Category: Darksiders I & II
Rating: M
Couples: Azrael/?, Abaddon/?
Warnings: AU, Disturbing Imagery, Lemon, Character Death
Chapter: 16
Copyright: Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me
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Even as the work on the portal-gate started, War and Death kept up the appearance of normalcy. Nephilim-hot-headedness could well mean that if the wrong people found out about an imminent attack, they would either insist on a preliminary strike, or try to get the support of Lilith. Both they could do without.
As such, the public courtship between Azrael and War continued as it had before Laylah visited. War had been both relieved and disturbed that she had barely spoken of it when he had met her. In the end, the angelic firstborn had left quickly after the talk in his tent. He wondered if it had something to do with how un-angelic her son had to be for said courtship.
War resisted a purr as he regarded Azrael at the latest evening-gathering. For now, the angelic scholar seemed content playing the submissive in their relationship. Currently that meant he was kneeling beside the nephilim-leader, wearing clothes that left him half-naked by angelic standards and just enticing enough by nephilim standards.
"You are really enjoying this, aren't you?" The angel looked up with something of a flat stare, white eyes glowing a touch in the gloom of the encroaching night.
"It's a nice view." War leaned forward lightly, offering a gentle caress to the cheek of his lover. "Thank you. I imagine this is very different from angelic courtships."
"Not to mention I have the wrong role." The angel's soft hand met his. "As long as we can agree to switch places for the White City, I can live with this."
War inclined his head lightly, that being about as close as he could get to an acquiescence in public around his people. The relationship was precarious enough without challenging the Leader's complete dominance in all matters. Looking over towards were Lust and her angel were sitting, he couldn't help but feel jealous of the Firstborn; she had far less expectations looming over her.
Next his eyes trailed over to some of the other angels in attendance. Quite some of them were looking almost upset at the sight. Apparently Azrael's submissiveness was to them as bad as War's would be to the nephilim. "Can your people, though?"
"They'll have to." White wings curled gracefully behind the seated form, long primary feathers barely touching the ground. Sometimes War wondered if angels could have entire conversations with their wings alone. It seemed they were always in motion, either from flying and even while they were on solid earth. Maybe he needed to ask about that sometime.
Nearly opposite them, Abaddon rose to leave the feast. As was usual during most feasts that didn't need his presence, Death was long gone. Various other Firstborn seemed to be glowering at them, as usual. The younger generations seemed to be as excited as usual as well.
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"Everyone has just bloody gone insane..." Abaddon muttered darkly, looking at the Nephilim he had run into a few moments ago. "Honestly... They should not be endorsing this!"
"Believe me angel, I'm not amused with... This." Death looked as if he had tasted something very disgusting.
"Though it seems we are alone in that." Heaven's General shook his head. "Creator, I need something to deal with this... Do you Nephilim have non-poisonous alcohol?" He was somewhat leery of things that were 'taught' to them by Lilith.
Eyeing the burly angel, Death retorted. "We do, but I don't think it would be what you fancy." Death had seen and tasted what the angels drink as alcohol and compared to their own brew, was like water. "It's stronger..." Death began to grin, "Probably too strong for angels."
"I can hold my liquor." Abaddon snarled. "And right now I need something strong to pretend that this is just some weird dream. Where is it?"
"Demanding." The Firstborn turned around and headed towards his tent. "And why should I share my brew with you?"
"Because if you don't, you'll loose the only other person with common sense?" The General followed him at a polite distance. "Besides, one does not drink alone, it's simply not done."
Cracking up at the last statement, Death had to agree with the General. "Let's see how well you hold your liquor then, General." Entering his tent, he was glad that none of his family was tittering around; he could at least get his stash without them begging him to share. Being firstborn had it perks.
"I am quite certain I can do that." Abaddon sat down on the furs. "I might even hold it better than you do."
Digging up one of the many skins, he threw the first one to the angel. "Is that a challenge? Or are you being too boastful?"
"Last challenge I saw ended with your brother banging Azrael." Abaddon opened the skin, taking a drink. His eyes promptly widened, wings floofing as he took several sharp breath. "Oh Creator..."
Pulling a face at the mention of his youngest sibling laying with the scholar, he however burst into a harsh guffaw at the General's reaction. "If that's your reaction to our booze, you might better stop now. As for my idiotic brother, he is distracted by your friend's... charm."
"I needed to get used to it." Abaddon took another – more conservative – drink. "I honestly do not see what Azrael finds so alluring with your sibling. He's a little boy, for Creator's sake."
"That little boy is nearly bigger and more muscular than you, and looks like your kind sans wings." With angry movements, he uncorked a skin for himself. "Your friend is a darn cradle snatcher..."
"He'd cradle-snatch just about every potential lover." Abaddon pointed out. "At least he does not accidentally kill people. Honestly, I wonder what Azrael sees in him."
