#elyyle

The blood burns as it hits your skin, hissing and evaporating like steam, leaving behind pockmarks of wrongness.

“Stop it.”

Aelius bats away your hands, but the attempt is feeble, like the bite of a newborn baby human: toothless. There’s no vigor, no energy in his motions. The pallor of his skin is unhealthy for a human and even though he’s a demon, this much blood can’t be good.

“Gabriel, I said stop!”

He shoves your hands away again, and you lift your head to give him a look full of fear. “I can fix this,” you say, but it’s a reflex. You don’t believe it. He’s a demon. None of your training, none of your existence has taught you how to help demons.

His eyes have gone a milky white. Like a corpse, you think, as he brushes a dark curl away from his face. There’s an ethereal edge to his normal beauty, sleek and dangerous, a reminder that no matter what face he wears, he’s a predator, a hunter, a creature that feeds on others to survive.

“Not like this you can’t.” For all the blood drenching him, Aelius’ voice doesn’t waver. There’s no fear, no terror in his words. No hands reaching desperately for you, trying to pull power from you in a desperate bid to survive. “If you try to heal me with your Grace, you’ll finish what they started.”

You recoil, hands jerking away. The thought hadn’t crossed your mind; you know better than to use Grace around your boyfriend. Still, the idea that you might, that you could so easily cause harm where you seek to help, haunts you.

The sense of foreboding grows. His blood wouldn’t sting against your skin if you were using the shell correctly. It would drip down, leaving trails of black ichor, but it would not hurt.

You could have killed him. One moment of inattentiveness, one careless, desperate moment and you would have fallen back on old habits. You would have filled your hands with light and burned him to nothing.

Edging away in horror, you almost fall off the edge of the tub, but he’s fast, grabbing onto your arms and dragging you back violently to him, sending you crashing against his chest.

“No, Aelius, I can’t—I almost—”

“You didn’t.” He speaks with a careful, measured tone, like he doesn’t feel the pain at all. “It’s pointless to torture yourself over something that didn’t and won’t happen. Believe me. It’s the easiest trick in the book.” A weary smile drags half of his full mouth up before it crashes back down in a grimace. Pain draws harsh lines on his face, his brows pinching together, his disconcerting eyes hidden as he leans on you, gasping.

“Aelius,” you whisper, voice breaking. You’re supposed to be a healer. You are an archangel, a powerful being who can make the earth tremble at your feet but you can’t fix your heart as he bleeds in front of you.

Aelius isn’t a human, though. He’s not a mortal any more. He’s a demon.

“How—how do I fix this? Souls? Do I—can I raid a hell or—or do you need fresh ones or—” Each idea sounds more reprehensible to your own ears but you don’t care. You’d known dating a demon was a terrible idea, that it only worked because you were pretending to be something you’re not.

“Calm down.” Hands slide over yours, and warmth chases away the cold threatening to smother you. You stare at his eyes, but they’re not the cool white of before. They’re soft and gentle, inviting you to lose yourself in them.

“How are you using your powers on me?” you ask. “No—why? You need to help yourself, Aelius. I—I can’t.”

“My silly angel,” he whispers, his smile beatific. “I am helping myself. Or did you forget one of the tried and true ways an incubus can feed?” He draws your hands to his chest, placing them over his perfectly smooth skin. You frown. There had been wounds, terrible gashes. Something flickers at the edge of your vision and you narrow your eyes—

“Gabriel.” His voice is smooth, warm, enveloping you in its familiar embrace.

“This is how you help. This is how you heal me.”

His lips are closer than you remember them being, barely an inch from your own. With a smile, you close the distance and kiss him, groaning as he slips his tongue into your mouth. A lap full of demon is a very nice way to cope with… whatever had been bothering you before.

Feeding. He’s feeding on you.

There’s a brief flash of anger, hot and roiling, and instinctively you reach for the power to smite this impudent wretch who would dare—

Aelius pulls away with a wince, licking his lower lip. You’d split it with your teeth, without meaning too.

“Hey, I… I need you to not fight it. To trust me,” he says, blinking at you slowly and reaching up to run a hand through shadow. They coalesce into loose coils of hair but you’re not so sure anymore what’s real and what’s not. Or, rather, what’s on this plane of existence and what lies hidden beneath.

“I do trust you.”

“Good.” He leans back down and you lick apologetically at the swollen lip, but you taste no blood. “Sorry. It’s… easier to feed. Like this.” Now his voice is high, nervous, the pauses indicative of his reluctance to show you his true nature. Aelius plays at being a human, and well, but not tonight.

“Don’t be sorry.” Your words are clear, full of conviction. The haze obscuring your thoughts is easy enough to wade through once you know what to look for, but you don’t fight it. You welcome it with open arms.

“Take what you need, love.” This time it’s your turn to smile. “This has to be my favorite way of healing.”

“Only me,” Aelius adds quickly, settling on your lap. “You only get to heal me like this.”

“Only you,” you agree with a small smile. He can be terribly petty and possessive about the most ridiculous of things.

And then there’s no more talking as his mouth slides over yours again, drinking deep. You’re short of breath when he pulls away to kiss the side of your neck, unnaturally so. As healthy as you are, one kiss shouldn’t leave you panting. You don’t dwell on that thought for long though as his hand slides down, palming you through your clothes.

“Not wasting any time, are you?” you ask with a breathy laugh.

“You’re not going to last long,” Aelius murmurs before he sucks a mark against your collarbone. You don’t remember taking your clothes off but he’s suddenly touching bare skin, stroking you to full attention.

“Hey now, I am perfectly capable of lasting,” you protest.

“I know. But I need a lot of energy. Don’t worry: it’ll still be mind-blowing. You just might not recall the grand finale.”

Your demon leaves more hickeys scattered across your skin as you roll your hips eagerly into his hands, your noises of pleasure getting louder as his strokes become faster.

“Wait, Aelius, what about—”

Your question is interrupted by another fierce, draining kiss. “Your pleasure is mine,” he growls against your lips, giving a particularly harsh tug to your length. You think you reply, but you’re not certain as he demonstrates that some demons have more than earned the reputation for their skills.

And then you come. Your back arches, your hands scrabbling for your lover, trying to cling to him as you find yourself untethered, lost in pleasure, pulled down into a warm haze. You’re not sure if you remember being carried to bed, or if you constructed the memory later upon waking up, wrapped around a whole and healed Aelius.