whispersoflove | Recent Entries

( I've been wanting to do that again for almost two years. )

Anael walked without aim in the streets of London, not like he usually did, to watch people and enjoy their love, but because he had had to get out of Coby's flat. He would probably go flying later, but for now, he was simply walking, shoulders hunched, that same muted pain in his back, from the wing he had still not healed since that blood-filled night.

The less he thought about it, the better, and yet he could not bring himself to heal his wing. Part of it was being afraid that God would not grant him that miracle, but he knew that it was more than that. He simply didn't want to look at it too closely.

He nearly walked by Robin without noticing him, sitting alone in a pub, at a table by the window. It seemed so odd, Robin being alone in any kind of social setting, that before he knew it, Anael had doubled back to walk into the pub, and headed over to the puck.

"Are you waiting for someone?" he asked, reassured, at least, that he felt no overwhelming heartbreak coming from him.

Anael walked away from Crowley with a frown on his face, shoulders hunched as if bearing an invisible weight. As soon as he had the opportunity to disappear without anyone noticing, he cloaked himself and brought out his wings, rising high and fast above London. High enough that his breath fogged over, and then higher still, where the air was so crisp it felt different in his lungs - what would have been painful to someone else, no doubt.

He prayed. He played with the winds. He cried. And he forced himself not to despair, and prayed again. He felt so angry, and he didn't know what to do with that.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he touched down on Coby's rooftop, wings disappearing as he turned visible again. He felt wrong in a way he never had before, and no more settled for having just spent time flying and praying. He let himself into Coby's flat and tried to compose himself as he called out, "Coby?"

If there was one thing to be thankful for, when it came to Anael's current circumstances, it was that they had been allowing him to be much more present for Alcuin than he otherwise would have been. He tended to lose track of time in Heaven, immersed in his duties, and did not always realise how much time passed between his earthly visits.

This was obviously no issue, and he had called on Alcuin regularly since Hannibal's death. If nothing else, focusing on the young man was a welcome distraction from his forced stay on Earth, and the demonic brand on his skin. A distraction he embraced wholeheartedly, especially in the presence of someone who did not know of his nature.

Today would be no different, never mind Crowley's revelations. They changed nothing, only gave his magical friends more to work on. So that afternoon, he composed himself, then rang his friend's bell at the time they had agreed upon.

Anael still felt reluctant as he walked into the park, hands in the pockets of his jeans. It was a beautiful, sunny day, but he could not begin to enjoy it. Being here was grating, and he could not forget Crowley's words. Would an angel wilt, if cut off from Heaven for too long? Ever since the War, Anael had become a patient, loving soul, but now he felt his patience short more often than not, and irritation bubbling just under the surface of his feelings, ready to wash over them at any given moment. Was this what wilting would be like for him? Or much worse yet, was it the first step on his way Down?

If only he had any kind of lead as to the identity of those who had done this to him. He was not certain that he would be able to hold back his righteous wrath, but at least he would not have to go to the demon whose help he had turned down. Aziraphale had been encouraging, of course, mostly certain that Anael could trust Crowley on this matter, before he directed him to the park, and the ducks.

And there he was, throwing bits of bread at the ducks on the water. Anael had no doubt that Crowley had sensed him coming, even though the demon seemed to remain focused on the birds. He stopped beside him and admitted, because it was best to get it over with, "You were right. I need your help."

Anael nearly stumbled out of the church, doubt and fear gnawing at him harder than they ever had. Sunny had nothing new for him, and God kept silent. God would not answer any of his prayers; of course not, not anymore than They had let him into Their presence, not since the War and Anael's defiance. He had talked to the priest, in the hope that a man of God might help quell his doubts, but the priest had been a sham, the sort of man doomed for hell for some of the desires that ran through his heart.

He felt lost, and wanted to get back to Coby, focus on his love and how it always felt like salvation. But Coby was playing a concert, and Anael would not go and disturb him now. Tears welled up in his eyes and he stopped on a nearby bench, sitting there and covering his face with his hands, trying to get a hold on himself.

Coby had things to do, and after borrowing his phone to leave Sunny a message, Anael had let him go, after assuring him that he would be fine. No, really. He meant it. The mark on the top of his sternum still itched when he thought about it, or perhaps Anael itched around it. It felt like his entire being was trying, unsuccessfully, to push it off.

Once he was alone, he spent a long moment praying, then stopped when his stomach rumbled. Needing food, being hungry. These were new sensations for the angel. He had no idea how to cook anything, however, and turned away from Coby's cupboards and fridge, grabbing his boots to go outside.

He was on the lookout as he walked through the streets, every angelic sense focused on his surroundings. If they were going to try anything else, he was going to be ready for them. He was not sure how long he walked before he began to relax, trusting that he was not being followed. He found a street vendor and fished a note out of the pocket of his jeans to pay for a toastie. He ate as he walked, and only realised where his feet had taken him when he saw a familiar someone in just as familiar a coat walk out of a high tower a little way ahead of him.

Anael's feet slowed to a halt as he watched Jack, uncharacteristically unsure whether he wanted to see him or not.

After Anael had made sure that Alcuin had everything he needed, he set off to do as he had promised him, and reached Kersen's home right as the sun was setting behind the London buildings. He landed in a nearby, small street, then shed the wings and reappeared to the world, to walk on over to Kersen's door. He rang the bell, then said quietly to the door, hoping that Kersen might be listening, and would hear him, "It's Anael."

Continued from here.

Anael let Robin lead him to his garage, and his car. It was an effort to keep his Grace reined in, especially now that he'd witnessed Robin's reaction to it, but the last thing he wanted was to distract him as he drove. With a human, he might have thought about asking whether he was fit to drive, but with a puck, it didn't occur to him; he knew how well they - or at least Robin - held their alcohol.

There was an odd sort of rush to everything they did, Anael found, and it echoed in the sensation of every unneeded breath in and out of his lungs. Each felt precious, somehow, thanks to the anticipation, and he settled beside Robin, not thinking to put his seatbelt on as Robin pulled out of the garage.

"How far is it?" he asked, unable to resist reaching out and brushing his hand through Robin's hair.

Continued from here.

The kiss was lovely, through and through. Anael carded his fingers through Jack's wet hair as it deepened; yes, he could stand for Jack's grin to fade for a moment like this. His other arm wrapped around Jack's waist, his feet firmly planted on the bottom of the Serpentine. The cold water had no effect on him and he was entirely focused on the man against him, Jack's strong body, the way they kissed, the swell of his heart in the moment.

The kiss was better than lovely; it was beautiful.

Fin was in bed and being watched over, and Anael didn't linger. He took off from the roof, longing with all of his being for the comforting warmth of God's Love when he stood in Their presence. There was a place inside of him that ached with what he had done, a place he didn't know how to reach and make better. So he prayed, flying above London, cloaked from the gaze of men. He prayed, until he realised where the winds had taken him.

He landed on the rooftop of the converted church and sent another prayer, of thanks this time, to God. He slipped inside and knocked on Coby's door, the wings vanished, but the blood from both Fin and the other Fae still on his clothes and hands.

Anael was beginning to think that God did not want him to connect with Robin again, at this stage. Each time he had tried to stop by and see the puck, since his last run-in with Prometheus, he had not found him at home. He wondered whether this time would be the right one even as he landed on his rooftop terrace, appearing at the same time as he shed the wings, walking over to the French windows to peer inside and see if Robin was in, knocking on the glass as he did so. He hadn't bothered pretending to wear warm clothes, and was in a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt, despite the cold.

Anael started his descent once he believed himself to be round about London. He was only off by a few miles, and that was a quick enough flight when he was on his own, and didn't have to worry about his speed. It had been a few times, and he had finally got used to finding Coby's rooftop in the London landscape. He landed there easily, appearing and shedding his wings in the same breath, a hint of frost still in his hair as he headed for the door he was glad to find unlocked. He jogged down the few steps to Coby's door, then knocked on it happily. Hopefully. Coby wasn't always in, when Anael stopped by, and while the sun in the sky seemed to say that it was the early afternoon, Anael had hope.

Hope, and a smile on his face at the thought of possibly seeing Coby.

Coby was not at home, nor was Fin. So Anael simply walked through the streets of London, wondering whether he ought to visit anyone in particular, when he noticed the sign of the bar a little way off. It had been some time, he figured, since he had last seen Kersen, and he smiled at the thought of doing so now.

He did his best to look even more unassuming than usual when he walked into the bar; the fewer of Kersen's clientele he drove away by simply being there, the better. He could not spot the vampire anywhere, and so he walked up to the bar and asked the bartender, a mortal woman he had seen before, whether Kersen was around.

"You're a friend of his, aren't you?" she asked, eyeing him with a slight frown for a second. Concerned affection poured off of her in waves. "He's back in his office," she finally told him. "He could probably use a friend."

"Thank you," Anael told her honestly, her concern catching as he slipped into the back, and went to knock gently on Kersen's office door. "Kersen? It's Anael."

Anael honestly wasn't sure how long it had been since his last visit, but he still owed Robin. And, much more importantly, he wanted to see him. He liked spending time with the puck, and last time had felt so very, very lovely.

What he owed Robin wouldn't be anything like that, of course, but Anael was convinced that it would not be without a shade of affection, all the same. No matter how much Robin might protest it, if Anael were to bring it up.

He had tried Robin's home once already, finding it empty when he set foot on the terrace and peered inside the French doors, and so he had gone for a flight, high up where the air was so crisp, and when he flew back down to London, and to Robin's flat, he smiled when he spotted the puck in the same place, and state, he had last time: sunbathing, naked, on his terrace.

Anael became visible a few yards before his feet touched the floor, so as not to startle Robin, in a soft blue t-shirt and a comfortable pair of jeans, but barefooted. He shed his wings as he smiled at the puck. "Déjà vu."

Anael was flying over the roofs of London, and beginning to fly lower, wondering where he would land today. There was a little frost on his wings and in his hair, from how high he had been flying, but he was barely aware of it, or how cold his skin would have been to the touch right then. The sun would warm it quickly enough now that he had regained lower heights, and he let the wing carry him where it might want, without any guidance from him.

He smiled warmly, with definite approval, at the distant sight of a naked figure sunbathing on the roof of a tall building and sipping a colourful drink through a straw, before his eyebrows raised as the wind carried him closer, and he was startled to recognise the person in question.

Not that it was a surprise that Robin would want to avoid tan lines.

At least, Anael hoped it was Robin; he had never met a puck he liked so much. When the wind veered to the side, he beat his wings to leave it behind and come closer, still cloaked to the eyes of anyone. He flew over to the roof, hopeful that it would be the puck who could, and did, love. He beat his wings a couple of times as he came down, sending gusts of wind across the roof, then appeared as bare feet touched the ground. He took a few steps, smiling at the puck before shedding his wings, now looking like nothing but a young man in simple jeans and a t-shirt.

Anael had been keeping an eye out for Alcuin without noticing him - until, of course, he spotted him with Hannibal, his attention drawn by the love radiating from the alcove. They were locked in a lover's embrace, for all that only one of them felt the warm sort of love Anael knew to recognise. There had been a flicker of something else for a second, coming from Hannibal, but it was gone as soon as it had sparked. It both warmed his heart and seeped cold into his bones, and he turned away to get another glass of wine from a passing waiter.

He had found Julie again in the crowd, and she was just telling him about this other party she was off to, and that he absolutely ought to come to. It was then that he spotted a flash of white in the crowd, making his way towards the exit, and he leaned in to kiss Julie's cheek, and gave her his warmest apologies, but there was a friend here that he had yet to catch, and she should make the most of her night. He would catch up with her if he could, but otherwise, she truly ought to seize the day.

Not that she needed him to tell her that.

He caught up with Alcuin, dressed in a white suit as Hannibal had described, the better to make him look... well, angelic, Anael supposed humans would call him. "Alcuin," he greeted him warmly, assuming that the mask on his features would not stop the young man from recognising him, as it had not stopped Hannibal. "Tell me you aren't on your way out already. I've been looking for you."