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The Price of Altruism

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It was with no small amount of caution that Belial accepted the angel's offer to meet. The angel, a real angel apparently, some castoff from another universe since dead. He wouldn't have been so guarded, and as convinced of the strange being's divinity, had he not felt the entity's power ripple through the Black himself. Not like a candle in a pitch black basement, more like the sudden, blazing intrusion of a whole goddamn house fire, before it all mysteriously went dark again, scattering mystical embers in every direction.

He'd not found the angel's deception very funny, though when he'd finally hunted down the true source of that power, it was clear the angel thought himself quite the comedian. It'd made for an infuriating, though oddly engaging conversation, held obnoxiously from outside Jack's window. He never did manage to get into the house, either. Jack's wards and the angel- Azrael's magic, saw to that.

Azrael. What kind of a name was that for an angel? He'd nearly tried to put a brick through the window at the absolute audacity of it. There was no way that he, stranger though he was, had absolutely no idea who owned that name here.

…. But, the angel had sworn up and down that this meeting would not end in deception, and Belial was tempted to believe him. Well... that and he wasn't technically going alone. Let it never be said that he was a fool.

The angel had both prudence and good taste: the meeting would take place far away from Jack's flat, in a rented suite. Where on earth Azrael had managed to come into enough money to do so was beyond Belial, and he found it genuinely rather funny. As if this was some business meeting between executives rather than two immortals haggling for a soul. Well, in the end, what was the difference anyway, really? He'd cheekily, jokingly, suggested that the meeting should perhaps be in a church instead.

The flat, unamused stare he'd gotten for that clearly indicated the angel's total lack of a real sense of humor, unsurprisingly.

Belial had thought he'd arrived early, intending on inspecting this place and the suite first before actually settling down to talk, only to find to his deep chagrin that this had been planned for.

There he sat at the table, watching him quietly as he entered the room, just as calm and as poised as he'd been the night Belial had found him in Jack's flat. Dressed down a little for the occasion, though no less anachronistic. Gone was the golden finery and mantle, the paldrons and scant armor he wore over the flowing robes. Even those were far simpler, though no less flowing. No less covering, unfortunately. Belial had made it clear before his opinion on Azrael's state of dress and how he thought the angel might improve upon it, once before.

“It isn't the fifteen hundreds anymore, luv. It's really trousers or nothing. I happen to have nothing at home, if you'd care to follow me.” That had earned him a crack upside the head with a wing, and an extremely insincere apology. Perhaps he could avoid that this time, his reaction time had gotten much better.

“You're early.” Spoke the angel, that tone relaxed and smooth as he gestured towards a seat. “Please, sit down, I'll try to make this as succinct as I can.” It was at this point that the demon noted the dressing for the table. No food, which didn't really surprise him, but he couldn't really hide the smirk as he took a seat beside the angel, reaching past the empty plates and wrapped cutlery to snag the bottle of wine atop the table.

“How apropos of you. Sangiovese, I see? Very clever.” Azrael's eyes rolled, and with a chuckle, Belial poured himself a drink, taking care to ensure first that the bottle hadn't been opened prior. No deception, the angel claimed, but he'd not be so quick to wholly trust that. Settling back now with his glass, he gestured languidly towards Azrael. “Before we begin, let me inform you that if you have any intention of talking me out of my deal with Jack, you're free to excuse yourself now. Thank you very much for the wine, angel. The mage, as I recall telling you earlier, is mine, and I'm not going to be bought by a fiery sermon or some wholesome, uplifting speech.” He raised his drink to his lips for a sip, regarding the angel with coal colored eyes as he awaited an argument.

“I'm not here to barter for your deal, Belial. I'm here to barter for time.” The response prompted the prince to loft a single brow, swirling the wine about in its glass.

“Time, Azrael? You're asking for a stay of execution for the boy?” Huh. Well. Not exactly what he was expecting, but... “Why would I want to do that? He's escaped from me twice now, I'm rather eager to have him in my company again, as quickly as I can manage at that. Granted, time is perhaps a touch easier to give you...” After all, as powerful as the angel seemed to be, there were still rules. No amount of power was going to change those. “But you'd have to find a hefty enough payment to get me to even consider-”

“One night for a year.” Azrael gestured towards himself, his tone even and still so infuriatingly calm, despite the absolute insanity he was now speaking. “I will trade a night with you, within this room. Until the sun rises, you may do whatever you see fit with me, so long as I still live come daylight. In exchange, you add another year to Jack's time on earth.” Belial's immediate response was to choke on his wine. Quickly, the glass was set down, control regained almost instantly as he fixed Azrael with a piercing stare.

“You can't possibly be making that offer.” Could he? … Would he? “Not very angelic of you, mate.” Was this a joke? … He hoped not. Azrael didn't budge, his expression still calm, still quite painfully serious.

“I am. You are, of course, free to reject this deal. I can't make you-”

“No.” He interrupted that potential withdrawal, leaning forward towards the angel. The word 'deal' ringing in his head like church bells. Not his favorite kind of deal, no, but he'd be a fool to turn it down. “An entire night, whatever I like with you, angel. I'll take that deal.” A hand, pale and clawed, was held out. Only right to make it official.

He noted with interest that Azrael moved to take it without hesitation, his expression unreadable. “Then it is a deal.” So crisp, so official. So final.

And without warning, Belial would go to collect on that deal. The grip on Azrael's hand tightened, and for one wild moment, the angel was jerked forward, Belial gleefully watching the expression of tranquility break in an instant into surprise. Into alarm. And then, just as quickly, Azrael would be slammed back into the table, the demon following as his free hand locked firmly around the angel's neck. The other would slide to his newest (if temporary) acquisition's hip, forcing the angel's legs apart as he pinned the gasping man to the table. Those wings, once hidden by magic, erupted into existence upon striking the table, magnificent white plumage knocking aside the bottle of wine and Belial's glass.

It was with no small amount of satisfaction that the demon would watch the expensive sangiovese stain those white feathers red, muddying the gentle blue light of the runes upon them.

Leaning forward, he watched for a moment, rapt, as the angel beneath him writhed, gripping his hand and fighting to breathe.... but not fighting against him. Whatever he wanted, after all.

Easy, angel...” The purr in his voice was obvious, and quite appropriate given the circumstances, in his opinion. No answer, of course he wouldn't get one, tightening his grip around Azrael's neck. The angel's pearl colored eyes screwed shut, his own grasp on Belial's wrist starting to slacken. “There we are now, don't fight it.” He'd promised, as part of the deal, not to kill him. It didn't mean he wouldn't make it feel like the angel might die. “I'm going to give you a little something, before we start proper. Consider it a 'thank you' for all you're going to do for me, tonight. But first-” He peered around the table, finally raising his thumb just a bit off the hollow of Azrael's neck. The ensuing gasp for air was very pleasing indeed, along with the way the pinned angel's eyes widened as Belial snagged a steak knife from the table. “A little preparation.”

Judging by the way the angel flinched as he brought the knife down, it seemed clear that Azrael had just about as much faith in Belial keeping his word as Belial had in the angel's own honesty. And sure, the knife would nick him. It was a hard task, sawing off someone's clothes with a steak knife of all things, really more of a job for a fillet knife, but any port in a storm. Belial's gaze was half lustful, half fascinated, as the knife laid brilliant, scarlet lines across the angel's tanned skin, across his arms and chest as the fine robes were cut away into so many rags. He didn't stop there, either, turning the blade towards his catch's hip.

Azrael jerked, as if thinking of stopping him.

Stay still.” Came Belial's hissed order, and with a swell of pride did he note that he was instantly, though reluctantly obeyed. Thus was the drag of the knife along the angel's hip and thigh to free his trousers and small clothes just a little less deep than it could have been. Less deep, still there, drawing a shallow, bloody gash along Azrael's side. The hiss of pain it caused, the way the pinned, ashen faced, obedient angel shivered and squirmed under him was the headiest aphrodisiac he'd ever sampled.

Bare to him, legs still splayed around the demon, wine soaking into platinum hair and white wings as sacred blood lazily trailed down exposed skin. What a sight. His thumb at the angel's hip dragged along the smooth flesh, admiring the feeling of taut, firm muscle beneath it, the contrast of sunless white against warm gold. “Good boy.” It was more of a growl, that comment, rolling his hips against Azrael. Perhaps it was fear, the flood of adrenaline through the angel's body, but there was no hiding his half aroused state, nor the obvious shame, the once so put together man's gaze now unable to meet the demon prince head on.

“You've gone awfully quiet, Azrael.” Oh that name still filled him with anger, and he punctuated it with a harsh squeeze at the other man's neck, his nails biting into the soft skin. The ensuing gasp of pain and surprise was delicious. “It's a shame, you have such a lovely voice. I'll see if I can't coax-” Another squeeze, this time he was rewarded with a short, choked cry, “some more sound out of you before daylight.” But he'd promised him a present, hadn't he? He had all night to be smug, there was no reason to dump all of that out right now, he could layer it nice and evenly until daybreak.

“I'm going to let go of you, and you, are going to put your feet on the floor, turn, and brace yourself against the table.” There was still the expectation there, just a little, of a fight. A deal was a deal, but then, he wasn't entirely sure if the angel would be foolish enough to think he could go back on it. “If you fight, I'm going to rip those pretty wings off and feed them to you.” It was both amusing and heartening to see him only level a withering look at Belial in response to the threat. Despite the prior alarm, it seemed Azrael still had little genuine fear of him. At least, no fear he was willing to display.

Good.

Slowly, begrudgingly, he released the other man's throat, dragging his hand down along his body as he did so, trailing lines of too red blood in its wake. So did he remove his other hand from Azrael's hip, but not before sliding his thumb along the inner curve of it. Best not let him forget what was going to happen here.

Belial wished for a moment he had a camera to record all this with, as the angel slid off the table, enough to touch the floor, before turning away and bracing against the table, precisely as commanded. It was impossible to miss how the stained wings trembled just ever so slightly, how sluggish and leaden his movement was. He didn't want to give Belial his back, and who could blame him, really?

“Bend forward, rest your elbows on the table, and spread your legs, luv. Nice and wide now, and keep those wings out of the way.” But still out, one hand flying to the left one and yanking sharply as blue light shimmered at their edges. “And where I can see them, pet.” What a compromising position this was, he could only imagine the level of the angel's embarrassment. But what a view, his hand sliding from the wing to the center of his back as Azrael slowly lowered himself to the table, platinum hair dragging into spilled pools of wine. Absolutely decadent, really, and his hand slid lower. Down over the ridge of his spine, wondering at where the wings joined seamlessly with sun-kissed skin. Sliding down his lower back, then lower to the curve his hip. There was a clatter as the knife was dropped, both hands gripping the angel's hips for a moment. He greedily took in how Azrael tensed, it being rather obvious what he was expecting next as his head sunk downwards towards the table. It'd almost be a tragic sight if the rest of it wasn't so goddamn hot.

But that wouldn't quite be the case. “Now now, that's not how foreplay works, pet.” As if he could read Azrael's mind here. The angel would have no idea what the demon behind him was doing, all he'd be treated to was the sudden, slick press of fingers against him, slowly now forcing their way inside him as the demon prince's middle finger popped past the tight ring of muscle. The sound that slipped from the angel, unbidden and surprised, was probably not the most holy noise in the world, now was it? But it was still perhaps the best damn thing Belial had heard all day, only second to the sound of Azrael making that deal with him.

“What a sound, Azrael. I'd think you never felt this before.” Which was precisely what he assumed the matter was, pressing another finger slowly, carefully inside, feeling him tighten around him, hearing him bite back another moan. “Oh no luv, don't hold back on my account. I insist,” he knew damn well where to press, and his fingers pressed in and down, quickly locating that little bundle of nerves. He knew he'd found it the second Azrael jerked forward with a decidedly much more energetic cry, “be shameless. Nice and loud, it's quite well insulated in here.” Azrael had clearly chosen this room with this entire deal fully in mind, and he wondered for a moment how long he'd planned it.

Ah but he was shaken from his idle musing by the tremble in Azrael's body, how heavily he leaned on the table at only the lightest press. Tragically new, it was almost such a waste. Good thing he'd come to Belial, wasn't it? He couldn't imagine Jack getting this far with Azrael, after all. His free hand again gripped the angel's hip, and his fingers moved inside him, pressing down firmly, dragging long and deep against that sweet little spot. Azrael writhed, his fingers biting into the table as those gorgeous wings spread wide, the tips trembling as he rocked gently, just ever so gently, back against Belial's hand.

“Excellent, just like that. Roll your hips back into it, pet.” Awkwardly so at first too, but as he'd done before, the angel obeyed again. It wouldn't be long until he'd meet his hand vigorously, gasping and moaning shamelessly as the demon's pace became almost frantic, jet black eyes drinking in the sight of this supposedly holy being eagerly, desperately fucking himself on his fingers. Each motion was so fluid, he could have nearly fancied Azrael genuinely experienced, and he gripped the angel's hip tightly, his claws sinking into the skin harsh enough to draw pin pricks of blood.

And then, with a sharp, soft cry, he'd come. Stiff for a moment, before it'd roll through him, and Belial felt the angel tighten once more around him before Azrael slackened, barely managing to avoid collapsing against the table. He shook with that exertion, and Belial took a moment to admire the sheen of sweat on the angel's warm, bronzed skin. Those wings had again fallen into the spilled wine, and he took the liberty of reaching up with the hand still yet stained with Azrael's blood, idly wiping the crimson stains across the snowy feathers. “Very good, are you sure you haven't done this before?”

The lack of response was disappointing, though he wouldn't be left entirely cold. Not with the tired, hooded glare he'd receive from over the angel's shoulder. Still just prickly enough. Good. He pulled his fingers free of Azrael's body, the hand at his wings reaching up to almost lovingly twine in the angel's pale hair.

“Now, as lovely as you are, all spent and spread out on the table, and as much as I'd just love to fuck you from now until dawn,” those clawed fingers wrapped several silvery locks around them, before yanking back sharply, unable to keep himself from pressing his clothed erection against the angel's naked ass as Azrael jerked back with a cry. “Patience, I've been told, is a virtue, and I have all night to get around to fucking you senseless. I hope you enjoyed that little gift. If you're very lucky, I might give you another one before our time here is up.” One more good yank on his hair, pressing firmly against Azrael's upturned ass so that he could really feel how hard the demon prince had become, listening with barely contained glee to how his breathing ticked upwards. He bent forward to murmur in his ear now, his voice soft and low. “Onto your back again, angel. I want to see your face.” With that, he'd again release him, resisting the urge to just grab at those wings and flip Azrael over himself. It was much more satisfying to watch him obey.

And obey he did, Belial treated once again to the handsome sight of shallow, bleeding cuts that had just started to slow and heal, the scent of alcohol thick in the air as it became clear the angel was almost nearly soaked in it. Well, he had been laying on the table. At least those wounds were clean now, right? Didn't matter, it was a damn good look either way. Any attempt to close his legs would be swiftly interrupted, Belial stepping in the second Azrael faced him to put himself right between them, forcing the angel back down again atop the table. Forcing him down, eager to press him flat against the expensive mahogany as his hands clamped around his neck again, driving his thumbs into his throat just to hear the angel gag. Delighting in the fact that he didn't fight against him, didn't even try to lift a hand to push him away, Azrael's nails dug pale shallow furrows into the wood instead. Inviting would be the word for this look, those wings spread and his knees at either side of him, and it was an invitation he took with great gusto, pressing down against the angel to listen to him gasp, feel every motion as he struggled pointlessly under him. So warm and bright even now, no matter how hard the demon's hands squeezed. A human's neck would have surely snapped at this point, the bone like glass under Belial's hand. Dead or dying, surely. At the very least unconscious from lack of air. It was genuinely impressive to see that inhuman level of hardiness, especially coming from someone who, without the heavy drapes of robes and regal golden finery, looked so slim and breakable.

He loosened his grip, just for a moment, and as Azrael tried to get just one unhindered breath, Belial quickly descended for a punishing, bruising kiss, his teeth drawing blood at the angel's lips as he stole that breath from him. Oh he'd be allowed to draw air again, once Belial was finished of course, his tongue drawing along the small gash his teeth had made on the angel's lips as the other man was reduced to panting. Greedily sucking in as much air as he could manage before it could potentially be cut off again.

“All this, for one human.” Belial's tone was low, musing, gently massaging the angel's no doubt very, very sore neck with one hand. The ragged breathing was as good as music to his ears, the sight of Azrael's chest heaving with every gasp tantalizing. “And no reward? You can't begin to tell me you don't want anything out of that boy. Not when you're willing to go this far.” His hand finally slid away from Azrael's throat, much to the angel's obvious relief, slowly sliding down skin slick with blood, wine and sweat to splay across Azrael's lower belly. “Unless this was what you wanted, of course. You don't have to be so convoluted about it if that's the case. I'd fuck you raw any time you'd like. You only have to ask.” He didn't expect to hear an explanation, and clearly, Azrael had no intent of trying to explain himself anyway. Perhaps there was none to give, altruism by definition didn't require a reason, and weren't the stories of angels all about how bloody good they all were? Perhaps the angel just felt the demon would never be able to understand it.

Perhaps he'd be right.

But there were no perhaps or maybes to be had about the fact that in the end, Belial didn't really care, nor care to know Azrael's logic or reasons. One night for one year, plain and direct. Practically as if the angel had some experience in the nature of deal making. A question for another day, most definitely.

For now though, the clock was ticking, and they hadn't even come to the main event yet. His hands pushed at the angel's inner thighs, and obligingly he spread his legs for him, apparently having not realized that at some point, he'd wrapped them around the other. Belial only chuckled, fussing with his belt and trousers.

“Were you enjoying yourself?” It looked at least partway some again, Azrael visibly half aroused as his breathing began to even. Pity, that part. He was just starting to put himself together again, and here was Belial, getting ready to undo all that hard work. “Like I said before, pet. I already gave you a present,” with a sigh of relief, he freed himself, hard enough now to the point where it'd started to become painful. “and if you're lucky, I'll give you another. But you're going to have to work a little for it.” Belial sure as fuck wasn't going to go out of his way a second time to bring the angel to orgasm, if Azrael wanted to enjoy it so damn bad, he could seek his own pleasure.

Again, slick fingers would press inside, pleased both to feel how Azrael relaxed around him, and to hear the faint, breathless moan, tainted with some measure of subconscious expectation. “Eager, I see.” The look of embarrassment on the angel's face was fleeting, replaced quickly with something unreadable, but undeniably dark. Finally got him genuinely angry did he? Took damn long enough. “Don't pout, you're better than that, luv. As sweet as it looks on you.” He pulled his fingers out, tugging upwards and back on the angel's hips sharply, partially to put him on level with his cock, and partly to just jolt Azrael from that absolutely precious, but clearly moody little moment. “Try not to tense up.” His other hand moved to guide himself, the fingers gripping Azrael's hip starting to dig in just a little, just for the sake of being contrary. 'Don't tense up', he said, while doing something that would cause literally anyone to get tense. “Or do. It'll hurt a lot more, fair warning, angel.”

The head pressed against that tight, slick ring, and Belial hissed as he pushed past it, watching, feeling Azrael fight against the immediate urge to stiffen. Those bright eyes had again shut tightly, his jaw set and tense, fingers gripping the table. Fuck, what a fit though... As much as he'd prepped the other man, he was still so goddamn tense! “You're not listening to me, luv.” It was unfair to be irate with him, first time and all. 'Don't tense up' was a lot easier said than done, but he wanted to be inside him now. And despite how violent he'd been with the angel up until this point, he didn't desire to shred the man.

It was absolute agony to hold still, reduced to gently rocking his hips forward, giving the angel just enough pleasure to the point where he felt him starting to relax around him. “There... there now, like that, yes. Breathe, nice and deep.” The feathery bastard better be grateful for this pep talk, this was as tender as he was willing to be.

Loosening, Azrael's breathing steadying again, Belial would slowly start to pick up the pace. The lubricant had certainly spread now, and the angel was pleasantly slick, once too tight walls approaching more of that lovely, velvety clasp that he was more accustomed to from far more experienced, better prepared partners. He'd be gracious enough to hold that long, slow, steady pace for a moment, letting Azrael acclimate to the sensation of the demon's cock moving inside him. He'd wait, far longer than he'd typically be patient with, watching as the angel's expression began to soften, the lines of pain starting to smooth away once more.

It was only when he saw the crescent of those bright, pearl colored eyes start to show that he finally took what he'd been desperately reaching for this entire time.

The ensuing, keening cry from Azrael as Belial buried himself hard and deep in him was the sweetest, most beautiful noise he'd ever heard. If only he'd been recording this, he could have listened to it every day for the rest of eternity. The angel's body arched like a bow beneath him, and he was all too happy to take advantage of that, dipping down to sink his teeth into Azrael's collar bone. The pace was punishing, fast, the sound of the angel's ass meeting Belial's hips just as lewd as the gasps, moans and strangled sobs he was now managing to wrench from the other man. Oh, it looked like it hurt, sure, but from the way Azrael's cock hardened without even being touched, it was clear that it wasn't just pain lancing through the sacred creature's body right now. He practically bounced with every thrust, and Belial certainly didn't miss how Azrael's hips rolled upwards to meet each thrust.You'll have to work a little for it. Looked like his suggestion was being heeded, how lovely.

Just as lovely as coming was going to be, if he had his way. His own breath was coming in ragged pants now, he wouldn't long be able to deny his own peak, but he wanted just one more act of obedience from Azrael. One more bit of proof, of how much he controlled the angel now. He lowered his head towards Azrael's ear, nipping at his jaw as he did so. The angel's dazed expression almost seemed to suggest he might not be able to discern or fully understand words, so he'd keep this simple.

“Beg me to come inside you, angel.” His pace slowed, pure agony for himself to be sure, but he wanted this. “Beg me to fill you up, tell me how much you love being fucked by a demon.” His voice husky, fighting to hide the desperation in every syllable. “Anything I want, Azrael.” He stared hungrily, as Azrael's head rolled to the side, the angel watching him from the corner of one luminescent eye. “Anything I want with you.” Don't forget the deal. The angel's tongue flicked out to wet his lips, drawing a deep breath now.

Belial.” How hoarse the angel sounded now, no doubt a mixture of pain from how the demon had gripped his throat, and pleasure from the cock still slowly pumping into him. “Please...”

“Please what?” No it wouldn't be so easy as just 'please'. He dragged his claws across Azrael's hips, and thus dragged another delicious, soft cry from the angel.

Please, Belial, I want... I need you to come... inside me, please, please, please come.” His words were cut short by a sharp thrust of Belial's hips, the demon's voice straining not to crack.

“Do you love this, Azrael?” It was only with the barest, but obvious hint of hesitation, that Belial would receive his reply.

Yes.” That word sent shivers racing down Belial's spine, as the angel spoke again, “Yes, yes, yes, Belial. I love it...” The way it tapered off into an exhausted, desperate sob, as he rolled his hips upwards into the demon again. “I love it... Please come.”

Belial's nails sunk into soft, sun-browned skin, black eyes alight with lust. “Since you asked so nicely...” So very, very, very nicely.

The screams he'd drag from the spent angel were exquisite, the notes of pure pleasure that hung in them as clear as day to Belial as he brutally chased his own climax. Later, the angel would surely be sporting a lovely dappling of bruises and red, angry stripes across his hips.

It'd be up to Azrael to hide the more visible necklace of bruises around that lovely, slender neck of his as well, and no doubt he'd have to come up for an excuse about his split and swollen lip, and his cracked voice. That was none of Belial's concern. He genuinely hoped Jack put two and two together.

For now though, as he spilled himself into the writhing body of the angel below him, he was happy to just sit in this moment, committing every motion, every sound to memory.

“One night, for one year, angel. I hope to see you just as eager come the new year.”

Not his favorite kind of deal, perhaps. But still one hell of a deal.