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During auspicious nights, the barrier between worlds dimmed and fluttered, not that it usually mattered to the Hell Priest, but that time, that particular time, he knew it to be different. He touched the warm, pulsing stone of the Labyrinth's walls, felt the thrum of Leviathan's reach in every corner of this dimension and it informed him, its most favored son, that the old, creaky plane of reality would welcome him once more.
If it was for him to do so, then very well.
It took a spark. Flame or lightning, it mattered not, as long as it was energy, free-flowing and untamed. He stood before the grey stone of the walls, hands at his sides until he felt the weakest link of this reality's fabric and walked right through it with the practiced ease of an actor going through a scene a thousand times rehearsed.
The bell tolled, old and ominous.
The usual culprits of the very existence of such auspicious nights were cults so, when he stepped into a plain living room of a small apartment, the blue light that heralded Leviathan's chosen illuminating a roughened-up couch and a square television, the Hell Priest couldn't help but find something amiss.
It wasn't his place to question it.
The carpet muffled his heavy steps, but he could only hear the faint heartbeat and steady breathing of one person nearby. No, not simply one person.
A Cenobite's sensitivity to the world was honed and dulled all at once, a result of their practices and their rituals. Usually, it was simply a part of life, to feel the rub and the gnaw of every pin into his head like a blessing, but, on occasion, it would prove itself beneficial in other aspects. The rhythm of her shallow, quick little breaths. The sensual cadence of her heart, beating so vigorous and eager that made his fingertips ache to rip her ribcage open.
He already knew who would be waiting for him once he passed the threshold.
A kitchen, illuminated by a single clear light bulb, organized but clearly having been used recently, evident by a kettle sitting on top of a stove. Sitting near a small table, toying with a glass of red wine, there was the one he expected. That explained his presence, then.
She didn't seem to notice him, however unlikely that sounded. Staring right at the opposite wall, she laid on her own arm, cheek resting on the table. There was a bottle of wine there too, but there wasn't much left in it.
"Kirsty," he called, announcing his presence.
Her bleary eyes darted towards him, recognition shining through the haze of drunkness. There was nowhere for her to run, of course, but she didn't even attempt. Blinking slowly, Kirsty just stared vaguely at him—there were speckles of gold in her irises, he noticed, and memorized the way they gleamed in the blue light.
"Ah," she sighed, a wholly underwhelming reaction. "You again. Dream, I guess."
Her eyes shut tight, she let go of the half-empty wine glass and extended her hand towards him. They were close enough to touch, not that he had been foolish enough to try knowing that it would make him watch her run away like a rabbit, but Kirsty clearly didn't share the sentiment.
Her hand reached down towards his, her lithe fingers entangling with his. It was likely that her temperature was normal, but her touch felt feverish as she ran her thumb along his forefinger, up and down in a soothing motion. Every etching of her fingertips marked a trail of fire inside of him.
It was certainly strange, to feel this human touch without hesitation.
Even those that summoned them were often surprised at what they actually encountered. Kirsty surely had been, trembling and afraid as she cried before him like a child. Yet there was very little of a child in her before him, dressed in simple, loose clothes, yet drinking like there was no tomorrow.
"Kirsty," he called to her yet again, raising his voice as her hand wandered towards the open section of his robes, tracing an imaginary line that bisected his body with soft fingertips. Her eyes were still half-lidded despite the bellow of his tone, so the Hell Priest continued, "This is no dream."
Kirsty stared at him for a solid three seconds after he said that. It only took her a second after her eyes widened, however, for her to jump away, falling out of her chair.
"Fucking hell! I didn't open your damn box, you bastard!"
Ah. That was expected. The warmth of her hand still lingered on his skin as she pushed herself backward until she was sitting down on the floor with her back to the wall. Cornered prey, with wild eyes suddenly sobering.
"The box is a means of summoning my kind," he acknowledged but didn't press, only standing before her. "But it is hardly the only way we can visit this plane."
He could almost see the gears turning inside her head, her chest heaving with breath like a distressed rabbit. The cords of her neck bulged under her skin. He wanted to suck bruises into them.
"So what the fuck are you doing here?"
Her confusion bled through her words like a gushing, open wound, but it was clear that she had her own guess for the response. That he was here for her, to drag her back kicking and screaming. Yet that was an answer he did not have, not truly. He had been told to come, but the pulse of Leviathan inside his veins was strangely silent, not demanding him to drag her back unwilling as payment for her early ignorance. Still, the priest had his own ideas.
"One would expect you to know, given you are the reason why I am here." A neutral response, trying to prod more information out of her as to why his presence was deemed necessary.
Her brow furrowed, her whole body tensing like a rabbit ready to jump away at the slightest rustle of leaves.
"I didn't open the box," she repeated, the words falling out of her mouth uselessly, full lips quivering.
"Yet I am here," he enunciated, slipping a note of amusement into his tone. "Perhaps it is you who calls upon me, then."
Perhaps he didn't expect her to lie down docile, to expose her soft belly to his fangs, but the priest certainly hadn't predicted the raging fire flickering behind her eyes at the words either.
"Never," she spat out the word with vitriol, squaring her shoulders as she pulled herself up. Her eyes darted away from him and he could already see her formulating an escape. "I don't even know how."
He watched as her lips parted with a sigh, her eyes shutting in a pained expression. Kirsty muttered a curse word under her breath, shaking her head.
Her eyebrows shot up as if she had just remembered something. Tilting his head to the side, the priest stood straighter, spine as tense as a lance before her scrutinizing eyes. As quickly as the spark of life had appeared, it faded, her expression turning into a scowl.
He had a guess as to why.
"I'm not the one you're looking for anymore."
"No, you're not," she stated, pointedly, but her words lacked the bite to back it up and, most of all, she simply sounded exhausted, like she had been dragged across the street to be offered to him.
His eyes followed her hands as she grabbed the almost empty bottle of wine by the neck, taking it directly to her lips. Her throat bobbed as she drank, and the skin there was so fine and pale. He wanted to tear it open with his fingers.
Nevertheless, there he stood, observing the curious ritual until she dropped the bottle back on the table with a dull thud. Her gaze glazed over, the gulps of wine renewing her inebriation. Her lips were colored a sensual shade of purplish-red like they were bruised. He wanted to lick the taste of her. None of his desires, however, showed on his face as her expression changed before his eyes, her mouth twisting in a brief sneer.
"You deny that you called upon me, yet you mistake me for a dream and, evidently, it was no nightmare," he pointed out.
His words seemed to have an effect on her and he took a step closer, watching to see if she would jump away. The muscles of her thighs were taut like a bowstring, but otherwise, Kirsty stayed in place, her eyes determined with liquid fury as he stood before her.
"What dreams do you have that would end with you granting me such a gentle touch, Kirsty?"
She huffed, her pink tongue darting out to lick the wine of her lips so invitingly in a nervous gesture that only reinforced his small theories.
"None of your business," she shot down his line of questioning, but the priest had found a soft, vulnerable spot, and he would not relent until she gave him a truthful answer.
"You may hide from yourself, yet your desire thrums beautifully inside your beating heart." He punctuated his phrase with a chuckle, giddy maliciousness dripping off his grave tone like honey. "All your denial has only delayed the inevitable, don't you think?"
"Fuck you."
The response might not have been clever, but it detailed her current mood regardless. An unholy mixture of tiredness and wrath. He watched as Kirsty sank down into the chair yet again, looking down as if trying to decipher the lines of the table.
"I—" she began, but soon sighed, shutting her eyes. "I don't even know what to offer anymore. What could you even want?"
"You," he answered simply, letting the echo of his voice caress her.
Kirsty shivered in response, her pupils blown out in a heady mix of fear and inebriation.
"Well," she started, but whatever conclusion she planned to reach ended with a huff, her head drooping until her forehead hit the table with a muted sound. "I'm so screwed."
A chuckle vibrated in his throat, his half-lidded eyes roaming her defeated form. Leviathan had no guidance to give him, even as Kirsty Cotton, the most slippery of their summoners, ever so capricious, lowered her head, merely a shadow of her early defiance. He wanted to brush away the hair to expose the fragile nape of her neck.
It felt wrong, somehow, to bring her in like this. Prey already taken down, a deadened spirit not seeking pleasure, but wallowing in numbness.
"Hey?"
Her voice was muffled by her right arm as she shifted to lay on it, her hair favorably messy, like she had simply gone through her day and the curls were untamed and wild before grooming. Would she be too opposed to his touch if he were to card his fingers through the loose strands? Or perhaps if he grabbed her hair and tugged her head up to face him?
Whatever musings he had behind a blank expression did not matter, because she seemed to take his silence as agreement.
"I've got no more chips to bet," she said, voice croaky. "But I want at least you to hear me, alright. You're the last one I got."
The last phrase struck him as odd. Him? He squinted his eyes, attempting to decipher her meaning. Their interactions were limited to a few minutes in which she was mostly terrified of him, except for a shining yet foolish sacrifice.
"Very well," he purred, voice rumbling in his torn chest.
"Do you know why I'm like this?" She gestured vaguely with one hand, pointing towards the empty wine bottle.
"No. Should I?" His biting tone betrayed the bitterness eating at his heart.
Kirsty only gave him a cryptic look, straightening up her back as much as her drunken state would allow. She still had to hold herself steady on the table with one hand.
"I broke up with my boyfriend."
Hm.
The concept of relationships was not entirely foreign to the priest, but it was farfetched, a dusty relic from a time long gone. If it had been simply a monogamous bond, then he saw no reason why it would warrant a reaction so visceral as wasting away in the late hours of the night.
Indeed, perhaps he had formed closer ties with his former Gash, with no other of his kind stepping up to his standards since their death, but the concept of exclusivity was inconceivable. Impossible.
His lack of reaction must have been apparent, because she snickered, giving him a side-eye glance coated in venom.
"And you know what's worse than just a breakup?" She paused, allowing her next words to come into full effect. "Knowing that it's the demon's fault too."
His laughter was a howl.
Mockery took over his features like the crash of a wave. Surely such a bizarre accusation would have no foundation.
Kirsty merely watched him, the corner of her mouth quivering as if she was waiting for him to finish laughing before speaking. Nevertheless, the priest did not give her such an opportunity, uttering first, "So I am to blame. Do tell me, then, what have I done to your companion that would warrant this vulgar accusation?"
She barked out a laugh, but the sound came out choked, her disbelief manifesting as he could see her fingers tapping the table in a nervous tick.
"No, you didn't do anything to them, no, no, you just did it to me."
A most curious remark.
"You have brought to my feet those who sought you harm and I complied most gracefully to your demands, and yet you deem me your corruptor?"
Kirsty puffed through her nose, shifting against the table. The priest waited for her answer, as she didn't say anything immediately before she broke out in a slurry, drunk giggles.
"God, you really don't fucking get it, do you?" Her eyes darted towards his. Her irises were very brown, a soft, dark shade that reflected the blue light with a pulsing spark of defiance. With a hint of amusement, he noticed that this was perhaps the second time she stared into his eyes—and the first had spelled his death. "Saving me a few times doesn't erase the fact that I have to live with you demons forever. I can't even—"
She cut herself off, shutting her mouth.
With a huff, the priest stared down at Kirsty, his patience dwindling.
"Was it too small, the price I paid for your life? What greed has possessed you to demand more of me?"
As if taken by surprise, she tensed up, but the hesitation only lasted for a moment before petulance took over her features.
"Didn't you just say that you weren't that one anymore?"
"A fair point," he enunciated, extending his arms slightly to the side. "A recent series of events has created complications in this regard."
Kirsty toyed with the glass of wine, staring at the bottom in longing for more alcohol.
"New York," she stated. Ah. So the story reached her. "They covered it up saying that there was a fire, but everyone in the slums of society knows it was you. Did you drag two hundred and fifty people to hell, or did you just slaughter them?"
The priest bristled, his eyes squinting in annoyance. Perhaps years ago, Kirsty would have hesitated, but she was not a child anymore, and the mix of alcohol and anger must have allowed her to maintain her dignity. Very well.
"My actions that day were unsavory, although the circumstances were quite different. There was no pleasure to be drawn in the sloppiness of that den. As such, only a select few were even cogitated for the Labyrinth, but they were imperfect and all were put out of their misery."
A pity, truly. Those foul creatures were incomplete, pitiful beings, yet they were his own. In the Labyrinth, Leviathan would bear and devour them all in time, so, to drag those pathetic beastly Cenobites out of the clay himself had been exhilarating, if only for the deep buried human instinct of ownership.
Kirsty, however, simply nodded, a brief flash of sobriety passing behind her eyes as she fidgeted with the empty glass.
"Good to know," she said, huffing out the words all at once. "It's better, I guess."
Kirsty said no more, apparently unwilling to continue the conversation she had asked to begin.
"If that soothes you." He found himself speaking again, circling the small table until her attention was drawn back to him. "It may be worth knowing that I was fractured. Not quite as whole as you see me."
Her lips parted, but only a huff of dry laughter came out.
"You and me both, you bastard."
"Ah, Kirsty, but you are quite complete. Perhaps not fully matured, but you will understand your own wants eventually. The desires you bury deep inside you will rise again."
Wrong call, it seemed. Her annoyance reared its ugly head as her face twisted into a scowl.
"Fucking desires. What desires? I desire for nothing. I can't desire anyone, not like a normal person," she snapped all at once, getting up so fast that the chair wobbled.
In a moment of defiant courage the priest couldn't help but be amused by, Kirsty strode past him right towards her fridge, shuffling until she found what appeared to be a large bottle of orange juice. She hesitated for a moment, her eyes darted between him and the tall glasses in her cupboard.
"Want some?"
"No."
She clicked her tongue, her cheeks redding with what she could only assume to be shame.
"Too bad." She poured the juice into one of the cups, the sound of it all filling the silent room. "Here I thought I could bribe you with this slush. The fridge works a bit too well sometimes. I think that's what is exploding my energy bills."
"Why do you believe you cannot desire? It took no more than a glance for me to tell that it isn't the truth," he pressed, legitimate interest fueling his words. To him, the glimmering darkness in the corners of her being was unmistakable.
"None of your business," she said, gulping down on the half-frozen juice. It had shards of ice in there and it made warmth blossom down his abdomen to imagine it freezing her pale red throat.
"Did you forget what I've so lovingly told you already? You opened the box with ease—is that not enough proof?"
He knew. Could feel when her heart rate spiked, when her breaths came in jagged little bursts, when her eyes darted towards him with fire dancing behind her pupils.
"I haven't forgotten any of your stupid words. Why can I open the stupid box? Was this sickness already in me or is this because of my rotten family tree? Is it something I went through, that someone put in me?" Her voice trembled at the last words and he could see the gears turning inside her head like a desperate clock chasing time as if she was recalling specific events that could have shredded her purity. The moment of self-reflection lasted little, however, her eyes darting towards his, dripping displeasure. "Doesn't matter. All that matters is that I can't spread my legs to anyone to save my life and that's all because of you."
She bit her own tongue as if just realizing what prized information she had just kindly dropped to him.
His lips curled up with delight.
"Oh?"
Her shoulders drooped. She poured another glass of orange juice as if the liquid would help her sober up, gulping it down in one go before settling the glass back into the counter.
"Shut up."
"You claim it was me, yet it is you who is terrified of your own erotic urges."
"Shut your stupid mouth."
He stepped closer, emboldened by her flushed cheeks, her eyes avoiding him, but not pulling away even as he reached out for her hand, touching her fingers the same way she had touched his.
"Starving yourself does not make the hunger lessen," he mumbled, relishing in her warmth.
Her eyes were glassy, staring right past him. Kirsty didn't hesitate when she snapped an answer, "Will you sate me then?"
His face must have betrayed the surprise he felt, for Kirsty immediately barked out a rough laugh.
"What, come on, your kind is everything but chaste, don't give me that Victorian lady look." She paused her laughing, to squint her eyes at him, her full lips pressed together ever so invitingly. "Right? Or is the only form of pleasure for you guys disassembling people?"
He chuckled, brief and grave.
"No, we simply often choose not to participate in it. Our immortal lives are steeped in pleasure without the need for it. If we do choose it, it's merely the natural overflowing of an everlasting river."
She looked into his eyes for a moment, lucidity shining through in a flash, coloring her features with a bright sharpness that made his lips twitch upwards.
"Do you prefer not to struggle with your prey? No rolling in mud and blood to conquer them with talon and fang?" Her voice took a mocking, gravelly tone as if she was forcing her throat to growl. Suddenly, she coughed and her next words returned to her sweet, perky cadence. "Don't you worry about me. I'm willing meat, ready to be devoured."
He squinted his eyes, staring down at her as she placed her hands on his chest, tracing the edges of his open wounds, teasing him. No, not teasing. Baiting.
"No, not meat, I guess," she continued, taking a step further into his personal space, close enough that he could see the pins poking her face. "You don't like meat, this animal word. Fine by me. I'm willing flesh, then, just for tonight. A one-time bargain for a one-on-one with me like this."
The fires in the pit of his stomach burned slow, hesitant, his body answering to the call of another quicker than his mind. Baiting. Did it matter? It wasn't like it was a trap, no, nothing she could do would send him back this time.
She was baiting him into doing something he wanted to do.
Yet here he stayed, frozen, even as her thigh nudged his.
Something wasn't right. But she was asking for it. She was letting him.
"Were you not the one asking to be satisfied before and now you goad me into quenching my thirst for you?" The words were enunciated slowly, chosen with careful precision.
Still, she was and always had been clever beyond his expectations. Her eyebrow twitched in what he could only assume to be irritation, yet her slurry voice was saccharine when she answered, "Does it matter? You want me, we both know that. And, right now, I want you too."
Words light and breezy like a poem, tainted by the breath of alcohol that was overwhelming this up close. Her smell invaded his senses like a conquering army, trampling underfoot any sense of desire.
Yet, shouldn't he?
She was inviting him. Granting him the opportunity to unravel her, to pleasure her beyond her imagination. The very thought stoked a fire inside of him, lust pooling low in his abdomen.
Was there a reason why he shouldn't?
The question repeated itself in his head, gripping his conscience like someone else had taken control of him.
Kirsty appeared to have considered his lack of response as acquiescing, because her lips wandered downward, brushing gently against the small patch of skin exposed right below his jaw. She pressed a kiss, sending a shiver down her spine, a voluptuous gnawing to take what she gave him. Yet, he found himself stilling, a sense of deep scratchy wrongness sinking its claws into his being.
"No," he said, voice rumbling, surprising even himself as she stopped mid-kiss. "Your inebriation affects your body, it dulls your senses, therefore, it wouldn't be adequate to bring you pleasure if you would be incapable of experiencing it fully."
Despite his own words, he pressed closer, his hands finding her waist. His fingers wandered under the hem of her shirt, the warmth of her flesh threatening to undo the shreds of resolve that whispered in the back of his head.
Kirsty shifted, the tip of her nose brushing his skin, a warm exhale tickling his neck. She pulled back, but her hands settled on his shoulders, pressing firmly against him, renewing the physicality of their positions. Her eyes, however, glimmered in the low light, making his chest tighten in an unpleasant turn of events.
"So," she said, all the bitterness in the world stored in the way she choked out the next words, "If you're here to take me to Hell, do it. Since you're not even sparing a pity-fuck for the little girl."
The priest bristled at the phrase and all its implications, his expression twisting into a scowl as he shook his head.
"Do not mock me with your words. I chose not to because I thought it inadequate. When…" he trailed off, choosing his next words carefully. "If I take you, I will do so in a moment when you're fully capable of experiencing everything I have to give. Neither do I not pity you, nor do I enjoy your manipulation."
Kirsty stilled. She had large eyes, like a brazen lapdog too small for its fur, staring up at him for just one moment. Just as quickly as she stiffened against him, her body sagged, her knees weakening, as he found himself holding her in his arms as she pressed her forehead to his shoulder.
"Fuck."
This time, it didn't feel like a curse towards him, but one against herself.
"Fuck. I'm so fucking stupid. Trying to fuck a demon." Her voice was choked, garbling her words. Her whole body tensed again as if she was an animal too jumpy to trust the slightest noise. "Hey? Did my uncle try to fuck a demon?"
A flare of annoyance sparked inside of him. He huffed.
"Only after he was taken, when visited."
Kirsty let out a short, hysterical laugh.
"I'm so damned. And the demon didn't even want to fuck me. I'm really ruined, huh?"
The priest pushed against her, his growing irritation itching his skin as she stumbled backward, seemingly disoriented. Her eyes were hazy, but not with the tinge of alcohol, no, they were glimmering in the low light. With a sigh, the priest weighed his options. As she was, she was in no state of being alone, but he couldn't stay long. Amusing as it was, he had duties to attend and Leviathan was still silent, not guiding his actions.
Very well.
Kirsty let out a yelp as the priest leaned in, one arm under her knees and the other around her neck, and carried her.
Her own arms clutched his neck in an instinctive gesture, her lips parted with an aborted scream as he simply stood. Surprisingly, he found that she weighed very little.
"What was that for?" she protested, as petulant as ever.
"The easiest way for me to carry you," he answered simply, making his way back into the living room.
Kirsty groaned, rolling her eyes in a delightful way that made his lips twitch. It lasted only a moment, however, before his eyes darted from door to door, until the one he deemed led to her bedroom. The priest stood before the closed door, his arms still full with a squirming, bemused girl. Woman, his brain supplied. She had grown.
With an annoyed grunt, he simply parted the dimension, a sizzle of energy going through them both as he crossed the door without resistance.
The room was not messy per se, but it was decidedly lived in. The bed was half-heartedly made, a pair of socks still on top of it, while the nightstand had a stack of books on various subjects. A wardrobe. A door that presumably led to a bathroom. Simple stuff, yet it sent a thrill up his spine, to step in this intimate sacred little place.
"What the hell was that?" Kirsty exclaimed, her face even paler like all the alcohol in her veins had evaporated.
"Your dimension is frail," the priest answered, unwilling to explain further. "It bends to my will easily."
Kirsty visibly shuddered, kicking her legs as if suddenly reminded who was carrying her, to begin with. Knowing better than to push her too far, the priest acquiesced with her unspoken demand, setting her back on the ground. Instead of bolting away from him like a frightened animal, she surprised him by standing very still before him for a moment before glancing awkwardly between him and the bed.
"My previous statement still stands," he explained. "I will not warm your bed until I am sure you will savor every moment of it."
"Right." Her expression was hard to read as her lips curled up in a lopsided, bitter smirk. Her hands fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, her eyes fixated on the ground as she continued, "Yeah, so, well, I gotta sleep soon. Wasn't even supposed to stay awake that long."
If she thought she was escaping his grasp so easily, however, Kirsty was sorely mistaken.
"Not yet. You have not told me why you blame me for your misgivings. You claim that I have cooled your fire irreparably, yet I can see that your flames burn brighter than ever." At her jumpy reaction, the priest squinted his eyes, daring to diminish the distance between them by taking half a step. "Your desire has not dwindled, unnurtured and neglected, indeed, it has only grown, so very ripe now."
She blinked rapidly until her brain caught up to the implications of his words. He wanted to bite into her like a soft plum.
"I have not," she stated categorically with the certainty of an enraged goddess. He wanted to worship her on the altar of flesh. What a decidedly wrong thought, but Leviathan didn't slay him where he stood, so perhaps his blasphemous lusting for this woman was allowed. "And it's none of your business."
"Ah, but you claimed to have no more bargains to make, except I am offering you one this time: grant me the pleasure of knowing," he goaded, bringing his hand to cup her cheek. She trembled but didn't pull back as he brushed his thumb against her cheekbone.
"That's a terrible deal. I get nothing out of it," she replied, but her eyes were shut, the crease in her brow eased.
"Nothing?" The priest leaned in, letting the nails drag gently against her cheek as he whispered in her ear, "I promise you will receive a fair prize if you give me what I wish."
He nipped her earlobe, getting rewarded with a whimper. Heat blazed in his chest as she didn't stiffen, didn't push him away, didn't reject his touch. Part of him expected her offer to share her bed had been a product of delirious attempts at escape, but her reactions told him otherwise.
"I just can't do anything with anyone," Kirsty whispered as if she had been waiting for so long to say anything. "I can't, I just can't, because I know that I'm still marked by this damn box. I want to. I want it badly. But everything I do tastes foul."
He hummed positively, praising her for admitting out loud and for obeying him.
"And, how, exactly, is that my fault?"
Wrong question. As Kirsty took two steps back, crossing her arms on her chest as a protective gesture, the priest knew he had overstepped. Indeed, she was staring at him with fire in her eyes, but he would not bend. If there was one thing she had been spot-on in her predictions was that he much preferred willing flesh. He had no desire to force her to submit, so he stepped back and allowed her anger to rise up from where it lurked underneath her skin.
"You brought all of this to me," she pointed out, her fingers twitching in what the priest could only imagine being to control the impulse to point at him rudely. "This is because you came here, because now I know that even trying to know more about sex is a death sentence for me. People come to me, they know who I am, they know that I escaped you and they ask."
His face twisted, like he was arching an eyebrow.
"Although unfortunate," he admitted, his face steely nevertheless as she scowled, her hand massaging the ear he had tasted. "I fail to see how that puts me at blame."
Her cheeks were red with indignation, the blood running so close to the skin, and her face twisted into something close to a snarl, but that was quite less threatening than expected in her dainty features.
"Maybe you didn't make it so, but do you deny that this was because of the world you brought to my doorstep?"
A chuckle escaped his lips, faux offense covering his next words. "Me? Have I ever sought you specifically before this very night? Have I ever wandered maliciously into your gruesome dreams?"
"You may as well. You clearly have a preference for me. Don't even deny it. You've been leering at me all night."
Her accusation held a flash of pride, maybe at finding him out, maybe at his undiluted want for her. The priest couldn't quite tell and it didn't matter either. He had never made any secret of his predilection. If nothing else, he had made clear that, if any of the other Cenobites encountered Kirsty Cotton, she was to be left undisturbed until handed over to him. Nevertheless, part of her assumption was plainly wrong.
"If you think that our occasional, brief encounters were me acting on my preferences, you know nothing of my persistence or my persuasion. Would you like to find out what I can truly do? You would know no respite. You wouldn't even want it."
She pouted, her bottom lip almost inviting a bite.
"I just asked you to do it and you said no," she pointed out, perhaps not noticing how much like an invitation it sounded. Maybe she did. He preferred to think so.
"Because of your current state," he pointed out.
"Fucking right." Her manner of speaking, spat out and shuddering, very much indicated she didn't believe his words. She tossed her arms up, grabbing the socks at the edge of her bed. "You know what, I'm going to sleep."
She laid down on her back, a simple gesture of defiance on its own, and the shirt rode up to reveal a patch of pale skin as she put her socks on. Her life was comfortable. Her belly was soft. He wanted to mark her with his teeth. Skin her with his tongue. Yet the priest would not.
"You know," she mumbled and his gaze drew back towards her face. Her cheeks were colored a pretty shade of pink, the tone going up to the tips of her ears and down her collarbone. "If I'd had any doubt that you were a man before, it would have died tonight."
A man?
The thought was amusing.
He wanted her like a beast, yet as he leered her like a drooling animal, she took the opportunity to compare him to a man.
Regardless, something stirred inside his chest, his beating heart squirming in an odd, phantom pain.
He sneered as her face twisted into alarm, but Kirsty didn't flinch away, simply staring at him with big doe eyes.
In a moment of strange impulsivity, the priest sat down, sinking into the edge of the mattress as he decided to give her what he had promised. Her eyes widened, yet the lack of fear remained. Her heart rate remained high but settled. Her breaths came in slow, calculated puffs.
The priest leaned in, because he could, because he wanted to. She didn't pull away. She should've, perhaps. He planted his hands on the pillow, one on each side of her head as he hovered above her, not touching her but wanting to.
"Do you notice your own contradictions? You claim that I do not want you, yet you admit that you acknowledge my taste for your flesh. Do you truly think I wouldn't undo all of your sheets to sacrilege this personal space of yours?"
The question was honest, although he could take a guess at the answer by how her throat worked to gulp hard. The question made her soft cheeks redden, a gale of emotions rupturing her silence as she let out a pliant noise. As if it took too much out of her will to answer directly, Kirsty simply shook her head, yielding gracefully like a lioness witnessing a lion emerge victorious out of a fight with another male. She tilted her head back, putting some distance between them while at the same time exposing the delicate hollow of her throat.
"Do you think I would hesitate to ravish you, given your quite inviting suggestion, were you not inebriated?"
"No." This time she managed to answer, her teeth digging into her bottom lip soon after as if the gesture could make the meager word go back into her trembling mouth. The priest was under the impression that she doubted that alcohol would stop him, but simply continued, not hesitating.
"No," the priest repeated. Her heart rate was delightfully elevated by then, a sign that belied both fear and desire. He shouldn't have cared which. Nevertheless, a sensuous impulse took over, as he sought confirmation of his suspicions. "Would you have allowed me to show you the pleasures of the flesh?"
Her breaths were shallow while she shifted below him.
"I know what pleasure means to you," she countered, yet her brown, so very brown eyes kept staring at him as if daring to prove her wrong.
"I understand," he acquiesced, but leaned in further, testing the waters. She didn't pull back. "However, one must know the rules in order to break them most artfully. I know the wide seas I tread and I would not hesitate to go back to solid ground if given good reason. Surely by now, you must realize that I would attend to your every demand if it meant tasting your flesh for the briefest moment, Kirsty."
She shuddered beneath him and he knew it wasn't out of fear, the fire behind her eyes stirring with the hidden desire that pulsed so gorgeously inside her. Lust thrumming in her veins, he could feel it even as Kirsty hesitated, her eyes hazy as she gulped hard.
"Wouldn't that be too vanilla for you?" she squeaked, a flare of insecurity rising to the surface.
"Your very presence would enrich the experience greatly, however," he warned, voice turning fiery like a volcano. "Do understand that I am hardly one to be sated with little. If you decide to give, I will prove to be most gluttonous."
He wanted to tear her clothes from her body. He wanted to expose every inch of pale supple skin, then every inch of red pulsing muscle underneath. He wanted to see in her brown, brown eyes the indescribable pleasure of being torn apart.
The priest shifted, now sustaining himself by his forearms as his lips brushed hers.
He wanted to sink into her flesh. He wanted to hear her scream in ecstasy. He wanted to devour her whole. He wanted…
He wanted to kiss her.
"May I?"
"Yes." Her voice was little more than a whisper, a puff of breath against his lips.
That could very well be the only opportunity he would ever have to touch her intimately, pliant and soft and so deliciously willing. Such an exquisite gift, freely given!
He would not squander the opportunity.
He pressed his lips against hers in a chaste kiss, pulling back almost instantly. As the priest felt warmth pooling in his lower abdomen, Kirsty let out a whimper, cut short when he leaned in again, taking a moment longer to pull back and tilt his head to kiss her harder. Her hands grabbed at his shoulders, squeezing in encouragement as he growled against her lips, possessiveness taking over as he bit her bottom lip until she mewled, pulling back only to ensure she wasn't truly hurt before kissing her again with fervor.
His tongue traced her bottom lip and Kirsty readily allowed him as he committed the sensation to memory and sucked on the tip of her tongue while she moaned low in her throat.
When they parted, a thin strand of saliva joined them until Kirsty cleaned her mouth with the back of her wrist, cheeks flustered with exertion and want, pointed red dots marking where the pins of his face had dug into her.
His eyes searched her face for any sign of regret and a possessive satisfaction blossomed in his chest when he saw none. Despite his better judgment—it would have been most prudent to pull back while she still wanted more—he placed one last, brief kiss to her lips, before leaning back entirely, getting up from her bed with his back turned away from her.
The priest found himself oddly out of breath as he stood up.
A few moments passed before he regained enough presence of mind to blank his expression, staring into the furthest corner of her room.
"I will be back," he stated simply, glancing at her over her shoulder.
Kirsty was curled on her side, looking exceptionally small as one of her hands lingering on her bruised lips, her eyes glimmering in a way he couldn't quite decipher. As if finally realizing that he wanted an answer, she nodded slowly, closing her eyes.
He took in a sharp breath.
"If you must find a reason why you can open the box," he said, almost offhandedly if not for the fact that he spared her a glance to guarantee she was still listening. "I would guess that your curiosity towards pleasure took her there, but not completely. Now, that only festers and infects you as you deprive yourself of even ways of letting it go out in short bursts."
It was hard to deny the sudden relaxation that took over his muscles as Kirsty stared up at him in one of the rarest emotions for him: hope. She huddled harder under her covers, but her head was still peeking out and he would have missed a very soft answer were it not for his acute hearing.
"Thanks."
An odd feeling in his chest blossomed.
Nevertheless, he walked away, standing in her living room, so very hers, for just one moment before walking back into his dimension with a spark of lightning.
The contrast was staggering. Despite the familiarity of the grey walls and the thrum of his god, it prompted an involuntary shiver in the priest. The wails of damned echoed through the halls, the chained orgies carrying their melodies throughout the realm.
It was home, indeed. Yet Leviathan was still quiet. No instructions were given on how to deal with Kirsty Cotton, his favorite potential victim, the most slippery of their summoners.
Very well.
With a shake of his head, the Hell priest went back to his lonely duties, yet his mind remained with a certain girl for many hours more.