Leo (Courage)
It's been three years, four months, and seventeen days since my father last spoke to me. I receive occasional missives from his secretary, a third-tier angel with the unoriginal name of Mary, but nothing from him directly.
Mary's an idiot. I'd say that my father fucked her brains out over the years, but she hardly had any to start with. If she didn't have such a nice ass, there'd be no use for her at all.
Her latest letter is simple.
Galaleo,
Archangle Michael wants to no what is taking you so long. He expekts results.
It's not signed, but I recognize the curling letters and numerous spelling errors to be from Mary. To me, it makes no sense to have a secretary who can't spell to save her goddamn life. To my father, she's good enough in bed for her to be worth it.
Plus, he gets off on the humiliation she experiences when people correct her mistakes. He's a true sadist, the man who shaped me into everything that I am. I aspire to be like him in every way, to make him proud.
The 'results' she's referring to could apply to many things, but I'm sure it's about the human's continued presence at this school. The mortal bane of my existence otherwise known as Willow.
For almost two months she's been sullying the air of Purgatory with her putrid human taint. I've flunked her on every assignment or test she's completed in my class, but it's not enough. Her other professors rave about her intellect and enthusiasm for the material, giving her near-perfect scores on everything her grubby hands touch. Grades here at PA are calculated on a cumulative basis, so even if she has to retake my class next year, she'll still have the grades to become a second-year student.
At this point, I'm failing her out of spite more than anything else. It's satisfying, watching her become more and more frustrated. She gets so angry, but she never says anything to me about it. She won't even glare at me or look at me at all. I'd like to see her crack, so I needle her as much as possible.
I need to get her alone again. In class, that slow fucking imbecile acts as her personal shadow, constantly following behind her. He's annoying and I have no respect for him, but I never push him too far. He knows things he shouldn't, and we have a deal. As long as he honors his end, I'll hold up mine.
Outside of class, the human's surrounded by her demon friends and my worthless sister. Cassandra. If I had a choice, she'd be slaughtered like our mother. Alas, fratricide is one of the few inexcusable offenses in Heaven. As much as I hate to admit my relation to the traitor, blood is one of the only things in this world that cannot lie.
I could give the human another detention. I need to find a reasonable justification for the punishment, however. PA doesn't allow for detentions to be given out freely, especially when the professor and student are from opposing realms.
A fist raps on the frame of my door. The wood is solid, allowing for thunks with each knock. It's my office hours, so I glance up expecting a student with a question. Instead, Manny's bulky frame fits the doorway.
"It's almost time, boss. You coming or what?"
The son of Archangel Uriel is dressed in what can only be described as a loincloth. It blends in with the color of his skin, making him appear as though he's naked. He's also wearing a green wig, the synthetic hair frizzy and wild.
"What in God's name are you supposed to be?"
It's Halloween, this must be his shitty attempt at a costume.
"I'm a sexy tree," Manny says.
And I was right.
He holds his arms out, spinning in a circle to give me the full effect.
I sigh, already done with this interaction. "If you're searching for a man to suck your dick, go ask your roommate. He'll fuck anything that moves."
Manny frowns. "You know I can't do that. I can't get hard unless I take something first, and we're fresh out of Heavenly wine."
The headmaster of this academy has a sense of humor. He placed Manny and Romeo in a room together. Romeo, the demon who can't be abstinent for a single day lives with Manny, whose Virtue is Purity, and is celibate against his will.
"Change," I order him.
"Why?" he questions.
I send him my best glare. "Do I need a reason?"
"Well, uh, no."
"Correct." I shoo him away with the back of my hand.
As he exits the room, I call out to his retreating form. "Nothing tree-related."
Without looking, he gives me a thumbs up. "Got it, boss!"
I hate trees. Never gave them much thought a few months ago, but now I despise them. The only good tree is a dead one. When a certain someone vexes me to the point of physical outbursts, I only need to look around my office or my bedroom to remind myself what the future has in store for her. Nothing but wood, the chopped-up remnants of a once-living thing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I put more effort into my costume for the night than I have in all of the years I've been at this school combined. I need to impress, something that my identity and reputation alone are usually capable of doing. She's not so easily swayed.
Betty.
The angel of my dreams, the woman who consumes thoughts that aren't preoccupied with destroying humans and demons.
I've jacked off to memories of her more times than I can count. In my head, our kiss goes much further. Every night, imagined scenarios become more and more elaborate and detailed. Nothing can compare to the real thing, I'm sure. I haven't been able to find her yet, but chances are she'll be at the party tonight.
She's from Earth, so I have to assume she's familiar with Disney movies. I don't usually concern myself with Earthen products, but those films are one of a handful of things my mother shared with me before her ultimate death.
I'm dressed as one of the princes. The only one I ever related to. Prince Adam, otherwise known as Beast.
The outfit consists of several layers. On my torso, a white dress shirt comes first with a white kerchief tied around my throat, then a golden vest, and finally a royal blue tailcoat with gold trim. I have black slacks to cover my lower body, and a pair of shiny black boots on my feet.
It's more frilly than what I normally wear, but I appreciate the regality of it all. You'll never catch me frolicking around campus in a fucking loincloth, that's for sure.
Satisfied with my appearance, I teleport to the lake where the angels' Halloween party is being held. The sun is gone, the red moon illuminating an otherwise black sky. A large bonfire roars on the sand, its light bathing students in a fiery glow. There's a boombox blasting music out of scratchy speakers and people dance around the flames in costumes of all types.
Like Manny, the rest of the angels at the party dress sexy, baring as much skin as possible without actually being naked. There are sexy nymphs, fairies, and sprites grinding on sexy dragon shifters adorned with fake scales and wings. All of them look ridiculous pretending to be fae or shifters. At least I came dressed as a fictional character; no self-respecting angel should stoop low enough to emulate someone of a different species.
Snapping my fingers at a passing not-elf, I demand, "Get me a drink. Something strong."
The man nods his head jerkily. "R-right away, sir."
Being sober at this shit show is an unappealing prospect. While I wait for my alcohol, I scan the crowd for the one person I'd like to be around.
Almost everyone is near the fire, so I move closer to the blaze. It gets warm, and I absentmindedly untie my kerchief and undo a few buttons on my shirt to give my skin a chance to breathe. All the while, I search for her.
It was ill-lit when we first met, but my eyesight is impeccable. I know she has dark hair and eyes, most likely brown. Her chin is pointed, the sharp lines of her jaw softened by a pair of lush lips. Everything else is a mystery. One I am impatient to solve.
The fake elf returns with a frothy glass, his hands shaking as little droplets of liquor spill out the sides. Huffing, I snatch it from his anxious fingers.
"Go away now," I tell him. He does, obeying my command immediately. If he had a tail, it'd be tucked between his legs.
Rolling my eyes, I gulp down the bitter drink. I appreciate the compliance of my subordinates, but it does get tiring being surrounded by spineless peons. There's no challenge with them, and I love a challenge.
"Hey, Leo," a sultry voice purrs.
A woman with bony fingers places her hand on my chest, her fingernails scratching at the skin. I like it rough, a fact she damn well knows after I fucked her last year.
"Sariah," I dip my chin in greeting, prying her fingers away from my body. I don't go for repeat performances, no matter how great the sex is. And Sariah was mediocre at best.
She pouts. "Let me touch you. I can make you feel good."
Snorting, I take another sip of my beverage. "I sincerely doubt that."
Sariah pushes her shoulders back and thrusts her tits against my abdomen. They're nice, more than a handful, but I've always been an ass man.
"I can," she promises. "Just give me a chance."
I shake my head, denying her.
"Please, Leo."
Her hands reach for me again, one of them curling around me to grab at my ass. She rubs against me, trying to excite my uninterested dick. It stays soft, not wanting anything to do with her.
Stepping back, I sneer at her pathetic display. "Learn how to take a hint, slut. If you're so desperate for something to fill your holes, use a fucking bottle. Better yet, a bat. Then, maybe you can beat some sense into your head before you think about propositioning me again."
Tears fill her eyes, overflowing rapidly. They don't sway me at all. If anything, I'm more annoyed by the sight of them. Why are women so dramatic?
Liquid splashes onto me, drops of something—is this soda?—streaming down my face. It gets in my eyes, forcing them to close against the onslaught. With the sleeve of my coat, I wipe away the sticky stuff until I can blink my eyes back open.
"What the Hell was that?" I force out between clenched teeth.
Sariah is petrified. Her mouth dropping in shock, she sputters out an excuse. "It wasn't me, I swear!"
"It was me," a woman says. A different one, with a voice I recognize instantly.
Except, when I pivot to the side, it's not the human's face that greets me. It's Betty's. In a mask similar to the one she wore the night we met, my sought-after angel glares at me with eyes that pierce straight through me.
She holds an empty can in her left hand, the apparent source of my now-wet skin. As I watch, the aluminum crumples into a compacted hunk of metal before it, too, is thrown at me. Too shocked to be in her presence after so long, the can hits my forehead when I don't move.
"Betty," I say. It's reverent, the way I speak her name, unintentionally honoring her.
"Jackass," she replies, nothing but reprimand in her tone.
Sheepish now—an emotion I am wholly unfamiliar with—I run a hand through my hair, wincing at her continued glare.
"So," I start. "You heard all that."
She crosses her arms, the flowing sleeves of her black dress dangling in the breeze.
"I got here just in time for the slut-shaming. Not sure what happened before that, or if I even want to know what other disgusting things you said."
Betty's beautiful; it's hard to focus on the conversation and what I should say to defend myself. Her body is encased in a form-fitting gown, the material tight all the way down to her ankles where it fans out to drape across the ground. Barely any skin is displayed apart from a pale triangle on her neck and chest, but it's still sexy. She curves in all the right places, her tucked-in waist leading to jutting hips. I bet she has a sweet ass.
"Stop ogling me, neanderthal. I'm not a piece of meat."
I snap my gaze up to those fiery eyes. "If you were, I'd be a carnivore. 'Cause you look good enough to eat."
She cringes. "Was that supposed to be cute? That's kinda creepy."
I'm at a loss for words, which never happens.
People around me normally fall into two categories: lackeys and fawners. Either they respect or fear me enough to follow my every order, or they put me on a pedestal to worship over. Manny is a lackey, Sariah is a fawner. There are few exceptions to this. The Morningstars are one, the human is another. The difference between them and Betty is that I actually want her to like me.
"Do you want another drink?" I finally ask. "You can have mine, or I can get you a new one..." I trail off.
"No."
Her simple response is abrupt.
I want to scan the crowd and find something interesting to redirect our conversation, but I can't look away from her. I'm starved for her, greedily consuming anything I can get.
Her hair is dark, but it's actually black. Long and pin-straight, it's grown a lot since our last encounter.
"What are you supposed to be?"
"Morticia Addams."
I don't have even a vague recollection of such a creature.
At my confused expression, she adds, "Morticia's a fictional character."
Excited, I inform her, "I'm a fictional character, too. Beast from the Disney movie."
Her arms fall to her sides as she scrutinizes me. "Beauty and the Beast," she mutters.
I nod. "You've seen it, then?"
"Yeah, I have," she snorts.
"Did you like it?"
Her eyes drag up my body, her gaze like a hot brand on my skin.
"Not really, no."
My shoulders drop a little, the disappointment crushing me like a weight. This is not how I imagined our reunion to go. I'm floundering, feeling awkward and out of my element. My Virtue is Courage, for God's sake! I shouldn't be acting like a shy teenage boy around a pretty girl.
Suddenly, Betty's entire demeanor changes. She grabs my wrist, spinning on her heel and pulling me along behind her. As if there's any place I'd rather be than wherever the Hell she's going.
Moving away from the crowd, Betty keeps a tight grip on me. I wish I wasn't wearing so many layers. I'd like to feel her skin brushing against mine.
She doesn't stop until we've completely passed the partygoers and are surrounded by trees. We're in the meadow now, a relatively flat area of grasses and flowers. On my first day at PA, I lost my virginity in this field to a woman much older than me. I keep this piece of information to myself, waiting to find out why Betty dragged us out here.
I'm not complaining. I like having her all to myself.
Letting go of me, a connection I instantly miss, Betty explains. "Sorry. I saw someone I've been actively dodging all night."
"It's nice to know I'm not the only one you're avoiding."
She shakes her head. "No, but he's being very persistent. I don't know why."
He?
Jealousy and possessiveness pound in my skull, clouding my thoughts with visions of murder and destruction. I'm seeing red, and it has nothing to do with the moon hanging in the sky.
I'll kill him, whoever he is. Kill him in front of her, let her bear witness to the lengths I'll go to keep her. She's mine. She's mine and no one else can have her. No one else can touch her, look at her, or think about her. They won't take her away from me.
Without realizing it, I dig my fingernails into my palms. There's blood dripping onto the grass, the golden liquid bright against the darkness.
"Hey, dude. Quit doing that!"
Betty reaches for one of my clenched fists, pulling at my fingers until the nails are dislodged from my skin.
I can feel her now. She's so warm, heating me up like the sun. Just this little bit of contact, and my anger dissipates. She's like a drug, filling my veins with nothing but calming pleasure.
I clench my hand around hers, yanking her into my body. Startled, she places her free hand on my chest to catch herself from falling. The additional contact heightens the pleasurable tingles coursing through my veins. It feels so fucking good.
With no space between us, I only have to lower my head to reach her lips. I press my lips against hers, desperately needing more of that high. At first, she stays stock-still. I move against her mouth, lips tugging and sucking against hers. Finally, she makes a small sound, a moan or a whimper before matching my movements.
After a few minutes of closed-mouth kisses, I nudge my tongue out, seeking entry into her warm mouth. Her lips part, allowing my tongue to chase after hers. Our tongues tangle together, alternating between advancing and retreating.
She tastes sweet, like honey and vanilla, and I can't get enough. I'm a fucking junkie and she's my drug of choice.
Wanting more of her, I fall backward, taking her with me. I land on the ground with a solid thump, her body completely covering mine. Her lips disentangle from mine, both of her hands now on my chest to hold herself upright. I grab her waist, moving her until my erection fits snugly in the juncture of her thighs. I'm hard enough to cut diamonds, and I want her to feel it.
When I grind up against her hot pussy, she throws her head back and moans. Her elongated neck is too tempting to pass up, so I sit up to kiss the soft skin there. She moans again when I touch the spot just under her ear, a sound that goes straight through my ears and right to my dick. I keep up my steady grinding, lavishing the sensitive area of her neck with licks and nibbles.
She bucks against me, and I almost come in my pants.
"That's it, baby," I praise her. "Such a good girl."
Her hands push against my chest.
Pulling back, I search her face. Her eyes are so dilated when they meet mine, the pupils blown out like the irises never existed in the first place.
Her mouth calls to me with its siren song, her wet lips already swollen from my earlier attentions. Growling like the animalistic beast I am for her, I attack her sweet mouth again. She reciprocates, giving back everything that I give her.
"Fuck me, angel," I groan between kisses.
She giggles, the lyrical sound music to my ears. I want to bottle it up and replay it forever. A genuine smile stretches my face, the biggest I've ever produced.
Happy like I've never felt before, I continue to gyrate my hips against hers, my dick pulsing with the need to come.
Not until she does.
With one hand, I reach down and slap her ass. She yelps at the slight pain, her body tensing as she narrows her eyes at me. I grin, unrepentant, leaning forward to kiss her again. She meets me eagerly. Once she relaxes, I smack her ass a second time, quickly rubbing away the sting. She continues to kiss me, moaning into my mouth with each successive slap.
Holding back my own orgasm, I trail kisses and little sucks on her lips, down her jaw, and onto her neck, paying close attention to the spots that make her whimper the most.
Her breathing picks up, her lower body meeting mine as we rub and buck against each other. I speed up, sensing how close she is.
"Just like that," I tell her. "Come for me, baby."
My words set her off. With her loudest moan yet, she stiffens as she hits her peak.
Eyes closed, mouth open, she comes. It's the hottest thing I've ever seen, and I quickly follow her in orgasm. My eyes roll back in their sockets, tingles of pleasure running from the tips of my toes to the top of my head.
After, we both relax. She lays on top of me, no longer able to hold herself up. With her head tucked into my neck, I smile and place a kiss on her hair, more satisfied than I've ever been.
I'm delirious with delight, content to stay right where I am. My brain shuts off, no longer worrying about meeting my father's expectations or enacting his plans. I can just focus on the beautiful angel in my arms because nothing else matters.
I've spent most of my life in Heaven, but this right here is real paradise.
Time is a faraway concept as I run my fingers through her thick hair. She sighs, the burst of air tickling the hairs on my throat.
"I've never done that before," I tell her.
Staying in place, she asks, "Which part?"
"Dry humping."
"Well, that makes two of us."
Possessive satisfaction runs through me. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." As though she can feel my wide grin, she adds, "Don't get all cocky about it or anything. You're unbearable as it is; no need for a bigger ego."
I consider making an innuendo but figure she won't appreciate it.
"We're like two horny teenagers," I say instead.
"I am a teenager," she points out.
Eighteen, if I have to guess. All first years are when they start at PA.
"I'm not," I counter.
"How old are you? You've been at the academy for extra years, right? So, like, 25? 26?"
I purse my lips, considering whether honesty is the right move. Can I trust her?
Relationships cannot be built on lies; that's one of the many reasons my parents' failed.
"I'm 21. About to be 22," I divulge.
Her head whips up, the crown of it almost knocking into my chin.
"That's not possible," she declares.
"It is."
"No, no, no." Her hair whips as she shakes her head. "There's no way. All students are eighteen when they get here. You've been at PA for what, seven years? You have to be at least twenty-five."
I tell her something less than a handful of people know. "I got here at fourteen years old. My dad lied about my age so that I could enroll early."
She's plainly shocked but still suspicious. "How could you get away with that? Moreover, how could he get away with that? Unless this is Heaven's best-kept secret or something, I fail to see why every angel at this school would go along with this ruse."
I clear my features, urging her to see the truth in my face. "My father kept me fairly isolated when I was younger. I didn't get to meet or be around anyone outside of my family until I was ten. By then, my father told everyone I was fourteen and he let me freely roam Heaven."
Her eyebrows practically touch as her forehead creases. "That's really messed up. You're talking about it like it's no big deal—"
"It is no big deal," I interject.
She smiles, but there's no joy in it. "It is, though. And the fact that you can't—or won't—admit that is even more messed up."
My high is fading fast with the direction of this conversation.
"Enough about me. Let's talk about you," I say, but it comes out as more of a demand. To soften the commanding tone, I smile at her and gently push her head back to its spot on my chest. Somewhat reluctantly, she allows for the manhandling.
"What about me?" she questions.
"Anything. Everything. Tell me everything."
I go back to stroking her hair as she pauses in consideration.
"I like to cook. Baking, especially. I have a crazy sweet tooth, but most of the time, I don't end up eating the treats I make."
"Why not?"
She hesitates.
"It's the creating part I like best. Measuring and pouring ingredients, mixing things together, kneading, shaping, whatever—I find it very soothing. It's less about the end product and more about the process to get there, I guess. Although, whatever I make does get eaten. Just not by me."
"You can bake for me any day," I offer. "I promise I'll eat anything you make."
"You don't seem like the type of person to indulge in sweet things."
"That's where you're wrong, angel. I like indulging in you, and you're plenty sweet."
Who is this sappy fool, and what has he done with Galileo Michaelson? I'm a force to be reckoned with, a man who uses and discards women without a shred of emotional attachment. Yet, here I am, on the brink of composing love poems and sonnets for a woman I barely know. I'm not even mad about it; that's the craziest part.
"Honeyed words," she murmurs.
She does taste like honey.
"I've gotta go." Pushing off of me, she struggles to stand in that tight dress of hers. I can only watch, puzzled by her sudden actions.
Too soon, she's fully vertical, her feet carrying her away from me without a backward glance. It's this, the loss of her touch, the fear of her abandoning me, that snaps me out of my stupor.
"Hey!" I call out to her, scrambling off of the ground.
She continues on, picking up the pace as she nearly runs away from me.
I follow after her.
"Betty, don't you fucking dare leave me again!"
My boots leave divots in the topsoil as I chase her retreating form. I lose sight of her once she hits the treeline, so I run faster.
The trees are sparse here, but I can't see her anywhere. Emerging from the trees, I'm back at the party. The bonfire is still raging, casting angels in a mixture of red glow and shadows. Pushing through the crowd, I search for her black dress, her flowing hair, her.
She's nowhere to be found.
My chest heaves with my growing rage. She's no longer around to soothe me with her calming presence, so my anger rises unchecked. My high's gone and thoughts of being with her are overshadowed by my fury. I need an outlet, somewhere to direct these turbulent emotions.
Sid. Gabriel's son. He's always down to spar with me. If I can bash his face in, perhaps I'll feel better. If I can't have my preferred drug, then violence will have to do.