In all his time at the Manor, he’d ventured into his reserved room only twice, each time looking for a drink and a little quiet, and nothing more. The silk sheets of his bed, the embers in the marble fireplace, nothing has been disturbed, and the room remained wholly unlived in.
He was seated now before the great window over looking the garden, his forehead pressed to the cool glass and a delicate-looking goblet of chardonnay in one hand. Outside, the sun was setting, painting the Manor grounds in shades of orange and gold, but even as he watched the creeping shadows, Gabriel saw something entirely different, a scene playing out in his head, which, had he not seen it through his own eyes, he would have believed to have happened to some other being.
"Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see..."
The soft strains of music reached him from nowhere in particular, and he remembered.
Belial, his hands on him, his lips so close to Gabriel’s own that there was hardly more than a breath between them. Gabriel had shuddered at the awareness of the demon’s arousal, their bodies pressed so close, and yet he had done nothing.
Had been able to do nothing.
For in that instant he had seen not the demon, but the angel that had once been his companion, his friend. In the coal black eyes of a Prince of Hell, he'd seen the gaze, pale and bright, in which he had once found a light so lucid and warm that one look had inspired him to weave the first flickering tongues of fire.
Belial did not know, but Gabriel had not forgotten.
It wasn’t until later, when he’d heard Raphael talking about his fainting spell in the garden, that Gabriel has realized that in that moment, that breath, he had meant nothing more to the demon than Belial’s newfound Egyptian plaything was to him now. His resolve, tested by their last encounter, had been suddenly reaffirmed.
Gabriel would not be made a fool of.
He couldn’t help but think that it had been the days before days had been named that they’d spent together, laboring, creating, doing the Lord’s work, which made him so susceptible to the demon. He should, by all rights, not miss any of his Fallen brethren more than another. And indeed, he felt a shudder of regret each time he looked into any demon’s eyes and remembered his angelic name.
But Belial, in that moment, had made Gabriel ache for him.
But it did not matter, he thought, sipping his drink. Belial was no longer his fellow archangel, and Gabriel did not intend to show the same weakness again.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2005-10-08 10:46 pm (UTC)In all his time at the Manor, he’d ventured into his reserved room only twice, each time looking for a drink and a little quiet, and nothing more. The silk sheets of his bed, the embers in the marble fireplace, nothing has been disturbed, and the room remained wholly unlived in.
He was seated now before the great window over looking the garden, his forehead pressed to the cool glass and a delicate-looking goblet of chardonnay in one hand. Outside, the sun was setting, painting the Manor grounds in shades of orange and gold, but even as he watched the creeping shadows, Gabriel saw something entirely different, a scene playing out in his head, which, had he not seen it through his own eyes, he would have believed to have happened to some other being.
"Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see..."
The soft strains of music reached him from nowhere in particular, and he remembered.
Belial, his hands on him, his lips so close to Gabriel’s own that there was hardly more than a breath between them. Gabriel had shuddered at the awareness of the demon’s arousal, their bodies pressed so close, and yet he had done nothing.
Had been able to do nothing.
For in that instant he had seen not the demon, but the angel that had once been his companion, his friend. In the coal black eyes of a Prince of Hell, he'd seen the gaze, pale and bright, in which he had once found a light so lucid and warm that one look had inspired him to weave the first flickering tongues of fire.
Belial did not know, but Gabriel had not forgotten.
It wasn’t until later, when he’d heard Raphael talking about his fainting spell in the garden, that Gabriel has realized that in that moment, that breath, he had meant nothing more to the demon than Belial’s newfound Egyptian plaything was to him now. His resolve, tested by their last encounter, had been suddenly reaffirmed.
Gabriel would not be made a fool of.
He couldn’t help but think that it had been the days before days had been named that they’d spent together, laboring, creating, doing the Lord’s work, which made him so susceptible to the demon. He should, by all rights, not miss any of his Fallen brethren more than another. And indeed, he felt a shudder of regret each time he looked into any demon’s eyes and remembered his angelic name.
But Belial, in that moment, had made Gabriel ache for him.
But it did not matter, he thought, sipping his drink. Belial was no longer his fellow archangel, and Gabriel did not intend to show the same weakness again.