Roan had a masterful time in the bathroom with her. She made sure his needs were fulfilled, and rewarded him plenty for exploring her, never skimping on her reactions, and thereby keeping herself very interesting. She'd even held on when he lifted her off, a bit like she didn't want to leave him, despite having found her death in the water while still impaled. It was like this to love your demise's physical form. He'd even placed an extra kiss on her cheek, as though to remind her he wouldn't be leaving her, even if he was going to take his limb back.<br/><br/>She was easily convinced of his better intentions when the towel discovered the places he'd tasted. So alive now, her skin, warm even after having seen the after-place already today. It was a luxury to play with her, and he didn't need to always hurt her to marvel at her wonder. She was still every bit the clue to Heaven even when she wasn't opening her eyes after certain end. He could busy himself for hours, he would, with how strange every normal detail was on her. After all, how could an angel look like a human, no matter how beautiful?<br/><br/>Her sinew lifting underneath her skin when he visited the graveyard of her wings was enough confirmation if he ever needed it. It was good to see her emotions, and he'd never let her hide them from him again. He left his angel there, newly washed, newly killed, newly fucked, and looked back at her lovingly before she was out of sight, and he was around a corner. It was the kind of decadence a man shouldn't have, an angel's misery at his disposal. Roan thought it was owed him.<br/><br/>She was stupefying in her crosier clothes. There were no articles anyway that could have complimented her heritage. What does an angel wear except her wings to identify herself to others - he suppose donning the shroud of the living after certain conclusion, for one. It made him smile as he waited for her to get comfortable by the plate he'd provided. The sentimental daggers by the choice of protein wasn't lost on her, it seemed. He was allowed to joke, wasn't he?<br/><br/>"Of course I cooked." he said and sat by his own food. He was not as apprehensive as she about the meat, and held a wing up to his maw soon, pulling with exposed teeth. The brown skin stretched and tore to let out steam of the white meat underneath. While he chewed, that vapor lingered around his lips. He looked her over and licked his finger. "Would you tell me a story, Angel?" he asked and sucked on a joint of the seasoned morsel, gnawing and chewing.<br/><br/>There were many stories he'd reckoned the good book had been wrong about, and he was interested now that he wouldn't have to rely on flashes and cryptic tidbits for his information, anymore. It would be good to be able to sew the scenes together, and there were no real secrets between them anymore, unless she decided that the flow of facts that started when she died would dry up now, simply because the subject matter was a bit-- private. He didn't even wonder about the implications of a human carrying Heaven's knowledge.<br/><br/>As things were, the man across her was still angry. He might love her enough to spoil her with a towel - his frustrations weren't entirely her fault - but he hadn't forgiven her, or the world for how he felt. From the outside, Roan could have seen the flaws in such selfishness, but his rambunctious ego and wild heart was part of his person, amplified by his need of art, and that made him rawer than most. Beautiful, brooding things are rarely better when their critical light is shone back on its source.<br/><br/>He picked out bone from his mouth to rest it beside the well prepared carcass, and took a paper towel to his hands before having one of the two water glasses he'd split between their plates. He wanted to have at her again, salty meat always invites the desire for dessert, but he understood there was a time for carnal maiming, and for conversation. Roan swallowed slowly and reached over to tap on her plate. "It's going to get cold. Not all things become warm again."