Michael leaned over the side of the bed, feeling the sticky humid press of a body beside him. Raphael was splayed face-up on the big soft bed, his head dangling off the edge. His hair hung limply in clumps, nearly sweeping the ground.
His long pale neck was exposed, cream and whipcord muscle, as if stretched out for sacrifice. Begging for a cold knife or a warm mouth.
He
was squinting up at the ceiling, pupils (the colour of sea ice) contracted,
trying to see something that wasn't there. A cigarette burned between his thumb
and forefinger, the smoke a thin lazy trail that streamed from somewhere on the other side
of Raphael's body, stretching upwards.
Had enough, Michael asked.
/No/
Yes, he replied, getting up. His thighs and groin felt sticky. He combed back
the sweaty tangle of hair that had plastered itself to his face with his
fingers.
You should go take a shower, he heard Michael say, seeing that elfin face
scrunch up in distaste, the dragon on his cheek twist and coil up as if it was
alive. You stink.
He waved his hand irritably, searching for his clothes. I don't need a lecture
from you, Mika-chan.
Don't call me Mika-chan, Michael bit off, knowing that it would probably spur
him on. And you /do/ smell.
Why, he asked placidly. Are you jealous?
He pacified the cowering angel who had been hiding in a corner of the room all
this while (where Michael had thrown her) shooing her out of his room with a few
choice words and a firm dismissal. She wrapped what was left of the bed sheet
tightly around her, looking back fearfully at Michael, who shifted to a
half-crouch on the bed, growling and showing his teeth as if he might eat her
up.
She shrieked, a thin fearful cry, and fled from Raphael's arms.
You didn't have to do that, Raphael chided, still naked, sweat barely beginning
to dry.
She's
just entertainment.
You should know better than to sleep around, Michael insisted, sitting up on the
bed, watching as Raphael put his clothes on.
There was a sullen silence as Raphael pointedly refused to look at him,
preferring to whisper to himself under his breath.
Michael was on him even before he could blink, his body weight slamming him
backwards. His back thumped against the wall, and he gasped as the breath was
knocked out of him.
I told you not to mention his name, he heard Michael scream. A fist slammed into
his face.
/I told you/
Raphael managed to laugh out loud before he lost consciousness.