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Stuck in the Middle (TheCorsair and Xanaphia)

Zathael gritted her teeth and took Zerachiel’s hand, forcing herself to step into the gate. It was like plunging naked into a steam bath. The Divine Light blasted her, burnt her, reminded her of just how far she had Fallen. But the worst of it all wasn’t the burning agony of the Ohros, diffuse as it was in the space between Asiyah and Yetzirah.

The worst was the singing.

The worst was the forgiveness. The knowledge that, even after everything she had done, the Divine would welcome him back. Unconditionally.

“You betrayed us!” he howled into the light! “You elevated the Children of Clay above us, and you offer to forgive me?”

The pressure suddenly died away. Zathael stumbled and fell, landing hard on damp earth. His six wings stirred the air as he lifted himself back up, and his six burning eyes glared around. The scene was an idealized version of the beach they’d left behind - the spiritual representation of the material world.

“Which way from here?” he grunted, swallowing the loss and rage that surged through him. “It’s... been a while.”

-*-

Martha gasped at a sudden sensation of, of loss. It was like a physical blow, one that made her stumble in the surf. She clung to the hand she held, outstretched fingers gripping a strong shoulder as she tried not to land face first in the waves.

For a moment she leaned against the warm, broad chest of the man that held her, trying to figure out what had happened. She’d walked away from Mother Superior. Run off with the doctor that had tended her in the hospital, all to go to the beach. Why?

She looked up, met his warm brown eyes as he looked down at her with concern and confusion. Looked down, then hurriedly looked away as she realized he’d been peering down at her cleavage. The thought made her smile, and made a liquid heat pool between her thighs.

With a boldness she couldn’t believe she was showing, the young nun slid her fingers down the doctor’s chest. “Hey,” she purred, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. “There’s a lot more to see...”
 
Zath lashed out against the chorus of forgiveness. Zerachiel expected, of course, but it still bothered her. It stung, like a rejection of her. There would never be a compromise that could allow them to be together, not so long as they had their pride. But she pushed the pang of loss away. She had a duty, right now, and that was what mattered most.

“Which way from here?” he grunted, swallowing the loss and rage that surged through him. “It’s... been a while.”

“Yesod,” she reminded him, making the journey she had. “But we shouldn’t have to travel one, the way a soul would. Hopefully. From Yesod we will head for Tifereth, the Da’at, and finally Keter.”

Emptiness pierced the brave face Zerachiel tried put on. She usually made this journey with some fifty thousand souls in tow, guiding the children of clay through the stages of heaven until their reach the throne of Most High. Not every soul made it that far –many were content to find sanctuary in one of the lower realms of Aziluth. The infinite presence of Ohr Ein Sof penetration each level, after all.

But now, in the wake of Lilith’s attack on the Court, no souls made the journey through the Sefirots. Because she was there to guide them? Or, was Lilith diverting them, some how. Harnessing them, perhaps, to strength her own claim?

They passed idealized versions of the material world, until such representations converged into a signle idealize space, lacking distinction or differentiation from what came before, or after. This was the sign they neared Yesod, the sefirot of foundation.

As they crossed the sefirot between Malkuth and Yseod, she spotted several Gibborim Nephilim in patrol. “We could try to sneak by,” she murmured, watching their movements closely. “Or we could pick them off, one or two at a time.”
 
“Shit,” Zathael breathed, watching the misshapen giants as they strode the idyllic fields. “How many of them did she recruit?” He ducked down, flattening himself into the dirt as one idly glanced in their direction. “For that matter, how did she recruit them? I Am That I Am was supposed to have killed all of them in the Great Flood.”

Unless Lilith freed them from their prisons in the Second Heaven, he realized. “Did you ever hear of any uprisings among the Grigori?” he asked, then shook his head. “Sorry. Woolgathering. And I’d rather not start a fight with them, if we can avoid it. Let me think...”

He watched them all troop past, feeling the ground shake with their steps and planning wildly. Individually monstrous and brutish-looking as they were, they were still possessed of magnificent intellects. Fooling them would be difficult at best, and sneaking past would be even harder. At least one of them had too many eyes to miss them.

And then he smiled.

“How do you feel about leashes?” he asked.
 
Zath was asking the right questions, even if this weren’t the right time for it. ”I would have thought the Grigori aligned with Hell. Or perhaps they had little enough loyalty to commit to one side or the other. “

“How do you feel about leashes?” he asked.

Zerachiel frowned. “How would a leash help? I don’t think capturing a Nephilim is going to do us any good, even if we could manage it.” It was two heartbeats later before she realized what exactly he meant by “leash.”

“Wait, do you mean me?” she demanded, forgetting the need for quiet in that moment. The condemnation in Zath’s glance was a stern reminder, forcing her to breathe deep to steady herself. “This is time for one of your little games, Zath!” She glanced back at the troop, still walking away, before turning back to Zath.

“Unless… You mean to pose as my captor, seeking to claim the bounty on my head?” The frowned returned as Zerachiel worked though the potential plan. “I suppose that could get us close to Lilith, but do you have a plan to get back out again?” The troop disappeared form view, temporarily, as the patrolled the far side of the sefirot. They’d be back soon, so Zath and she had little time to prepare this plan.

“Alright, I’ll follow your lead.”
 
This is time for one of your little games, Zath!”

“You wound me, Zerachiel!” Zathael protested insincerely, thumping a hand against his chest. “Right here!”

She ignored the comment, choosing instead to watch the Nephilim stalk away. “Unless… You mean to pose as my captor, seeking to claim the bounty on my head?”

He shrugged. “We could do that instead...”

The frowned returned as Zerachiel worked though the potential plan. “I suppose that could get us close to Lilith, but do you have a plan to get back out again?”

“Nope.” He watched her expression, then smiled. “I don’t plan on getting any nearer the Throne than I have to, regardless of who occupies it. This is simply a reconnaissance mission.”

“Alright,” She agreed after a moment’s thought, “I’ll follow your lead.”

“Pssht. I thought you had more sense than that!” Even as he said it, though, he was drawing forth a thread, one spun from the celestial fires of his nature. He lashed it out, wrapping it around her throat and wrists, then pulled it snug. “There. That looks convincing.”

Stepping close, he jerked the lead so she pulled tight against him. “Allar,” he whispered, resting a possessive hand on her hip as he breathed the word into her ear. “Speak it, and the cord will dissolve. It may prove... necessary,”

His tongue caressed her ear and then he stepped back, drawing the lead taut. “Come along!” he barked.
 
“You know, for someone who claims to detest bondage, you sure are skilled in its practice,” Zerachiel teased, distracting herself from the burning thread that gripped her wrists and throat. But her breath hitched as he pulled her closer, regret and excitement mingling in a brief, confused moment. Was this just one of Zath’s games? But no, even he had more sense than that, giving her an out, should they need it.

There was a gasp as he pulled her along, a forceful ploy that put her into the mindset of an unwilling prisoner, struggling out of instinct for just a second before grudgingly following along. As they walked, she imagined how she was going to get him back for this, which was likely what she would have imagined if he were holding her in earnest, fully submersing herself in the role of captive.

They crossed the distance between Malkuth and Yesod, closing the the distance between them and the roving band of Nephilim. The band stopped as they approached, watching carefully until they recognized what was going on here.

“A seraph?” one asked, appraising her in a linger look. “Quite the prize you have there.” The others didn’t speak, just leered. The apparent leader made a show of sniffing her, drawing closer as she shied away. “I can smell you in her. Have you already had your fill of her? Or, should I say, has she had her fill of you?” He laughed at that, loud and lecherous, and soon after the other joined in as well.

“We could give you passage back to Keter, for a simple exchange. We’ll leave her more or less intact.”
 
It was nerve-wracking before big this close to one of the Nephilim. They were unpredictable in temperament and in power. The Grigori were among the lowest of the Irders, but some of their misbegotten spawn were capable of challenging a Seraph. And there was no way to know, really. Until it was too late.

“A seraph?” one asked, appraising her in a linger look. “Quite the prize you have there.”

“Indeed she is,” Zathael agreed blandly, eying the leader. He was huge, a mass of knitted muscle and horn and bone plates. “I heard that...”

The leader stepped close, sniffing loudly and licking cracked lips. “I can smell you in her. Have you already had your fill of her? Or, should I say, has she had her fill of you?” He laughed at that, loud and lecherous, and soon after the other joined in as well.

Zathael forced himself to join in the laughter. “To the victor goes the spoils, right? And..,”

“We could give you passage back to Keter, for a simple exchange. We’ll leave her more or less intact.”

Shit.

Zathael smiled blandly, putting on a show of thinking about the offer. “Well, that’s not a bad idea,” he said. The lead Nephil grinned and reached for the lead. “Although there’s a problem with that.”

The hand stopped. “What problem?”

“Well,” Zathael said slowly, “Anak Ben Semjaza is waiting for her.”

“And?” The leader demanded.

“And, well...” the fallen Seraph thought quickly. “I mean, he didn’t mind me having a go or two, it’s part of the price I get for bringing her in. But he won’t be happy at all if she gets damaged.”

“Fuck Anak,” the leader spat.

“Which is what she’s going to do, yes,” Zathael agreed. “But if she’s damaged, he’ll rip my head off and fuck the stump instead. So, unless you think you could beat him.,,”

“I can,” the leader growled.

“I dunno,” Zathael answered with a shrug. “I mean, I saw him kill like four of his brothers at one go. If you can’t match that...”. He dragged Zerachiel close, cupping a breast and showing her off. “Well, raping some fine angel cunt like this is reserved for piwerful warriors...”
 
Zerachiel watched the lead nephilim put together Zath’s suggestion, and consider his options. It was risky, because he could just decide to kill Zath with his brothers in arms, and take her anyways. The best way to save herself from violation now was to play into Zath’s ploy, and to entice this nephilim further. So she moaned as Zath groped her, drawing upon their earlier tryst to make it sound real, and arched her back, showing off her curves and figure.

He turned, summoning his spirit weapon in the process, and burying it in the second’s chest by the time he faced him. Blood sprayed in a wide arc when he tore his weapon free, pivoting to strike down another of his comrades. His wide swing connected, severing the goat head of a misshapen behemoth.

Only one of his allies remained, a being enveloped in chains that went through his flesh, and by now, he was ready for the attack. Metal rang on metal as sword clanged off a chain wrapped fist. The chain nephilim retaliated by hooking a length of chain around the leader’s throat and twisting until he was behind him. Linked dug into the leader’s throat as the chain pulled tighter. The leader fell to one knee, tearing as the chain around his throat futilely, before summoning the presence of mind to instead stab his sword back behind him, catching his last comrade in the throat. The chain fell away, he rose to his feet in an eruption of blood.

“That powerful enough for you?” the nephilim sneered, still brandishing his bloodied blade. Zath’s response was to offer up the leash holding her captive. He yanked the leash from Zath’s hands then, jerking her close enough for their bodies to brush against each other’s. A hideous smirk curled on his face, still splattered with a fine mist of blood, and he glared right into her eyes. “So, do you have anything to say to your new master?”

Coyly, she nodded, and stood on the tips of her toes to whisper in his ear. “Allar,” she breathed, barely audible.

“What?” he muttered, blinking twice before he realized the leash had vanished. Her spirit blade materialized in her hands just before sinking deep into his gut. Her would be captors was still putting all the pieces together as she ripped it upwards and cleaved his chest in twain. In the end, his body joined his brothers on the ground.

“I can’t believe that worked,” she admitted with a snort of laughter. A bewildering lust, born of adrenaline and relief, surged through her then, driving her to grab Zath by the throat of his armor and jerk him close. His body slammed into hers and in turn her mouth crushed his. The kiss was vicious, as violent as anything the nephilim would have done to her, and she refused to let him again, even as she broke away. “Now, what does the warrior who defeated him get to claim for herself?”
 
Zathael applauded as Zerachiel clove the Nephil in half, drenching the landscape with gore. The sheer artistry of it, the way she’d lulled the giant in, had been breathtaking. And the way the Nephil blood soaked her robe, molding it to her figure? Also breathtaking.

“I can’t believe that worked,” she laughed.

“Me either,” he agreed, letting out a long sigh of tension. “They’re smart, but still gullible. Hell, being smart probably makes them more gullible.” He might have said more but, we’ll, she grabbed him and dragged him close. And it was awfully hard to speak with his mouth full of her tongue.

“Now,” she growled, dragging at his lower lip with her teeth, “what does the warrior who defeated him get to claim for herself?”

Oh. It was going to be like that, was it? The thought made him suddenly rock hard as heat washed through him. But he wouldn’t be quite that easy, he decided. So he placed one hand on her chest and shoved her back. “Nothing,” he smiled, summoning his own flaming sword. “Unless you can take it.”
 
“Oh I can take it,” Zerachiel purred, shifting into a battle stance. “We both know just how well I can take it.”

Fuck, this was a stupid idea. There was mission before them, the aftermath of a massive war to investigate. But, perhaps they were no better than the nephilim they tricked into fighting one another, just as susceptible to giving into their baser lust. Maybe it was impossible to work alongside Zathael, if she hoped to accomplish anything of value.

She focused on her blade, transforming the weapon from deadly to nonlethal, choosing to target his emotions instead of his body. In this case, his desire. He’d be able to tell, of course, from the way her sword became ethereal, radiating a translucent aura. She grinned, and charged, wings propelling her forward in a graceful whirlwind.

Blades clashed in shockwave of force, sending the bloody corpses of the fallen Nephilim flying. Gale force winds whopped at her robes, teasing at the strong, smooth flesh beneath. She laughed, relishing the thrill of battle against an equal foe. Pressing the deadlock, she managed to caress his cheek with the edge. “Don’t want to shed any of your blood now. Not while I have need of it.”
 
Zathael parried and partied again, the flame of his blade flaring wth brilliant orange light as he turned her sword aside. She feinted low then brought her sword up, the keen edge a whisper against his skin as it caressed his cheek. “Don’t want to shed any of your blood now. Not while I have need of it.”

He licked his lips as lust washed through him, spreading from his cheek and down, coiling around his shaft. She lunged and he turned the blade aside, then slashed at her. The tip flickered over the curve of one breast and downward, parting the gore-soaked silk of her robe to her navel. “I’ll have need of it, you mean,” he taunted, watching the silk slowly slip over her bare flesh. “I’m going to have you. Hard, and bent over your fallen foes.”

He pressed his advantage, hammering at her guard. “I’m going to use every hole you have,” he threatened. “Even when you beg me to stop.” Her sword snakes inside his guard, sending aching heat through him as the point raked his chest. “Especially when you beg me to stop.”

She swung and he moved to party. But her wrist twisted, catching his blade and sending it spinning from his grip. Locking his eyes into hers, he went to one knee. “I... yield...” he said in a lust-driven mockery of submission. “What is to be my fate?”
 
Zerachiel said nothing for a time, filling the silence between them with her labored breathing and the heat of their mutual desire. Instead, she stepped closer, tattered robe fluttering open, and raised her sword. It whispered over his skin again before trailing under his chin. With the point of her blade scraping a pulsing artery, she lifted his chin, and gazed deep into his hooded eyes.

“Bound to me,” she breathed, finally, nearly choking over the words as her desire got in the way. Another step, and her robe slipped away, her proud figure painted in her triumph over the Nephilim and Zathael. “Bound to my pleasure.”

This time she summoned the silver chains, chill as they embraced him. Snaking up his arms, to bind his wrists above his head. She closed the distance between them, demanding obedience in a demanding kiss, seeking the hunger that welled up in him. With a fist in his hair, she exposed his throat to her, and kiss and bit along a column of muscle.

“Firasi,” she moaned, body molded to his and skin smearing sticky body between them. “When the pleasure is too much to take, you may finally find release by speaking the word.” Then, she worked slowly, methodically, peeling him out of his armor and clothes, and licking the body and sweat that clung to his smooth, firm form.

It was inevitable that she would reach his dick. It stood proud, tall, tempting her with his scent and its pulsing veins. Breath ghosted over his shaft as she savored his presence, before lowering herself further, and taking one of his balls into her mouth. Licking it, sucking it, playing it along her tongue, waiting for his agonized moan of pleasure before returning her attention to this cock.
 
Zathael strained against the chains, longing to grip her hair and force his aching meat deep into her skilled mouth. But all he got for his efforts was the musical sound of metal on metal, and the smug exprrssion that curved her lips as she slowly dragged her tongue over his length. “Zerachiel,” he moaned, drawing the syllables out as his hips jerked uncontrollably. “Oh, fuck...”

He could have uttered the word. Could have let the chains unbind and taken her mouth. But instead he wrapped the chains in his fist, drawing them tight as her lips slowly surrounded his head. He arched his back, offering her more of his meat, and was rewarded by the agonizing ecstasy of the wet heat of her mouth engulfing him inch by deliberate inch.

“Zerachiel,” he moaned again, watching her watch his reaction. Watching his thick dick glisten as her lips slid up and down his length. “That... oh, oh fuck. Use me.” He jerked as her tongue circled the sensitive opening at his top. “I’m your... your prisoner. Use... use me for... for your... your pleasure.”
 
Zerachiel loved the way he called her name, his tongue caressing each sound as it poured from his lips. His reward was to watch her take even more cock, swallowing his full length with a greedy yearning. He grew thick between her lips, pulsing visibly, and as fun as it was to tease him, she wanted more. And so, she pulled away, planting more kisses as she worked her way up his body. Culminating in the claiming of his mouth, to savor his arousal.

“Fuck, Zath, you’re so hard.” Calloused fingers were gentle on his twitching length, breezing over spit slick skin. “Is that just for me?” She hummed fondly, lips just hovering over his, as if daring him to speak the safe word and claim her. Still, inhumanly, he resisted, and that just made her want him more.

Zerachiel intended for the kiss to be gentle, teasing, but she failed at that. No, her kiss hungered for him, and her resolve melted in the heat of his mouth and the meeting of their tongue. The chains slackened, unbalancing him, and she pushed him down onto this back with little ceremony. With a haste most unseemly for a seraph, she was on top of him, trying to seize his cock within her. It wasn’t easy to hold his tight, firm figure down, but he looked amazing with his muscles writhing and straining against the chains. Wet, dripping lips parted around his length, and gripped him as she filled herself with him.

“Yeah, that hard cock is all for me, isn’t it?” Her head rolled back as she sunk down again, taking everything from him. “Tell me you want to cum. Beg me to cum inside…”
 
Zathael gasped as she sank around his throbbing, aching shaft. Gasped again as she clenched around him, massaging his length with slick, tight walls. “Yeah, that hard cock is all for me, isn’t it?” she purred, arching her back and rolling her hips.

“It is,” he groaned. “Every thick inch, yours.”

“Tell me you want to cum,” she demanded, bracing her hands on his chest. “Beg me to cum inside…”

“You want to cum,” he replied with a grin, lifting his hips against hers. “But fuck, I want to cum in you.” He rocked his hips up again, watching her breasts sway as he lifted her body. “You should have fucked me with that doctor,” he added, staring into her eyes. “My horse wanted him. I was wet the whole time, watching you in him.”

He rolled his hips, feeling his body straining towards a climax her chains denied him. “Could have had me... bent over... his hood. Your thick dick... pumping.., into me...”. He stared up at her. “Could have... have fucked... me as... as hard... as you’re... fucking me... now...”

She leaned forward, and he moved his wrists. The slack chain wrapped around her throat, and he pulled her closer. “You... you decide...” he gasped, biting at her lip. Her breasts slid over his chest with each eager movement of their bodies. “You... say the... the word. Decide... decide when I... I cum...”
 
Even on bottom, Zathael refused to surrender, refused to submit. Which just made Zerachiel want it more. Want him more.

His cock slid along her clit as he thrust up into her, sending shivers of ecstasy surging through her. Goddamn, she really did want to cum. Leaning in to kiss him gave Zath a chance to capture her, both of them bound by her enchantment. Keeping her close, and preventing both of them from reaching climax.

“You... say the... the word. Decide... decide when I... I cum...”

“You’d… you’d like that… wouldn’t you?” she breathed, staring deep into his gorgeous eyes. Their lips ghosted over one another’s, touching but not quite meeting and his breath tickled her face. She writhed against his throbbing cock, struggling against her own chains to find the right angle.

A hungry kiss captured his mouth, his tongue, his words. Capturing her own words, her own mind, her own faltering resistance. Pulling apart, they didn’t get ward, foreheads pressed together and noses slides against each other’s. Only a word separated them, a word of surrender, utter abandon met with desperate need.

“Firasi.”

The chains broke in a sublime ringing, like bells, and Zerachiel arched her back in new found freedom. “Zathael, l… Oh God, Zathael!” Orgasm sent her off balance again, back onto his chest and into his arms.
 
Zathael climaxed with a harsh cry of release as the word inbound him. His hands desperately roamed her back as his hips bucked against hers, his nails raking white lines between her wings and down her spine. An eternity of wordless pleasure passed in an instant before his body collapsed onto the grass. And then Zerachiel joined him, her sweet, sweat-slick body pressed against him.

“That...” his words were lost in a soft moan as she pulsed around his meat, milking a final spurt of semen from him. Sighing in indulgent pleasure he nipped at her chin and lip, then slowly kissed her. “We should use those chains more often.”

She moved against him, a languid act that made his shaft twitch with new life. “And we should find more common enemies,” he added, squeezing the firm flesh of her rump. “Victory agreed with you.” Gripping her rear he sat up, letting gravity pull her down his newly-hard meat. “Was it hot, taking me? Demanding that I fuck you as your prize?”

He be hand ranged in her hair, tugging her head back and down. “Did you enjoy using me?” he whispered, planting small stinging bites along her throat. “Did you enjoy claiming me as your trophy, and using me to fuck yourself to orgasm?”
 
Zerachiel savored the afterglow, savoring Zathael’s taste and his touch. It was these quiet moment that made her heart ache, because she knew they wouldn’t last. They couldn’t. But Zath didn’t let her linger in that pining .He marked her, with his teeth, with his nails, with his cum. His. The thought made her shudder, made her gasp, made her tremble.

Still trembling as he shifted, shifted them both, until they were sitting up. His cock, still delightfully hard, filled her, completed her. Legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him even deeper inside her, once more demanding every thick inch of his cock. Her arms went around his neck too, wanting more of him. Wanting all of him, greedy and demanding and possessive.

“Was it hot, taking me? Demanding that I fuck you as your prize?”

“Yes… oh fuck yes…”

“Did you enjoy using me?” he whispered, planting small stinging bites along her throat. “Did you enjoy claiming me as your trophy, and using me to fuck yourself to orgasm?”

Without thinking –without questioning– she moved against him. Along the length of his cock, claiming Zathael once more. “You’re still my trophy, my prize,” she sighed, nails racking his back as she sought leverage to fuck him hard. “You still belong to me…”

Even as she tried to take control, tried to hold onto to it, it slipped from her fingers, like his sweat slick skin. Her slit was even wetter this time, even hotter, lubed with his fervent pleasure. Even beneath her, he claimed her, challenging her position even as he reinforced it. The steel heat of his shaft split her open, hilted within her sultry depths. “Zath,” she moaned, begged, whimpered, losing herself to the pleasure of being his. “Oh God, Zath!”
 
“You’re still my trophy, my prize,” she sighed, nails racking his back.

“Am I?” Zathael tugged her hair again, teeth sharp against her throat. He left stinging bites along the pulsing vein in her neck. “I’m your trophy? Really?”

“You still belong to me…” she groaned, thighs and wings flexing as she tried to set the pace on his shaft.

“Really?” His teeth closed, hard enough to leave a bruise where her throat met her shoulder. At the same moment her bucked his hips, embedding himself deeper in her cum-slicked slit. “Then why do you bear my mark?” His lips moved to her other shoulder, biting to leave an identical, mirrored mark. “What sort of victorious warrior of the Host drips with a demon’s cum and shows his pleasure on her skin?”

“Zath,” she moaned, begged, whimpered, losing herself to the pleasure of being his. “Oh God, Zath!”

In response he captured her lips with his, his tongue in her mouth mirroring the motion of his shaft in her. “No God,” he whispered, rolling his hips to meet hers as she writhed upon him. “No masters. Just us. Us, and our pleasure.” His hand drew her hair tight, arching he back so he could trace the outline of a taut nipple with his tongue. “Take your pleasure,” he murmured, ghosting his lips over her damp flesh. “Try to prove I belong to you.”
 
Zath never had been one to surrender, whether it were backed with the threat of force or the sweet embrace of flesh. Even now, he dueled her for control, tormenting her with such exquisite ecstasy. Fucking her through her orgasm, reigniting her orgasm as his steel hard cock split open her trembling walls. Her pleasure was maddening, intoxicating, addicting, driving her to seek more and more of Zath, even when she couldn't possibly take anymore. But ache became a new delight all it's own.

This time it was her hands fisting in his hair, pulling him away from the throb of erect nipples , tugging his hair until he face mirrored hers. Her sweat lingered on his lips, his tongue as she took another kiss, flattening her breasts to his chest as drink in more of him.

In her desperation, she bit at his lip, hard enough to draw blood. Crimson rivulets trickled down his chin and splattered against her breast, brighter than the dried blood left by the nephilim.

Another kiss capture his lips, and Zerachiel moaned as his flavor suffused her mouth. He savored of fire, untamed and ravenous, consuming her even as she consumed him. He savored of life, stubborn and demanding and jovial. Most of all, he tasted of freedom, in all it's terrifying glory.

"Zath..." she gasped, crying out as her body sheathed him. "Mine, Zath... mine..."
 
The pain of her teeth piercing his lip was an exquisite shock, and he drank deep of her as she kissed him. Her lips and tongue were flavored with his life, but somehow transformed. Transformed into a joy and freedom in duty, of choosing to serve. Of choosing to bind oneself to another.

There was a terrible, frightening joy in that feeling. One he remembered from long ago. One that still called to him.

“Zath..." she gasped, crying out as her body sheathed him. "Mine, Zath... mine..."

“Zer... Zerachiel...” he gasped out, hands frantically moving over her. “Mine... mine, Zerachiel...”. His lips traced her throat, her breasts, her chin. “Mine...!

He covered her mouth with his as he climaxed, moaning his ecstasy into her lips as he spent himself within n her again. Shuddering and gasping he clung to her, lost in pleasure.
 
Their ecstasy mingled and joined together inside Zerachiel, stoked by the heat of his climax and the hunger of her body. His pleasured cries tasted as sweet as his life and she answered him in wordless praise. No more words passed between them as they rode out their bliss; no need. They’d said enough, already. Too much, perhaps when all was said and done. When their lips finally did part, she rested her head on his shoulder to catch her breath.

“You did threaten to use every hole I had,” she teased, nipping as his ear. Shifting in his lap, smooth muscles clenched around him, milking one last spurt of his pleasure. “Maybe I should turn that on you. Bend you over one of those Nephilim and take you.” She laughed at the idea before pushing it aside, pushing away from Zath to get back to her feet. A moment’s concentration resummoned her armor and she offered a gauntleted hand to help him up.

“In all seriousness, we really should get going.” She scanned the infinite expanse, drawing upon her eons of duty to navigate the indistinct passages. “We’ll want to head for Tifereth next. It connects with all the sefirots. Da’at would be the quickest path to Keter, but Binah and Chokmah also lead there.” Looking back, she favored him with a smile, “Options, if we need to avoid more Nephilim patrols.”
 
Flame roared around Zathael as he rose to his feet, flame that coalesced into silken clothes and gleaming golden armor. “Hmmm,” he mused, looking at the portal. “I’d actually been thinking of a more round-about route, following the kav smol through Hod to Binah. But...”. He grinned. “The direct route may very well be what we want. Who’d suspect anyone of being that stupid?”

With that he made a gesture. His blade, which was still buried in the corpse of a Nephil, dissolved in a flare of red-orange flame. Then he strolled over to the corpse, examining it intently. “A disguise may be in order, though - particularly for you.” He grinned over his shoulder as he stripped off the dead giant’s sheepskin vest. “You look much too proper and straight-laced to be a refugee hoping to enter the good graces of the New Management.”

He tossed the vest over. “That might be a little large, but it should work. Think any of these idiots have trousers that will fit you?”
 
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Zerachiel countered, slipping into the lambskin vest. It absolutely hung on her frame, but wearing it was her best option for altering her form. Changing herself to better fit the discarded clothing of their victims. She shifted her form unevenly, her left side much larger than the right, with bulging, veiny muscles and overly long limbs. By the time she was done, the vest still didn’t fit well, now too tight instead of too big, but that was all in service to the disguise.

“Am I a convincing Nephilim now?” Stretched vocal chords added a raspy growl to her words, and she offered Zath a lopsided grin. Maybe, they could actually get something done, instead of getting lost in the lust that hadn’t cooled between them after centuries apart. Besides it would be easier to get over Zath if she could convince herself that his attraction to her was purely physical.

Was it irony to enter the sephirot of balance and beauty, looking like a deformed freak? That looking like she didn’t belong would make her belong, now that everything had turned upside down. “I still think Da’at is our best bet to reach Keter, and the throne. It’s difficult to navigate, unless you have pure motives.” She flashed Zath a cheeky smile, one that exaggerated her hideous features, “Luckt for you, I am here to help you navigate it.”
 
"I have pure motives!" Zathael laughed. "I purely want to find out whether or not the New Government is likely to be a problem for Hell." But he knew that was bravado, even as he said it. Purity, in this case, was defined by the rules of the Throne. Pure and holy intentions and motives, which is why so many of the Children of Clay lingered in the lower worlds after death. It took a long, long time for them to purge themselves of the 'base desires' of their mortal flesh, permitting them to traverse the Sephiroth. Many remained in Fiddler's Green, or Paradise, or the Twelve Hours of Night, or Valhalla or whatever it was they found themselves for centuries, unable or unwilling to progress.

Some even found their way into Hell, abandoning the demands of the Highest for the freedom of the Pit.

"Shall we?" He asked, making a courtly gesture at the gate. "After you. As you said, I'll need help navigating."

-*-

The next passage was even more painful then the last. Zathael stumbled forward, blinded by the radiance and deafened by his own howls of defiance at the chains of love offered him by the Divine Light. His feet failed him, and he barely managed to beat his wings enough to avoid smashing heavily into the ground. Instead, he landed on all fours, shaking and retching and cursing. "How..." he gagged out. "How... did Lilith... manage to march an army... all the way..?"

"That's what I'd hoped to find out from you."

Something sharp pricked his shoulder, drawing Zathael's attention upwards along a slim silver blade to a red-haired woman dressed in incongruously piratical fashion. Only the wings sprouting from her back, crimson and emerald like her hair and eyes, marked her as something more than the human soul she appeared. "Who," he spat, "the hell are you?"

"Anne Sparrow," the angel remarked, glancing from him to the misshapen bulk of the disguised Zerachiel and back. "Psychopomp. And, if you value your life, you'll tell your pet monster to keep it's distance." Her grin was cocky. "You wouldn't be the first demon I've skewered, and I really want to know how the Hosts of Hell allowed Lilith to take the Celestial City."
 
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