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Asmodeus is out of control.
Heavens records showed a dramatic increase in lustful temptations outside the usual operations of the seductive Duke of Hell. Usually, such a matter would be handled by a Principality, or a Virtue if they really needed a higher power intervention, but apparently staffing issues have put the matter on Gabriel’s non-existent desk. Abel, the last Virtue to deal with Asmodeus, had put a note in the file that he could no longer handle the demon’s antics. That would mean it went to Abel’s direct superior, who was Michael. Michael, who, also, apparently didn’t want to deal with Asmodeus after some incident in the 1960s that they refused to detail.
A matter of temptation was so far beneath Gabriel’s purview that he nearly threw the file aside, passed it off to Sandalphon, until he saw a name attached to the file.
Isabel Capanelli.
He’d seen her name before as one of those rare humans born into the world with the blessing of the Almighty who, in their life, would do enough good to ascend to the rank of an angel upon her death; a saint in human life. Blessings were important to keep track of, as it was all of Heaven’s jobs to make sure the human in question stayed on the right path, free of temptations. Though sins would be committed—they were still human after all—it was the angels’ jobs to ensure the potential saint sought repentance.
Isabel, it seemed, was slated to be marked by Asmodeus. Without intervention, she would fall into his web of lust, inescapable, spiraling, and not go on to do the wondrous things for humans as the Almighty had planned.
Which left him with no option.
If Michael was not going to handle the demon, then Gabriel had to do it himself; primarily to avoid the paperwork if they lost a golden soul.
Without so much as a word to anyone—he answered to no one but the Metatron and the Almighty Herself—he makes his way to Earth, and the nightclub that Isabel would be visiting that evening: The Gallery.
When Gabriel appears on the street, just outside the nightclub, not a single human spares him a glance, all of them focused on getting into the club in question, refusing to leave the rather generous line. As a group, the humans are dressed in minimal clothing beneath large coats that they keep wrapped around themselves as they shift from foot to foot to stay warm. Temperature isn’t something that he particularly pays attention to, but he does notice he can see the breath of the humans freeze on the air indicating it had to be rather cold.
An imposing man in a black shirt stands at the door, taking cards from the humans to either let them inside or shake his head in denial before sending them away. This man doesn’t blink twice as Gabriel approaches, and does nothing to impede him as he walks into the venue full of booming music and flashing lights. Signs that line the dirty walls inform him the evening is “all about the 90s”, as well as, “ladies drink free until one am”, which seemed to be why the line was so long. He didn’t understand the appeal of human intoxication drinks, but he knew if they were offered free, humans tripped over their feet for them.
Inside the club is filled with humans, packed, crammed, shoulder to shoulder. A large group circles the bar area for their liquor drinks, while just as many stand around circular tables to consume those beverages. The largest group fills an open space, all against each other, arms raised above their heads as they move and gyrate in the manner that they call dancing. Amongst those people are the tendrils of lust, blue and invisible to their eyes as they wrap around them, drawing them in without their knowledge; reeling them in like animals to a slaughter.
Gabriel follows the lines with his eyes as the music above repeats the phrase “be my lover” regularly within its lyrics and the crowds cheer at the song choice. He ignores the chaos as he takes a step down towards the floor for dancing in an attempt to better spot Asmodeus within the clamor. He knew that Asmodeus changed his face regularly, faster than day turned to night. Sometimes he presented in a feminine form and sometimes in a male, it was all a matter of what the humans wanted; that made it harder to identify him.
Only, that seems to be for naught when Gabriel spots the origin of the temptation. They’re a familiar demon, however, tonight, they are dressed in a short black skirt that rests low on their hips and is scandalously short. Straps criss cross their midriff, leading to a top that barely covers the dignity of their female presenting body. Their hair is longer, still dark, falling in waves that move as they raise their arms above their head, moving their hips in sensuous circles. All of that change in appearance aside, there is no mistaking the demonic markings under their eyes that have been present since the moment they changed their face.
Gabriel watches as they rock, roll with the music, moving their waist, their hips to lure in humans, their face locked into one of distant apathy. Both male and female patrons gravitate towards them, many of whom are bold enough to grasp at the waist of the Grand Duke of Hell and dance against them. As if sensing his presence, Beelzebub’s eyes open to find him, and their frown turns into a smirk as they wave in his direction. The human man behind them wraps his arms around their waist, and Beelzebub grabs his hands, moving them away from their body, the haze of lust already thick around the man who will go on to sin unrepentantly for the rest of the evening.
Beelzebub excuses themselves from the floor and makes their way, unimpeded towards Gabriel. They hadn’t spoken since they’d agreed to keep the status quo as it was.
No Armageddon.
No war.
Things operating as they always have, Heaven and Hell working in tandem to keep the balance.
Truth be told, Gabriel had been looking for a reason to see the Prince of Hell for a while now but had yet to find an excuse. Perhaps fates, or the grand design, or the ineffable plan, had put the file on his desk that led him to Beelzebub tonight.
“Spreading the sin of lust now, are you?” He says in lieu of greeting.
Beelzebub rolls their eyes, “Asmodeus is being a child. He was meant to be here to guide one of your righteous to our side—“
“Isabel Capanelli,” Gabriel says and Beelzebub nods.
“—he says he hasn’t received the proper amount of praise for planting the ideas of Tinder, Grindr, and OnlyFans into the minds of humans.”
“Did you remind him how hard you work to keep the status of Hell in balance with Heaven?” Gabriel asks.
“In a manner—“ they say with another smirk that Gabriel interprets to mean there was likely dismemberment involved, “—and you? They’re sending the Supreme Archangel to deal with Asmodeus now?”
Gabriel sighs and shakes his head, “Abel won’t do it, and until we find another Virtue to deal with him, it falls to Michael who is refusing to work Asmodeus’ cases due to some incident in the sixties.”
“Possibly related to orgies—“ Beelzebub says offhandedly with a wave of their hand, “—basically, we’re both here because we’re understaffed and our subordinates are absolute rubbish.”
“That does seem to be the case,” Gabriel agrees, and wonders why their sense of camaraderie always made his corporale form’s heart beat a slight tick faster. He takes a moment to look at Beelzebub whose attention has turned away from him and back to the dance floor. Specifically to the young woman who is dancing with a group of other ladies, bouncing up and down as they yell “spice up your life” to the music, all of them laughing, having fun, and living life as they knew it. From where he stands, he sees Isabel remains untouched by the sin of lust, and her light still burns bright amongst the darkness around her. “I like your other hair better.”
“Mmh,” Beelzebub hums.
“Your shorter hair—it suits you more—“
Gabriel looked at them, dressed as they were to match the humans around them, and felt it just didn't fit them. He likes Beelzebub as he normally sees them in their ridiculous fly hats, and their black coat with red sash and crown clips to mark them as the prince they are. The demon who cared less about if they blended in with humanity or not.
He’s an angel.
He’s incapable of lying, even within his own thoughts.
Beelzebub reaches up, pulling at one of the waves to look at it, “Your future angel likes women with longer hair—“
“Appealing to her specifically then?”
“That tends to be how we do it,” Beelzebub says with a sigh, “It seems I won’t be winning her over tonight, and I’ve grown bored of this place.”
Gabriel glances down at them, and they glance back up at him with the barest hint of a smile; he liked their smile, “You’ll be back, I’m sure.”
“If Asmodeus continues to refuse to do his job, then yes, I will.”
Michael was sure to continue to refuse to do theirs, and Gabriel thinks it wouldn’t be the worst thing if he met Beelzebub again. They seemed to be the only being in existence to understand how taxing it was to be the ruling entity of their realm. The only being to understand the depth of what Gabriel felt day and in day out.
“Then I have no choice but to thwart you.”
Beelzebub places a hand on his arm, patting it patronizingly as they go to walk away from him, “You can try, angel.”
He places his hand over theirs, “Challenge accepted.”
***
The next dance club Isabel finds herself at is called: Sapphire Jade.
When Gabriel arrives the line is just as long as it had been at the other club he’d been forced to visit with just as many humans eager to get in. Like the other club, a man stands outside the door to check cards to either admit people, or turn them away and just as before Gabriel walks right by him into the club’s interior.
This club, unlike the other, is cleaner except for the floors that are coated with glitter and confetti. A running theme in these establishments seems to be, appropriately, a theme night to lure in patrons. Tonight, flyers tell guests to “party like it's the end of the world” with the date for the year two thousand plastered everywhere in the form of bunting and balloons and absurd glasses that humans wear on their faces. Humans weave past him, toting drinks in a myriad of colors as they sing the noise above to each other with laughter.
He walks further and further into the club until he finds the dancing floor where the blue haze of lust is already quick at work and he’s able to follow it, easily, back to the source where Beelzebub stands. This time, the demon has donned a green dress, the straps of which are wrapped around their neck, leaving their back bare, revealing a set of scars that are likely not visible to human eyes. Gabriel had heard that when an angel fell, part of that punishment was having their skin seared, over their wings, so that, no matter how much time passed, it would hurt to extend them; one of the Almighty's crueler punishments in Gabriels’ opinions. Interestingly, out of all the marks carved into their body by Hell, these scars were the only ones the demon could not hide.
There’s the distinct urge to reach out, to rub his fingers over those scars to see if the flesh was tender, or if he could ease the hurt that resided there. Doing so without permission, however, would be exceedingly rude. An angel’s wings were a private thing, and fallen or not, he would extend that same courtesy to Beelzebub that he would an angel.
The long hair Beelzeub has chosen for the evening, to appeal to Isabel, brushes right above their scars, and once again, is styled in waves. Hair that dances as they move to the music, spreading lust with the smallest of looks towards a human. A roll of their hips captures another. A brush of a sharp claw disguised as a nail down the cheek of a man has his soul tainted in seconds. A turn of their wrist, and more than one human’s attention is drawn to them, and the blue haze becomes brighter than the flashing rainbow lights above.
It was—
—rather interesting to see how fast humans could fall with the tiniest gestures.
So focused on the Prince of Hell, Gabriel almost forgets what he is there to do until Isabel bumps into Beelzebub—an encounter undoubtedly manufactured by the demon—and begins to profusely apologize. Her eyes take in Beelzebub’s appearance and whatever they see has blue creeping into their reddening cheeks. Beelzebub has found the right bait for Isabel, and her golden aura begins to fade ever so slightly.
Gabriel, remembering what he is there for, approaches the two, the humans around them parting like Moses split the Red Sea.
“—if you’d like to dance—or can I buy you a drink?—well—uh—get you a drink—they’re free until midnight—you know—Y2K—“ Isabel stutters, clearly flustered by Beelzebub and the blue fog over her eyes extends a bit further.
“Ah, there you are,” Gabriel says as he steps up to them, placing his hand on Beelzebub’s waist and their eyes snap up to him, narrowed in a silent threat. A threat he ignores in favor of analyzing the feel of Beelzebub under his grasp. Their waist is smaller than he expected, they’re also shorter than he realized, and he thinks, if he pulled them in, that they’d fit perfectly against him.
Those were dangerous thoughts.
“Gabriel—“ Beelzebub says in warning as he apparently subconsciously acted and reeled them in a bit closer.
Very slightly, the blue recedes and Isabel looks from Gabriel to Beelzebub and back again.
“Oh my—“ Isabel’s checks redden, bright, glowing, not from arousal for the demon in front of her but embarrassment, “—I didn’t even ask if you were single—I just assumed—I’m so stupid—“
“I am single—“ Beelzebub says, “—don’t mind him—he’s an old—“ they look up at him as if searching for the right word and Gabriel smiles, “—advisory—“
“They’re being modest,” he says, “We’ve known each other for ages,”
Isabel’s eyes widen and the blue haze goes away almost completely, her golden aura brightening once again as she covers her face, “I am so sorry! I completely assumed your gender because—“ she motions, up and down with her hand at Beelzebub’s outward female appearance, “—oh my god, please forgive me! I wasn’t trying to—I just—I’m going to go dig a hole and jump in now—“
Gabriel smiles and reaches out with his left hand—his right hand still on Beelzebub’s waist who continues to glare at him with no heat—and places it on Isabel’s head, “You are forgiven, Isabel. You are blessed and as you study, your pursuits will be fruitful.”
It would take another forty years, which was a long time in human time, but he knew, as pre-ordained, it would be worth the struggles.
The blue lines of lust disappear entirely from Isabel, and the girl turns away from them, to take off running into the crowd. A moment later, an elbow is shoved into his side hard enough to make him stumble back, his corporale form registering the pain meant to accompany the assault.
“Congratulations, in seventy years, her heart will beat it’s last and Heaven will receive a new angel.”
Beelzebub turns away from him to make their way off the dance floor. Gabriel turns to follow them and notices that despite their apparent annoyance with him, they don’t seem all that angry.
“Green isn’t really your color,” he says as Beelzebub continues towards the doors of the club, a few girls turn to look at them as they pass, and he sees the sin of envy begin to take hold without any work from the Lord of Flies.
“I didn’t ask,” they say as they step outside, their corporale form’s appearance shifting from the green club dress to that of their usual black uniform. They snap their coat sharply into place, their red sash wrapping their body, cravat held around their neck with a crown pin. All of which is completed with a bowler hat atop their messily chopped short hair, the flies above buzzing animatedly.
“Where are you going?” He asks as Beelzebub looks both ways up the street and begins to walk, seemingly without a particular direction in mind; Gabriel follows behind them.
“Why are you following?” Beelzebub retorts over their shoulder as they continue down the sidewalk, into the night of a city that never seemed to be asleep. Humans stumble by—several intoxication drinks already coursing through their system—in search of more to pour into themselves. Others avoid eye contact as they try to remain as inconspicuous as possible, and brush much too close to other humans. Several humans stand on the edge of sidewalks, waving down yellow vehicles and cursing the name of God when the drivers of those vehicles ignore them.
“A demon is loose in the city, I do believe it’s my job to make sure they’re not spreading sin unfettered,” Gabriel responds as a human bumps into him and he feels a hand slip into his pocket in search of something. He hears them curse when they find nothing to pilfer from him. Another human comes close to him, smiling, her eyes hooded as she slides some kind of paper card into his pocket with a wink. Each human, more than the next, is reeking with sin, and Gabriel can admit, he didn’t realize how fermented some cities were; he didn’t spend enough time on Earth, it seemed.
“Shit!” Beelzebub curses which draws his attention to them where they hop from foot to foot, trying to keep their balance, “Shit! Shit! What the hell? Shit?!” they curse and fall against an iron fence that makes them scream out and curse again, drawing several looks from people, many of whom stop to watch.
Gabriel looks around, quickly to find they’re near a private school—ironically it seems to be called St. Gabriel’s Private Christian Academy—he can see a church on the property, can hear the toll of bells from within the blessed grounds, but rarely did those blessings extend outside the bounds of a fence. Perhaps, at one point, the concrete had not been there and the grounds extended further out. Maybe the priest that resided there had, even the outside blessed, for just the occasion; insurance that they were safe from demons. Whatever the case maybe, the fact remained that the blessings reach was wide, and they had just blindly walked onto consecrated ground which was causing Beelzebub an immense amount of pain.
He walks to them, and kneels in front of them without a thought to offer his back to them.
“W-what are y-you doing?” They curse between hisses as the blessed road continues to burn them.
“Climb on—“
He’s met with silence that extends beyond their annoyed buzzing.
“—I can help you—unless you want to continue to hop around—“
Beelzebub curses again and Gabriel looks back at them, seeing their eyes physically debating which wound would be deeper, the burns on their feet, or the cut to their pride. Apparently, the physical harm of the holy ground is the answer as they climb onto his back without another protest, their arms wrapping around his neck, legs around his hips. He locks his arms around their thighs, securing them as he rises, lifting them safely from the ground, and continues to walk the path Beelzebub had set out.
“The grounds must have extended further at some point,” Beelzebub reasons echoing Gabriel’s thoughts, “The blessing doesn’t fade if they change the property line—“
“No,” Gabriel agrees, “The church would have to be destroyed for the blessing to disappear completely.”
Beelzebub hums behind him as they shift on his back, unwilling to let go as they continue to walk the sidewalk outside the school grounds, and Gabriel rather likes them against his back. They’re warm, comfortable, and make his body tingle in the strangest ways. He even feels their breath against his ear, which must be intentional as neither one of them really breathed unless they specifically wanted to.
“—oh my Hell—“ Beelzebub says and Gabriel is about to ask what’s wrong when he sees what has caused the reaction. A tableau of stained glass on one side of the school depicts the Archangels across three windows, one each for Michael, Uriel, and himself in an array of rainbow colors. Michael looks nothing like the actual Michael. The depiction features them heavily more masculine then they are, with much shorter hair, a style they haven’t worn in at least five hundred years. They’re dressed in armor, golden and scaled with cloth draped over them, and their wings on full display. Again, the clothing is horribly outdated and Michael was not one to wear armor, they didn’t like the bulkiness of it. He also knew them to be particularly stingy about their wings, and would doubt they’d ever have visited humanity with them drawn.
Uriel, on the other hand, is depicted all wrong in his opinion. The Uriel in the glass has long flowing red hair and the only time Gabriel recalls them having a different color than dark brown was a period where they had blonde some four thousand years ago. Hair aside, the colorful robes, like Michael’s were so out of date that Gabriel had to close his eyes to try and remember if they ever wore pink or purple with their angelic robes. Blue, for a short time. Gold for an even shorter time, but never something as vibrant as pink or purple. Like Michael, Uriel is depicted with their wings drawn, their golden aura bright around them to give their halo a distinct shine. First off, their halos didn’t float above their heads as depicted; there was an effort involved to reveal them. That aside, Uriel was probably even more stubborn than Michael when it came to their wings and only the Almighty, Herself, would likely ever see them.
Gabriel, however, thinks his face shape is rather accurate if not strong enough in the jaw. His hair is brown and longer, like he’d worn it before the birth of Christ, and he’s depicted as wearing his white angelic robes along with a robe of blue that makes him look more like the Virgin Mary then himself. Heaven, as a whole, was rather monochromatic—grays, whites, and occasionally gold—and humans didn’t seem to realize that. He, personally, wore a lavender tie, and had once wore periwinkle, but nothing was loud and ostentatious as the dark blues, reds, and purples as depicted in the glass of him and his fellow Archangels.
“Are you just going to keep staring at yourself?”
“You know—” Gabriel says as he slowly begins to walk away, “—there’s a statue of me in Edinburgh, I think it captures me a bit more faithfully than this artist's rendering,” he shares as they begin to move further away from the consecrated ground, closer to safe ground for Beelzebub to walk upon. “I’d love to take you to see it.”
He feels Beelzebub’s arms tighten around his neck, one of their claws brushes close to his throat as they say, barely above a whisper, “Would you?”
“Just—you and me—and a nighttime visit to a graveyard.”
“How romantic.”
“Is it?”
“That was sarcasm, angel,” Beelzebub sighs and he feels them shift on his back, “I think we’re off that blessed land now—so you can put me down—“
“Are you sure?” Gabriel asks as he walks a bit further as a group of humans pass them, all of them laughing as they give their friend in the middle a hard time about not liking musicals. He keeps going, without complaint from Beelzebub, until he sees a bench, across a street, and more than far enough from blessed ground. Once he’s in front of the seat, he allows Beelzebub down, and they almost seem reluctant to let him go as they come off his back to sit down for a moment with a groan of pain.
Gabriel kneels and reaches for their foot; Beelzebub’s breath notably hitches.
“What are you doing?” They ask, and Gabriel glances up at them to see their eyes rapidly moving as if searching his face.
“I can heal you.”
“They’ll heal themselves,” Beelzebub replies quickly, reaching their hand out to place on his shoulder, “Holy damage just takes longer.”
Though the words aren’t said, Gabriel understands what Beelzebub is saying.
Don’t kneel for me.
Don’t prostrate yourself before a demon.
Jesus, son of the Almighty, had once knelt before his apostles to wash their feet as a display of humility, forgiveness and love for them. When a being, human or celestial, kneeled before a demon, especially the Prince of Hell, it could only be seen as a sign of fealty. Gabriel, an equal in his right, as a Prince of Heaven, kneels before Beelzebub out of concern for someone worthy of his attention.
He carefully removes their shoe and distinctly, he hears Beelzebub stop breathing altogether, no longer making an effort to imitate humanity. Their eyes, however, watch him, unblinking, as he takes in the state of the burns, red and angry, left behind by a careless jaunt into holy land. As they said, their body is healing itself, slowly, but surely as the most outer of burns begin to fade into nothing.
“Gabriel—“ they say his name, in not a warning, or a curse, but something else entirely as he leans forward and places a gentle kiss to the side of their foot to allow a gentle miracle to take hold. To an outsider, what he had done would seem like an act of contrition, but to Gabriel it was—
—affection.
He healed Beelzebub because they were—special(?)—to him, and he did not want to see them in pain.
When he glances back to them, their dark eyes still watch him, just as unblinking, their breath absent as they watch him and he’s met with a distinct urge to do as humans do. He’d seen it several times when on Earth, and even in The Sound of Music , but until now, he’d never seen the appeal. Until now, he’d never thought: I’d like to touch my lips to another’s.
Gabriel was curious.
He wanted to know what it would feel like.
He moves forward only to be stopped by Beelzebub who places a finger to his lips.
“—if you do that—you’ll make traitors of both of us—“ they say, words so quiet they’d be inaudible if he were anything but celestial.
The important thing that he notes is that Beelzebub explicitly said the word “both”. Which, suggested to him, that Beelzebub seems to have just as tumultuous thoughts as well. They can’t know the nature of his thoughts—mind reading, as he knew, wasn’t a demon talent—so they were implying they were already a traitor. Both he and Beelzebub had collaborated to stop any future Armageddons, in that, they were traitors.
But this, here and now, was a step further, a different kind of treachery. One that took Gabriel’s heart and loyalty away from the Almighty to offer it up to someone else; a demon, no less.
Gabriel reaches forward to caress Beelzebub’s cheek who visibly nuzzles into his touch and his heart soars as he leans in again, drawing them closer, “What if I already am? A traitor—that is—“
Beelzebub’s eyes widen and before he can feel their lips, or another word is said, they disappear a pop of green smoke, leaving him alone on the human city street.
***
The next time he is forced to come to Earth due to a surge of lustful temptations, he loses interest quickly.
Backroom is the name of the club where the spike of sin is centered upon and the moment he arrives, he can tell immediately that it’s not Beelzebub spreading the sin of lust, but Asmodeus himself is back at it. Gabriel only has to watch the front door for a matter of humans seconds before he sees the demon in question step out of the door in a female body. He’s sporting blonde hair, and a scandalous red dress that does little to nothing to project the modesty of the corporale form he wore. Unlike Beelzebub who dealt with the sin in almost a methodical, apathetic approach, Asmodeus is all laughs, and titers that have the group of men that follow him tripping over themselves.
He weaves seduction as a master wields a brush against canvas, and the surge of energy the demon receives is likely enough to sustain him for centuries to come.
Gabriel almost doesn’t care enough to discoporate the Duke of Hell. Except, Asmodeus isn’t the demon Gabriel was wanting to see, and that alone was sin enough to send him right back to Hell. Additionally, if Gabriel let him continue on, the paperwork would be mountainous, and he wouldn’t have a valid reason for letting him go.
He crosses the streets, traffic yielding to him with a blare of horns as he approaches the demon who is propositioning several men at once for the evening. “Asmodeus—“
Asmodeus glances over at him, the side of his red painted lips quirking upwards, “Supreme Archangel Gabriel, to what do I, a lowly Duke of Hell, owe the pleasure?”
“You’re to return to Hell, immediately.”
Red eyes look to him, then to the men that surround him, and back again, weighing his options, “No, I don’t think I will—“ he dismisses as he turns back to the human man whose hand is moving downward towards Asmodeus’ backside. Gabriel sighs in exasperation, and raises his hand to cast the demon forcibly back to Hell when Asmodeus suddenly snaps his head to look at Gabriel again, red eyes glowing, “—well—well—well—-“
Gabriel raises a brow.
“I felt that, Supreme Archangel—yes—not even an angel can hide from me—“
Gabriel doesn’t justify that with an response and moves his hand only to stop when Asmodeus appearance flashes from the blonde haired women he was portraying into Beelzebub and Gabriel—
—Gabriel hesitates.
He knows it’s not Beelzebub.
This is just a guise.
Yet, a part of him stops himself from casting a likeness of the Grand Duke back to the pits of Hell.
The fake Beelzebub’s lips part in a large smile before they begin to laugh, loud and hearty in a voice that isn’t their own. “How—brilliant—“ he says through his guffaws, wiping at his eyes, “—Lord Beelzebub is the one you desire—Lord Beelzebub!”
The laughter does not cease, each sound contorting the face of Beelzebub into something unrecognizable until, without warning, it stops and flames lick up from the bottom of the Earth, forcibly pulling Asmodeus down with a scream. The humans who had been caught within the lustful demon’s spell look confused for a moment, before turning away to find another bed to warm for the evening.
“You hesitated,” Beelzebub says as they appear next to him and he glances down at them.
“I—“
“Asmodeus won’t be let out of Hell anytime in the near future, rest assured,” Beelzebub says and turns away from him, walking down the street like they had done before in their last meeting. Walking aimlessly in the shadow of Earth’s night sky with no destination in mind: Gabriel immediately follows.
His stride is much longer than Beelzebub’s and he catches up to the demon easily, coming to walk side by side with them, in a relatively comfortable silence. Since the last time they’d been on Earth together, the air around them had warmed, lending to more humans being out and about. More humans of all ages, running the streets, refusing to take part in the human nightly ritual of sleeping. Lights stay on in houses longer, and music seems to come from all corners of the city accented by laughter, and humans screams of the lyrics, badly out of tune.
“—it was my face—“ Beelzebub says, after they’ve walked a decent distance, far enough for tall buildings to make way for trees and open paths where several humans jog, music in their ears, and focus straight ahead. Several humans walk by with dogs who bark at both Gabriel and Beelzebub to the confusion of their human owners. People ride by on bikes while other humans walk past them, arm in arm, hand in hand, lost in a world of their own where only the two exist.
“Hm?” Gabriel hums.
Beelzebub sighs, and shakes their head, “It’s nothing—a hopeful thought really—“
“Hm?” He hums again and looks down at them, Beelzebub’s eyes right ahead, as if avoiding looking at him and he’s struck by a thought. Beelzebub had said it was their face, the one that Asmodeus had worn to mock him, it had been Beelzebub’s face. Gabriel had a desire that the demon could feed on, and that desire had taken the shape of Beelzebub.
He had to wonder what exactly it was Beelzebub was thinking at that moment.
He does not ask, and instead, continues to walk beside them.
They’re wandering brings them, yet again, somewhere new, where trees give way to a fountain, the water pouring over the edges of concrete to trickle down in a soothing cadence. Lights warm the area in a golden glow, and somewhere a cicada sings softly. In front of the fountain is a human woman in a white dress, her hair twisted in complex shapes against her head with flowers holding it in place. Beside her is a man in a black tuxedo, a flower in his lapel to match hers, as they both lean over another human to review the recording box in his hands.
Whatever is on the box is not good enough as the woman in white says they have to do it again.
“This is going to be played at our reception, so it has to be perfect,” she declares, loud enough to echo in the entire area, “Look at me with more love—this is for our wedding day—“
“Sweetheart, the love got tired about two hours ago—“
“If we get it this time, I swear we’ll go back to the hotel—“ the human woman bargains and her male companion sighs.
They step together, the woman places her hand in the man’s, his other hand going to her waist as the man with the recording box presses something in his hand to start soft music as the couple begin to sway left to right. It was Beelzebub who encouraged him to listen closer to songs; they carried messages in a tuneful way. This song that the couple danced to told a message of love and devotion, deep and unending.
I want to vanish inside your kiss—
—everyday I love you more and more.
“She seems annoyed with him—“ Beelzebub comments as the man leans down to kiss his human companion before raising their hands to spin them. “—it has to be perfect. She reeks of envy—of a friend, it seems—“
Gabriel looks down at them, and Beelzebub glances back.
Suddenly my life doesn’t seem such a waste—
—it all revolves around you.
Ah.
“Would you like to dance?”
Beelzebub tilts their head, “Angels don’t dance.”
“I’ve seen The Sound of Music ?” He replies and holds his hand out to Beelzebub who looks at it for a moment, before placing their own in his, allowing him to pull them closer. He remembers the scene where Maria dances with Captain Von Trapp and there’s a moment that passes between them. Their eyes make contact as they circle each other and Gabriel had never really understood the importance of the scene until now, when he has Beelzebub so close.
“Have you?”
He nods as Beelzebub takes his opposite hand and places it at their waist, and places their own hand on his shoulder. As in time with the music as he can, he moves his feet from left to right, and back again, which apparently isn’t exactly right as Beelzebub chuckles, their hand squeezing his. They don’t, however, make a move to correct him, and continue to follow his swaying. Like the humans, he lifts Beelzebub’s hand over their hand to spin them, and Beelzebub, not really realizing what he’s doing, doesn’t yield to the spin and they end up tangled around his arm. Both of them laugh at one another as they stumble around getting back around. Which results in them both kind of tripping into each other, Beelzebub crashing into his chest.
“Seems neither of us are dancers,” Beelzebub says as the song behind them restarts and the woman in white, asks for one more re-do.
“It was nice, regardless,” he says and wraps his arms around them, rather liking the feel of them being so close.
Listen to my heart—
—can’t you hear it sings—
—telling me to give you everything.
The song behind them sings and Gabriel chuckles as Beelzebub shifts in his arms, using their hands to press against his chest and move back slightly.
“Gabriel—what are we doing—?”
“We were dancing,” he answers.
“Not the dancing—“ they say, and Gabriel can feel a buzz in their chest, still so close to him. “—I’m talking about—the way you’re looking at me—“
He blinks down at them, quick and rapid, “How am I looking at you?”
“—like—I’ve made a traitor out of you just by existing—“
Ah.
Well, he supposes that isn’t a completely inaccurate statement.
Whatever it was he was feeling towards the demon would certainly be considered treachery. It was like his wings were beating, but in the pit of his stomach, where he could do nothing to control it. As if he were flying out of control in an endless spiral and nothing but the ground would stop him. Every rush of his heart, every moment that it beats, is usually around Beelzebub, ever since they met to discuss Armageddon or well, no Armageddon, in their case.
“Would that be such a bad thing?”
“Yes!” Beelzebub exclaims, “I’m already a demon, Gabriel, there’s not much they can do to me, but if Heaven finds out about— this— they could—they could cast you out.”
“There are worse things—“ Gabriel admits, “—like never knowing how deep these—feelings run—or never seeing you again—“
“Silly angel—“ they sigh, and their head drops against his chest, “—I—why do you—“ they say, apparently unable to find the words to clearly articulate what they mean. “The worst thing they could do to me is—take you away from me, Gabriel—“
“No one is going to take me away from you.”
“Because Heaven has always been so easy to reason with.”
Gabriel reaches out to caress the side of Beelzebub’s face, who looks up at him, “I am the Supreme Archangel, aside from the Almighty, I am the highest authority in Heaven—“
“—and if the Metatron—the other Archangels—the Almighty, Herself, finds out—they can cast you out— “
“Then let them,” he says, putting his foot down, “Since creation, I have done what has been prescribed to me. Gone along with every want and whim of the Almighty. Delivered Her messages and weaved myself through the ineffable plan flawlessly—and for once, in all of time, I am—I want to take selfishly for myself—“
Suddenly, without preamble, Beelzebub demands, “Kiss me.”
Gabriel finds his eyes drifting down to Beelzebub’s lips, then back to their eyes, and back again. Their lips look soft, with the barest hint of red like that of an apple waiting for a bite that he wishes to take.
“A temptation?”
“A request,” Beelzebub says and takes a step closer to him, rising to the tip of their toes to come closer to his own lips. “—if you—if you feel what I feel—and we’re already traitors—might as well—“
Whatever the rest of Beelzebub’s thought was, it’s cut off, swiftly by Gabriel who takes the invitation as offered and presses his lips to theirs instantly igniting a flame inside him that burns hot, bright, and powerful. With just a simple press of their lips, something altogether new is alighted inside of him and he feels his body move without a command from his mind; his lips moving against Beelzebub’s in a gentle dance.
Beelzebub’s arms wrap around his neck, their fingers through his hair, a brush of their claws against his scalp and kiss him back with a passion that has their hearts beating in tandem.
When they pull back from the kiss, it’s slowly, reluctantly, and Gabriel opens his eyes first to see Beelzebub’s eyes still closed, as if they are lost in the moment, drowning in the affection and unwilling to let go as if they think it can’t be real. Gabriel knows, because it’s what he’s feeling. Everything about this moment is too amazing, perfect, and wonderful to be real, and yet, he does not sleep as humans do, and this can not be a dream.
Their eyes slowly open, dark, and hazed, and focused solely on him.
“I do,” Gabriel says, “Feel what you feel—I think, where you are, Beelzebub, may be the true definition of Heaven.”
“Wherever you are, Gabriel, is forever my Hell—“
“Then—“ Gabriel says as he reaches into his coat, miracling a rose to appear, withdrawing it slowly from within his coat to reveal the voluminous purple bloom which he presents to Beelzebub, “—let us be us, and we’ll figure out the rest as it comes.”
Beelzebub reaches out to take the flower which they examine closely with the softest smile.
“We’ll figure out the rest as it comes—“ they agree and reach up to bring him down into another perfect kiss as the park around them becomes alive with purple roses.