Silver and Gold

"Katan." Rosiel's sharp, pastel voice echoed hollowly across the church, stilted by the enormous hole in the ceiling and lacking its normal saccharine charm. It was authoritative, demanding, the kind of tone he used to reprimand his subordinate. Or to punish him.

Katan immediately rose to his feet and turned to face Rosiel, stiffening all over, his fists clenching with unwilling defiance at his sides. He dropped to one knee and lowered his head, pressing one of those fists to his breast, and waited to be yelled at once again. He had done nothing wrong. Nothing in the last few hours to deserve punishment anyway.

"Don't look so worried," Rosiel chided him softly, his old tone returning. It was slightly cynical, mysterious, wispy like fog coiling around Katan's face and misting against his fair skin. "I wasn't yelling at you. I've been calling you for several minutes and you've just sat there like a false idol."

Katan lifted his head just enough so that he could see Rosiel's face. The older angel crossed his arms over his chest and peered at Katan with golden, analytical eyes, a very careful and thoughtful sort of smile touching his perfect, rosy lips. "What were you praying so hard for, Cherub Katan?"

"Nothing, sir." It was an out and out lie, but what he had been praying for was of no concern to Rosiel, so he saw fit to keep it to himself. He lowered his eyes to the floor again.

"Hm." Rosiel said nothing for a heartbeat, his eyes narrowing rather dangerously. "You're lying."

He straightened then, his smile returning with more ease. "But that's fine. You can keep your secrets. I've no use for them."

Katan could feel his heartbeat quickening, taking Rosiel's nonchalant and uncaring tone as a sign he was about to be punished. He tensed all over as he heard Rosiel's gentle footfalls crossing the floor toward him, and he grit his teeth, waiting for anything. When Rosiel had stopped he was standing right in front of the lower angel, so that Katan could see the toes of his immaculate beige colored boots.

"Look at me, Katan." His voice was like honey, sweet and so soft as to almost be a whisper, imploring him to lift his eyes as the hive implores the bear to investigate. Very slowly he raised his head until he was looking straight up. Rosiel's form eclipsed the light, but even in shadow Katan could make out the searing beauty of him – the icy lavender fall of his hair and the tender amber luminescence of his dewy eyes.

"I want to admire you for a moment," he said, again in that honey-sweet voice as soft as snow fall. "It occurred to me the other night that I have not admired you since I made you. And you are the only thing, the most beautiful thing, I have ever created."

Katan swallowed thickly, the knee-jerk reaction a subconscious way of keeping his mouth from falling open, and automatically – out of coyness – he let his face drop once more out of sight. Rosiel stared at the shock of silvery hair that hid his most beautiful creation's face and frowned slightly.

"Now, now," he said, dropping to his knees in front of Katan and lifting his face with a careful hand beneath his chin. "Don't be so shy, Katan. Don't you know you're beautiful?"

"I . . ." He hesitated, looking everywhere but into Rosiel's eyes, so close and so wide and so tawny and fair. "I never considered it, sir."

Rosiel's smile twisted in a way that was almost sadistic in its amusement. "Don't you think that if the most luminous angel in Heaven created a creature for any purpose he would make it beautiful just as he is beautiful?"

Katan stared with fearful surprise into his master's eyes, and this time could not keep his mouth shut. "I suppose so, sir."

The smile that touched Rosiel's lips this time also touched his eyes, making him appear more feminine and even motherly. In that moment he exuded a matronly charm, a sort of pride that rivaled a mother's when she saw for the first time how handsome her son has become. Still holding Katan's chin in one hand, he reached up with the other to brush away the soft curtain of hair that fell into his silver-gray eyes, admiring every aspect of his child's perfect, winsome face. Katan kept his eyes averted, afraid of the things Rosiel may be able to see if he looked too deeply into them.

Rosiel combed the fingers of both hands through the shorter strands of Katan's hair, exposing his face to the mixture of candlelight and moonglow that permeated the church's grim, forsaken atmosphere. He lifted his own head slightly as he admired the varying shades of silver and gold that played across Katan's alabaster skin, the way the silver caught in his brows, knitted in anxious supplication and fear. Katan was biting his lip. Rosiel ran one finger across his bottom lip, inciting him with this feather-light touch to release the bitten flesh and look at him.

"You are beautiful," he murmured, as if seeing right before him a revelation, and his pupils widened with the sight of something that pleased him so.

Katan hesitated, wanting to speak, but unsure of what Rosiel wanted to hear. Either way, he knew that what he wanted to say would be to Rosiel's liking. "So are you . . . sir."

He had already told Rosiel this once, upon request. At that time he had been unable to look his master in the eye, for not only had he just been punished and then sweetly soothed back into a shocked state of trust, but he had also been too afraid of admitting it sincerely. But now he peered fearlessly into those deep amber pools, glimmering with caught candlelight and softening with acceptance and pleasure at those words.

"We've established that, Katan," Rosiel said, playfully scolding him. "I know you love me."

He dropped his eyes as if ashamed of being caught, even though it was no secret. He loved Rosiel more than anything, even more than God, for it was Rosiel who had made him a cherub, who had given him a body and a new life. For Rosiel, he would do anything. But why did he feel so demure and childish when Rosiel looked at him this way? Why did his heart quicken so at his slightest touch?

He knew why, and he was afraid of the answer.

"This is for me, Katan," Rosiel said now, tracing his fingernails across Katan's cheek. The cherub closed his eyes and shuddered. "Would you do this for me?"

He drew his face close to his slave's, and his whispered words fell in cool, tingling breaths against Katan's lips as they parted in blind anticipation.

"Yes," Katan murmured with his eyes still closed, Rosiel's long, dark nails dragging down his throat and to the high, belted collar of his uniform. They unbuckled with no need for fumbling, as did the clasps that held together his jacket and shirt, and Katan gulped again, opening his eyes when Rosiel's hand snaked inside and traipsed lightly across his chest. He found the other angel gazing at him with a smile.

"You really never considered," he started in a truly incredulous and fascinated voice, "how breathtaking you are?"

The stiff uniform shirt was falling back over Katan's shoulders, leaving his torso bare and cold. His arms were bound effectively by the sleeves, but he did not dare move to free them. He instead watched with quickening breaths as Rosiel's hands explored the smooth expanse of his exposed body, greedily taking in the sight and feel of him.

"I . . . sir . . ." Katan was beyond words. Or words were beyond him, he wasn't sure which it was.

At last Rosiel returned his burning golden gaze to Katan's and slipped his hands around his waist in possessive fashion, pulling him closer and leaning in to him. Katan could feel the celestial presence of him, the power of him, so much stronger than his own, warming and consoling his throbbing angelic nerves.

"Mine," Rosiel whispered, drawing his face so close to Katan's that the lower angel was forced to close his eyes and accept the presence of him so forcefully close. His hands reached further around his waist, until he was bound in the circle of Rosiel's arms. "All mine."

Katan released a sigh, a very deep, emotional sigh, and let his face dip with the relief of the exhale, meeting Rosiel's lips with eager surprise and desperate abandon. He had been praying for this, and his prayers had been answered. He wanted nothing else.

The kiss was harsh, Katan's abandon causing him to kiss his master back with more passion than he was being offered. Rosiel's gentle lips stiffened then pulled away, and he peered into Katan's eager and slightly distressed eyes with that vaguely amused smile. Katan bit his lip again, afraid he'd displeased Rosiel by being overeager.

Rosiel laughed lightly and ran a finger over Katan's lips once more, tickling the tiny nerves in the sensitive skin and watching with satisfaction as his eyes closed. As the cherub sighed Rosiel covered his mouth with his own, fully devouring the breath. He ran his hands up Katan's chest, brushed his fingers over his nipples, and the cherub sucked in a breath and whimpered at the shiver that coursed through him.

"For me, Katan," he whispered against the submitting child's lips. "For you."

Katan wasn't sure what was happening to him. He wasn't sure what Rosiel meant when he said these things, but all he knew was that for a chance to be so close to – to share in the beauty of the Inorganic angel – he would do anything. He would be anything for anyone if Rosiel so wished it. All Katan longed for was to meet with him, to prove to him, to show him and have him know and understand and appreciate the love he had for him. Because, no matter how many sweet words he spoke or proclamations he made, Katan could never fully bring himself to believe Rosiel understood just what he meant to him.

Rosiel's hand was trailing down his stomach now, causing an undeniably pleasant heat to fix itself in the juncture of Katan's legs. He let out small groan as Rosiel's other hand twined in his hair and pulled him forward for another kiss, deep and giving, his tongue slipping in easily to give him a taste of what he was like. This was more than Katan could stand. He arched forward a little, pressing hard against Rosiel's mouth, against those delicate, rosy lips, sucking fiercely on his tongue. The taste of him was even beautiful! It sang of everything fragile and needy and helpless – everything Rosiel pretended not to be. And he did not veer away, did not reprimand, did not even attempt to stop Katan in his fierce and desperate compulsion. He only undid the fastenings of the cherub's trousers and let his cool, lithe fingers sneak their way inside to stroke the conspicuous heat hidden within.

Katan gave a start at the new touch and pulled away. Rosiel's expression was frisky, the curl of his lips pure seduction, the half-mast fall of his thick lashes over golden eyes absolute temptation. He leaned forward with no words, and nuzzled his face against Katan's throat, kissing him softly, his hand pressing farther into the constriction of his pants, stroking further the growing ache. Katan's voice trembled as he attempted to form words.

"S-s-si-ir..."

"Shh," Rosiel whispered against the dampness of his throat, his head resting against Katan's shoulder, his hair tickling him. Katan could feel the barest brush of Rosiel's lashes against his skin as his master gazed lovingly upon the pale perfection of his throat. "No ‘sir' now, Katan. It's only us now."

In that moment Katan gained a certain clarity – Rosiel seemed to be changing. He didn't understand the nature of the change, but he didn't care either. Just as long as he was his, just as long Rosiel was Katan's and Katan Rosiel's, nothing else mattered in that moment. So it was with a throaty groan and a submissive bow of his head, letting silver bangs fall into silver eyes, that he let himself be Katan – not Katan the child, not Katan the servant, not Katan the slave. Just Katan.

Rosiel's hand was careful in its movements, so slow and comforting, his fingers barely touching the stiffening flesh that was becoming painfully alert and was painfully restrained. Katan bent his face toward the one that rested so serenely on his shoulder, and he kissed with the barest brush of lips the corner of the eye that gazed rather dazedly at his collar bone. Rosiel's eyes closed, and he sighed, his breath a cool trickle along the plane of Katan's skin. He tilted his face up to meet with Katan's, pressing his lips to the cherub's while at the same time taking a full grip on the heat in his hand, carefully removing him from all his bindings. Another little groan into Rosiel's mouth, a very subtle shifting of his hips against the gentle hand working him, and they opened their eyes simultaneously, lips still together – silver locked to gold locked to silver – and they each smiled.

Rosiel's other hand was tracing delicate patterns across Katan's chest, his nails scraping against a hardened nipple – pale as a scar in the smooth flesh – and Katan would bite Rosiel's lip and suck just hard enough to make the other angel give a surprised moan. The grip around his sex tightened, then loosened, painfully teasing him. Katan decided then it was just as good to give as it was to receive, that playing a game of give and take was in order. Shrugging out of his shirt the rest of the way and freeing his arms, he brought his hands up and took Rosiel's beautiful, feminine face between them, holding him while he kissed him. It seemed to take the older angel by surprise, for when he pulled away Rosiel stared at him with the strangest expression, his eyes huge and filled with wonder. At that moment Katan felt like the master, as he realized he did hold some degree of control over Rosiel after all. Rosiel needed him. It seemed now he was really beginning to realize this fact.

"Katan," he whispered, his voice nothing more than a breath hinted with fear.

"Rosiel," Katan whispered back, running his thumbs lightly over the fine cheekbones, taking in with the greatest deal of satisfaction and love – his heart full with it, singing with it, bursting with it – the frail resplendence of that face. "My beautiful, beautiful Rosiel . . ."

And he kissed his eyelids, and his nose, and his mouth, running his hands through the fair tendrils of his lavender hair. Now it didn't matter how Rosiel touched him physically, that he was so distracted by Katan's devotion he was no longer touching him, both hands having found themselves pressed to Katan's chest. He'd lost control of the moment, and it seemed even Rosiel was not ashamed or afraid or angry. He sighed into Katan's mouth, his breath sweet like honeysuckle, and returned his open-mouthed kisses with delirious passion.

Katan removed the trench coat and the layers underneath, exposing as much of the lithesome angelic body as he himself had bared. He bent his face to the perfect angle that made the arch of Rosiel's throat, and he licked the skin and even took some of it in his teeth, gnawing lightly as if tasting tender, meaty fruits. Rosiel leaned into him with a sigh, one hand resting on the back of his head and the other returning to its previous duty of stroking, this time with a more deliberate rhythm, though slow and languid like his breathing.

But it wasn't enough, not for Katan. He was overwhelmed. The more he experienced of this beauty – the more he tasted and touched and felt – the more he wanted it in ways he hadn't before. His hands around Rosiel's waist, he slipped the other's pants down, pushing them slowly past the gentle, boyish curve of his ass, then once exposed ran his hands over the curl of flesh, gripping it in his hands and kneading it with his strong fingers. Rosiel gave a gasp, arching so primly against him, and Katan immediately rose to take that gasp into his mouth. He then slid one hand between his legs, relieved by the feel of the long, slender organ that strained against his hand, hotter than the rest of him.

Rosiel's gasped breaths were exquisite. Katan was in awe of the things he could make the other angel feel, of the control he suddenly had. Linking one arm around his slender waist, Katan pulled him right against him, until their hands on each other's sex met and moved in the same rhythm with the same exact touch. He buried his face in the sweetened silk of his hair, kissing the impression of his ear through the delicate strands, breathing hot against him. Rosiel pressed forward into his hand, whimpering, little rivulets of golden nectar seeping from his throbbing sex and along Katan's fingers.

"Hhnn . . . Katan!" he was gasping, clutching onto him now, one arm wound deathly tight about Katan's shoulders. He pumped Katan's length as hard as Katan pumped his own, but the cherub was more concerned with Rosiel's pleasure than his own, barely even noticing the mounting rush inside him. Rosiel's voice had grown incredibly high and thin, and he was trembling, a damp, shivering, beautiful mess in Katan's arms.

"Hehahn!!"

Head tossed back, entire body arching up as he spilled forth in a great, golden gush, Rosiel moaned desperately, thrusting against Katan's grip and body to expel all the pleasure he had collected inside him. Katan watched, peering drowsily through silver bangs at the shimmering, amber cum spurting over his hand – so bright and surreal to his eyes. When the slender angel collapsed against him, both hands clutching his shoulders for support, his face pressed fast into Katan's chest, it occurred to him that he wasn't finished yet.

"Rosiel," he whispered thickly, pushing the limp creature back and brushing away the indescribably gorgeous strands of stray hair that clung to his damp face. "I need you."

Rosiel just stared up at him, looking lost and confused and maybe a little awed. He didn't understand what Katan meant, still drunk on the last waves of rapture. Katan wasn't quite sure what he meant either, but he had an idea.

Very gently, he laid Rosiel on the floor. The older angel was so weak he could not protest. Katan then stripped him completely, and stripped himself completely, and then leaned over him, staring intently into those half-lidded eyes as brilliant and fearsome as the sun. Only now they were strange, echoing an odd trust Katan had never seen there before. An odd trust that begged him, begged for him, and if in case he wasn't sure Rosiel reached for him, murmuring his name like a prayer, an invocation. He pulled him down, reaching up halfway to kiss him, and their mouths were sloppy, but their intentions were pure. For this one time, they were pure.

Pulling away, Katan made his way down the porcelain skinned frame, kissing and lapping and sucking every inch of flesh his mouth came into contact with. All the way down to the V of his legs, where he was met with sullen flesh already spent, still wet with the fruits of his own passion. He licked it up, suckling gently on the arc of his sex, down the length and then up the bottom, licking away every trace of milk-gold that had been left on Rosiel's skin. And by the time he was finished the angel was hard again, and whimpering again, and he had his slender fingers buried deep in Katan's hair. Katan lifted himself and kissed Rosiel deeply on the mouth, giving him a taste of his own beauty. And Rosiel took it greedily.

Then hooking his hands beneath his knees, Katan lifted his legs to reveal the faint golden wetness that seeped from the cleft between his legs. It was with this self-supplied luminescence and Katan's own silvery precum that he slid into that tight, wet space with ease, encasing himself completely in Rosiel's beauty. The feeling was more than he could stand. It was so exquisite he started to weep.

Again, delicate white arms reached up for him, took him, pulled him close and held him there. "Katan . . ." he whispered sweetly into the cherub's hair, and nothing more. Just his name – not rushed, not gasped, just his name, as it was, in the most telling, innocent voice. "Katan . . . my beautiful Katan . . ."

"Rosiel . . ." His own voice was so weak, so thick and hoarse, dampened by tears and by need and by love. He clung to him hopelessly, buried inside him as far as he could go, and he wept to be deeper, to be this pleasure with none of the pain, to be in Rosiel and be done with it forever. To become one with this beauty. Because he realized he would never be this beautiful.

And with this realization he was no longer in control. He sat back, pulling Rosiel up with him, being careful not to let even a centimeter of himself slip out, and sitting back on his haunches, leaned against a pew, he sat there with Rosiel in his lap. Consumed by him completely. Rosiel wrapped his arms around Katan's neck, kissed him deeply, tousled his hair, stroked his back, his chest, his arms, then started to move. Katan merely clung to him and wept. It was with his usual grace and beatific charm that Rosiel took him by being taken, a paradox only he could commit, and helplessly Katan found himself lost in the feeling – in the friction, constriction, heat, pulse, smell, taste, sound of him. The flaxen lubricant that was Rosiel's own trickled thickly along the tensed pathways of Katan's sex, dribbling over the sensitive skin of his sac. Mouthing soundlessly against the slender chest in front of him, he gripped onto Rosiel hard, his fingers tightening painfully on his rear as the older angel rode him harder. Rosiel's sex was pressed neatly between them, scraping Katan's stomach and smearing a gleaming, tawny impression of itself on the pale skin.

Katan wept harder and harder the closer he came to climax. His fingers dug into flesh, bruising. His sobs were silent against Rosiel's throat. He was surrounded by slender limbs, fragrant heat, feathers and wings; long, soft hair clung to his body from where it draped around Rosiel's face, its touch inciting him to frenzy. With a great unfurling of wings he sobbed Rosiel's name and came.

"Rooosieeeel!"

But from Rosiel there came no sound, only Katan's own cries and feeling of death – of release, of total abandon, of a kind of pleasure he had always been denied in Heaven and could have only found with this being in his arms. He spilled himself into his master, giving him something he would give no one else, and this he swore even as he did so. And with this Rosiel too came with a hushed cry, head thrown back, sex throbbing as it poured forth its saffron stream, and the feel of it running hot and sweet over Katan's skin made him shudder a little more.

And when it was over, when he couldn't give anymore, Rosiel leaned upon him, head on his shoulder, and petted him like the pet he was. The smile on his pretty pink lips was undeniably satisfied.

"Shh, now, Katan," he murmured soothingly, wiping away the tears that streamed from the cherub's eyes. "For me . . . remember?"

Katan barely even nodded. "Yes . . . sir."

So it was with a newfound sense of attachment, mastery, slavery, triumph, and defeat that Katan slowly folded his wings around them, enclosing them in the warmth the delicate white feathers had to offer. He rested his head against Rosiel's, breathing in deeply the honeysuckle scent of him, and his tears subsided.

"All mine," Rosiel whispered drowsily, an equally drowsy smile adorning his lips as he drifted into sleep.

Though judging from the way Katan kept his arms so protectively wrapped around him, and the slight, nearly imperceptible smile touching his cherubim lips, it was hard to say exactly who had everything and who had nothing.

***
"If I could only breathe you in
Every drop of you
I guess it's time to face the truth
And admit my past mistakes
Come to terms with all that's wrong with me
And all the things I'll never be
Why am I afraid to feel?
Afraid of what is true?
Why am I afraid to feel?
When all I really want is you?
To taste your skin
To share your thoughts
Would never be enough for me"
- "Breathe You In," Stabbing Westward