Okay, Nevan's turn. I tried to go for 'unrequited love' kinda thing. T.T Not quite sure if i managed that, but this is what resulted from that effort. I figured I might as well try to make my way around the world with this fic, seeing as Agni and Rudra were from India, and Mary was visiting Mexico... I'll shut up. You enjoy.
She remembered how his blood had laid, splattered across marble stone, as artistic as only a demon could manage. She had loved, once, in her life. When her lover died, something inside had gone with the man. Mortal as he had been, she hardly understood the infatuation herself. She hadn't cared when Sparda separated the demon world from the human realm. Not at first anyways. Her lover was newly dead as the tower shrunk, nothing more than a small lump of it's former glory. She hadn't blamed Sparda, not really. Not with her loss so fresh. It would take eons of loneliness, the absence of touch, of the lustful power she based her existence so thoroughly on, before she would come to resent the demon.
Just looking at her, you know she gloried at her chosen profession.
Self-proclaimed and titled 'The World's Best Fuck.' Well hell, why not? Her smirk followed men, it was like magic, the way they lingered at doorway of the joint, glancing discreetly over their shoulder for one more peek. And Nevan she would just smirk, sly laughter rippling from her tongue, as if to say 'Well c'mon then sugar.'
There was no question that Nevan was a whore the minute she stepped into the building, but you could tell she enjoyed it. Hell she was masterpiece when it came to fucking. She had everything down to an art. If you wanted a hard fuck, she'd chuckle, take the poor bastard's hand and money, then lead him up to the rooms upstairs. (You know, the ones the law doesn't know about.) You'd see the same poor smuck stumbling downstairs three hours latter looking like he was lost. I always get a kick out of Nevan's 'victims' as we call them. The few she does take upstairs always come back for more, but Nevan, she only screws them once. I asked her why once, she'd make a hell'uva lot of money on the side if she did take'em back for another screw or two. Nevan had stared at me with her hooded eyes, her long red hair just covering those jutting round breasts that made men weak in the knees.
'Well sugar,' she crooned, her demur eyes sliding over the faces of the bar. (Nevan never really spoke, or at least it never seemed like she did. She always had this crooning 'come hither' quality to her voice.) 'My mama taught me about girls who sleep around.' Of course the entire bar just laughed. Nevan always had the center of attention when she was in the room. It was magic, I tell you. Every man wanted her to look in their direction, wanted to touch her, wanted to fuck her and keep her for their own, and every woman was in love with her, even the strait ones. Me? Nah, it wasn't anything like that. Not for me anyways. I was just the bartender.
The bar had laughed, those foolish mortals. Had anyone thought to ask-had any of these mortals known what she was-who her favorite mortal was, well, then they would have had an answer worth repeating. She had long forgotten the number of men and woman she had taken into her embrace. Each one, she felt nothing for, she craved their living energy, nothing more. No, that wasn't the truth. It was him she remembered when they came to her. She longed for the one who had made her swoon with pleasure. Her first. No girl, demon or human, ever forgot her first.
The greeks were high into their scorn of woman, their higher thinking of science and philosophy, and of the stars when she'd arrived on the scene. They still worshipped their gods then. It was never said, no matter how innovative the Greeks, that they were not devout. She found the love of her life at the grotto near the well. He was filthy when she first laid eyes upon him. He had stared at her, as if he were seeing something. A vision of goddess Selen, he'd latter told her. Of course she was used to that kind of look. Men and demons alike had been giving them to her since the day of her birth. She still did not understand the whim that graced her at that time. The one that urged her to take the filthy man-youth actually, a scholarly runaway, something unheard of in the Greek world-and clean him, and feed him, and cloth him. When he was clean, he was a beautiful boy. One more beautiful than most humans were.
When night fell, he wouldn't let her seduce him.
It was the first time, in her limited experience, a man had refused her body. Refused her offer. Rejected her. Had been capable of such a feat. Even the occasional effeminate would succumb to her touch, but not this man. This scholar run away. He would eat at her side, watched as she flirted and fucked various men of wealthy families, he bath her afterwards, dried her hair decorating it with white lilies, but he would not let her touch him. Would not let her caress his soft cheek, nor his supple body, would not let her lay with him. It grew to the point were she found it maddening, but as a lady she could scarcely demand what she wanted from him. Even if she had, he still would have denied her what she craved. All in all he never left. Never tried to flee, even after he learned of what she was. He stayed. And together they stayed at her villa, side by side. Things did not change for three long years.
Had those mortals asked, she would have told them those three years were the best of her considerable life. His name had been Adrian. It happened suddenly, as most lustful moments do. It had been raining, she could still feel the cool air against her exposed skin. Still smell the scent of him as she cradled him in her arms. After that night he became her star, her moon, her Apollo. Adrian, he said, his lips trembling slightly in the moonlight, he said his name was Adrian.
Very few demons are with out enemies. A succubus who has spurned many offers for lovers must be additionally careful. She knew this now, what she hadn't know then. Youth was foolish, young love was blind. Her Adrian. His dark curly hair had been soaked with his own blood. Those dark eyes that once had seen right through her, to the shell of her soul, now glazed and unseeing. The dais that had been their passionate bed was scorched with long blade knives. It could have been many, many demons, and although she suspected only a few.
She never sought revenge. Instead she left Europa and the Great Empire, left the mortal world. Let her love rot and decay both in the ground and in her soul. It was the last time she had loved. Fucked, no, but loved? She would never forget her soft Adrian. 'Like I said, I've never seen her fuck'em more than once,' the whisper floated through the loud strip club to her ear. Only once would she hold them in a tender embrace, carving her name into their souls as she sipped away their vitality. They never felt the way he did. Never felt how they should. But there were times. She could still feel his touch.
She couldn't go with out her substance. He had known that somehow, without her ever telling him. He had forgiven her when she went to others for her need and in turn became her sole source of nourishment. With out the essence that made her what she was, she was weak. With Adrain, she was in love and loved in return.
Sometimes he came in the form of a different man, and she'd sink her teeth into his shoulder, eliciting a moan. Delighting in the feel of his soul so close to her own, remembering the smell of rain. Sometimes he'd come to her as a girl, and then she'd take her, take the memory of Adrian, and she hold onto him, and stroke his feeble trembling arms as he wept in pleasure. He would always return to her, she knew that now. In different people, in different souls, but she would always recognize him. And for his part, he would always seek her out.
The longest she'd ever gone without him had been her time spent inside the tower.
But her soft greek boy had waited for her. Come to her as a half demon, the same spawn of that who had separated them. And though Adrian was no fighter like this sharp spiky boy before her, she could feel him there. The evanescent touch of his soul was lurking behind two crystalline blue eyes, teasing her with his presence as he had for three long years. Yes it was her soft cheeked lover and yes, she would murder Sparda's offspring for the sin of his father. For the sin trapping her here, away from her lover, away from her source of being. Her fountain of existence. She vowed, silently to herself, as she studied this strange demon man before her, they would never be separated again.