Chapter Text
Gabriel likes serving. He likes being useful. He likes being good for those greater than him.
It's… easier to accept it than to question it. If his superiors say all is well, then he can just close his eyes and follow orders. That he enjoys it is an additional benefit, though certainly not required. All the more reason not to question it.
“Good pet…”
The whisper above him and the approving hand at his crown makes his eyelids flutter. He has to swallow a pleased little mew, knowing any sound would disturb the business happening over his head.
He doesn't know what the Council is discussing. He doesn't care. His place is below the table with his mind empty and his mouth full.
It's leaking down his throat. The first few times, he was… concerned. Uncertain. Now, it's a sign that he's being good, that he's doing good. The taste of salt and flesh has become a familiar and comforting presence. He draws back to suck at the tip, tonguing at the slit for more of that liquid approval.
The hand on his head tightens, guiding him back down. He smiles to himself even as he relaxes his throat and stills once more. He liked serving Ramiel, Second Chair Of The Heavenly Council. They preferred when he kept them fully covered, but would allow him his small treats. He especially liked how they would pet him, fingers playing at the base of his skull or tracing the lines of his skull. It wasn't unusual to find himself at Ramiel’s feet at least once per meeting, and he can admit he often returns here whenever no one else has need of him.
It's easy to lose track of time and space when he's under the table. His helmet is… somewhere nearby. This is the only place he's allowed to remove it, trading it for the soft fabric of a veil. He recognizes that donning it makes him feel hazy and warm, knowing he'll be serving in his favorite way once it's on.
A snap.
He refocuses immediately. Anahel, Fifth Chair of the Heavenly Council, is calling for him.
He tilts his head, questioning. The Council had their own rules regarding his use, rules he didn't know or question. All he knew was not to move without his current… service being deemed complete.
Ramiel drags their blunted nails down his scalp before nudging him back. He goes easily, but not without licking away his saliva from their skin to leave them clean. That he's not expected to finish the job quickly is another reason he likes Ramiel.
He crawls across the floor to Anahel as quickly and quietly as he can. He's barely sat on his knees before her fingers are in his mouth. Her nails are kept clean and short, but the sharpened tips still cut into his tongue. He's such a good pet that he doesn't even flinch.
She gets bored easily, and likes to play with his mouth when she does. He keeps it slack and open wide, lapping at her fingertips when it seems appropriate. She taps her thumb against the corner of his mouth, and he imagines he can hear her playful cooing– she likes it when he acts like a dumb animal for her. He likes her praise, implied or otherwise.
The discussion continues. His thoughts go hazy again.
A finger against the back of his tongue. Another stretching the inside of his cheek.
One of his molars held between thumb and forefinger, his head shaking side to side as she tugs.
The taste of blood when she presses against one sharp canine until her skin splits, mixing with his own from his cut tongue.
Mouth held shut, sucking on two fingers with all the fervor of a hungry kitten.
His bottom lip pinched and split, healing quickly but leaving a trickle of dried blood on his chin.
His tongue stuck out, her thumb rocking back and forth against it. Slick and wet with his drool dripping from it.
Snap.
Uriel, Fourth Chair of the Heavenly Council, seated right beside Anahel. She doesn't want to be done with him, he knows it by her lingering touches, but she withdraws anyways and nudges him over with a light push.
Gabriel is honored to serve any of his superiors, but Uriel is… not known for mercy.
He opens his mouth and doesn’t resist the rough shove at the back of his head. He doesn't choke as it hits the back of his throat and just keeps going. He doesn't even tense when it settles deep in his esophagus, neck tilted at an awkward angle to keep his teeth out of the way.
He starts sucking without being ordered. Uriel isn't like the previous two– he wants to finish, he wants it quickly, and he wants Gabriel to do the work.
Gabriel is a good pet to know these things, and an even better pet to make them happen.
He starts moving, never withdrawing more than halfway before taking it all in again. He sucks as quietly as he can, even if that means getting messier than he likes. His veil sticks to his skin, wet by saliva and his watering eyes, but he doesn't slow. His neck and back ache with the constant strain.
It's… not an unpleasant experience. He shouldn’t have thought so poorly of his Councilor. It tastes good, leaking thin and sticky on his tongue, slicking his throat for better use. His eyes flutter closed as tears trickle down his cheeks, abandoning air to please Uriel.
The faint grunt above the table sounds like a choir of praise. A hand squeezes roughly at the back of his head, but doesn't tug him off. Instead, he's pushed down, down, down–
It twitches. He swallows his success, again and again and again as it pumps down his throat.
Uriel doesn't push him away when it stops, and he's allowed to slump against the Councilor's thigh, the softening flesh resting against his lips.
He keeps his eyes closed, purring silently as thick fingers massage his temples. Uriel may not be known for mercy, but he knows how to reward the faithful.
Gabriel lets himself drift.
Snap.