Angels Before Man

by Rafael Nicolás

Michael spoke, just as the level of the water had reached Lucifer’s hips: “Can I say something to you, Lucifer?” Lucifer, of course, stopped. ‘I am weak, so weak, I am the angel of weakness.’ “Of course.” He turned halfway, hugging his own body as if he could blanket it entirely with just his arms. Michael’s eyes were soft again. “When I asked of you, angels said to me that your beauty was so great, one could take a glance, but never stare. That your face alone was as dangerous as too much wine, that you made their heads hurt and their visions blur.” He laughed, shakily, as he moved closer; with a tug on his heart, Lucifer realized the other was horrifically nervous. “I learned that their words were true. When we wrestle, when we spend time together — the pain you give me is indescribable. But I also thought, ‘How terribly lonely that must be, to be so beautiful that others think of you a thorn.’” His arm extended out, fingers brushing against one of Lucifer’s wrists, before taking it. Michael pulled downward, making the other expose himself, then simply held him, rubbing his thumb over the veins. “And how worse it must be to think that of yourself.”

“So,” Michael continued, a grin taking his mouth, “I’ve decided to help you. From now on, I’ll carry some of your burden. Give half your beauty to me, Lucifer, and stare at me all that you wish.”

Michael’s fingers touched, ever soft, the nape of Lucifer’s neck — shivering, breathing — and he asked, “Can I braid your hair?” Lucifer whispered, “Yes.” He shut his eyes and felt the pleasant tugs on his scalp as Michael gathered all his hair in the back, split it, then worked two braids out that he eventually joined back together with a tie.

The night was loud, composed of coos and buzzes and howls. And it was dark — Lucifer didn’t feel seen and being caressed was nice, so he allowed him to continue, rubbing a thumb encouragingly along the prince’s arteries. And Michael’s strength must’ve left him because his touches were delicate, soft presses, all along Lucifer’s figure but lingering by his upper half. Was he trying to mold him, like clay? Was he shaping him into something new? Lucifer thought that he wouldn’t mind that, as he breathed, nerves making it tremble, and put his own hands on Michael, touching his belly, where he found some softness, and his chest, which he let his fingers stroke.

The two angels tried to take in the Lord’s barely-conceived garden, for the last time, but they could hardly see anything more than each other.

Shouting out in frustration, Lucifer kicked his feet. “Almost!” He heaved, so much he could barely see the angel above him, “Almost! I was so close! I had you!” “You had me,” Michael laughed, hearty, between his gasps. “You really almost had me.”

Michael grinned, bright as constellations. “Mm, we’ll see about that.” But his hands went to Lucifer’s warm cheeks and, in a quick swoop, he planted his lips against Lucifer’s forehead; then he did it again, and again, pressing one kiss after another until he had done perhaps more than a dozen.

Michael’s own fingers brushed Lucifer’s wrist, which so often felt shamefully dainty beneath the archangel’s strong grip, before he conquered, took, held his hand. Lucifer made a noise of irritation, as if Michael’s fondness were a chore to put up with, but he held his hand back, tighter.

‘I feel aged. I feel as if you’ve aged me with your own hands, Michael. Ripened me. Like a red fruit, at the edge of a branch, hanging at its peak. Beautiful — and just about to fall.’

When Michael won the first round, and an angel with a trumpet flew down to hand him two necklaces with great ruby pendants, the archangel took them quick, then flung himself into the air with a great beat of his wings. He landed on the perch before the first row of seats, right before Lucifer. Still panting for breath, brown skin flushed, tears of sweat stumbling down his face. Lucifer stared at him, lifted an eyebrow, before Michael chuckled and draped his prizes over the neck of the younger one.

Michael spoke, voice barely above a murmur: “You heal very tenderly, Lucifer.” “I don’t know how I’m doing it.” “The water likes you. Perhaps it’s because you’re beautiful.”

“But it’d be difficult to hate you,” Michael replied, his voice rumbling, shaking the Earth, with amusement. “If someone asked me to dislike you, I don’t think I could.”

“Afterwards,” Michael responded. “You like rose tea, with a loose-leaf black base. It’s your favorite. Let me prepare it for you.” Lucifer felt there were stars beneath his eyes, scorching, asking to drip down from his tear ducts. “You remember?” “Of course I do.”

When Michael kissed him again, it was at his jaw, and Lucifer breathed a bit, as the prince said, “You’re being quiet.” “I was thinking,” Lucifer replied plainly. “Thinking about what?” Michael was still very close; his breath brushing Lucifer’s cheekbone. “Tell me.”

‘Oh, Lord, forgive me,’ Lucifer thought miserably, ‘I like Michael too much.’ He liked him. He could admit it now. He liked him so much that he couldn’t stop smiling.

The archangel was smiling, almost goofily, giddy, and Lucifer had this realization that he was liked. He loved, and he was loved.

Before Lucifer could respond, Michael had moved his free hand to Lucifer’s face, cupping it, turning the beautiful angel’s chin so that his gaze fell onto the mirror, back to the two angels there, one was supposed to be himself and one who was the prince of Heaven. “Which is a shame, because if he could feel what I felt when I saw him, I think he’d be capable of anything.”

but then Michael was pressed up behind him, his face over Lucifer’s shoulder, and he began to kiss his neck, his shoulder. He did it fast, as if trying to match the rapid beats of Lucifer’s heart. And his grip was tight, like he wouldn’t dare allow him to escape, an escape Lucifer would never dream of.

Fleetingly, their eyes met in the mirror, and Michael said, “No, don’t look at me.” Lucifer whispered his name, hadn’t meant to. “Look at yourself.” He did. “You’re beautiful. Lord — the most beautiful angel. The favorite angel.” Lucifer was trying to catch his breath, as if with both hands, but it slipped between his fingers. Michael’s kisses were sweet, soft and full, as if Lucifer were himself a gift, as if he were an adornment — or, as if he were meant to be adorned. As if he deserved songs too. “Can you see it now?”

“I’m still learning to love myself. Will you be patient with me?” Michael said that he would, and that maybe this is the little pain he’d love to put up with for infinity.

But they say the Lord tires, that He rests on certain days, that maybe he was too exhausted to ever save Lucifer. Yet — they also say that free will is a creation of God, and one must ask, then, if He has ever had will — if He has ever been capable of choice.

but Lucifer supposed ‘that is my universe — my memories are my galaxies and my moons, and they are infinite, they are eternal.’

of

“You joke, but you really are beautiful, Michael, even more than me.”

Lucifer reached for Michael’s hair and tousled the curls, as the other had done to him; he wished to braid it. Longing churned his stomach. He wanted to sit there with him, he wanted to hold him, he wanted to wrap his arms around the other until they were so close, he’d struggle to know where his body ended and Michael’s began.

This, this here, could be worship. ‘This—’ Lucifer pressed an innocent kiss to the prince’s sweet, divine mouth. This could be religion.

If there had been an altar, it would have been where Lucifer met Michael, where they kissed.

“God is good,” Lucifer argued, turning to nuzzle his face against Michael’s palm. “He wouldn’t allow you to get hurt so badly. Even if He did, we could piece you back together — any part of you.” “Even my heart?” “If you’re so nervous, you can leave it with me, and I’ll keep it safe.” “Tuck it in with you whenever you rest.” “Yes, angel of demanding.”

“I should be the one thanking you.” Michael laid back on the duvet and yawned wide as a horizon. “I never thought I’d enjoy anything like that until you taught me. I owe you so much.” A mumble: “This… new source of happiness.” All of Lucifer melted, into something sweet, into loveliness. “Everything has been nice since the Lord made you. I’m happy you’re here, here feeding me candies and tucking me into bed.” Lucifer laughed, breathless. “I’ve become so dependent on you. What would I do without my beloved?” “Beloved?” Lucifer, smiling and scoffing, moved to the bed, settled down at the edge, right at the side of Michael. “Your beloved what, exactly? Beloved friend? Brother?” “Simply my beloved.”

“My beloved Lucifer.”

‘I’m no longer ashamed; you have taught me to enjoy this body, to love myself, beloved Michael.’

Michael replied, “I understand, but please come see me early tomorrow, as early as you can.” His hand fell from Lucifer’s face, but it landed on his hip, where it had been during the party, and like then, he twiddled the jewelry there. “Why should I?” “I think I’d like you to be the first thing I see when I wake.”

‘But if I were like God, I’d create a new piece of me every day for you to kiss. I’d remake myself, chasing that mouth.’

The Father said, “I have always said that he who loves me will be rescued; I will protect him, for he acknowledges me, I will be with him in trouble, and I will show him salvation. But, angel, the Beast is not a creature I can cast from you.” Lucifer — feeling the supernal-fire beneath his tissues drop cold. “You are the Beast, Lucifer.”

“All will be well,” Michael said. “I’ll protect you, Lucifer, from anything. Like I did from that beast on Earth.” A shaky, nervous laugh; it made Lucifer want to shriek for the third time. “I’ll save you. I’ll always be here to save you.”

‘You do not desire me.’ A pleased smile on Lucifer’s lips, as he lifted a tender gaze to his beloved, stern archangel’s face. ‘Because you know I am already yours.’

“I never told you this — I always thought your mind was as beautiful as your face. I’m only saying it now because you can’t tease me.”

Kneading Michael loose beneath his hands, Lucifer wanted nothing more than to press their bodies flush together, to feel every part of the other, cosmically heated and shifting and beating and sturdy and soft. ‘Michael, Michael, Michael,’ ‘I want to say it forever,’ ‘I can’t stop, it’s sweeter than honey on my tongue.’

If only the prince could enter him, could spread his very skin, move inside, so that their souls would kiss how lips do.

They melted against one another, bodies pressed close and fitting so snug Lucifer thought they must have been fashioned for each other, no matter what Father said about wholeness.

‘In vain, I love you; in vain, the dawn streaming onto you, beside me; in vain, I want to be yours, your angel. Angel of love, angel of Michael.’

“Is Father good because He is good, or because He says He is good?”

wow. lucifer you are right.

‘When I ran from Father, I thought of you. When he captured me, I thought of you. I waited for your touch to save me.’

and the second was that he wanted to hurt Dina. The urge was overwhelming — to stab him, to see if he would cry.

what. is. happening.

‘All I ever wanted was to be loved, and now you’ve shown me that to be loved is to be broken. What is inside me?’ Someone had once said there were flowers, within him, but his fingers had only found the smooth, wet tissue of organs beneath flesh. Could it be he was made up of both beautiful and horrible things? Maybe it was something that couldn’t be explained, something unknown, something like God. ‘Maybe there is a little bit of God, inside me.'

“Do you want everything to return to how it was?” “To how it was before you?” Michael laughed a bit. “No. Never in a million years.” “Why not?” “Don’t make me say such embarrassing, affectionate things, beloved Lucifer.”

Michael’s tittering, sweet smile had Lucifer’s chest ache wonderfully. “But, let me say that — before I saw you on the street, dancing and singing, I was never very joyous. I was content with serving Father, I felt I had no room to complain, but then you arrived. And being around you, I had so much joy I became irrational, and now— now, it’s all spilling out. You make my heart swell and rise, like smoke.”

I’m questioning everything, asking myself if this is really paradise or if you are paradise.” Falter. “I— I don’t know what I’m saying.” ‘You’re paradise to me, Michael. And you’re not like the others.’

“I want us to be God, to be more than that. I want us to create like Him.” Lucifer, exhilarated,

Haven’t you ever wondered why Father is so strict about our subservience? It’s because disobedience is creation,” a shivering breath, “create with me, Michael, and let’s call it sin.”