The Wind-up Forest

by L. J. LaBarthe

  Using one knee to push Michael’s legs apart, Gabriel then moved to kneel between Michael’s thighs, humming as Michael eagerly shifted, spreading himself for Gabriel’s touches. Gabriel ran a hand down Michael’s chest, fingers slowly mapping each line of muscle and skin, following the trail of the light dusting of black hair that ran from Michael’s navel to his groin. Michael bucked up toward Gabriel’s hand as Gabriel stopped his touches, resting his palm flat on Michael’s abdomen.

  “Gabriel,” Michael panted, writhing, “please, Gabriel.”

  “Please what, Mishka?”

  Michael whimpered. “Touch me. Take me. Dominate me.”

  Gabriel growled. He had to take a deep breath; that last throaty plea set fire to his brain. “Are you sure?” he asked.

  Michael nodded. “Yes. Please.”

  That was all Gabriel needed. He twitched an index finger, and rope bound Michael’s hands and feet to the floor. A snap of his fingers, and Gabriel’s favorite dagger, made from a fallen star, like its partner sword, appeared in his hand.

  “Safe word,” Gabriel said. “No, don’t argue that you trust me and you don’t need one. Anything can happen. So. Safe word is ‘artichoke.’”

  “Artichoke?” Michael looked bemused at Gabriel’s choice. “As you say, da bao. But I do not think it will be necessary.”

  “Humor me,” Gabriel said. He twirled his dagger in his hand. “And is there anything you don’t want me to do?”

  Michael shook his head. “I trust you,” he said. “I trust you to know my limits, even in areas that I have no experience in.”

  Gabriel inclined his head at that. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “That means a lot.”

  Michael smiled at him, wide and shining, his cheeks stained with a light blush. “I assure you that it is true.”

  Gabriel leaned down and bit Michael’s stomach. “I’ve no doubt. It’s still an honor that you do.”

  “Gabriel!” Michael gasped.

  Gabriel grinned. “And we’re off,” he purred. He set the dagger aside for a moment and pulled in silk rope with his power. It was a fine weave, thin and strong. Michael bit his lip as Gabriel uncurled the rope and began to wrap it around Michael’s thighs and hips, around his cock and balls, adjusting the tension with a series of knots and loops.

  “How’s that feel?” Gabriel asked as he tied off the rope and ran his fingers over Michael’s cock.

  Michael whimpered. “Very sensitive. It seems as if you have increased how much I can feel.”

  “Excellent.” Gabriel picked up his dagger again and slowly cut a line down the center of Michael’s torso with the tip of the blade. As bright blood pooled to the surface of Michael’s golden-olive skin, Gabriel purr-growled low in his throat and bent down to lick up the blood.

  Michael moaned, arching and trying to get more sensation as Gabriel teased the tip of his tongue around one nipple. The blood flow stopped almost as soon as Gabriel had licked it up, a combination of Archangel metabolism and the fact that Gabriel had not cut very deep. He didn’t want to injure Michael, after all; he wanted to give him pleasure. Lots of it.

  Switching to lave his tongue over the other nipple, Gabriel slid the flat of the blade of his dagger between Michael’s thighs, expertly teasing his balls and cock with the cold metal. Michael hissed and moaned, panted and writhed, his hands clenching and unclenching around the chains that held him fast. Through their connection and the bond, Gabriel could feel just how aroused Michael was, just how turned on being helpless made him. It was a heady thing for Gabriel, to have someone trust him so much to be so completely at the mercy of his whims and appetite.

  Gabriel let down his shields just enough to use his power as an additional knife, cutting into Michael’s flesh with silver-blue Celestial light. Michael cried out, and Gabriel set aside his dagger once again, moving to kiss Michael’s mouth, his fingers moving over Michael’s skin.

  As he kissed Michael hard, devouring his noises of pleasure and need, Gabriel wrote on Michael’s body with his fingers. He wrote in long-dead languages, in runes and cuneiform script that had not been seen or spoken in thousands of years. He wrote sonnets of love and devotion, sigils of the promise of his love, notations on his willing acceptance and joy at being Michael’s bonded, Michael’s beloved, his best friend, his lover, his companion for the rest of time and beyond.

  Each cut made Michael tremble; each carving on his body made him whimper. Gabriel knew that Michael would be able to identify each mark that Gabriel’s fingers left behind, the words of love and power he inscribed on Michael’s skin. Sweat and blood and energy mingled together, and Gabriel groaned as the scent of Michael’s arousal and masculinity mingled with the iron tinge of blood and the ozone of his own power.

  He had never done this sort of thing before, although he’d daydreamed about it. Gabriel broke the kiss, panting, gazing down into Michael’s eyes. They were almost black, hazy with desire and love, and Michael gazed up at Gabriel, an expression of absolute trust on his face. Gabriel did not need to ask, because he knew the answer. Michael’s expression said it all: yes, I trust you; yes, I want this. Yes, I am yours, and you are just as surely mine.

  “Drop your shields a little,” Gabriel ordered, his voice coming out as a rough purr.

  Michael did so without question. His power, colored gold, surged to meet Gabriel’s own silver-blue, and the marks that Gabriel had cut into flesh deepened, cutting into soul, into Grace. Gabriel bit his lip, tasting blood on his tongue, and realized that he’d bitten himself so hard that he was bleeding. Every part of him throbbed with desire, and Michael’s power wound around him, echoing every mark that Gabriel had just made with his own on Gabriel’s own soul, Grace, and skin.

  Gabriel cried out wordlessly, feeling the resonance of possession and desire shared and reflected back on him. He slicked his cock with a thought and grabbed a cushion, shoving it clumsily and hastily beneath Michael’s hips. Then he moved forward and gripped Michael’s thighs hard and pressed his slicked cock into his lover’s willing body.

  Michael yelled at the penetration, arching like a bowstring. He clenched down on Gabriel’s cock, making Gabriel groan loudly. Panting, Gabriel braced himself, a hand on either side of Michael’s head, the cords in the muscles in his arms straining with the effort.

  “Da bao,” Michael panted, “this will not take long.”

  “Uh,” Gabriel said intelligently. He bit his lip, trying to force himself to calm, but Michael flexed his muscles around Gabriel’s cock, and Gabriel’s concentration shattered, scattering to the four winds. The human-seeming, cheeky Gabriel vanished, and in his place was the Archangel, shimmering with his power, silver light burning around his wings.

  Gabriel growled and ducked his head, biting down on Michael’s neck, teeth sharp as razors. Michael yelled, arching into it, as Gabriel tasted blood and Grace, and he began to thrust, hard, fast, and animalistic, growling against Michael’s flesh. He slid one hand down Michael’s side, then worked it between their sweaty, bloodied bodies and untied the knot on the silk rope that held Michael’s cock and balls trapped. The rope slithered off Michael’s body, the slickness of the silk making it slippery to the touch as Gabriel tugged it away and then wrapped his hand around Michael’s cock and began to stroke.

  Michael moaned raggedly each time Gabriel was balls deep inside him, clenched down hard around Gabriel, and soon, Gabriel could feel his orgasm threatening to overwhelm him. Michael’s cock was slick with pre-come, and Gabriel moaned, so turned on that he couldn’t think, only feel. One thrust, two, and one more, and Gabriel came, pulling back from Michael’s neck to give voice to the shout of passionate release as he came hard.

  “Michael!”

  Michael whimpered, and a moment later, Gabriel felt come on his hand. Panting, chest heaving, Gabriel slowly pulled out of Michael’s body, flicked a finger, and the ropes around Michael’s wrists and ankles disappeared. He sat back on his haunches, gazing down at his beloved, and his eyes
widened as he saw the mess of cuts and blood and sweat on Michael’s skin.

  “Gabriel.” Michael reached up to touch Gabriel’s cheek. He was smiling. “Do not be alarmed. I imagine that my body appears much like yours at the moment.”

  Gabriel blinked and peered down at himself. He saw it was true. The reflected, shared energy of what they had done had copied all Gabriel’s power-writings onto his own body, cut into his skin by Michael’s power, reacting on instinct, one Archangel mated and bonded to another Archangel.

  Gabriel looked back at his lover and grinned a little sheepishly. “We need to take a bath,” he said.

  Michael chuckled. “It seems that we do.” His voice was fond. “I love you very much, da bao.”

  “I didn’t hurt you, did I? I know I kind of went all medieval there.” Gabriel touched the line of the cut down Michael’s torso.

  “No.” Michael was still smiling. “It was wonderful. I enjoy it when you are… medieval.”

  Gabriel laughed. “Okay then. Just, give me a few minutes to get my breath back, then we’ll go get clean.”

  “As you say. I confess that a few moments to recover would be welcome.” Michael tugged Gabriel down to lie beside him. “I love you,” he said again.

  “I love you, too.” Gabriel touched Michael’s face and looked down at his body again. As he had suspected it might, Michael’s inbuilt healing was already repairing all the damage. The cuts were fading, healing away to normal skin. Gabriel looked back up at Michael’s face. “Seems the only scars that stay on either of us are the ones we get in war or the ones we give each other with our teeth.”

  Michael laughed. “With our teeth?”

  “Aye.” Gabriel touched Michael’s neck. “You really do look like your neck’s been a chew toy for a pack of wild dogs.”

  “No.” Michael took Gabriel’s hand in his own, lacing their fingers. “Only for my beloved Gabriel.”

  Gabriel smiled. “And it seems that hard sex with some magic thrown into the mix makes you all affectionate. I’ll have to remember that. I like it.” He kissed the tip of Michael’s nose.

  Michael huffed, but then he chuckled once more. “As you say. Are you ready to go and bathe?”

  “Aye.” Gabriel gave Michael one more quick kiss and then got to his feet. He helped Michael up and wrapped his arms around him, holding him close, soaking up the comfort and love of their embrace.

  “Mm. Gabriel.” Michael melted into the hug and Gabriel tightened his arms a little. “Let us bathe, da bao.”

  “All right.” With that, Gabriel moved them to the bathroom, teleporting instead of walking. Later, when they were clean and cuddling together on their bed, they would talk about the Grail and the situation they were all facing, but for right now, all Gabriel cared about was Michael in his arms, against him, touching him. And it was perfection.

  Chapter Ten

  RAPHAEL LEANED against a tree—one without a key protruding from its trunk—and watched in bemusement as his lover moved around the woody spot. Israfel was caressing the trunks of the trees with keys, resting his palm on the brasswork of the keys themselves, then pressing his ear against the tree trunk. It all seemed very esoteric to Raphael, and Israfel’s vague explanation for what he was doing had made next to no sense.

  “Hm,” Israfel said. “Hm.”

  “What is it, Iss?” Raphael asked.

  “Hm? Oh. Yes, very interesting. This is truly astonishing.” Israfel pressed his ear back against the nearest tree trunk, and Raphael suppressed the urge to throw his hands up in frustration.

  As Raphael continued to watch his lover’s antics, the dappled light slowly darkened, signifying that night was approaching. He sighed, squinting up toward the canopy of leaves and tree branches, trying to gauge the time, but it was almost impossible with such dense foliage obscuring his vision.

  Raphael returned to watching Israfel’s antics. He had brought his lover here to see what Israfel thought about the music and the trees with their wind-up keys, because, Raphael thought, the Angel of Music would surely know something that the rest of them didn’t. However, as soon as they had arrived, Israfel had gone into paroxysms of delight and rushed from tree to tree, caressing, listening, hemming, and hawing as if he were a dryad.

  Now, Israfel was lying on the ground, his cheek pressed against the dirt and his eyes closed. He was concentrating hard, and Raphael’s eyebrows rose as Israfel wriggled as if trying to get closer to the earth.

  “What the fuck is he doing?”

  Raphael almost jumped out of his skin at the new voice. He turned and saw it was Tabbris. With his bright-green mohawk and his clothes that were a riot of color—and not all of them complementary—Tabbris was a very loud distraction.

  “I do not know,” Raphael said. He turned back to watch Israfel.

  “He does know he looks ridiculous, right?” Tabbris asked, coming to stand beside Raphael.

  “I don’t think he actually cares right now,” Raphael said.

  Tabbris snorted. “Right, bullshit. Hey, Iss,” he yelled.

  “Later, Tabbry,” Israfel said without looking up. “I’m busy.”

  Tabbris’s expression was one of astonishment. He gaped at Israfel.

  Raphael laughed. “You’ve never been told no before, have you, hm?”

  “Not by Iss!” Tabbris appeared enormously offended. “It’s Archangel Donkey-Face who does that, because he hates happiness.”

  Raphael burst out laughing. Tabbris’s overblown statements were a welcome addition on this strange afternoon in the middle of the forest. “Do you mean Michael?”

  “Yeah. Donkey-Face.” Tabbris scowled. “Captain Killjoy.”

  Raphael laughed again. “Does he know you call him all of these?”

  “How should I know? I don’t care.” Tabbris stomped over to Israfel and nudged his side with the toe of one booted foot. “Iss, get up. If the dirt sucks you in, we can’t pull you out.”

  Israfel stood up, brushing himself off. “It wouldn’t do that, Tabbry,” he said patiently. “The forest likes me.”

  “How the fuck do you know that?” Tabbris demanded. It was, Raphael thought, a very valid question.

  Israfel smiled a bright, sunny smile. “It told me, duh!”

  “Obviously,” Raphael muttered to himself.

  Israfel was moving again, this time purposefully. He marched to the nearest tree, grasped the key in both hands, and began to turn it. Raphael and Tabbris fell silent, watching, as Israfel turned the key to its very end, then released it.

  The key began to wind back slowly, and as it did so, music poured forth. Israfel’s eyebrows shot up, and he crossed his arms over his chest and peered at the key and the tree as if both were beneath a microscope. As Raphael watched, more bemused than ever and astounded by the beauty of the music, Israfel stomped around the tree, resting a hand on the rough bark and pressing his ear to it once again.

  “What is he doing?” Tabbris asked Raphael. This time, though, Tabbris sounded as perplexed as Raphael felt.

  “I really have no idea,” Raphael replied.

  “This is really weird, Raph,” Tabbris said, turning to face him. He was, for once, entirely serious. “I mean, even for us.”

  “I know.” Raphael shook his head. “I confess that this whole situation—not just these trees—is very strange. And a little frightening, too. After all, how long have we angelkind existed, knowing nearly everything there is to know about everything?”

  “Forever,” Tabbris answered the rhetorical question.

  “Right. And suddenly, this century has seen us facing questions that have answers we do not know. Or answers that only Archdemons know. And now, in this case, with regards these trees and the Holy Grail, answers that only those who have perpetrated the crimes know.”

  Tabbris shivered dramatically. “I don’t mind telling you, Raph, but this Holy Grail guff scares the shit out of me.”

  Raphael regarded Tabbris in concern. “Why?”

 
“Because the Holy Grail’s inviolate.” Tabbris shook his head. “It’s like, it’s a piece of God still on Earth, left here to be the glue that keeps the realities separate and keeps creation from falling apart. And it’s the key to Purgatory, and I don’t think we want bad people getting a hold of it for that reason alone.”

  Raphael’s brow furrowed. “I thought the Holy Grail was simply a relic of Christ.”

  “Yeah, it is, but see, it’s a specific relic. God and the Devil sat down and agreed to make a magical object that had to stay on Earth, long after God and Jesus left. Satan was never here, but he does care about Hell, and if the Grail went poof, then the walls of Hell would come down and he’d find his reality overrun with sanctimonious Thrones who wanted to run it for him.”

  Raphael snorted at that, amused. “The Thrones are a very dedicated choir of angels,” he said.

  “They’re fucking sanctimonious shits,” Tabbris declared. “Give me the Dominions over the Thrones any day. Anyway, because the Grail has this lesser-known purpose, God and the Devil locked it up with Joseph of Arimathea to be the custodian of it.”

  “So where is it now, then?” Raphael asked.

  “I don’t know, do I? Do I look like Raziel? No, no, I do not. I’m way more sexy than he is. I do know that what was at Saint Catherine’s Monastery was a copy, not the real deal. Joseph knew people would want it, so he made a copy and tinkered with magic to make it seem like it was the real deal.”

  Raphael blinked. “Have you told any of the rest of my Brotherhood this?”

  Tabbris rolled his eyes. “I tried, but they told me to sod off. So, screw them.”

  “Then why are you telling me?” Raphael asked gently.

  Tabbris looked down. “Because you’re kind to me,” he said, his voice so soft it was barely audible. “And you don’t treat me like the spoiled brat scum of Heaven.”