#tavotg

Barbatos's gaze travelled from one corner to another, drinking in the sight before him. Dewy, shimmering droplets of sweat glisten on ebony skin. Lean frame sprawled over wrinkled sheets, like a doll laid to rest after play, body naked and bare. He could practically imagine the figure's expression, hidden in the darkness of the room. And even then, Barbatos would recognize those shoulders from anywhere, that slim waist, that soft skin. It was that body that his very essence yearned to worship and claim. The same one that he'd dreamed of on quiet, lonely nights in his room, body longing and cock aching, his very soul wanting to devour and claim and take.

He was never the same since then. 

He had spent that night curled up in bed, sheets in disarray, and his usually pristine appearance disgruntled and askew. 

Perhaps this was a test from someone...higher up, however ridiculous that sounds. It was the only reason he could think why this was happening. He prided himself good at keeping his thoughts and emotions on a tight leash, never letting others perceive them unless he deemed them necessary. It was why others had found him cold and cruel, and he often used that to assert his authority over his opponents.

But after seeing that picture? He feels his control started to chip and crack--at first slowly, but as time went on the fissures had began growing like vines of a tree. It has been a week after Solomon had sent him that damning message and he's still trying his best to resist his primal urges. To resist the temptation of pinning that angel to the nearest flat surface. Every time they brush against each other Barbatos tries his best to control himself, his mind flashes with that sinful picture, hands itching to bury in the angel's hair or grab at his body.

If he was in his demon form, you would notice the twitch of his horns or the frustration in his tail as it swipes languidly behind him. His eyes are glued to the way Simeon walks, to the dip of his swaying hips and the delectable space in between his neck and shoulder that makes his fangs tingle and leak with his venom. His throat bobs ever so slightly, forked tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

His mind had been torturing him with images of what could happen. Of pushing the angel to the wall, slick prehensile tail pinning his wrists above him as he dined upon his holy body. Of bending Simeon on the dining room table and plowing deep, taking him right there where anyone could walk in and witness his claiming, pulling on dark curls until his back arches back and his fangs grazed over smooth mahogany skin. Shoving his member into Simeon's mouth, forcing him to swallow and take it until he hits the angel's throat. Mossy gaze locked on the way his ocean-green eyes water and glaze over, shivering at the feeling of his throat gagging around him.

Damnit.

Barbatos's body wants nothing more than fuck Simeon until he forgets everything but the butler's cock, until his holes mold into the shape of Barbatos. Until no inch of his beautiful body isn't covered in bruises and marks of his demon's claim. Until he is overwriting everything Simeon's ever known, all the other partners he has ever had, making him forget any other's touch even if that included his own prince-

"-Barbie? Are you alright?"

He blinks out of his thoughts, eyes closing as he smiles, trying to hide the way his pupils must be blown out in desire. "My apologies. Please don't worry, I'm alright, Aegis."

"Are you sure?" She continues, looking him over with a concerned eye. "You seem....distracted."

"Must be the overwork," he lies. Well, only partly, gloved hand reaching over to grab the teapot and refill the human's cup. "It's nearing the Prince's birthday and there are lots of things to plan and arrange."

"Well, don't forget to get done rest after you're done. It wouldn't be good to exhaust yourself..."

Barbatos smiled and thanked the human, refilling his cup of tea before continuing their previous conversation as if nothing happened. Internally, Barbatos was scolding himself for almost messing up. He couldn't be caught fantasizing about one of the exchange students from the Celestial Realm, couldn't have his infatuation be known, especially since he was pining after someone his master had already claimed.

That little fact makes him sigh wistfully. He remembers it, then. The night when the connection that Barbatos had been trying to ignore between his master and his darling had flourished and cemented itself, building a wall between them and the butler. The night that Barbatos longs to override with himself, but couldn't. The universe had declared that they were simply not meant to be.

Diavolo asked him to prepare his room for a special guest the night before. So, diligent as he is, he made sure the Prince's quarters were nice and cosy, bed soft and warm and smelt like hell roses. Candles strewn about, bringing a sultry atmosphere inside the royal quarters as he placed the final touches of petals and flowers directly picked from the palace gardens. It looked romantic and intimate, perfect for seducing whoever the prince invited to his chambers. The prince had a history of inviting guests into the castle to satiate his needs, and Barbatos had never put much thought into the identities of his master's conquests unless he had thought they were a threat. Unfortunately, that meant that Barbatos didn't expect who it was this time. As he opened the door to welcome the guests, his heart stopped at the sight of a shy, yet excited-looking Simeon.

He looked so sweet and handsome that night, wearing his usual angel clothes that clung to his smooth dark skin like flowing water, the revealing parts leaving behind hints of what lay underneath. He looked so delicious and beautiful, standing in front of him like he was summoned here by his mere thoughts.

Barbatos smiled politely, though it felt a bit strained. He led the angel to the dining room, heart pounding as he pulled back the chair and left to gather the platters of dishes. It was then when they were taking a bite into the desserts he had prepared that Diavolo told him Simeon would stay at the demon castle that night. He watched with a polite smile as Simeon followed Diavolo to his room, the Prince's ebony hand splayed across the other's lower back as they strolled inside.

Barbatos stood at the door, watching the door close just as they turn and leaned towards each other.

Unbeknownst to them, he stayed, listening to everything. Witnessing everything. Inhuman hearing listened as they confessed to each other, listened as they laughed and listened as they made love to each other. He listened to everything, letting it all wash over him. Wash over his entire being. He knew he should walk away, give them privacy and do his chores around the castle, but he couldn't help himself.

He spent that night alone in his bed, alone with his rumpled sheets, his disheveled appearance. Alone with his desperation, and his one-sided affection. He imagined what was happening behind that closed door as he stroked himself, his labored breaths through sharp fangs fogging up his vision. Would his master kiss Simeon first? Would he taste the angel's skin first, giving him teasing caresses and sweet kisses? His horns twitch, tail thrashing wildly trying to swing to swipe, to grab and cling to something.

Was it wrong for him to be doing this? Yes. But did he stop? No, of course not. How could he? How could he, when the person he desires the most is only a door away from him? How could he when he could almost imagine how Simeon would look as he writhed underneath his prince, his body being claimed and marked and ruined for everyone else?

Claimed by someone else but him.

He reminisces--no, he's haunted by that night as he stood before one of his mirrors, the reflection of his silhouette painting a haunted portrait of his truest self and his obsession. His entire body was ready for this, tingling and taut, hand poised to imbue his magic and open the path that only he could take, that only he could regret, and all that was left was his consciousness trying to reason with his mind.

His prince would forgive him, he thinks, a pointer absentmindedly gliding in the air in the shape of a rune he's memorized just like the steps of his favorite pastry, lips opening to chant a rune-like he is drawling about Diavolo's daily schedule. It would be fine, so long as no one knows about what he's doing. So long as Barbatos keeps it buried deep within the crevices of his consciousness, so long as he can contain himself and those around him. A low, melodious hum and a glimmer of green reflect onto his irises. And if somehow through his meticulous control, it ever begins to spread, well, he has performed this same dance before. What's one more to his list of secrets to protect his master?

A slow, quiet breath escapes him as he takes a step, his slit eyes adjusting to the shift in light, gazing around the familiar room. He spots the figure on the bed, and with a flick of a wrist, he devours the spectre, gulping it down in one breath. His skin ripples as he steps closer, closer into the moonlight, to his salvation, shimmering, transforming from smooth ivory to dark green jewels that catch and conceal his fanged grin with the reflection of the light.

He will think of his next actions until after he's had his fill. One clawed, scaly hand reached and caressed, his face leaning in to smell that scent that both beckoned him and tortured him. For now, his most beloved is his and he will enjoy every second of it.

At least, that was how things were until that day Simeon found a very old cookbook in his room, a dusty little thing written in a language he did not understand but he recognized to be human. The book opened on the table as soon as he laid it down, and he felt a strong magical presence seeping out of it. He couldn't tell if it was cursed or not, but he wanted to know more about to, especially since you were somehow involved.

He felt you at the back of his mind, entering his space and wandering over to where he was hunched over his desk. He ignored you, and turned back to the curious item before him. The book had opened to a particular page, one denoting a recipe of a desert he was unfamiliar with. His eyes glazed over the page, nothing was amiss, it was a normal recipe albeit a bit old with it's outdated vocabulary and measurements. What caught his eye was the name of the dish—it had your name written as the owner.

When he spoke it out loud, he felt the gravity of the words, he felt the gravity of the words like it was pulling on his tongue. He felt you wandering closer to him, so close, your ghostly hand brushing against his as he tried to piece it together. Were you bound to this book? Was this the object that kept you in this mortal plane? He felt a little sad for you, unable to move on to the other side as something kept you tethered and unfulfilled. This was cursed indeed. And he wanted to discover how to set you free.

After a quick trip to the market had him laying out the supplies and ingredients to create the dessert on the book. When he finally got it done and ready, he presented it to you but you weren't there. He couldn't feel you anywhere near him. Had you gone away? Did he fulfill whatever it was that kept you here? He wasn't sure, but he felt a little disappointed as he stared at the plate that he tried hard to make for you.

It was a day later when you finally appeared back in the halls of their dorm, your presence somehow stronger than it was, and much more chaotic.

It started with small things: blinking lights in someone's room, objects falling from shelves, random items going missing and then ending up somewhere he knows it wasn't originally at, the feeling of someone tugging on his clothes or brushing against his skin despite him being alone. It seems that you were trying your best to get attention, but weren't sure how. And for some reason, you were only targeting him. Solomon looked at him funny when asked if they experienced the same things, while Luke was starting to sound worried and concerned, which made him stop and assure the younger angel that he was probably just tired.

It had gotten even more ridiculous more ridiculous as the days passed by. He had just finished with the laundry and had bent down to retrieve the clothes from inside the washer, unbeknownst to him that you were watching his every move and had tried to get close to him. He felt something warm and solid brush up against him from behind. The feel of you suddenly appearing behind him and pressing against him shocked him so much that it made him hit his head on the inside of the washer.

Raphael, who had been visiting Purgatory Hall at the time, peeked into the room after hearing the sound. Scrambling out of the machine, Simeon had to hide his embarrassment from the younger angel and assure him that he was fine. It took a while to convince the seraphim that he was okay, the latter eyeing the machine warily with twitching fingers as he turned the corner. Simeon sighed, trying his best to calm his heart beating far too fast. He could sense your playful aura beside him, willing himself not to turn and look.

....he doesn't remember how it had come up to this. He just remembers being so frustrated in a way he couldn't explain. Neither his writing nor his time spent with a certain red-haired demon could abate his frustration. Nothing seemed to be able to sate this intense need for something that he couldn't even place. He's never felt this way before so he doesn't know how to deal with it.

He vaguely remembered Solomon and Luke were at the House of Lamentation to host another anime watch-a-long with Leviathan, so he had the entire Purgatory Hall all to himself for tonight. But that also meant he had no one to talk to...and so he decided to try his hand once again and continue writing for one of his unfinished stories.

So he enters his room, intent on distracting himself with late-night brainstorming for a new chapter of his novel when in a blink, Simeon finds himself on his bed, completely naked, staring at the floor-length mirror in front of him. He watches, muscles taut and his body, his soul anticipating something he doesn't quite know yet, deep brown skin tingling, erupting with goosebumps and chest rising up and down with soft breaths. The room seemed to get warmer, or maybe it was his body fighting against the cold of the night trying to take over his naked form. He doesn't quite know.

What he does know is that through the weirdness, he can feel your presence somewhere, stronger yet fuzzy all the same, he knows you're watching him. Knows that you're waiting for something, some sort of cue or limit, just like he was (he was?). The muscles on his arms twitch and relax, over and over as they stay perched above him, manicured fingers gripping onto the headboard above him to ground himself. There's an electric current running amok in the air as he continues to lie in wait, vulnerable and unravelled for what's to come, waiting to break free, waiting to take it's move. He feels like a feast on a silver platter waiting to be devoured, plated up and ready for someone to come closer to him and take.

He feels your presence get closer, hovering over his figure like a beast caging him in under you—he was certain now, that you were definitely feeling a bit different since the last time you'd shown yourself. You felt stronger, bigger, somehow, almost covering him entirely in your presence. He wishes he was able to see your face so he could know your expression, and your intention, to give him a hint on what's happening. To at least comfort him of what's to come. Despite not being able to see you, he knows for certain that you're above him, looking down on him.

He feels something caress his cheek, which he guesses must be your hand, and it slowly slides down his body. Shivers and goosebumps erupt from his skin as your ghostly touch leaves heated trails, snaking down from his bobbing throat to his heaving chest, down to his twitching belly and stopping just above his pelvis before suddenly disappearing. He then feels your hands, more solid than he's ever felt you before, touch and grab at his bare legs and yank them open. He gasps at the suddenness, you were leaving him truly bare and vulnerable to anything, and yet he can't find it in himself to protest. Something in him is anticipating it, he would even dare say it was excited for whatever is about to happen.

He feels your hands on his body again, much warmer now, caressing up from his stomach to his ribs and stopping at his chest. He feels your fingers massage his muscles, your invisible digits playing and pinching his nipples. He whimpers, back arching into your touch.

And then your hands start caressing his legs. Your soft palms travel from his knees to his inner thighs, the muscles in his stomach growing taut at the feeling, goosebumps trailing after the shivers creeping down his legs. Simeon's breaths are getting labored, small puffs leaving his mouth and into the cold room. You don't stop caressing, invisible limbs reaching every crevice of his body. It feels like you're mapping out his skin, trying to memorize every inch of him. Going higher and higher into that space between his legs where he ached the most to feel your touch.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, eyelids fluttering as you finally reached his pelvis. Your fingers caress and massage, drawing out needy moans from his throat as you touched him everywhere except where he throbbed insistently, desperate for your attention.

"Please..."

He doesn't even notice that he's hard until he unconsciously squirms with the throbbing from his lower region. The action makes his stiff cock bounce a bit against his quivering stomach, the smallest friction against his head sends an entirely different sensation to Simeon's fuzzy brain. Through his hazy mind and blurry vision, he looks down at himself, noticing his cock weeping in rivulets of transparent, shiny liquid.

He watches in awe as torrents pour out the slit and gather on his abdomen, pooling on his dark skin and reflecting the moonlight from the window. It felt too warm on his cold, exposed abdomen. Shaking with every breath he takes, threatening to spill down his waist and stain the bed. He was tempted to bring his hand down from the headboard, touch it, and feel it with his fingers. To see it closer, to smell it, to taste-

His body is tense for a moment, muscles taut as his brain slowly processes what happened. His eyes wandered in his confusion until they landed on the mirror in front of his bed. He doesn't really understand what he's seeing for a bit until his eyes clear and everything clicks. Looking down past his erection, he sees the reflection of his lower cheeks being pushed open to reveal his winking hole- clenching and unclenching at the invisible intrusion that was you.

He felt something wet as you continued rubbing yourself on his hole, up and down his cheeks trying to get him wet for you. He bit his lip to stifle a groan as he watched you get him ready.

He feels you push in again, much bigger this time,  his his blue eyes transfixed by the way his hole stretches around you, accommodating you. He feels your hands land on his waist, holding him, keeping him still as you continue entering him. It wasn't long before you were fully inside him, buried as deep as his body allows. And he can feel it. He can feel how full he is from you like you were filling him up deep into his body, up into his breathless lungs and clogging his bobbing throat.

Even without moving yet, he already feels as if he was being split in half. His mind is blank, muscles trembling in need, aching for you to move, to do anything. But you held him down, enjoying the feeling of him stretching open around you, watching with amusement and hunger as he squirmed on the mattress in such a needy way.

And then you finally move. You move slowly out of him, letting him feel every inch, every rigid vein throbbing as you leave him clenching around you to keep you in. He can feel you pull away until it was only your tip, and he fights off the whine that claws its way into his throat.

Your pace started off slow, letting him feel you, get used to the feeling of you moving in and out of his body, relish in the way he shivers underneath you. The way your curved length snags onto his clingy walls as you pull out and push back in. But after a minute your impatience gets the best of you and you lean down towards Simeon, your hands gripping onto his waist as you start pounding into him with all your strength.

"Mhmm- haah-" Simeon's body was writhing on the bed as you continued pounding into him with vigor. He felt your length repeatedly sliding in and out of him, rigid veins catching onto his walls as your tip bullied that spongy spot inside him that makes his toes curl. His eyes dripped with tears and his body bounced back and forth on the mattress in time with your thrusts.

He watched with hazy eyes as his reflection in the mirror gets fucked in time with his body. The sounds of your coupling echoed through the space, wet sounds of both of your arousal and the thundering beat of skin meeting skin, he was grateful his roommates were nowhere as he wouldn't survive the shame of them knowing what he was up to. This was the first he ever experienced something like this, of indulging in the carnal pleasures of man while watching himself get lost in it. It was a feeling he was unfamiliar with, but wasn't entirely against—his body was reacting positively to your touch, to your presence. He felt that familiar coil tightening in his abdomen and he knew he was close.

He screamed loud as you hit that particular spot in him brutally, sending sparks of white hot pleasure up his spine and clouding his already foggy brain. "Oh! I'm gonna-" he gasped, mouth hanging open in an adorable 'o' as he panted your name over and over again. His nails raking on the wooden headboard as his legs trembles. "'m so close..gonna cum, oh my-"

At his exclamation, you changed your angle, hands lifting his hips up, almost folding him in half, and driving down into him. He choked on sobs as he felt you hitting him deeper, definitely bulldozing your length into that spot inside him that will leave you etched onto his senses for days. Your pace quickens as you chase his release, relishing in the way he fluttered around you, invisible hands gripping onto his hips, sure to leave crescent-shaped welts in the coming morning.

That tight coil in his belly erupts, and he feels something trying to come out as his body stiffens, back arching as he spurts white strings of pearly white cum directly onto his abdomen, some catching onto his chest. Your pace doesn't relent as you guide him through his orgasm, fucking into him as his tip continues to paint his body in his essence. You only falter when he comes back down from his high, pace slowing down until you eventually stop altogether, making him wince as you pull out.

His hole flutters still twitching from your intense coupling. He only gets a quick moment to catch his breath before he feels your hands on his body again, manhandling him onto his hands and knees and his front facing the mirror. For the first time he sees his face, all fucked-out like a sinner, his dark skin flushed deep and his cheeks glistening with drying tears. He sees his messy hair and winces. But he doesn't get to think much more about his appearance as he feels you pushing into him for the second time that night, burying yourself to the hilt and your hands curled on the divots of his waist as your pace picks up again.

It was going to be a long night ahead.

Simeon comes back to reality slowly, body sluggish and heavy, with a newfound clarity that he gapes at as his mind wholly wakes up. Images flash behind his eyes as his memories crawl back to him, that heated flush coming back up to darken his cheeks and warm his ears.

He doesn't know how many times he came or how long it has been since it started, just that he feels sticky all over his body, lungs pumping in and out as if he ran a marathon, and certain areas of his body feeling sore and aching. His mind is hazy, barely coherent as he tries to wade through the fog to remember what happened. He's more vulnerable now than he was when this all began, laid open and debauched on his bed. Muscles sore and aching—his body glistened with sweat and his own liquids, truly a sight to behold for a holy creature such as himself. A portrayal of sin and beauty, a sacred dove that has descended into indulgence.

Strangest of all, he wagers, is the feeling of you still at his side. You were still here, and something tugged at his chest, a hearth that was slowly heating up at the thought of you. You felt softer now, caressing his aching body with the tenderness of a lover. For the first time, he heard your voice, a soft baritone lull that tempts his tired mind back into unconsciousness. 

Hello. Your voice was as gentle as your touch, and he finally saw your face as you leaned into his view. You were beautiful, otherworldly so, as you smiled down at him from above. A translucent hand of yours came up to caress his face, and he leaned into your touch, still feeling a little needy after everything. Rest now, you've done well.

His brows furrow as he took in your words, his still sleep-addled mind trying to piece the puzzle you chuckle at his adorable face. He watches as your form slowly begins disappearing from him now, only this time it felt a bit sorrowful. As if you weren't simply going back to being invisible.

Thank you for freeing me, my angel. He heard in his mind, your voice a sweet caress upon his ear. He blinks, slow and laborious, his dry mouth opening to say something, but stopped as he felt his eyes roll back and his body go limp once more.