Lost

Foreplay?

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Jason's POV:       

          After our talk, I had been taken into a small room, with not much more then a bed, a dresser, a bedside table, and a bare light bulb. There was a small bathroom stocked with anything I'd need in the room next door. I'd been left there ever since, with no company and no noise except for the twice a day that food was slid through a slot in the door. It was never anything particularly appetizing. Sometimes I just wondered if they opened a can of soup, dumped it in a bowl, and gave it to me. This was day 7. I've been marking each day off on the wall near the bed. But today seemed like it might actually be the end of my suffering as the door opened and there was Angel. I was actually glad to see him after being alone for so long.

          "Come with me." Angel took my hand and gently but firmly led me into another room. This one was a much better quality. I could tell even from far away that the bed was a soft black velvet and the wood was made of rich mahogany, along with the various other wood furnishings: the dresser, the nightstands, the vanity, and a rocking chair in the corner near a fireplace. It seemed a bit out of place, and he brown fur rug underneath it didn't help. It clashed with the rich, more formal decorations of the room. It felt homey whereas the rest almost looked unlived in, like a freshly cleaned hotel room, one you spent at least three hundred dollars a night to stay in, judging from the glass chandelier hanging in the middle of the room.

          Angel set me down on the bed and sat me in his lap, gently caressing my cheeks and pulling my face up to look at him. "I was going to leave you in there but I couldn't get you out of my head for some reason. You've captivated me and I don't know why. It bothers me." Angel said softly. He certainly did seem annoyed, I'd noticed that almost immediately. "I wish I could answer that for you but I don't know why either. I'm a nobody, I just write good stories that the public wants to hear." It was a true statement. The only story I'd really wanted to ever know about were the murders, the sick people, why they did what they did, how they did it. That's why I'd interviewed Charles Manson. He captivated me as well.

          Angel chuckled at that. 'Unfortunately I don't think anyone can answer that question except for me. Maybe it's these beautiful blue eyes." He was softer then he had been during our talk. Of course now we were alone so maybe I was looking at the true Angel. Of course that changed the minute he shoved me down on the bed and held me there, forcefully shoving his hand down my jeans. "Well isn't that surprising?"