Dream a little

You giggle and roll your eyes. You lean against your bathroom sink to steady your hand.

-> don't play hard t get A.

-> i know how badyou want me

You lean against the sink, watching the little "seen" pop up under your messages. When the typing bubbles doing immediately appear, you send off another.

-> id let you have me.

-> any way you want me

You almost stop there, but then you catch your own eye in the mirror. Your outfit is a bit disheveled, your make up is a bit smeared, but you somehow look better than ever. Already fucked before you've even been touched. Quickly, before you sober up, you tug down the front of your shirt. It's low cut enough that you can expose a distasteful amount of nipple and the lacy hem of your bra. It's nothing he hasn't seen before, but it still feels illicit.

The response is instant.

God. <-

Don't tease me if you don't mean it. <-

Instead of typing, you send another picture, this one more wild. You pull your skirt up this time, just a hint of your skin toned undies on display. With the blurriness of the camera, it really looks like you've show him a sliver of cunt.

Fuck. <-

You're right. I want you.<-

You giddily skip to your room, tossing yourself on your bed. You should really shower first, but your hand is already sliding down your body and the special pillow you like to grind is just too tempting to resist.

I've always thought about fucking you against your desk before work, right in front of the glass. <-

That's funny-- Aoi's never been to your work. He left you before you even had this job. How did he know your desk was made of glass? You shrug it off. Must have heard it through a friend or something. Your drunk brain can't think of anything better.

-> oh you want me to walk around work all day with your cum dripping doen my legs?

Fuck. Yes. <-

-> are you jacking off?

Yes. <-

-> lemme see

You expect the chat to go quiet there and it does. Aoi have never been big on sending pictures, so you expect the conversation to fizzle out. It wasn't that fair of an ask; he's self conscious about his cock, so it-

A message comes through.

A video message.

You scramble to press play, hips rolling against your pillow on their own, searching for friction.

The video is dark, but you can make out the shape of his cock, heavy against his hairy thigh. His pubes have grown out, a dark patch of hair that trails up his stomach and out of frame. The hand that isn't holding the camera is looped around the base of his cock, squeezing gently before slowly stroking the length. his fingers are slick with lube and they glide over his length, earning you another growl of a moan.

Chills run through your body. Fuck. Holy fuck. Aoi must really miss you. He's throbbing for you and you swear he's bigger than ever. Much bigger. It must be the angle and your drunk mind, but he looks huge.

-> never shave ever again ok I love how manly it looks

-> and fuck babe your voice is so hot I almost came from that alone

Are you touching yourself?<-

->i'm humping my pillow and wishing it was you

My thigh or my cock? <-

->whatever you'll give me

Ride my thigh and we'll see what you deserve.<-

God, it's just words, but you feel electric. The heat in your core feels like it's going to consume your whole body and you can't help but to continue to stroke it; you squeeze your thighs and tilt your hips over and over again, thinking about that muscular thigh from before. God, you should be texting back, but you're just-- just--

Your orgasm hits you way quicker than usual. It's one that hits you all at once, straightening your back and stealing your breath and just tickling every inch of your core. It's all consuming and followed by the creamy bliss that you so desperately needed. As you sink into your mattress, sleep nipping at your heels, you manage to send one final picture.

You collect your cum in your fingers and scissor them back and forth, letting the wetness web in between. In the photo they catch the flash of the camera, glittering pretty just for him.

-> next time you make me cum ebtter be in person

The next morning you wake up to a pounding headache and fuzzy teeth. You grimace at the pain as you roll over, disappointed that you just passed out like that. Ugh, you didn't even wash your face! How nasty.

You check your phone for the time and see you have missed texts. Oh, Aoi. You fell asleep on him, too. You flick open your lockscreen and go to check your messages, only to be confronted with a startling and terrifying realization.

Your last text was not to your ex-boyfriend. Oh, no.

Three months ago, you had put your coworker's number on your phone, bumping Aoi from your first contact to your second.

Because Aizawa was now first alphabetically.

The tub in Asmodeus’s private bathroom is more like a pool than any bathtub you ever used prior to coming to the Devildom. It’s as enchanting and mysterious as the demon himself. You’re not even sure how he fills it - it must have some magical charm that keeps it full. The fresh petals he adds to the water never seem to wilt or lose their scent.

You’re sitting with Asmo near the edge of the pool. You skim your fingers along the surface of the crystal-clear water and it ripples gently at your touch. Asmo sits behind you on the marble step and supports your weight while you lean against him. He hums gently into your ear while he runs his fingertips through the ends of your hair. His chest is warm against your back. He’s naked from the waist up, but he left his boxer briefs on - for your comfort more than his. 

Normally you wouldn’t let Asmo see you like this - naked, vulnerable - in the bath or out of it. But earlier when he said he wanted to take care of you, his eyes burning with an intensity that left you speechless, he swept you away to his private bathroom. You were both still reeling from what happened earlier that afternoon, and you realized you wanted his comfort as badly as he wanted yours.

It was supposed to be an ordinary day at RAD: classes with the demon brothers, a student council meeting with Diavolo and Barbatos, perhaps breaking up a fight or two depending how well they got along today. You were sorting through paperwork near the front of the room while the demons bickered in their seats on the dais behind you. 

What you didn’t expect was Solomon bursting through the doors, grinning when Thirteen followed him inside. He ducked behind you while he asked for her to be reasonable and you knew things were going to end badly. She screeched at him as she pulled some sort of black, metallic orb from her bag and tossed it with all her might. 

The trap missed Solomon but it hit your arm instead before it dropped to the floor. It beeped menacingly at your feet and you felt the twinge of pain shoot through your arm when you raised your hands to cover your face. You closed your eyes and braced yourself for whatever was about to happen. 

Thirteen ran over and disarmed the orb before it did whatever else it was supposed to do. She apologized to you but glared venomously at Solomon who was still hovering behind you. He rolled his eyes and tsked, completely unbothered by her fury when she continued threatening him for trying to break into her cave again.

Asmo came to your side before any of his brothers could and shouted at Thirteen and Solomon for involving you with their squabble and putting you in harm’s way. Lucifer followed him and reprimanded Thirteen for her irresponsible behaviour, and he blamed both her and Solomon for disrupting the meeting.

While Thirteen was being lectured by a very grumpy-looking Lucifer, Solomon turned to you with a sheepish smile and apologized for involving you in their little disagreement. You shrugged your shoulders to brush off his apology - it could’ve been worse, after all - but his eyes narrowed when you winced in pain.

“Are you alright? Here, let me take a look—“ he offered as he reached for the lapels of your blazer.

Asmo nudged you back, pushing Solomon’s hand away and effectively shielding you from him. “I think you’ve done enough,” he gritted out angrily. His expression would’ve scared anyone that didn’t know him better - he looked terrifying, and even Solomon must’ve thought so because he raised his hands placatingly and stepped back.

“Come on, let’s go home,” you suggested quietly, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket to get his attention. Your arm throbbed and the room felt uncomfortably tense as tempers flared; you didn’t want to be there anymore.

He looked at you over his shoulder and the fire in his gaze softened. He put his hand over yours and squeezed, turning from Solomon without another word and guided you towards the exit. He paused outside in the hallway long enough to murmur a quick healing spell to lessen the pain in your arm.

The walk home was quiet and uneventful, a blur of typical Devildom nighttime noise but the demon at your side had a scowl on his face that had others on the street giving you a wide berth. It wasn’t typical for the Asmo you know. He draped an arm over your shoulders to keep you tucked into his side but you could feel the tension in his body when you walked together.

When you arrived home, you started to walk towards your room for a shower and a nap, but he held onto your hand and seemed reluctant to let you go. No matter what you said, you couldn’t convince him you were fine; maybe he knew you were lying to yourself.

Let me take care of you.

When you agree to use his private bath, you don't expect that it’s going to be both of you bathing together. You’re too tired to argue -  and you’re genuinely worried about him too - so you finally relent and start to strip away the layers of your school uniform.

Asmo is visibly displeased when you ask him to dim the lights in a moment of self-consciousness. He reminds you that you have nothing to be ashamed of, but he does as you ask because he wants you to be comfortable.

While you undress, he gathers fluffy towels from a cabinet and sets them on the edge of the bathing pool. He grabs an empty basket and picks out bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. He even picks up a small bottle of fragrant oil and adds a couple drops to the water, satisfied when the steam from the warm water starts to diffuse the light floral scent. 

By the time you’re naked, he is standing in the tub, his underwear still on - you felt guilty that the silky material was probably being ruined by the water. He doesn’t seem to care about that or anything else except you. When you approach the pool hesitantly, a small smile graces his lips for the first time since the incident at school and he holds out his hand to you. When you place your hand in his, he keeps you steady while you step into the pool and wade through the water towards him. 

You want to sink below the surface of the water or shield your body from him with your hands, both desperate attempts to hide as much bare skin from him as you can. He senses your nervousness because he pulls you into a gentle hug that feels warm and soothing.

When you finally start to relax, he pulls away and reaches for the basket of toiletries floating nearby. You dunk your head into the water to wet your hair while he grabs the bottle of shampoo. He rubs his hands together and massages the suds onto your scalp. He hums quietly and your body sways gently in the water. Your eyes slip closed at the pleasant sensation of his fingertips working through your hair, rubbing at the back of your neck and melting away the tension between your shoulders. He does the same with the conditioner next; he seems to enjoy the sensation of your soft hair between his fingers while he pampers you.

You recognize the scent of the hair products and realize he’s using his own. His taste in cosmetics is luxurious and expensive, more than what you would ever dream to spend on yourself. You feel spoiled, like you’re someone precious. You’re distracted by how relaxed you feel, and you realize too late that he’s pouring body wash into his palm and sudsing it up between his hands.

He reaches for your left arm first, lacing your fingers together with one hand while he smooths the fragrant bubbles over your skin with the other. He does the same with your right arm, pausing before he accidentally touches the purple bruise forming where Thirteen’s trap struck you. He stares at the mark, barely brushing his fingers across it like he’s afraid of hurting you even more.

You squeeze his fingers to pull him out of the worried trance he’s fallen into. “It looks worse than it feels,” you say quietly. You try to reassure him but he doesn’t look like he believes you. He bends his head and brushes his lips over the mark before he continues with his task.

He washes your back, kneading the skin gently with his hands as he moves them across your body. He doesn’t stray below your waist, and he only washes the delicate column of your throat and shoulders before turning around to give you privacy. He gathers his basket and sets it on the edge of the pool while you quickly wash your chest.

You rinse the soapy layer off your skin by the time he turns around and pulls you into another hug. The water was a bit tepid now and it’s covered with a thin layer of film from the bath products he used.

“We should probably get out soon,” you murmur, resting against his bare chest. 

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he says and he holds you a bit tighter. “No one is going to bother you tonight.”

You run your fingertips across the water’s surface. “But the water’s getting cool and it’s soapy.” It’s one of the reasons why you normally don’t like taking baths and prefer to shower.

But Asmo holds his hand above the water and starts whispering an incantation you don’t recognize. His hand glows and the water around you ripples gently before it settles. You nearly gasp at the odd sensation of the water instantly warming up again. The bubbly residue from his bath products is gone too.

“Well, that’s a neat trick,” you say with a quiet laugh. He watches your delighted reaction with a smile.

Asmo walks back towards the edge of the pool and pulls you with him. He hops back onto the marble step and scoots backwards. He spreads his legs and pats the space between them where he makes room for you. After a moment of deliberation, you follow him and settle against his chest. His thighs are bracketing your hips and one of his arms is crossed over your front.

He smooths your hair back and brushes it out of the way, hooking his chin over your shoulder with a sigh. He nuzzles your shoulder with his cheek. When you glance at him from the corner of your eye, you realize his eyes are closed.

“How do you feel?” you ask him in a near-whisper.

He turns his head towards you, humming in contemplation. You can feel his warm breath on your neck. “I should be asking you that,” he replies. He’s dodging your question.

You turn to face him properly - or as much as he allows with his arm still wrapped around you. “You were very upset with Solomon earlier,” you remind him. “You didn’t seem like yourself.”

Asmo’s eyes are open and they flash at the mention of the sorcerer’s name. “Did I frighten you?” 

You shake your head because it wasn’t fear you felt in that moment. “No, I wasn’t scared of you. I was worried.”

Asmo rests his forehead against your shoulder and sighs. “I don’t think you understand how hard it is when–“ he starts to say, then he makes a frustrated noise in his throat. "I don't like it when someone else hurts you.”

Asmo is protective of you the way all the other demon brothers are, so his answer doesn’t surprise you. But you’ve known for a while now that something between you has changed, like there’s some gap neither of you are able to cross. Most of the time he seems like himself - carefree, happy, excited by all the wonderful things in the world that he loves. When he’s not himself, his eyes are cold and his tone is sharp.

Sometimes you forget that Asmo’s capable of rage or violence as much as his brothers are, even though he tries not to show you that side of him. The anger in his eyes earlier when he faced off against Solomon in your defense was very real. You’re surprised he didn’t shift into his demon form; perhaps he would have if you hadn’t gotten him out of there in time.

“Does this have to do with what happened a few months ago?” you ask hesitantly.

His body freezes for a split second but it’s enough for you to notice. His arm tightens around you ever so slightly.

“We never did talk about that, did we?” he sighs. He sounds nervous, uncertain - you know he’s trying to avoid having this conversation with you, but you don’t know why. 

“No, but maybe we should. I wasn’t lying earlier when I said I’m worried about you - and not just today. You’ve been…” you gesture vaguely with your hand, “…different lately. After what happened.”

The water is still warm but it feels like you’ve both overstayed your welcome. Asmo relaxes his hold on you and leans over to grab a towel for himself. He stands and quickly dries himself off. The boxer briefs he wears leave little to the imagination when the water-soaked fabric sticks to his skin. Your cheeks burn when you turn away quickly to give him privacy, and you hear him chuckle under his breath.

He sets the towel over his shoulder and grabs a second one for you. He holds it open in front of him and you stand quickly, stepping out of the pool and letting him wrap you in the towel like a blanket.

He tips your face up with a finger under your chin and looks into your eyes. He leans closer and his eyes dart to your lips for the briefest moment. Before you can even ask what he’s doing, he shakes his head and gestures for you to follow him to his room.

You dry yourself off quickly while he steps into the privacy of his walk-in closet. Your RAD uniform is in a crumpled pile somewhere and you wait for him to return, wrapping the towel tighter around yourself so you don’t get cold.

Asmo steps out of his closet wearing a bathrobe that’s tied loosely at his waist. You catch brief glimpses of his bare thighs when he walks towards you; it’s obvious he’s not wearing anything underneath. He hands you a spare bathrobe to put on as well, and he collects the discarded towels and tosses them in the laundry hamper while you shrug the robe onto your shoulders. 

Asmo lays on his bed above the covers, sinking into the pile of ornamental pillows against his headboard. He raises his arm invitingly and you settle on the bed beside him, tucking yourself under his arm and letting your head rest against his shoulder. One of your hands is on his chest and he covers it with his own.

He peppers the top of your head with a few brief, barely-there kisses then sighs warily. He’s delayed this conversation long enough.  “What would you like to ask first?”

You think back to nearly three months ago when a loud slam woke you up in the middle of the night. A yell echoed down the hall from your room and it prompted you to get out of bed quietly and tiptoe outside. What if someone was hurt? you worried at the time. The sound of hushed, frantic voices led you to the front hallway. 

“Asmo?” you whisper, staring at the demon you barely recognized. Blood was splattered across his arms and face, his clothes stained and torn. He was speaking to Lucifer, but his eyes met yours for a moment before he looked away again. You took a hesitant step towards him, but Mammon appeared out of nowhere, blocking Asmo from view and gently pushing you back towards your room.

“You can talk to him tomorrow,” he said quietly, glancing at his brothers over his shoulder. “He wouldn’t want you to see him like this.”

“What happened that night when I saw you in the foyer?” you ask.

“Diavolo finally agreed with Lucifer’s recommendation that the demon bothering you should be expelled from RAD.” Asmo hides his smirk in your hair. “Lucifer decided his punishment deserved a personal touch, so he sent me on behalf of the student council to make sure he went back to the corner of hell he came from. He might’ve been a little worse for wear, but in one piece.” Mostly one piece, anyway.

“Why did Lucifer ask you to do it?” you wonder, looking at him curiously. A thought suddenly occurs to you, and you push up so you can look at him properly. “Does that have to do with the fight you two had?” You weren’t sure what happened, but in the days leading up to that night, Lucifer and Asmo barely seemed to get along; they ignored each other at mealtimes and exchanged icy glares when they were forced to speak about official school business.

Asmo smiles and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Of course it does,” he says. “You tried to hide it from us, but I knew that demon was harassing you. I was worried about you but Lucifer insisted on following protocol. I found his lack of urgency frustrating.”

“I think we need to reconsider allowing the new student to study at RAD,” Asmo said from his seat in Lucifer’s office, his voice quiet and serious. 

Lucifer sighed warily. It wasn’t the first time Asmo spoke to him of his concerns regarding the new demon on campus but his accusations were vague and unsubstantiated. “I already told you that my hands are tied unless he does something actionable.” When Asmo opened his mouth to argue, Lucifer added quickly, “something actionable with proof.”

But something in Asmo’s tense expression made Lucifer hesitate. “What’s wrong?”

Asmo shook his head. “I don’t know how to explain it. That demon is dangerous.” He doesn’t say that he’s terrified something bad might happen, that he might not be there in time to save you if it does.

Lucifer leaned back and rubbed his tired eyes with the palms of his hands. “I believe you, but Diavolo needs some sort of evidence to justify expulsion if we want to to avoid any political repercussions. Your intuition simply isn't enough.”

Asmo stood from the chair with a frown and strode away. “If you don’t do something about him now, it could be too late.” He pulled the door open and glared at Lucifer over his shoulder. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he snarled before slamming the door closed behind him.

Asmo pulls you against him and rolls you both over. When you’re both laying on your sides, he wraps an arm around your waist. He smiles when you copy him. 

“I thought it was something I could handle on my own,” you finally admit outloud. “I hoped things would get better with time. I didn’t want to involve anyone else if I didn’t have to.”

But since you didn’t tell Asmo about anything that was going on, you still have to wonder, ”How did you know what was going on if I didn't tell anyone?”

Asmo cuddles a bit closer to you and his eyes slip closed when he tightens his hold on you. “Call it a hunch.”

Mammon tried to explain it to you during your early days as an exchange student. You were curious about Asmo’s fixation on beautiful things - including himself. “It’s not just about beauty or sex with him - it’s about passion. Anger, hatred - he can sense those feelings too but that sorta passion’s ugly to him. That's why he focuses on the feelings that make him feel good. That’s why when he sets his mind to something, he puts in everything he’s got, every time. It’s all or nothin’ with that guy. He doesn’t do half measures.”

It was fortunate that you were still at RAD the day things spiraled out of control. The demon that was bullying you had you cornered in an otherwise empty classroom. He pushed your shoulders against the stone wall and hissed with explicit details how he planned to decorate the room with your insides. Despite all your power and education, you froze in the face of real danger. You were naive to think that there weren’t demons left in the Devildom that would still want to harm you.

Whatever the demon was about to do next was interrupted when the classroom door opened suddenly. The passerby yelled for help and within moments the demon was pulled off you. You slumped to the ground, overwhelmed by the adrenaline and fear coursing through your veins. 

Afterwards, you would remember it was Asmo who picked you up and carried you to the infirmary, who sat at your side and held your hand while you were examined for injuries. It was Asmo who slept in your bed that night to help fend off bad dreams, who stayed home with you the next day while Diavolo and Lucifer finished their investigation.

You had all the pieces to explain what happened, the truth that you were too blind to see: it was Asmo that asked to carry out the demon's punishment because he threatened to kill you.

“What have you done?” Lucifer snapped angrily when he confronted Asmo in the front hallway. He expected his brother home hours ago.

“I did as you asked,” Asmo said in an eerily calm, detached voice. “He’s on his way back to the outer ring and we won’t have to see him ever again.” 

Lucifer grabbed Asmo’s arm when he tried to walk away. “When I gave you permission to do this, I stated very clearly the limitations of what you could and could not do. We all feel the way you do, but–”

“I warned you this would happen!” Asmo cried, aura burning as his rage flared. He quieted himself, remembering the late time and not wanting to wake the others, or you. “He’s still alive. If I ever see him again, he won’t be so lucky.”

You knew Asmo was a powerful demon - he was a demon prince of the Devildom, after all - but you never realized his potential for anger or violence could match the intensity of his love and admiration for the things he held most dear. It overwhelmed you to think that he considered you something worth protecting.

But the more you thought about it, the more you realized you underestimated the depth of his feelings for you. He tried to tell you so many times in so many ways that you were important to him. He brought his manicure kit to your room so he could do his nails while you did your homework. When you finished, he would reward you by doing your nails too. He invited you on spontaneous trips to Majolish or your favourite cafe, refusing your offers to pay for the gifts he bought for you. He was always trying to take your photo, or he’d pull you to his side for selfies together. When you asked him why none of the photos ended up on Devilgram like most of his other pictures, he just winked and said he wanted to keep those pictures for himself.

He teased you playfully if other demons tried to ask you out, and he even encouraged you to accept sometimes - not that you ever had interest in any of those other demons, and he knew it. That didn’t stop him from giving you his usual pep talk before all of the dances you were invited to attend at Diavolo’s castle or The Fall:

“If anyone tries anything with you that you don’t like, blast them with some of that magic of yours. Or better yet, summon me and I’ll take care of it. No matter where I am, I’ll come to you. I promise.”

The realization dawns upon you and you feel like you’re drowning, emotions choked by the truth you’ve always known about his feelings for you, and your feelings for him.

“How long have you felt this way about me?” you ask him, your whispered voice breaking. 

When he opens his eyes, they begin to glow as he gazes at you with so much love - it’s hard to breathe. His cheeks flush just the slightest bit pink when his lips slowly tick up in a small smile. “Oh, my precious darling, when have I not?”

You bury your head against his chest to hide the tears spilling down your cheeks. You’re sobbing and shaking your head, whispering apologies over and over again while your fingers clench the silky material of his robe.

“It’s alright,” Asmo says quietly, his hand rubbing your back in an effort to calm you. “I’m here. Everything is going to be fine from now on, I promise.”

You look at him through blurry, red-rimmed eyes when he pushes you back gently so he can see your face. “But y-you did all that for me and I didn’t know. Or I-I-I think I knew but I pretended I didn’t. Things have felt so off between us and it’s my fault. If I wasn’t so weak, maybe I could’ve—“

Asmo frowns slightly and puts a finger to your lips to quiet you. “Nothing that happened was your fault. I did what I needed to do to keep you safe. I’ll save you as many times as I have to.” He cradles the back of your head and leans forward to brush his lips against your brow.

“I love you,” he says when he lowers his head and kisses your cheek.

“And I’ll never let anything happen to you,” he whispers when his nose brushes against yours and he presses his lips to the corner of your mouth.

The kiss is soft enough that you can ignore it, giving you the chance to turn away, to pretend it didn’t happen. He’s giving you an out, you realize. But when you’re this close, all you can see is the faint glow of his clementine eyes.

The kiss you offer him in return is soft and sweet.

His eyes flutter closed as he moans quietly, and the way he tilts his head so he can slot his mouth against yours reminds you this isn’t a dream. 

“Please,” he murmurs repeatedly against your lips. The quiet, needy pleas are muffled but you understand him perfectly.

When you nod, he doesn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss, groaning when his lips move against yours harder and with more urgency. When you part your lips, he licks into your mouth, moaning between swipes of his tongue like he’s devouring you, starved for everything you can give him. His hand slides down your body, squeezing your waist gently before he pulls you tighter against him like he’s trying to blur the lines where you end and he begins.

When you start to roll onto your back, Asmo follows without hesitation, sliding a knee between your thighs and pressing his chest against yours. His kisses become sloppy and the soft, wet sounds are punctuated by your breathy moans.

You’re able to touch him more easily in this position and you tentatively skim your hands along his arms and across his shoulders until your fingers find purchase in his hair. There’s a rumbling noise that vibrates in his chest, and when you tug on his hair with just a bit more force, he breaks the kiss with a groan that makes the dull throb between your legs ache with need.

His hands are everywhere when he drags his lips across your jaw and down your neck. He’s panting between fiery, open-mouthed kisses against your skin. When he latches into the junction between your neck and shoulder and sucks with just a hint of teeth, you gasp.

He hums when he pulls back slightly to admire the mark he’s left on your skin. He raises himself up on his hands so he can look at you properly. You take the opportunity to explore him too, hands sliding down his chest slowly until they settle at his waist. You feel him shudder at your touch. 

“I should be doing this properly,” he says suddenly. When you tilt your head in confusion, he explains, “getting dolled up for you, taking you out for a romantic dinner, seducing you afterwards.” He grins when you flush with embarrassment, but his smile falters after a moment when his gaze pierces yours. “You deserve that. I can give you that if you want. We don’t have to go any further tonight if you’re not ready.”

You cup his cheek. “Do you want to stop?” you ask curiously.

He turns his head so he can kiss the inside of your wrist. “Fuck, no,” he breathes, shaking his head. His hair falls over his eyes, totally unkempt. He’s beautiful like this.

Earlier it was hard to ignore the weight of his cock hardening against your hip, the stilted movements when he kept himself from grinding against you while you kissed. It makes you feel less self-conscious of your own desire, the way his pleased sounds made you feel hot with need. The insides of your thighs are damp with slick and you’re desperate for some kind of friction against your clit. You’ve been clenching around nothing, secretly wanting him to fill you but not having the courage to ask for more. 

“I want you too,” you whisper, staring into his eyes and it feels like you’re finally being honest, trying not to let fear ruin the promise of what his love can offer you. You’re emboldened by the way his eyes are smoldering when he looks at you, the way you’re both trembling with need and the way your voices shake with so much emotion. You don’t want him to have any doubts about how you feel about him or about how desperately you want him too.

He only hesitates a moment before he pushes himself to his knees. One of his knees is still wedged between your thighs, not quite close enough to give you the friction to grind yourself against him. He undoes the knot holding his robe closed and slides it off his shoulders. The sight of his naked chest leaves you breathless.

Your eyes roam across his smooth, unblemished skin. Your fingers grasp the blanket when you feel the itch to grab him and pull him back down. You’re close to begging for him to touch you, and something must flicker across your expression because his gaze darkens. The sweet, somewhat bashful tilt to his lips sharpens into something a little more hungry. 

He leans down, one hand clenching the sheets for balance while he slips his other arm between your bodies. You feel his fingers pull at the thin fabric of your robe and pry it apart and the sudden chill causes goosebumps to spread across your exposed skin. You resist the urge to cover your breasts when you feel your nipples harden. 

“You’re lovely,” he whispers, kissing your cheek softly. “You’re so incredibly beautiful, I can barely stand it.” You tilt your head back when his nose grazes along your jaw and he scrapes his teeth against the sensitive skin below your ear. He pulls your earlobe between his teeth and tugs, licking the skin in a mock apology when you gasp and arch your back against his chest.

“I bet you say that to all your dates,” you whimper. His desire is intoxicating but you can feel the self-doubts bubbling over, your inhibitions threatening to spill from your lips and ruin everything. Before you can say anything else, Asmo sighs his head and tilts your head so you’re forced to look him in the eye.

“None of that matters anymore, not when I finally have you,” he says quietly, like it’s some sort of oath. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” He gives you a hard, quick kiss. “I’ve wanted you for so fucking long.”

He shuffles closer and his cock hangs heavy against you. The tip is dribbling precum and it feels warm and sticky on your thigh. His head tilts back with a moan and he slowly rubs against you, painting your skin with his desire and leaving no room for doubt that he wants you.

You can’t stop yourself from reaching for him and you pull him closer as you spread your legs invitingly. “Asmo, please–”

He growls quietly and in an instant his lips are around one of your nipples while his hand snakes back down between your bodies. His tongue swirls around the hardened bud, and he sucks it into his mouth at the same time his long fingers dip between your folds. Your hips jolt when he brushes against your clit, puffy and wet with your desire and it’s all for him.

Asmo moans around your nipple when he feels the wetness between your legs. He kisses across your breasts as he starts grinding against you a bit harder than before.

“You’re almost ready for me, aren’t you?” he asks, amazed by how utterly perfect you are, bare and needy under him. He licks his lips and you can see a hint of his fangs when he grins.

The way he looks at you makes you squirm underneath him. You move your hips and try to chase his fingers as he explores the soft skin of your folds. The delicious pressure of his fingertips rubbing against your clit is enough to make your thighs quake. You feel the beginnings of your release, but you whine when he suddenly moves his fingers away. Before you can ask him to touch you again, he slips a finger inside you and the sudden fullness makes you groan. 

He’s hypnotized by the way your body moves in tandem with his, arching your back and undulating your hips as he pumps his finger inside. He’s being slow and deliberate, studying your face for every reaction, and when he adds another finger he thrusts them both in deep. You take the intrusion so well, like your body was made to be his, and he knows you're close when your moans pitch higher and your hands scramble for purchase in the sheets.

“You feel so perfect around my fingers,” he murmurs, watching with half-lidded eyes as his fingers move faster in and out of you. He bites his lip when he feels you clench around him, and he’s nearly mad with the desire to have you finally wrapped around his cock. “You’re so responsive.” He strokes your clit with his thumb as his fingers stretch and tease your gummy walls, crooking his fingers inside you like he’s inviting you to sin.

The sensations drive you to the edge and you’re chasing your release, eyes closed and swallowing thickly after you choke on a moan that sounds suspiciously like his name. “I want you so badly,” you beg, and your voice sounds breathy and pathetic to your ears but you can feel the heat of his gaze on you when your body tightens around him. He keeps brushing over that spot inside that feels so good and you don’t want the feeling to stop, you want more. “I want you to come inside me, I want–” 

You cry out as the orgasm crashes through you out of nowhere, wave after unrelenting wave of pleasure setting your body ablaze as his greedy fingers coax every last breathy moan from your lips. He savors the way your body flutters around him, like you’re overwhelmed by the feeling of his fingers still pumping inside you but your pretty little hole’s too greedy to let him go.

Asmo finally pulls his hand away when you try to clench your thighs closed to stop him from teasing your oversensitive nerves. He sits back on his heels and waits patiently while you catch your breath. Your skin glistens lightly with sweat and he can’t stop staring at you.

When you finally open your eyes, he brings his slick-soaked fingers to his mouth, licking your essence from his fingertips before sucking them both into his mouth greedily. Once they’re clean, he releases them with a quiet pop.

“You taste delicious,” he coos appreciatively. He’s so tempted to dive between your legs, to lap up every last drop of slick that clings to your folds. He wants to breathe in your intoxicating scent until it’s seared into his memory forever, to plunder your hole with his tongue until you can’t possibly give him more. 

But as much as Asmo wants to make himself a new home between your legs buried tongue-deep inside you, or to pull you on top of him so you can grind against his face so he’s drenched in your slick, he knows that will have to wait until next time.

He’s been with hardly anyone else since what happened a few months ago. He was overwhelmed by the intensity of his feelings for you - the fear of losing you, the need to claim you properly - and it sent him into a tailspin. He tried to pretend there was nothing wrong and he went to his usual haunts, but he didn’t want any of those other demons: none of them were you. 

Now that he has you, he’s not sure anything can possibly be better than this: the way you looked swept away by pleasure; your loud, high-pitched sounds like music to his ears; and the way you fucked yourself on his fingers and begged for his cock inside you - it’s too much temptation for even the Avatar of Lust to bear. 

When the sensitivity has ebbed and you’ve caught your breath, you let your thighs fall open again and Asmo doesn’t hesitate to shuffle between them properly. His cock bumps against you and when he lowers himself to his forearms above you, he teases you with the glide of his cock along your folds. He rolls his hips slightly so that the tip of his cock grazes your clit and then he pushes even lower, letting the head of his cock tease at your hole. He adds just enough pressure at your entrance that promises more, and that has you moaning in anticipation and spreading your legs even wider for him.

You lift your thighs so they rest against his hips to keep him in place, to encourage him to come even closer, to fill you so you never feel empty again.

His head tips back and soft sighs fall from his lips when he finally pushes inside. Neither of you seem to care about the way your body squelches obscenely with the slow drag of his cock along your walls. It’s a smooth glide until he finally bottoms out and he moans, but he blinks his eyes open rapidly, surprised at the sudden wetness clinging to his eyelashes. One of your hands is clutched to his back, the sharp grip of your fingernails a delightful mixture of pleasure and pain.

You cup his face with your other hand and wipe away the rogue tears that roll down his cheek. “I love you so much,” you say in a quiet, shaky voice, because there’s nothing more perfect you can say in this moment, not when his body cages yours and you feel so utterly wanted. When his cock twitches eagerly inside you, you wonder why it took so long to do this together; it feels like you were both fighting inevitability.

He nuzzles against your hand and kisses your palm before he rolls his hips with a few shallow, exploratory strokes. You both moan, and your other hand leaves his cheek so you can grasp onto his shoulder to brace yourself.

Asmo bites his lip when he rocks into you again. “You feel—“ he breaks off with a groan, wincing when your walls squeeze around him. “You feel so fucking good, I don’t think I’m going to last.” 

Despite the pleasure gripping his senses, he feels the faintest ripple of embarrassment too. He’s worried about disappointing you after finally getting to have you after all this time. The longing for you festered so deep within him that even touching someone that wasn’t you didn’t really satisfy him anymore. He’s overcome by his desire for you even though he tried to ignore it, because he didn’t know if you wanted him, if you were ready for what he wanted to give you so badly—

But you breathe out his name and the unabashed lust in your eyes is unmistakable. You’re panting lightly, wetting your lips with a quick swipe of your tongue and he tracks the movement greedily. “I just want you,” you say when you tighten your legs around his waist, urging him even deeper. 

That’s all the invitation Asmo needs. He braces himself on his hands and starts to move inside you with slow, controlled thrusts. The heat of your walls wrapped around his cock and your soft, needy moans and whimpers overwhelm his senses, and it’s hard to maintain the gentle rocking of his hips against yours when he feels the tethers of his self-control start to snap.

He puts more power into his movements, answering your whimpered pleas for him to fuck you, to give it to you harder and faster. You’re not commanding him, but you don’t have to; he obeys willingly with the rough snap of his hips as he fucks you into his mattress. He growls approvingly when you toss your head back in submission and pleasure, whining and choking on the moans he drags out of you with every push and pull of his cock claiming you from the inside-out.

The bed frame creaks from the force of his thrusts and the headboard bangs against the wall, but Asmo doesn't care, not when it feels like you’re both teetering on the edge of an abyss and he’s so close to falling. He’s determined to drag you down with him.

“Touch yourself,” he whispers in a rough voice when he feels his orgasm approaching.  “I want you to come with me.” He doesn’t remember the last time he felt so desperate, but you reach between your bodies and start stroking your clit in time with his powerful thrusts. Your body clenches around him almost immediately and your back arches, and his cock is suddenly enveloped with even more slickness when you come for him a second time, his name falling from your lips in a broken cry.

He can’t possibly last after that and he doesn’t want to, and your pleasure rips the orgasm from him and he cries out when he spills inside you, marking you as his in a way no one else possibly can. His hips stutter as his thrusts become sloppy and shallow, and the desperate haze clears from his mind when satisfied exhaustion takes its place.

You both groan when his softening cock finally slips from your body. He collapses at your side to avoid crushing you with his weight, and he pulls you against him. You’re both hot and sticky and the air smells like musk from sweat and sex. Asmo knows there’s a wet spot drying on his sheets where your slick and his come pooled between your thighs.

He knows you’re both exhausted, but he hasn’t felt this content in weeks.

You nuzzle into his shoulder and sigh, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. You’re still trembling slightly, but you melt into his embrace and it makes his throat thicken with emotion. 

“I think we need another bath,” you murmur sleepily. Your lips tickle where they graze his skin and he smiles.

“Later,” he promises and he wraps his arms around you. “Stay with me tonight,” he whispers.

The feel of their hand as it closed around his was enough to drive him mad. For all his infernal life, Raphael had only known familiar touches - touches in the form of his own skin. Never had he known how desperately he craved the touch of another, someone other than himself. He can feel ripples of flame burn around his heart as he leads them to the main floor, the space clearing for pairs of dancers joining them. A low and slow note from a violin hangs in the air, before all Raphael can hear is the hypnotic music.

Tav steps in unison with Raphael, the music guiding each of their movements together. Has Raphael always had this look in his eyes? Has he always been this tense? Questions upon questions stack in their mind one after another as they stare into those brown eyes of his. They feel all consuming, as if they were staring into the eyes of a starving animal, prowling towards them. For a moment, his stare becomes too much between the two, and they turn their head towards the musicians. But a firm grasp finds itself on their jaw, their head being jerked back to Raphael, his hand holding their jaw in place as his gaze burns into their own eyes. It leaves Tav breathless, frozen, their feet only moving with his, if only to keep themself from falling.

Raphael is starving. His limbs moving on their own accord to hold Tav’s face in place. He aches to hold their head like this as he enters them, to see each and every wince in their features. His fingers curl around their jaw, tracing the bone, then his fingers move downwards, light touches on their neck. He can feel the goosebumps form, and he wants to sink his teeth into them right there in the middle of this crowded hall. The thought, the hunger, the pure and primal need to have them sends blood rushing down below his waistband, and his control slips with each moment that passes as he holds them like this.

The feel of Raphaels hand resting so near their neck has Tavs heartbeat quicken, a fire igniting in their body. His fingers twitch there, and they can tell the devil is restraining himself on a leash that’s about to snap. All those days of heat between their legs.. could it have been? Raphael guides them into a turn, ending with their back against his chest, their hips hitting something.. hard against his. Raphael’s breath hitches, and his grip on their waist tightens enough to leave marks on them. It’s enough to make the devil stumble, bumping into one of his guests behind them. His legs shaking with need. He lowers his head to the crook of their neck, his uneven and heaving breaths fanning against their skin, their back arching, their hips parting from him. But he pulls their body in, closer this time. Holding them right there as their dance slips farther and farther away from the crowded hall. Not a damned soul seems to notice.

Raphael can’t hold himself back anymore. Not when they’re this close. Not with their back of their hips pressed against him like this. He needs them, he needs to have the real thing now. With each slow movement, he’s leading them away from the crowded hall of his home. His remaining humility is thrown out the window and into the Styx, forever lost as he guides them more.. and more.. and more away to the crowd. Closer to him.

Tav willingly moves with him. Those nights of heated un satisfaction, those humiliating moments of moans slipping out from their mouth in the mid-day, it all burns up to this moment. This final tug on the string of their body. The curtains closing on Raphael’s long chase. He has them, and they have him. His hand slowly moves to shut the door of his large chambers, closing with a slam. Claws begin to form, digging into the wood of the door beside Tav as he pins them against it. Finally in privacy, certain that only he can hear Tav now. That their eyes will only remain on him. Tav watches Raphael’s throat bob up and down, the unsteady breaths that leave his mouth. “Have you felt me, all those days?” He asks, his voice strained as he speaks against their ear, running his teeth along it, then his mouth slowly moves down, sharp edges grazing the column of their neck. “Answer.” He bites into their neck, pushing them farther against the door, claws digging even further into the wooden material of it as their head leans back and they cry out. “Yes, yes I have!” They answer, hands finding the material of his doublet. No, that won’t do. With a free hand, he guides their hands up to his hair. “Pull.” He demands, the mark of his bite visible against their skin. Hesitantly, they do pull the strands of his hair, and Raphael lets out a groan against their neck. But it’s not enough, he needs more of this. More closeness. More touch. More pull from them. He slowly raises his head, eyes pinning into theirs, pinning them just as he cages them against the door. “I could not get enough. I will never get enough. Work unfinished from hours spent between your doubles legs. You have no idea how much I’ve craved the real thing.” He watches closely as Tav swallows, hands remaining in his hair. Their eyes searching his, and he lets them search. Lets them see the honesty in his need. Ever the insightful devil, he can see the surprise on their features. They didn’t know it was him. A low chuckle escapes his lips, sounding just like silk. “You made me needy, when I felt you and Haarlep together. Jealous, even. I haven’t been able to shake off such heated feelings. It was only a patch to the floodgates of my wants, to feast from afar. But now.. now I have you.” His hands graze their sides, resting on their hips as he pulls them away from the door. So many ideas. So many things he wants to do to them. So many things he wants to hear and feel from them. But right now, he just wants to bask in this view. The victory of finally having them. He lets go of their waist slowly, hands mourning the feel of their body, and he backs into a chair, head tilting back as he sits, his legs spreading wide. His hands wrest against the armchair, eyes remaining on Tav.

“Undress for me.” He demands from them again, and Tav can clearly see the devils untamed arousal from where he sits. His foot taps against the marble floor, impatiently waiting. Their eyes remain on his as their hands reach up to the ties of their fabric, loosening the strings and buttons. Their fabric slips down, revealing their collar bone, slipping down their arm. They can hear the devils grip tighten on the chair he sits at. They do the same to the other side, and Raphaels gaze lights their skin on fire.

Soon enough, their fabric pools at their feet, leaving nothing but their undergarments to hide their more intimate areas. Raphaels head tilts up, and he breaths in a long and sharp inhale. Tav is worried if he grips the fabric of the armchair any harder, the seams of it will snap, and his restraint with it.

“Touch yourself.” He says gruffly. Tav has never heard the devils voice so desperate and low. Just the tone of it sends waves of heat down below, and even more when Raphael chokes out a “Please.” Their eyes meet again, and there is pure pleading in his gaze. Their hands move through their hair, beginning to trail down lower, over their chest. Raphael lets out a groan in response to watching their touches. “I want to see how you do it, just so I know what I can do better with my own hands.” Their thighs clench together , and their hands still on their chest.

They seem hesitant, and Raphael is impatient. “Lower.” He orders them, and the power in his voice is enough to have their hands trailing down, just above their undergarments. “Lower.” He orders again, and Tav hears the break of fabric underneath his claws against the chair. Their hands grasp the cloth, slipping it down their legs. Raphaels eyes trail down to their region, and stay there. His chest rising and falling rapidly as Tav uses a hand to stroke there. His eyes memorizing each and every movement they make. He will be sure to come back to the memory in his lonely nights, chasing after release on his own body while he imagines them as they are now.

Tav lets out a moan, and in a flash the devil is out of his seat, one hand grasping their wrist to stop their movements, another on their back as he pushes them into his bed. They can feel the twitch of his member still painfully trapped within his pants as he hovers closely over them. The hand that grasps their wrist rises, and he licks the slick off their own fingers, a satisfied hum leaving his mouth, his eyes fluttering shut at the taste. He turns them over, on top of him this time, pulling the two of them to the center of his large bed. His hands release them, only moving to undo the pins on his doublet, the white undershirt remaining as he throws the cover to the side. His fingers move over the first few buttons of it as well, before stilling, then moving to Tavs thighs.

He pulls their thighs closer, greedy in his movements. “I will taste you, and I won’t stop until you are trembling above me, until I feel tears of pleasure fall into my hair that I’ll have you tugging on.” He urges them closer on top of them, nearing his face. He can feel the hesitant flex of their muscles in their thighs, the stilling of their body, and Raphael looks up at them, that burning hunger still evident in every inch of his face. He could almost finish from the view he sees, Tav above them, their bare chest rising and falling in unison with his own. Their hair messy from his pulling movements. He wants to make it even more of a mess, so he pulls their head down by their hair, his lips capturing theirs. The taste of their mouth is divine. What is it with Tav? Why must every part of them taste so good? So addicting? His teeth bite against their lip, and they open their mouth, his tongue slipping in. The sensation of their kiss is enough to have his hips bucking up against them, and they moan into his open mouth. The devil devours the sound, only pulling away once they are both out of air and on the verge of suffocation. Their heated breath’s mingle together, and Tav gives a slow nod to him of permission to continue. Raphael wastes no time, pulling their hips up with strength fitting of the son of an archdevil against his face. His hands curl around the flesh of both their thighs, looking into their eyes once more before he dives in.

The feel of his tongue against them has their body lit aflame. It’s so much more than what they’ve been feeling these past few days. Overwhelming, almost. Their hands ball into the soft fabric of Raphael’s white undershirt, and they let out moans above him. Groans escape Raphael from below. The devil does not dare hide how much he enjoys this. His hips grinding into nothing, his grip on their thighs tightening. He feasts like a man starved. More passionately than he ever thought possible for an infernal being. Like making love to a religious figure, he licks like a mad man. He can feel Tav shuddering, and he has to stop himself from reaching down to relieve his own arousal. It’s consuming him, from his feet, to the tip of his horns - the burn of pleasure. Their breaths are quickening above him, and finally, finally, do they pull the strands of his hair. And they pull hard as they come to their orgasm. Raphael can feel the waves himself, and he lets out a cry, his mouth moving to bite the inside of their thigh to silence himself as he finishes untouched. Cumming from the taste and feel of them. The real them. Tav releases over his mouth, their divine juices trailing down to his chin, even some down his neck. His teeth let go of the flesh of their thigh, coming down from his own strange high with heavy breaths. But he still wants more. Still craves to be inside them, not only with his tongue anymore. A step he didn’t take with Haarlep. A step he wanted to save. Forget feasting until they’re sobbing. He can play that game later. He needs to have them fully. And he needs to have it now.

He lifts from above them slowly, their juices still glistening on his chin in the candlelight of his chambers. Tav is still coming down from their high it seems, eyes still heavy and breaths still coming in with short bursts. But he can sense the feel from them too, the chase to the finale. “Can I undress you?” His mouse asks him, and Hells does he want them to do just that. They don’t even need to ask. “Yes. Quickly.” He quickly responds, guiding their hands over the intricate buttons of the white undershirt. It slips down from his arms, revealing his chest. Their hands glide down it, and his muscles tense- just as Tavs had when they touched him in such a way. Their hands mess with the waist band of his pants, and he helps them, finally releasing his member, the remnants of his early orgasm evident. Tavs hands pause, surprise on their features. “Did you..?” They begin to speak, and Raphael wishes he had taken Haarleps teasing words seriously. For he did. To simply silence them, he pulls them down for another heated kiss, slowly turning them over to be on top of them once more. This will be his first time ever doing such a thing, but he’s not nervous. Not when he knows how good Tav will feel around him. Not when he knows how badly they crave this themself. His kisses move lower, against their jaw and to their neck, resting his head in the crook of it. Slowly, he matches his hips up with theirs. One leg moving to spread their hips wider for him to fit better, hands slipping underneath their back to hold them closer against his body.

Tav has never felt such heat before. They never knew the sensations Raphael brought them were possible. Little did they know, neither did he. He acts like a wild animal, twisting them and turning them where he wants them most. Spreading their legs with his knee, nuzzling his head into their neck as one slow thrust he buries himself into them. “Fuck.” He curses, his breath becoming low moans himself as Tav squirms in his grasp, pain mixing with pleasure from the size of him. He should have used his fingers, he thinks, to stretch them wide enough. But it’s too late now, and he’s in too deep to stop. Raphael has to stutter out the incantation of a restraining spell, using it to freeze the lower half of his body. He knows he won’t be able to control himself from rutting into Tav, and he doesn’t want his little mouse to be in pain. Not tonight. He can still feel the throb of them around his cock, and he thanks himself for mustering the will and strength to cast that restraining infernal spell.

After mindless and high pitched moans, Tavs body aches for Raphael to dig himself deeper, the burn of his size subsiding and submitting to pure pleasure. They didn’t even understand what it was he muttered into their skin, too lost to wild sensations. But they begin to grind their hips down, and Raphael shudders, the sound of some sort of magical snap sounding out as he thrusts. And he thrusts again. And again. And again. He bites the flesh of Tavs neck, moans their name, palms every inch of their skin with his shaking hands. He revels in the sight of him beneath him like this. The way their face contorts in pleasure. By the end of tonight, Raphael expects his still crowded manner to be filled with artisans, painting and sculpting the sight he sees below. One wrong brush stroke or chip of stone that does not do his divine mouse justice, and Raphael may just hang them on hooks. His hips move in unison with their moans and his own. Louder they become together, and Raphael has to raise his head, speaking and huffing into their ear. "Just for me." He hits a spot within them that has their back arching, and he courses with pride. "Say it. Say it's just for me. Your moans, your body, your gaze. I need it to be mine." He almost pleads with them in-between moans to submit themself fully. The devil within him wanting to own every inch of them, in body and mind.

"It's yours, Raphael! Yours!" His mouse screams his name, and he's done for the moment it falls from their lips. He lets out a series of groans and moans with them, and the two are a symphony of pleasure with one another. He finishes inside, his member twitching still within them from the intensity of his orgasm. Their bodies gleam with sweat as they come down from their overwhelming high. Raphael does not pull out. He keeps himself in the most intimately close way with his mouse. Perhaps he'll never release them from his grasp, not even when their companions come wandering.

Tavs breath heave and slow, long awaited release running its course into exhaustion. Their eyes meeting his. They’ve felt those eyes of his on them the entire time, surely burning each sight of them into his long memory. They blink once. Twice. Sleep runs its claws along their body, still filled with Raphael, his scent lingering on their skin and the smell of their intimacy in the air. But before Tav submits to well earned sleep, they run a hand in his hair.