There’s a heavy sigh audible through his phone. “That’s not the point,” Jakob replies, and there’s a soft creak steadily echoing in the background, like he’s walking circles in his living room, making the old floorboards groan with every step. “In fact, I’m pretty sure he is very much interested in you. But I don’t think you’re aware of the scale of things. He is not just a random guy you met at a café.”
“I know he’s not.”
“I don’t think you do. I don’t think you realize what you’re getting into.”
Mathieu watches as the biscuits crumble under the pressure of his hand. “Then why don’t you tell me, oh enlightened one? Huh, Jakob? Why don’t you tell me what I’m doing with my life?”
“I,” Jakob starts and pauses, hesitation suddenly evident in his voice. It’s quiet. “I don’t want a fight with you.”
“Oh no,” Mathieu says and points at nothing and nobody, but he needs something to do with his trembling hand. “We’re fighting, we’re talking about this, and you’re not backing down! This is my life, these are my choices, all right? Because since we’re all suddenly so big on this whole God thing, free will is a gift granted to humanity, isn’t it? So I’m using it. And you better get used to it.”
Jakob is silent on the other end, and Mathieu knows he’s chewing on his lips, fiddling with the hem of his jumper like a nervous teenager, and there are some habits neither of them will ever grow out of; Mathieu hasn’t decided yet if that’s a good thing or not.
“I’m sorry,” he eventually speaks up again. “But I’m worried. I am. And I still think that you need to think things over.”
“Maybe that would be authentic advice if you didn’t spend weeks being depressed over your lost angel. And if you tell me that’s different, I’m going to get into my car, drive over to yours, and hit you square in the face.”
“But Andrew is different,” Jakob presses and Mathieu can tell how Jakob struggles with it, almost says was, almost admits to the fact that he is gone and won’t be coming back.
“Well,” he admits, “maybe he is. But guess why, Jakob. Please. Humor me.”
“Stop that.”
“Why? Because you don’t want to think about Heaven as some fucked-up, communist state that tells its citizens what to do and if they misbehave, heads roll? That’s what it is. And maybe your cupid will always be a follower, but don’t blame Brath for being smarter than that.”
“You’re talking like he’s some revolutionary,” Jakob says, and Mathieu hears him pacing again. “Fine, tell yourself that. But he’s not. He’s an executioner. Perhaps it wasn’t his choice then, but don’t think he’s changed the slightest bit.” He sighs. “And if you don’t believe me, maybe talk to the ones who’ve known him for a while.”
* * *
Mathieu doesn’t talk to Keith, or Gareth, or Perry, mainly because he doesn’t want to hand Jakob that victory. What the hell is he supposed to ask anyway? But—and Mathieu isn’t proud of it—he watches Brath with them. He thinks he remembers his mother telling him when he was little that people revealed their true faces when being surrounded by their loved ones. And he guesses that two wayward demons and a goofy cherub are as close to a family as Brath has these days, even if it is the biggest messed up family Mathieu has ever known.
Gareth is ever doting on Brath; hovering around him and soaking up everything he says, eyes catching every move he makes, attentive in a way a big brother would be, willing to forgive every error or misbehaving, wanting to spoil beyond reason.
Brath is not dismissive of Gareth’s attention, but he doesn’t reciprocate it, he seems happier when Gareth forgets his subtle worship and teases rather than adores. Brath twists his face into a scowl when Gareth grips him tight, lifts him up like a doll, winds his arm around his neck, but Mathieu knows that Brath secretly doesn’t mind it too much. Mathieu finds he doesn’t mind it too much either, at least not anymore, although, in his mind, he confesses that it did cross his thoughts to tell Gareth to kindly back off.
Keith is—well, Mathieu still finds him irritating from time to time, doesn’t understand how any being can be this cheerful from sunrise to sunset and possibly also in between. He used to tolerate him, much like Gareth, because he whispers to Brath and makes him laugh, prods and pokes at him until he elicits an honest smile. He distracts him with jokes and other things to cheer him up when Brath drifts off into this dark place nobody but him can access; now Mathieu surprises himself by realizing he likes Keith. Mostly, he likes how Brath lightens up around him, and perhaps he feels a little jealous that he can’t do that; that he is not enough, but Mathieu is done with being selfish like that.
Perry is the odd one out, in a way, and Mathieu doubts that Keith and Gareth have warmed to him (maybe they find his invisible heavenly glow disturbing or unpleasant; it’s not like Mathieu is an expert on this). But he still drops by unannounced, and irregularly, he ignores some pointed looks and defies them with a smile before dragging Brath off to disappear for an hour or so, at most. Sometimes they only play cards in the corner of the coffee shop, and Brath sits Indian style on an old armchair, scrunching up his nose in concentration and absentmindedly chewing on his lower lip until it is reddened.
That’s how Mathieu finds him on this day as he walks through the door, the old rusty bell above it already a familiar sound in his ears, leaving behind the unpleasant cold rain. The entire room smells of baked croissants and Keith waves at him from behind the counter. Brath jerks his head into his direction, and his face splits in a smile that sends an invisible fist to his chest, pounding at his heart until Mathieu can feel it swell.
Jakob might say people don’t change; or whatever they are. But Mathieu knows that’s not true.
16
Brath
Brath knows it’s not his fault; it’s not his own doing. His Father has created him this way, has installed something in his being that would rid him of choice, and Brath has spent his entire existence fighting to quench this suppression inside of him. No will of his own and forced to love and serve the lowest of his creations, and Brath overcame this burden a long time ago, yet he still feels the aftershocks, still feels drawn to humankind in some way and can’t leave this sphere for very long even if he tries. He’s grown used to them, gotten familiar with their quirks, which doesn’t translate into him holding them in any higher regard than before.
Brath still thinks they’re scum. Like the dirt beneath his shoes and not even bothersome enough to be scraped off his soles.
Still, Brath has come to realize that if you rake your hands through dirt long enough, sieve it with water and pay attention, once in a while, you encounter a diamond or a flake of gold. Someone raw and beautiful who catches the light and reflects it in a million different colors that light up dark and hidden away corners and secret paths laid out so nobody would ever find them. A hidden gem, so rare and precious that Brath wants to shield him, so no one else dares lay eyes upon him and thus taint him, because—because he is not like them, he is special and different, and Brath wants to cradle him to his chest and savor his light.
He turns his head and looks at Mathieu sleeping in the dark custody of his bedroom. His face towards Brath, neck bared and arms stretched out as if he hadn't a worry in the world, and nothing would ever threaten him. Brath will see to it that it stays that way, suddenly he can’t bear the thought of ever not spending the hours after sunset close to Mathieu’s warmth and listening to the solid and steady sound of his heartbeat.
Within the shelter of Mathieu’s home, Brath senses words welling up in his throat, obscure letters that only slowly carry forward meaning, still hazy but becoming clearer by the minute. He knows he can’t speak them, can barely think them without a biting clench to his chest.
But lying here, he does want to tell Mathieu everything; wants to say that Brath would open the gates of Hell to give significance to his claim on him. That he would bring Heaven to its knees for them to stay together. That Brath would s
trike down every single one of his brothers and even His Father with his very own sword if they would attempt to take Mathieu from him. He would overcome them all. And he will.
Brath lets his fingers ghost over Mathieu’s collarbones; he stirs but does not wake, and for a moment, as Brath takes in the sight of his hand hovering around Mathieu’s neck, he contemplates forcing his grip around it and snapping the bones like a twig. He could watch his soul flicker and rise, and he could catch it before it got close to the higher spheres. But despite claiming otherwise, Brath doesn’t want to force Mathieu. He wants Mathieu to have the choice, and he wants Mathieu to choose Brath above anything else.
Brath leans down, and he doesn’t tell Mathieu any of this, but he places soft kisses on his skin, one syllable for every touch of his lips. He wants to think that his words sink down and he locks them up with his tongue, burying secret after secret beneath the mortal shell of Mathieu’s body.
Brath continues even when he has nothing left to give when all his thoughts are empty and cleared out, and maybe Mathieu deserves more, but it’s all Brath has, and he never had a lot. But he can’t stop touching and putting his lips right where Mathieu’s heart is, a constant reminder of life, a metronome of time. He lets his thoughts trail off, let's his mind quiet down as Mathieu shuffles and blinks at him with bleary eyes. Mathieu, through velvet lashes, reaches out with a hand, still and heavy.
“Hey,” he says, slightly slurred and croaky and he urges Brath up with fingers placed lightly on his jaw.
Brath holds his eyes for a moment, relishing what lingers between them, then he rises to his hands and knees, and with quick movements, he sees eye to eye with Mathieu, lowering first his hips, then his chest, then his lips onto Mathieu’s. He responds eagerly, fatigue still climbing to his limbs, but he winds slow, warm arms around Brath’s shoulders to secure him firmly against his body, hands coming to his neck, tilting his head, deepening the kiss and welcoming a mild heat in the cold hours of the morning.
“You’re cuddly this morning,” Mathieu tells him with a twitch of his lips when they part. “Not that it bothers me,” he quickly adds.
Brath pushes himself up slightly to get a better look at him. “I can’t believe it took me so long to find you,” he says and realizes that there’s a secret left in him after all and now he feels oddly bare and open—vulnerable. But Mathieu just stares at him in silence; thoughtful perhaps, taking it in before he smiles.
“Well. I’m glad you did.”
Touching his palm to Mathieu’s cheek, Brath leans down again. “Me too,” he mutters into Mathieu’s mouth before diving in for another open kiss, without haste, calm and warm. He drags his tongue against Mathieu’s, his heart thuds against his chest, careful fingers in his hair, making every nerve in his human shell stand on end like tiny electric impulses that pulse momentary life through him like an artificial heartbeat. One of Mathieu’s hands moves down his spine, tracing and circling vertebra after vertebra to the dip of his hips before digging into them and pulling Brath closer. He can feel Mathieu’s heat against his thigh as he moves them over, twists his body until he’s hovering over Brath, curling their lower bodies together.
Brath lets his head fall into the pillows with a gasp. Mathieu latches onto his throat, teeth dragging and tongue soothing over until Brath’s skin is feeling raw, desire climbing higher and impending between them, yet somehow, Brath feels no need to urge Mathieu on just yet. He likes the attention and care Mathieu bestows on him, and only him, and usually, he lets him have this for a while before taking control of the act. But now, he wants to savor it; wants to wallow in bodily pleasures that will perhaps soon be beyond them both. He captures Mathieu’s mouth again, pulls at his lip with his teeth, inwardly groaning to the sound of the hiss it allows to surface and he runs his hands down Mathieu’s sides, feeling his ribs, his hips, and firm flesh before tangling their legs, dragging the heel of his foot up the back of Mathieu’s calf, and down again.
“How do you want me?” He breathes against the hot skin of Mathieu’s shoulder, watching as a tremor courses through him and there it is again, that look in his eyes, that soft way with which he frames Brath’s head like he’s afraid that—
“I would have you every way. Again,” Mathieu says between kisses. “And again. And again.” And then he moves down Brath’s body, breath cool on Brath’s skin, already shining with sweat despite the chill seeping through thin window panes as Mathieu roams his hands over his abdomen, covering every inch of skin with his mouth.
And I would let you, Brath thinks, twisting on crumpled sheets until he is lying on his stomach and feels Mathieu draping himself over his back. He rises to his knees once more and welcomes Mathieu’s heat inside of him, rapidly spreading like the wildfires in Ancient Greece. He lets him press his lips to his neck repeatedly, no doubt leaving marks on this pale and frail skin to perhaps make a subconscious claim, to bury some secrets on his own that Mathieu doesn’t want to say out loud either.
With every thrust, long and languid, air gets pushed out of Brath’s body; air he doesn’t need anyway and it somehow still feels like he’s choking; throat tight, skin crawling, hands slipping on damp sheets. Mathieu groans and he can’t help but answer it with one of his own, muffled by the pillows as he brushes his heated face. The tide approaches quickly despite the slow rhythm of Mathieu’s hips, crawling like insects beneath his skin; flesh-eating scarabs, wicked and divine, eliciting a pain so hot and fiery that it turns to pleasure as soon as it blossoms in his belly.
Mathieu embraces him, pulls him up and back, changes the angle in a way that makes Brath ache to the tip of his hairs, blowing more kisses onto Brath’s bared throat as his head falls back onto Mathieu’s shoulder. He lifts his left arm and touches their cheeks together, Mathieu’s stubble creating more bittersweet friction that unburies noises still foreign on Brath’s tongue. But he craves this, he’s grown addicted to this, and it’s not his fault that he finds himself falling for Mathieu; His Father installed servitude and devotion, and it still ripples through Brath’s being, weighs heavily but is lifted off the next instant because Mathieu gives him everything back and more.
Mathieu presses a trembling kiss to his lips, far more urgent and desperate than the ones before, laden with want and drawn out like this was to be the last kiss they ever shared.
Brath circles his hips meets Mathieu’s every thrust, solid and deep, hesitations thrown overboard as their moans and cries of pleasure echo back and forth between the walls and wet skin. Slick and hot, they slide together as one, their lower bodies stutter, and Mathieu sneaks his arms tightly around him as if he were holding on for dear life and well, maybe he is, maybe they both are, and Brath has stopped caring about the meaning of any of this. He only desires now.
One last curl of their hips and Brath sees a white light, feels the burning heat, and Mathieu bites down on his neck to muffle the sounds of his climax. They fall forward, devoid of all energy and strength to keep upright, Mathieu still glued to Brath’s back but when he starts to move, Brath winds an iron grip around his wrists and doesn’t let him back off even an inch.
The air is heavy in the aftermath, heavy with things unspoken and feelings unexpressed and Brath doesn’t close his eyes, even when, after a while, he notices Mathieu’s breath evening out against the back of his neck. Instead, he looks ahead, watches the sunrise outside the window and wallows in his thoughts as the city slowly wakes up.
At this point, Brath would start the second War in Heaven and send the world towards its doom, because he cannot imagine ever being without Mathieu again. But that’s a secret he keeps firmly to himself.
* * *
“Do you remember Michael?”
Brath asks. He doesn’t appreciate the dark, and the icy air is a harsh slap to his skin after basking in Mathieu’s warmth all day, letting the sun caress their bare forms through the windows.
A hoarse chuckle reaches his ears. “Do I remember my brother who struck me and dragged
me to our Father for judgment despite knowing what he would do to me? What do you think, little brother?”
“Well, it was a rhetorical question,” Brath comments. “I do know you remember him well.”
“Then what is the point of your question?”
“I’m just here to tell you,” Brath starts, moving closer, smelling the ash; a burning soul, form slowly being reduced to dust, unpleasant and sharp. “I have found him.”
“What?” His voice is harsh and biting, commanding but Brath doesn’t let that bother him in any way. He is still the one holding the cards, and now he’s got yet another ace up his sleeve. It’s almost cruel, this shameless teasing, but it’s not like Brath is down here for being nice. It’s not like Lucifer would buy it if Brath were.
“I have found him,” Brath repeats with patience. “Quite a funny story. A story you will learn to appreciate, and I’m sure you will. See, Michael, our Father’s beloved and dearest favorite watched you fall, and he was struck with guilt. Ironic, right?” Brath smiles. “It tore him up from inside, these feelings we weren’t born to have, but poor Michael had accidentally grown a conscience. And you know what he did?”
“Enlighten me, baby brother,” Lucifer says.
“See, now you're ironic,” Brath muses. “It doesn’t suit you though. Guilt ate him up, and so Michael flung himself after you. I don’t know if what happened next was his intention, but he lost hold of his soul. He was reborn as a human. Most likely reborn as human multiple times. So many times, in fact, that he is now entirely unaware of his heritage and is nothing more than a man.”
His brother is silent, waiting for him to continue.
“The best part is: he is the one that little cupid has fallen in love with. What are the odds?”
“What are the odds indeed,” he says slowly, calculative and Brath can sense that he is already piecing it all together. “And I assume he has unknowingly become part of your scheme.”
The World Before: MM Romance Page 10