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This is the place Ryo chose. Akira recognizes it as Jun’s old apartment, a miraculously intact building amidst a chaos of rubble and ruin. After regaining his true form, Ryo had told Akira to meet him here tonight and had promptly vanished with his demons, leaving Akira alone in the white hospital room, nothing to do but wait.

Akira walks up the flights of stairs, heads down the hallway to Jun’s door. Oddly, he finds himself nervous, unsure of what lay on the other side. Would it be Jun there waiting for him, or even Asuka Ryo? Akira doubted that. No, it would be Satan, but what about Jenny and Zennon? Akira supposed that Ryo called him here because he wanted them to be alone. Just the two of them then. Akira has a hard time telling whether he is anxious or excited by that thought, though admittedly, it’s probably both. Eventually he pushes the door open.

Ryo is standing near the window looking out and turns his head to gaze at Akira as he comes into the room. And god is he pretty, unfairly so, his beauty like an arrow cleaving Akira’s chest in two. “Akira,” Ryo says, a small, private smile on his lips, and the sight of it does odd things to Akira, makes his blood race recklessly through his veins and pound loudly in his ears. Ryo takes a step toward him and Akira’s heart skips ridiculously, as if readying for fight or flight. It’s not that way this time, Akira reminds himself. He doesn’t want to fight Ryo anymore. They’ve come here reconcile.

Ryo senses Akira’s hesitation, lingers by the window. Ryo is so acutely familiar to him, from the smooth flawless skin to the warmth that floods his body at just being this near. Akira had felt this even with Jun, had thought that she felt this much like home as well and yet he still hadn’t thought--the memory of Jun was so fresh, so recent compared to the millenia that had passed since he had met his childhood friend Asuka Ryo. But Ryo didn’t feel far--he was here, as was Jun, in this sumptuous being shining with light and splendor. Here was the person Akira loved most, the thing most dear to him, even at the times he hadn’t realized it. Everything he’d done, he’d done for Ryo: merging with Amon and becoming a Devilman, the Devilman, the death of his physical form, the long journey through hell’s horrific channels--even his rebirth in this world had been Ryo’s will. And Ryo--Ryo had done everything for him too, Akira realizes suddenly, like a blurry image coming sharply into focus. Akira vividly remembers Ryo’s pained expression from the time he died, the spill of tears a shock to Akira even as the life drained rapidly from him. “Forgive me, Akira,” Ryo had said then, as they lay together beneath the moon in the last moments of that first earth. It was the last thing Akira had heard before he died, Ryo’s weeping face his last sight, a scene that had replayed in Akira’s mind day and night while he wandered through hell alone.

And then he hadn’t been alone, there had been Jun, saving him, seducing him, begging him to let her stay in the unspeakable horror of hell just so they wouldn’t have to part, entirely too desperate to give up her human life for someone she was supposed to have just met--“Akira, I’ll go anywhere with you, heaven or hell or the ends of the universe...but I can’t go anywhere without you Akira, please, I want to be with you--”

Akira met Ryo’s gaze now, the blue eyes calm and giving away nothing. This side of him had always been more prominent. Calculating, at times cold. Desperate attempts to hide vulnerability, something he had heard Satan attribute only to humans. But Satan had been human too, and he couldn’t hide from Akira, not anymore. Humans didn’t hold a monopoly on sorrow or compassion or even love, not really. That was just something demons and gods said to make themselves feel better.

“Why did you bring me back, Ryo?” Akira asks, the words falling like lead weights dropped into the quiet. “Why did you save me?”

It catches Ryo off guard, his eyes widening. The silence that follows Akira’s words is thick and thorny and Akira waits through it, wanting Ryo’s discomfort, needing to know he isn’t alone in this.

“I...” Ryo starts, and then stops, eyeing him somewhat warily now, “You...know why.”

Akira comes forward until he’s in Ryo’s space, until he’s looking down into Ryo’s eyes, breathing his air. “Let me hear you say it.”

“Bastard,” Ryo breathes weakly, and then, impossibly, they’re kissing. It’s impossible to tell who started it but they’re both wholly incapable of stopping now, even though Akira really did want to hear Ryo say it. He’ll have to remind himself, after, to coax the confession out. For now, there’s no pretext for what they both want, desire a tangible thing in the air. Akira maneuvers them to the bed, presses Ryo easily onto the mattress under him. Ryo is pliant and receptive as he pulls Akira closer, peeling the clothes from his body until nothing but skin is between them.

Akira runs his hands blindly down over Ryo’s body as they kiss, Ryo cupping his face and preventing his eyes from following the same path. It’s different from the other times they did this--Ryo’s body is different. His white skin had the same feeling of being cool and soft and inviting those times, as now, and yes Ryo had been slender before but now he seemed waif thin in Akira's hands, the line of his waist curved and sylphlike. He seemed to have little if any body hair save for the golden curls between his legs in which lay his cock, the only thing that remained as Akira remembered from their first time, that and Ryo’s face, the full lips and biting blue eyes. And then, of course, there are these now, Akira thinks as his hands find their way to the pert breasts, flesh warm and supple under his palms. He rolls a pink nipple between his fingers and Ryo gasps into his mouth. Akira doesn’t mind these. No, he--he likes them, and they suit Ryo, somehow. Akira doesn’t mind the wings either, not in the slightest; shining white and resplendent, they seem only to enhance Ryo’s beauty, his glory. And oh, how glorious he is, pinned and trembling softly beneath Akira, arching and making little noises in his throat as Akira lavishes gentle attention on the sensitive skin of his wings, the delicate place where they connect to his back. Ryo says his name and a hot feeling fills his chest thickly, swells Akira’s heart and his cock.

He needs to be inside Ryo, to bury himself deep and never emerge, their bodies and souls becoming impossible to detangle, as if one. His hand makes a slick discovery as it travels past Ryo’s erect cock, and Akira doesn’t suppose that he should be surprised, not really, and still he’s far from displeased. He thinks that Ryo could take any form, could be any possible version of himself and Akira would still want him, would still travel to the deepest depths of hell for him and fight God Himself if it was Ryo that asked him to, would stand by his side for this eternity and the next. He feels all along Ryo’s labia, exploring the shape and the texture, gliding beneath his fingers like hot silk.

“I can change my form to your liking,” Ryo says, uncharacteristically self-conscious although his tone comes out sultry, but Akira knows him. He mistakes Akira’s reverence for apprehension, maybe even disgust, and Akira could just kill him for thinking that after everything, this, of all things, would wedge them apart or change his mind in some way. That Akira would be anything but overjoyed to be allowed Ryo’s body, his real body. It feels intimate, special, like a privilege given to few and perhaps to only one, and Akira himself wishes only to be worthy of it.

“I like you like this,” Akira says, his voice a low timbre that makes Ryo shiver. He buries his face in Ryo’s breasts and his fingers in Ryo’s pussy, loving the wet heat there and the way it makes Ryo’s breath hitch in his throat. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, lets it go with a pop. “You’re perfect, Ryo.”

All of Ryo’s breath leaves him in a rush, and Akira feels something break within him. “Akira,” Ryo says, gazing up through those long lashes, and Akira could drown himself in those blue eyes, could lose himself forever in them--“Akira, fuck me.”

And well, he was trying to hold back, to pour as much pleasure into Ryo’s body as he could but if this is what Ryo wants then Akira doesn’t have to be told twice. He enters Ryo in one smooth thrust and it’s so tight and hot and achingly familiar that he feels tears stinging in the corners of his eyes, feels each painful beat of his heart resounding through his chest, shaking him apart. He pushes until he’s all the way inside, until his hips meet the backs of Ryo’s thighs and Ryo is crying out and writhing down on him, impatient, stupefied. Akira holds them both still for a few moments longer, allows himself a moment to breathe lest it all be over too soon. He feels Ryo everywhere, all around him, overwhelming and inexorable, and he’s suddenly overcome with emotion. In hell, he hardly ever allowed himself to miss Ryo, though he thought of him near constantly. He had still been angry, and still a part of him was, perhaps always would be, but finally he at least understood.

All he wanted was to understand Ryo, and for Ryo to understand him. It had been impossible before; the Akira of the past could have never imagined the repulsive reality of hell, the bone-chilling will of the being called God, the one who flung Satan carelessly from Heaven for daring to stand up for those weaker than they. And the Ryo from that lifetime couldn’t see Akira’s plight, his struggle, had destroyed all that Akira held dear because of it. But now Ryo had fought for humanity as Devilman Lady and Akira could see the change in him, the capability for compassion that Akira always knew was within him blossoming closer to the surface. He feels as if they’re knowing each other for the first time, as if finally the messy tangle of their lives is becoming clearer in some complete and cosmic way.

Akira is pulled back to reality by Ryo’s heels digging into his lower back, the soft downy behind his ankles tickling Akira’s hips pleasantly. “Move,” Ryo demands from between clenched teeth, and Akira chuckles at his petulance, which makes Ryo sulk. Cute. It’s tempting to keep teasing him like this, to make Ryo pout and pretend to be annoyed until he finally breaks that clinical facade and begs for it, but ah, maybe another time (they will have an eternity, after all). Now he’ll indulge Ryo, of course, anything he wants, and Akira wants it too, needs it, more than anything. He gives a few shallow thrusts, testing, and Ryo’s eyes flutter closed as his lips part. Akira gathers Ryo in his arms and wants nothing more in this moment than to be as near to him as possible, to be enveloped in the warm glow that emanates from him, that raw brilliance, and to worship Ryo the way he deserves.

He’s being too slow and Ryo’s patience, even extended as it is for Akira, wears thin. A sweep of those powerful wings and Akira is forced up into a sitting position, Ryo’s weight tangible and persistent in his lap, Akira’s cock still sheathed inside his body. Akira groans and his hands circle Ryo’s waist. He tries to thrust up or move Ryo’s hips down onto himself but no, he had his chance and now Ryo will take what he needs. It doesn’t bother Akira, quite the opposite as he watches Ryo lift himself up halfway and sink back down. Ryo’s wings tremble and flare in tandem with his breathing, the pair that sprout from his head seeming to be an extension of his expression and Akira is lost to it, the way Ryo chases his own pleasure and how his body reacts to Akira at every point of contact between them. Ryo is rocking back and forth in his lap, the movements unfiltered and unrestrained and they’re kissing again, deep soul-shattering kisses that make Akira’s eyes fill up with tears again at how much he can sense communicated through the press of Ryo’s lips, Ryo’s tongue slick and serpentine in his mouth, pleasure radiating out through Akira from where their bodies join.

It seems both like a lifetime and the span of a single moment before Ryo is moaning his name with that sweet unyielding voice, his body flushed and glowing, unrelenting in his pace and Akira knows he himself won’t last much longer like this, knows Ryo will send him hurtling over the edge without hesitation when the moment comes. He tries to hold on, just for a second longer, tries to stave off his release through will alone but when he wraps a hand around Ryo’s weeping cock and feels him shudder violently as he begins to spill, his come scorching and viscous over Akira’s fist, prolonging the end is futile.

“Come inside me,” Ryo breathes in his ear, still shaking with release, and Akira can do nothing but obey, is helpless to the sweet pulse of Ryo’s body that bids him to empty inside, the barely-contained instincts that scream at him to breed. He comes so hard he sees nothing but white and Ryo holds him through it, stroking his hair, saying his name gently, reverently, as if Akira is the only thing that ever has or ever will matter to him. Humanity’s Champion, Lord Satan’s Beloved. That’s what the demons call Akira now. Beloved. The word sends a violent aftershock through him that has him struggling to breathe.

Slowly, he becomes aware of himself again, of Ryo quiet but content beneath him. He knows he will not grow soft if he stays inside, that he could easily go on the rest of the night like this but slips carefully out of Ryo’s body anyway, wanting to know what Ryo was thinking, how he felt. There was so much between them. So much, and nothing at all.

Ryo is smiling at him, a smile Akira thinks he’s never seen, bright and full of joy. Akira presses forward unconsciously and Ryo laughs against his lips, the sound vivid as the bells of Heaven, and well, the word angelic comes to Akira’s mind, among a few other words, words like love and serendipity, even words like always and forever.

“Yes,” Ryo says suddenly, stretching like a feline beneath Akira, smile softer now. “I was just thinking that, too.”