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In the half-light of not-quite-dawn, a shadowed figure was just visible in the dark - a statue draped over a wall, as if caught in some mad dash across a park, an escape interrupted by an unfortunate barricade.

In a city filled with sculpture, this one was among the most enigmatic.

Tonight, the angel was not alone.

"I can't believe we're doing this!"

"Second thoughts?" Paul teased.

"No, I just - are you sure? Are you *sure* we won't get caught?"

"Baby, the only thing I'm sure of," he murmured, lips pressed to lips, "is how much I want you."

Natalie leaned back against the bricks, her head on the shoulder of the frantic angel.

Paul laughed. "I finally get my threesome!" He kissed the statue's lips, then Natalie's, then moved to the curve of her neck as his hands traveled lower, raising her skirt above her thighs.

Someone hissed.

The night around them held its breath.

The crinkle of plastic tearing interrupted the sounds of sighs and whispered admiration. "Here, hold this," Paul growled, pressing the condom wrapper into the clutched hand of the angel, pressing himself into his lover.

Another hiss echoed against the stones.



I confess to being a bit frustrated by Moffat's angel, as of course this stuff reads similar in some ways. The idea came about many years ago, while walking in Philly near 30th Street station and seeing that people had shoved garbage into the mouths of some of the gargoyles/lions. It was so sad to me, and it started this line of thinking..'what if they knew, on some level? what if they're pissed?'

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