neutral_omens | (no subject)

Date: December 25, 1999
Setting: Manor Library
Status: Private - Belial and Gabriel (Complete)
Summary: Belial makes his decision.
Rating:

The yellowing pages and musty smell of old leather reminded him of nothing so much as Aziraphale's bookshop. The memories seemed tarnished now, tainted around the edges with the garish haze of Hellfire, but still he could not help but remember his occasional teas with the other angel fondly. His eyes trailed over the chocolates Aziraphale had left him before settling instead on the glass of brandy at his side.

He flipped the page with shiftless thoughts.

A puff of dust, and a familiar passage: 'But for corruption thou hast made Belial, an angel of hostility. All his dominions are in darkness, and his purpose is to bring about wickedness and guilt.'

Well, he'd certainly been doing well enough on that account.

Gabriel sipped again at his drink, staunchly ignoring the warmth in his stomach that stemmed partially from the alcohol and even more from the intrusive memories of Belial's lips on his skin. He skimmed over the words analyzing the passage from the Dead Sea Scrolls, grew suddenly bored, and turned the page once more. Hundreds of scholars and theologists, believers and disbelievers alike, had spent centuries of man trying to describe Belial, and none of them seemed to have been able to pin him down any more easily than Gabriel could in his befuddled thoughts. They called him Lucifer's Crown, detailed how he was a seducer with a smile like poison for the soul or a fierce warrior with the head of a bull.

Not a single entry mentioned glitter.

He turned to another page, his gaze wandering idly over the faded text as he sifted through the words of others as well as his own reeling consciousness.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Belial let his senses guide him to Gabriel when he felt he was ready to confront the archangel. Ellie's advice weighed heavily on his mind, bearing down with the burden of the sorrow he had seen in her eyes, and the decision that needed to be made.

Gabriel's head was tilted down, eyes seeing something further than the pages of the book he clasped.

Belial approached from behind, feet light and soundless on the floor, and brushed a finger delicately over the nape of Gabriel's exposed neck.

"I do hope I'm not intruding," he murmured, bending down before the Gabriel could react to his touch. "Very interesting reading material, you've got there. I find this book does no justice to my beauty." Sarcasm, light, just enough that he was sure the angel would catch it.

Gabriel tensed at the touch, sinking into his chair away from the demon and cursing himself that Belial had managed to get so close without him noticing. His skin felt hot where Belial had stroked it so tenderly, seared with the memory of that touch.

He blinked once against the dry weariness in his eyes before glancing cautiously up at Belial. Hearing the edge to the demon's voice, he remarked dryly, "That doesn't sound like the pride befitting a Prince of Hell."

And you are beautiful.

Gabriel shifted the tome uncomfortably in his lap, and focused blearily on clearing a bit of the alcohol from his system. It had obviously begun to take its effect.

"Would you have me to proclaim my numerous wonders to the skies for you?" Belial asked softly. "Perhaps it is not vanity that stills my tongue, but a sense of propriety, fair angel."

He moved to the side of Gabriel and perched on the arm of the angel's chair, taking the book away gently and paging through it.

"This is a lot of garbage, anyhow. Humans have an endearing measure of ignorance," he said thoughtfully. Looking down at Gabriel made him want to breathe and hold his breath at the same time.

He set aside the book and thumbed a finger across Gabriel's lower lip, smoothing away a droplet of brandy that had escaped the angel's mouth. A blossoming warmth filled his chest, a change in his mood and manner, like he'd taken a hard swig of Gabriel's drink, and he tilted Gabriel's head up towards his.

His hand drifted to Gabriel's neck, feeling for the angel's pulse.

With a sense of weary resignation, Gabriel leaned into Belial's touch, despising himself for the weakness. His guilt over their last encounter had melded into a physical pain somewhere between his ribs, had haunted him, torn at him, and left him exhausted from the fray. He was tired of fighting, with himself, with Belial.

He was tired of wanting what was wrong.

"There are many inaccuracies, I'll admit, demon," he said, fully aware of Belial's dark eyes on his lips. "But one of their conclusions that I'd have to agree with is that you have little sense of propriety."