http://archangel-mike.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
archangel-mike.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
neutral_omens2005-12-30 09:48 pm
archangel-mike.livejournal.com) wrote in neutral_omens2005-12-30 09:48 pm
(no subject)
Date: December 21, 1999
Setting: Michael's room
Status: Private -- Michael and Uriel (complete)
Summary: Michael and Uriel talk about certain things, like Raphael, feelings, and love. Which leads to a kiss.
Michael looked up as he heard a knock on the door of his room. He felt an angelic aura from the other side of the door, even stronger than his own. As Metatron was not around at the moment, there was only one real possibility. "Come in, Uriel."
The door was opened and Uriel stepped in, eyeing him curiously. "You do not look too good, my friend," he observed calmly. "May I ask what is wrong? Something about Raphael, perhaps?"
Michael sighed and nodded. "Unfortunately, yes," he said, knowing that he could confide Uriel and not be laughed at. Uriel might be amused -- having never been in love himself, he found Michael's feelings just a new target for his curiosity and a good source of random amusement -- but he wouldn't laugh. "I talked with him about a week and half ago. He managed to figure that I like him, and, well, it did not go well. At all." With another sigh, he continued, "He basically told me that I'm a disgusting abomination and he'd rather not see me again. Since then I've rarely left this room; I don't want to run into him."
"Except for that little snowball fight, which we will not discuss," Uriel completed, only the tiniest hint of embarrassment in his voice. He had truly lost control of himself in that. "But why would he behave in such a way? Sure, if he doesn't return your feelings, rejection is to be expected, but I find it hardly to believe that Raphael would be so... well, rude. It is just not like him."
"Apparently he finds the mere idea of making an effort disgusting, and the act of it a crime worth Falling," the blond archangel told. "In his opinion angels are not meant for that kind of love, and the mere idea of loving one angel over another is simply impossible to him. I, like everybody else, am impure and sinful."
"Nonsense," Uriel snorted. "If angels were forbidden from making an effort, it wouldn't be possible at all. We are what He has made us, and as long as we love Him above anything else, there's nothing wrong with loving one being over another. After all, though loving all things equally would indeed be the perfect love, none of us is perfect. Only He is that."
"That's what I told Raphael, too," Michael told bitterly. "He said that perfection is what we should aspire to. And apparently he is far closer to perfection than I am."
"Perfection is indeed what we should all try to achieve, but it is impossible," the other angel said. "And besides, why would effort be so disgusting? I should know that one does not Fall for loving, and making an effort and everything that is involved with that is just one way to show your love. Angels do not marry, so we hardly can commit adultery, either. Of course, nobody told Raphael that. Knowing no better, he has formed his own idea of purity, possible for him to reach but impossible to many, and is now judging you by his standards. Most carnal instincts lead to sin -- why should this be any different in his eyes?"
"But how can I make him understand?" asked Michael, frustrated and sad and longing. "He seems to think that I want to drag him into impurity, that I want to tempt him. Why can't he see that I love him, that all I ever want to do is hold him and be there for him and do everything and anything that he needs and wants me to do?"
"I'm sure he'll come around," Uriel said. "Until then, you only have to wait."
Michael opened his mouth, then closed it again, realizing he had nothing to say. He sighed in frustration, glancing at Uriel. And stopping momentarily. Of course Uriel was nowhere near Raphael in his eyes; in Michael's opinion, nothing and nobody could ever come even close to matching the simple beauty and purity of the (usually) gentle and kind healer. However, Uriel was an angel, and an archangel at that, and thus he was just as beautiful as any other celestial being, even more so than many of their brethren. And aside from the beauty of the heavenly blue eyes, fair skin, and raven locks there was his aura, the Presence so strong it was almost overwhelming, warm and pure and comforting. Frustration and longing raised again their heads in Michael's hearts, and the blond found himself oddly drawn to the other archangel.
And then he was no more only near Uriel but right in front of him, touching him, so close their chests were brushing together as his hands sought and caught a hold on the back of the other angel's robes. He leant his head forward, desperate for just a bit of warmth and love of any kind, and pressed his lips against the other's. He marvelled the softness and smooth texture of the lips, slipped out the tip of his tongue to run it over the lower lip he was so carefully examining with his own mouth, begging for entrance. Then those lips were parted with no resistance to speak of, and he slid his tongue inside, exploring every cranny and nook of the deliciously hot cavern. He pressed himself against the lithe body, his fingers feeling the warm flesh under the white cloth, his eyes tightly shut, his tongue examining the delicious, unresisting mouth. It tasted of angels and Presence and Heaven, and he couldn't help but sigh in contentment.
For a moment Michael could almost forget that it was Uriel and not Raphael he was currently kissing. Then, however, he tried to tangle his fingers into the other archangel's hair. Instead of Raphael's long, wavy locks he found Uriel's shortish, wild hair. That was enough to make him step back, the flush on his face a result of both kissing and embarrassment.
Uriel's calm expression didn't waver a bit. Instead, he just raised an eyebrow in question. "Are you quite done?" he asked dryly, although his voice was not entirely without sympathy.
Michael sighed, shaking his head, not in answer to Uriel's question but at himself. "Yes, I guess so," he said with another sigh, running a hand through his hair. He now noticed that his hands were trembling. As he glanced at Uriel again, he saw the other standing there just as calm and collected as ever, seemingly entirely unaffected by the kiss. "How can you be so unaffected by everything, Uriel?" he asked, more harshly than he'd meant to. "Do you ever feel anything? Anything at all?"
"Of course I feel things," the darkhaired immortal replied mildly, taking a seat on a nearby chair. "I feel friendship for you and other fellow archangels, along with a sense of protectiveness that also spreads over any other angels in the near vicinity. I feel pity for those who are not within the Presence anymore," he was careful not to mention just who usually separated them from it, "and quite often I feel curiousness over several things, along with amusement about the often fairly ridiculous affairs of both immortal and mortal folk. And, above all else, I feel love for Him and, to a lesser extent, for everything and anything he has created. Is that not an angel's task?"
Michael winced a bit, Uriel's words a painful echo of Raphael's. "Nothing else, ever?" he asked wearily. "Have you never felt love for another being, mortal or immortal, beyond your usual affection for all that has been Created? Did you not feel a thing when I kissed you, any want, any need, not for me but for somebody else to be at my place? Have you ever loved with your heart, not your soul?"
Uriel's gaze was unwavering, not judging, questioning, just mildly curious -- a common thing for him, who was always on a quest for more wisdom. Well, that and entertainment. "Michael, I have no such needs," he replied calmly. "You may feel the need to have somebody by your side, to touch somebody, to love somebody beyond the love that is already ingrained in our souls ever since we were brought into being. That is all good and well; it is how you were created, how He meant you to be. You should cherish this trait of yours, and definitely not try to hide it or push it back. I, however, am not like you and the rest of the Host. I am always surrounded by His Presence at its strongest. It fulfills all my needs, all my wants. It's not that I don't feel -- it is just that I have no need for feelings such as yours."
Michael sighed. "At times, I envy you for that," he said. "It often feels like I would be much better off without all these feelings inside me." Then he continued, knowing it was not the best thing to say but unable to help himself, suddenly overcome with bitterness, "And if you truly don't feel anything aside from those few things, why do you strive to hide your feelings? What is it you need to close out so desperately that real joy and relaxation can only come to you when you lose your true mind and control?"
This time it was Uriel who winced, and when he spoke, his tone was sharper than Michael had heard from him in a long, long time. "That is no business of yours, Michael," the darkhaired archangel snapped. "But if you absolutely must know, it is not joy I'm trying to close out; it's the shame and sorrow and futile hope. You try carrying my duties for a while, Michael. You try having to cut former friends and allies from the Presence while you yourself crave for nothing as much as it, you try having to see them all Fall before your eyes and by your hand and then be normal. And after this try being the Angel of Salvation, ready to forgive anybody for even the most grievous of sins if only they would regret, and they never do, and you only see them all Fall and never one Rise, ever. You do that, my friend, and try to be open and happy and normal like any other angel, and then, only then, are you allowed to come to preach to me about hiding my feelings." For a moment, he was quiet. Then he continued, "Not all of my mood swings are to the joyful side, either. Some of them are quite... vicious. Were I not an angel and within His Presence that comforts and supports me at all times, you would soon find yourself with one fellow archangel less, I dare to believe."
For a moment Michael just stared at the other angel. To hear Uriel actually speak so viciously was so shocking that at first he didn't even properly register the actual words. Then he did, and lowered his gaze in sudden shame. "I apologize, Uriel," he said quietly. "You're right, I had no right to say such things to you. I hardly can understand the burden of your duties or the feelings that give you no peace. Although I think," he then continued, "that if you didn't try to keep your feelings in check so badly, they might actually get out in moderate amounts and you wouldn't go overboard whenever your control slips."
"Perhaps," Uriel replied mildly. "Or perhaps I already tried that and ended up being a hysterical half crying, half laughing mess for over a week, and when I finally regained control of my feelings, I decided not to let them loose again. After all this time, I don't think I would manage even that well. I hold to my feelings, Michael, and when the time comes, they come out, usually pretty harmless to me or those around me as they are balanced by the Presence within me. That is the way I cope with my burdens. Your way may work for you, but it does not work for everybody, and definitely not for me."
Michael nodded slowly and looked at Uriel, noticing that the other angel was already back to his complete control. His eyes were again pools of divine wisdom and endless patience, his expression serene, making him appear untouched by anything outside him. The white robes with their green trimmings were in a perfect order, and even the black hair, which was in its usual state of a wild, uncontrolled mess, seemed to be that way only because he wanted it to be. Michael somehow knew, or at least strongly suspected, that even the daggers he knew to be hidden somewhere within the white sleeves were perfectly arranged to go along with the lines of the robe. It was hard to believe that this collected being could ever completely lose control over his emotions and himself in whole, and yet Michael had seen that happen all too often.
"Why did you allow me to kiss you, anyway?" he asked quietly. "Why didn't you just step back?"
"You looked like you needed it," Uriel said calmly, now rising from his seat. "And why should I have backed away? It was obvious you didn't think you were kissing me, so it didn't bring about any awkward questions. As I have no feelings of such nature, and you are so hopelessly devoted to Raphael, there will be no heartbreak from that kiss. I simply saw that the benefits to your peace of mind might be worth something, while the drawbacks were practically inexistent. I'm not going to be your kissing toy, mind you, but one kiss of transferred feelings and desperation can hardly hurt either of us, right?" Suddenly, he smiled a bit. "Good day to you, Michael. May the Presence be strong in you."
And then, he was away, leaving Michael alone with his thoughts.
Setting: Michael's room
Status: Private -- Michael and Uriel (complete)
Summary: Michael and Uriel talk about certain things, like Raphael, feelings, and love. Which leads to a kiss.
Michael looked up as he heard a knock on the door of his room. He felt an angelic aura from the other side of the door, even stronger than his own. As Metatron was not around at the moment, there was only one real possibility. "Come in, Uriel."
The door was opened and Uriel stepped in, eyeing him curiously. "You do not look too good, my friend," he observed calmly. "May I ask what is wrong? Something about Raphael, perhaps?"
Michael sighed and nodded. "Unfortunately, yes," he said, knowing that he could confide Uriel and not be laughed at. Uriel might be amused -- having never been in love himself, he found Michael's feelings just a new target for his curiosity and a good source of random amusement -- but he wouldn't laugh. "I talked with him about a week and half ago. He managed to figure that I like him, and, well, it did not go well. At all." With another sigh, he continued, "He basically told me that I'm a disgusting abomination and he'd rather not see me again. Since then I've rarely left this room; I don't want to run into him."
"Except for that little snowball fight, which we will not discuss," Uriel completed, only the tiniest hint of embarrassment in his voice. He had truly lost control of himself in that. "But why would he behave in such a way? Sure, if he doesn't return your feelings, rejection is to be expected, but I find it hardly to believe that Raphael would be so... well, rude. It is just not like him."
"Apparently he finds the mere idea of making an effort disgusting, and the act of it a crime worth Falling," the blond archangel told. "In his opinion angels are not meant for that kind of love, and the mere idea of loving one angel over another is simply impossible to him. I, like everybody else, am impure and sinful."
"Nonsense," Uriel snorted. "If angels were forbidden from making an effort, it wouldn't be possible at all. We are what He has made us, and as long as we love Him above anything else, there's nothing wrong with loving one being over another. After all, though loving all things equally would indeed be the perfect love, none of us is perfect. Only He is that."
"That's what I told Raphael, too," Michael told bitterly. "He said that perfection is what we should aspire to. And apparently he is far closer to perfection than I am."
"Perfection is indeed what we should all try to achieve, but it is impossible," the other angel said. "And besides, why would effort be so disgusting? I should know that one does not Fall for loving, and making an effort and everything that is involved with that is just one way to show your love. Angels do not marry, so we hardly can commit adultery, either. Of course, nobody told Raphael that. Knowing no better, he has formed his own idea of purity, possible for him to reach but impossible to many, and is now judging you by his standards. Most carnal instincts lead to sin -- why should this be any different in his eyes?"
"But how can I make him understand?" asked Michael, frustrated and sad and longing. "He seems to think that I want to drag him into impurity, that I want to tempt him. Why can't he see that I love him, that all I ever want to do is hold him and be there for him and do everything and anything that he needs and wants me to do?"
"I'm sure he'll come around," Uriel said. "Until then, you only have to wait."
Michael opened his mouth, then closed it again, realizing he had nothing to say. He sighed in frustration, glancing at Uriel. And stopping momentarily. Of course Uriel was nowhere near Raphael in his eyes; in Michael's opinion, nothing and nobody could ever come even close to matching the simple beauty and purity of the (usually) gentle and kind healer. However, Uriel was an angel, and an archangel at that, and thus he was just as beautiful as any other celestial being, even more so than many of their brethren. And aside from the beauty of the heavenly blue eyes, fair skin, and raven locks there was his aura, the Presence so strong it was almost overwhelming, warm and pure and comforting. Frustration and longing raised again their heads in Michael's hearts, and the blond found himself oddly drawn to the other archangel.
And then he was no more only near Uriel but right in front of him, touching him, so close their chests were brushing together as his hands sought and caught a hold on the back of the other angel's robes. He leant his head forward, desperate for just a bit of warmth and love of any kind, and pressed his lips against the other's. He marvelled the softness and smooth texture of the lips, slipped out the tip of his tongue to run it over the lower lip he was so carefully examining with his own mouth, begging for entrance. Then those lips were parted with no resistance to speak of, and he slid his tongue inside, exploring every cranny and nook of the deliciously hot cavern. He pressed himself against the lithe body, his fingers feeling the warm flesh under the white cloth, his eyes tightly shut, his tongue examining the delicious, unresisting mouth. It tasted of angels and Presence and Heaven, and he couldn't help but sigh in contentment.
For a moment Michael could almost forget that it was Uriel and not Raphael he was currently kissing. Then, however, he tried to tangle his fingers into the other archangel's hair. Instead of Raphael's long, wavy locks he found Uriel's shortish, wild hair. That was enough to make him step back, the flush on his face a result of both kissing and embarrassment.
Uriel's calm expression didn't waver a bit. Instead, he just raised an eyebrow in question. "Are you quite done?" he asked dryly, although his voice was not entirely without sympathy.
Michael sighed, shaking his head, not in answer to Uriel's question but at himself. "Yes, I guess so," he said with another sigh, running a hand through his hair. He now noticed that his hands were trembling. As he glanced at Uriel again, he saw the other standing there just as calm and collected as ever, seemingly entirely unaffected by the kiss. "How can you be so unaffected by everything, Uriel?" he asked, more harshly than he'd meant to. "Do you ever feel anything? Anything at all?"
"Of course I feel things," the darkhaired immortal replied mildly, taking a seat on a nearby chair. "I feel friendship for you and other fellow archangels, along with a sense of protectiveness that also spreads over any other angels in the near vicinity. I feel pity for those who are not within the Presence anymore," he was careful not to mention just who usually separated them from it, "and quite often I feel curiousness over several things, along with amusement about the often fairly ridiculous affairs of both immortal and mortal folk. And, above all else, I feel love for Him and, to a lesser extent, for everything and anything he has created. Is that not an angel's task?"
Michael winced a bit, Uriel's words a painful echo of Raphael's. "Nothing else, ever?" he asked wearily. "Have you never felt love for another being, mortal or immortal, beyond your usual affection for all that has been Created? Did you not feel a thing when I kissed you, any want, any need, not for me but for somebody else to be at my place? Have you ever loved with your heart, not your soul?"
Uriel's gaze was unwavering, not judging, questioning, just mildly curious -- a common thing for him, who was always on a quest for more wisdom. Well, that and entertainment. "Michael, I have no such needs," he replied calmly. "You may feel the need to have somebody by your side, to touch somebody, to love somebody beyond the love that is already ingrained in our souls ever since we were brought into being. That is all good and well; it is how you were created, how He meant you to be. You should cherish this trait of yours, and definitely not try to hide it or push it back. I, however, am not like you and the rest of the Host. I am always surrounded by His Presence at its strongest. It fulfills all my needs, all my wants. It's not that I don't feel -- it is just that I have no need for feelings such as yours."
Michael sighed. "At times, I envy you for that," he said. "It often feels like I would be much better off without all these feelings inside me." Then he continued, knowing it was not the best thing to say but unable to help himself, suddenly overcome with bitterness, "And if you truly don't feel anything aside from those few things, why do you strive to hide your feelings? What is it you need to close out so desperately that real joy and relaxation can only come to you when you lose your true mind and control?"
This time it was Uriel who winced, and when he spoke, his tone was sharper than Michael had heard from him in a long, long time. "That is no business of yours, Michael," the darkhaired archangel snapped. "But if you absolutely must know, it is not joy I'm trying to close out; it's the shame and sorrow and futile hope. You try carrying my duties for a while, Michael. You try having to cut former friends and allies from the Presence while you yourself crave for nothing as much as it, you try having to see them all Fall before your eyes and by your hand and then be normal. And after this try being the Angel of Salvation, ready to forgive anybody for even the most grievous of sins if only they would regret, and they never do, and you only see them all Fall and never one Rise, ever. You do that, my friend, and try to be open and happy and normal like any other angel, and then, only then, are you allowed to come to preach to me about hiding my feelings." For a moment, he was quiet. Then he continued, "Not all of my mood swings are to the joyful side, either. Some of them are quite... vicious. Were I not an angel and within His Presence that comforts and supports me at all times, you would soon find yourself with one fellow archangel less, I dare to believe."
For a moment Michael just stared at the other angel. To hear Uriel actually speak so viciously was so shocking that at first he didn't even properly register the actual words. Then he did, and lowered his gaze in sudden shame. "I apologize, Uriel," he said quietly. "You're right, I had no right to say such things to you. I hardly can understand the burden of your duties or the feelings that give you no peace. Although I think," he then continued, "that if you didn't try to keep your feelings in check so badly, they might actually get out in moderate amounts and you wouldn't go overboard whenever your control slips."
"Perhaps," Uriel replied mildly. "Or perhaps I already tried that and ended up being a hysterical half crying, half laughing mess for over a week, and when I finally regained control of my feelings, I decided not to let them loose again. After all this time, I don't think I would manage even that well. I hold to my feelings, Michael, and when the time comes, they come out, usually pretty harmless to me or those around me as they are balanced by the Presence within me. That is the way I cope with my burdens. Your way may work for you, but it does not work for everybody, and definitely not for me."
Michael nodded slowly and looked at Uriel, noticing that the other angel was already back to his complete control. His eyes were again pools of divine wisdom and endless patience, his expression serene, making him appear untouched by anything outside him. The white robes with their green trimmings were in a perfect order, and even the black hair, which was in its usual state of a wild, uncontrolled mess, seemed to be that way only because he wanted it to be. Michael somehow knew, or at least strongly suspected, that even the daggers he knew to be hidden somewhere within the white sleeves were perfectly arranged to go along with the lines of the robe. It was hard to believe that this collected being could ever completely lose control over his emotions and himself in whole, and yet Michael had seen that happen all too often.
"Why did you allow me to kiss you, anyway?" he asked quietly. "Why didn't you just step back?"
"You looked like you needed it," Uriel said calmly, now rising from his seat. "And why should I have backed away? It was obvious you didn't think you were kissing me, so it didn't bring about any awkward questions. As I have no feelings of such nature, and you are so hopelessly devoted to Raphael, there will be no heartbreak from that kiss. I simply saw that the benefits to your peace of mind might be worth something, while the drawbacks were practically inexistent. I'm not going to be your kissing toy, mind you, but one kiss of transferred feelings and desperation can hardly hurt either of us, right?" Suddenly, he smiled a bit. "Good day to you, Michael. May the Presence be strong in you."
And then, he was away, leaving Michael alone with his thoughts.