Anyway, here is (only a day late XD) the next batch of Asmodeus/Raphael drabbles. Enjoy!
006 - Hours: 165 words
It was an effort, Asmodeus knew, for Raphael to slip away. Heaven was difficult to evade. With Hell, Asmodeus could just leave. An hour or two was nothing; he wouldn't be missed. That was one of the perks of being a shadow master: at his leisure, the Marquis was able to move between the planes of existence with ease. To go from Hell to Earth was as simple as stepping through a door.
No, Raphael did not have it that easy, and Asmodeus fiercely coveted any time they could spend together, those rare hours. There wasn't even sex most of the time; there didn't have to be.
They had afternoon tea in London.
Crêpes for breakfast in Paris.
They toured the Fine Arts Museum in Boston.
There were always interesting plays on Broadway in New York City.
Parks in springtime.
Warm beaches at sunset.
Raphael looked cute with snowflakes clinging to his auburn hair.
It wasn't fair that they could only have a few hours.
007 - Days: 259 words
Some days Asmodeus really hates Raphael. Today he even says so.
Red eyes shine bitterly as the Archdemon snarls, "I hate you. I really do. I do not want to feel this way—I should not feel this way!" A shudder and Asmodeus sits heavily on stone steps made of chipped granite. He's in a graveyard on the threshold of a sepulchre. A demon at a sepulchre. It's clichéd and not their usual meeting place.
Raphael tries to put his hand on the Marquis's shoulder, but Asmodeus shrugs away. "Asmodeus," the healer entreats, ever the compassionate angel, "if you lov—"
"Don't say it!" Red eyes flash, light from nearby lampposts reflected in his gaze. "Don't you fucking say it!"
"You won, alright? You won. I lost."
A tired sigh. It is not the first time that they've had this conversation. "This is not winning. I am not making you feel as you do. One cannot force Love."
"I wish you could just take it away."
"Ah, you know that I cannot." Raphael reaches for Asmodeus's shoulder again and succeeds this time. Dark charcoal armor feels warm beneath the angel's palm; he moves his hand until the tips of his gloved fingers brush against the nape of Asmodeus's neck. "Love is not so horrible a fate. Let me make it easier?"
The Archdemon scoffs but doesn't try to shove the angel away. Raphael leans down, both hands on Asmodeus's shoulders, and presses a kiss to the demon's lips. It's soft, inviting.
Some days Asmodeus really loves Raphael.
008 - Weeks: 161 words
It's disproportionate. In his calmer moments when he feels safe and secure in Heaven, that is how Raphael sometimes thinks about his meetings with Asmodeus: disproportionate.
The Archangel prefers to think of their encounters as statistics, variables. (Raphael can't really see them so objectively, but he tries anyway.) It makes Asmodeus seem remote and the idea of him easier to deal with. The demon is all smiles: sensual charm, poisoned honey laugh, and invasive intimacy. The distance helps (but the lurid details always remain).
The list amounts to only a few weeks. If Raphael were to lay all their encounters end to end (and he has), the time would equal only weeks. The first thousand years since Christ's birth have nearly passed, and in all those centuries, Raphael has spent very little time in Asmodeus's company.
That is the disproportionate part.
It is disproportionate, Raphael thinks bitterly, that Asmodeus should affect him so profoundly when he hardly even knows the demon.
009 - Months: 294 words
Chains clanked, weighing down a slender, dirty figure. Despite his cowed posture, the prisoner's green eyes still smoldered with barely suppressed fury. Raphael had been Asmodeus's captive since the Apocalypse, and his stay as the Marquis's prisoner had not treated the angel well. Raphael still wore the tattered, bloody robes he had had on during the battle for Purgatory, and the angel's wings were a battered mess.
"Mmm, and how are you enjoying Hell's hospitality today?" Asmodeus came sometimes to talk to Raphael, but only him. No other demon, not even the smallest imp, had ever entered this dark little cell that was Raphael's prison.
"You will not be so candid when my comrades arrive to help me," came the terse reply.
Asmodeus laughed outright at that. "It's been months, healer, since Heaven finally collapsed. No one is coming to your rescue. Any angels left alive will be too busy looking to their own safety to come to anyone else's aid. I'm the only one keeping you safe now." Asmodeus leered appreciatively at his captive. "You should be more grateful."
Raphael said nothing, but when Asmodeus reached to touch him, the bedraggled healer began to glow so brightly that the demon had to pull his hand back lest it be scorched. Raphael was still an Archangel and a being to be reckoned with, but time was not on his side.
"You'll grow weary of that eventually," Asmodeus said, cradling his burnt hand to his chest. "Cut off from Heaven you can't maintain that glowing little aura shield of yours indefinitely."
Raphael glared. "Perhaps not, but I can protect myself for a long, long amount of time."
"A long, long, finite amount of time," Asmodeus corrected, grinning evilly. "I, on the other hand, have eternity."
010 - Years: 245 words
Time bleeds. Days fly by now. An odd feeling for an immortal, that feeling of running out of time. Asmodeus looks out the rain-streaked window of his and Raphael's cozy little apartment. It's a loft, small but comfortable.
It's also heavily warded; no demons have found them yet. Ever since he chose exile on Earth over staying Below, Hell has not given Asmodeus a moment's peace. The Archdemon—former-Archdemon—is sure that he'd have lost his mind by now if not for Raphael.
Heaven, to the contrary, has been quiet. Ever since Raphael left, no angel has bothered to trouble him, not once. Maybe they're scared of him. Either way, this dismissal is to the healer's advantage. Of course, Raphael has paid other prices. Thanks to the Metatron, he doesn't have wings anymore.
Fair is fair after all. If you want something, sometimes you need to make sacrifices.
Raphael comes over then and lays a bare hand on Asmodeus's shoulder, silently asking what's wrong. Asmodeus smiles, says nothing, and presses a kiss to Raphael's knuckles. Raphael's hands look very pretty without their gloves.
They've been down here how many years now? Ten? Twenty?
It was still like an hourglass losing sand. How many years were left? It could be ten thousand. It could be two. It's finite. And afterwards? Eternity is a long time.
Asmodeus sighs—a soft hissing sound, serpentine—and Raphael sits down beside him.
When did Time start to move so fast?