~4~
When Raffe enters the living room, she's gone. He hears her voice faintly outside, talking to her sister. In a way he's glad that he doesn't have to face her right now. He isn't sure how she feels about him after what happened. He knows that he hurt her. Again. But there is nothing he can do about it now.
He takes the stairs down into the basement to check on Beliel. The demon is still in the same position they left him in, motionless and unconscious. If Raffe didn't know better, he'd think the demon was dead. He feels the sudden urge to kick him in the face. Beliel is nothing but a useless, pathetic minion. He's the reason Raffe lost everything that mattered to him, and now he isn't even conscious to be interrogated. He should end his life right here and now.
But he doesn't.
Anger still bubbling under the surface, he climbs up the stairs into the living room, raking a hand through his hair. His emotions are boiling inside of him, mixing anger with lust, despair with longing. He has never been this uncertain in his life before. Everything used to be clearly laid out for him. He had his place among the others, a purpose, a reputation. Respected, admired, even feared. Now, he's an outcast, a rumor of former glory at best. The white wings hanging off the table are just the physical evidence of his losses.
He walks up to them, surveying them grimly. Beliel wasn't careful with them. Several feathers are crooked or broken, sticking out of the mass of white down. It's been some time since he's preened them. Now is as good a time as ever.
Raffe begins plucking out the broken once, hesitantly placing them on a growing pile, picking out grass and dirt and smoothing down the crooked feathers. It's a painful, slow process that takes half the time than it would if the wings were attached, since angels usually shake their wings out and thereby cleanse them. The wings that are currently attached to him, ugly, dark stretches of leather over thin metal bones, twitch on his back, as if his body is trying to move the feathers under his fingers.
Raffe doesn't know how much time has passed when the door opens and his two human companions enter the cabin. Paige walks right up to the couch and nearly collapses on it, not bothering to cover herself with the blanket.
Her sister follows behind her. Initially, Raffe feels the anger radiating off of her, but then her eyes fall on him, and her tense shoulders slump. He sees her hesitate in the corners of his eyes, before she walks over to Paige and carefully tucks her in, keeping her back to him.
He returns his attention to his wings. He is feeling one of those rare moments in which he doesn't know what to say. His back tingles, announcing her presence, and then she's beside him, watching his hands.
"What are you doing?"
Raffe wants to say something along the lines of 'exactly what it looks like', but he's so grateful for her normal voice and the opportunity to shed this awkward mood that has fallen upon them, that he bites back a sarcastic response. "I'm cleaning my wings. Beliel wasn't exactly gentle with them."
Even to his own ears, his voice sounds bitter and tight. She's silent for a long moment, her mouth opening and closing in indecision.
"Can I help?"
Raffe looks up at her, for the first time really meeting her eyes, and he's surprised by how easy it still is to look at her. After their, er, episode in the bathroom, he expected more awkwardness from her side. Or anger. But she seems almost understanding, though there is still hurt flickering at the edges of her mouth and eyes. Somehow, that makes it even harder to distance himself from her. Anger he could deal with. Maybe even sadness, though tears would probably be hard to bear, but not this silent communication that seems to exist between them, this mutual understanding that he's felt so many times with her. Because it makes the whole thing seem even more right. She seems right. Equal.
And even though he should be repulsed by the idea of a human touching his wings, it just feels right, as well.
"Sure."
She nods. Her hand timidly reaches out and he forgets about the preening as he watches her fingers touch the white feathers, slowly brushing over their softness. She's touched his wings before, of course, mangled them with a pair of scissors, but this is different. He peers up at her face. The tips of her cheeks are tinted in an ever so faint blush, and her expression is a mix between awkwardness and amazement.
Back in the old days, when angels used to visit earth on a more frequent basis, there had been multiple encounters with humans that had wanted to touch his wings. Humans have touched or come in contact with angel wings before, but it's still a rare thing for an angel to let a human touch them just for the sake of touching.
"Will they wither eventually, if we don't get them sewed back onto you?"
"Eventually, yes. We'll have to find a solution before that happens. I don't know the exact time frame we have, though."
She nods, smoothing over a crooked feather. "They're still so fluffy."
She pauses, as if only now realizing what just came out of her mouth, and sneaks a glance at him. "Err, I mean… not fluffy, in you know cutesy or something. Just… soft."
Raffe chuckles. He begins to work again, and she eyes his hands, copying his motions carefully. Her touch is soft and gentle as she almost reluctantly plucks out a broken feather.
They work in silence, only the sounds of their breathing filling the cabin. Raffe can't help but watch her as she works on his wing, eyebrows drawing together in concentration as she delves into the act. It's so cute. If she sticks her tongue out, he's going to burst out laughing.
He finishes the first wing before she's done with the one she's working on, so he moves closer to her to help. She jumps as their fingers brush and an electric tingle runs through him.
When they are finally done, she leans back, looking down at the now clean wings proudly. There is something almost loving about the way she smoothes her hand over the feathers one last time, before she takes a step back.
"Thanks," he says. "They look a lot better now."
"They're beautiful."
Something tightens in his chest. His breath hitches for a moment, and he forces his face into a neutral mask, but he's sure she sees the warmth in his eyes anyway. Her words send a surge of proud, triumphal euphoria through him.
"It's late", he says quietly.
"Yeah, it is. I'm pretty exhausted. Squirrel slaying is hard work, you know?"
He grins at her. "Why don't you sleep on the couch with Paige, I'm not too tired anyway. I'll go outside and scope out our surroundings."
She hesitates for a brief moment, looking like she wants to say something, or maybe like she's waiting for him to say something. But then she turns away.
She joins him hours later, as he sits near the surf, looking out over the dark water. Scoping out the surroundings was more an excuse to get out and clear his head during a flight over the trees. Once he was done, Raffe didn't feel like he could go back to the confined space of their cabin just yet, so he chose to stay out here.
She is wrapped in a blanket that is way too thin to protect her from the harsh October wind and she carries his sword on her hip, the disguised teddy bear hiding it almost completely.
"Done searching the surroundings?"
He doesn't respond, still looking out over the ocean. The waning moon throws a few milky drops of light on the black water, but that's all the light there is. He can see everything clearly, even in the dark, but he doubts that she can see much.
"I'm sorry, you know?"
Her head turns to him in surprise.
"I don't want to hurt you. I behave like an ass, acting without thinking and then pushing you away. You know that I don't want that. You know this is hard for me as well."
"Are you sorry for pushing me away or sorry for kissing me?"
He meets her eyes, intense and gleaming in the darkness. She's close. So close that he can make out each of her dark lashes as she blinks.
There are two answers to her question. The honest answer and the right answer.
"I'm sorry for kissing you." He sounds convincing enough, but her eyes ignite and he knows she sees right through him.
"I'm not, actually," she says, voice sharp. "I'm not sorry that you kissed me, or that I kissed you, or whatever. It might not be the right thing according to some stupid rules, but it definitely feels right to me."
He takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. "It wouldn't be so hard, if it didn't."
"This is ridiculous, Raffe. Kissing doesn't automatically lead to Nephilim, you are aware of that, right?"
"I can't believe we're having this conversation. There is no discussion on this matter. It can't-"
Her exasperated sigh interrupts him and then she leans forward and presses her lips to his, her arms crossed in front of her chest. The kiss isn't smoldering or passionate, it isn't even lustful. Her closed lips press against his defiantly, almost irritated, like she's daring him to pull away.
He allows it for a few seconds, before he puts a hand on her shoulder and pushes her back.
"You know, sexual harassment really isn't the answer. A man's no means no, even though I know that I'm hard to resist."
She huffs indignantly, her jaw tightening in annoyance.
"What is your problem, Raffe? What are you afraid of? I'm not asking you to jump my bones and knock me up, but there is no point in refraining from any physical contact whatsoever, if both of us clearly want it. There are… other things we can do. Or are you afraid that you're going to doom me, if you get involved with me that way? Because I'm pretty sure the hellions saw enough to piece it together by now, anyway."
A short moment of silence stretches between them as her words sink in.
"How," he starts slowly, eyes narrowing, "do you know about the hellions?"
Her eyes widen and he can practically hear her cursing at herself mentally.
"The what?"
Trying to play innocent. Yeah, he's not going to let her through with that. He rolls his eyes, impatience pulling his muscles taught. "The hellions. How do you know that they are chasing me? How do you know that you would be in danger because of that?"
Her eyes dart down to the teddy bear hanging from her hips. The answer dawns on him a second before she responds.
"Um, well, yeah. Your sword kind of showed it… to me?"
He glares at her. "What did she show you?"
"Don't be mad! It's not my fault. I wasn't stalking or anything! I didn't even know she could do that. I was attacked by those guys and I had her on me, but I didn't know how to use her and-"
"You were attacked by some guys? Why don't I know about this? What did they do to you? Did they harm you?" A hundred images run through his head, some of them his worst fears and nightmares.
"You know I can handle myself, Raffe. I'm fine, nothing happened. That's not the point here." She shakes her head, as if annoyed by the interruption. "As I was saying, I didn't know how to use her, and she, well, she didn't like that. So she showed me some memories of your fights to train me. And that's how I learned about the hellions."
He's working his jaw as he mulls over her words. No question that the sword is the reason why she's still alive, otherwise that angel with the burnt wings would've killed her on the first strike, and she had no other way to learn it, since he wasn't there to train her. But he isn't comfortable with the idea of her seeing some of his fights from the past. Especially since he has no idea what she saw. There are things that he doesn't want her to know.
"What exactly did she show you?"
She pulls anxiously on the teddy bear's ear, avoiding his eyes. "Nothing big. I don't know, usually just memories of some battles. Medieval villages, World War I, that kind of stuff. And um… she also showed me the memory of you getting your wings cut." Her voice turns soft at the last words and he thinks he hears the slightest tremor in it. "Not that I wanted to experience that. I mean, I didn't ask for it. I didn't mean to pry."
Raffe is silent for a long moment. He's still torn apart between feeling betrayed by his sword and being grateful that she passed on some knowledge to this human girl, so that she would have a better chance of surviving.
"That's it?"
His night vision allows him to see how the blood rushes into her cheeks and her hands squeeze the teddy bear harder.
"Umm, yeah, I guess. Overall."
Overall. Right. He's horrified by the possibilities of what she could've seen, what she could've heard. His sword takes on his thoughts and emotions. There are quite a few moments where he definitely doesn't want her to know what he was thinking. The first time he saw her in that dress at the old aery. He'd had his sword right there with him. Or the kiss. And worse, what's been running through his head afterwards.
"What more?" He presses the words out between his teeth.
She dares a glance up at him, her cheeks pink. If he wasn't so on edge, he'd be enrapt by how pretty she looks when she's blushing.
"Not much, really. I mean, I saw how the hellions sneaked up on us that night in the guesthouse, when you…" She catches herself. "After we escaped from the office building."
His back muscles tense. He remembers that night. It was the first time he started to realize that he was developing a soft spot for this entertaining, little human girl, and the first time he succumbed to it. The night he had watched her tremble and shiver in a bad dream, and the first time he hadn't been able to resist. He remembers it vividly, the comfort he drew from holding her warm, pliant body in his arms, and how good it had felt to stroke her hair and soothe her. He'd made a decision that night. Ever since then, they had been partners, if reluctant at first.
"But she just showed it to me. I mean, I didn't see it through your eyes or anything. I was just there. Watching it happen. It was really just about the fight anyway."
She's desperately trying to sound casual. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.
"Alright. Well, it's a good thing then, I suppose. You had to learn how to use the sword anyway."
She nods. She seems relieved enough that he thinks she might has forgotten the initial point of their conversation.
"Okay," she says, and he knows they're right back at it. "Well, as you can see, the hellions know what's up anyway. You really think it makes a difference to them, if you don't touch me?"
It doesn't. He knows that. The moment he turns his back, the monsters will come and try to take her from him. The thought sends ice through his veins.
"We should go back inside."
She shakes her head, frowning. "We're not done here, Raffe." He matches her glare with an intimidating look of his own.
"There is no discussion about this. We're not-"
For the second time that night, she cuts him off, her lips angry and determined on his. Her ferocity surprises him. She grabs his hair and practically climbs on top of him, refusing to back off. His traitorous body answers to her, his pulse spiking in lust. His empty hands hover uncertainly in the hair, inches away from her waist. His first instinct had been to wrap his arms around her and pull her closer, and his body had reacted accordingly, before he'd caught himself. But it's a lot harder to stay reasonable when she's in his lap, her fingers fisting the hair at the nape of his neck and her lips pressing against his insistently again and again. He thinks it's all anger that has her tighten her grip on him and bite his lower lip, but then he tastes salt on his tongue and he becomes aware of the wetness on her cheek.
His mouth slip from hers to her cheek, tasting her tears, and he kisses her eyelids, wet lashes fluttering against his lips. "Don't cry," he murmurs against her temple. "Please don't cry."
In response, she captures his lips with hers again. He's forgetting everything he wanted to say. All his carefully laid out reasons why they should stay away from each other, it all gets muddled, when she kisses him like this. Why again was this forbidden?
His arms go around her and she sighs in relief, though the kiss doesn't lose its desperate edge. Raffe tilts his head, giving her better access, and brushes his hand up her back, cupping her neck and stroking her shoulder. Her mouth slips from his and she kisses up his neck. He groans as she tugs on his earlobe with her teeth.
Her blanket is puddled around her hips, so there is no hindrance for him to slip his hands under her shirt and smooth his fingertips over her soft skin. He wants to touch more of her, and he does, his fingers moving up, up, up. She gasps as he brushes over her rips.
Raffe stills. Over the pounding of the surf, only their panting can be heard in the night. She is completely still on his lap, not daring to move, but her heart beats rapidly against his fingertips.
He rests his forehead in the curve of her shoulder, his lips brushing her throat. His hands move up. She's been sleeping, so she isn't wearing a bra, and he groans as he carefully brushes his fingers over her soft skin. He cups her breasts gently, palming the soft flesh. She wriggles under his hands and grabs her rucked up shirt, pulling it over her head and off.
He pulls his head back and looks at her. Archangel or not, he's a man, and he has fantasized about this too often. He shouldn't stare, but he can't help himself. The sight of her is surreal, disheveled and shirtless on his lap, and he wonders if he's dreaming this whole thing.
The moonlight tints her skin a milky color, her breasts - small and pert and perfect - slightly paler than the rest of her body. She's so beautiful that it almost hurts to look at her.
Raffe touches the delicate line of her clavicle, tracing it until his palm rests on her sternum. He kisses her breasts, circling one sensitive little peak until she is squirming against him. He shifts them so that she is on her back and he is hovering above her. He feels hazy as he flicks his tongue over her nipple, then kisses a path to the valley of her breasts. She chuckles as he nuzzles her softly.
Later, he will think back and try to remember when his shirt came off, or how her pants disappeared, the details lost to more important memories, like her fingernails digging into his back, or the moan she lets out against his ear as he gently bites her throat.
All he knows is that he at one point ends up with his fingers brushing the elastics of her panties, drawing a gasp from her.
Raffe pulls his head back and meets her eyes. She is mussed and flustered from his kisses, her erratic panting matching his. Desire fogs his brain, drowning out the voice of reason, and his hand slip under the fabric. She exhales shakily as his fingers travel lower, and he closes his eyes, focusing on the feeling of her soft skin. His muscles tense, his entire body coiled tight as a spring, as he desperately fights for some self-control. Her breathy little sighs do nothing to ease the turmoil raging inside of him.
He explores her with slow, careful movements, pressing a kiss to her cheek. He wants her so badly in this moments that if an entire legion of hostiles came down on them now, he wouldn't be able to stop. He moves his hand faster, and she grips his shoulders, pulling him closer.
Raffe kisses her hungrily, his fingers moving over her slick folds, and she moans into his mouth, sweet and needy. He breaks away from the kiss and pulls his hand away, her whimper of protest making his cock twitch in his pants.
"Don't st-" her voice cuts off as he tugs on her underwear. She wasn't expecting that, but she arches her back – impatient and very sexy – to help him get them off.
And then she's completely naked. They still at the same time, the weight of the moment sinking in. Her pale body looks otherworldly beautiful sprawled on the dark sand, her tousled hair fanning out around her head, lips swollen and red. Raffe grips her hips and squeezes, because he just needs to hold onto something for a moment to ground himself.
He gently slides his hands up her thighs, and she opens her legs for him without hesitation. Their eyes meet and hers are full of trust and longing. He kisses her belly, feeling it twitch under his lips, and moves lower, easing her thighs further apart with his shoulders.
"Raffe," she breathes out as he presses his lips to her core, kissing her gently. Hearing her say his name like that is a thousand times better than he ever could have imagined it. He gives her an experimental swipe with his tongue and she squirms, one hand grabbing his hair. He holds her hips down to keep her still and gently drags his tongue over her clit. The hand in his hair tightens and her thighs twitch. He hums against her in approval and lifts his eyes to watch her squirm on the sand. It's the most erotic thing he has ever seen.
He releases her hips to touch her under his mouth, rubbing his fingers against her, before slowly slipping one inside her. Careful now...
She's tight as a glove and so soft that it nearly undoes him. She's slick enough for him to gently slide his finger deeper, though nowhere wet enough for anything more. He groans against her slick skin, circling her clit with his tongue. She is getting restless, her hips rolling against him, her hands moving from his hair to his shoulder to his neck, unable to decide where to touch him. He, on the other side, is slow and insistent, a rock to her crashing waves, though on the inside, he is just as frantic as her.
"Don't stop," she begs, almost sobbing, as if she's afraid that he's going to push her away again. He makes a reassuring sound and laves his tongue over her clit, pumping his finger slowly. His other hand rests on her belly, stroking her skin in slow circles. She grips that hand with her own and squeezes, then traces the sinew on his arms.
"Raffe," she pants, almost inaudible, and then again, "Raffe."
He slides his hand up and palms her breast, groaning at the feel of the soft flesh under his fingers.
She's getting wetter around his finger now, so he very carefully adds a second one, drawing a moan from her. Her breathing is hard and shallow now, and he can tell from the way that her muscles clench that she's close.
He speeds up and pumps his fingers faster, answering her whines with a groan of his own. She jolts suddenly, her back arching off the sand. Raffe watches her with hungry eyes, drinking in the sight of her. A fine sheet of sweat covers her body, making her skin glisten in the dim light. Her lips are parted in a choked cry, her belly twitching. The sight of her, the feel of her, fluttering around his fingers, is almost enough to bring him over the edge as well. He's never wanted anything more in his life than he wants her in this moment. She's just so fucking beautiful, so unbelievably sexy.
She chokes out his name, sinking back on the sand. She's still clamping rhythmically around his fingers, so he keeps flicking his tongue over her slowly for a few more moments. When he pulls away, she's trembling, her chest rising and falling in rapid breaths. Raffe takes a moment to admire his handiwork, running his eyes over her flustered form. He presses his lips to her throat and swipes his tongue against her skin, tasting salt. He covers her body with his and opens his wings, trapping their body heat between them to make sure that she doesn't get cold.
A weird mood has set over them, something akin to relief, but more accepting, final. As if the dam has finally broken. They crossed a line tonight, went a place they can never come back from, but instead of regret, there is only a feeling of freedom, of release. No point in pushing the other away now.
Her earlier words echo in his head. Other things…
Raffe presses his lips on her forehead in a sweet, lingering kiss and feels her shudder against him. And for the first time, he allows his feelings to be. Allows himself to have what he wants most, if only for this moment.
He buries his face in her hair and inhales deeply.
Penryn.
Alright, here we are. Thank you for bearing with me with this chapter, I know it took a bit long (oh wait, you had no choice! Well, if you are still there, thank you anyway)
Thank you so much for your reviews guys, they are my motivation to keep going (apart from the fun of writing Raffryn). Again, Mondscheinsonate, if you haven't seen it yet, I answered your review on the last chapter, since I thought it brought up some interesting things to talk about. Oh, and HauntedGirl, I think I am in love with your comment about how Raffe would be in bed. Is there a way I can convince you to write that out a bit more? Say like, quid pro quo, style? You write that out, I will write something for you. I mean, this fandom needs more Raffryn smut! But, yeah, I completely agree with everything you said about how he would be in bed. (If you guys have any thoughts about this, please put them in the reviews as well, I LOVE reading about how Raffe could be in bed, heh heh... Er, am I too shameless?)
Hope you enjoyed!
~K.
