Author Note: HUGE thanks to Mizuni-no-neko, Hayze-Chan, Akatsuki Feathers, KittyBePraised, Bexi, Bethany C. MacKenzie and lm2k6 for the awesome, confidence-boosting reviews! I admit, I was very worried about posting the last chapter, not so much because of the uh, suggestive situations, but because it was closing in on non-con at one point. But I had no complaints and lots of positive comments, which makes me happy and relieved.

Heh, I'm amused by the irony of posting this chapter after the last weekend, since I got stupidly hammered Friday and mistaken for a tree by a spider monkey on Sunday. I'm sure these things don't happen to normal people. Anyway, the warnings. Mentions of unpleasant bedroom goings on, casual shagging around, drug taking, alcohol abuse and angsty emo-tastic whining. I hope you'll leave a review and let me know what you think of the latest instalment.

Oh! And I have a dA account now, under the name hotmonkeybrain – the link is in muh profile, if you're interested in my random craptastic scribbles (I did check out Tegaki E, but got a bit intimidated, lol). Also, I did the meme of doom again with a different line up – I have far too much fun with that damn thing – and you can check that out on muh profile too.

&*&*&*&

Nothing ever counts, lashing out or breaking down.

&*&*&*&

Damien's favourite part of sex had always been the fear.

Mortals were an amusing breed, he often mused to himself. He never lied to them about who and what he was. He never had to. He would tell them the entire truth and their own minds would spin the lie for him, for a while anyway. Some of them thought he was a fake, a poseur, and that suited him just fine. Others believed him, but couldn't fathom exactly what it meant for them and that suited him just fine too.

They always gave themselves willingly. That was part of the fun.

The anxiety was the first thing, mingled with the need in their eyes. Sometimes when they first touched his skin and found it unpleasantly warm, or got close enough to his face to see where the edge of his coloured contact lenses weren't, there were many clues as to what he wasn't. And when he saw the dawning realisation in their eyes, he would give them an inhumanely feral grin, leaving no doubt in their minds and hearts.

And still, they never said no.

Their arms reached for him even as their minds rebelled, opened their bodies while closing their eyes or trying to turn their heads in denial. And he wouldn't allow it, commanding, demanding that they look at him, face up to what they were doing.

"This is what you wanted," he would remind them.

The answer was always yes, spoken in sorrow and shame, longing and lust. Perhaps they had feared more what his reaction would be if they denied him, but he always had enough control to walk away if that was their choice, secure in the knowledge that the wasted chance would forever haunt them, make every other encounter they had seem hollow and pointless. He'd never had test that knowledge; they said yes with their mouths, knowing exactly what they were doing, even if a part of their soul begged them no.

The sex itself was more of a power play, a violent domination of the other, who would beg for more even through tears or screams. It was rough, it was nasty, it was degrading and it sure as shit wasn't about them, although he made damn sure they enjoyed it. It fucked them up better that way, tore away any illusions they had about their own baser natures. And then he left them without lingering, rather enjoying the neediness as they whined, or the revulsion they harboured for both him and themselves. They were debased and without comfort, he was amused by how pathetic they were.

There were only two notable exceptions. The first time, the other had known exactly who and what he was before they got into anything, nor had he been strictly mortal. Damien hadn't especially wanted to scare him and the whole thing had been a meaningless diversion for both of them, leaving Damien mildly disappointed and irritable. It hadn't been bad exactly, merely pointless, with neither participant getting what they wanted from the tryst.

The other had been with Pip and Damien still wasn't sure what exactly had happened there, because although he hadn't wanted to strike terror into the boy, it certainly hadn't been unsatisfying in spite of that. Quite the opposite actually. Damien had never had to struggle so hard just to keep himself in check and even if he had, in the past he would never have bothered. So why was it that this time, he had wanted to keep the darkness from taking over?

Pip slept, curled on his side, buried beneath the covers. Damien watched him impassively, noting the way the sheets moved in time to his soft, deep breathing, how his hair lay in a tangled spread on the pillow. He looked surprisingly peaceful, considering what he'd been doing with the son of Satan in the same bed. Damien glanced down to where he was barely covered with the sheet and chuckled. Awake, Pip was the most selfless person he had ever encountered but asleep, he stole the duvet.

It bothered him slightly that Pip was lying away from him at all. He'd thought that Pip would be the kind who wanted to hug after sex, establish some kind of intimacy. Of course, he would have found a way to get around that, anything from a gentle disentanglement to a forcible reminder that he wasn't capable of giving affection and Pip was looking to snuggle with the wrong person. Demon. But Pip hadn't even tried, had allowed Damien to pull away and not gone looking for anything more. Damien had the feeling that it was more of that understanding that he resented so much, that Pip knew he wouldn't react well to post-coital fondness and hadn't pushed it. Almost as if it were Pip guiding Damien through the experience and not the other way around.

Damien wondered exactly why he was dwelling on the issue. It had made his life easier and he should be grateful for that small mercy at least.

Getting out of bed, he located his pants hanging off the dresser and put them on. His shirt was puddled at the side of the bed and there was no way he was going to be able to wear that again, Pip had done a number on it. Damien grinned slightly, remembering his surprise at the unexpected action, then went to the drawers and found an oversized Iron Maiden shirt, slipping it over his head and leaving the room to find out what the other two were up to. Probably catching up on some sleep, since that had been the purpose behind their stop.

The house was mostly in darkness, the curtains drawn to hide the light coming from the silent television set in the living room. Damien glanced at the screen and smirked – The Omen, how apropos – before his sharp ears picked up a sound outside and he went to the door.

Kenny was sitting on the step, a crumpled pack of cigarettes beside him, one unlit in his mouth. The dull snap of the unresponsive lighter seemed loud in the unusual silence of the pre-dawn morning. Damien sat beside him, unmindful of his bare feet in the snow.

Kenny glanced over at him. "Hey."

"Hey." Damien took one of the cigarettes from the packet and opened his fist, a small ball of fire emerging from the palm. He stuck in the end of the cigarette to light it and after a second, Kenny did likewise. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, blowing smoke out into the air.

"Where's the Mole?" asked Damien eventually.

"Since he's doing most of the driving when we start moving, he's getting some sleep." Kenny looked pointedly at the other boy. "With earplugs in."

"Uh-huh," replied Damien, unashamed.

There was silence again as the pair finished smoking, Damien flicking his cigarette into the distance, Kenny grinding his out beneath his shoe. The tension spun out between them until Damien couldn't take it anymore. Things had already been weird enough tonight. "Just say what you want to say Kenny."

Kenny took the cigarette packet and turned it over in his hands, contemplating, before shrugging and taking another. "You didn't have to do that to Pip. He doesn't deserve it."

"Do what?" snapped Damien, far more sharply than he had intended. "He was about to fall apart. Now he's got it out of his system. Sex makes everyone feel better."

"Temporarily better," corrected Kenny. "If you hadn't noticed, Pip's not really the type to take casual fucking, well, casually. You're going to mess him up."

"Yesterday he killed four people while possessed by an evil spirit and you think a little sex is gonna mess him up?"

"That's not the same thing! He didn't get a choice about that and he could get over it, maybe, I don't know. But having red-hot mansex with the Antichrist is something he probably thinks he decided to do for himself and it could, y'know, change him. If he thinks he's damned, then why shouldn't he start acting like there's nothing left for him to be good for? Shit Damien, if you needed a booty call that bad, I wish you'd just come to me."

"So you'd take one for the team?" Damien sneered. "How fucking noble of you."

"I can see sex for what it is," retorted Kenny. "Just sex. Pip doesn't think that way."

"You might be surprised," muttered Damien, thinking of Pip's lack of post-coital affection. "And I didn't trick him into anything. I didn't ask him for anything. Kenny, you're a, um..."

"Friend?"

"Yeah, one of those things. You know I don't have anything to gain from seducing Pip. I don't have a reason to lie to you about that. Why would I care what you think? But I didn't plan on doing it. I just wanted to piss him off. I thought..."

Kenny's eyebrows raised so high, they vanished beneath the hood of his parka. "You were trying to piss him off? Why?"

Damien shrugged. "I thought it'd do him some good."

"Did you do it?"

"In the end. I was beginning to think he was un-pissoffable."

"You call him French?"

"Why would I do that?"

Kenny rolled his eyes. "Easiest, quickest way to piss off Pip. He goes nuts."

"Shit!"

Kenny chuckled, regarding Damien curiously. "Why do you care what happens to Pip?"

"I don't," said Damien irritably. Kenny just stared at him and Damien sighed. "I don't know. He's not like any of the other mortals I ever met. I don't get much of a chance to meet people who aren't evil or, y'know, corruptible."

"So you thought you'd try corrupting him?"

"No!"

"Okay, okay." Kenny raised his hands, trying to placate Damien, who was starting to get angry. "So, why then?"

Damien shook his head. "I just wanted to make sure he'd get by okay when he's out on his own. What do you call that, when you want to do something that's not going to help you?"

"Compassion? Selflessness? Generosity? Charity?"

Damien glared. "You're not fucking funny Kenny."

"I'm not fucking joking, Damien."

"And Pip's not a charity. And I'm not compassionate or generous."

"...Okay?"

"Shit. I hate the mortal world. It's too weird." Damien stood up, turning. "I'm going back to bed."

"I thought you didn't need to sleep?"

"I don't. I'm going anyway."

"Damien." Kenny reached up and grabbed Damien's arm. Damien stopped and glared at him – no one dared to touch him without his express consent – but Kenny didn't let go and Damien decided to let it slide. In a strange way, Kenny was a friend and he'd earned the right.

"I dunno what's going on with you," said Kenny eventually. "But you've gotta start thinking. You're gonna tear that boy apart from the mind out, because it's all you know how to do. And he's gonna let you, because that's all he knows how to do. If you're getting as attached as you seem to be, then maybe you should back away now. I know it's not easy to step back, but this time, maybe you should."

Damien pulled his arm away from Kenny and stomped back into the house, leaving Kenny sat on the step and frowning in confusion. He'd known Damien for a long time thanks to his frequent trips to Hell and he'd never known the Antichrist to behave in such a manner. He knew for sure that Damien didn't care very much about him and until today, he'd always thought their relationship would be the closest thing Damien ever got to showing concern for another person.

"This has been a really fucked-up few days," muttered Kenny to himself, trying to coax the lighter back into working and hoping the Mole wouldn't kill him for stealing the smokes. Then his mind slipped traitorously to the drinks cabinet in the house. Maybe the occupants had left something behind – it was worth a look, right?

Damien had been plenty noisy going into the house, not considering it might be best for the Mole if he didn't wake the mercenary, but as soon as he got near Pip's room, he deliberately quieted his step so as not to disturb the boy. Then he wondered why he had bothered. And why he was going back to the room at all. Wouldn't it be easier just to watch TV until it was time to start moving again?

Instead of going back into the living room to do just that, Damien noiselessly pushed the door open and looked over to the bed. Pip hadn't awoken, but he had rolled over into the heat Damien's body had left when he vacated the bed. The blankets had slipped a little, exposing his pale torso to the waist. Damien let his gaze travel the boy. His hair reflected the lamplight, his lips were parted slightly, still swollen and red from Damien's previous assaults on them. Damien could identify most of the marks on Pip's body as his own handiwork, bites, scratches, but there were others that didn't belong there. Damien's eyes narrowed as he took in the yellowing bruise on his bicep, a second still purple on his forearm, a third barely-there shadow on his ribcage. The sign of someone else touching Pip, not with lust, but with wrath.

They had no right.

Silently Damien made his way back over to the bed, removing the shirt and dropping the pants as he did so. Naked, he slipped into the bed beside Pip, nudging the boy so he made room without waking up, muttering something unintelligible as he did so. Lying back on the pillow, Damien put his hands behind his head and contemplated the question that had been bugging him all night; why hadn't Pip tried to touch him after the sex? Damien liked to think he understood mortals pretty well and it had defied his expectations.

After a while, Damien turned on his side and looked over at Pip. The boy was facing him now at least, sleeping deeply. Awkwardly, Damien draped his arm over Pip, so it lay on him like a piece of wood. No. That wasn't right at all. He tried curling his elbow so it at least looked a little more natural, but it was pretty uncomfortable. His other arm was trapped under his own body and beginning to ache. He held his whole body stiffly, wondering why this looked so much easier on his fathers stupid soap operas when he could see nothing to recommend it in real life. Maybe if he manoeuvred Pip's hands around him...? And what the hell was he supposed to do with his other arm anyway?

Pip opened his eyes and looked sleepily up at Damien, who jerked his arms back immediately, as if he'd just had an electric shock.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing," said Damien quickly. "Stealing your wallet."

"I only keep my cash there in rare and unfortunate circumstances." Pip pressed a hand to Damien's chest and guided him onto his back, before laying his head on Damien's shoulder and draping an arm over his waist, entwining their legs. "Better?"

"Um..." Damien had to admit it was a lot more comfortable than his previous attempt. He could feel Pip's breath feathering against his skin, Pip's heart beating. But if his body was more comfortable, his mind was far less so. There was something about the position that was almost – protective. Possessive. Intimate. And the least comfortable part was that it didn't feel bad at all.

Pip was almost asleep again and Damien took advantage of the situation, bringing up his free hand to brush his hair aside to better see his face. Pip muttered something against his chest and Damien took his hand away quickly. This... closeness wasn't normal at all, but Damien couldn't think of a way to change it. After a lifetime of getting whatever he wanted, he was appalled to find himself wanting this.

He spent some time watching Pip, wondering what it was about the boy that confused him so much and compelled him at the same time. He was attractive, but Damien had sampled attractive people before and had little time for them, finding that those people most conscious of their own beauty were the most easy to ruin. Pip was delicate, but then, all mortals were and Damien only enjoyed delicate things because of the savage pleasure in how easily they could be broken. Maybe it was his spirit – Damien couldn't understand how the boy could have gone through so much and still remain hopeful. Or perhaps it was his nature, the things about him that Damien couldn't even begin to comprehend, that forgiveness, understanding, the genuine desire for the happiness of others. All things alien to him and a part of Pip.

Although Damien barely moved, not wanting to disturb the sleeping boy, at some point a couple of hours later, Pip awoke again and still drowsy, stretched up to capture Damien's mouth with his own. And for the first time ever, Damien let himself be captured, suddenly desperately needing everything – anything – Pip would let him take.

Damien had never been with the same person more than once, had never seen the point. To his mind, the fun was in the hunt, the capture. But as he pulled the other boy closer to him, using his hands to explore rather than subjugate, kissing with a passion that had nothing to do with claiming territory, he began to see the attraction.

It was slower this time, less frenzied but no less needy. Damien gave up all thoughts of keeping control before they even really started, relishing the boys cool body against his own, Pip's head on his shoulder, the soft noises in his ear, the way long blonde hair tickled his chest. And he couldn't imagine ever feeling this way with anyone else, or even trying.

Perhaps what drew him was that Pip knew what he was and it didn't matter to him at all.

Damien submitted to it all, his body and mind saying yes, at war with the part of him that was completely fucking terrified.

~:~

Christophe scowled as he searched for his cigarettes and found them missing. He was certain that Pip wouldn't have taken them and Damien probably wouldn't have bothered sneaking. Which left only one suspect; Kenny fucking McCormick. How the hell he'd managed to steal them without waking the mercenary was beyond him – the boy had to be a fucking ghost – but he wasn't going to get away with it. He had another packet, but that wasn't the point.

Growling, he yanked on the pants he'd discarded when he climbed into bed, grabbed his shovel and stomped down the stairs. Maybe it was a bad time to actually kill Kenny, but that didn't mean he couldn't maim him a little. The television was still on but muted, a reporter mouthing something while the FTSE index was displayed in the background. No one else was around, but strolling into the kitchen, Christophe could see the evidence that someone had made coffee and not made much of an attempt to be tidy about it, leaving milk spilled on the counter and granules scattered across the floor. Putting the shovel aside, he made himself a calming coffee too, deciding it might be advisable to wait until he had been paid before injuring the guy that hired him, even if it was Damien who was paying the bill.

Noticing that the back door had been left unlocked, he worked out Kenny's location and smirked. Putting down the coffee and picking up the shovel, he threw the door open and raised the implement above his head, a ferocious look on his face.

Sitting on the doorstep, Kenny turned and his eyes widened in alarm. Throwing his hands up to protect his head, he tried to stand, turn and run at the same time, getting his feet tangled up and falling heavily on his ass on the frozen ground. Unable to hold his expression, Christophe burst out laughing.

"You bastard!" snapped Kenny, picking himself up and glaring.

"You should not 'ave taken my smokes." Christophe spied the packet of cigarettes on the step and picked it up, checking the contents and frowning again. Nearly all gone. Shit. There was a half-full cup of coffee on the step too, and an empty glass with some kind of drinks residue within. Christophe doubted very much it was from a glass of water. The theory was confirmed when a sweeping glance of the area revealed a bottle of high-tension whisky poorly hidden in a plant pot, still within reach of anyone sitting on the step.

Fuck.

"Kenny, 'ave you been sitting out 'ere all night getting wasted?"

"Not all night," said Kenny defensively. "I only had a couple. And look, coffee! I'm, y'know, sobering up."

"We are chasing a fucking demon and you think zis is a good time to go on a bender?"

"I wasn't on a bender! I was just having a drink, that's all!"

"Zis is perfect. I 'ave to 'unt for a supernatural being while dragging your fucking drunk ass around."

"I'm not that drunk!"

"You're shaking."

"It's cold."

"Not zat cold. Sheet! What the 'ell is wrong with you? You think zis is some game, when we catch ze target and shout 'tag, you're it'? We 'ave to kill it and it will be trying to kill us too, and you can't see straight enough to shoot! You think you can avoid it if you can 'ardly walk?"

"I can walk just fine!"

"Oui, zat's why you just fell on your ass."

"You attacked me with a fucking shovel!"

Christophe took a cigarette, jamming it in his mouth and flicking the lighter with far too much force. He paused long enough to take a drag and then exhaled a cloud of smoke. "I 'eard all zat sheet around town, about you and your fucking bad 'abits, your fucking drugs and booze, but I thought you'd be able to leave zem alone for five fucking minutes while we did zis! Merde! Zis is ridiculous! You can't come with us in zis condition!"

"Wait, what? I'm not in a condition! What do you mean?"

"I'm telling Damien zat we'll 'ave to leave you 'ere."

"What?"

"You're going to fuck zis whole thing up. What can you do like zat? All you'll do is get yourself killed."

"I always get killed! Fuck!"

"Not zis time." Christophe clamped the cigarette between his lips, unsurprised to find that it wasn't doing much to calm him down. "Zis time, you stay behind. I 'ave no desire to sit in ze car and breathe your stale whisky fumes and zen watch you get ripped apart because you're too fucking wasted to move your stupid ass. When Damien finishes with 'is new chew toy, I'll tell 'im zere 'as been a change of plan."

"No!" Kenny looked at Christophe through wide, pleading eyes. "You can't. He'll know... he'll know and then he'll make my fucking next death really miserable and if I have to spend all my time fucking dead only not dead enough, then shouldn't I get some peace and not him tormenting me? You can't do that to me! You can't! You'll completely fuck up my life – uh, death – oh fuck, I don't even know."

Shaking his head, not understanding what the hell Kenny might be talking about, Christophe went back into the house and retrieving the coffee he hadn't yet drunk, took it outside. Kenny was still standing in the same place and Christophe offered him the coffee, pointing at the step. Kenny took the coffee and sat, taking a sip.

"If you're 'oping Damien won't notice you're drunk, you are fooling yourself," he snapped. "What makes you think 'e will even care?"

Kenny shrugged, staring into the coffee cup as if it held all the answers to the mysteries of the universe. "We had a thing."

Christophe blinked. "Huh? You and 'im are...?"

"No. We did have, sort of. I thought, there must be some reason I kept dying and coming back to life all the time, but I couldn't work out what it was. But then I got to thinking, like, what if it was because of him? So that we could like, be together between times or something?"

"Let me get zis straight." Christophe rubbed his forehead wearily. "You think zat because you die all ze time, it is a sign from God zat you are destined to be ze Antichrist's concubine? And 'ow much 'ad you 'ad to drink when you decided zis?"

Kenny snorted. "Quite a bit. And I'd just discovered E too, I dunno if you know, but it makes you feel kinda – affectionate."

"Obviously."

"Can I have another cigarette?"

"You owe me for zis." Christophe offered the packet and took one for himself. Only one left. It was a good thing he had that other packet upstairs. "So, you got drunk and 'igh, zen died and 'ad a 'thing' with Damien. So, what, you're jealous?"

Kenny almost choked on a lungful of smoke. "No! It wasn't like that – I mean, we did, but y'know – it wasn't right. We weren't into it."

"Spare me ze details." Christophe blew a smoke ring into the air. "You're not jealous zen. So why 'ave you felt ze urge to drown your sorrows?"

"I was..." Kenny shrugged. "I dunno. I guess I thought maybe it'd be different in the future. It'd come together after we both whored around enough or something. Only Damien's acting really weird, and it's all because of Pip. He never got like that around me. And that means he's not the reason I keep on dying and that puts me right back to the fucking beginning! And if he finds out I was drinking over it, he'll rip the shit outta me every time I go to Hell!"

"So, you're upset because ze guy whom you are not attracted to is not your soulmate."

"You don't have to make it sound so fucking trivial!"

"Huh. It is trivial. You 'ave no idea why you are 'ere? Ze rest of ze world 'as the same issue."

"Fuck you Mole." Kenny lurched to his feet, glaring at Christophe. "The rest of the world doesn't flit between life and death! The rest of the world doesn't have their lives ruled by dying before the end of the day! Fuck, I don't –"

"Sit. Down."

Kenny hesitated, torn between the urge to stamp away and the fact that Christophe was clearly pissed off and might make him sit back down using none-too-gentle means. After a moment, he decided to sit, resting his head in his hands.

"I don't need a fucking lecture right now Christophe."

"I'm sure you 'ave 'eard it all before." Christophe flicked his cigarette end onto the ground, not looking at Kenny. "I 'ave died too and returned to life."

"Wow, you died once. You get a medal for that?"

"Shut ze fuck up. After I came back, zere were many times I wondered why. But zen, whenever something good 'appened I thought, I would 'ave missed doing zat if I 'ad remained dead. I would not 'ave got laid, I would not 'ave 'ad some of ze times I 'ave 'ad since zen. True, zere are thirteen other people who might still be alive if I 'ad stayed dead, but zey were not good people and zere extermination 'as 'elped others."

"So?"

"So, life is shitty and maybe zere is no point to it, other zen to give God a good fucking laugh at our misery. Zat is a good reason not to spend what little zere is of it making yourself more miserable." Christophe stood up. "Get in ze 'ouse."

Standing up again, feeling slightly dizzy and tired, Kenny dragged himself inside, letting Christophe propel him up the stairs and into the bathroom. Once there, Christophe glanced at him. "Strip."

"Huh?" Kenny tried to make sense of the command. "Don't you want to go to the bedroom for that?"

Christophe stared at him. "You are fucking unbelievable. I 'ave never 'ad to take advantage of a person while drunk and I'm not starting now. You're not using me as another excuse to 'ate yourself. You are 'aving a shower. Ze booze is coming through your pores and you stink."

"The water's cold!"

"In your case, I'd say cold is best."

Kenny unzipped his parka, dropping it to the floor and pulling his thin white T-shirt over his head. "And I don't hate myself."

"Non? I would 'ate to see 'ow you behaved if you did." Christophe reached over and turned the shower on. "And use one of zose toothbrushes as well."

"Sick dude! I don't know whose mouth they've been in!"

"I don't care." Christophe snagged Kenny's parka and shirt, indicating for him to hurry up and drop his jeans. "Sheet, did you take a bath in zat stuff?"

"I kinda spilled some."

"Fuck. Don't fall and crack your stupid fucking head open in zere."

Christophe exited the bathroom, wondering if there was some way to fumigate the clothes and exactly when his job description had widened to include nursemaid to a fucked-up moron. Shit. He was getting too old for this.