Author notes by Hoyden, because she's the HTML slave, the plot bitch, and now, apparently, the author notes indentured servant. But this is only because Haru enjoys cracking the whip, and Hoyden apparently enjoys taking it. Errr. Nevermind. But! You know, we started these fics in August 2001. It is now March 2002. But this is really, really long, so I hope it's worth everyone's wait.
A reminder that Raphael, Mikael, and Noelle aren't ours. But everything else is!
"Mikael?"
"Yes, Sandalphon-sama?"
"Tea?"
Mikael looked up from the textbook and smiled honestly at his mentor. "Yes, thank you."
Muted robes swished as the angel moved away. From the kitchen came the sound of clinking glasses, and that was muted too. Everything was muted in Sandalphon's abode.
All muted and soft.
Mikael still wasn't sure what had made Sandalphon desire the quiet so much. But the angel just came across as one of those pillars of calm, and either the quiet caused that, or that had caused the quiet. Sandalphon let his silver hair fall straight down his back, wore soft and dark robes in a world where robes simply weren't worn much any more, talked in a quiet, calming voice. His hands could weave a spell through the air as he talked, though, and he seemed to know everything.
Or. Almost everything.
He smiled brightly as Sandalphon set the tea down beside him. As the angel headed into the living room, away from Mikael's room, Mikael's smile faded into a determined expression.
There were some things Sandalphon didn't know. COULDN'T know.
Quickly, silently, he slipped his textbook away so that it stopped covering the Angel School Student Handbook.
If Sandalphon knew everything, they wouldn't need a School, would they?
"More, Mikael?"
Mikael shook his head, smiling politely at his equally-polite tutor. "No thank you, Sandalphon-sama. I'm very full."
Nodding, eyes hooded, Sandalphon cleared the table. "Tea?"
"Yes, please."
Tea was, as always, served. "How did your studies go today, Mikael?" Sandalphon asked. There was something intense about his voice, and Mikael hesitated a moment before answering.
"They went very well, Sandalphon-sama. I was reading the chapter on mental hypnotism. I can't particularly understand how I could do such a thing, but it makes sense in context."
Sandalphon nodded. "Anything else?"
"I might need some practice in it if I'm to protect Noelle." Mikael's lips twisted a little even as he said it. Protect Noelle, protect Noelle, protect Noelle. It's all he remembered hearing since he was old enough to talk. He didn't even know who Noelle was, just that everyone said it was important to protect her. It would probably have something to do with his final exam, though who knew what that would be about, either?
But. It was clearly his job to learn how to protect this girl, and so he would. Mostly.
Fingers stroked through silver hair and Sandalphon looked tired as he nodded. "Yes. Soon, I'll teach it to you."
"Aa."
Silence fell, and Mikael had the burning urge to raise the subject. He glanced up at Sandalphon and saw the angel turn away.
The chance was missed.
Two days passed before Mikael worked up the courage to try. They were sitting in the main room, in the dark, by the flickering firelight, and Sandalphon was, as agreed, teaching him the practical uses of hypnosis.
"It's not in the hands," Sandalphon said. "That's just a focus. It's in the voice. Properly, used, your voice can touch parts of the mind that the receiver of the technique doesn't even know is--"
"Sandalphon-sama."
It took Mikael a moment of silence after that, a moment of looking into the metallic-gold eyes, before he realized that he'd interrupted Sandalphon. Heat swept into his cheeks. "I'm sorry, Sandalphon-sama! I didn't mean to--"
Sandalphon raised a hand, smiled a little. "It's all right, Mikael. Clearly, you have something on your mind."
He nodded, tried to find an appropriate way to say it, and then gave up and blurted, "I want to attend the school."
Sandalphon's lips turned slowly downward. "Mikael. Trust me a little. The school would not be a good place for someone as special as you."
Special, special. They always TOLD him that. They never explained, not really, anyway. Just that he was special, and he'd understand some day.
"But Sandalphon-sama! There are so many more teachers, I'd HAVE to learn more! I'm almost at my examination period, and I know NOTHING. I mean," he hastily amended, "You've taught me so much, but there MUST be a limit. Other teachers know other things. I just... I just want..."
Sandalphon sighed, heavily. "I see. I'll have to think about it. Go to bed, Mikael."
It wasn't fair. He never was able to choose ANYTHING. "But Sandalphon-sama--"
"My fingers, Mikael." He held them up, and it was so incongruous that Mikael couldn't help but look, blinking. "One," Sandalphon said softly. "Two. Three."
Sleep.
It had been like betrayal, and Mikael didn't want to look at Sandalphon during breakfast. He managed to get through buttered bread without saying anything, until Sandalphon asked,
"Tea, Mikael?"
And Mikael, unable to stop himself, answered with his automatic, "Yes, please, Sandalphon-sama," then kicked himself mentally. I am SO stupid.
Sandalphon couldn't seem to hide a smile completely. "Please." He poured Mikael some tea. "You'll be starting school tomorrow," he said. "I've already arranged things with your mentor. I'm sure you'll be introduced to him tomorrow. You only have two classes, though. Just as well, considering your background -- they're very good teachers."
Mikael stared, shocked. "You... I... Sandalphon-sama, I didn't... thank you, I..." the world was spinning, practically spinning. He'd expected to fight the whole way and woke up to find that everything was decided for him. "I..."
"Please, Mikael," Sandalphon said with a note of amusement. "Your tea is getting cold."
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.
Exhale.
"Keep going, Mikael," Mikael muttered to himself, bright smile fixed on his face. "You can do this. Look, it's easy."
Inhale. Exhale.
It was the noise, really. The noise was everywhere, some kind of living entity in its own way. There was no place he could go where it was completely silent. No matter where he was, there was always the sound of people talking. Distantly or overwhelmingly.
Usually the later.
And then, there was--
He stumbled as a taller boy shouldered past him with a called, "Excuse me!" And all of a sudden, the awareness rose over him again. That he was drowning in people, all brushing against him, touching him -- bodies, personalities, souls impinging on him, on his space, on--
He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe, he--
The coolness of the wall he'd pushed against helped to centre him, and he closed his eyes.
Mikael shut the world out.
As best he could, anyway.
He concentrated on his breathing, on his mental shielding, on walls in general. On anything but--
"Hey. You okay?"
Mikael opened his eyes to see the worried face of a student he knew had been in that morning's class with Cassiel-sama. But, for the life of him, he couldn't remember the boy's name. Feeling vaguely like a rabbit in the headlights, Mikael just stared, not knowing what to say.
"Shit, uh, do you want me to get--"
Quickly, he remembered his manners and forced himself to stand taller, to smile politely. "I'm fine. Thank you very much."
Straight-backed, head up, Mikael continued down the hall, lips moving silently.
You can do this, Mikael. Keep going, Mikael. Stay strong.
Inhale. Exhale.
"Would Mikael care to report to the Professor's office? That's Mi-ka-e-l, Mikael."
Mikael's head jerked up. The Professor's office?! What had he done? He didn't think he'd done anything differently from any of the other students -- but what did he know of student protocol? He HAD memorized the entire student handbook, but who knew how outdated it might be?
He swallowed, hard, and concentrated on stopping his knees from turning to mush as he walked.
And, of course, he got lost and ended up having to grab a passing student to ask for directions.
Finally outside the office door, Mikael closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and put on his Polite-And-Suave-Student Persona.
Then pushed the door open.
There was a tall, well-built angel balanced precariously on a swiveling office chair, one foot on that, the other planted on the Professor's desk in a clearly vain attempt to keep himself steady. His single wing was thrashing to allow him to stay upright while he stretched up, reaching for a book on the top shelf that his fingertips were just barely brushing.
More uncertain now, Mikael clung to his Persona with the strength of a drowning sailor. He let the door click shut behind him. "Ano..."
The angel's head whipped around. "Ah, you must be--"
Unfortunately, whoever Mikael must be was cut off as the chair chose that moment to roll away. A quick shout, books flew, and Mikael squeezed his eyes shut, not daring to watch the inevitable.
He opened them again when he felt a hand pluck one of the fallen books off his head. And then his eyes opened much WIDER, because what was directly in his line of sight was a broad expanse of sleekly muscled chest. Mikael blinked rapidly then shot his gaze up, knowing, just KNOWING that the heat in his cheeks was visibly glowing. It was very hard to tear his eyes away from that chest.
"You okay?" the angel asked cheerfully, dusky lips stretched wide, amethyst eyes smiling down. "That was a bit of a mess, but that's just the way things are around here at times." He tossed his head, ruffling bed-head further. "So, what can I do for you?"
That brought back both Mikael's Persona and his terror. Polite, calm smile firmly in place, he murmured, "My name's Mikael. I was called to meet the Professor."
"Aaaaaaah." The angel took a few steps back and slid to half-sit on the edge of the Professor's desk. Mikael realized that the older man actually DID have a shirt -- or rather, jacket -- but it really didn't count because it was completely open, baring his chest from shoulders to just below his navel where loose pants were barely held up by a double belt.
It was an impressive chest, Mikael thought inanely. Not overdone but gentle while strong and -- and the angel was talking. "Um, I beg your pardon?" Mikael said quickly, voice jumping half an octave.
The angel rolled his eyes and Mikael shrunk back -- first day away from Sandalphon and he was ALREADY messing things up -- "So you're Mikael." But the voice didn't sound irritated -- rather, amused, a smokey, husky tone. "I'm the Professor, actually."
Mikael blinked. "Um. Excuse me?" He snuck another look and continued to see just a rumpled, partially naked, undignified one-winged angel.
"I'm the Professor. But please, call me Raphael, since we're going to know each other so well."
The Persona fell away entirely. "What? I--" His mind was whirling. It wasn't making any sense. It wasn't making--
"Aa. I'm your mentor. Didn't Sandalphon even tell you-- oh. Ah. Have a seat, Mikael."
Since Mikael's knees threatened not to hold him, he nodded. "I, uh, yes. I think I will." He sat, quickly, staring fixedly at his own hands.
This wasn't the Professor. This COULDN'T be the Professor. The Professor would be smartly dressed, mature, quiet -- but. Why would Raphael-sama feel the need to lie? And the name was familiar... oh.
"You." Mikael's head rose, jerkily. "You wrote the Student Handbook."
"I did, didn't I?" Raphael mused. "That was a while ago."
"I, uh. Oh." Mikael KNEW his face was burning. AGAIN.
Raphael was close again, hand out. "Well. It's been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mikael, whether or not you'd known I'd be your mentor."
Slowly, even then thinking there must be something wrong, Mikael reached out and clasped Raphael's hand.
Found it warm and solid around his.
"Pleased to meet you," he said, meeting amethyst eyes, wondering why Raphael was holding his hand so long, so hot --
And then Raphael smiled and, unable to stop himself from smiling back, Mikael felt the bottom of his world begin to drop out from under him.
Mikael came to in a darkened room that he had difficulty recognizing as the Professor's Office, as it had apparently been cleaned while he had--
I passed out, he realized, horribly embarrassed. He started to sit up, seeing visions of running away before anyone saw him there.
"Ah, ah, don't sit up too fast," Raphael's husky tenor admonished from nearby.
Mikael took the wet washcloth off his forehead and just BLUSHED. "I'm sorry to be a nuisance," he murmured. "I-- fainted, didn't I?" He wasn't sure of the tone of his voice even as he said it.
"Aa," Raphael said warmly. "But just look at your day. I think you had good reason to. Now, can you stand? Ari'll have my head if I keep you out past curfew."
Mikael nodded, rose slowly. "I feel fine now." It was so... "I'm sorry, Raphael-sama." Something he would probably NEVER live down, he knew...
"You don't need to be sorry," Raphael said softly, so softly Mikael almost didn't hear it properly. "I'll see you tomorrow, na?" There was an undertone, some kind of desire. To actually see him.
Eyes widened, and then Mikael nodded. "Yes," he said, and smiled just a little.
Mikael found he really, really enjoyed Cassiel's classes. The angel wasn't one of those teachers who won you over with smiles and good humour -- not like Raphael-sama, at all. No, he was soft-spoken, almost timid-seeming, distracted, often looking as if he'd break into tears at any given moment.
And he knew history.
Particularly British history, though he seemed to know a bit of everything. It was... terribly exciting.
And, of course, there was the fact that he talked so quietly that everyone had to be dead silent for him to be heard. That was a nice little benefit.
Mikael took reams of notes, those first few weeks in the school.
"And," Cassiel murmured, his soft whisper barely reaching the back of the room, "we have to remember that when the Romans first arrived, there was nobody to be friendly with them. The Celtic tribes of the region already had gods and goddesses that suited their needs, and had an entirely different style of trade than the Romans had worked out. Of course, the Romans had a more powerful military, and had spent centuries working out a method of organized fighting--"
His pen just flew across the page. Just flew.
It had only been four days before Raphael had begun to teach Mikael the guitar. It was... nice. Mikael really didn't have any words for it. With Sandalphon, his piano lessons had always been mandatory, part of understanding the classics. Here, Raphael was teaching him music for the sake of playing music. For, Mikael suspected, the sake of having something to do together.
He'd been shocked, the first time Raphael had put his arms around him to correct his student's fingerings. Had been shocked when he'd been nestled back into Raphael's chest, into the warmth that fairly oozed off of the Professor. Had been shocked by the inappropriateness of it, of a teacher actually touching a student in a way that wasn't casual. Had been shocked by the fact that Raphael hadn't seemed to know how inappropriate it was. Had been shocked by liking it so much, liking being held so much.
"I want to be friends with you, Mikael."
So inappropriate, so inappropriate.
Mikael's face was warm, his chest was warm. He was so, so warm.
Three weeks had passed. Mikael kept his eyes on the board as Raphael finished chalking in a floor plan of the Sistine Chapel then turned, dusting his hands off. "Now class, who can name the woman the Shining Genji first married in Murasaki Shikibu's 'Tale of Genji'?"
As usual, the question seemed to have absolutely nothing to do with the lesson on the board, but at least Mikael knew the answer. His hand shot up.
"Yes, Mikael?"
"She was never named in the actual text but was known by the moniker Aoi, for the flower. It is she that the 'Heartvine' chapter is named after."
Raphael beamed at him, lavender eyes approving and warm. "Very good, Mikael."
"You get a gold star," someone muttered mockingly while someone else made kissing noises. "Teacher's pet."
Mikael stared at his hands, trying to fight a blush down, knowing how his complexion showed it. All of a sudden, he could feel the weight of eyes on him, knew that everyone was staring at him, thinking about him. And not in a nice way -- he could feel that, too. Practically HEAR their Raphael-sama mentors him. Of course he gets special treatment. He doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve--
"Alexandrian, isn't it?" Raphael called, and a boy shot to his feet. "Ah, good. Since you seem to have quite the mouth on you today, perhaps you wouldn't mind singing the Spanish national anthem for the class? Backward?"
Stumbling, clearly knowing better than to argue, Alexandrian sang some butchery that had the class in stitches. Red-faced and fuming, the boy returned to his seat and Raphael turned and smiled.
"Now, that reminds me. Can anyone name the three most famous perverted emperors of Rome? You'll be writing a paper on the evolution of the Roman Empire for Monday."
Mikael stared at his desk.
He knew the answer. He MORE than knew it, and staring at his fists wasn't getting the right answers out.
And he could feel Alexandrian staring at him, hating him. If he didn't answer it, then--
But he knew the answer. It wasn't fair, he knew the answer.
No, he wouldn't let his mark be dependant on anyone but himself, for any reason.
Face fierce, he put his hand up again.
It came back to haunt him the next day as he was walking to Raphael's for guitar practice. He didn't even see Alexandrian before he was grabbed and shoved up against a tree.
Rough bark pushing into his back, other boy's fists bunched in his shirt, Mikael forced himself to breathe shallowly, felt for a centre of calm -- You're doing fine, Mikael -- and said, one eyebrow raised inquisitively, "Can I help you?"
"Always so polite, so perfect, huh, Mikael?" Alexandrian was trembling with barely restrained fury. "What the hell are you doing in one of Raphael-sama's classes? He's your fucking mentor -- just ask him at home and don't make the REST of us look at you."
Inhale. Exhale. Mikael didn't allow the anger to rise, didn't allow his face to change. "I'm a student," he explained, in the most polite terms he could find. "So I attend classes."
"We KNOW what you're up to," Alexandrian spat. "And I just wanted to tell you that we're not going to put up with you showing us up anymore."
Mikael smiled tightly. "Then study."
And it hurt as Alexandrian's fist encountered his cheek -- even though it was clear the other boy had pulled his punch at the last moment, it still hurt. From his jaw, up his head, back into his neck.
"Next time," Alexandrian said, "I--"
Mikael whipped his head around and, for once, ignored that spot of calm. "Watch my fingers," he said, and put out his hand as Sandalphon had taught him. "One, two, three."
The taller boy folded, unconscious, and Mikael just stared at him for a moment, uncertain of what to feel.
Inhale. Exhale.
THERE was the calm. You did well, Mikael. Keep it up.
And he turned and kept walking.
Raphael's eyes widened and sharpened when he opened the door and Mikael kept his own face calm, trying not to respond to the near-comedic panic on his mentor's face.
"Mikael!" Raphael stepped forward, raising a hand to touch Mikael's cheek. Callused fingers brushed over the bruising skin, a sudden shock of pain that sent shivers down his spine. Shivers that changed quickly into something else as Raphael's thumb drifted lower, resting on his chin, rubbing lightly over Mikael's lower lip.
It was like a snake curling in his lower belly, like a tightening of his throat down through his heart and navel to his groin. The pounding of his heartbeat and the rushing of his blood were loud, were, for a minute, the only things he could hear as the dizzying tingling rush ran the gamut of his body. And it was also like comfort, so much like comfort that he felt tears welling up and, for a moment, feared he'd cry, unable to stop the trembling of his bottom lip against Raphael's thumb.
Unable to stop the ragged breaths panting out between his lips, they ghosted over Raphael's skin.
But of course, it couldn't be comfort, because all Raphael-sama should have for him was a sense of duty to him, as Sandalphon-sama had.
A deep breath, Raphael's eyes large and hurt. "Oh, Mikael. What happened to you?"
"An accident with a tree," Mikael murmured, searching for that calm again, finding it elusive. Always elusive where Raphael-sama was concerned, it seemed.
Raphael obviously wasn't having any of the excuse. "A tree in the shape of a fist? Mikael, if anyone's hurting you, you have to come to me--"
But that was EXACTLY the problem! Mikael wanted to shout. He could come to Raphael, could ALWAYS come to Raphael. And that was exactly the problem, in the other students' eyes. "I'm fine, Raphael-sama."
The angel's eyes hardened. "Mikael..."
Mikael's chin rose automatically and he felt the anger swell, so rare for it to do so again so soon. He pushed it down but knew his own eyes are at least as hard as Raphael's, that his lips were as tight. "I can take care of myself, Raphael-sama. Are we going to play?"
Raphael stared at him a moment longer, seeming distracted, then nodded shortly. "Yes. Yes, come in, Mikael. And if this ever happens again, tell me. You can't become an angel through lies."
That stung, suddenly and unexpectedly, and Mikael bowed his head. "Yes, Raphael-sama."
That evening, playing the guitar, Mikael found himself watching Raphael through his bangs. There was a look on the angel's face as he sat, amethyst eyes closed, just listening, that Mikael was hard placed to identify.
Wistfulness.
Longing.
Perhaps even-- Mikael stopped himself, stumbling over a fingering and frowning at that. No, no, impossible, utterly impossible. Besides, what did he know of--
of--
Want?
No, he knew nothing. He knew nothing but the instrument under his fingers, but Raphael's sharp gaze on him from across the room.
When had the Professor stopped holding him while they played? Why?
And... when had it stopped being inappropriate for it to happen?
Alexandrian didn't bother him again, physically. The names, though, the names kept coming at him, often so quietly he couldn't make out who'd called him what.
It didn't matter.
Since when had words had power?
The bread had been something Ardouisur had thought of, smiling and handing it to him on his way out of the door. Mikael had smiled back, brilliantly... he loved Ardouisur, simply loved her. She was so thoughtful and kind and.
Acted like he'd heard a mother acted.
It didn't matter, that much. More importantly, he respected her.
"Take this with you," Ardouisur had said. "It's never a good date if you don't bring something to it too. THAT much, I can tell you about Raphael."
"Date?" he asked the door she'd just closed. "Eh?"
It took him a moment after that to realize that she hadn't meant an era type of date. Another moment for the flush to hit him, madly. "We're NOT!" he shouted at the closed door, and thought he heard laughter in response.
"We're not," he said again, more quietly, face in full flush. That was. It was.
The other students talked about their dates, sometimes even in class. In the hallway, all the time. About kisses and touching and first, second, third base. About the burning weight of desire.
And of them, Mikael only knew the last...
No. Of course. Raphael-sama was his TEACHER. They would never, ever date.
That in mind, he headed off to Raphael's house with only a faint tinge of his blush left.
Raphael answered the door with a smile and a cheerful, "Evening."
Mikael smiled shyly back, feeling it hit him again, as always, and murmured something about Ardouisur and lasagna. Raphael-sama looked, so...so...
He followed Raphael inside and was met with the question, "So, how do you like Cassiel's class?"
THAT he didn't need encouragement to talk about! They'd been studying Hadrian's Wall, and it was all TERRIBLY interesting. He began to explain the history -- despite the fact that Raphael PROBABLY knew it already -- and then Cassiel's theories about it.. and stopped, realizing that Raphael was staring at him, smiling and nodding.
"I'm sorry," he said, trying to push the hurt down. "I must be boring you..." and he wanted to believe it, wanted to believe that's what it was, but Raphael's amethyst eyes were sweet on his, and...
"Not at all," Raphael said, smiling.
Raphael seemed to be waiting for something, throughout dinner, and Mikael wasn't too surprised when Raphael practically leapt up after dinner, and said, "Follow me!"
Mikael did, but stopped when they entered the living room. The lights were off and everything was bathed in golden light. Soft and sensual. Mikael thought again of candlelit dinners and blushed. Quickly, before Raphael could notice the blush, he headed to his usual spot in the window seat. "Um," he murmured. "Raphael...sama?"
"Yeah?" Raphael asked, retrieving his guitar.
He had to ask, had to know, the question was pushing through his throat -- "Why the candles?"
Raphael seemed to hesitate for a moment, long enough for Mikael to almost, nearly, grow alarmed. Then he smiled. "You need to learn to play by touch as well as by sight. Dim lighting will help you learn to play not by eye, but by ear." He leaned forward, far too close as always, and ran his finger teasingly over the rim of Mikael's ear.
And oh. OH.
He hadn't expected something as small as that, something as silly as that, to feel so good, to send a buzzing thrum through his throat and to his groin the way it did. Unable to speak, unwilling to make any noise, he just shivered, unsure of his own facial expression, and then hoped Raphael hadn't noticed.
Raphael's hands moved to cover Mikael's, as always, and he was back again, inexplicably back, Mikael's body nestled against his, as if he'd never stopped. "Play the chords I taught you last time."
Mikael did so, desperate to focus on something, anything but that body so tight behind him, anything... noted Raphael's corrections, but didn't really... this part of the lesson was going on so much longer than usual. The candles were almost burned down, and they hadn't gone any farther than chords. Mikael stopped, confused. Raphael began to talk of music theory, things Mikael had already known from his piano lessons. "Raphael-sama?" he questioned, not knowing whether or not Raphael had forgotten.
The Professor started, then laughed, his chest thrumming against Mikael's back. "Where does the time go?" he murmured. All business, it seemed suddenly, he rose and threw the light switch on. Mikael blinked, wincing as light flooded the room, starting a mild headache behind his eyes. Careful not to damage it, he set the guitar to one side.
Raphael had gone still. "Mikael. Let me see your hands."
Uncertain, Mikael held his hands out to Raphael and only then did he notice that the finger tips were red and blistered.
And once he noticed it, they started to hurt. Not badly, but constantly. Sharply. Even the air seemed to be touching them bruising. So sensitive.
Wordlessly, Raphael led him to the bathroom, washed Mikael's hands. The water hurt, but cold water made them feel a little bit better, and then Raphael turned and returned with salve, applied it, carefully bandaged them, and there was something intense in his gaze, something as if he was feeling Mikael's pain. Hurt, and...
Oh, Most Holy! Mikael thought, and breathed. Inhaled. Exhaled. Forced the panic down. Remembered the touch of Raphael's finger on his ear, remembered the feel of his body, and a moment later Mikael realized they were staring at each other.
Afraid, suddenly, of what would happen if Raphael-sama got the first word in, Mikael hastened to ask the thing foremost in his mind. "If you really want something, is it worth it?"
Raphael blinked, seemingly shaken out of a revere. "Excuse me?"
Quickly, he changed it so he was talking about the guitar and his fingers. "If you really want something, is the pain worth it?"
His teacher seemed to think about it, then smiled, smiled in a way that made Mikael wonder how obvious he'd been, after all. "Sometimes."
Mikael cared about Raphael deeply. He was just starting to be able to admit that. He thought he might even...
But however much he cared about Raphael, there were times his teacher just infuriated him.
Actually, most classes.
Like this one. Raphael had convinced the class to sing Allouette. The lyrics were scrawled across the board in Raphael's stylized handwriting, so they were barely legible, even assuming most people in the class could speak French. And, of course, NO explanation whatsoever as to why they were singing this stupid, stupid song about killing birds.
Of course, he didn't speak up. To challenge the teacher in class... the other students would become unbearable, simply unbearable. So he waited until after class, anger building to a finely honed rage.
"Dismissed," Raphael-sama announced cheerfully, and turned his back on the students as they filed out, wiping the lyrics from the blackboard.
Mikael waited until everyone was gone, and headed to the front of the class, trying NOT to stalk. "Raphael-sama," he said, voice brittle.
"Aa?" Raphael asked, apparently bemused. Oh, there were times he just INFURIATED Mikael.
He clenched his teeth, tight, trying not to let his anger show. Forcing the politeness into shape. "Raphael-sama, may I ask the purpose of today's lesson?"
Finally, at LAST, Raphael turned. "The purpose of today's lesson," he said calmly, "is the same as the purpose of all lessons in this class."
It was like a boot in the stomach. All the other students, perfectly okay with everything that was going on. He was the only one who didn't understand. The only one. Raphael-sama had never helped him with that, either, had just let him go on his own. As it should be -- only he could help himself. And he wasn't good enough, apparently, wasn't good enough. He couldn't meet Raphael's eyes, but knew he had to speak the fatal words. "It doesn't make any sense to me, Raphael-sama. I apologize for my stupidity."
Raphael reached out and Mikael's head was tilted up with one knuckle, forcing him to meet his teacher's eyes. Sympathy. Sadness. When he spoke, his voice was so changed, so soft. "Which is why you're so smart," Raphael-sama murmured.
Oh, so confusing, so confusing. Not helped at all by the fact that Raphael's face was inches away from his, breath washing over him. Not helped at all by the fact that Raphael's body was so nearly touching his that he could feel the buzz between their bodies. Not helped at all by the fact that his back was to a desk and he was torn between the cold of the metal and the warmth of Raphael. Just so confusing. Perfect student, he had to be the model student.
Almost reluctantly, Raphael's hand moved from Mikael's chin to his shoulder. "If you become an angel, you won't have all the answers. Sometimes you'll be given assignments you won't understand at all, but your obedience is what counts, not your comprehension of the meaning behind them. The simplest, ultimate purpose of an angel is to do the will of Most Holy, not to question it. So you have to learn to take the nonsensical in stride, and to learn when it's important to understand and when it's better that you not know at all." His eyes were begging Mikael to try to understand.
So he mulled it over, turned it this way and that. It was all very good in theory, but what about practice? What practical use could Allouette have? The perverted emperors of Rome? The Shining Genji's first wife? Where did it FIT? Why not something nonsensical that would also be useful? It just didn't make any sense. But he had to try to MAKE sense of it. "Can you give me an example, Raphael-sama?"
And Raphael just beamed, sending off a minor warning bell in Mikael's mind. "Indeed," Raphael said, and swooped forward to brush his lips across Mikael's cheek.
Heat, buzzing, burning, tingling. All right there, something so simple, so plain, sending a wave of fire into his belly.
"Now, what was that?" Raphael said.
Mikael wasn't sure how he looked, knew his masks were all displaced. Tried to calm his breathing, failed. "Nonsensical?" he asked, voice breaking.
Raphael nodded, apparently approving of the answer. Then bright, bright eyes softened, and he leaned forward, angling his head.
This is it, Mikael thought, equally nonsensically, and closed his eyes as Raphael's lips touched his.
And he was flying, just flying, had figured out what it must be like for angels to fly, body alive, whole being thrumming as wetness and heat moved between their lips. And Raphael was kissing him so deeply, so very deeply that Mikael couldn't even think of not kissing back, unsure of whether to pull his teacher closer, just clenching his hands on Raphael's jacket lapels, just in case.
Slowly, so slowly, breath moving between them, Raphael pulled back.
It took Mikael several swallows, several breaths before he could speak without being sure his voice would crack. Even then, he spoke nearly subvocally. "So which was that?"
He had to know. It was so unfair, so infuriating, to want so much and to be so scared, so unsure.
Raphael's eyes were searching Mikael's face, darting here and there, and it was somewhat relieving to realize that his teacher was also unsure, also out of breath. "This one..." Raphael trailed off, started again. "It's important that you understand. I... care for you a great deal, Mikael. I want to--" And Raphael was blushing, Raphael-sama was actually blushing "--But only if you want to, you don't have to..."
Some kind of barrier seemed to snap up in Raphael's eyes, calmness moving back in. He leaned forward again and brushed his lips over Mikael's in a mimic of their much more urgent motion, moments earlier.
And it still burned.
"Think about it," Raphael whispered, and picked up his bag, and left.
Think about it. THINK about it?! Mikael was outraged. How could he do anything ELSE, now?!
And think about it he did, as time went on and he didn't dare speak up.
He thought about it in Raphael's classes, often not hearing what was being said, just staring and thinking of that heat.
He thought about it in CASSIEL's classes and some of the students were starting to look at him oddly.
He thought about it while having dinner with Raphael, who seemed content to act as if it hadn't happened.
He thought about it while playing cards with Ardouisur-sama, until the angel had just laughed and sent him off to his own room to study, "Since your mind is anywhere BUT here."
He thought about it in bed, eyes closed so he couldn't see what he was doing as one hand hiked his shirt up to toy with a nipple, as one hand touched himself lightly, then more and more intently, as the scent of lilies floated in through the open window.
He thought about it on one of those lazy Friday evenings, when he knew his homework didn't need to be done for a few days. He was over at Raphael's partially working on a new song, partially just playing on the guitar as Raphael tapped at his laptop's keys nearby. He thought about it, thought about the feelings of the lips. Wondered what it would have been like to be more daring as they kissed, to trail his fingers over Raphael-sama's neck like so, to let his fingers run over that gorgeous chest...
Out of the blue, Mikael felt himself being kissed, not the gentle, soft brush of lips like Raphael's last kiss had been, but more like the second, a burning concoction of tongue and lips and wet heat, leisurely but with the potential to explode into something more. ~That's odd,~ Mikael thought, eyes closed, barely stopping the moan from escaping his lips, tasting mandarin oranges, ~because Raphael-sama is over there...~
His eyes flew open and he stared at the -- smug? Pleased? -- expression on Raphael's face, his own fingers still on the guitar strings.
It's not a difficult thing, Raphael's voice was in his HEAD, tinged with amusement. You can project words and images as well as touch.
He was thinking slowly, too slowly, it took him a moment to catch on, to think of all the touch he was imagining. ~I would have to have developed telepathy NOW!~ Oh, it was embarrassing, hideously so, undignified... he felt his face heat. I'm sorry, Raphael-sama, I didn't mean to... Only that wasn't right either, he thought, suddenly indignant. He WANTED to. He wanted to touch Raphael-sama like that. If the only way to do it was telepathically, then so be it! Only... he had no idea how much he'd just sent Raphael. Panicked, he added, I mean...
Hands were on him, he could feel it, even with Raphael still sitting, so calmly, though with his face slightly flushed -- over there. He could see something in his mind's eye and he was flushing, he was burning, at the image of Raphael moving over him, neither of them very clothed. He could almost feel the pressure on his own fingers as the image of Raphael's hands twined with his image's, could almost feel the wetness and the pressure of teeth as the image of Raphael kissed its way down his image's neck. And Raphael was projecting something else with it, the heavy thick tightness of desire, so hot, until Mikael didn't know whose desire was his and whose was Raphael's... it was all there, curled in his belly, tight, so tight. It would feel so good, he knew it would feel so good, and didn't know how he knew; maybe that was Raphael, too.
I want you, Raphael murmured desperately into Mikael's mind. I want ~you~.
It was begging, it was pleading, it was something he could never resist, not that good, not that hot. Raphael had somehow moved over next to him and he'd missed it -- the guitar was lightly being taken away, one finger turned Mikael's face up.
He was going to be kissed again. He knew he would be. He wanted it. Didn't dare move closer, didn't dare ask, needed to be kissed. Uncontrolled, his breath panted out over Raphael's face.
If this feels good, Raphael told him and Mikael twisted, moaning softly, as Raphael projected the sensation of a tongue over the rim of his ear, Imagine what the real thing feels like.
Imagine. Think. That was all he'd been doing, lately, and they all came back to him in a rush, the images of what Raphael's lips would taste like on this day, the desperate hopes on this day, on that, that he'd get kissed again, out of the blue, and Raphael was moving in, descended on him, kissing. Not like any kiss Mikael had imagined. Too desperate, too needy, too gentle despite that. So hot, those little nips of tongue and teeth and lips and Mikael was making noises, helpless, desperate, shameful noises that were being swallowed up by Raphael.
It was a tidal wave, sweeping him away, making his limbs loose and helpful as Raphael pried at Mikael's school uniform. The shocks of skin on skin were like a match dropped on him, but less painful, a little. Raphael's mouth was on his ear, something that really SHOULDN'T have been sexual but was, tongue tracing the rim, teeth sending shocks of pleasure through him as Raphael nibbled at the lobe. Raphael was babbling, both out loud and telepathically. "I've wanted you," Raphael was murmuring, frantically unfastening and unbuttoning that perfectly proper school uniform. "Wanted you for so long..." he undid Mikael's collar and tie and began tasting Mikael's neck. Mikael buckled, helpless, found Raphael's hands on his back, wandering over his hips, supporting him and touching him as if he could be absorbed into Raphael through touch alone. You can touch me too. It was meant, probably, to sound reassuring, but there, minds touching, Mikael felt desperation, an edge of 'please touch me'. Touch me and see what happens. I might A bribe? Do this for you...
Fire. He was on fire, in his mind, Raphael's face contorted in ecstasy, or suffering, or something, that low husk of a velvet whisper that was Raphael's voice was moaning, crying out, and Mikael couldn't tell if it was real or thought or imagined or -- and in reality, it must be reality, Raphael was holding him close, and Mikael was gasping in Raphael's ear, leaned near blindly to kiss the top of that ear.
Raphael moaned, ~that was silly, wasn't it, it was just a kiss, just a kiss~ and Raphael's hands were inside his shirt, it was rumpled, the school vest pressing up against his lower back, and Raphael's hands were thumbing Mikael's nipples. He bucked with flash-fire.
You can touch me like I touch you Raphael murmured into his mind, smoky whisper, hopeful, However you want...anything you want.
He couldn't help thinking, panting aloud, of when they first met, of Raphael's chest, shining, beautiful, would it feel this good to touch him like he was being touched? Could it?
Raphael must have overheard, was pleading, So touch me. You don't have to just look anymore. Touch me.
Could he beg any more? Did he even know he was begging?
Mikael was hot, fumbling, struggling in his own constricted clothing to get his hands under Raphael's jacket. Almost frightened, he brushed his fingers over Raphael's nipples, felt them like hard nubs, little points of heat, and he rested his hands there for a moment, feeling their demands on his palm and found himself on his back, Raphael pushing him down onto the window seat. Their bodies were pushed together, heat, and his hips jerked without him being able to stop it, he trembled, hands pressed against Raphael's chest.
I think we're over-dressed, don't you? Raphael was rumbling, smirk-smiling down hotly. Much better to be like this:
And he was naked, naked, a tableau of tanned skin on ivory and heat buried far too deep inside him and he could feel the feathers from Raphael's wing brushing his side, sexy, so sexy, and could hear the gentle clink of their halos and
He took a breath and was clothed and was watching Raphael pull back a little, shrug out of his jacket, and Mikael gasped as Raphael reached out and helpfully tugged both partially undone school shirt and vest over Mikael's head without further ado. He could feel his hair muss, didn't care. Couldn't move, just gasping for air, as Raphael fumbled with his own double belts, leaving his pants hanging loosely about his hips, tented. Raphael paused there, then, and began kissing his way along Mikael's chest as if he couldn't stop himself and Mikael just writhed, because this was the real thing, lips and teeth and tongue teasing a burning path down, nose nuzzling gently at the softness below his navel.
You've pleased yourself before, haven't you? Raphael murmured and OH the embarrassment.
~It's wrong, it was bad of me, I shouldn't~ Mikael thought, trying to form an answer.
Oh, darling, Raphael murmured into his head, suckling on the soft skin and Mikael could feel his erection pushing against Raphael's chest. no shame in that. None at all. Because it feels good, doesn't it? Raphael raised his head, jabbed his tongue into Mikael's navel and Mikael felt a moan torn from him at the shock of the pressure there. It's okay to feel good. It's good to feel good.
~Oh, and I do, I do~ he was incoherent, staring up at Raphael's ceiling, lit gently by the screen of the laptop where Raphael had left it.
I was just going to ask... any preferences?
More embarrassment. He closed his eyes, still shivering, gasping at the wet exploration of his navel. Felt the tongue withdraw, Raphael's lips on his belly in what must be a smile.
Hmmm... then why don't I introduce you to something you can't do for yourself?
Possibilities sprung into Mikael's mind, all arousing. He was almost taken by surprise at the sound of his own zipper, at Raphael's gentle easing of his pants and underwear down his legs a little, Raphael's lips kissing along the path, nestling his nose in Mikael's pubic hair.
He was going to scream, he was sure he was going to scream.
Ever wondered? and Raphael's mindspeak was thick with lust as he looked up at Mikael. He'd never seen lavender so cloudy. Ever wanted to know what this would feel like?
He saw, detached, not able to feel it yet, straining to feel it, Raphael's head turn, slide the head of Mikael's erection between his lips, keep going.
It looks so good. I can't wait to taste.
And he could hear himself crying out, wordless begging, even as he thought, far away, bemused, that he should hardly be surprised that Raphael was a dirty talker.
Raphael's head turned.
He cried out, staring at the ceiling desperately, helplessly, drowning in sensation. He remembered himself, thinking of Raphael, his hands on his own body, the painful delight to be drawn there and no good, no good, but it was his Raphael, his Raphael of the wailed guitar songs and evening dinners and and and and
And he was gasping and writhing and bucking, hardly restrained by Raphael's restraining arm over his hips, and maybe he was crying a little, maybe.
So good...it can always be this good, it can be even better. All for you, always for you...
He arched, breath catching as lightning struck him.
Total relaxation, a moment later, hot, his own breath still loud in his ears, sprawled, taking up much more space on the window seat than was right, he was sure.
Raphael had moved up, was propped up on one elbow watching Mikael's face, smiling sweetly, and Raphael's erection was trailing a wet track across Mikael's left hip, in time with the thrusts. So worth waiting for, Raphael's mental voice somehow reached him through the gauzy curtains of exhaustion and lingering tremors. Waited...years...centuries..so long...to find you.
Tired, distracted, watching Raphael's face, Mikael put a hand on Raphael's shoulder and just left it there, looking at the distant look on the angel's face.
Silence, and he was contented, he realized. ~Content.~
So worth it, Raphael gasped into his mind, face spasming as orgasm passed over it.
~I'm... content.~
It was like a secret, dark places and whispered words and looks cast back and forth when nobody was looking, nobody was looking.
And nobody dared comment, this time. Commented when it was false and never when it was true. ~Some sort of irony there.~
Perhaps students still saw things that would show off their relationship. Perhaps. But nobody said anything, whether because of fear of Mikael's superior training or because ... who knew why, really?
But nobody said anything, and exam time approached and Cassiel drifted around the room like some kind of wraith, sad ghost, and dropped a piece of paper on Mikael's desk, on everyone's desks.
Cassiel moved slowly to the front of the room and stared vaguely out at his class, not meeting anyone's eyes. "This is your final exam," Cassiel murmured, so that everyone had to strain to hear him. "About ninety percent of you will fail to complete it. If we are all very lucky, ten percent of you will succeed. Those who fail will become just another soul. Will dwell in the cities of the dead. I wish you to remember that that is not a bad fate. Class dismissed."
Some students were leaving right away to read their exams in private, some were unable to wait and opened it right there.
But really, why wait? Mikael unfolded the paper and read it. Then reread it. It didn't really register. Not really.
His feet ended up wandering him over to Raphael's apartment and the Professor let him in with a welcoming smile he felt himself return.
This is not happening.
He held out his arms, thinking of body against body and felt Raphael take him in his arms. "We have forever," he heard himself murmur to Raphael, "let's take our time."
Slow, like honey trailing from a ladle. Mikael was distracted, closed his eyes, stopped thinking.
Afternoon rolled around. Mikael lay, words heavy in his mind. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It will never matter again. He felt tears trail down his cheeks and they didn't matter, they didn't matter either.
"It doesn't matter," he said softly, aloud, tasting the words for texture and salt.
He felt rather than saw Raphael come over. Smelled rather than heard the soft query of "Mikael?"
Mikael stared at the crumpled paper in his hand, and now that he'd started, he might as well say it all aloud to get it said, so it would float in the air over his head like a second halo. "It doesn't matter how well I do. Because for Noelle to become an angel, she has to choose to do so." And it didn't matter, it didn't. Scholastic achievement meant nothing. Tests had to be passed by yourself, but he was to rely on some girl, some girl he didn't know, to pass the test for him. To pass his LIFE for him. "Right?"
Warmth as arms pressed around him. Strong, warm, empty comfort.
"Raphael-sama," he said, and suddenly was drowning, desperate, world rising up in a chaos flurry with colours, so many colours, all of despair, and who had known there were so many colours of despair and his arms were around Raphael now, clinging like tenacious lifeboat in a drowning ocean but where was the iceberg where was the boat that split and drowned and he was falling, clinging by two arms around empty comfort. "Raphael-sama, what if she says no?"
She can say no.
Raphael was kissing his cheeks, desperately, and "It's going to be okay, Mikael," empty comfort lies.
It's not going to be okay. She can say no.
And that was it, really, that was failure on a silver platter, steaming warm, that was hope and dreams and future falling away like three golden balls streaming from the sky to shatter on the earth below. Nothing he could do could make a difference. The best he could do was to trust. Blind faith, blind as night fell.
Numb, hearing his own voice crying, he felt a weight where there had been none before and raised his hands, without thinking, to grab his halo so it wouldn't fall on him.
Fall.
It was heavy, a dull accusing gold and he could see gold eyes staring back accusingly, hating, from its surface as he looked at it and he dropped it, numb, feeling lighter and heavier, so empty.
He tried to scream, but when his mouth opened, nothing was there.
Nobody can help me again.
The world trembled around him, candles falling over, and he was so hot, so hot, so helpless burning in a fever and it wasn't fair he hated them, he hated them, they should burn, they should they should all burn in fires let the flames rise up and--
No. That wasn't right.
The book was torn around him broken dreams broken dreams. He loved their terse screams, those stupid girls who did not know what they had to gain. Those little screams of pain. He could not scream, they would hurt for him, and his pain was his pain was his pain was--
That wasn't right either.
The world was falling down, falling falling.
Fall.
Candles fell over around him and he clutched his head and screamed again, smelling burned feathers, incoherent. They deserved it they deserved it they deserved it they deserved
free will
And he wasn't right. He wasn't right, was he?
Numbly, he stared around, at the pain, the burning and suffering and forced anguish, at the stairs to heaven falling apart under false pretenses, at the candles burning like hell, the wings falling apart in despair and suffering.
That was in me.
Oh, Most Holy. What have I done?
"Raphael-sama!"
He was screaming. Saying things he couldn't hear himself say over the sudden roar of the flames. Screamed until his voice broke, fragile, teenage. "Raphael-sama, PLEASE!"
Nothing. Silence but for the roaring and the screaming and the suffering and it was his fault and he'd fucked up, he'd fucked everything up and his exam didn't matter right now. People were in pain. People were suffering. And he couldn't help them alone.
I can't do it alone!
The stairs fell and he screamed, one last time, "RAPHAEL-SAMA!"
Blackness.
And arms caught him up and he could feel flames vanish, brightness, feel arms around him, warm, comforting, halting his fall.
For a moment, hanging in that eternity of a moment before he'd have to go and help, go and help, he closed his eyes and let that warmth surround him.
It's going to be okay.
He took a deep breath, trying to dismiss his last minute jitters as he glanced out at the sea of halos and fresh faces, eager, interested, free from fear.
For a moment, he thought he wouldn't remember what he was to say, flashed back to so many years of Class, this is Mikael, please make him welcome.... Shaky, he took a deep breath.
"I'm Mikael," he said, "and it's my pleasure to be your teacher for this year." he bowed, reflexively, though certainly very few members of the class were Japanese.
Coming up, Mikael caught sight of Raphael leaning in the door with a thumb up, and smiled and smiled while the class murmured a response, in front of him.
You okay? Raphael sent mentally. You're doing great.
Aa, he said, smiling out, now, at the class. Aa. More than okay.
Saa?
I'm in heaven.