#...i can't

          Eyes narrowed as Blaine noticed this snoring woman had the gall to steal his bed. His super soft bed with the expensive sheets. There was no finer place in the house to sleep, so the zombie wasn't about to give it up so easily. Plus, she called him her pet, right? Who wouldn't want to cuddle up with their pet, or him for that matter. He was doing her a favor, bestowing her with his presence. So without a word, Illyria became the little spoon, whether she'd approved or not.

Naturally the God King claimed the most luxurious bed her pet had to offer, regardless of whether his putrid scent had marked it for his own. She was above his station and asserted her dominance time and again, the resting place merely another display of just who the Alpha was in the hierarchy of the damned. Resting quietly, Illyria appeared calm for a change in direct contrast to the tension and power the Old One exuded when awake.

When the zombie ignorantly obliged the slumbering demon with his favor, Illyria's eyes shot open, unbeknownst to him. The moment his arm had wrapped about her torso had sealed his undoing, because she most certainly did not approve of pets sleeping in the same den as her, let alone touching her without her permission. Yet something gave the violence that writhed inside her pause, a contemplation riddling her mind like a parasite. Conscience, Fred had referred to it. She debated her actions instead of outright tossing the zombie with enough force to give the WWE a run for their money.

Piercing, otherworldly blue eyes gradually glanced down at his hand, which was gently placed against her skin. With a sneer, the God King grabbed it, gave a not-so-gentle squeeze, and shoved him off of her, but thankfully not off of the bed. "You aim to misbehave, Blaine." Illyria uttered flatly as she rounded on him, peering directly at the mystified zombie before flipping him to the opposite side so he faced away from her. Her arm slinked over him in the same fashion he had done to her, streaks of azure lining otherwise pale skin in her firm grip. She leaned closer to him--hardly in a seductive manner; more so in the fashion of a feline observing its next kill--and spoke in the same monotone, though the irritation had faded. "I did not invite you into my bed, nor did I allow you to put your hands on me; you will assume the submissive position."

          “Are you new? I always aim to misbehave, babe.” But the playful smirk on his face was not long for this world, just like his dignity as Blaine was manhandled, straight up flipped around like a house cat, and made to be... the little spoon! An expression equal parts offended and indignant flash froze to his face as the situation sank in. Eyes blinked as he wondered if this was a nightmare or simply karma. It was rare to find something the zombie hustler hadn’t tried in his lifetime, but being the freakin’ little spoon was one of them!

          “You just... I...” There were no words. “How dare,” Blaine finally managed out, although he made no attempt to get away. “I am six feet tall and you’re barely five feet. This is not the natural order of things... And lady, if you think being the little spoon is a submissive position for a woman, you have a lot to learn.” A long, drawn-out sigh was given as he searched for the words and strength to continue explaining. “You hold so much power when you’re the little spoon, like, all you have to do is wiggle that ass to get me under your spell.” Yeah, that was a pleasant way to put it. Surely she could put two and two together. “Plus, if an axe murderer came in, who would they chop up first? Me, the big spoon. You’d be protected from that first strike, giving you enough time to get away while the axe was dislodged from my body. Not to mention the fact I’d keep you warm.” True, not as warm as a human, but it would be better than nothing. “You know what, little spoon is sounding damn good right about now, so, thank you,” he said with a huff. It was a bluff, of course. If Don E. saw him like this, he’d never live it down.