"Not exactly dangerous." Matthew stated, chewing on his lower lip as he thought about how to explain to the nephilim. "If a necromancer is too weak to contain all the power of death he is drawing from his surroundings, he has to train and wait for his body to grow accustomated to it, before he can access that potential. Before, he can't use it." Cherosh thought about that for a while, licking his lips then.

"So, basically, when you are too powerful and can't use that power, you don't have much of a choice but to take some time before you actually can properly channel it." That was a way to put it, though he could see from Matthew's expression that there still was coming more with being a necromancer. The nephilim never would have assumed that, but he already had asked and wanted to know everything Matthew was willing to tell him.

"You see, you can damage yourself if you try to use a spell exceeding your potential. While building up magic, a necromancer's heartbeat picks up, to the point of beating too fast to pump any blood, and while releasing it, it slows down again, to the point of stopping completely – if you overdo it." Matthew went on, eyes on his coffee mug. "And that's what I did. When I was 16... I tried something impossible for me, at that point. I tried to raise someone from the death, as a real living being, and not as a zombie."

Now, Cherosh had gotten more attentive. "What happened back then?" he cautiously asked, studying Matthew's body language. It seemed to be a painful memory for the necromancer, from the way Matthew coiled up in himself, as if to protect himself from something. "I was successful with the raising, but it killed me. Two minutes, my body was dead, and when the backlash of the magic hit me, I came back to life. But it had broken down my natural barrier against collecting too much energy. Since then, my body permanently draws magic from it's surroundings, and uses it to heal cell damage. Which actually stopped me from aging."

Silence fell for a short time, while Matthew still was staring down on his mug. "I recall awakening on the graveyard... zombies all over me. And the person I tried to raise... He... he just went away, without looking back. Without... caring for me." A first, weak sob shook the necromancer. "I really loved him, but he wetn away. He left me, despite everything." Now, tears were dripping down Matthew's face, still were when the nephilim softly pulled the smaller male into a hug.

"I know how it is to lose the ones you love." Cherosh whispered, having to think of his twin brother for a short time. "It's horrible." Matthew clung to the nephilim, slowly calming down for a moment. "Still, it was..." Again, sobs shook the smaller male. "I had to go to the streets afterwards, you know. I had to make a living, somehow." He felt how the nephilim slowly, softly rubbed his neck, craddling him a bit even. "Hey, it's okay now. It's good."

The necromancer nodded weakly, still clinging to the nephilim. "Yeah... yeah, I made it, after all. But, some time ago, I saw him again. He had an other petit, black-haired boy on his side. I have been replaced." The nephilim shook his head, actually making Matthew look up in a calm, serious face. "You can't be replaced, Matthew. Not even in a century. You're unique, even more than unique."

Matthew shook lightly, taking deep, shuddering breaths. "But he replaced me." he choked out, wiping his eyes. "He is a total dick, then." Cherosh growled lowly, not minding the necromancer seeming to try and hide inside the nephilim. "Hey, now stop crying." But that only got the necromancer to sob harder, clutching on the nephilim like for dear life. Sighing softly, Cherosh folded his deep black wings around Matthew, craddling the devastated male like a small child. "It's alright now, Matt. I won't leave you like this bastard did."

The necromancer nodded, gradually coming to a rest. It had been quite some time since he had cried over his past, mostly because he had been much too occupied to even think about it. But it wasn't anything bad now, was it? "I know you won't." Matthew whispered, having shed his last tears. "I'll protect you, no matter what." Cherosh whispered, making Matthew look up at the nephilim with a slightly aggravated expression, before the necromancer leaned a way to turn his attention to his mug of coffee again. "I can protect myself, mostly." If there was something the smaller male disliked, the it was being weak.

Smiling, Cherosh retracted his wings, nodding slowly. "Fine, then... then I'll protect you if you are too drained to do it yourself." Matthew shrugged, taking a slow sip from his mug. The nephilim stretched a bit, scratching his neck. "The tattoo is bothering me again." he stated as he noticed the necromancer's questioning look. "I wonder what it's made of." Matthew thought about it for a moment, then stated: "Seems to be angel color. Pretty handy, even for necromancers."

Shrugging, the nephilim then tried to reach an especially itchy spot on his back, naturally failing to even brush it. After watching Cherosh for some moments, Matthew leaned over to the nephilim and let some magic pulse into the nephilim's back – with a quite interesting effect: without having done anything special, Cherosh instantly went limp, hanging in the chair like a ragdoll. "Hey, you could have warned me..." the nephilim laughed lowly, a strange smile on his face. Confused, the necromancer poked the taller male lightly. "Sorry... What did it do?"

Having to force himself to move, Cherosh got out of this strange trance-like state. "It made me go limp, as you could see." he muttered sluggishly, having trouble to even keep his head up. "Nasty move..." Slightly worried now, Matthew leaned closer. "It didn't hurt, did it?" Cherosh shook his head, smirking. "No worries, it felt weird, but not painful. Wow... that really was... wow." The necromancer couldn't help but to chuckle at that. "You sound like you just had good surprise sex." Cherosh rolled his eyes, but smirked, too. "Yeah, something like that."

Matthew smirked smugly, nodding to himself. "Sweet. You have to remind me the next time we get naughty." He then bit on his lower lip for a short time, seeming to consider something. "Do you want to know about angel color?" he then asked, giving Cherosh a questioning look. "Sure. I want to know what this strange stuff is." the nephilim snickered, having recovered from the sudden relaxation again.

The necromancer thought for a while, chewing on his lower lip again. "I only read about it, because it's rare and has to be handled with care. It is made from the ashes of someone who died as an innocent, the blood of a necromancer and an angel feather. It's said to give the bearer divine powers and ward off any evil being. I thought about getting myself some, but because of the angel feather, it's really expensive. Nothing you'll find on a graveyard, obviously."

Matthew could watch how Cherosh thought about it. "Raphael died as innocent, I drank from your blood, and Azrael made me into a nephilim. Guess the conditions were met." the nephilim lowly muttered, more to himself than to Matthew. "Well, you got yourself an angel now, Matt, so you could make yourself some angel color." Actually, the necromancer hadn't thought about using Cherosh's feathers for such a thing yet. "I can't do that, Cherosh. I can't... I can't turn you into an ingredient of my spells."

The nephilim blinked about that, not quite understanding what Matthew had against it. "Hey, I'm your zombie, so I guess it's okay." The necromancer shook his head once more. "I dislike it. Stop saying it like you would be a slave of mine. Because you aren't." After a short pause, the necromancer seemed to reconsider it. "Well, but if you lose some feathers, I could take them. With that, I haven't got a problem." Cherosh nodded, stretching out his wings once more. "That's a deal, then. Would you help me smoothe the feathers back into my wings? Some have gotten stuck the wrong way."

The smaller male nodded, getting up. "Just a moment." Matthew went over to the sink, wetting a washing rag, before he began to work on the nephilim's black wings, straightening the feathers back into the wing. Cherosh hummed in appreciation, feeling perfeclty relaxed like that. Matthew used just the right pressure to make the wings smooth and silky again. "Careful there, you make me want to rape you." Cherosh chuckled, making almost purring sounds in content. "Didn't we already have that yesterday?" Matthew snorted, kissing the joint where the wing hit Cherosh's back. "So? There's no problem with doing it again."

The nephilim wasn't wrong in any way, but still, Matthew chuckled quite some. "No, just saying. Plus, you can't rape the willing." While saying that, he worked on the last few feathers sticking out of the wing. "And I'm damned willing." Cherosh chuckled lowly, leaning back and looking up at the necromancer. "You already told me that once, and if I hadn't found out by now, I would be pretty dull." The taller male leaned up, giving the necromancer a soft kiss. "Talking about finding out something... I start to remember stuff from my past. For example our real first meeting. But you don't remember, quite possibly."

Blinking in surprise, the necromancer shook his head. "Do tell me. When have you run into me?" The nephilim chuckled. "Well, that didn't happen. I more likely stalked you. That was in my half-blooded vampire time. You remember this blonde you revived in a side alley? His throat was sliced open. That has been my prey that night. It was the first time I watched a necromancer raise someone from the dead, so I was pretty curious and watched you for the whole night."

The necromancer indeed remembered, and as he recalled, he could explain why he had feeled watched that night. "So that's why I thought someone was stalking me. Naughty ex-vampire, been stalking me." He chuckled, kissing Cherosh's back again. "That's what a vampire learns first, Matt. Sneaking and stalking most efficiently. You give your prey the feeling it is watched, but not actual proof this is really happening."

Cherosh stretched back, taking Matthew's wrists in his hands, pulling them around his neck and making a low, content sound. "Could be I'm an even naughtier half-angel now." The necromancer laughed, shuddering lightly at the memory of what had happened last night. "Naughty for sure. What you did last night... it was plain awesome." Cherosh smirked self-confidently, nodding to himself. "I know that I'm awesome." the nephilim snickered, leaning up to nip along Matthew's neck. "You especially liked my cold touch, eh?"

The necromancer snorted lowly, nodding a big half-heartedly. "I liked the messing-inside-my-stomach better." The nephilim nodded slowly, smirking maliciously. Matthew knew what that meant and shook his head with a not too happy expression. "Not now. It's good when we play rough, but not just like that. Stop thinking about it." Cherosh bowed his head, lifting his hands. "I'm sorry, Matt. Won't think about it again." To apologise, he nuzzled his nose against the necromancer's cheek and ear.

Sighing softly, Matthew nudged himself back into Cherosh's lap, snuggling against the nephilim's chest. He wasn't mad at Cherosh, and wanted to show the nephilim exactly that. And Cherosh understood that the smaller male wasn't pissed about his behavior. Good thing to know, as he didn't want to mess up again too soon.