decadence.

Face split into a smile, more for Raphael’s sake than of his own amusement. Truthfully, he was more of a serious soul, he didn’t see much occasion for amusement in this prison of theirs, even less so in a moment like this. But then, Raphael had gone to the trouble of making a joke, attempting to inject levity into a situation that was nothing short of dire in Samson’s eyes. As much as he might have wanted to ignore it, he could not do such a thing, could not do anything that might discourage Raphael in any fashion. He was trying to build the other up, get him to leave with him, not tear him down. 

Head shook slightly, accompanying the smile, a touch grateful that he could remember something positive of his past for once, instead of Delilah, a simply personal rejoinder to Raphael’s levity. “I grew up with six sisters,” he said lightly, “I had to learn to fight for what I wanted with words first and foremost. Otherwise, I would have been dressed for tea parties rather than simply forced to participate in them. Though I didn’t always win and I wore my fair share of dresses when I small enough for ‘em.” As he spoke the amusement in his voice at the memory clearly shined through. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought from his childhood, a reminder of the fact that it had been idyllic once.

The fact that the sound that escaped the other was a cross between a laugh and a sob was not lost on him. However, he was’t sure what he could say that would make it any better, and so opted to say nothing at all. After all, what good was offering the other comfort for something that was undeniably awful, while also having no particular experience with it? Instead he opted to nod in acknowledgment of the other’s final decision, glad that he didn’t have to outright push the man from a stand still into following him. And at the sentiment that followed, about any of the demons following after them, he had to suppress himself from tacking on Delilah, unwilling to put a voice to a thought he had already had if only because it might make it more true than it already was. He was afraid that Delilah would exclusively seek him out, the same way Cain sought after Abel each and every time.

Legs moved at the prompt, in a somewhat quick stride, though certainly not running (it wasn’t time for that yet), heading towards the exit to the cell block area, moving towards any area that would bring them closer to out, head moving from side to side slowly as he tried to make sense of everything he was seeing, jumbled and fogged as it was. As they went, he spoke once more, voice a little more clipped now with the urgency of it all. “Can you keep sharp eyes out for the demons?” he asked, glancing to Raphael and tapping near his own as he continued. “Mine aren’t quite up for scouting.”

Clapping him on the back, he gave him a bright smile at the attempt to at least inject some kind of happiness into the desolate situation that they have both been put in, though half of that smile was still from the thought of Samson in chiffon dresses probably meant for a baby. It was a welcome distraction from both the chaos that surrounded them and the knowledge, the horrible knowledge that he had left the love of his life behind for some demon to prey upon. He could only pray that it would be Cain, or Gabriel, for they were close to the both of them and might show mercy where in the Devil’s eyes, none was deserved. 

“I’m sure you looked rather cute in that dress---too bad Polaroids were never around back then; do you supposed I could interest you in a photoshoot if we ever get out?” He could practically see it now, Samson in a wedding dress with lace and any makeup that they could find so as to boost the morale of the troops over at RECON. "Handsewn lace, and I’m sure I could find some type of shoe to fit you well, you might as well look good even when there’s some levity involved. And I know how to put on makeup well enough; thank God for my days at Stonewall, am I right?”

He was about to pass some meaningless tirade about Stonewall or how Samson would look in some nice kitten heels scrounged up from a scorched boutique somewhere when he heard fluttering of feather and wind nearby---and sure enough, the guards were in full swing, ready to beat down on the ensuing chaos. His blood ran utterly cold and his legs kicked into action, for what was he good at if not running away after all; cowardice was bred into him ever since the day he first took a breath of air. He needed to get them out, and fast for it seemed that while they were intent on control, they would have no qualms to kill, and living seemed a better option than having his head sundered from his shoulders at the moment.

“Move. Now.” It was an order, harsh and unheard of coming from him, as he was used to friendly jibes and flirtation around the Yard itself, but the sense of urgency dictated otherwise. He was not going to get them caught now, not while there was a chance of freedom. “Demons are about to get to the crowd, we need to go.”

He’d been hesitant to even leave the room that all the angels had been gathered in, but the thought of just staying made him more uncomfortable than he’d cared to bear.

Elijah found himself wandering the manor, drinking in the details of the building. Everything was so… ornate. Almost to the point of gaudiness, if Elijah were to be truthful. He didn’t have any intention of actually escaping. He didn’t know the layout of the manor, and he certainly wasn’t going to run around blind and potentially run into someone he didn’t want to. Of course, wandering around blind didn’t really lessen his chances of doing that either. It was more that he was operating on the hunch that, if he were just wandering and not looking like he was trying to escape, any demons that he had the misfortune to run into wouldn’t see him as a threat.

Wandering down the unnecessarily detailed hallway, ghosting his fingers over the things that caught his interest, Elijah was so absorbed in trying to memorize the details that he didn’t hear anyone coming up the hallway. When he’d clued in that the steps he was hearing were not his own, he jerked to face the oncoming person.

He couldn’t wait to be free of this garish little prison. Even if it means he never gets to see another original Gentileschi or Caravaggio ever again.

However, plans of escaping had to be sidetracked when he saw his old assistant, the ever-reliable Elijah sputtering out a lie that could have fooled approximately no one---ah, how he missed his awkwardness; his days were incomplete without him after all. ( And he needed another man who could fend off here and there, but that was here nor there. ) Putting an arm around him and giving him a bright smile, something that contrasted the dreary walls, in an attempt to calm him down. It would not do for two angels to be caught wandering the Devil’s mansion, after all.

“Come here often, doll?” he started, a playful tone teasing at the angel, “I mean aside from looking at... whatever that is. Is that a sculpture of some sort, Eli? Everything here is either too baroque or too dark that I can’t stand it. What ever are you doing, looking at that horrid thing?”

Even if those hands dug about in his opened flesh with little warning, sending stiff shoulder flinching downward. “Sorry, sorry,” he gasped, eyes reeling and stars dancing before his eyes. “Could we just… skip this part and… and let me kiss you again?” But Raphael was clinical and professional, and there was no doubt that he would relent before Abel was well on his way to being healed. He could only be thankful for that; he would much rather endure a bit of pain than wallow in the feeling of half-healing for the rest of his endless life. And if it meant that Raphael would be proud of him, he would do absolutely anything; he could remember clearly allowing his hand to be crushed in a heavy door simply so that he could go to Raphael to have it healed. He had discovered then that the easiest way to seem tough was to not cry when bones were being set ( he’d cried later that night ) and Raphael’s pride at his bravery had become a drug that he’d quickly hooked himself on without reservation. 

Brace yourself, dear. 

It was really a quite short moment of warning, for before Abel could truly brace himself, rubbing alcohol was poured into his wounds, audibly sizzling into the torn muscle and exposed bone. All thoughts of making Raphael proud evaporated in favor of a startled cry, back arching down into the dirt and stone, palms flattening against the ground at the level of his eyes. His cry filled the cell, reverberating around stone and metal, and he squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his teeth and balling his fingers into fists upon the stone. Turning onto his cheek, he craned his neck to look back at Raphael, mindless and panicked response to the pain paralyzing his back. It would all be worth it, he told himself; he would be healed; Raphael would be proud; he could hold him when it was all over, and the pain would be forgotten and forgiven. It was blinding for a moment, but as the needle and thread began to pull him together, with Raphael’s hand bracing his unbruised skin, Abel began to come back to his senses. 

Abel pressed his forehead to the stone again as Raphael’s lips pressed a comforting kiss to the base of his neck. “I didn’t brace myself,” he huffed, a weak laugh and a shake of the head, with sandy hair hanging in a curtain over his face. With a groan, he did his best to help in rolling over once more, though he was largely useless, for he was oh so tired and embarrassingly weak. Nevertheless, he made a concerted effort to reach up and turn up Raphael’s lips at the corners, the ghost of a smile upon his face. “All better,” he smiled, voice small, but full of all the enthusiasm he could muster, “You’ll have to help me keep from tearing them up; we both know how much I love strenuous activity.” His face flushed as he realized the certain implications of his words, though he was quick to speak again to cover his accidental flub. “Thank you for fixing me,” he squeezed Raphael’s hand, smile turning honest, and less pink than before. 

( raphael had fixed him in more ways than one; did he know that abel was held together by strings that he had placed there? )

He kissed Raphael back with all the energy he could muster, neck craning forward and hands cupping his face; it was better medicine than anything he could have ever asked for, and made him feel warm and whole all in one. “And you’re sweeter than sugar,” he grinned, leaning forward as best he could to give him another peck upon the lips ( greedy and thankful as he was ) with fingers brushing black curls from his brow. “Do you think they’ll let you stay? At least for a little while – if only you could stay here all night. Nothing hurts when you’re here; feels good as new. Could you just stay forever?”

Stay here forever, with him forever, together forever; forever, forever, forever. Forever seemed like a reasonable order when Raphael was added into the equation. Before him forever had seemed like a punishment, an endless reminder of betrayal and servitude, but Raphael was purpose, Raphael was healing, and Raphael was forever. But if he could stay here for just tonight, just to help him heal a little quicker, he would be grateful. 

Something so simple, so pure gave him such joy right then and there and it was in his grasp then and there---for they were divine and they had the means to stay happy for the rest of their immortal lives; it wouldn’t even be that hard to stay with him in this war forever, for when Abel would leave this earth, scarred and torn from his grasp, it would be only a few moments before he followed suit. Like Orpheus before him, and Achilles and Cleopatra and Juliet, it would be inevitable that love would be his demise, and what a sweet ending to his book it would be. For the Angel of Healing would have a whole heart once more, and it beating for someone that was not there would have been a medical anomaly for him.

He looked upon him, beyond the scars and the pain and the encroaching darkness that the prison had offered, and allowed him to relish the fact that in this moment, he was safe and that he was safe with him within the walls of the prison, and even though he smelt of hospitals and blood, he felt like summer to him. Holding Abel’s hand, Raphael gave a smile, for he knew that he was greedy with kisses---with affection and that even within the walls of this prison, he would give affection where it was needed. After all, the most shameless flirt could easily become the most romantic person in the room, with the right person in their life, and Raphael was proof of that.

Giving him another kiss---something he was never tired of doing, from the looks of it, he sat down beside him, extricating himself from Abel’s touch for a moment. He put his arm around him then, to comfort, to reassure, because of all the things that he’s studied in his eternity, Abel was the one subject he would have undisputed expertise on, if you had asked anyone who knew him. At least that was what he thought---it never hurt him to be wrong once in a while; it just meant that he was learning something new about his favorite subject, and what academic didn’t want that?

“Not to derail darling, but you know you’re pretty hot with those scars on.” It was a joke of course, for he had preferred that his skin would be untarnished, perfect porcelain that should never been broken in the first place, but events and circumstances forced them to break---nothing that wouldn’t reform completely, but enough to scar. And scar they did. “A shame we don’t have any Narcissus to patch that up but I like a man with scars,” he continued, a smile on his face, “Means any strenuous activity we’ll do won’t end up without passion.”

Pressing him to his side, he gave another thought to staying forever with Abel, on some island in the middle of the Pacific where no demon or human could ever find the both of them, would never bring them harm once more, happy in some house by the seas where the waves lapped at their feet and the sun kissed their skin in the mornings. He thought of walking, if not flying through the trees and looking at the stars with new wonder in their eyes and making stories anew to give to whomever passed by their little piece of Eden, if they were to interact with anyone at all.  With Abel by his side, he thought once more of waking up next to him with sheets around their bodies, not being separated anymore by cold stone and desolation, and having him all to himself for nights on end and for the rest of time.

( Heaven paled in comparison to his thought, making his heart flutter and his blood turn golden as he dreamed this idyllic future next to him. Maybe once they were cast down, Heaven came along for the ride and they had to find it for themselves. )

Raphael cupped Abel’s face, running a thumb on his cheek, his gaze wishing to tell him what he wanted for him---for their future, but he kept silent, for he had other plans now at the forefront of his mind, other plans that he had to bide his time. Abel was an amazing muse for this sort of thing, for brainchildren born from glamour and stardust, at least he thought so.

“Well,” he started, a wide grin on his face, “I’ll stay. Maybe your brother gave us this little mercy, but I will stay until you need me to; you’re the most important thing to me, after all. I love you too much to say otherwise. Every moment I’m apart is something a little more unpleasant than I’d like to be without you or your smile.”