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smokeandgranite
Alrighty, been a while since I posted anything here, but my good friend skidmo_fic has a "50 Ways to Leave Your Lover" fic-a-thon going on. The premise is you grab a prompt (Mine was "At the Altar") and two existing fictional characters (in this case, Kali and Gabriel from Supernatural) and write a short original fiction about them. This is

Title: Sacrifices Must be Made
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Kali/Gabriel(Supernatural)
Word Count: 983
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me
Feedback: Is much appreciated.
Summary: After giving Heaven the finger and assuming the identity of trickster god Loki, Gabriel has a fling with Kali and encounters certain religious differences.
Other Info:This was written for skidmo_fic's 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover challenge. The prompt was "At the Altar". Incidentally my first fic (excluding the Hagrid/Firenze that I attempted on a dare :P).



“Do you know where we stand?” Kali's face was dark and dour as usual but Gabriel was getting better at reading her eyes. Beneath the veils she layered over her soul he saw pride and lust and for the first time since they'd met a trace of uncertainty. They stood in a circular stone room open to the sky above, a trace of waning moon adding silver and blue hues to the stars' thin light. In the middle of the room was a slab of stone with the barred and looping writing of her people, ringed in by stone spires. White dust radiated out from the altar in a starburst across the floor, shining against the dark stone. He took a step and the the dust crunched faintly under his thick leather boot. Like ash.
“I have a pretty good idea. I like what you've done with the place.” He smiled at her, drawing her eyes. He suspected that his willingness to make eye contact was chief amongst the reasons she had even given him a second look. It was never easy to hold her gaze—she had a stark, wild beauty that whispered madness and threatened ruin. He had seen others more powerful than he cringe and avert their eyes when confronted with hers. But he had practiced for untold eons looking into another face not so dissimilar. Different in nature perhaps, but with similar effect. “I detect the piquant aroma of the Ganges layered over the subtle stench of Patliputra, which likely means this is Kumrahar. I think we're a few centuries late to the party though.”
“Not late, Loki. Right on time.” She pointed towards the door behind him with an elegant curve of one hand – then another and another. With the other three she toyed with her hair, her naked breast, her necklace of skulls. A line of torches wound up the hill, accompanied by a building singsong chant. “The longest unbroken string of sacrifices to me occurs here, the night before the first new moon after the harvest, for the last two thousand years. Two cities have risen and fallen at this site. The name they call has changed seven times, but always a flawless boy is offered to me, in blood and in fire.” She took hold of the knot that secured a wolfskin around his waist, and pulled him towards the center of the room. “And tonight, I share that sacrifice with you.”
Emotions warred within him—he knew she never let anyone, not even her husband Siva, taste her worship and the power that flooded with it, and he was mightily tempted. But human sacrifice...and a child at that. His entire existence leading up to this moment cried against it. He had renounced his heritage and chosen this life, but no matter how he appeared his heart was still a far reach from pagan. “Kali, baby, you know I'm more of a wine, women, and song kind of guy...” He forced a smirk, but let himself be led closer, wrapped in her many-armed embrace.
“Just a taste,” she whispered, “I have no doubt you'll enjoy it.” She curled her tongue around his neck, her hands teasingly caressing and roughly handling him in turn. Her stoicism slowly crumbled in the face of the the thrill of the hunt, of blood and sex
He willed himself to relax into her embrace, to ignore the priestesses now filing into the room, unaware of their divine company. Their foreheads were dyed scarlet, and the rest of their bodies' blackened with coal. They wore gauzy maroon saris that barely obscured their nude and sweating forms. This is what it means to turn your back on Heaven, he thought. Kali pushed him roughly back on the stone, then leapt up to straddle him. This is what I have chosen. The torches were burning sweet herbs, and more were soon piled around the dais, their scent heady, exotic. Kali pulsed in time with the chanting, a goddess in her element, searing him with white hot sensuality. This is what I want. He gave himself over, relishing the abandon, drunk on the fearless heresy of it all, fighting to hold in his wings, to not betray his disguise. And then they brought in the boy.
Kali laughed, a mad twining of bloodlust and ecstasy. “You'll never go back to boiled horseflesh and drugged sluts again, lover. Not after tasting such exquisite fear and innocence.” The boy could have been no more than eight. Even through the twist of fear you could see had a handsome face. His large, dark eyes were consumed with terror, and worse still, understanding. Gabriel turned his head, tried to focus on Kali, her unrestrained lovemaking driven to new heights by the anticipation of such a fine sacrifice. But he could not ignore the knowledge of the knife being raised, or the child's scream, pleading for life.
“No!” Gabriel pushed back off the altar, and with a wild jerk of his hand the knife disappeared from the priestess's grasp. Wind tore through the temple as Kali's expression warped from rapture to wrath in one terrible instant. Gabriel, the Messenger, was at a loss for words, but he knew Kali well enough to know that he needed to be anywhere else right then. With a thought, he removed himself to the blackness between stars, but even there her howl of rage and loss echoed in his mind.
“I'm sorry my love. I am not ready. Not for that.” Gabriel, alone in the dark, stretched his wings wide then wrapped himself in them. He knew no home but Heaven, and could return nowhere but Earth. He tasted the irony and forced himself to smile over it. To earth it was then. He'd learn the trick of hedonism or die trying.

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