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Children of Starlight, part 3 episode 16 of “The Starlight Trilogy” by Thea Washington

April 12, 2012

The characters in this story are fictional and not intended to depict any individual.

The character “the Rock Star” is based on Adam Lambert.

The videos in Part 3 feature Adam Lambert, Queen, Depeche Mode and Savage Garden.

Table of Contents




A visit from Starlight always left them caught between gratitude and confusion. This time was no different. They looked at each other, each with an expression of “What was that?” on his face. Lover was calmed. Angel was blown away as always by Starlight and her wisdom. Her growing abilities to celestially transform were pretty impressive, too.

“OK, that was … I don’t know what that was,” he said.

“Hey, you found her.”

“Yeah, I sure did. She left me clues but no way would I’ve imagined they’d lead to this.”

“I know. I’d forgotten all about her promises.” He looked at Angel. “It’s not like me to forget things.”

“Well, the two things you’ve forgotten are at the extremes, T. I’m not surprised at either one.” Angel thought about it and said, “Wait. I am surprised about those promises Starlight made you.” He paused again. “I am constantly astounded by how much you love me.”

“You should be,” Lover smiled. “I always keep my promises where you’re concerned.”

Angel smiled back. “I know. And I remember a promise I made to you recently.”

This time Lover grinned, the first one in days. “So do I.”


“Whole Lotta Love” – Amsterdam 

Once again Angel disrobed Lover, before walking over to the dresser and opening his “special drawer,” where he kept the other “supplies.” When they were through, they were ready.

Returning to the dresser, Angel selected another of Lover’s favorite “things,” a scented self-warming massage oil. He turned back to the man he loved more than life, his husband, lying naked on his side down the length of the bed, his head propped up on one hand. As he lay there, a smile appeared and grew as Angel neared the bed. He was reminded of that first night in the Great Room, when Angel had stood in front of him, leaning back slightly, giving him an unobstructed view of what had been right at eye level.

Lover reached for Angel but Angel stepped back, just out of reach. “No, no, no,” he said, waving his index finger back and forth for emphasis. “I promised to make love to you and I keep my promises, too.”

Angel put the bottle of oil on the nightstand and, turning away from Lover, began to pull the tank top up his strong, muscled back. He turned to look at Lover, who was anticipating the show. Angel smiled and slowly, excruciatingly slowly, pulled the shirt over his head, the gesture and the thick black hair screaming, “Sex.“ Lover’s smile grew even more when Angel turned fully around, leaning back like he had that night in the Great Room. He’d remembered it, too.This time he ran his hands over his chest and abdomen up and down, all around, his head thrown back.  

Like that first night, Lover was obviously affected by the view. He never could get enough of this man.

Meanwhile, Angel was slowly unzipping his jeans, emphasizing each inch separately.  When he got to the last one he began to hum the sexiest song in his repertoire, the one he sang about giving Lover every inch of his love. He accented it with a couple of body rolls, looking directly into Lover’s eyes as his hips moved from front to back.

Lover could feel himself responding. As Angel again slowly, excruciatingly slowly, began to remove another piece of clothing, Lover could tell the scene was getting to him, too. Angel pushed the jeans over his hips and down those magnificent thighs and calves. He loved going barefoot and had lost the socks and running shoes before Lover’s bath.

He stood up to his full height, over six feet tall, only one item of clothing left. He gave Lover “the eyes” with that famous smile-with-a-hint-of-smirk while he continued to slowly hum that song, his hands wandering over his body, back and front, everything that could stiffening appropriately.

He walked over to the bed, Lover expecting that that last piece would soon be history. But Angel had other plans. Gently, slowly pulling Lover onto his stomach and then kneeling on the bed beside him, he reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the oil. Turning back to Lover, he asked, “Are you ready?”

Lover was more than ready, as was obvious to his husband. “Good,” said Angel, as he poured oil into one hand, placing the bottle back on the nightstand, then warming the oil even more between those strong hands of his. When he decided it was warm enough he began at Lover’s shoulders, massaging them, then the long muscles of his arms, his hands, his fingers, working each side diligently and with great attention to Lover’s soft, murmured sounds of pleasure. He and the oil were hot.

Angel replenished his hands with oil, repeating the warming process, and began to work Lover’s back, first working his way from his neck to the small of it. After repeating that massage, he worked the shoulders and neck again. He decided then to tease Lover mercilessly, wanting his pleasure to last as long as humanly possible. So, climbing over him and onto the pillows supporting Lover’s chin, he spread his knees so the parts of his anatomy Lover loved most (and best), covered in cotton, were right in front of Lover, right in front of him. Angel leaned over and again worked the muscles in Lover’s back, whose soft, curly hair tickled Angel’s abdomen while his hands caressed Angel’s thighs.

Lover was beginning to understand Angel’s response to the delay during their first food experiment, the one involving the ice cream. And Angel’s “tires.”

When neither of them could stand it anymore, Angel moved again, this time sitting on the back of Lover’s thighs. Those martial-arts classes and exhibitions were doing their job, Angel thought, as he worked Lover’s hips and thighs … and everything in between. Lover was squirming now, sighing, moaning, exactly as Angel had intended. He bent Lover’s leg at the knee to get to the calves and feet on that side. And there was still the other side to go.

He was especially looking forward to revisiting Lover’s armpits and, well, somewhere else. He made another decision, that it was time for him to lose that last piece of clothing, which worked really well when he settled onto Lover’s thighs, this time having turned him on his back, making sure his parts massaged their counterparts while he bent down to kiss Lover’s mouth, one hand … occupied.

Lover had to admit Angel was keeping his promise, and well.


By the time Angel was done Lover was laid out alright, his arms around Angel and humming that sexy song himself, just like Angel had continued to do.


Chapter 32 – SERIOUS PLANS


The next day, after Starlight’s (and Angel’s) visit, Lover was ready to get down to business.

“I’ve gotta go to Washington,” he said over breakfast, one of Angel’s heavenly vegetarian scrambles.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Angel. He’d told him about how he, the Exec and the Intern had tracked the Reporter back to Younger and the Pimp Dealer. If he was still in business, it meant he still had a hold on Twin. If Lover were to show up, he, Twin and her daughter could very well be in danger.

“But I can’t just let her stay there. I was thinking that if she doesn’t know I’ve thought she was dead all this time and that’s why I didn’t come to get her out of there, she could hate me. I have got to let her know what really happened.”

Angel didn’t disagree with that. He was the one thinking clearly and strategically, with more objectivity than his husband. He didn’t think Lover was the right person to go. And he couldn’t go because everyone knew him and that he was married to Lover. Who did that leave? He began thinking and in seconds had the answer.

“The Intern.”

“The Intern?” asked Lover. “Do you think he’d do it? Do you think he can do it?”

Angel was thinking more and more that this could work. “Look,” he said, “what if all he had to do was deliver a letter from you to Twin? That’s all. Just give her the letter. You could explain things in there and tell her how you want her and her daughter to come to L.A.”

“Wait a minute. I didn’t say anything about her coming to L.A.,” Lover protested.

“I know you, sometimes better than I know myself,” replied Angel. “That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

Lover admitted the idea had crossed his mind. “But look at what I’d be taking on, what WE’D be taking on. She’s a drug addict, a hooker and a former porn ‘actress’, if you can call that acting.”  

He has a point, thought Angel. What they didn’t need was a big splashy negative headline all over the tabloids, especially with the kids. And what about the kids? Should they even be exposed to a woman like that? And what condition is her daughter in?

“OK, how about this.” Lover had been thinking the same thing but neither one of them had wanted to tell the other. “What if I just tell her what happened, I mean, what Mommy told me and how sorry I am. And I could tell her how much I want to see her again and would she call me?”

“That sounds good,” Angel said thoughtfully, still the one thinking ahead. “And what if she does want to call you? You really don’t know this woman. You really wanna trust her right off the bat with everything that’s going on now with the Reporter? Hell, it sounds like she could be caught up in that somehow. And, with the kids and stuff, I don’t want her having our home number.” He paused. “Look, I know you really wanna talk to her. Maybe it would be better to get her number or to give her a fake number or something.”

The mention of the kids made Lover think. His brow wrinkled as he dealt with everything Angel was bringing up. He knew Angel was right. He just wasn’t sure what he should do.

“It’s not that I don’t want you to help out your Twin, T. I just think we need to be careful about this. There’s a lot at stake here.”

“Yes,” said Lover, letting out a long breath and shaking his head. “You’re right. Maybe I should think about this some more. He looked at Angel. “I can’t do this without you. I need your help.”

“Don’t worry, baby,” Angel replied. “You’ve always been my hero. It’s way past time for me to be your’s.”


This time when the Reporter showed up, Angel himself answered the door. He wasn’t surprised to see the Rock Star. He was surprised at how handsome, no, beautiful, he still was.

“Well, well, well, look who’s home today.”

“Whataya want?” growled the Rock Star, in no mood today, or ever, to have this skank scumbag around.

“You know what I want. But shouldn’t I come in so we can talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Oh, I can’t believe that. You’ve discussed this with your ‘husband’, haven’t you?”


“Then you know what I’m prepared to do. I’d hate to break up this little family of yours. I mean, all of y’all being so cute and everything.” 

“You mention our kids or Lover or anyone we love and we will have your ass, you son-of-a-bitch.”

“Are you sure? ‘Cause it sure would make a tasty little headline, ‘Gay Billionaire Murderer Married to Violent Rock Star’. Man, that could even get me back on at ‘Rolling Stone’, huh?” he snorted. “Like I’d ever go back to that rag.”

“Ha, like they’d even let some shit like you in the door.”

“Hey, don’t be such a downer. By the time I’m through I could own ‘Rolling Stone’. Hell, by the time I’m done, I could own you AND …”

“Keep dreaming. The only thing you’re gonna own is a prison uniform.”

“Oh yeah? We’ll see who’s in prison when all’s said and done. Could be that cute little ass you’re married to.”

That was it. The conversation was over as far as Angel was concerned. He started closing the door.

“Wait, wait. So I guess it’s a ‘no’ on the $20 mil, huh?”

“You got that right. We know that’d just be the first installment, you greedy-ass bastard.”

“Oh my, I hadn’t thought of that,” snarled the Reporter, trying (and failing) to look innocent. “But now that you mention it … “

“Don’t think you can play me again,” Angel said, scowling. “You know the saying, ‘Fool me once, shame on you …”

The Reporter cut him off. “Yeah, I know that one. Doesn’t always come true, though.”

“It will this time. You are done, mothafucka.”

And with that, Angel slammed the door on the Reporter just liked he done that first time, when he’d found out the Reporter’s real plan to grab the “Rolling Stone” Editor’s job–and use him to do it.

“You’ll regret this, bitch,” the Reporter mumbled, getting in the car. “I ain’t playing here.”

“Satisfaction” – Adam Lambert


Tomorrow in “Children” – All kinds of news

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