Dead Moon Chapel

twenty-four

A DELUGE OF SILENCE PERMEATED every corner of the room, thick and tangible and suffocating. Abel longed for his vision to leave him again so that he would not have to see the way Jericho looked at him. Wide clusters of stars stared up at him in what Abel could only assume was horror. How he did not disappear when the demoness did, Abel didn't know. All he could remember in that sweltering light was his fervent prayer to take Jericho's pain from him.

But that fear in his eyes... Was that not also pain?

"I'm sorry," Abel said. His voice was layered, an entire legion wrapped up into one man. "I'll go to the room. I don't know what I look like right now."

He turned away to spare Jericho from the agony he was certain he was in. Before he could get far, Jericho was on his feet, gripping his wrist. He did not flinch, nor hiss in pain, and Abel turned around to look at him curiously.

"Abel, please," Jericho whispered. "Don't go."

Abel glanced from his wrist, held captive by Jericho's hand which showed no signs of discomfort. "Does this form not cause you suffering? Are you not wounded by the sight of me?"

"How could I be, angel?"

They were the same height now, but he still felt small next to him. He stared at the demon with a thousand glimmering eyes. Such fervent words, despite their contradictions with reality, were impossible to deny when Jericho touched him without complaint. Perhaps he was only pretending, for Abel's sake, or because he longed for him no matter how incompatible they were. And yet, Abel had never gazed upon eyes so sincere.

"I know this isn't what you wanted," Jericho went on. "But I don't want you to hide from me. Please."

There was a hint of a whimper in Jericho's words, and it tugged at Abel's chest in more ways than one. He studied him, considering something for several long moments.

"I do not hurt you?"

"No."

"Not even if you were to touch me more? It wouldn't burn?"

"Angel, it only hurt that one time because I was unprepared for how beautiful and terrifying you are," the demon said, his promise eager. He stepped closer, threading his fingers through his hair. "If it was something you wanted, I would touch every part of you when you're like this. And I would treasure it."

Abel swallowed. "Then touch me," he breathed. "Please. I want your hands all over me, maybe I'll feel less godly then."

They were in the room not ten seconds after he said this, mouths crushed together as though they could not breathe without each other. Abel stumbled backward until his knees hit the bed, and he allowed himself to fall. His many wings splayed out beneath him, encasing Jericho as he crawled over him. His hand gripped his dark hair, urging him closer, and Jericho obliged. Abel parted his lips, an invitation for the demon to slip his tongue inside.

A choked whimper buried itself into Jericho's mouth as Abel sucked on his tongue. It was long and thick, firm despite its flexibility. While Jericho thrust it in and out of his throat, Abel's mind took him somewhere dreadfully sinful.

He squirmed against Jericho's groin, catching the demon's smug attention. He pulled away, and the absence of his tongue allowed Abel to breathe again. Perhaps it was the lack of oxygen getting to his head, but he was throbbing now, overcome with violent yearning.

"Mmm, impatient already?" Jericho purred. "I've yet to touch all of you."

"Then do it." Abel ground up against him, feeling a familiar growing stiffness as he did. "You're no less desperate than I am."