Ravenous
Notes: I am fascinated by the idea of demons falling in love, and the implications of all that it brings with it - the time that they spend together will have to be trying, and not to mention the whole 'need to consume souls' thing... I don't know. I just like the idea of it. I'm silly like that.
As soon as the young master is asleep, the shadows grow longer and friendlier, and the click of spider claws on the polished tiles sets Sebastian’s long-damned heart pounding - amongst other things. The demon is never too far away, even with an ocean of fields between them; and he skulks out of the shadows like a monster, and the glint of his eyes takes Sebastian back to Paris, watching the sunlight in the puddles and the blood crust over the sidewalk.
Claude grows more tired by the day. The shadows beneath his eyes are not as friendly, and his smile is lacking something. When he winds his arms around him, Sebastian can feel his heart throbbing, but feverishly, uncertainly, like the heart’s forgotten how it should beat. Hunger radiates through him. His stomach is the monster.
He comes, he shags him, he comes again and he leaves. And with each visit, the demon seems to become more and more gray, more silent, more subdued.
“I’ve brought you a present,” Sebastian muttered. The rain is still fresh on the glass, and their bodies, and the moon has just risen high enough to spotlight the mansion in virgin white. Claude’s hand remains tucked between his legs, a thumb caressing lazily. The demon doesn’t answer. “Claude.”
“Hm?” Claude lifted his head, and those yellow eyes catch the moonlight, ignite. “What?”
Shaking his head, Sebastian swatted the hand away from him and rose. Ruined, torn clothes on the lawn notwithstanding, and nakedness itself notwithstanding, the long-legged predator moved off to the side of the house. In his absence, Claude sat up, and pulled grass out of his hair, rubbed without concern at the green smudges on hips, knees, back.
Sebastian returned with a girl, blond and beautiful, quite possibly rich, most definitely young, her eyes rolling in animal terror. Sebastian’s black fingertips dig into the flesh of her throat - in comparison, her skin is so white. Sebastian’s nails look like rot.
“A virgin. It should tide you over for a while; put you into a better mood, as well, which will make you pleasant to deal with all around.” Cheerfully, Sebastian dropped the girl onto Claude’s lap and knelt with a knee to her back.
Her cry sounds like a bird in pain.
Claude reached around and caught the scream against the palm of her hand, pressing it back ruthlessly against her mouth. Tears drip against his bones and his skin, scalding hot, cooling after a while.
“Is she poisoned with laudanum?” Claude asked lazily, and grinned at the affronted look in Sebastian’s eyes. “No? About to die, then? Is she truly a virgin - it would be impossible to find a virgin in Queen Vickie’s London. Highest rate of prostitutes I’ve seen.”
“You’re forgetting Italy,” Sebastian reminded him primly, and ran his hand down the girl’s back, not with lust, but with concern. The small bones could stick in the other demon’s throat - she should have been filleted before Claude had her in his web; a ravenous demon never did pay attention to what it ate. “The Renaissance.”
“I wasn’t forgetting. I don’t like to remember Italy. You spent most of your time ignoring me, and fawning over ridiculous human artists that broke your heart.” As easily as the girl’s neck snaps.
Sebastian was painfully human in the worst of ways.
She doesn’t struggle anymore, and her scream is forever frozen in her oozing mouth, and those wide and frightened eyes. Claude lifted the body to his mouth, and drew in the last dregs of warmth, kissing her bloody mouth almost comfortingly.
And the blood flies as he bites in - and splatters across Sebastian’s cheek when he eats. The other demon watched, his hand pushing away the blood, though uselessly.
Sebastian’s nose wrinkles in disgust when Claude leans in and kisses his cheek and makes it all for nothing.
“Idiot,” he grumbled, taking Claude’s hand and using it to wipe the blood off his face.
Claude grinned, far more playfully than he had in a while. “If you dislike blood so much, how do you explain your penchant for biting?”
“It makes you swear,” Sebastian told him, and patted his cheek. “Better?”
And no, Sebastian wasn’t listening to his stomach, which wanted a chunk of that lovely girl’s still-warm body; he was a gourmet, not a scavenger, and he’d eat when his meal was done - even if this meal was available, and Claude looked more than willing to share, even if it was just so close, so ready, if he could already taste the gush of blood in his mouth, the sponginess of human flesh and skin, the fragile and delicate muscle rupturing like silk...
“You’re ravenous,” Claude’s fingers brushed over his mouth, and left more blood, more and more blood. Unknowingly, Sebastian’s tongue rubbed over his upper lip, and licked it clean. Then, the lower; and then, when Claude offered it, off his fingertips. “Eat something, Sebastian. You do remember the last time you didn’t, did you?”
“No,” Sebastian looked up, his eyes hard and glittering, “and neither do you,” he added, sucking the graceful fingertip of an exceedingly long fingertip.
Claude shuddered, sliding his free hand into Sebastian’s perfect hair, “You massacred an entire village, half-starved, gracelessly devouring whatever came in front of you. Made the history books. Massacre of Novgorod.”
“Shut up.” And Sebastian bit down hard enough to sever the tip of the finger from the bone - and Claude cursed and yanked at his hair, only partially mollified as the wound healed.
In silence, Claude pulled away from the other demon and lifted the half-eaten body, offering it.
Sebastian turned his head away, haughty as one of his cats, and slid over it to flatten atop him. “It will be different soon,” he promised, laying his cheek against his shoulder. “The young master needs only a few more years of preparation...”
Yes, Claude thought, but all I’m worried about is if you’ll survive it.
As soon as the young master is asleep, the shadows grow longer and friendlier, and the click of spider claws on the polished tiles sets Sebastian’s long-damned heart pounding - amongst other things. The demon is never too far away, even with an ocean of fields between them; and he skulks out of the shadows like a monster, and the glint of his eyes takes Sebastian back to Paris, watching the sunlight in the puddles and the blood crust over the sidewalk.
Claude grows more tired by the day. The shadows beneath his eyes are not as friendly, and his smile is lacking something. When he winds his arms around him, Sebastian can feel his heart throbbing, but feverishly, uncertainly, like the heart’s forgotten how it should beat. Hunger radiates through him. His stomach is the monster.
He comes, he shags him, he comes again and he leaves. And with each visit, the demon seems to become more and more gray, more silent, more subdued.
“I’ve brought you a present,” Sebastian muttered. The rain is still fresh on the glass, and their bodies, and the moon has just risen high enough to spotlight the mansion in virgin white. Claude’s hand remains tucked between his legs, a thumb caressing lazily. The demon doesn’t answer. “Claude.”
“Hm?” Claude lifted his head, and those yellow eyes catch the moonlight, ignite. “What?”
Shaking his head, Sebastian swatted the hand away from him and rose. Ruined, torn clothes on the lawn notwithstanding, and nakedness itself notwithstanding, the long-legged predator moved off to the side of the house. In his absence, Claude sat up, and pulled grass out of his hair, rubbed without concern at the green smudges on hips, knees, back.
Sebastian returned with a girl, blond and beautiful, quite possibly rich, most definitely young, her eyes rolling in animal terror. Sebastian’s black fingertips dig into the flesh of her throat - in comparison, her skin is so white. Sebastian’s nails look like rot.
“A virgin. It should tide you over for a while; put you into a better mood, as well, which will make you pleasant to deal with all around.” Cheerfully, Sebastian dropped the girl onto Claude’s lap and knelt with a knee to her back.
Her cry sounds like a bird in pain.
Claude reached around and caught the scream against the palm of her hand, pressing it back ruthlessly against her mouth. Tears drip against his bones and his skin, scalding hot, cooling after a while.
“Is she poisoned with laudanum?” Claude asked lazily, and grinned at the affronted look in Sebastian’s eyes. “No? About to die, then? Is she truly a virgin - it would be impossible to find a virgin in Queen Vickie’s London. Highest rate of prostitutes I’ve seen.”
“You’re forgetting Italy,” Sebastian reminded him primly, and ran his hand down the girl’s back, not with lust, but with concern. The small bones could stick in the other demon’s throat - she should have been filleted before Claude had her in his web; a ravenous demon never did pay attention to what it ate. “The Renaissance.”
“I wasn’t forgetting. I don’t like to remember Italy. You spent most of your time ignoring me, and fawning over ridiculous human artists that broke your heart.” As easily as the girl’s neck snaps.
Sebastian was painfully human in the worst of ways.
She doesn’t struggle anymore, and her scream is forever frozen in her oozing mouth, and those wide and frightened eyes. Claude lifted the body to his mouth, and drew in the last dregs of warmth, kissing her bloody mouth almost comfortingly.
And the blood flies as he bites in - and splatters across Sebastian’s cheek when he eats. The other demon watched, his hand pushing away the blood, though uselessly.
Sebastian’s nose wrinkles in disgust when Claude leans in and kisses his cheek and makes it all for nothing.
“Idiot,” he grumbled, taking Claude’s hand and using it to wipe the blood off his face.
Claude grinned, far more playfully than he had in a while. “If you dislike blood so much, how do you explain your penchant for biting?”
“It makes you swear,” Sebastian told him, and patted his cheek. “Better?”
And no, Sebastian wasn’t listening to his stomach, which wanted a chunk of that lovely girl’s still-warm body; he was a gourmet, not a scavenger, and he’d eat when his meal was done - even if this meal was available, and Claude looked more than willing to share, even if it was just so close, so ready, if he could already taste the gush of blood in his mouth, the sponginess of human flesh and skin, the fragile and delicate muscle rupturing like silk...
“You’re ravenous,” Claude’s fingers brushed over his mouth, and left more blood, more and more blood. Unknowingly, Sebastian’s tongue rubbed over his upper lip, and licked it clean. Then, the lower; and then, when Claude offered it, off his fingertips. “Eat something, Sebastian. You do remember the last time you didn’t, did you?”
“No,” Sebastian looked up, his eyes hard and glittering, “and neither do you,” he added, sucking the graceful fingertip of an exceedingly long fingertip.
Claude shuddered, sliding his free hand into Sebastian’s perfect hair, “You massacred an entire village, half-starved, gracelessly devouring whatever came in front of you. Made the history books. Massacre of Novgorod.”
“Shut up.” And Sebastian bit down hard enough to sever the tip of the finger from the bone - and Claude cursed and yanked at his hair, only partially mollified as the wound healed.
In silence, Claude pulled away from the other demon and lifted the half-eaten body, offering it.
Sebastian turned his head away, haughty as one of his cats, and slid over it to flatten atop him. “It will be different soon,” he promised, laying his cheek against his shoulder. “The young master needs only a few more years of preparation...”
Yes, Claude thought, but all I’m worried about is if you’ll survive it.