Balancing the tray of sliced fresh fruit, blini—piping hot off the apartment stovetop—and coffee in one hand, Ivan turned the doorknob, anxiety churning in the pit of his stomach.
Last night, Alfred had shown up to dinner with red-rimmed eyes, tear tracks on his cheeks, and a scowling brother in tow.
A pang of guilt had struck Ivan, hard. As the brothers settled in around the small table, Ivan mentally rebuked himself for his error, his carelessness in stirring up the unpleasant memories of the first few weeks following Alfred's arrival at his castle. When Ivan parted his lips to speak, Alfred's brother had shot him a glower full of such venom that the words had died on the demon's tongue.
Alfred was upset at Ivan.
That was the only explanation for why Alfred hadn't so much as glanced up from his meal, why Matthew acted so coldly towards him; the reason for the suffocating silence that engulfed the room, stifled the air to stagnancy.
Dinner had been deathly quiet except for the clink of silverware and the small sounds of chewing, until the very end, when Ivan mumbled that Alfred may sleep with his brother if he wished. Ivan had been rewarded for his reluctant decision; at that, Alfred had given him a small, precious smile, and some of the tension in his twin's shoulders had drained out.
It had been a difficult evening without his consort by his side—Ivan would not lie—but, approaching the pair of sleeping angels, the Dark general wondered if there was not truth to that old adage that absence makes the heart fonder, after all.
For Alfred looked lovely, lovelier than ever, golden limbs entwined with his brother's and form supine in total relaxation.
Ivan drank in the sight of the twins curled up against each other like kittens, the identical expressions of contentment. Francis was right: they were stunning, a perfect matched set. Their chests rose and fell with each breath as one; their long lashes fluttered with every exhale. Alfred whimpered in his sleep, suddenly, and Matthew pressed closer to his brother in his sleep, offering comfort, before Ivan could move a finger.
Carefully setting the tray down a short distance away, Ivan pulled a cushion closer to Alfred and sank down in it. He gently jostled Alfred's shoulder, unwilling to wake his consort yet mindful of the time. The debriefing with the officers over Heaven's surrender would begin soon, and it wouldn't do to be late to so crucial a meeting.
Alfred twitched, but remained deep in slumber.
"Fredka..." Ivan grazed Alfred's sensitive wings with his fingertips.
A sliver of a sapphire eye shone in the early morning light. Shifting against the cushion, Alfred stretched, cat-like. He smiled at Ivan, beatific, drowsy.
Ivan's heart sighed in delight. It had made the correct choice. It would make the same choice, a thousand times over—
"Are you certain, General Braginsky? Many a demon would leap at the chance to have both twins share his bed… It would be a rare privilege. You have taken such good care of Alfred."
"Positive, my king." Ivan's voice had been firm, firmer than he himself had expected it to come out. Like his brother, Matthew was very beautiful—he possessed the same pleasing features, the big eyes and soft hair and elegant gold-edged wings. Whereas Alfred exuded exuberance and intense energy, however, Matthew radiated a calm, delicate strength.
No, Ivan would not, because Alfred thrived on attention, demanded it constantly, and Ivan barely had enough to spare for his sunflower. Having Matthew would inevitably mean neglect for at least one angelic charge, and Ivan would not take the risk.
The second, perhaps more important reason, was that Ivan didn't want Alfred to get any… ideas. Alfred was satisfied with the current arrangements. He was happy living with Ivan, attending school in the human world, working on his projects. Ivan could not afford anything that might jeopardize the fragile peace. What if Alfred's brother ignited a desire for freedom in Alfred? A yearning to escape and return to Heaven, to leave Ivan?
Ivan could bear neither the persistent wondering nor suspicion, the fear—
"There is another option that we might consider…"
"Mm, good morning, Vanya." Wriggling onto the cool lap, Alfred pillowed his head against Ivan's chest, right above the spot where the demon's heart beat.
Ivan kissed the top of his consort's head. "Hello, Fredka. Did you sleep well last night?" He wound one arm around the angel's slim waist.
"Yeah! Mattie and I stayed up pretty late, catching up. We got really sleepy, though, and knocked out. Didya miss me?"
"Very much, lapochka." Ivan had tossed and turned for much of the night, finally sinking into a fitful sleep in the early hours of the morning. Lying with Alfred made him dream of summer and orchards, of warmth and the sun. He had missed those dreams, and Alfred, dearly.
Alfred played with Ivan's fingers, stroking the knuckles, tapping the ring on Ivan's hand. "Ah, I'll be there tonight." He pressed the pad of his thumb lightly to Ivan's wrist, on the pulse. "Is that for Mattie and me?" Alfred cocked his head in the direction of the breakfast tray.
"Da, da. Blini and fruit, and some coffee. Have you and Matvey discussed what you will be doing before Gilbert arrives?"
"We're gonna spend some time around the castle, finish up the tour. Then probably go to New York."
Ivan's mouth tightened into a thin line. "New York?"
"There's not much to do around the castle." Alfred peered up at Ivan. "I want to show Mattie the apartment, take him around campus. Maybe go to McDonald's." Alfred lifted a hand to rub at the base of a glossy horn. His wrist grazed the demon's cheek. "That's not a problem, is it?"
Ivan hummed at the feel of the warm metal. No, it would not be a problem—Alfred had his bracelets. Alfred would not try to run, not while the bracelets inhibited his power and Ivan held the compass tracker. And the halo. The halo, of course. "That sounds fine, dorogoy. Will you be back for dinner?"
"Sure." Alfred reached up to peck Ivan on the cheek. "Thank you, Vanya. You've been very nice to Matt. I really, really appreciate it. I mean that." He whispered the last bit into Ivan's ear, grinding his hips down. "Wanna know how much?"
The demon shivered in anticipation. Gods, Ivan wanted nothing more than to ravish his consort until Alfred was a whimpering mess beneath him, breathless and flushed, lips reddened and kiss-swollen. But—
"Meeting," Ivan choked out. "I have a meeting in five minutes. I have to go. Now."
"Darn." Alfred pouted. "Okay. Don't want you to be late, big guy." He kissed Ivan once more. "See you at dinner, Vanya."
"Gods and goddesses, this is Ivan's?"
"Yep!" Alfred picked up the large stuffed whale on the bed. "And this is Whaley! Whaley is mine. I'm supposed to tell people that Ivan got him for me at a carnival a few years back, but actually, it was me. I rescued Whaley from the game booth. I guess you can say I'm Whaley's hero—"
"Great." Matthew interrupted before he was forced to indulge his brother's hero complex. "Wonderful story, eh. Absolutely heartwarming. Can we get back to the part where Ivan Braginsky owns the fanciest penthouse apartment in New York? How in Heaven does he have this kind of money? He's a general, right? Like us? And not secretly the head of an organized crime group?"
"Oh, so Francis gives the demon generals a personal salary. The military budget is a separate thing! Isn't that wild? I think this apartment was a gift for a victory a few decades back."
Matthew shook his head in disbelief. "Insane. What incentive is there for them to be efficient with their spending, then?"
"I haven't figured that out yet. Ivan sucks at handling money. His soldiers aren't even equipped with automatics, it's kinda sad. Manual everything." Alfred fluffed up Whaley. "I can't believe we lost to that," he muttered, expression glum.
Matthew arched an eyebrow. "We didn't lose because of the Dark army's inferior tech, if my memory serves me right," he said dryly. "In fact, I seem to recall that our defeat was largely because of a certain—"
"Boy, am I hungry! Those blinis don't fill ya up at all. There's some pancake mix in the kitchen. Make me some of your famous pancakes, Mattie?"
The honey blond rolled his eyes. Some things—namely, his idiot brother—never changed.
"Is this what every day's like, Al?"
"Yeah, pretty much." Alfred took a bite out of his cone. "Ivan's busy with work all the time, so he lets me do whatever."
Whatever meant quite a lot, apparently. If this was how all demons treated their captives, Matthew was beginning to understand why Alfred didn't make a bigger fuss over betraying Heaven.
Ivan gave Alfred a ridiculous amount of freedom, as well as a more-than-generous allowance, judging by how the golden blond hadn't batted an eye at the McDonald's cash register when he paid for their early-afternoon meal ("A snack, Mattie!").
Yeah, that hadn't been a snack ("S-seven cheeseburgers, Al?"), but the cashier hadn't seemed surprised ("And three orders of fries with that, sir?"), so Matthew was driven to conclude that it was something of a regular occurrence.
Matthew couldn't remember the last time he had so much free time, so few responsibilities, and so much fun. Alfred had dragged him to his favorite cafés, his university, and Central Park, where Matthew had the dubious honor of witnessing his twin single-handedly raise the obesity rates for local wildlife—("Alfred, that duck can't walk." "Of course not! Ducks waddle, silly.")
Back in Heaven, the most that he and Alfred had were a couple of days off here and there, when issues hadn't been urgent enough to demand their immediate attention. To have a whole day off like this… it was really, really nice, despite the circumstances.
A drop of vanilla ice cream landed on his red maple hoodie, and Matthew absently dabbed at it with a napkin.
"Hey, Al, why don't you run away?"
"Whadya mean?"
Matthew gestured around them. "You know. Just leave. Not go back to Ivan's castle."
"Oh." Alfred swirled his tongue around to scoop up the last bit of coffee ice cream. "Ivan'll probably get mad. Also, these." He extended his wrist to display a gold bracelet.
"…You wear jewelry now?"
Alfred snickered around his mouthful. "No, it's a power suppresser. And tracker. And a clock!" Alfred tossed the rest of the cone into his mouth and crunched. He jabbed a finger at one of the carved runes. The runes glowed blue, briefly forming numbers. "Ivan's the only one who can take them off, 'cause I technically belong to him."
"Huh." Matthew frowned. "Isn't that kind of messed up? You shouldn't belong to anyone."
Alfred shrugged. "Yeah. But I also did a bunch of messed-up stuff during the war. We all kinda did. If I didn't have these on, I probably would have accidentally killed Ivan already."
"And that's bad? You were fine with bombing him to smithereens."
Alfred swatted the honey blond at the reminder. "Yes, that's bad! It's, ugh, I don't know." The blue-eyed former general carded a hand through his hair. "It's different. I'm Ivan's consort. The missile isn't. Also, we planned the missile thing out. Like, there was a whole step-by-step procedure involved and everything. I was really counting on the missile, you know. I thought that giving him the halo would at least incapacitate him for a few weeks, to get you guys more time, but Ivan's the same as always. His heartbeat's even stronger now, although I suppose I should have seen it coming, he was all right after I injected that Light magic into his blood. Stupid Ivan, stupid demon immune system—" Alfred began to grumble under his breath.
"I don't get you, Al. Why would you think that conducting an experiment on a sample size of one was a good idea? And I'm not sorry I didn't deploy the missile. There was no guarantee that Francis wouldn't have continued the war, anyway." A thought suddenly struck Matthew. "Hey, you think you can help me escape?"
Alfred stopped his litany of complaints. "Escape where?"
"I don't know, back to Heaven? There's probably a portal around here somewhere, eh."
Alfred grimaced. "'Fraid not, bro. I've poked around most of the portals in the city, and they all lead to either the Underworld or middle-of-nowhere Appalachia. Do you want to be stranded in the Appalachians? Now that was a strange Wednesday. Great music over there, though. I played banjo in a bluegrass band."
"…The fuck?"
"Yeah, I didn't think so. Also, you don't know anyone in the human world, don't have any papers, and have nowhere to go." Alfred ticked off each point on his fingers. "There's no telling when you can get to Heaven. And it might be dangerous. I don't want you to get hurt, Mattie. The Underworld really isn't that bad, Mattie. Neither is Gilbert. Please give him a chance? Think of him as an onion; Gil has layers. I mean, they're not particularly deep layers or anything, but—"
"I know you're not making another one of your dumb movie references, Alfred," Matthew said flatly. He slumped against the back of the bench. "I don't like it," he murmured. "I get no say. I don't know how you can just be Ivan's consort."
"It's better than being a pleasure slave." Alfred's tone became cold, clinical. "It's better than having your body be common property. I don't know what Ivan wants me to be—I'm sure as fuck not his equal—but at least he doesn't share me with any horny demon. You should be grateful that with Gil, you can be a real consort, instead of this sham I have with Braginsky. Did you know only virgins can be consorts? Feliks told me that."
"I'm not a virgin, though."
The golden blond's jaw dropped. "What?"
Matthew huffed indignantly. "Excuse me for not being a repressed nerd! You're worse than a Puritan, Al. Not everyone's idea of a hot date is assembling a computer on a Friday night."
"My brother is a promiscuous manslut?" Alfred yelped.
"No!" Matthew crossed his arms. "Gods, no. It was just one guy. And you're one to talk. I saw what you and Ivan were doing this morning, and, really, Alfred, you'd think you could be a bit more considerate, since I was right there—"
"But angel generals aren't supposed to get into relationships!"
"With other angels, no. The guy was human. And it wasn't really a relationship, more like a fling. I snuck down to Miami a couple decades ago for a weekend in March. He was really nice. Cuban." Matthew blushed as memories surfaced. "I don't remember his name now, actually… smoked a lot of weed that week. Spring break gets pretty crazy down there, eh."
Alfred buried his face in his hands. "Gods," he moaned. "This is terrible. Gil will never take you as a consort now."
"Well, who's going to tell him?"
Alfred looked up, eyes wide. "What?"
"Who's going to tell him?" Matthew repeated. "How's he going to find out?" The honey blond straightened up. "It doesn't make sense, does it? Only allowing virgins to be consorts? Angels and demons live for thousands of years." Matthew scooted closer to his brother on the bench. "Ivan doesn't have to know about the missile, and Gilbert doesn't have to know that I'm not a virgin. No one will be hurt. Isn't that what you wanted, Al?"
"…Yeah." Alfred let his hands fall to his lap. "Not a word. No one has to know. No one will be hurt." He gave Matthew a wobbly smile. "Kick ass as Gil's consort, okay? Don't be like me."
Matthew sighed. "Alfred, I'm pretty sure that you've misinterpreted something. Ivan likes you. He lets you do stuff like this, eh." Matthew waved vaguely around them.
"I—" Alfred's hands clenched into fists. "At the very beginning, I thought that maybe…" His voice trembled. "But, um, there was this time when we were fighting a monster, and he said some stuff—" Alfred cut himself off. His fingers slowly uncurled.
"Never mind. I don't want to talk about it. I was the one who misinterpreted. You can't let your guard down in enemy territory, Matt. Gotta keep your defenses up. There are no reinforcements to get you out of a sticky situation. No one to save you." The angel laughed without mirth and wrapped his bomber jacket tighter around himself. "Let's go back. It's almost dinnertime. Ivan's expecting us."
