Michael walked his way down the steps into the inferno that was the forges of Heaven, the blacksmiths hard at work crafting and mending weapons of the warriors, but he had eyes only for one Armour in particular.

He was hard at work, pounding a mallet to the end of a long thin blade of a sword, sparks flew over his head and faded into the air around him. His was caught up in his own thoughts, or else he would have noticed the arrival of his particular archangel behind him.

It wasn't until arms wound their way around his lower stomach that he stopped, startled at the sudden feeling of being pulled back into one's chest, and his gently lowers his mallet, "Mike?"

"You should not be working so hard?"

He looked up, though far from being a young one, he was still just as short as a tall youngling. Something his fellow armour brothers made fun of him for, and met the amused eyes of his Archangel, a chin rubbed up against the side of his neck, a nose brushing over his ear.

"Puriel needs his sword mended soon."

"He will understand if you took a moment to rest," he squeezed him around the middle in a gentle way, massaging his thumbs into both of his hips, "Which is something you need more of." He smiled when he felt the younger lean back into his chest, heaving a comfortable sigh, "You must be so tense, muscles so worked, working all day in the forges." He reached around for his lower back and dug his fingers in, the blacksmith groaned lowly, arching in to the touch, "And you've been working for so long, rumors say it's been for two days without pause, everything must be so sore."

"I know what you're trying to do."

"A hot spring, how does that sound?", he moved up to his mid back, kneading knuckles into the tense muscles that spasms under his touch, and he feels his armour lean into his touch, "And a nice massage, for those toughened muscles, then perhaps a nice long sleep?"

He watches the fingers on the mallet slowly loosen, and he's quick in reaching forward to grab it before it hit the floor underneath them, setting it aside on the table.

"How does that sound?"

"Can…Can I sleep with you?"

"If you come with me, yes?"

The archangel smiles when the blacksmith quickly undoes his leather apron and tosses it over his work table, quickly returning to the archangels side, and he quickly, in a swift fashion, scooped him up into his arms bridal style, turning back in the directions of the steps.

There's a hot spring, bubbling and warm, back behind their villa surrounded by a group of willow trees and that's where they find themselves. His archangel sets him down to his feet once more and directed him to the spring, turning with the word over his shoulder of his going to get soap from their own wash room, and he quickly strips from his sooty clothing and tenderly climbs into the hot spring.

A deep, long, sigh emits from him at the heated water wrapping around his sore muscles, it was like a thick warm blanket curling around him and soothing away the ache. He's so comfortable that he doesn't start when hands close around his shoulders, and thumbs dig soothing circles into his shoulders, right where his wings would be had he had them manifested.

"Why don't you clean yourself up and then we can do get some rest?"

One of the hands removed itself from his shoulders and hands him a bar of soap, and he gives a slight whine when the hand does not return to his shoulder, "There will be more of that once you are finished washing."

Elyon washes quickly, making sure to focus on the spots that are particularly matted with soot and grim from the soot and the grime that built up from hard days in the forges, and a large hand pats his head as though to remind him, "Don't forget to wash your hair." Fingers rub at his scalp slightly, "You are not sleeping in my bed covered in soot and grime."

He nods, ducking into the hot spring to wet his hair, and lathers enough soap into his hands to wash through his curly hair, until it's soft to the touch and lightens up enough to a near blonde color. Michael passes him a warm plush towel to dry himself with, and a fresh set of robes.

The blacksmith pulls the shirt over his head, and looks up at his archangel in quick succession, and he gains himself a chuckle from the act, "You look like a fledgling doing that." He curls both hands around his cheeks and presses their foreheads together, "Ready for sleep?"

He nods, and gets swooped up again, just like before, and this time the archangel sighs as a head rests against his shoulder.

The Healer gave an approving nod, playing a game at the table with their fledgling, and the Viceroy spares him a smile as he carries the blacksmith down the hall towards his room. His room is large, wide open, and quite sparse. It had big windows that allow the cool early autumn breeze to blow in as it pleases. And the bed, the bed is big and wide, soft as a cloud, the blankets light as a feather but so deceiving warm, the blacksmith would know, he's slept in that bed before.

Michael sets him in the center of his bed, covering him with a blanket as he turns to remove his boots and leather vest, leaving him in nothing but his under trousers and tunic, and he crawls into bed next to him. He lays on his side, and curls an arm around the armour for him to pull him into his chest.

"I haven't see you in so long, little Ely, we used to be so close."

"Until you sent me into the prisons."

"An error in my judgement that I will never forgive myself for.", he looked down at him, from where he lay leaning up on his elbow, and kissed him on the ear, "It took your smile from you as well." The arm curled around his midsection tightened its grip around him, and the blacksmith looks down at it, "You are as hardened as those celestial metals you work with." The blacksmith was too busy staring at his fingers to see the look that crossed over his face, "But I can fix that." He leans down, burying his face into the blacksmiths neck, and Elyon shrieks brightly, scrunching up on himself instantly "Mihihichael….Michae…..Micha stoop!"

"I don't think so," he blew a deep breath into the curve of his neck and he shrieks in return "We need to soften that heart again." Elyon tries to squirm away but the archangel has him trapped with the arm around his waist. He blows into his neck once again and the blacksmith arches, his fingers curling around the archangels, trying to tug them away from around his waist, anything for him to squirm away from the attacks to his neck, but they didn't budge and he was well and truly stuck.

"One more?" the archangel chuckles into the skin right under his ear, "For old times sake?"

"Nohohohoho!"

"One more." And the archangel burrows in deeply, and blows as hard as he can into his neck, and his blacksmith screams in laughter, because as he blows out into his neck, those fingers resting over his lower belly dig in harshly, it goes on for a moment, the younger angels fingers grip tightly at the sheet of the bed and holds on as much as he can as he just succumbs to the torture.

And then he pulls away and he falls limp against him as he turns on his back, pulling the blacksmith up to rest on his chest, he chuckles when he feels the blacksmith stiffen as if preparing himself for more of an attack once again, and he rubbed a hand down his belly soothingly, "Calm down, my little armour, I'm done with my attack, I swear." He pokes him playfully at his belly, "For now, anyway."

His arms cross over him snuggly, and he presses his lips to the younger angels cheek, "Rest now. I will be here when you wake up."

"Swear?"

"Swear."