Author Note: Huge thanks to Mizuni-no-neko, Bexi, KittyBePraised, Bethany C. MacKenzie and Hayze-Chan for the reviews! As ever, they're very welcome and I'm always glad to know that people are enjoying reading.

Okay, warnings. Posting this chapter scares me, I feel like I'm gonna be hunted down by torch-weilding mobs with pitchforks. It contains very dubious content, which is likely to freak out the sensitive, it's pretty dark and probably unsettling. And I've never written anything in this vein for SP before, so letting me know how it went is always appreciated.

Now I'm throwing down the chapter and running for my life! You can find me in the corner, twitching and screaming and drinking coffee.

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Temptations heat beats like a drum deep in your veins.

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Pip studied himself in the mirror of the medicine cabinet above the sink. His eyes were dark, shadows etched beneath them. They spoke of a weariness he had never seen in them before; in spite of everything that had happened in his life, he had always fought to keep his optimism. Everything else could be taken from him, but his faith in the future couldn't be, it just couldn't.

Until now.

He took off his shirt and ditched it on the floor, disregarding the urge to hang it over the rail or put it in the hamper, it wasn't his house and the nasty, bloodied thing was fine where it was. Once they had left, it could stay for all he cared, when the family who lived here returned they might find it and know he had been here, but by that time, whatever was going to happen to him would have happened already. All its discovery would do would be to fill in the gaps for a hundred true-crime authors.

Running the hot water tap until it was almost warm – the hot water had been turned off apparently and it was as best as he was going to get – he found a cloth and began to scrub the dried blood stains from his torso. He rubbed hard at his skin until it flushed red and tender, protesting at the pressure and still he didn't stop, working at his arms and then his hands, making sure every last mark was gone, literally if not figuratively.

As far as the rest of the world was concerned, there would always be blood on his hands, the blood of the people who had been unlucky enough to cross his path from the previous morning until this moment. In his own mind, his guilt was equally undoubted. He should have been strong enough to fight, there should have been something – anything – he could have done to stop the creature that had inhabited his mind. He should have killed himself instead of letting others die. But he hadn't been strong enough, and his failure had brought only destruction.

There was a comb in the cabinet, the kind used to detect head lice. He took it and managed to pull it through his own hair, for once glad of its fineness. It wasn't as long as he sometimes let it get, too soon since he had been held down on the changing room floor and given a forcible haircut by several of his fellow students, but it still spilled past his shoulder blades. He could still hear their voices in his head, faggot and girl and freak, feel the phantom pressure of the knee in the small of his back as he was pinned down, the hand between his shoulders. And his own half-cheery response, I was due for a trim, eh chaps?

Frowning, forcing back tears of weariness and self-loathing, he examined his hands. They seemed clean, all blood gone from even under his fingernails. Just to be sure, he dunked them in the sink again and had the image of an insane Lady MacBeth, a shrieking, deranged harridan repeatedly washing the stains only she was aware of, muttering, out damn spot, until there truly was blood all over her hands, from the wounds where she had worn the skin away.

Shuddering, he pulled his hands from the water and removed the plug from the drain. Leaning on its sides, he watched the pink-tinged liquid swirl down the drain. There was probably a metaphor in there somewhere, but he was heartsick enough already; he was being pursued by every officer in the state, due to the irrefutable proof that he had committed an especially nasty murder as well as a few opportunistic killings, and the only people between him and them were a mercenary, a kid who wouldn't stay dead and the Antichrist. It would be laughable if it wasn't so completely fucked up.

He looked into the mirror again and met the eyes of someone who had done unspeakable things. Someone whom he deservedly hated.

Willing himself not to fall apart, he turned and left the room, shutting off the light and heading into the room he had been designated earlier, probably the property of a scruffy teenager with a penchant for gloom. The walls were a darkish grey, the furniture black ash, the curtains and the quilt on the double bed black and grey. There were no posters, but there was a large TV, a DVD player and a stereo with oversized speakers. Flicking on the lamp on the dresser, Pip wondered what it might have been like to grow up in a place like this. He had always been a light sleeper at the orphanage, sharing a room with two other boys and with their snores and bedfarts, or occasionally being pissed on, deep sleep had been out of the question. He didn't think he would be getting much sleep here either, in spite of the apparent comfort.

The moment he turned, he was aware of a shadowy figure advancing on him at speed and had barely time to take a breath before he was grabbed and thrown forcibly onto the bed. He landed on his back and a second later, his wrists were in a tight grip, pinned to his sides. Someone straddled his pelvis, their weight enough to pin him in place but not enough to hurt. He stared up, his vision adjusting to see a pair of red and black eyes looking into his own.

"Damien?"

The Antichrist merely stared back at him, not relaxing his grip, leaning over Pip so that he could feel the heat of the breath on his face. Damien's mouth was curled into a half-smile, not quite a smirk, but intense determination radiated from his eyes.

Ah, thought Pip resignedly. He should have known there would be some payment due for the rescue and it looked like Damien planned to collect.

But – that seemed terribly crass for Damien. No, more likely the other had seen Pip giving him those looks, the small glances whenever he thought the brunette wouldn't notice, and had thought them some kind of invitation. In which case, he would just have to say no and the whole misunderstanding would be behind them, forgotten about.

But looking up into those burning eyes made all the moisture in his mouth dry up and he wasn't sure he could get the words out.

Damien didn't let him go, didn't move, didn't speak. Merely stared and waited for Pip to do something.

"Damien..." Pip strove to sound calm and perhaps slightly amused by the situation – a prank, how droll – but he could hear the thin thread of pleading in the words. "Please. Let me get up."

In response, Damien leant further towards Pip's face, inching slowly closer. Pip had time to realise he had never been this close to another person ever, wonder what on earth he was going to say next to get himself out of this. Then he felt Damien's breath against his lips and clamped them shut. If he tried to talk, he might give some encouragement and he shouldn't.

Closing his eyes, Pip felt Damien's hair tickling his face as the boys lips grazed his own so briefly he wondered if he had imagined it, then trailed them across his jaw. They were warm. His body was cold where it was exposed to the air, but the hands on his wrists, the weight sitting on him, the skin that barely touched his, they were warm. He supposed he had realised, but he had never truly experienced it before.

His body responded to the touch and Pip tried to fight the feeling away, to slow down his heartbeat, to force his ragged breathing back to normal. He couldn't do it. They were barely in contact and it still felt too good.

And then Damien's mouth found the curve of his shoulder and bit down.

Pip stifled a cry with practised ease, his eyes flying open. Shit, and he had just been letting his guard down. More fool him. Every time he did, pain happened.

Damien leant up and looked back into his face, the teasing smile gone, leaving behind confusion and anger. Pip didn't understand the look, but he knew that it wasn't good to have the boy pissed off with him.

"Damien, please, I – I'll look silly when the others see me, you can all tease me about the lovebite, that's a – a good joke, but could you please get off me?"

There was no change in Damien's expression, but Pip saw his eyes darkening and tensed further, wondering how he had managed to make things somehow worse. The grip on his wrists tightened almost imperceptibly and then Damien growled, "Make me."

Pip hesitated. He hadn't physically struggled against the grip, not wanting to get Damien any more angry than he already seemed to be. He had ceased fighting back against aggressors years before, learning that the beatings were over with faster when he offered no resistance, that using his hands to protect himself was better than using them to retaliate. And this was Damien, who wasn't even human. How was he supposed to make him do anything?

Damien's red eyes bored holes into him and Pip tried tentatively shifting his arms away from the other boy, finding his small movements futile. His neck burned where Damien had bitten it. A cheerful voice sounded in his head, one that sounded far too much like Asmodeus; Well, you've already been mind-raped by one demon today. Looks like you're about to be raped in a far more literal way by another.

He tried to pull back, the bed pressing into his spine and preventing the action. Biting his lip, he tried not to rage against the injustice of it all. If Damien had approached him differently, he might have been afraid, but he wouldn't have turned him away either. He had been full of conflicting emotions about Damien, but no matter how hard he fought against it, lust had kept rising to the surface. If Damien had cajoled him, bargained, tempted, he would no doubt have given in willingly. But he needed that much, some emotion that wasn't fear – and Damien knew that. Even if it was temporary. Even if it was a lie.

And his body was still betraying him, giving every sign of enjoyment in spite of his lack of it.

Damien's brows drew together into a scowl at the pathetic attempts at escape and he slid his body further down Pip's, not letting his grip on the blondes wrists falter. Pip inhaled sharply as their groins came into contact, his words coming out in a shaky rush. "Please, Damien, I don't – I can't..."

"You can't." Damien's voice was soft and mocking. He buried his head into the curve of his shoulder again and Pip braced himself, expecting another bite in the same spot, abusing his skin still further. Instead, Damien's tongue lapped at the wound and Pip wondered if he were bleeding, if it was all some weird feeding ritual and he'd completely misunderstood the intent. He shivered slightly as Damien moved his head again, cold air freezing against the wet injury.

"You can't what?"

Damien ground himself lightly against Pip and the blonde gasped, arching his head back, at the same time telling himself that he wasn't encouraging Damien, he wasn't. Damien's lips traced a path down his naked chest, finding one of Pip's nipples and fastening his teeth on it, not biting down but making sure the other boy knew it was an option, pausing there for long seconds before letting go to speak.

"You can't stop me? Is that what you're saying?"

"I..." Pip wasn't sure what he had been saying, only that he had to think of something else and his brain seemed to have stopped working properly, his thoughts lost in a cloud of shamed arousal and panic.

"You can't fight? You'd just accept anything?"

"No! I – Damien, we can forget it, just please let me go!"

Damien growled, taking the nipple back into his mouth and sucking hard enough to be painful. Pip turned his head to the side, eyes squeezed shut, fists clenched but still not trying to break the hold on his wrists.

"Look at me."

Obediently, Pip opened his eyes and turned his head. Damien was leaning over him again, his expression dark and unhappy, chest rising and falling with his heavy breathing.

"You – you're like – fuck, I don't even know what you're like! Didn't that hurt? Aren't you pissed?"

Pip tried a tentative smile, although it had hurt, trying to ignore the turmoil he felt. He didn't understand what was going on any more. One moment Damien seemed ready to molest him in spite of his protests, the next he was acting as if Pip had done something wrong. "It's okay, no harm done. If you could let me go...?"

"Fuck!" Damien pushed Pip's wrists as far into the mattress as he could, shifting his weight so that suddenly he was pressing far more heavily against Pip than he had been. Reflexively, Pip tried to pull away, but the movement barely registered.

"I hurt you, I trapped you, I attacked you and all you can say is no harm done? What is fucking wrong with you? Why don't you get mad? Why don't you ever fight back?"

Pip had subdued his worry about being raped – whatever he had done seemed to have stopped Damien in his tracks – but now the man seemed furious enough to do him a different kind of harm, the kind that involved beating him to a pulp or worse. It was as if he could already feel Damien's hands getting hotter and he struggled to swallow down his panic. "I'm sorry!"

"No!" Damien's eyes glowed. "Don't be sorry! Never be fucking sorry! Why do you just take the shit that gets thrown at you? Aren't you angry?"

"Getting angry doesn't help!"

Pip hadn't realised he had raised his voice until he heard the words aloud, clamping his mouth shut quickly. Damn, but he had to recover himself, start thinking again. But he was still aroused, afraid, his heart beating far too fast for him to calm down. And Damien still pinned him to the bed.

Only his outburst seemed to have roused Damien from his temper, because his mouth slowly curled into a smirk. "Getting angry doesn't help?"

He loosened his grip on Pip's wrists, although he didn't release the hold completely, chuckling darkly as he dropped his head again, taking Pip's unmolested nipple and gnawing at it. Unprepared for it, Pip thrashed in an attempt to get away.

"You'd better be ready to take whatever anyone wants to do to you then," whispered Damien, his breath hot against Pip's chest, leaning heavily against the boy to still him. "This is nothing. I can hurt you much worse than this. And you're not fighting. It must be what you want."

"No!"

"If you don't fight back, then you're a punchbag. Or a victim. Or a host..."

"NO!"

Pip heaved his body upward, pushing at Damien, twisting his wrists and freeing the grip on them. He shoved Damien off, causing the Antichrist to land on his back at the other side of the bed. Pip straddled him in an unconscious reversal of their previous positions, one hand coming to rest on Damien's chest, all his weight against it, the other curling into a fist. For a moment he held the position, breathing heavily, blue eyes wide and filled with fury, hair wild. Damien made no move to defend himself, and after several long moments, Pip dropped the fist, although he didn't make any other move.

"You can't just..." Pip's voice was high and wavering and he took a deep breath before trying again. "You can't just walk in here and do that! You can't! You don't just help yourself to me! I'm not a bloody supermarket!"

Damien gave a small snort of laughter. "I noticed."

Pip narrowed his eyes. "What's your game Damien?"

"Are you angry yet?"

Suddenly uncertain, Pip leaned back a little. "Yes, actually. I want to know what you're playing at!"

"Feels good, doesn't it? Like you're not just the victim in this? Like you're trying? Like you might actually have some control over your own life?"

Pip shoved at Damien's chest, as if there was somewhere for him to fall back to. "What do you expect, eh, what? You do that to me and now you're giving me a frigging pep talk? I don't know what the hell you want from me!"

"I want you to do something! I want you to stop being so fucking understanding and start thinking about yourself, stop trying to see the good in everyone even when there's nothing there to see!"

"I don't." Pip's eyes registered dull hurt behind the fading anger. "I don't see any good in you. But I didn't expect to. You're just like Asmodeus, only you're finding a different way to fuck with me."

Damien reached up and grabbed Pip's arms by the elbow, his expression changing to mirror Pip's anger. "I'm nothing like it! I just wanted you to show some fucking emotion and..."

"You thought you could screw it into me."

Damien shook his head. "Your virgin asshole is safe from me Pip. I don't go anywhere I'm not invited."

"So what – "

"Fuck, I couldn't think of anything else! You need to stop smiling when you get punched in the teeth or you're going to die out there. And you'll probably thank the person that does it."

Pip's face went cold. "That was a nasty trick Damien."

"I'm a nasty creature, remember? I'm not going to baby you through some therapeutic bullshit about healthy anger. I did what I know how to do and what I know is fear and intimidation and temptation and sin. You need to start getting mad Pip, you need to start fighting back. Like you did just now."

Pip pulled his arm away from Damien's grip, this time meeting no resistance. "Maybe that's what you know, but that's not what I want. I don't want to be like them. I don't want to react to everyone with violence and anger."

"I was trying to help," said Damien in frustration, leaning up on his elbows. "I thought – oh fuck it. I'll stick to evil in the future. It's more fucking understandable. Shit."

Moving, Pip rolled off Damien and sat on the other side of the bed. "I know you were trying to help."

"Stop it, stop being so fucking understanding, it's what I was trying to stop." Damien looked over at Pip, shaking his head slightly. "I just – I don't get it. How are you protecting yourself with that attitude?"

"Sometimes you just do things for the sake of other people," replied Pip. "Just trying to help, remember?"

"Shit."

Pip sighed, suddenly feeling terribly sad. The worst part was that he did understand, now, what Damien had done and why he had thought it was a good idea. To Damien, wrath and retaliation were just another part of a person and he didn't know why Pip didn't see things his way. Even when Damien tried to do something for someone else's benefit, it turned out to be wicked.

Worse, that attempt at protecting another person was something that he doubted many people had seen, if any. Damien had been trying to manipulate his emotions to protect him. Pip didn't know why, probably Damien couldn't give him a good reason either, but it showed that Damien was capable of thinking of someone other than himself. Unless this failure made him determined to never do so again.

Finally, someone cared enough about Pip to look out for him and he turned out to be the Antichrist.

"Pip?"

Glancing back at Damien, Pip saw he hadn't moved but his face was filled with questions and confusion. "How do you get by when you don't react? Why do you even get out of bed when you know some fucker's gonna be after you and you don't even try to defend yourself?"

Pip shrugged. "Because things will change. They always do."

"Change how? What do you even want?"

Considering the question, Pip thought of all the things he'd ever really wanted. A place he belonged, people who accepted him, maybe even loved him. And contentment. That was all. Except maybe for human touch.

"The usual things."

"Money and power?"

Damien looked almost disappointed and Pip smiled. "Not quite."

"Then what?"

Right then?

Pip knew the things he had wanted were out of his reach now. The rest of his life would be ruled by the things Asmodeus had done while a part of him. If the police found him or if Christophe really was able to get him away, it didn't matter. Those actions would define him forever, even if they weren't his doing.

So what did he really want?

"Contact," he said, voice almost a whisper. "And peace."

Damien reached over and took the blondes arm, pulling him forward. It wasn't rough, like it had been before, but Pip let himself be pulled, falling onto Damien's chest and immediately starting backward, raising himself on his arms and giving a startled, wary look. Damien put a hand on Pip's face, letting himself smile.

"That much I can give you," he murmured and raised his head until his lips brushed against Pip's.

~:~

Control.

Damien had the word in his mind from the moment he entered the darkened bedroom, hearing Pip still in the bathroom. Pip was beating down his anger, hiding it all under a veneer of good humour. If he could get the blonde to lose control of his temper, it would be harder for him to go back to letting others abuse him.

But Damien needed to stay in control, not let things get out of hand.

It had been tough, Pip taking so much longer to break than he had thought that Damien had nearly lost his cool first. But he knew, once the cracks in Pip's cover showed, just how to encourage that anger to overflow.

And when it had, damn. Damien had allowed Pip to push him around but at the moment he had been pinned on his back staring up at the boy, he hadn't been sure he could have moved if he had wanted to. If there were a final Heaven and Hell war and their side were defeated, Damien was sure the last thing he would see before the killing blow struck was an angel that looked just like Pip in those moments; furious, beautiful and utterly wild. He wouldn't mind being wiped from existence if that was his final image.

But it had all gone wrong. Pip had been angry, but somehow, instead of making him feel better, it had been just another thing to hurt him. And it was the understanding that he couldn't fathom that had saved Pip from truly hating him.

Not that he cared if Pip did hate him, he reminded himself. It would just make things more difficult. He thrived on hatred after all.

Stay in control.

Pip was a mystery. Human behaviour was so very predictable, but he just couldn't work Pip out. He didn't know why he wanted to. All he knew was that his mind was clamouring I want with a volume that drowned out everything else and he'd thought his stunt would push Pip away.

Contact. And peace.

Damien was unnerved but the I want hadn't gone away and with those words, he knew. He could give Pip what he needed, for one night at least, and just maybe, the I want would go away once he'd had. He just had to stay in control.

But when he brushed his lips against Pip's, hanging on to control suddenly became much more difficult than he had thought.

It was nothing like he thought it would be. In Damien's experience, kissing was either something two people did together just because it was expected, or else it was part of a game, his way of showing who was in charge even before the clothes had come off. And he had always been able to tell in the past that his partner had wanted the action – even if it wasn't expressed, there was something in the eyes. After his attempts at helping, he didn't even know if Pip wanted him near. But Pip leaned into him, into the kiss, mouth parted slightly, tentative, uncertain, inexperienced.

Damien traced his hand across Pip's face, his fingers finding the back of his head and tangling in the mass of blonde hair. He ran his tongue along Pip's lower lip, fighting the urge to force the boys face closer to his, knowing that if he pushed, Pip would back off and there would be no repeat chances. He nudged Pip's mouth open a little wider, slipping his tongue into the boys mouth and tasting the faint traces of cola and caffeine, feeling the texture of his hair spilling over his face, wrapped in his fingers.

And then Pip increased the pressure of the kiss, his own tongue meeting Damien's and caressing it, shifting his weight so that although he was still holding himself up with his arms, his bare chest came into contact with Damien's clothed one. Damien let himself fall back, reminding himself that he had to let Pip determine the pace, even though his I want thoughts were back, urging him to just take.

Stay in control.

Damien let the hand not occupied with Pip's hair stroke the boys chest, stilling as he felt Pip's heart beat, rapid against his chest, the muscles twitching beneath his hand. Pip's kisses had gotten surer, but still languid and lazy and searching. Damien had never known what the purpose of kissing was, it had always been an irritating prelude to the main event, but suddenly he could see the attraction. It was promise, desire. It was good. He had the uneasy feeling that somehow, Pip was seducing him without even realising it and that couldn't be right, because temptation was his thing – but damn, how could something so innocent and commonplace be clouding his mind?

Letting his control loosen just a little, Damien slipped his hand around Pip's back, tracing the ridges in the boys spine until his fingers rested on the curve of his back, at the same time pressing his leg against Pip's inner thigh, hoping to get the message across without resorting to pressure tactics. He was still concerned about scaring the blonde away.

But Pip took the hint, shifting his body so that his leg rested between Damien's, at the same time breaking the kiss and pulling his head back, eyes unfocused. Damien could relate. He felt unfocused himself. He should have known better, realised that his need to help Pip, to give him what he wanted, should have been a clue that something had gone terribly awry with his thought process. And something was still wrong because he was still holding back, still fighting his nature because he needed Pip to want him too.

Damien didn't know what was happening to him, but it wasn't control of the situation he was fighting for any more, it was control over his own responses.

Pip smiled.

Keep control!

A moment later, Pip's mouth found Damien's again and his leg rubbed shyly against Damien's dick, eliciting a moan of total surprise from the brunette. At the same time, Pip shifted his weight onto one arm, his hand finding the buttons of Damien's shirt and slowly unfastening the first one.

With a growl, Damien shifted both his hands to Pip's waist and threw him off, onto his back, keeping his grip and repositioning himself above the blonde, aligning their hips so that their groins pressed together.

- control -

Pip's eyes were wide, some fear there but overlaid with other emotions, lust and greed and desire. Distantly, Damien remembered that he was supposed to be holding back, but his mind was screaming I want at him and instead, he ground himself against Pip, slowly and deliberately. Pip tilted his head back and gasped, an involuntary buck of his hips sending a bolt of pleasure through Damien. Pip's hands grasped for Damien's shirt, attempting to work the buttons again, but after only a second or two he gave up and pulled the two halves apart by force. Buttons flew across the room, scattering almost soundlessly and Damien felt a savage joy in the other boys need for him, heat coiling tight in his stomach.

Throwing off the tattered remnants of his shirt, Damien pressed his bare torso to Pip's, their mouths clashing in an urgent, messy kiss before Damien began sucking, biting, licking, kissing at the pale flesh of Pip's neck and chest, whispered obscenities emerging from his lips in the rare seconds they weren't occupied with the boy beneath him, hips grinding shamelessly against Pip's, hearing Pip's harsh gasps as he met the movements with his own, one hand buried in Damien's hair, the other caressing the skin of his arms, his shoulders, his face.

- gotta keep CONTROL -

Shit, but Pip felt like heat and sweat, he smelled of soap and sex, he tasted like pure energy, he sounded obscene and he looked like an angel fallen to Earth to satisfy all Damien's desires and Damien had never before been so far from control.

Kneeling, breath coming in ragged pants, Damien grabbed the button on Pip's jeans and forced it open, taking impatient care with the zipper, his hand massaging at Pip's erection through the thick fabric.

"D-Damien..."

Damien looked down at Pip, noting the thin sheen of sweat covering him, the way his hands had grabbed the covers, and had to close his eyes against the sight or he wouldn't be able to stop himself.

"I've never..."

"I know," whispered Damien, forcing himself to wait, not to push things, to let Pip decide for himself.

Pip sat up, his hand caressing Damien's face, their foreheads touching. "Don't h-hurt me."

Damien crashed his lips against the blondes, pushing him back down, dragging the boys jeans over his hips and letting him kick them away, but he didn't answer. Any answer he gave would eventually be a lie, if not that night, then at sometime in the future. Because all Damien knew how to do with people was to hurt them.

And then he forgot about the future, about the past and what his purpose in existing was, losing himself in Pip's body, letting go of all thoughts of control.