Hell had been an interesting place, for sure; but Ian Gallagher has had enough of it for a lifetime—and he’d been trapped in it for at least four lifetimes.
He’d quickly grown tired of living indirectly through the many owners of his painting over the centuries. First, with the witch who’d trapped him. After her welcome demise, it was a whole lot of travelling in his little frame. He’d sat in the private rooms of stuffy aristocrats, politicians, and later, whorehouses. Those were actually fun on occasion.
He’d seen a fair amount of debauchery, which was great, but rarely was he able to participate—undoubtedly the intention of the witch who trapped him between the two realms of life and death in the first place.
It was pure torture he’d had to endure all this time, especially with the liberation of his people.
A man like him in the 1700s could not even imagine living out his days with another man. Now, he could be wed to one if he so desired. Yet all this time he’d been trapped, forced to see his kind deservedly celebrated after centuries of mindless persecution. Without him. Always able to see and yearn, but never to touch or take. Or fuck.
Until now. Until him.
READ CHAPTER 1 OF MY SUPER GAY SUPERNATURAL SHORT FIC HERE
