Heat Synch

Her tongue traced a line from behind his balls to the tip of his dick. His wings unfurled, and he found himself starting to roll through a boot sequence, a foam of maths gathering in a layer above this one, Somewhere two singularities where crashing into each other, and the explosion was generating light that would intrigue people for millennia.

She used the moment he came to hack his security and sneak in through his defenses, and she planted a seed inside him, one that would grow, and map his data tree.

Ten, standing in a raincoat in an alley drenched in jazz and film noir. His wings now folded. he wonders what it is that he can feel brewing in his gut.

She’s a remote receiver, goes by the name of Handy, a radio-head drinking a cup of Signal. Watching the latest Hook spooling out information like a tickertape of entrails. Her shoulder blades itch, something feels like it’s cutting into them, and for a moment she thinks she is being attacked – before she realizes it is coming from inside. The wings hurt, and she realizes that what she has hooked into is an angel investor, one of those dangerous self sacrificing types.

Miles away from each other, Handy and Ten are flares of fever heat. She understands something about him in the same moment she feels something blooming inside her. He can taste the glitch like bile in the back of his throat; his wings hurt as they shred and he falls, down through ribbons of gravity, and connects with the ground.

She explodes in his heat death; two flames dancing on the coal of a shared moment.

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