Work Text:
The water was hot and scented with myrrh, and it felt all the more Heavenly for being soundly of and on the planet Earth.
Raphael sighed as he stretched out his legs and then his toes to the very ends of the bathtub. He'd needed this, desperately. An escape from the endless questions that roved and bothered and buzzed through his mind at any given moment, their speed and intensity increasing with the knowledge that he'd get no answers in Heaven. The other angels? The pompous, pruney-lipped Metatron? Hmph.
And God?
He couldn't quite hmph at God, even in his thoughts. But God would not answer, either. That was a keen thought, and cold.
So! Better to come to Earth. To guide humans towards Heaven. And then he could use the downtime to learn about all the planetary flora and fauna he'd missed out on whilst dabbling with the stars and nebulae, and…
And also. Quietly—silently—seek answers to his questions here, and within himself.
And in the bath was a lovely way to do it.
Raphael had never been much interested in the Earthly pleasures of the flesh, such as food or drink—well, some drinks. Wine was quite nice!—or the myriad mind-altering substances each generation created. But bathing? Bathing was particularly soothing.
To be so naked and vulnerable! And yet held close, protected by the water's embrace, the pressure, the density. Raphael had no memories of the human womb to call upon, no soothing echo of that brief tranquility. He imagined this must be very like it, though.
Also, not least of all, bathing often relaxed his questing brain and ticking body long enough to explore…other, more complicated pleasures.
He stroked his hands over his chest.
Found his nipples, gave them the smallest, sharpest tweak. Ah.
Oh, that was good, how the bright little pinch shivered down his belly, making his groin ache.
Raphael scratched lightly over his abdomen, displacing the water. He teased through the faint reddish brown hair, wet and waving, following it down the line of his belly. He slid his palms slow, slow, slow, further down to where his cock was already hard. So hard that the tip was pushing up through the water to the cool air above.
His balls were tightening, aching with every zing that still rang down from his sore nipples. It felt lovely.
It felt awful, impatient. Mmm.
He so had needed this. This…attention. He wrapped a hand around himself and stroked.
As his thumb slid up to the head, he felt an answering tug on his foot.
Raphael started, and choked back a curse. If Gabriel had seen fit to pop in unannounced again, oh Lord. Raphael didn't care if he was Supreme Archangel, he'd smite that horrid smug bastard all the way to Alpha Centauri.
"Show yourself," he commanded.
Another tug on his foot. Then, shockingly, a hot suck around his big toe. Another. Tug, tug, tug, a tongue winding round it. He bit his lip at the surprising jolt of it, the way the sucking pressure sent sparks up his foot, calf, thigh. A dull flush crept over his chest, and he felt caught in between one breath and another.
"Show yourself now," he said again, but his voice had dwindled into a shivery croak.
The water shimmered with silvery presence. Ripples formed. A white dorsal fin split the surface.
Another body drove against him. The sheer mass of it pushed Raphael's legs apart, splayed his thighs easily, as the bath water roiled into whitecaps. Fingers stroked up the underside of his knees, thumbs pressed deep half moons into his slippery skin.
A presence, yes—a body—a beast of the darkest and most dismal seas. Hulking, silvery-white, smooth, cool, unstoppable.
Raphael made a horrifying MEEEP sound as the demon slid groping hands under his arse and pushed him up against the porcelain of the tub. Water sloshed everywhere, over the sides, all over the floor, oh dear.
"You," he gasped.
"Me," grinned Archduke Slorch the Vile. His spike-teeth gleamed, layered and razor sharp. Myrrh-scented bathwater poured off his huge shoulders as he spread Raphael's thighs wide, wide, wider, so he could rub right up against the sensitive skin of Raphael's groin and arse. "Were you expecting someone else, love?"
"For Heaven's sake," Raphael moaned. "What are you doing here?"
"We had a lunch date."
"Yes, well, sorry about that, but—"
"I got bored. And peckish."
Slorch tried to adjust his arms, but he was too large for the angle and the small space in which they were both crammed.
Grumbling, he lifted and rearranged Raphael as if he were some kind of strumpet doll—one of those silly things humans blew air into and then rutted against, ugh—rather than an Archangel of Heaven. The audacity.
"Unhand me, fiend!"
Slorch snorted, and then slipped to one side with easy—if sploshy—grace, so Raphael lay atop his great bulk. But they were angled all funny, lying on their sides, half in and out of the water.
"This is ridiculous," Raphael snapped, trying to writhe into a less ludicrous, less helpless position. "Why can't you take me to bed like a normal—"
He broke off in a gasp as his arse was breached. It was different than Slorch's usual Efforts, this thing. Thick and smooth and slicked. A shark's clasper, a twinned cock that divided for some sort of evolutionary reproductive reasons Raphael had never explored, and certainly wasn't going to start now. Not when all he could feel was thick shoving pressure, overwhelming, demonic, and perfect. One phallus pressing inside, the other hard and jutting beneath his balls, sliding forwards so it looked as though it were Raphael who'd grown a second dick.
"Oh." He strained back against the wide wet chest and belly snugged up behind him. Slorch growled a rumbling purr, and pushed in deeper, fairly splitting him in two.
"Ah. Mmm. There." Slorch sighed, and his heavy hands slipped round to squeeze and pinch at Raphael's nipples, to tug at the hair trailing down his belly. "Much better. Good?"
The sparking aches were already too much. Raphael gave over to blasphemy. "Fuck."
"Good?"
"Yes, you utter lunatic. It's—oh, fuck." The second clasper didn't have much to do if Slorch wasn't going to shove it in alongside the first one. But Raphael could touch it. He reached down and gave it a testing tug. Slorch drove deeper, rocking against him—fuck—and he stroked it harder, teased it, pumped it—fuck—it was so hard, inside and out, he couldn't see anything but sparks now, his vision going fuzzy and golden, his ears full of splashing waves—hell, damn, ass, fuck!
Slorch growled and bit down on his shoulder.
"You demon," Raphael moaned. Each toothpoint was a hot blade's edge, piercing deeper into his flesh with each thrust from beneath, inside him. He was well and truly pinned now between tooth and cock. "That's—oh—oh—"
"Yesth?" Slorch mumbled around his mouthful. "Good?"
He seemed already lost in pleasure, but his hips belied his blurred tone. They worked in Raphael, their movements hard and slow and just as teasing as Raphael's hand, giving it to him as hard and slow and for as long as Slorch felt like it, anywhere Slorch felt like it. In Hell, in Heaven. Among the refuse and the spotless divine. Even here, safe and peaceful and relaxing, in the bath.
Oh, how he loved it. He'd needed this, too. Bloody bastard demon.
His shoulder was on fire. The bite burned like white-hot coals. His own cock slapped against his belly with each thrust, leaking, aching. Slorch reached down to stroke it, while his other massive arm still held Raphael tight. Fucked him, held him still to be fucked, and watched him, eyes turning black with desire. And still he held Raphael's face above the water as he worked them both into a frenzy, rubbing Raphael's Earthly and complicated pleasure nodes both inside and out, until he was moaning in one long continuous wail, needy, yes, yes, yes, good, good, good, fucking Lord above and Satan below, it was all so good, yes!
Then he was throbbing into release, spattering the splotching red and white of his belly, of Slorch's thick fingers still kneading him, spattering the water, too. And his demon was coming, too, his spend as thick and overpowering as the rest of him. It filled Raphael up and overflowed.
For an instant the bath boiled, and then calmed.
Their come mixing in the bathwater turned the scent of myrrh a bit ripe, Raphael mused as he drifted back down from his fucked-out ascent, but it wasn't unpleasant.
"Come here."
"Mm?" Raphael didn't feel like moving. He was melted. He was oil. He was relaxed. His shoulder was still on fire, but that felt good, too.
"Here." Slorch turned his chin for a kiss. Raphael tasted the lightning sizzle of his own ichor on the demon's tongue. His own curses and blasphemy, pushed back in from where he'd flung them.
"There," Slorch murmured into his mouth. "That's sorted, isn't it? For starters anyway. Better than prawn cocktail."
"I told you," Raphael rasped, "to take a rain check."
Gosh, he sounded wrecked. He felt wrecked, like a shipwreck. A boat completely devoured by a hungry shark. And yet the entire flotsam waste of his body was not satisfied. Every place their bodies connected, each tingling point still fizzed with energy.
"This is me calling it in, then." The demon drew a wicked thumbnail along Raphael's jaw, sparking a fuse, muddling his senses.
"Calling what in?"
"The rain check, you silly git." Slorch huffed a laugh and shifted, and his clasper slid deeper again. Ignoring Raphael's groan, he splished a bit of water onto Raphael's chest. "Isn't this appropriate? Water. Wet. Rain. Good enough."
"Could be wetter. You could try both at once," Raphael said hopefully, but then Slorch shifted and his spent clasper slipped free. "Oh. Oh, come on—"
"Shush." Slorch's thumbnail left Raphael's jaw to trace his lower lip. "Give us another taste."
So saying, he ducked his head beneath the water, and the sharp graze of fang teased Raphael's inner thigh before big hands spread him, and a thick tongue thrust deep into his arse. Raphael arched his back. Yes, yes—but then the pressure disappeared.
What? NO!
He groaned as Slorch surfaced again, skin glistening and sleek, to loom over him.
"Questions? Comments? Compliments to the chef?"
"Only one," said Raphael tetchily, somehow restraining any and all smiting impulses. His arse ached, so sensitive and far too empty. "Why are you stopping?"
"Come now, angel." Slorch kissed him again, rich and wet and still overwhelming. "Our Arrangement works best when there's at least a little torment in it. And you know I like a long lunch."
He sank beneath the bath water again, his eyes glittering from black to silvery-white.
No real questions or answers. But that was normal. That was existence. That was eternity. And if Raphael couldn't have answers, he could have this—this—mmm. Oh, oh, fuck—this. A demon's attentive devotion to his—to their complete and utter destruction.
Raphael lay back in the unquiet water, and let himself be thoroughly tormented.