Paul was glad to see the doubt clear away from Gabriel's eyes, a shadow there and gone like a ghost. He had not been lying, he did not waste his time on the pitiful and the miserable. There was nothing to be gained by interacting with people determined to wallow in their own filth. Gabriel was not part of their ilk and Paul would not see him drop down so low.<br/><br/>He was Paul's angel. That was the long and the short of it. He was Paul's and everything he owned was valuable and precious. Every single thing.<br/><br/>Paul leaned down and kissed his angel. His lips were wet and salty from the bath water, and so soft that Paul could not help but sink his teeth into them.<br/><br/>The only pitiful thing about Gabriel were his moans when he's on the edge of orgasm, high and reedy and whining like a bitch in heat. Paul could pity him when he's straining against his confines, thighs trembling and hips twitching, arching his entire body in search of Paul's touch just out of reach. Paul could pity him when he's gasping for breath and exhausted, stomach spattered with cum, unaware that Paul was going to torture another three orgasms out of him before the night was through.<br/><br/>Those were the only times Peter ever felt pity for his angel. If Gabriel was determined to be pitiful, than Paul would oblige and wrench it out of him.<br/><br/>Paul released Gabriel, both his abused lips and his chin, and let him splash back into the water. Paul removed his briefs and followed after. He kissed Gabriel again before he was even settled, looming over the boy as his hands caught hold of Gabriel's hips, pulling him close.<br/><br/>"Kiss me, angel," he breathed, giving Gabriel permission to touch as he wanted, kiss how he wanted.