The Deal (Closed for WhisperedDesires)

[Apollo Wilde]

Considering what had happened between them, the selling of his flesh to the Angelmakers, she should have been terrified for her life once his clawed hand closed round her throat. But…she leaned into the touch, bumping the column of her neck against his clawed fingers. A sigh as the tendril’s motions slowed, dragging, so that she felt every inch of it.

His question cut through the fog in her mind, and, with some effort, she opened her eyes, her lips parted.

“Y…yes…”

It was a vague question - with a precise answer from her, but to what, was still up to the imagination. Her tongue caressed the claw that pressed against her lips, before she was leaning up, her lips closing around the digit. Looking up into the burning embers of his eyes, he’d be able to feel it. The mix of desire, lust - the urge, no, need, to orgasm again, but not like this, she wanted to feel him, actually him, inside of her, spending inside of her again. To wrap his powerful arms about her, to dwarf her, to carve his sign into her body, mark her as his and his alone. She was enamored of his power, yes, but perhaps there was something else, something more, just flickering beneath the surface, retreating with the primordial chaos within her.

There was the curiosity - did he feel the same? Was this enjoyable for him? Was this something that he was indulging in for a first time with her? Was this pulling him closer, did he have things he wanted to ask of her, that he’d refrained to, things that spurred him?

Still, it was hard for her to think more intently on anything beyond that agonizing, slow pull within her, like he had all the time in the world, so slow until she was doing just that, squirming on the tendril, gasping as she tried to take more in, to brush against her walls, to spur her harder, closer.

 

[WhisperedDesires]

She was confusing him.

Mortals did not seek a demon's touch, press themselves that much closer to the hard, uncaring bone of his armored hands. Mortals did not submit themselves so readily, and yet somehow be entirely in control. He could feel the desire to close his fist, to crush the Betrayer's throat as easily as one might snap a toothpick. At the same time, the action seemed unthinkable, even the mere thought of it off putting and unsettling. The threat was there, and she seemed to delight in it, relish his form, so built for death and carnage, desire it. Desire HIM.

He watched her silently as she teased at his claw, tongue ghosting over it before her lips closed upon it. He watched her grind herself down, desperate for the pleasure the tendril within her gave. He could taste her desires, feel the wish she held within, the strange need to be... marked. Claimed. He did not understand that wish, freedom was surely more desirable than any form of bondage, wasn't it? But even as the thought crossed his mind, the desire to grant her wish, to burn his mark upon her soul, to lay claim to her beyond the mere trappings of the contract, rose up, dominated thought, gave reason to motion.

"Such willing submission is... pleasing."

His power was called upon, grew within him as he shaped it into the form he desired. He would mark her, claim her, wrap her in his power such that no other could lay claim. It would require much, a good deal of his power, even restored and empowered as he was, would go into the sigil he was fashioning. But even that would not be enough. Words held power, gave form to intent and desire, made real the intangible in more ways than one. He would need them from her, not just the desires he tasted of her, but her desires spoken aloud, that the magic he called upon would be drawn to her and her alone.

"Speak of your wish, Ava."

His words, even to him, sounded gentle and warm. The desire within him may confuse him, that she should become his, all of her given over to him, not just her soul but her desire, her emotions, her wants, all would be his, even if he didn't understand why. A gesture of his will had the tendril vanish, gone within an instant and leaving the woman in his clutches empty. That would not be so for long, but he would rather her thoughts clear and focused entirely upon him. A clawed hand encircled her torso once more, hauling her into the air as he stood to his full height, positioning her so that his hardened cock teased at the entrance of her sex. His other hand remained around her throat, tightening only enough to maintain his hold on her, to keep her from twisting or falling.

"Let me hear you say your desire."

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Sarcasm was burned away by his gaze. She’d crossed a threshold, even as higher senses came back to her, even as the bond between them thinned - that, she knew. This submission, this desire of hers, it had to be considered as a farewell, a gentle easing out of the ether that had so encompassed her. Reality would set back in, and he would be a demon set for her soul, the clock rewound and set back to the original starting point. And then what would she do?

No time to think about it now - his hand dwarfed her torso, lifting her. His other hand still at her throat. How easy would it be for him to squeeze, to him to run a single claw through her throat? Why was she still so certain that she would come to no harm here; that his might, his strength, was at her command? Perhaps it was his question, the probing burning embers of his eyes, bright and magnetic.

Madness, then -

So she spoke, feeling herself curl further into him, to want to be cradled by him. His shaft was hot against her wet folds, sliding between them, against them, but never daring to slip that much more forward to part them, to be inside of her again. Madness, yes - she was dammed already, her flesh etched by his touch, even if there was no visible sign.

“I want you inside me,” she sighed, pressing her body further into his grasp. The last words, stuttering, halting from her, tinged with fear, “I…” a clumsy laugh. “You already own me,” the last bit, a sigh, as she titled her head down, wanting, wishing, that she could have laid against him, that he was that much more closer to human that he could respond in kind; caress her face, her hair.

 

[WhisperedDesires]

"I want you inside me."

Desire and want and lust once again. Those words were satisfying, appealing, an echo of his own need for the woman held in his clutches. But not what he required. Not what he wanted her voice to give form.

"I... you already own me."

The words he wanted came, tinged with fear. For a moment, that fear darkened his gaze, called forth the hate within him the called for her death. But even that was lost against another emotion, called just as readily with the way her body curled against him, seeking his touch even as she feared. What did she fear? Him? Did he frighten her, despite the shifting tides and binding words that sealed them to each other? Did it... bother him that she feared him?

Regardless of those thoughts swirling in his mind, his power reacted to the words all on their own. Though it was not an outright submission, or even a request for marking, it was enough. The sigil forming within him was being fed his power, enriched with the scattered cinders of his own essence that leapt from the hellfire of his being. He pulled her close then, as his power grew, the hand around her throat moved to pull her against his armored frame before letting her slide onto his erect cock, her folds invitingly warm and wet, pulling a rumbling groan of pleasure from his chest. Despite having felt the joy of her body this same night, it felt as if it had been gone longer than he'd have liked.

"You are mine."

The words came out half-whispered, lost to the darkness of the room but for his maw being so close to her ears. Though he was unable to kiss, lacking the lips required, the bone plating of what would be his mouth pressed against the hair atop her head, approximating some show of affection without even realizing. Even as he did so a clawed hand found itself holding the curves of her ass, supporting her weight with an impossibly gentle touch despite the edges of his claws biting lightly into the yielding flesh.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Had this been a few days ago, a few weeks - she would have been deeply afraid of his words. They would have brought to mind the gaping void that her dabbling promised her to, a stark reminder that she was damned beyond any hope of salvation. It had been a game then, before rapidly turning into something deeper, all because of her own weakness. And maybe it was more of that weakness now that lead her to lean into his touch, to breathe out a long sigh of contentment not only as he slid into her body, but by feeling him around her, not just within her body.

If she closed her eyes, pressed against him like this, she could imagine that there would never be any harm that would befall her. She would be safe within his arms, safe from the Angelmakers, from the things unseen and unknown that could threaten her. That the real reason why she’d summoned him hadn’t been out of anger, or hurt, but pure despair at being alone, and now, he had fulfilled it. She wasn’t alone, and never would be again - even if it meant torment at his hands once her flesh ceased to be.

Her hand would come up, caress the bone plate armor of his face, a memory of stroking his cheek after the first time they’d been together. He was etched upon her, inside of her, and her left hand was placed on the roll of his bicep, curling as a thrust from him pulled a moan from her.

If there were words, she could not think of them, only lost in him.

 

[WhisperedDesires]

The way she leaned into his body, her hand reaching up to stroke the bone of his face, stilled some of the thoughts within, felt almost... calming... A fraction of his being rebelled against the feeling, snarled its rage. The flame of his essence burned warmly in response, had him leaning ever so slightly into her touch, a hum of contentment escaping him. The hand upon her back pressed itself flat upon her skin, his power emerging, the sigil called forth, ready to be etched, near invisible, upon her skin.

His thrusts into her depths were slower than before, having lost the rabid hunger of feral need that had guided him before. Now his movements were measured, teasing as he guided her upon his length, wanting to draw out more of her moaning, hear her breathless voice. He wondered, idly, if she preferred the fast, brutal feral lust or this slow, deliberate pace. Which dragged her pleasure from her body better, which drove her deeper into her own satisfaction? He would find out, he supposed, for there would be plenty of time he could devote to the task, to seeing her spent beneath him.

"You will bear my mark soon."

He wasn't sure why he felt the need to warn her of the hand upon her back, the sigil he was calling forth, the power that would soon be searing her skin. He wasn't sure she had even noticed the buildup of magic within his clawed hand. Why her discomfort, or potential discomfort, seemed to concern him enough to even bother. He would mark her either way... wouldn't he? She was his, made so by her own words, and he would not allow another any claim upon her. Body, mind and soul, all were his and his alone, to mark her would simply proclaim to any who could see it who she belonged to.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

If the coupling, feral and brutish, full of rage, apology, submission - had been enough to pull him back from the brink and drop her into the unyielding, uncaring primal void of chaos, this would be something wholly different. If before they had both been plunged into the same sea, inundated, nearly drowned, now, for her, she was unfolding. The slow, patient strokes of him inside of her, rather than pound her desire into a harder, brighter fire, would serve to slowly stoke, tenderly bring a spark into a warming flame.

She would respond in kind, her body curling, pressing against his, her hips sliding down to meet his upwards thrusts, down as he withdrew. Her desire was there, yes, but having been sated before, there was truly no rush now. She was at a disadvantage; her position not allowing for her to wrap her legs around him. So, instead, she kept her hands busy on him, caressing his face, his arms, lowering her forehead to touch against his chest.

“Your mark…” A question, a statement. Surprise, then, hesitant happiness. Had he felt what she’d wanted, did he understand what she was truly trying to request? “Will…will this keep you with me?” A shy question, vulnerable, one she regretted the moment that she uttered it. To show such weakness, yes, she must have been completely mad. Maybe she was dead already, and this was just the fragment of life that still clung to her cooling body. He was bound to her by the contract; that she knew. But how to keep him, still, with his eyes only on her? It was a lost cause, she knew it -

A slow thrust, clinching of his hand on her rear, and her mind went blank, unable to focus on anything other than his fullness inside of her. There would be time for thought later, but now, as her body gently unfolded with each thrust, she was that much closer to orgasm, this one tiptoeing on quiet feet, warming her through and through.

 

[WhisperedDesires]

The endless touching he had grown used to, he found. She seemed to enjoy it more than anything else, seeking always to touch some bit of him, any bit of him, that she could reach. Wherever her hands strayed, he found himself leaning into her touch, pushing back lightly against the caressing fingers that found his face, his chest, his arms. Even her forehead, her all too vulnerable head, she seemed almost content to bring closer to his frame, to press the skin of her face against his chest. He could not understand why she sought such contact, but also found he did not mind it, saw little reason to prevent her touch.

"Your mark... Will... will this keep you with me?"

Her question, despite the shyness and the subtle uncertainty, annoyed him. He was a demon, yes, but he kept his word. Perhaps, often enough, not the spirit of those promises and deals, but it could never be said that he did deliver. That she doubted him, at any level, was aggravating more than he cared to admit. A gentle, rumbling growl of distaste before he replied, voice gravely and harsh, though not necessarily unkind.

"I do not speak lies, Ava Elfman. I have spoken my promise to you. Or perhaps you wish to mark me in your own way?"

Even as he asked his question of her, his clawed hand upon the curve of her rear guiding her, helping her rise and fall upon him in those slow deliberate motions. Her warmth was inviting and gentle, vastly different from the searing heat of before. Her soul burned with desire, but it was the burn of a log fire, fed over time, rather than the roaring inferno. This... this was vastly different to what he understood sex to be, but still he exalted in it, in her.

That hand upon her back, the magic built up within it, finally began to press the sigil into her skin, demonic power arcing into her. Even this was cautiously gentle, the magic prickling at her skin like tiny needles, forming the glowing rune of his mark. It expanded across her skin, an infernal mark that seared deeper than the skin, marred the brightness of her soul with his dark touch. Once more he pressed his lipless mouth against the top of her head, eyes burning brighter still as his power pushed into her.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

“There’s no way to mark a creature like you,” a thin skin of humor there, of resignation. Not a complaint; but understanding. How could you bottle lighting, catch a storm? The contract itself was borrowing his power, not owning him, not marking him. He’d proven that on his own, lurking for others to tempt, a dog on the prowl. “But I'll gladly take what I can get.” Loaded words, to be sure, but she would not allow herself to elaborate further.

His touch on her back was reminiscent of the tattooist - thousands of needles humming together, the pain there, but not unbearable. A counterpoint to the pleasure he was still bringing her, pleasure that threatened to drown out the pain till it was little more than a faint echo. The curiosity of her mind flickered. This was a new experience, something that she had not thought was a possibility. Yes, sigils could be etched into materials, painted, drawn on - even tattooed. But given by a demon? That was something entirely new.

And something that would draw the attention of the Angelmakers; that much, she could feel. How would they react - would they join forces with other, even more dark and ancient powers? Would they continue to watch? And her, what would she do? They wouldn’t be content with having him, her Marlow - whatever his true name was - as a battery. Not after this, not after proving that he could be stolen, their powers warped, even at extreme costs to Ava. She clung to him, subconsciously afraid, unsure, of what would come.

But his head against the crown of hers, it was soothing. Warm. Surely, with him with her, they could forge a new way, a new path. A new way of understanding - what if she did what the Angelmakers wanted - and joined them? Join, yes, but to depose and oust. For her power to be the umbrella under which they worked, the quest for power not for their own devices, but to aid and reassure. To look deeper, further, harder, to tap into that primordial magic that was uncolored by Hell or by Heaven.

Was it possible?

 

[WhisperedDesires]

"Your knowledge, like so many mortals, is incomplete."

Though he could not read her direct thoughts, not without invading her mind more forcefully, he understood the extent of her intent. So many thoughts demons, angels, even other beings from beyond, could not be changed, marked, owned. They weren't necessarily wrong, such as it is, but there was a reason one's true name was guarded so carefully. Unlike humans, defined by so much of themselves, grounded in the magical world by the soul, he was of essence, mutable magic compressed into physical form. To know the name of his essence was to rule over him entirely, be granted the power to manipulate his very being.

His power seared his sigil into her, body and soul alike, the process ending sooner than he expected it to. Perhaps it was because she accepted that sigil so readily, that mark of ownership that would mean she was, at least in the eyes of those who could see it, forever his. That alone brought a deep satisfaction to him, the knowledge that now she was marked, at her own request, as his and his alone. That knowledge was soured by the flickers of logic he felt roiling within her.

"You are mine, yes you think of something else while I take you. Do I bore you so?"

His words were a strange mixture of mirth and annoyance, both unhidden in his tone. Almost to accent his point, he thrust into her just a little rougher than before, his discontent with her wandering thoughts made clear. Burning eyes gazed down at this woman in his arms, who seemed suddenly so uninterested in the demon who held her. Even worse, perhaps, was the thoughts that shot through him. Why should he care where her mind wandered?

 

[Apollo Wilde]

A sharp inhale as he thrust firmer into him. Had she been that transparent? Blood flooded her cheeks.

“No..I’m worried about the future. What this means between us.” Stroking his arm in an effort of reassurance, though she didn’t know if it would have the same meaning for him, she tried to pull her thoughts back to the present. She was doing him a disservice, she knew that. She should be focused on him, not on power, not on the Angelmakers. But to focus on him was still to inch closer to reality, of the inevitability that the joining of their bodies would end, and then what?

She was afraid to be honest with him; didn’t trust herself to say the correct thing, or, rather, anything at all. She tried, though, really, and truly, to focus back on him, on the unearthly warmth of him surrounding her. And, if she were to lose herself…it would be easier, wouldn’t it?

“I want to kiss you,” she suddenly asked. “Could you…show your face?” For wanting this level of intimacy, to give in entirely, it would be all too human to want a face that would be familiar, features and limbs in the sketch of her own. But was there more to him under the armor, or was the armor him, a bottle containing an essence that truly had no form?

 

[WhisperedDesires]

Her concerns with the future were met with the blank stare of his bone covered features. He could fully admit to not giving it much thought at the moment, what need was there for that? The Angelmakers would come, and he would kill them, each and every one, make them suffer for the suffering they had put him through. Any further considerations were unnecessary. But even then, her words about what had happened between them, what it meant for them... it was a disconcerting thought, something he didn't want to think about very deeply. She sought meaning in the act, something he did not choose to examine, felt uncomfortable about.

"I want to kiss you. Could you... show your face?"

He stilled entirely at her question, buried deep inside this woman. His face... his face was already staring at her, the bone of it unyielding and rough. Did she think he was somehow hiding himself further? That he had some human appearance, that the armored he wore was somehow a shell he could remove? Some part of him scoffed at her assumption, that a demon had anything beyond what he was. Another part of him considered the problem more carefully. Demon's could grow and shift, change as needed when they gained power. He had gained a considerable amount of power thanks to Ava, whatever ancient power she had called forth and poured into him. Surely, then, for her... for her comfort, he could...

It was an interesting feeling, warping his own body, shifting the very nature of his own physical existence. Not an unfamiliar one, he had been born strong, but had not started as powerful as he now was, and had gone through such shifts a number of times through the thousands of years of his existence. To those sensitive the magic, the demonic power that flowed through him seemed to twist, grasping the features of his skull and pulling upon them. It was a near instant change, thanks mostly to the already mutable nature of his demonic existence and having little attached to his existence beyond the occasional long forgotten myth. But in the end, the result was enough, features practically grown beneath the armor of his face, seams seemingly appearing the the blank mask of bone.

"Remove my armor, if it truly pleases you."

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Almost timidly, she reached up. Before her fingers touched the edges of his armored face, they still. Uncertainty flared through her. Not fear, but…hesitation. That she’d asked for too much, for something more personal than he was able to offer. Suddenly, she was lifting the armored plate, moving faster than her mind could process, allowing her body to guide her.

The face beneath was the placid, nondescript face that he’d shown her before as ‘Marlow’ - a face that, despite its unnatural chill, was familiar, and thereby, warming. She smiled then, a little shaky, unsure, still, but pleased by his change nonetheless. The time for quizzing him about the changes of his form would come later. Now, though - she leaned into him, kissing him as if drinking from his lips. Along with the human shape of his face, the inner fire of him had calmed to something more palatable, the echoed warmth of frail, human skin.

The kiss was deep, speaking in a language as ancient as the power she tapped into before. There was no battling of tongues, no clacking of teeth, just a desire to express herself through her body, to pull as close to him as was possible. The purest kiss she’d ever encountered in her life, blowing past the cobwebs of her old lover, the shadow of a person that lead her to calling him in the first place. She seemed to be breathing him in through her lips, flooding herself with him.

She would break the kiss only to breathe deeply, to press her forehead against his. With his armored plate over his face, he vaguely looked like a knight with the visor of his helmet up. His calm, unsettlingly calm, one could say, face was soothing. Funny, how even with his cock buried in her body, the rest of his body hard armor, that she could find comfort moreso than she had before. No feeling of love, that was true; nothing like what she’d experienced with the friendlover that brought her here to begin with, but a comfort. Animals licking each others wounds, bound closer through a battle than in affection.

 

[WhisperedDesires]

Her strange uncertainty amused him at some level. Despite asking for it herself, she was almost hesitant to pull away at the armor of his face. But she'd done it, and despite his choice in appearance, drawing entirely upon what he knew she knew, she seemed pleased with the results. Then there was only the kiss, her lips pressed against his, drawing him into herself. He could feel the sigil burned into her soul flaring in response, somehow reacting to the miniscule amount of power she drew from him, though he wasn't sure she even realized it.

He could taste the calm that fell over her, the comfort she seemed to find in his presence. It was a strange thing, to him, anyone taking true comfort in his mere existence near them. Even after the kiss was done, her forehead pressed against his, her almost relaxed calm was tangible, filling the room somehow and beating back even the weight of his own wrongness in the world.

All of it, when his mind was done taking it all in, he found mildly disturbing. He should not be content with this, should not be fully willing to follow this woman's whims and wishes. In some show of odd defiance, he set himself once again to the task of slowly thrusting into her, trying to distract himself from the unsettling feelings she was managing to inspire in him. Anything to avoid dealing with them immediately.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

His thrusts were no more hurried, but were more insistent, questioning, no - that wasn’t right. Not questioning, looking…searching, maybe? It escaped words, but she could feel it bleeding into her, in the snap of his hips, the long pull of him out of her body. She would continue to ride on the wave of him, cresting higher and higher, until she could no longer hold out, and her orgasm overtook her, crashing down on her, taking her away.

Tightening, a frantic scrambling of her hands to find purchase on his body, to pull him deeper, deeper, yes, until it dully ached. Deeper until she would feel his own orgasm, until she could feel every pulse, every kick, of his cock buried deep inside of her. Her hands grasped his rear the best she could, pulling him more into her, unable to wrap her legs around him due to how he held her.

“Yes…” was her slow moan of release, of letting go, finally. The fear, the tension, the uncertainty, all was washed from her with this second orgasm, calmer than the first, but deeper. She would have to walk in faith moving forward, though who’s faith was still unclear. There was a connection here, something that could be nurtured, perhaps, but she was his now, wrapped tightly and securely. That was something she could believe in, even if her brain didn’t always process it as such. He’d made it so, in this coupling, that her body would always know.

 

[WhisperedDesires]

Unlike times before, her orgasm didn't come as a sudden release, but rather a building wave that came crashing through her body. Though the process was slow, her pleasure was enough, the taste of her lust enough, to pull him along with her, his own burning desire building alongside her. When she finally found that climax, her hands scrabbling for purchase, drawing him deeper into herself, encouraging him to his own end. It wasn't long before he followed her, his cock spasming within her depths, pumping his seed into her for the second time tonight.

In that same moment he stilled almost entirely, holding this woman close. Within his mind, for just a moment, his thoughts were well and truly quiet. No schemes being concocted, none of the endless hunger for more power. Even the endless roiling presence of his demonic power seemed to still, tranquil as the surface of a pond.

He was... content...

Then the moment was gone, panic replacing it as the demon's usual place returned. For a moment his grip tightened upon Ava, stopping himself only just from piercing her skin. He returned his gaze to the woman, the calm of his face hiding the discontent beneath. Still, even in that state, the threads would be woven, though in this case his interest was simply in being left alone to brood over these new complications. It helped his situation that he could see the weariness in the woman, her body taxed to it's limit perhaps more than it should have been. Regardless, it provided an easy distraction from himself, if the Betrayer was even capable of noticing the disquiet within him.

"You require rest, I think."

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Oh…

How was it that he managed to feel that much better, pushing her past pleasure as he came, filling her body, her senses? She pressed her face to his, forehead to forehead. A gesture of tenderness that left as quickly as it had arrived, her hands still clasped tightly to his rear, pushing him all the deeper inside of her.

His grip seemed to respond in turn, grasping tighter, with the pricks of his claws dancing around her skin, before it eased. There was one last squeeze on his rear before she let go. One last confirmation of his physical form, of the way his body molded to hers. The pain was starting to slip in now - faint dappled spots on her inner thighs from the pressure of his armor. Nothing that would be lingering; things that would mature into bruises, small reminders of this night, of the power exchanged.

“I do,” it was said, with a bit of a yawn. “It’s been…a night.” There could have been more, but there truly was nothing left to say. Her powers, her body, had been taxed past human limitations. The fact that she was still alive, still breathing, not just breathing, but thriving, was testament to the great exchange of power that had happened, that would still plunge her brain into a void if she tried too hard to recall what happened. There would be time to worry about it later, perhaps, but now, there was some sort of balance restored. Marlow was back with her, and still her problem to deal with. “But I don’t want to move,” a slightly childlike whine to her voice, a reluctance to part from him.

 

[WhisperedDesires]

He was moving even as she finally began to relax fully, as exhaustion began to creep into her limbs. A slight hum of agreement at her choice of words, it had indeed been a night. He'd pulled her off his cock by then, the remnants of their coupling readily apparent between her legs. He cradled her near his chest, even as his length disappeared to wherever it had come from, his form returning once more to its almost entirely armored form save his revealed face. He moved down the hallways, eyes seeing perfectly in the dark, footsteps impossibly quiet as he entered her bedroom. He briefly considered going further, into the bathroom, but resolved that would take more time, and he was convinced she'd probably fall asleep halfway through cleaning herself. She'd have to make do with a magical scrubbing down, at least for now.

"It's good luck for you, then, that I can move for you."

His power flexed itself once more, rolling over her body in that pinching feeling as dirt and grime and the dried remnants of blood and sex were pulled from her. Just as before the lot of it was turned to ash with a burst of hellfire in his palm before he placed her down upon her bed. He made no move to join her, his mind already turning to the task of reforming the webs of magical energy that would be needed to conceal his presence, the previous work he'd down torn to pieces by the Angelmakers when they'd come to retrieve him. Idly he noted that the Betrayer had not gone about removing those tattered tendrils, an oversight perhaps... or more troubling if she'd not even known they were there... a hole in her knowledge? Perhaps he would see to fixing that at some later date.

"Now rest. I've not doubt you'll have more than your share of trials in the days to come. The little coven of theirs won't take kindly to you waltzing in and stealing their prize."

 

[Apollo Wilde]

She felt weightless in his arms, floating in a solid ocean. As limp as she felt, as wrung out, as exhausted and blissed out, she still managed to snuggle closer. It was a subconscious gesture, seeking the comfort from him, a regression, maybe. Or a stumbling step towards trust. Or something close to it. The return of his face was settling - made him that much closer to being familiar. Though, in all fairness, his armored form, his true form, was something that she drew comfort from as well. Less human, more the feeling of actual protection. Her mind wasn’t on the future, not on the Angelmakers, not on anything but him carrying her, and then, the bliss of her bed.

“Maybe not…” Her voice had the fuzziness of being on the edge of sleep, “but you’re mine.” The last, mumbled as she collapsed into sleep.

She slept soundly, no dreams to trouble her.









When she awoke the next morning, her head was fuzzy - a few blinks, wiping sleep from her eyes, and Ava was somewhat more anchored into the where, and when, really, of her surroundings. Her home, yes - as if she’d just left for a weekend trip, though she was still surprised that she was actually alive. As slow as her mind was, her body felt disturbingly refreshed, the events of the night before completely wiped away.

Well, the magic use of it, at least.

Dark bruises dotted her inner thighs, tender to the touch as she pulled herself up to a sitting position. Ran her hands over her face, then through the wild cloud of her hair, and a deep sigh. She was awake, she was alive, and now - to go about the business of actually making things right. Or at least figuring out where they all stood.

“Marlow?”

 

[WhisperedDesires]

"Maybe not... but you're mine."

The words sent a fresh wave of conflicting emotions through the demon as he withdrew slightly, burning gaze settling on the woman. He merely stood there, watching her sleep, for nearly an hour considering the feelings of discomfort and uncertainty that warred within. Eventually, however, he shook himself from his reverie, slipping silently from the room and drawing up the webs of power that he'd once laid upon the house. The rest of the night was spent repairing the damage, a task that proved remarkably easy, the threads responding to his call as if simply waiting for him to return.




"Marlow?"

"I am here, Betrayer."

The demon's voice emerged from the corner of the room, having come to sit and watch her once his work was done. He had returned to his human guise, the veil once more hiding the demonic from the world, yet still the shadows seem to cling to him. He had been sitting in that spot for hours, turning over and over the problem that Ava represented to him. Demons did not forgive, and she had wronged him greatly, however... she had come back, had rescued him from the torture she had consigned him to, had restored his dying essence without hesitation. More telling, despite the fury, the spite, the endless rage at her betrayal, he felt no desire to harm her, to punish her for harming him. It was infuriating, that even as the desire to close his fist around her throat reared up, his body made no move to follow through.

"I trust your rest was pleasant?"

 

[Apollo Wilde]

The connection between the two of them, so close that it felt like two souls in one body, had been neatly severed. It was waning with their last coupling, and during the night, the separation between the two of them had been completed. As such, she was unable to get anything from him, other than his physical presence. He was there, yes, sitting in her room, the same as if the events of his torture, his banishment, had never happened. There was no fatigue on his human form, and that same inhuman cold patience. Nothing, save for the sharpness of that name for her.

It was said as a replacement for her name - not that he’d ever really used that in the past. And it was the lack of malice, the simple matter of factness, that made it somehow sting less. If it had been petty, she would have thrown on further armor to shield herself, but as it was, it was a reminder of what had happened, a reminder of deep fatigue. He wouldn’t understand her reasoning for doing it, nor would he care. So it wouldn’t make sense to waste the time to justify herself.

“Good enough,” though that was a lie. As tired as her brain was, her body felt wonderfully refreshed. And she looked at him with the dull eyes of someone who recognized that a problem they’d hoped to escape had merely followed them into a new room. Sitting up, she pulled her knees to her chest, watching him.

“And now, what to do with you?”

 

[WhisperedDesires]

"One would assume you had a plan. I take it you do not?"

The demon made no move to get up, tempted as he was at even the slightest sight of Ava's naked body. There was work to be done, preparations to be made, vengeance to be planned. Even if his thoughts wouldn't allow him to sate his rage against the Betrayer, that restraint didn't extend to the Angelmakers. They had tortured him, stripped him of his power, suckled upon his essence like a babe to the teat. He would ensure they all understood how much he wished to enjoy their pain in return, that their torture would be drawn out far longer than his had. All the better when they finally passed and their souls could be drawn into his clutches. He'd trade many favors for the delight of seeing them on the other side.

"I would expect that the home's defenses will need to be bolstered. I can only do so much without drawing unwanted attention, lest the entire neighborhood realize what I am. The Green Witch was already snooping around last night. Some little birds come to answer her call. I took the liberty of deflecting their attention, but I suspect she is both curious and cautious as to your newfound source of power. Your outburst of magic was not a subtle thing by any means, even so close to a network of leylines as we are."

 

[Apollo Wilde]

“Beyond getting you back? No. If I had a plan to start with, you wouldn’t have been summoned to begin with.”

No shortness, just the same exasperation of a woman realizing that once again, poor, spur of the moment choices had trapped her in a prison of her own design. There may have been a bit of reluctance with the pause that came next, the holding of her tongue, before it was decided that it would be best to be forthcoming.

“I didn’t like the fact that you were working on corrupting my neighbors,” it was said in a rush of words, before calm settled her. “Especially the kids. Adults is one thing - children, another. I didn’t think that you’d be so bored or unfulfilled with the task that I set to you that you’d be out looking for others.” Was that the sting of jealousy? No; it couldn’t be. After all, had he failed in the terms of the contract, she would be free to go. And there was still that flicker of hope that may yet still be the case. There was no need to go into the details of the betrayal, as he called it, so she skipped it. “You’re mine,” she reiterated, less sleepily than she did the night before, “And you need to focus on me.”

It could have come off as childish, but a flicker of the power from the night before lent her words strength. She needed him to keep his focus on her; not solely because of the contract, but because he had powers that she did not: powers that would prove instrumental in keeping the Angelmakers at bay.

“You’re right about that - the home’s defenses. I suppose you can do more under the cover of night than you can during the day.” Another wiping of her face with her hands. Her brain had been shaken out of sleep, and was now focused on trying to cobble together a plan - the first she had in a while. “Suddenly leaving wouldn’t look good,” she murmured, looking up at the ceiling. Gods, what day was it? “I’ll have to come up with something about going on a vacation - a lover’s outing or whatever. Some cute little place out in the country or whatever. But we’ll need to leave here. Not running,” she added, sharply, as if cutting off his next comment, “but finding a more even playing field where innocents won’t run the risk of being hurt.”

 

[WhisperedDesires]

He was silent in the face of her admission, of her hatred of his meandering corruption of her community. He could understand her distaste, any humans distaste, for what he did. He could not care less, or rather wasn't normally one to care for the opinions of some random mortal. For her though... With a low growl of annoyance he responded, managing to sound both resigned and annoyed all at once.

"As it pleases you. But the girl needs instruction. She is... strong. She can break my veil easily, and without even trying. She requires instruction, and soon, lest she fall to the predations of the Fey and their fickle ilk." Not to mention he'd already put the idea in the young girl's head to learn from Ava. While he could certainly cease egging her on, that wouldn't stop the child from pestering the young... demonologist? Warlock? Occultist? He wasn't sure, honestly, especially after last night. Perhaps she was all of these things, or none of them, or something more ancient altogether. Either way... "She requires instruction, and you are the best to give it to her. You understand the dangers, and while not much could be said of your often brazen uses of the power you wield, you are talented and powerful in your own right."

Of course, hypothetically the girl could learn some other form of magic as well, but where, in the end, was the fun in that? Yes, he had agreed to focus his attentions upon the Betrayer, and he fully intended to see that through. But if the girl came to him, it was in his nature to weave his webs. Would she then ask a spider to cease spinning its threads? Or a fly to remove itself from the trap?

"There are no innocents here. Or rather the Angelmakers will not think it so. All are simply obstacles in their path, or leverage to be used against you. If you are serious about facing the threat fully, you will need to acknowledge that they have no morals. Everyone is a piece upon the board... a shame that they've learned to play the game from the hands of demons, but such means they will play the game regardless." The demon sat forward then, eyes fixed upon Ava, his essence burning in his eyes. She was strong, her will like steel, and he could see the wheels turning in her mind. But she still believed, somewhere, that the Six were still human. They'd lost such claims long ago, given up in the search for power, youth and beauty. The only human thing about them was the soul each carried, though those were so blackened by hellish corruption that they could hardly be called that. "If we leave, they will come to this place, either in seeking knowledge of your wherabouts or simply to hurt you. The Green Witch likes you, and I doubt she'd sit idly by while your home was ransacked. She is strong, against one, maybe two, she could emerge the victor. Against all six, she is but a passing annoyance. Are willing to sacrifice everyone here for your own safety?"

 

[Apollo Wilde]

At Marlow's insistence that Ellie needed an instructor, she outwardly scoffed, a hiss that turned into a sucking of her teeth. “If she needs it, it’s not going to be coming from me. Her mother, or anyone else in the community can, and should, help her.” It wasn’t her concern - not beyond keeping Marlow away from her. Let the girl fall in with her own demons: that was a challenge that all magic users would have to undergo, one way or the other. And the road to mastery was paved by the bones of those who had failed. A callous thought, yes, but the girl was truly not Ava’s concern, beyond keeping her from her own actual demon.

“Consider it a test of your skill to wipe her mind, enhance your veil so that a child can’t pierce it.” She was rubbing her face again, a nervous tic, trying to rub out the annoyances of his insistent fixation on Ellie. There was so much more to be concerned about, and here he was, still thinking of that girl. Well. If he thought of Ava so much, he would have fulfilled his contract, and then she’d really be up shit creek without a paddle.

Focus, though. To the issues at hand.

“The Angelmakers aren’t savages,” she said, sharply. “They haven’t lasted as long as they have by being indiscriminate in their shows of power. Trust me.” The irony of the last statement wasn’t lost on her, but he wouldn’t have much of a choice, would he? “They would rather slip in, manipulate, bring to their side and dispose of, as need be, than an all out assault. And if the neighbors are curious as to what they’ve felt-” no modest flush there, no shrinking violet appearance of the reference to her multiple orgasms, “The Angelmakers will be aware of it as well.” A heavy sigh. Should she stay, or should she go?

If she stayed, there was the risk of the others in the neighborhood being drawn in. If she left, they could still be drawn in, but, considering how the Angelmakers had approached…

“I shouldn’t be asking you this, but in all honesty, I’ve got no friends to ask. So I guess you’ll have to do. At what point does my responsibility to others end? If I stay, the others will be drawn in. If I go, the Angelmakers would be curious as to where I'd gone, but much as they came to take you, they can't go where they're not welcomed in. If I simply tell the Angelmakers where I go, they'll follow me. Or maybe they'll just watch and wait, though I doubt that'll happen. If they know I've tapped into something stronger, they'll come after me sooner than later - though not as much for you anymore as so much for me."