DEVIL, DEVIL (Michael Langdon)

vi.

{TW: Though there is not any actual sexual assault occurring in this chapter (or book as a whole) I would just like to let everyone know that it could be a bit touchy for some as there is a scene containing a semi abusive situation and emotional manipulation.}

They spent the remainder of the night in Judas' room. There was a strange sort of excitement in the air, making the room feel as if it was buzzing. Judas lay on the bed, laughing almost as he looked at Michael. "You fucking did it," he said. "You did it all."

"I did, didn't I?" Michael said, a faint smile on his face as he sat at Judas' side.

Judas took his hand. "I thought you were dead for a minute, Michael," he admitted.

Michael's eyebrows furrowed quizzically. He twined his fingers with Judas', squeezing. "Descensum," Judas said. "You were so still... It freaked me out."

"I'm fine now," Michael said.

"You couldn't breathe when you woke up."

"I'm fine."

Judas gave a small nod, biting at his lip. He regretted his next question the moment it left his lips. "Why did Misty look so afraid of you? You saved her life."

Michael dropped Judas' hand as if he'd been burned, even though his skin had the heat of a roaring fire. "I don't know," he stated, though Judas knew he was lying.

"What happened in her Hell?" Judas pressed, curious now. He reached for Michael's hand, but the other boy pulled it away sharply.

"I brought her back," Michael said, venom filling his tone. "Isn't that all that matters?"

Judas had no answer to that. "I'm sorry I asked," he said finally, though Michael didn't even look at him. The damage was already done. "I shouldn't have said anything."

They sat in silence for a long time, longer than they'd ever been in a room together without speaking. Without smiling and laughing and just being happy.

Judas hated this silence. It surrounded his heart and squeezed like a claw, awkward and tense and terrifying in so many ways. 

It was Michael who broke the silence, surprisingly. "How do you think the world will end?"

He'd asked this question before, but the repetition was oddly unsettling. Judas shook his head. "I don't know," he said, the same reply he'd had when Michael asked the first time, eons ago. "I don't know, Michael."

"But if you had to guess," Michael pressed, blue eyes locking with Judas' brown ones. "What would you say?"

Judas continued to shake his head, stunned and suddenly angry. "I don't know. I don't know. I don't know!"

He closed his eyes, not wanting Michael to look at him. Michael was suddenly gripping his shoulders. Without thinking, Judas opened his eyes, realizing that tears were beginning to well in their corners. "I can't answer your questions now," Michael said. "But answer mine."

"No," Judas stated. "That's not fair."

Michael hesitated. "But I love you."

Those four words and it felt as if Judas couldn't breathe. He wanted to say it back. With every fiber of his being, he wanted to tell Michael how he felt. But every time he opened his mouth to speak, the only thing that threatened to spill out were sobs.

And then Michael kissed him.

He should have pulled away. He knew that. Deep down he knew that. But, instead, he wrapped his arms around Michael's neck, letting his golden boy pin him to the bed. His fingers threaded through blond locks, pulling Michael as close as physically possible. They broke apart only for air, Judas gasping as he looked up at the angelic face above him. He had known from the very start that Michael Langdon would be his undoing, and he had not been wrong about that fact.

"I love you," said Michael, but Judas felt like he was lying. His boyish smile and glinting eyes were gone. Going to Hell (or perhaps even just the Seven Wonders in general) had changed Michael, though Judas didn't know if it was for the better or not.

All he knew was that he answered Michael with a weak smile. "I love you, too."

Michael's lips ventured to Judas' neck and he whispered into his burning skin, "I love you. I love you. I love you." Over and over but the more he said it the less it convinced Judas of that fact.

Judas' breath caught in his throat as Michael nipped at the skin of his neck, causing goosebumps to rise up and down his arms. Tears had begun to fall freely now. Rolling down his cheeks as he whispered, "I love you, too." This wasn't Michael anymore. No more his golden boy, his lover boy, his angel, whose hands were venturing down to his pants, unbuttoning with long, tan fingers.

But unlike Michael, Judas wasn't lying as the words escaped his lips, as they gave in to weak gasps with every push of Michael's body against his. Even as he buried his face into the shoulder of this stranger wearing Michael's skin and grit his teeth, as pain and pleasure filled his body, he wasn't lying, not at all.

"I love you so fucking much, Michael."

There were no windows at Hawthorne. The only thing signifying that morning had come was that Michael was awake. Judas blinked back the night's tears, eyes rimmed red and hair clinging to his still damp cheeks. Michael was stood at the corner of the room. His eyes were closed and he stood with his back to Judas who watched quizzically as Michael moved his finger in neat, sloping patterns. 

And on the wall, with embers drifting from the burned-in marks, were the initials J and M.