Indestructible
by
Elkica
SMASHWORDS EDITION
Copyright © 2011 Elkica
Smashwords Edition License Notes:
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Indestructible
Kokabiel threw himself on the double bed, his short black hair still wet and his long, muscular body still damp from the half-hour shower that had washed away the grime and the sweat from a two-week battle.
He had expected his lover to still be tucked under the blue sheet, so that he could sneak under the covers and wrap his arms around the body he knew so well and loved so much. But the bed was empty and made up, how disappointing.
He buried his head in the fluffy pillow, his pillow that smelled like the forest after the fresh spring rain, and closed his eyes.
He could hear steps coming into the room and the smell of coffee teased his taste buds. He rolled on his back, his eyes half-opened, he gave an appraising look to the gorgeous brunet, who leaned on the wall sipping the coffee he held in his hand. Which, since it was -- Kokabiel peeked at the weather station display on the bedside table -- three o’clock in the morning, probably meant that his lover had just gotten a new mission. “How long will you be gone?”
“I don’t know, a week.” The brunet pushed himself away from the wall, went toward the bed and sat down on it. He put the cup on the nightstand and then his hand slid over Kokabiel’s chest. “You’ll catch a cold like this.” He reached over him and grabbed the edge of the cover. He pulled it over Kokabiel’s body.
“I was looking forward to snuggling with you.”
“And have hot 'I'm home' sex, no doubt, even when you are so tired that you are having trouble keeping your eyes open.”
“Do you doubt my stamina?” Kokabiel narrowed his eyes. “Or my desire for you?”
“Like I would dare.” The brunet chuckled. He leaned over Kokabiel and pressed a quick kiss on his lips. Then he took the cup from the bedside table and took a sip, with his free hand swatting away Kokabiel's attempt to pull him down into another kiss. “Stop it. I’m going to spill my coffee.”
“And that can’t happen. Not on our Egyptian cotton sheets.”
“Indeed.”
Kokabiel smiled, turned on his side and wrapped his arm around the brunet’s waist, snuggling closer. “I missed you.”
“You are such a baby, sometimes.” The brunet’s blue eyes fondly gazed down on Kokabiel. “But I missed you, too.”
A spark appeared in the corner of their bedroom, growing into a blinding light.
The cup was set aside on the nightstand and the brunet patted Kokabiel’s shoulder before he wiggled his way out of the embrace of Kokabiel’s arm and stood up. “Duty calls.”
“I wish they would stop popping into our bedroom. You should say something to them.”
“Don’t complain. Not when yours are the same,” the brunet tossed over his shoulder on his way toward the light. When the first white rays touched his body, he started to float in the air, higher and higher, disappearing into the whiteness, and then when the light had embraced the brunet completely, they vanished with a flash. The only thing left was a white feather slowly drifting to the ground.
#
Kokabiel crossed his legs, clad in black jeans, his eyes on the woman behind the large heavy desk. “You are kidding, right?”
He was sitting in a chair in his superior’s office, if the modestly furnished room that looked like a residence in a castle tower, minus the view, could be called that.
“No.” The woman, her narrow face framed with long, ebony black hair tied into a braid, pushed the pile of photos over to Kokabiel.
“Since when do we need to sign autographs? Lucifer, this is too much, even from you.” Kokabiel shifted his gaze to the glossy paper with his image imprinted on it. “Does the Devil know?”
“It's for morale.” Lucifer smoothed her black necktie over her crimson red silk shirt. Then she stood up, went around the table and picked up a pen before she stopped behind Kokabiel’s back. “You know how demons are nowadays, they have these little fan groups and meetings where they fawn over their idols. And since you, one of their idols, are based in the material world, they don’t see you as much as they would like to. They even sent a representative of your fan club to me, begging me to stop allowing you to live in the outside world.”
“You can’t forbid me.” Kokabiel leaned back in the chair. He rubbed the base of his left horn, the appendage which he had gotten, together with the tail and the bat wings, when Lucifer had ‘saved’ him and recruited him for their cause. He usually removed the appendages in the outside world, but they were obligatory in hell, and the horns always itched when they re-appeared.
“I know that. You know that. But they don’t know that.” Lucifer leaned over Kokabiel, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “And they don’t know the reason why you live in the outside world. They don’t know that your lover isn’t part of our world or that you aren’t part of his, and that the only way you two can be together is in the outside world.”
“Yeah, so what?”
“Imagine if they found out and learned his identity.” Lucifer pressed her cheek against Kokabiel's. She lifted her hand and examined her nails. “They might hurt him or something.”
“I’m not one of your demons,” Kokabiel said. “Taunts like that won't work on me. Especially when he can destroy a demon with just a look in his direction, if he wants.”
“Just because he managed to bind you and the fallen flock doesn’t mean that he’s invincible.”
Kokabiel smiled. “You forget who ousted you from Heaven.”
Lucifer made a sound of dismay. “Well, I still can’t believe you are dating him. He was one of the four that appealed to Her to judge you, the fallen angels and their offspring. And he was the one that confined you in the abyss of fire.”
“Yeah, I can still remember that. It was the day I fell in love.” Kokabiel's lips curved into a smile, knowing that it wasn’t something that Lucifer expected him to say and that hearing that would probably annoy her. But it was actually true. That day, so many centuries ago, when his white wings were torn from his back, when his body, soiled by his own deeds, twisted in agony as all Jehovah’s gifts were stripped off, and he was shoved into the darkness, he had fallen in love with the angel that had carried out the execution. But how could he not, when he saw in those blue eyes the compassion of the world, and understanding, not born from the vast knowledge that all angels possessed, but from wisdom and empathy. With the light that he carried in his eyes and soul it was no wonder that they called him the Prince of Light.
“If I didn’t know you better I would have taken you for a masochist.” Lucifer dropped the pen she held onto Kokabiel’s lap, removed her hands from Kokabiel and straightened.
“Don’t mistake me for yourself.” Kokabiel picked up the pen before it could roll off his thigh onto the stone floor. All the fallen angels and a few of the high-ranked demons knew the reason for Lucifer’s banishment. That Lucifer’s love of Her had become so strong that it bordered on obsession and that being Her number one fondling wasn’t enough for her anymore. They all heard, and Kokabiel even saw, how things had gotten out of hand when just a touch and sitting beside Her legs became a torture for Lucifer, because nobody, not even Lucifer, was allowed to go beyond a simple touch or to even touch Her on their own. But Lucifer tried, and before she even knew what she was doing, she had lost the seat on the top stair beside Her and was exiled from the Heaven -- but not from the place in Her heart. Which in Kokabiel's opinion made the whole thing worse.
Lucifer, who stood behind him, put her hands on Kokabiel’s shoulders. “Don’t joke about it.”
“I’m not.”
Lucifer sighed, squeezed Kokabiel’s shoulders before she released him and went back behind the desk. She sat down in the large chair. “I don’t have any regrets. Like you didn’t have any when you became a fallen and chose to share your knowledge with people before they were ready for it. We are cursed with knowing the consequences of our deeds before we carry them out, but when the ‘thought’ is set, there’s no option of turning away from it and no place for regrets.” She leaned her elbows on the desk and laced her fingers together. “Your action brought you here under my order, under my command, so just sign those photos so we can go on with our meeting.”
Kokabiel pursed his lips and leaned forward toward the desk. He picked up a photo, and his face, with his hair styled into his regular short fauxhawk with two small, black horns just above the hairline and the smirk stared back at him. It’s wasn’t a bad picture. Actually, whoever had photographed him had managed to capture a good angle and to use the light to his advantage. “I’ll do this for you as long as you know that this is a one-time thing.” When she nodded, he pushed his chair closer and started to sign the images. “And what is with this 'Indestructible, master of war', that’s written under my name? I’ve already heard some guys calling me Indestructible, but where did you find the 'Master of war'?”
“Doesn’t it sound appropriate? The president of your fan club was here and he recommended it. Apparently the band Disturbed is very popular nowadays among the demons and they have chosen their song “Indestructible” for your fan club’s hymn. The line: ‘I’m an indestructible master of war’ is in its refrain, quite catchy I might add, and the song suits you. It’s like it was written for you. You should listen to it. You can borrow my iPod.”
“The one I brought you.”
“No, no. I already have a new model.” Lucifer opened the drawer and pulled out a narrow object with a big display on front, showing it to Kokabiel. “It’s called IPod Touch. It’s a very handy thing.” She cleared it back in the drawer. “I love human gadgets.”
“It’s a good thing we are in hell, then, since all the technology is forbidden in heaven.” Kokabiel chuckled, his hand making a scribble of his name on the photo before he added it to the quickly rising pile on the desk. When he was done, he pushed the photos toward Lucifer. “Done.”
“Good.” Lucifer took the photos and tossed them into her second drawer, then pulled from her first drawer a dark gray folder, which she passed to Kokabiel.
The colour alone told Kokabiel that this was a high priority case. The darker the folder was the more important it was and vice versa. He opened it. “A writer, huh?”
“Yes. And if we don’t win this one, we can suffer the same decrease of souls as we did after we lost that guy who wrote back then about those small people, not dwarfs, but...what are they called? You know, they are small and have large feet and they don’t wear shoes. They were quite a big thing, they even made a movie.”
“Hobbits?” Kokabiel leafed through the papers in the folder.
“Yes, those. And that woman with that geeky wizard. The writers with bestsellers about friendships are harmful for us. They inspire too many young people to forge tighter bonds with their friends and to be loyal to them. And the bait nowadays has to be much higher than a hundred years ago. I can’t send out a low demon to tempt the betrayals like I used to do, now I need the third-level demons for that, and even those fail a lot of times. Times are hard. ”
Kokabiel looked up, at the chart under the large picture of Lucifer on the wall behind her. In the pie-chart under the line ‘the sum of the monthly soul reaping’ the black slice occupied forty-one percent, the white slice only twenty five, while all the rest was grey. “We lead by sixteen percent. With an additional ten percent of advantage we would break the balance and endanger the outside world. Do you want that?”
“No. But if we get five percent more, which we eventually will if you manage to win in this mission, She would call me to account for it,” Lucifer said. “I still feel Her love, but I haven’t seen Her for such a long time.
“So this is about you? I see.” Kokabiel looked at the papers in the folder again. “I’ll try my best, but as I see here,” the paper rustled, “the intelligence says that there are angels of Third Triad, The Choir Two in the area.”
“There were three Archangels, we managed to remove two, but we lost six fallen angels, twenty-eight demon princes and kings, three dukes and five-hundred-eighty-seven legions.”
“That’s a lot.”
“The third one must be one of the Principal angels, the one who can belong to all the triads and choirs, except the Choir of the Seraphim. You already fought with one, and lost, but it was long ago and you are much stronger now. I think you could beat him.”
Kokabiel smiled, he could feel the first pulses of adrenaline pumping though him at the memory of the fight with the Principal. One of the most vigorous and fun fights he’d ever had and it was also one of three fights that he had lost. “Yeah, I might beat him.” He closed the folder, put it on the desk and stood up. He already knew everything that he needed to know.
“You better, you have a nickname to uphold.”
“Indestructible, huh?” Kokabiel chuckled. “I think I can pull it off.” He turned and went toward the heavy wooden door.
“And don’t forget to take your sunglasses,” Lucifer said. “Those Principals can be quite bright.”
“Yes, ma'am.” Kokabiel lifted his hand and without turning gestured in a mock salute.
#
Kokabiel hovered in the air above the battlefield. His large bat wings spread above him, flapping here and there, he waited for the rush of the moment to wash over him. It was always like that after he was transported into the battle. A wave of anticipation and excitement slammed though his body, made it tremble until it reached his fingertips and left him pumped with so much power that he felt like he could take on all of heaven, not just one Principal.
In the dusk his gaze travelled over the barren soil with just a few patches of brownish grass, where the grey and white were interlaced, moving against each other. The angels and demons fighting for predominance, their forms disappearing if they received a fatal blow to materialize somewhere in their realm, unable to return to the battleground where they were 'killed'.
He noticed the bright light on the left side of the battleground. It was white with a lemon yellow core -- the Principal's light. He put on the goggles that were around his neck, a half-smirk appearing on his face as he half-turned in the air with long flaps of his wings. Catching the breeze, he flew toward the light.
Engaging in fights with lesser angels was just a waste of time. It would be like killing flies, annoying and with no challenge whatsoever. He had only one mission, to get the Principal angel out of the way, and that was exactly what he meant to do. His smirk grew. He was indestructible, after all.
He could already see the silhouette emitting the bright light, perceive the elegance and strength in the Principal’s movement as he slashed with his sword, killing demon after demon that crowded around him.
The Principal noticed Kokabiel, his white feathered wings stretched out and made powerful strokes as the angel shot himself into the air, leaving demons coughing in the dust.
Kokabiel drew his sword from the sheath attached to his right leg. His wings folded into a narrow triangle as he dove down, with his blade pointed at the man that was coming toward him with alarming speed.
The wind rushed in Kokabiel’s ears, the adrenalin slammed through his body and an excited smile decorated his face as his eyes discerned the Principal’s face.
The swords clashed, sparks marking the point of collision. Kokabiel’s brown pupils stared at blue ones over the blades. “Hello, Michael.”
“Kokabiel.” Michael pushed against Kokabiel’s blade, made a turn and brandished his sword at Kokabiel from the right.
“What a pleasure.” Kokabiel blocked the blow with his blade, slid it against Michael’s before he sidestepped, flipped his wrist and thrust the sword at Michael’s stomach.
“The pleasure is all mine.” Michael jumped out of the way, then with a flap of his wings charged forward, clash of steel against steel.
“That’s nice to hear.” Kokabiel twirled the sword over his right shoulder and behind his back, then struck at Michael over his left shoulder, the sharp blade hitting Michael’s side.
Crimson red marked the long wound and stained Michael’s already dirt-smeared white tunic.
“Oops.” Kokabiel’s lips stretched into a wide smile, he attacked Michael from the right side now.
Wings churned the air around them as they stormed against each other, evading and blocking the powerful and lethal blows. The circles they made around each other before they charged forward became larger and their surges forward stronger. Every time their blades touched a wave of heat burst around them, sparks flying and lighting zigzagging though the point of the strike.
The sweat ran down Kokabiel’s back and his black shirt was damp at the armpits, but his smirk still embellished his lips. It was amazing to see Michael's skill every time the angel charged or blocked his hits, to feel the strength of his power every time their blades slid against each other, vibrating from the blow.
The strain of days spent on the battlefield must have taken their toll on Michael’s movement, because with each passing hour Michael's parries were just a little bit slower and Kokabiel's sword managed to hit just a little bit closer, while Kokabiel, charged by five days of rest and his excitement, had as much as energy as at the beginning of the fight.
The flowers and lines of red decorated Michael’s white tunic, which suffered more damage than Kokabiel’s black shirt.
It’s time to end this.
Kokabiel, twirling his sword over his head, leaped forward, his wielding hand swinging broadly at the height of the leap, he stormed over Michael, but before his blade could clash against Michael’s, he tossed the sword into his left hand and shoved it into Michael’s abdomen.
Michael looked down at his wound, then up into Kokabiel’s eyes. “You’ve improved.” His fist relaxed and his sword fell down.
“Yeah.” With both hands on the grip, Kokabiel pressed his sword deeper into Michael, the edge coming out at the beginning of Michael’s spine. “Or is it just that you are too tired?” He twisted the blade.
Blood started to drip from the corner of Michael’s mouth down his chin. “No.” He shook his head and gripped Kokabiel’s hands, his blue eyes staring at Kokabiel. “You improved. I’m proud.”
“I don't think you should say that.”
“Maybe not.” Michael’s wings lowered and his shoulder dropped. He released Kokabiel’s hands and with a groan pushed himself away from Kokabiel and off the sword.
Kokabiel reached out for him, but Michael was already falling, the feathered wings embracing him and red drops following Michael's descent.
“Michael!” Kokabiel sheathed his sword, and dove face first, his arms beside his body, his wings folded. He managed to grab Michael, he wrapped his arms around his shoulders and before they would have collided with the ground, he expanded his wings. His platform boots softly touched the ground, and he lowered himself down on one knee, holding Michael in his embrace. His thumb wiped the blood off Michael's lips before he cupped Michael's cheek and pressed a chaste kiss on his mouth.
Michael smiled and as Kokabiel lifted his head, he put his hand over Kokabiel's. “This was fun.”
“Yeah.” Kokabiel's lips mirrored Michael's smile. “We should do it again.”
“Maybe.” Michael's body started to disintegrate into transparent white dust that dissipated with the light breeze.
Kokabiel stood up, he drew his sword, there were more angels to slay. He wrinkled his forehead when he saw the demons and angels staring at something behind his back, dropping their weapons and running away from him. He turned around and saw a blackish wave surging toward him, there behind it sun and green grass shimmered, laid down like somebody would roll out a new carpet.
“What the hell?” Kokabiel stared at the nearing danger. It looked like the soul for which and in which they were fighting had decided to settle things on its own. That was a first. When the soul’s irresolution called to them, to fight for the direction of its turn on the crossroads, winners of the war waged in the soul determined its direction. They illuminated the soul with their essence, either light or darkness, overpowering it. But not this time, it seemed. He shoved his sword back into its sheath.
Over his shoulder he looked at the running dark and white silhouettes. He shook his head at their behaviour, there was nowhere to run, after you were transferred into the soul, the only way out was to die or to disappear in the cloud of victory. His gaze shifted back to the wave that loomed before him. He shifted his legs wider, spread his arms and closed his eyes. This was going to hurt, and materializing back with the injuries done by the sand wave was going to be a bitch. Damn.
#
Kokabiel released the breath and stumbled forward. His hands touched the cold tiled wall of his bathroom. He was home. At last. With his hand on the wall and his head bent between his arms he closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. As soon as his skeleton had built itself, the layers of flesh and skin covered his bones, and all the necessary 'accessories' like teeth, eyes, ... appeared on his body -- and clothes, of course -- he had left the Assembly Chamber and transported himself into his home, into the place he regarded as his refuge.
Hands touched him, smoothed down his sides before they started to peel the clothes from him. “I heard what happened.”
“Uhh, yeah. I needed the whole day just to regenerate.” Kokabiel sighed. His pants were pulled down and he stepped out of them. “And I’m so tired.” He let the hands guide him into a shower stall, where all he needed to do was to stay still, while the hands first lathered his body, rinsed it, then dried it with a soft towel.
After that he was guided into the bedroom, where he sat down on the bed, on the normal cotton sheets. That was a surprise, they rarely used those.
“Lie down,” the slick voice ordered.
Kokabiel looked up, into the bluest of eyes. He put his hand on the half-naked body’s hip and pulled it between his legs. “What’s with the sheets? You don’t sleep on anything except silk and Egyptian cotton, so why are there normal sheets on the bed?”
“You so heroically rescued me before the effort to re-build my spine, the least I can do is give you a massage.”
“That sounds perfect.” Kokabiel purred. He wrapped his arms around the body before him and leaned his cheek on the soft skin of his belly. “It’s a good thing you angels can’t take offence or I would be in trouble.”
“Why?” The fingers combed his hair. “Because you shoved your sword into my gut? Like you said, even if I wanted to, we are not capable of holding a grudge. And besides, it was fun, just watching you get all worked up and serious was worth dying for.”
Kokabiel chuckled and turned his head, when his angel sucked in his breath and pushed Kokabiel away.
Kokabiel looked up. “What?”
“Your horns. You forgot to get rid of the horns.”
Kokabiel raised his hand and his fingers touched the keratin shaped into small bent cones. “Oh, yeah.” He focused on them.
“No, leave them on. They are kind of sexy.”
“Oh, my. Does the Goody-Two Shoes Michael have a fetish?”
“You wish.” Michael pushed Kokabiel down on the bed. “Get in the middle and turn onto your stomach.”
Kokabiel did what he was told, the promise of a massage too tempting to not obey. A soft moan escaped him when Michael’s oiled hands touched him.
Michael started to knead Kokabiel’s fingers, his palms, his arms, then shifted to his feet, legs. When his fingers touched Kokabiel’s back, started to work on it, small sighs of pleasure started to leave Kokabiel’s throat in intervals.
A sensual bliss enveloped Kokabiel like a blanket. The air seemed heavy and Michael’s weight on the upper part of his legs warm and welcome. He could feel Michael’s erection at the beginning of his ass, and even though it put additional strain on his, made his flesh even harder, he was too tired to turn around and pound Michael into the mattress like he wanted to.
After Michael finished with massaging his back, he shifted, he spread Kokabiel’s legs and knelt between them. Then he started to knead Kokabiel’s butt, his fingers slipping into the crease, teasingly sliding against the ring of muscles until an oiled finger slid in.
Kokabiel wrapped his hand around the pillow and buried his face in it to moan into the fabric. It felt good. Very good. Especially when that finger twirled around, hitting and rubbing against the right spot. Another finger joined the first and after the first uncomfortable moments it became even better.
Kokabiel shamelessly moaned and pushed back against those wicked fingers, delighted at the small kisses that Michael rained down his back. But Michael’s shadow cast over him withdrew together with his fingers and Kokabiel groaned in disappointment.
Michael soothingly slid his hand over Kokabiel’s back. “Turn around.”
Kokabiel did and in the meantime Michael got rid of the slacks that hung around his hips.
Kokabiel resting on his elbows admired the line of Michael’s toned body, the pale skin that looked like it glowed. He reached out for him and made a place for him between his opened and bent legs. “Come here.”
Michael climbed over him. “You look wanton.”
“That’s because I am.” Kokabiel hooked his hand around Michael’s neck, he descended onto the pillow. “And tired, so you better do all the work.”
“I intend to.” Michael smiled before he pressed his lips on Kokabiel’s, entangling them in a deep, warm kiss, while his hands fondled Kokabiel’s chest and his groin rubbed against Kokabiel’s.
It was hot and suffocating and Kokabiel’s body burnt from inside out.
Michael ended the kiss, his mouth trailed small kisses down Kokabiel’s neck. He greased his flesh with oil, then he wedged his arm under Kokabiel’s leg, pushing it higher, curling Kokabel’s spine as he positioned himself and pushed in.
Kokabel gasped, his legs spreading wider, the welcoming pressure filling him and filling him until Michael was in him to his root. He wrapped his arms around Michael’s shoulders, panting.
Michael started to move, he partly withdrew and then pushed back in, rolling his hips, each thrust went deeper, until the bulbous head stroked Kokabiel’s swollen nub. His blue eyes staring at Kokabiel’s, holding them in an embrace, telling him how much he cared for and loved him. How he was special to him.
Kokabiel lifted his hips, pulling Michael deeper. He arched under Michael’s strong and deep plunges that gained in power and speed every time he impaled him on his thick shaft. And it was better than amazing.
Flushed from indecent pleasure, Kokabiel reached between them and wrapped his hand around his erection, pumping it.
Michael leaned over Kokabiel, his fingers slid between Kokabei’s, he pushed Kokabiel’s left hand flat against the mattress, while his mouth captured Kokabiel’s, swallowing down Kokabiel’s soft cries of pleasure.
The tension rose, the skin sliding against skin, the sound of flesh against flesh echoing in the room and Kokabiel couldn’t hold it anymore. His orgasm spiralled up out of his balls to spill between their sweat-plastered bodies, his eyes rolled back and his ass squeezed around Michael like an iron fist.
Another thrust before Michael froze, buried inside Kokabiel to the base of his erection and his essence bathed the walls of Kokabiel insides. He fell on Kokabiel, then slid out of him and rolled down beside him, his hand still holding Kokabiel’s.
Gulping air, Kokabiel looked at their hands laced on his belly. His sticky belly. He turned his head, his gaze caressed the man beside him.
“How do you feel?” Michael, still panting, turned on his side.
“Tired and sated and content.” With his free hand Kokabiel slid above his belly and between his legs leaving clean skin behind. Knowing Michael, who never used his ‘gifts’ on something that didn’t benefit humankind -- actually all the angels were like that -- he would probably force him to take another shower or appear between his legs with a warm rag in his hand. And Kokabiel wasn’t in the mood for either. Right now he just wanted to cuddle with Michael and to sleep.
He turned toward Michael, pushed him onto his back, the fingers that had unlaced laced again, and snuggled against Michael’s side. “Hey,” he mumbled as he closed his eyes.
“What?” Michael tugged the cover from under them and pulled it over their bodies.
“Do you know why the soul tossed us out?” Kokabiel’s asked.
“Well… I saw Her after I reassembled myself.” Michael ran his hand though Kokabiel’s messy black hair. “She said it was your fault.”
“What?”
“When you kissed me you emitted love and the soul absorbed it. That’s why at its crossroads it chose light, even though our fights usually determine the soul’s direction. And since it didn’t need you or the others anymore, it tossed you out, very violently.”
“Lucifer is going to be disappointed.”
“Because of her plan?”
Kokabiel’s eyes half opened. “You know?”
“She knows. She told me to use you to pass a message to Lucifer, that she could always ask for Her forgiveness.”
“Lucifer has too much pride for that.”
“She knows that too.” Michael chuckled.
“Uhh. What a surprise.” Kokabiel’s eyelids fluttered close.
“And She said to say ‘hello’ to you, and that you better take good care of me.”
“I do take good care of you. Now, can I get some sleep?”
“No. Not until you promise me that the next time you will take better care of yourself, too.” Michael’s hand stilled in Kokabiel’s hair.
“Huh?”
“I heard that you just stood there, waiting for that wave to crash down on you. You could have ceased to exist. Some of the angels and demons that were in the middle of the soul like you did.”
“Really? Well, you don’t have to worry, babe.” Kokabiel nuzzled closer. “Haven't you heard? I'm indestructible.”
* * * * *
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