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It was easy to touch him. With force. With contempt. With malice. An old habit, and the only one that should ever exist in the first place.
“You really think we’re similar,” they snarl, taking a step closer, tightening their grip on his tie.
He gulps, his body desperately pressing into the desk behind him. They silently challenge him to answer, their gaze piercing and daring, but the self-assured expression he usually wears is nowhere to be found. Anger burns in his violet eyes, alongside with determination. He wants to fight, and yet when he opens his mouth nothing comes out as he hesitates.
“I at least stand by my choice, don’t I? Can you say the same about yourself?” They take their time with unknotting his tie and he looks puzzled, but still refuses to react. “I bet you’re waiting for the right moment to betray our deal.” He takes a sharp breath, when the distance between them becomes unbearable, but they don’t stop, no, they deliberately push their leg between his thighs.
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” he says, backing down so far that he almost sits on the desktop now. They notice the tremble of his voice. Is it because he’s lying? Or maybe it is because of their closeness? They do not care.
“Oh, I think you do,” Beelzebub smiles as their fingers work the buttons of his shirt.
“What are you do–” the words die in his throat when their hands meet with his cold skin and a strange whimper escapes his lips. They can’t see his face, but the way his chest is rising and falling underneath their touch tells them everything.
The power they have now is intoxicating. How careless, meeting with them alone, giving them the upper hand. He could of course try to use a miracle to escape. But his pride would suffer, something he wouldn’t be able to accept, and besides, Beelzebub still could use one of their own, and they would not hesitate to make a spectacular one. And that, that would certainly make for a peculiar situation if uncovered. What would be easy to explain for them, would make him look either like a fool or a traitor.
They lift their head to look at him and a similar realisation flashes in his eyes as he tries to once again wriggle away from their grasp. They dig their nails into his skin, almost drawing blood.
“I advise you to stay still.” Their voice buzzes lazily when they stand on their toes to make it clear to him, a blunt warning cutting through the nonchalance.
Gabriel looks like a trapped animal. His eyes are frantically glancing around as he considers what he should do. Someone like him does not respond kindly to being overpowered, Beelzebub knows it. But… everyone has a weakness that can be exploited. He can try to fight, and he can rebel all he wants, they’re the one with advantage here, simply because they have nothing to lose.
“Enough,” he protests as the last buttons of his shirt come undone, and their hand settles over the edge of his trousers. “I wasn’t trying to trick you. We both agreed. ‘No Armageddon’ means exactly that: no Armageddon,” he snickers, as it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“And why should I believe you? Are you trying to convince me you wouldn’t run to your lot with the first information in your favour?”
They laugh as the innocent look in his eyes turns into a completely different one. They wonder if he will insist on being self-righteous about it. They hope he will.
“Oh, so that was your plan? Getting close to the Duke of Hell,” their hand finds his cock hidden under the lush wool fabric of his trousers, and he jerks, but there’s nowhere to go. One of his hands steadies him on the desktop, the other is trying to make some distance between them, reaching in their direction without quite touching. Beelzebub slaps it away like a particularly annoying fly. A hiss escapes his mouth. “You wanted to learn your opponents’ weaknesses?” they mock him.
“I think I should go,” he mutters distractedly, trying to move once again, this time putting force into it. His corporation is bigger than theirs, athletic and strong. But Beelzebub doesn’t need strength to keep him in place.
“You, my silly angel, are not going anywhere,” they say, firmly staying in place with their hand still on his crotch. “Unless you want me to make a miracle so large, it will certainly gain attention from your fellow angels. What would they say, seeing you now? Dishevelled with a hard cock, at the mercy of a demon?”
They’re not even lying. He is getting harder under their touch and he looks like a mess. Not because of his clothing, it’s far from being properly dishevelled. No, it all comes down to his face. To the way his eyes are frantic and full of unease. To the way his mouth is parted and the ways his tongue licks his lips. They give him a playful squeeze and his breath quickens.
“Fuck you,” he exhales through his nose, and they laugh, unzipping his pants, deeply unimpressed. There’s only a soft layer of his underwear that protects him now and what a feeble defence that is, they think, when they explore his length, his skin warm underneath their fingers. He’s not fooling anyone. They know that a part of him wants it, and the other is probably ashamed of that exact want. Beelzebub on the other hand mostly desires to see him broken, breathless and defeated by them. Only by them.
They lean closer, following the lines of his face with their nose, waiting for him to lose his composure, to shiver, to move. He tenses when they find his ear with their mouth.
“They would probably demote you. I’m sure Michael would be thrilled to boss you around,” they smile, scraping his earlobe with their teeth. “Or maybe I could convince them to send you to Hell as a punishment. You would like that, wouldn’t you?” The way his cock twitches in their hand is an answer on its own. “I would fuck you anytime I would want to. Maybe I could invite all the demons of Hell to watch. Archangel Gabriel begging me for permission to come in front of everyone.”
He throws his head back, shaking it in a wilful attempt at disagreement, and suppresses a moan that says otherwise. The faint sound is enough for Beelzebub to clench around nothing, their own need building inside them. For a moment, they entertain the idea of taking his hand and putting it down their pants, forcing him to make them come on his fingers and lick them clean afterwards. But they can be patient with it.
“I never beg,” Gabriel spits back, but his voice is thin with want.
Beelzebub strokes him through the fabric of his briefs, rubbing their fingers around the wet spot forming in the front. He moans loudly this time, his eyes closed. The wood of the desk creaks with effort under his iron grip. His knuckles must be white from the way he clutches to the desktop.
“You don’t fight either,” they smile, while their hand goes over his waistband, thoughtfully exploring the skin of his stomach and the trail of soft hair disappearing under his underwear. “Don’t worry. You can protest all you want. I actually enjoy it.”
“Fucking demon,” he spits with disdain, a defiant gesture that quickly turns into a hiss when their fingers wrap around his length.
His skin is deliciously soft and Beelzebub feels hunger rising inside them. It's a dangerous kind of need. Unleashed, it could consume all of him and all of them and yet still remain unsated. A hunger fit for a Prince of Gluttony, they think, releasing him from their grip.
He breathes with relief, slumping on the desk.
“Good for you to realise it’s crazy,” he says, a self-assured tone he’s used to wielding slips back into its place. “I will be a bigger an… being. We can pretend it didn’t happen, just this once.” He tries to straighten up and regain what’s left of his authority.
Maybe it could be more convincing if not for his erection. But it’s only amusing now, and Beelzebub unceremoniously frees his cock from his briefs with a small miracle.
“That’s a lot of pretending to do, don’t you think?” they ask, raising their eyebrows in a challenge, and he almost chokes as he tries to desperately cover himself.
“Hands. Off,” they say, letting their annoyance slip into their voice. “You didn’t think I would just let you go. What about accountability? I thought your lot loves it.”
The irony is merciless and they send him a look with a clear message – they are only one of his missteps away from performing the biggest miracle they can think of. And despite his anger, Gabriel gives in, placing his hands back on the desk.
Beelzebub smiles, grabbing his chin.
“Maybe you’re not so dim after all,” they muse. The storm in his eyes is delightful. Looking at his silent determination, they can guess he must wonder how he could ever get back at them. How silly of him. They loosen their grip. “Lick,” they say, presenting him their hand, eyebrows arched with expectancy.
“You’re disgusting,” he says with contempt.
And yet, despite his hesitation, he ultimately obeys, his flat tongue meeting the palm of their hand. There’s nothing erotic about it, he doesn’t curl his tongue around their fingers, doesn’t put eagerness into it; and yet when Beelzebub locks their eyes with his, they are set ablaze. The silent disgust suits him very well, especially mixed with the inescapable submissiveness that makes them think he would love to do it again and again, kneeling and promising to kill them at the same time.
They don’t waste their time and their hand, wet with his spit, finds his cock again and he opens his mouth when they stroke him for the first time. He closes his eyes. Unacceptable mistake. They want him to look at them as he comes undone under their touch. They want to see the realisation, the horror in him as he does.
“Look at me,” they say, finding his neck with their free hand, exploring it with care. His Adam’s apple moves underneath their fingers, as he swallows hard, but he doesn’t obey. They roughly grab his throat and he rapidly opens his eyes, surprised and apprehensive. “It seems that you don’t understand it’s a punishment. I won’t be repeating myself. Is that clear?” They ask, loosening their hold on his neck, but not letting go of it. “Or maybe you’re just enjoying yourself too much?” Their hand on his cock stops its molestation abruptly, and a sound of protest escapes his lips, followed by uneasy breaths.
The air is heavy with the scent of his arousal. He opens his eyes and Beelzebub has to admit, he simply looks like a vision. If they could, they would make a sculptor capture him right at this moment as he is burning; as the sweat decorates his skin.
“I don’t…” Whatever he wants to say is forgotten, snuffed out by the moan as they pull down the skin of his prick, exposing the tip. They run their thumb around it, gathering the wetness, spreading it around his cock as he wavers in place.
“I don’t care,” they breathe into his ear as he leans into them and into their touch. “I will do what I want with you and nothing more. If I decide I want to bend you over this desk and leave you here, exposed, tied up and hard for hours on end, I will do it.” They say, slowing their rhythm. The vision of leaving him here like this almost makes them moan. What a glorious sight would he make. With his bare ass in the air, desperately waiting to be fucked and earnestly pleading for it. The way he bucks his hips makes them snicker. Was he imagining it too? “You would like that, wouldn’t you? I regret not realising sooner that Heaven is run by such a whore.”
Their words are rewarded with a loud grunt.
They indulge him, resuming the merciless pace, and the room is once again filled with a sinful wet sound as their hand works his cock.
“Screw you,” he manages to say through gritted teeth.
“Only if I allow it,” they smile, stroking his face with their free hand. They run their thumb over his lips and pause there, looking at him with expectancy.
The way his tongue curls around their fingers, when he finally takes them into his mouth, makes them gasp. He moans around them and shamelessly scrapes their skin with his teeth, sending shivers down their spine, making them clench again; making them regret being patient in the first place.
“I should have made you kneel and put that mouth to even better use.”
He groans, and only after a moment Beelzebub realises that he came, his spend cool and wet on their hand. They take their fingers out of his mouth, allowing him to breathe heavily with exhaustion. He slumps against them, resting his head on their shoulder.
They don’t intend to give him time to properly recover.
“You made a mess,” they say, their voice displeased and sharp.
He straightens himself up, his gaze is unreadable as he stares at their fingers covered with his come. His mouth is half open like he already expects what is going to happen.
“Silly angel,” Beelzebub hums. They considered licking it clean themselves or making him do it instead, but decide it would be too simple. They want him to remember this one very well. “I will clean it for you just this time,” they offer to his surprise.
They smile to themselves, taking off his unravelled tie. The way they wipe clean their fingers and then his stomach with it can only be described as scrupulous. When they loosely tie it back around his neck, his eyes are full of humiliation.
“Nothing to say?” they ask, taking his face into their hands and making him look them in the eyes. “Don’t you even dare think of taking it off or using a miracle to clean it. Are we clear?”
He nods and finally smiles, leaning in to kiss them. He takes his sweet time exploring their mouth with his tongue, and Beelzebub manages to pull back only at their second attempt.
“That good, huh?” they murmur, running their hands through his hair damp with sweat.
They try not to gloat with self-satisfaction, as they carefully look into his eyes, ensuring he is alright. When they find nothing but contentment, they briefly stroke his cheek and step back, letting him fix himself up.
“Thank you,” Gabriel finally says, his voice relaxed, as he starts to adjust his clothes.
“And a thank you? I regret not tying you up today, wonder how grateful you would be after that,” they tease and he looks at them with hesitation.
“Do you want to…?” he offers, quirking his eyebrow.
“We should probably get going,” they say, only half disappointed.
“Would you like to…” they both start to say at the same time.
Beelzebub snickers, gesturing at him to go first.
“Well, how about doing this tomorrow?”
His question is voiced as casually as it can be. Even though there’s absolutely nothing casual about rescheduling their weekly meetings. Tomorrow, he says. Their heart skips a bit.
“Well, we could. Potentially,” they say, nonchalantly.
“Potentially,” he agrees and Beelzebub hides their smile.