Work Text:
“don’t be shy now.”
they say a prayer is whatever you say on your knees.
“do you ever stop talking?”
so here i am. praying at the devil’s feet. biting into his throat like apple from the eden.
“why don’t you make me?”
it was never supposed to come down to this.
but ever since our paths have crossed ways everything around me has started slipping out of my control.
i’m losing focus. i’m becoming sloppy. borderline human even. everything i fear. how absolutely humiliating.
of course you’re the one to blame. heavens knows why.
let it be your insufferable showman aura or your dry and brat like sense of humor.
maybe something about that infuriating and stupidly clever tongue of yours. luring and toxic. a siren in the hiding.
you’re aware of this. of its power. dangerously so. always taking advantage of it. greedily using it in your favor.
the second you decided to open that filthy mouth could only mean trouble. we both knew it. and even so.
“you’ve never tried angelic blood before? what a shame.”
i was surprised the word ‘shame’ was even registered in your cheap vocabulary. wouldn’t imagine you could use it properly in a sentence.
yet, the implication was there. subtle as a gunshot. a not so secret invitation.
quiet but provoking. very much like the teasing grin on your red wine tinted lips.
you thank charlie for dinner and stand up to leave. making a show out of your every move. rolling up your sleeves. loosening the collar of your shirt.
trying your best to reveal the glowing expanse of your seraphic and tragically unmarked skin.
you absolutely love sensing everyone’s eyes on you. get high on the feeling.
heavy is the head that wears the crown. oh, but with an ever growing ego like that it's only granted to be anything but light.
please. who do you take me for, your majesty?
you surely know how to awaken things in me. unfortunately, hunger isn’t exactly one of them.
do you believe i’m actually that desperate or do you really think so mighty of yourself?
a self proclaimed walking delicacy in royal attire. waiting for the right moment to be devoured. torn apart inside out.
i pity the sinner in you. i really do. slave of his own mortal like desires. baring his flesh for banalities such as the craving of a touch.
how pathetic. step. how disgusting. step. how revolting.
maybe if i keep degrading the image of you inside my head it will eventually be enough to hold my feet back from walking down the hallway.
of the last floor.
step.
to your wing.
step.
maybe. just, maybe.
step.
i’m still on time. aren’t i? on time for the offer. on time for the run. it’s getting obnoxiously blurry.
the door opens before i even get the chance to knock. you were expecting me. maybe chivalry isn’t actually dead yet.
“glad you decided to join me. please, come in. dessert is served.”