This is a work of fiction. Any illegal acts taking place within that fiction are NOT condoned by the author. Depictions of any questionable, illegal, or potentially illegal activity in said fiction does not mean that I condone, promote, support, participate in, or approve of said activity. I grasp the distinction between fiction and reality and trust that readers will do the same. I do not profit from the fan fiction I write, and all rights to the characters remain firmly in the hands of their creator. (Disclaimer stolen from Bitterfic, on Insanejournal)
Katan is a beautiful boy. Tall, and straight, with just the first hints of body hair showing, he's hundreds of years old in human years, but in Angel time, he's about 14. His creator doesn't look much older, 21 maybe at the outside; Katan stopped being surprised by this a long time ago. Maybe, he thinks, Lord Rosiel looks that way because he wills it so.
Lord Rosiel is the greatest, the most beautiful Angel in Heaven. Whatever he wills, it happens, and everyone, down to the lowest grigori obeys his smallest whim. Katan is happy to be the most obedient of them all.
They're sitting, right now, in their usual spot, on a stone bench under a jacaranda, in one of the gardens of Etmenaki. They're quite alone, and Lord Rosiel's hand plays lazily with his creation's hair. And, "tell me, Katan," he says in a voice that's almost sleepily casual, "am I beautiful?"
Katan is not used to being asked to pass judgment on those above him. He looks at his hands, his face slowly turning color, and he says nothing. "Come now," this time Lord Rosiel's voice is faintly sharp, "you've studied aesthetics haven't you? It's part of the standard curriculum. Am I beautiful, Katan?"
This time when he doesn't say anything it's because he can't find the words. How can you describe what's indescribable? Katan is surprised to feel his creator's nails dig faintly into his scalp. "I asked you a question," Lord Rosiel speaks as a master to a servant.
Which is only right, Katan is only a student, not yet part of the Angelic Ranks even. He should be grateful he's been allowed to presume this far. And he bows his head, and he doesn't try to get away from the dig of his creator's nails. "Lord Rosiel is beyond beautiful," he says, "he outshines Creation, he outshines God himself.
"Be quiet," Lord Rosiel slaps Katan's face, "no one outshines God," but there's satisfaction in his voice now, and "kiss me, Katan," he says.
"Forgive me, my lord?"
"I said kiss me," he repeats, "a son can kiss his father certainly?" Meekly, the boy brings his lips toward one smooth white cheek. Lord Rosiel's head turns, Katan's mouth is pressed against his. He puts his arm around the boy's neck, thrusts his tongue in his mouth, and for a moment Katan tastes fragrance and sweetness, like rosewater poured over ice for his refreshment. Then the kiss is over.
"You may go now," Lord Rosiel makes a dismissing motion. Then, before Katan has time to stand, "leave," he says sharply, "you have studying to do, don't you?" Taking his book-bag from the grass, the boy hurries out of the garden as fast as he can. But he can't help looking back, and he wonders at that look of fear on Lord Rosiel's face.