Title: Almost Home
Author: Amaranti
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Sebastian/Blaine, Blaine/Kurt
Warnings: Rough sex. Um... maybe slightly disturbing images? A bit of dub-con but not really. It's about an angel and a demon, so...
Summary: AU. Blaine is an angel who can't go back to Heaven, and Sebastian is the demon who finds him. Written for the Seblaine Biweekly Challenge.
There's a young barista who is in love with Blaine, a beautiful fragile thing, a boy with a smile that could destroy kingdoms if only it didn't belong to a human and a gentle hand that smells like roasted coffee beans and the slow, slow, slow decay of flesh.
His name is Kurt Hummel, and he wants to be a singer, and he doesn't want his father to die, and Blaine loves him in the only way an angel can love a human; like a human loves a doll.
"Are angels all sad?" Kurt wonders one grey afternoon as he throws bread crumbs for the doves gathering around them. "Can't a human… can't I make you happy?"
Blaine caresses Kurt's cheek with the back of his hand, relishes in the soft warmth of his skin, watches Kurt lean into the touch, unsure yet full of trust in that way only a human can be, poor desperate creatures.
"You do make me happy, Kurt. Like the scent of coffee, the taste of cheesecake, the sight of the freshly fallen snow makes you happy."
Kurt laughs then, a sharp unhappy sound that frightens the doves away.
"How cruel… Are angels not supposed to be kind?"
Blaine lets his arm fall to his side, pushes his hand into the pocket of his coat, thinks: This is my kindness.
"Be happy, Kurt Hummel."
And Blaine lets the boy go, walks away from him, throws his doll away and saves him from spending his lifetime – a blink of an eye for an immortal being – trying to love an angel.
"You too!" Blaine hears Kurt cry after him, his voice strong even with the cold autumn wind blowing around them, making the leaves dance like puppets on strings. "You should be happy too!"
Blaine doesn't smile, doesn't turn around.
Angels are not meant to be happy.
Blaine doesn't visit the café anymore, but he hears it one afternoon in the small public library, terrified whispers and voices shaking with terror. That the pretty young barista is in hospital, a mysterious illness, no signs of violence, no knife or bullet or poison, slowly but surely wilting away on an iron bed with white bedclothes, like a flower with a worm eating away at its roots.
So Blaine goes to the hospital, and sees the boy, eyes closed, his face resembling marble and porcelain. Blaine can feel the cloying scent, sweet and bitter, young flowers of spring and the blood of innocents, a scent that no human could ever smell everywhere around the boy, clinging to his skin and to his soul, like vultures on carrion.
It's the mark of a demon, and Blaine feels confused for the first time in perhaps a hundred years; humans can't confuse him, silly little things they are, but there is a demon in this village and Blaine couldn't sense their presence.
Angels are meant to protect humans from demons.
Blaine presses his hand against Kurt's chest, feels his heart beat weakly, tiredly, the rhythm of an exhausted old man's heart instead of a young man's, full of hopes and plans. Blaine frowns, and lets the power of celestial light flow out of his hand and rush through Kurt's body; wake him up with a jolt and a little whimper.
Kurt stares up at him, eyes wide and full of the remaining darkness of the demon, a frightened child waking up from a nightmare.
"I don't remember what happened," Kurt whispers, glancing around, his chest heaving and his fingers trembling until Blaine takes them into his hands.
"You will be fine," Blaine promises him.
The demon finds Blaine, knocks on his door, no thunder or spiders on the wall, no frightened horse neighing on the dark streets or blood starting the pour from the fountain of the Market Square.
"Not a fan of theatricality, dear sir?" Blaine smiles at the demon wearing the body of a tall, handsome boy, with coiffed brown hair and pretty green eyes.
"The angel of the village," the demon sneers, showing Blaine sharp ivory teeth, fangs made of nightmares, before twisting his red lips into a playful grin, the edges tainted with darkness. "People here can't stop talking about you, in the tavern, in the library, on the streets. Blaine Anderson? Oh, he is so handsome, in such an otherworldly way. They say when you sing your voice is as beautiful as a dream. You…"
"What do you want, you fiend?" Blaine snaps. "Why did you hurt that human?"
The demon shrugs, his lovely green eyes deceptively innocent as he blinks down at Blaine.
A viper taking its time.
"Sebastian Smythe," the demon extends a white-gloved hand. Blaine swallows painfully as he feels himself want to fall onto his knees. The demon is powerful, and Blaine isn't. Not anymore. "Call me Sebastian. I want you. I will not kill your human if you become mine."
And a true angel, perhaps, would have laughed and hit the demon, would have flown away, up up up the heavens. But Blaine can't, not anymore, and so he stands there like a statue, silent and waiting, and Sebastian is waiting too.
For the boy Blaine wouldn't have sacrificed his… what? Virtue? Dignity? Innocence? He had none of those. Not anymore.
For the boy Blaine wouldn't have agreed to be with Sebastian, but the demon's hand touches his face, his fingers warm, so horribly and blessedly warm, warmer than any candle or the ray of the sun in the realm of mortals, and Blaine is defeated. Just a gentle little touch and he belongs to this demon, and the demon smirks wickedly; he knows it too.
Blaine lets Sebastian throw him onto his bed, lets him crawl on top of him, lets him throw his cravat away and nuzzle greedily against his throat, like an animal that can't decide where to start devouring its pray. Blaine feels disoriented, bile rising in his throat as Sebastian grabs his chin, forces his lips to open for him, thrusts his tongue inside, scorching the roof of Blaine's mouth and making him whimper in pain. Blaine presses his back against the bed, wanting to sink into it, wanting to disappear. It's too much.
It makes Sebastian laugh and slip his hand under Blaine's undershirt, fingernails – claws – digging into soft, vulnerable skin, drawing blood, drawing angry red patterns onto the canvas of Blaine's stomach.
"Where are your wings?" Sebastian growls, pushing his hand into Blaine's curls and yanking hard, forcing a little undignified moan out of Blaine's throat at the sharp pain. "Angel, where is your halo?"
Blaine doesn't answer.
Sebastian leans back, drags Blaine up, pushes him against the headboard, the back of Blaine's head hitting the hard wood and making him cry out.
"When was the last time," Sebastian begins, lips moving against Blaine's cheek as he speaks, too hot breath pouring onto sensitive skin, "you had someone inside you?"
Angels are not creatures without carnal desires, because they wouldn't be paragons of virtue if they couldn't be tempted. Angels, demons, humans; they all feel want.
But angels shouldn't…
Sebastian takes his own cock into his hand, and Blaine thinks; isn't it funny, that he is still wearing his gloves on one hand, like he doesn't want to touch himself with his bare hand, like he, a demon, thinks it's filthy.
And Blaine doesn't think it is filthy enough not to taste, not to let it taint his lips. Sebastian pushes into his mouth, his heady taste overwhelming Blaine, his lips stretched painfully wide, his eyes tearing up as Sebastian fucks his mouth, rough and uncaring.
There's a fire starting to burn inside him now, a tentative flame flickering to life.
Sebastian pulls out of his mouth and rubs the tip of his dick against Blaine's swollen, hurting lips, and Blaine stares up at him with wet, wondering eyes.
"You are pretty, Blaine," Sebastian tells him, sounding like a child with their face against the window of a pet shop – I want that bird, mommy, look how pretty it is, I want to have it –, and Blaine smiles wryly. He knows that the only way demons can love is destroying, tearing apart the thing they cherish, wanting to see it scream and burn, because it is in their nature, to find beauty only in suffering and misery, to want nothing but pain and grief.
Sebastian takes his gloves off then, no wasted movement, but there is something sinister about it; it's with the air of someone who is ready to take their sword into their hands.
Blaine lets Sebastian undress him completely, pushes his hips off the bed for him, and he does not blush when Sebastian hums in satisfaction as he realizes Blaine is hard too, achingly hard. Blaine wonders; did Sebastian expect him to be bashful, try to wriggle out of his grasp or turn away to hide his desire, or perhaps to be terrified, to scream and plead for Sebastian to let him go with burning tears running down his face?
Sebastian breaks him open with his fingers, wasting no time asking Blaine if he is alright, if this is too much or if he should slow down a bit, perhaps, and are you okay? He doesn't ask it in a mocking way either; Angel, can you take this, or do you not know anymore what it means to have someone truly make you his?
In the silence Blaine's mind is allowed to drift off, his thoughts broken only by the occasional too sharp twist of Sebastian's fingers making him groan or his fingernails scraping in ways that make his eyes water.
For only a moment Blaine lets himself think about Kurt's awkward laugh as he fumbled with opening the lube, about his eyes big and worried, wanting Blaine to tell him every moment that he is fine, that Kurt can continue.
He stops thinking about Kurt, about anything, when Sebastian spreads his thighs even more, pushes inside him with no warning, makes him struggle to adjust, and a searing white pain burns through him as Sebastian fills him. Sebastian draws back, slowly, like he doesn't want to leave Blaine's tight warmth, and he doesn't slip out completely, the head of his cock just inside Blaine not letting him sigh in relief before he is thrusting into Blaine again.
And it doesn't take long for Blaine to make his body yield for the demon – to give up and surrender – to let himself fall into the pleasure of Sebastian's body moving against his own, the little flame growing stronger with every ruthless snap of Sebastian's hips, spreading like wildfire through Blaine's veins.
It's like coming home after a long, long journey.
It's like coming home and seeing the white gates of Heaven burned to ashes and its angels all slaughtered, their blood painting the clouds red and black.
It's like coming home to nothing but death and still being happy.
Because it's still home, broken and destroyed, it's still the place where he truly belongs.
Because humans are just humans, and angels and demons may be opposites, may be enemies, but they are still both immortal, both more than mortals, and thus they are the same, in a way.
Watching Sebastian's soft green eyes turn a wicked crimson as he slams into Blaine, watching that beautiful human face – freckles, heavens, he has little freckles on his cheeks –, his lips twisting into a feral, triumphant grin, it should make Blaine loathe Sebastian, but there's nothing inside him but the fire burning higher and higher, brighter and brighter, making him twist wantonly on the bed and cling to Sebastian's shoulder, never wanting to let go.
Finally the cold autumn afternoons with coffees and doves are gone – the boring Halcyon days, the decades spent with beings that are all but insects for someone who does not truly understand death –, and instead there is hellfire as Sebastian holds him against his body, holds him close like he wants them to melt together into one, spills deep into him, his eyes shining like rubies.
"My angel," the demon grits out, sounding so very human in his breathless awe, and it pushes Blaine over the edge with a desperate cry.
Sebastian smiles down at him, and it is a smile Blaine knows did destroy kingdoms, brought plagues and raised tidal waves just to see mortals scream and beg for mercy.
The demon keeps his promise.
One afternoon Blaine catches a glimpse of Kurt laughing with a boy in the café, but he doesn't talk to him. Kurt is alright now, and that's enough for Blaine.
Blaine doesn't miss him.
He does miss Sebastian, misses him so much it hurts, wakes up with his cock throbbing and tears running down his cheeks, wakes up feeling colder than the lowest circles of Hell, wishing for fire, for the burning touch of Sebastian's fingertips and lips.
But he knows that Sebastian does not find him interesting, knows that Sebastian could sense that Blaine no longer has the true power of an angel, that Blaine is not something Sebastian could have fun destroying.
But Sebastian does find him again, slips under his blanket one stormy night – perhaps he is a fan of theatricality, after all. He presses his chest against Blaine's back, and Blaine sobs in joyous relief, and then in fear, because why else would the demon be here but to tear him apart?
"Why did you leave your brethren?" Sebastian asks, curious and quiet, like a gentle midsummer breeze, a voice that shouldn't belong to a demon. "I heard they all cherished you, and they miss you."
Blaine doesn't wonder how Sebastian knows; it doesn't matter.
"I was curious," Blaine shrugs ruefully as he wriggles deeper into Sebastian's embrace, hot like a furnace, his hands drifting down to grasp at Sebastian's gloved fingers, pressed against Blaine's stomach. "I wanted to see it… Not just listen to the other angels' stories. And I… I remained here too long. When an angel spends too many years here… My halo is gone, so are my wings. But I can't continue living among mortals, among these creatures that die too soon, that are nothing. I'm still immortal. I'm bored, unchallenged… I had that human boy as my lover and friend, and he couldn't understand it, and I told him; how would you feel if you had to read children's books for all your life, and never be allowed to take an essay about Philosophy into your hand? If you had to fight with a wooden sword and never be allowed to feel the touch of true steel?"
"I get bored even of demons," Sebastian begins and Blaine's eyes widen in surprise. Sebastian presses a kiss against the back of his neck, and it feels like Sebastian is scorching a brand into his skin. "Mortals are, of course, even more boring. I fuck guys in smoky taverns, and most of the time I don't kill them, because they are not even worth that, to be killed by a demon like me." Blaine knows he should be mortified, should feel blinding hatred bubble up inside his chest, should be repulsed, how unholy, but the truth is, he no longer remembers what is holy and what isn't.
"Angels seem to be fun." Sebastian growls, demonic, and Blaine trembles for his demon greedily, for the raging terrible fire, for something majestic and grand and not-mortal, not-celestial. Blaine doesn't want humans and he cannot have angels. "Well, you seem to be fun."
Blaine turns around in the demon's arms, seeks out his mouth, sighs when Sebastian lets him kiss him – careful, tentative, because he doesn't remember how to take, how to own someone, because Kurt was human and could have all too easily collapsed into dust if Blaine is just a bit more eager.
Sebastian kisses back – hard, bruising, stealing Blaine's breath away.
Sebastian's hands claw at Blaine's back, at the never fading scars where once his wings were, blinding white feathers, and he used to be so proud of them, how beautiful they were, once upon a time.
"Stay with me," Blaine gasps into Sebastian's mouth, stares into the blood-red eyes and feels at home, almost at home, finally. "I don't have anything else."