That was what he wanted to hear. He dug his fingernails into Gabriel's skin, and with a strong flap of his wings, they moved back to the bed. There was strength there; he pinned him down, bent him over underneath him, his arms locking underneath Gabriel's knees, his face hovering between them.

Pain was nothing. Irrelevant. Preparation was for humans, for the fragile, and Gabriel was an archangel. His little brother, practically a god in his own right--certainly more godly than those who claimed the title.

He pinned him down, kept Gabriel's gaze, and pressed himself inside.