#voodatan

Every other month, as part of his new, god-awful bargain with the devil herself, Voodoo has sex with Satan instead of giving up an innocent life. She’s a horrible dominatrix, demanding and willful, and Voodoo is reduced to being her bitch for a full twenty-four hours every other month, and she is not very kind with her time.

Voodoo has scratches and bruises and bite marks, and he feels thoroughly violated and exhausted by the end of it. He hates it, and he hates her, even if some of it is really good sex, and the rest of it is painful and she laughs with glee over it.

In the end, it’s always the same: he has the violence in his life and is left feeling like a used toy of the devil, and there is only one person he turns to: Audrey.

The redhead comes in the day after, and she is well aware of the circumstances by now. She no longer bats an eyelash as she tends to his scratches and bites with ointment to sooth the redness and prevent infection, and carefully rubs out his bruises with lotion. The teen takes such good care of him; she puts ice where it’s sore and she’s so very careful when he, as has become ritual, asks her, “Lay with me?” and she obliges, making sure not to jar him or disturb his aching muscles.

Her tenderness is his only reprieve. She’s the contrast to Satan; where sex with Satan is rough and brutal and fast-paced, everything with Audrey is gentle and caring and measured. She helps him change clothes, she cooks for him and makes him warm drinks, and by the end of it, he spoons her on the sofa or in his hammock and kisses the back of her neck, arm around her waist, and she’s pressed as close to him as possible, fitting sweetly against him, and she often brings a book and reads out loud to him, her voice lulling him to the shores of sleep for some much-needed rest.

“How long will you keep this up?” she asks him this evening in particular, and Voodoo freezes up, his forearm across her stomach growing tight. She sets down her book and shifts to peer over her shoulder. “You can’t keep letting her use you like this.”

“It’s better than killing kids,” he answers gruffly. He can’t look her in the eye.

Audrey sighs heavily, but nods. She molds into him and kisses gently at his throat, over a few marks, and he sighs contentedly and plays with her hair idly. “You’re right, it’s sparing more lives this way, but you’re more abused than ever. Look what she does to you each time,” the redhead points out with a sigh, touching a welt on his hipbone.

“That was the whip,” he mutters coldly. “She missed my ass.”

“See what I mean!” Audrey scolds, shaking her head. She props herself up on one elbow on the couch, and peers into his eyes. “Isn’t there another way? You don’t even want to have sex with her…”

“I don’t,” he agrees. “I’m forced into it. Sometimes she does things that I enjoy, and sometimes she takes my pleasure into consideration, but hers always wins out in the end. The sole reason she gives the scraps to a starving dog like me to keep me coming back, letting her in every other month. But it’s the only way I can keep her satisfied without killing anyone. The day I tell her, ‘The deal’s off, I don’t want the sex as payment to you anymore,’ she’ll make me go back to killing innocents, or worse, she’ll finally sick her hellhounds on me and I’ll be done for. There’s… no way around it. At all.”

The teen considers this, then sighs in defeat. “…You’re right. But, I just… I hate seeing you like this.”

Voodoo smiles sadly and reaches up to brush back her hair. His fingertips follow the curve of her neck, then glide down her back. He draws her down and kisses the corner of her mouth; it’s a spot that’s not quite romantic, such as on the lips, but not quite platonic, such as on the cheek. It’s somewhere in between. “It’s all right, I can handle it. It’s only once every other month, and for twenty-four hours, and then I’m free. And I have you. You’re the consolation prize in all of this mess. You coming over each time makes it bearable.”

Audrey’s eyes brim with tears, but soon she’s huffing a small laugh and glancing down, wiping at her face. “If you say so,” she gives in, and lies back down with him, returning to their spooning position. He kisses her nape and top of her spine, and across one shoulder, and keeps his bicep under her head and the other arm back on her waist. She drifts off, and at some point, he does as well.

And this is the pattern. He’s a used toy with Satan, but he’s a mended man with Audrey. Her parents have picked up on the pattern; she’s here for one night every other month, and she has to reassure them over and over again that it’s just for comfort, not for sex, and they are paranoid, calling her often, but she always answers, always sounds calm and collected and relaxed, and in the end, they give up.

But they ask her, “Are you in love with him?’ and Voodoo has even heard her respond, “No, but I do love him,” and they can never quite tell which kind of love she means, and Voodoo may be bold, but he isn’t bold enough to ask her to clarify, either, and in the end, he doesn’t care.