Chapter Text
It took the barkeep — who re-appeared before them looking slightly peppier than he had earlier, probably due to Sander’s promise of platinum faerie dust — forcefully pressing a fresh drink into one of Robbe’s hands for him to rise at last from his heavy daze.
“You were a —”
“ — stripper, yeah,” said Sander casually, as though he were discussing his mediocre profession as a barista, or a retail clerk. “Are you still stuck on that?”
“Are you really trying to give me shit for being stuck on that?” Robbe’s eyes were impenetrable, the emotions within them shifting so constantly that Sander could not pin down a singular one. “You can’t tell me you wouldn’t be fucking bulldozed if I told you I’d been a stripper.”
“Oh, I’d absolutely be shocked,” said Sander, grinning wickedly. “Because you’re an angel of fucking chastity. But I, Robbe, am a demon of lust. That fact that I had a job like that should come as no surprise to you.”
He licked around the rim of his glass, eyes hazy, fascinated as he watched Robbe’s expression. When Robbe sighed it was long-suffering.
“I wouldn’t say surprise is the dominant emotion I’m feeling here.”
Sander’s left eyebrow rose, just marginally. “Oh no?”
“No,” said Robbe, and though Sander ached for him to go on, he didn’t elaborate. “Did you — I mean, did you like it?”
“When I was dancing,” said Sander, distant eyes to the side, clearly thinking his answer through. “Like, when I was onstage. Yeah, actually, I did. Not so much when I had to do one-on-ones with a client. But I had ways of numbing myself out to that, so it wasn’t always bad.”
Now Robbe’s eyes were hawk-sharp, far too aware for Sander’s comfort, but there was unmistakable concern scrawled all across his faultless face and it made the space over Sander’s heart go suddenly, softly warm. “You gonna go into detail about that?”
“What, right now? And ruin the mood? Fuck no,” said Sander easily. “Anyway, that was a long time ago. Becoming an immortal being really helps heal human trauma, especially when you’ve got a good Maker to help you through it all. And I have the best.”
Robbe was silent for a moment, studying him, unconvinced. Then, like a stage actor switching a mask, his face relaxed.
“Okay. So will you go into detail about that at another, future time?”
Sander nearly dropped his glass.
“What, for real?”
“Yeah, for real ,” said Robbe, confused. “Of course, for real . What? Why did you react like that?”
“Robbe,” said Sander, low, playing it up as he ducked down close once more, “do mine ears deceive me, or are you actually saying you want to see me again?”
Like a big cat Robbe chuffed, dropped his head back, lips parting as he laughed aloud. “Shut the fuck up, Driesen.”
“Oh no,” said Sander, beaming. He was attempting to be coy and sly and smug but his entire face was overwritten with joy and it made Robbe’s entire body feel golden. “I’m not letting this one go. Admit it. You want to see me again.”
“I’m admitting no such thing.”
“You will,” said Sander cheerfully. “Just like you’ll admit that you came to the LE to find me. You think you’re mysterious, engel, but you’re not. I see you.”
“You don’t think I’m mysterious?” Robbe leaned back, false-affronted. “That’s the biggest pile of shit I’ve ever heard. You were looking at my Shield like it was the fucking eighth wonder of the world.”
“Your Shield is the ninth,” said Sander, and he ran the side of his forefinger light as a ghoul-touch down the ashen length of Robbe’s nose. “You’re the eighth.”
“Oh, am I.” Robbe was paralyzed, determined not to give away how much Sander was affecting him. “How many times have you used that line before, Casanova?”
“Line? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sander was grinning. “You’re definitely not the type to fall for flattery, so I’d be wasting my time kissing your ass. But sometimes I just can’t stop myself from telling the whole truth. Keeps you on your toes, you know?”
Steady, outwardly unfazed, Robbe looked between Sander’s eyes, constantly bulldozed by the amount of blood he was producing. “So tell me the truth.”
“That’s all I’ve done since I met you,” said Sander, and the sincerity in his voice was undeniable. “Maybe I deal in the sins of the flesh, but I’m no liar.”
A slow moment, in which Robbe’s gaze fell to Sander’s tongue where it lapped lazily at the metal in his lip, dripped past. Then,
“No,” he said, soft. “No, I don’t think you are. You surprise me, Sander.”
“I do?” Sander’s eyebrows quirked, just marginally. “I like it when you say my name.”
Robbe’s eyes were fire, mischief. “I haven’t forgotten the fact that I can use it to command you.”
“You can,” said Sander, habitually confident even as through all that cerise blood his pupils swelled in mild shock. “Under most circumstances.”
“ Most circumstances? Not all?”
“Who knows? I haven’t had the opportunity to test that theory.”
“It’s a shame you never will,” said Robbe, still with that amusement hovering at the edges of his lips, the tiny smile lines around his eyes.
“I’ve told you before,” said Sander, completely unconcerned, “I don’t think in absolutes. And I’m going to have to scrub that word from your vocabulary, it’s getting really offensive at this point.”
“What word?”
Sander ducked in; automatically Robbe angled his head slightly to the side so Sander could speak into his ear. Touch wasn’t necessary; merely the suggestive proximity, the feathersilk air of Sander’s breath puffing into the shell of Robbe’s ear, was enough to conjure immediate chill through every bit of him.
“ Never .”
Within Robbe’s bloodstream the heavy repetitive bassline of the music thudded, active volcano roar below his shivery skin. He leaned up, eyes downturned, careful not to press the side of his face into Sander’s own as he parted his lips to speak.
“I didn’t think anything could offend a demon.”
When Sander smiled it was full of the wicked, merciless beauty that Robbe was beginning to associate with him; up close the effect was lethal.
“Demons have feelings like any other being. They’re just a little more difficult to hurt.”
The noise level of the club was not so overwhelming that they would not have been able to hear each other perfectly well standing a normal distance apart, but neither moved away, remaining near enough to activate that familiar thunderstorm magnetism. Robbe’s nerve endings felt as though they’d been electrified and just for something to do he took a sip of his drink before he spoke again.
“Seems like nothing bothers you.”
Sander laughed aloud. “Depends on your definition of the word bother .”
Robbe pulled back so he could look Sander directly in the eye.
“Now who’s implying something?”
Sander winked; the movement drew attention and when Robbe peered closer he could see that Sander’s top lashes were saturated with slick wet crimson. “I imply shit constantly with you. Even if I can’t come right out and say it to your face, it would drive me insane not to at least hint at what I’m thinking about.”
Valiantly Robbe tried not to laugh; he succeeded in checking himself, but he could not suppress the little exhalation of amusement that escaped through his nostrils. Sander tilted his gleaming white head, puzzled.
“What?”
“You are literally an overgrown teenager,” said Robbe, eyes to the ceiling, dramatic in his exasperation. “Always with the innuendos.”
“One day,” said Sander loudly, “you’ll get it through your brain that it’s in my DNA to be overly sexual. I’m programmed this way. I can’t help it.”
“That’s funny,” said Robbe, “because even though I’m an angel of chastity, it’s not in my DNA to be a fucking virgin. Weird, huh?”
“You keep saying that,” said Sander, clicking his tongue, “but I still don’t believe you.”
“Good thing I don’t have to prove shit to you, then.”
“No, you don’t,” said Sander agreeably, before he put his mouth to Robbe’s ear again; this time his lips brushed skin and the speed at which liquid heat gathered in Robbe’s lower stomach nearly caused him to gasp aloud. “But you keep bringing it up, so I’m starting to think you kind of want to prove shit to me.”
“You’re the one bringing it up, demon.”
“Me?” Sander’s eyes went wide; he was trying for innocence, but there was no saccharine childlike sweetness to be found within all that thirst-driven blood, and Robbe called him on it.
“Don’t even give me that fucking face. Your favorite thing to do is tease me about how pure you think I am.”
“ One of my favorite things,” corrected Sander, grinning. “I do it because it gets to you, and you’re beautiful when you blush. It’s not as fun right now, though, I can’t even tell you’re embarrassed without that pretty golden glow to show me.”
Robbe bit his lip, charmed against his will. “Shut up.”
“I will not,” said Sander, all cheek. “Honestly, Robbe, it’s not fair. I’m over here hemorrhaging for the entire underworld to see, and you? You’re cool as a cucumber.”
“Lucky for you, no one else knows what it means when you’re bleeding out,” said Robbe brightly, and he grinned. “Except Senne and Jens. And maybe Milan, I guess, since he seems to know fucking everything.”
For perhaps the first time that night Sander looked genuinely shocked. “Your Maker knows what it means?”
Robbe hadn’t meant to say it; Sander would have no way of understanding how Jens could be privy to such an intimate fact about him, as he was still unaware that Robbe’s Elder could read minds. “Yeah. No idea how.”
“Well that’s mortifying,” said Sander, with astonishing calm. “How am I supposed to prove to him that I have noble intentions with you now? I can’t do anything to stop it or hide it at all, unless I’ve been spelled.”
Robbe laughed. “Pretty sure no one thinks you have noble intentions with me.”
“Well,” said Sander, voice a rasp as he reached over to pluck at the chain around Robbe’s neck. His fingertips on Robbe’s skin were warm, fleeting. “They’re not all noble.”
It took more willpower than Robbe knew he possessed not to shut his eyes; feigning nonchalance in the face of something as bold as that was akin to throwing out an Enforcement around his Shield.
“Obviously,” he said, and despite his gargantuan effort the stable cadence of his voice hitched, rocky. “Because you basically told me you were going to try to seduce me by stripping for me.”
“By stripping for you? God no, get your mind out of the gutter,” said Sander, smirking. “I was just planning to dance with you. I mean, unless you want me to strip for you, but in that case I think we’ll have to find a private room. I don’t put on a show for just anyone, you know.”
For half a blasphemous moment Robbe’s mind went to the most inappropriate of places, Sander with his drip-bloody eyes locked to Robbe’s own as he moved slow and lithe before him, all that starry tattoo-laced skin exposed. The two of them more alone than they had been even in the cave at Lake Lerna, nothing between them but willpower and air, the taboo of their respective statuses. So tangible, so colorful was the scene in his mind that Robbe went hot all over and at last the truth of him was laid bare: the lapse in self-control caused his placid expression to waver, and Sander saw interest crack across his face like a stark jag of lightning.
“Oh,” he said, and somehow his voice was even deeper, rustier than it had been before. “Maybe you do want that.”
Robbe looked away; he’d managed to straighten his face into nonchalance again, but the way he averted his guilty gaze was all the confirmation Sander needed. “What are you talking about?”
“Isn’t that, like,” breathed Sander, ignoring the question, and now his heartbeat was flying for the idea that Robbe - lovely, glorious, ethereal angel Robbe - could possibly, possibly be interested in him as well, “a huge no-no? For you to think about someone like that?”
“Think about someone like what?” Robbe tossed half his drink back in one go, focused on the fiery ache that scraped down his insides, but he knew he’d been caught out and even if the gemlike incandescence that accompanied his angelic flush was not present his face was burning .
“Now, engel ,” said Sander, and his voice was gentle and scolding at once. “I’ve been honest with you, so it’s only fair that you should be honest with me.”
Robbe sighed.
“Being an angel of chastity,” he said, still looking determinedly away from Sander’s face, “does not necessarily make you a chaste being.”
Each time Sander had jested with him about his purity Robbe had essentially repeated the same sentiment, but this was the first time Sander had even half believed him.
“That makes sense,” he said. “I was being an ass before, when I said it was in my DNA to be overly sexual. I’m a demon of lust because that was my most repeated human sin, and because I’m good at that sort of thing. But I’m not — I’m not like that now. I don’t just sleep with anything that moves.”
Robbe’s eyes flew back to Sander’s face and his expression was so troubled Sander was touched. Long ago as a method of self-preservation he had ceased to care what others thought of him, but with Robbe it was not so easy to remain aloof; here, in the presence of divinity, he had something to prove.
Robbe said, with clear emphasis,
“I never thought you did, Sander.”
This time when Sander grinned it was nothing but joy and the effect brought a rare kind of innocence to his face; Robbe mirrored him and for a moment they simply stood smiling rather idiotically at one another before Sander cleared his throat.
“Oh. Well, okay then.”
“It’ll probably surprise you to know this,” said Robbe, “but it’s kind of against our code of conduct to pass judgment upon other beings.”
“That does surprise me, given the fact that angels are supposed to look down on us,” said Sander, but he winked again.
“Sure,” said Robbe, teasing. “Because the UA is literally above Lower Earth, so we don’t really have a choice.”
“Well, well, well,” said Sander. “Didn’t you come to play.”
“I did, actually. I came to play cards with wendigos.”
“You’re a terrible angel,” drawled Sander. “Lying is a sin, and you keep lying to me.”
“Half-truths aren’t lies.”
“Is that what you tell yourself, to avoid going to confession?”
Robbe snorted. “We’re not in Catholic school.”
“My apologies,” said Sander, faux-formal. “I spent many a year getting chastised by women called sister for not tucking my shirt in or fucking up the knot in my tie or drawing all over my desk when I was supposed to be memorizing Psalm 186, or whatever. Sometimes I still have war flashbacks.”
“I can relate. Only I can’t draw, so I got yelled at for daydreaming in class instead,” said Robbe, and he smiled.
“What did you daydream about?”
“Everything. Mostly being outside, what I would do when I was done with school for the day. I hated being stuck indoors.”
“And what do you daydream about now?”
With a single wise gaze Robbe pinned Sander in place; he knew the answer the demon sought and he was not about to give it to him, even if part of it was rooted in truth.
“I exist in paradise,” he said, and shrugged one elegant shoulder. “There’s not much left to be desired.”
*
While Robbe and Sander were busy occupying a universe entirely of their own, Milan and Senne had migrated to stand shoulder to shoulder against the back wall, observing the mill of formless darkness before them. They’d taken it upon themselves to procure a round of drinks on their own — “I don’t think they’ll be back anytime soon, if you want something within the next aeon we’d better go to the front bar,” Senne had announced after several moments of waiting, and he hadn’t needed to tell Milan twice — and now in placid silence sipped wholly unbothered from their individual goblets. Milan, sensing some unspoken sentiment in the air after that earlier ominous you know why , was waiting for Senne to voice his heart aloud, but when he spoke it was not entirely what the sylph-elf had been expecting.
“I don’t know if he’s ready, Mil.”
“Ready for…”
“This. Whatever’s going on with Jens’s Fledgling.” Senne was moody now, voice clipped as he struggled to articulate. “He can’t take being hurt again, and I won’t let anything fucking touch him. It’s only been five human years and he went through the traumatic equivalent of about three centuries.”
“He did,” said Milan agreeably. “But he had you to help him cope with the aftermath, and that’s more important than you know.”
“There’s only so much I can do.”
“You think so?” Milan was watching him. “I can smell Earth on you. What were you two doing, before you came here?”
Senne paused, set his mouth.
“We went to Belgium,” he said gruffly.
“Ah,” said Milan, knowing. “To see his father. And what about afterward?”
“I took him to an art exhibit,” said Senne. “One of his favorite painters. They were doing some special event in Paris and I thought it would make him happy. I still don’t know why he gives a fuck about that piece of shit.”
“Because he has a good heart,” said Milan simply, “and because you do, too, you take him back to Antwerp when he asks, even though you loathe every minute of it.”
“He needs it to heal.”
“For now. Eventually he won’t.”
“I know. But I don’t think he’ll be done processing for a while.” Senne was deadeyed, flat. “He still has a hard time expressing emotion, even with me.”
“Huh,” said Milan, and he grinned like a snake. “Reminds me of you when you were just a baby Fledgling. You were the dictionary definition of angst.”
Senne looked sideways at him, gave a grim chuckle in spite of himself. “Jesus. I forget how ancient you are sometimes.”
“Honey, as long as I don’t look a day over twenty, I’m perfectly content to keep going just like this.”
“Twenty’s pushing it.” Senne took a long drink to conceal his mirth, came up cherry-stained and guilty. “Maybe add five or six years.”
Milan smacked him, insulted. “Do you even know how fucked you’d be if I hexed you?”
“I’d probably cease to exist.”
“You’re damn right, so I don’t know why you’re acting all nonchalant about it.”
“Because you love me and you know I’m joking, and you’re hot and gorgeous and forever young, and any being would be beyond lucky to have you?”
“Ah, flattery,” said Milan, sighing in contentment, “it’ll get you everywhere with me. All right, I won’t curse you into oblivion. You know Jens’s Fledgling has a reputation already, right?”
“I’ve heard his name,” said Senne, still reeling from the hasty change of topic. “I remembered him because he’s connected to Stoffels, and because his popularity reminds me of Sander. He gets talked about, too, because of his eyes.”
“ And because of his power,” added Milan meaningfully. “Do you know how rare it is for an angel to have a Shield like that, especially one so young as him? He has that ability because he was good at hiding on Earth, and it’s in his nature to be a protector. He keeps the things that he loves safe, Senne, even if he gets hurt in the process he will not let them come to harm. Do you know how he died?”
Interested against his will, Senne shook his head.
“He pushed someone out of the way of a car. Someone that he didn’t even know. They survived, but he was crushed.” Milan’s face was mournful, genuine. “He’s good, and he’s selfless. He won’t hurt your boy. Actually, Jens is terrified that Sander will destroy him .”
“Because angels think demons of lust are — what is it the humans say now? Fuckmen ?”
Delighted, Milan laughed aloud. “ Fuckboys. Close. And it’s a valid concern, you know.”
“Yeah, well.” Senne scowled, licked across his fangs. “Sander isn’t like that.”
“It’s not me you have to convince, Senne,” said Milan, and he nodded his head in the direction of the melee. “I can see how he looks at Robbe from here.”
For amidst the faceless myriad of beings on the dance floor both subjects of their conversation had suddenly rematerialized.
“I should really put a stop to this before it goes any further,” said Senne idly, but he made no move to do so.
“Then why don’t you? Besides the obvious reason?” Milan was light, unconcerned; for everything that he understood about the situation it could have been a rhetorical question but Senne answered him anyway.
“Remember what I told you, about what happened at the Hydra Milking?”
“How Robbe protected Sander, you mean.”
“Exactly.”
“I remember.”
“That thing you just said,” said Senne slowly, “the bit about Robbe being selfless and good. I already knew he was, because of what he did for Sander.”
In the unstable shift of strobing silvery lights Milan’s eyes were chromatic, omniscient.
“So that’s why you’re not stopping them.”
“That’s why I’m not stopping them.”
“Senne de Smet,” said Milan in unadulterated delight, “I believe you’re becoming a bit of a softie in your old age.”
“Watch who you’re calling old, Methuselah, we’ve been over this,” said Senne, but there was definite amusement flitting around the frames of his eyes. “And I wouldn’t go that far. I’m the one who warned Driesen that all roads lead to pain here.”
The sylph-elf looked at him full-on then, genuinely surprised. “Why? You don’t believe that, surely?”
“Milan.” Senne cut his eyes sideways, you’ve got to be kidding me. “Think about what you just said.”
“Oh, honey, please,” said Milan, brushing him off. “You can not be equating your mess to this perfectly innocent little flirtation. You’re not even close to the end of your road with that and you know it. In fact, one could argue that it doesn’t technically have an end, because we are infinite beings. Give it time.”
“Couple hundred more human years should do the trick, huh,” said Senne, and his voice was a scowl, gravel, black tar. Acidic.
“Maybe,” said Milan cheerfully. “You might be surprised. Now come on, let’s dance. We’re here, we have nothing else to do but twiddle our thumbs and gossip while we wait for them, we might as well have fun.”
“Ugh.” Senne tipped his face forward so he could stare into his glass, pressed his rose-dotted lips together. “I don’t know.”
“Come oooon, Senne. You could use it, lighten you up a little bit. Stress relief.”
Senne made a face. “I don’t think so.”
“No? That’s too bad.” Milan tipped Senne’s sharp chin up, forced eye contact, played his hand: when he wanted something, all he had to do was summon his Glamour, and he was not above doing so. By nature he was a creature of Neutral origin, so the massive power in his possession could just as easily be used for wickedness as for good. “Because I do think so.”
“ Hendrickx. ” Helplessly Senne pushed off the wall, groaned. “This is against the code .”
“Oh, it’s against the code , says the demon of wrath,” said Milan, and he winked. “Let’s go. We’ll stay out of their sight and you can forget they’re even here. Trust me.”
So Senne, having very little choice in the matter, let himself be dragged by the hand through the crowd, in quite the opposite direction of his Fledgling. In his stomach a little nudge of worry burgeoned, but as it turned out his concern was quite baseless, because Sander was as content as he had ever been. By now he had forgotten about everything else in the universe except the fact that he had somehow wound up standing in front of his elusive engel on a dance floor in Lower Earth, and what was more, Robbe seemed happy about it.
“You really want to dance with me,” said Sander doubtfully. He was still not entirely certain that this wasn’t some sort of hallucination, perhaps a side effect of all the spellwork Noor had done on him earlier, and it was ruining his veneer of kept-together confidence but he couldn’t help himself from thinking it. Everything that was happening seemed like a dream state, acid trip, well-crafted illusion.
Robbe dropped his faux-dark head back and laughed.
“You’re so strange, demon.”
His laugh was communicable; without really knowing why, Sander smiled too.
“You think so?”
“Well, yeah. One minute you’re like…” Robbe puffed his chest, quirked one saucy eyebrow in a solid imitation of Sander. “...talking about how you don’t put on a show for just anyone, and then the next you’re asking me stuff like do you really want to dance with me . It’s very contradictory.”
The grin that surged across Sander’s pale mouth was gigantic, pure; his piercing shone gemlike, caught like a stray moonbeam in the intermittent light. “Have to keep you guessing. I don’t want you to get bored.”
“Oh, is that it.”
“That’s it,” said Sander, but he reached up to swipe at the stream coursing from his eyes all the same. Though it never impeded him or blocked his vision, when the blood was this thick it was impossible for him not to notice, and the instinct to wipe at his face was insurmountable.
Robbe eyed him with shoddily-concealed satisfaction; Sander wanted to be annoyed, but he was thrilled for the fact that Robbe understood exactly the effect he was having.
“Will you bleed on me when we dance?”
“Maybe,” said Sander, “but it’ll evaporate fast. If it lands on your skin it stays around a bit longer.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because it drips on Senne all the time and it’s there long enough for him to lick it off,” said Sander, unconcerned. “I should seriously start charging him. I’m like his infinite soda machine or something.”
“Except instead of Mountain Dew it’s, you know, blood ,” said Robbe, and he smirked. “Do you ever let him drink from you? Like fangs-in-the-neck, Dracula style?”
Sander hesitated; it was minuscule, but every iota of Robbe’s attention was on him and he caught it. He was wondering if Sander had finally found something about which to be dishonest when the demon finally answered him.
“Yeah,” he said slowly, “sometimes I do.”
“How does that feel?”
Sander shrugged, laughed; the sound was light but the weight of it held more mass. “Um. Different. But you know how when you’re really exhausted, being close to your Maker helps you recharge quickly? It’s like that with my blood for Senne. When he drinks from me he feels satisfied in like a third of the time it would normally take him to replenish.”
“Probably because your blood was literally made from him,” said Robbe, processing, his thoughts diverging in a hundred different directions. “What does he normally drink?”
“Mostly animals,” said Sander. “He’s kind of a cliche, it all pretty much works like you’d think it would in the vampire world. For moral reasons he doesn’t like to drink from humans unless they’re already going to die, and there are enough creatures here in the Afterlife that are willing to let him drain them nearly dry that he doesn’t need to. The whole vampire kink thing stands up in every culture.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“Because you have common sense,” said Sander, tilting his white head, “and you’re observant. But you never answered my question.”
Robbe grinned, hedging. He knew what was being asked of him but he liked to play as much as Sander did and it was easier and easier to make the demon squirm. “I don’t believe you phrased it as a question.”
“Probably because I already know the answer,” said Sander, and there again was that smooth cockiness that Robbe loved to hate, hated to love. When Sander reached over to curl a cautious hand around Robbe’s hip he froze, sucked in a low, sharp, involuntary breath.
“Do you.”
“That’s not a question, either,” said Sander, voice a murmur as he edged closer, closer, until they were so near to one another Robbe had to raise his chin to make eye contact. Hesitantly Sander’s hand climbed to the side of his ribcage, around to his back; the air in the club was suddenly compressed, overheated, heavy as the pressure before a thunderstorm.
“It didn’t need to be,” whispered Robbe, and then Sander started to move.
He was as exquisite as Robbe had thought he’d be, more so. Always a clumsy dancer, Robbe had worried that he wouldn’t be able to keep up, but part of Sander’s skill lay within his ability to guide where his dance partner was unsure and he did so with such deftness that Robbe’s uncertainty was immediately put to ease. In his head the music was low and deep, all heartbeat bass and yowling spat-out vocals in some choppy language Robbe guessed was Russian or Ukrainian, and if he was a proper angel he probably would have been repulsed by it all but instead he was snake-charmed, intoxicated, euphoric. He had done a number of decidedly non-holy things over the past several human days and he reasoned that it was probably time he started coming to terms with the fact that he was no proper angel. The thought was still idling in his mind when Sander, forcing wicked eye contact, rolled his hips deliberately against Robbe’s own.
Wrong-footed, instantly so aroused he was reeling, Robbe gritted his teeth.
“ Demon.”
“ Engel .” Sander was taunting him; Robbe hated how much he wanted all of that and more.
“That’s exactly what I am,” hissed Robbe, “which, need I remind you, means you’re supposed to leave room for Jesus .”
“You know, I would,” said Sander, leaning in, his fingers splayed low over Robbe’s back playing dangerously with the hem of his t-shirt. “I really, really would. But you don’t seem to hate it.”
Boldly he slid his forefinger up so it rested on Robbe’s skin, flush with the base of his spine, and that solitary point of contact was enough to be absolutely debilitating. When he spoke again it was in shuddering Dutch, hissed into the shell of Robbe’s ear, breath all heat and want.
“You don’t seem to hate it at all.”
With his huge pale hands he took Robbe’s waist, pressed against him in earnest, establishing a slow murderous grind with his hips. There was no room to mistake his meaning and Robbe hissed aloud, weak, ashamed for how eagerly he rocked up into the motion of Sander’s pelvis, seeking friction, more, more, more .
“I can’t stand you,” he said just below his breath. It was the most transparent lie he’d ever told.
“And yet here you are,” said Sander without missing a beat, mouth open over Robbe’s earlobe, and Robbe was just thinking how warm his breath was when suddenly there was wetness on his skin, sharp cerise against ash. Blood.
“You’re dripping,” he said dumbly before he could stop himself, before he could think how it sounded.
The laugh Sander choked out was a surprised, uneven husk in his throat.
“All for you.”
“That much I know,” said Robbe, recovering, and Sander grinned. With a great deal of cheeky satisfaction he said,
“Yeah, you do. But now I know we’re on the same page.”
Robbe was about to conjure a retort, some fiery spitting sass refuting this audacious (and entirely true) claim, when Sander took his hand and twirled him under one long arm like a ballroom dancer. The move was unexpected, enough to surprise him into silence, and when Sander circled him around again he was smiling.
“There,” he said. “Is that how you want to dance? That was a really smooth turn, actually, I’m impressed.”
Robbe couldn’t stop the answering grin that unfurled across his face.
“Thanks. I’m not usually the one doing the actual twirling.”
“No?”
“No. I didn’t do much dancing at all when I was alive,” said Robbe. “I was never very good at it.”
“You’re doing just fine for me,” said Sander.
There was some kind of lilting cadence in his voice, a hot certain layer of deeper meaning that made Robbe pull slightly back to better examine Sander’s face. The way he’d said it was almost like a praise, the familiarity of the words on his tongue unmissable, and as he scrutinized him Robbe’s eyes went narrow with focus.
“What else did you do on Earth? Besides strip?”
Half of Sander’s mouth curved up, swordblade.
“I told you if we go into detail about that right now it’ll ruin the mood.”
“Then don’t go into detail about it,” said Robbe. “Answer one question and I’ll shut up about it. Swear.”
“I already know your question, though,” said Sander. “You want me to tell you what else I did on Earth.”
It was Robbe’s turn to show that wicked smirk. On him it was vulpine, tricky in a subtle sort of way, and Sander wanted to lick under his upper lip and taste his deviance.
“I mean, yeah,” said Robbe. “Eventually. But you said not now, so that’s not what I was going to ask.”
Without either of them realizing what they were doing they’d come to a sort of middle ground: Sander’s arms roped lazily around Robbe’s low waist, Robbe’s inner elbows thrown over Sander’s shoulders, front to front as they rocked easily back and forth in their own time. It was effortless, natural, and Sander had a heavy flash of middle-school nostalgia: they were slow-dancing .
“All right,” he said. “Ask me, then.”
“Were you a dom?”
Sander was so astounded he completely stopped moving; unprepared, Robbe lost his balance slightly and grabbed for Sander’s waist to right himself.
“Was I a dom ?”
“Didn’t think I stuttered,” said Robbe, quirking his eyebrows, and suddenly he was the kind of confident that made Sander’s stomach burst into flames. It was he who had to take extra caution not to stumble over his own words when he replied.
“ Engel , do you even know what that is?”
“Whips, chains, thank you sir I’ll have another ,” said Robbe, bored. “To start with. So were you? You swore you’d tell me.”
“I absolutely did no such thing.” Sander was wrecked, hoarse, bombarded with involuntary cinema-quality images of Robbe blindfolded on his knees. Begging.
“By letting me ask my question, you entered a binding contract,” said Robbe, wide-eyed tipping his head up, and it was all Sander could do not to curl his fingers around the nape of his neck, kiss him until they were both boneless for it. “No take-backs, sorry.”
Sander groaned low and it came from his chest. “Don’t tell me you’re going to play innocent now.”
“What do you mean? I’m just living up to the stereotype you pinned on me,” said Robbe. “It’s your own fault for assuming, isn’t it, Sander?”
He was blinking like he was the purest creature in existence but his eyes were black with amused iniquity and Sander felt like he was going to combust. You can use my name to command me, he’d said, and it had never been truer than it was in that moment. Denying Robbe what he wanted when he looked Sander in the eye and named him aloud would be more or less impossible.
“I was not a dom,” he said, swallowing as he endeavored to regain his composure. “Not all the time. But some of my clients specifically requested me to dom for them, so I guess you could say it was part of the job description.”
Robbe’s face remained impressively cabalistic, polite interest in his eyes, but Sander thought he knew him better than that by now and the confirmation came when Robbe asked his next question.
“And did you like that?”
“Nice try,” said Sander, skating a cautious fingertip up the length of Robbe’s spine to twirl around the chain of his necklace, “but that wasn’t part of the deal. One question, you said, and then you swore you’d shut up. You’re up to two.”
Immediately Robbe’s face fell into the sweetest of pouts; the effect was so staggering Sander found his resolve dissipating and bit at his lip ring to bring his feet back to solid ground.
“Are you seriously this much of a stickler for rules?”
“Give me a break,” said Sander, chuckling. “I thought you’d be encouraging me to stick to the rules, Oh Holy One.”
“Sander,” said Robbe loudly, “think about everything I’ve done tonight and re-evaluate that assumption.”
“Are you trying to tell me that an angel disguising himself as a skinwalker to get into Lower Earth is frowned upon or something?”
Robbe grinned. “Shocking, I know.”
“I thought that was an everyday thing for you guys,” said Sander with as much solemnity as he could maintain. He felt light, bubbly, tensionless, alien sensations that he could not remember when last he’d experienced before Robbe, and it was druglike. Since he’d been Turned, Senne had brought him a great deal of happiness, as had the daily adventures that came with existing in the afterlife as an Unholy. But there was a significant difference between that kind of contented joy and the gentle emotion that began in his core and flowed steadily throughout his entire body when Robbe was near.
“Wouldn’t that be nice for you,” said Robbe coyly, tilting his head up, subtle.
“About as nice as it would be for you,” said Sander without even blinking.
Robbe’s eyes trailed slow down to Sander’s mouth, settled on his lip ring.
“Not bad, then.”
They were too close for secret-keeping; when Robbe moved at all Sander could feel him, how hard he was. It was gratifying to know for sure that he wasn’t the only one who was extremely aroused but the more time they spent obviously grinding against each other the more he struggled: it wasn’t enough just to know , he wanted to get on with the proceedings of mutual attraction. He was used to taking and being taken the second that desire arose and even though he’d known Robbe for less than a human week things were going far more slowly than he was accustomed to when it came to anything romantic or sexual. That mirror-clear image of Robbe kneeling blindfolded with a ragged plea on his tongue was at the forefront of Sander’s mind and he wanted to get him alone, lick down the ridges of his abdomen, see how his skin shimmered up close. He also understood that he could do none of these things. If he wanted Robbe to continue to let his guard down he knew he would have to do work and he was ready for it, eager, prepared to utilize the fact that he quite literally had all the time in the world.
But simply knowing that he wasn’t allowed to touch Robbe like he wanted to couldn’t keep the needy hunger from blaring through his open expression, and he knew Robbe was reading him like a headline when his pupils went huge and black in response.
“I’m afraid to ask what you’re thinking about,” he said, and his voice was hoarse, trembly.
“You shouldn’t be afraid,” said Sander smoothly, “but I’m not going to tell you, because I don’t think you can handle it.”
“Stop patronizing me, Driesen,” said Robbe. “You’re a demon of lust who’s an ex-stripper and a dom. I know what I’m dealing with here.”
“I don’t think you do.”
“I know a lot of shit happened to you on Earth,” said Robbe, soft. “A lot of bad shit.”
Sander froze.
“Who told you that?”
“I think I kind of guessed,” said Robbe, “but Milan confirmed that your human existence wasn’t the best. He didn’t go into detail about it, though.”
“Thank Lucifer,” said Sander, knife edge to his voice. “You don’t need to hear about my shitty life.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want you to know,” said Sander, habitually dropping his gaze, run through suddenly with shame. “It’ll make you think less of me.”
“No, it won’t,” said Robbe, puzzled. “I don’t care what you did in the past. I mean, it won’t change my opinion of you, if that’s what you think. It might help me understand you better.”
He was so earnest Sander’s heart nearly shattered, ceramic. For all Robbe’s faux-haughty, unbothered exterior, he was pure and sweet and lovely and no part of Sander felt deserving in the slightest.
“Do you want to understand me better, Robbe the angel?”
They’d stopped moving entirely now, still holding loosely on to one another, tentative. Robbe sighed.
“I shouldn’t,” he said softly. “Jens told me to watch out for you. Said you’d use your demon of lust charms on me. But even after that...yeah, Sander. I do.”
“Fucking high angels,” said Sander, and his laugh was all acidity. “Of course he did. I’m no good for you, pure one.”
“I told you, you can’t corrupt me.”
At last Sander looked back at him, found his gaze, and he was all truth.
“Will you trust me more? If you know what happened to me?”
Robbe searched his face. “I think so. But I already trust you.”
“Yeah?” Sander’s crimson eyes went soft. “Why?”
Robbe snickered.
“Because I know how much you’ve wanted to throw me up against a wall all night, and until about fifteen minutes ago you’d barely even touched me.”
The mood between them was shifting so rapidly as to be dizzying; they went from banter to flirtation to sudden heavy angst, vulnerability back to that palpable want and Sander was crazy from it.
“Of course I haven’t,” he said cautiously. “I feel like I already get away with a lot with you. I know I’m forward as fuck, but I don’t want to disrespect you, or anything.”
Robbe smiled.
“One time you told me that I don’t talk to you like angels talk to demons,” he said. “And I think you don’t talk like I imagined a demon of lust would talk.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“It’s good,” said Robbe, “mostly.”
Sander’s eyebrows curved up. “ Mostly ?”
“Well, yeah,” said Robbe. “It’s good that you respect me. But I’m also kind of interested to see what you can do.”
The flow of blood from Sander’s eyes, which had reduced to a leisurely drip during his moment of chagrin, began once more to flood his face like a broken dam.
“I can show you,” he said croakily, “if you want.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” said Robbe, but he was smirking, and Sander spoke again before he could overthink it.
“If you’re in disguise,” he said, “does that mean that for all intents and purposes you’re not technically an angel right now?”
“Iiiiiii don’t know,” said Robbe, frowning, quizzical. “Depends on what you’re really asking me.”
“Angels aren’t supposed to kiss demons, because it’s against the holy handbook or whatever,” said Sander. “But no such rule applies to skinwalkers.”
Robbe’s eyes waxed massive in comprehension.
“I didn’t know,” he said, “at first. Why I wanted to come find you so badly. I think it’s because somewhere in the back of my mind, I wanted to know if you were all talk, or if you were serious.”
“Serious about what?”
“Flirting with me,” said Robbe boldly, electric, thrilling in that unmatched power of control. “Since demons of lust can charm anything that moves, and all.”
Faintly, through his shuddering elation, Sander was amused. “And what’s the verdict?”
Robbe shook his head, tiny wraith of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “Too soon to tell.”
“I don’t blame you,” said Sander, and it was the truth. “I don’t even know how to do it properly anymore.”
“Do what properly?”
“Um,” said Sander, flushing vividly. “Pursue someone? Court them? I’m used to, uh. Jumping right in.”
With a straight face Robbe said, “So you’re saying you fuck on the first date.”
Sander choked; Robbe, knowing he hadn’t expected it, pulled an infuriatingly smug grin. When Sander recovered he said,
“I’m saying there were no dates.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean there were places and times to meet and fuck, and that’s it.”
“Oh,” said Robbe, flattened, unsure where to even begin to continue. Sander saved him the trouble.
“So you’re right,” he said, reaching between them to play with Robbe’s pendant, quiet. “To not be sure, I mean, because I’m a disaster when it comes to this stuff. And I can rhapsodize all night about how unbelievably beautiful you are, and how much my fucking brain stops working when I see you, and how when I’m with you even when you’re being all ‘ don’t be so insolent, demon’, you make me feel like I have a bunch of helium balloons in my chest. But if I just tell you those things, it’s not enough, because it’s a living example of actions being louder than words.”
He paused with his fingertips pressed to Robbe’s collarbone; Robbe was enchanted watching him, breath held in his throat, too warm everywhere. When Sander met his eyes he flashed an uncertain smile and it felt like the most honest version of himself he’d ever been for Robbe, no cocksure swaggering veneer, only his cracked-wide heart. Breakable.
“You deserve actions. And I don’t really know how to do that. But I’m gonna figure it out and get back to you when I do.”
For a moment Robbe was bereft of the ability to create sentences in any of his known languages. Sander’s rings were cold against his skin, his eyes giant and mildly apprehensive, and it was that uncertainty that finally forced the cogs in Robbe’s brain to begin working again.
“Even when I’m being all ‘ don’t be so insolent, demon’ , huh?”
Sander cracked a grin and it felt like a rush of relief.
“Sometimes especially when you’re like that.”
“Well,” said Robbe, reaching up to take Sander’s hand from his necklace, run his fingertips along the backs of Sander’s ashen knuckles, “I personally don’t think you’re doing too bad of a job with the whole pursuing thing.”
“Even though it was you who came after me,” said Sander teasingly, and Robbe smacked his arm.
“What did we just talk about? Don’t be so fucking insolent, demon,” he said mockingly, and Sander laughed out loud.
“Jesus. Be still my heart.”
“Do you even have one?”
“I don’t know, honestly. I didn’t before I became a demon,” said Sander, and he was about to continue when for a swift second Robbe touched his face, effectively quieting him.
“You’re not a disaster.”
The lump in Sander’s throat made it difficult for him to swallow; he was grateful for his bloody tears, that they masked his real tears until he actually started to sob. He wanted to explain, go into detail, but he couldn’t, not then.
“Thank you.”
Robbe nodded. He was about to speak again when abruptly Milan and Senne appeared beside them; Senne’s mouth was smeared with blood and they were both slightly sweaty and breathless.
“Driesen,” he said accusingly, “you never brought me my drink.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Sander, guilty. “I got distracted.”
“Oh, did you,” said Senne, and he and Milan swapped a smirking glance.
“You look like you found some of your own, anyway,” said Sander defensively, and like a whipstrike Senne reached out, grabbed his head to hold him still, licked one of his cheeks clean. Sander gave a surprised little grunt of protest, but he didn’t resist, and when Senne pulled back Robbe saw that Sander’s face was warm with pleasure.
“I have my own whenever I want it,” said Senne cheerfully. “Thanks, Driesen.”
“Fuck you,” said Sander without venom. “ You’re in a good mood.”
“I feel great,” said Senne with emphasis, and Milan rolled his eyes with such theatrical emphasis that Robbe laughed out loud to watch him.
“And you didn’t want to dance.”
“Yeah, yeah, Hendrickx, thanks for fucking forcing me,” said Senne, laughing. “Anyway. I figured it was time for me to separate the lovebirds. Stoffels is going to castrate me for allowing you two to be alone for as long as I did.”
“That’s you and me both, then,” said Robbe, and Senne tipped his head at him in camaraderie. Sander, watching them, felt his chest go warm once again.
“So I was thinking we should probably leave to meet your Elder soon,” said Milan to Robbe. “We’ve been here for - ah - quite some time.”
“Have we?” Robbe blinked at him; it could have been an hour or a day and he wouldn’t have known the difference.
“Yes,” said Milan, grinning. “Probably too long. So I was thinking I definitely need to come with you to dinner and help explain where you were in case Jens gets bitchy about it.”
“I think that’s an amazing idea,” said Robbe with relief.
“I don’t want you to go yet,” said Sander, and when Robbe looked at him he was slammed with the abrupt, striking knowledge that he would miss Sander when he left.
“Well, that’s the other thing,” said Milan delicately, and as one suspicious unit Robbe, Sander, and Senne all turned to stare at him. “I was thinking that maybe Driesen and de Smet should join us for dinner, too.”