|Don't Let Me Fall 4/?
||[Dec. 2nd, 2011|03:15 pm]
Azazel & Riptide's Kingdom
|||||The kitchen island||]|
|||||"A Thousand Years" - Christina Perri||]|
Title: Don't Let Me Fall Again 4/?
Warnings: Discussions of violence, sexual situations
Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with the Marvel corporation and express no ownership over it or the characters used. I profit in no way from this use.
Summary: To be with someone is to accept them for all that makes them who they are. But there is a difference between knowing what a man is capable of, and seeing it. When Janos' past becomes a part of his present, he is confronted with a side of Azazel he wishes he'd never seen.
A/N I totally haven't been letting this sit in favor of my Young Justice stuff. What? Don't look at me like that! I love you, not them! It was just a meaningless fling, I swear! Aqualad/Robin means nothing to me.
The day they were set to leave, Janos dressed carefully, even more so than usual. When he had left that day, running as hard as he could, he'd been wearing trousers and a cotton shirt, and that was it. His hair had been shaved close to his head, just a trace of stubble.
He ran his fingers through his hair, reassuring himself that it was there, that no one would ever cut it again. His mother had loved his hair, and so did he.
“Hold still, Janos.” Jesimiel commanded, in his soft voice, as he worked to even out Josiah's jagged work. “What did he do this with?”
“A knife.” Janos answered, and Jesimiel sighed, his sharp razor sliding gently over Janos' scalp. “I kicked him.”
“Of course you did.” He ran his hand over Janos' head, checking his work, then stepped away. “It looks better now. Really, Janos, you are too old to be wearing your hair so long. You are not a boy anymore. It's unbecoming.”
“Mother liked my hair.” He protested stubbornly, as he watched Jesimiel gently twirling his fingers over the blade, the water following them in little swirls. Jesimiel's control was absolute, and Janos envied him it.
“Mother liked our Father too.” There was a hint of emotion there, a rarity for the neutral Jesimiel. Janos could not recall the last time he had seen this brother laugh, or smile, or scowl, or frown. Where Janos could barely keep his temper in check when it came to Joseph and Joash, he had seen Jesimiel be struck across the face without changing expression once. It angered him, that they had broken Jesimiel so completely, but Jesimiel, if he felt anything at all anymore, never showed it.
So this little bit, this small indication that there was still something in him, gave Janos hope.
“We could leave, Jesimiel. Have our own lives.” His brother met his eyes, then shook his head.
“No matter where we go Janos, they would find us. And they would be crueler. Better to live quietly, than risk that.”
Janos didn't agree, not at all.
In the mirror, he looked like himself, like Riptide, powerful and confident, unbreakable. He looked like the man he had needed himself to be, and he should be proud of that, he knew. He was doing good in this world, saving his own kind from humans, creating a world where he would be a king.
Smoke swirled behind him, as strong arms wrapped around his waist, Azazel's bright blue eyes peeking out at him from behind Janos' thick hair.
“I love this suit on you.” He purred, burying his face in Janos' hair as his hands moved down. Janos could feel his lips tracing over his scalp as Azazel inhaled deeply, his eyes closing in the reflection, as though to touch Janos was an overwhelming pleasure.
“I know you do.” Janos said, catching Azazel's hands and wrapping them back around his waist, away from the front of his trousers. “But you will have to wait until we come home.”
Azazel' mouth moved down to Janos' ear, his lips moving over the skin below it. “We can be quick,” He breathed into Janos' ear, and Janos shuddered, involuntarily tipping his head back so Azazel could move down to his neck.
Azazel was quick to oblige, his cock already becoming a hard line against Janos' ass, his own starting to swell.
“Azazel, no.” He managed, in a remarkable show of restraint, forcing himself away. If Azazel had been anyone else, anyone at all, Janos would have called his expression a pout, but in any case, he refused to be swayed. “We are meeting downstairs in ten minutes, and I will not go down smelling like sex.” He approached, making sure Azazel kept his hands to himself before getting close enough to touch, smoothing down Azazel's jacket in a conciliatory gesture. “I promise, when we get home, we can come right back up here.”
The mirror, a large, ornate affair that had been in the room when he moved in, caught his eye. An idea occurred to him, and he leaned forward, just brushing his lips over Azazel's.
“If you can be a good boy, when we come back, you can take your time. Make me beg for it.” Azazel's eyes went half-lidded as Janos spoke, falling under his spell. “Think about me on my knees in front of the mirror. You love to look at me. You'd be able to see all of me, see how you own me. And you could spend hours doing it, couldn't you?”
Azazel's eyes were on Janos, razor sharp and burning. He was thinking about throwing Janos down and living out the fantasy right now, Janos could tell.
He smirked and stepped back, straightening the cuffs of his shirt while he held Azazel's gaze.
“Only if you're good though.” He reminded him. The hunger in Azazel's face didn't lessen at all as he grinned, his tail wrapping around Janos' thigh.
“I can be very good.” Azazel swore.
“Then take me downstairs and behave.” Janos said. “And by behave, I mean, stop thinking about fucking me around Emma.” Emma had pulled him aside the other day to demand that he bring Azazel to heel about that. She had enough problems with the way Lehnsherr projected, she didn't need Azazel to be such a bastard on top of it.
Azazel took his hand suddenly, his expression not losing the lust, but softening just a bit as he pressed a kiss to Janos' palm.
“I love you.” He breathed, his breath hot on Janos' skin. “With all I am, Janos, I love you.”
Embarrassed at Azazel's openness, he looked away. “I know,” He said, but Azazel pulled him forward, his free hand grasping Janos' forearm, the one that had been cradling his palm tightening around the wrist. His tail, before loose, wrapped itself around Janos' leg completely, the spade caressing the back of his knee.
“Nyet,” He hissed. “You don't. You think I want you in my bed, you think I love you for stupid reasons. You think my love is shallow, that it will disappear.”
“Azazel, I know how-” Azazel shook him, his grip becoming painful, face turned down in a scowl. The softness that had been there was gone now, replaced by a familiar hardness that had only ever been turned on Janos once or twice.
“You should have told me to stop that night. You should never have let me touch you. Before, I could manage. When you would go into towns, and not return until morning, coming back to me smelling like some other man, I could keep my temper in check. When you took idiotic risks, nearly getting yourself killed, I could pretend I didn't want to lock you up, keep you away from this. All that you put me through, I could cope with.” Janos wasn't sure if he should break away, or if he should let Azazel say what he so obviously needed to. “But that isn't how things will ever be again. You own me, but that means you get all of me.”
“Azazel, I didn't know then, or I wouldn't have-” He tried to speak, tried to apologize.
He couldn't fight a gasp when Azazel kissed him, his mouth opening up, giving Azazel entry. His arms were released, Azazel grabbing him around the waist, clutching him to him. Janos threw his arms around Azazel's neck, kissing him back, letting himself get lost in the heat of it, the wet slide of Azazel's tongue against his.
When Janos finally managed to convince himself to break away, it was with a whimper that made his stomach curl in shame. He hated needing Azazel so much, wanting him so badly.
Azazel brushed his thumb over Janos' bottom lip, blue eyes on Janos' dark ones.
“Lehnsherr said I can't kill them. That we might need them.” His voice was low, intimate, accent roughened with likely a mix of lust and thirst for violence. “I want to rip out their insides, make them scream for you. I want them to beg you for their lives before I take their heads off.” Janos listened in rapt attention, the ten minutes they had that were rapidly running out becoming unimportant. “And then I think how you would not like that, no matter if they deserve it or not. I think how you would you look if you saw me like that.”
“We have to go downstairs,” He said weakly, but Azazel only scowled.
“Tell me you understand, Janos. Look at me and tell me you understand, that I love you. That I will do anything for you.”
Janos realized suddenly exactly what Azazel was asking him, and he shook his head, cupping Azazel's face in his hands.
“No. Maybe, when I was young, maybe then, yes, I would want you to do exactly that. When I was nineteen, I wanted them dead. But,” He kissed Azazel, a soft press of lips against lips. “I'm almost thirty. I don't need you to save me.”
“I would have.” Azazel promised. “Hm.” His serious expression melted into a leer. “You at nineteen. Were you a virgin?”
Janos shoved him, but Azazel kept a good hold of him, grinning playfully, before pulling him back for another kiss, a quick one that made his stomach flip.
“I bet you were. I'm trying to think of how you would have looked, but I can't imagine any part of you being better. Just thinking about the warmth of your thighs around my waist,” He didn't finish, didn't need to, and a smiling Janos had to grab his tail to keep it from pressing to the front of Janos' trousers.
“That's another game for later.” He told him.
-I'm going to be sick.- Emma's voice rang through his mind like a bell, sounding just as disgusted as she claimed. -Tear yourselves away from each other and get downstairs, now. Lehnsherr is asking what's taking so long, and now Angel is giggling, oh wait, Lehnsherr gets it now, he's rubbing his temples,-
“Emma says we need to get downstairs.” Janos told him, trying to sound stern. Azazel smirked again, and they disappeared, reappearing downstairs in the foyer, where Angel was clearly digging her nails into her palms, while Mystique looked everywhere but at them.
“So nice of you to join us.” Lehnsherr greeted dryly. “Are we all ready?”
“Yes.” Janos said, nodding. Angel smiled, and Azazel shrugged.
Mystique and Emma were staying behind, as a security measure in case something happened. Emma would be in touch with them mentally the whole time, and they would use her distance, and Mystique's shapeshifting for extraction if need be.
The idea of leaving some behind was new to Janos. Shaw had preferred taking all of them, showing his power, but he could admit he liked Lehnsherr's plan a little better. Emma would be far out of Joash's range, and Mystique, while showing promise, was a terrible hand-to-hand fighter. Impersonation for purposes like this would have to be her skill for now, until she could use her body more effectively.
Angel took his hand, as Azazel tightened his grip on the other, and Lehnsherr took hold of Angel's other hand.
-Be careful,- He heard, and then he opened his eyes in Mexico.
It was warmer by far here, even in the hotel room they'd arrived in. Lehnsherr had picked a good hotel, and they'd followed the instructions exactly. The curtains were closed tightly, a thin line of golden daylight peeking through the bottom.
Angel walked over and opened them just a crack, peering out at the city with desperation.
“It's so warm.” She said, with a sad sigh. “Could we maybe stay just a little longer?”
“I promise, if the opportunity comes up, we'll set up base somewhere warm next.” Lehnsherr said, frowning at her crestfallen form, while calling the front desk to inform them of their arrival. How they had gotten in without a key, well, Janos assumed Lehnsherr had paid them enough to not wonder.
Janos walked over to Angel, and put a hand on her shoulder, trying to smile despite the thudding in his chest. The urge to run was becoming overwhelming, but he had to stay calm. Anxiety and his ability didn't mix very well at all. There were plenty of safe-houses they'd lived in that had been a testament to that.
“Are you going to be okay?” She asked in Spanish, quietly, so no one else could hear.
“I am fine.” He assured her.
Azazel was watching them curiously. He didn't much like it when Janos spoke Spanish around him with Angel, didn't like being left out of anything that involved Janos. His possessiveness would have been suffocating to anyone else, Janos supposed, and he wondered what it said about him as a man that he wanted to be owned so completely. Azazel's love, his avowed dedication, made Janos happier than he'd ever been in his entire adult life. What did that mean?
“We have an hour before we need to depart.” Lehnsherr was opening his case, taking out two handguns. One he kept for himself, the other he offered to Janos. “Just a precaution. Can you use one?” Janos nodded, remembering the feel of Azazel's then clinical touch, adjusting his form, making sure everything was right. Janos had almost ached with the need to be touched after, and he had made as quick an exit as possible that night, taking up with a man down in the city who hadn't been anything like Azazel, and had left him deeply unsatisfied.
Had that been one of the times Azazel had been secretly furious with him, taking out his anger on whatever held still long enough for his blades?
“What should I be expecting from your brothers? Personality wise, I mean.”
Handling the gun carefully, Janos sat down on one of the couches, setting the weapon down on the coffee table, facing away from any of the room's occupants. Azazel was preparing his swords, though he'd sharpened the day before. Gingerly, he ran his thumb down the edge, checking for nicks, Janos knew. He would not be caught off-guard, never Azazel. Even without his teleportation ability, Azazel was a force to be reckoned with by any man, mutant or human.
He should be frightened of Azazel, he realized. In spite of all of his love, there should be a trace of caution in him, something keeping him wary. Why wasn't it there? Why had it never been there? Even with his friendship with Emma, he had a healthy fear of her as well. If ever Emma decided to, she could bring Janos to his knees. So could Azazel.
But in his heart, he knew it would never happen. Azazel meant every word he breathed into Janos' skin, every promise and declaration. He would never harm him. Never.
“Riptide?” Lehnsherr was looking at him with a raised eyebrow.
“Apologies,” He said, running his fingers through his hair. “It has been ten years, Lehnsherr. I am not sure of how accurate these things are anymore.”
“Better to have an idea than go in blind.” Lehnsherr had a point, so Janos wracked his memories for anything that could be useful that wouldn't tell Lehnsherr anything too revealing.
“Joseph is arrogant. He has always been that way. I doubt it's changed. He is very clever, you see, and he thinks he is more clever than anyone else. Joash is the same way.” It had been so long ago, all but the strongest memories, the worst ones, had faded away, and it was a struggle to remember anything Lehnsherr might deem useful. “They are very loyal to each other. You won't be able to turn them against one another.”
“Good to know.” Lehnsherr looked like he had been considering the idea. “What about the other two?”
“Josiah is,” He remembered his brother's mindless obedience of Joseph and Joash, the twitch of his mouth when Jesimiel screamed as dislocated his shoulder. “Violent. He likes hurting people. I don't remember him being particularly clever though. He did what he was told.”
“Does it hurt?” The scar on Jesimiel's arm was awful, the worst that fifteen-year-old Janos had ever seen in his life. He remembered the day Jesimiel got it, as the blood poured from his arm down onto the dirt of the courtyard.
“Not anymore. When it is cold, it stings a little. But it is not as bad as it was.” The water in the fountain followed Jesimiel's fingers, making impossible loops and swirls in the air before falling back to the rest.
“Do you hate it?”
Jesimiel's eyes were a strange shade of brown, not like Janos' dark ones. They were shot with a lighter shade that looked yellow against the dark background, and this made looking Jesimiel in the eye unsettling at times.
“You need to care to hate, Janos.”
“Don't you care about anything?” Janos was nothing like Jesimiel, as they both knew. He was all temper and bite, and refused to back down, to play dead.
“I care about you, little brother.” He put his hand on Janos' shoulder, his bland expression unchanging, his tone dull and emotionless. “Stop trying their patience. One day, I won't be able to protect you from their more creative ideas. You don't want to end up with something like this on your face, do you?” He asked, gesturing to the thick scar.
“Then stop. Just let it go Janos. As with all things, this too shall pass.”
“Jesimiel exists. That is all I can think of. He doesn't care one way or the other. If the other three were dead tomorrow, Jesimiel would carry on in the house until he died. He's a ghost.” It was a cruel dismissal, and he felt a little guilty making it, but it was the truth. Whatever there had been left in Jesimiel, whatever it was that had driven him to show kindness to Janos, it had to be gone by now. Even then, he had been a mostly empty shell, a hollowed out man who wanted to fight for nothing.
Lehnsherr asked him no more questions, and he was grateful for it. The stress of being in Mexico, of being less than an hour away from seeing the men who had made his nightmares, the men who were haunting him now, was taking its toll. He was a hair's breadth away from begging Azazel to just take them back to the base in Canada, take them upstairs to bed and keep him safe for the rest of their days.
But that was wrong, and cowardly, and he berated himself for it. He was a grown man, he was Riptide, and this anxiety was ridiculous. He needed to pull himself together and stay that way.
“Excuse me, for just a moment.”
There were three bedrooms in the suite, and he picked one at random, shutting the door behind him, taking in deep breaths.
The smoke that appeared was not unexpected, and not at all unwelcome.
Azazel didn't need to see more. He looked at Janos and knew, his tail curling around Janos' leg, bringing him close, into Azazel's arms. It was completely different from that morning, where it had been heat and lust. This was warmth and gentleness, simple affection, and it was exactly what Janos needed from him.
He hooked his arms around Azazel's neck, burying his face in Azazel's shoulder, inhaling the now familiar and comforting scent of him; cigarettes, cologne, aftershave. He had no idea what he would do if he lost this, lost Azazel somehow. He would go insane if he had to do this task without him, if he had to face his brothers alone.
“Мой шторм, please, remember that I am here.” Azazel sounded so desperate as he said it, his arms gripping Janos tight. “Nothing will happen to you while I still breathe.”
“And what if you don't?” He asked, words muffled by the fabric of Azazel's jacket.
“That will not happen.”
Janos let go, forcing himself away, smoothing his hair down.
“Stop saying things like that Azazel. You can't be sure. I know you're not. You bleed as easily as I do, and they could kill you. You know it.” The tail around his leg tightened gently in a comforting gesture. “Don't pretend like you're immortal, Azazel. Because then I will believe it, and it will kill me when somebody proves it wrong.”
“Stop believing the worst will happen, Мой шторм. We will get the children, pay your brothers, and return home. Nothing will happen to you, or myself, or Angel. We have done deals like this a thousand times. How many times did they turn badly?” He was right, Janos knew he was. They had made so many agreements and bargains with complete monsters, and only once or twice had things erupted in violence. His brothers were older, smarter. They knew this Brotherhood had powerful mutants in it, that it would be a valuable alliance. They had to have learned strategy at some point in the past decade. As deep as his hatred went, he knew they were not stupid. They would not attack without reason.
“I know. This whole thing, this whole situation, I feel like I cannot think. Every time I think about it, about them, I just want to run.” He could confess this to Azazel.
“But you will not.” Azazel's hands cupped his face, his bright eyes full of steadfast belief in his words, in Janos. Janos had to take it as comfort. Azazel knew him better than anyone, and if he believed this of Janos, it had to be true. “You climbed out of a floating submarine to throw a typhoon at their plane. I have never known a man as brave as you can be.”
“I thought you thought it was the stupidest thing I had ever done?”
He knocked on Azazel's door, the effort to lift his arms high enough starting to ache, not a good overall sign. The piece of the plane that had fallen on him had knocked him down hard, and he worried his ribs might have taken more than a bruising. Azazel would be able to tell though.
This was going to involve Azazel's hands on him, a trying thing. The thought of Azazel moving his hands over Janos' back, down his chest, it was almost too much. He would have to pray hard that he didn't embarrass himself, give his secret away.
“What?” It was harsher than Janos thought he deserved. He wondered if he'd interrupted Azazel.
“I need help, please.”
The door swung open forcefully, Azazel's bare back already walking away from him to his dresser, where supplies were already out.
The broad scars on Azazel's back, laid over with thinner, sharper ones, differing in age, fascinated him. They always had. The ones on his chest were no less varied, a patchwork assortment of badges that proved Azazel's strength, his endurance. Janos wanted to touch them, run his fingers over the marks until he had memorized the texture of each one, and the stories behind them. It was something he had never dared to ask though.
“What is it?” Azazel's question brought him back to where his mind needed to be, his purpose. He unbuttoned his shirt carefully, hissing involuntarily at the soreness, and let it fall off his shoulders.
Azazel looked away briefly, and Janos wondered if he imagined the noisy intake of breath. Azazel had seen him before. Was the sight so different now?
“Is it bad?”
“Come here,” Azazel ordered, extended his palm to guide Janos into place. His hands began a cursory exploration, just barely skating the surface of his skin. Even though it would have hurt, Janos craved the feeling of Azazel's hands actually touching him, pressing into him. He wanted, so badly. “I feel no breaks. You need painkiller though. Take the bruising down.” He moved away from Janos, grabbing a bottle off the dresser and handing it to him. Janos took it after he had slid his shirt back over his shoulders, not bothering with the buttons. Angel and Emma weren't likely to be sent into convulsions by the sight of his bare chest, and if the new girl was, that was not his problem.
“Do you need anything?” He asked, keeping his voice even as he swept his hair out of his collar. “The blue one, he struck you rather hard.”
“Lucky hit. Right here,” He traced his fingers down the spot on his chest. “I teleported into him. I am fine though.”
“You should be more careful.” It was nothing he hadn't said before, and he meant it every time. Azazel was such a physical fighter, so close to his opponents, so easily hurt if they had only a bit of luck.
“Do not even think of lecturing me. Not when you are such an idiot.” He hissed the last word, and Janos frowned in confusion, trying to think of what he could have done to earn Azazel's scorn. “What were you thinking? The submarine was in midair!”
Janos blinked, running his hands through his hair while he thought. He had done that, yes, but he had seen no other option. They needed Lehnsherr to let go, and they needed the plane taken out of the sky.
“I knew you would get me.” Janos told him, confused. He didn't understand Azazel's rage, not when he'd known climbing out the hatch that if Azazel had to catch him midair, he would have still caught him. Azazel always caught him.
“Do you really trust me that much?” He asked, his hand coming up suddenly to cup Janos' face. The touch more than anything nearly made Janos shake, as he wondered about Russians, whether they touched other men like this often, if they looked at other men like this normally. Azazel had never touched him like this before, never. Azazel had never looked at him like this before either.
“Yes,” Janos answered, truthfully. Of course he trusted Azazel.
Azazel stepped closer, so that with every breath his chest touched Janos', as he touched their foreheads together, closing his eyes tightly. Janos' heart was as loud as thunder to his own ears.
“Tell me to let go, Janos,” He whispered, almost too softly to be heard.
Azazel's hands, warm and calloused, were exploring underneath of Janos' shirt, over the blades of his shoulders, down the indent of his spine, resting on the small of his back. He wanted them lower, wanted to feel Azazel in return, know him completely.
“If you do not tell me to let go, Janos,” His mouth was just a fraction of a second from Janos' own, so Janos closed the minute distance, pressing his lips to Azazel's, and opening his mouth to him without any persuasion.
Azazel did not let go.
“Was it stupid, or brave?” He asked, holding Azazel's gaze.
“Both. Brave, to be so trusting of me, to be so unafraid of battle.” Azazel ran his hand through Janos' hair, his nails brushing pleasantly over his scalp. “But incredibly stupid to do that to me. My heart nearly stopped in my chest, realizing I needed to get you. Realizing I could lose before you knew my heart.”
Janos pressed his palm over Azazel's chest, where the steady beat of his heart was when Janos rested his ear there.
“I know your heart.” He promised. “And you know mine.”
Azazel nodded, and they only had another moment before there was a knock at the door.
“Guys?” It was Angel, sounding tentative. “Guys, we have company.”
When they stepped out, the man standing beside Lehnsherr was almost unrecognizable.
Then he looked at Janos, and his face was as familiar to Janos in that moment as his own was. The scarring across his cheekbone was new, and wretched looking, but the expression was as it had always been.
“Hello, mi hermanito.” He greeted.
“Hello,” Janos said back, looking into his disquieting eyes. “How have you been, Jesimiel?”
A/N And we finally meet one of them. For all of a second. Bwahahahaha, I'm so mean. Criticism is more than welcome, it is encouraged! Be in-depth, be mean, I don't mind. It's good for me.