InsaneJournal

Who: Samandriel & Michael
What: Michael makes the mistake of underestimating Samandriel
When: 1/24
Where: Lux, Michael’s
Rating: High as the mountains
Status: Complete




Samandriel still wasn’t sure he was ready to go back to work, but he needed to. He didn’t sit on the piano while Caroline played. That was something reserved exclusively for Lucifer and his need to be as connected to the other man as possible. The music they made together was all the more intimate when he could feel it running through him at such close range.

For most of the night, he kept to the sheet music in order to keep himself from getting too melancholy. He was stressed, and in public like this, music wasn’t going to be any proper therapy. The small raised platform of a stage was in the middle of the main room, the doors off to Samandriel’s far right and the bar on his left with tables and a handful of classy booths scattered strategically. If Lux was Lucifer’s world, it was fitting that Samandriel stood at the very center of it. Lucifer wasn’t there at the moment. Business had drawn him elsewhere, and Samandriel presumed that he had a vested interest in showing his boy that he believed in Samandriel’s strength. It was music. He could handle it.

His song got lighter and more off the script whenever Lucifer was in the room. He knew Caroline had noticed, that as far as tells went, it was the most obvious especially in the mood he was in. It wasn’t as if he and Lucifer were trying to hide anything anymore anyway, and fortunately, much of the interest in him had finally dropped off. The media just didn’t seem to care too much about a seemingly out of nowhere slightly taboo romance if those involved were refusing to make it anyone else’s business.

Not everyone who worked at Lux knew what Samandriel was. There was a general understanding that their barefoot violinist had a seemingly uncanny ability to know exactly where Lucifer was at any given moment. Those who knew, knew and kept their counsel. Those who didn’t were safer thinking it was a movie script true love scenario. Caroline knew when Samandriel’s song changed. She likely noticed before he did. She’d worked with him long enough now to be able to follow his lead smoothly (though not near as effortlessly as Lucifer.) He was a good leader when it came to things like this.

So it surprised him when he was jolted out of his thoughts by a very sour note and accompanying look from her. He glanced over at where he’d been playing to again and realized that the pair of blue eyes he’d been transfixed by belonged not to Lucifer, but Michael. Samandriel turned his attention back over to Caroline, a quick nod of her head told him to take a break as she started playing again. He clearly needed it, but he was pretty sure that the song he’d wandered off into was one of home. Likely, he’d gone to a place where she couldn’t follow easily and he needed to both be less obvious about whatever it was he was feeling and end up back in the realm of human, mortal musicians. He put his instrument on its stand on a table next to the grand piano. Samandriel appreciated her far more than she could ever know.

Still barefoot, he went over to the bar, intentionally brushing up against Michael, but not speaking to him yet as he smiled charmingly at the young man tending that night. “The usual, please.” Just a mixture of juices, but he really did need to get something no matter whether or not he drank it just to help him focus.

Pretty much the whole of the numerous medications Michael was on, and likely would be on until he died, were not to be taken with alcohol. This was something Michael often and flagrantly ignored for the sake of his sanity. He claimed it helped him sleep better than any sleeping pill that wouldn’t conflict with his meds, and truth be known he wanted to drink. He liked how it warmed him and slowed his thoughts that all too often raced. He liked the idea of living a little, especially as these days he was living with the knowledge that at any time he could have what his doctor had called ‘the big one’, meaning a seizure that could lead to more irreparable brain damage and possibly even his death. Michael’s version of living like you were dying may have been considered dull to most, but he was actually quite happy.

Today though he had been fighting a headache since he woke up and the usual cures hadn’t worked so he was turning to alcohol and music. Music helping a headache might have been a surprise to most, he would have doubted it himself, but as he had been recovering his youngest sister would often visit him and play soft violin music on her iPod for him and something about it had made him feel better. Live music was different of course, but still just as nice. The kid playing was good, better than he’d heard in a long time, which was why he was surprised by the sour note when it came moments after the violinist met his eyes.

He didn’t take his eyes off the young man as he came to the bar, he guessed he was in his teens given how young he looked and his non-alcoholic drink order. The brush was very probably intentional but Michael didn’t say anything about it right away, instead he glanced very pointedly down at the younger man’s bare feet then back up to his face. He cleared his throat after a swig of his straight bourbon then put his glass down on the bar. “Did you lose something?”

Samandriel took a sip of his juice. It never got any better. Everything really did taste like molecules, but it was the closest to proper food consumption he could get. He glanced at the glass, briefly wondering what it was about the men in his life and their bourbon. He made a mental note to go visit Gabriel later just to hang out with someone who unapologetically would down an appletini. “Not that I’m aware of,” he said, shifting in his impeccably tailored clothes to look the man in the eyes again. He didn’t give him a once over. He didn’t need to.

Michael might not have had a clue who or what either of them were, but Samandriel still knew. It was a kind of knowledge he never was quite sure how he had, nor had he ever thought to ask Castiel or anyone else if he simply knew either. He supposed it didn’t matter. Those eyes were gorgeous, and Michael was there in Lucifer’s bar. That was what mattered. This was his Michael too, wasn’t it? The one who had perhaps not so much tried to keep him from Lucifer, but tried to protect him from the monster their brother had become. Everything from home had been thrown into question when that awful double had shown up. Reevaluating so much made him even more unsure of where he stood with everyone but his fiancé.

“Did you happen to pick something of mine up?” His smile was warm and welcoming, eyes never leaving the other man’s. With any luck, Michael might not notice that Samandriel was looking a bit deeper than just the pretty surface they presented to him.

“No,” the violinist’s smile was sweet, almost infectious if Michael had been the sort to so easily give into pretty faces. The corners of his mouth did turn up and his eyebrow cock slightly, it was very nearly a smile but it still looked good on him. He was well aware of how it looked. He wasn’t nearly as lonely as most people tended to think. “But then I don’t make a habit of picking up random pairs of shoes if I come across them.”

The eyes on him weren’t something new for him. Farther back than even high school he often had appreciative eyes on him whenever he walked into a room and the number of eyes had only grown as he matured, his uniform hadn’t helped much in that regard either though he had been generally more pleased with that than not. After his injuries he hadn’t thought about how he looked, but when the hair started to grow back and the swelling had gone down and his face had been the same as it always had been he was pleased. An uninjured face meant he wouldn’t have to put any additional effort into making himself attractive, which he was all for. It extended to his clothes as well, they were nice, clean, suited him and the colors brought out the almost shocking green of his eyes, but he obviously hadn’t spent a great deal of money on them. “You play beautifully.”

“Ah, no I know exactly where those are, but thank you for your concern.” Samandriel wasn’t much in the mood to start anything when he didn’t need to. He turned back to his juice, feigning some measure of disinterest for a moment. Michael’s vessel was damaged. It was taking him everything he had not to offer to heal him. If he was truly needed, he would come, but Samandriel was well aware that he was still recovering from how severely he’d overextended himself distracting the wrong Lucifer.

“Thank you,” he looked back up at Michael, smile gone a little sad. “Though I’m afraid you’ve caught me on an off night. I wonder what you might think if you heard me on my game.” He’d always played beautifully, even when he was only a young man working at Jamba Juice. Now, he didn’t so much play the music as it played him.

Both eyebrows went up at that, more than a little impressed. He had never been musical himself, he had been made to play the piano at a young age, as had his sisters, but he had never been all that interested. He didn’t have much in the way of natural talent and practicing only bored and frustrated him, but he liked to listen to it and the whole thing had taught him to appreciate the skill and time required to play well. “I’m sure I would be even more impressed than I already am,” he turned his eyes to the piano player for a second or two before looking back to the young man beside him. “Unless that’s a line to get me back in here to hear you again and buy even more drinks.”

The violinist had to be pretty young, even if he was legal he was likely younger than Michael tended to go for, at least with women. He had tried often enough to stop himself from flirting, particularly with those not really suitable for him for one reason or another, but it never seemed to work. In fact he was pretty sure it had only gotten worse for him since he had been wounded as he had lost a bit of the impulse control he once had. At least the alcohol helped him keep both feet on the ground, even if he did end up flirting shamelessly trying to take anyone home would result in him probably falling asleep as soon as he hit the bed. “But I don’t mind, my time here as been worth it so far, even if you’re not on your ‘A’ game.”

In truth, this had been Samandriel’s ‘D’ game, barely passable to his own far too high standards. “Tell me, are you always a shameless flirt or do you reserve it for special occasions?” he teased. If he could manage to pick his mood up enough, he thought he might be able to deliver playing that had more of him in it. The unfortunate thing was that Caroline had very clearly implied without words at all that he wasn’t allowed back for a while. Annoying, but justified.

He wanted to reach up and touch Michael’s face, to trace his fingers down that neck and...and staying here was a very bad idea. He fought the instinct to run, one that was coming out of nowhere more and more often when he accidentally let his walls down in public. He looked back over at his instrument next to the piano, near aching to pick it back up again just to ground himself. “I’m glad the service is up to par. I’d hate to think my colleagues were treating you poorly.”

“Am I flirting? That’s news to me. I just happen to appreciate music.” He picked up his drink again, taking a long sip. Perhaps he was being a touch too transparent, he was somewhat aware of that. He never considered himself a master and when it came to men he was out of practice thanks to years of needing to appear hetero-normal for the sake of his military career, and even then what he had experience with was limited. Still, there was no harm in attempting to get it all right now. Dean was the only person he knew in California and he had ended up married to a man so he was unlikely to judge.

“Everyone here has been incredibly kind and welcoming since I came in.” He answered, the slow smile finally coming to his lips. “You in particular, what with that brush earlier and the way you were looking at me before. Is this what you do for all your patrons or am I special?”

“Mm, I suppose you’ll just have to go on wondering that,” Samandriel said, setting his empty glass down on the bar before the man behind it could not so subtly scold him for the chance that this would somehow upset Lucifer. Shame how new he was. He’d figure out how things worked soon enough and Samandriel would be able to get away with less of the stink eye from people. “You stood out, what can I say? On a better night, I likely would have forgotten that there was anyone else in the world at all. Perhaps we should both be glad you caught me when you did.” He smirked, and very nearly gave into the temptation to wink playfully.

Samandriel moved away from the bar, heading towards the stairs up to the private room. Michael would follow or he wouldn’t. There was something to be said for the quiet little thrill of the chances choice left running down his spine. He glanced over his shoulder, brow arched in a way that was unmistakably ‘are you coming?’ just long enough to see his message received. After that, it was simply stairs and perhaps shoes or perhaps home. It was really all up to Michael.

Of all the things Dean Winchester might have said about him he did at least get one thing right. Michael was a bit of an asshole. He didn’t generally admit this in conversation, but he did have that impulse to always be in control of a situation. It had served him well in the marines, walking into a situation and appearing to instantly and naturally take control all while he appeared calm and collected, possibly even a little smug from time to him. It wasn’t a control he often gave up though, at least not to anyone who wasn’t a superior. In the military they had been everywhere but out in the civilian world it was his boss, and perhaps his priest, that he answered to and for the moment they were nowhere to be seen.

He knocked back the last of his bourbon and quickly paid for the drink before turning and heading after the young violinist. This wasn’t him giving ground. He wasn’t about to let him lead him around any more than this little trip up the stairs, a little trip that Michael was sure wasn’t going to end the way the younger man imagined.

There was a way that Michael followed that even now felt like he’d rather be leading. It was the kind of alpha-male hunter going after his prey thing that Samandriel seemed to cultivate almost effortlessly around him. He got up the stairs and walked over to the private bar, steadfastly ignoring the eventual-archangel behind him. Eventual archangel or not, Lux had become Samandriel’s territory in its way. Nobody did anything to him here that he hadn’t already told them to do to him directly or not. There were benefits to being Lucifer’s right hand, and having that particular archangel know exactly how much his own little seraph twisted situations to his advantage. The high ground, right?

He poured Michael another drink in full view of the other man and got himself one too while he was at it. “So do you have a name to go with those distracting eyes of yours or am I going to have to Rumpelstiltskin it out of you?”

“Michael.” He said simply, being straightforward for the moment only because it was more likely to get his questions answered, he had a few rather important ones, well perhaps two were important anything after that was merely additional information. He resisted the urge to reach under his shirt and fiddle with the Saint Michael medal around his neck, he always did when he introduced himself and he wasn’t entirely sure where that came from, most of the time he wasn’t even sure why he continued to wear it. Saint Michael was the protector of soldiers, and if the United States Marine Corps were to be believed he wasn’t fit to be a soldier, but Michael was still wearing it and would probably go on wearing it.

“My name is Michael,” He said again as if the tone of his voice could make it that the whole thing was his idea from the beginning. He took the drink, not even bothering to sniff it first as he had started doing since his injury. “And who are you, violin player? And more importantly, how old are you?”

“Samandriel,” he answered honestly, taking a sip of his drink. There were two options here, give a vague and mysterious (though true) answer that would probably get him assumed to be underage, or the vague and not technically untruthful one that might still get him laid. “And old enough to consent. Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to ask someone their age like that?” Honestly, he was hoping Michael would go the guessing route just so he could think up some interesting intentional forfeit. Then again, Michael never had been anything but direct before. Why would that change now? There was a certain kind of twisted truth in realizing that between Michael and Lucifer’s influences, Samandriel could end up the archangels’ most terrifying weapon; one the world at large would never see coming. It was a very good thing he was coming to the party this world offered dressed up as a sexy Switzerland.

“That’s quite the name.” It didn’t strike him as significant beyond simply being an odd name. He did well when he could remember most of the saints and their days and their prayers, the only angels he ever remembered discussed in school were the ones mentioned more than once in the Bible. Though he was sure that he would have remembered a unique name like that if he had heard it before.

“Oh yes, I can see that being a good excuse whenever you get dragged before a judge. I swear sir, I didn’t know how old he was, I wanted to ask but being straightforward in asking that kind of question would have come across as rude and I wouldn’t want to offend anyone.” He took a long drink before continuing, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to continue to be rude. When you say old enough to consent to you mean legally or were you hoping to use a ‘I have an old soul’ type argument?”

Samandriel arched a brow. “Legally,” he said, managing to keep the annoyance out of his voice for the time being. Even when he wasn’t legal, he hadn’t once lied about it. Everyone he’d ever taken to his bed had known exactly how much trouble they were risking getting into right up until his birthday hit. He moved away from the bar with his drink, going instead to sit on one of the long couches.

“Are you always this paranoid? Because I really don’t see the need for the choices I make with my body and who I share it with to end up in court.” For reasons other than marrying his own personal devil at least. “Are there any other blunt questions I should remain unprepared for?” In any other situation, he would have simply stretched his wings and been done with the whole argument. He’d learned somewhere along the line that not everyone was going to be nearly as accepting as those he kept close to him.

“No I try to keep my artless moments to a minimum.” That wasn’t strictly true but as far as he knew Samandriel couldn’t argue, if he had known that he knew Michael better than he realized he would have called the whole situation unfair. As it was he was simply covering his bases, though he was still under the impression that he wouldn’t be giving Samandriel what he wanted that night, so it was more about reading the ‘kid’ than anything else.

Michael took another drink, starting to feel a little warm now though so far that was the only way anyone would be able to tell he’d been drinking. “An attractive, apparently very friendly, young man like yourself likely has to deal with a great many older admirers questioning his age. I suppose I’m very dull when I choose to open my mouth as far as you’re concerned.”

Samandriel set the glass down, shifting to put his shoes back on though he really had drawn the line at socks. “Most people are much happier remaining willfully ignorant as far as my age is concerned.” He wouldn’t be playing the rest of the night regardless how this interaction went. Caroline had been right to call him out on his bullshit however unsubtly she’d managed it. “Though I wouldn’t call myself friendly. I see something I like and no reason not to go after it. Forward might be a better word.”

He looked up at Michael, picking up his drink again and relaxing into the couch. “Besides, I’d like to think that my brain and my music are a lot more attractive than my face will ever be.” It had been the defining feature in the people he chose to keep around him. He knew he was pretty, had known for a very long while. Those that got to touch him knew far more than a pair of blue eyes, slender hips and a warm smile. “Let’s not test the former just yet. You don’t know me well enough not to hate me for it.” It was pretty obvious to him that Michael really wanted to have the upperhand or at least believe he did. It was a shame how stunningly wrong he was about that.

“I imagine you would be very difficult to hate,” where that had come from even Michael wasn’t sure, but given his wounds he was lucky enough to be forming complete sentences so he didn’t question when odd or too revealing things came out of his mouth. He had already said Samandriel was attractive anyway, he wasn’t attempting to hide his admiration for his beauty. “But alright. I wouldn’t want to upset you.”

That wasn’t wholly true either. If you could upset someone it gave you power over them, Michael had learned that at an early age and found it easy to put into action even if he wasn’t immune to it himself. But, for the moment at least, he didn’t want to see that pretty face angry. Of course making someone worry over your displeasure was another way to power, one that Michael should have been aware of, but it was all too easy for him to ignore. If Michael only knew the truth of what he was dealing with he wouldn’t have that pleasant and largely inoffensive smile still on his lips. “Forward then, it is perhaps a better word. Confident might be another. You aren’t unsuccessful often, if at all, are you? It’s quite impressive.”

Not unsuccessful often was an understatement. What Samandriel wanted, he got. It took some time occasionally, but eventually things worked out in his favor. “I don’t waste my time on people who aren’t worth it,” he said calmly. And you’re the one who walked onto my turf in the first place. Nobody who’d gone through the trouble of meeting him at Lux had yet to not end up exactly where the angel wanted them.

“You’re not used to someone vying for control of a situation, are you?” He took a sip of his drink. “Though I think you’d be much happier taking it than me simply handing the upper hand back to you.” His head tilted to the side like he was calculating, no matter that he already knew the answers. Dean and his brothers had hardly been subtle on the net. “You carry yourself like Military, and judging by that little smirk, you were probably an officer and even now you probably don’t like feeling like anyone might pose a challenge to your authority even though you know you get off on the thrill of getting someone in what you believe to be their place beneath you. Am I right?”

Michael didn’t say anything right away, a soft chortle escaping him before he downed what was left of his drink. That would have to be the last if he wanted to be able to drive home and he certainly did. He had no intention of spending the night anywhere other than his apartment. “Are you playing detective now or do you imagine me to be so transparent?”

It was only then that he started to get the feeling that he had underestimated the violinist. Strangely it wasn’t all that strong a feeling, perhaps there were warning bells going off somewhere in the back of his mind but they weren’t loud enough for him to pay attention to. His pride likely wasn’t allowing himself to even consider that he was in over his head. “It’s quite the cute little trick.”

Oh that was adorable wasn’t it? The little attempt at gaining control by downplaying Samandriel’s ownership of the situation. Shame it wasn’t going to work out for Michael. “Stick around long enough, you’ll find I know a lot of clever little tricks.” He was very intentionally not using the word cute here. “Perhaps one day you’ll even figure out how they work.” Another lazy swig of his drink. “So your place, then?” Like hell was he bringing Michael back to Lucifer’s. “Sir.” He’d be willing to give up the high ground, but it wouldn’t cost him much.

“Oh I think it’s pretty obvious how they work.” Michael believed it was anyway, but Michael was more than likely wrong, especially as he refused to acknowledge the possibility. But that was him all over, refusing to accept when he’d been outwitted and very likely manipulated into the position best for whoever he was facing off against. He found it hard to believe a little thing, even if he was absolutely stunning to look at, like Samandriel could outmaneuver him. He set his empty glass down, shaking his head slowly as he turned his eyes back to him. “You think I would give in and give you what you want so easily?”

“I think it’s what you want too,” Samandriel said, “and I think you’d much rather take this to out of my comfort zone and into yours. How could anyone but you possibly have the upperhand in your own space, right?” He knocked back the rest of the drink and went to go take care of their glasses. “And I think you’ve been wanting the same end here that I have since you first saw me. Just because our means are slightly different doesn’t mean that it won’t be very enjoyable for both of us.” He smirked as he dried the glasses. “Besides, you’re being offered a private show from someone who is obviously as hot a commodity as you are,” or were, “I’d think it’d be refreshing to find yourself with a challenge instead of some pretty little thing who’ll roll over just for the honor of your dick.”

It all sounded so right when Samandriel was saying it. Even the part of having the upperhand on his own turf that he was sure wasn’t true when it came to someone like this intriguing young man. He was going along with it. Those warning bells that were going off before were louder now but he continued to ignore them in favor of how convincing he was being. If he had to blame it on something it would be the alcohol in his system, after all he couldn’t believe that someone could even think to get the better of him when he was sober. “My place.”

That was it. It was a strangely wonderful victory even if Michael clearly had no idea what he was just yet. It took everything Samandriel had not to smirk too much about it. He dried his hands off and walked over to the other man, fingers brushing against his cheek. “Sounds perfect. Where’re you parked?” He’d figure out leaving after on his own, or at least a way to make it so it wasn’t obvious he’d just flown back home. Fuck it. He’d cross that bridge when they got to it.

That touch was enough to send chills up and down his spine but Michael was composed enough to at least appear like it hadn’t affected him. It had simply been a while, since before he moved to California which for him felt like ages, that he had been touched beyond what had been required of him for his job. It had been ages since someone as beautiful and willful as Samandriel had approached him, he had been able to break willfulness rather easily before he was somewhat confident he could do it again, even with someone as clever as this one seemed to be. It was almost amusing that he thought he still had a chance of winning against the young man, but he wasn’t known to give up. “Out front.” he had felt well enough to drive that day and was very glad that he had now that he would be having company. At least this time he didn’t have to be led, heading out the door when the other man appeared ready.

Samandriel let the man lead, even let him put enough respectable distance between them while he gathered his instrument and a withering look from the pianist. Case shut, there was nothing stopping him from following Michael out the door and to his car. It wasn’t like Lucifer wasn’t aware, or wasn’t going to be fully aware. They’d probably have a good long talk about it later, one in which Samandriel filled his other half in on exactly what his plan so far was. It wasn’t any surprise that Michael owned a vintage, expensive european car. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was pretty sure that the Impala could still beat the tiny little roadster, and Samandriel couldn’t help but wonder when he of all people started to care at all about Dean’s car.

The obvious flash of money and taste wasn’t anything impressive for Samandriel. There was no way it could be, not when he belonged to Lucifer. Still, he couldn’t help but smile as he got inside and buckled (unnecessarily) up. “Nice ride.”

If asked Michael would have had a few things to say about his car, after all it was ‘Britain's first supercar’ and was faster than the Daytona. It was also James Bond’s car in ‘The Living Daylights’, which was why he had wanted it ever since he was a kid and buying it stuck out as the only really kind thing his father had ever done for him. He was rather attached to it, but he knew that if it were ever compared to something owned by Dean Winchester it would fall short. It was all about Dean, the car couldn’t have mattered less and he knew that as he had the privilege to watch the man work on several occasions. “Thank you.”

Driving with the headache that still pulsed just behind his temples wasn’t easy but he managed, after all if he waited for when he felt completely one hundred percent he would never go anywhere. It did explain why the drive to his apartment in Mission Viejo was mostly silent on his part, save him not moving to change or turn off the classical music station coming over the radio.

Samandriel was fine with silence. He kept his eyes closed, very clearly relaxing while Michael focused on driving. His fingers played idly against the other man’s thigh, thumb running slow circles against fabric. There wasn’t a lot of room in the front of his far too expensive car. Samandriel was just glad to have the excuse to maintain contact with him. It had seemed to have gone over well before, and he knew more than most would ever let on about the power of touch. For now, he didn’t think he was being anything close a distraction, but even if something did go wrong, it wasn’t like he couldn’t handle it. The car pulled to a stop and the engine shut off, drawing Samandriel’s attention out of his calm little space. “Are you going to kiss me now or wait until we’re inside?” Inside, probably. Michael seemed to be more a possessive little thing than he was any kind of exhibitionist.

Possessive, sure. Not an exhibitionist, sure. But one to resist the chance to get a little of his own back after he had been forced to largely ignore the touch of the younger man while he had been driving? No. Even if it might have just played into what Samandriel wanted, he did it anyway. Michael was stronger than he looked, which was rather impressive given how he looked with his shirt off, and he used that strength to grab the back of Samandriel’s neck and pull him closer, forcing him to keep still as Michael planted a rough kiss on those all too tempting lips.

He generally wasn’t a rough lover, but the clever little mastermind had pushed him into that need to assert whatever dominance he imagined he had in that situation. He did eventually let the young man go and without a word got out of the car, leading him to the ground floor apartment before them. It was a nice place on the outside, didn’t match the sort of place that would go with a car like Michael’s but clearly showed he was financially secure. The inside was pre-furnished and decorated but the former marine apparently hadn’t approved as all the pictures and mirrors that had once been on the walls were now on the floor, propped up against the walls.

That was a kiss that Samandriel had no desire to argue with. He even rewarded Michael’s particular brand of roughness with a small groan and a whine of protest when he pulled away. The man was definitely giving Samandriel exactly what he wanted. He followed him inside, toeing out of his shoes again almost immediately (shoes were awful and needed to be avoided at all costs,) while he set his instrument case down and went very obviously poking around. “Not an art lover?” he asked. Frankly, he didn’t expect any conversation to last long, but he was going to make every effort to make good on letting Michael dictate somewhat now that they were in his space.

“I wouldn’t call it art.” he said honestly. He hadn’t liked the frames and the glass, some of the colors had turned his stomach, a nice little gift from his injuries. Occasionally he had physical reactions to certain shades sometimes when he listened to music he could see colors, something about the way he processed visual and audial information had broken and now his wires frequently got crossed. He had been able to tolerate the neutral colors of his furniture, carpet and his white walls but the art and the accents and the pointless pillows all had to go as soon as he moved in.

He didn’t really care if Samandriel was surprised or confused by the way his place looked, he wasn’t there to decorate after all. Michael was clearly interested in other things since he had brought the violinist home with him. He closed the distance between them, reaching out again, this time his hand going to one of those slender hips pulling him close as he claimed those lips again.

Samandriel’s hands slid up Michael’s chest and over his shoulders, working to subtly ease whatever physical pain he could feel in the other man while their mouths moved together. It wasn’t anything obvious, nor would it be anything even approaching permanent, but Samandriel had a policy of giving out peace where he could, at least for the time that people were in his presence. Michael kissed like Samandriel remembered him fighting, like he had one goal and he was going to see it through to whatever he’d decided victory was. This would all be so much easier once Michael remembered at least a little bit of home. It’d probably make the conversation about Lucifer that was coming at some point much less awkward...or at least differently awkward. That didn’t matter yet. What mattered was the way his lips parted invitingly beneath Michael’s, the way his fingers moved through dark hair. He wasn’t surrendering. He was very clearly choosing not to fight this particular battle. There would be more interesting ones to come soon.

With Samandriel so eager and happy to touch him it was all too easy for him to slide more fully into his normal self. Perhaps just as aggressive and determined as always, but his lips were kinder, less interested in doing any harm to the softer ones that deliciously parted against his. He hadn’t felt it when it happened but as both hands moved up his sides he was suddenly aware that his head no longer pounded and ached. It didn’t even occur to him that it could have been the man in his arms, but he had heard that physical and sexual contact was also good for headaches. He was as surprised as anyone would be to discover that was apparently true. This time last year he may not have been able to write his own name but now his hands danced over the younger man’s body, searching for a way under that shirt.

The shift in the way Michael was kissing him brought Samandriel from considering keeping up at least some pretense of fighting to truly yielding. There was a kind of kindness and gentleness buried there that Samandriel both hadn’t expected and wanted to encourage. His hands moved again to undo the buttons of his own waistcoat, shrugging out of it so that Michael could actually get at his shirt. He handled his belt as long as he was working on things that were just going to get in the way eventually anyway. Pulling back from the kiss was more so Michael could breathe than anything.

Secondary was actually paying attention to what the other man was wearing so he could get it off of him most efficiently. “Bedroom?” he whispered, voice low and breathy as he got his fingers under Michael’s shirt to brush against warm skin.

He practically growled when Samandriel pulled from the kiss, but he couldn’t fault him for his question and what he believed was their mutual need to breathe. Michael waited only a moment, helping those skilled fingers pull his shirt up and off, allowing him more access to his skin in the moment or two before he pulled him along in the direction of his bedroom. Despite the fact that the last four years had kept him less active than he had been while still a Marine, Michael still looked fit. He had made a point to keep whatever part of him still functioned in good shape, perhaps he was a little leaner than he would have been but his chest and stomach still appeared to be sculpted by the loving hands of an artist, even if so much of it was covered in scars and healed burns. The bright gold of his Saint Michael medal stood out just as much as those scars, and there were times when he felt he wore it for the same reason.

Back in his bedroom he pushed the younger man against the door, taking his lips again and savoring his chance to learn the sweet taste of him as well as the feel of his slender body against his. He might have believed he was calling the shots here, but for the moment, now that he was feeling better than he had in months, it didn’t seem to matter as much to him.

The angel wasn’t about to let Michael stay too far ahead on the clothes removal process. His own fingers moved swiftly to undo the buttons on his shirt and shrug out of that too just before he found himself backed against the door and-

Samandriel couldn’t help but groan, couldn’t stop himself moving his hips against the other man’s. The press of skin to skin was far more intoxicating than anything else he’d ever encountered. There was a certain kind of intimacy and simple physical contact that Samandriel thrived under. He nipped with playful approval at Michael’s lower lip, letting long, soft fingers trace almost reverently over the map of scars on Michael’s skin. For now, he ignored the hilariously appropriate medallion.

There had been a reason why he had been resistant to this, but now, being touched and kissed, hearing a groan that was sweeter to his ears than the violin player’s music, he couldn’t be bothered to remember why. He nipped back at those lips, then dragging his own from them across his jaw, he came to settle on his throat, kissing and tasting the delicate skin there and the play of muscle under it. His hands hadn’t been idle either, moving over that slim waist, pleased to find that his belt was already undone. Of course it wasn’t nearly as good as having those pants off him and Michael’s large, warm hands were already working at them to get them undone.

The young angel hadn’t ever been particularly skilled at minding his tongue or his volume when people were touching him. He didn’t see a need for it. Appreciation should be shown, in some cases loudly. It was getting harder to focus on anything but what Michael’s mouth was doing to his neck or tipping his head up and to the side for more of it. He moaned the other man’s name, hands roaming his back just to keep out of the way of Michael’s clear quest to get Samandriel naked as quickly as possible. Bed. Bed was still too far away. Fuck, he really didn’t want to move.

The way that Samandriel moaned his name was very distracting, he had to fight the urge to shove their pants down and have him right there against the door. He meant to get right to it of course, but those noises made him even more impatient and he had to pause to catch his breath that had suddenly gone rough on him. He did eventually let his lips move down to one of his pale and perfect shoulder, hands successful in getting Samandriel’s pants undone and they were already pulling them down. He resorted to shoving them when they got to the end of his reach, letting him step out of them whenever he was ready. His lips left his shoulder, coming back to his lips in a hungry kiss as the hand that mere seconds ago had been shoving his pants down now wrapped his his strong fingers around his cock. The heat of the other man in his hand made him growl into his mouth and pull away only far enough to speak against his lips, “Beautiful.”

The moment he’d gotten his own pants off, he made swift work of Michael’s, shoving them down in an almost desperate way he would have never gotten away with in the face of any other angel. He pushed himself forward off the door with his shoulders, backing Michael up in the direction of the bed. “You haven’t even gotten a proper look yet,” he replied, not so much denying the compliment, but well aware that there was more he wasn’t letting his current partner see. Keeping his wings in the pocket dimension where they normally stayed was getting more difficult by the second. It didn’t matter that Michael had no idea who or what either of them were, there was no part of him that could react to praise from an archangel with anything but preening.

“Touching is better.” he breathed, turning them as they made the few short steps to the bed. When they made it he lightly pushed Samandriel onto it while he fully stepped out of his pants and reached into the drawer of his bedside table and pulled out a condom and the small bottle of lube. Even if he hadn’t expected to bring anyone home he liked being prepared, after all, someone like Samandriel didn’t fall into his lap everyday but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t be ready in case it did.

He did have the chance to look over him better now as he joined him on the bed and he had known he was right. He was absolutely beautiful, even if all he could see was the flesh and bone before him. And that was unlikely to change when he reached a point where he could see his grace. Michael tried to be gentle, but the kiss he stole from the beautiful young man beneath him came with a growl and a nip here and there of his lips and tongue.

Samandriel landed gracefully onto the bed, eyeing the the condom for a brief moment like he’d entirely forgotten other people bothered with them. There were certain benefits to angelhood. One of them just happened to be not worrying about needing a barrier of latex when he’d much rather actually feel his partner moving in him. His fingers tangled in dark hair again while they kissed. One hand slipped between them to finally, finally curl his fingers around Michael’s length.

The noise that found its way into the other man’s mouth was positively obscene in its desperation. For now, Michael was more outmatched than he could have possibly known. Angelic strength rolled the both of them over on the bed. Samandriel would yield again when he was good and ready. He was very much of a mind to let his kisses trail down Michael’s jaw, his neck and the rest of the way lower on his body. He wanted that cock in his mouth and god help anyone who thought they were getting in the way of that.

Michael drew his breath in with a hiss, fighting the urge to thrust his hips into that hand, especially when he felt that noise coming out of his mouth. Of course when he found them being turned over in a show of strength that was a surprise coming out of such a slight and slender frame, he was momentarily distracted. Even he could see that Samandriel wasn’t exactly a top so he doubted that was what he had planned but it took those kisses and the look in his eyes to make him realize what he was up to. Michael wouldn’t have stopped him for anything in the world. His free hand came up to run through his lighter hair, hand more resting against the top of his head rather than trying to push or control him. There was no need, he was obviously about to do exactly what Michael wanted him to.

Samandriel’s tongue ran slowly up the length of him, keeping eye contact the whole while. He teased lightly with soft lips and the far too practised flick of his tongue against the head before he mouthed his way slowly back down. He only turned away to get properly settled, to close his eyes and ghost kisses along the inside of the other man’s thigh while his hand took over where his mouth was temporarily neglecting. It didn’t take long at all for him to return to where they both wanted him to be. He wasted no time trying Michael’s patience any further, merely looked up at him while he took the whole of him in. Now was very definitely one of those times where he was glad he’d moved past the need to breathe, nose pressed close against Michael’s hips.

Even with the discipline of a Marine it was incredibly difficult to stay still under the ministrations of the angel’s hand and mouth. He wanted to fist his hand in that soft hair, to fuck that amazing mouth wrapped around him, but he held back. He didn’t make this restraint easy on himself either, he could have moved his hand away and grasped hard at the bed under him, or even looked away when those intensely blue eyes met his, but he wouldn’t let himself. He didn’t want this to be easy. His moans and groans rumbled low in his chest and his breathing was harsher than ever, but through that he managed to speak. “Mmhm, oh God yes.”

The younger angel was almost too willing to give into his own desire to feel Michael come hotly down his throat, to have his mouth fucked hard and his hair pulled tightly. Practice and genuine desire to please had made him far, far too good at this. Somehow, he found enough strength of will to pull away, but not enough to stay slow as he ascended Michael’s body. He needed to kiss him, now. Needed to find that tiny little bottle of lube and get what he actually wanted out of the night.

That hand in his hair did finally tighten as Samandriel came back up to kiss him, half groaning that those amazing lips were away from his cock, but still pleased that they were returning to his. There was something about kissing him, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, that made Michael feel better than any simple kiss ever had a right to. It was strange and made him want to go on kissing him, but there was something else Michael wanted more. He wasn’t so gentle when he turned them over again, showing how eager and need filled he was to have that beautiful creature who was now under him again.

It was actually rather remarkable that the little bottle in his hand hadn’t popped open when he was in Samandriel’s mouth, Michael would have found that far too amusing for words as he had wanted to do the same. But as he pushed himself to sit up he was pleased to find the thing hadn’t suffered much, though it was momentarily ignored as he tore the condom wrapper open with his teeth then slipped the thing on. Bless the Marines for essentially teaching him to do it one handed in the same space of time it took him to pull the trigger of his assault rifle. When it came back to the lube he was generous, practically double coating two of his fingers in it before reaching under Samandriel to rub slow, almost gentle circles around his entrance before slipping two fingers inside him. The tightness around his fingers made him groan and his brow furrowed as if he were going to say something, to pay compliment to his perfect body but the fitting words were unable to form.

Those fingers felt good and Samandriel had absolutely no shame in letting Michael know it. His hips thrust down against them, fingers still tight in that dark hair as he held him to a demanding kiss. He didn’t know if he wanted Michael to take like he knew an archangel could or if he wanted more of those gentle touches, to feel like he was somehow treasured in Heaven’s eyes in this world in a way he very much hadn’t felt in the other.

“Please,” he said, finally loosening his fingers in the other man’s hair to pull back and look up at him. “Michael.” The name was said with such reverence and respect that it even surprised Samandriel. He hadn’t realized how deeply his own loyalty ran or that this was the exact reason it hadn’t ever truly come into question. He had given himself not to heaven or hell, but to his brothers. It stunned him to realize it, and he really hoped it only showed as need on his face. “Please.”