We met at the disco

[Raphael Malai]

Yeah, he was free now.

Raphael casually followed Rhys into the bedroom, not really saying much of anything—just like what Rhys always did. Never explain himself because he was a prince and he got to do that to people. Well. Big old jerk, if he got to do what he wanted, Raphael got to do whatever he felt like! And maybe for once, Rhys could experience what it felt like to be shut out!

When he turned to ask what Raphael was doing, Raphael shrugged. "Whatever I want," was the casual answer he gave. "You're sleeping, right?" He looked past Rhys at the bed, and then he slipped past him and got into bed and rolled himself up in the cozy warm blankets. Hmm... it felt really nice, actually. Brayden had lots of layers over his bed and it just felt so much nicer than having one layer of blanket, for whatever reason.

[Rhys McCabe]

What
the hell.

Rhys stayed in the doorway because what else was he going to do? This was not typical Raphael behavior. (Honestly, it really was more Rhys-like behavior, and seeing it from the other side... he didn't care for it much.) His brow remained furrowed as Raphael made himself at home in Brayden's bed. It wasn't Rhys' to get territorial with, although he was annoyed that Raphael was blocking him from doing what he wanted.

While he could just get into bed, he didn't particularly want to now. Rhys didn't like lying on his stomach when it was just himself. He really didn't like it with other people hanging around, not unless they were giving him a massage or maybe if they were fucking him. Neither of which he imagined happening in this scenario.

"No. Not anymore."

[Raphael Malai]

See, there were two places to rest. The couch, with its big tea stain—Rhys did that, all by himself—and the bed, with enough room for two people. That was it. Rhys could either stand or go sit on the toilet or curl up in the bathtub, none of which sounded like appealing alternatives to Raphael. He laid in bed, warm and snug, and looked at Rhys by the doorway. Still trying to act like a prince.

To who?

Because Raphael, he was no longer a servant. That meant Rhys was only fronting to appease his own sense of pride.

"Okay. Cool. You can watch some TV. There's this really cool channel where people show you how to cook things. Or you might like the news. I saw the remote control on the coffee table."

He burrowed down deeper like a little earthworm. "Hmm... Prince Bee's bed feels really nice though. It's not too soft! Too bad there's nobody here to share it with. It'd be nice if somebody could lay their head against my chest or something, and I could cuddle them." Raphael looked at Rhys. "Too bad somebody's just too plain stubborn to do that. Because it would be nice. And no one else is here, so nobody would even know."

Toooooo baaaaaad.

[Rhys McCabe]

Watch TV? Rhys barely ever even looked at the TV back at their apartment in Greenwood. Raphael and Ripper seemed to enjoy it but Rhys had no use for it. Keith used it sometimes for updates. Their place had free cable TV, which was apparently an allure to some people. Rhys found it an unnecessary distraction. When it was on, he usually vacated the living room for the solitude of his bedroom--which wasn't even a fraction of the size of his chambers at home. Honestly, it could be a little claustrophobic in there.

He narrowed his eyes as Raphael unapologetically played at trying to lure him into the bed. It was true that nobody was currently in the apartment but that didn't mean much to Rhys. He still had his pride to look after; it felt like he had so little of anything else left. But Raphael was tearing it to shreds in front of him.

"When did you become such an asshole?"

[Raphael Malai]

"Now we're even!" Raphael sat up in bed. "You've been acting like an asshole forever, so now somebody else gets to act like one too!"

Damnit, if he was free and his own person, he got to say and do exactly what he wanted to say and do! Raphael crossed his arms. "You want to sleep but you won't just because I'm here. You like me and you expect me to magically read your mind, or somehow know what you're feeling and cater to you, even though you just said I wasn't a servant anymore. Well if I'm not a servant, then I'm your equal and you could at least respect me enough to stop playing games, Rhys."

He pointed to the empty space beside him. "There's more than enough space here for you to rest. I know you're tired and you want to sleep. So sleep. And fucking let me cuddle you and let me love you, you idiot! Enough games! The only person you're hurting is yourself! And—me! You're hurting both of us, okay?!"

[Rhys McCabe]

Fair enough. Although Rhys never claimed to be not an asshole. It might have come with the territory of being a prince, spoiled rotten to the core. But it wasn't even just that. It was super easy not to care about other people or their feelings when he had none himself. How could he even begin to empathize with somebody when he didn't even know what it felt like to have hurtful insults hurled at him? All they did was bounce off him, or make him laugh at their ineffectiveness. (Which was definitely an asshole thing to do.)

It was just unnerving to see Raphael acting like a rotten prince. He must have had enough experience with it, what with watching Rhys and all.

But ever the contrarian, Rhys didn't take well to being told what to do, even from Raphael. Especially from Raphael. So he stayed rooted where he was in the doorway, neither fleeing for a bathroom or a couch nor getting into the bed with Raphael.

"I'm not playing games." If he was playing games, he would be having a lot more fun right about now. He wasn't having fun at all. Mostly, he was just tired and sad and frustrated. He wasn't really setting out to hurt himself or Raphael but he found he was really good at it. If nothing else, he was amazingly consistent in that department.

[Raphael Malai]

"You stupid fucking stupid prince!"

Raphael got off the bed in a hurry and FURIOUSLY stormed over. He was extremely FURIOUS because even while Rhys was claiming not to play games he was playing games! Maybe he didn't realize it or maybe he did. Hell if Raphael knew! But he could not remember being this FURIOUS in his entire life!

If this wasn't the last straw, nothing ever was! Rhys even made him swear! And he never swore!

He stormed over and marched right up to Rhys. Grabbed him by the infuriating games-playing face and kissed him. Furiously. Then he broke off for a breath, glared, and kissed him again. Even more furiously.

"Stupid asshole! Are you trying to chase me into another prince's arms? There's three of them out there!" He growled with his angry face no more than a few centimeters from Rhys'. "All of them are nicer to me than you are! You stupid asshole! Get in the bed! If you're too weak to fuck you can at least cuddle!" Since he finally had Rhys—by the face—he added, in a dangerously low voice,

"You were right. I'm not your servant. You're my prince. So get in the goddamn bed, or I'm going to do something you're really not going to like!"

[Rhys McCabe]

Surprise didn't even begin to cover the way he felt towards Raphael's unexpectedly violent outburst. Had he ever heard Raf cuss like that? If he had, he certainly didn't remember it. And the shock of it was so great that Rhys couldn't cover it up, either. He stood like a stunned idiot while Raphael stormed toward him, with no recourse or not wits about him to defend himself.

Why Raphael was this pissed was beyond him. But he was pissed, there was no mistaking that. Rhys wasn't prepared for anything--an attack, a slap, a couple of whacks around the ears. Least of all, he wasn't prepared to have his face grabbed. For a delirious second, he actually thought Raphael meant to headbutt him and it was too late to even do anything about it except take it. Only he didn't headbutt him. He kissed him.

Angrily, though. Angry kisses, followed by more cussing. Rhys was so out of it that his head sort of half spun and he couldn't seem to gather his bearings. What... was happening here? Normally, he was right on the ball with this kind of thing. He did play head games sometimes, out of boredom, this was true. But he wasn't playing these so-called games now. He was mostly just trying to keep his footing while everything around him rocked and slid into his path, threatening to knock him off his feet.

In another lifetime, Rhys most definitely would have had something to say about those other princes out there. (Something incredibly rude, too, about how none of those princes would want Raphael.) But at the moment, he was trying to process the... everything. Also... too weak to fuck?! WHAT?

Rhys didn't know what to do. His hands, on auto pilot, reached up to grasp onto Raphael's wrists, tight, though, almost like a threat in itself. Excuse me? The words were there, on the tip of his tongue but then no, Raphael, he kept going. And Rhys' hands tightened on those wrists and he stepped into Raphael with narrowed eyes, not at all appreciating that tone or that threat.

"Oh? And what's that? You really think you can threaten me? A few curse words and a handful of kisses don't scare me, Raf." He pulled Raphael's hands down, away from his face. "You're going to have to try a lot harder than that to threaten me."

[Raphael Malai]

No.

It was too late for Rhys to try and claw back his position at the top because Raphael was asserting dominance. In this very moment, in this instance in time, Raphael was the one in charge of his own destiny and his own life, and he wasn't going to back down from some half-stunned Prince of the Fallen! If he abandoned the Fallen, he abandoned his former life, and his former sense of servitude. In this moment, Raphael was a fae and he was taking back his life.

What was he going to do? Corrupt Raphael? Use that hand squeezing his wrist to spread the blight? Raphael would like to see him try! He glowered right back, his eyes like lasers boring through Rhys. "You should be scared. You should feel threatened because unlike you, I'm not playing around. You can't hold my feelings hostage anymore, Rhys McCabe!"

Because Rhys never said anything but the wings were there--they were starting to grow, indicating his budding feelings. And knowing he was growing wings, that he had feelings for Raphael, made him unable to move on. There were other princes out there--they didn't have to be Jack or Niall or Brayden. They could be Wesley Carter, or the boy with sleek blond hair from psychology class, or the cute bartender at the club, or hell, even the guy he saw smiling at him from across the street! They could be anyone! They didn't have to be Rhys!

But he couldn't begin to consider them and he couldn't shift his feelings away if Rhys was here growing wings for him. Then threatening to go home and excise them, which... Well what message did that send? Did Rhys think about it? What it said to Raphael, who had all of these deep and significant feelings for him, to have him repeatedly claim that he wanted to cut off his wings?

So excuse him for being a little FURIOUS!

"I'm not going to wait for you forever." His voice went low again. Dangerous. "I love you, Rhys, but I won't wait forever." He would have shoved Rhys back but he didn't want to hurt him--the blight was still there, still trying to take over. Instead, Raphael stepped up to him until their chests touched, and they were practically nose-to-nose. Again he kissed Rhys, but this time more softly, more tenderly than he could remember kissing anyone. It hurt--it did. It hurt to love someone like this, to know that they felt the same way but was too stubborn to relent.

His eyes were stinging when he finally pulled back, only to rest his forehead against Rhys' shoulder. "I don't want to keep fighting your feelings," he whispered, heart-broken. "Stop fighting mine. Please. I'm not asking you for anything other than a chance. Don't I deserve at least that much, Rhys?"

[Rhys McCabe]

"Well I'm not." He wasn't scared or threatened. What could Raphael even do to him? So what if he wasn't playing around? Did he consider all this shit that he'd been doing playing around? Then who of the two of them was really playing the games? Because Rhys certainly wasn't. Raphael thought he was miserable now? He could only imagine how miserable he'd be if Rhys put it to his mind to play fucking mind games with him!

But right now his quick and cunning mind was less quick and cunning and more... lethargic and hard to really comprehend everything. Not because of the emotions (although that did make things considerably more annoying) but because he was genuinely tired. He'd just woken up and this is what he woke up to. Wonderful.

And what the fuck was that even supposed to mean? That Rhys was holding his feelings hostage? Rhys rolled his eyes at that. Way to be fucking dramatic.

"Is that what I'm supposed to be scared of?" he asked, nostrils flaring slightly. Was that really supposed to scare him off, that Raphael wouldn't wait for him? He'd been trying to push Raphael away from him since... since the first inkling of irritation made itself known. Didn't he tell Brayden that Raphael was better off with somebody who could take care of him? Not that Raphael knew that but... come on. Raphael obviously deserved somebody better at this than Rhys. Hostage, he said. Like Rhys was trying to use Raphael's feelings against him. All he was doing was trying to keep to himself, to protect himself. His self preservation was kicking in, despite his apathy once.

He narrowed his eyes at Raphael more out of apprehension and unease than anger. "Don't fu--" cking say that. But the words were hushed by Raphael's lips on his. He didn't know if it was his current mood or if it was Raphael finally breaking down a key brick in his wall or if it was just the soft, different nature of the kiss but his breath caught in the back of his throat, swallowing his words. Maybe it was their proximity but his heart flipped funny and his eyes closed and for a moment, there were no thoughts, just feelings. Warm feelings, not unlike the feeling of fingers in his hair.

The kiss ended and Rhys' eyes remained closed for a long moment. Raphael stayed close, resting his forehead against his and Rhys caught his own lower lip with his teeth, breathing inward, afraid to exhale. What was happening?

He didn't put a name to the reason he had wings. Rhys didn't even really think about it until a growing restless agitation started making him irritable for no apparent reason. It was an itch where he used to be numb but he didn't know its portent. But he knew that he put up a lot from Raphael he never put up with anybody else. It snuck up on him, because he'd been an installation in his life for a good chunk of it. So when did it start warping into... something else?

What did a person even say to that? Of course Raphael deserved more. Rhys knew he put up with a lot in his life, that he didn't have it easy. But he had been assigned to Rhys. And although Rhys could be outright cruel to some people, he'd never really thought to be cruel to Raphael. There were memories, or a feeling of memories that kept him separate from the others, like Satine, there was something connected to his childhood that couldn't be erased.

How Raphael could love Rhys was kind of a mystery; he had watched him for a long time. Rhys wasn't... nice. He'd been known to grow bored with servants and have them dismissed. His consorts had a whole different mountain to climb. Raphael couldn't possibly see his interactions with them and want that for himself. Because Rhys was constantly bored, his lovers had to rotate. Sometimes he wanted it so hard that he'd bleed... unknowingly reaching for something to feel other than boredom, numbness.

Sometimes there were a number of them, five or six at a time, hoping to please Rhys, to erase that deep seated ennui. And somebody invariably got kicked out, berated for not being as good as that other guy but wait now that guy wasn't so good after all, get out, he was bored now. Very rarely did Rhys actually fuck anybody else. He expected to be entertained, not the other way around. Only a few times had he been inspired to do the fucking and the poor things left behind were left.... unsatisfied... to say the least.

Raphael had to know the drama of the consorts. He'd probably heard the gossip and the rumors about him. Why he'd want anything to do with Rhys in a sexual or romantic capacity... He had to be some kind of crazy. Some kind of masochist.

Still not knowing what to say, Rhys only closed his eyes for a moment, aware that Raphael was pleading with him, that he was waiting for him to say something. He said nothing. But he did reach up to cup the back of Raf's head. He did guide his lips back to meet his. Apprehension made it more of a brush of lips to lips before he parted them and let the kiss move organically into a real kiss.

[Raphael Malai]

This was it. This was love. It wasn't soft and sweet, like the love he saw between Jack and Brayden. It wasn't quiet but strong, like that which existed between Niall and Ken. It wasn't the strong, self-sacrificing love that he saw in Marge, towards Jack and Brayden, either. This love was painful and dark and pregnant with a thousand things left unsaid, secrets that couldn't easily be voiced. It was not an easy love and not an easy path that Raphael's feelings for Rhys had led him down.

But this was all he had. His heart's desire was in front of him, standing just behind a brick wall of denial that separated them. Raphael didn't know what else he could say to Rhys. There was nothing left. No anger, no frustration, nothing but emptiness because he had already laid himself bare before Rhys and this—him in this moment—was all that there was left. There was no more. Raphael didn't play games; he didn't hold anything back.

Was it because they were Fallen, that their path was studded with difficulty? Or was it not mean to be? In this lifetime, were they never destined to be together? Even if Raphael loved Rhys beyond sense, sensibility or even reason, and even though Rhys was growing wings because of his feelings for him, those weren't guarantees. Raphael could overcome anything—even those rumors flying every which way about Rhys in his private life—but he couldn't fight fate any more than he could fight his own feelings.

And if this was the end of the line... then he knew that he would survive, but he would never feel this way for another man again. His heart could not bear to be opened up this way again, just to be rebuffed and rejected. He might love again, but not like this, not this strongly, this fiercely, with this much self-destructive passion and feeling.

The longer it took for Rhys to answer, the more certain he was that Rhys' answer was no. And Raphael's heart started to crack. He began to look up when a hand curled at the back of his head. Then a kiss, so light that it was nothing more than the brush of their lips together. Raphael's lips trembled; his entire body shook. Even his heart jumped around in his chest, not knowing if it wanted to beat too fast or not to beat at all. He grasped onto Rhys as they kissed again and the physical agony of being so in love with him made his fingers curl, the nails dig into Rhys' arms. With an almost violent jerk of the head, he pulled back, breaths coming up ragged.

"Is that a yes?" He needed to hear it. The kiss was a response of its own class but he needed to hear Rhys say it. It was important.

[Rhys McCabe]

A kiss never really felt like much of anything. Rhys normally didn't waste much time with kissing. Sometimes, a consort might try it and it was probably like kissing a mannequin for how little Rhys cared to kiss them back. Every now and then, there was a little back and forth but to be honest, kissing just felt... like a huge waste of time when he needed to get back to other things. Just fuck him, get it over with. Even his escapades in experimentation lasted for all of fifteen minutes or so.

Rhys didn't even know what romantic love felt like, from an emotional point of view. It looked sappy and fraught with annoying emotions. Or sickening, like the people Raphael so lovingly stared at with hearts in his eyes. Rhys usually just rolled his eyes at it all. Love. It felt like just as much a waste of time as a kiss.

Kisses before this, between the two of them, didn't have the best track record. Rhys did kind of slam Raf's head into a table for surprising him with a kiss. And the handful of other kisses given to him were not all that well received either. (Hard to be in the right kind of mood when he was agitated and sick, though!)

For once... he understood it. What it was that Raphael was yearning for. That ache in the chest that was somehow both fierce and sweet at the same time. How a kiss could stop time, how it could communicate more than his verbal vomit. And for once, he couldn't screw this up even with words because the answer was so simple.

"Yes."

[Raphael Malai]

"Rhys!"

Raphael threw himself bodily onto Rhys with such an energetic leap that he nearly managed to leapfrog over him. (Okay, not that dramatic but he did jump very high. But Rhys was tall!) He clung to Rhys with both arms around his neck and he kissed him again with an uncontrollable outpouring of emotion. Tears slid down the sides of his cheeks, something that he knew for a fact Rhys would chide him for—being so emotional. Well, being new to this world of feeling still, despite having had more time to adjust, meant that every emotion was a little overwhelming. Raphael hadn't had time to become jaded to all the new sensations and feelings yet!

But his heart was overjoyed. He swore his wings were going to grow into full-blown fae wings, if the way he felt was any indication of pure, unadulterated joy. Rhys wasn't promising anything but just a simple yes meant so much to Raphael. He... made a miracle happen. He gave Raphael his heart's desire, and there was something very magical about the ability of one person being able to do that with one syllable.

One kiss melted into another. Raphael couldn't—and didn't want to—stop. He kissed Rhys not only on the lips but on the cheek, jaw, the corners of his mouth, each lip individually, hell, even a little down his throat and off to the side, to the area under his ear. He was so happy! It was like none of the past... day happened. (Did they really fight so much over the course of one day? It felt like sixty years...)

[Rhys McCabe]

Whoa, hold on. Rhys somehow managed not to be toppled over but just barely. Raphael was lucky that Rhys had such fine reflexes or they both might have gone tipping over. He was still weak from the blight! But his arms still managed to wrap around Raphael and hold him close.

"You--" Whatever he was going to say didn't matter. It was probably half rude, anyway. He was overwhelmed by a series of kisses and just like that, Raphael was more like Raphael. All that anger and haughtiness did not suit him in the least. (And Rhys had to admit, sitting back and basically watching himself was a nice sobering moment.)

Who knew... a single word could cause such happiness? And who knew that seeing Raphael so ecstatic could somehow translate to happiness for him, too? It was impossible not to feel it; it was like a contact high. Raphael's joy was a contagion and Rhys was infected by it. So many... kisses. It made him feel so... warm. Warm inside, like the best bubbling bath in the world, warm and peaceful and a touch of childhood.

He laughed. Before he knew what he was doing. It just... came out, like a sneeze or a cough; it had to be let out. (And it might have had something to do with him being madly ticklish near the ear area--something that was news to him.) "S-stop..." he gasped, but in such a light tone it was hard to believe it came from his own mouth. Somehow, he made it to the bed, collapsing onto it with Raphael.

[Raphael Malai]

All Rhys had to do from the very beginning was say yes, and not play hard-to-get! They could have avoided this entire embarrassing rollercoaster ride of emotions! Or—conversely—Raphael might have waited out the blight before tackling Rhys with all of the hard-hitting questions. But then again there was no guarantee that Rhys wouldn't have skipped out on him given half a chance!

At least all's well that ended well! In that moment Raphael didn't think about the heartache of the past few weeks, the drama of their explosive fight, the painful, wretched moments waiting for a simple yes or no from Rhys. He was bubbly and overjoyed now and his emotions and happiness refused to be contained. The kisses fell in a flurry, raining down faster as Rhys laughed and the sound went straight to Raphael's bursting heart.

He'd never heard Rhys laugh like that before! With genuine mirth! Ooh, he liked that laugh!

Raphael was the happiest person on the planet at the moment. Even when he was toppled into bed, he laughed, wrapping arms and legs around Rhys like a koala bear. "Be careful! Your back!" He wiggled around until he had Rhys in his arms, cradling his dark head against his chest. Raphael nuzzled his cheek against the top of Rhys' head and let his eyes close so that he could soak in the moment and the love and the contentment.

"This means you're coming to game night, right Rhys?" His eyes opened. Suddenly he remembered his mission! "They're having a game night! With everyone! All your brothers and Prince Bee and Ken and Margie probably and Charlie and... me! I'm sure Margie will let you go outside now!" He lightly stroked the back of Rhys' shoulder, avoiding straying too close to the blight on his back. "I wish they could heal this more quickly..." But it took strong magic to even hold back the blight, much less cure it. Raphael imagined it would take something like celestial magic—the holy magic that angels and other pure creatures had. Even fae weren't capable of casting magic of that order, sadly, which was why Charles the fixer could only contain the blight with all of his skills.