NOTE: This is the second chapter I've added tonight. Be sure to read 'Tendency For Violence' first.

So, um. I promise that all will eventually be well :) I will not leave things in such a state for Mazikeen. This chapter doesn't fix things, but we'll soon see how it resolves.

Brightly, I think. Have a good night!

Michael emerged from the bedchamber, into the raining ash and flat lighting of another Hellish day.

Yawning, scratching his chest and stomach in broad, sloppy strokes, he took stock of a strange shift in the air.

Something... was different.

He tapped his lip thoughtfully, and then smiled, thinking of what he was learning to do with those lips, and excited about what he might do next, if the Queen was agreeable.

Then the wall across the chamber caught his eye.

Slightly more crumbly than usual.

But swiftly reforming as he watched, until it was restored to its usual grey, curved, impressive height.

Michael stretched then, extending his arms, then his wings, before beating the air vigorously and resettling them at his back.

And he strode in long, confident steps, to the throne room.

What adventures of the flesh would they explore today? There were so many possibilities, and every single one tantalizing.

And always at the end, the brilliant release and descent into unknowing sleep.

Lovely

She'd mentioned a few times that it would be good if he could perhaps not fall asleep every single time, but he'd tried his best to explain that he'd never slept before these moments and that he craved the truly wonderful break from the press of everything he'd been experiencing for eons.

She had not been that impressed, honestly, suggesting it was instead a 'lack of stamina'.

But, being himself, such a thing was clearly not possible.

Finally reaching the throne, Michael gave a gracious bow - something he knew she enjoyed greatly - before rising to face her.

"My Queen, how did you wish... to..."

Michael stopped and stared.

Mazikeen was not looking at him. She sat back against the throne, her gaze fixed on where the wall had been damaged.

And the demon's eyes were wet. A line of glistening salt water trailed down one cheek.

Her mouth was a thin, forced line.

"You are crying?"

She did not look at him. Her eyes closed slowly, and new paths were laid by the tears that had been held there.

"No," she said.

Michael stared at her.

Then he pointed, helpfully.

"There is water coming from your face. I have seen you do this before. You were certainly crying then, and you cry now."

Rolling her eyes, she focused on him.

She looked terribly hurt.

Michael smiled.

"You are the only demon I have ever known who sheds tears. I find that fascinating."

Her mouth twisted, and her gaze slipped away to the wall again.

Apparently his words had not been of comfort.

Perhaps he could do better?

"Why do you cry, my queen?" he asked.

A very good start!

They would likely have sex again, now, would they not?

"Samael came back," she said flatly, not bothering to look his way.

"Really?" He stared at the portal beyond the weaved tines over the throne. "I am sorry I missed that! Did you fight? Is that why the wall was broken?"

Mazikeen did not move or blink. "I almost killed him."

Michael nodded. "I am not surprised. You are an exceptional warrior. If you catch someone off guard, their death is imminent."

He expected a smile from that, but her gaze simply dropped.

"He must have been quite surprised by your station, I suspect," he continued, determined to win some change in her demeanor. "Hell was not intended for the base Lilim to rule."

A clawed hand clamped tightly around his neck.

He was lifted from his feet, as Mazikeen stood, squeezing his throat ever harder.

When he attempted to kick and punch his way free, she merely batted his attacks aside.

"You... are... not... a base... Lilim..." he squeaked out, with effort, clawing at her fingers.

Realizing that perhaps that distinction should have been made before.

"The Lilim are not BASE, angel," she growled. "Agree, or I'll bathe the stone at my feet with your blood."

It took a great deal of internal negotiation for Michael to do so, as everyone knew that demons were base, and simply saying it was not so did not make that true.

Her threat was real enough, he knew that. The mood she was in was not one he wished to press.

Perhaps he could nod to something else? Such as the fact that Hell was hot?

He did so.

She dropped him.

Pulling himself up, rubbing at his throat while admiring her strength, he snatched at her hand as she made to walk past.

And he smiled.

"Another tryst, my Queen?" he asked in a mangled voice, with great hope.

Mazikeen stared back, her brow furrowed deeply, before pulling her hand away.

Her voice carried an odd weight when she spoke.

"You remind me of who I used to be."

Michael's smile grew.

"A compliment, I believe?"

Reaching for his cheek, she brushed there as her eyes searched his own.

And she shook her head, her eyes growing wet once more.

Before she walked away.