Sebastian's tongue slipped into his mouth, intensely hot and wet against the fantasy Bravat had used to reach him. Bravat made a little noise of satisfaction and surprise in the back of his throat, melting into the kiss. Before he could stop himself, his hand had wound its way into Sebastian's hair, gripping tightly. Probably would've been uncomfortable for a human.
Bravat yanked harder, pulling Sebastian's head back and tilting up his throat. He attacked it, kissing roughly, biting down hard enough to draw out a hiss of pain or pleasure. It wasn't enough. He wanted Sebastian to lose control; just once this miserable summer, Bravat wanted to have the upper hand.
Still holding Sebastian's hair, he trailed his lips up to the demon's ear and whispered: nunc, mea es. You're mine now.
Seemingly against his will, Sebastian let out a tiny moan and murmured something in reply, mistaking Bravat for a person who actually knew Latin. But the words didn't matter; his tone said, we'll see about that.
He moved to straddle Sebastian, his erection back in full force, and nibbled his ear suggestively: so show me. Any Latin he'd gleaned from his little dictionary had been displaced by the heavy hot lust that had overpowered him. Body language would have to suffice.
Something thicker and darker than smoke was seeping out around the edges of the demon's body. He growled throaty Latin into Bravat's ear, sending shivers down the back of his neck. A black tendril coiled around Bravat's ankle; another, around his wrist.
Using his free hand, Bravat groped downward between their bodies until he reached the bulge at the front of Sebastian's trousers. He palmed Sebastian, rubbing lightly, delighting in the hiss the action elicited.
Blackness coiled around his other wrist and pulled his hand away, and by some unseen force, Bravat was shoved to his back, his hands pinned over his head. Sebastian was over him, on his hands and knees; his nails had become long black claws, sharp and deadly. He grinned wickedly, all sharp fangs and blazing demonic eyes.
He trailed a fingertip softly against the outline of Bravat's cock, and he reflexively rocked his hips into the touch."Now beg me for it.
"I summoned you, doesn't that make me your master?" Bravat said, laying a delicate emphasis on master.
Sebastian stroked Bravat through his trousers with a soft press of his fingertips. "The fact that you would ask tells me exactly who is in control here." Then, suddenly, he ripped Bravat's shirt open, laying bare that soft skin and hard muscle. "Do you know what it takes to control a demon?" He leaned down and trailed his hot tongue along Bravat's left nipple; then, suddenly, he bit down, hard.
Bravat cried out, yanking his wrists against the demonic aether that shackled them, but the restraint only grew tighter in reply. "I could take you right here, you know." Sebastian trailed his hands along Bravat's thighs, bringing his lips to the lines of his hips. "I could ravage you with pleasure and pain all night until my name breaks on your voice." He bit down once more, and Bravat cried out.
"And I know," Sebastian continued, trailing his lips over Bravat's ribs, dipping back down to tease at the waistband of his trousers, refusing to satisfy the pulsing ache between Bravat's legs, "you wouldn't stop me."
"Fuck," Bravat moaned, closing his eyes, nearly weeping with heady desire as Sebastian steadfastly avoided his rock-hard cock. "Please." He strained against the coiling blackness around his wrists, needing to pull Sebastian against him.
"Good boy. " Sebastian did not release Bravat, however, and began to pull his t-shirt over his head, a gesture Bravat hadn't realized could be sexy.
"Sebastian, what the fuck!" Bravat cried.
An enormous, purplish scar jagged across Sebastian's chest, a yellow bruise blooming around it. It reminded Bravat of the mineral pools in Yellowstone, poisonous and boiling bright.
"Don't worry about it." He unbuttoned his trousers, overly calm and casual now.
Bravat struggled up into a sitting position; it felt like the restraints around his wrists had gone limp. "Let me look at it." His voice was sharp, commanding.
"It's really nothing," Sebastian grumbled, though he ceased undressing and was looking away crossly.
Carefully, Bravat inspected the wound, then peered around at Sebastian's back. Something large and sharp had sliced through him, an injury a human would never survive.
"Jesus, Sebastian! What have you been doing?!"
Sebastian seemed defensive, like a naughty child. "I told you."
Bravat crossed his arms. "You didn't, actually. Nor do you know what I've been going through."
"Something happened?"
"You first."
The air still seemed to crackle with hot electricity, but the desperate lust had been shattered by shock. This seemed to have annoyed Sebastian. "Very well. In brief, she wields a demonic sword, capable of injuring me—"
"Like the knife you gave me?"
Sebastian gave him a look. "It's rude to interrupt, especially after you've begged someone to speak. And no, the Misericordia is forged by mortals, sanctified by ritual far older than myself. It has the power to kill a demon, but if you stabbed a human with it, it would be no different than any other wound. A demon sword is rather the opposite; terribly deadly to the creatures of this realm, but only able to inflict 'average' wounds upon other demons. Though we are a bit sturdier, and can survive more than humans."
"So she got you with her sword, then?"
"I tried reasoning with her," Sebastian said, seemingly to himself.
"Are you...okay?" Bravat asked.
Sebastian lifted an eyebrow. "Do I seem otherwise?"
Bravat mussed his hair and looked away. "I guess not. Anyway, that sort of leads to why I called you: I got attacked by a zombie. I need your help figuring out where it came from."
"Is that not a creation of human Voodoo? Why should I know anything about that?" Sebastian said.
"Well, I thought maybe there was a chance it belonged to...what is her name?" Bravat said, realizing that the demon had never been referred to by name.
Sebastian snorted. "Even I don't know that. It's been lost to history. But in this realm, she calls herself Hannah."
"Right. Well, I thought maybe it belonged to Hannah, and that you might know something about it. Apparently I'm not the only one to run into one."
Sebastian pursed his lips. "Can't help you there."
They were both quiet for a moment, sitting awkwardly among a mess of clothes atop the chalk pentagram. Bravat fiddled with the torn edges of the shirt fluttering off his shoulders. "I was thinking," he began awkwardly, "maybe I could...help you fight this Hannah demon."
Sebastian looked like he wanted to laugh and was masking it poorly with a look of kind concern. "Ah. No thank you. I can handle it."
Bravat frowned. "Clearly you can't, if you're showing up with all these awful scars, which, by the way, seem to be all you've gotten for several weeks worth of trouble, considering she's still killing people."
"Listen," Sebastian said, almost gently, "I left you the Misericordia for self defense, assuming that the element of surprise and your knowledge of anatomy and thus where to place a deadly blow would be enough. I'm not sure you could take her on. She's—she's powerful." More powerful than me. Sebastian was too proud to say it, but Bravat could tell the words had been on the tip of his tongue.
Bravat knew Sebastian was right, but he felt so helpless. "It's...my responsibility to do something about this. Gift or curse, I have—ah shit, what did Nina call it—aberration. I need to do something."
"Just...try to stay safe," Sebastian said. "And shut up," he added, when Bravat's face lit up with teasing delight.
"Sebastian?" Bravat asked, uncharacteristically shy. "Don't disappear on me again, okay?"
The demon smiled and touched a hand to his scarred, bruised heart.
"Earlier this afternoon, riots in Montgomery were disbanded when police were forced to use firehoses to subdue the crowds. Several arrests were made, with violent resistance by colored protestors. The fight over the Civil Rights Act and over school integration continues here in New Orleans, with many whites leaving the city for the suburbs. No reports of riots yet, but stay safe out there, folks. Turning to sports..."
Bravat clicked off the radio. He'd seen the protestors—all white—outside the school a few blocks away, screaming about integration. And it certainly did seem like there were more "for sale" signs these days. He sighed, sipping a glass of vodka and checking his watch. 6:52.
Maybe, Bravat thought as he dressed, he'd be there tonight. At first he wouldn't even admit it to himself, but he'd begun frequenting Churchill's, hoping Sebastian would show up at last. No luck, and then Bravat had given up all pretense and begun going there every night.
Just in case, he tucked the knife that Sebastian had called the Misericordia, wrapped in a scarf, into his pocket.
The shadows were beginning to lengthen, but the sun was still bright and hot, the air still steamy from the afternoon's shower. By the time Bravat slipped into the mercifully air-conditioned bar, he was veiled in a thin layer of sweat.
He stationed himself at the table in the back corner, surveying the room over the rim of his vodka glass. When did I start drinking so much? Bravat thought idly, knowing the answer. He lit a cigarette, having abandoned his pipe after Sebastian had insulted it so soundly.
A tense hour passed; nothing.
God damn it, Sebastian. I asked you not to disappear again.
The place seemed quieter, more subdued than usual; only a handful of tables were occupied, and there was still plenty of seating at the bar. Even the radio behind the bar seemed to have been turned down. Bravat wondered if people were too afraid to step outside anymore, with the increasingly violent news cheerfully reported each day.
He decided to leave; Sebastian wasn't going to show up, and the somber atmosphere was depressing him.
The air had cooled, but the humidity was still thick and heavy. Bravat decided to go for a walk; a long, sweaty, cathartic walk.
He tilted his head up toward the stars, trying to pick out Sagittarius. The center of the Milky Way lay toward the constellation, that heavy dead star pulling the galaxy in on itself. He thought of Sebastian, of the hot and wild kiss they'd shared.
Bravat was staring up at the sky, not paying the slightest bit of attention to where he was going, and he smacked straight into someone.
"Oh! Excuse me, I—"
The woman—the demon—he'd crashed into had long hair, pale silver gathered into a loose plait slung over her shoulder, contrasting very prettily with her black dress and knee-high boots. The moonlight glinted off the enormous black sword she'd drawn from a holster and raised up to her shoulder, preparing to swing.
"Holy shit, Hannah?!"
She seemed as stunned as Bravat, freezing mid-swing. "You know who I am?"
"More than that. You're a demon, aren't you?" The Misericordia lay forgotten in his pocket.
She didn't reply, but lowered her sword. Her beautiful face was sad as she looked away.
Bravat tried again, more gently. "You're the one who's been killing people, right?"
Hannah looked at him sharply. "Your police and your citizens are the ones killing people. I am the one serving justice."
"Those people were innocent." Bravat edged away from her; he was wary of angering someone with such a large sword.
"Innocent," she said bitterly, looking down once more as she spoke. "They spend their days screaming at children, they trample their brothers and sisters into the dirt and abandon them, they kill and hurt and destroy."
"What do you mean?" Bravat asked. Her voice was like how he'd imagined a mermaid's voice might sound, beautiful and haunted.
She was silent again, but Bravat thought he knew what she meant. "Someone killed my neighbor John," he said quietly. "He was a really decent guy, and someone killed him for the color of his skin. I found him. It was awful."
A single tear dripped down her face, liquid diamond in the moonlight. "They killed my Luka," she whispered. Her hand tightened around the handle of her sword. "They killed my little Luka, and NO ONE CARED!" her voice rose into a shriek at the end.
Bravat looked around urgently, but the deserted street was quiet, her histrionics unnoticed. Nervously, he placed a hand on her shoulder, patting it awkwardly. "I'm sorry," he said.
Then, something happened that Bravat could never have predicted: the demon pulled him in, hugged him tightly, then turned and fled down the street.
He watched her go, making no move to chase her.
A/N: My thanks to abyweisskurodemonology on tumblr for their excellent research on Hannah.