Y'know what, why not? What if they kissed, for Bee.
⚔︎ what if they kissed? accepting.
BEELZEBUB DIDN'T LURE LIKE OTHERS,
she did not need to; her smile was not an invitation, so much as a real, natural force. he should have turned away, but it pressed itself against him the way scent clings to the air: hard to see, harder to escape. she was lounging --no, prowling in the periphery of his containment, her movements too fluid, too effortless, as if her body knew music before it knew structure, still marked, somehow, by the echo of choir song.
michael had spent entire ages refining the art of stillness: his posture was law; his silence, a judgement. yet beneath that sacred exterior, there was a tension building in the cage of his ribs. when she spoke about nothing at all, really, he felt the words reverberate low in his gut. she unmade it all with a single glance, and the worst part was, he could feel it, that subtle shift in the air, like the skin of the world peeling back to reveal something warm and WILD beneath. she felt immense, ancient and ungoverned, never bent to authority and did not intend to start now.
she grinned, like a creature who knew exactly how far she could push before being punished (and how unlikely the punishment was to come.)
and he, god's own EXECUTIONER, let her close, with her feral smiles and her fragrant bread; it had not been planned, michael did not fall prey to impulse. but she smelled of heat and fur, undercut by something floral and honeyed; her eyes flickered in the gloom, animal and alight, as if tasting something on him he had not yet acknowledged.
she approached slowly, as if giving him time to draw his blade or step away, but he did neither; the instinct to correct her proximity existed (oh, it howled) but his limbs remained governed by some other force. this … felt like forgetting. he dipped down and kissed her because it was already happening. the inside of her mouth tasted like sweet decay, and she met him without hesitation, like she was claiming a prize long overdue. it wasn't tender. it wasn't cruel. it simply was. it held in it a strange peace, the kind found in the eye of a cyclone, while everything outside is being destroyed.
and in that kiss, he heard it: the sound of a leash snapping, the echo of a universe without commandments.
when it broke (for breath, not clarity) he did not step away immediately; his heart thrummed with some awful, beautiful rhythm, and his wings stayed half-flared, as if still caught between war and surrender. the weight of the moment settled across his shoulders like another mantle of judgment, and he simply stood, stormy hues trained on her, wondering whether he would do it again.
"you keep doing that." he said, voice thick, almost frayed. "--looking at me like that."
(--as if he didn't already know the answer.)
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