Drekoth is another story. Hell, he’s a whole other book, written in a language no one else can read. He’s perfectly happyletting things continue in the status quo, and is only concerned with himself.
And his big-ticket items?
Turning me into a glorified hairdresser and hook-up coordinator.
That's not a euphemism for anything other than exactly what it sounds like. As an incubus, Drekoth requires sexual energy to keep his stores filled. I would never fault or judge him for that.
No, what I fault him for is making meorganizehis buffet. Every Saturday night, I have to stand in Hellraiser’s Tavern with a fucking clipboard labelled ‘Drekoth’s Naughty Nation Sign-Up Station’ and schedule his hook-up appointments for the week. Not only do I make a fool of myself as I plan my boss’s sex life in a little black book, but I’m expected to answer questions about hisperformanceas well.
“How long does he last?” Pop some popcorn. It’ll be ready by the time you leave.
“How big is his cock?” Obscenely large and yet, he somehow still cannot find the G spotorthe prostate. Honestly, that takes skill.
“Is he a dirty talker?” If you like weird baby talk, incoherent babbling, and a tendency to shout his own name as he climaxes, then yes.
“What’s his signature move?” There’s this thing he does, where he moves his hips as fast as he can.Inhumanlyfast. I call it ‘the jackhammer,’ and it’s possible you’ll get traumatic brain injury once he’s done. If you’re lucky, it’ll help you forget this mess ever happened.
Micah brings me back to the present when he emits a low, menacing growl from his fancy little podium, and when I glance up, I’m startled by the intensity of his lilac eyes. An ethereallight shines from inside them, like miniature lightning strikes dancing in their depths.
“Apologies, Drekoth. I forget your mind doesn’t work as quickly as the rest of us in this room.” I snort a laugh as he arches a perfectly sculpted brow. His eye twitches ever so slightly, and you know this bitch is about to blow. The Archangel has a famous temper, and everyone knows it doesn’t take much to make him explode. A vein throbs in his neck, thudding against the smooth porcelain skin.
The edge of my tongue drags across the pointed tips of my teeth, wondering what that vein would feel like fluttering under my lips. I bet I could bite him and smell his fear.
Bet I could make it thump even faster.
Ugh,what the fuck?Too long coordinating someone else’s sex life has turned my own into nothing more than a fossilized memory, and now I’m sitting here fantasizing over one of the most annoying men in existence. Micah is almost as much of a pompous asshole as Drekoth, though he is easier on the eyes.
Micah is… hmm, how to explain him.
He’s like a seven-foot-tall sparkly stick up your ass, only prettier. High cheekbones, hot body, and shimmering white hair that flows down his back. Hair that would look really fucking nice wrapped around my hand while I mounted him from behind.
And dear sweet baby Jesus in a manger, you know that ass is tight.
My gaze drags over the defined lines of his face, stopping to stare at the pout of his lips as he fights a sneer. A quick, nearly imperceptible flicker of his eyes shows he’s aware of my attention, but they snap back to Drekoth in an instant.
The archangel tosses his shoulders back and stares down his nose, seeming to grow even larger. It’s rare I run intosomeone bigger than me, but Micah towers over me by a good six inches. His shirt fights against his bulging chest muscles, and holy fuck, I should not be getting hard at this.
Fucking Christ on a cracker, now I’m having to shift my hands to conceal the half-chub that’s demanding attention. I curse under my breath that there are no empty seats as I push on my dick, silently telling it to calm the fuck down.
“Wouldyoulike to run the show, Drekoth?” Micah asks, his voice turning deeper as he challenges The Lucifer.
“At least he’d make it quick,” I mutter. “Probably a minute or less, if I had to wager.” Damien snorts again as I realize the room is silent, and now everyone is staring at me.
Well, everyone except Drekoth, whose cheeks burn a deep blue as he fumes at the table. Something tells me I’m going to regret that later.
After the world’s longest silence, Micah finally continues. “The humans have already concocted this travesty of a mythical being, and without guidance, who knows what it could mutate into? It’s time we take control over the narrative. We need to make an official position for The Easter Bunny.”
“You’re joking.” Niklaus’s brows almost meet in the middle of his forehead.
“Does this look like my joking face?” Micah snaps.
“Oh, yes, that’s exactly what it looks like,” I say with a sarcastic smile. “Especially if your joking face is the same as your constipated face.” He glares at me until I drop my eyes to the ground, biting back a grin.
Micah’s hand flourishes as a series of images pop up behind him, projected by some unseen heavenly power. “These are depictions of The Easter Bunny, taken from a popular human news website called Reddit, which I hear is very reliable. As you can see, they are quite disturbing.”
A horrifying slideshow of enormous, grotesque rabbits flashes across the wall. Giant heads and unblinking eyes, painted faces and fake teeth, and fuzzy costumes that look more like pajamas with ears sewn on the hood. In every single image, screaming children sit on their laps and fight to escape.
“Dear God,” Azrael mutters, rightfully horrified.
