Title: Demons Don't Feel, but Humans do
By: Metis
E-mail Metisseraph@aol.com
Comments: Okay…hope ya guys like!
*Ahem* very very mild lime…If you guys want actual LIME ask for it…I won't know otherwise ^_^!!
*Chapter 7—Beast*
"So…"
Dante raised an eyebrow at Trish's frail attempt at conversation. Granted he had known she would begin to question the events that had transpired in due time, but he didn't expect her to try and analyze it the minute she had the chance. Dante had been hoping she would just let go of the entire situation; forget she'd ever kissed him, and forget he'd ever reciprocated.
"Did you try and stop me?"
Somehow, Trish's question was answered even before it was voiced. She could see, rather plainly, the lust that gleamed freely in the man's eyes; she could see his gray eyes turn silver with desire as they raked over her slim form, now exposed after she'd dropped the sheet. "Did you?"
Again, only silence greeted her as Dante's lithe form stood and headed towards the door. He spun on his heel abruptly, silvery tresses shielding the thoughts in his eyes, and whispered an indifferent, careless, "No."
He hadn't been planning on responding, Trish knew. Dante was the type that would do things his way, at his time, under his rules. His answering to her question had been a favor on his part—he'd only done it because Trish had wanted to know so fervently. Otherwise, he wouldn't have cared. All of a sudden Trish felt constricted—overprotected. She seemed to suddenly remember why she'd been angry at him in the first place. What right did he have to enter her room without her knowledge and then leave?!
"Dante!" Trish called out warningly after the mercenary, stumbling in her haste to go after him. She could hear his footsteps clearly echoing down the staircase, the slight 'thud' being made in pure consideration. Dante didn't make a sound when he walked; he only humored her with it so that she wouldn't be frightened at his ability to sneak up on her. It was something he'd always done. Trish had never though much about it.
"Dante!" Trish finally griped when the footsteps gave no signs of slowing, their fading sounds alerting Trish to the fact that he was no longer in the living room, where the stairs ended. He wasn't in the mood to wait up for her, Trish guessed. And if he didn't want to wait, there was no way she'd catch up.
Sighing, Trish pushed the recent events out of her mind, and leisurely made her way down the steps, moving towards the kitchen. It was a depressing sight. One would think that, being part human, Dante would have enough sense to know that his body wasn't immune to dirt and grime; but no, the supple warrior didn't seem to find it fit to have a neat apartment—if it could even be called that…
There were no curtains—why bother with them? They would only lessen visibility of the outside world, and in doing so make it easier for the enemy to infiltrate. Riiiiight…Trish hated Dante's practical approach with a passion. She liked to do things in the spur of the moment—fight intensely, with her life…not wait and wait and wait until the situation was seen fit for a higher chance of success. But, with her luck, Dante had proved to be quite her opposite, planning their mercenary missions to the very last detail. Granted, sometimes he threw caution to the wind, acting on part of his more demonic self and simply honed in for the kill, not particularly intent on the results…but those occasions were rare, and an out of control Dante was even rarer…if not scarier.
If the state of his apartment wasn't bad enough, his refrigerator should have been considered sufficiently dangerous to produce deadly bacteria and the possible eradication of humankind altogether. Trish held her breath and sighed a bit uncharacteristically at its contents. Milk—sour no doubt, bread (stale, of course) and…cheese?
At first Trish had wondered why Dante needed to eat. He was a demon after all. Then, she'd felt ridiculous when she remembered he was only partially so. Still, she would've thought his demonic side to be stronger than that…then again, with the way his hormones shone through, there was clear evidence of both natures in him.
His earlier actions had been thoroughly distracting. Even now, Trish could still feel his strong, muscular arms about her waist; could feel his lips on hers…body molded into her. Letting her eyes flutter closed, she pressed her forehead against the cool, smooth surface of the freezer top. She could remember his reaction to her as well…
A vague blush teased her pale cheeks at the thought. She had known men before Dante well enough, and she was aware, as a result of it, that a hardening of the nether regions on their part usually signified a sexual interest. But feeling such a reaction from Dante had unsettled her. Playful flirtation was entirely different from what she had felt back in the bedroom…What had she felt back there, anyway. Lust?—well, yes, to say that Dante wasn't desirable would be an obvious lie…
But…
Trish shook her head to try and clear it. Then again…she had felt something back there, and Trish was certain it wasn't love—lust, perhaps—but love, no…she didn't think so. Regardless, there wasn't much she could do on the matter. His words still rung clearly in her ears. '…I can kill without taking any note of it…'
Shuddering slightly, Trish tried somewhat desperately to deny the validity of the kiss they'd shared. Though, it was pretty much in vain. As much as Trish would've liked to disregard Dante's actions as being trivial to their entire situation, she knew better than that. Like she'd heard somewhere in a human magazine, 'one kiss was an accident, two was a relationship.' Trish scoffed. As far as she figured, they'd had more than their share or excusable kisses.
Meanwhile, downstairs in the dark damp basement of his apartment, Dante evenly glared at the wall opposite him. His human side was starting to take over much more than he would've liked…or at least the hormonal aspect of them. Though, if he were to attribute certain characteristics to his ancestry, he'd have to say his demon half was the one more responsible for his sudden bouts of lust…But he usually had enough sense to control himself.
Running a wary hand through silver locks, Dante bit his lip and let his gaze wander toward the ceiling as he laid back against a couch. What on earth had happened upstairs? When he had come into Trish's bedroom earlier that night, he had never intended on touching her the way he had. And as if that weren't bad enough, he had responded to the contact. Groaning, he felt mortification set it.
Obviously, being both a hormone-driven male and a lustful demon in one, he'd had his lot of admirers—and encounters with them as well—but he had always drawn a line where a colleague was concerned, and Trish, regardless of the trade in which they were partners, was a partner just as well. It wasn't what bothered him most about it, though. The fact that really gnashed at him, was that he knew that she had felt his arousal. It would've been fine if she hadn't, then Dante might've been able to overcome his slight show of weakness, but she had taken note of it—fact made quite obvious by her startled gasp.
If Dante could blush, this'd be the moment his cheeks would be flaming red.
He glanced down morosely at the burden between his legs, baring irritated fangs, and, thinking of Trish, dared himself to become even the least bit aroused. Gods if he did…well then, that'd be the end of it for him. Dante simply refused to surrender such control for the simple purpose of succumbing to a physical need. Never. He would never do that. Then…
Dante growled. Much to his discomfort, he could feel a familiar tingle begin to settle at the juncture of his thighs. "Shit," he breathed out, squeezing closed red-rimmed silver eyes as a burning sensation began to inconsiderately pulse throughout his body, shamelessly deciding to concentrate itself about his manhood.
Swallowing thickly, he felt his fingertips begin to twitch. Gods, no. Shaking his head abruptly, Dante let in an unsteady breath. It was too hot all of a sudden. He glanced around anxiously. He couldn't go out now—not with those blasted marionettes dancing around all over the place—and with his only option of escape barred, it didn't seem he'd be able to seek much release that night. Usually when he was overwhelmed by that physical need, Dante was able to go out—find a lonely girl…and experiences prostitute…there was always something that could satiate his urges…but—damn, Trish had left him too blistering a longing to even be able to think straight. He was half willing to throw himself out into the night, regardless of any demonic things that may lay there.
Besides, that lonely girl sitting at the bus stop or that sultry looking prostitute at the corner was expendable to him; Trish wasn't. Dante knew well enough that once he had drawn his satisfaction from either, they'd be sucked dry of life, their bodies lifeless against him, long before he'd even finished with them. That was his curse—whenever he sought release with a human, they'd die at his ministrations, their emotions and bodies drained at the exertion. His satisfaction came at the death of another. He avoided it, yes, but even he wasn't the type to deny his body that type of indulgement when it begged for it.
"Gods…"
His tone was getting to become more reckless than he would've liked. As if in a trance, he swiftly made his way up the dark stairs, heart pounding loudly against his chest. It throbbed throughout his body with every step he took and every thought that flitted through his mind.
Step. Thump. Step. Thump. Step. Thu—
"Dante?"
Trish glanced curiously at the young man that was dazedly climbing the last couple of steps into the living room foyer. His eyes swerved detachedly in her direction, their expression hazily muddled. She had been lounging in the kitchen, dozing a bit, when she had heard an inhumane growl. Knowing Dante as much as she did, she'd figured it'd come from him, and was heading toward it when she'd caught sight of his silvery hair.
"What's going on? Are you—"
Trish didn't have much time to finish, as Dante had pinned her roughly against the door, lips lost immediately against the niche of her neck. His fingertips roamed carelessly over the fabric of her blouse, nipping roughly against its buttons, trying hastily to undo them. Eyes wide at his actions, Trish tried weakly to push him away, indignant protests dying in her throat when his cool hands finally made their way underneath her shirt. Gods…
Let go…
Eyes fluttering closed, Trish relaxed against Dante's continuing onslaught against her, mouth open slightly in an attempt to draw in air. She knew she shouldn't be with him as she was now…lost in his arms—hands tangled desperately in his silky hair…but all logical thoughts had fled her mind and, in all honesty, she didn't want to think right then, either.
"Dante…" her words were breathed out, eyes squeezed tightly shut.
Deepening his kiss, Dante traced silken fingertips down the length of her forearm, feeling the throbbing pulse of his heart recommence its pounding. It was deafening.
Not sure what came over her, Trish pushed the young man away by the shoulder, taking in his swollen lips, tousled hair and quavering breaths. He was positively distracting. One look at him, and she was sent into fits of desire. Feeling her studying gaze, Dante blinked open silvery eyes and, once again, Trish was surprised to discover the red tint that outlined them. Unlike the previous time, however, she now found the redness disturbingly enticing. It was drawing her in…begging her for closure…
Melting against him with an inaudible groan, Trish was only mildly aware of the smooth palms that did away with her black shirt. She couldn't make things out anymore; she was lost in the sensations Dante's hands were wreaking on her body. Rough lips against her collarbone…calloused digits dexterously kneading her breasts…unsteady gasps of air landing recklessly against her neck…
With every exposed part of her body came an ambush of kisses, caresses, and nips. Trish sighed and closed her eyes, concentrating on the heat radiating from the demon's body. It was as if she were in a dream, all thought muddled…all consciousness slipping away…
His essence was so alluring. All she could think off was the sudden thrill racing through her veins. Trish remembered the sensation from somewhere before…but who cared? Then suddenly, her breath caught in her throat. Her pleasure all too quickly dissolved into terror. Out of some inkling of perception still left within her, Trish became awkwardly aware of the lack of control in her body…of its sudden weakness—its abrupt coolness. She could, very blatantly, feel Dante's heat practically smothering her…but, at the same time, she was alert as to how cold her own skin was.
Let go…
Heeding the voice, Trish felt her limbs relax…
Let go…
She was falling back into the abyss of pleasure she'd been…
Trish let her eyes flicker closed once more. Dante's fingertips had made their way down her front and had made easily work of her bra. They drifted passionately down her toned stomach and stopped only at the waistband of her jeans. The halfling had quite of a bit of a problem getting the jeans loose once he was there, and a loud growl jolted Trish awake. The sense of terror struck her once more…
And, just like the previous times, a reassuring voice came to her ears…
Let go…Give into it…
Wet lips disappeared between the valley of her breasts.
…Pleasure comes from it…
A small gasp as languid fingers worked off tight jeans…
And then…
Trish snapped her eyes wide open when her heart constricted painfully against her chest. Opening her mouth, she tried to let out a cry, only to find she couldn't speak…only to realize she was drifting away. It was almost as if something had wrapped itself tightly about her soul—and she couldn't pull away from it. And, just as she struggled against the unseen force, Trish had the strange desire to fall back into that relaxation…that voice she kept hearing—it was like a drug; it kept drawing her in.
* To Be Continued *