#fleurdelit

       They’ve never been much into drugs. Not the use of it, anyways. The sale has always been their forte, well versed in the names and their effects. Perhaps trying to think of the name of what they’ve been drugged with is the best way their mind can figure to cope with a situation that they can not find themself getting out of in the foreseeable future. 

       There is an awful, awful ache all over their body. Bruises and lacerations and they’re quite, quite certain their arm must have been broken in their best attempts to defend themself against the onslaught they’d endured a few hours before the latest and greatest disaster they’ve found themself in. 

       How anyone could find the time, person, or reasoning to build such a thing is beyond them. It’s akin to a very large fish tank-- Except instead of being on a nice stand or inset in a wall with brilliant lights and tropical fish, it’s situated in the middle of an empty warehouse on a concrete floor. Where tropical fish and corals should be is a mostly empty space slowly beginning to fill with the most frigid water Bailey has ever found themself submerged in-- And Bailey themself, of course.

       More cold than the water is the hard metal around their bare ankle. The chain fastened to the bottom of the tank meant to keep them held tight beneath the water no matter how hard they may try to swim to the top ( not that they can, really-- Body dull and leaden and mind full of moths and cottonballs ). 

       Oh, what a predicament. 

Alex has to laugh. “You get sick from drinkin’ too much and I’m laughin’ just so you know.”

Assiah was a mess. It was a beautiful mess, a mess he would love with all his heart forever, but it was a mess. And honestly maybe that’s what made the world of humans so interesting. The fact that it could be messy and beautiful all at the same time. 

The demon pondered this, strolling obliviously down the streets. He wasn’t sure what part of Assiah he was in this time, but that was part of the fun. He never usually chose a place to go to, just let things fall where they may.

He’d just pulled his wallet out of his jacket, intending to look and see if he had any human money to buy a snack with or if he even had the right currency for where ever he was. But before he could even open the small piece of leather, someone dashed by him and swiped it out of his hands.

Sure, he could pursue the thief, catching up to him wouldn’t be hard. But Samael had more money than god, and it wasn’t like Azazel cared much about human currency. So the demon instead just stood there and laughed.

   He was happy where he was, laid back against their chest with a book in hand, ignoring whatever they’d chosen to watch. He was quiet as long as he could be, only wiggling when he was done with his book. Once he rolled over to bury his face in their chest, he offered a soft huff as his fingers traced absent shapes across his lover’s chest-- though that seemed to be enough of an activity to distract him once he settled down properly.

       There was a period of time not too long ago where Gat was nothing more than a man who knew only his name and the name of the hospital he was in. That feels far away, now-- Everything does, really. The hospital and that before it, memories distant and fuzzy and not entirely recovered, just enough so that fuzzy faces and names return to his thoughts.

      Well... Not all fuzzy. One face, one voice, one name stands at the forefront of his memory, strong and unwavering as though it had never faded from the place it belonged in the very first place. The boss. Alex. He’d seen the fucker on tv, bright and clear as day and though Gat can’t quite recall the majority of his life ( despite the rush he had gotten from seeing the Boss, the flood of recollection exploding metaphorical dam of amnesia like a fucking nuclear bomb ) he’s quite sure he’d never been so striken by him before that moment. 

      He’d never felt more himself.

       Johnny had fist fought his way through the hospital, darting out of the entrance and disappearing into the evening like a goddamn ghost-- If ghosts left behind dozens of bruised doctors, nurses, and security guards. 

       The boss was priority.         The saints were priority.

       BUT, Gat had a gun ( stolen from a security guard, of course ) and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to use that to steal some proper fucking clothes first ( he’d ran around for hours on end trying to find a damn store-- Only to stumble across a Planet Saints. He’d stolen clothes, shades, AND a bobblehead of himself! ).

       If he were lucky, Alex would be somewhere within the city still- If he weren’t lucky, then, well... He’d be doing a lot of tracking down. A lot of searching. A lot of watching the news and looking for a local psychopath. Luckily Gat will be doing no such thing, because he finds Alex in a situation best described as one shitty fucking alleyway pickle, and of course that idiot’s gone off and gotten himself into trouble while Gat was sitting around with half a mind. It’s been a while, far too long, but guns fit naturally in his hand and so does the concept of murdering some motherfuckers in the name of the saints- Or maybe more in the name of the boss. 

       Gat cocks his gun and steps into the fight with the confidence of a man who hasn’t been partly in a coma and partly sitting around thoughtless for months on end. Surprise is his biggest benefit, as it oftentimes is, and with swift efficiency not fit for a man who should by all means be dead, Gat dispatches of some weird fuckers in red like a hot knife through already warm butter. 

       A rough kick to a corpse or two to make sure they’re dead, and that he’s not going to be getting shot anytime soon and sent back to that cursed fucking hospital, and Gat turns his attention to the man of the hour--

⋉ ♱ ⋊ ⤑ ⊳ Today had been a rather exhausting day and Virus could feel the very beginnings of a headache starting to form. He sighed lightly, recalling he still had an area left to patrol before he was done for the day. ‘Well, it’s not like much changes around here I suppose.’ Although it has been a few days since he’s settled back into his usual routine (regarding some things anyways), it really didn’t feel like he had been gone for as long as he had been. Shrugging the thought away, he was just about to walk away when the sound of something caught his attention. Raising an eyebrow, he decided to at least go see what it was. If it was just the sounds of a scuffle, he’ll happily pretend he saw nothing and continue along his way. ⊲

       They’ll probably never get used to being picked up and dropped onto beds like they weigh next to nothing. Alex is much further on the strong side than anyone Bailey’s bed before-- Or rather far more willing to use the strength he has. That gentle kiss only serves to fuel their curiosity. What sort of things is Alex going to ask them to do where a comforting kiss to the forehead is necessary?

       Sitting back up as Alex gets off the bed and wanders towards the drawers, Bailey sits up to watch him closely, head still tilted in curiosity and something akin to amusement. Only Alex would be allowed to pick them up and drop them on a bed without telling them what kind of mystery awaits.

       Alex holds up two items, and Baileys gaze shifts to them immediately. Unfortunately they’re entirely uneducated in the field of- ah- toys, and though they know that that’s most certainly what it is, they’re.. not sure of its full purpose.

       A content sigh escapes them, head tilting to the side a bit to allow Alex more room to work. It’s... a nice feeling, really-- They enjoy it quite a bit, the feeling of Alex’s lips on their neck or their jaw. And then there’s the matter of the shirt, and their heart begins to pound just a fraction harder as they remove their arms from around Alex and move instead to slowly undo the buttons on their shirt, a feeling far more foreign than even the kisses that have been dotting their neck and jaw. They so rarely do this- And they’re not sure they’ve ever done it in front of someone before, save for that horrendously awkward time when they were injured. 

The scar is still there, actually. One of several, far more fresh than the others and in stark contrast to their deathly pale skin, nice and neat on their stomach. Bailey tries not to think too hard about it, of course. Scars aren’t exactly sexy thoughts, though truth be told they don’t feel very sexy anyways. Far too clumsy and nervous and utterly uneducated in this department.

They toss their shirt gently to the side, and despite the fact they’re still wearing they binder they feel utterly topless. Nervous habit takes over and they begin fidgeting with the edges of the binder, biting the inside of their lip and trying to find some shred of the usual bravado they have when the tides are turned. It’s not that they’re uncomfortable, no, they’d never feel uncomfortable around Alex ( a thought that brings them great surprise, though they spare it no second look over ), but they do feel out of place. Uncertain in what to do.

So, they settle their hands back on Alex’s shoulders, finally mustering up the courage needed to speak.