Chapter 2:

Captive

When Arthur next opened his eyes and his nose came in contact with the smell in the air, he knew the worse had happened to him.

All he could remember was the demon straddling him and nipping his skin—too many places to remember, all he knew was that wherever the demon could nibble without much movement, he marked the spot with his fangs—trying to get as much blood as he could from him before the angel passed out. He had tried to fight the monster off of him with all of his strength, but once his garment had been torn open and a sharp pair of teeth chomped on the lone buds of his abdomen, he stopped fighting entirely besides the few pounds onto the demon's back before finally falling into unconsciousness himself. So it wasn't much of a surprise that he would be taken to Hell as a prisoner for who knows how long.

What was a surprise was the fact that Arthur wasn't on a rough surface surrounded by dark walls, or bleeding his wounds out publicly. In fact, when he woke up, he was comfortably lying down on his left side, with his hand beneath his cheek and his wings settled against each other, tucked close to his back. When he checked his body for wounds, any injuries were bandaged up where it was necessary. He blinked back the sleep that had dazed him for who knows how long, and took a half-asleep sweep of his eyes around the room. It wasn't much of anything; just a rectangular opening that acted as a window and a plain, wooden door across from the bed. The smell of the room wasn't too bad, but outside the window…

It was without a doubt that this meant he was a captive now- it being common knowledge that any angel caught by a demon is made one- but he didn't know how to be one. It wasn't that he was dependent on others. He had been independent longer than the United States. But the thing is…he had been a Guardian for so long, that was all he knew after he had died and became an angel. How did you be a captive? Did you do nothing but sit around all day? Were you beaten and used as a toy to your kidnapper's amusement and delight, like how the demons usually treated the angels?

Arthur sat up in near-distraught as the memories that rose to the remembrance of the angels slapped him into reality. The last he could recall, he and Yao had been caught by demons; and there was no doubt in his mind that a majority of those that they knew had also been taken. His home with its beautiful marble blocks of gold and white, its peaceful atmosphere and his sanctuary after death: gone in a painful flash. He was not a Guardian anymore, not after what he had did. He and Yao had betrayed their friends, as well as the oath he had taken. The two of them had decided to worry about their own safety instead of assisting those in need of aid. Arthur himself had betrayed his close, kind, cooking-and-panda-loving, ever-so-joyful friend Yao, now probably dead, with his abused wings and the layers of scars that he most likely had. He was useless.

A lone sob pushed past his lips, and he covered his mouth with his hand, clamping his eyes shut as the tears pushed out into the world, their pale tints glistening against the pale light of whatever object descended light here. He was nothing he was nothing he was nothing he was nothing—

The door was suddenly thrown open, causing Arthur to jump in surprise and let his wings out slightly. The demon that had caught him now stood in front of him, and Arthur inwardly scolded himself at the attractiveness the Son of the Dark had.

His hair was disheveled, specifically on the top of his head and providing a type of camouflage for his horns. His wings were neatly pressed against his back, the tips showing behind his broad shoulders. His jacket and jeans seemed to be covered in layers of dust and grime, mixing in with the stench of Hell that slicked off of him and around the room. His eyes were a pale mixture of red and white, barely on the verge of pink. They had streams of mischief and desire and lust inside of them. All in all, he was a beautiful creature, demon or not, and Arthur blinked in surprise at his sudden appearance in the room.

"U-um, hello," he quietly greeted in a small voice. The tall demon stared blankly at him. He gulped; 'It's alright Arthur,' he tried to convince himself, 'it's alright. It's just a demon who wants me for his own. It's just a demon who wants to hurt me and I'm going to die here. Certainly.'

"Your blood taste good," he stated after their moment of silence. His lips were still a bright ruby shade, and looking into his eyes, the Englishman could see the truth in his words. Arthur blushed, wondering if that was supposed to be a compliment. He didn't know how he should react to it. Angels were always pure and hardly experienced with loving another, for all of them were often pure beings and cleansed of any spite or evil inside of them when they passed on to Heaven. It was the demons that performed the search for something to soothe the needs of lust and sex. Angels were inexperienced with such things. Nevertheless, Arthur decided to be a bit formal and gentlemanly, and at least try to know his kidnapper a bit better. "Er...do you have a name?"

The demon took a step closer to run his fingers along the angel's chin. The touch tickled his jawline softly, like long tresses of hair flowing down the side of his face. Arthur whimpered nearly inaudibly as the index finger's nail extended and curved into a claw, its sharp point jabbing into his chin to pick his head up. He bit his lip as his eyes were poked with water once again.

'Don't let him see you cry. Don't let him see you cry. Don't let him see you cry.'

The claw tilted his head to the side, examining each cheek as if he was thinking which side to try and get blood from first. Another hand, claws tucked away, invaded his shaggy blond hair, combing through it slowly as it fell through his fingers like sand. Green eyes watched as the thumb and middle fingers of the demon's right hand touched the halo above his head gently, toying with it momentarily; the Guardian groaned in reaction, biting his lip to quiet himself. The sensation didn't feel nice, but at the same time, as much as he hated to admit it, it didn't feel terrible. The Son of the Dark stopped his movements, tilting the head back to him and staring into the emerald orbs. "Alfred."

Arthur blinked in relief as the hands wandered away, vision connected with that of the other male. "Alfred…that's a very nice name," he commented.

"You're just like they described you." The demon, now known as Alfred, took a few stray strands of the enslaved angel's hair and tucked it behind his ear. "Blond; emerald; pale. Very pretty angel."

The Englishman blinked in surprise, cheeks already deepening in their flushed state. "O-oh, um…thank you for those words, that's very kind of you."

Alfred moved his head closer so that they shared their breaths, expression still blank, tips of their noses nearly touching and causing the Guardian to sense his cheeks burning even more than before, and to cause the Briton to sputter in shock and alarm. "The pretty angel owns nice eyes." His voice sounded a bit like an American, and there was a faint smell between the filth and Hell stenches that smelled similar to grilled meat and the seasonings and juices left behind from that, faintly followed by something sugary and gentle. It was as revolting as Hell's disgusting odor.

He swallowed loudly; "Th-thank you, um…," he tried to back up and put distance between them, but the demon moved closer, "th-that's very nice of you."

"Does the pretty angel like me?" He tilted his head and gave a grin full of mischief.

"Uh, well," Arthur's hands fidgeted, eyes downcast at his golden sandals, "I...I haven't gotten the chance to become acquainted with you yet, so...there's not much for me to judge...and therefore, I can't say if I do or not. I'm sorry." The next thing he knew, he was roughly against the wall with claws digging into his upper arms, a growl filling his ears, and sharp teeth at his neck. "A—ah!" His legs squirmed for freedom underneath the body that cast his shadow over him. "W-what are you-"

"You should be careful with what you say," he murmured into him, nipping at his collarbone; the Brit whined in discomfort. "If you say the wrong things, it'll cost you your life." His tongue trailed up the side of the neck, and Arthur shivered. "Luckily, you're too pretty for me to want to harm anymore than I have. So, I'll let you go for now. But I won't let you go unmarked so easily next time…okay?"

His voice was low and husky, causing a chill to run up the angel's spine. "Y-yes. I'm sorry."

Alfred chuckled against his ear, and removed himself from his prisoner. "Better." He gave one last suck to the pale neck, causing Arthur to buck forwards in surprise and cry out in shock, head moving up unintentionally and giving the demon more room to assault. The skin that was under the Son of the Dark's power was pulled forward, teeth gracing over its surface harshly, with lips slurping quietly at it. Convulsions ripped through the angel's body, causing him to tremble as if he was seated in a blizzard. Pants for air slipped past his lips as he gripped the fabric of the bed tightly at a particularly rough suck before the mouth was gone, and the pale eyes returned to look into his shining green.

"All done," Alfred smirked, giving a lick of his lips with lowly-lidded eyes. "Red looks nice on you." With a dark chuckle and a correction of his posture, he turned and sauntered toward the door, tall and proud, his devil's tail flickering at his movements. Arthur was too shaken by the contact and rush of emotions to even move a muscle, save blinking and his heaving chest. The Son of the Dark glanced back at him with an evil-dripping smile. "I'll be back soon, Pretty Angel. Then you can be all mine."

When the demon opened the door and exited, shutting the exit behind him, that's when Arthur let the brick wall down and sobbed into open, cupped hands. Angels were never made out for lives like this.

x-x-x

Arthur had lulled himself into a deep sleep of exhaustion after hysterically weeping at his luck and misfortune for what seemed like years. He thought he would be a Guardian forever, living his days as a friend to the Royal Family and eventually becoming a strong, powerful, reliable angel. He had hoped to perhaps become an archangel like Michael, to interact more with those living than those dead. But now, he found himself in the sharp, sexually needy hold of a demon, and it terrified him to the bone. He hadn't been so afraid since he had died, and that was a truly petrifying experience: in the middle of the London Blitz, cowering with his cat pressed against him, abandoned, burning flames of terror against him before a bomb finally hit a target enough to burn him and his companions to death. Luckily, he had been ridden of the pain, and he knew the whereabouts of his pets, but that seemed like nothing compared to what he feared would happen to him in the future.

When he next awoke, eyes crusty from his fallen tears and sleep, he discovered a hand pressing against his face. Stomach rumbling, he weakly forced his eyes to crack open. He wished that everything before had been a dream, that he wasn't with an American demon named Alfred but with Yao or Matthew, and he had just slacked off for a bit unexpectedly. But not everything could come true, and the angel found himself under the hands of the demon. It didn't startle him, more unpleasant than anything, however he didn't show the feeling.

"Hello, Pretty Angel," Alfred greeted. When he smiled this time, his fangs poked out of his mouth. His hair was tamer than before, still riled but neater than it was when last seen, the strand of a cowlick he had recognized before sticking up in the air and somewhat defying gravity.

The Englishman opted for not speaking, making a small "Hm" with a gentle, slow nod to confirm that he had heard him.

"My Boss would like to see you. He wants to see what you can do, test your strength."

"'Strength'?" By now, Arthur had managed to shoo away the daze from sleep to concentrate on what the demon was saying. "Whot do you mean by that?"

"He wants to test your strength." His smirk seemed to grow, eyes gleaming in a way that made the angel suspicious.

"Yes, I know, but…could you be more specific?"

Alfred only grinned and stood up, holding a hand out for his captive; the Guardian angel sighed and let himself be helped to his feet. He didn't think that he was going to be informed any time soon.

"Alright then. I'll go along with you if I…absolutely have to."

His smile beamed by now, eyes closed in happiness. "Good." He pulled his hands from his back and held them out. "I need to tie Pretty Angel's hands now."

"I, I beg your pardon?" He took half a step back, eyebrows in confusion.

"I need to tie your hands together. Can't have you running off from me, can I? Some demons aren't as nice as I am- I know demons who won't hesitate to pin you to the grounds of Hell and rip you apart to shreds until you're bloody and numb and limp and barely able to support yourself." His smile, despite the gruesome description, stayed in place, not wavering in the slightest.

Arthur blinked in shock, and a bit of stubbornness shown through. "I refuse to be tied, no matter where it happens to be." He crossed his arms to show that he wasn't going to listen to Alfred, kidnapper or not.

The demon's smile faltered slowly and carefully into a tight line, eyes taking a dark glint that replaced the mischief, still swinging on the heels of his feet. "I don't know, Pretty Angel. Remember what happened last time you disobeyed me?"

The Briton winced, glancing down at his feet as his left hand rose up and rubbed the mark on his neck. The sucking had hurt something terrible, and felt so strange to him. His silence after a while was considered something positive to Alfred, who laughed and held his hands outwards, gesturing towards the rope.

A short while later, Alfred was flying, balanced in the air with the long of piece of rope tautly in his hand, and a hand-bounded Arthur walked under his shadow to what be his first lesson on demons and torture.