( sixth sin. )

Keep reading

“I plan on doing just that, but I’m glad I have your permission.” Romano had no intentions of divulging any details of his past few months in incognito, knowing that some things were better left unspoken, even between good friends. Even between demons.  He smirks and taps a slender finger against the cigar, watching the ash drop off the end limply with a cocked brow, the incubus almost sorry to see the cigar going piece by piece through his fingers. It was only a matter of time before it was all gone.... Quietly, he murmurs, “I notice that you’ve been keeping busy here with new toys.... You haven’t broken  any of them yet, have you?”

Once the other man’s cigarette was lit, Sebastian pulled out his own, lighting it as well before responding to the deplorable creature. “I’m from England, rain tends to not faze me.” He gave the other man a quick once over. “And, by your accent, I take it you’re not from here, either.” 

Where the other’s eyes had met his person briefly, Valentin’s don’t, the incubus taking in every detail to mind, every single line across his face, every single blink, any motion at all was taken into consideration, Romano knowing that this man wasn’t quite like the others. The way he carried himself, and the way that his eyes never smiled along with his mouth; same as him. This man has seen some things....

“Why would you ever think that? I told you that  you’re good enough. You more than good enough  for me. I thought you left me forever..” 

   ❝ Because, quite simply...you are DEATH. And me? I’m just     a little  incubus. I’m not even on your level. I’m a killer, and     you’re the collector.... Everywhere I go, I see you there, and     it’s a little funny how you never saw me, huh? ...I was always     with you, amor, but never around.... ❞

“You could have, and I still wouldn’t have told you anything. Some things are better left unanswered.” He snaps his fingers and strikes a spark against the butt, lighting up the cigar and letting it sit upon his lips for a moment before taking a long drag off of it. The heat rising from the end soothed him, but it was more of the action of holding onto that really did the placating for him. Something real to hold, something real he could feel against his lips, something he could touch. He didn’t mind Brandt’s prying eyes, and even welcomed the gaze as it was something familiar, something “back home”. However, he didn’t feel much like talking, and something told him that that was fine.

Perhaps the boy knew better.

He doesn’t sit, but instead, chooses to lean  up  against  the  wall, taking the demon’s side and patiently waits for the cigar, Romano glancing in Brandt’s direction with casual inquiry. The demon was acting calmly and with tenderness, but he saw right through  that facade: it was the animal within beginning to sink its claws in him.

“Cold feet? What am I not good enough for you?  Do you want me to leave? Say something.. Anything!!”

  ❝ Not good enough? Baby, you’re more than enough.   It’s that I  might not be enough for you. ❞

“̴̨̳̟̮̰̙̝̫̫̩͗ͧ̌̓͛̿ͪȲ̢̥͇͎̪͉̎͑̀͡O͛͊҉͉̰̳̯̪̙Ṷ͓̮̦̘̭̘͉͆̐͆̌ͣ̆̽͘ͅ ̸̸̞̞͇͕̍ͩ͑͊̋̎̚̚C̨̝̹̰̾̿͐ͣ̄͝ͅÓ̵̹̤̭̗͎͚͓̝ͭͥǓ̷̩̳̘̐̕͟L͙͔̗̘̣̖̩̫̽͆̓ͥ͐̈́͛ͅD̻̙̖̳͌̆̀ ̸̝ͫ̉̑̆͠Ḩ̥͎̘̥̖ͪ̅͐A̶̬͎̥͉͔ͬ̍ͩ̽̋ͩV̵̛̹͔̙̹͔̩͍ͨ̎͑̇͗͒͌E͉̼̹͎͍͉̋̌ͧͬ͐̕͢͡ ̵͂͊̀͏̬͖͕̪͖̖Ś̡͊͏̻̜Ä̗̬͕̯̳̰̮̞̣̈̋̔̍͒ͮͩ̚I͚̟̟̙̋͋͝D̠ͪ͋ͪ̐͑̓ ̨̀̈͂͗̚҉͚̞S̊́͆͋̇҉̵̛̹̘̝O͈̣̣̐ͬ̇̀͝M̱ͪ͌̐̆̄̇ͨE̷̗̮̮̯̮̪ͭ͗̽͘T̶̡̘̀͑ͩ̔͊̃ͨ͟H̨̱̗̦̞̆ͪ͛ͣ̃Ȋ̢̲͔͇̞͙͓͖͛̕Ņ͚̬̺͍̾̎̈͐̏̓̓̔̀G͎̟̳̩̭͑ͫͨ͠!̶̭͓̦̟̎͐̃̓͐̓̍ͣ̇͟!̛̔ͪͪ̾ͮ̒͆̾͛҉͚̦͙̻̰͉”̷̠͉̺̬̟̖̜͋̽͆ͮͬͬ̂͡

   ❝ Like what? What would you have wanted me to say, amor?    I’m having a bit of cold feet  on where we stand? ❞

It was clear upon the incubus’ face that he’d been through hell, but somehow wandered on back  ( home )  among demons. From one end to the next.

“….”

    ❝ I’m sorry, I just...needed time to think.... ❞

                              You broke my heart, my love.

    ❝ Usually in the bottom of a bottle.... Around. You know,      Cuba, Spain, Peru. The usual haunts.  ❞                           ( What  difference does it make? )

The Godfather (dir. by Francis Ford Coppola, 1972)

onelonelyvisxtor, Valentin knows he’s trash even if Anselm won’t believe it.