Thomas Morningstar may have (to his mild embarrassment) been angel through and through, but he also knew a large part of the war between Heaven and Hell was simple partisan politics. He wasn't so naïve as to assume that nothing good could come from a demon; after all, he did very much respect his father, and he could even appreciate Lucifer's intelligence and his refusal to give up on what (in his eyes) was probably the most hopeless cause ever to exist. Many demons, he knew, were just angels with black wings and some sort of complex; if they had done exactly the same deeds in Heaven's name instead of Hell's, they might have ended up celebrated members of the Heavenly Host. There were denizens of both sides that he steered well away from, but he believed or hoped he was enlightened enough and respected enough to speak to a few of both sides with equal amiability.

Raphael was not one of those few.

Thomas had met Azazel and Astaroth's sons a few times, and neither time been impressed with him. Uriel, his twin, spoke about his disturbing conquests on earth respectfully with the mild pride of a servant recounting a job well done, which Thomas could hardly blame the demon for, but Raphael spent their meetings blowing Thomas cheeky kisses and making suggestive comments about the angel. By the end of the third, he had heard more snide "sword" jokes than he ever cared to remember.

When he and Raphael began sharing a "territory," the two of them ran into each other a little more often. Or rather, Thomas seemed to find himself constantly walking in on Raphael and some other unfortunate acquaintance; Raphael upstairs in the hallway with his lips pressed against a boy's neck, Raphael downstairs on a couch, with two giggly, nervous girls stroking his bare chest, Raphael leaned against a wall in the kitchen, being busily worked on by a teenager. "Don't you ever take a rest?" Thomas had asked, disgusted.

"Sweetheart," Raphael said smugly, tangling a hand in the teenager's hair, "this is my rest. Why don't you come by sometime and see me in action?"

The demon didn't appear to understand that turning away and walking off quickly meant "I'm utterly uninterested in your rather self-indulgent actions and therefore I would prefer if I could forget entirely about this" and not "Please continue to make lascivious remarks about me each time we meet."

"Why do you keep doing this?" he asked one night. He'd found Raphael alone and the demon had very quickly turned his attention to him, wasting no time in whispering a few breathless desperations and snaking his hands around the angel's waist. When he'd resisted, he merely moved his hands farther and more comfortably away from the angel's waist and refused to budge.

Raphael paused and pretended to consider. "Oh, thrill of the hunt, I suppose," he said lazily, his wetted mouth almost directly against Thomas's top lip. "Or maybe I'm trying to debauch you brilliantly, that could be it, couldn't it? Or maybe I just like annoying you."

"Then if that's the case," Thomas said, "you've already succeeded and you won't get any further, so you can--"

Even a brief kiss can do wonders to stopping a train of thought.

"Or maybe," Raphael sighed, breath hot against Thomas' ear, "maybe I just happen to like you."