Thank you all so much for the reviews, Aditu, BloodHeron, 2sidez-Samecoin and Tegaladwen. I am really honoured to have so dedicated readers!
You can't know how much I've worked, waited, re-worked, and sweated blood and tears over this damned chapter! I've never, ever written a scene like that before, and by now I'm so embarrassed and so ready to throw up out of "écoeurentite aigüe" if I have to re-work it another time that… that…! I decided to post it as it is. It's not quite as I would like it, but… (sigh). I think that if I get no encouragement after this, I will run away forever from fanfiction and never look back.
So… before I change my mind I post it.
Chapter 10. Revelation
Atsanit woke a few hours later only, and it was still the night. She pushed the sheets aside, a little confused, and suddenly realized what the sheets were, and remembered what had happened. She jumped, looking at Tyrael, sitting next to her, his wing still covering half her body. She was embarrassed, and she knew he felt those things.
"Are you feeling better?", he asked gently.
Actually, she did. Like she had slept twenty-four hours in a row. "Yes, I do," she answered, but could find nothing to add after that.
"You wonder why I am here," he stated, his wing being pulled back towards him, sliding on her naked legs in a delicate caress.
"Y-yes, I do," she repeated, repressing a shiver, wondering why she was suddenly almost overwhelmed by desire in his presence, instead of feeling embarrassed as she usually did to be so out of her league.
"I tried to find a way to explain it to you," he said. His voice was different; it sounded more human, less Heaven-borne. "I find no words, but there are many ways for my angelic senses to tell it to you. Do you wish me to show you?"
This was going too fast for her to understand it. "A-Alright," she answered.
Tyrael floated to her slowly, and she looked at him coming closer with a totally confused look on her face. He removed one of his gloves. She let out a shocked gasp as she saw his skin. It was shining like his armour; he had a delicate but powerful hand. He felt that she was almost afraid; she knew humans were not supposed to see angels, even less their uncovered features.
"Do not fear," he said. And he touched her hand.
She knew instantly that it was the first time a mortal saw or touched an Archangel's skin. She felt the liberation Tyrael experienced, and she sighed with him of shared release. He learned through her perception that his skin was hot to the touch, mostly like a fevered man. She became aware of his long life; she knew he had lived long, but the contact with him made her realize exactly how much time he had gone through, and she felt a dizziness to know it. She was aware also of his birth as something completely alien to the mortal world she knew. She felt the distance between their experiences of life, and again she felt dizzy to witness it. And she felt what she already knew was there in his heart, his longing to understand the mortals, his love of them. She learned of his admiration of her with surprise, her surprise growing as he told her what she had taught him, and that she had surprised him. She felt his overwhelming experience and power that could prevent him from being surprised at anything, because he could almost guess anything that could possibly come to be. Then, he lightly brushed his thumb across the back of her hand, a tender gesture that surprised her. His feelings turned suddenly to the stirring in his heart, to his attraction to her. And she recognized in him something he could not even identify himself, because he had not been born to know it: love.
She concentrated a while, before she could regain control of her own senses and speak: "Tyrael… are we…" She paused. "I do not know what to do, or to say. I am… more grateful than I can say to be worthy of your… love." She lifted her face to look at the shadow of his hood, and he saw the calm in her face, the acceptation of his feelings for her, the relief not to be so foolish after all. "But… I am only a mortal, and I doubt the… distance between us is likely to become smaller by the minute."
"I was not sure what love was," Tyrael then confessed, with a touching naïveté. "You have taught this to me too." She smiled sweetly, and the stirring in his heart doubled.
"I am glad you could gain some understanding of the mortals because of me," she said.
"No, Atsanit, do not fool yourself," he answered. "This is not only that. I do not simply wish to understand the mortals. This is a feeling I am feeling for you, and I wish to live it, because I am a person behind the Archangel's responsibilities, and as a person I wish to live the feelings that I have." He made a pause, and his voice dropped, sounding even more human: "You are more… so much more… valuable to me than a simple tool in my learning."
She smiled brightly, and tears shone in her eyes. "Tyrael… I am honoured, but I… I do not understand. I do not understand… why you… how you can live this feeling. I know I can go back to the fortress of the Zann Esu, be the guardian of the doors for the rest of my life without fear of anything coming to face me, and remember you… tenderly… in the secret of my heart for the rest of my days. That is what comes for me from my love of you. But you? I do not know, Tyrael. I do not understand."
"You have banished the last of the Three tonight," Tyrael reminded. "This night is a moment in Time. I love you tonight; I am learning what loving means in this very moment. And there is no Heaven to stop it, there is no Michael to put his nose in my actions, there is only what I choose to do of this moment of freedom." He saw in her face that she did not understand. He stretched his angelic senses again, and shared with her what the Eve of the Three meant for Heaven, what it meant that it was over. He also shared with her that she would have become an Archangel in any earlier moment of history. How his intricate responsibilities were lessened suddenly, thanks to her grand actions. "See how I am free now," he said, pointing out with words at what he was telling her with other means. "Heaven and responsibilities will catch up with me sooner or later, but tonight… you freed me."
She kept looking at him in silence. He felt how deeply moved she was, and it touched his almost newfound heart. He let go of her hand slowly, and the snapping of their bound hurt him. She winced, and reclaimed her hand as though he had bitten her. She was looking at him with a wounded look on her face, her feelings much more distant. He needed a moment to dim his light correctly again, bursting with light in the silent jungle for a few seconds. He scanned the surroundings rapidly, feeling there was no one to notice his burst of light.
He lifted his hands slowly, and he sensed the almost unbearable waiting that she felt, her hurt forgotten, how she could hardly breathe at all. He lowered his hood on his shoulders. The hurt and the waiting were gone from her. She was observing him in complete shock, her mind almost refusing to accept that Tyrael, the Warrior Archangel, had shown her his face.
"Do not fear," he repeated. "Heaven's wrath will not smite you for my disobedience."
Then she swallowed, hard. She seemed about to say something, but kept silence for a while longer, examining his features with bold curiosity. He wondered what he looked like to her eyes.
"You are beautiful," she whispered.
He smiled, and she saw his smile for the first time. He had almost human features, although they were far too perfect to be those of a human, and his skin was shining. He looked very young, younger than her even, a face spared by time and battles. His hair was blond, just long enough to brush his ears, curly. His eyes were shining the same as his face, and she could not tell if they had any color. They were slightly almond-shaped over elegant cheekbones. His jaw was discreetly square, as that of a very young man.
"This is who hides below the hood," she finally stated, regaining a measure of self-control. He nodded wordlessly, still smiling at her. "You look so young," she added.
"Although I am not."
"No. And you have no scars, even though I know that you have fought many a great battle."
"I have."
She looked at him. She reconciled the image she had of Tyrael in her mind, the great hooded Archangel with this very young, blond man, smiling at her. Of course, there was still the angelic armour and wings to prove it was him, but she needed a moment to blend in both images.
"Is my image pleasing to you?", he asked then, sounding much more like the young man she was laying eyes on than the Tyrael she knew.
"It is," she said, smiling, amused at his self-doubt. As if any mortal could resist the sight of an Archangel's face.
He felt her amusement, and laughed. It was the second time she had heard him laugh, and it warmed her heart. "I see," he said.
"Forgive me," she answered, still smiling at him, stifling her laughter.
He looked at her for a moment, her smile and shining eyes. It was strange to him to suddenly find himself in a role where he did not know what to say or to do, and was not even sure of what he wanted. He wanted to kiss her, although he was not sure how he was supposed to ask her, and what else he wished to happen.
Suddenly, she ended the necessity for him to ponder the question, because she extended a hand, moving on her knees a little closer to him, and touched his cheekbone with the tip of her fingers.
He closed his eyes, his face relaxing, as her fingers came closer. She almost could not believe her own audacity, but his stillness and his closed eyes told her of his acceptance. Her heart was pounding. Her fingertips touched lightly his cheek. It was much like his hand, hot to the touch as though his body was in a fever. He took a breath, eyes still closed, turning slightly his head so her fingers touched his cheek more fully. Slowly, she slid her hand on his cheek, and she observed as his gloved hand came up to press her hand to his cheek.
Her heart was racing, and she was breathless. He sensed her incredulity at what was happening, but her excitement of it being real. He kept his eyes closed, all his senses starting to tell him of a dozen details he had never noticed before. How her body was suddenly producing more heat, how her heart was pounding, that her hair smelled of vanilla, that her face was flushed, that her hand was slightly trembling.
He dared not move. Her hand lifted slightly from his cheek, and wandered to his forehead. Slowly, she ran her hand through his hair.
He felt, then, that she would not be bolder than that, and he clearly perceived that she was sure that it was over right there, that she would go back to the Zann Esu with the secret knowledge and dear memory that she had ran her hand through his hair.
His desire exploded in all of his senses, out of his control, and Atsanit removed her hand as though she had been burned, gasping suddenly. He opened his eyes slowly.
"I-I'm sorry," she stammered, looking at him. He knew she had not understood, that she was sure he felt like she was tempting him as he was about to go away.
"Do not be," he said, his voice low, slightly hoarse, very different than the voice he had used all the other times she had heard him speak. "I am free for a while yet," he finally said, before interrupting himself, embarrassed, and confused at being so.
He saw understanding suddenly dawning in her features. "Oh," she said.
"That is what I want, I cannot hide it, I see," he said. "But you are free also."
She made a sad smile then. "Forgive me if I speak out of turn, but I doubt you understand what you are asking."
"What do you mean?", he asked, wanting to touch her hand again so that he might understand, and it was the first time in his long life that he asked anyone what they meant.
She extended her hand, gesturing him to take it, understanding instantly how to communicate best with him. He took her hand.
He instantly felt her desire, too, and it took him every bit of discipline to contain himself. Then, as he was getting back under control, she shared with him a departure she had lived before. It was a touching testimony to Tyrael, that she trusted him with a part of her life. He understood, because she made him live it with her, the pain of separation, the long days of sadness because of the other's absence.
"I… did not know," Tyrael said, still puzzled, but quickly seeing the sense in it all.
"I know," Atsanit answered calmly. "A good side of love is to look at the future together. We will not do that, obviously."
"I now see how it matters," he answered, and looked at her. It did not change how he was feeling, or how she was feeling. "There is something else I have understood, that you have not shown me," he added then. She looked at him attentively. "Since it changes nothing to what… I… feel… and that we will be separated regardless of what happens… then I would rather cherish one more memory of you. The most precious of all."
She smiled, her eyes full of tears, then she laughed. Then there was a second of silence and stillness. She was holding his hand, and she felt his consuming desire to kiss her, although he was too doubtful to move. Her heart started to pound and race once more, and she lifted her free hand to touch his face. He closed his eyes, and turned slightly his head in her direction, his breathing quickening, and each one of his angelic senses that were sharing with her was screaming of the unbearable waiting he suffered without moving. His whole body tensed when he felt her breathing on his face. She slowly, slowly lifted her face, and then their lips met.
Her lips were soft and cool. For a second, Tyrael held still, holding his breath. And then, his discipline snapped, and he kissed her back passionately, throwing his arms around her, his wings lifting them both above the ground in his exuberance. Her hand was at the back of his neck, pulling him to her, and her arms were over his shoulders.
She pulled away, and started laughing. He did not have to ask; he knew she was laughing because she was floating above the ground in his arms. Tyrael slowly put them back on the ground on their feet. He let his wings rest on her body, however. He was a head taller than she was, and she looked up at him, both arms around his neck.
Tyrael looked down at her. She was smiling.
"I love you, Atsanit," he said. He felt it echo in his heart.
"I love you too, Tyrael," she answered. He felt it warm his heart. He closed his arms more tightly around her. "Please," she complained, "don't crush me against your armour."
Tyrael let go of her, a sheepish look on his face, and his wings came back towards his chest as he started to unbuckle his breastplate, hands and wings working altogether. He surprised a shot of desire from Atsanit as he did so, the Sorceress wondering how he could coordinate his movements so, and what else he could do with his wings at the same time as his hands. A moment later, she caught his hand in mid-air, and removed his remaining glove, as his wings finished to unbuckle his breastplate, more slowly. He teased her, caressing her face with the tip of a filament of his wings as the others removed his armour.
She gasped as his body became visible below the armour; he wore only a stretch shirt underneath, black and the same fabric as his gloves, not leaving a bit of his muscles to the imagination. She eyed him up and down. His wings dropped the armour in a pile on the ground. She started to unbuckle his gauntlets, while his wings rid him of the lower part of his armour, and dropped it with the rest.
Now rid of his cumbersome armour, he gathered her in his arms, and held her against his chest. But he did not resist really long the urge to bury his hands in her hair, and to kiss her again, his wings caressing her back and legs.
And so, an interesting while later, they were both stretched together on her cape in the middle of the jungle, but they were not really paying attention to the sounds of the night, as they had more urgent things on their minds.
Atsanit could feel with every part of her body touching Tyrael or his wings the gradual liberation of pleasure in his body, and it fed her own pleasure and desire. He was lost to his senses. Each move was a pleasure beyond words. He was taken in, completely taken by what she was giving him, and after a while they started to float into the air, his wings holding them both together. Atsanit laughed again, breathlessly, thinking in an unseemly fashion that this must have been what the creator of the word "lifted" had in mind. But it was her very last coherent thought, because the urgency of her own need was lifting her in more than the physical sense.
She clawed her hands into the small of his back, throwing her head back, a long, satisfied moan escaping her throat, her hands commanding and demanding, her body a gift she was offering. His jaw clinched, his body tensed, and in one thrust he gave himself to her. His head bent over her chest, as his wings were setting them on the ground slowly, and he thought: "This is heaven."
His trembling body rested on hers a long time, their breathing slowing and their heart calming. Archangels never slept, but this once Tyrael's mind came to rest in a state much like slumber. Atsanit's arms were around him, and she was gently caressing his back under the filaments of his wings that were spread on them, unmoving, like a tall and brilliant sheet covering them. He held no control of his light at the moment, and she had to keep her eyes closed. She was satisfied and sated, and she felt every bit of Tyrael's fulfilment and laziness with his angelic senses telling it to her. Eventually, he dropped his luminosity to a tolerable level, and rolled slowly away from her to his back, his wings squished under his weight, dazzled.
She timidly rolled into him, resting her head on his shoulder. He sighed contentedly, and drew her to his chest, wrapping his arms around her. She crossed her leg with his, and his wing moved up to cover them both like a sheet again.
He felt a bit of mischief in her mind then.
"What?", he asked, smiling in advance.
"Well, I was wondering… if this was the first time you fell in love, then it must be the first time you made love."
"It is," Tyrael answered.
"Then… you are quite imaginative, or you have learnt things in ways that I cannot figure."
Tyrael laughed. "I have been assigned to watch over mortals in the past. I have witnessed many things."
"I see," she said, mischief not gone from her mind. "But I guess, then, that these mortals had no wings. I still have to say that you are imaginative."
Tyrael grinned, and hugged her with his wing. Then: "You are tired again," he said, sensing her laziness.
"Well… no. It is… the calm in the release. The sleepiness will fade," she explained.
"I will watch over you if you sleep," Tyrael said. He felt that she was touched with his concern. Her hand on his chest went to hug his waist, and she moved her head slightly in the hollow of his shoulder, making herself more comfortable. She very soon fell asleep, and Tyrael laid his head down on her cape, looking up at the stars, fading in the sky that was clearing.
The Archangel knew that Heavens would consider the moment of freedom over very soon, but he did not wish to wake Atsanit. Not yet. She slept so peacefully in his arms. He looked down, still amazed at what had happened, and felt like a different person now. And no angel but him in Heaven had ever loved. It seemed strange, that something so obviously gifted by Paradise was unknown to angels. He was grateful to have been allowed it, and felt the jabbing of pain Atsanit had warned him about at the thought of soon leaving her. But it had been worth it, no matter his punishment if one ever came, and the pain he might be experiencing because he had to leave her.
He let her sleep an hour, looking at her and imprinting the image of her face and body in his memory, after which he had to stir her from her dreams. He thought of letting her sleep, but it seemed cruel to leave forever without saying goodbye.
He was still touching her, so he just stretched his angelic senses, and slid in her dreams to tell her she needed to wake up. She woke, and looked up at him. Already sadness was to her mind. He gently kissed her, then he freed himself from her arms, and pulled his wing from under her gently. He looked at her a moment, adoration and sadness in his eyes, then visibly turned his regard elsewhere, looking for his discarded clothing. She hugged her body with her arms, cold now that the heat of his body and the protection of his wing were gone. She turned her own way, and dressed.
She did not put on her armour, just her clothes, and watched as Tyrael's wings were putting his armour back on, all parts at the same time, buckling leather straps with speed and perfect tension.
Tyrael suddenly paused. "Heaven is calling," he said.
She nodded silently. She stood up, unsure of what to do. Tyrael floated to her, and pulled her into his arms; he felt sorry to have his armour on.
"Do not cry," he said, sensing her sadness with his naked hand at the back of her neck. "We have lived a moment of beauty."
"I know," she answered, and he felt a bit of anger at his almost constant preaching. "Tell me you're feeling fine yourself."
Tyrael smiled, and made her look at his smile. "You know me well enough now to know that I am not. But it was a moment of beauty nevertheless."
"I know," she agreed, although still annoyed.
They remained in each other's embrace for a few minutes more. Then, Atsanit pulled away. "I know you have to go," she said.
Tyrael put one knee to the ground in front of her, took her hand and kissed it. "I will remember you, my love."
Her eyes filled with tears, but she did not cry. She took a long breath. "And I you, my love, Tyrael."
He squeezed her hand, then turned away, starting to float up, putting his gloves back on. He turned to look at her as he was flying upwards, one last look at her divine face, looking at him going with sadness, but no tears, before he put his hood back on and flew upwards with all his speed. His heart would stay far lower, in the mortals' realms. All the other Archangels would feel that his heart was sinking when he would arrive at the council. But they would also all feel that he had loved, and maybe they would learn what it meant, and why he loved mortals. And of their courage to love, and their courage in letting go of the loved one out of their love for him.
Tyrael cried below his hood as he flew up to Heaven.
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Hey guys! I'm asking for your opinion again. Originally, the storyline ended here. But after successfully ridding myself of another character which insistently bothered me to write him up (mainly by writing him the hell up) I re-read this chapter (as you've surely understood from the first disclaimer up there…) and came up with an idea for a sequel. What I want to add could easily enough be made to fit after the current end (there's only one detail of the current story I'll have to go against). So if any of you is still here and hasn't run away because of my lousy love scene, feel free to complain about how too short this story is with its 20 thousand or some words…. And I'll write some more! Believe it or not, even after almost throwing my computer out the window not to have to look this chapter again, the obsession has seized me again. Now I can't stop thinking about Tyrael and what he deserves to be written. So… what do you think?
