Sin in liquid form.
For hellfire_angel. Um. It is very sappy. And sweet. There's chocolate in it! Good Omenish 1x2, yay!
Stupid demon! Heero was not pacing. He was also most definitely not making hot chocolate.
“Bloody stupid demon!” he muttered, giving a cabinet a solid kick. He regretted it immediately. He could feel pain, yes, but that wasn’t the issue. Kicking cabinets was not a proper angelic activity. Angels were composed, full of grace, and poise.
Angels most certainly did not lounge in demon’s apartments, making chocolate.
He wondered for the umpteenth time why hadn’t he miracled it into existence yet.
Oh yes - bloody stupid demon had said he could taste the difference, and Heero’s miracle chocolate was not as good as hand made, with the old recipe Duo got from a chocolatier in Switzerland. What had he said, was it eighteenth century? Heero peered at the fragile piece of paper Duo had framed on his kitchen wall. Nineteenth. Recipe signed by Rudolf Sprüngli. Zurich, December 24, 1846.
The nerve of that demon! Bothering people right before Christmas!
Heero fumed for a few moments.
He was distracted by a gentle glop from the stove. The chocolate started boiling. Heero extinguished the flames with a thought and fetched a couple of porcelain cups. Casting one last look at the recipe, he poured- but then again, poured was not the word. He encouraged the thick, lazy abomination, the sin in liquid form, into the mugs. He needed to use a spoon and not a small helping of gravitational pull to make it work.
Heero shuddered. He took the container of cream from the fridge and, whipping it with a glare, decorated each devilish drink with a dollop of an angelic whiteness.
“Heero, hurry up! The movie is starting!”
“Bloody demons,” Heero muttered, picking up the mugs and carrying them to the spacious living room. Whatever the hell the demon needed such a lavish living environment for? It wasn’t like he lived!
“Oh, chocolate!”
Heero could hear the delighted emphasis dripping from the demon’s voice. He wordlessly handed over one mug and a teaspoon, before seating himself on the soft couch and glaring at his companion.
“This is highly inappropriate,” he said testily. “I shouldn’t be here, and since when can you get a cold anyway? You are a demon.”
Duo sneezed, as if to disprove his supposed inability to contract a virus. “Human bodies, they are funny. It’s amazing how much thinking they do on their own.”
“Bodies don’t think. The mind thinks.” Heero scooped a bit of his whipped cream onto his spoon and licked it clean.
“Evidently, you haven’t been in tune with yours. Now shush, the movie’s starting.”
Heero shushed and watched. The level of chocolate in his cup kept diminishing steadily. “This is preposterous!” he said after a while. “I really must protest.”
“Quiet, Heero!”
“But- this is inaccurate and offensive. Angels do not behave like that!”
“Dunno I seem to recall Gabby throwing a hissy fit. Once, or twice. We’re talking thousands, obviously.”
Heero sat up straighter. “Gabriel is an archangel. He has responsibilities-”
“Gabby is a friggin’ drama queen.”
Heero forced himself to remember what expression indicated that the wearer was scandalised.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that. You know it’s true.”
Heero had to admit it was. Not verbally, of course. He would never fall quite so low as to gripe about the Heavenly affairs to a demon, of all beings.
“Now quiet, and watch the movie.”
Heero quieted and watched the movie. He’d be surprised to notice his hand making unplanned trips to the cup he was holding. His mind did register the desolate feeling when the teaspoon hit the porcelain bottom, but he’d attributed it to the atrocious portrayal of angels in the movie. Aside from that, he didn’t even notice the passing of time, until the closing credits rolled down the screen and then he blinked and found himself sprawled on the couch in a manner not befitting an angel.
Most prominently featured in the Most Unlike an Angel Theatre was a demon, snuggled to his chest. Heero was ashamed to notice his wings spread out over the both of them, adding an addition layer of warmth, the kind that cannot be felt with the corporeal five senses.
This was disgraceful. Demons, the denizens of the underworld, were the harbingers of misfortune and plague, definitely not a suitable company for an angel such as himself. It didn’t matter their human bodies were warm and soft, and had glossy hair. They were evil and…
And…
Heero closed his eyes and slept, breathing in the spicy not-quite-scent of Duo and the shining not-quite-warmth of his own wings.
Stupid demon! Heero was not pacing. He was also most definitely not making hot chocolate.
“Bloody stupid demon!” he muttered, giving a cabinet a solid kick. He regretted it immediately. He could feel pain, yes, but that wasn’t the issue. Kicking cabinets was not a proper angelic activity. Angels were composed, full of grace, and poise.
Angels most certainly did not lounge in demon’s apartments, making chocolate.
He wondered for the umpteenth time why hadn’t he miracled it into existence yet.
Oh yes - bloody stupid demon had said he could taste the difference, and Heero’s miracle chocolate was not as good as hand made, with the old recipe Duo got from a chocolatier in Switzerland. What had he said, was it eighteenth century? Heero peered at the fragile piece of paper Duo had framed on his kitchen wall. Nineteenth. Recipe signed by Rudolf Sprüngli. Zurich, December 24, 1846.
The nerve of that demon! Bothering people right before Christmas!
Heero fumed for a few moments.
He was distracted by a gentle glop from the stove. The chocolate started boiling. Heero extinguished the flames with a thought and fetched a couple of porcelain cups. Casting one last look at the recipe, he poured- but then again, poured was not the word. He encouraged the thick, lazy abomination, the sin in liquid form, into the mugs. He needed to use a spoon and not a small helping of gravitational pull to make it work.
Heero shuddered. He took the container of cream from the fridge and, whipping it with a glare, decorated each devilish drink with a dollop of an angelic whiteness.
“Heero, hurry up! The movie is starting!”
“Bloody demons,” Heero muttered, picking up the mugs and carrying them to the spacious living room. Whatever the hell the demon needed such a lavish living environment for? It wasn’t like he lived!
“Oh, chocolate!”
Heero could hear the delighted emphasis dripping from the demon’s voice. He wordlessly handed over one mug and a teaspoon, before seating himself on the soft couch and glaring at his companion.
“This is highly inappropriate,” he said testily. “I shouldn’t be here, and since when can you get a cold anyway? You are a demon.”
Duo sneezed, as if to disprove his supposed inability to contract a virus. “Human bodies, they are funny. It’s amazing how much thinking they do on their own.”
“Bodies don’t think. The mind thinks.” Heero scooped a bit of his whipped cream onto his spoon and licked it clean.
“Evidently, you haven’t been in tune with yours. Now shush, the movie’s starting.”
Heero shushed and watched. The level of chocolate in his cup kept diminishing steadily. “This is preposterous!” he said after a while. “I really must protest.”
“Quiet, Heero!”
“But- this is inaccurate and offensive. Angels do not behave like that!”
“Dunno I seem to recall Gabby throwing a hissy fit. Once, or twice. We’re talking thousands, obviously.”
Heero sat up straighter. “Gabriel is an archangel. He has responsibilities-”
“Gabby is a friggin’ drama queen.”
Heero forced himself to remember what expression indicated that the wearer was scandalised.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that. You know it’s true.”
Heero had to admit it was. Not verbally, of course. He would never fall quite so low as to gripe about the Heavenly affairs to a demon, of all beings.
“Now quiet, and watch the movie.”
Heero quieted and watched the movie. He’d be surprised to notice his hand making unplanned trips to the cup he was holding. His mind did register the desolate feeling when the teaspoon hit the porcelain bottom, but he’d attributed it to the atrocious portrayal of angels in the movie. Aside from that, he didn’t even notice the passing of time, until the closing credits rolled down the screen and then he blinked and found himself sprawled on the couch in a manner not befitting an angel.
Most prominently featured in the Most Unlike an Angel Theatre was a demon, snuggled to his chest. Heero was ashamed to notice his wings spread out over the both of them, adding an addition layer of warmth, the kind that cannot be felt with the corporeal five senses.
This was disgraceful. Demons, the denizens of the underworld, were the harbingers of misfortune and plague, definitely not a suitable company for an angel such as himself. It didn’t matter their human bodies were warm and soft, and had glossy hair. They were evil and…
And…
Heero closed his eyes and slept, breathing in the spicy not-quite-scent of Duo and the shining not-quite-warmth of his own wings.