Category: Darksiders I & II
Rating: M
Couples: Azrael/Abaddon, mentions of Abaddon/Uriel and Azrael/?
Warnings: AU, Non-con, Yaoi,
Chapter: 1
Copyright: Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me
Author's Note: If you want no Rape, just ignore the non-italic parts and read only the italized ones.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
"Abaddon?" Azrael shuddered lightly at seeing the black wings on his one-time friend. "What…?" Trapped as he was between the floating guardian stones, he could not do much more than turn on the spot to face the former Archangel. His eyes widened slightly at the two red-armoured Dark Angels flanking him.
"I wanted to see you." The aura that kept the Watcher of the Well from moving did not seem to affect the Destroyer as he came to face the blue-clad angel with a few beats of his wings. "I am sorry for this."
"No." Azrael pushed away the outstretched hand. "You are not." His eyes shimmered with pain when he looked at the black wings.
"You could have joined me." Abaddon reminded him, one of his armored hands grabbing the Scholar's arm. "We could have done this together."
"I aided you far too much already." He tried to free his arm, but failed. "I will do no more."
"Then I suppose I will just have to take what I need." The faint remnant of care and kindness had disappeared from the demon's voice. "Remember that one time at the Well of Souls? The first time I took you there…? You were so eager to submit to me then."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
"We are a pathetic duo, are we not?" Abaddon leaned against the wall beside the countless bookcases that made up the room Azrael had built himself near the Well of Souls. It was perfect for watching over the Well… and having privacy.
"I am not so certain I know what you mean." Azrael looked up from the scroll he had been translating.
"Both in love, but either out of reach of the object or simply unwilling to tell anyone who it is." The leader of the Hellguard pointedly looked at the Gatekeeper at that last one. For all his prodding, he had still not learned whom the other hungered for.
"I should not have confided in you." Azrael shook his head in exasperation, putting aside the scroll to look at his guest. "What do you suggest we do? There is no way you can elevate Uriel – talented though she may be - without people asking questions. And I will not act upon my own feelings."
"You mentioned that already." The armored male pushed off from the wall to walk over to the wooden desk. He leaned on it, looking at the scroll in question. He tilted his head so his remaining eye could look at the angel sitting beside him. "Still, I do feel urges."
"You cannot truly be contemplating that we lay together?" Azrael, wisest of all angels in the White City, really did not need to think long to get the hint.
"And you have no urges, my old friend?" One armored hand came to rest on the opposite shoulder, rubbing the blue fabric there. "What harm is there? We would not get into trouble like Hadrimon… We are allowed by the Codex."
Azrael said nothing, staring at the hand on his shoulder. "We are pathetic…" He rose, returning the scroll to where he had gotten from. He gasped lightly when suddenly finding himself being pressed against the cabinet. The sharp edges of the wooden panels dug into his chest as Abaddon's armor pressed against his back. Both took a sharp breath when their wings brushed against the other's, Azrael's just a bit more of a moan than Abaddon's.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
"You can't really intend to do this to me!" Azrael struggled against the two Dark Angels who were holding him immobile. His robes rested in a heap beside them, arms crushed against the ground with the weight of the two red demons. Only his pants remained. "Abaddon!"
A third had appeared as the two had dragged the Scholar down, reverently taking of the armor of the fallen angel.
"Abaddon!" He could not move – and not only because they were holding him down.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
His chest was completely bare, his robes only held around his body by the ornate sash holding them closed. "Abaddon…" His hands trembled as he struggled to remove the many parts of the other's armor. Which was entirely easier said than done considering the General was doing his very best to suck off his ear.
"Yes?" Abaddon whispered against the wet ear.
"Could you perhaps assist me with your armor?" Azrael tried to push the hulking angel away from him to at least being able to reach everything better, but the broader male only chuckled at that.
"You are doing quite well from what I can tell." Pearly teeth nipped at olive skin, pulling gently at the earlobe. He pushed, feeling the other gasp against his bare chest. "What do you offer me for my assistance?"
"A kiss?" The Scholar joked, searching the warrior's lips with his own. Finding them, they warred for dominance even as the armor-pieces fell with greater speed now that four hands were working on them.
Abaddon won the little battle, plundering the mouth of the lithe male in front of him. Azrael's wings were twitching as he brushed over them with his own. The mystic tried to turn the tables, but every time he came close to gaining the dominance, Abaddon would push, making him gasp at the feel of stone against his wings which the General used to plunder his mouth anew. The taste was intoxicating.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
This was not real. This could not be real. The Dark Angels had left, but Abaddon was still very much there. His lips were everywhere on Azrael's body, finding those spots he had discovered in their centuries of mutual vending.
Thrashing, the Scholar tried to dislodge the male on top, only to fail miserably: his strength was still no match for the other.
"Abaddon…" His voice shook. A bare gasp was all he could voice afterwards as the fallen angel used the opportunity to claim his mouth. Tears formed in his eyes.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
The General moaned, one hand clinging to the armrest of the luxurious seat he was on. The other was clutching the silver hair of his partner, struggling to keep from pumping into the hot and moist mouth. "Heaven help me, Azrael, had I known you had this skill, I'd have suggested this earlier…" He barely managed to form the sentence, voice heavy with his arousal.
The Scholar briefly looked up past the muscular arm holding his head, before turning his attention to the hard flesh inside his mouth once again. One of his hands rested on the knee beside him, the other gently stroking the base of Abaddon's cock.
Dragging his teeth along the twitching length, he grinned at the groan of the one it belonged to.
"I won't last long if you continue like this." Gently, with entirely more care than his hands seemed capable off, Abaddon pulled the head away from his crotch, hissing at the cold air hitting his sensitive skin.
"I was not aware this ought to take long." Azrael allowed the other to pull him up, crushing their lips together. Abaddon pulled him onto his lap, hands trailing over the trembling body. The rough calluses of the warrior ignited fire under the soft skin of the Scholar, slender fingers dipping the head of the male on the bottom back to deepen their feverish kisses.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
What once had been a sacred act, showcasing the trust between them, had turned into a tool of humiliation.
Azrael choked, not only on his tears but also the pulsing member of the fallen Angel standing in front of him. He could not breathe...
Cruelly pulling the hair, pumping in and out of the hot mouth without a care for the form kneeling in front of him, Abaddon wondered how he could ever have considered the pathetic angel a friend. Weak… Too weak to take power when it was offered to him.
The hands of the Scholar clutched at his thighs, desperately trying to push him away. Hot tears fell down, occasionally landing on the bare feet below.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
"Do you have oil here somewhere?" Abaddon slowly pumped the erection of the angel clinging to him. They had tried to get to the couch in the corner of the room, but arousal had overwhelmed them not even halfway.
He pushed himself away a bit, looking down on the male beneath him. Azrael's luxurious wings were spread out on the dark-red carpet, twitching at every stroke on his cock. Heaven's finest warrior grinned, squeezing lightly. Heaven's greatest mystic gasped, arching his back as his nails drove themselves into the firm shoulders of Abaddon.
"Oil?" The bulkier male repeated, nipping at the pumping vein in the other's neck. The surprisingly silky skin was drenched with sweat, adding a slight tang of salt to the Gatekeeper's unique taste.
"Second… drawer…" Azrael pointed to a small cabinet just beside the couch. "Wooden bottle." He pulled himself up when Abaddon moved to fetch the bottle, barely getting to the brown-leather couch on shaky legs.
"Why… are you not this affected?" The trembling male demanded when his partner returned to his side, bottle set on the small table in front of them.
"Warriorly endurance." Abaddon grinned, grasping the slender legs of the other in his hands. Spreading them, he lowered his head to return the earlier favor. Azrael moaned, clutching the sides of the couch to keep from sliding down.
He gasped in surprise when something cool caressed his entrance. Abaddon's oiled finger prodded against the ring of muscle, teasing it to relax. "Have you done this before?" The General demanded, abandoning the erection to move up and kiss the Scholar once more.
"Once… long ago…" Azrael admitted softly against the other's lips, caressing the sinewy muscles of the body pushing him down onto the couch. He panted when the finger entered, own hands clinging to the angel.
Abaddon grinned, returning his lips to the ear he had already been molesting when this started. "You should really tell your beloved… It'd be a pity if you can only show this to me."
"It'll never work out." Azrael countered, sighing once ere he turned all of his attention to the neck now bared in front of him. "Make me forget… please."
"Yes."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
He screamed. For the first time in many millennia, Azrael screamed. Fire arched up his spine, the smell of blood filling the air around the pair. One of Abaddon's hands held his hip, the other still clutched his hair, keeping the unfallen angel from moving away.
Azrael clawed at the stone beneath him, vision blurring from the tears he could not stop. The hands moved away and for a brief moment he hoped that the male behind him had come to his senses. He had no such luck: they closed around the base of his wings, using the white appendages as hold.
More pain assailed the Scholar's mind, though he cursed Heaven, Hell and even Creation itself that it was not enough to faint. He wanted this to be over!
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
The couch had proved inadequate for two large-winged angels, so Abaddon had pulled Azrael to the nearest bit of wall that was free of bookcases, cabinets and whatever else the Scholar had stashed here, lifting him up against it. He groaned, deciding that though nothing would be able to ever compare making love to the woman he loved, the male he was currently pumping into was a close second.
Azrael clung to him, legs locked around his waist, one hand holding onto his shoulder and the other trailing all over his body.
The air around them was tingling with the mystic's power as he had started whispering an enchantment that allowed both to feel what the other did the moment Abaddon had pushed into him. It was maddening. The General suspected it was also a measure to keep from accidentally spilling the name of whomever it was the Scholar desired…
He thrust hard again, grinning lightly when the spell suffered a hick-up as Azrael threw his head back with a moan of pleasure. In turn, he was made to shudder when the muscles around his erection tightened, squeezing the life out of him.
Growling, Abaddon crushed his lips against Azrael's as the massive wings of the warrior started to flap, dragging them away from wall and ground both. The scribe's soon joined his, both needed a few moments to find a rhythm that allowed them to remain aloft without hitting the other.
For only a few moments Azrael managed to keep the enchantment going, but soon pleasure took all conscious thought from his mind. With his last bit of sense he latched his lips to Abaddon's neck, burying his moans against the hard muscle.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
He was alone, Abaddon having left him not a few moments ago. His form was trembling with his sobs, pain filling his body at every little move. He tried to get up and reach his clothes to at least cover himself, but could not. A few loose feathers lay around him.
"We'll talk again, Azrael and hopefully you will be wiser then." Abaddon had told him before leaving. The Watcher of the Well had not answered then, but as he remembered those words his hand tightened into a fist.
He looked at his middle, eyes trailing over the bruises and blood covering his olive skin. New blood still ran down his legs from between his buttocks, testimony to exactly how much damage had been done.
The Gatekeeper covered his eyes with his hands, praying to whatever power would take pity on him that this would end soon, one way or another.
It had been two decades since the premature Endwar had devastated Earth.