Chapter Text
"I'm not in the mood."
The tone was flat, not even a touch of the usual disdain in his voice – and that was what worried Haarlep the most. Not his abrupt entrance, nor the obvious wounds only partially hidden by his attire, but how quiet he was.
Of course, Raphael “not being in the mood” was an usual enough occurrence. The meaning usually was “I want to be spoiled and I don't want to ask for it. Spoil me against my will, so I can pretend it's all your fault. Because the future king of Avernus doesn't like pampering, obviously”. This was the first time though it seemed to mean he actually wasn't in the mood.
One could have said it was not surprising, all things considered.
Haarlep didn't exactly collect intel about the ambitious cambion's fate, but he nonchalantly asked some questions here and there. Many usually saw incubi just like the courtesans of Avernus aristocracy, but their true power lied in fact in the ridiculous amount of information they could gather, if something interested them enough: few beings in the universe could resist an incubus smile. His was just curiosity, of course. The incubus had been one of the main reasons why the heroes of Baldur's Gate had managed to ruin Raphael's plans after all: had he really cared about his master, he wouldn't have done something like that – or at least this was what he had kept telling himself the rare occasions he had felt something resembling guilt. From what he had heard, Raphael had had quite the lesson in humility – not that this was a lesson that had any hope to stick, in Haarlep's opinion. He had died, of course, but that much Haarlep knew already. Then his body had reformed in Cania – and then things went even worse. A whole month of “vacation” in Mephisto's palace. Still better than being simply erased from existence – but by a very thin margin. Many devils considered it a rather mild punishment, but they were just the devils who never had to try on their own flesh and mind the attentions of an angry Mephistopheles. No, Haarlep didn't doubt for a second the punishment had been a terrible experience, and could only guess what the Archdevil forced his own son to promise in exchange for a chance to prove he had learned his lesson. After being released, of course the devil had returned to his home. Once again though, luck was not on his side. From what the incubus has been told a few days before, Raphael had been back in his House of Hope, his pride and joy, for less than half an hour before realizing “of Hope” wasn't just a mockery anymore but a statement of ownership. Hope had chosen to simply revoke Raphael's right as a guest, instead of trying to kill him again – maybe out of her infuriating kindness or maybe because she understood very well that her mercy was worse than death for the devil. Well, not really worse than death, especially knowing that death meant Mephisto's hungry jaws once again, but still the indignity of being kicked out of his own manor had probably hurt Raphael almost as his father had.
Of course, Raphael had not uttered a single word about any of this when he had come literally knocking at Haarlep's door. The incubus had been enjoying a bath in his room – well, Raphael's room, that he had to concede – at Sharess' Caress, his form once again a mischievous version of Raphael himself. It was this face that the patrons and proprietor of the establishment knew after all, but Haarlep couldn't deny he had grown fond of it, almost as if it was his true form. He was all Raphael could have been if he hadn't decided to let the shackles of politics and ambition drag him down: powerful, beautiful and free. What a sight a free Raphael would have been! What a sight Haarlep was! He was letting warm water and such thoughts lull him into total relaxation, when a still recovering Raphael had made his entrance. At least he had shown the courtesy of knocking before entering – something he would have never even contemplated before. And that was the first sign that something was not quite right. Haarlep had just reached the door, without bothering to put on even a towel, more curious than angry, when he had seen the wooden door swing open and Raphael in his human form entering. The incubus was much smarter than his former master gave him credit for and knew him too well. It had taken him only a glance to assess the situation and realize that the rumors were true for once. The cambion had clearly survived tortures brutal enough to need time to heal completely even for a creature like him. Haarlep had been about to say something, but Raphael hadn't even acknowledged his presence, walking briskly towards the bed. If it was revenge what he was looking for, he was as lazy about it as he was about sex and intimacy. He had simply sat on the very edge of the big bed and glared at the incubus, a glass of wine in his hand. He had emptied it, still not breaking eye contact with the other devil, as if daring him to do something. It had taken a few moments to Haarlep to realize what was going on: Raphael was – drunk. Or at least as drunk as a cambion could be. Probably no one else would have noticed that, for his steps remained as steady and elegant as always, his clothes still impeccable, but for the incubus was clear as the flame of hell his former master had probably just got drunk at Sharess' Caress bar like some mortal noble. For a moment Haarlep had been rendered completely speechless by the scene: Raphael showing up drunk in the place his “consort” who betrayed him lived, acting like he was returning from a short visit to a friend and there was nothing odd in the whole situation. Was he waiting for Haarlep to say something? And what was he supposed to say? He didn't try to help him before and he helped even less when he was in Mephistopheles' care. He wasn't a loyal creature to begin with and Raphael never gave him reasons to be especially loyal to him. He did feared Mephisto's displeasure though, and the Archdevil had said nothing about his role as a spy being over. Maybe he just forgot or considered it implicit, but Haarlep knew him better than he would have liked, and knew Mephisto's actions, or lack of, were always very deliberate and had a meaning. Haarlep suspected that he was still very much entangled into Raphael's grandiose future plans and life. Maybe a bit of pampering would have sufficed as an apology, but the incubus didn't even manage to put an hand on the cambion's shoulder before being so flatly rejected.
One could have said it was not surprising, all things considered, yes, but Haarlep had been at this particular devil's side for enough time to know even the most spectacular fiasco would have just served as fuel for his own ego one way or another. Raphael couldn't be humbled. It simply wasn't in his nature.
And yet, humbled he sounded.
“Lord Mephistopheles wasn't very pleased, I heard” Haarlep ventured, sitting on the plushy red carpet in front of the bed. It was so – alien – to be conversing like this, almost as if they were friends.
“Pleased enough to not destroy my soul.”
Still no anger. Bad sign.
“But not enough to avoid you the humiliation of come crawling at my house” he tried again, a vicious smirk on his lips. This gloomy and defeated Raphael wasn't of his liking.
“Your house?! This is my house. As you are” the cambion growled, finally rising to the challenge, his human teeth getting sharper and longer while still remaining in his human form. “Mind your words, you treacherous creature! Do you think me so weak I would not be able to put you in your place? I'm still strong enough to tear away your limbs one by one. You should be at my feet, begging forgiveness.”
Much better. Not yet where Haarlep wanted him though.
“So why are you here, master?” The sarcasm with which he said the word “master” was the kind of tone that would have put him in trouble a few months ago. “To put me in my place? Or maybe because you have nowhere else to go?”
“How you dare?!”
In a wave of flames and smoke, Raphael was in his cambion form and on his feet, trying to tower over his own self – a chill, relaxed and completely naked own self. Haarlep just smiled at him pleasantly, not letting his display of anger affect him. They both knew that, in Raphael's current state, a battle could end badly for any of them. In this form, the still healing wounds were more evident, as it was the fact that he looked quite pale and tired. He hid it better under his human disguise, but there was no way an inhabitant of hell wouldn't notice the dullness in his normally bright yellow eyes and the dark scars partially covered by clothes. His indignation and raging was however a promising sign of recovering.
“You helped those thieves! You betrayed me for – what? You have any idea how many years of planning you completely ruined?!”
Haarlep knew perfectly well the answer to the last question, but as for the other – it was something he doubted his master could ever understand. Why did he betray Raphael? It seemed fun: there was nothing more than that. Raphael was a creature of long planning, or arrogance, of endless scheming. He practically begged with his mere existence to be put in his place in front of his own flaws, to be shown how little control he actually had in the grand scheme of things. Haarlep had seen an opportunity to make things more interesting and he had gladly taken it – and he would have done the same even knowing the consequences. He hadn't betrayed Raphael out of any real hate towards him, but simply because such a sweet opportunity to destroy the cambion's plans was just too much to pass. He doubted Raphael could ever understand any of this though, so he said something else instead. “This is my fault for having maybe talked a little too much – or your fault for letting your ego have the better of you?”
He found himself with one of Raphael's clawed hand firmly around his neck.
“You're walking on very thin ice, harlot.”
“Oh, so this is what you're here for tonight...” purred the incubus, caressing the same claws that threatened to rend his flesh.
For the first time since his less than triumphal entrance, Raphael seemed uncertain. His grip didn't soften, his eyes ablaze with anger, but he still seemed – not really sure how to proceed. Maybe it was because the not completely unfounded accusation managed to sink in (too good to be true), or it was simply because of the exceptional fact he was drunk, but it was rare for him to show hesitation.
“I'm not quite sure why I'm here” the cambion finally admitted, probably more to himself, “but certainly not to be lectured by -”
He never managed to finish the sentence, silenced by the incubus' hungry lips. His sudden movement caused the claws around his neck to involuntarily pierce his flesh, but Haarlep didn't care. He didn't stop fiercely kissing him even when he started to feel blood running down his chest and shoulders.
Raphael kept his lips stubbornly closed for a few moments, but eventually his pride seemed to allow him to admit he wanted this. He kissed back with a growl, his claws finally letting go of the incubus's throat and tangling themselves in his dark curls.
“I missed you” whispered Haarlep, breaking the kiss. And it was true.
Of course, the declaration was welcomed only by a frown.
“Pathetic.”
Haarlep didn't even try to stifle his laughter. The cambion was trying so hard to hide how pleased he was by the incubus' declaration that he looked almost cute. Not that he would ever say that aloud: weakened or not, he would have really slit his throat for such an insult. At least, in his current mood. He could slowly take him to a mind space he would have allowed this liberty and much more, but not right now. He was feeling too weak and this made him more prone to snap and to violence. Usually when he was in such a mood, Haarlep gave him space, but tonight Raphael didn't want space – that much was evident. Probably, as he himself said, he didn't really know what he wanted. The incubus would have to do all the work as always.
He slowly and attentively took Raphael's hand in his own, kissing tenderly claws still red from his own blood.
“Yes, pathetic. And yet I missed you all the same.”
The gesture seemed to somewhat placate Raphael, his eyes softening a fraction.
Haarlep decided that his master, or former master, needed pampering, whether he wanted it or not. He was selfish of a selfishness that bordered stupidity sometimes, but the incubus realized he had missed exactly that for some reasons. How could you miss a lover who was selfish, lazy and more interested in himself than in you? Probably it was hard to understand for a mortal, but love as mortals perceive it was simply impossible for Avernus' children – even those who had some mortal blood in their veins as Raphael.
“Let's not talk about betrayal and scheming for tonight, master.” This was a low blow: Raphael loved when he called him “master” so sweetly and without any hint of sarcasm. “There will be enough of both in the future. Tonight let me bathe you, comb your hair. Let me give you a long relaxing massage. Let me take care of my master the way he deserves. Please.”
Raphael just snorted, averting his gaze with annoyance – or rather fake annoyance. He was intrigued, and he was avoiding his eyes so Haarlep couldn't sense his eagerness.
Cute, indeed.
He kissed both his hands reverently.
“Please, my master.”
With this last plea, he smiled. A true incubus smile this time. It was the smile that had made hearts made of ice melt and liars who never spoke the true confess every single sin they ever committed. If there was a weapon that never failed to hit the target, it was that smile.
“Well, since you seem so desperate...” Raphael finally relented, his tone full of contempt.
One could almost believe him, if not for how quickly he walked towards the bath tube.