This comes from the 64 Damn Prompts on LiveJournal (by rashaka). I will, most likely, be working through all 64, because I can't bear to leave such a lovely thing unfinished. I will also include the song that helped me write it/find inspiration/that I thought fit the mood.

P.S.~ Beware the D.O.U.S's! (Drabbles of Unusual Size)

Alternatively, this could be titled "Avoidance of a Midterm."


Prompt 16: Rip

Music: Dare, by The Gorillaz


"You're an asshole!"

"Well, you're a bitch! And if you hadn't—"

"Oh, no. You're not going to turn this around and blame it on me. Whose libido was it that got us into this mess?" Kael crossed his arms and glared. "And if I'm a bitch, then you're a yappy little lapdog."

Zaire glared right back. "Lapdog? You're calling the fucking King of Hell a lapdog? Ya suicidal? Or are ya just plain dumb?

"Well, whaddaya know," Ronan muttered, rolling his eyes. "They already fight like a married couple."

Kael's usually honey-brown eyes were bleeding into silver-on-gold, and his fingers had begun to twitch slightly with silver-and-gold sparks as he turned a murderous look on the bulky brunet. "Oh, really?" he forced out through teeth gritted into what only a man-eating tiger could have termed a smile. "Well, Ronan, guess what? We are, thanks to that incompetent moron who can't keep it in his pants."

Zaire inflated like a puffer fish and hissed in annoyance. "Oh, like you can blame this all on me? As I seem to remember, you were the one beg—"

The burring rasp of tearing fabric cut him off mid-word, and before he could utter another syllable, the King of Hell was booted backwards into the rift in space that had opened behind him. He vanished through it with a last flash of red hair, and it closed as if a giant, ghostly hand had just zipped it shut.

Ronan stared at the place where his King had been standing a moment before, and then cast a sideways look at Kael as he resettled his balance after what had been—in Ronan's humble opinion—a rather excellent pivot-kick.

"You know," he offered conversationally, "as his bodyguard, I should be pitching a fit right about now."

"Uh-huh." Kael looked less than impressed.

The other brunet strolled casually to his side and surveyed the closed rip, just barely able to see an afterimage when he looked with his Sight. He tucked his hands into his pockets.

"So."

"Mm?"

"You can control 'em that well now?"

"Yep."

"Ah."

"Mm."

"…"

"…"

"So…"

"So?"

"Where'd ya send 'im?"

Kael's smile was positively demonic—which, considering the company Ronan kept every day, was saying something.

"The lingerie store on Fifth Street."

Ronan whistled his appreciation. "Changing room?"

The smile became angelic, and somehow a thousand times more terrifying

"Of course, Ronan. What do you take me for?"

Ronan thought about answering with, "The new Queen of Hell," but decided that he rather liked his balls where they were. So, instead, he turned on his heel and wandered off to save his king from the horrors of human women's underwear shops.


"That is the most goddamn annoying, frustrating, fucking stupid talent in this whole annoying, frustrating, goddamn stupid town," Zaire growled, as he and his battered pride slinked down the dark street. He wanted to go punch something, just because he could. Just because having the crap scared out of him by a bunch of weird-ass women trying to get him to try on bras did not make him a pussy. If anything, he should have been given a medal for not destroying anything, killing anyone, or committing suicide when his advisor stormed in to demand to know just what the hell he thought he was doing.

Camryn was never going to let him live that down, the bitch.

Meandering after him at a distance of about twelve paces—just far enough back to be out of the line of fire, just close enough to be able to identify a threat and determine which way to duck—Ronan inspected his nails. "I dunno," he drawled. "That cute ass of his has gotta make up for somethin', right? 'Sides, would ya really wanna have a queen who bowed and scraped and said 'Yes, milord; no, milord; up the ass, milord?' all day? Ya'd kill 'em in twenty-four hours."

Zaire fought down the surge of mineminemineMINE that crawled up his throat at the thought of someone besides him looking at Kael's ass. It didn't matter that Ronan was married (to a fucking scary-ass general, too), or that Kael was married (to him, and wasn't that just the Universe's most fucked-up joke yet?)—Zaire was a demon, and as a demon, no one was allowed to look at his mate like that.

Thankfully, Ronan ranked lower than pond scum on his danger-scale, so he was able to push it down and focus on the huge fucking joke that his life had become.

First, he had fallen in love—never mind that he was a demon, and the fucking King of Hell, and he wasn't supposed to fall in love with anyone.

Second, the one he had fallen for? Yeah, he was a human. See above argument, heavy emphasis on the whole demon part.

Third, he had to be a weird-ass human from what was probably the weirdest-ass town this side of the Twilight Zone—and, as the Universe seemed to hate Zaire to an exponential degree, he couldn't be one of the few normal humans in the town. Nope, he had to be a son of the even-weirder-ass-than-everyone-else family, who was responsible for containing the weirdness and keeping the aforementioned few normal people out of the supernatural loop.

And, as if that wasn't enough already, the list went on.

Fourth, the stupid human also had to be a drop-dead gorgeous sex god with legs down to the ground and the face of a Fallen angel who had enjoyed every minute of his sinful descent.

Zaire himself was, in the words of the immortal Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman, "an Angel who did not so much Fall as Saunter Vaguely Downwards."

Heh.

He loved Crowley.

Anyway. Back to the list.

Fifth, said human had the power to rip open big fucking holes in space and toss people through them whenever he was feeing even vaguely annoyed.

Which he was.

A lot.

Not only that, but the holes? Yeah, they could lead anywhere. A fucking mortal just barely out of his teens had the power to waltz into Heaven whenever he wanted to, or send people to Hell, or leapfrog across the world in less than a minute.

Sixth (and oh, yes, there were more), when Zaire had landed in the town, the weird-ass air had done something…well, weird to his system. Ronan had said it looked like he was high on some really potent catnip.

Zaire told Ronan to shut his stupid face, and decided that it had just been like he was drunk.

Really, really, really drunk.

Seventh, aforementioned stupid, powerful, sex-on-a-stick human had to be wandering the streets also drunk off his really adorable ass while this was happening, and they had to just happen to bump into each other.

And then, rounding it out at number eight, they just had to have sex, because, hey, they were both more than a little drunk and more than a lot sexy, and it just had to result in waking up this morning with pounding heads and fucking bonding marks tattooed on their arms.

Oh yes, the Universe hated him.

Luckily, the feeling was most definitely mutual.


Kael had no idea why he was waiting up for the bastard. Except…

Well.

If Kael was really the new Queen of Hell (which was, actually, a lot easier for him to accept than it might have been for other people, having lived in Prosperity [and wasn't that the most ironic name ever] all his life), then Zaire owed him.

More to the point, Zaire owed him sex.

Really fucking good sex.

If he had to put up with not only the red-haired bastard, but also Ronan for the remainder of his suddenly-maybe-not-so-mortal life, then Zaire had to put out. Preferably often. Preferably well. And preferably with some variety. Then again, Zaire was hot enough to make for a lack of all three. Not that their night together (what he could remember) hadn't been all three, but Kael was hoping Zaire would pull a repeat performance.

As if summoned by his thoughts, the door of his apartment flew open, and the King of Hell stalked in, anger rolling off his shoulders, muttering to himself, swearing a blue streak, and looking downright sexy with his messy hair and slightly unfocused eyes.

Without even pausing to greet him, Kael pounced.

Zaire had never been stripped so fast in his life. Within moments, he was flat out on his back on the floor, staring up in dazed fascination at the sexy redhead on top of him. Kael didn't give him a chance to talk, but kissed him, his mouth a searing brand that left Grimm's lips aching like the skin had been taken off them, he wanted more so much. They kissed, and kissed, and Kael wondered vaguely if it was possible to come from a kiss alone. He never got to find out, though, as Zaire gripped his hips and ground their erections together. The brunet shuddered, ducking down for another kiss, and then he was somehow naked, too, and there were two fingers inside him. He clenched down on them, gasping at the strangely empty fullness, and whined deep in his throat.

"Zaire!"

Zaire hissed out an oath and lifted Kael, even as he rolled his hips up in a swift thrust.

The long, ragged moan he got as he bottomed out was more than enough to make up for everything that had happened since he got to this weird-ass, creepy town.

"Fuck, Kael," he growled, as Kael curled forward towards his chest, little mewling whimpers and groans escaping him with every rumbling syllable. "Kael, fuck, you gotta move. Move, darlin'. I've gotcha."

Brown eyes dazed, Kael shifted back, twisting into a rocking figure eight that he knew from last night would drive both of them absolutely nuts. It did, the friction of skin-on-skin and the warmth of two bodies and the sounds the other was making driving them right up to the edge and over it. Kael came with a muffled moan, gritting his teeth, and a moment later Zaire bucked his hips up and froze with a deep cry.

They stayed frozen for several long minutes, then slowly relaxed, collapsing together on the rug, both breathing hard and trembling slightly in the aftermath.

Then Zaire flung his arm over his eyes, winced, and growled, "Next time, we're doing it on the couch or the bed. Not the damn rug."

Kael rolled his eyes and settled against his side, pulling the throw blanket from the couch to cover them. He closed his eyes. "Whatever," he muttered. "But you owe me sex. Lots of really fucking good sex. And I get to rip a portal straight to the arctic and dump Ronan through."

Slowly, a wide grin spread over Zaire's face, and he tucked Kael against his side with one careful arm. "Oh, hell yes. And I get to kick him in."

Satisfied, Kael nudged closer and sighed. "Night, Zaire. I hate you."

Zaire folded an arm behind his head, his grin widening. "Hate you, too, Kael."

Yeah, the Universe still hated him.

But maybe whole "married life" part wasn't actually so bad.