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He is starving. It shouldn’t feel as surprising to him as it does; he is always starving. But what is actually throwing him off is not the hunger itself, but the nature of it. This is deeper… stronger. He is desperately ravenous and he needs to find something, anything, to devour.
Leaving Belphie napping on the surgical table, Beelzebub sets out to find what will temper the gnawing in his gut. Another surprise: he finds nothing around him remotely tempting. His usual urges can be appeased by materials of any kind, though he always prefers a full banquet. This hunger, though, he knows instinctively nothing here will satisfy him. He craves something more complex, something more substantial, something sweeter, something just… more. He continues through the school, praying the halls carry something that will satisfy.
The others don't know, could never understand, what it means to carry the sin of Gluttony. Try though he might, Beelzebub has never had the mastery over his sin of which his brothers boast. It's the pain. No matter how much he eats, it never stops. His entire existence revolves around managing the pain, mitigating it, taking in enough to dull the edges. But this? It is sharp, pulsing, focused. It makes him stumble as he searches. He fears nothing will be enough to pacify the jagged stabbing of his sin.
Need drives him forward as something in the air gives him pause. He drags in another greedy breath. No succulent filling, no perfect pastry, no marvelously crafted Devildom treat has ever smelled as alluring as what overwhelms him now. He follows the trail, powerless against the promise of a satisfying meal. To feel content, entirely full… it had been centuries, eons. He needs it.
He follows his nose, trusting his instincts to bring him to the prize he seeks. As he moves, he puzzles at what draws him. Something about the odor is familiar, strangely comforting. He also catches a tangy note to the medley and recognizes it as fear. Why is there fear in the air? Stalling on his route, Beelzebub broadens his focus past the seductive aroma and scans the area. There are multiple beings surrounding the source of the delicious fragrance. Moving towards it. Closing in. He recognizes the auras of his brothers, stalking the key to his salvation. They cannot reach it first.
His brothers are lucky. Their sins are content with naps or a good fuck or hoarding a few trinkets. Not his. How do you fulfill the demand of more? At what point is the requirement of overindulgence finally satisfied? Never, he has discovered. Mammon was the only one who had any idea of the burden of Gluttony, but even his sin could be fully content if he managed to claim something completely. Beelzebub had no such balm. His entire existence was a gaping hole of need and no matter how much he consumed, he came no closer to filling it.
In a flash of fury, his true form emerges. He will not let this opportunity be snatched from him. Those who will never understand his suffering will not take away his one chance to be complete and whole; to be free.
He may not have the magical prowess of his brothers, but he knows his physical abilities better than any of them. The regimen he does daily is not just for looks. It challenges him, stretches him, makes him test out his limits every day. He knows exactly what he can do and so knows he is stronger, faster, and more capable than all the others. If he extends himself just a bit, he can get ahead of the others and be gone with his craving before anyone can get in his way.
A growl resounds out around him and his steps stutter, almost putting him to his knees as he clutches at his stomach. Fire lances through him, radiating from the void in his gut. He knew his sin would be the end of him. He thinks he might be out of time.
He channels power to his legs, bending his wings back to reduce resistance, and sprints down the hallway. The mouth-watering perfume makes pushing through what would be an unscalable obstacle bearable.
This is not the first time he has pushed through pain, fought through the clawing grip of his sin, struggled to hold himself together long enough to maintain control. It is, however, the first time he has felt so close to losing himself. He likely has minutes before he is consumed completely by Gluttony. There is no option but to keep moving forward. The prize he seeks can save him, he knows it, he just has to get there before all that is left of him is sin.
He keeps moving at his accelerated pace, one foot in front of the other. The trajectory has him quickly outpacing the other challengers and he huffs in sweet satisfaction. All the time he has spent as a demon, the lifetimes he has lived in constant pain, each day passing without any semblance of fulfillment or gratification… once he claims his reward, every moment will be worth it.
Another wave of pungent air wafts around him, signaling he is closing in. Again, he catches that familiar note, though he is still unable to place why it feels so recognizable. He only knows he desires it more than anything before, perhaps he always has, because whatever it is has the power to make him whole.
One last barricade, one final obstacle and he will reach -
His whole body spasms, his wings rippling and buzzing out behind him. With the last of his willpower, he manages to remain on his feet but he can go no further. His knees are trembling, his legs like jelly. Gluttony wins, has beaten him. He was so close, so very close to salvation, but his strength is not enough. He cannot save himself this time.
Letting out an anguished cry, Beelzebub crumples in on himself, wrapping his arms around the expanding void, and sinks to the floor. He lets his eyes close, succumbing to inevitable darkness.
“Beel!”
His eyes fly back open when he hears them: his angel of mercy. The familiarity of the scent makes sense now. It’s them. Of course, it’s them: his greatest desire from the moment they first met, when he caught his first whiff of them. Their soul has always been alluring: a tantalizingly delicious bouquet that far exceeded the appeal of any aroma he’d encountered before. He should have known from the moment he first smelled them that they could satisfy him, that their soul could temper the aching need consuming him.
He breathes their name and inhales salvation in return. The abyss inside him shrinks back with a contented rumble, stalling the process of overtaking him. The promise of their soul, of finally giving in to the secret desire he harbors, calms his sin enough for his pain to recede a fraction. Enough for him to regain motor function.
As control of his body returns, he also becomes aware of their hands flitting restlessly from his forehead to his shoulders and back again. They’re whispering to him, words his brain is too jumbled to process, but coming back to himself has brought other awareness: the others closing in.
Closer and closer, edging out the seconds Beelzebub had managed to carve. His concern spikes. Each of his brothers want their soul but he needs it. Needs it with a desperation that puts his normal state of craving to shame.
And they came to him, all on their own. Gift wrapping and presenting themself on a silver platter for his refreshment. It is permission, he realizes; permission to stop fighting his most natural of instincts. Permission to give in to the hunger that drives him. Permission to claim their soul as his own and finally be saved from the Gluttony which plagues him.
He reaches for them, swinging them up into his arms cradling them securely to his chest. No time, no time… his headstart entirely eaten away by his collapse. They need to leave. Now. A buzzing fills the air as he calls the wind to aid his wings and propels them both up through the ceiling. It takes only moments for Beel to flee past the range of even the strongest of his brothers. He will not let them interfere.
His prize clings to him, their personal perfume a confusing mix they have never carried before.
The tang of fear is most potent and must have been caused by the pursuit of the others. That will fade once they realize his brothers cannot reach them anymore.
Desperation seeps from them, so strong he can taste it. He doesn’t know the source of their desperation, but it mixes so sweetly with the fear he almost hopes neither dwindle.
And the heavy stench of panic almost chokes him with the pungent force of it rolling off them. It adds a bitterness to the bouquet that complements the others.
Their odor is so tempting he wants to claim their soul immediately, take them for himself, keep them with him and protect them forever.
But a shift in the air swirls up a whiff of something new: a savory element that balances everything and wraps it all together in exquisite harmony. The final scent, the one so soft even he almost missed it, it takes him a moment to place it… Arousal.
Tendrils of anticipation creep up his spine as a craving of another kind takes hold. He adjusts his plan. The others may be more proficient in various magics, but he can erect a proficient barrier. If he adds a bit of wind to the mix, he will have plenty of time to satisfy both desires.
He drops them through the roof of the House of Lamentation, landing in the middle of the attic room and immediately blocking all outside access. Then, he turns his attention to the quivering figure in his arms.
Their desperation has subsided slightly but the fear and panic are just as potent. And the arousal… it is faint but it is there.
His chest hums in satisfaction. Time for his reward.
They are speaking to him again. He tries so hard to focus on their words, to show proper reverence to this moment. But he really is starving-
“I’m so hungry,” he drops his head to their neck, dragging a deep breath in as he passes his nose across their delicate skin. “I thought I was going to die.”
“Beel.” Their voice wavers but they make no move to pull away. “Are you okay now?”
His angel… his darling angel. Always so concerned about others first. He silently swears he will give their soul the care it deserves.
Lifting his eyes, he addresses them directly for the first time.
“Your soul looks absolutely delicious.” They stiffen, but he holds firm. They will understand soon enough. “I’ve never seen anything so tasty.”
“Wha-”
They attempt to push away, and though his arms quiver in response, he holds firm.
“Beel!”
He sighs as desperation wafts up to rejoin the mingling aromas. They struggle harder, pushing against him, twisting in his arms, driving up the thrill he feels from the hunt. He lets them go, gives them the illusion of a chance. It’s been so long since he consumed a soul… and this soul… this soul will be a once-in-a-lifetime kind of treat. He will savor every moment.
Tilting his head, he studies their trembling form as they back away from him. They must think their slight shifting towards the attic door is subtle. He chuckles uconciously and they flinch, back meeting the wall with a solid thud.
Dragging in an intoxicating breath, Beel decides he is done with the anticipation. It may be sweet but his aching is bitter and he is desperate for it to end.
He croons their name as placatingly as he can and he reaches for them again.
They slide closer to the door before turning fully to make a mad dash and escape. He doesn’t bother to mention that beyond the door is a barrier of wind. Ready to be merciful and end their struggle, he stalks towards them and gets within arms reach just as they throw open the door.
He can smell the adrenaline as it erupts from them. It seems they finally realize the scope of the predicament. He so wishes they would give themselves willingly, trust him to be the eternal protector of their shining soul, but he is just as happy to take it, to allow himself to be selfish just this once. He will be selfish and he will not let the opportunity be taken from him; not by his brothers and not by his thoroughly trapped love.
At their movement to face him, Beelzebub reaches towards them.
“Beel,” they respond to his motion, tone firm, and he can feel the magic of their pact flaring around him, tempered by something… perhaps his own desires are overriding the binding of the pact.
No matter. He cannot predict how long his own will can hold out against their commands so he does not give them the chance to issue whatever order they had prepared. He moves, sweeping them to him and tearing a strip of fabric from his overcoat in a fluid motion. Their gasp of surprise sends shivers down his spine and he has to force himself to focus. They cannot be allowed to issue him an order.
Shifting them in his arms, he secures them solidly with one arm and uses the other to stuff the now balled up fabric past their still parted lips. The immediate concern addressed, Beel takes to scenting the air again. The tantalizing mix of aromas makes him throb, anticipation driving his excited impatience. But something is not quite right… he frowns as he realizes the soft traces of arousal have dissipated. The boquet is not the same without that savory element and the gnawing in his gut demands the missing element be rectified. He will be perfectly satisfied in every way when he takes their soul.
They push and kick against him, struggling lamely in his vice-like grip as he contemplates how to finally get everything he wants. He keeps them pinned to him, barely feeling their attacks, and beings attending to their panic. He calls their name and attempts to soothe them just enough to maintain the delicate balance of control and excitement. With his free hand, he pets a trail down their neck and collar. They still in his arms, breath catching in an adorable way.
And there it is again, the smell of desire permeating the air around him. He continues his ministrations, holding tight to their ridged form, and lets the scent of their excitement drive him on. Again, they being to tremble, but this time from restraining their reaction to his touch. With a practiced hand, he manages to pull a moan stiffled only by the fabric in their mouth.
He groans their name, frensy building, threatening to overtake him.
“Let me hug you,” he growls. “I’ll devour you in my arms.”
They still again, heart beginning to hammer against the arm he has secured around them. Shaking their head, they push a sound of protest around their gag, but Beel knows they cannot understand what he is asking, not until he has their soul. Still, he tries to help them understand, tries to soothe their fear.
"That way, we can be together forever,” he whispers gently, pushing them back towards the bed. “Wouldn’t that be great?”
He tips their chin up, watching the tears streaking down their cheeks. He wants to lap them up, taste every inch of their skin, every ounce of their fear. He wants to eat them whole.
“You’re so warm.” He shifts them back, maintaining his pinning hold as he lays them flat and nuzzles his masked face into the crook of their neck. He needs the closeness to drink down more of their delicious scent. “... If I ate you, I think I’d finally feel full.”
He feels them shiver, their most sensitive parts meeting his straining arousal and he breaks. Using one hand, he secures their wrists above their head and locks his knees around their waist. They are fully trapped beneath him. His other hand is everywhere, tearing at their clothes, nails digging in a little deeper than he intends. The tang of iron in the air makes his head spin. He wants to taste it, wants to bite, to consume.
For a moment, he considers removing the mask and allowing himself to have them fully, but a whispered warning tells him if he removes the mask he will never get what he most wants. He cannot take that risk. Instead, he settles for smell.
Dragging his claws up their now nude body, he pushes hard enough to split skin, to leave a red and weeping trail wherever his claws travel. He maintains the balanced melody of scents by continuing to stimulate their most delicate areas between passes of his claws. The constant switch between causing pain and arousal is making him feel hot. He needs release.
He pauses his play to release himself from the tight band of his pants. Taking himself in hand, he spits and quickly lubricates his erection. He lines himself up with their hole, burning up from his own restraint. His head is swimming from the perfume filling up the space around him but he can still feel them trembling, is barely aware enough to tell as their anxiety spikes and their desire wanes. He rubs himself across their hole, spreading his lubricant, and they buck.
The unexpected movement slides him halfway into their velvety warmth. With a moan, the last of his hestiation shatters away and he lets himself go. Jutting his hips in and out and in; they have never felt so good.
He is quickly reaching his peak, and he knows that moment will be perfect for collecting their soul. Releasing their wrists, he uses both hands to shif up their hips, angling them so he can go deeper, fuse them together.
So close. He is so close.
Wrapping an arm around to keep the angle, he leans over and slides the other up their belly until his claws dig in right above their heart.
His hips stutter; his gut tightens. Yes. This is it. His orgasm overtakes him and he presses down into their chest-
Then he feels his mask ripped away, cool air rushes across his face, and he blacks out.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Beelzebub rouses from a roiling in his gut. When did he last eat? He needs to make sure he snacks frequently or he could become dangerous… and he cannot let himself hurt them. He opens his eyes and shifts, rolling to his side to better be able to stand. Wait. Why is he on the ground? Weren’t he and Belphie supposed to be running the Haunted Room? Why doesn’t he know where he is?
His heart flutters, jumping to his throat as more questions flood him: where are his clothes? Why is there a broken mess around him? Why does he feel so hungry? What happened to him?
Then, he hears a sniffle and something shuffle from across the room. His heart freezes. He can smell them now, their scent fills the room. But it smells wrong, sharp, off… it smells like fear. He cannot breathe. What happened? Why are they afraid?
He shoots to his feet, eyes darting around the room until he spots them huddled by the door. They are shaking, their clothes in tatters, and hair disheveled. Moving across the room, he calls their name. He doesn’t miss their flinch as he gets closer and Beel stops in his tracks. They’ve never flinched away from him before. Not even in the beginning after he had asked if he could eat them. What happened?!
They haven’t moved, hands on the door and head bowed. He doesn’t know if he should try to comfort them or if he should leave, give them space. He may not know what happened exactly, but a quick scan of the room tells him he is responsible. They are the only two here, and there is no way his beloved human could have caused the destruction in the room. And now that he is focusing, he can feel the faint pulse of his magic creating a barrier around the room. Why would he do that?
He drops the barrier and falls to his knees, grabbing the closest piece of fabric he can reach over his lap; it is the coat from his costume. He swallows heavily, implications running wild through his mind. What has he done?
He calls to them again, whispering and reaching a hand towards them, holding it just shy of reaching them. They finally react, turn to him with a tear-streaked face and trembling lips.
“Beel?” they question, eyes widening ever so slightly.
“You’re shaking,” he responds. “Did I,” he swallows, not sure if he should ask the questions on his mind, not sure if he really wants the answers, “did I hurt you?”
“Beel!” they cry, throwing themselves into his lap, stifled sobs breaking out anew. “I wasn’t sure- I didn’t- I didn’t know- if it would work.”
He doesn’t know what they mean, doesn’t understand why they are in his arms given the scenarios playing through his head, but he holds them all the same. Wraps them tightly in his arms and strokes their hair reassuringly. Though he is not sure what will help most, he tries to be comforting, reaffirming he is here, they are safe, he will protect them. He thinks he might choke on his own words but he doesn’t stop, not until the shivers and tears subside.
They never tell him the details of what happened, refuse to speak on it, and ask Beel to let them forget, to keep it in the past. They insist they are fine and haven’t truly been hurt. But he could smell it: the blood, the sex… and he knows what he longs for when he is hungriest.
He carries even more snacks with him now and refuses to go anywhere without something to temper his gnawing void. He cannot allow himself to put them in danger again, cannot risk their soul. But he knows, deep in his heart, they will never be entirely safe with him. He is a demon, after all.