Monocles are quite sexy
Title: Overworked and Underpaid
Rating: NSFW
Series: Devil May Cry
Characters: A man formerly called The Dark Knight Sparda, and Eva
Summary: Sparda does work around the house, because Eva says so. ♥
Notes: This is not the Sparda you thought he was. Born from conversations in a car on the way to an airport. Also, Eva gets what she wants. Every time.
"I want you to do my laundry." She said, although that hint of a smile was in her voice and that extremely suspicious dimple had appeared at the corner of her mouth. She was up to something, and he internally quailed at the thought. He had no idea how to do laundry, what was she asking?
"What? But Eva--"
"In these." She pulled out a pair of worn denim pants, jeans he was sure they were called, and held them up by their waistband.
"My current attire is perfectly acce--" Unfortunately he could never finish his sentences these days, and she cut him off easily. His silences grew more and more sullen every time she did it.
"Perfectly old fashioned you mean. What century did you get stuck in? Really, take those off and put these on, I'm sure they'll fit a fatty like you." She grinned at his mumble of "I'm not fat" but he took the pants anyway and left the room, his proverbial tail tucked between his legs. Only there was a bit of a problem, as when he put the pants on, they hardly came to his hips. Otherwise, they fit fairly well, but he felt almost indecent as he returned to Eva's room, his clothes neatly folded under one arm as he tried to tug the pants higher with the other.
"Eva, they don't fit well, I'm not so sure--"
"Oh, they fit you fine, stop whining!" She stole his clothes out of his arms before he could protest and shoved a basket full of dirty laundry into his hands. "The washing machine's on the back porch past the kitchen, if you can't figure it out, go ahead and call for help." She smirked, giving his backside a parting swat as he left the room. His indignant yelp was rewarded with a grin, and she waved him off.
Crude, malicious, spiteful, vindictive woman. He resisted the urge to growl in order to vent his pent-up frustration as he carried the basket to the laundry porch. Setting the basket down in front of the machine, he looked at the different dials in bewilderment. What in the seven rings was he supposed to do with this...?
When Eva found him later, he was leaning a hip against the machine with an elegant pair of reading spectacles on (one could never call them glasses when Sparda wore them), reading the washing machine manual and looking so fiercely focused that she had to stifle a laugh. She left him to his studying, another idea forming in her mind as the lovely image of his sculpted abs refused to leave her head. Meanwhile, the great Sparda was at war with both her laundry and the machines. Having studied how they functioned, he felt that he had grasped how to operate them, and had adjusted them to the proper settings. But once he started putting her clothing in, he found himself faced with what seemed to be the entire contents of her lingerie drawer. He balked at this, a gentleman should not be handling a lady's undergarments!
His horrified expression shifted to something much more put-upon at the sound of Eva's laughter. He looked up with a scowl only until he caught sight of what she was wearing. Her black bra showed as her white button-up shirt was undone and tied in a knot beneath her breasts, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and her cut-off shorts left little to the imagination as the tiniest sliver of her black underwear showed over the waistband of her tattered shorts. He sputtered for a moment, which only made Eva laugh more. Cruel, vicious, evil woman. It was divine punishment for his deeds before he turned on his own kind. It must be so.
"Something wrong, Sparda?" The blonde she-devil grinned her wicked grin that--Hell spare him--lit a fire in his belly. Firmly ignoring his baser instincts, he summoned up his glare again.
"Eva. You said nothing about washing your undergarments." The Dark Knight was not one to sound picked-upon. He was above that. Really.
"It's just clothes. They were dirty and I needed them washed, so what?" She shrugged, his amulet flashing where it hung between her breasts. Even from here he could see the faint traces of her veins along her sides, could practically smell her--no. His nostrils flared for a moment, his blue eyes flashing, and then it was under control. For the moment.
"Fine then, as you wish." He stooped to reach the bottom of the basket, and dumped the last of the clothes in. He didn't realize he was growling under his breath until he felt her hand on his back, nearly making him slop liquid detergent down his front. He glared over his shoulder at the smaller woman, his sullen scowl firmly in place. "What? Am I not doing this to your satisfaction?"
"Oh, no. You're doing fine." She pressed against him, and the smell of her shampoo momentarily overwhelmed him, though it was faint to human senses. Hot-blooded and tousled and why were her hands in his pants? Sparda shut the lid of the washing machine with a touch more force than was necessary, managing to free himself from her before he snapped by plucking up the laundry basket.
"Where do you want this? And I would like my clothes back now." It came out more of a throaty growl than words, and Eva simply placed her hands on her hips and stood there as if nothing was wrong. Or that she hadn't been playing with the snap on his waistband a moment before. Vicious woman.
"In my room's fine. When you're done with that, I want you to clean the bathroom. I'll give you your clothes back when you're finished."
"What." He could almost hear his teeth breaking as he ground them together.
"Clean the bathroom." She leaned forward, emphasizing each word by enunciating more clearly and saying it slower. The white shirt she wore fell open further as she leaned, showing the bit of black lace on the edges of her brassier, the red jewels on the amulet reflecting a blood-colored glow on her skin.
"Clean the...right." He had no idea how to do that. He had housekeepers for a reason, cleaning was not something Dark Knights did, though that did not seem to help him when he shortly found himself armed with a sponge, a bucket of suds, and a mop as he faced her bathroom. This couldn't possibly be that hard, humans had been doing this sort of menial labor for centuries. So, taking a deep breath, he got to work. Eva had mentioned something about 'elbow grease,' though the meaning of the term was lost on him. He doubted it was literal, and mused over the meanings of slang in different languages to bide his time as he scrubbed at invisible stains. Really, he had to wonder what the purpose was in her having him do this, when she kept the bathroom pristine on her own.
His hair was falling in his eyes, the sweat on his brow dampening the locks of hair enough to make them fall, and he kept having to shove them up with his forearm. Sparda looked up at the sound of Eva sighing, only to find a pale-haired tigress looking at him like she was inspecting the biggest slab of meat on the platter. It was a sleepy-eyed stare, and he found himself shifting uncertainly. What did she want? The look she was giving him was almost making him nervous, which he found he had every right to be as she leaned against him from behind. The amulet was squeezed between her breasts as she reached around him to show him how to properly scrub the wall. He heard everything she said with a crystal clarity, but his eyes were riveted on the way her bosom strained against the black lace that held it. His reflexes were the only thing that saved him, his gaze snapping to the sponge just as Eva looked up at him.
"Think you can handle it?" Her lips seemed to caress each syllable, and the urge to claim her mouth was tempting. Handle it? He could handle anything, he was the Dark Knight, a lord among demons, saviour of mankind, and he--was currently trying not to choke as he felt her fingernails graze the sensitive skin along his side, up his ribs and nearing his armpit. Grinding his teeth together, his jaw clenched as he nodded.
"Yes, I believe so." If he thought that she would leave him in peace to finish his task, Sparda soon found he was sorely mistaken. Eva found every excuse and reason in order to invade his personal space as he toiled away, his patience and control growing more and more strained. Wretched wench of a woman, she-demon, the succubus, his mental tirade went on and on, a vain attempt to keep his mental focus from slipping. Though try as he might, it was difficult to concentrate with her hips pressed against his from behind, the tails of her shirt tickling him every time he leaned forward, only to have her flatten herself against him when he straightened. Eventually, even the greatest of demons has his limits. The sponge struck the bottom of the tub with a wet splat, and he spun so fast he nearly knocked Eva off her feet. His growl was almost deep enough to rattle the windows, and his grip was made of steel even though he held her wrists almost gently.
"Woman, I have had enough of your games." His eyes blazed a molten red, his fangs gleaming as he bared his teeth. Eva showed no fear, there was no trace of it in her scent. He'd show her, oh he would. Before she could make a snappy reply, he slammed the door shut with his mind alone and pushed her against it, ravaging her mouth with his. He had been patient, he had been gentle and submissive and done everything she'd demanded of him and had been summarily tossed out on his ass whenever the mood struck her. He had been a gentleman, and there was no one in Hell or on Earth who could say otherwise, but by God he was pushed beyond his limits and he was exhausted by it. The taste of her mouth was sweet, sweet bliss in comparison. He might not have won the mental war with her yet but he would take this battle if it was the last thing he did on this God-forsaken ball of dirt. Her attempts to take the upper hand were met with snarls and growls, flashes of porcelain white fangs. For some reason this seemed to please her, the sudden change in her scent confusing him for a moment, but it didn't matter. Her hands were in his hair, mussing his usually perfectly-kept coif, his lips dragging across the pale column of her throat and coaxing a moan out of her. A second when he bit her, strong enough for her to feel his fangs, but not enough for him to draw blood. Even now he kept himself restrained to a degree, he couldn't afford to slip his tightly-maintained control completely.
But her pale skin called to him, drew him like a moth to a flame and like a shark to blood. Pinned against the door he claimed her, every inch of bare skin, every freckle, mole, and wayward curl of pure golden hair. The first time she had dragged him to her room, stripping him down to his skin and shoving him onto her bed, she'd had the upper hand every time since, but not this time. Every attempt to shift control was met with his fangs pressed to her skin, a deep growl his answer. He wanted to savor this, memories of times when entire armies would fall at his feet with the mere thought of his, where even the strongest devils were no match for him. He was Sparda, he'd killed countless souls for lesser slights against him, and he would show this mortal woman that. When she dragged him to her bed (not that he usually needed much dragging, despite his surprise at her suddenness) he worshiped her, like he would savor a rare wine, like the goddess that she was. Not now, though. He was not rough with her, but his actions were possessive, the alpha male taking what was his and his alone.
Her clothes were tossed aside, and he pressed against her, his bare skin unnaturally hot against hers. The denim was uncomfortable, chafing, stifling, but he could feel her heat well enough. He could smell it, making him dizzy. He sank to his knees before her, commanding her to lift a leg with a look. The weight of her thigh on his shoulder pleased him, and he devoured her wholeheartedly. The only thing that kept her standing was the grip he had on her hips. He was not satisfied until he'd made her come for him twice, and he licked his lips, pressing a kiss to her trembling thigh.
Rising from the floor, he hooked her leg around his waist, using his weight to pin her to the door. Divesting himself of the troublesome jeans, he took her in one smooth motion, snarling in defiance. Mine. He would accept nothing less. Mine. He's slaughter anyone that tried to undermine that claim. The door creaked ominously as he braced against it and took her, but he didn't care. The scent of her hair was more important, the feel of her soft, smooth curves beneath his hand was more important. He had fought her temptation all day but now he was giving Eva her just rewards. He would make sure she would remember this, show her why she shouldn't test him. There was a vague notion that she might have just scored his back with her fingernails, but he was deep in the heat of lust and didn't notice. He didn't keep track of how many times she came, he'd lost his senses somewhere along the way, but he noticed when she sagged in his arms, completely spent.
Finishing, he cradled her in his arms and bathed her, he would finish cleaning later. He washed her almost meticulously, kissing her damp flesh as he rinsed her off. By the time Eva regained her senses she was tucked into bed, with Sparda sitting at her bedside reading a book. The spine was unmarked, but it was old, and leather bound. His gaze was the crystalline blue of a winter sky and hooded as he read, his spectacles on once again. The only thing that suggested he'd been doing anything off-color was the way his hair refused to be tamed, and the faintest color along his distinguished cheekbones. How frustrating! But she did admit, it was very sexy when he stopped rolling over and took the lead once in a while. She supposed she'd have to see if he'd do it again sometime.
I swear I wasn't setting out to do anything more than the laundry and cleaning the bathroom sequence. Then there was porn out of nowhere. I DON'T KNOW. IT JUST SORT OF HAPPENED.
And I feel really awkward because I don't know if I'm writing Sparda well or not. If this keeps up I'm going to need some SpardaEva icons. :<
For Teagan-chus and Kitty, 'cause this is all their fault anyways.
Rating: NSFW
Series: Devil May Cry
Characters: A man formerly called The Dark Knight Sparda, and Eva
Summary: Sparda does work around the house, because Eva says so. ♥
Notes: This is not the Sparda you thought he was. Born from conversations in a car on the way to an airport. Also, Eva gets what she wants. Every time.
"I want you to do my laundry." She said, although that hint of a smile was in her voice and that extremely suspicious dimple had appeared at the corner of her mouth. She was up to something, and he internally quailed at the thought. He had no idea how to do laundry, what was she asking?
"What? But Eva--"
"In these." She pulled out a pair of worn denim pants, jeans he was sure they were called, and held them up by their waistband.
"My current attire is perfectly acce--" Unfortunately he could never finish his sentences these days, and she cut him off easily. His silences grew more and more sullen every time she did it.
"Perfectly old fashioned you mean. What century did you get stuck in? Really, take those off and put these on, I'm sure they'll fit a fatty like you." She grinned at his mumble of "I'm not fat" but he took the pants anyway and left the room, his proverbial tail tucked between his legs. Only there was a bit of a problem, as when he put the pants on, they hardly came to his hips. Otherwise, they fit fairly well, but he felt almost indecent as he returned to Eva's room, his clothes neatly folded under one arm as he tried to tug the pants higher with the other.
"Eva, they don't fit well, I'm not so sure--"
"Oh, they fit you fine, stop whining!" She stole his clothes out of his arms before he could protest and shoved a basket full of dirty laundry into his hands. "The washing machine's on the back porch past the kitchen, if you can't figure it out, go ahead and call for help." She smirked, giving his backside a parting swat as he left the room. His indignant yelp was rewarded with a grin, and she waved him off.
Crude, malicious, spiteful, vindictive woman. He resisted the urge to growl in order to vent his pent-up frustration as he carried the basket to the laundry porch. Setting the basket down in front of the machine, he looked at the different dials in bewilderment. What in the seven rings was he supposed to do with this...?
When Eva found him later, he was leaning a hip against the machine with an elegant pair of reading spectacles on (one could never call them glasses when Sparda wore them), reading the washing machine manual and looking so fiercely focused that she had to stifle a laugh. She left him to his studying, another idea forming in her mind as the lovely image of his sculpted abs refused to leave her head. Meanwhile, the great Sparda was at war with both her laundry and the machines. Having studied how they functioned, he felt that he had grasped how to operate them, and had adjusted them to the proper settings. But once he started putting her clothing in, he found himself faced with what seemed to be the entire contents of her lingerie drawer. He balked at this, a gentleman should not be handling a lady's undergarments!
His horrified expression shifted to something much more put-upon at the sound of Eva's laughter. He looked up with a scowl only until he caught sight of what she was wearing. Her black bra showed as her white button-up shirt was undone and tied in a knot beneath her breasts, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and her cut-off shorts left little to the imagination as the tiniest sliver of her black underwear showed over the waistband of her tattered shorts. He sputtered for a moment, which only made Eva laugh more. Cruel, vicious, evil woman. It was divine punishment for his deeds before he turned on his own kind. It must be so.
"Something wrong, Sparda?" The blonde she-devil grinned her wicked grin that--Hell spare him--lit a fire in his belly. Firmly ignoring his baser instincts, he summoned up his glare again.
"Eva. You said nothing about washing your undergarments." The Dark Knight was not one to sound picked-upon. He was above that. Really.
"It's just clothes. They were dirty and I needed them washed, so what?" She shrugged, his amulet flashing where it hung between her breasts. Even from here he could see the faint traces of her veins along her sides, could practically smell her--no. His nostrils flared for a moment, his blue eyes flashing, and then it was under control. For the moment.
"Fine then, as you wish." He stooped to reach the bottom of the basket, and dumped the last of the clothes in. He didn't realize he was growling under his breath until he felt her hand on his back, nearly making him slop liquid detergent down his front. He glared over his shoulder at the smaller woman, his sullen scowl firmly in place. "What? Am I not doing this to your satisfaction?"
"Oh, no. You're doing fine." She pressed against him, and the smell of her shampoo momentarily overwhelmed him, though it was faint to human senses. Hot-blooded and tousled and why were her hands in his pants? Sparda shut the lid of the washing machine with a touch more force than was necessary, managing to free himself from her before he snapped by plucking up the laundry basket.
"Where do you want this? And I would like my clothes back now." It came out more of a throaty growl than words, and Eva simply placed her hands on her hips and stood there as if nothing was wrong. Or that she hadn't been playing with the snap on his waistband a moment before. Vicious woman.
"In my room's fine. When you're done with that, I want you to clean the bathroom. I'll give you your clothes back when you're finished."
"What." He could almost hear his teeth breaking as he ground them together.
"Clean the bathroom." She leaned forward, emphasizing each word by enunciating more clearly and saying it slower. The white shirt she wore fell open further as she leaned, showing the bit of black lace on the edges of her brassier, the red jewels on the amulet reflecting a blood-colored glow on her skin.
"Clean the...right." He had no idea how to do that. He had housekeepers for a reason, cleaning was not something Dark Knights did, though that did not seem to help him when he shortly found himself armed with a sponge, a bucket of suds, and a mop as he faced her bathroom. This couldn't possibly be that hard, humans had been doing this sort of menial labor for centuries. So, taking a deep breath, he got to work. Eva had mentioned something about 'elbow grease,' though the meaning of the term was lost on him. He doubted it was literal, and mused over the meanings of slang in different languages to bide his time as he scrubbed at invisible stains. Really, he had to wonder what the purpose was in her having him do this, when she kept the bathroom pristine on her own.
His hair was falling in his eyes, the sweat on his brow dampening the locks of hair enough to make them fall, and he kept having to shove them up with his forearm. Sparda looked up at the sound of Eva sighing, only to find a pale-haired tigress looking at him like she was inspecting the biggest slab of meat on the platter. It was a sleepy-eyed stare, and he found himself shifting uncertainly. What did she want? The look she was giving him was almost making him nervous, which he found he had every right to be as she leaned against him from behind. The amulet was squeezed between her breasts as she reached around him to show him how to properly scrub the wall. He heard everything she said with a crystal clarity, but his eyes were riveted on the way her bosom strained against the black lace that held it. His reflexes were the only thing that saved him, his gaze snapping to the sponge just as Eva looked up at him.
"Think you can handle it?" Her lips seemed to caress each syllable, and the urge to claim her mouth was tempting. Handle it? He could handle anything, he was the Dark Knight, a lord among demons, saviour of mankind, and he--was currently trying not to choke as he felt her fingernails graze the sensitive skin along his side, up his ribs and nearing his armpit. Grinding his teeth together, his jaw clenched as he nodded.
"Yes, I believe so." If he thought that she would leave him in peace to finish his task, Sparda soon found he was sorely mistaken. Eva found every excuse and reason in order to invade his personal space as he toiled away, his patience and control growing more and more strained. Wretched wench of a woman, she-demon, the succubus, his mental tirade went on and on, a vain attempt to keep his mental focus from slipping. Though try as he might, it was difficult to concentrate with her hips pressed against his from behind, the tails of her shirt tickling him every time he leaned forward, only to have her flatten herself against him when he straightened. Eventually, even the greatest of demons has his limits. The sponge struck the bottom of the tub with a wet splat, and he spun so fast he nearly knocked Eva off her feet. His growl was almost deep enough to rattle the windows, and his grip was made of steel even though he held her wrists almost gently.
"Woman, I have had enough of your games." His eyes blazed a molten red, his fangs gleaming as he bared his teeth. Eva showed no fear, there was no trace of it in her scent. He'd show her, oh he would. Before she could make a snappy reply, he slammed the door shut with his mind alone and pushed her against it, ravaging her mouth with his. He had been patient, he had been gentle and submissive and done everything she'd demanded of him and had been summarily tossed out on his ass whenever the mood struck her. He had been a gentleman, and there was no one in Hell or on Earth who could say otherwise, but by God he was pushed beyond his limits and he was exhausted by it. The taste of her mouth was sweet, sweet bliss in comparison. He might not have won the mental war with her yet but he would take this battle if it was the last thing he did on this God-forsaken ball of dirt. Her attempts to take the upper hand were met with snarls and growls, flashes of porcelain white fangs. For some reason this seemed to please her, the sudden change in her scent confusing him for a moment, but it didn't matter. Her hands were in his hair, mussing his usually perfectly-kept coif, his lips dragging across the pale column of her throat and coaxing a moan out of her. A second when he bit her, strong enough for her to feel his fangs, but not enough for him to draw blood. Even now he kept himself restrained to a degree, he couldn't afford to slip his tightly-maintained control completely.
But her pale skin called to him, drew him like a moth to a flame and like a shark to blood. Pinned against the door he claimed her, every inch of bare skin, every freckle, mole, and wayward curl of pure golden hair. The first time she had dragged him to her room, stripping him down to his skin and shoving him onto her bed, she'd had the upper hand every time since, but not this time. Every attempt to shift control was met with his fangs pressed to her skin, a deep growl his answer. He wanted to savor this, memories of times when entire armies would fall at his feet with the mere thought of his, where even the strongest devils were no match for him. He was Sparda, he'd killed countless souls for lesser slights against him, and he would show this mortal woman that. When she dragged him to her bed (not that he usually needed much dragging, despite his surprise at her suddenness) he worshiped her, like he would savor a rare wine, like the goddess that she was. Not now, though. He was not rough with her, but his actions were possessive, the alpha male taking what was his and his alone.
Her clothes were tossed aside, and he pressed against her, his bare skin unnaturally hot against hers. The denim was uncomfortable, chafing, stifling, but he could feel her heat well enough. He could smell it, making him dizzy. He sank to his knees before her, commanding her to lift a leg with a look. The weight of her thigh on his shoulder pleased him, and he devoured her wholeheartedly. The only thing that kept her standing was the grip he had on her hips. He was not satisfied until he'd made her come for him twice, and he licked his lips, pressing a kiss to her trembling thigh.
Rising from the floor, he hooked her leg around his waist, using his weight to pin her to the door. Divesting himself of the troublesome jeans, he took her in one smooth motion, snarling in defiance. Mine. He would accept nothing less. Mine. He's slaughter anyone that tried to undermine that claim. The door creaked ominously as he braced against it and took her, but he didn't care. The scent of her hair was more important, the feel of her soft, smooth curves beneath his hand was more important. He had fought her temptation all day but now he was giving Eva her just rewards. He would make sure she would remember this, show her why she shouldn't test him. There was a vague notion that she might have just scored his back with her fingernails, but he was deep in the heat of lust and didn't notice. He didn't keep track of how many times she came, he'd lost his senses somewhere along the way, but he noticed when she sagged in his arms, completely spent.
Finishing, he cradled her in his arms and bathed her, he would finish cleaning later. He washed her almost meticulously, kissing her damp flesh as he rinsed her off. By the time Eva regained her senses she was tucked into bed, with Sparda sitting at her bedside reading a book. The spine was unmarked, but it was old, and leather bound. His gaze was the crystalline blue of a winter sky and hooded as he read, his spectacles on once again. The only thing that suggested he'd been doing anything off-color was the way his hair refused to be tamed, and the faintest color along his distinguished cheekbones. How frustrating! But she did admit, it was very sexy when he stopped rolling over and took the lead once in a while. She supposed she'd have to see if he'd do it again sometime.
I swear I wasn't setting out to do anything more than the laundry and cleaning the bathroom sequence. Then there was porn out of nowhere. I DON'T KNOW. IT JUST SORT OF HAPPENED.
And I feel really awkward because I don't know if I'm writing Sparda well or not. If this keeps up I'm going to need some SpardaEva icons. :<
For Teagan-chus and Kitty, 'cause this is all their fault anyways.