(no subject)

[stds-r-4-lovers.livejournal.com]

Date: February 28, 2000
Setting: Outside Uriel's door
Status: Semi-private: Pestilence and Uriel
Summary: The first meeting between Pestilence and Uriel after the Fall 

It had taken Pestilence a few days to get the rats settled in before he had a chance to dwell on Uriel's rejection again. Mr. Sniffles knew somethng was wrong, and tried to encourage the horseman to talk about it.
***
"I don't know, Mr. S. I just thought it... I don't know, I thought it meant something."
Squeak.
"Oh, those. Oh, they're nothing."
Squeak.
"What can I say, I was depressed."
Squeak.
"Don't worry, I won't do it again, especially not when the baby rats come."
Squeak.
"No need to take that tone with me, I stick to my word."
Squeak
"Oh, they're not that good. I couldn't give them to him. I don't think it would help anything. It would probably make things worse, actually."
***
But Mr. S. wouldn't take 'no' for an answer, and before he knew it, Pestilence was wandering down the halls of the manor, searching for Uriel's door.

When he found it, the residual of the angel's presence was thin, as though he hadn't been there for days. For a minute, Pestilence's heart stopped. Surely his actions hadn't pushed the angel to do anything rash? He prayed that Uriel was alright.

Turning over the piece of paper that the poem* was written, he wrote a note on the back. Please, Uriel, just let me know that you're OK. I'll be in the library this afternoon. I hope to see you. Pestilence

Feeling even more dejected and alone that he had before, Pestilence walked towards the library, hoping against hope that Uriel would show.

* Pesti's poem:
Green,
______like the leaves on a jasmine bush,
Your memory haunts me, and I have always been afraid
__________________________________________of ghosts.
How lonely must a horseman be,
before he ceases to be?
My room still echoes your voice,
the air clings to the jasmine of your hair,
how is it that all of my belongings now seem like yours?
_____________________How my body remembers your touch, like a phantom limb after the amputation of a particularily nasty infection.
My mind is black,
the color of your hair,
And I am lost.

Comments

[stds-r-4-lovers.livejournal.com]

As soon as Pestilence could focus on Uriel, whatever small amount of self-control and resolve he had seemed to slip away. Oh blast that angel for making him feel all dizzy and nervous!

Once Pestilence had managed to pull himself together, Uriel's aura finally had sunk in. Pestilence could feel it deep inside himself, something was different, not right. The twisting was still there, the hint of disquiet that both attracted him and caused him to feel mind-crushing sympathy for the beautiful angel. But there seemed to be the residue of other auras entwined with his. At least two other beings had been... near Uriel. One Pestilence knew. That damned healer. What was that nosy little prick doing around his angel?!

His angel? Pestilence caught himself mid thought. What was he thinking? Uriel wasn't his. He didn't have a chance.

Even after all of that, though, he thing that truly made him pause was the nervous energy of Uriel. Sure, they had both been nervous on Valantine's day, but this was different. The horseman thought he had an idea, though. The bright glow that had surrounded Uriel that night was dim, as thought it were simply hanging on by a thread. That, more than anything, made Pestilence feel like falling apart.

"Yes, I did want to see you. Could we talk?" He moved out of the doorway and motioned towards the chairs. "I just want to... make sure that you're OK. And, um, apologize, I guess. You know, for overstepping the bounds."

[bipolar-uriel.livejournal.com]

Uriel hesitated only for a second before walking into the library and sitting down. He actually managed to sit straight, too, not sag against the back of the chair in exhaustion like he felt like doing. Unpleasant memories of their last meeting in the very same library rose to his mind but he ignored them as best as he could. It wouldn't be fair to either of them to start this conversation based on his feelings of shock and discomfort from that day.

He glanced at the horseman, studying his aura. The hint of Apocalypse he could sense in all the horsepeople wasn't that strong in him, he noted. For some reason, though, his aura felt... familiar. There was no other way to put it. Like there was something in it he should have known, should have recognized, but couldn't exactly catch.

He summoned all his energy in order not to appear as weak as he felt, clinging desperately to what little Presence he felt to get at least some support. Even in his desperation there was a huge amount of relief that it had actually returned to him, that he wasn't alone -- not that Wednesday would let him feel alone, of course.

He hoped the Presence would return wholly soon, though, even if he was infinitely grateful for what he had now. Most of his powers were tied to the Presence in him; although he wasn't exactly powerless, he was now weak compared to most supernatural beings in the Manor. Even Crowley might be able to overpower him now, and, despite Adam's promises and even Wednesday's support, he wouldn't feel safe before every bit of Presence was back to him.

"As you can see, I am still alive," he said quietly, looking seriously at Pestilence. "If you want to talk more, then, talk." He wasn't trying to be rude; he simply had nothing to say. Therefore he just sat there, fighting to appear normal, waiting for the horseman to say something.

[stds-r-4-lovers.livejournal.com]

At Uriel's frigid tone, Pestilence lost all command of the English language. How could this angel be the same one that had ellicited such feelings in him? Perhaps Uriel had been right in their previous encounter. Perhaps he had imagined the whole thing; maybe he had seen Uriel around the manor, and the memory had woven itself into some drug-induced hallucination. It wouldn't have been the first time that the lines between reality and fantasy had blurred in the horseman's mind.

As tempting to beleive as that was, Pestilence knew it wasn't the case, and that no amount of drugs or self-delusion would leave him feeling like this.

"I'm glad to see you're alive. I was worried." He couldn't meet Uriel's eyes. What could he do? He was at a loss with emotions. Give him a cell, a pathogen, a liver- the parts; he could handle the parts. But the wholes? He was no good at those.

"Uriel, Its hard to know what to say. When I think about you, it feels as though... as though I am experiencing supraventricular tachycardia, and the ventricles of my heart are completely ignoring the impulses from my brain. But my brain isn't doing any better cause its speeding around like a meth-addict's. My stomach flips around like an H. Pylori victim right after a five course meal. But whats worse, is the thought that each time I see you will be the last. I'm in a bad way, angel. I wish I could forget about the other night like you have. I wish that I could simply pretend it hadn't happened and go about my business. But I can't even start an epidemic of stomach flu, or enourage a more virulent common cold."

"Uriel, I don't know what to do. Part of me thinks that if you just got to know me, you might not be completely disgusted. Its a fool's wish, true, but what does your Good Book say? That the greatest virtue is Hope? Well, that virtue may just may be the death of me."

[bipolar-uriel.livejournal.com]

Uriel allowed himself a brief smile as the horseman compared his feelings to those of the sick -- nothing unexpected there. After all, such things rather understandably formed the majority of the horseman's experiences. He often compared things to flying or the Presence, himself -- or, albeit very rarely, to Falling.

He frowned in thought, however, as he realized that the horseman must know about his self-destructive side. Just how much of himself had he revealed to the personification during that one night he couldn't remember?

His hand quietly crept towards his other wrist and the fresh scar there. He did manage to stop it in time, though. Deciding that he needed distraction from the thoughts of his attempt, he then started to speak.

"You don't disgust me," he said. "In fact, very few beings do. What you do doesn't bother me; it's not like my own job is the most popular one among any group of beings, after all. And if you think your appearance does that, you forget that I have seen every single demon in existence." He was quiet for a while, then repeated, "You don't disgust me," more because he didn't know what else to say than for any proper reason.

[stds-r-4-lovers.livejournal.com]

Pestilence noticed the way that Uriel's hands seemed to fidget, creeping towards the angel's wrists. He heard the angel's words, and a small spark of hope glittered in the horseman's heart at the idea that he was not wholly repuslive to Uriel, but his attention was bent on Uriel's movements.

Getting up from his chair he rushed to kneel at the angel's chair, taking Uriel's wrists in his hands. He completely ignored the angel's attempt to draw his hands back, restraining the angel's movements and pulling Uriel's hands towards his face. Staring up at him were still-livid scars of jagged knife wounds. Suddenly pieces of the puzzle fell into place... why the angel's aura was changed, why there was a lack of divine glow. His eyes grew moist and he looked up at Uriel.

"Uriel, what happened?" He knew it wasn't his place, but he silently berated himself for now being there for the angel in his time of need, hadn't been aware enough to check up on the angel earlier, and make sure that the depression hadn't turned his thoughts again to finding a way out.

No, he had been too busy wallowing in self-pity. Sure, the angel had pretty much told him to get lost, but if he loved, as he suspected and claimed, then he should have put Uriel's needs before his own.

Then again, what if it was his confrontation with the angel that had pushed Uriel to do this?

Feeling crushed, Pestilence lowered his head over the wrists, almost but not quite brushing his lips agains the scared flesh. "Was it because of me that you did this?"

If the answer was yes, then no matter how much it hurt him, he would never again bother Uriel.

[bipolar-uriel.livejournal.com]

Uriel stiffened as the horseman suddenly rushed towards him, then was startled to find his wrists grasped by the other being. He tried to draw his hands back but couldn't, his weakness against Pestilence's determination ensuring his failure. Thus he could just sit there helplessly as Pestilence examined his wrists and the scars on them. However, he was startled at seeing the pale eyes veiled with tears as the horseman looked up at him, as well as at the horseman's voice as he spoke.

He smiled sadly. "You think too much of yourself," he said softly -- not in any way hostile, rather gentle. He couldn't understand why Pestilence -- why anybody -- would feel so badly about something that had happened to him, but if the personification did feel such things, he wasn't about to belittle them. "I was quite bothered by the fact that I had done something I couldn't recall, but definitely not enough to try to end my existence. Even if I had tried, His Presence would have prevented it."

Swallowing, he continued, "Some time ago... Michael... well, he Fell. By my sword, as could only be expected. My own hand cut him away from the Presence. At the same time as I lost my best -- and perhaps only -- friend I lost my feeling of the Presence, left almost too weak to even hold my sword up. And then Raphael told me he would never forgive me, and Gabriel appeared rather hostile as well. I was all alone, and it hurt, I didn't have even Him and I was weak and tired..." He bit his lip, then continued, "I just wanted it all to stop. At the time I didn't care which way I took as long as it led out of it."

[stds-r-4-lovers.livejournal.com]

Uriel's words stung slightly. It was hard to hear his own thoughts about his self-centeredness echoed back to him. (He was a man, though, surely it was his male perogative to assume that the universe and everyone's actions were in direct response to him!)

Pestilence listened to Uriel's speech, and he felt a flare of anger in his stomach. It was those other damned angels that had caused this? Still trying to maintain a calm exterior he began to speak, hoping that his words would not be misinterpreted.

"I will not lie to you, Uriel. Before you, I have never enjoyed the company of angels. They are not sympathetic, and are often so holier-than-thou that they end up making problems worse than aiding as they are supposed to. The thing is, angels do not understand suffering. They may pretend to, but they have no idea what real suffering is. They do not know what humans or non-angelic beings go through. They are like doctors who have never been sick, or surgeons who have never gone under the knife. They pretend to know, and pretend to help, but they have no idea what it is like.

And it is because of this that they lack empathy. Instead of blaming the source, they blame you for their own shortcomings. They blame you for carrying out the Plan, for it all has to happen for a reason, right? Just as my existance is designed by Him."

Pestilence set Uriel's hands down, and looked back up at the angel. "I am so sorry Uriel. I wish it had been me to carry out this order. I am sorry that I was not able to help in some way. And I am sorry that the beings that should be helping you through this are not. I wish there was something I could do." Pestilence hung his head. Unsure how to communicate all of the things he was feeling.

[bipolar-uriel.livejournal.com]

Uriel listened quietly as Pestilence spoke. Only after the horseman had fallen silent did he start his response.

"Angels in general know little about suffering, that is true," he said quietly. "They may think they do, but their sufferings are mild compared with true pain. However, by the time they experience that, they usually no more fall under the name of angels." Biting his lip, he closed his eyes for a moment. As he opened them again he didn't look at Pestilence, instead staring into the distance, only vaguely aware that he was hugging himself as if he were cold.

"My task is mine to fulfill, just like you have your own job nobody else could do as effectively. We all have been created to fit our position and tasks. Raphael did offer to help, but as of yet he probably doesn't even know what exactly is wrong with me. And you can help, too," he added as an afterthought.

"You said that everything happens for a reason, and that is true," he said quietly. "To this day I have never questioned His Plan, and I'm not about to do that now. However, it makes me think." Now, he finally turned to look Pestilence directly in the eye. "That night we... were together... must have had a reason too. However, what purpose could it serve when I don't even remember a thing? It also disturbs me that something like that has happened and I have no recollection of it. I should remember, and you're the one person who can help me unlock those memories." He allowed a weak smile to curl his lips. "Who knows? If I had good enough reasons to sleep with you once, I might actually do it again."

[stds-r-4-lovers.livejournal.com]

Pestilence noticed Uriel's self-protective huddling, and ached to draw the angel into his arms, to protect him from everything that was so bent on causing his self-destruction, including his own ghosts.

When he heard Uriel's words, then, his heart leaped with hope. There was actually a possiblity that Uriel would allow him into his existance to help?! "I would like to help in whatever way I can. Just let me know, I'll do anything."

Pestilence nearly fell over when Uriel finished talking. This was beyond anything that he had managed to imagine; (well, thats not true, he had actually managed to imagine some very nice outcomes, but among realistic ones, this was by far the best.)

Blushing, Pestilence managed to find his voice. "I don't know why you've blocked what happened, but I'll do anything in my power to refresh your memory." Again he picked up Uriel's hand and kissed it. "Whatever you ask, its yours."

[bipolar-uriel.livejournal.com]

Uriel didn't try to draw his hand back as Pestilence picked it up and kissed it. As hard as it was to believe, the contact felt... pleasant. And the horseman seemed to actually care, too. The mere thought of that was absolutely overwhelming. All his existence he had thought that in the end he was alone aside from Him, and now previously completely strange people seemed to actually care about what was happening to him. First Wednesday and now Pestilence. How could this be possible?

"Very well." He bit his lip momentarily, trying to decide what he should ask first. "So. How did we even meet at the first place? I'll assume it was here in the library, as we seem to have the tendency to run into each other here," he said with a little smile.

He hardly even noticed that his hand was still held in that of Pestilence. The small part of his mind that did notice, though, definitely didn't protest. Rather he found himself hoping that Pestilence wouldn't let go for quite a while yet.

[stds-r-4-lovers.livejournal.com]

Pestilence's heart again leaped when Uriel didn't try to draw away from him, in fact, there seemed to be a certain amount of willingness on the angel's part in their contact. It was so different than earlier, especially the other day when Uriel had practically hit him for kissing his hair.

Pestilence decided not to over-think it.

During this entire conversation, the horseman had been trying to ignore the angel's alluring aura and intoxicating presence, but he allowed his internal barriers to melt away a little as he began to speak.

"Actually, we didn't meet here, we met in the bar." He laughed a little at Uriel's skeptical glance. "You were on your way to the pool room with a bag of marshmallows." He paused. "Which are probably still there now that I think of it. We left in something of a hurry and forgot them there." He blushed bright grey again.

His thumb rubbed the back oh Uriel's hand, delighted with how right it felt to be able to touch the angel again. "I was having a drink, and I offered you one. But you told me you didn't drink. Not just alcohol, but everything."

Pestilence paused, afraid that his next revelation would scare the angel, or that Uriel would think that Pestilence had tricked him into going to bed with him. He bit his lip. "You see, Uriel, it was St. Valentine's day. As a little gift to Famine and Pollution, I had whipped up a little, well, love potion. I won't lie, I was attracted to you, and I offered you a drink with some of the postion in it. But as we talked, I realized I didn't want anything that happened to be fake. I liked you, and it wouldn't have been real if I had tricked you into anything. I respected you more than that, and even though we had only met a bit ago, I, felt very close to you."

Pestilence lowered his eyes. "Eventually I told you about the potion, and you were upset. I feared that I had ruined everything, that you would want nothing to do with me. I was so scared that you were repulsed by me. But then we were talking about what it felt like to experience intimacy in a human way, and you agreed to be more human, and then we were kissing and it just felt so right. You were so beautiful and you were perfect."

"I don't know what else you want to hear." Pestilence continued to avert his eyes, blushing.

[bipolar-uriel.livejournal.com]

Uriel listened closely to the horseman's words, at the same time doing his best to remember. He would have to remember; this wasn't something he could forget just like that. Therefore he called for whatever was there in his mind, trying to get past the mental blocks he'd set himself. A bag of marshmallows. Yes, that he could remember. He'd been going to meet Sugarplum...

Hanging on that little thread of a memory, he tried to force himself ahead in the line of events, only half listening to Pestilence's retelling of the events. And, little by little, he did remember -- not all of it, not yet, but tiny bits here and there. Like his own fingers tracing his scars -- just the faint ones, though, as there hadn't been these new ones back then. A little pill mixed into the water. Pestilence's hand smoothing his hair. The horseman adoring his hands. The joy and excitement of the new feelings brought forth by his first effort ever...

That's where he stopped the train of thought, drawing a deep, shuddering breath. Effort. He'd made an effort. Sure, he'd kind of known that, given Pestilence's implications, but to actually remember it... It had been... different. More intense. Everything had been in a sharper focus, in a way.

But not necessarily wrong.

He looked again at Pestilence, who seemed to be avoiding looking at him, a grey blush on his cheeks. Seriously, how could anybody blush grey? That didn't matter now, though. He felt that he needed to explain what little he could.

"I think I may now know why I blocked that memory," he said quietly. "Look, to you being a human may be the usual way of living --"

"Your heart beats. Why?" -- "Yes, it does beat. I don't think its necessary for the other horsepeople, especially Death, but I know I wouldn't be able to survive without it."

"-- and so it is to most angels, whenever they're on Earth, anyway. But to me it isn't. I -- I don't really even think of myself in terms of gender. As far as I'm concerned I'm just as much -- or little -- a female as I am a male; it's just that because of my appearance people usually refer to me as male. I'd been sexless all my existence; I'd never made an effort to 'be more human', never seen a reason to make one."

He was quiet for a moment, then continued, "And then came you. The first being to ever show serious interest in me -- and immediately I make an effort, make myself a sexual being, actually have sex with you. Now I understand it has probably something to do with my changes of mood --"

"Manic, it is called, then?" -- "Yes, the humans have terms for what it appears you have."

"As for you, without an examination, I'd say you have a tendency toward manic-depressive disorder, an unbalancing of brain chemicals, usually involving the ventral preforontal cortex, the area responsible for emotions."

"-- Which often do lead me to make quick, even hasty decisions. I -- I do not regret it, based on what little I can remember now. However, right after the experience, heading towards depression and self-blame..."

"You were getting a bit high there, and after a high comes a low."

Sighing, he shook his head. "I guess I must have felt like a whore," he said quietly, and this time it was him who avoided looking at the other. "Not because of you, but because I so easily went for the first being who only would have me."

[stds-r-4-lovers.livejournal.com]

Pestilence held his breath through Uriel's words. At times they seemed to give the horseman hope, and at others they crushed him. But it was the angel's final words that truly wrenched his heart. Whore? Pestilence gritted his teeth. Pestilence knew all about whores.

The idea that Uriel had felt like a whore with him nearly destroyed the horseman.

"It was never my intention to make you feel that way. Quite the opposite, really." Pestilence fought the heartbroken tears that welled in his eyes. He thought he should probably let go of the angel's hand, but couldn't bring himself to do it. "What I remember of that night was that it was one of the times I felt most intimate with any other being in creation." He forced himself to look at Uriel. "I am truly sorry if I forced you into something you didn't want. Please, don't put the blame on yourself. I encouraged you to drink and... eat a marshmallow- all of those things can cause both seratonin and melatonin imbalances. Making an effort, as you call it, would only make the imbalances more... concrete, more palpable. I should have known that your actions were influenced by those factors. I shouldn't have take advantage. I'm sorry, Uriel."

Pestilence said and meant all of these words, but part of him couldn't help but rebel at the sentiments, for at the time it had seemed as though Uriel had actually enjoyed it. It had given Pestilence so much joy and pleasure that he had been able to guide Uriel through these new experiences. To now regret those actions felt even worse that Uriel's rejection.

[bipolar-uriel.livejournal.com]

Uriel lowered his eyes once again, his heart aching oddly at the tears he'd seen in the horseman's eyes. Now, that was certainly new. He wasn't sure he exactly understood it, either.

"I said I don't regret it now," he said quietly. "Back then I apparently did, but only because of the... imbalances. Rest assured that if you truly had been forcing me into something against my will I would have protested -- even while manic, I'm yet to be that far gone." After a momentary pause, he added, "And besides, from what I remember I ate that marshmallow on my own without any encouragement from your part."

Drawing a deep, unncecessary breath -- oh, but he was definitely out of sorts right now! -- he then finished, "Actually, what little I can remember of my making an effort suggests that I actually enjoyed our meeting rather much. And it was true. The (very few) memories he had of that time period were all pleasant, and he doubted that was only because his mind had blocked the rest. It was like he'd experienced it all again as memories now returned to him, fragmentes pictures, a moment after another. All these memories made him feel rather dizzy, and he leant back against the back of his chair. He still didn't draw his hand away from Pestilence's, though.

It felt... pleasant, too.

[stds-r-4-lovers.livejournal.com]

Pestilence smiled at the angel, even if it was a little wibbly around the edges.

"Believe me, angel, for my own part, I would rather suffer from ebola than cause you to do anything you regreted. You probably think me a fool, angel. Or worse. But I care about you. I care about your well-being." He smiled just a little bit more brightly, a little mischevious glint in his eye. "And coming from a horseman of the apocalypse bent on the ill-being of all creatures, that's saying something."

He couldn't help but notice that Uriel hadn't yanked his hand back away from his grap, so he increased the pressure of his hand against Uriel's beautifully slender hand drawing it again to his lips. After kissing it gently, he spoke.

"Angel, I don't want you to think I have ulterior motives, but there is more to existance than simply carrying out orders. Even if this is the last time I'll ever have the pleasure to see you, don't limit yourself. There are so many things to enjoy. Not just sex," (though that was the horseman's favorite), "Just as other angels are lacking because of their inability to truly suffer, so can they not exist because they don't partake in pleasures. There are days when the scents on the air are enough to make me forget any pain. The way the wind feels on my skin, causing me to shiver. Those are all things I couldn't live without. You don't need to live without them either. Allow yourself to experience the good aspects of life, don't get caught in a pit of suffering."

[bipolar-uriel.livejournal.com]

Uriel watched as Pestilence drew his hand into a gentle kiss. He felt... something... as he watched the connection of the horseman's lips and his own hand, at the same time feeling that connection on his skin. He could only barely suppress the shiver that threatened to run through him at that feeling. He didn't understand, though. Why would he be feeling such a thing? And what was it, exactly?

"But I know nothing but obeying orders," he replied quietly. "Well, that and my art, of course -- and flying. I have felt the wind, too. There are few things I love as much as flying; it's just that with so many humans around I do it very rarely. It's much easier to keep my wings folded than to make sure people don't notice them --"

-- His wings, spread wide, Pestilence's hands sunk in the feathers --

He blinked, then tried to regain his control. "So -- anyway. It's not like I don't have any pleasure in my existence; I just find in different places. Perhaps I don't know tastes other than water -- and marshmallow, as it appears --, perhaps I cannot tell flowers apart by their scent. But I can recognize any somewhat succesful artist's style, and create works that would pass any specialist's examination as the works of those masters. I could fly right into Heaven and back." With a tiny smile he continued, "I probably could see to Heaven from here if I tried hard enough. Perhaps I'm not 'The sharpest sighted Spirit of all in Heav'n' but close enough. I'm always been rather sight-oriented."

As if trying to prove this he now turned his gaze back to his hand. He still didn't try to take it away from Pestilence's; he simply enjoyed too much having it right where it was.

[stds-r-4-lovers.livejournal.com]

Pestilence remembered Uriel's wings very well; they smelled of sunlight and jasmine and all things Good. He gritted his teeth and tried to erase the mental images that had sprung up in his mind. Those type of thoughts would not help him to keep control over his body or mind.

"I'm glad you have those pleasures. Especially your ability to fly. I wish I could fly." (as with most earth-bound creatures, Pestilence had often had dreams of being able to soar among the clouds. The closest he ever got was airborn germs from a forceful cough.)

Pestilence felt his knees weaken and give way, and he gently leaned against the angel's chair, trying not to tremble as he came in contact with the angel's robe-clad legs. He placed Uriel's hand on his own shoulder, covering the angel's hand with his; sensitive to any motions on the angel's part. He leaned his head against the angel's thigh, nervous and anticipatory. These sorts of contact would either make or break the situation.

"I don't suppose you would tell me what it is like to fly." Pestilence vaguely thought about his request. Just as he had sort of initiated Uriel into a world of earthly pleasures (even if the angel didn't exactly remember it) he was now asking for a.. crash-course.. in being an angel.

[bipolar-uriel.livejournal.com]

Uriel blinked a bit at the request. to him it sounded about the same as though he'd asked Pestilence to tell him what it was like to walk. He decided to do his best, though. for some reason Pestilence's position didn't seem strange to him; rather it felt just... natural... that the horseman would be that way, so close to him.

"it's hard to describe," he said, a bit hesitant -- not because he didn't want to let Pestilence know, but because it was really, really hard to tell about flying to somebody who had never experienced it. "At first you must spread your wings, of course. If they have been folded until then, it is a great relief, at least to me -- I usually keep them out all the time, so it's been rather hard to be here where I have to keep them hidden because of all the humans. It's like -- well, I suppose it could be like having worn too small shoes for ages and then finally taking them off." Not that he'd ever experienced such a thing, of course, but he was trying to find some comparisons Pestilence might be familiar with or at least understand. "The freedom you feel at being able to spread them wide and feel the air on them -- it's incredible."

He paused for a moment, then continued, "Next comes naturally the take-off. It's the hardest thing, having to separate yourself from the ground -- not because it's that difficult or really hard, mind you, but because you have to kind of throw yourself into it. It's not like jumping up into the air, more like leaping down from a cliff, the direction's just different. Abandoning the security of the ground and gravity... it's sometimes rather hard.

"So, after a few beats of the wings -- and perhaps a kick to the ground for aid on the take-off -- you are finally in the air. And let me tell you, the feeling is incredible." He closed his eyes, smiling dreamily as he thought of all the times he had flown. Even his trip to the St. James' Park felt almost pleasant when he only concentrated on the memories of the flight. "You don't have to do much to keep yourself in the air -- angels and demons are very light by nature exactly for this reason. Once you get higher you can feel the wind, feel every shift of the air on the surface of your wing, between the feathers, everywhere. Wings are very sensitive."

At some point -- he couldn't recall exactly when -- his hand had wandered from Pestilence's shoulder into the horseman's hair, caressing the fluffy white strands gently. Soft and white -- just like wings. Opening his eyes again, he looked down at the other being, the dreamy smile still on his lips.

"In the air you are really, completely free. Nothing can tie you anywhere. Imagine wind going through your hair, messing it up, caressing your skin at the same time -- that feels about the same as it touching your wings. At least it's the closest I can compare it with.

"The act of flying itself, well, it is hard to describe. It requires several muscles in both your chest and back that wingless creatures simply don't have. If you can, imagine another pair of arms you have to move around -- that's about the closest you can get to it, although it's not exactly like that, either."

[stds-r-4-lovers.livejournal.com]

Pestilence listened enraptured as Uriel's voice echoed through the room. He tried to imagine what it was like to soar through the air, to feel the wind caress his skin. Slowly Uriel's voice drifted through his mind, some words catching, some just floating through.

He was shaken slightly by the sudden removal of Uriel's hand, but his heart itself soared when he felt the delicate fingers running through his hair. Pestilence rested his head against the angel's hand.

As Uriel coninued to speak, Pestilence found his mind traveling to their previous time together, the way he had run his hands through the wonderful white wings. The way Uriel had covered them both in the downy canopy. He finally realized that Uriel had stopped speaking, shaking himself out of his very pleasant reverie.

"It sounds divine." But he was thinking as much about their previous experience as Uriel's description of flight. He continued to enjoy Uriel's touch, and felt relaxed, hoping his own relaxation would spread to the angel.

"It must be a wonderful experience." He turned his head slightly to look into Uriel's eyes. "I would love to watch you fly some time Uriel. I bet you're even more beautiful when you fly." He bit his lip a little at his candor, but he couldn't help it, not when Uriel's hand was fluffing his hair.

[bipolar-uriel.livejournal.com]

Uriel felt oddly relaxed as he looked down at Pestilence's upturned face. Although he was rather unused to touch, it didn't feel uncomfortable at all to have the horseman resting against him. Rather, it was almost... reassuring. A reminder that, once again, he wasn't alone.

He flsuhed a little at the other's words, though -- not because there'd truly been blood rushing to his face; that was pretty much impossible with no heartbeat keeping up a circulation. His blood was still in his veins. However, if Pestilence could blush grey, he definitely could blush without blood.

"I'm afraid that isn't possible," he said softly, feeling oddly disappointed at the thought of not being able to fly in Pestilence's sight. "There are people around here who have no idea about angels; it wouldn't do to have them see me flying around. It's a pity, though; I'd love to stretch my wings every once in a while."

He continued stroking the other's hair, marveling its softness. Finally he couldn't help but say, "Your hair is incredibly soft. And beautiful, too."