Redemption - A Wishful Moment

BY : Gowther
Category: +S to Z > Wish
Dragon prints: 42
Disclaimer: I do not own Wish, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

It may have been a tree once, or a pillar of some building erected with the false hope of longevity by the inane souls of this plane. It looks like a ridge of charcoal now as I sit on it, looking out over a broad landscape of rolling slaughter. Distractedly my mind tries to recall the color, the life this place had before all the chaos.

Was the grass green here? Were there flowers or weeds in that field? A broken chasm juts from beneath my ledge and furrows east, and I have no idea if it was once a river or if one of us tore that scar into the land.

Now it is full of the dead. In parts and whole, sinking into a mud made more of ichor and innards than dirt and water.

Ah. War.

Such useless, stupid, expensive wastes of good flesh. And for what? An honorable battle, a glorious death...perhaps one of the powers directing us claiming victory and an ethereal ‘I told you so’.

Just. Fucking. Lovely.

I vomit over the ledge and watch the blood drip into the ravine. It isn't even mine. The dead bastard behind me just had the misfortune of pinning my hands before boasting his victory prematurely in my face. He should have expected I would bite his off - are these fangs for show?

Idiot.

Dead, wasteful idiot.

Lower demons strut around the carnage below me, too far for me to hear their words but the tone is clear. Infantile boasts and congratulations. Joy in surviving a slaughter they were expected to die in. They feel powerful, valuable, and likely expect their minutiae fame to lead to social promotion.

Oh goodie. From amateur expendables to veteran expendables. Hope they enjoy it while it lasts. Chances of surviving the next war are dismal at best for their kind and that'll be what, in a millenia tops?

My money is on five hundred, maybe six if Uncle can stop mouthing off to every Arc he runs across.

The useless tools below finish their rounds and take to the sky. After a childish victory lap they spot me on their way out and call a salute. My wings pop open, answering them in the expected display of power, pride, and added body language to fuck off and leave me alone.

Cowering as they should, they fly off with their treasures without knowing what sorts of vile hexes and hate my mind sends after them. How much their deaths would satisfy me.

I hope they fly straight into Michael.  

Finally silence falls on the field. As I track the last of my men getting further and further away, the pressure of Host energy shifts across the land in careful reconnaissance. When it notices I'm still here is recoils like a whip and dissipates on a breeze.

The silence extends and I welcome it. I need it. Just the mere idea that I should be with my own kind, loud and vulgar and so fucking happy right now is making my insides coil in hate. Hate and misery.

I feel miserable just being here, being me, and in turn miserable that I am miserable. Who in their right mind wouldn't rather be partying? Getting drunk and high, laid by all the pretty creatures garnering my favor. I am a prince of hell, I get whoever and whatever I want without even a beckon. A look is all I need.

Instead I am sitting in filth, covered in filth, and resisting the urge to rip my own feathers out with how upset this fucking battle made me.

It has been a Great. Fucking. Day.

The soft pop of magic makes my ears twitch but I can tell who it is at distance and don't bother turning. By the soft inhale it takes my friend a bit longer. I must be quite the sight.

“You know, when they sent me to handle a straggler I didn't expect you, Kouryuu. What are you still doing here?” The warm voice of my best friend, Sevorith. And subsequently the Angel of death, beyond other names and titles. One of the finest.

I bet he looks radiant. I don't want to turn and see.

“Having a crisis...hating life. You know, sober shit.” I cheek and hear him come up behind me. Silently I beg him not to touch me, but he does, and the pure burning camaraderie in that hand on my shoulder sears into my very soul.

His holiness burns too. He must still be in ‘battle mode’. That pain is much more welcome.

“The Mourners want to collect the dead. The Looters are all gone, why are you waiting?” His voice is gentle, he is always gentle with me, but he doesn't address my words. He knows why I am here. This is not the first time, and it is not the last.

“Because if I wait long enough you'll come help me. Or they will finally send someone who can end me.” I do not make my request yet. I still need a few minutes to wallow and he senses that, moving to sit beside me.

From the corner of my eye his is blinding. All glow and power, bronze and violet energies vying for dominance in the air like a borealis.  He fiddles with the keys on his belt, clinking their metal as he looks out at the horror with me.

“You did well...looks like a strong victory.” He compliments but it falls a little flat. Too many white feathers in the wind to pretend any happiness.

“Yeah...retaliation for Bael. You guys did a number on him...might miss the rest of the party.” I force a laugh, gathering what humor I can that the arrogant Daemon was having it rough. Fuck him. It truly warmed my heart to hear he was in a healing coma, biased-ass dom-loving prick.

Sevorith laughs. I know he was the one to do it, even if no one had technically seen the duel. Those wounds are signature to my bestie here. He hates Bael too.

“We had orders to take out a general...I hope you don't mind how the straws fell. Mike and Gabe were livid about Umriel.” He shrugs, knowing I definitely do not mind his choice of target. I still wince.

“Yeah...sorry about that.” Fuck...that was months ago. Has it been that long since we caught up? Just the thought hurts. This fucking war, getting in the way of everything and everyone's life. Keeping me from my pets. My friends. Fuck! Making me fight my friends.

My nerves fray further, a tremor in my hands that I cannot hide and beside me the Arc sighs.

“It wasn't you. I know that…” He offers, but it doesn't matter.

“But I was there!” I interrupt him, guilt pushing me to my feet and shaking my frame. “I was there and didn't stop it. Didn't catch him. His fucking wings Sevo! How the hell does an Arc live without his wings?” I rant and pace, feeling his eyes on me as I work myself up. Bring all my venom to the surface.

The memory of watching Umriel, one of the most tolerant and ideal Arcs ever made, get thrown wings first into hellfire, the sounds he made...my mind fractures under the horror of it. It will follow me for centuries, but that Angel's life is forfeit. And I could have stopped it if I had tried harder.

I would have suffered any repercussion to have prevented that. The guilt is suffocating.

“I don't want to do this. I fucking hate following these damn orders, fighting these goddamn wars that don't win us anything! Why the fuck should we respect each other, protect our generations, when we just throw them to die whenever some asshole with the power tells us to?” I grab my ears and squeeze, feeling cartilage roll and it hurts enough for me to breath.  My friend winces over my language but still says nothing. This is not new, from him or me. It is just my turn to say it.

I try to turn away from him, to avoid his sympathy while my mind tries to eat me alive. All I see behind me is that faceless bastard laying belly up on the stone in a puddle of curdling blood. And his junior, some young little Hostling who never should have even seen a devil at his age.

That one was a mercy kill. 10 amps straight through him. He probably hadn't even recognized me before he died.

In peace times Heaven would have cherished him, kept him far from the likes of me until he was seasoned and capable of withstanding ‘temptation’. Not today though. No, today they threw that delicate creature out to die without even a chance of returning.

Hell only knows what would have happened to him if someone else caught him. Or if I had, thirty or forty thousand ago. There wouldn't have been anything for the Mourners to recognize. Just fragments of flesh and blood and sin. So, so much sin.

Sevorith catches me staring, stands behind me and practically reads my mind.

“Is he what broke you?” So smooth and caring. No matter how silver my tongue, I cannot replicate that tone.

All I can do is nod. He both is and isn't. I was broken before I even showed up. Broken the moment I was given the orders to command this attack, and my fucking Uncle knew it.

I am the only submissive in the Gotia. Possibly the only submissive devil alive. All the Daemons are strong, alpha type creatures who bow to no one and their offspring are the exact same. Except me. Just a fucking, useless, disappointing little bitch who can't even kill with guilt. Who the fuck would respect ‘Lord Garnet’ when he can't do anything right? Nothing! Not even…

“Kouryuu.” He snaps me from my thoughts, hands settling on my wings…

Ah, right.

I retract them fully, the focus making me shake harder. Tears gather on my lashes as my vices grab those self recriminating thoughts and use them to cause further mental anguish. It chokes me, stabs at my chest, but I keep talking. I have to.

“I am sorry Sevo. I am so sorry. I didn't want to kill him. I didn't want any of them to die. But they did. I did. I didn't even try to stop…” He holds me up by my waist as I curl forward, face in my hands as the tears finally start. As the emotional dam breaks I can finally feel everything I want to feel without the damn trauma holding it back. Without all those walls and fake strengths keeping me as stoic and hateful as they wish I would be.

“Kouryuu…” That fucking, absolute sympathy again. That enviable, goddamn, condescending affection! It makes me want to rip my ears off. It makes me cry.

“Please Sevo...please. I need to apologize...I need…” I can't finish but I don't have to. He is my best friend and he knows what I need. And he excels at it.

With his shove I catch myself on my knees, barely able to stabilize before his flail cracks down between my shoulders. Cloth and flesh part with a blissful snap. The second blow catches the feathers on my back and I shriek, seeing only red-hot pain when he mirrors it on the other wing plate.

Blow upon blow rains down my body in a pattern so random I cannot find time to breath.  My clothes practically disintegrate, and my skin shreds under the holy power of his consecrated weapon. When my back is numb he moves to my buttocks, my thighs, even my feet, and it pulls fresh screams from my lungs until I am hoarse and drooling blood.

Still he rains pain down me. I feel so hot I could burst into flame. There is a chance I might.

I must be smoking because the flail stops. I feel my body kick into overdrive, purging the sanctity and knitting the worst of the tears as fast as possible. I pray Sevorith is faster.

Casually he fists my hair and drags me beside him like some form of luggage, flipping me to slam into the dilapidated wall of some structure. The snap of my ruined flesh on stone is wet and blinding; a cold, raw agony exploding through me as he pins my arms above my head with a dagger. His dagger.

My hands smolder ominously and the burning keeps me from blacking out. I groan and he nods, content that he still has me awake and conscious.

Extending his weapon, a bronzed rod long enough to outshine any blade, my friend tips my chin up to catch my eyes. Solemnly he intones my name, my real name, and demands my very soul's attention.

“If you so wish forgiveness, beg it of this angel and receive my mercy.” Ritualistic words that sound like balm to my pain.

“Please...please forgive me…” I invoke his name, a secret I shouldn't know, and he smiles so sweetly at me.

And breaks my jaw.

That rod cracks across my body like thunder to my lightning, snapping bones and ligaments like kindling as I raise no defense. Why would I? I begged for this, needed redemption more than air or blood in my veins. The unwanted wickedness inside me, the curse of being born a devil, it all torches through me so painfully I want to bleed. Every single forsaken drop.

Sevorith is terrible and loving in his compassion, and tears me apart as I need him to. He beats me until bone is exposed, until my heart falters and my lungs pull air from the holes my ribs created because my throat is too torn and swollen to open. That blessed, divine instrument of pain strikes until my welded hands give up my weight and I fall to the ground without them.

The world is a fracture of mismatched color and shadow through my broken eyes and my thoughts are only of burning and sharp pain as I black out in the dirt where I belong.

 

×÷×÷×

 

I come back choking on a scream between clenched teeth. Everything, absolutely everything on my body is awash in pain for the first several minutes. Then, almost reluctantly, my body starts to heal.

When I can blink back the darkness swirling in my eyes, or they mend - I cannot tell, I see out over the battlefield again. With a groggy groan and a hiss of agony I try to turn my head but it hurts too much.

“You're awake early…” My chair mumbles quietly, the warmth behind me shifting. Cloth scrapes on my shredded back, pulling a high pitched whimper from my throat that burns just as badly. An arm around my waist only tightens, keeping me from wriggling too much.

“Quiet down...your hands are still resealing.” Chided and exhausted I nod weakly and flop my head back,  cradled by his shoulder. Silence descends as he holds me and we watch the moon cross the sky slowly, hours passing while I waver in and out of lucidity. Agony rolls in burning tides through my bones, through my blood. Several times I choke, unable to control my throat enough to breathe and Sevorith has to tip me so I can cough up blood and strips of torn esophagus.

He broke me badly, to take this long to repair.

Good.

I deserved it.

When dawn arrives, so do the Mourners. Lesser Angels without combat skills here to retrieve their dead for proper disposal. While a demon would be lucky to have someone bother finding their carcass, each and every Host would go home. One way or another.

Softly they light onto the ground, bright and clean amongst the scorched decay and it hurts to watch. Each cautious step or hop, the tense angle of pale wings… those angels suffer seeing their brethren dead and disfigured because of mine. That very concept hurts but witnessing it feels like emotional acid without my anger to shield me.

The pain burnt it all away, and now only my misery keeps track of how unworthy I am to sit here.

As the sun rises, so too does the quiet melody of Hostlings at work. They sing their sorrow, and their love. The wind sounds like a heartbroken goodbye and it drives me mad.

Normally I would be long gone by now. Hellions were intended to be gone before the Mourners arrive but my friend must have called the clear. Such terrible,  trusting cruelty.

“I don't want to watch this…” I croak, voice tearing my throat. When he moves now I feel how his tunic sticks to me and pulls but I only hiss. True pain is receding into something I can endure. A pain that burns almost sweetly through my fibers.

“Hmm...why not? Their songs are beautiful…” He tilts to look down at me, lavender eyes almost playful as he knows perfectly well how much their voices affect me. I beg him to let me go, eye to eye, but he only smiles sadly at something he sees in my face.

“They feel as you do, Kouryuu. They sing for their grief, and for their powerlessness in it all.” He runs fingers through my hair, twisting my head to massage one of my pointed ears. Shivers run down my spine and I whine, wishing he wouldn't.  My ears are special, far too sensitive for casual affection and well… he just shouldn't. And he should know that. It is cruel for him to tease me so.

“Sevo...please...I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be...bleeding on you and...taking up your time...it's been enough.” I gasp as he tightens his hold, both on my waist and that thin cartilage. “Please...it feels...dirty watching them...and your…”

“I what Kouryuu? You expect me to leave you broken in the dust, hoping you make it home somehow? I've never just abandoned you, and I won't now.” Now he sounds harsh, an angry lilt in his voice that still sounds so soothing.

“I won't die...not now. I don't…” I hear a softness behind us. A shuffle and sigh. Then wing beats leaving and the idea of them collecting that boy I cooked breaks me again.

“I don't deserve your time. Please...I'm not worth this…” I may have paid penance but I still feel like scum. The burning need to extract myself from life fuels my tears and they burn on my face. Sevorith may be my redeemer, but I do not deserve it or him. He should take his time elsewhere, do actual good for someone worth it all. The weight of him here, wasting it on me,  crushes something in my chest and I am sobbing again in his arms.

He allows me a few minutes of choking self-hate before he grabs my face to study me. I try really, really hard to return his look but I can't smooth out my crumpled soul. It is all just...too much.

“Kouryuu…” his voice is small and wondering, “Why? You are forgiven...I always forgive you…” He looks lost, searching in my eyes for the answers but I know he only sees a shattered mess. If I don't know what ails me, how could he?

But he finds something.

Something that makes his throat catch and those pretty amethyst eyes tear up. Now I am making my friend cry and feel like such a champion of filth for doing it, and for thinking him beautiful at the same time.

Both of his hands cover my ears, curling into my hair and pulling his forehead to mine. He looks so sad, and yet so determined to fix me. I don't understand…

“Kouryuu...there is more to forgiveness than pain. You know I take no enjoyment from hurting you...I do it because you need me to…” He breathes on my face as he whispers. I nod, not quite understanding but close. Academically I know he does this as a favor because Angels aren't sadists, but it is a foreign concept to fully grasp. Besides, what else is there in forgiveness then a stern punishment?

I am bad, therefore I bleed. I sin, so I suffer. Other internals may go without guilt but I have always battled this concept. Sevorith has helped, frequently,  with my need for self-flagellation.

“I know...and you don't even…get anything...” Like most Arcs he was fairly pure, only pervading the temptations in rumor and myth. He had no vices to draw pleasure from this, unlike me who was known to drown in carnal urges. The fact that he knew that actually embarrassed me slightly. My kind enjoy such activities, and others, in ways he would never grasp. Asking him to help me always felt like such a burden to place on him.

“You really shouldn't...touch me...I'm filthy.” Literally,  mentally, spiritually. A greedy, filthy creature who brought out the worst in him.

Sevorith's eyes are wet again as he gives me a look between scolding and shock. This close I have no option to avoid it and it makes my lips tremble with how disappointed he looks in me. As he should, but I had hoped he wouldn't. I had really, really hoped…

“You stubborn, depressing little Devil…” He shakes me by my ears and I whimper harshly. Nothing feels quite attached yet and he has me all twisted about. “I think touching you is the only way to convince you I care!”

His mouth crashes into mine and my mind blanks. Totally.

Soft and sweet, his lips slot against mine and pull every scrap of air and thought from my body until he licks me and I gasp aloud, looking for reality. Which is to say, Sevorith is really kissing me.

Oh fucking hell.

My inhale was his path to invading my mouth, seeking my tongue and giving me his enthusiastically. I moan hard in surprise and he grips my ears, tugging a hiss from me that he swallows down like air. When I manage to nip his lips, careful with my fangs, the soft moan he gives shoots straight to my cock and I pull away with a harsh gasp.

“Sevo! What the...the fuck?” My mind skitters, trying to grab onto something rational. Heated violet eyes and moist, red lips do not help. I cannot think with how deliriously sexy he looks.

“You think I forgive you out of duty. I forgive you because I love you! You deserve it, you deserve both!” He sounds out of breath,  passionate, and so very, very confusing.

“N-no...you can't. I am, we are…” Come on brain, turn on….

“Friends? Of course I love my friends. Don't you?” He mocks me kindly and I try to lean away but he follows.

“Sev...I love everything with a pulse...there's a difference.” I have no idea why that makes him laugh.

“That's not love, you daft infernal. Love is actually caring. You wouldn't be so worried, right now, if you didn't love me.” He sounds so sure, so confident, that I feel myself waver. Maybe he knew more on this than I did...I mean...Angels had to govern some sort of feelings better than us. It tracked that love might be on the list.

“But...you're and Arc...and…” Too many ways to finish that: I'm filthy. There are other Angels here.  It's wrong.

In fact, it is extra wrong because all those things, combined with the still burning pain of my injuries is making me so hard I can barely speak. Making out with my holy friend on top of that might just kill me.

“I know exactly what I am…” He nearly growls and that noise gets categorized in the vault for making my pulse skip. Hope of a dignified retreat flares while I try to catch my bearings when he releases my head, but he just grabs my hips and flips me harshly around to straddle him.

The air is cool on my back and the sight of him momentarily distracts me from my moral dilemma - or attempted dilemma. Damn slippery, indistinct morals.

Holy fuck. Sevorith is soaked in so much blood, it would be easier to finish the dye job then clean his clothes. My stain is so thick in places it looks black, and red trails up his silver hair in long locks that looks startling on his pale skin. Between that and the heated, irate look he gives me I am sitting in the lap of pure hotness.

“Nnngg, Sevo…” I am quickly losing the ability to think about what is normal and appropriate between us. Especially when he just chuffs at me and pulls me into another kiss.

Just as hot, sweet and melting as the first one. I lean into him like a untested youth, moaning softly as he teases me with skills I never dreamed he had. But he is so quiet it makes me feel inadequate. I bite his lips the next chance I get and his fingers sink into my hips to jerk me against him. I bite harder and he shudders a groan.

There we go. Fuck yeah.

Enormous wings open and surround us, concealing us like a silver, feathered bat and I laugh into his mouth. With a final bite that makes him shiver I pull away to snicker openly.

“Ashamed to kiss me in front of the kids?” I tease, unable to contain my snark when I am still so shocked he would kiss me.

“No. Just exercising some manners…” He grumbles, one hand on the back of my neck to tilt and maneuver me, “Besides, who said I'm only kissing you.”

My thoughts jump, then slam to a stop when he fists my hair in a vice and drags his tongue up my throat. Instinct urges me to submit and bare myself to the stronger creature with teeth at my neck, to arch and whimper my pleasure as his hot breath soothes the sting of his mouth on my wounds.

Then the thought hits me that he is not just playing, he is licking my blood from my skin as he teases me. The idea of an angel, any angel, doing something as filthy and perverse as tainting themselves with my blood has me gasping in a swoon. Holy fucking hell in a…

His hand sears pressure into my mangled back, holding me closer, and I nearly screech with the pain. A hum on my throat acknowledges it, but Sevorith seems unconcerned. I know I'm a masochist but I didn't think he did.

Weakly my hands find his shoulders and squeeze. His mouthing trails from side to side, keeping me breathless and squirming in his lap. Warm pulses of pleasure shoot down my spine, making my cock throb and pooling into an empty aching at my core that I know won't be satisfied. Not today, and not by him.

Teeth find my ear and I cry out, my hips thrusting shamefully into his waist. I try to be embarrassed for being in this state, for dry humping my friend like a needy animal, but I am so desperate for friction and sensation. I am not used to fighting my urges and find that I cannot now. Absolutely cannot quell the burning need coursing through me.

Quiet snickering fills my ear and I blush hotly at how it makes me moan.

“Finally stopped arguing?” He breathes the words, considerate of my hearing. I nod and shake my head. No, I'm not arguing...but this is still so debauched. No matter how much I revel in that, I also want to distance him from it.

Maybe I do love him.

“Can't think can you…” He drags his teeth down the curve of my neck, settling on a ridge of nerves and tendons that makes me tense. Oh, he wouldn't. No...that's cheating.

“What are...I can too!” I cannot move but I feel him smile. Trembling I mentally beg him not to bite me. I couldn't stand the sentiment and I feel him toy with the idea.

“I am not stupid Kouryuu...I see where you keep your bruises. Where you're always marked up and bitten. Should I not…? Would you like me to stop pleasing you?” Soft and curious, his tone wouldn't be out of place in any setting. I am struck again by how pure and sexless he is, how alien this whole situation is.

“I-I...dont…” Fuck it hurts trying to deny him. My hips move on their own in shallow thrusts, hoping desperately for relief without my direct permission.  Whining and torn between my values I cling to my friend and cannot finish my thought.

“My poor Kouryuu...determined to punish yourself aren't you…” The Angel's tone has shifted, almost coy. It confuses me and he uses my lack of reaction to press me back. The world shifts and I gasp at the soft relief of feathers under me, supportive and soothing.

I am going to stain his wings too…

Fuck that makes me hot…

Trying to reopen eyes I didn't know I shut, I bow with a cry when he suddenly grabs me. My clothes were torn, yes, but I hadn't thought myself exposed. But his hand is certainly on my dick and it is divine.

I arch and paw for him, spewing broken obscenities and his name as he kneels over me and strokes me in long, sure movements. He watches, changing his methods until I am mewling and shaking beneath him. Then he kisses me.

It is too much, too affectionate and I hear myself whimper as my eyes burn again. He crowds me, caging me between his limbs as he pets and strokes and loves me. It makes my chest ache and my blood scorch, pumping so hard I can taste my pulse in my throat.

What he gives me is so good, so amazingly and heartbreakingly good but not...enough. Not quite, not for something like me.

After long high and lows of his close attention, torturous as it is sweet, I am crying to be set free. I need release from this sensation and I cannot grasp it on my own. Pinned and too far gone to speak I beg with my body. Curling and raising a leg between his, I kiss and bite at Sevorith in any attempt to display how much I need something more than just his hand. Anything. Please!

The sound he makes is like nothing I have ever heard from him, low and feral. He grinds on my raised leg a moment before he shifts and presses his own between mine in turn and his mouth gets aggressive. It swallows my squeal of delight and draws a chorus of high noises from me when he bites me back in a toothy kiss.

That leg is solid and burning hot when I grind down on it. If he won't fuck me, and by no means do I expect him to, then this pressure is a close second to satisfy the burning ache in my guts to be taken and ravaged by this man. I am shaking with the need to give myself to him and by the heat in his eyes he can see it too.

His control is an absolute wonder.

So close. I can see oblivion behind my eyes. So, so close. This pleasure is a taut line through me, tensing me until I cannot breathe and I can only sink my nails into his upper arms in silent request. I don't know if he knows, how he would know, but please, please….

Hard and sudden he knees me, cracking into the line of my taint with an electric pulse of pain through my core that makes my sight white out at the agony and shock. It slaps my body from it's frustrated levee and I shatter beneath my best friend.

As I buck and howl, clawing bloody holes into the only thing stabilizing me to existence, Sevorith pulls back to watch. An angel watches me cum, writhing like a beast as I paint the gap between us a filthy mess, and the sight of his awed violet gaze spurs me further into throes of climax.

Fucking hell… “Fucking hell.”

My brain is in stereo. At least...whatever brains I didn't just shoot through me cock. I frown, gasping for air, and he laughs. Then I realize he said that.

Heh. That is kind of funny.

His cheeks are pink and his eyes are bright. Not the look of disgust or whatever else an angel should feel watching a devil put on a show. In fact, he looks pretty happy. Pretty pleased with himself too.

“I got your wings dirty…” I mumble, all the words I can gather just yet. He just laughs again.

“And I got you dirty. But that… was worth it.”

“Worth defiling yourself?” I can't help it, but something light in my chest keeps the sting from my words. Hard to deny how obviously he enjoys my company now, so I must not be that vile. Not to him.

He leans away and helps me sit up, starting to untangle his wings and put them away. “I nearly defiled you, you crazy devil. That was...a sight.”

Squinting doesn't reduce my confusion.

“How would you defile me? Seems a little backwards…” I feel better and note that a high energy orgasm did a secondary job of healing most of my wounds. How polite. He broke and fixed me.

“I am willing to bet, in the council of hell, being sodomized by an Arc would be considered quite the defilement.” He has turned away, posture shy and my eyes almost pop.

No...he wouldn't. Not for me. Right? But he thought about it. Just him saying it flatters me beyond reason.

My mood soars, a wicked grin consuming me and I throw my arms around his neck tightly. Catching me and hugging me back, Sevorith relaxes from that awkward admission instantly. He is warm and inviting, easy in his affection and I bathe in it.

Without words, because I still cannot find any that give justice to what just happened, I thank him with a soft kiss. A small, gentle, un-devil like kiss that makes him sigh happily.

Unfortunately it is far past time for us to part ways. People will be looking for us.

Straightening ourselves out I use a few spells to fix my clothes and remove the worse of his stains. My stains. The mess. He is content to be quiet, I struggle not to chew my lip off between my fangs. I can't...I shouldn't….

Before we part I cave and catch him with a casual farewell over my shoulder.

“..and hey, Sevo? Maybe next time.”

The blushing look he gives me before he vanishes is so worth it, scorched into my memory forever.

 

 

 

A/N There will be more wishful moments, posted seperately. This one is complete. Hope you enjoyed.

For all not familiar with Wish, Sevorith is not involved in the story at all - he is a seperate angel.



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