Category: Darksiders I & II

Rating: M

Couples: Azrael/War, Strife/Caim

Warnings: AU, Yaoi, Lemon, Mpreg

Chapter: 9

Copyright: Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me and Food-for-mind

Author's Note: Sequel to Angel of War

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"I thought Michael was dead." Death had heard Azrael's statement, now walking over to join Rahab and War. He and the other Horsemen had of course heard of the exploits of this particular angel, but assumed him dead as no more news of him had come from Heaven for eons now.

"Might as well have been." Rahab looked over the kneeling angels, something akin to distaste ever so briefly flashing over his face. "He sleeps for years, briefly wakes up and falls asleep again. We believe his excessive wing-growth might have something to do with that." He gestured to the myriad of wings lightly curling around his glowing brother. "We stopped counting after 200. That was around the time Haniel 'died'."

"Didn't he defeat and humiliate the Dark Prince?" Fury wondered softly, one hand rubbing her arm with the discomfort of the holy light. "Something about stealing his armour as a trophy?"

"It's on display in the lower levels of his tower." Metatron joined them. "At least your ploy of having him be the bigger talk than War seems to be working." He seemed as annoyed as his brother at the deference the younger angels showed towards the other Firstborn, Azrael excluded. War's betrothed was talking quite happily with his uncle and mother, one of the feathered tentacles lightly coiled around his body. "I think most have clear forgotten that this is a wedding and not a show for Michael."

War looked as the two-winged male spread his wings again, rejoining them. "Shall we then?"

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

What followed would be the four days of his life where War felt his patience be the most tested. The ceremonies lasted for hours on end – and he couldn't fidget – and outside of the ceremonies, he couldn't get a single moment with Azrael. As a matter of fact, by the third day Azrael's 'shall we then' had been the last words they had been able to exchange. But he refused to show any of his annoyance regarding this. He had sworn himself that he would make the angels regret that they assumed him unworthy of Azrael.

Though he was sorely tested during every morning when their titles had to be rattled off. He learned that Azrael had far more titles than he had ever expected... and that the angels had gone onto a spree to think up some for him. At least, he had never heard some of those Michael gave him.

He also suspected that Strife used the existence of his helmet to nap.

By the end of the fourth day, he could hardly wait until it was all over and done with. The moment they had been declared spouses and the bond had been formed – Creator, that had been uncomfortable – he had very unsubtly given Azrael the hint he wanted to get the Hell out of there. The scholar had obliged five hours later, after they had received all of their gifts.

They only briefly showed their faces on the party of the Fallen, spend an hour with Grace and then War's patience was truly at its' end...

"Bedroom. Now."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Did you have to bring some of the gifts?" War demanded with vague amusement when they arrived in their room.

"Considering both had notes saying 'for tonight', yes, I might as well." The scholar smiled gently, putting the two boxes on the desk before he walked over to War. "I know what is in them. Mom and Strife rather pointedly hinted at it. You'll like them."

"I'll trust you." The Nephilim pulled him close, plundering his mouth. The angel pressed their bodies together, clinging to his husband. "Anything we'd need before business?"

"Yes..." Azrael pulled back, walking back to the desk while slowly shedding the many layers of his wedding outfit. "Strife said it would look really nice on me. Mom bluntly told me it was an enchanted bracelet."

War followed him with a small smirk, wrapping his arm around the now only legging-clad hips. "Let me see what Strife gave you. I'd rather not have you wear demon-skin. Creator knows he'd have no problem ruining this for me."

"I'm sure he wouldn't." The angel stated, but did offer the box to his husband. "I'll put on Mom's bracelet while you look."

"What's so special about it anyway?"

"It's imbued with the spell we regularly use." Azrael fitted the golden band around his wrist with a small blush creeping up his neck. "Saves me from having to chant it the entire time."

"Handy." War felt blood flood his own cheeks when seeing the content of what Strife had gifted them. "That mother-f..." The older Nephilim had given him an outfit the pleasure-slaves of their people used to wear.

"It's just clothes." Azrael mused when looking into the box as well. "Skimpy, granted..." He reached out, pulling on the fabric. "Shall I wear it?"

"Please don't." The wingless male muttered. "Not... not tonight."

"Alright." The Archangel took the box, putting it aside. "Now, will you undress or do I have to do it? You were the one being impatient earlier, remember?"

"I'm not alone, apparently." War smirked, shedding his own clothes while crossing the distance between them. "Well then, my angel, let's start. I have no intention of going easy on you tonight."

Azrael backed away, wrapping his wings around the bulkier male when they hit the wall. "I would have been offended if you did." The smaller male smiled lightly. "Besides, someone still needs to redo the Mark..."