Ship: Yukimura/Kirihara Fandom: Prince of Tennis Major Tags: tags omitted Other Tags: tags omitted Word Count: 462
Warnings for me playing fast and loose with the fall of Lucifer & religious content. Aka literal angels and demons, don’t even ask.
***
"How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning!"
The laughter in the words was smug and mocking, so sharp that the Child of God felt the press of fangs against the inside of his lips as he turned. He forced himself to smile at the angel who had so rudely greeted him, sizing him up swiftly. White hair, green eyes and skin that held the sunset’s pink hue - the Host was vast but the Child of God knew every angel within it.
Especially those whom he had thought he could sway to his cause.
Kirihara.
“Son of God,” he corrected, holding himself upright. He tilted his chin up, unwilling to show weakness before one who had groveled rather than gain, and let his wings sweep out.
The sunlight did not catch on the gold tips and throw a thousand dancing rainbow lights before him; instead, his wings were black now, feathered full and soft, and they ate up the sunshine like the silence of the night ate sound.
“I am his Son, as are you, Kirihara,” The Child of God spoke confidently, letting his voice ring out with the same passion and conviction that had made an army rise to his Call. “And as I have been treated, so shall you be treated. Look now upon what he has made of me.”
Black-winged, cloven hoofed, fanged and horned in some twisted parody of the angels who dwelt up high; he was marked now, neither man nor angel, but some third sort of foul thing that held none of God’s grace.
Kirihara’s gaze, green as spring grass, drifted over the Child of God and fixed, at last, on the violet eyes.
Angels bled golden ichor and bruised pink, but humans bruised purple.
“You should not have rebelled,” Kirihara said, shifting his hold on his sword.
“You should have rebelled with me,” the Child of God said, stepping closer to Kirihara. Kirihara lifted the sword and the blade blazed blue, brilliant as the sky above them, but the Child of God smiled.
“Will you strike me down, then? In His mercy, he spared me. Do you think you know better than Him?”
The first flicker of doubt in Kirihara’s eyes was a delight to see.
Kirihara lowered the sword but watched warily as the fallen angel approached.
“What do you want?” He asked and received his answer in the tender press of soft lips against his.
Corruption could come execution-swift, wished upon disobedient angels by their maker, or it could be as slow and subtle as a tongue insinuating itself into another’s mouth.
Pride. Lust.
And when Kirihara shoved the Child of God back, wiped a panicked hand over his mouth, it completed the trifecta.
FILL: Team The Prince of Tennis, T
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Major Tags: tags omitted
Other Tags: tags omitted
Word Count: 462
Warnings for me playing fast and loose with the fall of Lucifer & religious content. Aka literal angels and demons, don’t even ask.
***
"How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning!"
The laughter in the words was smug and mocking, so sharp that the Child of God felt the press of fangs against the inside of his lips as he turned. He forced himself to smile at the angel who had so rudely greeted him, sizing him up swiftly. White hair, green eyes and skin that held the sunset’s pink hue - the Host was vast but the Child of God knew every angel within it.
Especially those whom he had thought he could sway to his cause.
Kirihara.
“Son of God,” he corrected, holding himself upright. He tilted his chin up, unwilling to show weakness before one who had groveled rather than gain, and let his wings sweep out.
The sunlight did not catch on the gold tips and throw a thousand dancing rainbow lights before him; instead, his wings were black now, feathered full and soft, and they ate up the sunshine like the silence of the night ate sound.
“I am his Son, as are you, Kirihara,” The Child of God spoke confidently, letting his voice ring out with the same passion and conviction that had made an army rise to his Call. “And as I have been treated, so shall you be treated. Look now upon what he has made of me.”
Black-winged, cloven hoofed, fanged and horned in some twisted parody of the angels who dwelt up high; he was marked now, neither man nor angel, but some third sort of foul thing that held none of God’s grace.
Kirihara’s gaze, green as spring grass, drifted over the Child of God and fixed, at last, on the violet eyes.
Angels bled golden ichor and bruised pink, but humans bruised purple.
“You should not have rebelled,” Kirihara said, shifting his hold on his sword.
“You should have rebelled with me,” the Child of God said, stepping closer to Kirihara. Kirihara lifted the sword and the blade blazed blue, brilliant as the sky above them, but the Child of God smiled.
“Will you strike me down, then? In His mercy, he spared me. Do you think you know better than Him?”
The first flicker of doubt in Kirihara’s eyes was a delight to see.
Kirihara lowered the sword but watched warily as the fallen angel approached.
“What do you want?” He asked and received his answer in the tender press of soft lips against his.
Corruption could come execution-swift, wished upon disobedient angels by their maker, or it could be as slow and subtle as a tongue insinuating itself into another’s mouth.
Pride. Lust.
And when Kirihara shoved the Child of God back, wiped a panicked hand over his mouth, it completed the trifecta.
Wrath.