To Hurt You, To Want You

by Crimson_Callidora

Summary:

“When they return to the caves and they send their angels and demons off to rest, they both come to the realization that they’re headed in the same direction.

To Satan.

Baal sighs, then Michael does.”

Notes:

I have plans for a third and final part but life will decide when that comes to be.

Chapter 1

Baal doesn’t know whether to be concerned or amused.

Ever since the Archangel had shared a bed between him and Satan, Baal had expected for Michael to leave permanently, or for Michael to replace him entirely.

Satan had shown to Baal that he has no desire of turning on his most loyal duke. However, Baal still couldn’t suffocate the doubt that kept reminding him of a little boy of dark hair and childrens toys stuffed into a dark space. Left to be forgotten.

Satan had loved Cain and still he had distanced himself from their child.

Baal was afraid.

Michael had stayed. Slept easy between them. Mostly. At one point, Baal had awoken to Michael shifting and grunting in discomfort. Baal had felt too awkward to try and comfort someone who had been his enemy for so long. So he had done nothing.

But Satan had raised a hand, running elegant fingers along dark, strong arms until Michael settled.

Baal accepted that Satan wanted Michael. He was still accepting Michael himself.

That is why, instead of giving into sympathy due to his own similar experience with Satan, he couldn’t help but sit back and watch Michael be confused as Satan denies him from coming back into their bed again.

Satan wasn’t stupid. No matter what he may feel for the angel, Michael was a fire that could go wild any second. Michael had still betrayed Satan. Still had been responsible for their loss in the war and the loss of Lucifer’s beautiful wings.

Baal had to prove himself. Satan never trusted the same since Michael. So naturally, Michael had to prove himself.

That night had been a one time thing. A promise for what could be.

Baal was also concerned because he was starting to see what Satan did. That the ruthless, wrathful archangel was beautiful. With his intense hazel eyes, soft lips, his kisses of freckles, especially the one at a hip that he had recently discovered, and the way his curly hair hugged a neck or jaw.

He…tried not to think too hard on it. It wasn't the connection he was feeling to Michael, it was merely attraction.

‘So why does it bother me so much?’

Baal wanted to say it was because Michael became his enemy the day he hurt Lucifer and killed him. That it was quite a shock to want to tear someone limb from limb to then sticking your tongue down their throat to fight for the Devil’s blood.

Michael and Satan had an argument. He walked out to pause as he spotted Baal. Deja vu must have gripped them both. Similar to the time when Michael had bitten Satan and left him dripping and Baal had a fit of jealous rage.

Now when they see each other, it's met with awkward silence. And perhaps it is a trick of the firelight, but Baal swears there is a light flush on Michael’s cheeks.

It reminds Baal of when they woke up. Michael’s hair a mess, sitting up naked and dazed. Heaving like he awoke amid battle. He looked stunning, Surrounded by flowers and the morning sun shining through the ceiling. That same blush was on his cheeks with sheets twisted and tangled just high enough not to expose the contradicting delicate sweetness between his muscled thighs.

He had been staring at them. Still as prey. Watching Baal and Satan who stood and embraced in shared nakedness. The Devil’s arms were around his neck. Baal had smirked, gripping Satan’s hips tighter before turning to his god to accept a kiss. Risking a scolding and a slap by licking along lips and biting a bottom lip.

Satan seemed to understand his intentions and didn’t do more than pull his hair and tut at him to not taunt Michael.

Michael restrained in his hold is a memory he wishes to return to. And he doesn’t hide his thoughts. Wondering what the angel would do should the demon try to push him against a wall and take him for Satan to hear on the other side of the wall. Like they had done to Michael in the “broken things” room. He lets a pleased curl of his lips show and winks at Michael before walking past him.

‘I have felt you writhe against me. I have tasted you. Are you haunted by my touch as well? My taste?’

Michael does return to heaven. And the fantasy shatters in an instant.

•

Michael and Lucifer were made for each other. Baal chose to follow and spread the wet flesh to fit himself a place inside.

Loyalty should be easy for someone you were meant to be with. And yet, Michael struggled to choose his other piece. Baal was not made for Lucifer, but he chased him like he was.

Lucifer was not his given purpose, but he was Baal’s purpose. That is why despite his confusion, he had taken the unexplained punishments and didn’t push when Satan denied him the share of his bed.

Baal waited, waited, waited, waited and fell to his knees thankful when he received a crumb.

Eternally he chased the Devil who is so hard to catch. Wanting to scream for him to stop, to stay, but failing as if his mouth were absent. As if he never had one to begin with.

At some point, Satan stops. But it's not for Baal that he slows for. He doesn’t seem to be aware of Baal. Or maybe he is but there is something he needs to find. Like he’s incomplete and can’t stop moving even if he wants to until he finds it.

It’s Michael. Michael had run away, had hid away when Lucifer reached for him.

Lucifer has Michael now. Holds him close as if fearing separation again. It is then that he turns to Baal. Eyes clear of empty fog. They’re clear. He sees Baal.

And together, Michael and Lucifer’s hands reach out.

Or is it simply a single hand? They are fused after all.

He, the astral being that makes up a multi winged, multi faced creature calls for Baal to join them.

‘I was not made for you. But I chose to love you. I do not fit, but you make a space for me. Maybe I do not need to fuse. I could be complete chasing you both. Only this time, you’re holding my hand. Both of you.’

Like the wings stitched onto his back, Baal stitches himself to them.

Satan had once told them to take charge of their flesh. To make themselves in the image they desired.

Baal wanted to be them. To be an extension, wings that could catch Satan before he could fall. And now, Michael. Perhaps he could save him from God’s wrath. Come in and swipe him out of the way. He had been the angel of flight once. He was fast. Stronger now. He could do it.

Baal could save them.

Baal wakes from such a sweet dream confused, limbs heavy. For a time he closes his eyes to try and return to that completeness. But it never comes.

•

Michael returns and it's back to the way it was. As if it never happened.

That was the point. Michael made his choice. And Baal hated him for it.

‘Always taking what he wants then discarding us like rotten fruit.’

‘Us?’

Despite the choice Michael made, the coward still lies to his angels. Perfect, honest archangel Michael lies, even to Phanuel, that he has returned to that room of broken things. When really, he goes to Satan’s chambers whenever he can.

Michael’s god must have not punished him for the bastard to make his way here practically begging for more. But fear remained.

Satan was angry about it too.

Michael was allowed in the bed. Satan would kiss him some nights too. Baal always turned away, burning inside. Other nights Satan would pin the chief prince down and get him gasping only to deny him. Stating he only fucks those loyal to him.

Baal however, was facing the same treatment. He was confused when Satan leaned in close to graze his lips to Baal’s only to steer away before things could go beyond a single peck.

Satan was riling them both up, he realized. Denying them both. Baal believed Michael to be the only one who deserved it. Taking out his frustrations on weak humans who barely managed to satisfy his bloodlust.

It had come to a point where Baal chose to fight in the arena. Something he hadn’t done in a long time.

Asmodeus had watched, a curious and partially concerned pinch to his brow. Baal had seen it after mercilessly tearing apart his opponent. Looking up at his friend, covered in blood and heaving.

‘I want Michael gone,’ he thought viciously. ‘I wish he would disappear.’

And then, as if to mock him, there was Michael. Not sitting or near any of the other demons. He almost missed him for how he hid in the shadows. But he was watching him, watching Baal.

‘I want to fight you again Michael. I want to pin you down and this time I won’t stop until you’re caked into the dirt and I am covered in the gore of you.’

Baal felt himself rouse at the thought. Knowing he must look rather insane from smiling while bathed in blood like he was while grinning at the angel. As if daring him to come down, in front of everyone and finally take out years of pent up rage.

Michael actually looks like he wants to. Arms originally crossed fall. He approaches the end as if to meet him.

Baal licks his stained lips.

But the crowd calls for the next fight and Baal must move on. He couldn’t disappoint the audience after all.

And every limb he tore, every heart he crushed, every skull he battered he imagined it was Michael. Feeling hot and dripping in all kinds of fluids. Aching in his gut but uncaring if anyone saw.

‘I am not ashamed, Michael. I am proud. Weren’t you proud once?”

Michael never looked away from him. Didn’t move an inch for the whole thing. He was used to Baal’s sadistic nature. But that was on duty. Where the mission meant more than the pleasure. Here, he got to witness Baal’s blind fury. The true beast.

Michael watched as Baal tore and let himself be torn. Watched Baal break demons and be broken. Watched him stand up with every blow he caught with his gut, leg or face.

Michael’s wings came out. Halfway extended, he seemed prepared to charge. But something was holding him back.

‘Maybe you still have pride after all. You wouldn’t dare bring yourself down here in the dirt with a demon.’

Baal decides he wants to see Michael ruined. He had only once witnessed the angel cry.

‘I’d make him cry on my cock. Put my claws in his mouth and pry his jaw open so he can’t bite as I use his throat.’

He had never seen Michael wrapped around a waist to be driven into.

‘I’d make you pliant. Fight you until you give in and let me take you.’

But he had held him. Felt every shiver, heard every noise and rutted once or twice against hidden softness. He had kissed him with the Devil between them. Felt his lips and tried to taste him over the bitterness on his tongue.

‘I want to kiss you again. I hate that I want to, but I do.’

Baal had wanted to hurt Michael back then, during that night. His insides a swirling battle of endless contradictions. The presence of his wanting devil, the leash that held the collar at his neck tight. Instead of cradling Michael, he wanted to rip his shoulders from their sockets. Instead of kissing stained lips he wished to rip into Michael’s mouth and eat him.

‘Oh I hate you, Michael. I despise you.’

Spreading his arms wide, tauntingly, he waits for Michael to turn and run like he always does.

The crowd goes silent as earth colored wings send dust flying and Michael lands right in front of Baal.

•

Baal was a beast.

Michael had told Satan that Baal was a mindless, reckless beast.

But that hadn’t been true.

Not entirely.

It wasn’t until now that Michael realized just how much the demon had withheld for the sake of serving his master.

Michael didn’t miss the targeted stares. The unchecked malice that kept catching him again and again.

Michael watched claws tear and wanted to feel them. Somewhere. Anywhere. As long as he tore.

It was pain he craved. Feeling is a companion he needed after his punishment. He felt too little and too much. Pain was his remedy. Shutting everything off.

‘I was born to be strong. So strong I hurt those I loved. No one has been equal to the destruction I am physically capable of. No one to scratch this violence burning beneath me, inside me.’

And at this moment, Michael envied Baal. Saw his rage, heard his strained growls and shouts, smelt the sweat of his exertion…

Michael wants to scream too. To not sit straight and be stoned faced. To face someone he hates and let them witness his wrath.

‘Both God and the Devil have rejected me. Hating you is all I have right now.’

Michael sees the angel Baal used to be when he takes the invitation of open arms. An embrace of death. Or at least, an imitation of it.

Instead of extended leathery wings he sees the abyss black feathers encompassing him in complete darkness. A version of him that is less in mass and lacking in stitches and scars.

They had never fought in the arena in heaven before. He had wished to.

Everything is tense. Everyone is frozen. But not Michael. Not Baal.

He looks alive.

Michael feels alive.

A smile. Michael smiles. So small and faint anyone from a distance wouldn’t have noticed.

“All of you,” Michael calls to the demons watching, never turning to look at them. Knowing they wouldn’t dare challenge him. “Leave us.”

Some stay silent, others make concerned comments while others try to snap that Michael was not their Duke and could not make such demands. Apparently daring opposed to what he assumed they would do. But Baal raises a hand, waving them away impatiently. And while the demons hesitate, they obey.

Even Asmodeus leaves, only making one glance behind him.

This wasn’t a show for anyone but each other.

Michael has no chain or sword, just fury and fists as he charges forward.

Baal has learned a lot since Michael had known him. Or known of him. He had recognized some of his own techniques. Ones Michael taught Lucifer who taught Baal.

But it wasn’t a direct copy. Especially not now as they swipe and punch and claw and duck and roll. Baal’s previous wildness seems tamed to a degree. He’s breathing deeper, slowing down.

Tired.

Not the most fair fight but that didn’t matter. He would teach Baal something new.

‘You’ve never been strong Baal. No matter how you change, you’ll never be the strongest.’

Unlike with their tumbles and arguments, Michael didn’t hold back this time. Didn’t want to. His mind was clear, his hesitation gone.

Baal used his wings to flap away and create distance when Michael came too close and landed a blow straight to his stomach, making the demon hack a cough.

Michael could give him credit for not only using his wings. He knew how to hold his ground.

The fight however, lasted longer than it should have.

Initially, Michael assumed Baal had been tired and that’s why he slowed down. And that was surely still the case. But he was also watching Michael, waiting. Letting him make an advance.

Michael would have charged and tried to end the fight once Baal got away but he stopped.

‘He knows he’s already worn out and is scrambling for a way to make us even again.’

No words are spoken as Michael circles Baal instead. Baal stepped with him to keep his distance.

Michael doesn’t want to be fair. He wanted the wild Baal back. Michael refuses to rush him again.

He gets exactly what he wants.

Sighing, Baal growls, “fuck this,” and runs for him.

Michael lets him hit, lets them roll over the dirt. Groaning in pained delight at how Baal grips him, claws cutting, Michael wrestling to get to the top.

Baal loses control and lands flat on his back. Michael is quick to go for his legs but forgets about Baal’s horns and hears a sickening crack as the side of his head is partially impaled.

Baal laughs, sounding more like a wheeze as he rolls them to swap positions. He grips Michael by the neck, raises him and then slams him back down. Once, twice, then drops him, heaving again.

Michael takes the chance to regain his standing. A little disoriented from the slamming but it was something he knew, was used to. Feeling like home. Like heaven. Like he was winning prizes for the angel of beauty and having his wounds be cleansed by delicate hands.

Neither of them would submit to each other. Fighting to pin the other down and reign superior but the other would find some new window that allowed them to keep wrestling, keep fighting.

Perhaps Baal would not give up until Michael rips him to pieces. He just might have to.

Baal gets free but it's a mess. He stumbles and clutches his side. Michael must have broken one of Baal’s ribs because his breathing sounds wrong.

Michael sounds wrong too. And there is wetness all around him, dripping from him. Wild scratches meant to hurt. But hurt was all they did. All Baal had managed.

“You,” Baal panted, between the pain and pure delight, “fucker.”

He must have realized the truth. That Michael had already won this fight. Even if Baal was standing, it would be mere moments before he dropped.

Baal lasted longer than Michael thought he would. Which he would never admit.

Michael could end it here, let Baal keep his dignity.

Instead he charged him, caught him, dragged him down. Like when they first started, he grabbed arms and pinned them. And this time made space to avoid the horns as he settled his hips down on thighs and held them with his legs.

“Surrender demon,” he snarled in Baal’s face who snarled back in frustration. Bucking, threatening to rip open his own skin with how much he strained.

Baal stared defiantly, grin returning to his lips, laughing.

“Never,” he said hysterically, like he might cry, “never.”

Michael should be tearing him apart. Like the demons do. Bring down the strength of god in his muscles to break Baal until not even his own healers could put him back together.

Instead, he squeezed his hands at Baal’s wrists until he could hear the bones creaking. Making sure to watch as the grin is ripped from Baal who tries to maintain it. It falls, turning into a grimace.

“Ahh!” Baal cries, unable to hold it in as his wrists remain on the verge of breaking.

Michael likes this. He needed this.

‘Payback for cutting my wrists you vermin.’

Baal writhes under him. Still trying to get away.

Michael grunts when he feels him, tensing but not faltering. Just as hard and aching as he is. They brush together and both gasp in unison.

And suddenly it's not Baal but Lucifer. Beautiful sweet Lucifer making those sweet whines as Michael holds him down. In a bed of flowers, heaven encompassing them. Both unknowing of what the friction between them meant.

With Baal below and Lucifer in his mind, he drags his hips, slow, across Baal who hisses as if pained. Like this was somehow worse than the death grip on his arms.

Then Satan. His heat, the way it feels like his soul is in Satan’s mouth when he’s inside him. As he took Michael’s purity like he always wished for.

Satan denied him. Wanted more than another companion in bed but Michael’s loyalty. And Michael had denied him.

‘There is too much to leave behind. Too many who would be disappointed. Rafael, Gabriel, Phanuel. I can’t betray them.’

But now Michael was like all the other animals. Needing flesh like a mortal's hunger. The innate desire to take and breed and create but lacking the means to do so.

Pointless. Hopeless. Rotten sin.

Some of his own blood drips from his temple into his mouth. Mixed with sweat it tingles on his tongue. Like Satan’s neck. He almost wished he hadn’t had someone heal Satan’s bite mark so he may see it. So that the Devil may see Michael in the mirror every day.

Jaw aching with the need to be full, he takes Baal instead to fill the absence of who he really wants.

Baal’s breath hitches as teeth pierce his neck. Becoming frozen. Michael moans for the taste. Lapping at the wound with a pathetic sound as if it were the sweet cunt of Lucifer begging to be devoured.

Michael is bitter about tasting wine on Baal. So similar to Lucifer he loathed to pull away.

So he didn’t.

Michael didn’t know when Baal’s clawing touches turned possessive. Claws coming to grip into his back and tug.

Closer.

‘How are his hands free? Oh…I must have let him go.’

No words are said as Michael takes. Taking Lucifer, taking Baal. It didn't matter which one anymore.

They panted and rutted against each other with pure deprivation. Dividing themselves to split in two.

But “they” were already two.

Michael wanted to be one.

Baal curses in his ear. At something or someone. Michael doesn’t hear it. The mass below him goes taut, broken muscle straining and lungs faltering, struggling. He was spilling from within.

Michael follows, lips dragging against his given mark upon Baal’s neck like they were Lucifer’s. Soft and plump and everything he wanted and needed right now.

‘That beast. That Devil. Satan. He wanted this didn’t he? He denied me so I would turn to you didn’t he? Didn’t he??’

Baal was the only other one who knew. Who had seen his want, his sin. Baal was the only safe option without Satan there to nurture this growing dependence.

Michael scrambled away as fast as he could. Looking as if Baal were the victor with how he struggled to stand.

Baal rolled onto his side, hand planted down as he turned to glare at Michael.

“Damn you Michael. Damn you.”

Baal made no move to do anything about it.

Michael watched him. Unsure how to fathom that the one below was Baal the whole time.

‘I always knew. I used him. I got what I needed.’

It felt good. Baal had felt good. Michael managed to pretend but Baal never left, never disappeared. He would follow him out of this arena and into his bed to wake in his dreams and devour him whole.

“I’ll send an angel to heal you.”

Michael didn’t offer any more help. Turning to leave and not stopping until Baal was well out of sight. Only pausing when he caught a demon composed of multiple beasts leaning against the wall outside.

‘Asmodeus.’

They gave no sign of expression. Just watching Michael eerily. Maybe curiously. Intrigued.

‘Did he see? Hear me and…and…’

Michael didn’t delay. Leaving both demons alone. Getting away as fast as possible.

In the past he would have left Baal to bathe in his misery and agony of defeat. But things felt different now. He didn’t want the demon limping.

But that same regret and longing to see a neck marked remained. The faces of Lucifer and Baal starting to look the same. Merging. Baal’s face is faint but it's there all the same.

Michael does dream. All he does is dream now. And Baal is there, a beautiful devil between them. And Baal’s lips reach over, warm like they were the first time, kissing him.

Michael kisses back while Satan holds him by the neck in encouraging and rewarding strokes.

•

An angel came to heal him as Michael said.

Humiliated but not wanting the other demons to see him this way, Baal made a grumbling noise before sitting up from the dirt to let the angel work.

“Shut up Asmodeus.”

The demon was leaning on his crutch. Almost smirking at the demon. Had been since he saw the mess Baal made of himself and the flush of his cheeks.

“I didn’t say anything.”

Baal hisses when the water touches him. Skin burning like it was trying to run away from it.

“I know you’re thinking about it.”

Baal glances at the angel. Free of armor and a helmet for once. He doesn’t recognize them and they look almost as if they had gotten out of bed.

“Michael,” Asmodeus said the name with teasing amusement, “was so kind to send one of his own angels to help you.”

Baal scoffs, opening his legs and wondering why he tried to hide himself from the angel.

‘Let them see that their archangel is no better than us demons.’

“I’m not sure it was for me.”

‘Can’t have the angels and demons talking now can we, Michael? That’s why you told them to leave.’

Baal spread his legs a little wider, leaning back on his hands now that the wrists had been healed. And he groaned dramatically.

“Tell your chief prince that if he wants to fuck me he should simply ask. No need to make a whole scene and fight me first.”

The words had the intended effect. Pettiness feeding his words. The angel gulped and refused to look at him. But Baal could see the confusion and that dangerous curiosity angels are always cautioned to keep quiet about.

It may be low on his part, not accepting his defeat entirely with grace. But he didn’t see the harm in a little fun.

“You don’t seem all that upset,” Asmodeus noted.

Baal smirked, winking at the angel that was now reaching to touch the bite wound on his neck.

“Upset? No,” Baal shakes his head, making the angel give him an irritated glance at jostling his work. “Only disappointed.”

“Why’s that?”

But Baal didn’t answer right away, instead asking the other demon if he had any orgies planned. He did. Though he had yet to invite his usual company.

“Good. I don’t want my bed empty tonight and my current whore just left me here all alone.”

“You have me,” Asmodeus laughed.

“And for that, I am forever grateful, friend.”

“We’re not friends,” Asmodeus replied quickly but said nothing more about it.

The angel left with a ludicrous expression despite their attempts to seem nonchalant. They were not as good as Michael in that department.

Both Baal and Asmodeus left together.

“Want to change before we go?” Asmodeus asked.

“No,” Baal grunted at the stickiness on his thighs, “won’t need them anyway where we’re going.”

Baal would have preferred to go to Satan. Oh he wished he could. He didn’t want to fuck just for the sake of it now. He wanted to snuggle up to his lord and whisper praises into every inch of his skin and beg for the Devil to let him inside.

His fight with Michael has left him quite sated in his desire for a rough fuck. But now he feels cold. Needing to bury himself in bodies to simulate the warmth Satan gives him.

‘The warmth Michael has just denied me…’

Baal got naked, sat in the bath and contemplated everything that happened while scraping every last bit of dirt from himself.

In the end, he couldn’t bring himself to be up for anything or just anyone. He told Asmodeus this who then offered to help him himself.

“You’ve been denying me when I ask lately. I thought you were still mad at me about Rosier.”

Asmodeus shrugs, sitting upon the large bed they used for their orgies.

“Then let's say you’ll owe me a favor,” then Asmodeus added, “And stop eye fucking Rosier when you visit, then I’ll make sure you don’t leave this bed for a week. Anytime that is convenient I’ll help as well.”

Baal pursed his lips, “promise?”

Asmodeus surprised the demon by gripping his naked hips and forcing him forward. Handling him with firmness. Strong. Despite Baal being stronger than the other, that didn’t make Asmodeus any less impressive. He may not be a duke of war, but he could handle himself.

“Sure, but since we’re not doing an orgy, you might want to consider getting a pair of crutches of your own.”

Baal rolled his eyes, “Yeah sure.”

Some time later when Baal is biting his noises into his fist while being rammed from behind by his monster of a friend, his legs going numb and hips sore, he starts to regret his decision.

The two of them had fucked before just not often. And Baal wasn’t the one usually taking it. Not when in front of others anyway.

‘At least I’m not thinking of Michael.’

That thought of which causes him to think of the archangel. Faced away from Asmodeus he can only imagine Michael’s hands pulling him onto his cock. Michael’s breathy grunts filling the air instead of Asmodeus’.

‘I would never submit to that angel!’

He demands they switch positions to face Asmodeus just to remedy his fantasies. Asmodeus prefers to not face who he fucks but only grumbles. And it works. Baal is swallowed by everything that makes up Asmodeus, buried in him, parted by him.

And Asmodeus is rough. He always is. It wasn’t particularly what Baal wanted but it was something and he would enjoy the pain in the coming days.

When they’re done and Baal can hardly move, he states plainly.

“You know, I think I get why everyone is so obsessed with you.”

Asmodeus groans, “Don’t even start with that. I won’t stand for you falling in love with me too just because of my cock.”

Baal doesn’t continue. He still wished Asmodeus could be gentler with him sometimes. But his friend reserved all his affection for Rosier, and he was being nice, so he supposed he could sit pretty for a bit.

‘Just for a bit.’

•

“Why did you leave?”

Michael is pulling his sword from a watcher who screamed as their wings were torn. It made Baal’s back ache in remembrance of when he lost his own. So long ago but the pain never disappeared.

Baal had been left with a hunger to tear Michael’s own. To rip into his second skin and reveal all six to slowly rip away one by one. If only to settle the despair and the screams of emptiness at having to lose his original purpose of flight.

Baal realized he never heard Michael scream. He wondered how he’d sound within the tight coils of agony. He often thought about that.

“We’ll return for the night,” Michael replies, not answering him which just makes Baal huff in frustration.

“We still have hours before the sun sets.”

Michael ignores him again. Armor clinking heavily. And he’s wearing that stupid helmet.

‘Probably afraid to get a scratch on that pretty face.’

Baal had scratched him when they wrestled in the arena. Pierced him. It had been the best Baal has felt since the archangel reappeared.

‘I miss the times when your fate was a mystery. I miss the time when you were only a memory. If only those damn watchers hadn’t come to our home to ruin everything. It is all their fault you are here.’

When they return to the caves and they send their angels and demons off to rest, they both come to the realization that they’re headed in the same direction.

To Satan.

Baal sighs, then Michael does.

“We should bathe first, you know,” Baal tilts his head down towards a tunnel where the nearest public bath house is. “Satan wouldn’t like to see you in his room as you are.”

“He lets you in.”

Baal stares, then stares some more. Laughing, he grins.

“You just made a joke,” shaking his head, Baal nudges Michael’s shoulder who glares at him, “very funny. Though I’m hurt. I thought you liked me.”

Michael removes his helmet, blood and his own hair caked with sweat.

“I’ve never liked you,” he replies but follows Baal towards the bath area, “I never have.”

“Not even when I was an angel?”

“I didn’t even know you.”

Baal hummed with a nod, “That is true. However I do think it was you who took me to earth. I thought we bonded. Us two, the angel of flight and strength. We made a good team. We work well together now as well.”

“You bore me.”

“And yet you’re still here.”

The rest of their walk is silent. It isn’t until they come across the open space with steaming water and demons that Michael stops. Probably realizing that some demons would still be up at this time.

Baal leans up behind him, “Don’t get shy now. You wouldn’t want the demons thinking you’re afraid of them.”

“I’m not afraid,” Michael hissed slowly.

“Want my help? You wear so much…” Baal trails his claw down a shoulder pad.

Normally, Michael would crush any demon who dared touch or talk to him. With Baal, he doesn’t move a muscle. As if he were the strings that tethered his muscles together.

‘It didn’t used to be this way. What changed Michael?’

Michael grabs his wrist. Firm but not painful and tugs it away, “I don’t need your help.”

“Alright,” Baal walks ahead, quick in pulling his tunic off and baring himself. He hears some calls from other demons noticing him, looking like they wanted to invite him over but hesitating when they saw who he was with.

Baal was tempted to go to them. It was clear they wanted to help assist in bathing him and perhaps more. And he wouldn’t mind taunting Michael. But for some reason he hesitated.

“Not going to run off on me again are you?”

It’s said as a joke but there is a genuine plea to his voice.

“Don’t give me a reason to,” Michael answers, grunting as a strap to his shoulder rebels against him.

Baal’s bared feet tap against stone and the angel goes still, eyeing Baal’s nudity.

“Relax,” Baal says slowly with a faux purr, still approaching, “this will be faster.”

“Try anything and-“

Baal pecks him on the lips. He didn’t even think about it. It was a mere spur of the moment. He suddenly wanted to see if Michael would tolerate it. Maybe even wrestle him again. An amused smile perked his expression.

“Wouldn’t think of it.”

Michael blinks, gasping and taking a step back. Or he tries but Baal grabs his armor and keeps him from parting.

“You,” Michael grounds out, fists clenched, “you beast.”

“Yes,” Baal gets the shoulder piece off. Letting it fall inelegantly down to clatter loudly on the ground. “I’m a beast. The beast you were rutting against like some mad dog. So don’t pretend you don’t like it. This game of yours is getting old.”

The final piece of his chest and shoulder armor falls with his gauntlets. Baal will need to get on his knees for the rest. He does.

“Going to run away again?” Baal asks again, glancing up through lashes. Michael’s chest rises and falls. Heavy as if weighted.

“No,” Michael meant to snap, but it came as a whisper.

Baal, satisfied, removed the rest before moving to stand again. Not forgetting to pretend to stumble so he can rest his hands on Michael’s soft chest hidden by a bloodied tunic.

“Clumsy, mindless,” Michael mutters, not looking at Baal.

He stops Baal when he goes for the tunic.

“What? You plan to wash in this?”

Michael pushes him back, away from him.

“Is that a problem, Duke?”

“Yes actually, we don’t need our waters red because you’re too ashamed of your body. Just take it off.”

“No.”

“Michael,” Baal growls.

“Baal,” Michael warns.

Baal breaks the short distance between them again.

“Take. It. Off.”

Michael glances over Baal’s shoulder.

“Look at me.”

Michael doesn’t.

“Look at me, Michael.”

Finally, he does.

‘Your eyes really glow when you’re embarrassed, Michael.’

“We’re just bathing. We’ll be in and out. I promise.”

“The demons-“

“Will do nothing,” Baal states plainly. “I am a duke Michael. They listen to what I say.”

Michael clenches a fist, looking about ready to deck Baal for dragging him here, for humiliating him, for existing.

Instead, he roughly begins removing his tunic, practically tearing it off in harsh tugs. Baal doesn’t look away, eyeing his exposed flesh hungrily. Letting Michael see that he is.

When the soaked tunic plops to the floor wetly, Michael pushes past Baal, nudging his shoulder and slipping into the water so fast that Baal doesn’t get a chance to see the back of him.

‘You didn’t run this time.’

Smiling perhaps a bit too softly, Baal follows to join him. Beside him but not too close. An odd but not uncomfortable silence between them. A distance Baal doesn’t close. Not this time.

They wash, demons stare. Some demons whisper too. About Baal, about Michael. One, a bit too loud and full of themself, tells his friend how he would like to see how strong the angel was in bed.

Both Michael and Baal glare at the demon at once. Baal only doing so seeing as he technically promised to keep the demons at bay.

Everyone leaves them alone after that. Too scared to mind more than their own business. Many even leave early. Probably in fear that this peace was temporary and blood would be spilt one way or another.

Maybe it would.

Baal gets out first. He’s offered a towel by one of the demons assigned here, he takes it and asks for another.

Michael hasn’t left. Still washing despite that he was already pristine.

Crouching down to him, Baal offers the towel. Michael swipes it with a nod without looking at Baal’s nudity. He dries his hair first, then hoists himself out with his arms swiftly. The towel wrapped around his waist in seconds.

Baal has the towel around his waist as well but it’s practically slipping off his hips. Together they walk away until it is just them again.

“I wondered if Father would punish me.”

Baal glances at Michael, curious.

“Did he?”

Michael’s hair drapes over him, holding him. Highlighting the sadness there in such a tantalizing way.

“No.”

“Did you want him to?” Baal asks gently.

“I don’t know,” Michael says honestly although stiffly. “But he knew I sinned. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to. I looked at him and I just knew.”

Baal’s brows tightened, “So why didn’t he do anything?”

Michael shuddered as if cold.

“Because he knows I will always come back to him. He knows I fear him above all else. He made sure of that.”

Michael stops walking, eyes alert and stepping back.

“What?” Baal inquires, looking ahead to see some demons walking along houses and stands. There was an angel there too. Or what looked to be an angel.

“It’s Phanuel.”

Baal looks between him and the other angel, “why is that a problem?”

Michael snaps at him, “Are you an idiot? Angels aren’t supposed to be naked unless they’re alone.”

Baal’s concern turns to amusement and he chuckles, “Wait, you guys don’t bathe together anymore?”

“He can’t see me.”

The outright panic in Michael’s voice is what gives Baal pause. Looking back, Baal observes the angel. They were headed this way. Head turned away to look around but soon it would make its way here. To him and Michael with nothing but towels to hide their sin.

Baal crowds Michael who was already backing up towards a wall.

“Kiss me.”

Michael spits, “No. Not in front of him.”

Baal lets his wings begin to slip out, “Us demon’s public affection for one another makes you angels very uncomfortable.”

“Yes it does!” Michael persists but doesn’t fight when Baal presses into him.

Baal takes his mouth, wings coming to shield Michael as much as they can just as a shadow comes over them and surprised eyes fall to them.

Michael grunts, face twisted in disgust but he opens his mouth to let Baal eat the disgruntled sound. Baal makes his own sound, loud and purposefully obnoxious as if Michael was the best thing he’d ever tasted. Trying to deter the angel and make them leave. Covering Michael as much as it was physically possible.

It works. Phanuel shies away, footsteps swift. Making no fuss or indication that he saw Michael.

Pulling away, Baal notes the light flush on Michael’s cheeks while Baal turns to check for Phanuel. Turning back to Michael, he doesn’t pull away, amused as Michael wipes his mouth off with the back of a hand.

“He’s gone.”

Michael doesn’t push him away.

Their chests are touching. Hearts thumping heavily from opposing sides.

Baal leans in, as if waiting for an excuse to get his mouth back on him.

“You could come to my room.”

“No.”

Baal laughs, “Satan won’t have you tonight.”

Michael gave him a warning glare that told him this would not end well if he continued to push.

So Baal raised his hands and backed away. Knowing he had already risked enough by kissing him not once, but twice in public.

“Pity,” he sighed, and turned to look at Michael as he walked away.

“If you change your mind, I’m sure you’ll find me.”

Michael scoffs, but it's not convincing.

Michael will leave, and he will be haunted by his first time with Lucifer on earth. Of how Lucifer hid away in his nudity. Michael who once pried the arms of Lucifer to expose the angel’s nakedness to the world, was now the one ashamed of his own body.

So much had changed. So much had gone wrong.

Everything was wrong.

Baal does go to his own room that night. He lays for hours restless. And maybe an angel finds him, slips into the sheets and takes his mouth and body to rut against.

Or it was only a good dream. A dream where time, history and pain don’t exist. Just a warm body and the pleasured cries of an angel.

And from a gap in the wall, a bird would watch. Tilting its head towards the two before letting out a soft chirp as it flew away. Up and high above the bird would go, until it found the highest peak and followed the open cave there.

Finding the devil, the bird landed on a soft shoulder and spoke in his ear of what it had seen.

Pleased, the devil smiled, and offered the bird a soft pet on the head and a fruit. Watching the bird delight in its gift, Satan made new plans for Michael and Baal.

Chapter 2: Last Chances

Summary:

It might take longer than expected to finish the last part, so I decided to go ahead and post the smut scene from the end of last chapter.

Reminder that briefly an angel’s genitals will be referred to as a “cunt” due to the canonical term of angel biology in the book since they are neither man nor woman.

Michael wasn’t going to go. But all his reason went against him. God had let him defile himself. Watched his sword who he spent years breaking down and rebuilding fall at the caress of a hand. And when it came to facing his penance, he received none.

Maybe it was the lack of consequence, or perhaps the hope that if God knew Michael would never turn, that he would allow this wrongdoing.

Michael didn’t know what he was thinking, making up excuses in his head as to why he shouldn’t have to put an end to this early.

Then there was the problem of all of this rejection being for nothing. If he chooses the devil, every cut made upon Lucifer’s soul as he hacked away at his wings would have been pointless. Refusing to turn against God just to do it now?

‘Weak. I am weak.’

No. Michael couldn’t turn back without losing his mind over the complicated details. But with that decision he became more aware of the fact that this developing game would end.

If there was one last chance to experience what he wished he had divulged in before the fall of everything, Michael wanted to take it. Eternity wasn’t worth it without the memory to keep him company.

Maybe Michael would end up like Uriel. Lost in the dark, writing and drawing memories over and over to not forget a single one. Knowing he would forget, cry when he realised he had.

This wasn’t giving in. This was goodbye.

That’s what Michael told himself as he passed guards who did not even twitch at his presence. Not exactly sure where his destination was, but knowing most of the Dukes had their chambers closer to each other.

He was quiet. Having to take peaks to find beds either empty or missing the demon he was searching for. Wearing a hood that hung long and heavy over his head to hide his face. Remaining out of his armor in a simple tunic.

When he found Baal, he looked just as puzzled as Michael that he came. Like his offer for Michael to join had just been wishful thinking.

Michael wanted Satan. He tolerated Baal.

That wouldn’t stop him from gripping Baal’s cheeks and straddling his form to kiss him. Shuddering and shaking as they shared breaths.

That’s all they did for a while. Baal gripped his hip and back, pushing Michael into him. Pushing himself into Michael as well.

Michael could only bring himself to inch his hips up, down and up again. There were lesser layers between them. Baal was naked, because of course he was. And with his legs spread, Michael’s tunic could only prevent so much contact. Even now though, it was riding up with the grip of Baal’s hand turning firm.

Michael tried to think of Satan below him instead of Baal. But the two were so vastly different and the adrenaline of a fight was gone, leaving only reality to find him here.

Baal could sense his trepidation. Noticed how he faltered in his kisses, resisting the press of Baal’s touch. Perhaps realizing what he has done.

Baal pulls back to kiss his cheek. Offering something gentle to soothe the dread that Michael struggled to defeat with every sinful impulse of his.

Where Michael was ashamed, Baal was anything but. He seemed to thrive like this. Enjoying every slide of naked thighs along his own hips, confidence fed the more he was given.

Michael was held, then turned. Placing a hand at Baal’s chest, noticing the scars there at the top and faded at the bottom.

“Relax,” Baal kissed his cheek again, then his jaw, “No games tonight, Michael.”

‘No games? Isn’t that what this has been this whole time? A game?’

Something genuine couldn’t be possible or simple for him. How could this not be an attempt of humiliation? If Michael wasn’t above, wouldn’t Baal take that as submission?

Michael was torn between shoving Baal off and letting him part his tunic to feel the warmth of his neck, his chest, his stomach…

Michael jumped slightly as Baal took him in hand. There were no rushed movements or taunting, just gentle fingers and hungry eyes reflecting with candlelight.

Michael hadn’t thought twice about Baal helping him with Phanuel. His actions seemed more like a taunt than genuine concern or affection.

Michael had no way to know that Baal had been craving gentleness for a while now. And with Michael here, he had someone to adore if Asmodeus couldn’t offer it and he could not have Satan tonight.

Baal, the mindless, beastly demon Michael had convinced himself he was, squeezed him so tenderly with lips running all along his neck, licking at a pulse.

Michael couldn’t trust it. But he could pretend he did for a moment. Arch his back and release a pained noise. Looking away from Baal with a flushed expression. Ashamed, always ashamed.

Baal granted him his shame. Kissing lower, grazing a nipple with wet breath and pausing there to plant a kiss, then two on it, before meeting the hand that tugged the angel to a slow hardness.

Michael rose to his elbows when he realized what Baal was doing. Memories of watching a forked tongue wrap around Satan filled him with an uncomfortable wanting.

And now Baal was sucking what his hand did not cover, tongue peaking out to taste the bud of a flower with a pleased hum.

Sweat fell from Michael’s temple as he watched Baal, whose eyes remained closed as he gave himself over to the angel slipping further into his hot mouth.

“Ahh,” he panted, wanting to grip light brown curls but abusing the sheets instead.

Michael came to realize that he could take. Force Baal to swallow and choke and use him for what he needed. But he couldn’t bring himself to want violence. Although he had expected it, been prepared to inflict and receive pain.

Was this also cowardice? Was this a weakness? Michael felt so. Giving in felt like defeat. But the pleasure is too good to linger on those thoughts.

Baal eventually took him all with a smooth glide. Pausing for a moment as his lips kissed a pelvis while stretched around a cock. And that awful, beastly tongue convulsed with Baal’s throat before releasing to pull off with a quiet gasp.

It burned. In his gut the display before him made it ache to the point he writhed on the bed. Trying to keep his moans to minimal grunts but struggling to do so when Baal’s head rocked over him like the tightness of a cunt.

And Baal looked so damned pleased to be there, swallowing Michael down. His hands ran up Michael’s front in a caress, the slightest scratch of claws adding the kind of burn that only warmed him with flushed red markings.

Baal was on him for so long, buried so close that Michael began to believe he didn’t need to breathe. But he did. Pulling off to pant and leave open mouthed kisses at the joint between a hip and thigh, hand taking over while he caught some air over the surface after drowning.

Baal was done. Rising and Michael hid the disappointment that he would end the fun so soon, wanting to see Baal’s mouth full of him again.

“Come here,” Baal urged, voice raspy from use, towards Michael’s hand.

Baal straddled Michael this time, making him fall back down. Michael took Baal’s hand who guided it between them to hold their cocks together. One glistening with saliva and the other dripping pearls.

“Fuck,” Baal sighed at the sight, “keep your hand there. Don’t move.”

Baal planted his hands beside Michael’s mess of hair on the pillow before rocking his hips carefully. Letting Michael realize what he needed to do, letting the motion smooth the glide of his hand over the mess of them.

Michael grunted as Baal began to fuck his fist. Squeezing curiously to see what made Baal huff a moan and what made the glide of his cock over his own all the more sweeter.

“Baal,” was all Michael could say. Because he wasn’t going to last like this. He couldn’t. Another reminder of his innocence.

Michael dragged his eyes along the strain of Baal’s arms and stomach. The slap of his thighs on Michael’s own was enough to give the illusion that Baal was really inside Michael. Or that Baal was riding Michael.

Michael cums quickly with that. Pitiful tears making lines on his abdomen. Baal notices, making a desperate whimper. But Michael is already coming down, skin on fire and every stroke beginning to hurt with oversensitivity.

Gripping Baal’s arm with one hand, Michael tries to ride through it. Realising he wants Baal to finish like this. But his hand holding their cocks falters.

“Just a little longer,” Baal practically begs, “I promise.”

Michael nods once, unable to hold still as his hips defy him and try to pull away from Baal.

Finally, Baal spills to join and mix with Michael. A canvas across his skin, a picture of debauchery.

Michael lets go as if burned. And Baal falls onto his back with a pleased smile on his face.

Michael knew what this was. Had decided what it was. But somehow it still hurts that Baal does not hold him after. He would not allow Baal to. Would fight him if he tried.

‘So why?’

Why does he miss his kiss? Without the drunkenness of sex, all Michael can feel is cold regret.

‘Is this what it's always like? I feel sick…’

“You can stay to wash up-“

Baal jolts Michael out of his spiral. Hearing him. Not hearing him.

“But then I trust you know the way out.”

Where had all the tenderness gone?

Wasn’t it obvious?

Michael had used Baal to fulfill his desires in the arena. And that’s all this had been, Baal returning the favor. Michael just hadn’t expected to fall so easily for it.

Why should Baal want Michael for anything more than the fact that he was a warm body? Michael would never join them. He had nothing to commit to here.

Gritting his teeth, Michael rose. Grateful that Baal had not fully removed the tunic so it covered his nudity as he stood and walked away to grab his cloak. He didn’t even bother with washing up. He’d take another bath and use the coat.

“So you accepted the fate Father has decided for you?”

Michael pauses halfway in pulling his hood up.

“Haven’t you? From what whispers I’ve heard from the demons, it seems like you have all given up. You won’t even help the watcher’s.”

Baal adjusts on the bed to accommodate his horns. Still damp with sweat and naked. “We haven’t given up, we’re just realistic. We know there’s a chance we can’t defeat God. I’ve told you this before.”

“I’ll never understand you,” Michael mutters bitterly.

“Tell Phanuel I said hi,” Baal teased, waving him off as Michael marched out of the room to wash himself of this sin.

Notes:

The end scene will be fleshed out in the next part btw.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Baal/Michael/Lucifer