Chapter 42, Bishop Pair.
Warning: Suggestive Situations
Dark burgundy socks moved noiselessly across the polished stone beneath them. They took their time, the little printed hearts taking in the view, so neat and tidy. Everything was in its place as if nothing had happened, and the afternoon sun poked through fresh, untainted glass, so clean it looked as if it weren't even there. They quietly thanked the butler before continuing on to their destination. Long black nails wrapped around each other behind the white coat, tapping ever so lightly with each stride. A casual little hum escaped, rubbing up against the pristine wallpaper with no scorch marks in sight.
Everything was perfect. A visitor wouldn't have the slightest idea of the horrors that had taken place in the manor just the night before. Even the stench of fire had somehow been completely eradicated. Each hole had been patched and sanded and painted and covered, everything had been scrubbed, and what couldn't be was replaced. Anyone, even those who frequented the mansion, wouldn't have any idea how often, or sporadic, the elusive director lost control of himself. But that's just the way he wanted it to be. And that's just the way he had kept it, for hundreds of years.
However there was one thing that wasn't perfect. One little thing that wasn't too his liking – the state of which he knew his human would be in. He had deliberated on it periodically through the night as he watched the exorcists fight such an entertaining battle, getting distracted when his youngest brother defeated the beast with his blue flames, only to come back to his train of thoughts while he waited in droll meetings throughout the morning. By this time, as he glided down the hall to her, he had schemed precisely what he would say, and how he might go about the situation that was to come. He had planned for every contingency he could fathom, everything she might retort with, with that cute little wrinkled nose of hers as she strained to hiss and rattle to keep him at bay.
He chuckled to himself at the thought.
It was quiet on the other side as he unlocked the door and slowly opened it. To his surprise, the bed was still neatly made without a body in sight. His pupils scanned the room where the light of the hallway fell, searching. Off to the left, he stopped on some dark smudges on the stone floors, and he moved in to inspect further, letting the door shut behind him. It wasn't difficult for the demon to recognize blood, even if it had been wiped up. He could still smell it, stale as it lingered in the air. His calm demeanor began losing its footing as a single, haughty thump burst in his chest, and he snapped his fingers, which lit the moody lamps in the room. He didn't remember injuring her too badly; he thought he had kept decent control – so where did all this blood come from? The scent drew him to the torn sweater that was balled and tossed aside like nothing of importance. And from the corner of his heavy lids, he saw her.
She looked peaceful enough as she rested, curled up near the wall; some of the extra linens from the dresser were folded neatly under her head, and another sprawled out over her as a makeshift blanket. She was noiseless as the cover rose and fell, calm and slow like afternoon tides.
He let out a sigh, the tension in his body quickly dissolving, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Why not the bed, you silly human," he whispered so softly to himself as he moved to her. Since she was always up in a timely manner, he had expected her to be awake already, waiting impatiently with her scowl to be released, and so he had entered the room ready to hash things out; but seeing her sleeping so peacefully warmed his icy heart. Enfolding her within his arms, he carefully scooped her up, blanket and all, and relocated towards the bed. She let out a soft noise, a charming sleep-sigh as she nuzzled into his chest, causing the demon to freeze mid-step. And he looked her over, dumbfounded as his face grew warm, swaying internally; she was something of a storybook, he was certain. Something like the serene little cherubs of folklore.
The memory of her frightened face rushed well before his eyes once more, and the same grey feeling washed over him sparsely. How could I have treated her in such a way? He questioned himself, his green eyes flickering around the room before dropping his forehead to hers. What had come over me?
But like any other new emotion that had come over his being, he noticed the change, scarcely acknowledged it, questioned it, went so far as to ponder on it, but only ever momentarily – for then he proceeded to quickly bury it in the depths of his mind until the feelings surfaced once more, begging to be dealt with at a later time. Perhaps he didn't want to know why he was feeling them. Perhaps it was because he didn't like the answers.
Laying her down onto the mattress, he tried ever so carefully to crawl into bed next to her, to hold her close some more while she slept. Every time he laid his eyes on her, his wants and needs fluctuated, changed, and intertwined. He had went to the door wanting to discuss everything right away, to tell her all the things he had planned out to get her to move past what he had done, so they could brush it off like nothing happened and he could put it behind himself. But those callous, selfish wants softened with her sigh, leaving only a confusing mix of new, repressed needs each time he looked upon her. To be close to her, to hold her. To rest in the crook of her neck, to fill his lungs with her scent as she supplied him with her calming vitality. To be forgiven, oh god to be forgiven; his bones craved it.
But it was in doing so, as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into him, that she stirred.
The demon watched, subduing his breath as a bandaged arm rose from the grave, rubbing the face of the angel. Her muscles tensed as she stretched before relaxing back down into him, letting out a leisurely yawn, and slowly her eyes fluttered open and then closed, grazing over the figure before her. He had thought perhaps she wasn't fully awake, but was quickly proven wrong when her eyes snapped opened, staring him down.
She blinked a couple times, as if trying to discern if she were dreaming or not.
He smiled warmly at her.
She did not.
Instead, she grew increasingly hot to the touch as her body stiffened, and it wasn't long before she began to inch backwards with her eyes locked with his, slipping from his fingers.
It was now or never. "Goodmorning, my sweet flower," the demon whispered musically, her pupils falling upon his canines as he spoke. "How are you feeling?" She didn't say anything. "It seems you fell asleep on the ground, are you sore?" Still no reply. "Are you hungry? I could retrieve something—anything you wanted." Nothing. He let out a soft sigh, his forehead wrinkling.
The girl studied the creature before her carefully with hard, focused eyes as her mind came forth from the fog of sleep. There was still something that made it feel unreal; and perhaps, she reasoned, it was he himself. Something was different, and she couldn't place it. Her bloodshot eyes pleaded to be closed, to fall back into the sheets and sleep the day away, but she could barely blink, fearing to take her eyes from the demon for too long. He seemed normal enough – he looked like his usual self, he was acting like nothing bad had ever happened. But the back of her mind reasoned it could have been any moment, and he would show his true colors once more. She wouldn't fall for his illusions any longer. Slowly, she pulled back once again, freeing herself from even the most remote touch of the man.
"It's alright—" his voice came, always so smooth and artful. "It's me." There was a sort of half-smile on his face, which neither matched the dulling of his eyes or the thin air that surrounded him. It seemed forced, the slight hurt showing through his façade.
Her pupils snapped back up to his for a second before looking his face over, attempting to deduce how to approach the situation. She always forgot that he was indeed a demon. She had spent far too long making excuses in her head about his ears and why he always wore his gloves, or why he was so rather elusive. Her eyes flickered down to the hand, spread loosely on the comforter between the two bodies. No gloves. And despite his nails being a bit long, it appeared human. Bit by bit, her eyes moved back up, studying the creases of his white double breasted coat, the emblem pinned on his chest, the polka dot cravat hugging his human neck, the dark of his goatee and the ever so slight shadow of hair growing along his jawline. She glanced up, noting the dry, pink hue of his nose, the dark circles below his eyes, and how his hair looked somewhat dingy for him. Overall, he looked human. He looked like Johann Faust, the man who had captured her heart. But he also never looked disheveled, untidy; yet there he was, with wrinkles and bags and stubble, as if he had one of the longest most taxing nights of his life.
Maybe, she began to think, he really didn't mean it.
It was then that the humanesque hand made a move toward her, perhaps to brush her cheek, or maybe even to grab and pull her back in—but instinctively, she jolted backwards and threw her palm up, where she paused before pushing the hand back down. And almost instantly, his sticky sweet disguise began to give way. "My dear, you have to say something at some point," he sighed with a grimace. "We need to discuss what took place yesterday."
Her heart seemed to sink in that moment. It sounded like an inevitable business meeting looming over them. She choked on the lump in her throat for a moment before she could speak. He was not Johann Faust. He was not Mephisto Pheles. "Discuss? You mean, you want to know if I learned my lesson," she finally retorted as coldly as she could muster, propping herself up on the bed and looking down at him. He was Samael, the demon king.
It wasn't much, but finally she was talking. "Well, yes," he started, voice faltering for just a moment. "But I have learned mine as well." He watched as her expression turned to confusion. "I know I did terrible things. And I swear to you, it shall never happen again. I never wanted to hurt you." His hollow eyes dropped down to the bandages on her arm.
The girl followed his gaze, landing on the wound. Did he think he did that? She wondered. Maybe he doesn't remember what all he did last night. She toyed around with letting the demon continue thinking he had wounded her so badly, but she broke. "This?" she said, bringing her arm up. "You didn't do this." Despite what he did the previous night, she couldn't let him believe he had done something he didn't.
"No?" the demon questioned, raising a brow at the dark red fabric.
"I did it."
His hard eyes snapped to hers. "What—why?"
"I was frightened, on my own, locked away in the dark. I tried summoning Fenrir." Her voice was emotionless, dull, as she spoke in a matter-of-fact way. The type of thing someone would do to downplay a rather upsetting turn of events, systematically getting more of a rise from the listener. Which seemed to do the trick. A sort of fire seemed to start in him, different than those of the night before—something multifaceted, vexed and troubled; and she recognized the grey guilt clear on his face as he sat up. Brow furrowed, his mouth opened as if to try to say something, but no words could make up for the things he had done, and caused. She watched his internal struggle plainly. "I'm sure I lost quite a bit of blood," she pushed. "But don't worry, your brother came and bandaged me. At least he was here for me."
His eyes met hers, looking back and forth, the moment of discomposure solidifying back toward his usual, poised, controlled self. "Good," he cracked, soft and slow, as if he wasn't sure he meant his own words. "I never intended too—"
"But you did." She cut him off, her stony expression yet to waver. She pulled up her opposing sleeve, revealing the hand-sized bruise from where he had dragged her down the hall. "Maybe you didn't mean to do any of this, to hurt me in any way—" He tried to speak, but she kept going. "But you did. You did a lot more than you even realize." Her eyes began to water as she spoke, getting caught up reviewing all the wounds, and she choked on them to keep them hidden, to keep strong in front of the demon that walked like he was a god.
He watched her for a while in silence, taking her in; she furrowed her brow at him, in that way that wrinkled her nose before turning her head away, which he found utterly adorable and he had to subdue a lighthearted chuckle. Every time she denied him, it only made him want her more, but he had to be so tactful when navigating her waters. "I know," finally came the demon's voice. "Believe me, I know. I've done unspeakable things. I've hurt you in unimaginable ways. And while I never meant too, I know nothing I say can rewrite what happened." He reached out for her, walking his fingers into hers, coaxing her to accept him. "You know, I couldn't get my mind off of you all night; I longed to return, to see if there was any way I could undue this." Their fingers entwined softly, her hand ready to escape as he slowly began making his way to her. "I'm not asking you to forgive me, not yet. That will come within time, I hope." His lids were heavy as he looked his human over, trying to gauge her reactions to his ever so subtle advances. She was hesitant, but wasn't outright denying him, so he continued getting closer, running his palm over her wrist as he brought it up to his lips, gently kissing her bruise all the way around. "It's not an excuse, but I was just so worried about you, thinking something could have happened to you—I don't know what I would do. I just wanted you safe. And I seem to have lost it," he spoke between each tender kiss, making his way up her forearm where he was encouraged by her light titter, and responded by pulling her over to his lap. She eyed him carefully as he did, but it was clear he was getting through to her, just as he always did. "Let me make it up to you," he murmured gently into her skin, the smell of sake getting stronger. "If there's anything you want, all you must do is say it, and it shall be done. I swear."
She didn't understand how he could do it—to get her from such a cold and unfeeling state, to longing for more of him. The parts of her psyche that wanted to push him away, and pull him in to her, battled on as she hesitated with each move he made. She just wished things could go back to the way they were, when they had no care in the world and couldn't get enough of one another. Before he had done anything questionable or broken trust. "Anything I want?" she asked quietly, the words a jumble as they fell from her lips. Her tone was something half-hopeful, half-unamused, as if she doubted his sincerity.
"Of course," he reiterated with a coy smile. It didn't seem any more sincere than before, like there was a catch. "I've never lied to you, have I?" The demon brought his hand up, barely grazing his thumb across her lips, and brushed against her cheek as he made his way up to her locks, which he tucked neatly behind her ear. Bristles made their way from her head to her toes as his fingers caressed her long tresses, releasing bits of tension with every inch they fell.
"Not that I know of," she muttered, barely audible for anyone to hear.
But he always heard.
Immediately, she felt his hand coil around her chin, hard and stony for just a split second, long enough to know his initial reaction to her words, but not so long as to allow her to react. For almost instantly, he relaxed into the sensitivity he so often tried to show this human, leaving only a questionable memory of frustration in the indents on her skin. She looked him dead in the eye, with a look that would shake a normal man, almost daring her demons to try to break her. But the moment was gone, fleeting, falling into tenderness that she never knew was an intentional choice or due to a weakness for her as he cupped her face within his hands.
"My dear, I could have erased your memory and pretended none of this even happened. After all, I do want things to go back to normal. But I came here for you, so we could move forward together," he smiled warmly as his thumb stroked her cheek. "As a couple."
Her eyes widened, for she was completely and utterly caught off guard. "A c-couple?" she stammered, searching through his layers for the mistake. Surely he couldn't have meant such a thing.
But his eyes seemed to glow under his low lids as he moved into her. "Well of course, my flower. Do you not think of us as such? After all that we've been through; all that we've done together?" he questioned, nipping at her ever so delicately, his breath spreading across her with every syllable, bringing her down with him.
He had that way with her, winding himself around her, keeping her on his side, submitting to him. And she ached for it, for him. Even with her face burning, unsure whether to push him away or to accept him, part of her begged him to keep on, like a ghost haunting. "We've just..never talked about it, I suppose," she finally responded as his lips grazed against her, standing on edge. To fend off a demon, or to succumb; neither was pretty, but both were chaotic and poetic all in the same. And she had to be honest to herself—the sound of being together, officially unofficially with any sort of title, whether or not it was to be kept secret, was enticing in itself. She was flooded once again with wanting things to be normal, as normal as they could be. After all, despite what had happened, she wanted him. Wanted his arms around her, pulling at her petals, his lips against hers, shushing her worries away. She always had a habit of thinking too much without saying a word, and he looked so good when he was reading her. He was always the only quiet she got, even when he made her scream.
"Do you not want that?" he asked, the breath of his pout titillating her senses as he grazed his mouth over her once again.
A couple. To knowingly date a demon; one of the demon kings at that. To accept him for everything that he was—she wondered if she could do it. What good could come from such a pairing, a weak-willed human and a self-seeking demon? It could be legendary, or it could be a disaster. He was greedy, taking her for what he wanted, but she allowed it. She was helpless, down on her knees for him, but she lived for it. She would offer up her neck for her king because he would beg for it, but queens could play chess too. And maybe the light she glimpsed at the end of the tunnel was just the sun in her eyes, but the flick of his silver tongue just before he kissed her skin so fondly guided her mind to places only he had ever managed to take her too, and the image of her demons from the night before faded away into her depths.
"Fine," she muddled, pulling herself from the sweet, fiery waters that he drank so eagerly, composing herself and looking him in the eye. She could try to refrain, but he was stuck in her as much as she was stuck in him. The demon propped himself up over top of his human, like he were proud of his kill, eyeing her up and down with his otherworldly confidence. "I'll consider forgiving you. But I have a few stipulations."
"Name them, and they're yours," he spoke smoothly, leaning down to her lips. But before he could continue stoking the fires he so often would ignite, her finger pushed onto his mouth as she rose.
"First," she said assertively, driving him back. "Don't you ever invite my mother here without consulting me. You know I don't like her. It was completely inappropriate for you to arrange her visit."
Slowly, his look of bewilderment softened to a sly, collected expression. "I was merely hoping the two of you could get some time together—"
"Never again."
He stared the girl down, emotionless. "As you wish, my dear."
"Second," she started, her pupils moving to the right. "You release Fenrir from wherever you have him kept."
"Done."
That was easy enough. The girl looked him over as his expression has turned plain. "Third, I wish to continue training with Yukio, though I will still humor the Madame for you, for whatever reasons I don't understand."
The demon let out rather labored sigh, letting her know he wished to retort. "Okay."
"And last," she said, her voice faltering ever so slightly as she sat up straight on the bed. "I want you to let me go to the next mission the exwire's go on, no questions asked."
She watched carefully as his black nail tapped on the bedspread, his hard green eyes on her. Minutes seemed to pass as they sat in silence, his mind spinning through words, searching. He finally broke eye contact, glancing down while he shifted, his tongue raking across his teeth, settling within the pocket of his cheek. "Now that one, my dear, is one I have a hard time agreeing too," he said with a formidable air.
"You said anything," she reminded, holding strong against his push.
He rocked his head to one side and snapped it back quickly, acknowledging the truth of her words with an irritated tick as though he regretted it. Taking some time to think, he finally addressed his human with a sly smile. "I'll consider it, if you do something for me."
The girl raised a brow. Of course there would be some sort of catch, some sort of condition. But a compromise was better than nothing. "What's that?"
Suddenly, he came in close once more, looming over her with a Cheshire grin and burning eyes, pushing her back onto the bed. The demon drew in a breath, his lips meeting in a curled smirk as he looked her up and down. His voice was dark when he spoke. "You sell me your pretty little soul, of course."
The girl's stomach made one quick churn, and she glowered up at him. "You're not serious."
His lower lip puckered as he pulled it in under his fang. "Are you sure?" he asked, tracing her neck with his nail, making his way down to her collar bone. "After all, I am a demon. What more could I want with you?"
There's no way he's serious, she thought with a chuckle, tilting her head backwards. "What's your condition?"
He leaned in, wetting his fangs before stopping himself from biting down. "Don't make it sound so impersonal, little flower; ask what you could do for me."
It's always a game, she thought, pursing her lips. "What can I do for you?" she repeated, straining her words unnaturally. The breath of his amused chuckle hit her skin in puffs before he came up, his hungry eyes looking down upon her as he undid his coat, and he tossed it to the side as a finger tugged at the polka dot cravat.
"That's better."
(Chapter 43, Checkmate, will only be published to my DeviantArt as it will be rated MA - sorry everyone!)
