Soft Whisper

"Yes..." I moaned.

Samael finally joined in, and we sounded like a pair of drunken wolves.

He grinned smugly. I collapsed against him, breaths hard, chest pounding. He embraced me, kissing my forehead. "Well, I don't know exactly where we got, but we got somewhere," he observed wryly. "Owning your soul is quite interesting. Now that you are immortal, it seems you can withstand me more."

"I can't move," I groaned, my legs splayed across him. Somewhere, in the murkiness of my mind, my brain was running around in frantic circles, blowing a rape whistle. My body, on the other hand, was sunbathing, drinking a martini.

Samael ran a finger slowly down my spine, sending shivers through me with what energy I had left. I breathed in his sweet smell, like rain and campfires.

"I can't move..." I repeated, tracing Sam's muscled arms. He caught my hands in his, bringing them to his lips. He kissed each fingertip lazily, then brushed my mouth with his in invitation.

"Good," Samael whispered, against my skin, softly biting my lip. I gasped, and he smirked. "Sorry," he shrugged. "I just couldn't resist."

I scoffed weakly. "Yeah. Just like how your hand 'slipped.'"

"Blame friction, not me. The fact that it guided me to a place more exciting was purely coincidence."

"Coincidence or not, that's when things got out of hand. I didn't think I'd... you know..."

"What?" he grinned lasciviously. "Tell me every gory detail. I like gore."

"You're gross, you know that? And there is nothing to tell," I declared, backing away. "We experimented, and now we're done. Any unresolved sexual tension's been disposed of. Now we can get back to business and forget this ever happened. I am so done with your manipulations!"

He was dumbfounded. "You're not serious, are you?"

"Try me."

"I already did. And I liked it. Immensely. In fact, I'm ready to try again."

"What?"

"I'm immortal," he shrugged. "I could do it until the End of Time, and maybe a bit afterwards, too."

I stared at him flabbergasted. "Why aren't you human?" I groaned, flopping back onto the bed.

"Because humans are inferior- except for you, of course," he added, winking. He leaned over to kiss me, then proceeded to cradle me against him. "This is highly strange. But I somehow find it... comforting." He shook his head in revulsion.

"It's called cuddling."

"What an atrocious name for a revolting activity. But why do I enjoy it?"

"Because I like it?"

"No," he murmured, brushing my hair from my face. "Perhaps because it brings me closer to you. Sleep, Shannon..." He kissed me lightly once more.

"You don't need to tell me twice," I yawned, blacking out instantly.

"Huh?" I murmured, waking groggily. Harsh rays of sunlight pierced my eyes. "Ach!" I groaned, covering my face, retinas burning. Soft, silk sheets rustled above me. Silk? I did a double take. "What the heck?" I muttered.

I felt something on my waist. There was an arm around me.

Someone was in my bed.

"Agh! Rapist!" I screamed, ripping free from their embrace. They groaned, tearing the sheets from me and rolling over onto their side, head covered by the blanket. I blinked, struck by my surroundings.

This definitely wasn't my room.

Fear mounting, I crept over to the stranger. I prodded their side.

"Ger'off, maggot." They yawned loudly. "I need my beauty sleep."

Maggot? Nobody called me that except- except-

Ah Hell.

Samael grumpily pulled down the blanket, glaring at me. His mussed hair and stubble were strangely surreal. My cheeks burned red as memories of last night flooded my head. His scowl became a smirk.

"Don't look at me like that!" I snapped. "I'm not owned by you! I'm an independent woman! Fuck the Sefer HaChaim, Metatron, and you – you are all the same!"

"Like what?" His eyes roved my body and a ridiculous grin spread across his face. My state of undress registered in my brain. Blushing, I tugged the blankets from him, covering myself. He growled, tearing them from my hands.

"Give the blankets and my clothes back, jackal hound!"

"Why? You are just so sublime without them. God blessed you in several departments, if not intelligence. You should be immensely proud of your ASSetts."

A tug-of-war ensued.

"How come even your compliments are insults, Corpseboy?" I seethed.

"Are you sure you want to scuffle in the nude, if you're so concerned about modesty?" he countered. "I have devoured your soul. I know every inch of you, thief in the night. Though I do like seeing those so called departments in action."

"I'll blind you with your own hideous poison!" I yelled. He pulled the comforter hard, and I fell into his lap. Samael caught me in his embrace.

"If I had more faith in your prowess, I might take that as a threat. However, you are a pithy ascendant – nothing without me possessing you, just a fucking Disney Princess, little Eve of the Garden," Samael mused. "But, as it stands," he said, appreciating my "departments," "I seem to have the upper hand - or hands, in this case-"

"Stop groping me."

"Why? Generosity's a virtue. You should share your God given gifts."

"Last night was a mistake," I snapped. "I was out of my mind. Metatron destroyed any of my sensibility. We need to stop arguing like wolves and fucking like rabbits. I feel like Satan's teen trash housewife. All the stress I'm under made me act in ways I never would have, if things were back to normal – not apocalyptic. This is so so wrong."

"Give me one reason why."

"Because you're you."

He folded his arms in anger. "I'm locking you up in Gehenna if you keep at this, Shannon Rose O'Connor. You can become best pals with the Damned."

"You wouldn't, Bonebutt!"

He smirked.

"You would," I sighed, defeated. "Do they also smell like gunpowder and saltpeter like when you forget to shower, Shemuel?"

"A little torture never hurt anyone. It's good for character." He flexed his fingers, snapping his knuckles. "If you'd like," he smiled deviously, "I could administer it myself. Whips are my forte-"

"I'm calling Michael, now."

"How?"

"I know how to summon archangels, remember? Thanks to your books."

"That was for Earth, you simpleton. You have no idea how ceremonial magick operates in Hell. It's a whole 'nother ball park, hunty." He paused. "That reminds me: the Yankees are playing today. I need to pay Earth a visit. They better have those delectable hot dogs. If the man's out of relish again, I'll scalp him."

I couldn't find my gown. "Where are my clothes?"

"Oh. I threw them away. You don't need them, do you?"

"SAM!"

"I'm joking. Are you always this hormonal in the morning?"

"Only when you're around. And not like you're not ruled by man stink and testosterone! All you are are GONADS."

He raised his brow. "Ooo. Moody. Maybe you get long-term, post-coitus blues that manifests as harsh disagreeableness."

"I'm wearing your cloak if you don't shut up."

"Hmm. That could be, as you mortals say, hot."

"Give me my clothes back now, you asshat! You're literally the worst boyfriend ever!!!"

"Oh, so I'm your BOYFRIEND now. How amusing. I told you, I threw the SHEIN crap away. Here," he said in irritation. "Dita von Teese's line."

"Lingerie doesn't equal clothes."

A sleek red dress appeared on me. His lips curled in amusement. "Red is such a wonderful color..." he sighed, fingering a lock of my hair. He leaned in slowly, kissing my brow. "Are you sure about the whips?"

"Go scythe yourself."