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He was content. That was the feeling wasn't it? Content? A funny feeling for a demon to have. A creature born out of darkness. An even funnier feeling for a fallen angel to have. Someone who was not good enough, who was thrown from the Celestial Realm with his Grace stripped away and his wings burning. Someone with the blood of hundreds of angels on his hands. But he was. Content.
His mind and body heavy, not with the thought of debt or the witches or even Lucifer's wrath, but instead with sleep. His human tucked to his side, their head settled in the crook of his neck, wisps of their hair tickling his chin, a bare leg draped over his, their hand tracing meaningless patterns on his skin, his own hand curled possessively around their shoulder. It was good.
Of course, as it always was in the House of Lamentation, peace was never made to last.
His human shifted against him, making a questioning noise in the back of their throat, as their finger pressed harder into his hip.
He grumbled, scrunching up his nose and holding on tighter to their shoulder, desperate not to let the feeling go. They squirmed some more, tracing over his hip using three of their fingers now, draping themself over him more thoroughly so they could move their hand between him and the bed. Moving their fingers all the way to the dip of his back before tracing it back over his hip and to the inside of his thigh.
He squirmed, ticklish, "Oi! What are ya doin'?"
They traced back over the line, "What's this?"
He cracked open an eye, hoping to catch a glimpse of their expression but all he saw was the mess of their hair.
"What's what?"
"This," their fingers move along the same path, more insistently.
"My skin?"
They huff, finally removing their hand from his hip to slap his chest halfheartedly.
"What," he asks again "are ya havin' a stroke or somethin'?"
The human shifts once more, this time using their elbow to lever themself up and scowl at him. The movement pushes the covers down their back and he flushes at the glimpse of their chest. Ignoring it, he pushes himself up to place a quick peck on the tip of their nose, something that never fails to draw a smile out of them.
It works like it always has, even as they roll their eyes and call him an ass.
"Stop changing the subject," they push the covers down to his hips, eyes curiously tracing over them.
"You know if you wanted another-"
"I've never seen that scar before."
They don't seem to realize the effect those words have on him. That's he's gone entirely still, breath catching in his throat, eyes wide as he stares at them with something like desperation. Instead they are frowning down at his right hip, where a thin jagged scar curls from his back down to his thigh.
"Actually, I've never seen any scar on you before... And this wasn't there before." Their fingers barely touch it, moving as gently as if it was still bleeding.
Mammon has yet to move. His body feels heavier now. Heavy in that crushing way that threatens to suffocate him.
"Mammon?" They look up at him, small frown still marring their features.
He blinks, willing himself to talk, to say anything "Pft yeah! It's always been there! Man, you humans are really clueless ha?" It's not a lie. Not really. But it comes out too fast and high pitched. He almost winces.
Their frown deepens. "No. It wasn't."
He feels a bead of sweat roll down the back of his neck. "Yeah. It was." His smile is still too wide.
"Mammon," they say, sounding exasperated, "I just had my mouth on your dick. It wasn't there."
He splutters, flushing five different shades of red before he whacks them in the face with the nearest pillow. They fall back, cackling, seemingly unworried about their own nudity even as he sits up to gather his covers in his lap. If he angles them more towards his side than his actual lap, well then.
"Dick," he says, moving to lean against the headboard, protecting his back from their view.
"Yours." They say back happily, only earning themself another whack.
Once they've recovered from a second fit of laughter, they move closer to him and his hand tightens over the blankets. Instead they settle at his other side, hands winding around his waist as they cuddle back into him.
"You don't have to tell me." They whisper, pressing soft kisses into his neck, "Just, are you okay Mammon?"
He feels his eyes burn at the question. At how gentle it is. How sincere. Laced with worry. Laced with love. He blinks furiously at his ceiling, willing the feeling to go away.
"Yeah. 'S old. Back from the War. Must've slipped out when," his ears burn as he vaguely moves his hand about. "When, I ya know. Lost control..."
"Oh." Their hands tighten around him and they press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. "You don't have to tell me, and you don't have to show me. But... But Mammon - I don't want you to be scared about hiding from me either. It happened and I - I can't even begin to imagine what it was like but Mammon your scars are not gonna make me love you any less...I love you. All of you."
It should have made him feel better.
Should have elated him that his human was as stricken as he was but all it made him feel was guilty. Made a ball of hot lead settle in his stomach.
He was lying to them. It's what he has always been doing. And they deserved more. They deserved so much more. He owed them so much more. And for once this was a debt he wanted to repay.
He wanted to drag them closer. To hoard them like some invaluable treasure. Wanted to press his nose into their hair and breathe them in. Kiss them until their lips were swollen. But suddenly. Suddenly he didn't know if he was allowed. If this was something they wanted. If he was something they truly wanted. If he wasn't just tricking them into sleeping with him. Loving him.
The thought made him nauseous. Made bile burn a trail up his throat. Made his skin crawl. He was so fucking stupid. He never should have let it get so far. He just hadn't thought - no that was a lie wasn't it. He had thought.
He'd never been uncomfortable with himself. At least, not with his body. But he'd known the human - the human would be. Would wretch and scream and beg for mercy. Would hate him. Would never love him. So, he just hadn't told them. Had tricked them into this. Into all of this. He felt his breath hitch. But he couldn't cry. That'd just be another way to manipulate them wouldn't it. Another way to dig his claws into their soul and tie them to him. He was greedy. He knew that. He was Greed. But. But for his human he could learn to let go.
He opened his mouth. Shut it. And opened it again soundlessly. They sat up, cupping his face and gently stroking his cheeks. They looked like they were in love. They were in love. And the thought made him angry. Angry at himself, never at them. For hurting them so deeply without either of them even realizing it.
It made him shift inside his skin. He could feel more of his control slipping. More of his scars leaking out. He needed to tell them now, before he lost his words. "You," he paused, swallowing. "You don't love all of me. You don't even know all of me. You can't love all of me." Shit he was tearing up. Shit. Shit. Shit. Couldn't he even do this one thing right. He scrunched his eyes shut.
"Mammon, what-"
They sounded worried, but he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes. He could feel them burning, not only from the sting of tears but from the colour leaking out into his sclera.
"Mammon-"
He shook his head rapidly. "Ya haven't even seen me. Ya can't love me. Cause all I've been doin' is lyin' ta ya! Right from the beginnin'. This ain't me an' I've just let ya be here? I just let ya love me an' kiss me an' fuck me an' you've never even seen - ya came for this two legged - two handed white haired model but that's not- that's not me. I tricked ya. I - fuck - I catfished ya didn't I like in that stupid show, I'm so fuckin' sorr- ya don't havta stay. I just I wanted you to love m-" He's sobbing. Big ugly gulping sobs. The tears that slip past his lids are too warm, too thick to be human. He must look a mess. His human skin cracking and tearing as more of his control slips. He must look like a monster. Something out of their worst nightmares.
He feels them move then and his heartbreaks as he waits for them to leave. His heartbreaks for everything he had just lost. And he yearns. He yearns for them, for their shared laughter, for half an hour ago when he was content. But he can't have that. So, he waits. He waits for them to leave.
Instead he feels the soft touch of their fingers on his face, wiping away his tears before their lips touch his cheeks. Placing small kisses on his eyelids, his forehead, the tip of his nose, they draw back.
"Mammon, you idiot," they say and they sound fond. As fond as they have always sounded. "I already told you. I love you. All of you. And I always will."
That. That can’t be right. Right?
“I don’t- I don’t under-“
“I’m not in love with a two legged, two handed, white haired model. I’m in love with Mammon. Whoever that may be, whoever that may look like. I’m in love with my best friend who gets scared of horror movies and cries during the sad parts of rom-coms, who gets excited over amusement parks and cheats at cards, who’s probably in love with his credit card and who adores his brothers, who’s loud and an asshole, who’s kind and sweet. Who’s always stuck by me. That guy. I’m in love with him. I’m in love with you.”
Their thumbs stroke under his closed eyes and he just knows they are giving him that look, the one that makes him melt, and he’s suddenly hit with the desperate need to make them see, make them understand. The feeling is strong enough to override the fear that churns anew at the thought of them seeing his eyes. So, he opens them. Lets them see the blue-gold that had leaked out into the white, the long slitted pupils. He grasped their arms with hands that were now covered in thick leathery skin, ever careful that his long claws didn’t graze them.
“Why don’t ya get it, ya dumb human! This isn’t what I look like! This isn’t even close to what I look like! And I hid it from you, all this time I just hid it from you, lied to you… I’m sorry, I really am. It’s not an excuse, I –“
“How can it not be what you really look like?”
“What…”
“This,” they ran a hand gently through his hair, letting it move down to cup his cheek. Instinctively he moved into the touch. “This is you too isn’t it? If you chose what you looked like as a human, if you look in the mirror and are happy with it because you see you, if there’s nobody else out there who looks like you then how can this be any less of who Mammon is than this,” They ran their hands down his arms to hold his spindly, clawed hands, squeezing them lightly. “How can it be a lie if they’re both Mammon?”
“More than two…”
“Hmm?”
“Said ‘both’. I can take on three more… not countin’ the Human Skin. Ya already saw the first one,” he’s mumbling, ears burning, but he can’t take his eyes off them. So, he sees the exact moment their face breaks out into a beaming smile, as if. As if he wasn’t sitting here in front of them, caught somewhere between his first and second demon form, holding on to his control by a measly thread.
“And all of them would still be Mammon, because they’d still be you. You didn’t lie to me, you just showed me the parts you were comfortable with. And when or if you are comfortable with it, I’d be honoured to see the rest. Whenever, that may be, I’ll wait because it means there’ll only be more of you to cherish.”
He feels it as he crumbles, as a lump forms in his throat even as the knot in his chest loosens. And he’s pressing into them, hiding his burning face in their neck. They catch him easily in their arms, bringing him in closer, holding him tighter.
He feels lips at his temple and then laughter rustling his hair as he says,” That was real fuckin’ cheesy.”
“He says as if he doesn’t love cheesy…”
They sound fond.
“Shuddup.”
He doesn’t think that’ll go away. The feeling that he’s tricking them. That once they see the true monstrosity that he is they’ll turn tail and flee. At least not yet.
However, he doesn’t think it’s the only outcome either.
However, he thinks, maybe, just maybe, his human will continue to love him no matter what he looked like.
“I love you, Mammon.”
Because they love him.
Just him.
And maybe, just maybe, they always will.