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Hesitation filled every inch of Azazeal's immortal body as he took slow and measured steps toward the doors of the old, abandoned church he had once again made his home. She'd seen him, the real him, and before she could even respond, he'd spirited himself away. It had been several days since she's witnessed his demonic form, and the fallen angel hoped sincerely that she hadn't disappeared as he had. He'd already made an appearance at her cozy little apartment, but she hadn't been home and that alone left him with mixed feelings of hope and dismay. Hope that he would find her where he typically slept, dismay that he would find her somewhere in the arms of someone else. He could only blame himself if he encountered the latter.
With a deep inhale, he ran his fingers through his slicked-back hair and over the collar of his white button-down, and pressed his palm against the heavy church door, cringing at the creaking noise that accompanied it. Looking around, it was clear that he had not been home in several days, from the lack of a few hundred bright red candles burning defiantly. There was, however, a luminescent circle of small flames across the large room. Little tea lights sat upon a table, their individual lights almost forming a little halo, casting a soft glow over one side of a human face that rested against an overstuffed pillow encased in satin. Azazeal approached the expansive bed with quiet steps, taking in the human's belongings that seemed to have made homes for themselves in his sacrilegious temple. Not being able to resist, he snatched up her cellphone for a moment, scanning through her messages for unfamiliar names...he was nothing if not jealous, but she'd never given him reason to be and it seemed that hadn't changed. He placed it back where he'd found it, a small twinge of guilt digging into him. Of the two of them, she certainly wasn't the one who had garnered mistrust. And yet, here she was, surrounded by his silky sheets, seemingly waiting for him to come home.
“Darling,” came his whisper as he lowered his face to hers, pressing his lips gently to her cheek and drawing back as she began to stir.
“Az...Azazeal?” she whispered in a sleepy voice, reaching out with an unsteady hand, which he instantly grasped in both his own. “You disappeared,” she continued when he remained mute, and he looked away in shame. “Are you mad at me?”
Azazeal found her eyes instantly, his brows knitting together with concern. “How could I possibly be upset with you?” he asked, one of his hands leaving hers to brush loose stands of hair away from her eyes.
“But you-”
“I was afraid that...I didn't think you'd want to see me again after what you witnessed. I wouldn't blame you if didn't.”
“Azazeal,” she mumbled, her voice almost dreamy, “I know you're not exactly an angel. Well, not anymore, I mean.” Her lips formed a goofy little smiled, and Azazeal felt his own lips pulling into a grin. “I knew what you were way before I saw...well, what I saw. If I was going to leave you over that, I would have way before now.”
“Still,” Azazeal began, but he paused when his mortal lover turned a little to press her lips to his palm.
“No more of that,” she whispered, pressing another kiss into his hand as he brought her own up to his mouth and did the same as she had to the back of her hand instead, noting the light pulse that he felt as her blood flowed through her mortal veins. So fragile. And so...accepting of him, when so many others had looked upon him in disgust. “This bed is too big for me, help me fill it up,” she whispered again, and he shook his head at her clumsy attempt at flirting, but she didn't notice. She was already pushing her body away from the edge to make room for him in this bed that was too big for her.
Azazeal stood from his crouched position and began to strip himself of his clothes, surprising even himself a bit when he felt his cheeks flush faintly from the way she watched him. She was too tired to take the situation much further, too far gone to consent to anything, but her tired eyes still seemed hungry. Finally stripped down to silk boxers (he couldn't bring himself to strap down his cock in a cotton/spandex blend), he slid back the sheets and drew his body close to hers. She looked nearly unconscious, but as he settled on his side to watch over her, he felt her fingers comb through his dark hair. “I have to admit,” her voice was so soft that it was nearly inaudible, “I do prefer this face to the other.” Azazeal lips twitched into a smile again as she shimmied her body closer to him, closing what little gap was left between them. The fallen angel remained motionless as her eyes focused on his lips, as if hesitating.
“You don't have to,” he whispered, trying to cover up the sudden feeling of dismay in his voice. Perhaps up close, the illusion of this body wasn't so solid.
“It felt like you were gone so long,” she mumbled, still watching his lips. Her fingers reached for his stubble-roughened cheek, and he turned his face slightly into her touch, the softness that he had missed. He felt the mattress shift again and opened his pale eyes to watch as she drew herself so close, a hint of hesitation still visible in her, but a hint of excitement too. “It almost feels like another first kiss,” she whispered, and Azazeal closed the tiny gap between himself and his suddenly timid human, as warm and as sweet as he'd remembered.