Untitled
By: Lucifiel
Disclaimer: I don't own Angel Sanctuary. -_- This story is completely fictitious. None of my personal Angels or Demons were harmed in any way by the making of this fic. There, now that that is out of the way, let's get on with the reading.
"Shaddup! You are all too NOISY, anyways! ALWAYS mumble-mumble-mumble-mumble... Plus you LIVE on planet SEX full time! In a war, you just gotta SMASH stuff up!" ~ Michael, Angel Sanctuary
In the blackness of a large room, a red fire stirred to life. It spread throughout the room, creating the illusion of being in a heart. Everything in the room lit up, including the furniture and other knickknacks that sat on the many dressers and tables. In one corner of the room, in an enormous bed, made entirely by red sheets that hung from the ceiling, making a sort of hammock, something stirred.
Out of the many red sheets, comforters, and pillows, a red head rose out of the pile of said sheets, comforters, and pillows. After a moment, the head grunted, the result of not getting enough sleep, and with a tentative push, rolled out of the hammock of red sheets and landed with a 'thump' on the floor. The head, apparently, belonged to a body. The thin, lanky body of a child, but a body nonetheless. Michael, Archangel of Fire, little brother of Lucifiel the Morning Star, rose to his feet and scratched his head of rust-red hair, yawning and cracking his neck.
He had stayed up the previous night working on paperwork for some big mission. Needless to say, Michael was tired. All that nonsense about Angels not needing sleep was utter shit. He needed sleep; Hell, as a teenage Angel, he craved sleep. And when he did not get sleep, he got cranky. Michael in a cranky mood did not bode well for anyone.
With another ear-splitting yawn, Michael dressed, putting on his favorite pair of black pants and his black tee-shirt. Over that, he draped a red trench coat that hung down to the floor. It made swishing sounds when he walked. He'd always found that rather neat. Michael had just begun pulling his black gloves onto his miniature hands when the door to his room swung open and a stunning figure dressed in a simple brown trench coat, jeans, and a white tee shirt strode in.
Had it been anyone else, Michael would have thrown a fit and zapped them with bolts of fire until they simply turned tail and ran, but as it was Raphael, the Angel of Wind, his most trusted and only friend, Michael decided to forgo the bolts of fire and settled for glaring in Raphael's general direction before finishing the job of tugging the gloves onto his hands.
"Oi, we have a mission today, Mika-chan, for just the two of us," Raphael said, stopping just short of Michael and putting his hands in the pockets of his trench coat. Michael ignored him and crossed the room to where his computer was stationed. Flipping the 'on' switch, Michael connected to the network from which he received mission reports and status, confirming Raphael's statement.
"We have a mission today, Raphael," He murmured, oblivious to his friend's disgust at being ignored, "Interesting…it's on Earth…"
"Earth?" Raphael inquired, "That's strange…we don't get sent to Earth very often. What are we supposed to do? All I got wind of was the fact that you and I had a mission."
A few more clicks on the keyboard and Michael was staring at a description of their mission. "We are supposed to apprehend a higher class demon. Apparently the genius's down guarding the Gates of Hell let another one slip by. Honestly…they're all a bunch of incompetent morons," He sniffed, disgusted.
"Amen to that," Raphael said, equally as disgusted. With that comment, Michael stood from his chair, grabbing his sword, which was leaning on the table, and strapping it to his back. Raphael eyed the cross-shaped broadsword, "Do you really need that?" He asked, "It really does draw unwanted attention, Mika-chan. Can't you leave it behind just this once?"
"Certainly not!" Michael looked as if someone had just asked him to leave his arms behind, so Raphael said nothing, just rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath. Michael's eyes narrowed, "What was that?"
Raphael shrugged, "Ah nothing, just wondering if you could hold your own on one mission without your gigantic sword…I guess not."
Michael's eyes narrowed even more. "Are you saying I am a weakling because I carry a sword?"
"No, no. Why would I ever imply something of that kind? If you capitalize on that sort of thing, be my guest, Mika-chan." Raphael watched Michael out of the corner of his eye, sure of his victory. The younger Angel's pride was very important to him. Raphael doubted Michael would take his sword along this time. At least he hoped so…the sword scared the women away whenever they went for a post mission drink.
"Fine," Michael said, removing his sword and setting it on the bed, looking as if he had just lost a close friend, "But this is the only time I am going to do this."
"Of course, Mika-chan," Raphael smirked, "Shall we go?"
Michael nodded, grabbing a pair of red-lensed sunglasses and propping them on his nose before trotting after Raphael. His friend sure did know the right buttons to push…
Once the two reached the lobby of Michael's apartment, they had to lower their heads. Angels tended to fly instead of use the elevators or escalators like they were supposed to, so that the Angels that weren't flying didn't have to duck their heads, but, they didn't. So Michael and Raphael, two of the highest Archangels, had to lower their heads to keep from having some Angel's feet colliding with their skulls.
"Someone should do something about that," Raphael muttered as the two exited the apartment complex and crossed one of the many golden streets, heading toward the exit.
"Should, but won't. It isn't that big of a deal," Michael answered his friend's comment, "Not as big a deal, as, say, morons who should watch the bloody Gates of Hell instead of jacking off."
A silver light descended upon the two as soon as Michael's rather inappropriate sentence was uttered. Michael rolled his eyes, inching away, but a graceful hand reached out and caught him by the arm. "Did I hear profanity?" A silky voice said, sounding of tinkling bells and wind chimes.
"Of course not, Rosiel-sama," Michael drawled, his voice polite but had an underlying drip of sarcasm, "You know there is none of that in Heaven. No relationships, either, but here you are drooling over Raphael and myself. How are you by the way?" Michael hated Rosiel with a passion. Agreed with some or most of his methods, but hated the actual person Rosiel was. It was amazing that something so beautiful could be so deadly and frightening.
Rosiel's lips quirked up in a smirk, though his golden eyes snapped with indignation. Michael insulted him often, a grave crime though it was, yet Rosiel could do nothing, since Michael never directly insulted him. Rosiel's smirk turned into a feral grin, and he shook his head, "Ah little Michael. I am fine, thank you for asking. How is Lucifiel doing these days? I heard he was faring rather well in that little domain of his. Have you visited Hell lately?"
Michael's fists clenched at the mention of his beloved older brother's name. Anyone who spoke that name in Michael's presence received a beating sooner or later, but Michael could do nothing to Rosiel, one of God's favorites. He had to simply bite his tongue and bear the indignation of helplessness. He was already beginning to regret leaving his sword, and wished Rosiel would just let go of his arm and leave him alone.
After what seemed like a very long time, Rosiel withdrew his hand from Michael's arm and leaned down to look into Michael's blue eyes. "No sword today? I thought you and that sword were inseparable," He mused, cupping a hand around Michael's chin and tilting his head sideways as if examining him. "Hm, well, no matter. I suppose I will be seeing the two of you later," Rosiel said, straightening and inclining his head toward Raphael, who nodded. Rosiel directed another smartass smirk at Michael, then spread his silver wings and floated off.
Raphael sighed, then continued walking. After a moment, Michael followed, trailing slightly behind his friend, thinking. "Oi," Raphael slowed, allowing Michael to catch up, and looked over at his friend. "Rosiel is getting more and more bold. He is now directly harassing you and I. Well, more you than me."
"Hai…" Michael shot a glare at Raphael, "And this on the day you make me leave my sword."
"Gomen!" Raphael said, waving his hands, "Had I known he was going to show up, I would have told you to put an extra coat of polish on the damnable thing before bringing it."
Michael shook his head, smirking, then noticed that they had arrived at the Gates of Heaven. The gatekeeper, already informed of their mission, waved them through, opening the shimmering gates to allow them passage. Once they stepped outside the Gates, Michael stretched, allowing his wings to come forth from his back through the holes in his trench coat. Raphael did the same.
The two were truly a spectacular sight, their white wings spread to their full length, Michael's slightly smaller, but spectacular nonetheless. Without a word, Michael and Raphael leapt into the air, testing the winds and diving down towards Earth.
Michael pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose, knowing that once they hit the Earth's winds, it would get rough. The Earth's winds were nothing like the gentle, relaxing winds of Heaven. They were ravaging, tempest tossed winds that would love nothing more than to break an Angel's wing and dump him in a field somewhere. Needless to say, they had to exercise caution when riding the Earth's winds.
Finally, however, the maneuvering was completed, and the two landed in a large cornfield just outside of Central Manhattan. Michael muttered to himself the entire time they trudged through the damnable cornfield, claiming that had he brought his sword along, they would have been able to hack their way through the said damnable cornfield in no time. Raphael said nothing, but his expression conveyed a very perturbed expression, as he was the one getting hit in the face by the cornstalks his shorter friend was able to avoid.
"What the HELL IS THAT!?!?!?" Michael exploded as his booted foot sunk into a large mud hole that happened to be conveniently placed outside of the cornfield. "IT'S ALL OVER MY SHOE!!!" He roared, his blue eyes beginning to become clouded over by a red haze. Raphael shook his head, placing a hand on Michael's shoulder and repeating the head shaking to his friend. Michael calmed with an effort and leapt over the mud hole, grinning at the last second and shoving Raphael into it. That little prank resulted in half an hour of Raphael chasing him around, but it was worth it, in Michael's opinion. He finally ended the argument by pointing out that Raphael could just use the wind to blow the dried mud off his clothes, and Raphael ended up looking like a fool. Michael: 1, Raphael: 0.
When they finally stopped screwing around, the two Archangels headed toward New York, intent on finding a place to stay before they went Demon Hunting. "We need to establish a base," Michael said to Raphael as they finally entered Manhattan. It had been a bitch to walk in from the cornfields, but they had. Now the two stood on a street corner, waiting for a cab.
"I just want to-" Raphael started, but Michael cut him off with a sharp grunt and a shake of his head.
"Aw, can it Raph, you know as well as I do that Dad doesn't want you or any of us mucking about with the humans. Or anything else for that matter. Plus, we're on duty."
"Humph, you're no fun. You never follow the rules, why do you have to be so stoic on this one?" Raphael whined as Michael succeeded in hailing a cab. "A hotel. Doesn't matter which," Raphael ordered the cab driver, who nodded and drove off.
Michael rested his head against the back of the seat and cast a dangerous glance at Raphael. "And you'd better not sneak out in the middle of the night when you think I'm asleep like you always do. This mission is important, higher level demons require much more power to catch."
Raphael shrugged, "You just miss your sword. I swear you probably fuck your sword to make up for your lack of interest in people," He said, crossing his arms and looking somewhat like a spoiled child while doing so.
"That's disgusting," Michael muttered, crinkling his nose and looking out the window, ignoring Raphael and the no-doubt disgusted cab driver.
After about ten minutes of staring out the window, the car stopped, and the driver looked over his shoulder, holding out his hand. Michael glanced over at Raphael, who was snoring, and shook his head, reaching inside of his trench coat for his wallet. Heaven provided them with money on the rare occasions they had missions to Earth, so Michael forked over a handful of bills to the driver and elbowed Raphael.
The two stepped out of the cab and found themselves looking at what could possibly be the most run-down hotel in Manhattan. Michael wrinkled his nose as the wafting smell of drugs, sex, and fecal matter met his nostrils. Raphael looked as if he was going to be sick, and covered his mouth, gagging.
"Well that certainly was a bust, " Michael said, eying the hotel with an air of disgust. "On the other hand, someone in there might know something about the demon. Evil tends to gravitate toward places like this."
"You're not suggesting we go in there?!" Raphael said, his blue eyes widening.
"No," Michael leveled a glare in Raphael's direction, then pushed his red glasses farther up onto his nose, "I am suggesting that I go in there. You can wait outside."
"No objections here," Raphael scoffed, "But will you be all right?"
"Need you ask?" Michael sniffed, sweeping past his friend and pushing open the grimy door.
He was met by an unpleasant sight, 'unpleasant' being an understatement of the highest degree. In the cramped and dirty lobby of the hotel, four Russian looking men were receiving inappropriate treatment from four trashy prostitutes. A worn bar stood in the corner of the lobby, and Michael proceeded to it, sitting on a faded red barstool and surveying the scene.
No one seemed to notice the eight men and women, and were coming through the elevators and up and down the stairs, seeming to ignore the disgusting spectacle in the lobby.
Michael watched the people, noticing the underlying weariness in all of their statures. Whores, pimps, dealers, ect. He wrinkled his nose, turning to the bar tender and quirking a red eyebrow. "Give me something hard," The bartender nodded, and Michael leaned forward, "For two hundred dollars."
"What do you need, kid?" He asked, fumbling with the drink, looking busy.
"Information. Has anyone new been through here? Anyone strange?" He took the glass the man offered him, but didn't drink.
"Come to think of it, yeah," The bartender nodded, a thoughtful look on his face, "There was a strange guy coming through here…weird looking. Pointy teeth, big build, spiky white hair."
"Appreciate it," Michael smirked, giving the man his promised money, tossing back the drink and baring his pointy teeth, "Can I get a room?"
****
"I still don't see the point of staying here," Raphael said, sprawling out over the king sized bed. "We don't even get separate beds!"
"Quit your whining. He was here. And if he was here, he'll most likely return," Michael said, as if he were trying to explain something to a small child, "And I'm not sleeping on the bed anyhow, it's probably flea-infested."
Raphael gave a yelp and flailed, falling off the bed, golden hair and long limbs waving, only to land on the floor…face to face with a large rat. His blue eye widened, and Michael covered his ears. "AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!" Raphael wailed, "I want out of here NOW!!!!!"
Michael uncovered his ears and yawned, watching the sun set over the city from the small window the room sported. "Be quiet. It's nighttime. He'll be here." Raphael moaned, but a sharp glare from Michael shut him up in a hurry. "Tsh, why did you even bother coming here with me if you're just going to scream at every little thing?" Michael said, scoffing, "I can do this by myself if you want."
"Really?!" Raphael brightened, "Then I can go…uhm...out? You won't tell?"
Michael rolled his eyes, plopping down in a small folding chair that was positioned beside the window, "No, Raph, I won't tell."
"Honest?!" He grinned, standing up off the floor and brushing himself off.
"Yes, honest. I'll be fine," Michael replied, putting his feet on a nearby table and reclining.
"Arigatou Mika-chan!!" Raphael cried, lunging toward the smaller Angel and scooping him up in a hug, squeezing the air from his lungs.
"Oi!! What are you doing?! Leggo! Itai!!" Michael raved, flailing. Raphael's eyes twinkled and he dropped Michael on his ass, grinning, and ran out of the door. "Ja ne!"
Michael snorted, indignant at being treated like a child, and clambered back into his chair. "Horny bastard…" He muttered, then returned to keeping watch out of the window. Hopefully the demon would show up tonight so he could go home and sleep. And now he had no one to talk to…not that he minded, but talking to someone did pass the time quite efficiently.
After about an hour, Michael saw a figure, a large figure, dressed in a black trench coat, staggering up to the hotel and dragging something. The something looked like a body. Michael stood and kicked out the window, launching himself out of it to land directly in front of the dark figure.
"What the-who the Hell are you!?!?" A drunken voice. Not a demonic voice in the slightest. Michael kicked himself for not making absolute sure that the target was in fact the target, and apologized to the drunk, jumping the five stories back up to his room. Who was the drunk going to tell anyway? Other drunks?
He was just about to sit down again when two strong arms wrapped around his stomach, pinning his arms to his sides. Michael squirmed, fought, kicked, and struggled until he was panting with effort, but the arms held fast. "Are you quite finished?" A rough demonic voice asked.
"No," He snorted, closing his eyes and emitting a yell. With the yell came several thousand degrees worth of fire bolts that shot into the demon holding him, making it fly backwards and release its hold on him. Michael spun around only to see the charred remains of an upper class demon. He didn't like it. The situation had been far too easy.
"Mm, of course, what did you expect?" Came a silky voice from the corner of the room. Michael froze, turning to face Rosiel with the most dignity he could muster.
"Rosiel-sama…it acted on orders from you? What was the point of doing something like that?" Michael asked, actually curious as to why Rosiel would let a higher class demon roam free.
Rosiel chuckled, spreading his magnificent trio of wings and flitting forward, resting his hand on the shorter Archangel's head. "Ah Michael, you pretty young thing…haven't you guessed?"
Michael's blue eyes narrowed and he took a step back, "I don't get it, Rosiel-sama."
"Of course not, dear boy…"Rosiel smiled, placing his other hand on Michael's hip, guiding him closer. Michael blanched, his blue eyes widening out of their cat-like slits.
"Rosiel-sama…what, what are you-" Michael was silenced as Rosiel leaned down and devoured his mouth, kneading the pliant flesh of his lips. "Mmph!!!!!" Michael let out strangled cry, squirming and trying to tug away.
With a tiny smile, Rosiel broke off the kiss, leaving the stunned boy weaving on his feet. He placed a hand on Michael's shoulder, then got a frightening look on his face. He swung his fist, intending to knock Michael unconscious.
Michael, however, was an Angel of War as well as Fire. He brought his arm up in one swift motion, blocking Rosiel's strike. "Why Rosiel-sama," He smirked, "Whatever do you think you are doing?"
Rosiel's golden eyes narrowed, and he squeezed Michael's shoulder, his fingernails digging through the red fabric of Michael's trench coat, "You would deny me, Michael?"
"Hai," He answered, breaking Rosiel's grip and twisting away, "My job here is finished. And don't think Father won't hear about this." Michael turned to leave, but Rosiel flipped over his head, landing in front of him, a strange look on his face.
"Father won't be hearing anything from you," Rosiel growled, a silver sword appearing in his hand. He thrust it under Michael's chin, "Too bad you left your sword, ne?"
Michael blanched, "You're going to kill me?"
"No. But you'll wish you were dead when I'm through with you, little one. No one scorns me and escapes unscathed," He said, tracing Michael's jaw line with the tip of his sword.
"Hm. I'll bet."
Rosiel grinned, "Like your brother to the last, ne, Michael? Was he as stoic when you cast him out of Heaven?"
Michael felt a low growl form in his throat, "I had no choice in the matter."
"Of course not, little one. I'm sure he's forgiven you for casting him out, " Rosiel smirked, "Do you think he would save you from me?"
"That is not my concern. I don't need anyone watching out for me," He whispered, "Not even him."
"Poor little thing," Rosiel said, "I'll relieve you of your guilt. You shouldn't have refused me," He raised the sword and Michael tensed, ready to dodge, when a whistling sound was heard, and Rosiel's sword was halted, and crossed with another sword, one with a black ornate blade.
Michael was in mid-spin when a black cape was thrown over his head and a strong arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him close. He squirmed, unsure of who was holding him, and a cheek pressed against his own through the fabric of the cape. A thick voice whispered, "Quiet." Michael stiffened, recognizing the voice, but not quite able to place it.
"You!!" Rosiel gasped, swiping at Michael's savior, who parried, still holding Michael around the waist, and thrusted, catching Rosiel in the shoulder.
"Who else?" The thick voice answered back, uncaring, almost comical. In the next instant, Rosiel leapt forward, tackling both Michael and his savior. Michael went flying and slammed into the wall, the cape still covering his head and blocking his vision.
A moment later, Michael heard scuffling, and Rosiel cried out, then strong arms lifted him up and cuddled him against a hard, muscular chest. "Who-" Michael started, his voice muffled buy the cape, but a squeeze from his savior told him to stop talking. He did so, if only out of gratitude and respect.
He felt himself being carried out of the room, and after a moment felt the cold night air on his skin. Michael blushed, thinking what Raphael would do if he saw Michael in his current position. As if on cue, the cheek was again pressed to his own, whispering, "He doesn't know, yet. Brace yourself."
"What-" He was cut off by another quick squeeze, and Michael gasped as he felt a sudden drop, unfurling his winds and flailing. "Who the Hell ARE you?!" He yelped, flailing more, "I demand to know the meaning of this! You could have just fought Rosiel and LEFT! Where are you taking me!?"
The man carrying him didn't answer, and as sudden as the descent started, it stopped. Michael was carried into a room of some sort and dropped onto what he sensed was a bed. A bed with silk sheets and pillows. The cape was then removed from his head, and Michael's blue eyes widened. "L-Lucifer-sama?!?" He gaped, unable to comprehend what had just taken place. Lucifer…had saved him!? He retracted his wings and blinked.
"Hai," His brother flashed his famous smartass smirk, "You expected someone else?" He brushed his silky black hair out of his ebony eyes and turned the smirk into a well-rounded grin.
"Well…I don't know," Michael said, still in shock, sitting up on the bed, "But I didn't expect you."
"Hm, well, here I am. Or here you are, I should say. I wasn't informed of your entry this time, I nearly got there too late."
"Ah he wouldn't have done anything too serious."
Lucifer's black eyes widened and he leaned back on the silken sheets. "Ah Michael, you are naive…he was planning on raping you. My, my…you are lucky I got there in time to save you."
"EH??!?" Michael shot up, his blue eyes wide, "You can't be serious!!!!! ROSIEL!? Rape me?!?! WHY?!"
"Why?" Lucifer snickered, "You don't need motivation to rape someone. Rape is an act of violence, committed, usually, in the heat of passion. It is someone wanting to control another, to possess what they have. In your case, your sexual innocence," Lucifer explained, stifling a yawn as if he were talking about the weather.
Michael couldn't believe how close he'd come to being raped, and laid next to Lucifer, staring up at the ceiling. "Well what am I supposed to do?! He lives in Heaven just like me, and I can't do anything because Father favors him above all others! He'd just deny that anything happened, and I can't go beat him up, because he'd go tell."
"That is true, Rosiel is an unimaginable weakling when it comes to fighting his own battles," Lucifer said, waving his hand, projecting an air of unconcern. "If he tries anything else, you are always welcome here, Michael."
"Then…you aren't-"
"No, no, of course not. How could I be angry at you? It is your job, after all. Don't worry about it, shrimp," Lucifer smirked, grabbing Michael in a headlock and giving him a noogie.
"AUGH!!" Michael yelped, "You are DEAD, Lucifer!!!" He squirmed, trying to get free of his older brother…and not succeeding. Lucifer didn't answer, just tightened his grip, pinning Michael onto the bed and straddling his back, grinning.
"Say it!"
"No!"
"Say it!"
"Never!"
Lucifer twisted Michael's arm at a painful angle, "SAY IT, SHRIMP!"
"Augh! NEVER!" Michael yelled, wincing at the torture. Lucifer looked pouty, but brightened in an instant and traced Michael's side, then dug a finger into the area between his hip and rib cage. Michael emitted a half-shriek half-scream, laughing like a crazy person. Lucifer was tickling him just like he used to.
"Say it!!!!"
"All right, All right!!!!!" He all but screamed, "I'm a shrimp!!!!!"
Lucifer rolled off of Michael, chuckling to himself, leaving his little brother gasping for breath on his stomach from the 'torture'. "You suck," Michael murmured into the silken covers, still panting.
"Mm. Your point?"
"That's disgusting, Lucifer-sama."
"Mm. Your point?"
"…"
"You should try being evil for once, Michael, it really is great fun," Lucifer tucked his arms behind his head, "And can be quite pleasurable."
"Not everything is pleasurable, Lucifer-sama," Michael mumbled, his face still buried in the sheets.
"But it can be."
"Tsh, whatever."
"Would you like me to show you?" Lucifer's voice took on a sly cast to it, and Michael raised his head, a bleary look to his blue eyes. "Eh?!"
"I said," Lucifer grinned, moving closer to Michael and tracing his cheek, "Would you like me to show you how pleasurable some things can be?"
Michael blinked, then sat up, rubbing his eyes. "But…you're my brother."
"Mm hm. Your point?"
"Well…that's not…uhm…"
"Right?"
"Yeah. That," Michael blushed, running a hand through his rusty red hair.
"Oh Michael, you're in Hell. If anyone asks, I raped you, all right?" Lucifer grinned, "What are they going to do to me? Label me the Devil? They've already done that. Come on, let me show you what you're missing."
"Well…I don't know…" Michael started, but Lucifer's mouth silenced him, tasting nothing like Rosiel's harsh kiss, and shutting him up quite nicely. He succumbed instantly, letting Lucifer lay him down on the bed and slip off the red trench coat he wore. Lucifer smirked, breaking the kiss and sucking on Michael's neck, letting his hands play with his red hair. "Lucifer…" Michael whispered, "I should…be getting back…Raphael, he'll-"
"I'll have you back in time, don't worry," Lucifer cut in, tugging off Michael's shirt and pants, throwing them over his shoulder, "You need this, shrimp."
To be continued…