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That FUCKING machine. that thing, that OBJECT.
Who the fuck does it think it is? Just finding a way into hell from the surface, slaying everything that crossed its path, and then defeating him?
Gabriel feels absolutely humiliated. completely and utterly humiliated. What happened? The Will of God, losing to an object!
His fingers crash into the keys of the organ, a horrible out of tune sound echoing out into the room. What the fuck is wrong with him? losing to a machine, and then not being able to scratch the memory of it from his mind?
His wings flair and flutter behind him in an agitated state. The stool in front of his organ doesn’t even feel comfortable anymore, nothing does. That fucking thing has been on his mind non stop, he HATES it.
Gabriel presses another key, and another, with more purpose than just slamming them recklessly. He takes a breath. He’s an Archangel, The Will of God and The Judge of Hell. That creature of steel just got lucky, escaping his wrath.
God, he wants to strangle it. When he and the machine were fighting, he should’ve slammed it against the wall. Its face would probably be a gorgeous combination of surprise and shock if he did that, Gabriel finally being the one two steps ahead instead of it. He should’ve held it down, grabbed its hips, and forced it down onto his cock-
…What.
The keys go silent. Gabriel freezes.
The fuck was that thought?
Gabriel looks down at the organ, hands still on the keys.
“..what the hell..”
He didn’t just think that, did he? he didn’t actually think about holding down that thing and bringing it pleasure, did he?
He scoffs, removing his hands from the Organ keys. Bullshit, he wouldn’t do that. Clearly, his pride is just horribly wounded and he’s trying to cope through other means..
The Archangel takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He’s overreacting, thinking about something that would have no reason to come to fruition.
What is wrong with him?
That thing is an object, nothing more. it’s a machine, an offence to God. And he… he does not see it in that kind of light! Hell, he doesn’t even want to do the actions he was just thinking about. Grabbing it, pinning it down, making it see just who it was up against…
Oh god.
Gabriel feels a wave of something wash over him. The only way he could describe it was.. hot. Warm. His wings twitched, his breath suddenly coming more heavily than it had been before. He didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to think about it. Absolutely not.
He is not considering pinning it down, he is not thinking of what it would look like if it were under him, and he is absolutely not imagining the sounds it might make as he fucked it over the Organ.
Gabriel shudders. That can’t be normal, thinking about a machine like that.
Gabriel clutches his face in his hand, growling in frustration. He keeps remembering the machine, how it fought, how it moved and how it looked at him. The way it kept fighting like a feral animal, even when he was trying to destroy it.
…What the hell is wrong with him?
He’s supposed to despise that machine, why on earth would carnality be what he thinks up when he reflects on what he should’ve done?
He just had so much pent up frustration, that’s all! He just snapped. That is all that it was.
He sits there in front of the organ, the now silent keys under his resting fingers. Yes, he was just a little bit out of the right headspace is all. That’s all it was. He doesn’t want the machine in that way, even if they are a worthy opponent.
It took him on without a shred of mercy or hesitance.. The machine had fought with such ferocity, such precision. It was relentless. It did not seem like a machine, more like an unhinged animal. The look it had was pure determination to kill him.
Why did that kind of expression look good on it? What was it about that damn machine that made his thoughts so perverted? That stupid, feral creature. How did it get under his skin this much?
He remembers the way it moved, how its body bent and flexed as it dodged Splendor and Justice.
It had moved so effortlessly, so.. beautifully. He could see the movement of gears shifting under its chassis, it was so precise.
The way it moved and twisted its body was almost mesmerizing. The way its joints moved as it evaded his attacks was almost like a dance.
Gods, he hated to admit it.
He LIKED the way it moved. Hell, it was almost attractive.
But that doesn’t mean anything.
Just because he finds something visually appealing doesn’t mean he’s attracted to it. Humans have created art, sculptures, paintings, murals, and not once in his life has he had the urge to stick his dick in those. He’s fine. He was just confusing appreciation with something else.
..he should probably report in with The Council. They should be expecting him by now. He makes an attempt to get up from his stool-
He involuntarily moans.
Immediately he sits back down in his seat, blinking. The space between his legs suddenly feels.. oh good lord.
His eyes flick downwards, widening in horror. He can see a tent in his loincloth. He bites his lip to try and calm himself.
Gabriel hesitantly lifts his loincloth up to look, and promptly drops it and inhales sharply, his entire body tensing as he takes in the current situation.
He was hard. He was completely hard.
No. No no no. This cannot be happening… He’s never had an incident like this before, what the fuck is his body doing?
His hand moves to cover his mouth.
“..what the hell is happening..” he whispers to nobody. He’s never been hard before. Not in his entire existence, it never even crossed his mind once. He’d seen others display lust before, and had felt disgust and horror at their lustful tendencies, but he never had fallen victim to it himself.
Lust. He was feeling lust.
Gabriel forces his eyes away from his erection, his breathing more labored. He is not supposed to feel like this about a machine, for God’s sake.. His skin feels like it’s on fire. What should he even do? Ignore it?
Maybe that could work. He could just sit here and wait for it to go down, then he could return to his duties as The Judge of Hell and leave all of this behind him. Gabriel relaxes, sighing through his nose.
That plan only lasted about a minute.
At first, he began to feel more relaxed, taking deeper breaths and sitting up straighter. But the relaxation that he was feeling did not last long, because he quickly realized his problem had not been solved, nor was it going away soon.
He was still hard underneath the cloth, and it’s only getting more uncomfortable. If anything, it’s getting.. painful. He feels it throb against his inner thigh.
Goddamn it.
What the hell is he supposed to do? He can’t stand before the council like this, they’ll obviously see the situation that’s currently happening. They’ll ask questions, they might even throw in a punishment while they’re at it.
…But he can’t keep them waiting either. He’s already late.
The Archangel sighs, trying desperately to think. He has to decide fast, the council isn’t known for their patience. They’d hate if they had to wait, and they’d especially hate it coming from The Will of God himself.
..He’s just going to have to make do with the thing he didn’t want to do.
“..I’m going to regret this..” he mutters to himself, his voice barely more than a quiet whisper.
He glances around the room, making sure no one could possibly be here. And of course, there is no one in sight. He is in the solitude of his quarters, where he is guaranteed complete privacy.
Gabriel hesitantly moves his hand to the edge of his loincloth. His hands are shaking a bit, unsure of what he’s actually doing. He’s never done this before.
“..this is for my own peace of mind..” Gabriel reassures himself, trying to convince his brain that this is just a means to an end. It’s not for his own pleasure, far from it. This is just him solving a problem.
His hand delicately takes the corner of the cloth, gently pulling it aside and revealing his erection to the cold air of the room. He shudders at the feeling, his wings jerking a bit. This has to be one of the strangest sensations he’s ever felt.
He hesitantly reaches out a hand and strokes one finger up the side of it, sighing at the feeling. A very small amount of relief. Maybe..
He experimentally grabs the base, wrapping his hand around his dick and sliding it up. He almost jolts from the sudden surge of pleasure, stifling a moan by biting his lip hard. A little too hard. He draws blood..
..why is that making his erection worse?
Gabriel adjusts himself on his seat, accidentally kicking the pedal of his organ. He leans backwards slightly and spreads his legs to give himself better access. He takes his dick in his hand again, cupping his other hand over his mouth to muffle the noises without hurting himself.
With an inexperienced hand, he gently drags his fist up his dick again, moaning softly into his palm. He still feels ashamed, but that’s quickly being buried under the sensations and his own false reassurance. He runs his thumb over the tip of it, feeling sparks shoot up his body.
Hes leaned over the organ now, panting into the palm of his hand. The keys are pressed against Gabriel when he rests himself on it, they make a low noise in response, filling the room with something other than Gabriel’s ragged breathing.
He’s never felt this kind of burning desire before, the need of pleasure is one he had always believed himself to be above, until now. Because of that damned machine.
The thought of it makes Gabriel think of it in more detail. Mostly the thought of him having the machine pinned down, squirming underneath him, completely at his mercy as he fucked it into the ground. It could be writhing under him, in either frustration or pleasure… maybe even both. He wouldn’t put it above the thing to be a brat.
..He’s already leaking precum, he’d never thought this could happen to him. He’s getting himself off to the thought of the machine. If anyone could see, he’d be done for. He’d be labelled as a degenerate, unworthy of his status.
He was supposed to be the will of God, a being that did not fall to the temptation of lust. And here he was, the “Will of God”, panting with his hand wrapped around his erection, shamelessly moaning into his palm.
It’s because of the machine that he’s doing this. None of this is his fault.
That damned machine.
He can practically feel the image he’s immersed himself in now, the machine squirming under him, what it would sound like; whines and beeps through its speakers as its roughly taken.
Hes bucking his hips up into his fist now, trying desperately to keep down any offending noises. Maybe it would enjoy being toyed with, being taken roughly by the angel. He can practically see the embarrassed look on its optic, frustrated and embarrassed at the fact that it’s enjoying having its enemy thrust into it like this, being claimed by him on the floor.
..Claimed.
He almost drools at the thought. The machine, the same machine that bested him in combat and made the council reassess their decision to make Gabriel the Judge of Hell, under him and submissive.
Whining and letting him have his way with it, being just as aroused by what’s happening.
..What the hell is this thing doing to his head? He’d never thought of things like this before, never imagined himself doing things such as bringing an object to submission and making it enjoy itself at the angels doing.
That damn machine. It was all the machine’s fault. If he’d just won, he wouldn’t be in this situation right now..
Gabriel moans again, louder than the last time. He doesn't even think to hold back, his mind fuzzy with arousal and need for the machine.
Hes pumping himself furiously now, his hand a blur. his breaths come out in pants, and he lets out a strangled gasp.
“mgh- machine-“
…he hadn’t meant to say that aloud. It just came out.
He was thinking of the machine, it was only natural that a moan for it would come with it, right? And that’s all it was, a random and involuntary moan for a certain machine.
Nothing more.
“ah- mgh..”
His eyes are screwed shut, the sounds of his moaning and panting are so loud in the room.
Gabriel bites down on his lip, the metallic taste of his own blood in his mouth. He moans louder, the palm of his hand barely enough to cover the noise now.
The organ keys are pressed down by the archangel’s squirming, creating another sound Gabriel’s never heard from it before. His knees jerk and twitch whenever a wave of pleasure seizes him hard.
“God- please..”
His chest is heaving with shallow breaths, trying to keep his mind at bay as the sensations overwhelm him. The hand that was formally covering his mouth falls against the keys, slamming down on them and creating another noise in the room, a sharp discordance that echoes with his moans.
“ah- m-machine-“
His whole body is shaking, he’s almost at the edge of… something. Something he’s never felt before. He’s not sure if it’s his mind playing tricks on him or not, but he almost feels as if he’s going to pass out, his breath hitching and becoming irregular. His wings flair out behind him, stroking himself harder.
“Hahh- fuck- hahh.. g-god-“
The archangel’s whole body tenses up as he moans loudly, the last bit of control in him being lost to pleasure as he releases all over his hand and some of the organ, his wings trembling and twitching, one of them knocking a nearby nightstand and causing it to fall to the floor with a loud clatter.
Gabriel takes in a deep gasp, his body slumping against the organ. He’s panting heavily, sitting there for a minute while he attempts to catch his breath.
“..by.. the almighty..”
Gabriel lays against his organ for a moment, recovering. Weakly, he lets out a shaky breath and slowly pushes himself up. He looks around, accessing the damage he’d caused.
…he really needs to keep his wings in check. The floor is littered with the music sheets that once sat on the stand he knocked over, looking like an absolute mess.
He presses an investigative palm to his groin, shuddering but pleasantly surprised. That actually worked. He got rid of that need, at least. All he needs to do now is figure out how to get rid of the burning in his chest whenever that machine decides to show its face. Nevermind that. His problems fixed, so now he can-
…right. The council.
Gabriel glances at the clock. He’s running late. Too late, both by his standards and the Councils.
Messy wings and a damp spot on his loincloth wouldn’t do well for his image.
With a huff, he stands up and gets himself a new, clean cloth, then he smooths out his wings the best he possibly can. That’s about as cleaned up as he can make himself right now.
Might as well get going anyway. He doesn’t want them getting suspicious. Lord, he feels lightheaded.
Damned machine.