Chapter Text
If you were to see Gabriel walking around Heaven, and ask him how he was doing, he would smile stiffly and pat you on top of your head
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about me,” he would say “I am fine. I am great. Everything is great, because we are in paradise. Why wouldn’t it be great?”
And before you could follow up, he would disappear and laugh, waving his hand behind him like he had not a care in the world. You would walk away, feeling slightly condescended to, but still satisfied with the encounter.
But.
If you were to see him in private, in the confines of his office, you would see that the exact opposite was true. You would see him sitting at his desk, sitting upright and stiff, not like his usual confident lean. You would see him staring at his mobile device, a look of confusion, frustration across his face, and his mind buzzing with thoughts he had never thought to think before.
Every so often, he would distract himself and pretend to work on something else, making sideways glances to make sure no messages were being missed.
What the hell was happening to him?
If you were to see Beelzebub stalking around Hell, and ask them how they were doing…
Well, you’d have maggots crawling out of your throat before you could even ask. How dare you even think you’re worthy of asking them a question like that. You two aren’t friends, you’ve got a lot of nerve.
And as you choked on whatever maggots or hellfire or whatever torture they made come out of your throat, they would stalk away, perhaps ceasing the torture just to show you that was a warning. You would not ask them again.
However…
If you were to see them in the privacy of their respective office, they would be pacing back and forth in the cramped and dark space, buzzing out of frustration and confusion. Every so often, they would glance at their mobile device, only to find no messages and to ultimately chuck it at a wall in frustration.
What the heaven was happening to them?
-four days earlier-
In a dimly lit pub somewhere in an undisclosed location, Gabriel tapped his fingers impatiently upon the top of a table that was tucked away in a corner, out of sight from all the grizzly-looking inhabitants.
Gabriel sat back in his chair. His light grey suit and neatly trimmed black and silver hair made him stand out among the smoke and gloom of the pub, its inhabitants shooting threatening glares in Gabriel’s direction. Gabriel huffed and checked his watch.
I suppose demons aren’t known for their timeliness, are they? Gabriel thought. As the thought crossed his mind, he glanced up to notice Beelzebub saunter in, in all their dark and demonic glory. Their piercing eyes scanned the room until they landed upon Gabriel, who waved his drink in Beelzebub’s direction.
“I thought we had agreed on seven” Gabriel remarked, taking a sip from his glass. Beelzebub exhaled sharply and took a seat across from the archangel, gesturing to a waiter to bring them a drink.
“I had to come up with an excuse. Don’t want other demons snooping around wondering why I’m meeting with an angel, do you?”
Gabriel frowned, bringing his glass up to his lips “My time is precious, Beelzebub. And I would expect you to—”
“To what?” Beelzebub shot back at Gabriel, their seething glare boring into Gabriel’s being, causing the archangel to finally look them in the eye “To respect you? My time is just as precious as yours, angel, and I’m only here because we share a common enemy”
Gabriel gulped, then took a sip of his drink.
“Ah yes” he finally managed, a strange burning sensation building in his face “The defectors?”
Beelzebub nodded. A waiter brought a tall bottle and a glass to the table, and Beelzebub took them without thanks.
“How in the heaven did they manage to become immune to our weaknesses?” Beelzebub mused after shooting back one drink and pouring another “There must have been something they did, some sort of magic that we don’t know about?”
Gabriel set his glass down and threaded his fingers together underneath his chin, grateful for the dimness in the room. Something about the small demon downing an entire drink and immediately pouring another stirred a strange feeling in Gabriel. He mulled over whether he could—no, whether he should—challenge the demon to a drinking contest.
But they were here on business. He could best a foul demon another time.
“Maybe they had some sort of protective amulet? Or a spell?” he finally offered, realizing he hadn’t said anything in a long while, which had prompted raised eyebrows from Beelzebub.
Beelzebub took a moment to study the archangel. Though they would never admit it to anyone—least of all themselves, out loud—Gabriel did have some sort of charm that could have possibly been construed as…handsome, they guessed.
Especially in this moment, seeing Gabriel come undone at the notion of one of his subordinates surviving his hellfire execution, it was actually quite amusing.
And somewhat…endearing?
‘Course he’s endearing, Beelzebub thought, he’s an aaaaangel. Not only that he’s THE archangel, oooh lala, what was so damn special about that?
“Is-everything okay?” Gabriel’s voice broke through Beelzebub’s taunting train of thought, making them jump. Beelzebub also came to appreciate the dimness of the bar, as they turned a dark shade of blood red.
“Fine, fine” they waved their hand and poured some of the liquid in their bottle into Gabriel’s glass “Here, this is probably a lot stronger than whatever piss you’ve ordered for yourself”
“I am happy with what I have,” Gabriel halfheartedly protested as Beelzebub shoved the glass into Gabriel’s hand. “Besides, that looks like it came out of a dead animal, I’d rather not—”
“Rather not what?” Beelzebub teased, suddenly very close to Gabriel’s face, and Gabriel could feel the heat rising in his own face. “Ruin your Heavenly vessel with such filth? Really Gabriel, wasn’t it your lot that declared vanity a sin?”
Beelzebub brushed a hand against Gabriel’s thigh, and it took everything in Gabriel to not shudder underneath the touch.
Oh yeah, Beelzebub thought, this would be too easy
Gabriel gulped, then without thinking, he moved his own hand to gently graze Beelzebub’s forearm. He smirked to himself as Beelzebub noticeably jerked at his touch.
You thought you could shake me that easily? Gabriel thought to himself, running his fingers softly up and down Beelzebub’s forearm, then reached his hand up to brush a pitch-black lock of hair behind the Prince’s ear.
The most dangerous game of chicken had begun
-Present day-
It had been four days since the rendezvous at that dimly lit pub, and Gabriel ran a hand over his chest, acknowledging the small little bruises that Beelzebub had left. He still found himself flushed at the memory, and somewhat displeased with himself.
It was a stupid mistake. He knew better than to even have anything other than a passing notion of disgust towards any demon of Hell, especially to the Prince of Hell themselves. There were rules, there were boundaries.
And even though he was an archangel, there was the threat of Falling.
Would it have been worth it? His little one-night stand with Beelzebub? Would those few—okay, not few—minutes of pleasure have been worth losing everything he had worked so hard to keep in Heaven? Would it have been worth his status? His command? His respect? Beelzebub would’ve gotten away with it scot-free. Heck, they would probably give them a medal—seducing an archangel and making him fall to Hell after giving into temptation.
And yet.
There was something about his dynamic with Beelzebub that made him feel… good? Not in just a sexual way. Most angels and humans revered Gabriel, treated him with praise and respect. Some of them even feared him, and most demons went out of their way to avoid him should they ever cross paths.
But not Beelzebub. Beelzebub didn’t fear Gabriel, or even pretend to like or respect him. No one had ever spoken to Gabriel in the way that Beelzebub had, with such vitriol and ridicule.
And Gabriel had liked it. More than he should have.
So much so that it drove him crazy that Beelzebub hadn’t even contemplated trying to contact him. But communication worked both ways. Besides, what do you follow a situation like this up with? Gabriel pulled his phone out and began to type out
“Hey Beelzebub, it’s Gabriel. About the other night I just wanted to say if you ever wanted to do that again, I would be one hundred percent, no holds-barred, down to have you fuck me again”
He couldn’t say that. He had too much pride. He erased and started over.
“Beelzebub, it would be great if you didn’t mention our encounter to anyone else? Can’t have my higher ups finding out I let a demon have their way with me in the back of a pub”
He couldn’t say that either. That would make it sound like Beelzebub had forced themselves on him (Which they didn’t), or that it was a mistake (Which it was… technically).
Gabriel threw his phone back down on his desk and slumped back into his chair. He looked up at the ceiling and sighed. Then, as if hit by lighting, he sat up.
He knew exactly who he could talk to about this. He didn’t want it to have to come to this, but there was only one person he could talk to that would have any sort of knowledge of this kind of thing. He stood up and grabbed his phone and his coat. As he stormed out of his office, his secretary tried to catch his attention “Mr. Gabriel, are you--?”
“I have to make an emergency trip to Earth” Gabriel brushed her aside, continuing on “Someone needs a prayer personally answered, you understand, right?”
Before the secretary could answer, Gabriel was already gone, on his way to Earth to consult with another adversary.
It had been four days since the rendezvous at the dimly lit pub, and Beelzebub absentmindedly touched a hand to their back to feel the red marks that had been raked down their back just days before. They found themselves flushed and rather peeved at the memory.
What a stupid mistake they had made. They knew better than anyone that fraternizing with angels was forbidden, and never once during their partial rule of Hell had the thought to even speak casually to an angel even cross their mind.
And now they had gone and met with one—an archangel no less—in the seedy backroom of some seedy pub to have some… indescribably impressive sex. Granted, their few—well, maybe it wasn’t few—minutes of pleasure couldn’t quite be punished, and they could even spin it into a commendation, there would still be talk. Beelzebub couldn’t tempt a human for their own pleasure? They had to go and tempt an archangel? Do they think their better than us? Are they that desperate?
Then a thought struck them. What if they had made Gabriel Fall? Such a thought should’ve evoked some sort of sick pride or glee in Beelzebub, but it only filled them with dread and anxiety.
Why did they suddenly care if that prick fell? It would have served him right for being such an arrogant shit. But here they were, genuinely disgusted with themselves over the notion of being responsible for the archangel’s fall.
They shouldn’t care so much. Demons don’t care for anyone; they’re not supposed to. Especially not for anyone who hadn’t even condescended to try and talk to them about the events of that night. Beelzebub huffed, picked up their phone from the corner they had chucked it into, and began to type
“Gabriel. I wanted to thank you for the other night. If you’re ever feeling tempted to get fucked within an inch of your life again, you know who to call”
Tempted? What were they, an idiot? Too forward. They erased and started again
“The other night should have never happened. If you tell anyone, I will rip your wings off myself”
Yikes, too harsh, even by Beelzebub’s standards. Also, there was nothing wrong with what happened, except that… by all the standards of Heaven and Hell, it was forbidden.
Beelzebub went to throw the phone against another wall when an idea hit them. It hit them with a disgusted groan, as it was an idea they really didn’t want to follow through with.
But they had to. There was only one person that could understand what they were going through.
Without stopping for anyone, Beelzebub stormed out of their office and made their way to Earth.
They were not looking forward to this.