Honey-berry chapstick

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When Ezekiel first noticed London, after the fighting and they were debating who was to stay on the station, an inky blackness had crawled across her face as she put away her bow, she had looked completely bored until it as time to leave Dio. There had been no long discussion and many hadn’t noticed the anguish crumple the space between her brows. Logic won the day but the set of her shoulders told of loss. None of her companions noticed the quick swipes at her eyes as she worked on Francis; she obviously had a soft spot for robots, how she crushed the fabric of her shirt in her fist as she stared out into the blackness of space on the trip back to Seteri. The depth of her feeling was well hidden beneath dismissive tone and caustic wit. She had called him pretty, and also insulted his intelligence in the same breath. He admitted to himself that he had found her a complete distraction from the start and that had only grown as he interacted with her throughout their adventures.

As he carried the sack with the craven beast -he hesitated to call that being a man in any capacity- who tortured and sold her vessel on that world. He watched her tremble in terror before donning her armor and dropping down her façade of studied indifference like the visor on a helm. She was just as much of a soldier as he. His orders were to assist and obey during her interrogation. It was the least bloody and most effective he had seen in eons. She had asked terrifying questions with malice dripping from every word. But instead, she granted mercy and clemency for one who showed her none and deserved less. None of that shocked him more than her flirting with him. And it wasn’t just during the interrogation, though that’s where it began. He had expected contempt and received praise and flattery.

He was delighted and surprised at how casually she asked him out, his amusement growing as the number of their dates increased, the more dire and/or life threatening the situation became. His acceptance was mostly curiosity. Some of it because she acted like his response was not the one she was looking for. Then there was the curiosity of what her mouth would feel like against his own. Something about this feisty little human made him want to protect her. Not that she needed it. He was well aware of how capable she was, but that did nothing to quell his highly protective nature.

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A few weeks before sending him to the station, Lucifer came to him and they took a walk. He chatted casually about this and that, the brilliance of his white wing almost blinding, while the darkness of his onyx one seemed to absorb that light. He thought he had made all the appropriate noises expected when a higher ranking Angel gave you orders. At he time he thought he was being punished, now he was sure the opposite was true. Lucifer said that what he was looking for in the temples of healing would find him if he was patient enough, and open minded enough to ‘look past the wrapping paper’.

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There are things that angels don’t disclose about being prayed to. With prayer there is an amount of emotional context that comes with the words. Intent is the first component of spells and prayers. The first time London prayed to him was when she had gone to fix the portal and stop Arya with the rest of the group, he had gotten a jumble of her emotions as well as the information she had intended to convey. Her fear for her new found friends, simmering rage and deep abiding sorrow for those lost. almost overwhelmingly her attraction to him and confusion about it screamed in equal measure.

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The soft pressure of her lips sent a flush of warmth to his limbs. Gently he suckled her bottom lip, the smoky berry of her lip balm not unpleasant. Gently the angel hands pulled her closer, his tongue dipping into her mouth. He could practically taste her inexperience, the nervous stiffness in the set of her shoulders gave him pause. Reluctantly, he pulled back just enough to break the kiss. “Twenty-seven and never been kissed?” She didn’t respond, instead pulling him into another kiss, fingertips resting soft as butterflies on the sides of his neck. She was a quick study her mouth molding to his as she grew more confident. “Shut up, I was busy being a genius.”

He rested his forehead against hers, worrying his lip with his teeth. He had seen several expressions flit across this woman’s face in the time he had known her, rage, delight, nervousness, even fear, but never this one. Lips flushed and kiss swollen, her eyes luminous and dark with desire as she looked at him. Ezekiel held himself as still as he could, not wanting to shatter this moment before he could commit it to memory. He wanted to enjoy this fleeting second in time, this fragment of bliss.

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