Category: Darksiders I & II
Rating: M
Couples: Azrael/War
Warnings: AU, Yaoi, Debatable-Con (once), Lemon, Mpreg
Chapter:35
Copyright: Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me and Food-for-mind
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War carefully shifted a touch, hoping that it wouldn't wake Azrael up. The angel had taken to sleeping poorly as their child had decided at some point that the middle of the night was a lovely time to practice punching and kicking. Something it apparently did not do when its' sire was nearby. And so the scholar had nodded off as the two of them were cuddling on the couch, head resting on his mate's shoulder.
Smiling lightly, the Rider hesitantly rested his bare hand on the swollen stomach, pulling it back quickly when the sleeping form mumbled something. Soon his lover quieted down again, snuggling closer to his chest and War dared rest his hand on the silk-covered bulge. Only to frown when feeling something shift.
"Now be nice to your... mom." He whispered in the direction of his child. It had been far too short since Azrael had fallen asleep.
In answer, he felt a hard kick against his hand. Frowning, the Horseman looked at his lover who was predictably waking up.
"Mmmhhh..." Slipping his hand into War's, Azrael blinked blearily. "So much for catching up on sleep."
"Sorry." The golem-hand carefully pushed some hair out of the sleepy face. "Seems our child has the need of sleep of Nephilim, rather than angels."
"That is apparent." The angel chuckled lightly, leaning into the touch. "Just know if this persists, you'll be the one to get up at night."
"Duly noted." The Nephilim pressed a gentle kiss to his mate's cheek.
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Absentmindedly, Azrael reached for his tea. Surprisingly enough, this time all four Horsemen were at home during the day, lounging on the couches of the living-room. Well, except for one... Sipping on his steaming beverage, he looked at the Nephilim in whose lap he was sitting.
War smiled gently at him, not stopping with his combing of the angel's long feathers. "Enjoying yourself?"
"Very much so." Wrapping both his hands around his drink, he leaned his head on his mate's shoulder. "I almost don't want to get up to get a new book."
"I'd offer to do it, but regardless you still need to get up."
"So it seems." Putting the tea back on the table, Azrael dragged himself up. He could certainly understand why his mother stopped getting pregnant after him. Even if everything was perfect otherwise, one was still carrying something the weight of several substantial books around on one's stomach.
Walking past the window, he blinked a couple times. "War... you did not mention that the Fallen were scheduled to arrive."
Death quickly joined him at the window. "You indeed forgot to mention you invited to them over."
War got up slowly. "I didn't know either, brother. Which of them are here?"
"Nearly all of them, by the looks of it." Azrael looked at his mate in worry while absentmindedly rubbing his stomach.
Outside, Andras lost his fight with gravity and crashed to the ground. At least he had managed to get inside the protective wards... Half-kneeling, he panted in exhaustion. A soft dripping sound got his attention: one of his wings had been wounded, the black feathers hiding the blood. Well, that explained why it hurt so much.
War and Death were the first out of the window, crashing to the ground a short distance from the cluster of Fallen.
"You look horrible." War looked them over, seeing no un-injured ones among them. "What happened!?"
"We... we need your help..." Andras managed to get back to his feet, stumbling over to the Horsemen. "We were atta... Why are you bearing a chicklet!?" He had noticed Azrael touch down behind the two wingless males and the sight of the swollen stomach of the Archangel had briefly derailed his line of thought.
"I believe now is not the moment." Azrael slowly reached out, whispering various healing enchantments.
Andras' legs gave out when he remembered his predicament. Only a quick catch from War kept him from face-planting into the soil. "The bastards... attacked us. Said they wanted to bargain..."
"Who?" Death demanded sharply, orange eyes narrowing behind his mask.
"Demons..." Gremory spoke up as she stumbled forward. "They captured some... killed others... Caim told Andras and me to get as many as we could here."
"Which demons?" Fury had retrieved several of their healing-stones, using them on the more critically injured.
"They... they had the crest of the Dark Citadel..." Andras trembled lightly. The Dark Citadel was Hell's hub for their slave-trade and one of the Dark Prince's most powerful strongholds.
"The Slavers?" Death snarled. "Why would they want you? Last I checked, they prefer the pure stock."
"One of them... he said we'd be the best to... to breed Nephilim..." A young female, so young she had perhaps Fallen only shortly before the Endwar, whispered shyly while clutching her burned arm. "He... I saw them take the Commander."
Silence descended over the group at that statement. Even Azrael fell silent as he turned to look at the speaker.
"You're certain of that?" War demanded sharply. He growled in anger when she nodded... Only to realize that not all of that anger was his own. "Azrael...?" By the time he had turned, his lover was gone, leaving only a faint hint of a portal behind.