A/N: 18+
He turned suddenly, in the act of walking away from me, and my heart stopped dead as his head cocked slightly, as if he wasn't quite sure of what he'd just heard. "Did you just say 'fuck you'?"
I hadn't really said it, exactly, but rather muttered it under my breath, but apparently not far under enough so that the God of Mischief couldn't pick it up verbatim.
In the space of less than a second, I found myself transported from what I naively considered to be the relative safety of having the span of a twenty foot room between us to being slammed up against the brick wall that was him, every bit of air leaving my lungs all at once as one arm snaked heavily around my waist, immobilizing me completely, his other hand gripping my chin and tipping it up with a deliberately painful grip, so that our eyes collided violently.
In a wink, my second line of defense against him - as useless as they were proving to be my mind still continued to think of them that way - was stripped from me and I found myself naked in his arms, the various buckles and metal pieces of his uniform pressing insistently into all of the most intimate areas of my body.
"Answer me, mortal, or I will flay the skin from your behind, strip by agonizing strip!" As if to emphasize his point, while his boming voice still reverberated through the room, a big hand came down to cover the area to which he was referring, his touch surprisingly gentle.
My throat seized, dry as a whore on Sunday morning. "Yes," I whispered.
In the smile that spread across his face I saw not the threat but the terrifying promise of my surrender and the sure knowledge that he was going to thoroughly enjoy every single minute of it.
"I believe I will accept that offer," he murmured almost kindly, deliberately twisting my words - as was to be expected - to fit his own ends as he wrenched my head back by my hair and his lips descended to ravage mine . . .