If it had been any other person, this development would have been put to an end immediately. Azrael was not a small man, not by any stretch of the imagination, and it would have taken no effort at all to not allow someone to drag him along against his will. A simple planting of his feet on the ground, a twist of his wrist, or even more violent action, like lashing out in an attempt to break free, would have put this all to an immediate end.
But the person dragging him was Pavel.
And he was holding Azrael's hand.
As he stared Dumbly at the back of his golden head, Azrael's feet moved without his input or consent and he passed the threshold into the dilapidated foyer of the Lotus. Dark walls closed in tightly around him, low lighting making it hard to see anything at all. Azrael entered that building that he, never in a million years, imagined himself entering for any reason. Especially not with Pavel.
Unblinking, Azrael watched Pavel wordlessly communicate with someone he assumed to be the person in charge who emerged from a back room. Their face was shrouded in shadows. His spare hand threw up a signal of some kind as the other person nodded and held up four fingers on one hand and two on the other. There was barely a moment for Azrael to consider what the hell that even meant nor more than a millisecond for him to look at the other person that Pavel knew before he was forced into a very cramped hallway.
It smelled far too much of mildew for Azrael's sensitive nose and his wings touched the damp wallpaper on both sides of the narrow walkway. Desperately, he pressed his wings as close to his back as he could, the muscles cramping from the strain. Humidity hugged his skin relentlessly – it felt like sweat was beading down his back. Azrael tried to focus on only the more pleasant warmth and pressure of Pavel's hand in his but he couldn't stop worrying, panicking, and being entirely confused as to what was happening and why the hell he was here.
From what Azrael had seen of Pavel from afar, what he had learnt in the few hours they had spent face-to-face and the assumptions he could make from their parallel life experiences, this didn't seem like something he would do normally. This was a part of his life that Azrael doubted he was proud of, so he couldn't understand why Pavel was bringing him into the depressing reality of it all. The epicentre of everything wrong with the life he was living.
Perhaps he wants me to see it up close now I've seen the aftermath? It was a potential explanation but it didn't seem right – Azrael had told him something incredibly personal but he would never think to take Pavel to the graveyard he had been cultivating for seven years to get the point across. Pavel didn't know that he was, by all definitions of the word, a serial killer, that he had killed in more than just self-defence as a panicked child and that was something he intended to keep disguised. What in god's name is he thinking?
Fortunately, despite his confusion, Azrael noticed they had ascended a few flights of stairs and had re-entered the cramped hallways through a door emblazoned with a '4'. Azrael made a connection, finally. Floor 4, Room 2?
Azrael wouldn't describe himself as particularly intelligent nor particularly stupid – maybe slightly below average if he scrutinised himself – but it was embarrassing that he didn't think of that straightway. Arguably, it was very obvious but hindsight was a virtue. It took everything in him to cut himself the slack of being deeply confused and out of his element but, even then, he was irritated.
His mind was settling back down so Azrael was not nearly as confused as he had been for the last handful of minutes but he definitely didn't know what was going on. They halted their progress outside the door labelled '2' as Pavel jiggled with the handle. "They always give me the rooms with busted fucking doors."
Pavel was muttering to himself now, so there was some relief to be found that he had regained his voice but Azrael's intrigue about why he was here was not abating in the slightest. His eyes drifted down to their hands and his brow creased, caught in his thoughts.
It was a weirdly pleasant feeling.
He had held hands with people before, with someone that he loved- don't. Don't go there.
This was new and Azrael did not like new. Despite that, he still just stared at Pavel's hand and his. That tanned complexion seemed, somehow, much more handsome when contrasted against the lack of colour on Azrael's skin. Pavel's fingers seemed so soft in comparison to his unsightly black talons. The layer of golden fur on his knuckles and the back of his hands, the fact that Azrael's skin was hairless with hard scales instead. The way his mammalian warmth flowed against his reptilian chill. So completely dissimilar. Azrael didn't get a chance to stare for longer, to linger on their differences and further muddle himself with these peculiar emotions because Pavel finally opened the door and tugged Azrael out of the hallway into a surprisingly spacious, pleasant room.
After a less brief look about, the room was not actually pleasant at all but, contrasting the rest of the building, it was at least not falling apart nor did it have mold spreading in places that Azrael could see. The bed frame seemed to be some sort of silvery crushed velvet, terribly dated, and the bedding was a red that could only be described as the colour of sex. The walls were lined with so many different contraptions and toys that it made Azrael feel like a bashful virgin. It was astoundingly overwhelming to be in a place of such sensuality when he had become so used to a life very separate from that side of life. By choice, he had been living like a monk, though, Azrael couldn't really even say if it was actually a choice. Other reasons made just as much, if not more, sense: a complete lack of desire, the fear of the intimacy that comes from sex or a delayed response to everything that had happened to him. Pooling in Azrael's stomach, dread as heavy as molten lead grew more and more.
Forcing himself to steady his voice so he didn't choke on his words or let it be known how uncomfortable he truly was, Azrael took a moment before speaking. In a strained, half-whisper, "Why did you bring me here? Is what you wanted to say private?"
"Something like that." Pavel's voice had a peculiar lilt to it, not one that he had spoken to Azrael in at any point in their brief acquaintance. His heart sank into his stomach, while his stomach rose to his throat as the most overwhelmingly revolting feeling overwhelmed him. Vertigo blurred his vision.
Azrael knew that tone.
Pavel didn't know that he knew that tone. It took everything in his body not to exclaim or flee or do something entirely reckless that would ruin the fragile trust they had constructed. Azrael definitely couldn't allow what Pavel was planning to happen, to happen.
Azrael hoped Pavel couldn't see it but he could feel his hands shaking as he pressed them against his thighs. It was the first time in many years he had felt such visceral fear. Unsure what to do, Azrael continued to just stare at the bed, blinking rapidly, as he heard every little movement Pavel was making behind him. All he could hear was the blood pumping through his head and Pavel. Being so constantly aware of him had swiftly become another form of torment. Thundering in his chest, Azrael's heart became uncontrollable.
Fabric rustled and a light impact against the carpet and Azrael knew a garment had been removed. He hoped it was just Pavel's shirt. Azrael had seen him topless, clothed only in boxers or a towel, so that would be manageable but he had no idea what to do if Pavel exposed himself entirely in front of him. I have to put a stop to this. I'll never be able to look him in the eyes again.
Azrael's heart thundered in his chest as he felt the tips of Pavel's delicate fingers trace the swoop of his tense wing. So light it was barely there, but with enough pressure that it tickled. It was an unpleasant, unwelcome and unwanted feeling. Against his will, his wing quivered under the strange touch and Pavel let out a breathy giggle. That's not your laugh.
Pavel was playing a part now. He wasn't being him. He was treating Azrael like a client but he didn't know if it was because he wanted to create distance between them or if he felt he had a debt to repay and this was the only way he could do it. The man didn't have money so all he thought he could give that Azrael would want was his body itself. Azrael stiffened as he felt Pavel's hand drag up the length of his wing before lazily placing it on his shoulder. His breath was so close that Azrael could hear the saliva in the man's throat, the air brushing against the point of his ear. Azrael's face contorted uncontrollably for a second before he regained his composure.
Azrael's body was hot all over as he heard Pavel, no, he felt him, stepping forward. Pavel was walking in front of him, he could see the movement in the corner of his eyes, but he never once moved his gaze from the vibrant, burning red of that bedding. It was all Azrael could see as the edges of his vision began to blur and dim and warp. Bile rose in his throat.
It took Azrael a second to realise that he had begun to breathe heavily, almost hyperventilating but not quite. Pavel didn't seem to pick up on the peculiarity of Azrael's behaviour as the main's face suddenly filled up his vision, the expression on his face not one of concern. Maybe he does, but he just thinks it's my form of arousal. His heavy-lidded stare, glassy-eyed and the way Pavel bit at his lip was evidence enough that was still trying to seduce Azrael.
As Azrael's body remained still, his chest heaving, Pavel slid his hand from where it rested on his shoulder down Azrael's body. His fingers danced across the fabric of his t-shirt, barely touching the skin beneath it until the movement came to a stop at the belt on Azrael's trousers. In his daze, Azrael looked down for a moment to see what his hands were doing.
It took all of his strength to not shove Pavel away when he saw how much naked flesh was on show. He could see the way his painfully thin hips jutted out, bones pressed against his skin. Azrael could see the thick trail of blonde pubic fur leading from his belly button that went down, down, down until the barely-there underwear he wore thinly covered his crotch. Hastily, he looked back up, breathe caught in his throat, and met Pavel's eyes as Azrael felt the colour on his cheeks deepen and spread – he knew that every inch of his non-scaled skin was painted a red so deep it would rival the bedding.
What do I do, what do I do, what do I do!
His answer was given to him when the face that had been filling Azrael's vision surged forward until Pavel's lips pressed against his. Whatever breath he had left in his lungs was knocked out and Azrael was lost to the sensation for far longer than he should have been. He didn't reciprocate, not intentionally, as Pavel moved his mouth against Azrael's, his lips soft and warm, desperate. A whimper escaped his throat. Pavel's hands wrapped around Azrael's waist, pulling his lower body towards his and, and, and-
Finally, Azrael snapped back to reality.
His limbs regained their mobility and he took a step back as he raised his arms so he could put his hands on Pavel's shoulders. Calmly, but promptly, Azrael pushed Pavel away from him and severed the contact points he had pressed to him. His warm lips unlatched from Azrael's and Pavel's wandering hands fell back to his sides as he let out a grumble, seemingly frustrated. Pavel's eyes refused to meet Azrael's. "Would you prefer to be on the bed? Or would you prefer if I didn't kiss you on the lips?"
"Please. " Azrael stared down at him. "Don't."
Unable to stop it, his voice quivered, hitching in the back of his throat as he faintly tightened his grip on Pavel's shoulders. Azrael wanted Pavel to look at him and realise that this was not what he wanted from him, that it had never been and he didn't need to force himself to repay Azrael. Just look, please. Look at me once. Please.
Pavel's head shot up at the tone Azrael used, barely assertive, practically begging, and his eyes widened when their eyes met. Azrael could feel he had a mad, desperate look in his gaze, glistening with the tears that would have fallen if this had gone any further. Pavel gulped and took a step back from him as well, Azrael's hands dropping free of his shoulders. "Did… is this… this isn't what you want from me? But… but why else would you bother with me? Why… else?"
Obviously, it was unsurprising that Pavel thought this of Azrael and of himself but it still stung to hear him say it. Azrael's hands had fallen back to his sides so he reached out to give Pavel a comforting touch, wanting to put his hand back on the man's shoulder but he dropped down of reach. Pavel's body collided with the bed and he sat there, staring up at Azrael helplessly. Azrael's hand hung in the air.
He was desperately out of his element. When Azrael comforted Pavel yesterday, he had needed physical touch, an embrace, but now he was retreating from that. Azrael didn't know how to speak to him to bring Pavel comfort beyond the most basic of platitudes so all he could do was stand there, looking down at him. The world swirled around Azrael.
Against his better judgment, Azrael dropped down onto his knees, trying not to think about what the hell was soaked into the old carpet beneath him, and waited for Pavel to stop shaking. They simply looked at each other as they individually worked through their thoughts before either of them made the situation worse with words. Azrael made sure to keep his gaze trained solely on his face, not wanting to disrespect Pavel or make him feel uncomfortable as he was still only in his revealing underwear.
Tentatively, Azrael placed his hand on Pavel's knee after a few more moments of silence and he was relieved that the man didn't flinch or back away this time. Taking a deep breath, he broke through the quiet. "Pavel, I don't want anything from you. You don't need to give me a thing." Azrael slowly pushed himself up and sat down next to Pavel on the vibrant bedsheet. Seeing that physical contact had helped him before and he was not retreating now, Azrael put his arm around Pavel's shoulder and placed his hand on his head, running his fingers through his golden hair. "I want to help you. Anything you want to offer me; I will accept only if it's not repayment. But this… this I do not want from you."
Pavel stiffened at these words, the most emotional thing Azrael had said to him outside of his confession, though he continued to lean his head towards Azrael's touch. His mind and body seemed to want different things so it took him a while to respond. "…Okay." Finally, Pavel turned his head and hesitantly met Azrael's concerned gaze. "I understand. Uh, I… I think it's best if you go so I can work now."
It saddened Azrael that that was what Pavel wanted but he didn't want to push him or further ruin their fragile relationship. With a sigh, he agreed. "Mh. I'll leave."
Azrael stood back up and headed to the closed door of the room they were in, not looking back until he had opened it and was about to step into the hallway. Exhaling, he steadied himself against the door frame and looked at the fragile, almost naked man curled up on the bed. "Goodbye. Keep safe." Azrael sniffed back the last of his overwhelming emotions. Unwilling to leave Pavel without saying something else, he hesitantly said, "My… my house is always open to you."
Pavel nodded; a movement so slight that Azrael wouldn't have seen it if he didn't pay such close attention to his every movement. "Sure. I'll visit you again."
He couldn't tell if Pavel was lying or not.