she said
"Nice wings, too."

*~*~*

The bar was quiet in the early evening, with Ruth and Mikey

there to help me stock up and get ready for the later rush. The
new DJ was mixing a low but steady beat and some customers
were already dancing on the handkerchief-sized dance floor.
Mikey's flatmate Danny was one of our early patrons, dressed in
ludicrously tight shorts and sipping at something that looked as
if a mix of melon and chocolate had been thrown up in a glass.

"So who's the new man? I've never seen him around. Local,

or day tripper?" Ruth had an armful of bar towels she was
meant to be laying out on the counter, but instead she was
hopping from one foot to the other with barely suppressed
curiosity. She hadn't taken her eyes off Admael since we
arrived. "He's amazing, Jonny."

I looked at her, sharply. "Look, I should explain …"

22 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

"I bet he works out," she sighed, ignoring me. "A lot, right?

Those pecs are some of the best I've ever seen. And have you
looked closely at his back? I've never seen anything like–"

I sucked in a breath.
"–that skin quality on a man outside of Baywatch."
I swallowed hard. "Look, glad you enjoy the view, but we

are meant to be working here."

She stuck out her tongue at me. "Okay, I get the picture,

he's yours, so hands off."

"He's Jonny's date?" Mikey passed us with a box of bagged

nuts, his eyebrows lifted up into his curly fringe.

"No, I didn't mean …"
"You sly bastard." Danny smirked at me from the other side

of the counter. His gaze flickered admiringly over Admael, who
was leaning casually against the end of the bar, apparently
doing nothing but watch me work. "That's one fine catch. You
get bored with one-on-one and you wanna share, you call us
first thing, okay?"

"The very first thing," Mikey called back over his shoulder,

laughing.

"That's not going to happen."
"And, tell me …" Danny started.
I wasn't really listening to him. "Admael and I, we're not …"
"… what's with the wings?"
There was a sudden, shocked silence from all of us. Oh God,

this is it. My heart stuttered to a stop. I glanced quickly at
Admael, who was smiling calmly at us all, especially Ruth.

Ruth blinked hard. "It's fancy dress," she said, brightly.
"What?" Danny and I chorused, both of us startled but for

very different reasons.

Ruth shrugged. "He's taking Jonny to a party after we close.

Something about mythical beings." She frowned. "I think that's
what he said."

I felt my heart start up again. What had just happened? Did

she really believe that? Why wasn't anyone screaming or calling
up the "Daily Star"?

23 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

"Mythical beasts?" Danny's eyes got wider and he took a

long slurp of his cocktail. "Cool."

Mikey appeared back at my shoulder, growling into my ear.

"You'll be sharing that invite, Jonny boy, or what?"

"No," I said. They all believed it? "Sorry, team. It's … a

private thing. Exclusive."

Admael's gaze met mine and he winked at me. Danny

grumbled; Ruth gave a low catcall. Mikey slapped me on the
shoulder so hard I stumbled forward a couple of steps. "About
bloody time you scored."

"That's not just scoring," Ruth said wistfully. "It's

championship league promotion." She blushed, raised a hand
and gave a small, girlish wave to Admael.

He–of course–smiled and waved back.
When the rest of them were busy at the other end of the

bar, I scooted up to Admael. I'd got him a glass of iced water so
he looked marginally more like a normal customer, but he
hadn't touched it. He just stood there, leaning contentedly on
the bar, watching me as I dashed about. He was dressed in
nothing but my shorts again and an old pair of flip-flops that I'd
lent him. The jeans and boots had just seemed too cruel, in the
end, and this way he looked a little like one of the seasonal
surfers.

Well, apart from the bloody wings, of course.
"What did you do to her?" I hissed. "To all of them?"
Admael tilted his head. "You work so hard, Jonathan. Will

you have time for sex soon?"

I rolled my eyes. No, I wasn't going to be distracted, though

someone ought to tell that to my hopefully twitching cock.
"Why aren't they scared or shocked? I mean, they can all see
the wings, but it doesn't seem to bother them."

He smiled.
"Admael …" He was bloody impossible. I felt an unfair but

fierce spike of anger. "It's not normal. No one else has wings. No
one else is built like a young god, like you. No one else talks in
that weird way, like they've never been on a bus, or worn boots,
or drunk at a bar." I swallowed hard. "No one else is bothered

24 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

about watching me wear myself out behind a seedy seaside bar
under neon lights with heavy dance music throbbing in their
ears."

His smile–just for that small, sudden moment–faltered.

"Jonathan. Things like this happen."

"You said that before and no, they don't," I snapped. A

customer had been weaving his way to the bar–maybe for
drinks, maybe just to be near the godlike, weird-talking fellow
customer I was currently snapping at–but he diverted nervously
at the sound of my voice. "What I mean is, they don't happen to
me. I'm just ordinary. Doing my best. Not making enough
money, not finding much time for fun, not sure what'll happen
in life, where I'll end up."

Admael gazed at me. Funny, the lights over the bar made it

look like there were tears in his eyes. "It's time things happened
for you, Jonathan."

I laughed. "God knows it's way overdue."
"Yes he does," Admael said simply.

I stared at him. Ruth called for some help and Mikey wriggled
past behind me. The DJ pumped up the volume on the dance
music. The bar was starting to get busy as the weekend
launched.

"So what is it you did to the others?"
He knew what I meant. "They are all quite well, please don't

worry. I just suggested to their mind that they should keep their
distance, that what they see is quite acceptable. I gave them
comfortable explanations for the unusual things they see. I
would not want them disturbed or scared."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't." But it was obviously all right

for me to feel that way. I still felt childishly annoyed.

Admael reached over and took my hand. "Do you want me

to go?"

"No." I answered absentmindedly, but I realized how true it

was. "I … no."

"Good," he said. "I have to stay with you now." He seemed

to relax, despite the fact he had never really looked tense, even
when he was trying to squeeze into a pair of my socks.

25 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

"But I don't know how the mind meld thing can work longer

term," I persisted.

He tilted his head in that encouraging yet uncomprehending

way he had.

"I have to work most days. I travel on the bus. I buy food in

the supermarket, I watch TV, I play football sometimes with the
guys at the hotel, I keep Mum's garden tidy, I read the
occasional car magazine." None of it was sparking familiarity in
his expression. "I go out and about and do ordinary things. I
can't–" I paused and re-phrased. "I don't see how you can do all
that with me without drawing attention to yourself. Without …"
My throat felt horribly dry. "Without being really bored."

Admael was quiet for a moment. "I understand. You are

concerned for me. That's wonderful." He gave an elegant shrug,
his half-naked body leaning closely in towards me. "But you
need not worry. That's for me to attend to. I want to be with
you, to watch you, to please you. All the time. Everything else
will be all right."

The bar was getting busy and I knew I had to get back to

work. I looked into his wide, sparkling, earnest eyes and I almost
believed him. I knew I wanted to. "We'll talk again at the end of
my shift," I said, turning to take an order from a bunch of
giggling girls on a hen night, all of them with pink fluffy rabbit
ears on their heads.

"You forgot to mention your gay porn channel

subscription," Admael called after me, his voice as clear as a
bell, a huge grin on his face. "We can watch that together, can't
we?"

*~*~*

At two a.m. the final call came over the speakers, last orders

for drinks.

"Long night, eh?" Ruth passed me, grinning, her face shining

with sweat, her hands clasping a bunch of glasses for washing.
"Soon be on our way home."

26 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

"Yes." I just stood there, momentarily frozen, as patrons

clustered around the bar calling for last minute drinks, as the
music lowered its techno beat to something less aggressive, as
the muted lights at the far end of the room started to flicker
back on. Some couples groaned, disentangling themselves from
groping in the semi-dark; others darted on to the dance floor to
take advantage of the final tracks. Many of them were regulars
and knew our routine. We stayed open late, but when the call
came, we closed promptly.
I could see Danny over at a far table, sipping from another
obnoxiously coloured drink, his arm slung over the shoulders of
one of the gym-buffed young men he'd been paying court to.
They'd probably go on to one of the smaller, private clubs, or
maybe one or other's flat. They were laughing, and Danny was
nuzzling the other man's neck. Ruth was moving around the
mess of tables, wiping spillages, scooping up glasses, moving
people on. Her eyes were bright and her movements hurried.
Her boyfriend would be picking her up in the next half hour, and
they'd go back to their shared rooms behind the Chinese
takeaway, to chat about the tiring night and share the latest
stories. I could see plenty of people together, friends and
lovers, finishing their happy evening as a pair.

In a sudden ache of need and worry, I scanned the crowd.

Was he still here? Was Admael still waiting? Or had he really
been a dream, some cruel hallucination created from my own
loneliness, some lunacy brought on by the sun and thwarted
lust …

He was still there, and his eyes met mine.
He stood over by the door now, but he seemed to rise

above the dancers and the swaying drinkers so that I had no
trouble seeing him, head and shoulders above them. Plenty of
guys had removed their shirts as the night got darker and
dirtier, but Admael's bare chest looked as if it glowed with
something other than a dancer's sweat.

"Jonathan?" There was no way I could have really heard him

over the noise, but his voice was in my head. His smile was
broad. "Now?"

27 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

"Yes," I said. I didn't bother raising my voice because I knew

he heard me.

Then he was there beside me, quite suddenly, my height

again and in the perfect position to look into my face. No one's
eyes followed him except mine; no one's hand touched him
except for mine, as I reached out and took his arm.

"Why me?" I asked. "I'm nothing special."
He laughed, a musical sound that I heard perfectly well over

the raucous laughter and thudding musical beat. "You're
everything special, Jonathan."

I shook my head. My eyes were stinging. "You're perfect. I

never had someone like you look at me like … you do. Like you
don't care I don't have money or qualifications or a six-pack."

He peered thoughtfully at my chest. "I could…"
"No!" I only suspected what he was going to say but I

thought I ought to stop him promising me things I wouldn't
know how to explain next time I played beach football. "I just
meant I never expected …"

He waited for me to finish what I was going to say, but of

course I didn't know how to without sounding even more of a
loser.

"You're not a loser, Jonathan," he said. "You will get a good

degree, an interesting job, and probably enough money to meet
your needs, whatever they are. At least, that's if you can stop
Gran from using your bank card for the TV phone-ins."

I started to laugh but he caught my chin in his hand and

looked straight into my eyes. "You are bright, funny, honest,
compassionate and generous. You look after your mother and
your Gran, even though you had to apply to a local college and
forego many parties, so that you can help in the B&B. And I
know so much more."

"You do?" I said weakly.
"In kindergarten, you gave your favourite ice cream to Sarah

Jones's little sister because she dropped hers in the paddling
pool. In junior school, you refused to follow your friends in
beating up Charlie Perry even though he cheated in Maths and
took your prize. When you were fifteen, you gave Donna

28 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

Thomas your coat on that very cold New Year's Eve because
she'd lost hers after a party, and you contracted flu coming
home in your shirt sleeves. In sixth form, you climbed Mr.
Allen's tree and rescued his nephew's kitten, even though you
twisted your knee and missed the football trials. Nowadays, as
an adult, you help the children at the karate club for free, and
sign on for fundraising events at the hospital charity every year.
Last Christmas, you sat up all night to comfort Ruth when she
and her boyfriend nearly broke up. Two months ago, you drove
Mrs. Peters from next door to the hospital when she went into
labour early at three a.m. even though you had an exam the
next day. You even offered to stay and be her birthing
companion …" He smiled, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Though luckily her husband turned up shortly afterwards. You
were afraid you would faint at the crucial moment."

I gaped at him. No one knew all that. "No one knows all

that!"

"Those are just a few examples. You are a good man, and

the kind who deserves the very best in return." He snickered,
startling me even further. "And luckily you are also the kind of
man I would most like to have sex with. You always have been."

"I always …?" I was hot with shock and embarrassment.

"You've been stalking me?"

He shrugged gracefully. The wings fluttered suddenly and

stretched out from behind his back. I was awed by how large
they looked unfurled. They glittered under the bar lights, the
feathered tips vibrating with the closing music. I found myself
taking a step towards him, as if to huddle in under their
protection and care.

"It's not stalking if it's fate. But yes, I have watched you, for

a long time. You're my …" He smiled, but this time it was a
special, soft smile, that seemed just for me. "My man."

His wings shuddered as if electricity had suddenly run

through them, and they folded forwards around us both,
drawing me in. I took another step forward. My mind was
confused, my heart was aching.

29 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

"Jonny!" Mikey called over from the other side of the room.

He'd just shuffled a group of over-happy tourists singing hits
from "Mamma Mia" out into the street. He slammed the door
shut behind them, brushed his hands off with a satisfied grunt,
then turned to me. "Just get off to your party, will you?"

"Party? Oh, right." I flushed, my eyes still on Admael. "I

haven't finished the tables by the snacks area yet."

"Leave them to me," Ruth said, appearing behind me. "Just

this once." She frowned, but she didn't look really cross: in fact,
she was grinning at Admael. "Jonny, you're wearing way too
many clothes."

"I …?"
"You should match Admael's fancy dress, shouldn't you?

Keep up, kid."

I stared between the pair of them, simpering at each other.

When did they get so chummy they were organising how I
should get half-naked on my date?

When you finally got one, Jonny.
Admael glanced at the last few customers stumbling out of

the bar, many of them arm in arm. "Let's go, Jonathan," he said,
and he carefully linked his arm into mine, in just the same way.

He hugged me on the bus, and when we walked up the

promenade, and when we let ourselves back into the B&B. I
didn't want that to stop, even though it meant I took three goes
to get the key in the lock. We laughed when we bumped into
each other on the stairs, and I got one of my bootlaces knotted
when I tried to pull them off too quickly. I peeled off my T-shirt
and scrambled out of my jeans to stand in just my boxers. He
kicked off his flip-flops and loosened the waistband of the
shorts. It was all fun: I felt relaxed and good with him. This was
right, and I was ready.

And then his wings unfurled again.
They looked huge in my small room. They made me feel

breathless, just from gazing at them. They shimmered like black
pearls, even under the dim bedroom light, and after having
been clutched against his back for some time, the feathers
seemed to ruffle on opening, one by one, coming back to

30 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

glorious life. I could smell hunger in them for their freedom,
hear their sensual flutter as they reached for space and air. I
desperately wanted to touch them, but I didn't know if I should–
or could.

What was it going to be like, sex with an angel? Would I

hear heavenly choirs? Would I grow wings myself? Would I be a
horrible, clumsy disappointment to him with my lack of six-pack
and an overexcited libido and a bed that creaked if you pushed
too hard on the headboard …?

"Jonathan? You're upset again. Would you rather join up

with Mikey and Danny?"

I stared back, startled. "Of course not."
Admael looked both relieved and worried. "Yet I am

concerned there will be disappointment."

"What the hell?" Had he been reading my mind again?

"With what?"

To my astonishment, he blushed. "With me. I haven't …

things are very different here. I want to please you. But maybe
…"

"Maybe, what?" And then the penny dropped. "Admael,

have you had sex before?"

His eyes widened, and two small spots of pink appeared on

his cheeks. He was impossibly gorgeous and my cock swelled
painfully–and dangerously–inside my boxers. I didn't know
whether to laugh, cry or pump my fist in the air. Performance
anxiety, be damned! We were novices together.

"Jonathan?"
"Here's me, imagining you're all doing it on the wing, night

and day with the sun perpetually shining and no one ever
coming too soon, in fact before they even get their boxers off
…"

"Jonathan, is that another joke?"
I laughed, happily and eagerly. "It will be, if we don't get on

with it. Let's not worry about disappointment, it's not likely, is
it?" Before I could lose my nerve, I slid to my knees in front of
him and peeled down the shorts. His cock bounced out of the
garish fabric, nearly smacking me on the nose.

31 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

God.
He was as erect as the first time I saw him. Magnificent. The

skin was flushed and hot against my cheek. A small drop
glistened at the tip. I licked at it, tentatively. It tasted the same
as my other modest experiences of come, and yet … so very,
deliciously different.

Admael cried out and shuddered. "Oh. More, please!"
Grinning, I slid my mouth over the head and started to suck.

Admael shivered and whimpered very gratifyingly. In fact, at
one stage I told him to shush in case he woke Gran, or at least
to put his mind meld on her for this evening. He looked
bemused at the idea, until I boldly ran my hand between his
thighs and brushed the skin behind his balls. He nearly lifted off
the ground with shock, but he obediently lowered his voice.

"Let me do that, too," he gasped. "Jonathan, please.

Please."

I eased us both down and shifted around as best I could on

the narrow single bed so that each of us could reach the other's
cock. It took some organising, I admit, with the three of us
there–me, Admael and Admael's wings. But necessity was
indeed the mother of invention, and we managed. Admael's
hands were very firm on my arse, kneading the flesh like a
favourite toy. His breath was clumsy but eager and hot on my
hole, and when he sucked one of my balls into his mouth he
gave a shocked, delighted gasp.

"It's wonderful! You taste wonderful. We must do more and

more of this."

"I can certainly live with that." My laugh was mixed with my

own gasp. I was fighting the very serious threat of coming too
soon. I tried to concentrate on peanut butter, or ice creams, or
Gran's teeth soaking in a glass by the bathroom cabinet, but
nothing could eclipse the pure thrill of Admael's enthusiastic
mouth on my cock and balls.

"I'm coming," I groaned.
"You're …?"
Too late to run a course on climax etiquette for him,

because it happened. I moaned and my whole body flushed and

32 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

shook. The ecstasy curled up from inside my gut and through
every one of my nerves. I felt my cock bump against his teeth as
it swelled. Come shot out on his tongue and my thighs tensed
up either side of his head.

Oh God. Thank you, God! I cried out nonsense sounds, my

lips still around his cock, my hands clutching his hips much too
tightly. I'd lost all control. It had been the best thing in the
world.

The very best.
"Oh," Admael whispered.
Trying to recapture my breath, I peered awkwardly back up

his body and saw drops of me on his lips and chin. He looked
astounded but excited. In fact, he looked the most sexy,
fabulous, adorable thing I'd ever seen.

"It's … I … something's coming for me, too. Jonathan!" His

voice was fractured.

Reluctantly, I dragged myself off his cock, shifted around so

we were both face to face again, and replaced my mouth with
my hand. I started to stroke him, firmly but carefully. It wasn't
that I didn't want him to come in my mouth in return–I wanted
to know, would it really taste different? Should I have worried
about safe sex with an angel?–but I wanted to see his face this
very first time with another man.

"Oh. Oh. I can't … Jonathan, your hand … please, yes …" His

pleas were both amusing and awesome. I leaned over him,
pressing against the slick skin of his torso, feeling the sweaty
curls of his hair lick around my face. I stroked, slowly but
relentlessly and he tossed his head about on the bed, his eyes
half closed. I dropped my own head and kissed him full on the
mouth. His desire was sweet, delicious. I licked up a stray blob
of my come on his lower lip and he wrinkled his nose as if it
tickled. The gesture made my heart beat twice as fast and a
small tear prickle at the corner of my eye.

God. How stupid I felt.
Then his eyes opened wide, he stared at me and smiled, a

smile as beautiful as the angel he was.

33 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

How stupid? How perfect. I bent over again and sucked at

his nipple, loving the shudder through his body. His skin tasted
of the sea, of sweat, of the cool night air.

As he came, his wings spread even wider than before, the

edges brushing against the wall of my room, the feathers
seeming to crackle, a blue-grey, glistening hue to his skin
blending with their raven darkness. He raised his upper body off
the bed, clutching his arms around me, his hips jerking and his
come trickling out over my fisted hand, his mouth pressing hard
against mine, more a claim than a kiss.

He sank back on to the bed, still holding me tight, my face

against his neck, both of us panting.

"Oh," he said again, almost reverently.
I chuckled. "Yes, I know."
I felt him frown. "I did not know you had the same skills, to

know my thoughts."

I shook my head, smiling.
"Will we do it again, Jonathan?"
I rolled my eyes but of course he didn't see. "Give a man a

chance to rest first. But, oh yes, we will. We definitely will." I
snuggled against him, listening to the sound of his wings furling
up again, nestling on my pillows like they belonged there.

"Stay with me." I yawned, suddenly tired.
"Of course," he whispered in my ear. "Almost always."
"Sorry?" What did he say? But his arms were warm and

strong around me and I couldn't fight off the sleep any more.

*~*~*

A few weeks later, I woke suddenly in the middle of the

night without any explanation. It was dark outside and Admael
wasn't beside me. His side of the bed was cool. Yawning, I
swung my legs over the side of the bed and reached for my
jeans and a sweatshirt.

Mum had fitted up one of the larger bedrooms for me, after

Admael moved in. She seemed perfectly happy with that, even
finding us some new furniture and a small TV/DVD combo so we

34 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

could watch movies in private, when I came home from working
at the bar. Admael liked us to have plenty of privacy, mainly
because he was always keen for sex. Always. But was I
complaining? If I did protest at being dragged into the bedroom
before I'd barely had time to kick off my boots, he suggested
sweetly we could have sex on the stairs instead or in the
bathroom, or on one of the rides on the pier that Gran had
recommended … so after I stopped laughing, I'd let him have his
way.

In fact, he assimilated into the family like any much-loved

son-in-law would do–so seamlessly, I never even saw it
happening. Mum did his washing, too, whereas I'd always had
to do my own. And Gran made him a round of sandwiches
whenever he accompanied me to work. Except, whereas I
passed mine tactfully on to someone else–or to be honest,
binned the more inedible creations–Admael seemed to finish
his with great gusto every time.

And no one ever seemed to have any problem with the

wings.

I pattered around on the landing and peered into the

lounge, but couldn't see him anywhere. The house was quiet, as
we only had a few guests at the time. I slipped on my clothes,
coat and boots and let myself out of the front door.

Somehow I knew he'd be down on the beach. No buses

were running at that time of night and I couldn't afford a taxi, so
I walked there. It didn't seem to take as long as usual. I trudged
across the sand, grey in the cloudy moonlight, and there he
was–at almost the same place as I originally found him, looking
out to sea.

He was dressed in loose jeans and a thin T-shirt with "Kiss

Me Quick, or else" in neon pink on the front. We cut holes in the
back nowadays to let the wings through, but clothes still
seemed to fit him beautifully. He always looked different, of
course, but tonight there was something else: a glowing mist
around him that owed nothing to the glint off the lapping
waves.

A cold fear settled in the pit of my stomach.

35 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

I settled clumsily on the sand beside him. He must have

heard me coming but all he did was rest his head on my
shoulder, still staring out at the sea. There was no one else on
the beach but us.

"Trouble?" I asked softly.
"Of course not."
I snorted. "That everything will be all right crap doesn't

always ring true, you know."

"You mustn't worry."
"You can't stop me. Not when it's for you."
He tensed up against me. "For me? I … that's not what I

expect."

I shifted so that my arse was better settled in the sand and I

could turn my head and press my lips to his cheek. "I want you
to be happy, Admael."

"I am!" He turned back, his mouth catching mine, and we

kissed deeply and comfortably.

"But …?"
He sighed and looked away again. "I've spent many weeks

here, Jonathan. This world is so very different."

I had no idea what his world was like to compare, but I

stayed silent. I slid an arm around his waist to hug him to me.
His warmth slipped through me as if it had its own waves.

"I … there has been a lot to learn. The weather is an

astonishing surprise every day, people abuse their natural
habitat most dreadfully. Your bodies are restricted by awkward
and sometimes painful bindings, yet you seem proud of it all.
You're always in such a rush, yet your actual steps through life
are slow and confused, and you seem impossibly shy of
connections."

I chuckled. "Yeah, that about sums us up."
"You all struggle with disappointment and anger, and you

pursue work that is ridiculously hard in proportion to its reward.
And yet …"

"Some days we can look forward to peanut butter and hot

dog sandwiches?"

36 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

He didn't acknowledge my weak joke. "I wanted to be with

you, Jonathan. I've looked out for you all your life. And then, I
reached a point where I wanted to be in that life. To actively
share it, to live it. To enjoy the physical things, to see what it
was like to be a man like you. To be with you each day. All
days."

I let my head drop to his shoulder this time. His wings

rustled at his back and I could feel the steady throb of a pulse in
his neck. "And I'm so pleased you're here."

"But they didn't want me to come. It's not allowed, you see.

Not encouraged, anyway. We're not really meant to do more
than …"

"Watch?"
He smiled, rather sadly. "Yes. But when the opportunity

came, I demanded to use it. In fact, I demanded in a very
insistent way." He seemed embarrassed, something I'd never
seen in him before. "But in mitigation, I had to agree to exile, to
be cut off from my original life. No contact, no support, no
position there."

"Exile?" I was horrified. "You can't go back? But that's not

fair, Admael–"

"Hush." He shook his head. "Please don't be upset. They

agreed to reconsider after a while, to see whether I wanted to
go back, whether they … wanted me back."

We were silent for a moment. The sea murmured in the

background; the indigo night settled around us both like a
blanket.

Admael stirred beside me. "There were other reasons for

coming here, Jonathan."

"There were?"
He nodded. "The tangled, tortured life here is punishment

for past sins, whereas I live … lived in a paradise. But you know,
if I am honest with myself, I wanted some time away." His voice
was so soft, I wasn't even sure if it was me he was talking to.
"From relentless happiness, you understand?"

Of course I didn't, but I hugged tighter.

37 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

"The sun always shines, the air is perfectly balanced, the

nights are cool. There is no struggle, no work, no bindings, no
argument, no …"

"No Gran?" I said, with a rueful grin.
His head twisted back around and he met my eyes. I was

startled at how intense he looked. "I think the punishment of
life here is also your prize."

"What's that mean?"
His mouth pressed wetly on the juncture of my neck and

shoulder. "You said it just now."

I cast my mind back. "Gran? Hot dogs?"
He rolled his eyes. "Your sense of humour, Jonathan. We

have no need for that when everything is good, when there's no
conflict or differentiation or mistake." When I laughed, he
hugged me. "Jonathan, it seems I have come to rely on you. To
need you, in a physical sense as well as my watch over you."

I licked my suddenly dry lips. "I know I've never had sex like

it …"

He smiled, a return to the sexy, hungry smile I knew so well.

"It's marvelous, isn't it? I had no idea it would be so much fun.
But I'm confused by the other things I feel. I like to be with you,
to laugh with you, to hug you. I appreciate your care and
comfort, your generosity in sharing your life, the way you try to
protect the people you're close to. You listen to me, you share
your plans, your jokes, your worries. I'm grateful for the way
you've helped me adjust."

"But that's what love is," I blurted out. I'd never really

announced the L-word before, at least not to a boyfriend. To a
lover. But that's what Admael was, wasn't he? "You're
everything to me. I want your life to be as good as you've made
mine."

He stared at me. His cheeks went a dusky pink in the half-

light. He didn't speak.

I drew a deep breath. "They've called you, haven't they?

Reconsidered your exile?"

He nodded, his eyes never leaving my face.
"You'll go back?"

38 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

There was a small silent moment. Then he said, "Of course I

will go back. It's my world, where I come from."

"Okay." The night seemed much colder but I was

determined to put a brave face on it. "Of course you will. It's
where you belong."

"Jonathan?" Admael slid his hand behind my neck and

pulled my face around to meet his. "Could I ever belong here,
too?"

"Of course you could. You do!"
He smiled, mischievously this time. "And did you think that

if I went back, I'd never come again?"

"You will?" I just stared at him. "I mean … I won't lose you?"
"Never." He leaned in and kissed me again, very, very

sweetly. "I have demanded insistently again, that I travel
between there and here when I wish. I think I have assimilated
more assertiveness from this world than they expected."

"But you'll be …?"
"Mainly here," he whispered against my mouth, answering

the question I didn't dare ask. "Almost always here. I will never
leave you. I never want to!"

We walked back to the B&B arm in arm, still seeing no one.

It was an unusually peaceful, but wonderful time together.
Dammit, I'd have been happy for the walk to take for ever, but I
was glad to reach home with him eventually. We snuck in the
door as quietly as we could, but as we crept across to the stairs,
Gran popped her head out from behind the kitchen door.

"Can hear your rustling from fifty paces," she hissed, her

gaze fixed on Admael's back. Her eyes looked very bright.

"Gran? Did we wake you?"
She brandished a sandwich in the air. Something dripped

from the edge of it that looked like a cold baked bean. "Just
getting a midnight snack. Then I heard you love birds creeping
around at the dead of night, like we didn't give you enough shag
time the rest of the week."

I frowned at her. "Thanks, Gran."
"Yes, thanks!" Admael said brightly. Obviously his sarcasm

skills needed more work.

39 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

"Get yourselves back off to bed now," she ordered, waving

the sandwich so that another few beans plopped onto the
linoleum. "If you weren't such a good boy, Jonathan, I wouldn't
have to pray so hard for you. So make the most of it. Who
knows how long libidos last nowadays?"

"Judging by yours, Gran …" I muttered under my breath.
She snickered, though I was sure she couldn't have heard

me. "Sometimes prayers get answered, you know."

"Gran?" I paused on the lower stair.
She just leered at us both and shuffled back into the

kitchen.

I turned and stared at Admael. Did Gran's determined

prayers for my love life actually do something? "Was that the
opportunity you told me about? The opportunity you were
offered, to come and see me in the flesh?"

"I like that phrase," Admael said. He often ignored my

questions, and this time I was sure it was deliberate. "The flesh
part of it."

I put a hand on his shoulder. His eyes shone, his face was

flushed from the evening air. I could smell the salt on his wings
again, the sweet tang of their warmth.

"I love you," I said. "Wherever and whatever you are."
His eyes widened and his smile broadened.
I ran my hand down the front of his T-shirt and dipped

inside his jeans.

He sucked in a harsh breath, his belly tightening under my

palm. "I'm still working on dressing," he said quickly,
defensively. "I don't always remember the boxer garments."

"You heard what Gran said," I muttered, grinning. "Get back

to bed, now!"

*~*~*

The bar was frenzied on club night. There were dancers on

the small stage at the back of the room, a heavy techno beat
throbbing up through my feet from the floor, and barely time to
turn back from ringing up one drinks sale to face the next.

40 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

Ruth nudged me in the ribs as she passed with a tray of

beers. "You sure he's doing this for free?"

I glared at her.
"Okay, okay." She backed away, shaking her head. "I love

him too, Jonny, no need to growl at me. He never has eyes for
anyone but you, you know that. I just thought he'd expect tips
at least, even if he's not taking a cut of the wages."

I glanced to the other end of the bar where Admael was

producing cocktails like he'd been born to it, shaking and
pouring swiftly, balancing them on trays and twisting napkins
into fancy little creature shapes. All at the same time.

"It's fancy dress," I saw him mouth cheerfully in answer to a

buxom young woman who was leaning over the bar, face
flushed, her fascinated gaze on his wings. He was drawing a
beer and topping up two gin and tonics, yet not a drop of liquid
spilled. As I watched, she made a sudden, clumsy grab over the
bar for him. I gasped, immediately on alert, ready to run to him
and keep interference at bay.

But he sidestepped swiftly and easily, and was suddenly two

feet away from her. Her hands closed on empty air. He turned
his head and winked at me, then switched back to his work.

"No, I'm not offended at all," he said to the bemused

customer, his voice rippling with happiness and confidence.
"You know, some of my best friends are angels!"

As I started to laugh at the joke, I knew everything would be

all right.

Fin

41 | Clare London – Say a Little Prayer

About the Author

Clare took the pen name London from the city where she lives,
loves, and writes. A lone, brave female in a frenetic,
testosterone-fuelled family home, she juggles her writing with
the weekly wash, waiting for the far distant day when she can
afford to give up her day job as an accountant. She’s written in
many genres and across many settings, with novels and short
stories published both online and in print. She says she likes
variety in her writing while friends say she’s just fickle, but as
long as both theories spawn good fiction, she’s happy. Most of
her work features male/male romance and drama with a
healthy serving of physical passion, as she enjoys both reading
and writing about strong, sympathetic and sexy characters.
Clare currently has several novels sulking at that tricky chapter 3
stage and plenty of other projects in mind . . . she just has to
find out where she left them in that frenetic, testosterone-
fuelled family home. All the details and free fiction are available
at her website. Visit her today and say hello!

Website: http://www.clarelondon.co.uk

Email: [e-mail]

Blog: http://clarelondon.livejournal.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/clarelondon

Twitter: @clare_london