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When he got ahold of him….
Glowering in disdainful gloom, Fumus’ long legs ate up the mansion’s lengthy corridors towards his destination. He’d called for the seraphim numerous times to little success. It was completely out of the overly devout angel's character; that alone was disconcerting. However, that concerning niggle paled in comparison to his annoyance. The god’s requests would not be ignored, a fact all his angels were keenly aware of. Utmost obedience was akin to breathing, and those who did not comply would have it staunched one way or another.
Up the ornate staircase and to the right, Fumus strode towards the head angel’s chambers. Of course, the man had a personal home of his own, yet the deity sensed his nearby presence. Having his seraphim close was advantageous during key times. However, such proximity required even more immediate action. The fact Taffy had not responded….
“Tch,” Fumus scoffed, tongue flicking off his gritted teeth. His jaw was beginning to ache with how tightly he was clenching his jaw. Irritations steadily rose, and now that he was directly in front of Taffy’s door, he pondered the appropriate punishment for the man’s insolence. Knocking would be appropriate, yet Fumus shirked such decencies in lieu of his follower’s defiance. With barely any warning, he roughly grasped the door knob, swinging the door open as he pushed his way through.
Surprisingly, the curtains were drawn and the lights were off, casting the spacious room in shadows, illuminated only by wall sconces adorning the exterior. Scanning the area, Fumus’ brow quirked. Nothing stood out nor looked amiss. However, he immediately pinpointed the lumpy form residing atop the bed. Even with the lengthy duvet concealing him, Taffy's tall form was clearly distinct.
So this is where he'd been? Sleeping without even heeding his call?
That lazy, good for nothing….
Eyes narrowing, Fumus strode towards the slumbering angel. The closer he got, the more he glowered. From initial impression, the covers were pulled right up to the seraph’s chin, the definition of immense rest. However, he looked far from peaceful. Taffy's brow was twisted, a faint sheen visible on his forehead, matted blonde strands stuck to his sweat-laced skin. Inspecting the man’s chiseled yet boyish features, Fumus placed the back of his hand against taffy’s forehead, the clammy yet heated flesh signifying the angel’s ailment.
With a heavy sigh and a roll of his eyes, the deity extracted his hand. It was rare for beings such as themselves to get sick, though it wasn’t unheard of. All the same, having them out of commission for an indeterminate amount of time was troublesome. Of course, it wasn't like solutions were lacking. Being a god, he could not only create life, but easily heal the sickness befalling his creations. Angels were hearty beings, restorative by nature. All the same, doing so distorted the “order." Their bodies could mend in a moment, yet their mental fortitude was another issue. A warrior was only as fit as his mind allowed; without it, they would surely fail.
Grumbling lowly in his throat, Fumus shoved his hands into his pants' pockets. How bothersome. How had Taffy gotten sick in the first place? If he wasn’t properly taking care of himself, Fumus wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily for such neglect. As his mood gradually soured, Fumus’ dusty violets scanned the man’s bedridden frame. Taffy’s chest rose and fell in steady intervals, somewhat labored breaths flitting through slightly parted lips, reddened cheeks coloring his pallid complexion. Had he not know any better, it appeared he had exhausted himself. Come to think of it, he had been pushing himself quite a bit lately. Taffy was a diligent worker, his training was unparalleled. Nevertheless, the recent loss against the demons was not easily overlooked – not by the seraph nor by his god. Needless to say, punishment had been enacted on those who had failed their mission, yet the tacit decree was extremely evident – to not allow another defeat.
Grinding his molars, Fumus reluctantly contemplated the reality that perhaps he’d pushed Taffy too harshly. Of course, the blame lie in his weak constitution. Nevertheless, the doubtful, disturbing niggle refused to leave his brain. Mentally smothering it, Fumus returned his attention to the problem at hand. Taffy had work to do; rest was a luxury none could afford. He needed to get better and fast.
Rest was necessary, yes, but so was the mending process.
Once more reaching for the angel, Fumus shook his shoulder. He attempted to be gentle – well, as much as agitation allowed – yet the sudden wake-up could only be described as firm. “Taffy, get up,” he gruffly commanded.
For a moment, the angel didn’t stir. He simply groaned, eyes scrunching in discomfort. However, the jostling touch refused to relent. Slowly cracking open his heavy eyes, glassy carmines blankly stared ahead before registering the figure at his side. Slowly rotating his head, the formless shadow soon materialized… into his god. Taffy’s eyes immediately flew open, alerted by Fumus’ presence. What was he doing here? Of course, he was more than entitled to, yet it was surprising nonetheless. Then again, perhaps he was here for something important or unsavory. Either way, he had a duty to fulfill.
“Lord Fumus,” he croaked, each syllable dragged from a scratchy throat. The pained tickle that followed soon sent the seraph in a coughing fit, and he doubled over.
Standing upright, Fumus watched as his head angel’s shoulders shook, wracked by the unpleasant sickness plaguing his body. His lips twisted in disgust, though they remained sealed, concealing snide comments. Once Taffy’s cough subsided, he plainly declared. “I’ve been calling you for ages, Taffy.”
Still hunched over, Taffy’s eyes widened, the implications ringing louder than his hoarse, unbidden bout. Fuck – how could he have let this happen? It was one thing to get sick; it was an entirely separate matter to ignore god’s decree. Peering through stingy silken strands, he tried to gauge Fumus’ mood, though it was hard to tell based on expression alone. He had to rectify the situation before something far worse than a cold befell him.
Shifting beneath the sheets, Taffy slid his legs towards the bed’s edge. “I – I’m sorry, Lord Fumus. I’ll get to it right – .”
Before he could fling the covers off, a vigorous shove radiated throughout Taffy’s shoulder. Dazed by the sudden action, the seraph flopped back into nest of pillows surrounding him. His vision swam as the fever fogged his brain. Regardless of the unavoidable symptoms, his focus remained on the deity.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Fumus coldly commented. His words hung in the icy air, a cold balm to the seraph’s heated flesh. He soon continued. “As of now, you’re no use to me, and you’ll be a further nuisance trying to work in your current state.”
His brain was far too murky to fully process the deity’s words, nor could he comprehend any hidden message behind it. Was Lord Fumus truly telling him not to work? If so, why had he come here? Surely it wasn’t just to check on him. So why cancel his supposed original plan?
As confusion swirled in Taffy’s hazy head, Fumus let out another hefty sigh – the seventh since he’d entered this room. He wasn’t going to make things easy, was he? Leaving him bedridden was the best course of action. Of course, he was certain Taffy would obey the decree, and should he dare, restraints were always an option. However, his initial dilemma still remained. He needed his seraph in working order, but how could he speed up the process without resorting to magic?
Gazing into the blonde’s glassy crimsons, it was evident Taffy was highly incapacitated. Nevertheless, a determined glimmer shone through. A skilled warrior knew when to back down, yet they were also prone to playing the martyr. In essence, Taffy was far too sentimental.
Realization slowly registered, and Fumus lips formed a deadpan line.
The emotional being required motivation – a boost to his morale. Disdainful as his newly formed idea was, Fumus knew it was imperative.
Deeply inhaling, he raised his hand, snapping his fingers. In an instant, the bedside lamp turned on, casting a faint glow across the pair. A comfortable chair and table appeared beside him, and the god took a seat. Atop the table sat a porcelain bowl, steam wafting from its contents. Procuring the remedy, Fumus took hold of the inserted spoon, lifting the cream colored broth. Holding it over the bowl, he simply dictated, “Open.”
Taffy’s eyes widened, mind blanking as he stared at the scene before him. Surely the fever had made him delusional; that was the only plausible explanation. There was no way Lord Fumus was actually going to feed him. No – no, that was ludicrous. Even if they weren’t real, he had to get rid of these phantoms. Pushing himself upright – mindful to not move too quickly – Taffy stammered, “M – My lord, that’s not necessa – .”
“Eat it before I pour it down your throat.”
The deep rumble of Fumus’ timbre combined with his twitching facial muscles were far too real to be fantasy. The idea this could even be reality was far too much. Nevertheless, Taffy would comply. Cautiously sliding forward until he sat on the edge of the mattress, Taffy awaited Fumus’ next move.
It was beyond demeaning – feeding his own angel like this. It wasn’t too far of a stretch considering he’d shoveled plenty of things down their throats, though for highly different reasons. Drowning, choking – that was commonplace. Directly feeding them like a child was something he'd never expected. However, Taffy's recovery was essential; if this helped his brain and body, so be it.
Still in a state of shock, Taffy inched forward. Dipping his head slightly, he opened his mouth and moved forward, taking in the creamy broth. The flavor was truly delightful, not overly bland nor extremely seasoned. Bits of vegetables resided in the stew, adding extra texture. It was still hot, but nothing that would pain him. In fact, the warmth soothed his aching throat. Gulping down the first bite, he slid back, releasing the spoon from his disbelieving maw.
With the man up close and personal, Fumus could see the full scope of his drenched brow. His cheeks were even redder than before. Was the fever spreading? Scoffing, he procured another spoonful, holding it to the seraph’s mouth. "You're going to eat all of it. Understood?" With Taffy's silent nod of agreement, Fumus slid the spoon forward.
The exchange proceeded in silence, the only sound of Taffy’s slurps and tinkling metal. A disgruntled sneer remained on Fumus’ lips the entire while, easing slightly with each successful bite. Bit by bit, Taffy’s pounding heart and spinning mind regulated into a steady rhythm, though his face remained ablaze. Gradually, color besides red returned to his visage. Perhaps this really was working, Fumus fleetingly thought.
Nearing the bottom of the bowl, his eyes travelled from the remnants up to Taffy’s. Drooping eyelids greeted him, a dazed expression overtaking his features. He was surely about to pass out again.
Setting aside the stew, Fumus rose to his feet. Taffy groggily followed his movement, easily lowered into the waiting bed by Fumus’ gentle push. “Lie down and sleep. I expect you to be well by tomorrow, Taffy.” It wasn't a suggestion; it was a directive.
Mustering the last of his consciousness, Taffy murmured, “Thank you…. Lord…. Fumus….” His breathy, sleep-laced voice was barely discernible as he lay back against the awaiting softness. His eyes once more veiled, his body still partially off the bed. Shaking his head at the display, Fumus yanked the covers over him the best he could.
Stood above his senseless “patient,” Fumus’ expression remained passive, lips drawn into a thin line. This entire ordeal had been impromptu, his entire plan thrown off-kilter by something highly unusual. The cause was none other than the serenely slumbering man, unaware of his master’s inner turmoil. How he had convinced him to do something so... peculiar was beyond him.
Shaking his head to dislodge the confounding thoughts, the god turned on his heel, snapping his fingers once more. The set up swiftly dissipated, and the table lamp extinguished. Before he gave further attention to such triviality, Fumus strode towards the exit. Part of him wanted to look back, though he neglected the pleasantry, choosing to simply close the door behind himself with a soft tack. Once more stood outside the angel's door, Fumus shuddered.
Maybe next time he would simply let sleeping angels lie.