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Slorch sat on the sofa tucked in the corner of Enter Eden. He was sparsely dressed, by his standards. His boots were by the door, so his angel didn’t lose his mind over trampled soil. His coat and chains were hung neatly on the coat rack to avoid smashing yet another terrarium. Even his harness was upstairs, probably under the bed, or wherever it had been thrown in the heat of the night. He was left wearing a greying T-shirt over his hoodie. The arms of which had long since rotted away. He looked like the bouncer for a seedy nightclub.
His mug of tea sat on Anthony's desk, long forgotten in favour of a book. Ramona was sprawled on the floor of the kitchenette. They had successfully driven away any potential customers the Botanical shop might attract, and had contentedly passed the hours in companionable silence, reading. They could have books now, as many as they wanted, so Anthony said. Between them, Slorch and Ramona would make him regret those words. The bell above the door to the nursery chimed, and a weighty paper bag landed on the demon with a satisfying thud.
What’s this treasure?” Slorch laid down his book on the arm of the sofa and looked at the paper gift bag with a look that implied Anthony had just dropped a writhing ball of snakes in his lap.
“Present.” Ah yes, eloquent as always, the angel climbed into his chair opposite the demon and looked at him with gleeful anticipation.
The Archduke narrowed his eyes.
“What kind of present?”
Anthony put his hand to his heart in mock offence.
“You wound me, sweetheart. I only brought you a few new clothes.”
Ramona scrabbled up from the floor.
"And where's my present?"
Anthony reached forward and rummaged in the bag, pulling out a black dress, covered in velvet bats.
"Here you go, book beastie." He threw the frock at the tiny demon, who screeched with delight before scampering out the door to find Eric Four and show him her spoils.
"What's wrong with the clothes I'm wearing?" Slorch narrowed his eyes at his angel. Slorch liked his clothes. They were comfortable. They encouraged humans to move out of his path.
"There's nothing wrong with your clothes." There was definitely something wrong with his clothes. Slorch raised a sullen brow.
"I was going to take you out to dinner. Somewhere nice."
"Nice?" Slorch leaned back in his seat in a manor that heavily hinted that he was willing to negotiate terms.
"Yes. The Ritz." Anthony tried his best, but his eyes betrayed him, as they flickered briefly over the demon's body.
"They have a dress code." This did not appease Slorch the Vile.
"Then why can't we go somewhere that I can just wear my own clothes?"
"Because somewhere else doesn't serve crepe suzette." There we are: his demon's eyes flashed white, and Anthony knew he had won. He turned his head to hide a smirk, and the master of torments groaned in defeat.
"Fine." Slorch stood and sighed as he pulled demonic power from below. In an instant, his own clothes were folded neatly on the couch, and Anthony was trying to retrieve his own dignity, which had fled the scene as soon as his demon transformed.
In place of jeans and hoodies, he wore matching black trousers and waistcoat, with a long-sleeved, mesh top underneath. He held his arms out to the sides, and did a slow rotation, allowing Anthony time to appreciate the curve of his arse, and the strain of the satin fabric on the back of the waistcoat across his broad shoulders. His nails were also freshly painted. He'd even gone to the trouble of redoing his make-up. Not a run, nor a crease, perfect eyeliner, and scarlet lips. His white hair framed his face in soft curls.
"Well?" The demon licked his lips and rested gloved hands on his hips.
"It's em, it's definitely a different look for you." Anthony let out a long breath as he tried to encourage all the blood that had flowed away from the brain to retreat and help him regain full power of thought.
Slorch let out an exasperated sigh. "This was your idea, Treasure."
"No, no, it's not bad, I know, it's just." Anthony felt dreadful. Here he was salivating at the sight of his love, and guilt was creeping in. He didn't look like himself. He looked like a different demon altogether, and he'd done it at Anthony's insistence, and the promise of some admittedly delicious crepes.
The angel stepped forward and snapped his fingers. Beneath the waistcoat, the familiar leather harness could now be seen peeking out. A less spikey collar also circled his throat. Anthony pulled the demon forwards and kissed him. It wasn't soft or gentle; it was wet and sloppy and altogether delicious. Anthony tugged sharply on white curls, moaning into his darling's mouth. As he pulled away, Slorch stumbled, following his retreating lips with his own.
"What was that for, love?" Slorch's hair was in disarray, and his mouth was smeared with red smudges.
"Now you look more like yourself." Slorch gave a rare, genuine smile and licked the tip of the angel's nose.
"Cheers." He said, and sauntered over to the coat stand to retrieve his coat. Anthony picked up the pile of clothes from the sofa. "I'll just put these away, and then we can go then."
Slorch didn't look back as he slid his arms into his sleeves. "Put them down, Treasure, you're not binning my hoodie." Anthony cringed.
"I'll buy you a new one."
"I don't want a new one, I like my old one."
The angel had to admit defeat. It had been a halfway decent attempt; he'd just have to be sneakier next time. As they shut up shop and walked to the Bentley Slorch winced.
"The shoes do pinch a bit."
"That's just Doc Martens, I'm afraid sweetheart; beauty is pain."