Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 5

had meant it to be a violent, claiming kiss, a mark of possession, but it didn't stay that way. As much as it was his chain that bound the angel now, both of them knew that it wouldn't be there if Emiel hadn't come to Hell for him and sought him out. Emiel's claim had come first, and he asserted his authority and took control of the kiss, gentling it and making it into something truly tender.
    The sweetness of the angel's grace flowed through their lips, and suddenly Renat was drowning in love. It filled the parched plain of his body and renewed that part of himself that was barely there any longer, the smallest residual speck of their ancient connection. It quivered in pain, a wounded creature shrinking away from the light, and Renat tried to pull back but Emiel wouldn't have it. He kept their lips locked together, unrepentantly pouring all his grace and adoration into the demon until the pain finally faded, and the heavy feeling of drowning was replaced by a fragile sense of rightness that Renat had forgotten. It was the sensation of God's love, and it permeated Renat's body with just enough force to heal his newest injuries.
    The healing came from God. The rest of the kiss, the growing heat and passion of it, that all came from Emiel. He held Renat firmly, connecting their bodies from chest to toes, and his tongue brushed lightly against the seam of Renat's lips, tasting him, testing for an opening. Renat gave it, and then they were closer than they had ever been, but somehow it still wasn't enough.
    "Emiel…"
    "I know," the angel whispered against his mouth. "It's alright."
    "It isn't," Renat argued. He didn't even know why, at this point, but the pleasure made him feel guilty. "This is not all that I am. You don't know…"
    "I know your darkness," Emiel replied, pulling back just enough to capture Renat's gaze again. "I know it. I read it in every inch of you. Especially here." His hands brushed Renat's shoulder blades. "Show them to me."
    Renat wanted to protest. His wings were hideous, and no amount of shared grace was going to heal thousands of years of damage. But Emiel wanted everything, and he was going to get it, even if it turned his head away in disgust. Renat twisted his mind slightly and the wings came curling out of his back, bone and sinew creaking as they flexed and stretched. Bone and sinew, that was all that was left of Renat's wings. It was a wonder he could still carry himself with them; the vast majority of the Fallen had lost their wings when they reached the firmament of Hell, the first indelible change that their decision wrought on them. Renat's remained, mutilated as they were. Rumor had it that Satan had kept his as well, although they were said to be wrought of sorcery now, with nothing of Heaven remaining in them.
    Once his wings, such as they were, were completely open, Renat tensed expectantly. Emiel looked almost exasperated for a moment, then gently stroked down Renat's spine. His wings quivered. It felt…good.
    "You think of yourself as a defiler, and yet you were also defiled." Emiel kissed Renat again, and his hands moved to the base of his wings, the thick, scarred connection, and held him tightly. "You have done evil, as evil has been done to you. You cannot lose your past." He rocked his hips forward, and his erection pushed against Renat's groin, tempting him to imitation. "But it should not kill your future. We are meant to feel this." He pressed in again, undulating, and the curving feathers around them mimicked the movement. "You can feel pleasure with me. No guilt or blame or anger, just joy. Ecstasy." His wings opened a little to enfold Renat's, cocooning them as well, and then everything was surrounded in softness and heat and wet. Only the body against Renat was hard and lingering. It coaxed him into an answering hardness, and the sensation was so alien and pleasurable that it took his breath away.
    Demons fucked. Demons were hedonists of the most vicious and sadistic kind, and for many of them their foremost proclivity was sexual. It was such an easy way to discomfit, a simple, primal way to bring horror and pain and brutality to the damned. There were demons that strutted around Hell with permanent erections, huge and deformed, edged with thorns and dripping acid. Sex in Hell was almost inevitably just fucking, and fucking meant nothing but straightforward pain and torture. Renat had never found that kind of punishment fitting, not for himself or the souls he