A prize ficlet, in honor of Charon's French maid artwork!
Belial was always a little wary of chess. Not because of the game itself, of course. It was where it had come from. As far as he could tell, it wasn't from anywhere. But the Metatron had showed up enthusing about this brand new game and wasn't it fun and weren't humans just precious. It was a miracle in itself that the Metatron had been able to concentrate long enough to teach anyone the game.
But he wasn't comfortable playing a game that presumably didn't exist yet. He'd told Raphael as much before, but Raphael had just smiled and said that linear time was just an invention to make sure one got to lunch on time. Sure, Raphael could smile about such a thing. HE wasn't losing.
Belial stared at the chess board. "How does the little horse move again?" he asked.
After concentrating on the jumbled explanation the Metatron had given, Raphael had managed a somewhat more coherent explanation to Belial, which primarily consisted of "The pawns go forward, the horses go funny, the priests go angular, the towers scuttle around sideways, and the queen goes everywhere. You're trying to take the king."
"What if I don't want to 'take' the king?" Belial had asked, leering. "What if I want to 'take' the queen?"
Raphael had laughed that throaty amused laugh of his. "Then YOU can sleep on the floor."
"Check," Raphael said. Belial snapped back to the present.
"Uh." He frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means your king had better run to keep his ass out of my lascivious clutches."
A few moves later, it was all over with a triumphant "Checkmate!"
Belial put his head down on the table and groaned. "I suppose this means you're top tonight."
"Like I said, baby, lascivious clutches." Raphael was grinning broadly and, loss smarting or not, Belial found that smile infectious.
He managed a look of long-suffering, however. "I suppose I have no choice."
Raphael looked hurt, for some reason. "I'm hardly going to force..."
"Come here," Belial said, tugging him close, and Raphael's lips moved against his after a moment of surprise.
Sometimes, Belial wanted to scream Hurt me! Faster, harder, harder! Crush me pin me until I bleed until I suffer and hurt! Hurt me hurt me hurt me more.
He loved it when Raphael would make love to him. To be truthful, he preferred to be top, but despite that, he loved it when Raphael would make love to him. The sexy half murmurs Raphael would pant into his ear, fingers that couldn't decide where they wanted to be.
Harder, damn it, please, hurt me, hurt me, make me suffer
He rested his forehead on the pillow, muffling his moan in the soft feathers, feeling Raphael's sweat drip onto him. He was going crazy, could feel his sanity spin away like coiffured ladies on a dance floor, spinning, spinning, going crazy from slow movements and from scent drifting around him.
Break me, please, break--
He opened his mouth to say something, anything, and found himself crying into the pillow, shuddering, so close to release that he could almost taste it in his throat. For a moment, he was a sore wound, open, fragile, and perhaps in that moment he could break, could fly up or tumble down to crash, broken, to the bottom of some great crevice, all depending on one right word or one wrong word.
"I love you," Raphael murmured, placing a kiss on Belial's shoulder.
Belial's eyes flew open, fragile, flawed emerald green, and he came, choking on whatever words he'd been planning to say.
Raphael looked so peaceful, so sweet, that Belial decided to tell him his decision tomorrow, now was too special to waste. He knew Raphael would understand, go along with it, there was no other option, but even knowing, life seemed so short right now, and he tugged the other angel closer, saw sleepy amethyst eyes open, tranquil.
"Be mine forever," Belial whispered to him, into Raphael's lips, holding close and petting like a small child, stroking Raphael's hair with loving softness. "You'll always be mine, right?"
"Of course," Raphael murmured.
"I love you."
Raphael smiled. "I love you too." The amethyst eyes grew wicked for a moment. "We must play chess again tomorrow."
Distaste. "It's just a silly human game, Raphael."
"I rather like it," Raphael said, startled.
Belial relented. "I'd play it to be with you, but..."
Raphael sat up, stretched. "We'll see, I suppose. Let's get ourselves cleaned up."
That dusky bare back retreated, feathered wings sweeping out behind him, to get a wet cloth, and Belial nodded, turning over to breathe in the scent of musk.
All opponents sat across from him.
"Check," he told the empty room, and smiled. In a few moves, the game was his.