Our Bodies, Ourselves by nilozot for <user site="livejournal.co

[springflingmod.livejournal.com]

Title: Our Bodies, Ourselves
Pairing: Balthazar/Samandriel
Rating: T



A knock at the villa’s door, and Balthazar gently placed down his soup spoon and gripped a nearby sword. Whether friend or foe, the angels weren’t likely to knock, but who else would come creeping around a stranger’s casa at dawn in the obscure Italian countryside? He’d sent his cook and servant home hours ago, and hadn’t ordered up any young nubile things, hadn’t even cut a deal for any souls or weapons lately. He was sitting out Heaven’s freak show of a rebellion, on vacation for — on a cosmic timescale — the few precious instants before Castiel or Raphael or Naomi or any of the lesser factions located him for recruitment back into their vicious petty skirmishes. As if he had any intention of running back like a good little soldier after experiencing the pleasures of Earth.

The knock came again, less hesitant this time, and Balthazar opted for the direct approach. He flicked his wings and moved behind the intruder at the front door, landing behind a rose hedge that would give plausible deniability should the stranger prove to be human. To his surprise, he couldn’t tell immediately. Usually angels radioed ahead, and barring that each angel’s unique grace shone out from their vessels like a lighthouse beacon. The being in front of Balthazar took the form a of a young adult human, but there were subtle wisps of repressed grace leaking out that indicated he was not. Some pitiful attempt at a cloaking spell, one that likely crumpled the angel inside his vessel, painfully constricting him.

“Naomi’s dreadful work, I’d guess,” Balthazar said, stepping out from behind the bushes. “Does she think this will fool me enough that you can just waltz right in?”

The young angel flashed confusion, then his face lit up when he recognized Balthazar, which only annoying him more. Young was a misnomer of course, for all but the archangels were created within the same breath. But even beyond the age of his vessel the boy evinced a certain innocence and calm naivety, typical of angels basking in the obedience of Heaven every moment of their existence. Early exposure to Earth had a corrupting effect down the ages, Balthazar had noticed, and he was sure this one had never been down before.

“I do not know this Naomi,” the angel said. Certainly a lie, one he did not know he was making. “Castiel has sent many messengers over the Earth to find you, or your holy weapons. He urges you to drop this selfish and blasphemous disengagement and join the fight.”

“Does he now? What’s your Name, messenger?” He broadcast the Enochian word at the same time, short range with the slightest push of compulsion, to emphasize he wanted the real name. The one linked with his grace, and thus his angelic power.

The melodic tone for Samandiriel came back with the faintest of whispers. Then, vocalized with the abominable accent of his vessel, “Samandriel. How could you tell I wasn’t human?”

“You should work on your disguise, boy,” Balthazar scoffed. “A half-wit cherub could detect your grace dribbling out onto the dirt. What is dear old Cas thinking, sending baby angels to capture me?”

“He doesn’t want to capture you, sir,” Samandriel said. “He wants you to agree to join our side of your own free will.”

“Free will. Of course he does. Come here.”

He reached out to touch the other angel’s forehead and without warning flew both of them back inside the ornate villa, to the balcony overlooking the garden. An easy move considering how trapped Samandriel was inside his vessel. His grace flicked at suddenly being whisked away, but then Samandriel adjusted and his shoulders relaxed.

“Tell me, how long have you been envesseled on Earth?” Balthazar asked.

“Four solar days, three hours, two minutes…” He cut off at Balthazar’s chuckle and stared at him with an adorably quizzical look. “Why is this funny?”

“Never mind. Now I can see why your fearless leader choose you. Have you ever come down before? In the old days before the Flood, perhaps?”

“No.”

“And your first time’s while locked inside a human body? Pity. What have you chosen to do with it?”

“Do?” Now the boy looked utterly confused. “I searched for you. There were several clues, and it would have been much more efficient in my true form, but I was ordered not to harm or agitate the humans so…”

“Have body, will use,” interrupted Balthazar. Typical angel, so wrapped up in cosmic duty he couldn’t see his nose to spite his face. “Look through the window. What do you see?”

“A garden, human habitats, hills…”

Balthazar rolled his eyes at the banality. “Try again. Look deeper.”

The boy squinted in confusion at the scene in front of him. It was a lovely sunrise, with warm light striking the sides of the trees and hills from an acute angle, and early morning mist rolling over the grass. “Photons?” Samandriel finally ventured, inadvertently projecting the concept of matter in Enochian in his struggle to translate the words. “Condensing water vapor? Molecular dinitrogen and carbon dioxide with small amounts of…”

Balthazar grasped his neck and shoved him towards the window, resting Samandriel’s forehead against the glass. “You’re thinking like an imbecile angel gazing down aloof from the Heavens. What is Cas teaching you up there, that he is Father’s replacement? Are the angels flocking to him just for the blind prostration to unthinking obedience? If you are stuck in an ape brain, use its apeness. Have a novel experience, for once in your sad little existence.” The back of the boy’s neck was warm under Balthazar’s palm, and he could feel the tiny hairs attached to skin. Balthazar was convinced their absentee father-God had forced the angels to take vessels just for this, a small measure of exposure to vitality and life.

“But it’s not novel,” Samandriel said, frowning, ignoring the rough handling. “I’ve seen images of the Earth in countless human heavens. Why would one small valley be significant, compared to an infinity of beautiful places projected from their minds?”

“Well, at least you can see that it’s beautiful.” He let up on the pressure on Samandriel’s neck and spun him around so they were face to face. “Your vessel’s flesh can tell illusion from reality. The souls trapped in Heaven no longer have their bodies so they can’t be arsed to tell the difference, but you are down among the living right now. Feel this.”

He leaned forward and met the Samandriel’s lips with a kiss. The other angel’s eyes widened in shock and surprise, but he didn’t jerk away in confusion. The young vessel was responsive, very good. Balthazar pressed him back against the cold glass and leaned into him, just enough for the both of them to feel their long flesh sinking into each other. Even if Samandriel had no sexual self-awareness — common among the Heaven-bound — the touch alone was enough to fire up his borrowed body’s synapses. When Balthazar pulled away, Samandriel's face shined with an expression of awed gleaming wonder, the exact look humans sometimes sported when gazing at the shielded form of angels. Neither side realized that the inspiration flowed both ways.

“Go,” Balthazar said, retreating back a step and waving an indifferent hand at him. “Be free now, little bird. You can tell Cas that I’m willing to work something out in exchange for leaving my name out of the papers. Wouldn’t want to ruin a perfectly good spree of hedonism down here.”

Samandriel straightened up as he was once again reminded of his mission. The touch would fade quickly, overridden by millenia of divine duty. “I will deliver your message,” he said. But after a pause he added, “If the opportunity arises, would you be bothered if I came back?”

Balthazar grinned at him. “Not at all, little one. Leave that hideous binding spell back at home, though. You do not need it to walk among the humans, or spread your wings.”