March 17, 2007

• From Hell to Hell, chapters 11-12

  

  Would have gotten this out sooner, however, my computer died and then my inspiration died. Had to break out my trusty notebook and give myself a few hand cramps as I waited for my RAM and stuff. So now it's finished, sent off to Sara so she can complete her next chapter, and I get a break to work on a few other things. Ah the joy of having so much going on at once. _-_

   

  Warning time!!!: Chapter twelve, my chapter, contains a lemon. Meaning, a good chunk of it is a lemon. It's Azazel/Ivan if anyone cares to know, and if you don't like reading lemons but like the story, comment me saying so and I'll give you the gist of the plot that you may find confusing in later chapters, or even the next one. Depends on Sara. Anywho, just thought you'd like to know that.

   

  
  Chapter Eleven: Sara's Chapter

  The answer came soon enough.

  “Azazel,” Michael whispered, unchaining the blonde and pulling him into a tight hug. “I thought you were lost to us forever.”

  Azazel fought against him and broke free. “You threw me out,” he said. “I fell. I fell! And I met…” here, he paused. Who had he met? “I met…”

  Michael moved to Azazel again. “You weren’t tossed out,” he said gently. “You were captured in a fight and dragged out. I, we, tried to rescue you, but it was too late. You’ve been held captive in Hell for many years. They stole your wings and-”

  “I FELL! I want to go home! I want to go home!” Azazel screeched, grabbing his head to block Michael‘s voice.

  This is home… No, something wasn’t right. People didn’t talk to him! Angels, and Fallen alike, shunned him, acted like he didn’t exist. He belonged in the deepest hole possible with…

  Why couldn’t he remember?!

  Ivan crept closer to the irate Fallen and wrapped his arms around him. “Shh…” he cooed. “It’s alright.”

  Azazel turned to him with wild eyes. “No! Don’t touch me!” he exclaimed, tears staining his face. No matter how he fought, however, Ivan refused to let go. Eventually, Azazel seemed to realize this and he slipped back into his previous stoic state.

  “Your memories have been altered,” Michael told the blonde. “Kaggren had one of his lackeys cast a spell on you. Even as we speak, I have the smartest angels working on a charm to return you to normal.”

  Azazel nodded slowly. “And my wings?”

  Michael sighed. “I’m afraid nothing can be done about those. The operator was very efficient.”

  Everyone was silent while Azazel processed the information. “Who did this to me?” he asked at length.

  “His name is Vlad.”

  - -

  Kaggren sighed and leaned back in his throne. Yet another soldier with bad news. When was this going to end?

  After almost a hundred years, he was used to the petite blonde running around, laughing when others screwed up. He enjoyed tormenting the poor boy.

  The door to his throne room opened and, against his better judgment, Kaggren held his breath, waiting for the one person he didn’t really expect to see.

  “Master Kaggren?”

  “What?!“ Kaggren snarled. The fallen in front of him shrank back a bit, cowering from the king’s voice. “Sir, I-”

  “If you don’t have any information, go away.”

  Both the Fallen and Kaggren turned to Vlad.

  “I thought you went to lay down,” Kaggren commented.

  “Couldn’t sleep,” Vlad replied with a shrug. He took his place next to the king and glared at Kaggren’s visitor. “Well?”

  With a bow, the fallen left, muttering to himself.

  “He may have had something very important to say,” Kaggren complained.

  Vlad stared blankly at him before turning back to face the front. “He may have.”

  Kaggren sighed again. “We know where he is, it’s just a matter of getting him.”

  “And if we can’t? Who knows what sort of crap they’re filling his head with! And what if we do get him back? He isn’t going to be the same.”

  Kaggren nodded. “We will cross the bridge when we come to it. You may be wrong. Azazel could be perfectly fine.” Even to himself, he didn’t sound very assured.

  - -

  “Sir, you told him he was innocent when he returned…”

  Michael smiled at Ivan as he shut the door to his office. “I know.”

  “But you just…”

  Michael nodded.

  Ivan rubbed his forehead. “I’m getting a headache.”

  “Yes, just think of how Azazel must be feeling.”

  Ivan looked up, eyebrows furrowed. “Sir?”

  “He’ll need some comfort, of course. Someone who knows what he’s going through.” The arch angel leaned close to his subordinate’s ear. “Someone like you."

  Ivan got the hint and nodded. “Yes sir. I’ll rejoin him now.”

  Michael nodded again. “Go show him how much you care.”

  When Ivan had left, Michael smiled. “The more he trusts you, the less he’ll remember Vlad. We want him to hate the fallen, after all. What good is a soldier who loves the enemy?”
  

  
  Chapter Twelve: Crystal's (my) Chapter

  Ivan knocked on Azazel's door, peeking inside timidly at the cowering figure on the bed. Instead of being in the middle of the room, which was now dark and lit only by dim candlelight and the feeble light of the ever-changing nightscapes, it was pushed up against the far wall, inbetween the corner and a small desk. Azazel, he guessed, was in the pile of blankets that were pushed into the corner, since he swore that he could see a glimpse of silver out from some of the folds. It pained him to know that he had a hand in this, that he was the one who helped to confuse the poor Fallen so much. Although, Michael had been right about one thing, they were in the same situation. Lost, confused, and no one to turn to since there was no one to really trust that wouldn't rat out his 'disloyalties'.

  “Azazel,” Ivan spoke softly, letting himself in. “Azazel?”

  The hovered figure didn't move or even acknowledge that the other had entered. He stayed in his corner, perfectly still, so much so that Ivan began to think that he imagined the hint of silver. But then, there was really no other place for Azazel to go.

  “Azazel,” Ivan whispered, creeping a little closer.

  “Stay away,” Azazel whispered back, voice raspy and strained. “Just...stay away.”

  “I”m not going to hurt you,” Ivan said softly. “I'm here to help you...”

  “I'm fine,” Azazel muttered. “Now leave.”

  “I don't believe it,” Ivan retorted. “You were down there so long, endured so many hardships. We finally have you back here and I'm not going...”

  “Don't,” Azazel pleaded. “It wasn't that bad...”

  “Don't say it wasn't,” Ivan shouted. “It was created for a purpose and is the worst place in all the realms! It had to be bad. I had to be strong to throw you off, but I can't anymore! I can't imagine you back down there in that place...”

  “I was there and happy,” Azazel growled. “It's fuzzy and whether it's from the gunk you and Michael poured down my throat or it really was a spell, I don't recall who I was with that made it that way. But I remember my feelings, and they were happy and the closest to perfect that I could ever be.”

  Ivan stared at the lump in horror, wondering exactly what he was doing. He really was happy? It wasn't just an illusion? It was far too late to go back now, and he would have to live with the consequences.

  Climbing onto the bed, ignoring the flinching figure in the darkness, Ivan hugged the lump of blankets, wrapping his wings around what his arms couldn't.

  “You're not alone,” he said in a hushed tone. “I don't know what's going on, nor what will happen. Everything about you is a mystery to me. I know you don't want to be here, but it's where you've always belonged. I watched you for so long, waiting for the right moment, waiting to catch your eyes even for a brief second, but when you disappeared, I was lost and forced to work my way up until maybe I'd be able to see you again.

  “And when Michael offered to get you back, how could I refuse?”

  “You...like me,” Azazel asked timidly, lifting his head and forcing the blankets off it and his shoulders. In the dim firelight, he held a firey aura around him. “I...I...never...”

  “I hid in the shadows,” Ivan admitted, hugging the blankets and Azazel tighter. “I hid until it was too late.”

  Moving his arms our of his cocoon, Azazel hugged Ivan closer. He never knew, never suspected that anyone was watching him, that anyone was going to miss him as he watched Heaven fall away. All he could remember was the faces of hatred, the burning eyes that laughed at him as he Fell from Grace. And yet, there was one that missed him. One that watched and was saddened as he was cast out. Michael could say what he wanted, Azazel knew that he Fell and that was hatred in his eyes. But as long as he had one Angel on his side, one that didn't hate him, but was the direct opposite. One that cared about him, his well being, and loved him? Would he go that far to think that?

  “Why,” Azazel asked. “Why are you the only one that seems to care? When everyone else hates me, casts me away, why do you seem to cling to me?”

  “I don't know,” Ivan replied. “I'm different. I can control my heart?”

  “At least one wasn't turned against me, Azazel murmured, burring his face into Ivan's hair. “One that wasn't laughing like they were.”

  “They laughed at you?”

  “All of them. I Fell, Michael thinks that he's fooling me, but I know I fell. He was the one who pushed me out of the Gates, with the others laughing. Then, I found happiness, even if I can't remember who or what they did to heal me. Now it seems I'm back and I have no idea what for.”

  He didn't change. Michael had failed already and he would never tell. He felt dirty now, bringing him back here. Was he really helping him, making him forget about Vlad and the life he had when he was cast out? But there was no turning back, none at all.

  “I don't know, but I can't complain,” Ivan said truthfully. “When I found out I was going to retrieve you, I really thought that I'd have a chance, although now, it seems that I've ruined ti with my own selfishness.”

  “You didn't know,” Azazel murmured. “you're in the shadows as much as I am.”

  Looking up, Ivan decided that it was now or never. He wanted to bad to show him that it was going to be alright, even if it really was never going to be. That he would be there for Azazel, even if it meant Falling with him.

  Sitting up a little, Ivan let his lips graze over Azazel's, not able to hold it in any longer. He needed a sure way to let the captured know that someone did care, did want to exist and be happy. Pulling away, he didn't expect Azazel to capture his chin and kiss him with a ferocity that he never known. All he wanted to do was reassure him, it seemed that Azazel had other plans for him.

  Pulling back, Azazel's eyes burned into Ivan's, the latter feeling a shiver of excitement course through him. Wings shivered and sounded like soft, far away chimes. Leaning into the crook of his neck, Azazel leaned onto Ivan, letting his fingers graze over the center of Ivan's shoulder blades, teasing rather sensitive skin.

  “How much do you want this,” Azazel asked, allowing his hands to play with the feathers protruding from Ivan's robes. “How much do you truly want this?”

  “Take me,” Ivan groaned, clutching Azazel close. “I can't wait anymore.”

  “You'll be sinner,” Azazel replied, softly nipping at tender flesh. “You'll be hated like me.”

  “Let them hate me,” Ivan responded, arching as Azazel's hands wandered over his back. “Just as long as this isn't a dream. Just as long as I'm real, you're real, this is real.”

  Grinning, Azazel pulled away abruptly, pushing a very surprised Ivan onto the bed and leaning on him. Smirking, Azazel ground his hips into Ivan's, relishing the feel of his erection against the other's, even through the barriers of their robes.

  Ivan's head pushed back into the bed as his neck arched and he groaned. Was this the way he envisioned it? Were Azazel's eyes glowing with dark satisfaction like that? No, never, and that meant that this was real, and not another fantasy.

  Never to leave an opportunity pass by, Azazel began to attack Ivan's exposed neck; nipping, kissing, and licking his captive into a writhing, moaning mess. Of course, Azazel was being a tad vocal himself as he felt Ivan's hands wander where ever they pleased, which was over the two scars that were where his wings once were, making him gas. His wings may have been gone, but his nerves seemed to work just fine, and he wasn't going to be the first to complain.

  Opening Ivan's robes, Azazel raked his nails down the Angel's chest, hard enough to leave red marks, but not enough to draw blood. Ivan shivered underneath him, wings chiming as they curled slightly over themselves. Licking each nipple before straddling Ivan's hips and sitting up, he smirked as he looked at the one he was going to drag to Hell with him. Face flushed in a high blush, chest heaving with erect nipples as eh panted, the evidence of a very erect lower member, all this made his grin dark and wide, making Ivan shudder.

  Playing with the golden chord that tied around Ivan's middle, Azazel held a bored look on his face. Ivan looked at him curiosity, as he watched his chord slip through Azazel's fingers. What was the already Fallen thinking?

  “What should I do,” Azazel sighed, bringing one of the ends of the rope to his eyes, examining it before lightly brushing it over his lips. “You're so willing, but something is still making me uneasy. Trust is hard to come by, and being kept here against my will isn't exactly trust material.

  “I know,” he grinned darkly, dropping the chord and climbing over Ivan until they were face to face, noses almost touching. “Prove to me that you are truly mine.”

  “Anything,” Ivan replied sincerely. “I'll give you anything...”

  “Your soul,” Azazel replied, moving to the side to nip at his ear. “Give me that and I shall have no more doubts.”

  “What is mine is yours,” Ivan groaned. “I, Ivan Winters, Angel of the Wind, underling of Arch Angel Michael, give you, Azazel, my Fallen Angel of the Flame, my soul. To do with what you will.”

  Gasping, Ivan could feel it slip out of him, his soul slowing becoming one with Azazel's. He never noticed his eyes becoming darker shade of brown, wings fading to a shimmering gray-blue, or his hair streaking itself with white. Taking in a shuddering breath, he looked into the silver eyes that haunted him for the longest time, and fell for them all over again, finding it so much easier to do now.

  Azazel on the other hand wasn't having such a good time. Merging hurt like hell and then the scars were his wings once were began to burn. Looking into the dark brown, almost black eyes, he leaned into Ivan's neck, panting heavily as he felt his skin breaking and hearing the fabric of his robes rip wasn't reassuring him that everything was going to be alright.

  Burying his nose Ivan's neck he inhaled the scent of lavender, mage, and other spices that he us couldn't name at the moment. The scent was soothing and made the pain bearable and not as severe.

  When the pain dulled, he found himself looking at a very long feather. Red tips melted into black, their size about twenty of a normal feather. Six of these feathers protruded from each scar, being able to move individually or as a group. He had wings again. A different version, but wings all the same.

  “Looks I gave you wings too,” Ivan said, brining a hand to one and stroking it lightly. “They're beautiful. Are they what they were going to look like in Hell?”

  The sensation of the touch went right to his already hard cock, making Azazel groan and grind his hips into Ivan, who gasped in response. Sitting quick to disburse Ivan and himself of their robes, he was far to gone to care about going slow and whatnot. He wanted Ivan screaming his name in pleasurable agony and he wanted it now.

  Grinning like a mad man, Ivan himself naked as the day he was born and harder then he ever thought possible. Feeling Azazel lightly drag his nails against his sides, making him wiggle and arch into the light carassess. If there was any doubt in his mind, it was now gone, dissolved right with his reason.

  As Azazel nipped at sensitive skin, he was wondering exactly what he was going to use for lubrication. He just obtained Ivan's soul and didn't exactly want to take him dry. There was scented oil on a desk that was within arms reach. That would work as a substitute. And, if he recalled correctly, really felt nice too. Wait. When did that happen? Figuring that he could sort through his jumbled memories later, he climbed over Ivan to retrieve the bowl, almost dropping it as Ivan licked his stomach.

  “You taste good,” Ivan snickered, letting his tounge leisurely trace a path along Azazel's flesh.

  “Glad I do,” Azazel replied, dragging himself back, placing the bowl down carefully and shivering as Ivan allowed his tounge to drag along Azazel as he moved. As Azazel settled, he kissed the breath out of Ivan, revenge for the torment he was causing him.

  Pulling himself up again, he stuck his fingers in the scented oil, and settled so that his head was inbetween Ivan's legs. Spreading them with the unlubed hand, he allowed himself to slip a finger in as he licked the underside of Ivan's rock hard length. Gasping, Ivan chose to focus on Azazel's tounge rather then the odd sensation of a finger wiggling around inside of him. Adding a second finger, Azazel licked the tip of Ivan's erection, earning a rather vocal moan.

  Neither of them noticed the crack in the door, nor the quiet close or the pattering of fast feet down the hall. Micheal just had the show of a lifetime in that one glimpse, and was sure to never make the mistake of Ivan's moaning to be that of pain.

  Unaware of their discovery, Azazel scissored the two, and slipped in a third as he enveloped his mouth over Ivan's member. Ivan gasped and moaned between the assault on his front and back. He was displeased to feel such an odd sensation go as he felt the fingers come out of him. However, he soon found himself released from the front and being picked up by the hips, and his portal set right up against Azazel's throbbing member.

  Pushing himself onto the length, head being thrown back s he slowly impaled himself on a silent command. Azazel himself groaned as he felt himself slowly being encased in warmth that was Ivan's ass. Stilling after he was sure that all of Azazel was where he wanted him for so long, Ivan relished the feeling of being filled, no matter how much it was aching.

  Sitting up, changing the angle, he felt Azazel's member brush against a rather sensitive spot that left him without vision and stunned. Whatever the hell that was, he wanted to feel that sensation again. Raising himself slightly, he gasped as that spot within him was stroked again.

  “You like that,” Azazel growled.

  “Yeeeeeeeeessss,” Ivan hissed, impaling himself again.

  Grinning, breath hitching as Ivan engulfed him again, the virgin tightness intoxicating, he lost himself in instinct. Throwing his body weight into Ivan, pushing them both down, Azazel began to thrust widely, making Ivan squirm and gasp beneath him. He wasn't all too quiet either, grunting and groaning with each thrust.

  Grabbing onto Ivan's member, Azazel rapidly began pumping it desperately, wanting, no, needing to hear Ivan scream. He told himself that he would make him scream, and he was determined to do it.

  Duel assault, neither of them soft, turned him into a writing, panting, and wildly moaning mess. It wasn't long after Azazel found a hard but steady rhythm that he started shouting.

  “Fuck me...,” Ivan screamed, feeling the pressure build up inside of him. “Harder...faster...”

  Eyes narrowing in lust and guilty pleasure, Azazel pulled most of the way out, only to slam back in and pump Ivan harder. “Like that?”

  “God...yes,” Ivan whimpered.

  “Scream it,” Azazel growled, pulling out again. “I want to hear you scream it.”

  “Azazel,” Ivan screamed, spilling his seed all over them both as he felt the spot inside of him stimulated and having his member pumped again.

  Groaning, it didn't take Azazel long to finish, with the hot tightness growing even more delicious with Ivan's orgasm. Once, twice, three times pushing in and out and he groaned his release, feathers fully extended, head thrown back with eyes closed, the most beautiful sight that Ivan every seen.

  “You're mine,” Azazel grinned, licking off the drying seed off Ivan's stomach and chest and then laying next to him. Curling a wing around him, Azazel smiled for the first time since he returned. “A Fallen with no soul.”

  “I have no regrets,” Ivan smiled, wrapping his arms around Azazel's waist, leaning his forehead on his chest. “Although I think you will need more sheets and scented oil.”

  “Worry about those later,” Azazel yawned, eyes closing.

  “Can do,” Ivan replied, drifting off to the best sleep he had in years.
  

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