#power difference

Images of mahogany red hair and blazing sun like eyes made his hackles raise in disgust. That damn boy, so similar to the man that dared cut him to pieces, and swore to defeat him in revenge for his fallen family. That bastard of a child honestly thought they could defeat him?! The titled King of Demons?! As if!

That stupid, idiotic child made him abandon his wife and child, though those weren't much to be sad about, if he could even feel that sadness, it took away his next meal opportunity. Muzan's cold blood boiled over just at the mere sight of the boy and what he had done.

Kibutsuji really hoped that the boy felt good about himself, so he could tear him down later when he got his hands on him.

Making his way to the boundaries of the city unbeknownst himself, he hummed when a thought came to mind that made a venom laced smile appear on his face. Disappearing into the woods, he reappeared in a clearing of the trees with a stream of water and the mooning shining high above.

With a snap of his fingers, one of Muzan's most trusted demons teleported behind him, already at their knees. Adrenaline courses through Muzan's veins at the thought of what was to come, what he would make his prized possession do to him to lull his rage induced huff. Muzan needed some way to combat the hate rolling in his stomach.

Turning around, he gazed down at the highest ranking moon currently at his disposal. Though Kokushibo was strong, you were stronger. You only became as strong as you were with the help and gracious hospitality your Lord Muzan was willing to give. You'd do anything he asked as he had helped you in your most dire need.

Muzan smiled at your inner thoughts, already tasting the need and excitement coming from you at the mere thought of being able to serve him. This was what a true model demon looked like, Muzan thought possessively.

The King tilted his head back, "My most trusted servant, so needy to be at my beck and call. You'd do anything for your Master, wouldn't you? "

You nodded frantically, "I live only to serve you, your Dark Lord. "

Oh, that nickname, how it makes Muzan warm, even though he is a demon and can not do so naturally. It was a luxury only you get to have. The King titled his head, "I have a proposition for you, loyal servant. "

"May I request to know what it is? " You inquired, barely able to hold yourself back.

Muzan chuckled without warmth, "There was a dreadful incident that happened moments ago. I wish to crush an abrasive brat that dared challenge me and call me a coward. "

You growled lowly, exciting Muzan even more by the power of your voice. A power he himself had given you, "I will crush this child where he stands, if you wish it so, Master. "

Muzan took a step closer to your kneeled form, "I do not doubt you. In due time do I wish for this child's death, but I have a proposition that I'm sure both I and you will enjoy. "

You remained silent, letting your Lord speak. Even as you felt the sharp claws of your master run through your hair, you fought the urge to lean into the cold touch. Muzan kept his gaze forward, "You will please me like no demon else has been able to do. Make me feel your loyalty, prove it to me, and I will share my blood with you so you can kill this pest. "

Kibutsuji tasted the rush of desire, the jump of your muscles at your neck under his hand. He would take that as a 'yes'. Chuckling, he grabbed your chin and held your face up so the moon reflected off the kanji making up your pupil in god moon light. In the front of his trousers, there a significant bulge was becoming more prominent as time passed, becoming more eager by the arousing view in front of him. Muzan stroked your cheek, "Go on then, loyal servant, show me your loyalty. "

Not having to be told twice, you nodded in acception before stuffing your face into his crotch. Muzan grunt at the abrupt approach, but it turned into a hum as you licked the fabric between you and your goal. Setting your hands on his thighs, you indulged yourself, nicking the material of the pants with your sharp fangs.

Though, it didn't take long for the teasing to get boring. Opening his mouth to voice his displeasure, he was caught off guard by the sudden draft he felt on his back side. Noticing his lack of trousers, he wondered how you got them off without him noticing for only a split second before his thoughts went muddled.

A gasp left his lips as you took his entire length in your mouth. Saliva and the vibrations caused by the noises you made had Muzan's posture breaking as he leaned forward ever so slightly as pleasure wrecked his frame. You didn't even give him time to adjust to the tightness of your mouth before you bobbed your head up and down quickly, effectively fucking your mouth on his cock.

The sinful noises you were making had his breathing stutter, the squelch and moans had his dick twitching in interest. It was a gift that you were given no gag reflex, or the stunt that you were presently pulling would be no possible task. The tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, causing both you and the King to make a noise.

Claws sharper than those Demon Slayer swords gripped your hair, tugging ruthlessly and making your scalp sore. They tangled themselves with your locks, getting fistfuls before getting tugged on. It made you moan around your Lord's cock nonetheless. The King's stamina built to withstand a fight from dusk to dawn made no efforts to make an appearance during your act.

Your own claws made an appearance on Muzan's thighs. Feeling the strong muscle under your finger tips had your own cock in your attire twitching. The power difference was so obvious, your King could crush you without a second thought if you displeased him only slightly, and there would be no hesitancy. This only spurred you only to please him beyond expectancy.

Kibutsuji jumped at the cold sensation on the skin of his thighs, revealing just how different you both were from those normal fleshy meat bags. They produced their own warmth, while demons remained cold blooded, but made no attempt at seeking warmth from others. Muzan made it so.

A grunt escaped Kibutsuji as his back suddenly hit the ground with a thud. The wet blades of grass soaked his jacket with rain water. Though he was distracted immediately as your hands lifted his legs up and onto your strong shoulders. You could feel his strong and quivering thighs encase your head, his heels digging into your spine. Muzan panted as you suckled on the tip, rubbing your tongue over the head.

His dick slipped past your lips with a wet pop, and it fell against his tensing and rippling stomach. Precum leaked from the wet tip onto his skin, the cold breeze made his cock twitch.

Raising a brow at the sudden lack of attention, a grunt left his mouth as you lifted his hips off the ground and into the air. The hold on his thighs slipped down over his ass and on his hips, hugging them intimately. A strangled breath left his lips as he watched you kiss your way down his cock, over his balls, along his pernium, and finally to that ring of muscle surrounding his untouched taint.

A furious blush covered Kibutsuji's cheeks as he watched your heated eyes pierce into his own. You licked a stripe over the twitching muscle before sucking one of his balls into your mouth. Muzan groaned, fisting your hair tightly as his legs shook. Biting his lip, a trickle of blood pooled around his fang and tribbled down onto his chin.

One of your hands left his hip and you used your thumb to wipe away the blood. Before bringing your thumb back to your mouth, you give him your best pleading eyes, "I serve only you, My King. Please, allow me to serve you even more, and let you experience something worth your effort and time. I promise I will not disappoint. "

Muzan chuckled light headedly, "Go ahead. "

You nodded, bringing the blood on your thumb to your mouth and suckling on it. The rush of power had you groaning, cheeks flushed as you feel your King's blood shift you into something even more powerful. With a growl, you lean forward and plunge your tongue into his hole.

Kibutsuji cried out, foregoing the caution of tone level as he gasped and shivered in place. Through lidded eyes, he watched as you expertly carried him with one hand while the other started to peel the layers of clothes you have on, off. Now you were only left with your pants, and he was left in his button up shirt. Hands momentary forgotten, they twitched in your hair, pulling on some strands and straining a groan from you.

A hum left his lips as he did it again and got the same reaction. Smirking devilishly, he yanked on some hair, hard enough to move your head. A moan left your lips, claws poking at Muzan's skin at his hips. If his healing factor had been dormant, he probably would have bruises by now with how strong your grip was.

A breathy pant left his lips, "Hurry now. I tire of your wasted foreplay. I know how much you are holding yourself back. "

With a grunt, your claws finally did break the skin of his hips, drawing rivulets of blood. You whined, "My King, I do not wish to harm you with my own carelessness. Then you will hate me and no longer call upon me. "

Muzan huffed, "Do not see me so lowly. No matter what you do, as long as you follow my orders, and please me as you have, no hatred of mine will be directed towards you. "

Nodding excitedly, you do as he says. Licking one last stripe of salive into his stretched hole, and wetting your own cock, you lower his hips level to your own and line up your cock to his greedy cunt.

Slamming into his hole, Muzan roared in pain and a small degree in pleasure as you gave him little time to adjust. Pulling your hips back, you snapped them back towards the underside of his ass. Muzan scrambled to find purchased now that he couldn't reach your hair, and your thighs were next best thing. He raved as he felt the twitch and clench of strong muscle under his fingertips as you thrust in and out of his leaking cunt.

Head thrown back, Kibutsuji melted into a blubbering mess of grunts, moans, and screams as he felt himself nearing his peak of pleasure. You seemed to be not so far behind. A sheen of sweat made your paler shine in the moon, making you look ethereal.

His enhanced hearing caught whispers of his name on your sinful tongue. What you wanted to do to him, what you craved, what you wished, his name, pleads, they all fell from your lips. Muzan was drinking them greedily. Pulling all the resolve he had, you smirked up to you, "I can hear your thoughts. So many dirty things, I hear so clearly. You are an animal that only devours, then wants more.

"Show me how greedy you are. Come on, don't get soft on me now. " Muzan teased. A rabbid growl left your lips as your hackles raised into a snarl. Your next thrust had his hips arching into the air as your thick cock swept past his aching prostate. With a final cry, Muzan came in waves and full body shivering.

Claws digging into your thighs, your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your Master's walls convulsed around you, milking your cock for everything it had. With a roar, you came inside of your King. Muzan shivered at the feeling of your hot cum flooding his insides, coating his walls with white hot cum. He moaned, watching in slow motion as you rode through your high and collapsed into a heap onto his front, barely catching yourself.

Lowering yourself onto his front, Muzan sighed in a daze and gripped your biceps on both sides. Blinking rapidly, Muzan reached up and wiped a rivulet of sweat away from his eye. Looking at your blissed face, Kibutsuji hummed and pushed a strand of hair out of your face. Opening your eyes, you peer into his own.

Locked gazed, Muzan offered his hand to your mouth, "You earned your reward. Drink what you can. You deserve it. "

Nodding your head, you take his palm to your mouth and nicked the flesh with your sharp tooth. Drinking the blood that came from the wound. Muzan hummed and closed his eyes, feeling his power and life force enter your system. A smile covered both of your faces as you basked in the calm, drinking your Master's blood. Eventually, you had to part, but now was not the time to think of that.

It's about the movement. The hips as they trace the most exotic of shapes; the hands as they push and pull like the tides; the back as it arches over a bridge of emotion.

It's about the expression. The eyes as they lock with every viewer; the breathing as it falls in line with the beat; the sultry smiles as they disappear quicker than they arrive.

It's about the energy. The flames of passion that burn inside; the overwhelming zeal that overcomes all exhaustion; the eternal spirit of vivacity that never truly stops.

Dance.

Your eyes burn with passion at the very word, a sudden itch to break out into movement overwhelming your senses. But this is not the time for that. You keep your body perfectly still as you walk forward, each step taken so gracefully that it looks like you're floating.

"You are nervous," Barbatos comments, halting before the door that will doubtlessly lead you to the demon lord. He glances back at you from the corner of his eye.

To the ordinary observer, his face is perfectly placid: not a drop of emotion anywhere on the flawless skin. But you are a dancer, trained in the art of expression. Even he cannot hide the soft affection that lurks in the deep greens of his eyes.

"I am," You respond. "But only because I have not yet begun."

The edges of his lips curve upward at that, and Barbatos pushes open the door leading inside the hall. It's almost entirely empty, sparsely decorated with the skulls of various animals, and on another occasion, you might stop to marvel at them—but not right now. After all, why would you look at the bones of the dead when something much more magnificent and very much alive stands right in front of you?

Your eyes purposefully rise from the butler's shoulder, stealing a glance at the demon lord that you've seen so many sculptures of.

He is even more majestic in the flesh.

Lord Diavolo's presence is overwhelming. You can feel his gaze on you as you train your eyes on the floor, respectfully bowing as low as you can manage. It's a practiced move, one your body learned to perfection when you were just a child, but you can't help but think that bowing has never been more important in your life than now.

"Rise," Lord Diavolo orders, his deep voice filling the hall. It almost sounds like music, you think, quietly realizing that it would be the most whole sound you've ever danced to. Beautiful, rich music.

"Look at me."

You raise your eyes.

Millennia of training have made it such that your neutral face truly is expressionless, all your emotion reserved for when your body breaks forth into dance. But it's never been more difficult to keep a still face than now, as you try to hide your awe. The prince's eyes are unlike anything you've ever seen: burning a brilliant orange, bright as amber but dipped in bronze all the same, two intense suns that seem to light up the room when you look into them.

The eyes of a king.

You maintain your neutral expression, not failing to recognize the way the demon lord stares at you for longer than is necessary, likely trying to make you uncomfortable. But you know that it's simply a ruse to see if you will break, as the many who have come before you.

You remain still, unflinching as the prince observes you.

If what Barbatos has told you is true, then this is the moment where the prince makes his first decision: whether to give you a chance or not. It is an honor to entertain the demon lord, acting king of the Devildom. Only one in a thousand make it past this threshold, and many of your childhood teachers had been turned away by this man's father, told that their hearts were too weak to properly hold the demon lord's interest.

But after a moment, Lord Diavolo's eyes lose the cold, calculating look that attempts to see into the soul you've hidden away so carefully, and the oranges fade into a softer shade, one of acceptance and anticipation.

"Dance."

The first test is passed.

The moment the word falls from the prince's lips, the sound of his command is replaced by the jingle of the bells laced around your feet.

You see his eyes widen, evidently not having noticed that they were even there in the first place—though that's more a testament to your personal skill than the demon lord's own attention to detail.

Where you had once held your feet perfectly steady, letting them practically melt into the ground as you walked and hid the presence of the chimes that wrap around your ankles, you now set them free, embracing the movement that you yearned for not five minutes ago. Your legs jump and lift and kick and spin, every motion accompanied by a particular sound that forms the rhythm to which your arms move. You close your eyes, allowing your feet to fall into a new beat, one that is eternally changing, as is fit for someone who wishes to eternally entertain a prince.

You forget the fear you had when entering this room—why were you nervous in the first place? Of all the arts, dance is the most wonderful. And of all the entertainers that Lord Diavolo has seen in his time on the throne, you know you will be the one to capture his interest. For even if he does not care for the personality you have hidden away, it is impossible to lose interest in the art of dance. Particularly, your dance.

A confident smile springs to your lips as you lock eyes with the demon lord. He hides his expressions well, even better than Barbatos. But none can hide from a dancer. You are one with expression, and only the dead can keep secrets from you. The silent wonder in Lord Diavolo's eyes as he watches your body move sets your insides afire with bliss, heart blazing with euphoria.

You turn your body, breaking eye contact with the prince in favor of returning your attention to your dance. You do not move to a routine, or any preset motions that inhibit your ability to be free. No, the dance you perform for Lord Diavolo is unlike one the world has ever seen. Unlike one you have ever seen.

It is a dance fit for a king: masterful, unique, and utterly irreplicable.

Your clothes move perfectly around you, a second skin that adds flourish to your movements. You utilize every fabric on your body to enhance your dance. Nothing is wasted; nothing is forgotten. Even the single earring that dangles from your left ear is purposeful, moving to the beat as your neck arches.

Perfection.

A hand thrust outward raises the white silk draped around your shoulders up, and it falls delicately as your arm withdraws, only for the same process to repeat on your other arm. All the while, the loose fabric of your pants fills with air, lifting and dropping to make you look less like a demon and more like a magnificent dove, flapping your wings in the most mesmerizing dance Lord Diavolo has ever seen.

You spin, relishing in the way the tips of your hair fly up as you do so. The single earring on your left ear dangles dangerously, and you can tell that Lord Diavolo is waiting for it to fall, waiting for you to make a mistake that will compel him to send you out of his throne room, yet the pearl only taunts him, swaying like a pendulum as your body arches seductively.

No.

You pull yourself back, drawing your body into a spin to cover up what would have been a move far too bold for someone of your stature, returning your dance to the quick jumps and deft movements that flaunt your agility, continuing on in that fashion.

By the time the hour has ended, there are droplets of sweat running down your face, falling onto the stone floor that your bare feet never touch for too long.

But you're far from tired.

Every movement is exhilarating, muscles only burning brighter with need as you flex them and withdraw, every fiber of your being longing to do more.

But Lord Diavolo stops you.

"Enough."

The word rings loudly in the room, and the chime of the bells around your ankles isn't heard once after his order falls upon your ears, your body instantly moving to obey as you spin into a bow, low on one knee as you touch the floor with your hands and keep your eyes closed.

You don't need to look at the prince to know that he is still entirely enraptured by your performance.

"Barbatos, let us leave. It is time for the student council meeting."

You keep your gaze pointed at the ground to avoid any potential offense to the demon lord, not daring to take so much as a heavy breath in his presence. The sound of receding footsteps ends with the slam of a door, and you stay looking at the ground for a little while longer, before you consider it safe to raise your head.

Stunning, you think, gazing at the throne where the demon lord sat, watching you. Truly a throne fit for a king.

You glance around the room, eyes darting from skeleton to skeleton. At the front, on the right side and closest to the prince's throne, is the skull of a dragon. It's immense, easily double your height and twice as long, and it almost makes you wish you were older, so that you might have seen one of these magnificent creatures in the flesh.

Next to the dragon skull is the head of what you can only imagine to be a sea serpent, from the winding neck that has partially broken off. Behind that is the infamous Kraken, and further behind are a series of small unicorns—you know from your history lessons that those are the bones of the last ones to walk the hells—and you're just about to glance at the skulls on the other side when the sound of a door opening falls upon your ears.

You quickly turn your head back to the ground, staring forward with your usual unreadable mask adorned.

"I saw that," A voice calls, somewhat mischievous. And the laid-back inflection of the words confirms that the man is alone, and you spring to your feet, dropping your mask of composure.

"Barbatos!" You exclaim, turning around with a wide grin. The tension you had in your shoulders when you both were entering is now gone, and nothing restrains your usual cheer. You run over to him, the bells on your feet jingling with every step, and throw your arms around his neck, nearly tackling him to the floor.

"Easy," He murmurs into your ear, still reserved compared to you, but you can see a slight twinkle in his eyes as he holds you. "Lord Diavolo instructed me to see you back to your quarters. He seems to be worried that you tired yourself out earlier."

"Didn't you tell him that—"

"Of course I informed him that you would never tire so easily. But the prince has never had a dancer for his entertainer, so he did not believe me."

You chuckle at that, understanding where Lord Diavolo is coming from. Perhaps, when you were younger, you might have been tired after a full hour of nonstop movement. But now? You often practice from early morning till late night, challenging yourself to never leave your feet on the ground for more than a few seconds at a time for as long as there are demons up and about.

"And did the prince say anything else?" You ask quietly, following Barbatos as he leads you out of the room. "Like…" You swallow, bashfully turning away.

"Do you really need to hear it?" Barbatos lets out a low chuckle, pausing in his footsteps to look back at you. "If you must know, yes, Lord Diavolo has requested to see you tomorrow as well."

"Yes!" You shout, jumping. Glee washes over you like a tidal wave, encompassing all your senses as you ignore every thought of propriety to wrap Barbatos in another crushing hug, causing him to momentarily stagger as you cling to him like a koala.

"Cease this. You are heavy enough as is, and those bells on your feet add far too much weight. Gods know how you manage to walk in those," He mutters, pushing you away from him as he leads you to what you imagine must be your chambers.

But even as he feigns a look of displeasure, you can see the way Barbatos suppresses a smile at your antics, and when he catches you staring at him, he turns his face away altogether, knowing that you can see past his facade.

"Anyway," He coughs, using a key to unlock a stony door located close to the throne room. "This will be your room. You will only be staying in here if Lord Diavolo explicitly tells you to rest or if there are guests in the throne room. Otherwise, you will be expected to remain in the throne room at all times, just as you had remained when we left."

You nod your head, following along.

"Make sure that you are ready at a moment's notice to entertain Lord Diavolo. There will be times when he will call for you, and you will not be prepared. Should such a thing happen, drop everything immediately and go to him. He will know if you keep him waiting, and he will replace you instantly should you be insolent enough to do so."

Barbatos's tone is sharp, his instructions painfully meticulous and to-the-point as he continues to fill your ears with explanations of how to behave around the prince, how to act when in the presence of others, how to conduct yourself while in the palace.

"And remember," He tells you, voice slightly softer. "Do your best, but should you make any mistake, come to me. No matter what, I will fix it." The demon brings a hand to your cheek, forcing you to meet his uncharacteristically gentle eyes. "There are no lengths I won't go to for the sake of your happiness."

"I know, Barbatos." You wrap him into a hug. "You've proven that."

***

Diavolo is quick to learn the extent of your capabilities.

The first day, where he had you dance for an hour and then sent you to your room to rest? That was a one-time thing. On the second day, he crossed his arms in front of you and ordered you with that bellowing voice of his to "Dance," and so you did. Only that time, he did not stop you. Nor did he take his eyes off of you. From morning to evening, you danced for him, transitioning from a high-paced rhythm to a slow ballet in the middle to even a human-style dance at the end, which seemed to hold him particularly enthralled.

Only when the demon called Lucifer came in to speak with him did he permit you to take a temporary break, but his eyes lit up when he saw the grace with which you fell to your knees, quickly realizing that despite having danced for hours, you still had energy in you.

Since then, he hasn't held back in the slightest, ordering you to dance in every spare moment he has.

Barbatos tells you that it's a good thing, that it means you've managed to give him something to look forward to in his otherwise boring life. That you've blessed his immortal curse with your presence, and he's finally found something he can enjoy.

Yet the longer you dance for Lord Diavolo, the more his eyes take the shape of a predator.

"Dance," He orders you today, not hiding the way his eyes skirt over your body, lingering on the spots of exposed skin. It makes you shudder, the way he gazes at you as if you're a feast—and yet it sets your senses aflame all the same, and when your feet begin moving, the dance you perform is more sensual than anything you've ever shown this man.

You close your eyes purposefully, drawing in a sharp breath that you make certain Diavolo can hear as you arch your back, leaning back until your hair sweeps the floor, before pushing upward and using the momentum to pull you into a spin.

As your body turns, though, your eyes drop from Diavolo and you catch the gaze of Barbatos as he stares at you in shock, never having seen you move so suggestively.

Your eyes widen momentarily, and for a moment, you almost worry that you'll fall off-beat, but then Barbatos's expression is masked and you force yourself to complete the turn, propelling your leg forward as you fall in rhythm and try to transition the dance into something more light. More childish. More appropriate.

"Stop," Lord Diavolo orders. You spin into a bow once more, one knee on the ground as you stare at the stones on your feet, wondering whether the demon lord saw how you almost slipped up.

For the first time since you began dancing for him, your body feels tense with fear as you try to calm the sick feeling in your stomach.

"Leave us, Barbatos."

There's a moment of hesitation—and you can almost sense Barbatos's immediate fury at the prince's words for making such a cruel command. For forcing him to leave the room, for forcing him to leave you alone to handle the prince's whims. And yet, the demon butler can do nothing but obey, and you hear his footsteps trail out of the room, punctuated by the sound of a door closing with such gentleness that you can sense the resentful mockery behind the gesture.

"Rise. And speak. Does having Barbatos here disturb you?" The demon lord's sharp gaze bores into you as you rise to stand in a single, fluid motion. The man's expression is something between disdain and indifference, and you realize that you have no clue what he is thinking—and that the truth will have to suffice.

"No, my lord."

"You looked at Barbatos and changed your dance. Why?"

You remain silent for a moment, a single millisecond of hesitation that Lord Diavolo recognizes. Your mask only crumbled for a second, but that was all he needed.

His face flashes with amusement.

"Ah. You did not wish for your brother to see you perform such movements."

You keep your face still, perfectly expressionless as Lord Diavolo lets out a throaty chuckle. Genuine amusement seems to appear on his features. For the first time, you're relieved for your utterly unreadable face, because you know that if not for it, you would be blushing in embarrassment at having compromised your dance for such a foolish reason, and the demon lord would only laugh louder at your state.

"Very well. Your heart was in the correct place. You dance for me, not him. It is not fitting for Barbatos to bear witness to what you wish to present to my eyes." The prince stares at you thoughtfully, studying your blank face. "Would it please you if he remains out of the room in the future?"

"I am pleased by whatever my lord would prefer."

"How boring," He comments, though his eyes are filled with amusement. For the first time, he looks at you as if you are more than a body moving and dancing to his will, seeing that there is indeed a person inside.

But he does not forget why you are here.

"Dance," He commands.

And without your brother staring at your back, you don't restrain any of your charm as your movements resume, slow and sensual.

You dance late into the night, the purple silks around you flying brilliantly as you make your movements as big as possible, flaunting your confidence as every movement falls into place. The jut of your hips, the batting of your eyes, the smirk on your lips. It's all intentional, and though the game you're playing is a dangerous one, it's one that Lord Diavolo seems to enjoy, for he keeps you by his side longer than he ever has before.

When he finally instructs you to stop, his instructions are clear: "Tell your brother he will not be joining us from now on."

But the words that follow ring louder in your mind, accelerating the beating of your heart in a way that exercise has never done.

"And when you come dance for me tomorrow, I want you to dance for me the same way you just did."

***

Barbatos's scowl the next morning is unlike anything you've ever seen before.

Unlike the usual mornings, where he comes to your room and helps you adorn the traditional garb of demon dancers while casually talking to you, today, he remains dead silent as he pulls the black fabric over your shoulders.

He's still putting forth his best effort to help you, tying the finishing knot with more skill than you've ever managed to procure, but the air around him is angry as he works, and you can tell that he resents the idea of you dancing for Lord Diavolo without him there to make sure that you're not being taken advantage of.

"Don't be mad," You tell him when he steps back, crossing his arms and leaving you to tie the string of bells around your feet. "There's nothing either of us can do."

Silence.

"Barbatos!"

You groan when you look up to see his body angled away from you, mouth set in a firm frown. You finish tying the bells around your first foot and move on to the second.

"You can be awfully stubborn, do you know that?"

More silence.

You internally roll your eyes, rushing to finish tying the knot before you stand, testing that both sets of bells are equally tight around your legs.

But more importantly—

You step forward to wrap Barbatos in a tight hug from behind, making sure that he can feel every emotion in your body as you squeeze him. "I'll be fine," You tell him. "You've taught me how to look after myself."

There's not much time left after that, given that Lord Diavolo can never be kept waiting, but just as you're about to exit the room, Barbatos grabs your arm.

"Be careful," He warns. "Don't do anything too suggestive, and don't—"

You place a finger to your big brother's lips, silencing him instantly. "I won't."

"If he makes you uncomfortable, call my name and I will be there instantly." He clasps your hands, his solemn expression especially heavy. "Promise me."

You sigh softly at his overprotectiveness, running a hand through his dark green hair. "I trust you, Barbatos." You pull back. "But I also trust Lord Diavolo."

Before he can say another word to you, you pull away from his grasp and set yourself in a brisk walk, rushing to make your way to the throne room.

As you've been doing for nearly a month now, you enter without a word and move forward, taking steps so delicate that the bells on your feet are still as you silently glide to your usual spot.

You haven't even bowed by the time Lord Diavolo has started speaking, the same word—dance—rolling off his lips. He says it so smoothly that you feel he was born to say it, born to command you to captivate him for all eternity.

The word still lights your blood with the same fire it did before, and your lips curve upward as you drag your leg out and draw a circle with it, leaning forward and pulling your body dangerously close to Lord Diavolo's for a single moment before withdrawing.

That's a dangerous game you're playing, he seems to say with his devilish smile. But for once, you aren't forced to maintain a blank mask as you boldly gaze upon the king. No, the dance has set you free, and all your emotions come rushing to the surface of your face in the name of expression, including the wicked smirk that tells the prince you want to play this game.

"Stop," Lord Diavolo orders, and though you're surprised, you fall to a bow as usual.

"Rise." You do.

"Come forward." Two steps.

"More." Two more steps.

"Closer." One step.

The prince pauses, studying the distance between the two of you. There's hardly any, now, and if you reach your arm forward, you can actually touch him for how close his body is to yours.

He leans back in his chair, resting his chin on his elbow as he studies you up close, taking his time to look over your features.

Panic surfaces in the back of your mind, suddenly understanding that this is how the prince means to play.

"Dance," He orders, now confident that he has won.

And while you are now restricted in your movements, limited to how far you can push yourself, you move to tell him no, he has not won. Because the caged bird sings loudest, and now, with no distance to sully it, the song of the bells on your feet rings clearer than the prince has ever heard.

***

Black? Or White?

It's a simple question, but a dilemma all the same, and you cross your arms as you stand in your underwear, debating which pajamas you should wear to sleep.

The black is softer, you reason with yourself. But the white fits better.

You hold the different shirts against your body, checking how you look in the mirror in case it has any answers that will end your internal crisis.

Alas, your reflection seems to be no help to you, and you groan, tossing both sets of clothes onto the floor as you flop onto your bed, wondering if you'll simply sleep in your underwear instead.

Your pondering is cut short when a burning sensation fills your heart: something warm, fuzzy, and incredibly royal as it pulsates throughout the rest of your body.

The prince, you realize instantly, not quite sure how you know that this is him calling, but there isn't a trace of doubt in your mind. The prince is summoning you.

Blindly grabbing the shirt closest to you (which so happens to be the black one), you fumble with the buttons, trying to undo them so that you can pull the fabric over your head and look at least semi-decent when you run to the throne room to answer his summons. But just as your fingers have undone the first button, Barbatos's words to you when you first arrived ring out in your ears.

There will be times when he will call for you, and you will not be prepared. Should such a thing happen, drop everything immediately and go to him. He will know if you keep him waiting, and he will replace you instantly should you be insolent enough to do so.

You drop the shirt, glancing down at your body. Your most private bits are covered up by underwear, but…

No. You shake your head, yanking the door open and breaking out into a jog to arrive in the throne room before Lord Diavolo realizes that you were about to keep him waiting. There's no point in going back now.

You force your face to remain blank as you pull open the door, internally relieved that you didn't run into Barbatos along the way, and Lord Diavolo's eyes light up the moment he sees you. It is late now, and whatever filter the prince usually has is gone as he rests his chin on his fist, expression bright as ever.

"Ah! I was concerned that you might not have sensed my magic, but it appears you have." He smiles at you, eyes looking almost kind as they remain trained on your face. "I see you were in a bit of a predicament before arriving here."

His gaze flits down, and you suddenly realize that he knew you were changing even when he summoned you. The mischievous smile on his face says it all.

"You no longer need to await my order to speak in my presence," He informs you. "I wish to hear your thoughts. How do you feel about being here before me?"

"It is the highest honor, my lord."

"Diavolo," He corrects, clicking his tongue.

"Pardon?"

"Call me Diavolo."

"I see. Then, Diavolo…" You test the word on your tongue, not missing the way the demon lord's ears perk up when you say his name. "It is the highest honor to serve you."

"Even if you're in this state of dress? Without those bells on your feet?" He is amused with your attempted indifference to the situation, you can tell. No doubt, he recognizes that this is just a facade and that you're dying on the inside. But nonetheless, you find a response for him.

"A dancer can dance in anything," You declare. "The garb I usually wear is one that enhances the visual appeal of a specific style of movements. There are dances that complement these clothes as well, my lo—Diavolo."

The demon smiles at your correction, but he sees through your words.

"You are a very composed person," He comments. "Tell me, my royal dancer, why do you pretend like you have no emotions?"

A taunting question. Lord Diavolo may appear relaxed and comfortable, but his mind is sharp as ever.

The game the two of you play never stops. Whether you are simply speaking or are dancing, there is the eternal toying with each other, testing each other to see how far the other will go.

"A dancer must save their emotions for dance," You respond.

Dance, and the ones they love.

Your natural smile will only reveal itself to two people: your brother, and whoever may capture your heart.

"Do you like having your emotions surface as you dance?" Diavolo asks, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I love it."

"I see," He leans back in his chair. "Then," He begins, and you already know what comes next.

"Dance."

***

He's trying to crack your shell, you realize.

He's trying to make you show expression outside of when you dance.

And, if you're honest, Diavolo is doing a damn good job of it.

You have to fight your body with all your might to suppress a blush, but it takes nearly all your energy, and you almost begin to worry about what will happen when you have to dance later.

"Are you uncomfortable?" Diavolo asks, and although he has the biggest grin on his face, you suspect that he will release you if you tell him you are.

But a ridiculous mix of stubbornness and actually wanting to remain on his lap compels you to shake your head, holding your body even stiffer as he settles a hand over the side of your waist, effectively caging you in.

"You don't seem very comfortable," He murmurs, almost pouting. "Relax."

You force your muscles to lose a bit of tension, though it's nearly impossible when you realize, once again, that you're literally sitting on the lap of the prince of hell.

"Tell me about your childhood," Diavolo begins. "We have some time before Barbatos expects that guests will arrive. And I expect you already know everything about me. So tell me. What was it like, growing up with Barbatos?"

You do relax a little bit at that, noting the childish grin that Diavolo wears as he not-so-subtly asks you if you have any embarrassing stories of your older brother. Alas, you have to shake your head and deny the prince any answers.

"Barbatos and I were only together for a few centuries before we split apart. I left to study dance when I turned two-hundred."

"Impressive," Diavolo mutters, eyes lighting up as he imagines all that time spent training in a single art. "Did you always know you wanted to pursue dance?"

You nod your head, a small smile forming on your lips.

Expression!

Something screams at the back of your mind, reprimanding you for losing the facade of inexpression that dancers are expected to adorn when they step into their garb, but you can't bring yourself to turn your face blank as Diavolo looks at you so hopefully, and you simply opt to answer his question and leave the soft smile on your face.

You win this one, Diavolo.

"Not always. I thought I would grow up training in sorcery and magic, like Barbatos. But I was never as skilled like he was, and my only gift seemed to be the ability to dance."

Diavolo nods his head, leaning further back in his throne. Meanwhile, you make yourself comfortable in his lap, squirming lightly on his thighs before your bottom is rested more comfortably atop them.

"My family didn't want me to pursue dance. They argued that it had no future. That I would be dropped into the lowest rungs of society. But Barbatos believed in me, and he personally helped find me an instructor and paid for all my lessons until I could finally make a living out of it." You smile, remembering how he, quite literally, changed the course of your life. "He's done so much for me, just so that I could be happy. I owe him everything."

Diavolo remains quiet, his eyes seeing you but not quite seeing you as he gazes at your (h/c) hair, one side streaked with the telltale patch of teal that both you and your brother share.

"Barbatos is a good man," The prince decides. "And an even better brother, it would seem."

You smile, slightly proud of your brother for having earned the praise of the demon lord of hell. You open your mouth to respond, but before a sound can leave your lips, a knock echoes through the hall.

"Come in," Diavolo calls, and it opens, revealing the very man you were both talking about.

"The guests have—" He breaks off in the middle of his sentence, eyes narrowing the moment he sees you seated so willingly on Diavolo's lap. The temperature in the room seems to drop by ten degrees. When Barbatos begins speaking again, he doesn't bother hiding the raw fury in his words, only further emphasized by their shortness. "The guests have arrived. They will be in this room shortly."

"Wonderful," Diavolo responds, not reacting at all to the barely concealed growl at the end of Barbatos's words. "Send them in."

You watch as your brother nods curtly, closing the door with far more force than is necessary, and you sigh internally. You would never be bold enough to act so callously around Diavolo, but the man seems like he was almost expecting this, and he only sighs when the echo of the door slam has faded.

"And Barbatos is awfully overprotective of you," Diavolo mutters, a pout forming on his face. "I expect he'll be yelling at me later tonight.

"Yelling at you?" You gasp, never having realized that Barbatos would dare reprimand the prince.

Diavolo nods his head. "Wish me luck," He mutters, using both his hands to lift you by the waist off his lap. He sets you down right next to him, a silent stay there implied as guests begin to file in.

The second they lay their eyes upon you, whispers begin to fill the air.

"Look at that clothing! I've never seen anything like it! What kind of dance do you think they are going to show us?"

"Oh, how exotic! They look positively ravishing! I could just scoop them up and eat them!"

"Why do you think the prince chose to bring his entertainer out? Do you think he might keep this one?"

You don your emotionless facade once more, steeling yourself to help you ignore the rumors that the demons are doing an awful job of whispering. Diavolo glances at you from the corner of his eye every now and then, but you hold your face neutral, and he relaxes once he sees that you can manage yourself.

"My lord!" A noble cries, approaching the throne. The man bows and rises, greeting the prince. "So, the rumors are true! This dancer has caught your interest!"

You ignore the noble and remain facing forward, watching those around you. For a moment, you make eye contact with Barbatos, but neither you nor he has the luxury of letting your emotions surface right now, so the conversation he doubtlessly wants to have with you will have to wait for later.

"Dance for us, child!" The noble looks at you expectantly, eyes bright but foolish, and you have to hide your irritation. You ignore him entirely, staring forward blankly.

He frowns at your disobedience. "What are you waiting for? Dance!"

"They only dance for me," Diavolo interrupts smoothly, the words sharp as a knife as he smiles at the noble who dared command his personal dancer.

He looks at you. A single glance, and that's all it takes to prepare you for his next word.

"Dance."

And you do, effortlessly hypnotizing the entire room the moment you begin moving.

But not once do you meet the eyes of the audience. No, just as Diavolo said earlier: you only dance for him. The watching eyes all around are nothing to you. Not even distractions. You dip your head low, raising your gaze on the upbeat as a smile spreads across your features.

All you care about is him.

And he knows it.

***

You've still yet to decide what you like most about living the palace.

Is it the fact that, at last, you can see your brother and enjoy his presence daily? Is it the fact that you no longer need to worry about food or bills? Is it the fact you are able to do what you love all day, every day, for the most important demon in the world?

No, you think to yourself.

It's the showers.

You hum quietly, turning the faucet off as you reach for a towel. It's soft and fluffy against your skin, and you momentarily wonder if you like the towels better than the showers, but no, you decide that your favorite thing about the palace is still the former.

Not bothering to dry your wet hair, you wrap the towel around your figure and step out of the bathroom into your chambers, glancing around for the clothes you laid out.

Gray, you note, glancing at the faded color of the silken garments laid across your bed.

You run your hand over them, savoring the cool softness of the fabric, and you're just about to pull the shirt over your head when a familiar sense of magic beats through your body.

Oh no.

You bite your lip, realizing your predicament.

Diavolo is summoning you, a summons which you technically must answer immediately and without a moment's hesitation.

But all you're wearing is a towel.

You reach your hand forward for the cotton underwear you had laid out. Surely just wearing those won't count as disobedience to the crown, right?

Alas, fate is not on your side. Because the moment your fingers graze over the cotton, the sensation in your heart grows overwhelming, and then you know Diavolo wants you in front of him and now.

Praying that Barbatos doesn't run into you in the halls, you clutch the towel and sprint to the throne room with as much grace as you can muster, stepping inside with a look of pure concern written on your face.

"What's wrong?" Diavolo asks from the other end of the room. As usual, he wears that Cheshire-like smirk, and you once more realize that he was all too aware of your predicament when he summoned you.

"...Nothing," You finally mumble in response, averting your eyes.

"You know, if I were the type of person to jump to conclusions, I might think that you're embarrassed to be here in front of me in only a towel." Diavolo's words are teasing. Truthful, but teasing.

"You know, if I were the type of person to jump to conclusions, I might just think that you consciously summoned me while I was changing so that you could see me naked."

"Oh no," Diavolo responds, licking his lips. "That's a fact, love."

And suddenly, the confidence you had from before is gone, and you're left nothing but a blushing mess as you awkwardly try not to look Diavolo in the eye.

What happened to that emotionless facade? You wonder, only realizing now that you've begun to show your emotions to Diavolo. And that you've grown worse at hiding them.

What kind of dancer can't hide their emotions? You ask inwardly, and suddenly, your internal question becomes a challenge, and you force yourself to be confident. To be bold, to be sexy. You are a dancer, and it is in your nature to be able to become anything and everything in an instant: hiding a blush is trivial compared to the training you've been through.

Your hand flies to the part of the towel where it's tucked in, the only thing holding it up, but you tap it dangerously.

"So," You begin, an unconfident confidence taking over your senses as you stare at Diavolo. "Are you saying you want me to take this off?"

Diavolo's eyes raise at your offer, evidently not having expected you to respond so boldly to his earlier comments.

He studies your face, your so-obviously forced look of confidence as you resolutely stand in front of him, about to strip when he knows that you're completely nude underneath.

"Do not push yourself," He warns, but then you've taken his words as a challenge, and you rip the towel off your body, discarding it in a hasty throw away from your body.

For a moment, as the cold air hits your privates, you do regret your decision. You feel exposed. Vulnerable. Weak.

But then, you raise your eyes from the floor and you look up at Diavolo—and the way he stares at your body fills you with true confidence. His eyes are hungry as they skirt over every spot, hovering a bit longer over his favorite places, and you can see the way his muscles strain as he consciously restrains himself from moving to touch your body.

His mouth is partially open, and you can hear the quiet breath that leaves his mouth as his breath hitches, and then he's also looking back up at you with worry, concerned that you've pushed yourself too far for his sake and that he's made you uncomfortable. But the confidence you didn't have before now flows through your veins as you return his gaze, your eyes locked to each other in a way that screams desire.

"Can you—" Diavolo clears his throat, hearing how quiet his words were at first. But even when he begins speaking once more, his words are gentle. He's no longer commanding, but is asking. "Can you dance like this?"

You nod your head slowly, already imagining all the ways you can take advantage of your nudity to execute moves that would otherwise look ridiculous.

"I can."

"Then," He opens his mouth to say the word, but before he can even begin, your body has begun moving, and the sound is caught in his throat as he simply stares, utterly captivated by every movement, every bounce, every sway.

He's left frozen as he stares at your figure, dancing without any clothing or jewelry to distract him from your natural perfection. And in this moment, Diavolo is truly spellbound by the spell that is you, unable to move an inch as you single-handedly move enough for the both of you.

***

Barbatos always knows more than he lets on.

When you were a kid, he knew you wanted to learn dance even before you did. When you were older, he always seemed to pop up whenever you found yourself yearning for him. And even now, you're certain that he's aware of more than he's telling you, as he unfolds the brilliant blue silk in his hands and prepares to drape it around your shoulders.

"...You don't have anything to say to me?" You finally ask, raising a suspicious eyebrow. It's been over a week, now, and he hasn't said a single word about finding you seated on Diavolo's lap that one time. And you're quite certain that he has his suspicions about you dancing nude for the prince.

"Not at all," He responds, fastening the blue to your armlet. He turns around, inspecting your jewelry box, flashing you a cryptic smile. "Why? Should I be concerned?"

His smile remains subtle as he continues flitting through your earrings, lifting two—a topaz and a sapphire—and comparing them to the color of your garb before handing you the dangling sapphire, which you slip into your ear.

He walks behind you as you examine your figure in the mirror, pulling bits of cloth here and there until you look like a proper dancer, ethereal as you are refined.

You study Barbatos's expression. He's wearing his usual, enigmatic smile, but you don't detect any anger or upset in his eyes. If anything, his steps are lighter than usual, and he seems unbearably pleased as he begins walking you to the throne room, not seeming to care at all that he saw you sitting on the demon lord's lap not one week ago.

"Are you sure you don't have anything to say to me?" You call when he begins to walk away, the demon already three steps away from you. "Anything at all?" You bite your lip. You want him to chew you out, ask you about it, or even sulk angrily as he tends to do from time to time—you just want him to acknowledge what happened, or at least tell you why he's so okay with it.

"Follow your heart," The demon calls back, not even looking at you as he continues walking away.

The words make you blink, seemingly coming out of absolutely nowhere with zero context, and your face scrunches up as you try to figure out why in hell he would say something so random.

And as much as you want to chase after him to find out what in hell he means, you have a duty here, and your brother will have to wait.

Stupid Barbatos and his endless riddles.

"Diavolo?" You call, opening the door.

He isn't seated at his throne, but a quick scan of the room reveals that he's standing inside the mouth of the dragon skull, staring at the structure around him. He nods at you when you arrive, his usual smile overtaking his features as you walk forward.

"Join me," He calls out to you, offering his hand. You take it, letting him intertwine his fingers with yours. "When my father came to this room, he sat on this skull as a throne. Do you see that spot, at the top of the dragon's head, where it's slightly flat?" He points, and you nod. "Right there. Every day. I used to think it was the most uncomfortable thing in the world, but I suppose my father sat in it not because of the comfort, but because of the beauty, no?"

You take a step forward, marveling at the fossil now that you can see it up close.

"It is beautiful."

"Would you like to stand on it?" He asks, leaning his weight on one bone. "Stand on the place my father used to use as a throne?"

"No!" You decline swiftly, understanding that of all things, it would hardly be appropriate for the prince's entertainer to stand in what was used to be a sacred throne. But Diavolo must see the glimmer of hope in your eyes, because a second later he's muttering 'nonsense' under his breath and is lifting you onto the skull, holding you until you've managed to stabilize yourself on what you imagine must have been the dragon's snout.

"Oh my goodness," You gasp out loud, clutching the bone for support as you climb higher at Diavolo's encouragement.

"Be careful," He warns, but millennia of dance has taught you footwork too well for you to land in a weak foothold, and before long, you're at the top, even beyond where the throne supposedly was.

"Diavolo!" You gasp, laughing merrily. "Look! I'm—I'm—"

"I know," He says, a warm smile spreading across his face as he looks up at you, stepping back. "Do you think—" He breaks off, shaking his head. "No, never mind."

"What is it, Diavolo?"

He hesitates, staring at the bony skeleton you're standing on, but at the sight of your pleading eyes, he yields. "Do you think you could dance on that skeleton?"

You glance around. There are holes, and definite spaces that you'll need to jump over, but that's the nature of dance, is it not?

Your beaming smile answers his question, and Diavolo has to hold a hand up to stop you.

"Just for a few minutes, alright? I don't want to risk you injuring yourself, so come down quickly. But…" He trails off, sheepish eyes darting back down to the skeleton before they return to your figure.

"Dance."

And with that single order, the bells on your feet are brought to life once more, swinging and stepping as you practically fly over the dragon's spine. You jump back and forth, from side to side, stepping over hollows, bending your back over points, going as far as to do a front flip that lands you on the edge of the dragon's eye socket.

You detect a flicker of concern in Diavolo's eyes every now and then, but you don't doubt yourself. It's an unusual platform, but you're in control.

Step to step, your arm doesn't cut the air as it moves, but rather the air makes way for your arm and your limbs simply follow, your body swinging gracefully like an acrobat as you recall the centuries you spent working with master gymnasts, building upper body strength to pull your body through spins and twists that now make Diavolo gasp as you perform them for him.

But you don't forget his initial order, to not get carried away and to only go for a few minutes, so you continue making your way down the skull, dancing and jumping, reaching and pulling, until you swing out of the jaws of the dragon, landing perfectly in Diavolo's arms just as you planned.

Laughter spills from your lips on instinct as he holds you, and you realize that there's a slight blush on your face from how muscular the demon lord's arms are as he practically hugs you, but you savor the feeling.

"That looked far more reckless than I had anticipated," Diavolo confesses, though there's a reluctant smile on his lips. "But you seemed to enjoy yourself."

"That was wonderful," You respond, grinning as he sets your feet on the ground and releases you. But the earlier movement has your body itching for more, and you interlace your fingers with Diavolo's, subtly pushing him back into his throne.

"Say it," You tell him, cheeks flushed. From exercise or the hug, you don't know. All you're aware of is the overwhelming desire to keep moving.

"Dance," He whispers, sending the word to you like a kiss as he leans forward in his throne to watch you.

And you dance.

***

Barbatos insists on dressing you in red today.

"It's a beautiful color," He says as his excuse when you confront him, and while he's absolutely right on that front, you can't help but suspect that there's an ulterior motive that he has.

Trying to convince yourself that you're just overthinking things in your head, you watch as he selects a ruby for your earring, an expensive gift he had given you many millennia ago. The red gem has been carved into the shape of a stunning rose, something you usually wouldn't risk dancing in, but Barbatos insists on it as he fusses over your outfit, pulling cloths and fabrics into place with more effort than you've ever directed toward yourself.

"You look good," He finally comments, and though the words hardly count as praise, you know that Barbatos means them with all his heart.

"Thank you," You respond, opening the door. "Now, will you tell me what the special occasion is?"

But Barbatos shakes his head, maintaining the ruse that there is no 'special occasion.'

You suppress an urge to roll your eyes as you lead the way to Diavolo's throne room, thinking that if Barbatos was going to prepare you for something, he could have at least been a bit more subtle about it.

This morning, he had marched into your room nearly an hour early, ordering you to bathe and shampoo your hair with a handful of expensive soaps he handed to you. He answered no questions, frowning when you began asking too many, and threatened to withhold dessert from you if you continued to pester him. He then proceeded to dress you in your finest red garb, complementing it with black rather than another darker shade of red, and went as far as to dab perfume at your skin.

"I am not dumb," You blurt, once you're at the throne room door.

"You are not," Barbatos agrees, nodding.

"I know something is up," You clarify.

"As was my intention," Barbatos quips back, that aggravating smile back on his face. But before you can say another word, he silences you with a finger to your lips. "Just go along with it, will you?"

He hesitates, looking awkward and extremely uncomfortable for a moment, but then he sighs and seems to groan to himself, stepping forward as he awkwardly pulls his arms around you.

A hug, you realize, blinking. This is supposed to be a hug.

And it's perhaps the first one Barbatos has initiated in your entire lifetime together.

You hold back your gasp as you return his embrace, pressing his body close to yours and helping him out as you smile. And he pulls back, eyebrows furrowed just the slightest.

"Be safe, alright?" He seems to have an internal struggle for a moment, but one side wins out, and when he looks at you next, his eyes are soft. "I will always care for you."

You're about to respond, about to say something equally heartfelt and sweet, when a rush of magic bursts in your chest, and you have to clutch your brother's shoulders for support.

He calls out your name in a panicked breath, eyebrows furrowed as he looks down at you, and you laugh.

"My apologies," You smile bashfully. "I am still not quite used to the sensation of Diavolo summoning me. It's overwhelming, every time." You glance toward the door. "I suppose I should…"

Barbatos nods, flashing you another rare smile before turning around.

You push open the door to the throne room.

“Diavolo?” You call, glancing around.

He's not on his throne. Nor is he standing in the dragon skull. Nor is he standing in the skull of any other creature, or anywhere else in the room.

The magic in your heart beats once more, stronger this time, and you frown. This is doubtlessly the sensation of Diavolo calling you, so where is he? And why is he calling you if he's not here?

You're about to walk forward and take a better look around when the sensation nearly overwhelms you, your dancer's grace being the only thing that prevents you from stumbling onto the floor.

He's not here, you realize.

And just when you begin to wonder where he could be, you feel a weak tug on your heart, as if it's pulling you somewhere.

Follow your heart.

Barbatos had said that not long ago.

And like you've always done, you take his advice, following your heart out the throne room and down the hall. You attempt shouting Barbatos's name along the way for assistance, Diavolo's name spilling from your lips a little more often, but neither men respond, so you continue marching in the direction your heart pulls you, only stopping with you find yourself in front of a particularly majestic door.

You take a step back, taking in the full view of it.

Diavolo’s personal chambers.

Your breath hitches.

You wrap your fingers around the handle, hesitating to open it. There's no going back, either way. Should you turn back now, this opportunity will never arise again. But should you enter, your relationship with Diavolo will certainly change. After all, these are his personal chambers.

Follow your heart.

Except that your heart is no longer tugging you to or fro, not even weakly. You bite your lip, concern imprinted on your mind. You want Barbatos here, so your big brother can give you advice and tell you what to do. Or if you can't have him, you want Diavolo, so that he can laugh and make everything better and—

Oh.

Realization dawns in your eyes.

You want Diavolo.

And not just in the wholesome, friendly way. You want to be able to run your fingers along his muscles, to be able to play with his fiery red hair, to be able to look into those bright eyes until you can decide what shade of orange they are, never caring about what he'll think of you for staring so long.

You want Diavolo.

All hesitation deserting your body, those words echo through your mind. And you twist the golden handle down, opening the doors to the prince's private chambers and entering.

He lives like a king.

That's your first foolish thought, before the notion strikes you that with his father lying dormant, he is the acting king of the Devildom. And once your immediate stupor induced by the sheer lavishness of his quarters passes, a voice speaks.

"You came."

Your head turns to the source of the voice instantly, and you see a large bed pressed against the center of the wall on your left, the shape of a familiar figure still buried inside.

"You...summoned me," You say, trying to justify why you entered the prince's personal chambers. At the back of your mind, there is a moment of panic—you worry that this was a test, and you chose wrong by entering—but Diavolo's next words reveal that it is quite the opposite.

"I have summoned many entertainers to this room, but none have ever dared step inside. You are the first," Diavolo says, but then he corrects himself: "You are the only."

Your fingers twitch at your sides when he says that, the possessive tone in his voice not lost upon you.

"It is my honor," You say, instantly bowing your head.

"No." You raise your eyebrows the slightest, eyes focused on the blankets as Diavolo's figure emerges from beneath them, sitting up. He looks princely as ever: dignified and royal as he exposes his bare upper body to you for the first time. "It is your destiny."

Your heart swells at that, a rush of pride coming to the forefront of your mind as you understand the prince's words. Destiny, you think. Something so intangible but so undeniably there. You shoot Diavolo a questioning look, quietly wondering whether he means the words in a literal or metaphorical sense, whether he's chosen you for his destiny or you truly are fated to be with him, and he smiles. Opening his mouth, a single comment slips from his mouth, and that's all you need to know for the answer to your question.

"Barbatos."

Of course.

If there is one person in the world who would know something so utterly lifechanging and shocking, it would be him.

Suddenly, your brother's strange actions over these past few weeks become understandable: the transition from concerned to confident, irate to pleased, protective to accepting. Even his actions this morning flit through your mind, and they take a different shade in your memories when you realize, for the first time, that he has donned you in the colors of Diavolo: red and blank.

Destiny, you think, eyes widening at the realization. Barbatos knew yours, and then Diavolo learned it, and now you understand it, too.

The moment the fact dawns on you, the silence grows weighted. Air filled with tension, too thick for even a knife to slice through it. You stare at Diavolo with round eyes, the sudden pressure of the moment not lost on you as you try to sort out your thoughts.

An amused smile breaks out on the demon lord's face at your evident confusion, and you realize—with a curse directed inward—that you've once again abandoned the expressionless mask of a dancer. But as Diavolo continues to gaze at you, you find yourself frozen, entirely unable to hide anything away as he stares into your soul.

He smiles.

"Come."

An order, one that your body heeds on instinct.

Yet, as you move to obey, it's different. You don't force yourself to tread so that the bells on your feet are silent, to wear a blank face to save your expressions for later, to stare at the ground when you want to gaze upon the prince. No, as you obey this final order of Diavolo's, you are no longer hiding behind forced grace—you reveal you, in all your natural elegance and wonder.

The bells on your feet tinkle softly as you move, and your body sets itself into a natural rhythm that makes the gentle jingles sound perfectly continuous, and it's like a musical trance wraps around the room as you approach the bed.

Normally, you would stop at least eight feet from the king, awaiting his inevitable orders to further approach. Six feet, if you're feeling brave. But now, emboldened by the prince's earlier words of destiny, you hold back nothing as you stride forward, stopping only when you are less than even a hand's length away from the prince, and he is so close that you can cup his cheek.

The moment you stop moving, the trance is broken—the music of the bells on your feet quieting. But where one moment ends, another begins, and Diavolo pulls you into an entirely different state of captivation.

The prince looks up at you from his spot on the edge of the bed, never breaking eye contact as he takes your smaller hand in his. And though you've certainly done much more with him, having sat on his lap and danced completely nude for him, nothing has ever felt so intimate.

"Even destiny is nothing before the power of a king. If you do not wish for this, nothing will be forced upon you." Diavolo raises his eyebrows gently, and you realize that he is giving you a choice. That though you two are fated to be together, he will still honor your decision, no matter what it may be.

But truly, did you not give him your answer the moment you decided to enter this room?

Your heart swells with warmth. With warmth and affection and desire as you gaze upon this prince, who, by all rights, can take anything he pleases, and still chooses to give you a choice in the matter. And it's in this state, when you're so overwhelmed by love that any words that might leave your lips fall short of your throat and you opt to answer Diavolo's question with action, leaning forward with such certainty that there leaves no room for further doubt.

I want to be with you.

You say the words in the way you kiss him, pressing your lips against his slowly but surely, showing him just how much you want this. It's a second before he responds, but the moment he understands your answer, he holds nothing back.

A hand comes up to your hair, better angling your face down at his, and a warmth enters your mouth as Diavolo deepens the kiss. Mind already growing clouded with lust from this simple action, you steady yourself by laying a hand against Diavolo's chest, the muscles impossible hard as you hold yourself up.

But the action is entirely unnecessary, because moments later, Diavolo has you pulled into his lap, the bells on your feet jingling at the movement.

The sudden sound prompts both of you to withdraw for a moment, and you glance at your feet, the nine rows of bells which trail from low on your ankle to low on your calf.

"I can take them off—" You try to say, but Diavolo silences you with a kiss, flipping your bodies over in an elegant spin so that you are underneath him. The bells clatter against each other once more, but when the sound fades, so does the last of Diavolo's restraint.

You glance upward, and the look Diavolo gives you is nothing short of a starved man, desperately holding himself back while he studies your body laid out beneath him oh-so-temptingly.

"Don't make me wait any longer," He murmurs, and you feel his hips press against yours, the fire in his eyes fueled not just by desire but by true need, and you can't hold back your grin as he sucks in a sharp breath when you experimentally roll your body against his. But his earlier muttering does not go forgotten, and with one more body roll, you throw an arm around his neck and collide his lips with yours in a hungry meeting of lust long overdue.

"You're perfect," Diavolo whispers breathlessly between kisses, fingers deftly unclasping the red silk that hides your shoulders.

"And you," You try to respond, but the combination of Diavolo's overwhelming presence and his intoxicating touch has you feeling high, and those end up being the final coherent words you stutter out as the prince throws the clothing to the floor, leaning back to study your exposed form.

His eyes widen and his breath hitches, and the hand on your waist twitches as he studies the skin he's already begun to litter with hickeys.

You look up at him, not missing the way he seems to be devouring you with his eyes, memorizing the image of your body splayed out before him.

His left thumb hooks the soft fabric of your pants, pulling experimentally, delighting in the softness of the skin there. He glances upward at you, eyes slightly wide as his mouth spreads into a grin, realizing that this is actually about to happen.

"May I have this dance?" He jokes, tugging on the elastic fabric experimentally.

The breathless nod you give him is all he needs, and then his lips are on yours and you lost track of where his hands are, just aware of the fabric being stripped from your body until your bodies are pressed flush against each other.

You close your eyes, savoring the sensation of Diavolo as he takes control, guiding you through the passion with a gentle but sure hand.

And for the first time, you dance together.

MASTERLIST

Word count: 11.2k

Notes: so when i had this idea i was like okay ill make it a series and each new interaction will just be a new chapter but then i got excited and wrote the whole thing in one night and i didnt wanna make you guys wait so yeah heres hopefully the longest oneshot ill write

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