Deadly Poppies
Mephisto/Shura
Rated T
Enjoy!
Shura trudged down the richly decorated hall leading to her least favorite chairman's office with a sense of sleepy urgency. The sleepy part was because Shura had spent the greater part of last night drinking. The urgency part was because Mephisto Pheles very rarely used the PA system of his beloved academy, and when he did that meant trouble was afoot.
Shura paused for a moment before pushing the ornate door to his office open. She couldn't explain the lick of hesitation that gripped her chest. Was it fear, worry, anticipation? Shura scowled and knocked the door open, sauntering in.
"Whaddaya want?" she demanded, leaning against the door.
Mephisto sat behind his desk, resting his chin in his hands with a contemplative look on his face. A rather large vase full of red flowers sat on the edge of his desk, obtrusive and lopsided. Mephisto lifted his head and met Shura's gaze before smirking slowly.
"Why I wanted to thank you for the flowers," he purred out.
"W-WHAT? I didn' send ya any flowers!" Shura burst out. "That's dumb!"
"Would you like to hear the card?" Mephisto asked.
"No! Must've been mistaken!" Shura insisted, shaking her head. She vaguely remembered ending up at a florists somehow last night but to send flowers to Mephisto… "I… those were fer someone else!"
"Who?" Mephisto wondered.
"None o' yer business," Shura snipped.
"Hm… if not for me… then perhaps Mister Okumura?" Mephisto suggested slyly.
"Hell no. The kid's only fifteen," Shura dismissed Mephisto. " 'Nd he's got a stick up his ass," Mephisto chuckled.
"How about Angel then-"
"No. Ew. That asshole's more in love with himself than yer are," Shura sneered. Mephisto plucked a poppy from the overflowing vase and twirled it in his gloved hands delicately.
"So who did you intend to send these to?" he asked Shura calmly.
"I said it's none of yer business," Shura repeated herself shortly. "Now if ya don' mind I've got shit ta do-"
"You don't have class until this afternoon." Mephisto pointed out, standing. "How do you intend on spending that time? Drinking?"
"Yeah, actually," Shura smirked slightly. "That sounds like a great plan."
"Teaching while intoxicated, what kind of an example will that set for your students," Mephisto sighed.
"I'm not supposed ta set an example, I'm supposed ta teach 'em," Shura pointed out.
"Ah, but as chairman of this school I simply cannot allow my employees to teach intoxicated. Think about True Cross Academy's spotless reputation!" Mephisto pointed out.
"I don't give a fuck." Shura retorted.
"A lady shouldn't use such language," Mephisto chided.
"Tough shit," Shura shrugged. "I'm going," she turned for the door only to find Mephisto standing in her way, leaning against it. He smirked at Shura, who narrowed her eyes. "Lemme through."
"Why did you send me flowers?" he countered.
"I didn' send ya the fuckin' flowers!" Shura snapped.
"They're clearly from you. And they're clearly for me. So why?" Mephisto prodded.
"I told ya-"
"I can tell when you're lying, Shura dear," Mephisto's smile had too many teeth in it, causing a shiver to roll down Shura's spine. Even though Mephisto was a good several feet away, he was too close for Shura's comfort. And he was blocking her escape route. And he was calling her dear!
"Don' call me that. And yer not gittin' anythin' out of me," Shura scowled, trying to maintain her composure. After this she needed a stiff drink. How the hell did Shiro put up with this asshole all the time?
"That implies you have something to hide," Mephisto pointed out.
"So?" Shura challenged.
"Well, I want to know what you're hiding," Mephisto explained simply.
"Yeah 'nd I want a drink. Yer point?" Shura remarked.
"Yes, but I always get what I want," Mephisto explained, a darker look crossing his face. Shura pressed her lips together and tensed, half-expecting to be attacked. After a minute, the dark look vanished, replaced by a bored one. "It looks like you'll be here for a while. Have a seat,"
"No thanks. Lemme out," Shura shook her head.
"Not until you tell me why you sent me those flowers," Mephisto shook his head.
"Yer obsessed," Shura remarked.
"You're stubborn." Mephisto shrugged.
"Whaddaya have ta gain from this?" Shura wanted to know.
"All sorts of things," Mephisto shrugged.
"Like what?" Shura narrowed her eyes.
"Your pride," Mephisto explained.
"My pride?" Shura repeated. "That ain' something yer can gain,"
"Oh but it is," Mephisto began casually sauntering over to Shura, who stood her ground, an annoyed look on her face.
"'Nd how exactly do ya intend on doin' that?" Shura wanted to know, crossing her arms.
"Ah, that's the best part, I don't have to do a thing!" Mephisto grinned. "You've already handed your pride to me on a silver platter," Shura stared at him. "Ah, you still look confused. Then let me explain it to you. Since you won't tell me why you sent me flowers, and denied that the flowers were for me, that implies you must have sent them to me as a romantic gesture,"
"What-"
"Oh don't be shy now Shura dear, I have quite a following," Mephisto remarked jovially. Shura stared at him for a moment or two, and then burst out laughing.
"That's yer reasoning? Pffft yer fuckin' hilarious," Shura sniggered, doubling over. "Ain the guy supposed to send the girl flowers?"
"Oh come now, aren't we past gender stereotypes in this age," Mephisto pointed out, as if Shura hadn't just insulted him. "And I did notice you didn't deny it."
"Yer gonna twist anything I say anyways," Shura pointed out flatly. Mephisto shrugged.
"What should it matter to you, if your pride is so impenetrable that I cannot have it," he pointed out, leaning in close. Shura grit her teeth- these verbal wit battles made her hangovers worse. Mephisto cupped the side of her face and Shura flinched ever so slightly "Is this frightening?"
"I ain' scared," Shura replied with a cool bravado she wasn't sure she could back up.
"Of course not," Mephisto smirked. Shura quickly palmed a knife and held it to his throat. "Oh my, wherever did you get that from?"
"Let me go," Shura hissed, pressing the point of the knife against Mephisto's neck, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to promise it. She didn't like the way his green eyes flashed or his awful smirk widened. That's not how people should respond to having a knife at their throat.
"Tell me, do you intend on killing me?" Mephisto's voice took on a dark and silky tone that made Shura's blood freeze. It was the sort of voice that promised a slow, tortuous death. Yet buried under the sour fear rising in her chest, Shura felt a sort of sick excitement at dancing so close to death, courting danger. Shura's pulse raced and she tensed again, wanting to get out, wanting to put distance between her and this horrible… monster clad in neat white cloth. Her exit was blocked, her legs wouldn't move and for some sadistic twist of fate the one holding the other at knife point was the one trapped.
Shura's knife dropped, but not before dipping into Mephisto's skin enough to paint its tip crimson. She wasn't sure who'd instigated it but in the next moment they were kissing harshly. Shura felt like she was being consumed, swallowed whole, smothered. She still couldn't move, immobilized this time by a pair of hands on her waist, digging into her skin with the promise of claws hidden by some kind of cloth, was it suede? Such details were drowned by the warm feeling of his suit on her bare skin, the throbbing of her pulse and the sting of when he bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.
Mephisto pulled his mouth away but kept Shura in place. The two stared at each other, neither daring to let their glance fill with lust nor turn away and forget the encounter. Shura spotted a smear of crimson on Mephisto's lip, almost the same shade as the poppies that started the whole mess. Mephisto noticed it too and slowly licked his lips, sending a new set of shivers down Shura's spine.
A shrill tone of a phone ringing tore the tension and made them both jump slightly. Mephisto quickly pulled away and went to answer it. Shura paused for a moment before bolting for the door, ignoring the awful smirk that man must have had plastered on his face as she left.
There went her pride.
Shura stomped down the ornate hall leading from Mephisto's office, frustration oozing under her skin like lava. If anyone asked about her red face she'd insist she was drinking and to hell with Yukio's disapproving glares. It was easier to be known as the irresponsible exorcist who wasted her talent than the woman who made out with her demonic superior, just like it was easier to pretend someone else had left the poppy on the front desk of her classroom.
A/N: yay for symbolism? OTL I think I miss writing Love Lies Bleeding with all the floral symbolism.