Page 6 of Scrooged for the Holidays
Malachi
Myphonechimesinthe background from somewhere on the bar top behind us, but I’m lost in the haze of Samael kneeling in front of me, his mouth wrapped around the ruddy head of my dick.
“That’s it; such a good fucking boy for me.” The sides of his hair are buzzed tight, but the top is a mop of dark-brown and silver strands I can grip. My hold makes it easy to thrust my hips forward so my length slides further down his throat.
He swallows me down, no gag reflex to be found—perks of being a Nephilim and lots of practice. We’ve been together for hundreds of years at this point—we know how to please each other.
Sam’s near-black eyes simmer as if he can hear my thoughts, but I have our angel comms—as I like to call them—closed off for the time being so we can’t communicate telepathically. He needs to be focused on me and only me right now. Besides, what fun would topping him be if he could hear my orders before I gave them?
I take one of my hands from his hair and grip his chin, pressing my thumb to his cheek and applying pressure. His mouth opens wider, and his grip on my bare ass tightens. Fuck, I love when he’s on his knees for me, when he lets me use him formy pleasure. It gives me the power I sometimes crave—usually when I feel like the least powerful of my Nephilim counterparts.
Being the offspring of “The Angel of Death” makes Sam arguably as powerful as Remiel, if not slightly more. Sam disagrees, but I think that’s only because he has a hard time accepting his angel side, unlike Remi and me. I know Remi agrees with me. Because let’s face it, what is more powerful than death? It is the be-all and end-all, what starts the cycle of life over again.
Then there’s Remiel and why he’s considered the most powerful, why he was brought first to Elysian Pines to guard it. His father is Michael.TheArchangel Michael. Protector of the righteous, defender against evil. “He who is like God,” whatever that means.
We don’t actually know. Because while you’d think Nephilim, angelkind, would have met the all-knowing, all-seeing God, we have not. Nor have we been to heaven.
To us, God is simply an idea, a thought, a power. A power that we believe influenced our angel fathers to seek out our human mothers and create us. A power that eventually drew each of us to Elysian Pines, giving us not only a safe place to dwell with others like us but also a job and a purpose: to protect the town—or perhaps more accurately, to help and guide humans in need, those the town brings to us.
While I’m strong, and my father Gabriel was a powerful Archangel, my grace is more muted, probably affected by my human side. My Italian mother was a historian and a sweet woman. She claimed my father came to her in a dream, they fell in love, and less than a year later, I was born.
Since I aged slower than other children and was different in other ways, too, I was eventually drawn to Elysian Pines centuries ago and took the job I have now. My grace and lineage allow me to see the past and help those who come into our care learn from it so they can live their best lives if they so choose. Itfits perfectly with Remi’s abilities to show the present and Sam’s to show the future.
We are the perfect trio, brought together by fate and the godlike power we believe fuels Elysian Pines. Honestly, a lot about our lives and of being a Nephilim doesn’t make sense. I’ve found and studied as much as I could over the many years I’ve been alive, but while I can see the past and learn from it, I don’t dwell on it. Everything that’s happened led me here, to my life with Remi and Sam, whom I love and who love me. They always know what I need, just like I always know what they need.
In Samael’s case, he needs me now. Needs to let go under my care, for me to be in control so he doesn’t have to think.
He gets in his head about things, and ever since we felt that shift in energy last night, he’s been off. I have, too, but I don’t spiral like Sam does. I’m more carefree in that way. I learn from the past but live more in the present, like Remi. I trust Elysian Pines to settle whatever has gotten its panties in a twist whereas Sam wants to know the answers—to see the future before his grace allows.
I grip my brooding lover’s chin tighter, our gazes locked while he continues to bring me pleasure like he was born to do it. He’d stay on his knees with my cock in his mouth for as long as I commanded it right now.
“You gonna make me come, Samael?” I ask.
He answers by hollowing his cheeks as best he can with my cock stuffed in his mouth. I glance to one of the booths on the opposite side of the room. Before this started, Sam and I came to my bar, The Drift, to have a drink, which evolved into him getting on his knees.
It’s dark in here yet warm and inviting with an endless fireplace crackling on one side surrounded by comfy chairs. The walls are decorated with a mix of holiday decor and memorabilia from different eras, giving it the feel of a family-run bar.
When we get humans in town, this is often the first place they come. It makes them feel at home. Safe. Welcome. Whichis exactly how they should feel, how Iwantthem to feel. It’s also a place where Nephilim who live here come to talk and connect. Some of them “work” here when we have visitors from the outside, so the town appears like any other small mountain town instead of a magical one. But right now, it’s just Sam and me.
I let go of his hair and jaw, tapping his reddened cheek lightly as my wet length slides from his swollen lips, my veiny shaft glistening in the firelight to the right of us.
“Crawl to the booth,” I command. “Lay flat on your back, head over the edge and mouth wide.”
On a normal day, if I told Sam to crawl, he’d grab me by my hair and make me crawl instead. I would not complain, because I enjoy submitting and often do. But not today. Like I said, Sam needs this.
So, like a good boy, he does as I ask without complaint. My gaze follows his tight ass as he crawls on his hands and knees to the booth. The muscles flex against the formal black slacks he likes to wear. A pearl of pre-cum drips from my dick in desire.
He stands when he arrives at the booth so he can get into position, laying down with his feet near the wall and his head exactly where I want it. I fist my cock, but it’s no longer wet. Sam’s heated gaze watches me upside down as I spit in my hand for lubrication, tugging my shaft to keep myself hard.
“Are you ready for me, baby?”
“Yes, Malachi.”
Heat pools low in my belly at my name. He only calls me Malachi when we’re in this dynamic or he’s angry/annoyed at me. Otherwise, it’s always Kai.
“I’d like to touch your naked body—is that okay?” I ask.
“Yes, Malachi.”
