makagraves but make it angel!Phillip (re: my prev hcs) and Makarov doesn't know.
Wouldnt it'd mean the Christian relics could have actual magical powers...
Imagine Makarov gets his hands on one, an ornate ring that belonged to some orthodox saint. I read somewhere that OG!Makarov was literally Russian Orthodox Christian and that probably still applies to the reboot as well. So he's careful with it but treats it more like a trophy then anything truly sacred.
At some point Graves visits and is looking around the collection of stuff Makarov has in one of his many residences when he sees the ring on a little velvet cushion. Of course he instantly knows what it is, trying not to sweat bullets or else blow his cover.
Makarov misinterprets the aversion as fear of damaging stuff and he take the ring out, thinking to show it off.
Cause through the ring, corporal illusions don't work and Makarov sees something very bright and angelic where Graves stands.
When Makarov holds it up to his eye, he sees wings and a cracked halo on Graves who looks increasingly alarmed at the scrutiny.
Graves tries to stammered something about the trick of the light or how they must've drank too much while shimmying over to the exit. Only for Makarov to cage him in, pinning him to the wall. He double checks that he isnt going crazy, moving the ring over his normal human hand that appears as is to Graves' arm that glows only through the hole.
"You are not human." Makarov accuses. "Show me what you are."
Graves again tries to get out of this and earns himself a jab to the ribs for his troubles. Makarov's grip is ironclad, they're not going anywhere.
With no other choice, Graves relents and drops the illusion. In a blink, what was a rugged aged commander became a being as white as snow.
Graves doesn't shine as much as he used to and his wings have lost their original luster, but Makarov is in awe all the same.
He runs his calloused gun-scarred fingers through the soft feathers, marveling as they fluttered, unused to human touch. His hands smooth over everything inch of glowing skin. When Makarov glances up at the cracks in Graves' halo, he taps it a few times as if making sure it was real.
Graves is stone still. He could break free and fly away if he absolutely has to, but he gets distracted by how enthralled Makarov was. Human hands eventually settle on his hips and dug into him. Makarov hadn't blinked in minutes, a possessive heat swirling around his eyes and gut.
"An angel." Makarov states the obvious like a prayer.
Graves falters at how they huddled closer. "Don’t get any ideas now."
Instead, Makarov takes Graves' hand, brought it up, and kissed each knuckle with a reverence.
"I've had an angel by my side."
Vindication and fascination rolled into an inky black tone. Graves is a sheepish mess as he pushes at Makarov’s shoulders to make space, muttering something about getting attached to a megalomaniac.
Makarov hears none of it and yanks his lover's hand towards him, slipping the ornate ring onto an angelic radiant finger. It fits perfectly.
Graves gets to so embarrassed he reverts to human form and attempts to pull the relic off. It doesn't budge.
"My angel." Makarov purrs into Graves' ear. "You stay with me."
The retort Graves has disappeared as Makarov mouths at his neck, humming Russian prayers and sermons he'd memorized as a child. He, like he had then, worships God's creation with all of his soul. His damned blackened heart will chain this one to him as well.
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