A singing angel

She sings in a hall filled with the warmth of many. Men, women, monsters, all fitted in pairs, holding each other's hands.

Her voice is as golden as an angel, soothing their ears in the shivering cold of midnight. Silence obscures them, thinking only of her voice, her melody and the faithful that holds their fingers in laces.

The halls gradually empty themselves of people moving with her angelic melody purifying this strength they call love, carrying them against the harrowing winds of winter, unable to assail their slow and warm walk home with promises of returning if only, to hear her sing.

An angel on the stage, a hymn from the heavens, eyes filled with adoration for a man standing at the back, looking back to her, a hand mimicking that of an orchestra master. In spite of his scant knowledge of the voice, he couldn't help but raise a mug in her name just as she moves her hand to her angelic lips to blow off a kiss his way, a heart yearning to accompany it.

And she would with the last patrons leaving, the bar closing. Each step made toward this waiting man is adorned with the pluck of a wing behind her back, up to six gleaming in pure light. Her stance bears not the pose of the warrior, but of a woman looking to fall on her beloved's arms, drenched for a lovestruck kiss ~My cherished...~

"You sing as wonderfully as ever" He holds her close, carrying her feet far from the floor as he walks for two from the bar. Busy with catching up, her form remains tethered to him, arms spread behind, legs joined under. Her wings push the door away, leaving the two to pace under the falling snow, a dome of shimmering heat biting and devouring every snowflake daring to stain her immaculate hair.

Ever surprised to be treated as such, the warrior angel giggles, eyes turning to a seductive stare the way a woman looks at her husband with a promise to leave no second of sleep from either. Their co-joined breaths burn the falling snow further, spreading into a mist of recollection...
---
"About time, Drake. Come on in, we saved a seat for you" A friendly voice comes bouncing to a man opening the doors to the Precipice. A place with more than its share of drunken patrons drinking themselves to sleep.

Drake takes a seat among his two friends calling out for his casual drink. A mug, cold and shivering, slides off its own moist cooling the underside, all the way to his hand.

"Sorry. Work and all". The mug rises, delivering a parcel of its alcoholic content to the man.

"It's fine, it's fine" The two others take a sip of their own drinks, words turning to more casual tones over the slide of time. Hours passing as mere minutes.

They talk. They laugh. They goad. They play games of coin on each's mugs. Each of them enjoying their spacious bubble far from others.

A bubble soon to burst by the opposite side of Drake's seat. A woman left to her design, laid on the cupboard amidst a legion of empty mugs. Stirred by their voices, her drunken stupor prompts her awake. Half-awake, half-slurpy.

"He~ey!" Her inebriated voice travels the board over, hitting the trio in its unintelligible moan.

"Huh?" They slightly move about, feeling interpellated by her voice. "Ehh, probably a drunk" Calls one of Drake's buddies, Nathan.

"Yea" Shrugs Billy.

"Yea" As does Drake.

"Anyway, as I was saying--" The impact of a mug near them cuts Nathan's sentence apart "What the--? Ohh, someone's hitting the sauce today".

"This again?" Billy turns to Drake's surprised expression, looking straight at the winged woman struggling to keep herself standing.

"This...again?" Drake raises an eyebrow, only to feel the brush of a woman's bosom lean on his arm, a drunken gaze returned to him. A dizzy, hiccup laded maiden of battle in the attempt of sculpting a seductive look "Ohh...um...hi?"

"Hiii--hiccup--iii!" Her free hand waves back at him, the flow of unkempt hair obstinate on her shoulder "I's heard you were into--hiccup--bad girls--hiccup--! Well, handsome, better buckle--hiccup--up!"

Her eyes waver for a moment, discarding the hazy line of inebriated glasses. One hidden to Billy. One hidden to Nathan. A line, hidden, blurry in her voice "Because...I'm...bad...at...every~thing..."

The head guard that adorns her forehead decks the table in a strong clank, snoring as loud as she can at the dismay and grunt of the bartender.

"Well, Drake, welcome to our returning party pooper", declares Nathan with half a laugh, half in embarrassment.

"Party pooper? What, you mean her?"

"Yea, all the time we talk about a 'lingering' issue that would stick around like an arrow on the shoulder? Well, you're looking at it" Billy gestures to the drunk-induced valkyrie giggling in her sleep, wholly ignorant of her turn about. Wholly bliss in its blind embrace.

"Really?" Drake takes a gander, feeling her unapologetic breathing, ragged from the excess booze "I didn't think someone like her would take to the bottle like that".

"Yea, well, neither did we. And here she is, an annoying presence around the bar. When she isn't irritating us with horrid speeches, she goes to be insufferable around the mic". Nathan speaks with a clear disdain stressing each word.

"Hehe, yea, someone must have forgotten to tell her that drunks scarcely can sing. It enters an ear only to blow out the other way. Kind of like how they like to holler at others doing the same".

"Seriously, just ignore her. Bring any attention will only prompt more ear-bleeding pitches". A coin flips on Drake's mug, the restart to their favored game, to which he concedes.

All the while sending glances the woman's way. Amid Nathan and Billy's banters about a foul shot, he throws a glance once in a while. As expected, she was back to her seat, a sizable distance from the group with yet another frosty mug clutched in her fingers. Barely standing, she takes a sip. Silence befalls her, her temper now drowned in its wake, thoughts sealed by the abundance of beer.

Her eyes line on the table, a quiet patron among loud ones with a head slightly nocked their direction. Only slightly, and for but the best of a second before her face falters on the mug-ridden furniture.

This game he plays, the interval sees him glance away. Glancing the night away, its darkest midnight with the steam of people departing like heat choked in a building.

"Hey, Drake! We do this next week?" Nathan waves at the latecomer caught in a joust with spitting gold coins from his pocket per the number of drinks he downed.

"Yea, yea. Next week". He turns his head to the duo leaving, the two opting to take a separate cab home. An unspoken agreement between the three to forgo their cars after a night of drinking, especially in the darkest of hours.

"Hey, thanks for the grub, bartender". Drake tosses a five-dollar bill as a tip, which the recipient is all-too-happy to accept...with a word to spare.

"Wait, sir!"

"Hmm?" Drake had a hand on the door, phone in his hand for a cab.

"If you wouldn't mind, perhaps you could take the lady with you..." He points to the valkyrie still dozing the night away surrounded by empty mugs.

Drake's eyes squint a bit. Angelic monsters never were the most accommodating among the people, much less a maiden of battle. Even less of this one with his friends constantly talking with scorn in their tone.

Still, Drake was already teeming in hesitation between conceding and rejecting his request "Are you sure asking a stranger to bring a drunk unconscious woman to his home is a sound idea?"

"Well, usually, I wouldn't give the request, but, I see you look compassionate. Most would have flat out rejected my humble request or try to coerce me to let them".

"Really? Do I look that into it? I mean, having someone sleep in a blackout isn't all that fun".

"Yes, it is. It's not a fond sight to see a lady walk herself out like this. That, and..."

"And?" Drake moves from the door, fully turned to the bartender in curiosity.

"Well, your friend may have omitted this, but, it seems the fair lady has been...how I say, seeking you out. Eavesdropping in their conversation once in a while to hear how you enjoy a few hymns".

"Well, that's not wrong..."

"Then, surely you can concede, just for today..." The bartender approaches her table, head constantly turned to Drake in their conversation as he picked up mug after mug.

"Hmm...I don't know. I hear quite a bit about their recurrent hostility".

The bartender stops for a moment, his body leaning on the table in his grasp of yet another mug. A risen eyebrow comes with a proposition "Ok, how about this? You bring her home today...I give you a few rounds on the table. I'm sure having a few Henry's Sodas on the bar is a relief for your purse. After all, they're not the easiest to manufacture..."

"Hmm..." Drake looks at the dozing woman. A balance of two points stands over his shoulders. One speaking of refusal. Speaking of the virulent violence they are prone to.

The other speaks of the free drinks he might be welcomed to. No more need of spitting precious coins, as well-endowed he was. Ten dollars for Henry's bottle is a hole after all.

Yet, he would lean toward her with a third factor nascent in his mind. Her voice, once she spoke to him. Laced in melancholy. A bramble of hope drowned in alcohol. Something calling to him. And his empathy had taken the call. Perhaps...before even the bartender had words with him.

Drake takes his phone for a quick call to the nearest taxi driver with a minute or two to wait. He sighs and turns to the waiting bartender "Give me one free every weekend and we've got a deal".

"Deal". He approaches a hand unsullied by his glove to shake Drake's palm. His somewhat morose gaze now lifted to relief, he resumes his work quickly after their hands' separation, looking at a few dozen mugs to clean and rinse before shelving.

All the while Drake to the valkyrie's hands, raising them upward as he coils on her waist. A classic princess carriage, his problems already are on the horizon with the winged angel half-awoken by the motion "He~he, I'm flying--hiccup--, but my wings are not--hiccup--even here".

"Could have at least waited until home before she woke up..." Drake sighs in what he feels like an annoyance demonstrated by her cold hand coiling on his cheek.

"He~he...Draky--hiccup--I knew--hiccup--...I knew my singing would convince you--hiccup--. But I'm still--hiccup--I'm still--hiccup--hiccup--" Her head falls back to the landscape of dreams as it falls on Drake's bearing shoulders. The sheer heat of alcohol burns on her cheeks, painting them in a lustrous red.

Asleep, she remains. Throughout the trip to his apartment. Throughout his lay on his sofa, where she sleeps more soundly, a faint smile on her disturbing lips. No armor is present over her brown sleeveless garb. No weapon is borne on her hips of brown pants. And no shield is visible on her back. Nothing but the wings on which she was left to sleep under a sheet of silk. Drake's own sheet, in fact.

"You know, wings aren't the most of light as they said in myths. I feel like my back just got sore" Drake slips a pillow on the woman's ear before rushing an arm over his shoulder, clearly unused to carrying anyone, to begin with, let alone someone with six wings.

His pace to the bathroom is persistent in back strains, likely to make his sleep both invigorating and appalling...
---
"What gave you the right to imprint your hands on me, foul man?!" Drake expected something like this to occur. Waking up with nature's alarm clock of the rays shimmering through his window.

Rising for a morning trip to the toilet.

Going to the kitchen coupled with the living room for a coffee brew.

Leaning on the sofa where she slept with a look over her general health.

Plucking the coffee brew out for two mugs, one of which he drinks, the other one, laid on the cupboard.

Turning as he heard stirring motions.

And...a sword. Pointed his direction. Imbued in a de-escalating aura of materialization alongside a shield in the same state.

"Well, Drake, you took the hand. Might as well play with it..." The mug in which he sips from conceals his words in mumbling, spurning the agitated woman further by his seeming ignorance.

"I asked you something!" The air shimmers under her cutting edge, an unveiled threat to Drake who feels the wing pass from the swing.

"Good morning to you too" He gestures to a warm mug sitting on the counter "Surely you want something to heat you up after yesterday".

"Do not try to deviate from your act, cur! I'll make you pay for defiling me in my moment of weakness!"

"Ohh, you mean bringing you here? The bartender asked me to..." The serrated-looking weapon sure is something to worry about. Yet, Drake speaks with no inherent dread or panic. He knows what he did and she did too "...he said it might make for a change, though now that you're awake, I'm starting to think that driving you home would have been a better alternative".

"So, you're telling me you didn't do anything? Anything at all?" Her weapon begins to falter.

"Well, save for having to endure your snoring, meek touch and drunken demeanor..."

"..." The woman lowers her shimmering blade to her side, half-unconvinced, half-relieved with a hint of...something else. A sigh peers under her teal irises, knowing that little more than aid has been provided. With no words, no 'thank-you', no gratitude, she looks to the window and leaps through it, prompting his eyebrow to rise and follow.

To follow all the way to the edge where he can see her disappear from the sky. Moving his head under the window, he mutters 'You're welcomed' before closing it down, looking back to the lonely cup soon to cool with no thirst to quench.
---
Days pass. Work in, work out. One of them sees Drake return home, a day before meeting with the boys at the Precipice. Today saw fit to have him stand out the window, feet resting on the rail guard of his balcony.

A symphony feeds his ears in that of vocal hymns, courtesy of his phone wired to earphones. A calm song, prone to lull the hardest of sleepers.

So, with his consciousness half asleep, it is of no surprise that the man snaps back awake by the sudden cut from his feed, replaced by a loud ringing "Huh? Someone's calling?"

Moving the phone from his deep pockets, Drake takes a gander at the screen flashing numbers teeming in familiarity "Weird. Billy usually doesn't call at this time".

He presses on the screen once, far from the red indicator and on a green one, enabling the cellphone to ascend to another screen with an initiated timer "Hey, Billy, what's up--"

A loud exuberant noise filled with discordant tones scorches the air close to his ear, prompting him to dislodge his buds "The hell?"

"You hearin' this, man?" A voice speaks amidst the chaotic utterings.

"Billy? Did you just call me to punk me or something?"

"Nah, man, this is what happens when you mix a valkyrie with excessive alcohol. Song's worse than a chain-smoker trying to sing while swallowing a box of nails".

Drake listens to the screeching and asymmetrical phonetics. They were...without order. Without rhythm. Too loud at the worse inflations. Too soft at the best of them. Curiosity goads Drake into listening, for, amidst the broken chorus, something was calling to him "So...this is her voice then...it's--"

His voice comes off as a whisper at his last sentence, something Billy cannot hear as more than murmurs in his erratic atmosphere "Yea, pretty horrid, huh?"

"Well, it's--"

"Absolutely ear-shattering, I know. It's worse in person, trust me. But hey, I've already bought myself for a few drinks anyway, might as well use my inebriated senses and blot it all out". Leaving no space for Drake to add any word, Billy cuts contact with the intent on emptying his spent money as fast as he can, leaving Drake to ponder about what he heard.

A symphony butchered in any reasonable ears. Likely those of the patrons plagued with a drunken maiden of battle unable to devise the concept of her surroundings. And again, something else played in-between, a line under the quaking sea of her alcohol discord. Perhaps...

"I wonder..." Drake had the dial on his phone back to his song, somewhat similar. He turns it off, looking to the innards of his home where his laptop lingers. Opened at a moment's notice, he starts browsing and looking at sheets and pamphlets, looking...
---
This evening is signed off with a direct route to the Precipice to meet Billy and Nathan. Drake sighs, as his workload has proven to be somewhat more than usual today "Man, can't wait to drop those sore muscles in cold liquid".

Walking in the bar at his usual lateness, the man is gleeful to see a frosty bottle laid on the counter, courtesy of the bartender shooting a tempting smirk on the newest arrival "A deal's a deal, good sir".

"I appreciate that". Drake takes his seat, popping off the cap to indulge in a strong gulp, all under the bewildered gaze of his companions. Nathan, in particular, is all-too-eager to work out the machination of this free tab.

"Ok, how?"

Drake puts his shivering glass back on the counter, still filled "Huh?"

"How? How did you work yourself to a free drink? Guy says you're somehow eligible for one free every visit."

"Ohh..." Drake takes a gander at the bartender mixing in another drink "We had a deal".

"What deal?" Billy approaches, curious as well.

"Easy, I took a load off his shoulders".

"Really? That simple?"

"Yep". Drake takes in another sip from his bottle still under their dubious looks before looking back "You guys seem more relaxed".

"Yea, as it should be. Off-singer over here went straight for the bottle instead of beating our earlobes with her vocal weapon of torture". Billy points to the down faced valkyrie, a hand grasping a beer and barely conscious amidst empty bottles.

"Huh, I thought she always sang around here".

"Nah, that's only once in a while when she feels especially insufferable. Right now, we're basking in her post-regret phase where she figures out nobody wants to hear her dullard voice".

"I see..." Drake looks at her for a moment. A moment suspended in time, his mind gauging possibilities. Her current disposition. And again, his buried empathy merged with his love for vocal phonetics chime in his ears.

He rises from his seat as the two others were setting up for a drinking game. "Hey, hey, hey! Drake, man, where are you going?" Nathan looks to the soon departed, clearly going for the lone sleeper.

"I want to verify something" Drake looks back to his clearly dubious buddy.

"What?! You want to know at what decibels your eardrums rupture?! Because the only thing you're getting is bleeding lobes and a trip to the hospital!"

"Well, if that happens, I'll buy you a drink once I'm out" Drake turns back, a decisive pace to said table where he takes a seat while planting his bottle in front of her, just enough to spur the drunker patron awake.

A droopy confused stare pierces his eyes, soon met with an increasingly happy expression wearing on her face. Although...that might be the alcohol speaking.

"Draky--hiccup--! You're--hiccup--here!" Her hand lunges forward, looking to cup with his own, not realizing her fingers couldn't reach midway the table's distance.

"Yea, yea. Not sure you're really speaking here. But, hey, the barman over here tells me you like singing".

The drunken woman's gaze briefly widens, sending her entire body in an upward glee "Ohh--hiccup--! You want to--hiccup--hear me sing?! Of course--hiccup--you do, that's why--hiccup--you--hiccup--are here! Here--hiccup--I go! Ahh--"

"Hold on now" Drake lifts a hand to the blurry-eyed woman before ushering it in a room further from where they sit "I don't think people here are ready to be interrupted".

She looks around, grazing other people talking and playing around. Her wings briefly burst out in a rising standing "Right". Her movement is angelic, peerless, gracious, elegant. A warrior rising from the humble seat on which she sat.

It hits Drake with its glimpse. A potential unfiltered, a promise of beauty looking back in the shape of her smile, directed wholly at him among all. It pierces his eyes, his being...his soul. Something fans within. Something uncalculable...

But it immediately snuffs out by the woman's step out of place. Her drunken stupor makes this gleaming rise a failure, stumbling her body in a shallow manner. She looks to the small room, a theater-like place where the occasional joker can come to try spilling his morning thoughts "Here! Let's--hiccup--go here!"

"Obviously" Drake steps out of his own chair, still under the bewildered look of Billy and Nathan placing bets on how long he's bound to endure her infernal singing before his ears give out.

Her pace to the stage is a shambling stumble, constantly entangled by the alcohol that flows in her system. Her grasp of the microphone is as clumsy as expected, leaning more into it than a mere firm holding.

The door closes as an effort of Drake to avoid disturbing anyone else in this endeavor of his. Not too soon as the woman begins singing and...he didn't expect it to be this off-key.

His ears are promptly eviscerated by the sounds and hymns fitting together about as well as a rectangle trying to force itself in a triangle hole.

The drunken slurs don't help either, interrupting what already sounds abysmal with even worse chants. All in all, this first sequence of seconds was proving Billy right.

Recoiling at the intensity of her opening oratory, Drake was, however, returned to a more...open listening. His phone opened and recording now lays on the front table, taking in every note his ears were struggling to endure.

His eyes were caught in the middle of a storm. A peace to find within, a lullaby to witness between. He saw something, not unlike the way she rose from her seat. The glimpse of what made her someone to behold. And he endures...all the way to darkness.

A time seeing most of the patrons gone, including his friends. According to the bartender, one of them left with a surprised grin on his face. The other? A surprised grinch of disbelief.

Drake rubs one of his ears amid their ongoing recovery. As expected, Billy was right. And...he was not so right. He had his footages, ready to exfiltrate it at home. Only...

"Ohh, Draky-poo, I've--hiccup--enjoyed singing to you!" The valkyrie's hand stretches around to his furthest shoulder, once again laminating him in her alcohol-drenched presence. Her voice is slurs and hiccups. But, even here, something else waited. A fiber of happiness, perhaps. Gratitude. Or anything in-between.

"I would luv--hiccup--to sing to--hiccup--you again! Somewhere more--hiccup--intima--hiccup--inti--hiccup--i--hiccup----hiccup----hiccup--"
Her head falters under the unending stream of hiccups pouring from her exhausted lips, soon spreading to her body already febrile from the binge drinking. Once again, she falls unconscious, forcing Drake's instincts to usher his body in an impromptu attempt to keep her from falling.

Said effort brings his free hand under her unoccupied armpit in an attempt to hold her, bringing their chests together in the middle. Her entire weight collapses on his body, leaving no impression of her 'size', even beyond the brown garb that affiliates her.

"Not this again..." Drake's struggle is two-fold, holding a body honed in muscles and holding a body in one of the myriad apexes of feminity. A taste of this buried shine he saw twice now currently trying to topple him over. All while the bartender was busy with his casual closing acts.

Which he stops, looking back to Drake's struggle. A second time for an opportunity to call out to this...act that prompted the man to willingly suffer as he is "Sir?"

Drake takes a gander at his interloper holding a plate of empty and stained mugs waiting to be cleaned. A simple gaze between then speaks everything about the request he made a week earlier "No...again?!"

"I'm sure it would lighten miss' spirits. I'm sure you noticed how happy she was at finally having someone listen to her. Surely you can extend your arm once more, if just for today?"

"I don't know. Last time, I kind of had a sword pointed at me with a face looking back like I was some deviant".

"But the fair lady didn't act on this behalf, did she?"

"Doesn't change the fact that I had a sword pointed at me".

"Oh, come now, I'm sure she knew you had nothing to act upon. Otherwise, I doubt you'd be here at this moment".

"Yea, by a miracle...think I'll just call a cab for her turf...wherever it is. You said you had to holler her back home, I take it means you know her--

"Ok...how about two free bottles? Hmm? Think about it. Twice the time you won't need to chip in your hard-earned bills." The bartender looks at him with a certainly assured glare in his eyes. Between having to duel the dozing woman in his arms and the prospect of yet another free bottle to call, Drake was not so much negotiating from a position of weakness but signing off the terms of surrender in the same spot.

"Seriously? You're really doing this? Now? Fine, then, but I'm holding you to that promise, barman".

"Of course, sir". He turns away, ignoring the subtle grumble squeezed out of Drake's struggle to reach for his phone while holding the leisure woman on his front, counting every second the taxi isn't here at this moment...
---
Again, in the den of the night, Drake forces every step toward the sofa with more strenuous effort to lay her on the side, once more sheathed by wools. Her snore is belligerent, loud, as expected as from someone versed in arms.

"Well, that's a company I didn't expect to have here today as well, but..." His hands brush the top of a laptop resting idly on the glass table, quickly booted to use.

"Looking up whatever she may have tried to sing...drunkingly. This is going to be fun..." His voice pours nothing but an annoying sarcasm, scouring the net for every bit of apps capable of devising a song by the tone and humming. A task taking a fair amount of time until consistent results pings in clarity in popping windows.

"Ok...ohh, wow. That's one I didn't hear before..." Drake's eyes move from the frame as a very familiar, yet old song plays out. A soft look lines with the valkyrie, remembering the peerless gaze she briefly shined in, hoping to convey the strength of the song "Reall going for a classic, were you?"

He turns back to his computer, starting a piling of info deep in the night...
---
Morning comes shining through the windows, burning the fleeting darkness to mere shadows out of sight. Drake had woken up from his seat on the sofa, his computer still powered with a noticeably dimmer screening. The man has never been a fan of its sleep mode, leaving it turned off.

So, with a trip to the bathroom, he was...perturbed to see the valkyrie awake, much more sitting on his seat being bombarded by the dim light of his screen "O...k..."

A paper laid by the laptop's side scribbled with lyrics and phonetics. Inflations and movements under a title etched at the paper's peak. She looked at it all, her expression indiscernible by the obstacle of hair laced on either side of her.

Ever slowly, ever gradual, her hair shifts as her head cranes to the back where he was, an expressionless gaze between the eyes. Or it first looked as such, only for his eyes to flicker for the thing between. Not like last time, judging by the lack of a blinding flash or a shimmering blade.

No of then has he expected to meet. Something else shined in. One as quick as the way she rises from the seat, pacing more regularly.

"That's not the window..." Drake crosses his hands, watching her circle the furniture to the door, opening and closing it with her transition in the middle.

His arms cross no longer as for the faintest of time, as it shut her out, he could see her repressing expression concede to a very faint glimmer in her eye. Another glimpse of what he had seen in her rise of yesterday. Of her voice.

Drake stands here, unsure of what to say or feel among the tiniest of heat shimmering softly in the depth of his chest. Something again nascent.
---
The weekend. Monday all the way to Friday. The morning blue to work. The evening orange to his leisure. This pattern repeats with this feeling persistent, slightly more fervent with each passing day, waiting for the next passage.

The Friday comes as mundane and clogged as ever, making Drake late to his weekly reunion with Billy and Nathan. The two already advanced in their drinking when he steps in, a renewal of a promise made in his name.

"Hey, Drake" Billy raises his mug, scooting over while pointing at his inert bottle. His cheeks are somewhat red, an indication of his enthusiastic time under the beverage "Barman said there's another one waiting for you. From where it came from? I dunno".

"A deal" Drake takes his seat, quick to clip the capsule from it.

"A deal...another one?" Billy takes a gander at Nathan who reciprocates the look.

"Pretty much" Drake takes a sip from his bottle "It's more of compensation than a deal, really".

"Yea, I'm sure..." Nathan's voice breathes the skepticisms of a seasoned drinker as he plays around with a capsule "So, we playing or are you going to rub it in some?"

"Nah, let's just..." Drake pulps his piece on Billy's mug, prompting him a drink in his own pitcher. A silent, yet boisterous game between them. One shuddering to a quieter season of decelerated drinking over the night's government.

A time spent seamlessly, uninterrupted as opposed to those of before. It was weird for Drake, like a missing puzzle piece that refused to slot itself at a certain moment. It rubbed him wrong as strongly as the feeling shuddering in his bosom.

By this point, Billy and Nathan had more empty mugs than he, leaving him the time to ponder and quickly seek out this piece. Again, under the renewed wailing of Nathan who's altered mind knows too-well of his intent.

Or, of Billy who sees another occasion to line his pocket against the starved purse of his spent coins with a bet among the duo.

Drake picks up his bottle and moves away, blind to the joined bills of fifty dollars doubled in quantity. He moves to the small amphitheater, empty as ever with little in the way of bold patrons looking to muster any semblance of confidence at its stage.

Illuminated by artificial light, his sight is filled with a singular presence at a table, a few empty mugs in place. The valkyrie, alone in the room of tables and black cloth draped over them.

His disposition perks up at the subtle approach of her returning 'one-day host' "Draky-poo! You're--hic--back!" Her rise is cut short by the wobbly table fiercely impacted by her knees. Her state allows her to rescind this to avoid ripping it from its bolts.

Seeing him sit brings her spirits down as her descent and gaze. Her voice breathes through her tipsy state in a play of melancholy as she watches him briefly "Is it...is it that bad? My singing? My...voice?"

"Hmm?" Drake wasn't the most prepared for this question, nor the expression of benign resignation pouring from her face. The alcohol in her veins seemed to have been dethroned by this overwhelming sense of

"My voice...does it...do you loathe it?" Pure grief twisted the angelic features around her cheeks and pores, not unlike when in a frown "Does it push you away like it did the others? Your words...they seemed to...indicate..."

"So she did look through" Drake remembers his computer open to all present, meaning her. His notes, his applications, all directed to a singular objective. One he wasn't willing to leave this deep in investment.

"Strange that you speak to me at this moment. I'm guessing you didn't take to the bottle so hard today".

"...I didn't feel like so much..." Her body periodically stutters from the moderate amount, though not enough to be too noticeable.

"Well, to answer your question: it is somewhat uncomfortable to hear".

"I see...I knew it was no angelic tone...but to hear you say it of all people..." Her hand clenches over her current mug, slightly cracking it under the pressure. Her eyes seek shelter behind her hair, hiding the shameful tears that so wanted to spill out. Her voice was no angel, for she was no angel herself.

"Yea..." Drake pulls out a piece of paper and his phone over the table, placing them in full view, snapping her tearing trance in pieces "That is why this is here".

"What..." Looking at his laptop, all she could device were the comparisons of the song she tried to mimic and her own voice. A stark difference, strong enough to discourage her to look further to notes. Note he had in front of her "What is..."

Inflations and deflations. Pitches of different levels to change or keep A monumental puzzles of notes yet incomplete. A surprised gaze peering through to Drake "Your singing is just rugged. You simply have the need to practice, but I could hear it. The soft melody in this joy you had at someone willing to hear you out. I want to help you polish it..."

He looks back to her increasingly stricken expression "I'm guessing it's a reason why you went all on me as you knew me the first time. Well, I'm in, let's go then". This feeling, it was but a seed of what was planted in the lapse between her drunken discord. Something looking to nourish itself from the voice of melody.

Her confounded look turns to that of a tearing smile. A faint one flushed out by the alcohol. It was slurry...blurry...sincere amidst the blur. She had someone to sing to. Someone willing to hear her again and again, no matter the faulty tones.

Her eager wings plop out, taking her to the stage, the door closed leaving the two secluded. Drake's ears take the burden of her discordant tones, slurred by drunken lips, punctured by asymmetrical pitches. It mattered little, the brief halcyon among her inebriated mimick of a hymn present and teasing.

This night sees her depart by herself, sober enough to warrant no guide back. Yet, it only seemed so, with Drake finally leaving the amphitheater to find his seat devoid of his friends, again, under the barman's impression of one them running off fifty dollars richer behind the other robbed of his bill.

Drake's hand on the phone, he pushes the door "Yea...yea, it's me again. Same as usual. You pick me up at the--

His voice stops, prompting the phone operator to speak up "I'm sorry, sir? Could you repeat yourself?"

"Actually, I'll call you later..." Drake taps on his phone, ending his call, his hand faltering from his side to the pocket from which it spilled. The den of the night could hold no sway over the blond-haired woman standing before him, her gaze faltered to the side.

Having drunk virtually little in the span of this evening, the warrior maiden holds a stance not uncommon to a timid pose. An uncanny sight for her in particular with her being breathing in a way anathema to one dressed in the way of battle.

"Hey" Her mutter is soft, quiet in comparison to the night's hollow winds, still looking downward.

Hey..." Drake looks around, unsure what to make of the situation "I'm assuming you're not exactly waiting for a cab with those wings of yours, so..."

"Actually..." She takes a step close "I was wondering" Her alcoholism seemed to hold no more grasp on her delicate step than the mere words prompting her forward "I...want to sing...again...to sing better...to someone..."

"Ohh? Well, I can come again next week as always if that's what you're asking for".

An immediate headshake shoots this idea down, buried under a second step even closer to the inquiring man "I wish to learn more under your tutelage. Sooner if possible". Her eyes now brand the certainty of the typical valkyrie, only strange by the request that hones it.

"Well, that would assume you'd accompany me back home and whatnot for more on-the-nose continual, and seeing how you first were when I brought you here, I don't know if--

"Is that it?" Her tone gains assurance once more, enough for her six wings to sprout in a gilded aura, enabling her inhuman speed behind Drake. Her arms rub softly, gently and delicately under his armpits, cutting the lapse of flight from his mind.

---you would like that--and I'm no longer on the front of the Precipice, am I?" His feet no longer feel the soil, but the wing that courses through.

"If you are more comfortable at your domain, then it shall be so. Worry not, I know the layer to the humble sepulture you call home". Her voice is strong and boisterous, deep in that of a warrior.

"I bet you do..." Drake can only rub at his forehead over the screeching winds pelting his face over the height of her flight, a rapid pace to the apartment blocks, darting straight for his particular segment.
---
The morning comes again, this time, under weary skies dressed in gray clouds with piercing downward to countless windows in withered quantity. Including that of Drake's own room, reflected on the walls invested of bright color.

Waking up, he does as he does, going for the bathroom. Then, the kitchen sharing open space with the living room. His movement is methodical, almost mechanical behind years of affinity and repetition.

Brewing coffee with his back on the second counter between the kitchen and the living room, humming while he does. All over the gaze of the valkyrie who had time to usher everything he intended to do minutes before. Sitting on the sofa in a shape-shifted set of pajamas, she waits patiently, absolved from the alcohol. Waiting for him to turn to her, a mug in hand.

He does with surprise jolting slightly "?!" His stare meets her placid expression rigid in its presence. But, this one had a growling expectation underneath laced in a faint blush. Something he could see more clearly. The anticipation to learn, further burned by her words "I...would like to begin as soon as we...can..."

"O...k...ok" Drake turns back, now brewing another mug. Her first two visits here ended in a semi-volatile exchange of words and silence. An atmosphere he didn't think of making a second coffee mug. Now, however, it was different "First, I think you could use a pick-me-up".

"Of course..." Her hands cup together, receiving the mug filled with steaming coffee-colored in a mix of white and caramel, the shade of vanilla. The burning lows.

"You know you can take it by the handle, right?"

"Trivial burns are nothing to someone like me. You need not worry" Cupping it like glass, she takes a sip under Drake's doubt, the latter sitting at the sofa opposite to hers. Her sip is slow and methodical. Deliberate, soft and gradual. Every drip is a flavor to savor, one easily catching the man in the fanes of whatever prompted him to concede so willingly, beating in his chest cavity.

This simple act is one bathed in a bountiful aura in his eye, feeding it a glimpse of her. A piece buried no more, made available to his sighting. A simple moment of a woman sipping slowly, bearing no might nor distance. It was...rapturous to behold.

"What...she's just drinking. Why am I...?" The heat of the moment made its realization clear of what was now in his domain. A warrior angel who, by all means, should have wrought herself to the highest of maestros for her peculiar quirk. An angelic entity bestowed to myriads of capabilities, currently sipping something with much more than the simple act of drinking.

"This is satisfactory. You brew as well as you explicate" Even the act of putting the cup on the miniature table is a delicate maneuver, once again pulling at his heartstrings. Once again, putting the realization of what was a guest at home.

"I guess..." Drake's face feuds with itself over the need to express the heat mounting on his cheeks, forcing himself to mild manner as he pulls out his phone and a wire to connect back to his computer.

Even doing this proves to be...trying. One second, the valkyrie looked intrigued, wondering whether he was willing to begin. The next second, she flashes next to him, hands on her knees still.

"I see you are ready to begin. Then let us not waste any more time" Her voice breathes a hidden passion under a stoic wall, waiting on his words.

"Hum...well, yes why not. I have little happening in the weekend" Drake clicks on a few files extracted from his phone, recordings put to comparisons. Files he translates as tips of advice.

The day is spent indoors, his ears acclimated to her trying tone still honed to that of a warrior over a singer. Their concert is rough around the edges, slowly being chiseled and polished.

Work spending the time on Saturday and Sunday as but coins inserted in a slot machine, coursing in invisibility to Drake's eyes. The fall of Sunday sees progress renew a sense of confidence the winged maiden is not willing to lose to early in the advent of the week.

Moving at the door after being graced to her host's supper, her pace stops midway, turning back to meet in behind her azure gaze. A stoic stance breathes through her tone "At what hour can I expect you tomorrow?"

"Huh?" Drake nooks his head slightly.

"Tomorrow. At the Precipice. Do you not visit this bar?"

"Only on Fridays".

"Ohh..." Her eyes lower for a second or two, then rise again "Surely you can make an exception for the time being".

"Well, I don't have really have a reason to dwell at the bar until Friday. Billy and Nathan aren't here and I'm no heavy drinker and I seriously don't think barmen just let loiterers stand around".

"Well, I'm sure the barman wouldn't have any serious problem with your wish to remain sober..." She takes a step closer, his hand amidst his shock to her heart. A sweetened look to her eyes broadcast an appeal from the depth "I would like to learn more from you as it fills my heart with contentment. I know I ask much of you...but..."

It was strange to see her asking for a request for such a manner. But a sure welcomed one, none-the-less "Sure. If you prefer continuing so earnestly".

"Gracious. Then I shall await you tomorrow" Her hand moves from his as she follows suit. A walk down to the nearest window between apartments, a faint smile wearing on her face. Anticipation now fervently idling in her mind, looking to sing once more...
---
Today had a twist in the evening. As promised, under the orange cerulean sky, Drake shifted far from home as he ranges the highroad, moderately populated with earnest individuals looking to unwind.

Not Drake.

His drive brought him straight for the Precipice somewhat early. A fervent advocate for moderation, he wasn't impatient to take a drink so soon.

"Of course, you may stay" The barman slides a cocktail over to a client amid his permission to Drake, the latter curious to his quick concession.

"Alright, thanks. Didn't think you'd be so willing to that".

"Well, it's not like you're just loitering around. She's going to be happy to have someone to practice with. I don't at all mind this".

"I guess..." Drake takes a waving stance and buries himself to the amphitheater, of course, with the Valkyrie waiting. A table among many populated by one individual in a sea of empty seats.

"Ohh, you are present" Seeing him breach the door prompts her up to meet midway, an angelic walk in his direction.

"Yea. As we promised, we meet..." His sentence is interrupted by the soft cup of his hands on her own, allowing his finger to taste of the silk-like texture of her palms. Palms quivering in joy at joining with his, a reflection of the valkyrie ushered in a less faint smile for a more present one.

"...here". Again, the realization of who's hands holds his comes blinding his mind. If the mere touch was this invigorating to feel, then her singing...
---
"What did I even expect?" He was by the table, a front row to the venerable woman pouring her still inexperienced heart out in a string. A stark difference to what he had heard from the account of Billy and Nathan. Of her drunken voice that played ill tones.

This one was already shining through its reasonable lapses, through the simple need of polish. It was why he was here, calling her out for sound advice midway through her tutelage.

"Ok, that's much better. Though you don't need to be afraid of breathing between pitches, otherwise, it's going to be a pain for you to follow up on stretched out hollers".

"Ohh, of course". The microphone dresses up, re-aligned by her hand, waiting to feel the reverberations of her voice.

Simple advice, not more than tiny alignments, a strong fix for the valkyrie. An unending string of annoyment for a few patrons stumbling here, their intoxication becoming their unrestrained voice "Dude! Can't you just pipe down already?!"

"Huh?" Drake turns to a few squallers, mugs in hands, tipsy in tone and mind, at the surprise of the woman on stage, not aware of their presence. As expected, he pulled in his re-direction.

"Sorry, but the door was closed when we started--"

"We know that!" Interjects one of them "We came to hear some melody, but your brash voice keeps cutting our high out!".

"I mean, why do you keep cutting her out, man!? I'm not hearing any problem from where I stand!"

"Seriously, she's fine enough as it is!"

Their rabble comes from his interjection "Really?" He nods, turning to the only person on stage, somewhat in blush "Well, what do you know. It seems you're already picking up on listeners".

"I..." Her eyes close behind a brighter and smaller smile. As small as the gathering was, it was people opting to listen to her humble voice, willing enough.

A closed smile sees her resume, again. A wordless agreement between her and Drake to let her sing with but the most subtle of hand movements as direction. An act becoming a pattern over the week.

Then weeks.

Weeks seeing the amphitheater filling more and more with diverse patrons. Some stretching from other pubs over the persistent words filtering out of it through drunken minds.

Days pass into weeks, as her voice pass to a more angelic one, capable of rivaling that of the more common angels who have their attribute more eased into battle-devoid hobbies.

Her joy peers through the roof as the place fills with people happily drink to her tone, couples, in particular, joined at the middle, branding her touch as a blessing, hearing the voice of a yearning maiden with someone in her sight.

Men brand the guess as a lucky one, women bestow luck in her attempt, all now departing with a piece of song lodged in their thoughts, happy to see it refill, though tomorrow would fall to a Saturday.

Drake himself was rather impressed with how quickly she became a singer of monumental caliber. Even as an angel, it was precious to behold.

To see her glide down the stage by her six wings spreading light and feathers close to her surroundings.

To see her join her hands while her delicate feet pace in a sprint toward him, a joy boundless on her expression.

The laughter steaming from her tone, pure at its highest.

To see her reach behind his nape in a surprising dexterity behind the flash of light pouring from her uncontrollable happiness.

"Wait, what are you--" To feel...to feel the sweet lips of an angel wrap around his with the strength of a warrior keeping the two of them in place. His voice falls on no ears but her deaf ones, conveying every ounce of gratitude in this physical act.

A strong will prompts Drake to make this first contact a fleeting one, just barely "Ok, exactly what was that?"

The valkyrie's eyes gain clarity from what looked like a spurn of overwhelming happiness. They frown briefly, shaking away this perception of being naught but impulsing acting. Focusing her hands around his nape, she whispers close to him "Gratitude". She merges her lips, as sweet as liquid nectar against his, this time, with greater intent.

As expected, it robs him of any resistance, allowing but the forward motion of his arms coiling around her diamond-hard waist softening to his touch, sinking his wrist deep.

Light spreads in their irises, rushing their co-joined minds to the clouds among buildings of gold and white. A sensation as real as it is make-belief.

One that lingers as they finally separate, radiating his senses in feelings more than mere physical gratification. High, all the way high to his heart and mind. A letter of love conveyed by her honeyed lips.

"Ohh, how grateful I am to have met someone like you~ She speaks with unbridled joy, held still by his arms around her waist, comfortable where it is "I can sing like my angelic counterparts, and just as sincerely. All thanks to your aid~

"W-well..." Drake still speaks in a slur, her kiss holding his comprehensible speech hostage "...I'm glad you managed to find your muse to sing".

"More than that. I've found my..." She turns around, cutting herself short "No, not here. Fairest companion, I bid you, would you be kind enough to allow me access to your domain tomorrow? I would like to properly express my gratitude".

"You want to pass around? S-sure, I think I can..." Having any experience with any kind of monster was a profound moment in a man. And Drake just found out how deep it could burrow.

"Excellent!" Her hands now move aside from his nape, joined in an un-warrior manner "Then I shall be here pronto tomorrow!~ Her eyes gain a sultry gaze as her head leans close to his, excited breathing warming his earlobe ~I'll have a gift for you by then~

Her entire self moves from him, moving away from the Precipice, hidden by the shroud of night. He was...stunned, to say the least. Left adrift in the empty theater, pondering about her 'gift'. He never thought a heavenly creature of all would be so in the rows of passion with someone unremarkable.

And yet...there she went, taking him in her arms, a kiss to commune with him of all people. A man with nothing special in him. Nothing more than a love for vocal songs.

"Nothing more than empathy, right?" The bartender approaches a plate in hand to grab the empty mugs.

"Huh?" Drake snaps how of his trance only now aware of the man ushering his closing hours "Hum...yea. How did you know that?"

"Ohh, I've seen that look often enough. Surprise. A surprise for some to realize they have more to offer than mere special prowess. I think miss Grendella just found yours".

"Grendella? So that her name".

"Of course. They're all so timid to speak out their names, but I'm used to that. She would have given it to you tomorrow anyway".

"Huh" Drake turns and walks away, leaving the man alone in his last task.

His whisper, inaudible to anyone "They are fond of handing out their names to those they seek to promise themselves to after all. Just like how I taught them..."
---
"I guess you were right all along" Drake sits by the bar, filled to the brim with noisy patrons, some of them already advanced in their drunken states "First thing she did when arriving a...what was it, eight in the morning?"

"Not surprised" The barman continually rubs a mug with a cheeky grin on his face.

"Huh-uh..." Drake sports an unimpressed expression to meet the grin in balance "...anyway, she gave me her name. Standing by the window. Our hands joined in the middle under an everlasting clarity of the skies. She whispered it..."

"Grendella" The barman whispers her name like the most delicate word.

"Yea...just like that, she did. And then...this" Drake moves his hand upward from his pocket, a black box clenched in it. Two of his fingers plop the top open, revealing a ring.

A golden ring shining on the barman's eyes populated with an encrusted azure gem, small enough to avoid taking space on the gilded circle. Its presence is surrounded by two smaller gems in circle shapes.

A beautiful shine meeting the barman, prompting him for a subtle closing of eyes "Ahh, a marvel it is, good sir".

"Yes, it is" Drake plucks it from the box that held it, slowly observing it close to the eye, "She asked me to consider it before I insert it. I guess she didn't know my finger size, maybe?"

The barman leaves the mug and napkin by the side, a benign smile coating his expression, fervently watching the repeated comer insert the ring on his ring finger. His stare is a parental one "So...it finally happened".

"Ok, I don't know how she managed it, but it fits perfectly". Drake clenches his hand to a fist, all in the simple wish to observe the ring now adorned on his being. A beautiful luster meets him back, seemingly doubled in warmth. A warmth he didn't notice until now.

"Of course it would" The barman takes a hand under Drake's, his surprise lowering the clench to a soft standing. Unseen in his motion, the owner of the Precipice had his palm underneath the ring bearer's, his voice continuing on "They always do. Rings shaped by angels so rarely miss".

"You sound like you speak from experience" Drake feels his hand being only slightly pulled toward the barman, thinking it to be a mere attempt to observe.

"Grendella, my dear little warrior...you finally found the ears to hear you grow..." The barman's voice takes on a different pitch, a different tone. A warmer tone.

"Huh? So, did you know her--

"That would be an understatement, my young friend. So long she has been looking for someone. Finally able to leave that melancholy far behind her".

"Yea--wait, the way you're talking is kind of insinuating that--"

The barman puts his other hand on Drake, the whole surrounding seemingly fading t his eyes, eyes locked tot he barman whose voice had a heel turn. Affectionate, motherly. Another song entirely.

"To think your only mistake was to have loved your mother so much. Even when it was proven that her nemesis truly did harbor no malice. How I wish I could have taken all of this distrust, this wariness toward you and your sisters toward me..."

"Wait, wait, wait. Mother? Sorry so say, friend, but you're speaking strangely. And your voice--"

"...instead of seeing so many of you in woes, hearts in starvation. So much difficulty finding someone. Sharing with someone. That is why you sought refuge in the bottle, is that right, Grendella?" The barman takes to the sky of cerulean. One golden tear falters from his eye, woefully in Jubilee.

"Seriously, you're speaking as if she was--" Drake was increasingly confused by his words, so alien to what his voice was before. As if he was talking to someone else.

"But, you have found a very kind man to sing to. Your light in this darkness. Mother is so proud of you..." His head lowers again, another gilded tear falling from his cheek, perfect in its design "...ohh, so proud. But, she has to go now. Your sisters require guidance as well. They seek this very nectar of affection that you're finally embracing".

"Wait...seriously?! You're the...!" Drake couldn't believe it. Bad enough that he had tasted the honeyed lips of a valkyrie, a divine entity long said to be sent for but the most worthy of warriors and heroes. But now, it was all too obvious for him.

"Ok...so, I'm basically holding hands with the chief god. Ok, that's...that would have been fun to know. Lots of rectification I could have gone about knowing that".

A smile comes stretching to his side. A proud, maternal smile of a parent coming at the end of the judgment of a pretender "Ohh, if it's of any consolation, my dearest daughter is also unaware of my presence here. You needn't worry about any formalities, it wouldn't have been so genuine if my true presence was revealed".

"I mean...a hint would have been nice. All the rebuking I've been jousting with you, it's kind of an epiphany the size of a truck and--this ring I'm wearing, it's not just a gift, is it?"

"Oh, oh, quite the perceptive one, are we?" The barman brings Drake's ringed hand to his bosom, the most delicate of a smile on his face. So flawless it was that it couldn't be his. All the while the world around Drake was only now coming back. The noise, the sight, everything.

He turns his head sideways, a delicate voice wholly not of his own ~Please. Take good care of her. She is a rather sensible flower~

"Take good care? Ohh, of course, I will--and you're not just talking about her well-being, are you?"

"My, oh my. Grendella, you such have managed to find a clever one~ The barman purrs with naught but wholesome encouragement, a feminine voice to his face.

"Ok, seriously, I did not know the chief god of all people would speak in 'double entendré' so much".

"Ohh, and don't you worry, kind son-in-law..." A wink from the barman leaving Drake's hand "Our deal still stands after my departure. Two free drinks at every visit".

"Really?" Drake's voice peels off his incredulous tone to a more familiar one "That...would be nice. But, you're not really going, right?"

"My duty to my little one is ended, kind man. She has someone to love her now. To bring untold happiness in her life. So many of her sisters are without a tender half".

"Of course!...of course" Drake looks to his ring, looking fondly at it.

"Ohh, you need not worry about being up to the task. I know you will bring her joy. But now, I must go. Next time you visit, someone else will be in my stead at this humble place".

"Yea..." Drake sighs heavily, knowing he now had someone waiting at home. He couldn't be any more happy to feel her touch by this simple ring, his reluctance to take to the bottle ever more heightened. These two free he'd get would become one, as the other now belonged to Grendella every time they converged at the Precipice. For her to sing. For him to listen among a crowd. For them to giggle and whisper among other joined individuals.
----------------
As was this day in particular. A heavy rainfall pelting the earth deep in the city's bones coerced many people to remain home.

Not Grendella.

"Come, darling! Let's not let rain stain our modest attire!" For the few that dared the fall, they were welcome to her warm singing carried throughout the city. From the Precipice where Drake opted to take his free bottles, to the rest of the streets. A little encouragement for those with no other choice than to venture out in the sky's wailing.

Though, even the couple eventually sought refuge home. Not his. Not hers. But theirs. A joined place for marital dwellers. Hand in hand, the valkyrie leads her spouse under the ceaseless carnage of drops, giggles, and laughter adorning her voice "Come, darling! Let us return home!"

"Hold on, let me get.." Drake had a more stringent time keeping his footing with a six-winged angel easily forcing him thrice his sprint speed.

Their return home is a humid one, the moist dripping on the frontal carpet laced with the typical 'welcome home' words.

"I need a towel, be right..." Putting the twin bottles on the table, Drake makes a step to the bathroom, only for his hand, still connected to Grendella, to stop him in his track "...back".

"Darling, you don't need a meager bundle of silk to dry you. You just sit here and..." Pulling him close to her, Grendella bears him sit on a single seat sofa where she spins. Her clothes, a pair of brown pants and top, glimmer. A scorching aura shimmers around her burning away the water clinging to their attires, banishing it as nothing more than vapor.

"I keep forgetting the array of abilities you have" Drake watches the spectacle, the slowing of her spin, leaving her in a more delicate attire. A combo of a top adorned with a skirt far too short to let the imagination wander. A top leaving little to theorize her bust size. Thighs bare in their softness.

Such sight is an 'agitating' one for the man who bears a matching ring to hers "Oh, wow, I don't remember yo getting something so..." Bundled like this, the mighty warrior maiden looked nothing like one. No warrior. Only a maiden dressed so alluringly.

~I thought to make myself more familiar with feminine dressings. I heard it was a way of...presenting...oneself to...~ Her shimmer at the middle, boasting none of her previous happy-go-lucky.

Slow fidgeting becomes her apparel, clearly not used to wearing such enticing prospects. Her arms fidget over to her chest and thighs, shaking subtly. Her eyes look to Drake, portraying a vulnerability unseen, yet wholly present.

She softly jolts in unexpected relief over his hand opening the capsule of Henry's soda, parting lips over his request "Perhaps a song can lift this discomfort. I'd love to get something to sip over".

Her parting wavers and disassembles. picked up by a shining smile already easing her in this unorthodox set of attire. A song she sang so often. The 'requiem'. Once strung in broken notes and ill-tempered voices.

A song she sings, her body still shy, yet not as vehemently embarrassed. The voice that seeps from her breaths takes over, guiding her body to a higher comfort before the man who so listens to her the same way it was. The only one to which reveal herself so.

A small edict of movements drumming with each high note. Committed to her song, her hands soon forget their duty as a cover-up, instead, moving alongside it. Her assets, her feminity, all in a display to Drake looking increasingly flustered. Bothered in all the ways a man would be as a witness to a dancer or a singer. Someone so close, so...reachable.

His cheeks, his sweat, his short breath, all indication of his desire waking up to the woman standing before him. Oh, how his hands hunger for the timid beauty. A thought forced in a feud with the persistent realization of her 'connections'.

A second thought comes to his mind. The bottle still holds a fair amount of alcohol. Quickly, he raises it to meet him upward, a debilitating need to quench it in an alternative sweetness.

"Actually, darling...~ His hand freezes in place, held firm, but gently on her own. A hand masked in pure white marital gloves reaching her elbows with no fingers to cover.

"This dress I've taken. It isn't a mere cosmetic change...~ A hand softly weighting his wrist down where the bottle's bottom taps on the miniature table. A motion leading her fingers to his to unwrap around said bottle, a third full still.

All behind her silent voice no longer in the throes of a song. Lips left to part as she approaches him. Lays on him, their hand still laced together.  Her chest on his. Her waist alongside his. Thighs spread out, sitting on his legs.

"I'd like to learn about my duties...~. Her whisper is a mix of innocence of eagerness, close to his face. Cheeks flamboyantly red.

"Duties? What kind of..." He stops, seeing the thrash of inexperience and anticipation parted on her lips. Her hands delicately joining behind his nape, sitting comfortably on his hips face-to-face.

Grendella turned out to be a formidable fit for Drake. A melody to wake him. Comparable skills at the furnace. An endearing yet strong personality. A warrior and a wife for the last few months.

But now, she wanted...more. So attuned their minds are with one another, he could sort of reading her movements and expression. Embarrassed, and eager. Awaiting as a woman standing before a bramble forest, looking to cup her hands at the treasure in its heart.

An excuse for his desire to boil, not in a geyser, but a spill. A slow decreased in inhibition starting with his hand on her chin, perking her slightly.

A fixation so he may pluck her luscious lips in a staunch kiss. Widen eyes slowly closing, giving in to this ignition of their bodies entangled with the other.

His hand comes down joining the other on her waist, firm in their clinging. Her wings straighten, perked by the overwhelming sensibility if her lips being fed non-stop, enthralled in his taste. Feathers fall in benign amount.

~Goodness...~ Her breathing is acrid, starved for oxygen, yet not as much as she is for seconds ~This is...a ravenous exchange~

"Yea, sorry" He breathes as painfully as she does.

~It's alright...I want to feel it too. Please...~ Her request earns her a faint squeal from her voice as her unprotected rump feels the squeezing of his two hands.

Parts of him might have expected her to retaliate forcefully. They had to concede defeat under her womanly reaction taking her to the first steps to pleasure ~My buttocks...they're being groped~

Her moans become delectable to his ears. An equal comparison of the sensation of his fingers gently digging on her curves. With both of his touch and hearing yearning for more, he persists, squeezing them fondly, digging in the delicious flesh of her rump. Flavors of an angel beyond what he expected.

Delicate enough that her moans were of the most genuine, entirely savoring his groping, judging by how she stares at him in crimson cheeks and unending wails. Her underwear, a pure gold color, darkens in the middle. Slowly, persistently moistening.

Feeling the wetness of her panties. The ceaseless wails of pleasure from her lips. The sensation of her generous bosom, so many times held firm by modest attires on his own thorax. Her scent. Her sensation. The promises laying further. All too much for Drake to endure.

~!!?~ Grendella stutters, an undeniable sensation midway through her underwear. Perhaps with her more casual attire, it might have been neglectable. However, as she stands...

~Ahh...what is the sensation underneath? Why does it feel so hard to behold?~ Her look falls downward, seeking out the prod that pushes in to her underwear ~Ohh, you're...~

Drake looks away, clearly embarrassed at how easily his erection made itself noticeable "Sorry, sorry, I didn't think your 'assets' would feel so..."

His words stop by her surprise initiative. Grendella's breath, excited as it is wary, pours to his jeans, humifying it somewhat ~The object of a man's desire lingers here...~ She inhales once, ever as red since his gropes ~I, I want to see it...~

"Wait. Wait. You don't need to do..." His zipper yields unlike his desist, opening up to thick black underwear of the male variation. The button of his jeans plucks off, victims of Grendella's dexterous fingers, allowing her to pull the second layer away.

Immediately, his tower of desire plops out of its confine, prompting another jolt from her "!?" Her breathing increases, still feuding age-old instincts. The persistent claim to archaic concepts of chastity for battles that no longer exist. Motions she no longer wished for. Motions in the way of her body seeking to follow her heart.

Drake wasn't sure of her expression, thinking that perhaps, this was a bit much for someone like her. His hands move alongside his buttons "It's alright. You don't to force yourself in this. We can try again another time--Hnnn!"

No. No better time for her than to break from her old molds than now, facing the honest desire of a man she made her own. Her husband, ever understanding. Ever patient. Yet now, she wanted it just as much as he does.

So, with speed blinding for a simple individual, his entire phallus is wrapped between her voluptuous breasts, not detached from what little of harness her robe is. The sensation of softly squeezing it between is already almost too much for Drake, who had almost...

~I apologize, darling. I almost made you spill...~ Her breathing is excited. Tiny tickling comes washing her mind, acknowledging how good her body is to his. A step forward.

"H-hold up..." Drake breathes in short burst, forced in a battle of attrition between his desire to 'let loose' and endure the silk-like sensation coiled around his tool, only gaining in hardness "Where did you learn this? I don't remember your learning of this".

~While you were away, I...looked around. Magazines mostly...~ Her eyes remain fixated on the tip of his shaft, an alluring sight to behold ~...it was said that men loved having their...manhoods wrapped like this. I did not think it would be this strongly...~

A look strings up to the man victims of her pleasurable prison of angelic molds ~G-get ready, my beloved. I'm going to start...moving~ Without saying anymore, Grendella's hands begin moving. Which makes her breasts move alongside, delectable friction devouring his meat rod.

Grendella hadn't expected to be so enthralled in this serving act. The smells that peers from it are a pungent furthering to her woman instincts. Instincts inviting strange thoughts.

~I wonder...~ Moving her cleavage up and down in a fervent display of affection, her lips approach the tip, quivering. Drake's eyes were shut, forced to a close, the willpower to endure an angel's devotion to pleasure him taking everything to avoid releasing himself.

A losing fight as pleasure increases, all about to break loose as she finally gives in to this fervent ponder. Her lips open, leading her tongue out. Dripping in saliva, brewing in ponder, she lowers her head, licking over the tip.

"Hey, hey, hey! I'm barely holding on here! Why do this--" His teeth clench, forcing his sentence unfinished. The head of his willy is blighted by overwhelming nervous feedbacks, all inhuman to him.

A shiver, to the two. Drake, feeling what little of endurance he had to falter. Grendella, tasting the bitterness of his phallus ~But, its scent. It's...ravenous...~The motion of her hands was now joined by her tongue licking his head, forgetting her inexperience to the instincts of what she had read in the countless magazines purchased.

All to the surprise of the clerk, a succubus muttering something about seeing an event once in her life as the sight of the stumbling valkyrie asking for the most 'complete' magazines about 'bed' activities. She ones she hides under the bed, reading them every time Drake was absent, either at work or otherwise.

This surprise boils over to the tip, twitching and enlarging. In spite of his effort, Drake's pleasure overwhelmed his bloated phallus, losing more holding ground. His breath becomes hagged, barely coping with the unending licks polishing his enlarged tip "Hey...if you keep that up...I don't think you want to persist..."

She stops for but a moment, his quivering manhood enveloped in her sublime breasts like meat in loaves of bread. Trembling, sensible, threatening to burst open.

Her eyes rise to meet his panting expression, a simple push needed to conquer his endurance. How considerate he was, even at the edge. A consideration...

...she did not need right now.

The time spent together. As strangers. As friends. As lovers and finally, spouses. This meager time crossing the year had outshined the decades spent by herself at the whim of distrusting individuals with an easy memory for past mistakes. Individuals lulled to her side by her angelic song with the purest of boons. All brought upward by his mere presence. A love for singers.

Her parted lips briefly smile, intended on returning all he had brought her way in the most desirable way for a man, with him being no exception.

Her hands clad in silks feel the tiniest of push at her literal fingertips. She presses gently, sending her fleshy breast squeezing on his tip. Over it.

His eyes close. His teeth shudder. His manhood succumbs to her touch. Grendella's chest fills with the luscious warmth of a man's residue.

~Such warm fluid...~ Her whisper falls under the squinch of his rod spewing out a meager amount, strong, however. Her warrior reflex pulls her head sideway as some of his overflowing excitement strings upward, close to hitting her eye.

~Even lodged in my bust, it still spills out~ The crevice of her cleavage flows with a thick whiteness, spreading its bodily heat outward, burning the flesh that surrounds it with heightened sensibility.

Drips manage to string out, only to fall places on her bare breasts, defiance soon withered with the tool to his hunger emptied.

The damage? The spot between her bosom is home to sticky fluid pungent in its scent. Some stick to the edge of her chest, others squirm at the base. Regardless, Grendella's chest is polluted with the marking of a man, the source of its viscous presence still twitching at the whim of her hands.

~Such strong scent~ Her eyes line with the residue tainting her flawless skin, the most of it still cupped over her crevice. The thin vapors rush upward, most of it devoured by her overwhelming curiosity of the smell. His smell.

Drake breathes in short bursts, his nose forgetting his jaw, still at her whim with a persistent erection and risen sensibility. Coated in his own 'mucus' and her spit, it hungers still, demands for more.

~Hah?~ The angel's wings sprout the same manner hair dresses upward on a cat. The pulse of his hardened rod prevails, swelling inside her cupping. Her voice teems with dazzlement ~Darling, your monument, it regrows so fast. I didn't expect men to be so eager in activities like this...~

Drake doesn't say anything, witness to his 'mess' coating her. His hunger pilling outward, far from enough to satiate him. Watching her open her breasts to see the pool drip through her slim dress with fascination, staining the floor underneath is relieving and shameful.

A shame he hadn't had enough. A sentiment quick to erode, exposed to her own gaze. Fascination and innocence returned to the depth of her demeanor, making space to the devoted gaze she shines.

He sees it. A look urging him forward. In her eagerness...and her timidity. Waiting on him. Waiting to feel more.

~Darling...~ Her honeyed lips part again, agitating the throbbing tool lodged out of his pants. The increased appetite to further ravage the beauty that sits on her knees only barely contains itself, only for the time being. A ticking clock in his head, it whispers of the delight of her body lingering still, counting down the inevitability of his urge taking over.

Drake rises from his feet, prompting Grendella to slightly backstep, feeling his hardened breathing. A staunch feud in his eyes, fighting what has no need to be fought. She rises in this effect, presenting herself with no poise of a warrior. Her love for the man had ushered a blossoming of her own desire, as pure as the former.

"Dear..." Drake attempts a hand close to her cheek, forgetting the pulsating member with an acute taste for angel flesh. Her hand comes to it, placing it squarely on the said cheek. His stare is a struggling one, reaching the fingers that lay on her pore. Any more and he'd place his hands on her. Any more and...

Her bundle of blond hair laid as a gilded river subtly wiggles at the whim of her shaking head. A smile of understanding. A smile of affection. An eager smile, braided in red cheeks. Her whisper, the catalyst, close to his ear ~My...body...is...yours...as...my...heart...was~

That was more than he could handle. An angel. A warrior angel giving him her full permission. Pleading in the tone of her whisper to taste feminity. Her legs no longer feet the floor, lifted to her waist together, held firm by a pair of arms.

Her hands cling to his nape. Her lips seal his in anticipation. Her supernatural senses flare in this excitement, ushering his footsteps upward through the stairs by the emission of her wings slightly pulling at directions in their balance's sake.

Their fiery breath merges, burning hot between kisses, thick enough to spread around their faces in a fleeting fog. A tenacious occurrence all the way to the main room. Their bedroom. Slammed open by the might of her wings.

The wall becomes a resting point on which her bad cradles itself, pressed softly, yet boldly by the man interjected to her other size. Their lips play with each other some more, directly over Drake's wandering hands. Each on her cups, they molest her sullied breasts, eating them by vigorous caresses.

Her body is a trembling statue of refusal, picking apart the last shred of defiance that would have long prompted her against his continual fondling. Strokes that feed her alien sensations decreasing in their incomprehension.

"For someone with a prediction to battles, you sure seem to have the disposition of a seductress". His whisper is a cause of stuttering inhalations, inaudible to all but his damsel.

Grendella's head is turned sideways at the whim of his groping, a hand over his basking in the delicacy of her sensibility. The primary silencer to any word not translated to a high-pitch moan.

"Hmm, nothing to say, huh?" He knows she cannot speak, nor think too deeply, the wave of pleasure burning on her skin. To tease en entity magnitudes over him would once be an act no more than imaginary. Someone who has seen wars and battles, unlike anything he could conceive of. A walking and sentient armament of magic and blade, capable of shaking the very earth by her steps. A contender to her ex-arch-nemesis' very children.

A being such as her, entirely at his caprice. Willingly at his caprice. no less brought together by the matching bands adorning their fingers. To tease entity like her, Drakes finds the act beyond tasty, unrelenting in his whispers "Hey now, you're not really going mute, are you? Where did all that confidence go minutes ago?"

~...~ Her lips affair themselves solely in breathing, half of their inhalations cut away by the fiery moans afflicting her by the erogenous temperament of her bosom. The plaything of his hands moving across the soft flesh in squeezes.

"Still nothing? Well then..." His hands move from the bust so fondly savored for extended minutes, trembling still from its touch. They are but an echo of their user, a monument to his ongoing craving.

A craving reaching down to her hips, the only layer of clothes moved aside in a caress ending at the two thin lace holding her gateway to her womanhood. The thing, once forbidden to ravenous mortals with polluted thoughts.

His fingers pull on the elastic, feeling a bit of weighing to Grendella's panties. Just enough to be noticeable. He briefly lifts his eyes to meet his wife's gaze, an unveiled smirk to his face.

"Still nothing?" No protest, no push back, nothing. Nothing except her shy return, hands pressed obediently at the base of her stomach, waiting still.

His fingers rope around the elastic and, with one last look, one last glance at the immobile valkyrie in her refusal to move beyond sly shaking...

...he pulls it down. Down to her waist where his eyes reflect a glint trailing from the gilded fabric to her forbidden spot. A reflection prompting his mind to reflect in seconds. A realization of what he was doing. What he had done. What he was about to do.

These thoughts put to rest. Again. And again. By her word, by her act. Renewed in her silence. A yearning to become his once more. More than in spirit, the body, seeking to join the mind.

She remains silent, bracing, even with her body rotating by the advent of his hands. Grendella's hand paint the wall with their touch. Her robe's skirt is lifted, laid on the generous shape of her butt, the latter, pointed at Drake in its soft standing, gelatin-like sensation begging to be groped.

But, even that turned pale in comparison to the forbidden organ closed between the cheeks. Like a fruit, her mold is closed, shut to the outside world. Yet, it drips in its womanly nectar, pooling in meager quantity on her underwear, whispering to its ripeness. A sight enthralling Drake's hands to his pants.

The zipper was no enough to free the thing that lures in his pants. They drop, as well as his underwear, leaving ample room for his rod to stand exposed to all.

Even while facing the wall, Grendella's side glance gives her a full view of his hunger, his appetite. Harder than even when enveloped in her chest. Even more eager than that moment.

Her cheeks bathe in the crimson heat of her making, knowing of its intent. Her breathing flows through her lips, a mix of worry and anticipation. Wariness and eagerness. Further imprinted to her inexperienced body by his approach.

His hands anchor her hips in place as he puts his gorged groin between her legs, directly underneath her forbidden area, coated by the fluid dripping. His hands also cross over to join on her belly, his head close to her own.

"Last warning~ This close, he can scrutinize his wife's expression shifting from the intimidation of the bloated rod dangling dangerously close to her unsullied spot to the keen thought of experiencing the act of making love. Physical love to her, long eluding her sight.

Her eye meets his. Ready to be made a woman as she was made a wife. And a singer before. Silence is her answer, joined with a hand clenching on one of his.

Drake has the realization of what he was about to commit. An avatar of a goddess that he was about to deflower. A dangerous idea, a harrowing one...if not for the same to come to him as a point prior. Her double 'entendré' clearly alluding to Grendella's awakening of her feminity. All waiting for a push...

"Ok then. Don't say I didn't warn you..." His moistened rod moves to slide between her legs, a pre-taste of the unfathomable morsel, a whisper to his ear.

~Please...be...gentle...~ Grendella holds fast, her hands firmly planted on the wall, strongly enough to dent it, crack it, even. Her eye closed with the last sight of her beloved holding his throbbing piece still, the thing yearning to penetrate her fruit.

She feels it, the tip of the head pressing against her slit, attempting to split it open like a fruit's exterior. Wet squish echoes through the room as the edge of his erection dives in, penetrating the warrior angel like a common woman, her wings spread afar to allow him a clear sight of the flesh he was approaching.

An elongated moan spills from her lips like her juice spills from her freshly penetrated hole with a trickle of blood washed over by her flavor. His phallus flares, seduced by the warmth of her feminine fruit, hungry for it. Slowly, gradually, persistent wet noise channels alongside Grendella's delighted moans, a pleasure willing to guide her to her through his deliberate movement.

Pushing his fattened rod at a snail pace, savoring every last inch gained in her warm organ, enthralled at its presence. Drake can barely focus, the sheer heat inhabiting her flirting with his manhood, the threat of spilling too early very noticeable.

His crotch finally joins with hers, an unintentional soaked smack connect the tip of his head to the entrance of her coveted spot. Her entire inside burns with fervent warmth, flowing more fluid from the hole filled with a man.

All of his willpower is drawn in combating the inhuman pleasure compressing the monument of his hunger, goading it in moisty licks and suctions.

~Goodness...~ Grendella pants softly, feeling the entire girth of a man fully inserted inside her, every bit of her crevice laded. Her whisper is a reward to Drake, well aware of the impression he makes, the loss of her purity a meager bargain to her mind.

"I'm...I'm going to move now, alright?" His eyes trace back to her expression, submissive satiation painting her cheeks and eye and breathing. Being made a woman on the spot, her body now hungers for more, yearning to feel what eluded her in the centuries. Rumors spread by monsters of how good it can feel to be embraced by a loving spouse, all becoming reality, spurning her further.

The warrior angel nods in furious blush, now feeling the entire entering and exiting of his tool. The friction of his girth inside her makes it impossible not to feel it continually penetrate the cavern of delectable flesh.

His excitement is palpable as demonstrated by the shortened lifespan of his inhalation. His focus is entirely on the woman he holds by the hip, absorbed by the innumerable sensations feeding his meat rod, with the next thrust more delicious than the last, slow as they are.

Looking down amid his thrusts, Drake's sight is filled with his pole pounced forward by his bare hips, squeezing its way inside her for another fresh coat of fluid. The transparent liquid burns hotly on his rod, coercing it further, with his looking exacerbating the sensation. Just looking at it makes it burn hotter, deeper, tickling his mind with increasing delight, repeated with the next thrust, faster, deeper.

Looking up to meet her gaze, her only eye visible from the side is another ramping of sensation. Pleasure beyond what she expected, the warrior angel's closed lips falter, chipped by each of his unending pushes. As he accelerates slowly, so withers her resistance.

He sees it in her expression, lips parting as heavy breaths leak out over her nose, it being no longer enough to express the burning passion stirring her loins.

The heat, the meat splitting her slit open, the juice spilling out along her legs, the hands holding her in place, it becomes too much for Grendella ~Ahh~

A wholly feminine moan breaks out of her teeth and lips, open for more spilling over, dense in the fog of her fiery breath ~Ahh, ahh, ahh~

Unable to resist anymore, her entire body moves, bulged slightly forward by his increased vigor, incapable of shaking the vision of her side breasts rattling behind his thrusts. Or his ears hearing the delightful voice drenched in moans.

~Ahh, ahh, it's filling every--ahh~ The attempts to utter a sentence is ever snapped away by the taste of a man's rod kissing the very entrance to her womb. Not to her lack of effort ~Ahh. Is it how it--ahh--feels? ahh, ahh, to be embraced as a woman--ahh~

To look at her face, now embracing the passionate heat of her crotch, a voice full of delight. Or to look at their hips, to his increasingly bloated rod filling with his 'pollutant'. Either sighting is a decrease in his endurance. His yet again raise of his thrusting speed, dripping more fluid from their joined genitals.

His hips take the initiation, switching the rapid pushes for deeper penetrations. Grendella's moans become deeper, longer, but also shorter in intervals, focused solely on the object ravaging her groin. It's honed in focus, now sentient with Drake's intent ~Darling...ahh, you're going to claim me...ahh...if you keep--ahh~

Drake's mind only now catches up with the instincts of his body. His bloated meat rod passed from throbbing to twitching. The stronger thursts rearing her body forward. The firm clasp of his fingers on her hips. The ramping pleasure tickling his entire shaft.

"?!" Drake's movement slows, receding the surface of his mounting limit. Her voice, amidst his furious thrusting, sounded anxious at the time, prompting him to think to slow down, maybe stop, at the growling rod unnerved at the act.

And Grendella. Her hand clasped on his wrist. Gently, but firmly, dragging his attention to her expression. Consumed by the warmth of lovemaking as much as goading. A glimmer of her prowess lingers beneath, leading him on.

Again, he forgot. Their joined bodies were of her design, eager to learn, eager to please. Eager to be made a woman. His woman through the delectable way of love rendered physical as emotional. The second thing he could provide out of many who crossed her path before besides her singing voice.

His thrust regains the momentum he had given up, and then some. Harder, deeper, closer. His genital was in alarms, overstimulated by the compressing molds of her crotch, instinctually knowing the generous meat was close. Too close.

Bracing for the imminent spilling, Grendella's hand goes back to the wall, feeling the twitches trembling between her legs, inserted as deep as they can. The entrance to her depth is continually kissed open by his tip, gorging itself in the content threatening to overflow.

It smacks evermore along with her moans, her screams ~Ahh~
~Ahh~

~Ahh~

~Ahh~

~Aaahhhh~ Her last scream is a moan blossomed as an orgasmic shriek, echoed throughout the house in which they joined. His last thrust became the tipping point of overwhelming pleasure flooding his 'head'.

Slamming his hips against hers, clenching his hands strongly on her hips, Drake feels his body lock in place, surrounding to the pleasure encroaching his crotch area, the stream coursing in his compressing meat rod.

His ejaculation is a strong torrent, spilling over to the angel's depths, washing her innards in his throbbing and burning seed, cleansing any remain of her purity in his discharge.

It was far from enough, his instincts whispering of more being carried through his pole. It moves by the intermission of his hips to slam again on her butt, shooting bigger streams inside. The heat spreads throughout her entire body. Her lips quiver in sensations never felt before. Tears fall from the cheeks, joyful and warm behind closed eyes, fully enjoying the scorching heat accumulating in her belly.

Her wings spread outward, pulsing in radiant light, the truest demonstration of her climax alongside her rearing head upward, leaving the beautiful flow of hair to move as well, far from her back.

Her screams renew with every strong thrust, as they spill ever more of his seed, reaching with evermore warmth, downward as upward. Dripping down her legs as the inhuman entity he had against the wall was coercing more out of his phallus, drinking more than it could swallow.

The elongated climax of two slow to a crawl, briefly catching the breath of the afterglow. Drake's hands relax around her hips. His hips move backward, slowly pulling his rod out with a plop, slightly lowered by the fluids coating it. Some of it drips from the head, a meager amount compared to the torrent shot swelling inside her.

In comparison, her loins were deliciously ravaged, far beyond any recognition of the purity she held minutes ago. The slit once invaded by the energetic tool of a man now relaxes, shuddering as it closes. But, not without spreading the visual proof of its experience.

Closed at it was, a fair amount of fluid further drips from its tiny opening, leaking an insignificant amount down to the floor. Most of it, while her crotch trembles still.

Looking away from his 'work', Drake's brown eyes rise to meet Grendella's. Her cheeks, her irises, her mouth, her entire expression is one cooling down, basking in the afterglow. Sensations she was now familiar with. Her breathing is short and fast. Fast and sweet.

Recovering his speaking normality is easier said than done, the echo of an angel body still vibrant in his own frame. Light flickering in his mind of the delight he felt non-stop. The same light honed on her wings, late to recede to their state.

Yet, in his approach to cuddle her from the back, in his hands joined on her belly, in his lean toward the side of her face, he did so, "I...warned you".

Her breathing regulated only this moment, Grendella turns her eye to him, a simpering smile honed on her face ~I...I didn't expect our joining to be so...passionate...~

Hearing her words makes him relieved, prompting his arms to caress her belly. This intimate act, it was not one-sided, further ringing the veracity of countless monstrous lasses of the lovestruck emotions that may swell amidst what looked like a mere simulation of instincts. A baseless act of pleasure as shallow as those depicted in brothels.

Looking back to him, her expression is gratitude, happiness...and want. The centuries passed without a touch she never thought to so fervently yearn for has the warrior maiden craving for more. More affection, more emotion, more pleasure. The stew of love spilling in the physical act.

~And even then...~ she whispers, an innocent voice of a seductress she didn't know to have ~...you're still so far from satiated...~

"Wha--" The whisper of an angelic being often rings true. In Drake's case, it prompts him to briefly look down. The feeling strings him back to the reality of his condition. The experience of her intimate area had a more profound effect than he anticipated. Or perhaps was it the love he had for the woman who sought to become his wife in name and action?

Both were intertwined, speaking on behalf of his persistent erection throbbing between the crevice of her butt. His first bout of flooding her belly in his hunger wasn't enough. Far from the case. It wanted more. He wanted more.

And she...~I've...I've heard that men wouldn't be content with just once~ Her wings draft backward, catching the wind on her robe and pulling it forward ~You seem to be one of those with vigor...or am I this delectable to your loins?~

She speaks with the prowess of a warrior, borrowed to her confidence as a woman, wholly presenting herself, held as she was, to him ~I am willing to quench this thirst...if you would allow it~

Her honeyed words spring on Drake, coercing his instincts forward. Again, his hands slide across her belly already filled with his last bout of appetite all the way to the hardened hips, made soft to his touch.

This time, a hand clenches on his throbbing pole, overly excited to experience her anew. Even clasped in his palm, it still shakes almost uncontrollably, directly directed to her quivering loins leaking out his vicious seed, still hot to the touch.

And he certainly feels it, adjuvant to the warmth of her slit as he guides it forward, splitting its entrance open for the second time. With the tip inserted, his hand moves back to her hip, its favored spot.

All of this, while her moan stretches with the renewed penetration of her forbidden fruit, forcing out 'residues' inert inside. Fully inserted inside her. A thick and tight hole continually squeezing on his member set between two plump buttocks.

A pleasant sight and taste for the spouse holding her close, moving again, deliberately. Once again, he savors his slow thrusts. The soft moans her lips carry to the atmosphere, a song mused among them.

~Ahh, ahh, still so--ahh~ Grendella's trembling is subtle, benign, yet present, cupped in his hands. The sensation of his sensual devouring has only heightened the array of feelings burning in her loins. A fault swelled in by the definitive pollution of her once-purity. The white hotness still clinging to her hole and entrance providing a raw alternative to aphrodisiac.

A bodily alternative, one making her body gush from head to toe as it spreads its warmth alongside Drake's phallus. Sensations he is also at the whim of, his hands clenching with a slight increase. His cadence is another victim to this sweetened fruit, ramping in tiny accelerations.

His resistance is lulled by the last discharge, easily bloating. Rapidly, no less, brought about by the warrior maiden's body. It recognizes his action and intent as hers, moving according to its presence. Squeezing the tip of his head at its most sensitive. Making its fleshly walls tight, searing with warmth, perfectly aligning with the tool invading it repeatably.

Her body is already honing itself to suit his rod. Chiseling itself thrust by thrust. Penetration by penetration. Every moan spilling from her voice is another chiseling. Each quiver she shakes is a more pleasurable touch to his palms. All of it, slightly making her more beautiful to his eye as it slowly learned to remember him. The docile pushes filling her loins, the softness, and hardness of its girth. The feeling words couldn't hope to portrait directly delivered by this intimacy. The taste...

...of his seed. The thick, sticky whiteness that already flooded her belly. The fluid rummaging deep inside, splashing her womb endlessly in her movement.

All of its efforts make it harder for Drake to keep his composure, his endurance withering as his cadence increases. Increasing to a rapid thrusting, only to slow down, exchanged for deeper momentums.

Grendella's head turns to look back, her moans populating the immediate space. Her breath is thick, dense in a fog laced, this time, with a hint of gold dust. Her body is as enthralled in this intimate embrace as he is, unable to conceal the generous portion of mana he shot in vast quantity. She feels him close, enacting her body to further devotion, welcoming the searing white to pool inside her again.

His thrusts slow more, hard enough to have her fluids stream somewhat, also pooling on the floor with dribs of his 'content'. ~Goodness...this is--aaaahh~

Her scream is an unexpected one. From the hands steadily clenching to keep her hips in place to his deepest burst, his discharge is a burial to her sentence. A gallop of his foul thickness spills and splashes in her womb, sure to wash over the wall and ceiling of her cavernous organ before dropping in hefty quantity alongside the rest.

The heat rushes to her head, a burning canvas to her second climax rattling her entire body. A hefty sum of mana directly shooting in Grendella's innard, fueling her angelic body. A power increase not unlike the monsters that once preached its benefits. A satiation deeper than any nourishment she may have eaten.

Not of it mattered to her mind, pulsating in pleasure in comparison to the affection provided to her. A hand holding her sovereignly, now back to her belly he currently is filling. To her hand feeling his approach, opting to place itself to his cheeks, warmly welcomed. Or her rapturous expression honed in the precious gaze of a loving woman looking back to his reflected face.

A hand of hers move from the wall, softly poised on the one caressing her belly, thoughts full of imageries. Overjoyed to be a loved wife. Overjoyed to be a loved woman. Overjoy with the prospect that one day, her belly would grow, waiting to bring a child to their arms. Imageries of a young cherub running, laughing, sleeping on her mother's bosom whilst flapping her tiny wings.

This is what brought Grendella pleasure over pleasure. A moment festering in her mind by countless humans dancing with each other, dancing with monsters. A sight she never thought to fulfill herself. A thought now firmly within her grasp...
---
Another place, another continent. Snow replaces the rain, falling gently in space. Cold, yet cool. Not excessive. Rarely has been.

A coffee shop sees itself busting with patrons, among which is an elderly woman, quietly sipping a vanilla mug in this early morning.

Before her, another table. One among many, a couple catching her eye. A blond woman affiliated with feater wings in a pair of two and a man sporting a scarf around his neck. Both of them share small talk, the man, pre-occupied by weight in his mind.

She can see him vaguely squirm to the sight, hoping to catch her sight. Uncertainty plagues him, to which, the old woman simply 'waves' forward from one hand, a gentle if confident gaze bewitching her eyes.

Indiscernible words leak out as his blurred motion sees him present a black box. The woman dressed in a snuggly sweat freezes in place, quick to slap hands on her mouth, a scream muffled as best she can.

Seconds later sees her reach through the table, a fiery embrace, a delicate kiss with reminiscent 'yes!' repeated.

The old woman slips her head on her knuckle, a heartfelt 'congratulations' wordlessly portrayed to the man hugging the angel back, an overtly gleaming expression reflecting back.

"Do excuse me, but I see this spot is vacant. Surely I can sit here?" A sight soon blotted by another, a tender voice matching the old woman's. One...supernatural akin to the old woman.

"I don't see why not" Another advance-aged individual taking the old woman's attention, taking a quick glance at the couple behind her.

"Ohh, quite the happy little miss, is she?" A few seconds, at most, before she turns back to the elderly former "I must say...your match-making skills are something to talk about, sweety".

Auras coalescing. One bright. One dark. Adjacent forces now and beyond. Opposite sides nevermore. Visions of their shapes click in each other's eyes. A goddess. A demon lord.

Their voices join in speech higher, mimicked by the elderly shade they masquerade in "I owe this to my children...it was my mistake, not theirs..."

"Oh dear, you still believe there is a grudge..." The silver-haired mistress of monsters speaks, a somewhat saddened tone "You know the hatchet has been buried so long ago, right?"

"Perhaps not to you..." The gilded-eye woman shifts her look away from her 'guest', looking at others. Men, women, monsters. Yet, a rarity of angelic individuals. Mostly of perceptions.

"Then let me aid you. You know I want a clean slate between us, right? It's what I've wanted for a long time. I mean..."

Her words stop, the two of them now gazing at a distance. An unfathomable distance to a place of rain and gray skies "...look how happy she is".

"Yea..." The goddess feels a line snapped, a state changed. A daughter devoting herself to someone close. A potential mother in the years to come. Boons forbidden eons past "...she is. She finally found someone to sing to..."

"Yes". The demon lord's hand stretches to meet her equal midway "I can ease the wounded prospects of the past. You know I hate seeing so many sour ladies. Mistakes should be left behind, cleaned and sealed".

"I guess. But, I'd rather not have to input this burden on anyone--

"It's not. I want to do this. I hate seeing them so alone..." The lord of demons' gaze is a tender crimson, far from the war face she had cast so long ago. One wholly intent to carry the support she speaks.

"Well, I suppose...if you can help--"

"Deal. I'll start immediately, see if I can...bring a new image to them. Far from those terrible times". The two of them look down, pondering the time spent in careless warfare. Eons, perhaps more wasted in fruitless loss of life.

A grin brings the demoness back from the heavy thoughts "After all, you have much ground to catch up to. My own children have grandsons and daughters to visit me with. Can't have a comparison without a few of your own".

A surprise nudges the goddess from her demeanor, sensing a challenge, an attempt to scold the heaviness away. It works, demonstrated by her more serene, yet mannerism speech "Ohh? What do you think I have been doing all these years among our people? Worry not, equal of mine, you should look up to the skies a few years from now, see a few cherubs waiting to greet their grandmother".

"Ohh, I'll be waiting alright. I've always been curious about angel infants. Don't deceive me now~

"As I have said, worry not for that".

"Alright~

"Alright". The two look back to the other, a striving competition. one far diluted compared to that of past rivalries. A spot both are more than comfortable to stay in...