#poly ro

Ramiel strips off his shirt, groaning in relief as he pulls his wings into this plane.

Michael scowls at him, arms folding across his chest. “Do you have to pull those out?” he complains, deliberately not looking at the soot-like color of the Fallen’s wings. His eyes can’t help but dart to them, though, glimmers of something illuminating the darkness of them.

“No,” Ramiel responds, raising his eyebrows as he hooks his thumbs into his waistband before shoving his pants down. “But I’m going to.”

Michael squawks and turns his back on Ramiel. “Gabriel isn’t even here!” he complains, his cheeks red. A warm laugh washes over him, and he bristles, knowing it’s at his expense.

“I can see that.”

“Then why are you getting undressed already?”

A hand touches his shoulder, and Michael wishes he’d pulled out his wings if only so he could smack Ramiel in the face with them.

“There are more than two people in this relationship, Michael,” Ramiel reminds him. “And you’ve done a great deal more than see me naked.”

“I’m not here for you,” Michael hisses, whirling. “What would I want with a Fallen,” he shoves Ramiel in the chest, advancing on him, “who abandoned his siblings for a fling, who was never there when he was needed, who thinks that he can Fall and yet everything will be just fine and dandy!”

Ramiel has no more room to retreat, his knees hitting the back of the bed. For once, Michael can’t read Ramiel’s expression, those whiskey colored eyes giving away nothing. Michael hates how they look, and with one more shove, sends Ramiel backwards onto the bed.

“I know what I’ve done,” he rumbles, reaching for Michael and tugging him down on top of him. Michael catches himself, hovering over Ramiel. He’s keenly aware of the Fallen’s body beneath his own, warm and firm. “And you know love isn’t the only reason people have sex.”  

Michael swallows, the words for the next retort fleeing as Ramiel begins to unbutton his shirt. “But I want it to be,” he mumbles as he has to sit up to let Ramiel tug the shirt off of him. It goes onto the floor.

“Do you want me to stop?” Ramiel asks, one side of his mouth sliding

It should be an easy answer. There’s only one right response.

But instead, Michael’s head hangs, his chin touching his chest. “Why are you making me do this?” he asks.

“I’m not making you do anything, Mymy.” That’s not Ramiel’s nickname to use. It should upset him that he would borrow it so easily but instead it makes him reach for Ramiel’s hand, bringing it to the button of his jeans. He hates these modern clothes.

“We’re both in love with Gabriel. This isn’t—”

“It’s not cheating to get started without them,” Ramiel replies, soothing him. “No more than when you two have fun without me, or Gabriel and I without you.”

“When did—” Michael stops himself. Ramiel has a point.

“Besides, you know what Gabriel really likes?” Ramiel pops the button of his jeans, and slowly tugs the zipper down. Michael makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a whine as Ramiel drags a finger over the front of his pants. “Gabriel loves seeing their lovers getting along. It’s not enjoyable to be in love with people who hate each other.”

“I don’t hate you,” Michael protests.

“I know.”

Michael gasps as Ramiel kisses his throat, teeth scraping across his skin. He pushes his hips forward, demanding that the hand lingering on his boxers do something to address the problem Ramiel is responsible for.

“You hate yourself,” Ramiel continues, and Michael tries to pull away, to deny it, but he’s suddenly being flipped under Ramiel. The Fallen’s wings unfurl, and he stares up in awe at the constellations swirling in the black feathers. When had Ramiel’s wings gotten to be so… so pretty?

“You hate that you enjoy something you think you shouldn’t. You hate that you don’t hate me, because I’m a Fallen. The enemy. You hate that you always felt like an outsider in our nest, that Israfel and I never cared for you as much as Gabriel did, that you felt like an interloper.”

Michael wants to tell Ramiel off, wants to tell him how wrong he is but he can’t. He can’t because he’s grabbed Ramiel’s long locks and pulled the infuriating Fallen to him, crashing their lips together in something too harsh and disjointed to be called a proper kiss. Their teeth clack together and he tastes iron as someone’s lip gets cut, turning the kiss bitter.

Yet it’s perfect.

Ramiel gentles the kiss, and it must be Michael’s lip that’s cut as the Fallen pulls the lower one between his teeth, sucking on it, tongue swiping repeatedly across the tender flesh. Michael’s fingers dig into Ramiel’s shoulders, holding him close, desperately clinging to the Fallen.

He’s tired. Tired of expending all his energy doing the ‘right’ thing. And Ramiel is right. Gabriel does positively glow with happiness when they see Michael and Ramiel getting along. This is just an extension of that.

“Ramiel.” He sighs the Fallen’s name as Ramiel pulls back, hair falling in a dark curtain around his face. Now his eyes seem golden, glittering like the stars he swears he’d glimpsed in the darkness of his wings.

“I’m… I’m trying,” he explains, and it’s not enough but he doesn’t know how to let go of this.

“I know you are, Mymy.” One large hand cups his face, thumb stroking his cheek. It’s oddly comforting, and Michael can’t process that right now. Instead he turns his head, catching Ramiel’s thumb with his teeth and sucking on it, meeting the Fallen’s gaze as he swirls his tongue over the pad.

“Is that how you want to play?” Ramiel’s voice is lower, and Michael shivers. Yes. It’s easier if he lets Ramiel do the work, if he surrenders to the sensations and shuts out his thoughts.

Somehow his jeans are kicked off, with the boxer-briefs following. He bites his lower lip and gasps, forgetting how tender it is right now.

“Let’s give that lip a break, hmm?” Ramiel swipes a thumb over it, and Michael can tell he wants to help but that’s something he’s not quite ready to feel.

“Can you—” His voice is hoarse, and he can’t finish the question.

Maybe Ramiel understands, because he moves, letting Michael sit-up. The Fallen moves to the head of the bed, and pats the top of his thighs.

Michael looks askance at Ramiel’s arousal, lips pursed tightly. “Really? That got you turned on? A kiss? No wonder—”

“Michael.” There’s an edge of warning there, and he shuts up. Right. Getting along.

He crawls on top of Ramiel’s thighs, heart pounding. “Do you want me to—” His question is cut off as Ramiel pulls them flush together, lengths touching.

“That’s a good angel,” Ramiel says with a smirk. Michael scowls, but the expression melts into a blissful moan as Ramiel slides a slick hand over their cocks. He hadn’t even seen him grab the lube.

“You can—you can touch it more like—”

“Show me.”

Michael reaches down, hesitating before covering Ramiel’s hand with his, showing the Fallen how he likes to be touched. Their heads are bent together, watching as their hands move in tandem, and it’s a strange thing. He feels like he should look at Ramiel but it’s easier to not watch, to focus on the glide of their hands over soft flesh and—

“Well.”

Michael jumps, eyes flashing fully open, almost falling off of Ramiel’s lap as he scrambles to turn around. Ramiel rights him, but doesn’t let him go, one arm wrapped around his waist.

“Care to watch the show?” the Fallen asks.