FIFTY SHADES OF BEDLAM

***In honor of ORACLE OF PHILADELPHIA reaching the lofty heights of fifty Amazon reviews (!) I'm pleased to present the following fully licensed and certified fanfic:***

FIFTY SHADES OF BEDLAM

A sticky, squicky, spoileriffic Earthbound Angels Fan Fic

by Siren the Truth Angel

It was the tensiest moment in all his lifes.  Sitting there, on the beach.  Standing there, maybe.  Can't really remember which.  On the one hand, Khet, the totally plutonic love of his life.  On the other hand, Azrael, who was kind of hot in her own way, though I think maybe we're not supposed to call attention to that fact.  Then, on yet a third hand, the "hottest" (ha!) thing of all: that great big flaming sword.  Michael was the dude's name.

"Michael!" he bellowed hastily, throwing himself into a slo-mo unnecessary fly through the air type scene shouting, "No!"  "Totes gimme your sword, dawg.  Wimmy wim wim wozzle!"

"Dafuq?" Archangel Hella Sexy responded lugubriously.

"Your sword, dawg!  Lemme grab hold of your sword!"

It was at that instant that Bedlam realized this was a flashback and not the actual story yet, because all of this had happened already.

"My sword?"

"Your sword."

"This sword?"

"That sword."

Michael looked down at the great big fiery blade of fire the flamed up to the sky, spreading fire everywhere in great fiery gouts.  "Fire," is the key takeaway here.

"So you want my sword?"

"Yeah, look, dawg, here's the deal, wubba lubba dub dub!  We're gonna debate for a while back and forth over whether you let me grab hold of that sword, thus giving Lucifer totes plenties time escape.  'Ceptin' he won't.  For plot reasons.  Then, blammo!  My big plan comes to fruition."

"Are you talking about stopping me over there?" Lucifer interrogated boisterously.

"No, don't worry about it, dawg," Bedlam replied vociferously, then, remembering what his deal was supposed to be, poured some sand over a big bowl of, I dunno, sauerkraut and took a big bite out of it and pretended like it was good, because that's the sort of thing he was always doing to keep his wacky persona intacto.

"Very well then," Lucifer responded dangerously, and returned to whistling and twirling the Spear of Destiny like it was one of those baton stick dealies, you know the ones I mean, like what the flag girls sometimes carry in marching band?  Like it was one of those.

Bedlam inched closer to Michael and the whole rest of the romantic beach front seemed to disappear, except for the bits that kept it romantic, like, I dunno, the starshine.  Or was this during the day?  The important thing was: romance.  Implied, not overt.  Just pretend like I did it good.

"All right, Bedlam," Michael whispered lustily, as their lips almost touched, "You can have my...sword."

But he didn't mean his hot sword.  He meant his hot sausage sword.  In other words: his pee-pee.  Michael slowly began to unzip his angel zipper which, not unironically, was not a whole lot different from a regular zipper, but importantly here (and I can't stress this enough): not exactly the same.

Then out came Michael's great big angel wang which, again, quite a bit like a human wang but for worldbuilding purposes subtly different, came out.  Slowly, as if it were a turtle or something, Bedlam began to fondle it.  Then, as it grew in his hands, again like a turtle or something, Bedlam found himself somewhat less reluctant to be fondling it (the wang, that is.)

"Oh, baby!" Michael muttered wetly as they began to full-on make out in balls-out public, their tongues prancing and fencing with one another like reindeer and fencing foils respectively.

Then suddenly the spear like, crashed through Bedlam's chest from behind a second time, which was like a total giveaway that this was a dream sequence, because that never happened in the original book, I mean real life.

"Oh, shit, dawg," Bedlam shouted insistently, sinking to his knees in the sandy beach of sand.

"Oh noes!" Michael cried out blisteringly.

"Totes," everybody agreed vehemently.

It was Lucifer, by the way.

***

Bedlam awoke with a start.

"Oh, shit, dawg," he ejaculated pontificatingly, "It was all totes a dream.  That is wiggity wiggity wack.  Wait a minute, do I sleep?  Eh, I'll let line handle it."

He leaned over so that the thin satiny sheet drifted off his tightly sculpted imaginary man body and looked at the clock.

"Wait a minute," he remembered impotently, "Why do I need a clock?  I'm an angel.  It's balls o'clock everywhere for me!"

Dance party break.  Woot woot!  Shicka shacka shicka shacka.  Woot!  Okay, dance party over.

Bedlam scarfed down a big bowl of Froot Loops and cabbage that happened to be in a glass (a glass?  CRAAAAZY!) on his bedside.  That shit was the bomb.  He expressed as much out loud.  Then he leaned back in his bed.  Suddenly he felt a hand grasping his junk by the shaft of it.

"Kezi?  I thought I told you off.  Wiggity wam wam wozzle!"

"No, baby," a smooth, archangelic voice purred venomously, "I banished Keziel to the Outer Something-or-Other.  I didn't want her getting in the way of...us."

Shaking, still afraid to look at the unwelcome visitor grabbing hold of his knob, Bedlam shook like a foozball table on the fritz maybe.

"But Kezi is my eternal unhealthy relationship dealie although maybe I'm kind of into Carrie, nobody really knows.  You can't just banish her to some imaginary place you just made up!"

And then Bedlam finally swooned back into the arms of his molester and realized that it was, natch, Michael, the angel of his dreams.  (Literally.  See what I did there?  From the dream sequence before?)

"Oh, Michael," Bedlam whispered potently as Michael rubbed his hand up and down Bedlam's ever engorging with blood shaft, "I never thought it could be like this between us."

"No, it totes can.  And now you know why I gave you my sword on the beach that day."

"Oh, yeah.  That did always kind of feel like a great big plothole.  Also: why am I an angel?  And why did the same exact thing have a different effect on me than it did on Azrael?  For that matter, how come in the first book..."

"Shhh shh shh," Michael shouted sexily, pressing his index finger to Bedlam's manly lips, "All that stuff has totally reasonable explanations which we don't have time for here.  All we have time for here and now is to lube up for tons of butt stuff."

"Butt stuff," Bedlam agreed hastily.

"Butt stuff."

There was nodding all around.  When it was over, instead of a cigarette, they shared a bowl of macaroni and Shasta.  Because it's wacky!

THE END