let the ultraviolet cover me up

He takes the mug from you before you can place it, your fingers tangling briefly with his own over the warm porcelain, sparks simmering across his skin. A soft smile graces his face, his eyes thanking you when his words cannot. You make him speechless…thoughtless, mindless. It's terrifying, but he's never felt more alive.

Satan takes advantage of the proximity to breathe you in, the fragrant leaves of the tea you made him clinging to your hair. He takes several steady breaths before finally willing his mouth to move.

"Would you like to sit with me?" he asks, the question as delicate as a turn of a page, but you smile even wider. 

“Where should I sit?” A look of mischief flashes briefly on your face, but you card a hand through his hair, and he forgets it even happened. “Anywhere you would like.”

It’s too casual of a response for a very assuming question, but by the time he realizes his mistake, it’s too late. Satan jolts as you climb into his lap, stabilizing the tea cup and pulling it from his grasp as you go. It is placed in its originally intended location on the side table. But his book lands with an unceremonious thunk on the carpet when you glide your hands up his shoulders. They rest at the nape of his neck, your fingers fiddling with soft wavy hair there. “This feels like a good spot.”

His cheeks burn. He feels incandescent.

Satan watches in fascination as you lean further into his space, the movement of every lash becoming clear as you blink. Your hands at his nape tighten, pulling him with them closer to you. The humming of his skin returns, amplifying until your nose brushes his.

It feels like an eternity that you linger, your nose trailing down the slope of his own and your fingers dancing up his neck. He wants you, so much so it hurts—but this moment is precious, too. Every moment with you is.

Then everything falls away. When your lips brush his, he implodes, caving in on himself and taking everything else in with him. All he can think, feel, smell, see is you. You’re his universe.

But the moment stops too soon. You pull away, your hands now warmed by his own body heat cupping his face. You hold his gaze, a look of concern on your face that nearly shatters his heart.

“Satan, are you sure you want to do this?”

He closes his eyes, looking into your eyes making it impossible to process what you just asked. He’s bewildered. Satan tries to recall any time he has given you indication that he does not want to kiss you, but his search is fruitless.

“I just…” you sigh, your own repressed need making it impossible to stop running your fingers along his cheeks. “I went really fast and-”

Satan, usually one so adept with words, answers in the only way he can. One hand curls around your back, pulling you to him so your body is flush against his. The other travels from your shoulder to your neck to your cheek, coming to rest at your jaw, his fingers sweeping along its slant ardently.

This time, he kisses you, his teeth tugging your bottom lip between his own. He lets them tell you that thoughts of kissing you occupy him most of the time. You groan. He’s hopeful you got the message. 

He chases the sound with his tongue, tangling it with yours. He’s thrilled when you sing for him again. So he pulls you even closer, the hand at your back guiding you to him. You come with no resistance. Satan’s heart soars. He could listen to you for eternity.

He breaks the kiss for only a moment, long enough for him to whisper against the seam of your lips. He needs to be confident that you know. 

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”