Mikael was sitting cross-legged on the floor, pins held between his lips as he patiently mended one of Raphael's jackets. His golden eyes glimmered with determination as he chastised the jacket for not cooperating, and Raphael pressed a hand to his mouth to keep himself from laughing. "Becoming quite domestic, aren't we?" he drawled, leaning in the doorway.
Mikael's head snapped up with surprise, and it was pure luck he didn't swallow one of the pins. Eyes widening, in consternation, he swiftly removed the pins from his mouth. "Raphael-sama! You're not supposed to be home yet - I haven't even started dinner!" he protested, visibly upset.
Raphael pushed off the doorframe and held out a package neatly wrapped in brown paper. "That was sort of the point, Mikael. To bring dinner before you made it." At Mikael's quizzical look, he clarified, "Chinese take-out. Thought you'd like a break from cooking for a change."
The younger angel's cheeks turned faintly pink, and he lowered his eyes. "Thank you…that was very thoughtful of you, Raphael-sama." He paused, his lips pursing in thought. "Though in all honesty, I think it was your turn to cook tonight anyway."
The one-winged angel raised his dark eyebrows and shrugged noncommittally, then stretched out beside Mikael on the tatami mat. "What possessed you to do that?" he asked curiously, indicating the jacket with a wave of the hand. "It's not as though that's the only one I have - you didn't need to do it."
"Need and want are usually two different things, Raphael-sama," Mikael responded quietly, knotting off the end of his thread. "Besides - I know this one is your favorites, since you've picked it up every morning this week and then threw it aside when you saw the hole again."
Raphael laughed somewhat sheepishly. "I suppose you're right." He kissed Mikael on the cheek in thanks, then got up and wandered to the kitchen. After cleaning up, Mikael joined him and set about making tea. "How was class this morning?"
The aqua-haired angel wrinkled his nose. "Class itself went mostly okay…except for the usual nonsense with Cherior, whom I will kill one of these days," he grumbled, naming Azrael's protégé. "He's disruptive in the classroom and he keeps picking on Nareba, despite my moving him across the room and chastising him for heckling her."
Raphael paused in his unpacking of the take-out cartons. "You might want to have a talk with the Az about that sometime," he said.
"Azrael is just as bad, Raphael-sama. I don't think he'd perceive a problem," Mikael said glumly, carefully poured the tea into two cups and set them both on a tray, as well as the teapot. "Coming, Raphael-sama?" he called over his shoulder, walking carefully over to their low table.
Raphael followed and knelt on a pillow, setting their dinner on the table. Their room looked much like their apartment in Japan - when Raphael had mentioned to Mikael that he could redecorate their home as he pleased, the one-winged angel came home to tatami mats, futons, flower arrangements, and a low cherry-wood table for two. Not that he minded, but he found Mikael's need for continuity surprising at times. With all the changes surrounding becoming an angel teacher, Mikael clung to things that stayed the same - their home life being one of them.
"So, how was your day?" Mikael asked between bites.
"It was great. I went and bugged the hell out of the Metatron," Raphael responded enthusiastically, punctuating the name with a stab of his chopsticks.
Ah-hah. There was the frown of disapproval. "Don't you do any work around here, Raphael-sama?" Mikael accused, his eyes narrowing.
Raphael tapped him on the nose with a chopstick. "Of course I do. We had a discussion about gate security, in fact." He returned to demolishing a mountain of fried rice, chewing serenely. Mikael looked unconvinced, so Raphael changed tactics. Holding up a small piece of sweet and sour chicken, he cajoled, "Say 'aah', Mikael."
Mikael's pale eyebrows flew up in surprise, but he obediently opened his mouth and his eyes fluttered closed. Raphael took the opportunity to give him a tender kiss before feeding him the chicken. They ate the rest of the meal in companionable silence, occasionally offering each other food with lacquered chopsticks.
Mikael looked up from fiddling with his teacup, his wispy hair obscuring his the golden depths of his eyes. Raphael read puzzlement in the creased brows, anxiety in the pursed lips. He leaned back to wait for Mikael's curiosity to get the better of him. As usual, he did not have long to wait.
"Does it storm here, Raphael-sama?" came the question at long last, voiced with a teacher's professional interest and with an overtone of a student's fear of the unknown.
Raphael craned his head around to look out the window. The almost perpetual sunshine was gone now, to be replaced by mournful clouds and a cruel wind that lanced through the heavens. "Come with me," he said, rising from the table and padding softly on bare feet over to the window seat. Stretching out, he pulled the younger angel into his lap and settled him there, his arms wrapped about Mikael and his chin resting on his shoulder.
"It's on the principle that you can't know good without knowing evil; you can't appreciate love until you've known loneliness," Raphael lectured, his voice firm but gentle. "Do you understand me so far, Mikael?" The younger angel nodded slowly, the silky skin of his face brushing Raphael's own. "You probably won't ever see it snow here, unless Most Holy is in an odd mood, but occasionally it will thunderstorm."
"There's no lightening yet," Mikael breathed, as if afraid to interrupt the storm. In the stillness of their home the howling wind could be heard with ease, and a small smile tugged at the corners of Raphael's mouth as he felt Mikael lean back into him. Beneath his fingers and his chin Raphael felt the smooth rustle of the younger angel's garments - Mandarin style and business-like, they conveyed his sense of duty.
"Look now," Raphael whispered into Mikael's ear, his breath stirring a few aqua strands. "See Uriel's handiwork?"
"The lightening?" his former student asked, voice colored with awe.
"Aa," he confirmed, his lips pressing to Mikael's smooth skin just above the collar. "Target practice, really. Remember down on Earth when people talked of being struck down by God? They were really talking about Uriel." He felt, rather than heard, Mikael's intake of breath as the sky lit up once more with Uriel's terrible power. Raphael stroked his fingers lightly over Mikael's chest in an effort to soothe the tensed muscles and ruffled feathers. "Afraid of a little storm?" he gently teased, smiling at the ghost of a frown that crossed Mikael's lips.
Mikael denied it with a small shake of the head, his hair brushing over Raphael's nose. "Liar," Raphael accused, his voice warm with barely hidden amusement. His lips touched the creamy skin of Mikael's throat, kissing and nibbling a bit, trying to taste more of him. "You know," Raphael said, his voice husky, "Uriel strikes down the wicked. Are you wicked, my lying love?"
"Raphael-sama!" Mikael protested, craning his neck so he could glare at him.
Gotcha, Raphael triumphed as he took advantage of the situation. Mikael made a mumbled sound of outrage as the older angel captured his lips, but soon he went deliciously limp, submitting to Raphael's questing kisses. Won't you kiss back, 'Kael? he wondered, nibbling on the aqua-haired angel's full bottom lip.
"Are you still pouting?" Raphael questioned huskily, withdrawing minutely to search his former student's face.
Golden eyes flashed from languor to irritation. "I am not pouting," he insisted, huffily launching himself out of Raphael's arms so he could turn around and face him.
Raphael took in the shallow breathing, the flushed face, and the mussed aqua hair in one slow look. "Of course not," he agreed with ease, feeling his heart beat faster. "But you are just sinfully desirable when you're upset with me."
His wing feathers flaring, it took Mikael a few moments to be able to produce coherent sound beyond sputtering. "Raphael-sama, do you do this on purpose?!" he demanded, his eyes looking wild as his former teacher crawled across the window seat towards him.
Raphael pounced and pushed the younger angel onto his back. "Do what on purpose?" he asked, before bending to lap and nip at the base of Mikael's neck. "Do this?" His finger circled one aroused nipple through his lover's silk-smooth shirt. "Or maybe this?" Mikael gasped as Raphael's fingers trailed down to his thighs.
"Everything!" Mikael exclaimed softly, part answer, part plea. Aqua lashes half-hid the earnest desire in his eyes, all the more beguiling in its honesty.
Raphael shivered in pleasure as the younger angel's hands slid inside his jacket, the feather-like caresses seemingly everywhere at once. "I'll show you everything," he mock-threatened, going for the collar of Mikael's mandarin tunic.
"You already have!" his former student reminded him in blood-stirring, breathy little whisper.
Raphael frowned in frustration as the damnably small closures on Mikael's tunic refused to cooperate. "I've always found it helpful to reinforce lessons with repetition. Wouldn't you agree, love?" He accidentally popped the last hook off and peeled the offending barrier of cloth off Mikael. "Don't worry," he assured him as he kissed his way down from one slender shoulder to his chest. "I'll mend it for you," he lied smoothly.
The next morning, Mikael rounded a corner, almost skidding in his haste to get to the first year teachers' weekly meeting. He was late, he had far to many papers to grade-
WHAM!
He was dashed hard to the ground after the impact, the term papers scattering over the burnished hardwood floor. He groaned in despair, and then began apologizing to whomever it was he had just collided with, nearly babbling in his haste to get the words out. He looked up, and saw an angel in a pinstripe suit, his head bowed as he retrieved the last of the papers. But when his face tilted up - oh!
Impossibly blue eyes, face framed by unevenly shorn black locks. "My apologies," the angel apologized smoothly, his voice velvety and strong. "I wasn't looking where I was going, and frankly," here he gave Mikael an appraising look, "I'm rather glad I wasn't."
Mikael forced a polite smile to his face. "Th-thanks for helping me pick up my papers. I appreciate it, really." They both stood up, and Mikael backed up a little, preparing to walk around the angel.
"What's your hurry, sunshine?" the angel asked, settling a Sinatra-esque hat on his head and striding forward with easy confidence. Mikael gulped nervously and backed up against a door, his students' midterms clutched in his arms. "I - I'm just on my way to a staff meeting. I'll be late if I don't get going, so…"
Arms encased in navy pinstripe closed in on either side of his head. "Staff meetings are so overrated, don't you agree?" Warm breath tickled Mikael's forehead, and the aqua-haired angel licked his lips nervously, trying to discreetly find the doorknob behind him.
"Don't be scared, sunshine," the stranger crooned, black locks brushing Mikael's cheeks. "I won't hurt you..." Mikael squeaked in fright, trying to push the other away. His papers spilled onto the ground again as the unfamiliar angel seized him in a firm embrace. "Unless you want me to," he amended in a drawling murmur before stealing a kiss.
The door opened, and Mikael fell backward into someone's arms. "Uriel," Raphael growled. "hands off."
Uriel dusted off some imaginary dust off his suit. "Not my fault you have exquisite taste, dear heart," he said smoothly. "After all you picked me, didn't you?"
Raphael pursed his lips in annoyance, even as he felt Mikael stiffen in his arms.
"Well, I must be getting going. Good day, gentlemen." Uriel tipped his hat and made his way down the hall.
"Of all the arrogant, inconsiderate…" Mikael sputtered, his gold eyes glowing bright with anger and after-fright.
Raphael blew air from thinned lips, stirring his bangs. <Normally I don't care what he does. But where you're concerned, I most definitely do mind,> he thought at Mikael. <It's unfortunate, since we're playing cards with him tonight, along with Az and Suriel. Sorry, darling.>
Mikael rounded on him. "And what's this about you and that….that ass?"
Raphael groaned and hung his head. "It was a loooong time ago, I swear to Most Holy…"
Mikael hated spades. Really, truly hated them. Please don't ask me to pick it up please don't ask me to pick it up, he chanted mentally, biting his lower lip in his anxiety.
Raphael raised one eyebrow and his lips curved into a sensuous smile, somehow managing to look utterly delicious and piss Mikael off at the same time. He indicated the center card of doom, a ten of spades. "Why don't you go ahead and pick it up, darling?" he drawled magnanimously.
Mikael fought to keep the scowl off his face as he gingerly picked up the card and discarded a jack of hearts in its place. He had wanted to play pinochle, but nooooo. Raphael-sama and Azrael had wanted to play Euchre, and Euchre it was. Uriel had agreed easily to the idea, and Suriel was busy in the kitchen with dinner, methodically washing the dinner dishes.
Uriel led with an ace of diamonds, confidently throwing the card into the center of the table. Unevenly shorn locks of dark hair framed his delicate face, and tonight a beret was perched somewhat precariously upon his head. His impossibly blue eyes seemed to laugh at everyone. Raphael trumped with a nine of spades, causing Mikael to heave a mental sigh of relief. Raphael-sama just had to declare spades trump, of which Mikael had only one. Why couldn't he have let it go so hearts or diamonds could be declared? That he could have dealt with. Oh well - if they lost this hand, it would be all Raphael-sama's fault. Not that the cinnamon-haired angel would admit to it, but at least Mikael's conscience would be clear.
A foot rubbed his own, and Mikael pursed his lips in annoyance. He was hardly in the mood for footsie and made his irritation known by deliberately stepping on the offending toes.
Uriel winced and stifled an exclamation, and Raphael and Uriel looked up from their cards. "Knickers in a twist, punk?" Azrael asked with no sympathy whatsoever. Uriel shook his head, and Azrael growled, "Well, then quit mentally undressing the kid and fucking play a cards, already."
Raphael snorted in amusement and Mikael thought he heard a hiccup of laughter from Suriel in the kitchen. Kid? What kid?
He realized, suddenly, that they were talking about him. That Uriel had been looking at him. That the foot he had just stomped on belonged to one seriously peeved angel. Who could throw lightening. Who had bedded lower angels like it was going out of style. Who had slept with his Raphael-sama in years past.
Mikael could almost feel the vein in his temple throbbing in a one seriously satisfying, good old-fashioned case of jealousy, mixed with a little embarrassment and a dollop of anger added for good measure. The current hand was over, with Raphael winning the trick by the skin of his perfect teeth. "Suriel," Mikael called. "Would you like to sit in a hand?"
Suriel looked up too quickly and banged his head on the cabinet door above. He swore softly and then agreed, swinging the heavy braid of his long golden hair over his shoulder. Mikael slid out of his seat and retreated to the kitchen, and started to mix requested drinks.
"So how did this happen?" Suriel asked suddenly. Mikael assumed he was talking about the hand. He assumed wrong.
"Must've been Omael," Azrael growled, long coal-black strands of hair obscuring the better part of his face. "Filthy bastard runs back and forth between Most Holy and the Morning Star. Can't even trust him to fuck the punk here and keep his mouth shut about it."
Uriel smiled thinly. "Not one of my finer moments, I assure you. I thought I had properly impressed on him the need for secrecy, but…" he trailed off with an angry flip of his hand. "Not that my conquests ever remain secret for long, you understand."
Raphael chuckled. "Maybe we ought to replace the nameplate under your portrait at the School. I think 'The Rake' in beautifully scripted letters would be an improved, more honest description."
The gold-haired angel of death looked at Uriel disapprovingly. "You went to bed with that trash? You know we're not supposed to have contact with the Unfaithful." He tsk-tsked quietly. "Not that's he's completely the property of the Morning Star, but honestly - don't you ever think before you do these things?"
"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Uriel said blithely. He whispered something that Mikael's ears couldn't quite catch, but he suspected it was extremely naughty from the raucous laughter that erupted.
Drinks in hand, Mikael wandered back to the table, distributing them among the players. "Ano…does this have something to do with the graffiti on the Gates this morning?'
Raphael declined a drink, but pulled Mikael into his lap instead. "Our current best guess says Omael conveniently dropped his golden key," he murmured, his fingers lightly stroking Mikael's thigh.
"What key?" Mikael demanded, utterly confused.
Rolling his eyes, Uriel muttered, "Um, hello - the little metal thingies you use to hop in between planes of existence?"
Suriel looked flabbergasted, his wings puffing out like those of a disgruntled parrot. "How can you be a teacher and not know what keys are?" he asked incredulously. "Raphael, you incompetent…how could he have gotten by without you teaching him about the keys?"
Raphael frowned, resting his chin on Mikael's slender shoulder. "Saaa…I never did teach you, did I? I recall thinking at the time that you certainly picked up fast, but…" He held out one palm, and two well-worn keys materialized - one a soft gold, the other a burnished copper. "Keys are what allow angels to transcend planes - a metaphysical manifestation. A way to focus the mind, really."
Shifting his wings irritably, Azrael reached over and tipped Mikael's chin up with leather-encased fingertips. "The kid's weird," he pronounced finally. "Probably doesn't need the damn keys because his soul exists concurrently on Heaven and Earth."
Raphael's eyes grew bright at this explanation. "What a fabulous idea," he drawled. "Except that it doesn't make much sense, since he wasn't always in Heaven, nor were Silky and Noelle always on Earth."
Azrael absentmindedly cuffed the one-winged angel upside the head. "Moron. He's one messed-up kid. I bet he could knock on Morning Star's bedchamber door if he wanted to."
Raphael tightened his arms around Mikael at that statement. "Let's hope not."
The flight back to their home was not a long one, but Mikael welcomed the cool night air against his face. Flying a little a head of Raphael, he twisted in the wind, twirling in mid-air, sailing gracefully with the wind current when he wasn't engaging in small acrobatic moves. The starlight kissed the clouds around them and Mikael smiled at the simple, uninhibited pleasure of it all.
"Dancer," Raphael called ahead fondly. "Have some patience for those of us who were foolish enough to get into a bar fight with Azrael."
Mikael let his wings beat in place, waiting for Raphael to catch up. Mikael had once tried to tell him that it was aerodynamically impossible for him to fly at all, but Raphael had just offered a little smile. When pressed for an answer, he had simply replied, "Most Holy does not forget us." Still, he did fly a little lopsided, in disturbing little swoops, not unlike a sinusoidal wave.
Once home, they unrolled the futon and prepared for bed in comfortable silence. Raphael seemed subdued, and he didn't speak as he gathered Mikael to him in bed, arranging their wings comfortably.
Mikael stroked the arch of Raphael's wing softly, the equivalent of soft, chaste little kisses. He waited patiently for Raphael to speak. During the day, Raphael was flippant and toying, but there seemed to be something in the late sleepiness of the night that revealed his serious, tender side. And so Mikael waited, touching his wings to let him know that he wanted to hear his words.
Raphael cupped Mikael's chin with one hand, his thumb brushing over the Mikael's lips. His chocolate brown eyes seemed almost black in the scant light afforded by the stars. "They're right, you know - you are unusual."
Mikael permitted himself a little sigh of exasperation. "Thanks. I think we've had this conversation before. My wings were burning in the interim, if I recall correctly." He threw one leg over Raphael's so he could lie even closer.
"You were also a trifle unhinged, but let's not go there either," Raphael murmured, a small smile turning the corners of his lips upward. His fingers traced a path down Mikael's side and over his slim hips, then pushed him gently onto his back. His hips resting between Mikael's thighs, he stroked the soft down on the underside of the younger angel's wings. "You know, it ought to be theologically impossible for you to exist…it's unprecedented to have 1/3 of a soul. Why do you think it is?"
Mikael gasped softly, a breathy little catch to his voice. "I don't know, Raphael-sama. But I'm with you and … you're the most important thing to me. Taisetsuna. And maybe it's like you said before - Most Holy doesn't forget us."
"Do you know what you're saying?" Raphael asked, his expression unreadable.
"I love you," Mikael whispered back. "I know that much."
Raphael's arms tightened about him, and they did not speak anymore that night.
"Are there any questions?" Mikael asked his class, shuffling his papers and tidying them into a neat pile on his desk. The question was almost rhetorical - this being the first class of the day, most of them could hardly be defined as being awake. What was it about first-year students? They never seemed to be quite with it until at least the fourth period - and Mikael suspected that this was only the case because at that point, lunch was right around the corner.
As expected, none of his students offered a response, except to sluggishly pack up their textbooks. The bells chimed and his students trudged out, quietly talking amongst themselves.
"Mikael-sama?" A clear, sweet voice intruded on his inner musings.
His head snapped up, and he tried not to cringe at the honorific. "Yes, Sophia?" he asked gently. "Is there something I can help you with?"
Her blue ringlets bobbed as she nodded vigorously. She plunked down in the dainty chair next to his desk and pulled out a few sheaves of paper. In some ways she reminded him almost painfully of Noelle, most remarkably in her ability to get herself into all manner of trouble without 1.) having meant to or 2.) noticing it at all.
Sophia jabbed a finger at a paragraph. "I know this isn't quite right, but I don't know how to fix it, Mikael-sama. I tried asking Uriel-sama because we went out for observation last night, but he said.." - here she rolled her eyes, tugging at a ringlet in consternation - "that he didn't have time to talk about grammar." She sniffed indignantly. "You'd think after being here since, like, forever that he would be really super fast at something like proofreading a paper."
Mikael fought hard to keep down a smile at the thought of her pestering the sensuous and indulgent Uriel with questions about main clauses and participles. "Well, Sophia, you know you can always come to me for help," he assured her. He then examined the paragraph in question, tapping his pen on the desk as he mulled over ideas to fix it.
After a quick discussion, Sophia packed her books and the paper into her bag, and then proceeded to assault him with an exuberant hug. "Thank you so much, Mikael-sama!" she crowed, then tore out of his classroom, skipping and making more noise than he thought was really suitable.
"Saa…it seems you're quite popular," a smoky, intimately familiar voice remarked.
Mikael didn't even look up to see Raphael, whom he was quite sure was lounging insouciantly in the doorway. Raphael had a marked fondness for that pose, it seemed. "I wouldn't know about that, Raphael-sama. Most of them seem comatose at this time of the morning."
"She didn't. Quite excitable, isn't she? Ne, Mikael…I wonder why it is you don't protest such an enthusiastic embrace from her, but let my hands do even just a little bit of wandering here at School and you get all 'dame, dame!' on me." Raphael imitated his protestations with a breathy little catch in his voice.
Mikael looked up, furiously wishing away the slow blush creeping over his cheeks. "She is a student, and you are incorrigible - that's why." He snapped his satchel shut and slid past Raphael out into the hall. "Gomen, Raphael-sama, but my class is over and I have work to do. I'll see you for the staff meeting, ne?" He walked away, without awaiting a reply.
"Incorrigible, 'Kael?"
Mikael groaned inwardly, as he had really been hoping that the one-winged angel wouldn't follow him. Fat chance, it seemed. "Raphael-sama, I really do have things to do!" he protested.
"You certainly do," the older angel purred before pushing him in through a door.
Faculty storage room. Why hadn't he been paying attention to the direction he was walking? "Raphael-sama, we can't," Mikael said firmly. "Don't you have things you need to be doing?"
A cat-with-the-cream smile lit up the handsome features of Raphael's face. "Hai," he confirmed, sauntering toward Mikael, letting his jacket fall to the floor.
The aqua-haired angel started to feel a bit panicked. "Dame, Raphael-sama! What if somebody comes in looking for toner for the copy machine?!"
"I locked the door," Raphael said softly, his voice a teasing sing-song. His fingers seized the top of Mikael's shirt, quickly undoing the first button before Mikael batted his hands away.
"You know as well as I do that there are security cameras all over the School! Do you really want to chance Gabriel-sama catching us?"
"Disabled," Raphael said cheerfully, trapping his hapless lover in the corner by a table. He quickly silenced any further protestations by kissing Mikael into submission.
Not that this was a long drawn-out process, Mikael thought hazily as Raphael's tongue danced with his own. It usually only took a couple of really good kisses before he was completely amenable to just about anything Raphael wanted. He sighed in pleasure as Raphael sucked on his earlobe, nibbling on it and whispering naughty little suggestions. "Ne, Mi-ka-e-ru…I've been wanted you since you gave me the cold shoulder in the shower this morning."
"We were going to be late," Mikael reminded him, the statement followed by a little gasp as Raphael slipped his shirt off and teased one flat nipple into a hard little bud.
Raphael's eyes glittered with the very familiar look of wanting. "I can excuse you, you know," he murmured against Mikael's mouth, licking and nibbling gently at the full, pouty lips. His hands roamed over Mikael's back, grasping his bottom and pulling him up against him.
Mikael leaned forward to kiss the spot where shoulder and neck met, making Raphael clutch him closer. "Right," he remarked, his sardonic tone buffered by the haze of desire. "I can just see it now - 'Sorry, class, I was so busy having my wicked way with your teacher that we completely lost track of time." He punctured the statement by sucking firmly on Raphael's neck, hard enough to leave a mark.
"I wish," Raphael groaned. "Speaking of having my wicked way with you…" He hoisted Mikael up onto the table next to them, quickly divesting the younger angel of his trousers.
Mikael gingerly laid back onto the wooden table, mindful of his wings. Raphael's hands ran over his thighs, skirting teasingly around his erection before pulling Mikael's legs up to rest on his shoulders.
Reality once again reared its ugly head. "Raphael-sama!"
"Now what?" the one-winged angel asked, his voice tinged with irritation.
"We don't have any…" Mikael trailed off as a slick finger probed his entrance.
"Stop thinking, Mikael," Raphael instructed hoarsely, little wisps of hair already matted against his forehead with sweat.
"H-h-hai," Mikael murmured as Raphael removed his finger and slid inside, letting Mikael enjoy the sense of fullness for just a moment before beginning a slow, rhythmic thrusting. Mikael was distantly aware that the rumors of "the Professor boinking the new teacher in the storage room" would no longer be rumors but fact, but then Raphael wrapped his hand around Mikael's erection, stroking him in counterpoint. Then it was far too much effort to think even distantly as Raphael changed his angle and began thrusting even faster, still stroking him and he thought maybe that the gasping moans were his and the desperate groans were Raphael's and he couldn't think couldn't think couldn't breathe and -
Bliss.
Raphael shuddered above him, sighing and then sliding Mikael's legs off his shoulders so he could lean forward and press their bodies together. They panted together, trying to catch their breath, their arms wrapped around each other. "I think," Raphael whispered after awhile, "that I'm glad your little wiggle in the shower this morning inspired me to go to such lengths."
Dreamy and sated, Mikael smiled lazily. "It figures that the only time you do any sort of work is when you want to get me out of my clothes as fast as possible."
"I do work. Real work," he protested, all offended pride. "I am the Professor, you know." A mischievous smile crossed his face. "This isn't work - you're easy," he teased him.
Mikael swatted him half-heartedly. "Keep talking and you can cook dinner all this week," he mock threatened sleepily.
"Promises, promises," Raphael murmured, gently pulling out of him. "Unfortunately, this morning interlude is officially over. We have a staff meeting in five minutes, if you'll recall." He retrieved their clothes from the floor and was already dressing when Mikael turned onto his side, yawning.
"Can't you excuse me from that?" Mikael asked. Staff meetings were boredom incarnate, and he could think of far better uses for his time without any trouble at all.
Raphael smacked him on the bottom. "Sore wa dame da yo. We really have to be there, Mikael, so get dressed. Now."
When it became clear that no amount of pouting would get him out of the dreaded staff meeting, Mikael reluctantly cleaned himself up and redressed. "I'm never going to be able to concentrate," he complained as he walked alongside Raphael to the meeting room.
"Me neither. I'm already thinking of all the things I want to do to you while you're trying to cook dinner," Raphael responded cheerfully.
"Absolutely not. You haven't made dinner in ages - it's definitely your turn."
"But Mikael, you cook so much better than I do!"
"That's not the point, Raphael-sama! Mou! If I had a splinter in my back, would you feel guilty enough to cook?"
"But you don't."
"But what if I did?"
"But you don't."
Mikael stirred in his sleep, rolling over to sling an arm over Raphael's chest. "Back t'sleep," he mumbled, snuggling deeper into the warmth of the covers.
An amused snort sounded in his mind. <Wakey-wakey, sweetheart. This is the voice of the Most Holy, and I have a job for you.>
Mikael opened one cautious eye, peering around the room. He yawned slightly and noted that Raphael was snoring lightly, something he did occasionally when sleeping on his stomach.
<That's better. Get dressed.>
Mikael narrowly resisted the urge to pull the blankets more securely around him. <How do you know I'm not dressed?> he shot back, now slightly more alert.
A long-suffering sigh. <If you're in bed with Raphael, you're nude as a newborn babe. With the addition of a little raspberry-flavored lube, I'm sure. But never mind that. Now get dressed and come to the Tower. And no, don't wake Raphael. Leave a note, tell him something came up and you had to go see Suriel and you'll be back by dinnertime tomorrow.>
Rather than risk his face actually combusting into flames, Mikael did what he was told. In the depths of the night, there were few out to see one lone angel fly up to the soaring heights of the Tower. The fearsome Guardians with their swords of flame had apparently been warned, as they let him approach the twelve windows at the apex of the Tower with no resistance. Touching down onto the wide sill of a window, a pair of arms caught him before he went tumbling into the room.
"There we are," the Metatron murmured. "The air currents up here can be quite tricky. I usually take the stairs, myself."
Mikael looked down into the grey depths of the Metatron's eyes and became suddenly very conscious that the arms of the Voice of the Most Holy were clasped snugly around his hips. Embarrassed at the impropriety, he hurriedly broke away and jumped down to the floor. Kneeling in front of the Metatron, he breathed, "My apologies, Metatron-sama."
A small, musical laugh floated through the air. "So proper. I can see why Raphael fell so hard for you. But stand, Mikael - I can't in good faith watch you kneel in front of me. I'm only the Voice." Slender, girlish hands drew him up off his knees and Mikael got his first good look at the Metatron. He had Talked to Most Holy before, but having been nearly comatose, he remembered nothing of the Metatron. Shoulder-length slate-grey hair was pulled up into a ponytail, wisps escaping haphazardly to frame his startlingly young-looking face. A gauzy shirt, open and leaving nothing to the imagination, was matched with flowing trousers tucked into boots. Hardly the sort of ensemble he expected from the most important Angel in Heaven.
"You were expecting bejeweled robes or something? Do you know how heavy the damn things are?"
Mikael jerked in surprise. "Metatron-sama, are you a full telepath? I didn't think such a thing was possible!" His mind worked over the concept furiously. Angels could engage in closed-waved, quick send-and-receive telepathy, but usually only within in a certain distance.
The Metatron winced. "Sorry. I forget myself sometimes. To answer your question, no, I'm not actually a full telepath. The extra information is just a perk, as it were." He gestured Mikael to have a seat on a sofa by a window, and immediately sat down right beside him, their thighs touching. Mikael felt more than a little uncomfortable, but then the Metatron seized his face with those slender hands, the violet-polished nails winking in the moonlight. "Relax," he commanded quietly.
Mikael relaxed quickly, feeling almost boneless, and slumped comfortably in the corner of the couch. Dazedly he wondered if the Metatron's eyes always looked silver and not grey. "I need you to retrieve something for Me," he asked, his voice no longer definitively male, but an androgynous alto.
"Anything," Mikael responded dreamily, feeling warm and loved and safe and comforted and blissful.
"It's not just anything, darling," the Voice told him, the Metatron's hand caressing his cheeks gently. "My beloved Omael seeks to renounce his impartiality. He claims his key to My realm was stolen. But We know this is not so."
"Why can't you just let him go if he wants, then?" Mikael asked, feeling sort of hazy. It seemed like a perfectly logical conclusion to him.
A sad, sad sigh escaped the Metatron's lips. "Because I love him. Because I love you all. And I know that Omael is not well, and if he stays there too long…"
"What?" Mikael demanded languorously, his eyes half-closed.
"He will be no more. I do not wish for that to happened, but Omael doesn't see the danger. And My Fallen One seeks to challenge My authority once again, by sacrificing Omael. We cannot permit this. You will go to the Realm of the Unfaithful and retrieve Omael and his golden key," the Voice intoned gently.
"Hai, Otou-sama," Mikael responded softly, smiling. The Metatron jerked in startlement or something else.
"I love you, Mikael. Come back safe," the Voice wished. The Metatron leaned forward and kissed him gently on the forehead. And then the Metatron's voice was one more a pleasant tenor as he clutched his own head and yelled, "FUCK!"
Mikael snapped back to alertness. "Metatron-sama, are you alright?"
The Metatron curled into a little ball on the couch, still holding his head. "Ow ow ow, FUCK. Yes, I'm just fine. PEACHY. Damn it, I just HATE it when You do that!" he addressed the ceiling, scowling and still swearing furiously. Suddenly his eyes crossed and then he shuddered, but when he stood up his eyes were no longer clouded with pain. "Just so we have no secrets, I don't like that much either."
Mikael stretched out a hesitant hand, but the Metatron was still addressing the ceiling. "I do TOO like some things! Like caffeine! And sex! But since the latter isn't really an option, I guess I'll have to go with the coffee. Alright, alright, keep your shirt on, I'm getting to it." He took a deep breath and turned to Mikael.
An image floated into Mikael's mind. It was of a dimly lit, ornate door. <Go there. Get in and get out, quickly, no dawdling. Haul Omael's ass back here, and make sure he has all his keys.>
"I thought his key to heaven was stolen!" Mikael protested.
<He's lying. Check under the pillow. Now go.>
Mikael stood in front of the door. He had no fear before, but now…here…
He had to admit he was shaking. The darkness around him shifted this way and that, hideous eyes blinking at him, horrible groaning echoing throughout the hall. He put out one trembling hand on the doorknob, turned, and….
"Usually it's polite to knock on a bedchamber door," a silky voice intoned. An angel with no halo, but beautiful, almost iridescent wings sat in the middle of a large bed, putting the finishing touches on the beribboned braids in his hair. This, Mikael concluded, could only be Omael.
Mikael stuttered a few times, and then finally said, "He wants you to come back."
Omael looked miserable, and cast a glance at the sun-bronzed body lying asleep next to him. "I know," he whispered. "I just wanted to see if He really cared."
"He does," Mikael whispered back, feeling horribly guilty as he watched crystalline tears course down Omael's cheeks.
"If He really loves me, then why won't He let me go? Why must we continue with this charade?" Omael asked sadly, playing with one braid with nervous fingers.
"Come back," Mikael said softly. He crossed the room and stared at Omael for a long moment, then reached under one pillow until his fingers grasped a cool metallic object. The golden key to the Gates.
Omael looked at him with wide eyes. "How did you know? And why have I never seen you before? I know most everyone - who would He send to…" he trailed off, his eyes wide. "Oh…Most Holy!" he cried, clutching Mikael and sobbing quietly. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'll come back now."
"I'm not - " Mikael started to protest, before Omael covered his lips with a desperate kiss. He thinks I'm Most Holy?? Mikael wondered, beyond confused. Then he felt Omael take up the key for Earth, and followed him there and back to Heaven.
Mikael climbed the steps to the Tower, but paused outside the Metatron's door as he heard voices.
"How COULD you?!!! Stealing him out from under me in the middle of the night, without so much as by your leave, sending him to Hell to retrieve a hopelessly paranoid angel from the arms of the Morning Star?!! What in the name of Most Holy were you thinking?" Raphael yelled furiously.
"I told him to leave you a note," the Metatron said calmly.
"Riiiight," Raphael drawled sarcastically. "Going to see Suriel. I'd have to be blind, deaf and dumb to believe that one. And don't change the subject!"
"I'm not. And it was His idea. Mikael's the only one who doesn't need keys, and no else except Omael can go to Hell. Therefore it was imperative that Mikael be the one to go."
Raphael's voice was low and frightened now. "What if something happens? What if Omael just loses it or the Morning Star decides not to give him up without a fight?"
Mikael couldn't stand to hear Raphael like that. He pushed open the door softly. <Tadaima, Raphael-sama.>
Raphael spun around, took several long strides, and swept him up in a desperate embrace. "Don't" - he kissed him soundly - "ever" - kiss - "do" - kiss - "that again!" -kiss - "I MEAN it, Mikael."
"He told me too," Mikael said simply. "I had to go."
Raphael still had that worried creased in his forehead. But slowly, a grudging understanding swept over his features. "It's really hard to think when He talks to you, isn't it?"
Mikael nodded, smiling gently. His eyes fluttered shut as Raphael leaned in for another kiss, this one deep and slow, managing to convey that Mikael was safe, that Raphael had been frantic with worry, but they were together now and everything was going to be okay.
The Metatron huffed, stirring a few strands of his slate-grey hair. "Alright, that's enough. There will be NO make-up sex in my office if I'm not involved."
Mikael and Raphael turned to the hapless secretary of Most Holy with twin devilish smiles.
"Get out, get out, GET OUT!" the Metatron howled in despair, pointing at the door.
Mikael started scrubbing Raphael's back, mindful of the place where the wing joined skin. His tongue stuck out a little as he concentrated in making soapy little designs on Raphael's skin, and the older angel fair purred under the attention. "Ne, Raphael-sama," he ventured, rinsing off his back. "Did you know this whole time?"
Raphael leaned back in the bubble bath so that his head was tucked below Mikael's chin. "Know? I suspected, but I didn't know. And I most certainly didn't expect Most Holy to take advantage of your little quirks. He surprises us all - even the Metatron, I'd wager. But with graffiti, but no other overt hostility, it was clear that someone was just testing the waters. Omael has always been the prize in the tug of war between us and the Unfaithful, and I didn't see why this time should be any different." He didn't voice to Mikael that he had some strong suspicions on the mysterious someone in bed with Omael in hell, and who had been behind the whole plot in the first place.
"Well, it's over and done with," Mikael said with neat finality, moving on to Raphael's shoulders and upper chest, blowing a stray bubble out of his face.
"Ne, Mikael…"
"Hmm?"
"I think my tummy is dirty."
"I'm getting to it. There. Better?"
"No, no, I think the problem is really down farther."
"Do you remember how much water we spilled last time?"
"Shame, Mikael! Get your mind out of the gutter!"
"Gomen ne."
Pause. "You'll note that I didn't fill the bathtub as high this time."
"Sou ka. Ne, Raphael-sama…"
"Nani?"
"I think maybe my stomach is dirty too."
"Hmmm. Better?"
"No, I think we have the same problem, Raphael-sama."
"Then let's take care of it together, shall we?"
For the record, Harukami thinks we should rename this fic, "Several angels molest Mikael in a short while." It kinda looks that way, doesn't it?