Fic: Adam and Eve (Demon/Angel; PG-13)
Title: Adam and Eve
Rating: PG-13 for *implications*
Characters: Demon/Angel. Though the demon looks too much like Hiruma for me to think him otherwise. So Hiruma/insert female here. We'll go with either Mamori or Claire, whatever floats your boat
Word Count: 1,296
Warnings: None~!
Summary: Temptation, Apples, Demons, Angels~ this can only lead to one place, and for one, it happens to not be Dean Winchester!
Disclaimer: Not mine! Should it come to this, this is AU and all characters involved in sexual relations in this story are 18 or older.
Author's Notes: I am a tool. Yes, this is for thanatoast ♥ Who showed me this picture and tempted me with purple prose. I love pulling out all my stops and just. writing. free-flowing and beautiful. Then shit like this happens. Mmm.
It's in moments like this that the demon knows why he's turned.
Fallen.
Certainly, the dark side is delicious, but it isn't until he meets specimens like her that his pupils black out his irises almost completely, head bent lower as if he wishes to peer at her over the top of a pair of particularly pesky spectacles, or some very dark sunglasses.
He's pale, with blonde hair, whites of his eyes almost too visible for him to remain looking... human.
He doesn't care. The demon doesn't care about anyone but himself.
A smirk blossoms on thin lips, horrible and deviant and cruel, teeth coming to show themselves, sharp and-- more like fangs really, all incisors, like he's some horrible mishap half-breed.
He isn't. The specimen himself knows he's perfect, ideal, and he could have no one else than the immediate match.
She's unsullied. Pure.
The fallen one knows all angels have a weakness, and all it takes is a little--
He pulls an apple out of his pocket, beautiful and flawless, but tainted all at once, just like him, and grins viciously.
If you look closely enough, you can see the devil in that smile.
No one ever does.
They're too scared, and he knows as much, but for her--
He's going to need a little more tact. Less... obvious plan of attack. Really, the apple is a peace offering, a... treaty in case she knows who he is and knows what to expect.
At the same time, he wishes it to be her downfall.
One bite and she's his forever.
She's wrapped in white linens to counter his black ones and to match her own wings just like he matches his. When he walks up to her, all visible pupils and a deceptive smile on his face, she looks so perfectly innocent and precious that he wonders whether he realy wants to tear her down if only for a moment, before it's gone again.
It's every angel's downfall, this trust and quiet, innocent sensibility. She doesn't know what to expect, not ever, and he reaches out to the end of the etherial white fabric, the only part of her he can touch-- for now-- and pulls her a little closer.
"Apple?" he drawls in perfect tongue, sharp but not too sharp, just sinister enough to pass as a true cold-blooded demon, all while maintaining a beautifully deceptive false decorum of incidental kindness.
"Why should I trust you?" she asks, hesitating slightly, and sounding rather as if she might have been much more inclined to ask I've been told I shouldn't trust you-- should I? but he doesn't correct her, he never does. Why bother when this sort of knowledge is power, selfish and heady, something she doesn't know and shouldn't.
He's a spoil of war. He wants her to be a spoil of him after all, and nothing else.
Demons are... selfish that way.
"Because you have no reason not to except for, well, keke, principle. Isn't that right."
It's not a question and doesn't sound like one, either, and she cocks her head at him slightly, small frown marring her beautiful face.
"I-- I don't know."
It's that innocence, that naivety, that will kill this kitten, and the demon circles her like pray, pulling her whispy bandages with him as he moves, losening them just slightly for a moment before dropping them completely and coming up behind her and over her shoulder.
He's still holding out the apple. Deceptively beautiful, just like him.
"Let someone who does, tell you. Aren't all demons just fallen angels, after all~?"
His voice is like a pinprick. Seemingly harmless. Potentially deadly.
Only the demon could place a pinprick perfectly enough for it to kill her.
Metaphorically speaking, of course.
"Y-yes," she breathes, and he revels in the fact that he's behind her, revels in the fact that he can look positively hideous with lies and deception and every possible sin imaginable.
The greatest virtue of angels will always, inevitably, be their downfall.
He wants to touch her.
He can't. Won't.
"Go on," he says, handing her the apple. "I know that you know you want it."
The lines are starting to blur, and he laughs softly, strange and cackling-sounding. What does she want. What could she want. What could she have. Why her of all people.
Most of all he wants to touch her wings. His were never as beautiful as hers.
Her linens are falling; he's hardly wearing any to start with-- almost as if the way she stares at the apple is affecting her state of dress-- the more she considers taking a bite, the more sullen she becomes to his eyes.
Maybe his hands are helping the analogy. Maybe a little. And maybe, just maybe, she's so transfixed that she doesn't notice.
If there's one thing she's noticed through all this, it's that he smells intoxicating.
It reminds her that he's supposed to be walking sin, but she's in too deep, and now she doesn't want to look away from the face of proverbial temptation.
She just happens to like apples, really.
He hisses in delight, and she decides she's not afraid of snakes, and that all of this seems a little too convenient for comfort.
She doesn't mind. Not enough.
"Why," she breathes. She doesn't understand, doesn't realize that she's beautiful, that even if the apple presents her downfall, she's still his.
That he wants to be tempted by her so badly and can't.
"Eve to my Adam," he whispers, long fingers pushing her hair aside and away from her ears.
He can touch her hair. It's the only part he can, and it only makes him yearn for more, still, more, forever.
He just wants her to bite-- bite and stoop to his level. Just this once.
He knows the expression on her face, knows how to read it, analyze it, learn it, mark it--
Just not how to create it.
Until now.
He knows what comes next, and he watches, smile and stare transfixed and mesmerized as the apple suddenly touches her lips, and she pushes in, juice dribbling down the skin and onto one of the linens, scatter by now and he's not looking, not really, even though he could, because her doing this is more important and he doesn't want to lose a single second.
Then there's a delightful sickening crack, and a piece comes off.
It's the most delicious apple she's ever tasted, he knows that much.
If she didn't expect that, she'll expect what happens next even less.
"I can touch you now," he breathes, and does so-- hands grip into wings and he pulls her around, just enough, taking hold of her body as if he owns it, and maybe he does.
Kisses her.
The apple takes its fall.
He can still taste the apple on her lips, on her tongue, and she's gasping against his mouth, letting him take the opportunity to claim hold of her more fully.
The demon always gets what he wants.
Her wings are glorious and feel like silk against his soiled hands, her skin too fair and too soft for him to properly feel all the sensations involved.
A cackle escapes him, and she finds herself helpless in his stray restless hands once more.
She's crying.
"Angels fall, too, kitten," he mewls in her ear, no regret in his voice. There shouldn't be any in hers either, no regret, no shame, not when he claims her completely, broken perfection all for his to keep, shattered broken leftover remnants of a porcelain doll.
Either he's good at fixing things, or at holding them together.
She'll learn.
He's shameless.
And she--
She wears her halo a little higher from that day on.
Rating: PG-13 for *implications*
Characters: Demon/Angel. Though the demon looks too much like Hiruma for me to think him otherwise. So Hiruma/insert female here. We'll go with either Mamori or Claire, whatever floats your boat
Word Count: 1,296
Warnings: None~!
Summary: Temptation, Apples, Demons, Angels~ this can only lead to one place, and for one, it happens to not be Dean Winchester!
Disclaimer: Not mine! Should it come to this, this is AU and all characters involved in sexual relations in this story are 18 or older.
Author's Notes: I am a tool. Yes, this is for thanatoast ♥ Who showed me this picture and tempted me with purple prose. I love pulling out all my stops and just. writing. free-flowing and beautiful. Then shit like this happens. Mmm.
It's in moments like this that the demon knows why he's turned.
Fallen.
Certainly, the dark side is delicious, but it isn't until he meets specimens like her that his pupils black out his irises almost completely, head bent lower as if he wishes to peer at her over the top of a pair of particularly pesky spectacles, or some very dark sunglasses.
He's pale, with blonde hair, whites of his eyes almost too visible for him to remain looking... human.
He doesn't care. The demon doesn't care about anyone but himself.
A smirk blossoms on thin lips, horrible and deviant and cruel, teeth coming to show themselves, sharp and-- more like fangs really, all incisors, like he's some horrible mishap half-breed.
He isn't. The specimen himself knows he's perfect, ideal, and he could have no one else than the immediate match.
She's unsullied. Pure.
The fallen one knows all angels have a weakness, and all it takes is a little--
He pulls an apple out of his pocket, beautiful and flawless, but tainted all at once, just like him, and grins viciously.
If you look closely enough, you can see the devil in that smile.
No one ever does.
They're too scared, and he knows as much, but for her--
He's going to need a little more tact. Less... obvious plan of attack. Really, the apple is a peace offering, a... treaty in case she knows who he is and knows what to expect.
At the same time, he wishes it to be her downfall.
One bite and she's his forever.
She's wrapped in white linens to counter his black ones and to match her own wings just like he matches his. When he walks up to her, all visible pupils and a deceptive smile on his face, she looks so perfectly innocent and precious that he wonders whether he realy wants to tear her down if only for a moment, before it's gone again.
It's every angel's downfall, this trust and quiet, innocent sensibility. She doesn't know what to expect, not ever, and he reaches out to the end of the etherial white fabric, the only part of her he can touch-- for now-- and pulls her a little closer.
"Apple?" he drawls in perfect tongue, sharp but not too sharp, just sinister enough to pass as a true cold-blooded demon, all while maintaining a beautifully deceptive false decorum of incidental kindness.
"Why should I trust you?" she asks, hesitating slightly, and sounding rather as if she might have been much more inclined to ask I've been told I shouldn't trust you-- should I? but he doesn't correct her, he never does. Why bother when this sort of knowledge is power, selfish and heady, something she doesn't know and shouldn't.
He's a spoil of war. He wants her to be a spoil of him after all, and nothing else.
Demons are... selfish that way.
"Because you have no reason not to except for, well, keke, principle. Isn't that right."
It's not a question and doesn't sound like one, either, and she cocks her head at him slightly, small frown marring her beautiful face.
"I-- I don't know."
It's that innocence, that naivety, that will kill this kitten, and the demon circles her like pray, pulling her whispy bandages with him as he moves, losening them just slightly for a moment before dropping them completely and coming up behind her and over her shoulder.
He's still holding out the apple. Deceptively beautiful, just like him.
"Let someone who does, tell you. Aren't all demons just fallen angels, after all~?"
His voice is like a pinprick. Seemingly harmless. Potentially deadly.
Only the demon could place a pinprick perfectly enough for it to kill her.
Metaphorically speaking, of course.
"Y-yes," she breathes, and he revels in the fact that he's behind her, revels in the fact that he can look positively hideous with lies and deception and every possible sin imaginable.
The greatest virtue of angels will always, inevitably, be their downfall.
He wants to touch her.
He can't. Won't.
"Go on," he says, handing her the apple. "I know that you know you want it."
The lines are starting to blur, and he laughs softly, strange and cackling-sounding. What does she want. What could she want. What could she have. Why her of all people.
Most of all he wants to touch her wings. His were never as beautiful as hers.
Her linens are falling; he's hardly wearing any to start with-- almost as if the way she stares at the apple is affecting her state of dress-- the more she considers taking a bite, the more sullen she becomes to his eyes.
Maybe his hands are helping the analogy. Maybe a little. And maybe, just maybe, she's so transfixed that she doesn't notice.
If there's one thing she's noticed through all this, it's that he smells intoxicating.
It reminds her that he's supposed to be walking sin, but she's in too deep, and now she doesn't want to look away from the face of proverbial temptation.
She just happens to like apples, really.
He hisses in delight, and she decides she's not afraid of snakes, and that all of this seems a little too convenient for comfort.
She doesn't mind. Not enough.
"Why," she breathes. She doesn't understand, doesn't realize that she's beautiful, that even if the apple presents her downfall, she's still his.
That he wants to be tempted by her so badly and can't.
"Eve to my Adam," he whispers, long fingers pushing her hair aside and away from her ears.
He can touch her hair. It's the only part he can, and it only makes him yearn for more, still, more, forever.
He just wants her to bite-- bite and stoop to his level. Just this once.
He knows the expression on her face, knows how to read it, analyze it, learn it, mark it--
Just not how to create it.
Until now.
He knows what comes next, and he watches, smile and stare transfixed and mesmerized as the apple suddenly touches her lips, and she pushes in, juice dribbling down the skin and onto one of the linens, scatter by now and he's not looking, not really, even though he could, because her doing this is more important and he doesn't want to lose a single second.
Then there's a delightful sickening crack, and a piece comes off.
It's the most delicious apple she's ever tasted, he knows that much.
If she didn't expect that, she'll expect what happens next even less.
"I can touch you now," he breathes, and does so-- hands grip into wings and he pulls her around, just enough, taking hold of her body as if he owns it, and maybe he does.
Kisses her.
The apple takes its fall.
He can still taste the apple on her lips, on her tongue, and she's gasping against his mouth, letting him take the opportunity to claim hold of her more fully.
The demon always gets what he wants.
Her wings are glorious and feel like silk against his soiled hands, her skin too fair and too soft for him to properly feel all the sensations involved.
A cackle escapes him, and she finds herself helpless in his stray restless hands once more.
She's crying.
"Angels fall, too, kitten," he mewls in her ear, no regret in his voice. There shouldn't be any in hers either, no regret, no shame, not when he claims her completely, broken perfection all for his to keep, shattered broken leftover remnants of a porcelain doll.
Either he's good at fixing things, or at holding them together.
She'll learn.
He's shameless.
And she--
She wears her halo a little higher from that day on.