Work Text:
Mostima stands alone in Exusiai’s private room aboard Rhodes Island, she smiles as easily as she unlocked the door and let herself in. The autolights blink awake, and muddy the floor with the fallen one’s shadow. A mirror in darkness of the halo like a hole looming over her head. The room is cluttered with Exusiai’s half finished thoughts. Assorted sneakers in all colours piled by the door. Laundry in standout colours not quite folded all the way, brand-name bulky headphones hanging out of desk drawers wires slithering under stacks of cassette tapes and between piled clothes. Takeout bags crumpled up against standing neon cans of one energy drink or another. Mostima flicks her tail annoyed but laughs all the same at the angel’s unchanging nature. She makes room for herself without a second thought, pushing clutter out of her way with a foot. She has in hand a gift of macarons, from some talented patissiere in far away Victoria.
Through the path she cleared, Mostima takes her seat at Exusiai’s desk. Their stickered laptop is open and on. Plenty of tabs in their browser, news articles about the laterano music scene’s latest, a review for a portable mixing board, ticket watch for some bands upcoming tour, a site with a saved design for another pair of custom kicks, A CG Gallery of some porn game. And on and on. Another window buried under the tabs mumbles low volume lo-fi through the laptop speakers. Mostima slides the computer to the side and sets down her gift. Flipping open the lid to grab one of the sweets for herself. She reaches over to the laptop, tabbing windows and skipping through tracks until she finds something to her taste.
Bite by bite through the pastry she sates her boredom. Sifting through the mess on the desk, to grab a ratty notebook with a worn out spine, the many years and rough handling it’s seen counted in strips of tape. Mostima lifts it from beneath a handful of unopened condoms, grabbing another macaron, tapping her foot to the rhythm of the music.
“Lyrics, huh?” She reads aloud the title of the book, written plain in thick dark marker. A couple exclamation points and an underline added in for emphasis. A halo in place of the dot of the I, a devil’s tail trailing off the Y. She runs her hand across the coffee stained cover she’s seen so many times, smiling as she flips it open. She’s read this book before, most of it anyway. Exusiai’s always writing new songs, changing that ending of blank pages. It’s like a diary of a sort for them. Mostima thumbs through the songs she’s heard already, stopping at the latest entry in progress. Barely legible ballpoint scratched down without much heed for the layout of the lined paper. Entire sections crossed out or circled or with arrows leading back to other passages.
“Jeez, did I forget to lock it again?” Exusiai’s voice enters the room just ahead of them. They hop in on one foot, trying to undo the velcro on their sneakers. Carrying pinched between their fingers a keyring full and colourful. Tiny higashi mascots in chipped paint haphazardly clipped on. A fancy shopping bag from Lungmen’s Paci Plaza hangs off their arm. Wearing a coat, bland and distinctly not their style. They drop everything, their evening plans clattering to the ground at the sight of Mostima. They say not a word but the room grows brighter by the second, lit by the suddenly rising sun over their head. The fallen angel shields her eyes, letting out a quiet laugh as Exusiai’s wings flare with excitement.
“Saved you a seat.” She pats her lap and smiles, casually setting aside the notebook.
Within the span of one held breath, Exusiai is straddling Mostima’s legs. Their arms over her shoulders, hands dipping through the stream of her hair. Confirming the crook of her smile the depth of blue in her eyes, the roughness of her horns against the side of their head as they anchor her in a hug and breathe deeply that dusty sweat of crossroads and thunderstorms and hot weather still clinging to the nape of her neck the fuzz of her coat collar.
“Hey,” Mostima flicks Exusiai’s halo and they jerk back dizzy, “I brought you a gift.”
“Really? For me?” They radiate in her arms, watch her lips for every word as it forms. They smile ear to ear and the back of their mind bites back questions of How long? When? Where? Why? Having learned each ask picks a sliver of seconds off the scab of time they have together.
“Here.” Mostima holds out a macaron, “Happened to stop in on a whim and they turned out not half bad.”
Exusiai’s quick to bite, fitting the whole thing in their mouth at once. The devil laughs and lashes her tail. She shakes her head and turns her attention to the one thing out of place,
“Change your style recently?” She tugs at the collar of the coat over their shoulders. Barely a drop of colour, mostly white save some red accenting on the sleeve, all too similar to the Penguin Logistics work uniform for Exusiai to be wearing it on off time. And it reeks of smoke.
“Hm?” Exusiai raises an eyebrow confused, and looks down, “Oh! Tex lent it to me, we went to see a movie but the theater was cold!”
They ramble on about the plot of the movie, crime drama or something, and how Texas didn’t seem to like it much. Mostima’s eyes drift away at the heed of her lost attention. She feeds Exusiai another macaron to put a pause in their chattering, wiping crumbs off their cheek. She gestures to the lyricbook.
“Not writing songs about me anymore?”
“Oh, uh—” Their brow draws together, once so rapt in studying Mostima’s face, they now look away.
“Hey, it’s alright.” Her voice is friendly, sweet. She reaches under their jacket, to the necklace dangling, a silver cross. She takes it between thumb and forefinger, tracing it’s length from nail to nail.
“Do you still think about me when you pray?” She looks to the cross, but stares at something much further than simple arms reach.
“Yeah…” Exusiai chews their lip, watching the practiced movement of her fingers. “Hard not to, haha.” Their laugh is quiet, a little nervous.
The two meet eyes and Mostima nods, accepting, open.
“Are you going to pray tonight?” Her smile is reflected in the ocean of her stare, deep, blue, dark. Exusiai is lost in the waves, and a question slips out,
“Are you gonna stay?”
“I might.” She laughs, and winces, at the burst of bright like a heartbeat from their halo. “I hear my favourite artist is in the area, and they’ve written a new song.” She discards the cross, and runs her thumb across Exusiai’s collarbone, up their neck, their ear. “Would you sing it for me?”
“Y-Mnh, I dunno—it’s—” Torn and unable to straighten their thoughts with her fingers working they lean forward head pressed against hers, burning up.
“You’re very talented, Exusiai. I’d love to hear it. What you’ve written. Your voice,” She cups gently Exusiai’s face, pulling them back to look long in to their eyes, “Your breath.” She slides her hands down their neck, across their shoulders and under the coat. She plies away the fabric, satisfied only when it falls away limp to the floor. Leaning in, a kiss on their cheek a whisper in their ear,
“Sing for me and I’ll stay a while. Sing for me and you won’t have to pray alone tonight.”
They press against Mostima’s head kept just out of reach by the scraping of her horns, and whine. They jerk their hips when she bites,
“Um, is it okay if I record it? On my phone? I might wanna, sample this later maybe?”
Mostima speaks through each kiss, breath hot on their neck,
“Go ahead, I’ll make sure to praise you if you do a good job.”
“O-oh? Yeah?” Exusiai’s excitement is bright enough to burn. Head fuzzy they struggle their phone from a pocket, and gasp
“Oh! Shoot! Uh, I don’t want to like, kill the mood but would it be okay if I sent Tex a message real quick?” They bring their hands together in prayer, ever so earnest,
Mostima leans back with a sigh, and grabs a macaron, waving Exusiai on,
“Sure, go ahead. Say hi to her for me.”
Exusiai/Theyngel [5:30PM]: Tex!!!! D:
Exusiai/Theyngel [5:30PM]: I kno we were gonna meetup again l8r but
Exusiai/Theyngel [5:30PM]: can we pls resched tonite??
Exusiai/Theyngel [5:30PM]: Mos came by
Exusiai/Theyngel [5:30PM]: I rly rly rly wanna hang out with her cause like…
Exusiai/Theyngel [5:30PM]: I mean…you know how she is and like…
read 5:30pm
Exusiai/Theyngel [5:31PM]: I see you reading the messages!! Respond!!!
Exusiai/Theyngel [5:32PM]: r u mad? :(
Exusiai/Theyngel [5:32PM]: im sorry :((
Exusiai/Theyngel [5:32PM]: Ill make it up to u! PRomis!
Exusiai/Theyngel [5:33PM]: Swear to G*d!
Exusiai/Theyngel [5:33PM]: Okay???
read 5:33pm
Texas/Penguin Logistics [5:33]: okay.
So starts their song, of cigarette smoke and golden swords, beer bottles and cum. Mostima looks on patiently, listens in earnest to the angel on her lap. She smiles, her devil’s tail ensnaring Exusiai’s leg as she watches the glow of their halo, always building in her presence. At every touch, every suggestion of touch, of given attention, always brighter. She leans forward reaching around to fiddle with the glittering shards of their wings while they sing. She softly bites their earlobe, and kisses them a whisper,
“Keep going, Exusiai. Don’t stop. You’re doing such a good job.”
They clench their jaw and shiver as she fingers the edge of one luminous fragment, like a sharpened borealis. Electric connected currents, her fingers on the wing send striking white shivers up and down their spine. Exusiai’s rhythm stutters through a record scratch, holding tight to Mostima as she toys with their wings. Jumbling the chorus of cargo and gunpowder, but steadying as she pulls her hand back. She strokes their hair, and their grip loosens in inches, words flowing more easily across the growing smile on their lips as Mostima leaves heavy-handed hickies on their neck.
Fingers pattern a slithering snake under the light cloth of their shirt, pressing lower and lower and burying in the hair between their legs. She cups her palm against Exusiai’s cunt, smirking, her tail flicks. She laughs at how wet they are, at how little work she has to do, at how their voice stumbles and falters once more with each press and push and slide of her fingers. Halo burning brighter Exusiai’s legs tighten around Mostima, all moan as they trip their way through the chorus one last time. In sputters and spurts they finish, wet and sloppy squirting against the devil’s palm, head emptied and hazy thighs quake and they slump locking the fallen angel in a hug.
Mostima strokes their head gently, slowly pulling her hand from their pants, praising the angel on her lap,
“That was wonderful. You’ve always been good, but I can tell you’ve been practicing.” She fingers a strand of hair over their ear, and they barely manage a mumbled Thank You.
“Exusiai,” She says their name through her smile and the word comes out honeyed, and the angel’s like a fly to paper. “You’ve always been good with your mouth.” She grabs Exusiai by the wrist, pulling their hand from her shoulder, guiding her down, voice breathy as she pushes it against the bulge in her shorts. “Have you gotten better at that too?”
It’s a quick trip to the bed, clothing tossed off and laundry pushed aside with little care for where things may fall. Unmade covers kicked away and pillows bunched. Exusiai’s halo bobs between Mostima’s long legs, just as sloppy as that final verse they sang. They know the shape of her cock, have held it in their mouth over and over, learned and re-learned what felt good for Mostima, what would make her stay the longest. They look her in they eyes often as they can, run their tongue flat against the underside of her tip. Laughing as they taste sure enough each drip of her building satisfaction. There are things that Exusiai knows about Mostima, that nobody else does, and on their knees with one hand free, they think of these while they pray. Mostima has a habit of curling her toes during sex, she gets dizzy when she cums, she doesn’t like her wings touched, anymore. She tries very hard to stay quiet when she fucks, but usually fails. Mostima moans through gritted teeth, one hand white knuckling a handful of Exusiai’s hair as her toes dig in to the bed. Their phone is on the nightstand now, still recording.
“Blweh…” Exusiai sits back after a moment, lets a pooling string of clear liquid drip off their tongue on to the bedsheets, and laughs “It’s like flat soda.”
“Don’t play with your food.” Mostima catches her breath inbetween each word, pushing hair out of her eyes, detangling her horns from the pillow.
“You used to have really salty cum but its like stickier and kinda sweet now and it like, takes a little bit to come out.” They rub Mostima’s leg, “Hey I wanna make you cum again! Wanna cum in my ass?” Mostima laughs, brushing aside the question in favour of her own. In a half sit, She grabs a pack of cigarettes off the nightstand,
“These yours?”
“What? Oh, no those belong to Tex!” They start with a smile that slowly dims by subtle degrees, as they watch Mostima take one from the pack and bring it to her lips. A thought in some corner of their head where the light from their halo can’t reach, clicking in to place. The fallen angel gestures with the cigarette, asking for approval, without really asking. Exusiai shakes loose whatever gear had been turning in their head,
“Uh, yeah, go ahead Tex smokes in here even though I don’t know if we’re supposed to?”
Mostima hums a non-answer, and lights up. One long pull and the smoke drifts through the air like yarn in water. She takes another drag and lets her head fall against the pillow, cigarette hand dangling off the side of the bed. Exusiai sits expectant, not sure what to do with themself, until Mostima beckons them closer. They cuddle eagerly against her, pushing against Mostima’s body, sweaty and sticky and treasuring the sensation of their bodies fitting together. They watch her face closely, and fiddle between their legs to no real end. Pushing back the lapping waves of mixed emotions, of seeing Mostima, smelling Texas.
“Exusiai.” She combs a hand through their hair, and like that the stray thoughts are brushed away.
“Hm?”
“You’re too honest. You should learn to lie a bit more.”
They go for another hour or two, Exusiai filled every which way and emptied out. Glowing, exhausted, drifting off on a bed soaked with sweat and cum. Mostima slowly slips her tail out of Exusiai’s grip, smiling at this last little attempt to make her stay, no doubt. She picks up Exusiai’s phone from the nightstand, and speaks in to the mic,
“Goodnight, Exusiai.” Before turning off the recording.
She’s quick to slip her clothing on, well practiced in the art of leaving, and is out the door with the last macaron in hand.
Rhodes Island is docked at Lungmen, and she has a delivery to make in the area. So through the halls of the mobile base she travels, heading heavensward to the upper floors. She’s friendly to those that cross her path, a smile and wave, some small talk until eventually she sets foot top deck. The wind is heavy tonight. There are no stars in the sky, no moon. Grey clouds, empty horizons. And the yellow eyes of a wolf smoking alone in the dark.
As with those she met in the halls beneath her feet, she’s cordial and quick to smile. Leaning against the railing by the shadow, both of them with their backs to the city. All the hustle and honk and bluster going unheeded. Instead staring out at the nothing landscape the mobile based crossed to get here.
“Hey Texas. Nice weather, isn’t it?”
The wolf says nothing, as is her habit. She pulls a pack of cigarettes from a pocket, offering one to the fallen angel, who laughs.
“Thanks but I’ll pass, you have terrible taste in smokes.” Mostima shifts, to sit on the railing, turning her back on the road traveled, “Exusiai’s getting really fond of you.” She watches the wolf for any reaction, but there is none. “They’re writing a song about you even! It’s not half bad, honestly.”
“Hm.” The wolf says as much, and continues looking out in to the dark. Mostima narrows her eyes, but her smile never falters, looking more at home in this night than under Exusiai’s light, and it’s through this smile in shadow she speaks,
“It’s a little odd though, how you never seem to say anything to Exusiai when I come around,“ She laughs, “You tend to just step aside and let them fall apart on me.”
The wolfs ears flatten, for a moment, but return to attention as she sighs away a cloud of smoke. Still, she says nothing. And still, Mostima smiles.
“I got to wondering, if it’s just too much effort for you to romance Exusiai when I’m away. It’s a lot easier to just scoop up the pieces, after all.”
She pushes off the railing heading towards the city, giving a wave of her hand “Anyway, thanks for always putting them back together for me.”
Texas turns now, and spits, yet no emotion crosses her face. She flicks her cigarette at the fallen angel’s back as easily as tossing away trash. The spinning ash slows and slows as it draws closer, coming to a stop mid fall. Mostima casually turns and plucks it out of the air and takes the last drag left on it, and smiles,
“Come to think of it, you’re more Vulture than Wolf, aren’t you?”