Between Assiah and Gehenna A Gallery of Angel Sanctuary Word Paintings Art by MurasakiSuishou [Murasakisuishou@yahoo.com] and The Queen of Blueberry Toast [TheKWOBT@hotmail.com] Not ours. We're just worshipping. Kindly step this way to revel in the divine with us... ~*~ Her blouse is already halfway off, but she strides through the empty halls with all the debonair of a marquee dripping with jewels. As the shadow of her lover passes beside her, Kyrie throws back her head and laughs, whirls away down the cage of sun and shadow. Her shoes clatter behind her and the buckle of her skirt, but no other footsteps. Arms crossed over her blooming nipples, she pirouettes to a stop and searches for him. The marble floor though is empty behind her- not even the ghosts of her clothes have stayed long enough to see her off. Something thumps at her side, like a heartbeat. Her shoes! One atop the other. Above them, the air not so vacant as it first pretended. Rociel, wings alight and swaying, laughs now too. His feathers melt, and he falls into her waiting arms, slow and smooth as cherry petals. The marble and the cage then; they are gone. A door at the end of the gallery gives way and slams behind them. His private chambers hide behind nothing but gauze, so they tear the curtains down and keep to the backwards pier glass between two of the windows. Her sex is already soaked from the first orgasm he bestowed upon her, and he kneels to drink up her juices, though she weeps again, faster and faster under the tiniest ministrations of his tongue, until her legs betray her and she sinks to the floor with his head in her lap, his fingers in her... ...as she realizes then that he's blushing harder than she is. So Kyrie rolls her lover into the bower of the torn drapes still shot with brass rings, and she swallows his cock while her hand, slick with her own wetness, slips inside him. ~*~ Silhouetted against a night-tinted window, with a cigarette burning between two fingers, Kira sits astride a wooden chair that rocks on its worn legs with the slightest rise of his smoky breath. Not one lamp burns within the hotel room, but still the faded blue floral paper and stained brown carpet can be seen, courtesy of the lurid lights from the street below; overwhelmingly red, they make the whole room seem thin and tired. Grinding his cigarette out on the sill, Kira rises, the sides of his open black shirt flaring around him as he turns from the window. The flickering marquee of the club across the street looms through the glass behind him. A person is sprawled upon the center of the bed, naked and bathed in shadow; the tawdry neon glow just misses the bed's headboard. The red bedspread cowers in a mound on the floor, and a white sheet drapes the reclining figure's hips. Mimicking a crucifix pose with his arms outstretched to the sides, and his head drooping on a pair of flattened pillows, he sleeps. Shedding his shirt, Kira climbs onto the bed. His lips touch those softly parted of his lover, a hand dips beneath the sheet, to stroke his flesh into life. The sheet falls to the floor. Setsuna stirs, eyelids fluttering drowsily. With a smile, he winds his arms around Kira's bare shoulders, and pulls him down for another kiss. Upon a nearby rooftop, bathed in moonlight, an androgynous angel weeps. ~*~ A pale mist has fallen through their dwelling as the afternoon draws on- one wept by the crystal amaranth starbursts rather than the gloaming mists of Hades. It is neither pollen nor sparkles of scent, but a true sigh from that which never before made as if it breathed. A torrent of blotted sunlight peers past a crack the angel left in the sanctuary's jade glass ceiling while Uriel sorts through bottles like harp strings until he finds the philter, and then lets the glossy, emerald leather leaves fall back to veil his toys as he takes his leave of them. In the center of the mother of pearl mosaic stitched into the floor lies doll; naked but for the rent of sunlight and a few shadows left by her curls upon her breasts. Her eyes are closed, but she doesn't need them to sense the presence of her master as he draws near, only the sound of his robes fluttering down behind him as he casts it off. Palms brush over her skin, chancing the switches where her bones should be. Without his request, she parts her legs and let his rough hands creep down into her mechanical sex. Uriel nearly flees form her, but she catches his wrist: the sun has warmed her there, and the heat startles him. Nothing more, and nothing less. When the shock wears away, he crouches between her knees and pours the contents of his vial into her until the tiny ribbing along her slit shimmers more than the air, shuddering like silk as he creeps into her with a swift, though gentle sigh. Behind a cloud of sleeping jasmine, Katou flicks a lock of his hair behind his ear and decides to stay just one more minute under the flowers. ~*~ One hundred thousand years of knowledge growing like a garden in the catacombs of heaven, and no one comes to them anymore. Books are never destroyed here, but shut tight with catches of azure metal whose teeth love curious fingers. Under the glass arches of one of the reading rooms, Zaphkiel's hand brushes the blond floss of his student who sits so dutifully at his feet, reading by the light of the mid-morning sun. Raziel pauses and the pages he forgets to hold ripple a moment with his heartbeat. The palm that has chanced his hair strays over his temple, and the tender lines of his lashes. His mentor nods then, and tells him to put the book away with just a shake of his head. Without a shoulder to guide him, he slips into the towers of peeling gilt. Where his shadow had been, the younger angel kneels still, watches a pair of female hummingbirds playing outside. One looks through the glass, and saws at him as loudly as she can until Zaphkiel returns and passes the worn and sweet-musty book he's captured to his companion. There's a mark on the cover where a lock has been cast off by magic... As Raziel reads his lips begin to tremble on the words and his eyes gloss with shivering tears. He starts to shake so badly he can no longer find the strength to turn the pages. It is his master who falls to his knees before him, not the other way around. He takes the book away with hands that seem to know its curves so well. Just the same, he lets it fall so he can lay his hands upon the boy's cheeks as he draws him close. It is a small kiss, but deeper than all the ages caged in the library. The copy of Alcibiades bears the only witness. ~*~ Like the stars of Pieces are they entwined, spilled across the sheets with the covers tangled between them. Two of Sara's fingers lay buried in Lily's soaking slit, and one has crept past her rosebud to fondle her twittering muscles. Lily will not enter her mistress, but rather eats of her empty sex. Now and then, one of them will tremble in contentment, or their sprawled limbs skate over one another. Silent as the heavy sunshine, they snatch after one another's wet blushes and the indulgence there. Between one tumble and the next, Lily whimpers, splashing fresh juices from deep inside her. Sara's palm catches a few stray drops and she pauses long enough to drink of them. Lips not her little lover's creep down against her own after a taste. From the strewn covers she looks to Raphael, who smiles, serene and dissolute, at her; tasting Lily's spilled joy like wine- pleasure of the eyes, the nose, finally the mouth. At his pronunciation of their worth, both girls cheer. He joins them on their mussed bed, cradling Sara's head in his lap now. Her hands within her servant he tugs out and replace with his own. They're thin and fragile-seeming as pulled glass, opening her little more than before. From the corner where the garden of Lily's flowers lives, a boy whistles. All three of the players turn to find Metatron uproariously applauding them. Sevotharte only nods, and pushes something towards their satin stage with his cane. Inside twinkle three dildoes of purple jelly. Raphael claims all three, but surrenders one to Sara's questing hands for a kiss. He asks no more of her, but holds the make believe shaft for her as she makes love to it with her mouth. Lily has already mounted her upside down, the mute and oozy edges of her nether lips met the cover of her mistress's clit. ~*~ A vast room of silver. Its walls and floor lined with mirrors and crystal, the ceiling of a gently twinkling night. Into it springs the Inorganic Angel: He comes in a burst of pure radiance, thrice winged and magnificent. On his knees his servant falls, bowing his head and crossing his arms over his chest in his rapture. The light which cloaks him melts into the air, but yet he softly glows, a child of Heaven. Cautiously the kneeling cherub tilts his head up to behold his beautiful master. One step and then another, black stiletto heels clicking over the glassy floor. Katan's eyes follow the sleek, laced lines of Rociel's boots to his bare thighs, and find him is completely nude. Clenching a gold cigarette holder between his coldly smiling, reddened lips, Rociel stops short before Katan. With a swift shove of his foot, he sends Katan sprawling onto his back to the floor. The cherub regards him in surprise. Rociel tosses the holder away, and crouches over Katan's lap. A swipe of his violet claws, and Katan's jacket rips open. Another, and streaks of crimson gush over his heart, staining pale skin. Nails rise and fall twice more, and the front of his trousers fall to shreds, the body beneath unharmed. With a laugh, Rociel draws his weeping erection from the tatters, and pierces himself upon his attendant's hard, willing flesh. ~*~ Curtains hang like mist around the bed, barely concealing the nude figure draped amidst the pillows. Alexiel's ebony hair falls like heavy ribbons over the white spread, and brushes the white carpeted floor. Long, dark fingers breach the soft, muslin gathers and pluck one silken lock from the mass. Uriel lifts it to his lips to kiss, breathing in the mimosa scent it holds. The slumbering angel stirs not, and the guardian's gaze begins to map the paths his caresses will take. Uriel sheds his thin robe, and climbs onto the bed, drawing the curtains shut behind him. He opens her legs deftly, passing little touches over her muscled limbs. Upwards over the curves of her hips, the slim expanse of her waist to cup her abundant breasts. Her lips part as if in a moan, and the chains that bind her wrists shift over the pillows above her head. Uriel slides his hands under her, and takes one milky brown nipple in his mouth, sucking hungrily; covers the whole of that firm globe with kisses and laps before moving to the other. She writhes under him, her cunt meeting the underside of his weeping cock, and those filaments of her hair which have strayed over her bosom stir with his breath. One hand leaves off its massaging of her shoulder blades, and those fingertips creep into the folds of her sex, and toy with the slick bud that lies hidden there. She arches, her bosom quivering as if with delight as she bares her neck for his teeth. He does not have much more time in which to act. Leaving her with a bite mark on the side of her neck, Uriel slips over the sheets and upwards again, burying himself inside her. She soaks him with her juices, warming him unbearably as he ravishes her. At last he gives himself over to his pleasure, and reaches the pinnacle he'd always sought. Uriel, chest heaving from exertion, reaches up to loosen the chains that bind her. A kiss, and he gathers her into his arms, and carries her away. It wouldn't do for Kira to miss Setsuna, after all. ~*~ As if in flight, the child wheels over the beach, his laughter twining with the trill of the waves. Sevotharte strides behind him- an eidolon of sea foam robes under the shade of his parasol. When his charge somersaults into a tide pool, his gaze softens, only to meet the lazy clouds treading across the surface of the ocean. Metatron races far ahead of them, weaving back and forth across the opal sand. It chimes as he crosses it. No earthly beach is this- the starfish wear ingenuous smiles and hosts of fish sing. Standing at the crest of the sea, he shouts to them. But then... Something fuzzy brushes his shoulder. He finds his rabbit behind him, sitting in the arms of a stellate crystal- nude, but for a little sand. The lord of heaven gathers his toy into his arms, enticed more by its softness than the glistening grains. He peers between its ears to find his guardian still entranced by the play of light and water. That alone is enough to arouse him- his small stiffness blooms, makes him ache with naughty thrills. Mr. Rabbit nods and together they hide behind a mound of pale seaside blooms. No kisses, for his lover hasn't any lips- just a belly of silky fur he rubs his blush against. The sounds of the swells wash away his cries the downy tickles bring him. Metatron lets his trunks slide off and the small touches curve to meet him now, fumbling in time with his thrusts. With his face buried in Mr. Rabbit's shoulder, he feels giddier and giddier! Warm hands inside him! Brings himself to climax and rolls into the surf. Once more calm, he thanks his toy with a swift embrace. For it is a toy once more, and no other little boy. ~*~ It started to rain on their way home, is still raining now amid the mist come creeping trough Tokyo. They have taken shelter with him, and are sitting at his glass top coffee table, dripping onto his good towels. Kira glances from Sara, to Setsuna, and back again, drinking more steam than tea. Neither will look to the other, though the unfastened buttons of her blouse and the ruined flowers in her hair- they are ingenuous. So he plucks one, two. Lays the first at her brother's place before he sets the second to his lips. As he kisses her, the petals are crushed, though no worse than before when it ends. Setsuna's wide eyes though... smirking, Kira waves to the bloom left before him. So does though claim his sister's mouth once more, somewhat clumsy in his shock, but their flower lives as well. Of Sara? She waits for her breath, and with it's soft return, looks from one companion to the other, eyebrows raised. They dive down beneath the surface of the table and there, in an upside-down embrace, taste one-another's skin; taste Sara in the middle of the empty floor once she follows them. At first, she and the elder boy play with her brother, staining his neck with their avid little bites and drinking his cum from their hands. Setsuna, far from satisfied despite his orgasm, admires Kira's games with his beloved, his fingers pushed inside her slit as she rubs his shoulders. Sara's brother can not resist her though, and so while she kneels between them gently opens her bottom and makes love to her mouth with his own. The daisy chain blooms from this. Their host goes down on Sara while her brother takes him and the flowers sometimes still between their lips are dying over and over... Kira's father stands over them now, the grin he wears far from chaste. ~*~ How to approach her? Even the worried ripples of his scintillating form surrender his thoughts. Teiaiel, no her dainty pout wants him to call her Teiara, slips down to the marble of the floor and makes him a little curtsy. So he dances for her, the curls and glassy strands of him wheeling and shimmering all around, like a kaleidoscope of iridescent silvery fishes, if fish could fly. The little angel sighs with joy and claps softly as she can. But her eyes... still like the creamy clouds drowsing between they two and the sun are they, and distant as the auras of other stars where angels don't exist. Katan will not stop his aerial waltz, but some of his tendrils fall down against her cheeks, bowing to kiss those tiny hands that dare applaud him. Teiara slips into a mimic of his steps just then, and he tumbles into her. The sheath of one wire glances her thigh. And... she smiles. Without lips, he draws his own grin in the air and dares trespass underneath the rags of her skirt. She's smoother than chiffon, though drifting now with giggles. Does he dare lay one metallic kiss to the dip of her waist? Yes. And then again. She makes herself fall so he won't have to chase after her, and the little puff of her sex peers out from between her legs. No! This is too much. Katan wriggles away, but her fingers close around him as if she's caught a butterfly. Completely unashamed, Teiara pulls up her clothes, and nods. So he pushes his cool self into her petals, and rocks against the tingly, silken skin there. No more than that, just the whisper of silver on flesh... silver on her lips... silver all around her. ~*~ His footsteps leave rings if broken moonlight behind as he crosses the pool of sapphire water between him and his beloved. Step by step, silver circlet in the sky winks out behind the lurid white anemones clinging to the branches overhead. A haze of lace has swallowed her, the gems within it's matrix more brilliantly dark the her eyes, even in the cobalt umbra of their nighttime visits; at least they seem so, as the almost light draws his fingers to them. Jibriel will not greet him though as he toys with them- will not tell him to be more careful after he has snapped one, and its fragments rained down into her lap. With the grin of a Cheshire cat, he brushes them away- a lingering dandle that chances the warm rise of her sex and the insides of her legs. Where the bits of crystal fell he sits then- neither king no infant in the embrace he brings himself, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and the leather at his waist. His shirt falls to the ground, and he frees the catches of her bodice so she will be no less naked than he. Still though they are, the lips he kisses while his hands cradle her powdery chest delight him, leave him feeling succulent and warm, as if her mouth had once more met his own. One of her bare hands he puts though the layers of her gown, and one into his trousers. Like a piano player with a familiar instrument, he starts to work them both towards climax. For the hour grows short, and the moon higher than the spectral bows. Michael waits only a moment to coax her towards a smile with the edge of his palm before he tries once more to awaken her with pleasure alone. ~*~ The piano, the mellow base, the guitar and the little silver bell- they all begin to play, and echo without the worries of interrupting voices. Asmodeus could not be less concerned for his lonely hallways. And the instruments? They have known enough talent to play themselves by now. He rises from the velvet armchair and goes to meet her curtains. No sooner has he poised to call, than this morning's mistress sashays into his sight, fills it like the visions that trouble the mad and the gifted. Setsuna wears Alexiel's body as if it was always his own. His black mini dress has not been done up completely, nor cut long enough to hide the gossamer rim of his stockings. One iridescent black rose rests behind his ear. Asmodeus bows to this creature, kisses his hand and the onyx eternity ring there; the trickle of muscle under his skin. Without one glimmer of hesitation, Setsuna responds this time, raking her fingers through his hair, his shirt collar... His host's throat bared now, he tugs the demon up to his borrowed lips. The instruments muddle the tune for an instant, only to glissade into another melody as if the first knew no ending. To the center of the smoky marble floor he leads her, catching two flutes of pale champagne from the iron banister of the stairs on his way down. Neither spills a drop save those glossing one another's lips amid what laughter falls between their steps. Asmodeus asks before he summons the bottle to him, and lets its glinting contents onto his bosom spill. Setsuna cuddles his wet nipples, pulling the dark silk tight to them. Offered the empty flask, he refuses and so, unattended he tip-toes over to the wall, and crouching against it, his skirt falls open, and his slit. Written on one milky-white thigh- Now what, mon cher? ~*~ It was rare for Raphael to venture past the gates of Heaven, and descend upon the inglorious rock that was the Earth, but that summer night he did. It's so hot, the black, silver-specked walls of the ratty little club shimmers with moisture. The air inside is ripe with the scents of various perfumes and clean, soapy sweat. A sea of beautiful young humans out to seduce and be seduced by sway and laugh and sing around Raphael; their lust proves to be more of an intoxicant than the bottle of gin he's drinking from. He can have any of them, he knows. If he lets himself be seen... There's no need to go to those lengths. Someone can already see him, a being enveloped in a soft violet aura. The crowd parts at an unspoken word, and he sees him clearly: An ancient lovely without a line on his pale face, dancing suggestively in the middle of the floor. Pinned to the back of his head with jet-and-silver clips, his blond hair curls over his bare shoulders, and swings across his back. His long nails flicker black in the spinning lights as he beckons. A mouthful of gin later, and Raphael is on the floor before the boy-- not a stranger as one might think. The last one he expects to see, lounging in a throng of mortals. His eyes now purple in the artificial light, Rociel smiles, and holds his arms out to Raphael. They fall together without a word. The laces holding Rociel's red patent leather dress tight around his slender body squeak in protest as Raphael tears them loose from the grommets. His hair slips free from the dainty barrettes under the Air Angel's desperate grasp. Gold lipstick smudges his face with every kiss, and their hips grind together in time to the music. Rociel spins, rejoins, and the skirt puddles around his waist under the golden one's hands. Raphael sinks into him and the Organic Angel throws his head back with a peal of wild laughter. ~*~ It's long past midnight according to the placement of the waxing moon, and the park is empty save for two visitors. At the fountain, silvered water spills over cream brick into a wide stone basin, dotting Kira's denim-clad legs drop-by-drop. He stares off into the shadows, and his cigarette splutters and dies between his lips. He scarcely seems to register that someone is slipping it loose, and replacing it with another until a tiny flame catches his attention. He draws a breath, making the tip of his fresh smoke flare red, then almost as suddenly draws it away between his fingers. His ebony eyes shift to his right. The lighter falls into the folds of his jacket and Arakune smiles, teeth even brighter within his dark face, in the moonlight. The ivory heart he wears shifts with every lazy breath, calling attention to the deep V of smooth flesh revealed by the plunging neckline of the skimpy violet camisole he'd clad himself in. Kira drags on his cigarette, and smoke swirls from his mouth to trail upwards over Arakune's throat. Kira fills his hands with Arakune's hair, covers his lips with those of the demon boy's. The silk rents cleanly under his hands, the dainty satin pillows of his breasts fall to the pebbled ground. With Kira's hands roaming over him, Arakune straddles his lap, his stockings snagging and tearing within the stones' unforgiving clutches. First thrust: the demon bites his rouged lips to silence his cry, digging his ruby-painted claws into Kira's thighs. Kira yanks Arakune's skirt to his hips, and encircles his hard cock within one hand. Strokes him as he rocks into him. Over...and over... Until Arakune's seed lies in glistening strings across the pebbles. Until the demon lies in a sprawled mess of torn silk and smeared mascara upon the ground. Kira slips a cigarette between the abandoned boy's lips, and lights it. Smiles. And leaves. ~*~ The evening waits just a few more moments over Tokyo before tearing herself open and dancing into the sea. It seems like the rain has stopped, but sometimes the window twinkles in tune with it. Constellations of the trains speed and splash through the tracks, crackling not to far from his bed. He sits huddled in his own embrace beside the pane, chill air stealing through his naked skin. It is finally quiet. Nothing shines in his room except for a silver thing like a razor resting on the sheets. A thing he crawls after, pulling himself over the sheets like a small boy through dewy grass, his fingers tripping over spilled pills and cough syrup stains. When he reaches the thing, he grasps it tight between his trembling fingers, and it does not bite him. It only crinkles a little, like a candy wrapper. No voice, but the touch stirs him like an unfamiliar throat trembling. Kira says nothing. The flushed and sated smile he wears fades when their eyes meet in the dark. Moving as if in the last minutes spent he has forgotten he can, he takes the other boy back into his arms. Katou doesn't notice. He follows the path of the evening then, and falls to his mattress. No covers, only legs and breath sweep over him, fingers tangle in his hair, lips slip into his lips. The bruises there know how many times had come before this one in the gloss of the afternoon, but the rest drowns in the empty slits that dash the ocean of his memories... no recollection remains to him of how his bed came to be anything but empty. And against his wet eyes then, a whisper he can't understand. ~*~ Someone's fingers beside the wind's seep through her hair and Kurai spins on the tips of her toes to see who has sneaked up behind her. The lanterns and the blushing dusk- neither of them catch the figure there, only the glint of its single earring. She tries to say something to the angel, but she hushes her, and her silhouette holds up just one finger which she flicks against her princess's small and lustrous lips, and then her own. Kurai smiles even though she's wringing one of her wrists, hard. With a touch of breath, the candle she carries sputters to life. Alexiel is naked under the indigo lace of the robe, though that floats away, carried on the tips of her wings as they rise from the pearly satin of her skin. The demon girl blushes and blushes. Her shoulders wobble as she draws near; her steps melt to nothing. She pounces like a kitten at feather, so in feathers, they both tumble to the ground. And she plays. The kisses drift down wherever they can reach the angel's body. She tastes her wrists as longingly as she suckles the soft mounds of her breasts; rubs her face in the dark curls clinging to her neck the same way she nuzzles her thighs. Most of the tiny scratches she leaves behind cross her waist in reluctant wisps of rose. Alexiel sits up suddenly, and takes Kurai's hand, guiding it down the slope of her belly and down inside her netherlips. A wink and a silent moan. She reaches into her little demon's skirt, her panties. Finding the nub of her clit, she rubs it for only a moment before she flutters inside. Somewhere between afterglow and fresh desire, Kurai reaches for a kiss. All she finds is a smile for and a shake of the angel's head. ~*~ Along the banks of the sullen Lethe, the grasses rustle in the warm, breeze, shaded brown against the eternal twilight of Hell; flowers as bright red as heart's blood drip into the murky, eddying water from the gnarled trees which break up the plain. A spot for dreamers, and there she sits, the clown priestess shines like a star in her somber, Victorian garb, her hair like a waving flame around her painted face. A bloom perches upon one thigh, bared by a high slit in her skirt. The rainbow-tinted butterfly appears to be flying towards it, wanting its nectar. The clown lets it lie, not even mourning its loss when the breeze spirits it away to its cruel drowning. She sees it not, only a void. Black like obsidian. Cold and hard and pure like the light in the Unholy One's limpid eyes. He is there, standing in the knee deep grass just two feet away. The clown holds still for him, for his pearly claws as he rips her clothing away, for his kisses that burn. The bark is rough against her back, scratches her thighs as he lifts her. She clutches the twisting limbs above her. Those feathers tickling her naked body, dipping into secret places and coaxing them to life. His fingers follow; faint weals mar her milky thighs, her modest breasts. He brushes the edges of his claws along her twin sexes, rimming her weeping female half, scraping that which makes her a man. She winds her legs around his waist, and the two halves meet. And slip. And meet again. She throws her head back as he fills her, her mouth open as if in a cry, and her god sates his lust upon her willing body. In the pallid evening, the clown flies awake, and rises from her bed of broken, black feathers. ~*~ The lips of the child before her are wet with empty bliss and pale blood. Zaphkiel sits on the edge of the lab table, his latest gift propped up in his lap while he kisses her single, glaucous wing. Shards of retorts and calficiers scatter around her ankles like surf. One look at the slits in her stockings and Anael slams to door behind her. Jambs the lock closed with a fragment of glass. The angel girl's corpse holds out her tiny hand, and she dares take it in her own. Here she can kiss those cold bones as much as she likes, fumble the rims of her shell-pink nails with her mouth and all the while feel no pulse. The faint must of stillness there has encroached. Nothing more. Her gift cradled in her arms now, Anael tastes her prince's hands just the same way. He pets that warm, wet velvet of her tongue, drawing her towards him sanguine inch by sanguine inch. They're so close now only the dead girl keeps their body's apart. But she topples into the broken glass, all but her inner juices splattered between them. Zaphkiel kisses a thread from his lover's cheek as he stuffs her skirt into her garter belt. His mouth on hers... same twinge of decay there... She drinks it from him with such force, he stumbles under her, trips, crashes onto the table in a storm of snapped thread. Anael stoops once to nibble on his earlobe before she climbs up and sits astride the tatted black of his trench still clinging to his hips. The shaft of his cock just against the edges of her sex, he shudders and it only makes her smile. When she drips against his stiffness, Zaphkiel screams and only then does she plunge down, and take him to his hilt. ~*~ Between two spreading maples, like a statue he stands, chiseled out of ivory and basalt. His black wings lay at rest upon his back, moved only by the wind that sways their feathers. Those few who are present don't see him at all, but it is just as well, for it is folly to behold the cold beauty of the Tempter. It's not long before he sees the creature he'd come for. A boy in a school uniform, one with light brown hair that glimmers in the sunlight. He's walking down the park path alone, his jacket dangling down his back from two fingers. The winged demon doesn't hesitate, but rises into the air, swoops down from the low promontory, and lands again near the path. He shadows the boy until they reach a stand of close growing oaks, and there he grabs his prey, and drags him into the woods, his cries silenced by the hand he clamps firmly across his mouth. Within a small, leaf-strewn clearing, he tumbles him. The boy swings and claws at his attacker, but the winged being overpowers him, and stretches him fully upon the ground, holding his wrists pinned above his head, and one leg wedged between his own. After that initial struggle, the boy lies still, though his chest heaves with his breath. The demon begins to stroke his clothed chest, scratching at the buttons with his curving claws; one by one they pop free, and lose themselves in the grass. The Tempter spreads the rumpled halves of his shirt aside, and touches his bare flesh; pinches his nipples into stiffness. The boy moans, arching to meet his hand as it strokes him, and the demon smiles. He has him undressed in moments, and takes his half-hard sex in one hand to coax it fully awake. Flesh to flesh, he tunnels him, and the boy comes out of his stupor, writhing on the ground beneath him as his hand slides over him, clutching at the grass above his head. The demon doesn't bother to lick his hand clean before he frees himself from the lacings of his trousers. He's hard, bigger than the boy could take, but...His legs, he seizes, drawing his pale, wriggling ass to meet his groin. With one unforgiving shove, he drives his cock into him. Amidst the boy's blood, his tears, the demon violently takes his ease. ~*~ Late in the morning, everyone still lies fast asleep in their beds, and all their rooms are shut tight against the murmur of his footsteps. A fair wraith, neither smoke nor gleam of day, wanders the corridor, his sheets draped around his shoulders like a cloak. He lights in the shadow of one chamber, but his fingers never find its door. In time, he once more begins the weary steps back to his own bed. Only when he gets there, the bed isn't empty. Katou has taken the place where he should be sleeping; Raziel doesn't even have the strength to ask him if he'll leave. He can only wait. All hope brings him is the almost human boy, poised against the wall between him and his view of the firmament as it passes them. Watches them without clouds, without intentions, without memory. Like... Katou's first kiss finds him. It is neither rough nor mild. Stumbling forward into his room at last, the angel returns it, throws his arms around him and leaves the robe of bedsheets behind. Neither melts, but the steps they take half-hidden in each other are not sure enough for just one body. To his embrace, he is lost at last, his clothes asunder, and his hair cast in the wisps of other hands passing. Raziel, so drawn away, just smiles, wan as the last ghost of the moon before dawn, and lets the open collar of his pajama top glide from his shoulder. It is not Katou's swift steps forward that surprise him, but the same apparition in his eyes; the kiss of pain playing crystal black somewhere past their surface, even as he pushes the angel up against the wall, asks for his wings and so nestled in his feathers, takes him hard and deep slow against the glass. Before them, there is only empty sky... ~*~*~*~ Notes: On Zaphkiel and Raziel: Some varieties of hummingbirds really do have a grating but melodious vibration they use as their call. I know- I hear them almost everyday while I'm typing. Alcibiades was the student of Socrates who had the hots for the fellow ^_^. In other words, an apprentice commenting on apprentice/master relationships and all their general yumminess in Ancient Greece <3.)