There was no time for self-satisfaction before Oliver caught Calās lips from above. Appropriate, really, that this was the position that finally brought them together. From an outsider's perspective (should an outsider be so lucky), it was nearly impossible to tell whether Oliver was raising Cal up toward the Heavens, or if Cal was dragging Oliver down to Hell. What was the difference, in the end? This space where they met each other in a hungry collision was somewhere in the middle and uniquely their own. Sacred. Profane. Ineffable.
It was a lucky thing that celestial beings didnāt technically need to breathe, because all Cal wanted was to inhale Oliver. Just the smell of him, with ever-present hints of paper and graphite, gave Cal more life than oxygen, and the tasteā¦ he deepened the kiss, his free hand clasping the back of Oliverās neck. There was no other word for it, even in Calās vast, fiendish vocabulary. Wine-touched and slightly salty, the taste of Oliverās lips was simply divine.
If he were a proper demon, Cal shouldāve gotten some kind of perverse pleasure out of describing what he was doing with Oliver as divine. That sort of truculent attitude had never occurred to him because this part of being with Oliver was about as far from both Heaven and Hell as a good demon and a bad angel could get. Heaven liked to pretend that sex didnāt exist outside of the union between man and woman, preferably for procreation, never for titillation. Hellās taste, meanwhile, was distasteful on purpose, more about corruption via the body that bled into the soul.
Both of them entirely missed the point. By their standards, nothing divine could be carnal, and nothing carnal could be divine. Holding the two concepts in oneās head at the same time was simply too human for them to comprehend. There was no perverse pleasure in engaging in this divinely carnal act with the angelic man he loved; there was only pleasure, something so far out of the understanding of both Up There and Down Below that Cal almost felt bad for them for missing out. Two things could be true, paradoxes could enmesh and tangle, and all of it could be found in the gangly, earnest body of an angel who was just human enough to enjoy all that an indulgent demon had to offer. Divine, indeed.
Fully conscious thought was pretty far beyond Cal once he felt the urgent pressure of Oliverās lips, but one of Calās many specialties had always been anticipating Oliverās next move. Fingers dragged, and Cal smirked against their kiss. With that twitch of muscles, the undershirt beneath Calās button-up miraculously transported itself (fully cleaned and folded, of course) into Cal and Oliverās shared dresser, leaving the angel with free and easier access to the demonās burning skin. At the contact, Oliverās lips trapped a grunt of pleasure in Calās mouth, and Cal thought, Why stop there?
One moment, Oliverās fingers were buried in Calās shirt. The next, his shirt simply stopped existing. And ā how strange. His trousers mysteriously disappeared, too. Just like that, a nearly naked demon sat upon the sofa. All that remained on Calās body were his tight boxers, but not out of anything resembling modesty. Cal was not interested in wasting any more time, but he couldn't resist giving Oliver the opportunity to use those long and sinfully delicate fingers to finish what he'd started.
Pressing Oliver's hand firmly to his chest, Cal broke the kiss with a slow grin. His voice was low and desirous, subtlety abandoned because the game was over and they both had won. āSome light defilement before dinner, then?ā