Albert muttered curses at himself as he trounced down the stairs. A meeting with Hikusaak and his council had kept him locked up in the conference room for three hours longer than he should have been--three hours past his dinner date with Yuber.
The Circle Palace was too huge for its own good, in his opinion. Running up and down stairs but ending up on the same floor he started, dashing through narrow passageways then maintaining a brisk pace through the gallery, he finally reached his destination. The strategist didn't enter the private lounge right away. He didn't want to look flushed, so he took a moment to catch his breath; Yuber had waited for three hours already...what's a few more minutes?
And, yes--Albert knew he'd be waiting.
He was still sorry. Taking a moment to check his appearance in the polished surface of a decorative suit of armor, Albert frowned and finally walked through the door, not bothering to knock.
He was disappointed. Yuber was there, but instead of looking furious, eyes ablaze with lust and a thirst for vengeance, the demon-man sat relaxed and calm, one arm draped casually over the back of the chair he slouched in.
Albert cleared his throat nervously. Yuber turned to look at him slowly, his eyes so cool and peaceful they were almost the same color.
"...Sorry for the delay," the strategist mumbled. "...Meeting... You know..."
Whether Yuber knew or not, he made no comment.
"Are you still hungry? I'm sure I can coerce someone into--"
"No, thank you," Yuber said clearly, his tone conversational. "I've had my fill." He stood and walked towards Albert, and the strategist fought the urge to cringe at the anticipated retribution. Yuber, however, merely settled his hat on top of his head, gave Albert a nod, and walked out the door, closing it gently behind him.
The strategist finished his business and washed his hands, giving his hair a once-over in the mirror before extinguishing the lights in his lavatory. It was a vain act, and Yuber had teased him about it before, but it was a vanity he couldn't help; he knew his hair was beautiful, and so did everyone else, so why deny the truth?
Tonight, though, Albert made a grimace at his haggard reflection, quickly closing the door on the wicked, omniscient looking-glass, and then began undressing. He let clothes drop as he stumbled across the room, too tired and frustrated to be concerned with his usual orderliness tonight.
He was angry. But, why?
Because Yuber wasn't.
And, for some reason, Albert felt deprived. So he decided to be angry with himself.
It wasn't the fact that he had missed dinner that was bothering Albert. He was a punctual man, yes--but this situation had been entirely out of his control. If Yuber hadn't been waiting for him at all, the strategist probably would have just sighed and gone on about his business. But Yuber HAD been there, dammit, and he'd merely tipped his hat and politely excused himself from the room. If the demon had flown off the handle and struck Albert, or even lashed out at him verbally, it would have been preferable to the casual, indifferent silence. But to walk out of that room without so much as a frown--it was almost as if he didn't even fucking care.
How could he just give up so easily? It wasn't Yuber's style, from what Albert had seen of it. He had always viewed the man as a bloodthirsty, ravenous devil--not the demure, tranquil man he'd encountered today in the lounge.
No, Albert thought. This isn't over. He's angry, and he's going to make me pay for this.
He hoped.
He feared.
He grew anxious and aroused, thrilled and terrified. The mere thought sent little goosebumps raising the light hairs along his arms. He'd like to be punished. Maybe.
It was late. He'd be better off forgetting the matter--for tonight, anyway. He climbed into bed and blew out the last lit candle in the room, noticing more painfully now than ever how large his bed was when it was half-empty.
Destruction was all that lie in Yuber's wake. After that little encounter with Albert earlier, Yuber had destroyed everything in sight. His bedroom had become a wasteland, the debris of his fury still smoldering. Vases, urns, figurines, a mirror...anything made of glass had been reduced nearly to sand crystals; hardly a piece of furniture wasn't left in splinters or flung to opposite corners of the room and lodging into walls of stone.
The bed got it worst of all. The frame was lost among the piles of chopped wood that had once been the Circle Palace's most lavish furniture, but the mattress...the mattress Yuber had devoured with his two swords like tearing through storm clouds. The room was blanketed in a white snow of feathers, and now the beast lie in a crouch, on bended knee, glowering over his handiwork. His teeth gnashed in rage, his two eyes blazing furiously with deeply contrasting colors. Wasn't there more?? Wasn't there anything left to destroy?!
There was one thing left in the room that had not been ravaged.
When the fiend's eyes fell upon the silver glove on the windowsill, the fire raging in them died away almost instantly, leaving only a gentle divergence where before there had been chaos in one and hellfire in the other.
It was Albert's glove, left behind not long ago...a night when they had shared a drink and perhaps a game of cards, maybe a night when soft words were spoken under sloppy tongues, still bitter with the taste of Yuber's exotic wines...
Two swords clattered to the floor, the sound of a dam crashing. Yuber's tears could be restrained no longer, and a steady river of grief stained his bare chest as they rolled down his cheeks, over his trembling lips and ran down his chin and neck. The demon slumped to his knees, his head in his hands, blonde hair in disarray and dripping with the sweat of his exertions.
This was a sorrow he could not bear. For three hours--for three agonizing hours!--he'd waited for Albert. Yuber wasn't here for the politics; he only wanted blood. He had no idea how trustworthy Hikusaak and his cohorts may or may not be. For all he knew, Albert could have been arrested or slain by his own employer, might have been--
Yuber had paced that room tirelessly for three full hours, feeling as though bad news would come to destroy him at any moment. His hands shook, his heart thundered wildly out of control, he jumped at the slightest sound, he paced, he bit his nails, he cursed--and three hours later, he'd breathed a sigh of relief to hear a shuffle in the hall. Right then, at that moment, he'd felt Albert's warmth through the door as though it was curled up against him, and his nerves had calmed as he forced his heart to slow, hurriedly but efficiently arranging himself to look the perfect visage of boredom when Albert had finally walked into the lounge.
Then he'd had to leave. At the time, all he really wanted to do was to pull Albert into his arms and thank him just for being alive. But...wasn't that showing a weakness?
Why was he the one on his knees right now?
Albert wasn't asleep when he heard the thunderous pounding on his door, but it still startled him.
Yuber, he thought immediately.
Despite his earlier disjointed musings, he did not want a beating right now. He was tired; he had work in the morning, dammit; it hadn't been his fault in the first place; he--
"Silverberg!!!"
Yuber's tone was not playful. He wasn't asking for admittance; he was demanding it.
Against his better judgment, the strategist climbed out of the bed, taking the sheet with him and wrapping it around his bare waist. He swallowed and put on his best "how dare you?!" expression before opening the door.
Whatever he'd been expecting, this was not it.
Yuber stood in nothing but his black trousers; his dress coat and good shoes, even the top hat, had been discarded to somewhere unknown. His hair hung wild and wet as though he'd just crawled out of a swamp. But he smelled nicer. Albert loved the scent of Yuber's sweat. Looking at his expression now, however, no one could have ever believed it.
"...Well?" Albert spat.
Cold. Sardonic. Perfect.
Yuber's eyes rekindled in that instant, and he flung himself into the room, grabbing hold of the strategist harshly and slamming him into the door to close it. The difficult part of his mission accomplished, Yuber felt slight relief just being with Albert again. He tried to hide it by thrusting the other man against the door furiously and holding his shoulders as he forcefully bruised a bare shoulder with his mouth.
Albert whimpered.
Yuber stopped.
The demon drew back just enough to look into the strategist's eyes, and his own were surprisingly cool, reflecting nothing of the heat he'd been so impassioned with upon entering the chamber.
"I don't know what it is about you," he mused, "but...you give my soul peace, Albert Silverberg."
The strategist looked at Yuber critically in confusion. He didn't speak.
Yuber shook his head, his expression one of heartbreaking surrender. "Please...let me make love to you," he begged softly.
Albert wrapped his arms around the demon's neck in complete amnesty, kissing him with soft passion and smiling all the while.
Some time later, they found themselves lying wrapped up together on a familiar mattress, tangled in the sheets. Albert faced the wall, and Yuber lay behind him, his arms wrapped tightly around his sleeping lover's slender waist.
"...I don't suppose I ever told you," the demon began, wetting his lips before able to continue, even though he was apparently speaking to himself, "but...I really do love you."
Yuber sighed with exhaustion, and finally let himself drift into a peaceful, relaxed sleep.
Albert was still smiling.
THE END
The Circle Palace was too huge for its own good, in his opinion. Running up and down stairs but ending up on the same floor he started, dashing through narrow passageways then maintaining a brisk pace through the gallery, he finally reached his destination. The strategist didn't enter the private lounge right away. He didn't want to look flushed, so he took a moment to catch his breath; Yuber had waited for three hours already...what's a few more minutes?
And, yes--Albert knew he'd be waiting.
He was still sorry. Taking a moment to check his appearance in the polished surface of a decorative suit of armor, Albert frowned and finally walked through the door, not bothering to knock.
He was disappointed. Yuber was there, but instead of looking furious, eyes ablaze with lust and a thirst for vengeance, the demon-man sat relaxed and calm, one arm draped casually over the back of the chair he slouched in.
Albert cleared his throat nervously. Yuber turned to look at him slowly, his eyes so cool and peaceful they were almost the same color.
"...Sorry for the delay," the strategist mumbled. "...Meeting... You know..."
Whether Yuber knew or not, he made no comment.
"Are you still hungry? I'm sure I can coerce someone into--"
"No, thank you," Yuber said clearly, his tone conversational. "I've had my fill." He stood and walked towards Albert, and the strategist fought the urge to cringe at the anticipated retribution. Yuber, however, merely settled his hat on top of his head, gave Albert a nod, and walked out the door, closing it gently behind him.
The strategist finished his business and washed his hands, giving his hair a once-over in the mirror before extinguishing the lights in his lavatory. It was a vain act, and Yuber had teased him about it before, but it was a vanity he couldn't help; he knew his hair was beautiful, and so did everyone else, so why deny the truth?
Tonight, though, Albert made a grimace at his haggard reflection, quickly closing the door on the wicked, omniscient looking-glass, and then began undressing. He let clothes drop as he stumbled across the room, too tired and frustrated to be concerned with his usual orderliness tonight.
He was angry. But, why?
Because Yuber wasn't.
And, for some reason, Albert felt deprived. So he decided to be angry with himself.
It wasn't the fact that he had missed dinner that was bothering Albert. He was a punctual man, yes--but this situation had been entirely out of his control. If Yuber hadn't been waiting for him at all, the strategist probably would have just sighed and gone on about his business. But Yuber HAD been there, dammit, and he'd merely tipped his hat and politely excused himself from the room. If the demon had flown off the handle and struck Albert, or even lashed out at him verbally, it would have been preferable to the casual, indifferent silence. But to walk out of that room without so much as a frown--it was almost as if he didn't even fucking care.
How could he just give up so easily? It wasn't Yuber's style, from what Albert had seen of it. He had always viewed the man as a bloodthirsty, ravenous devil--not the demure, tranquil man he'd encountered today in the lounge.
No, Albert thought. This isn't over. He's angry, and he's going to make me pay for this.
He hoped.
He feared.
He grew anxious and aroused, thrilled and terrified. The mere thought sent little goosebumps raising the light hairs along his arms. He'd like to be punished. Maybe.
It was late. He'd be better off forgetting the matter--for tonight, anyway. He climbed into bed and blew out the last lit candle in the room, noticing more painfully now than ever how large his bed was when it was half-empty.
Destruction was all that lie in Yuber's wake. After that little encounter with Albert earlier, Yuber had destroyed everything in sight. His bedroom had become a wasteland, the debris of his fury still smoldering. Vases, urns, figurines, a mirror...anything made of glass had been reduced nearly to sand crystals; hardly a piece of furniture wasn't left in splinters or flung to opposite corners of the room and lodging into walls of stone.
The bed got it worst of all. The frame was lost among the piles of chopped wood that had once been the Circle Palace's most lavish furniture, but the mattress...the mattress Yuber had devoured with his two swords like tearing through storm clouds. The room was blanketed in a white snow of feathers, and now the beast lie in a crouch, on bended knee, glowering over his handiwork. His teeth gnashed in rage, his two eyes blazing furiously with deeply contrasting colors. Wasn't there more?? Wasn't there anything left to destroy?!
There was one thing left in the room that had not been ravaged.
When the fiend's eyes fell upon the silver glove on the windowsill, the fire raging in them died away almost instantly, leaving only a gentle divergence where before there had been chaos in one and hellfire in the other.
It was Albert's glove, left behind not long ago...a night when they had shared a drink and perhaps a game of cards, maybe a night when soft words were spoken under sloppy tongues, still bitter with the taste of Yuber's exotic wines...
Two swords clattered to the floor, the sound of a dam crashing. Yuber's tears could be restrained no longer, and a steady river of grief stained his bare chest as they rolled down his cheeks, over his trembling lips and ran down his chin and neck. The demon slumped to his knees, his head in his hands, blonde hair in disarray and dripping with the sweat of his exertions.
This was a sorrow he could not bear. For three hours--for three agonizing hours!--he'd waited for Albert. Yuber wasn't here for the politics; he only wanted blood. He had no idea how trustworthy Hikusaak and his cohorts may or may not be. For all he knew, Albert could have been arrested or slain by his own employer, might have been--
Yuber had paced that room tirelessly for three full hours, feeling as though bad news would come to destroy him at any moment. His hands shook, his heart thundered wildly out of control, he jumped at the slightest sound, he paced, he bit his nails, he cursed--and three hours later, he'd breathed a sigh of relief to hear a shuffle in the hall. Right then, at that moment, he'd felt Albert's warmth through the door as though it was curled up against him, and his nerves had calmed as he forced his heart to slow, hurriedly but efficiently arranging himself to look the perfect visage of boredom when Albert had finally walked into the lounge.
Then he'd had to leave. At the time, all he really wanted to do was to pull Albert into his arms and thank him just for being alive. But...wasn't that showing a weakness?
Why was he the one on his knees right now?
Albert wasn't asleep when he heard the thunderous pounding on his door, but it still startled him.
Yuber, he thought immediately.
Despite his earlier disjointed musings, he did not want a beating right now. He was tired; he had work in the morning, dammit; it hadn't been his fault in the first place; he--
"Silverberg!!!"
Yuber's tone was not playful. He wasn't asking for admittance; he was demanding it.
Against his better judgment, the strategist climbed out of the bed, taking the sheet with him and wrapping it around his bare waist. He swallowed and put on his best "how dare you?!" expression before opening the door.
Whatever he'd been expecting, this was not it.
Yuber stood in nothing but his black trousers; his dress coat and good shoes, even the top hat, had been discarded to somewhere unknown. His hair hung wild and wet as though he'd just crawled out of a swamp. But he smelled nicer. Albert loved the scent of Yuber's sweat. Looking at his expression now, however, no one could have ever believed it.
"...Well?" Albert spat.
Cold. Sardonic. Perfect.
Yuber's eyes rekindled in that instant, and he flung himself into the room, grabbing hold of the strategist harshly and slamming him into the door to close it. The difficult part of his mission accomplished, Yuber felt slight relief just being with Albert again. He tried to hide it by thrusting the other man against the door furiously and holding his shoulders as he forcefully bruised a bare shoulder with his mouth.
Albert whimpered.
Yuber stopped.
The demon drew back just enough to look into the strategist's eyes, and his own were surprisingly cool, reflecting nothing of the heat he'd been so impassioned with upon entering the chamber.
"I don't know what it is about you," he mused, "but...you give my soul peace, Albert Silverberg."
The strategist looked at Yuber critically in confusion. He didn't speak.
Yuber shook his head, his expression one of heartbreaking surrender. "Please...let me make love to you," he begged softly.
Albert wrapped his arms around the demon's neck in complete amnesty, kissing him with soft passion and smiling all the while.
Some time later, they found themselves lying wrapped up together on a familiar mattress, tangled in the sheets. Albert faced the wall, and Yuber lay behind him, his arms wrapped tightly around his sleeping lover's slender waist.
"...I don't suppose I ever told you," the demon began, wetting his lips before able to continue, even though he was apparently speaking to himself, "but...I really do love you."
Yuber sighed with exhaustion, and finally let himself drift into a peaceful, relaxed sleep.
Albert was still smiling.
THE END