you are my angel
come from way above
to bring me love
her eyes
she's on the dark side
neutralize
every man in sight
to love you, love you, love you...
-Massive Attack, "Angel"
Isn't it funny, the little jokes God plays?
Many times, it seemed, Kurt had asked for a sign. A way to know that the choices he made were, indeed, the right ones. A sign from the heaven he knew would be there, even for a demon like him.
Or at least, one with the face of a demon, like him.
He'd been a fool, though. All the trials, all the pain, all that verdammt angst. When the answer was right in front of him, all along.
"Good morning, Angel," he smirked.
Warren Worthington's eyes snapped open. "You think you're funny, don't you?"
"That is not the proper answer."
Archangel lazily stretched his wings, and Kurt watched the morning light play off his heavenly feathers, immense satisfaction in his devil-eyes. "I refuse to say, 'Good morning, Charlie,' and that's the end of it."
"Ach! Mein Hertz!" Nightcrawler gripped his chest, where his heart was, and fell to the pillow again, continuing to grin.
Warren was grinning back as he propped himself up with one arm, looking groggy, and let the other stray to his companion's hard, velvety stomach, tracing a line or two there absentmindedly. "How you can be such a devil so early in the morning is totally beyond me."
Kurt's tail found its way to Warren, and began tracing up the back of his bare leg, then back down lazily. "If you are always an Angel, why should I not always be a Devil?"
Suddenly, he found himself pinned under the larger man, the entirety of Warren's warm, unyielding skin against his dense, soft fur. He had an immediate urge to shift against him, to evoke some sort of reaction from the hardness he felt against his leg now. But something in the man's blue eyes kept him from it. Instead, he reached up with one hand, gently running a finger over the supple feathers on top of one of the Angel's wings. Pure white and dark indigo. Day and night.
"You know I didn't mean it like that, Kurt."
The Nightcrawler nodded, as best he could. "Ja, Liebling. Ich verstehe."[1]
"You're more an angel than I'll ever be."
Kurt smiled up at him, "So you say."
Golden hair displaced, framed his heroic face. He was beautiful when he was vexed. Beautiful like the one he was named for, in the stained glass, in oil paints, on canvas. Gabriel, Michael. It didn't matter. No artist could capture it. Only God really could.
His Angel. His sign.
This was his place, he knew.
[1] "Yes darling, I understand" Liebling is sort of all purpose, literally "little love" but I'm sure you've all already seen enough Nightcrawler to have sorted that out from context.
AN:
The M- Mwahahaha.
Peanut- Less funny this time… also less bloody likely. But hell, I thought it was sweet…
Fata Morgana- Revenge is sweet! And na, no Stormy. We're getting to the point where' I'm going completely, utterly impossible with the pairings. You're right though, I could totally see that… it's a good idea really… hmmm ;)