Fic Post: Temptation

[momebie]

Fandom: Murder Mysteries
Title: Temptation
Rating: PG13 for...sexless sex?
Characters: Carasel/Saraquael, Lucifer/Azazel
Summary: It's not the fall that kills you.
A/N: This is an experiment on putting two different threads of a story together, since I needed to practice that for the NNoD. It's set to Murder Mysteries because rapunzelita is tres fantastique and introduced me to a very nice reader's theatre version of the short story. Murder Mysteries itself has always been one of my favorite short stories. Much thanks as always to marilla82 for the beta, and to brak4werewolves for impromptu 'wtf checking'.





"How strange. Carasel was the first to love, but Lucifer was the first to shed tears."



The first time Carasel touched Saraquael, Saraquael merely looked up at him, blank eyes behind perfect eyelashes that questioned the reasoning behind being touched. Carasel smiled and pulled his hand away. He rolled the plans out on the table before them and began to talk about the concept of Love. He asked Saraquael his opinions, drew brainstorm bubbles, and made lists of counter concepts and stray thoughts. It had always been Carasel's opinion that you never knew what you could use later. When they were finished for the day he rolled the plans back up neatly and tucked them under his arm. Then he touched Saraquael lightly on the shoulder. It was light enough that Saraquael wouldn’t have known if he hadn't been looking. After Carasel had gone, Saraquael could still feel him there.

After that the touches came in small deluges. Elbows bumped in close quarters, shoulders brushed over plans and charts and lists. At first, Saraquael was merely confused. He found though, after a time, that he had become acclimated to them. He felt a strange sensation in his body when Carasel wasn’t near. It was almost like their last project, Agitation, but not quite. The edge of Agitation hadn’t been as sharp.

It wasn’t until he was reading over one of Carasel’s lists of attributes that he recognized the feeling. “Carasel, these-these words. I know them.”

Carasel put aside his chart and looked at Saraquael across the table. His lips were quirked slightly. “We all know them. These are the parts of the whole we are creating.”

“No, I mean. I know them. I…I can’t explain it. They are feelings right? So I can feel them, I guess.”

“You do?” Carasel rested his hands on the table and leaned forward over them.

“Y-yes. I feel wrong for having them. That is not my function. My function is to design.”

“But is experimentation not a viable part of design?”

Saraquael gazed at Carasel across the open space between them. Carasel looked the same as he always had, except that he was different. He seemed to glow a little brighter; his eyes seemed a little more fathomless.

“You know what they say about you Carasel. They use new words. They say you’ve inspired new things for the creation. Fanatic. Obsessive. They say you are driven.”

Carasel leaned forward a little more. It wasn’t a very large table, and his face loomed about two hand lengths from Saraquael’s chest. “Are those words with necessarily bad connotations?”

Saraquael didn’t have an answer. “Saraquael, come here.” Saraquael placed his hands on the table as well and leaned over it towards Carasel until he could feel Carasel’s breath on his chin. He felt the sense of wrongness again, how he should have stopped, but he couldn’t. He was drawn to Carasel by the need for more small touches. Carasel closed his eyes. He pressed his lips against Saraquael’s.

Saraquael stopped breathing. The feeling of warmth in his stomach expanded and travelled outwards to the ends of his nerves. His lips began to burn, caught between his internal heat and the warmth of Carasel’s body.

Carasel pulled away and Saraquael’s lips went suddenly cold, the air having rushed in to meet them. Carasel turned back to his charts and began to jot down notes. Saraquael stayed where he was. His fingers smudged the ink and obscured findings. Carasel looked up at him. “Would you say that had been…pleasant?”

Saraquael nodded and stood. “It is the end of the day,” he said. “I think I will return to my cell.” Carasel nodded absently and Saraquael moved to the window. He had one foot on the ledge when Carasel spoke.

“Let me come with you,” he said. Saraquael waited until Carasel’s fingertips brushed base of his wings before taking off.





The shift of drilling was finished and the other angels had gone back to their cells to rest until the next shift. Lucifer’s host was often more worn down and needed more rest than those whose function it was to design or maintain. Because they needed more rest, Lucifer often had more time to himself than the other supervisors. He tried to use it in a manner befitting to the Captain of the Lord’s army. He used it to test himself, to become a more complete being. When he felt he was alone he flapped his wings and lifted himself into the air.

“Captain!”

Lucifer slowed his ascent and looked down. Azazel was ascending to meet him. On the outside Azazel was perfect, as were all of the Name’s creations, but Lucifer knew Azazel’s mind as well. He knew Azazel to be perfectly suited to his function as Lucifer’s second in command. Lately, he had been thinking that Azazel might be even more qualified than he was to lead the host, but it was not his place to doubt the Name.

“Yes, Azazel. What is it?” He continued flying in a direction further into the heart of the city.

“Where are you going, sir?”

“I’m going to think.” He should have said that he was going back to his cell, as all angels did when they were off duty, but he did not see the benefit in lying to Azazel. Azazel, he felt, above all others, deserved his honesty.

“But sir, it is not your function to ponder. That function belongs to Zephkiel. Your function is to lead.”

“And what kind of leader would I be if I did not think, Azazel?”

“You would still be our leader, sir.”

Lucifer did not answer. He changed direction and headed out from the center of the city to the place at it’s outskirts that he had come to frequent. Azazel followed him in silence, but it did not unnerve Lucifer as it should have. He’d grown to appreciate Azazel’s presence by his side. He supposed it happened, that if you lived long enough you collected beings you were fond of. Though, Lucifer had been alive for a very long time, and so far Azazel was the only one.

"Azazel, you should turn back now and head to your cell for rest.”

“And if I refuse sir?”

“Where I am going is not a place for you, and your function is to do as I say. Turn back.”

“No sir,” Azazel said quietly. The words were almost lost beneath the sound of flapping wings.

Lucifer started his descent, careful not to stray into the Dark with Azazel there. “Azazel!” He saw the reflection of his glow brighten on Azazel’s skin. Azazel remained by his side for some time, silently opposing him, before he finally gave in. He ascended with one flap of his wings and Lucifer watched him go. A cold, empty feeling began to grow in his stomach.





Love was troublesome. It changed constantly like the light of the city. No sensation was ever the same twice. Tonight, at the pinnacle of their achievement, it felt to Saraquael like burning. It wasn’t like the slow burn of the first kiss, but the intense, cleansing heat of the fires in the material creation area. Saraquael felt every one of his atoms flare and die as Carasel ran his fingers and tongue over his body.

“The Name has accepted our findings on Love,” Carasel said. He nuzzled the inside of Saraquael’s thigh with his cheek.

“It is a high honor,” Saraquael agreed. He inhaled sharply as Carasel nipped at the smooth space between his legs. Carasel crawled up Saraquael’s body so that he was lying flat atop him. He bit lightly at Saraquael’s ear and ran his fingers up Saraquael’s sides.

“Our next project will be great, for sure. Something of the utmost importance.”

“What could be more important than this?” Saraquael ran his fingers through Carasel’s feathers in a direction opposite to their growth and felt the shiver that ran through them.

“You know Phanuel considers Love to be insignificant in the face of all things.” He pulled back and looked down at Saraquael, his face had that studying look that Saraquael was used to seeing him train towards lists. Tilted sideways a little, and with one of the eyebrows raised slightly.

“Phanuel doesn’t understand.”

“And you do,” Carasel said. There was a deeper quality to his voice in that statement. It was a fact, not an accusation. Saraquael didn’t want the explanation he was afraid would follow. Instead, he placed his lips to Carasel’s and let his hands rest on the small of Carasel’s back. They stayed that way until their next shift.





Carasel was already at work when Saraquael arrived. Saraquael hadn’t been at work for four shifts, and the only time he had seen Carasel in that period was when Carasel had come to his cell to describe their new project. The light in Carasel’s eyes had hurt him.

Now that Love was finished, Carasel did not touch Saraquael anymore. The experimentation was over, and Saraquael had spent some of his time searching the archives of created emotions to be able to properly understand how he felt. He likened it to Foolishness, but it cut him deeper. The Love had meant nothing to Carasel. Saraquael had let it mean everything to him. The untouched places on his body felt like they were atrophying.

Carasel was standing with his back to the window, pondering something on the wall. Saraquael came up behind him and placed his hands lightly on Carasel’s hips. Carasel took a step forward and pulled out of Saraquael’s grasp. “Why are you touching me?” He didn’t turn to look at Saraquael.

“Do we not always touch?”

“No, that was just Love. We did not touch before. Death does not require touch. There is no need.”

Saraquael felt the muscles in his hands tighten and his fingers clenched around themselves in response. “No need?” You do not crave it? The heat and cold are not different for you now?”

“Everything is different. That is the nature of changing projects. Everything is new. That is enough to override heat or cold.”

“How? How do you override this? Tell me! I do not want this feeling anymore if it no longer has a brother.” Saraquael fell to his knees and bowed at Carasel’s feet. “Please tell me how to forget the time with you.”

Carasel turned around and contemplated Saraquael on the floor. “I cannot tell you about Forgetting. That project belonged to someone else.”

Saraquael looked up at Carasel. There was a sudden pain in his chest. The pain demanded action. If Love could not have a brother, then the pain would.

Saraquael stood and looked about the room. The changing light glinted off a sharp tool on the table. It was something Carasel often used to draw concentric circles or plan distances. Saraquael picked it up and then moved in front of Carasel, between him and the charts pinned to the wall. “I will make you help me then. I will make you feel what I am feeling, so that you too will need to understand how to Forget.” Carasel looked at him calmly. It was the calm that finally broke Saraquael. He plunged the tool into Carasel’s chest. Red liquid leaked from around where the metal was lodged in the smooth skin that Saraquael was so familiar with. Some of it got on his hand and he leapt away. He wiped his hand on the papers on the table, trying to remove it. He did not want this kind of contact with Carasel.

Carasel looked at the instrument in his chest and then up at Saraquael with wide eyes. “We will have to amend Love,” he said.

Saraquael brought his hands to his mouth, trying to catch the cry that was building behind his lips. “No,” he said. “Love is perfect.”

“Perhaps you are right.” Carasel dropped to his knees and brought his hand up slowly to touch the tool. His fingers ran over it absently. “Saraquael, please make a note. Death is very cold. It might be the opposite of Love. I’m not sure. We’ll have to do more tests.”

“No,” Saraquael said again, louder this time. He rushed forward and caught Carasel as he was about to fall.

“Death is…” Carasel said, and trailed off. After that his lips moved, but no sound came from them. Saraquael watched as the light in Carasel dimmed. Nothing like this had ever happened before, but Saraquael knew it to be wrong. He knew he couldn’t be found like this.

Saraquael stood up and lifted Carasel with him. The familiar weight pleased him despite the circumstances, but the liquid began to leak onto him and he knew what he had to do. He dragged Carasel to over to the window and propped him against it. He pulled the instrument from Carasel’s chest. When he did, Carasel’s body twitched and his eyelids opened, revealing that the pupils had rolled back into his head. He let out a small groan.

It was almost like the noises he had made when they were together. Saraquael kissed him on the lips one last time, and then shoved him out the window. He cringed at the sound the body made as it hit the pavement. He watched from the window as the light in Carasel’s body pulsed, glowing and dimming, slower and slower until Saraquael couldn’t tell the difference any more. Grasping the instrument tightly, he launched himself from the window flew towards the Dark.





Saraquael had burned. Raguel had wrapped his arms around him during that kiss of Vengeance, and once their lips were no longer touching, Saraquael had screamed. It was a noise that Lucifer wasn’t likely to forget.

He had stood by, stoic. Lucifer was used to being presented with drastic scenes by the voices in the Dark, but never had he thought that he would be presented with such a thing in the city. As Saraquael burned it had felt like he had pulled all the heat into himself. The air around Lucifer had gone cold, and then his teeth started to chatter and his fingers began to cramp. It had been colder than anything he had ever felt in the the Dark.

Lucifer circled wildly above the city and tried to think about the argument with Raguel rationally. He had loved! He should have been forgiven! What Lucifer had seen had not been Justice. There was nothing Just about taking one life for another, especially when the circumstances had not even been considered. If Saraquael had shown himself capable of the higher emotion, shouldn’t he have been rewarded with his freedom? What did that say about others who evolved past the pure thought of their function?

His eyes were frustratingly wet, a sensation he was not familiar with and did not like. He wiped at them as he flew. Someone was calling his name, and it would not do for a subordinate to see him this way. He knew that much for certain.

He wheeled around to face his pursuer and almost collided with Azazel. When Azazel stopped there was no more than a hair’s breadth of empty air between them. Lucifer was disturbed that he wished that Azazel hadn’t stopped at all. Images of the two of them colliding in flight, holding one another, came to him unbidden. He blinked a few times to try to clear his mind and his eyes.

“Lucifer, sir, where have you been? You didn’t come back to the drills and the men were asking after you.”

“I had…business with Raguel,” he said. He couldn’t bring himself to voice what he’d seen. Not yet.

“Lucifer,” Azazel’s voice was quiet, patient. “You’re leaking, from your eyes. What is it?” It was a tone Lucifer had heard him use with other angels before, but it had never been directed at him. The cold in Lucifer’s belly abated a little.

“Azazel, what would you do if I asked if I could…touch you.”

“I would reply as I always do sir, that my function is to follow your will.”

Lucifer nodded. He turned and flew toward his cell, not looking back to see if Azazel was following or not.





Lucifer stood on the edge of the Dark with Azazel at his side and listened to the voices and whispers. They were old acquaintances by now, if not friends. They beckoned to him, used their unknown words to convince him to join them. He had been pushing his limits recently, of the amount of time he could spend with the voices and not completely crumble to their will. They promised things. He resisted.

At present, not even the voices could comfort him or make him forget. He needed to think about what he had seen and the time that had passed since then. He needed to understand what he had allowed himself to indulge in afterwards with Azazel and what a slippery slope it was that even now, when he wanted to be surrounded by nothingness, he needed Azazel at his side. This was not how the children of the Name were supped to behave. They were supposed to follow His word, or…Lucifer shuddered as the image of the burning Saraquael reinstated itself in his mind.

He wished for a place that wasn’t the Dark or the city. He needed a place devoid of everything, except perhaps Azazel. He needed a place where he could wash himself clean. There was no place like that though, and so Lucifer was left between light and darkness with Temptation at his side.

“Azazel, are you sure you would do this? Others should not walk in the Dark.”

“Sir, I wish to know everything you do. Let others decide for themselves what they should and should not do.”

“But, given that ability to decide, wrong things happen.”

“Who is to say that they are wrong?” Azazel reached over and grasped Lucifer’s hand in his own tightly. Lucifer led him into the Dark.