Call him cruel. Or sadistic. Or a monster. None of these words could describe even a fraction of how far the demon prince had gone, and was ready to go still. They were not wrong as much as they were weak, their semantic essence as insufficient as the adjective “warm” to describe the insides of a bubbling volcano, and just about as subjective. The sun itself would only laugh at such descriptors - if it gave a damn, that was.
Oh, Asmodeus knew what he had done to Dantalion. He had not done it often before, but logic required that he had invaded another being so thoroughly and violently that rebuilding it would take a life time, and still the scars would never fade. Earthquakes and tsunamis at least had the decency to not act consciously or with intent. Asmodeus could not claim any of these excuses. Being who he was, he did not even see the need to. Dantalion had known, after all. Even if he truly had not. …Well, anyway. Now he did.
Following the pull of Dantalion’s hands on his hair, Asmodeus curled himself around the duke even tighter. He was bigger than the other in this shape, though in a strange and distorted kind of way. Pale hands ending in scorched fingertips gently smoothed over the stiff curve of Dantalion’s spine, and the demon prince pressed a kiss to the top of his head.
Like a cool breeze on heated skin, Asmodeus breathed his words into the poor creature’s mind. “It will be okay. It is aaaall going to be okay, love. It hurts, I know. I am here. I am here.”
Asmodeus, Dantalion would have maintained (had he the interest in speaking, at the moment), did not know shit in a shoe box. Well, the cuddling was a nice touch, literally, soothing Tal’s whining sobs into something more resembling hiccups. However, the kisses were greatly preferred to what came out of the prince’s mouth when he chose to open it.
Not that the little speech didn’t cut into Dantalion’s mind like cold shortening into a biscuit dough, flaking apart the layers with a lightness normally reserved for pastry. It was almost obscene, and, indeed, a bystander might have mistaken his sigh for something much more indecent than the sliding away of a mental weight. Maybe, if it hadn’t been followed up with a spate of unsettling laughter.
‘It hurts’? Of course it hurts! Pain was hardly the issue at hand. Asmodeus may as well have been kissing the skinned knee of someone with a sucking chest wound, for all that acknowledgement did. It galled to hear such peculiar pity from the very one who had caused his current state. He didn’t need pity; he needed a hand up! Fuck hurt, he was as disoriented as he had ever been, and frighteningly close to despair.
Ah, but Dantalion had known, after all. Even if he truly had not.
…Well, anyway. Now he did.
The cackling trailed off, reduced once again to mere hiccups.
His mind flashed back to the beginning of this fiasco, had it been hours, or days, or weeks ago -- and the laughter nearly seized him once more. Instead, and not knowing what he meant, he choked out the sweet, dangerous word that had got him here in the first place.
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