AUs for all your demonic AU needs

AU Blog to saligiare. All my plotted AU threads go here. Plotting only via my main blog. You can send in questions for the AU characters though, if you specify the AU in your ask.

[otherworldlysinners]

For all their status and their glory, their crown jewels and gold threaded robes and polished chalices, only a blind man could have found the royal family's splendor to be the greatest in the room that night. Addhir was all but glowing, and it was only his status as the king's property that that would save him from any accusation of impertinence. So long as he remained an object to be admired like an expensive doll, there were no problems to be had. Every once in a while his gaze wandered over to the prince, however, who in turn avoided it to the best of his ability. Later, then, the demon told himself. Soon enough, there would be so much more for his master to look at.

There is a special kind of joy to be found in guiding a parched soul to water, more so than drinking from the purest fountain yourself, at times. Ten thousands of years of existence had quelled any excitement over new discoveries within Asmodeus - mainly because there were basically none left to make. The demon prince had seen it all and done it all, though he still enjoyed those overdone experiences more than many others of his kind (a trait that he insisted was the actual key to his success). The only thing left - a glorious and wonderful thing that he would hopefully never run out of - was to experience it all through the body and mind of somebody else.

When Addhir was therefore called to join Gaara in his quarters for a leisure evening that day, his skin all but prickled from the prince's overflowing nerves. He could barely contain his smile as they sat down for a rather pathetic attempt at distracting his poor master, and only did so to accommodate his actual worry about Hassan's fickle... common sense.

"No more than what we have already spoken of, I believe." Addhir hummed, before moving his bishop.

"We are to stay close together. There is no point in hiding or sneaking through the shadows - we must appear as though we are just regular attendees of the festivities. Keep your coin close to you, never let anyone know how much you have, and remember - in their eyes, my liege will be nothing but an ordinary young man. Respect the elders as if they were members of the court. Don't take anything personally they say or do - they rarely mean it. I shall refer to my prince as my friend, for the time being. And if I insist that my friend do something, please do not question it. Do you remember the names we picked for our cover?"

[desertgourd]

otherworldlysinners​:

  On a different night, in a different state, Gaara’s weak flinch would have sufficed to chase off the unwelcome touch, like a stove suddenly turned up to full fire. For how much Lux loved to be in other people’s spaces, he did not love being where he was not wanted, and it was up to the shape of the clouds whether or not he took any rejection to heart. But the night was old and his bones felt weary, and even though the safety of his home should have brought him comfort, he almost wished himself back out onto the streets - one arm around Gaara for support and the weight of a guiding hand on his back. For those were the only moments he truly existed: With the eyes or hands or lips or limbs of another human being on him. All the other times… well. He might just as well be less than a ghost.

  “O-of course.” He fumbled to push himself back up. “Sure. Water. The stairs. Sorry about that. Should’ve told you, I was just…” But they would never find out what Lux was in that moment. Swaying over to the kitchen counter, he dropped his jacket somewhere along the way and grabbed a clean glass and a bottle of water from the fridge. Despite his best effort, the glass ended up dangerously full– and then quite a bit emptier once he had made it back to the bed.

  “You gotta put your elbows on your knees”, Lux explained, “and lean that way. Helps the breathing, my brother said. He’s a doc, yunno. Something about… activating ‘xtra muscles I think.”

Gaara downed half the water in a single pull and found the act itself more grounding than his own feet on the floor. After a handful of breaths he offered the remainder to Lux and leaned forward as instructed.

For some time they sat there, quiet, Gaara adjusting to Lux’s hovering until the pressure in his chest had lifted and he could no longer feel his pulse throbbing in his ankles. Lux looked little better-off than him, he was sure. He had taken the stairs like a walk in the park to Gaara’s Olympic blunder, but the drunkenness had petered out to a heavy-lidded sort of semi-consciousness. Gaara glanced beyond him, spied their blurred reflections in a dingy windowpane off the kitchen, and snuffed out an uncomfortable twist of sympathy and self-pity.

A beat passed. Then he nodded once, sharply, as though he had conducted and concluded an entire conversation as a party of one. He drew his arms to his side, clutching the edge of the bed, but could not quite yet will himself to stand.. “I’ll - go. You probably want to sleep.”

[otherworldlysinners]

The clock was ticking on as they sat on the bed, side by side, simply existing in each other's space. Lux could sense the dip of the mattress weighed down by Gaara's body next to him, and for a moment that was somehow enough. But too soon did the silence end. Lux could only will himself to nod, eyes glued to the empty glass clutched in his hands. If he closed them now and took a deep breath, willed himself away to a place of mind two weeks ago - maybe he could pretend that this was actually a happy ending to a great night full of music and dancing. That he had found the other sitting at the bar, all auburn hair and hazel eyes, like a darker, deeper reflection of his own. That he had chatted him up with his usual charm, and they had ended up talking all night. No kisses and no joined bed, but some genuine human connection at least, instead of being taken in like a lost and crying puppy.

Alas, even though Lux knew that kind of place by heart, his thoughts did not seem to find their way back to it. He barely noticed Gaara's hesitation, and only registered that his weight was gone when the other had already placed his hand upon the door handle.

"You don't have to go." Lux blinked, forcing the image of the man by the door to grow clearer. "I-I mean--" Had he really just said that? He could not remember ordering his lips to form the words.

"It's late and... the stairs are, I mean the way is, it's long." He pushed himself up from the bed without intention. It just didn't feel right to keep sitting while the other was not.

"...and the neighbourhood's not that safe. And I feel kinda bad 'cause... you know." A hand reaching up to push his hair out of his face, Lux noticed that he was still holding onto the empty water glass. He quickly set it aside and made his way over to Gaara. His heart, absent as it had been for the past hour or so, suddenly began to run. Lux caught himself at the edge of the kitchen counter, and stopped.

"'m just saying. The bed's big enough... o-or the couch, if you wanna. You could stay, I don't mind, I mean. 's the least I can do."

[otherworldlysinners]

desertgourd​:

He made to jolt away, jackrabbit-like, but had neither the mental wherewithal nor lung capacity to do so. Instead he tensed, toes curling in his shoes, his head turtling back into his shoulders. He had become unaccustomed to touch. There was no one left in his life close enough for the privilege - barring strangers too drunk to find their own way home. Yet there the hand sat, Lux’s face in his, and Gaara was not sure he even had the breath to speak, in the very literal sense. How had the tables turned here? He did not need caring for. Enough of his burdens had been carried by others, and for too long.

The yearning for home called to him once more in a swirling, fragmented mass: His childhood bed; the face of his uncle; a clay-splattered high-rise; his new, barely broken-in apartment. A tug deep in his navel whispered that this was no new urge, but one deep and primal as his own bones, one that merely flared up at the worst possible moments, like an old sports injury, or colitis.

He sucked in a breath, this one coming easier, his heartrate slowing now that the muscle had been offered a much-needed reprieve. Then he lifted his head and straightened his shoulders. This deliberate act of autonomy was somewhat canceled out by his face looking absolutely haggard.

“Water is fine,” he acquiesced. “I’m fine. It was - a lot of stairs.”

  On a different night, in a different state, Gaara’s weak flinch would have sufficed to chase off the unwelcome touch, like a stove suddenly turned up to full fire. For how much Lux loved to be in other people’s spaces, he did not love being where he was not wanted, and it was up to the shape of the clouds whether or not he took any rejection to heart. But the night was old and his bones felt weary, and even though the safety of his home should have brought him comfort, he almost wished himself back out onto the streets - one arm around Gaara for support and the weight of a guiding hand on his back. For those were the only moments he truly existed: With the eyes or hands or lips or limbs of another human being on him. All the other times... well. He might just as well be less than a ghost.

  “O-of course.” He fumbled to push himself back up. “Sure. Water. The stairs. Sorry about that. Should’ve told you, I was just...” But they would never find out what Lux was in that moment. Swaying over to the kitchen counter, he dropped his jacket somewhere along the way and grabbed a clean glass and a bottle of water from the fridge. Despite his best effort, the glass ended up dangerously full-- and then quite a bit emptier once he had made it back to the bed.

  “You gotta put your elbows on your knees”, Lux explained, “and lean that way. Helps the breathing, my brother said. He’s a doc, yunno. Something about... activating ‘xtra muscles I think.”

[otherworldlysinners]

desertgourd​:

By the fourth floor Gaara’s calves were cramping. By the sixth his lungs seized for air. By the eighth his body had fallen into a mindless death march; his legs, detached from his body, could have trudged on forever, beyond the top floor, beyond the stratosphere, into the sun itself - until Lux finally, mercifully, came to a stop.

Inside, he fumbled in the dark for the first place to sit and immediately sucked in as much oxygen as his body could handle. Then a light clicked on, and he swept a gaze too bleary to be truly critical across wherever this man had taken him. He found that in following at Lux’s heels he had bypassed the sofa and instead sat on the edge of the bed, but he could not bring himself to care. He could barely keep his eyelids open, and someone had stuffed his mouth with cotton.

Gaara had lived in the upper echelon of sprawling suburbia and the rotted corners of slumlord urbanism: Maid services and moldy rugs; quartz countertops and skittering cockroaches; arctic central air and a window unit which sputtered out tepid drafts at best and tended to die entirely on the hottest summer days. Lux’s home hovered somewhere in between, with its inhuman cleanliness bordering on sterility packed into cramped quarters too run-down to ever see a dollar back of his security deposit. Some part of him, someday, would analyze, discern, draw lines between dots. For now, he hunched forward, elbows dug into his thighs, his hands propping up his entire upper body by the temples.

“You can make it to your bed on your own, can’t you?” he murmured once he had caught his breath. His eyes had drifted shut of their own volition, though he did not appear to notice. “I’ll go. In a minute.” Just a minute. When he could feel his legs again.

  Lux would have found his way blindly, and blindly did his feet carry him over to the bathroom door. His fingers grabbed the edge of the sink, then the faucet, then the water running from it. The temperature barely registered with Lux as he splashed his face, a numb attempt of clearing his skin from the salt and sweat and shame of the wasted evening of his 24th birthday. He stood there for a while, his weight supported by stained porcelain and stray hairs clinging to his wet face. Even though he could not see the man in the mirror, a voice that sounded a lot like his own whispered:

  Maybe next time.

  But Lux had heard those words too often to find solace in them. Mechanically, he turned off the water, and turned his back on the other. Should he rot here by himself, trapped behind glass with his false promises for company. Lux would go to bed, lonely as it may be. 

  That was, until he stepped beyond the half-open door and was suddenly reminded that he was not alone at all. He did not know what he had expected. For Gaara to leave as soon as his keys turned inside the lock? No. The truth was that for a few minutes, Lux had actually forgotten about his strange companion altogether. It seemed as if eons had passed between a spilled drink and the man whispering to him from the mirror. Seeing Gaara sit on the edge of his bed now felt just as surreal, like a modern art piece that had secretly been placed there during his absence. But something was wrong with it.

  “Hey...”

  That voice again. So gentle and quiet. Only this time, it was not directed at Lux, but at the quivering sculpture on the edge of his bed. Lux did not think as he breached the distance between them and knelt down beside Gaara’s feet, one hand on his knee somewhat soothing Lux’ ever growing desire to touch.

  “...you okay..?” Lux frowned. “D’you need... I’ve got water, if you want. Should I get you a glass of water?”

[otherworldlysinners]

desertgourd​:

The way Addhir described it, the town festival did not sound much different from the palace’s celebration at all. But it must be. Each year the din of the revelry echoed through his windows late into the night, and each year, ever so increasingly, he ached for it. If not for the food from foreign carts, if not to brush up against the throngs of strangers so alien from his own sort - all manners from fire jugglers to trapeze artists to the common mineworker - then simply for the anonymity.

He decided against asking of the former master. He had tread down that path once before and had been met with only caginess. He found that he did not even care to know, save for what it might reveal about Addhir’s own past and persona. To imagine Addhir serving anyone before him felt like disloyalty. It felt like theft.

“Not tonight, very likely,” Gaara instead agreed, almost a murmur. “You will be an object for my father tonight, as will I.” There was no bitterness in his words, only calm acceptance. Gaara did not think he could ever feel bitter again. He had dipped his head low enough for the crimson waves at his forehead to kiss the water’s edge, allowing Addhir’s nimble hands to travel up his spine with ease. “But tomorrow - perhaps, then, I can watch you dance. I would like to.” Perhaps, if the night went well, Gaara would dance alongside him.

  Moving to adapt to the new position of his master, Addhir shifted his weight behind him with a tender smile. His hands came to rest on the prince’s shoulders for a moment, then started to gently guide him back up. Taut with the curve of his spine, Gaara’s muscles would become unreceptive to his efforts soon enough - though not quite as unreceptive as the king would be to his pleads if he were to find his youngest son drowned in his own bath tub.

  “I think...” Addhir hummed, as he shared the warmth of his palms with the other’s shoulders one last time. “...we should be doing this again soon, perhaps in a better place.”

  Water glistened on exposed skin, the sweet scented oil on Addhir’s hands and the bath water heavily impregnating the air. Slowly but with firm intention, the slave leaned down to breathe a single kiss against his master’s nape, as if to plant a flower.

  “As long as we look at each other, we will be more than anything the king may force us to be tonight.”

[otherworldlysinners]

desertgourd​:

Gaara could have asked. He did not. He dropped the conversation like a hot iron, avoiding, now, the face that seemed to him too familiar for comfort.

He instead stared up at the dark staircase stretching above them like a tower. So much of him wanted to go home. Part of this was the desire to burrow under the covers and sleep until dawn. The other part was the bubbling urge to drive straight to his old spots and lose himself entirely. It was only an itch now, soft but insistent; Gaara recognized it and knew at once it would not stay an itch for long.

He stilled his nails from scratching at the insides of his palms and took another glance at the first few steps. All he could picture was Lux, alone, tumbling headfirst down an entire flight. With this, he corralled him toward the staircase, one hand already on the rail, which sagged wetly under his hand from the beginnings of wood rot. “I don’t think you would be okay. You probably shouldn’t be left alone right now.” He was uncertain who, exactly, he was trying to convince.

What he wouldn’t do now for a handful of pretzels and an Ambien.

  Gaara was right. Of course he was. Not that it kept Lux from protesting, albeit weakly, as the two of them began the dreaded climb together. He was soon silenced when a carelessly placed foot slipped off one of the steps and only the creaking rail and Gaara’s hand on his upper arm saved his face from making very uncomfortable acquaintance with the floor boards. Man. Being drunk wasn’t nearly as fun as people made it out to be. 

  Lux felt exhausted, mentally more so than physically, but eight floors were nothing for those weak of will. Alas, he doubted that Gaara would let him sit down and take a nap on the stairs. Thankfully, frequent practice and a fairly active lifestyle kept the athletic challenge moderate for Lux. At some point, it even started to feel meditative. Keeping his balance during their ascend demanded focus, and for a while Lux almost forgot why his cheeks were crusted with salt and a quiet stranger was walking side by side with him. 

  They passed by the third floor, which always smelled obnoxiously like the sweetest vanilla perfume, as if the respective tenant had been camping outside her apartment door for hours. Then the fourth, where loud music penetrated the walls from behind one of the doors and even louder shouting from behind the other. The fifth, where they could hear a baby crying, and decided to take a small break to recuperate. Something about the sound of the wailing infant prodded at a very deep and terrible part of Lux conscience, however, and he soon urged Gaara to move on before that one seemed entirely ready. On the seventh floor, where the light was broken and always flickered, Lux thought about his brother Levi and their younger sister. His throat tightened.

  Finally, upon reaching the eighth floor without any major tumbles, Lux leaned against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment, just to stop his world from spinning. Almost mechanically did he pull out the keys to fidget with the door. They slipped out of his hand, but after a muttered curse and scramble Lux managed to unlock his apartment and drag himself inside.

  It was a small apartment - a single room stretched out to accommodate a cheap kitchen, a worn out couch and an even cheaper futon bed in the corner. There was a TV that Lux mainly used to muffle the silence, and two doors leading into a bathroom and a built-in closet - probably the most fancy part of his entire home. A band poster had been stuck to one of its doors by the previous inhabitant, and although Lux had never heard a single one of their songs before he had kind of taken a liking to it. To him, it was like the ghost of a person he would probably never know, but whom he still remained connected to through the experience of living in this place, and staring at that poster every time they got dressed in the morning. A lonely photus that his sister had gifted him the day of his move crept down the side of one of the kitchen cabinets, and the fridge showed a few scattered polaroids. Most of them showed Lux together with a blond guy around his own age, noses crinkling with laughter, or the same blond man with a young woman who was holding the camera up for a selfie, just when her boyfriend leaned in to blow in her ear.

  Aside from these details, little to nothing within the apartment spoke of the man who lived here. No dirty dishes, no pizza boxes, no unfinished books near the bed, cozy decor or other personal items. On the contrary, the place seemed almost uncannily clean and tidy. The bed was made, the windows clear, the furniture old but far from dusty. It was evident that Lux, despite paying very close attention to his own style and clothes, had not thought it necessary to properly customize his home. And why would he? He didn’t like spending time here anyway. It was cold, and lonely, and shabby, and far away from the rest of the world. But it was his, nonetheless.

  “Home, sweet home...”, Lux mumbled to himself before turning on the kitchen light.

[otherworldlysinners]

desertgourd​:

“No. She died giving birth to me.” It was a cold and flat recitation. His father had never spoken of her. All Gaara knew of his mother were stories told by his uncle, now distorted by time, and a picture in some long-forgotten album stored in the attic, tinted yellow, uncrisp in the ways of pre-digital photography. Gaara realized he had crossed his arms over his chest. The wound was too old, too buried for a mere question to pick it open, but even the oldest scabs were tender when pressed. He moved swiftly on.

The puzzle began to piece itself together. The sloppy drunkenness, the apologies, the sheer desolation exuding from what was otherwise a seemingly put-together man. Gaara scrutinized him more closely than he had before, and hoped another question would not make Lux’s voice wobble or eyes shine again.

“Is today your mom’s birthday?”

  Too far. Lux watched as Gaara crossed his arms like a shield between them, and knew immediately that his question had gone too far. It was too intrusive, too personal for a talk like this, framed by overflowing trash cans and the distant wailing of police sirens. They were strangers, after all. Brought together by chance and too much alcohol, and a kindness that Lux in all of his shame felt undeserving of. But what is more intimate than that, really?

  He wanted to cry. Not for himself this time, but for Gaara, who certainly would not have appreciated the gesture. Losing himself in another’s problems was so much safer though than picking at his own, Lux found. For a second, he did not know whether to weep for the other or to envy him, and this confusion alone sufficed to make his chest ache. What a disgusting thing to feel.

  Lux was already about to open his mouth and utter another apology, when a new question emerged from the dark, one whose origin only puzzled him further.

  “No...?” He shook his head, surprise furrowing his brows. Gaara could have just as well asked him if today was Christmas eve. 

  “No, that’s not... her birthday’s not until March.”

  Lux paused, staring at Gaara as if trying to remember something. Then, after another moment of silence, he turned around to slowly drag himself over to the nearest doorway. A sudden tiredness that had nothing to do with the late hour of the night gnawed at his bones.

  “...’s over here.”

  Leaning against the wall for support, Lux produced his keys from a pocket of his jacket after some fumbling. It took him a minute to find the right one, although there were only five, and another until he had successfully inserted it into the lock and opened up the heavy door. It opened up into a dark hallway lined with mailboxes and a stroller that somebody had optimistically left behind for its next use. Looking at the other side of the room, it was easy to tell why. Next to the flight of stairs leading to the upper levels, a heavy metal door decorated with a cross of red and white tape marked a broken elevator.

  “Thing’s been broken since I moved in”, Lux muttered, as if to make an excuse. “...eighth floor. You don’t have to... I mean- I’ll be okay.”

[otherworldlysinners]

desertgourd​:

He had tensed only in that first moment, that fraction of a second as those gentle yet firm hands came to rest on his shoulders. There was something vulnerable about lying naked in a bathtub with Addhir behind him - with any man behind him - that felt wholly alien.

Then Addhir began his ministrations, and Gaara folded like a deck of cards.

He felt as though he were observing the scene from a distant corner of the room. He watched his breathing slow and his eyes slip half-closed, watched his torso round and lean forward to give Addhir’s fingers access to every square inch of skin and the knotted muscles beneath them. Every so often he would press back and exhale softly when Addhir touched on a particular spot - here, the stressed tendon from training with a new weapon; there, where he had spent too many hours hunched over a text by lamplight; worst, the spots at the base of his neck just lateral to his top vertebrae where tension festered every time his father spoke.

He pressed back simply for the sake of it, too, just to urge the soft palms and fingers to dig ever more deeply into his flesh.

Gaara realized at some point that Addhir has asked him a question, and was awaiting his response.

“The musicians and dancers are beautiful to watch. They bring so much life into the hall. You’d hardly believe what it looks like the rest of the – mm, year.” Addhir had found a particularly sensitive area in the junction between his neck and shoulder blade. He braced his arms on the lips of the tub, limbs like putty. “But of course, I’m most looking forward to tomorrow.”

“And yourself? In your past stations, have you ever attended a festival like this? You must have.”

  Every movement was scanned, every sigh noted like a scientific discovery under the watchful eyes and ears of Addhir. The difference between a simple comfort massage and proper treatment was significant, and in the long run his current ministrations would not do much to ease the tension in Gaara’s muscles, he knew, but such concerns would have to wait for a different time to be addressed. Right now, all that mattered was the pleasure of the moment.

  “None of royalty like yours, I admit.” Addhir hummed, pressing his thumbs against both sides of Gaara’s spine before slowly dragging them out.

  “My former master did enjoy a good party, but his taste for guests tended to be... well. I probably should not speak ill of him.” His voice easily betrayed the cheeky smile tugging at his lips. 

  “But I have attended street festivals of all sorts, yes. Despite their differences I find that they all do have some things in common though - rich or poor, around here or up north where I hail from. There is usually music, dancing, whatever is considered tasty food, and a good amount of social mingling. Difficult for me to say which of those I enjoy the most, really. Maybe the dancing. Though alas, seeing as your father does not seem interested in having me dance for anyone’s eyes but yours, I fear that I will not be doing much of that tonight.”

[otherworldlysinners]

desertgourd​:

A sense of nostalgia descended upon him. Not from Lux’s rambling, no. It was in this sensation of traipsing home at so late an hour that he comfortably dwelt, with their godforsaken surroundings, his feet barely dragging one in front of the other… The graffiti-strewn wall across the street might have been the one around the corner in his own neighborhood; the shoes hanging from telephone wire by the laces might have been the ones visible, for years, from his old bedroom window. There was a safety in it, somehow. For a moment he did not regret wrapping himself up in the affairs of a stranger.

For only a moment.

Less nostalgic: The stage of drunkenness in which the closest warm body served as a dumping ground for long-repressed woes. Gaara was not built for this; he could barely handle his own.

“I wouldn’t know. My mother is dead.”

To someone who did not know Gaara well, it would be unclear if this was simply his bluntish manner of speaking or an attempt to shut him up. But he stalled, then, teetering onto rocky and unfamiliar territory, propelled by a desire for human connection in the blackness of the night, and the desire to be better.

“I think - though - that if someone likes flowers, they would appreciate any kind.”

  It was strange to hear himself speak of his mother. As if the mere mention of her would summon her ghost to this filthy street corner. Lux could sense her - could feel her cold hands reaching for his chest from the depths of her metaphorical grave. On any other night he would have let it happen. On any other night, he would have yearned to join her in the dirt, until the sun and moon and stars and even the flickering street light above became nothing but distant memory. He was just about to lay down beside her, when the voice of a stranger pierced the veil and gently guided him back to reality.

  Gazing down, Lux noted that there was no grave. Only dark concrete beneath his feet, and a slow trickle of rain drops right where he stood.

  “...her favourite...”, he whispered hoarsely. “...yellow roses, you know. I thought I’d... t-that she would... but... but I guess not today.”

 He took a deep breath, almost as if to test how far his lungs could fill before they’d burst. Then he looked back up, turned his face towards the voice that kept the terrible silence of his mind at bay. Was it the bad lighting, or did Gaara look tired?

  “’m sorry about your mum. Really. Did you know her at all?”

[otherworldlysinners]

desertgourd​:

  It was not Gaara’s place to pry. It was his place to finish the task he had so insistently assigned himself and then make his way home. That is, he thought, if he could manage it, as his feet trudged ever heavier on the pavement, sleep tugging the edges of his eyes into a strained squint.

  Still he wondered. Lux didn’t look the part of the powersuit-and-cocaine crowd, and the local bar, much less this neighborhood, hardly catered to them. A failed author, a laid-off teacher? Or, like Gaara had once been, passionless, directionless, swept off in the tidal wave of life with his head barely afloat?

  They carried on, Lux at times chatting, Gaara responding in that way of his that was curt but not unkind.

  “Are you sure we haven’t passed it? We’re getting close to the warehouse on this end of town.”

   “Yeah..”

 Lux blinked, his eyes wandering down the darkened street. It wasn’t a nice street by any means. The buildings had seen better days, with more parts of their plastering crumbling than intact. Glass shards from broken windows mingled with those of old bottles and demolished vending machines, twinkling like diamonds under the few street lights that had not given up service just yet.  Trash cans overflowed with two weeks’ loads of stinking junk that even a rat wouldn’t find much to salvage in. Only the graffiti that stuck to every at least semi-solid surface provided a few pops of colour, though it probably took a special kind of artist to find beauty in most of its profanity. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of sirens echoed through the night. The noise faded beneath the rhythmic beats blasting from a car speaker nearby.

   “Jus’.. over there, on the right.”

 They passed by the sloppily boarded doorway of what might have been a bakery once, and Lux dimly wondered how Gaara’s impression of him could get any worse than this. It was funny really, because on most other nights Lux liked his life and would not be ashamed to admit it. He didn’t mind that his money only sufficed to pay rent in this part of town, considering that he much preferred spending his nights in other people’s beds anyway. Of course, Luzifer had offered him financial support before... but Lux was better off not opening that box on top of everything. Still. Now that he began observing his home from the perspective of another, it made him feel even more pathetic than before. What would his mother say if she knew--

 The thought pierced through Lux like a blade, making him wince. His eyes hurt. But he would not cry. Could not cry. Not here, not now. Oh god, won’t you leave me with at least some dignity? Blinking rapidly, he turned his face towards the sky which stared back at him through a single faded star that had made it through the light pollution of the city.

 “Hey...", he mumbled suddenly. “Do you think... it’s weird?”

 Lux swallowed, even though he was sure that the lump in his throat was the only thing keeping him from throwing up after all.

 “...to give roses to your mother. My brother says it’s weird. He says I should... I should pick something else.”

 It took all his remaining will power to tear his own gaze away from the lone star, which had turned out to be just an airplane, and search for Gaara’s eyes instead for the very first time that night. He could hardly see him, not for a lack of light, but because the water pooling in his own was threatening overflow. And yet... Lux was smiling.

 “Does your mother like flowers?”

[desertgourd]

saligiare​:

  He did not need to be told twice.

  At once, Addhir scanned the tub and his master, before shrugging off the top of his robe and settling down by the edge of the bath. His arms folded underneath his chin, and he glanced up at Gaara through long lashes.

  What a fine young man his prince was, set out to become an even finer one, over time. The regular training and high quality diet showed - both in his muscles and his complexion. A little pale perhaps, his flawless skin speaking of hours spent among books rather than crops. His hair was smooth and silky, and his posture - though kind of stiff - without any shred of doubt that of a noble. He could have been handsome, beautiful even in his way, Asmodeus decided. If only he could shred the tension edged into his very fiber. A face that young should spend its time twisting and turning with joy, anger or sadness every given minute of the day. Alas, if such frivolous emotion had ever been present in Gaara, the royal lifestyle had seemingly beaten it into hiding long ago. Dipping his fingertips into the water as if to test the temperature, the Addhir gave a little hum.

  For a brief second, he had contemplated the thought of just climbing into the water himself, but not only would that have ruined most of his make up and perfume, it likely also would have hopelessly overchallenged, if not unsettled the prince. Addhir could already feel the steam creeping into every pore of his hair, determined to ruin what hard work and a lot of oil had accomplished within the previous three hours. But it was quite alright. He could always smooth down the flyaways later.

  “If my lord wishes, I could help him with his hair and back. I did promise him a nice massage on the night we first met. Or-”, and at this, his lips twisted into a cheeky little smile, “he could tell me what dress I would better wear for his enjoyment in the future. I can change it up sometime.”

Gaara leaned back until the crown of his head crested the water, shut his eyes, and exhaled down to his toes. The heat eased every knot of tension his muscles held, and he relished in this brief moment, the eye of the storm.

He had declined the massage upon their first night together. At the time Addhir had been a stranger, and save for sparring matches between his siblings, he could not remember the last time his bare skin had touched another. Much of the slave was still a mystery to him, of course. He had cleverly sidestepped some questions about his life, and others he had declined to answer outright. He was an onion with layers as dense as the earth itself and Gaara had only picked at the toughest outer skin. Perhaps the prince too was allowing himself to be unpeeled, if only at the edges. No, Addhir was no longer a stranger, but there was much of him to discover, still. There was much to discover of them both.

"You may." Gaara rose to a seated position, his torso glistening, lean and hairless. He ran a hand over his scalp to tamp down any errant spikes - now darkened to a bloodish red - then cupped them both around his knees.

"I'm not like them. I don't need you dolled up like this," he continued, "Although there is no part of your appearance I do not appreciate."

  "But I enjoy when we're alone. Everybody in this place thinks the same way, but not you. Our games, our conversations, your stories - they intrigue me. You intrigue me. That is what I appreciate more than any outfit you might wear.”

[otherworldlysinners]

desertgourd​:

Gaara leaned back until the crown of his head crested the water, shut his eyes, and exhaled down to his toes. The heat eased every knot of tension his muscles held, and he relished in this brief moment, the eye of the storm.

He had declined the massage upon their first night together. At the time Addhir had been a stranger, and save for sparring matches between his siblings, he could not remember the last time his bare skin had touched another. Much of the slave was still a mystery to him, of course. He had cleverly sidestepped some questions about his life, and others he had declined to answer outright. He was an onion with layers as dense as the earth itself and Gaara had only picked at the toughest outer skin. Perhaps the prince too was allowing himself to be unpeeled, if only at the edges. No, Addhir was no longer a stranger, but there was much of him to discover, still. There was much to discover of them both.

“You may.” Gaara rose to a seated position, his torso glistening, lean and hairless. He ran a hand over his scalp to tamp down any errant spikes - now darkened to a bloodish red - then cupped them both around his knees.

“I’m not like them. I don’t need you dolled up like this,” he continued, “Although there is no part of your appearance I do not appreciate.”

  “But I enjoy when we’re alone. Everybody in this place thinks the same way, but not you. Our games, our conversations, your stories - they intrigue me. You intrigue me. That is what I appreciate more than any outfit you might wear.”

  Addhir watched as ripples formed around his fingers, only to be washed away by larger waves as Gaara slipped further into the water. Despite the lavish jewelry glistening in the slave’s hair and on his ears, his hands remained completely without decoration, safe for a set of perfectly filed and healthy nails. Rings were a type of accessory reserved for those rich and in power, who did not need to bother their hands with any such mundane tasks as work.

  “That is the greatest compliment I have ever been given”, he admitted quietly, the faintest shade of red illuminating his cheeks. “Mylord will see me turn into a sheep if he continues this way.”

  And indeed, it was not often that Asmodeus received such praise - an ironic reminder that once you have grown famous for something, it was difficult for people to ever see anything else. Asmodeus was very knowledgeable, even for an archdemon, but sadly the arts of geomancy and higher mathematics hardly attracted the same crowd that lust and debauchery did. A true shame, but in the end, one does what one must, and a true showman giveth what the public demandeth. In the case of his current audience at least, he could indulge in a few of the more sensible past times that came to mind.

  A small clay bottle was picked from the small collection resting on a tray near the tub, and as Addhir inspected its contents, he was briefly transported back to the evening when Gaara and him had been contemplating tea and strawberries on the balcony together. He poured some of the rose oil into his open palm, and began warming it between his hands.

  “I will focus my attention on my liege’s neck and shoulders, if he agrees. Should he be displeased with the locations or the intensity of my actions, I strongly encourage him to tell me. I haven’t had the chance to familiarize myself with his tender spots yet, after all.” Gently, he placed both of his hands on Gaara’s shoulders. A tingling spark of electricity jumped from the demon’s fingertips at once, just briefly enough to be mistaken for excitement. Then he started working his magic.

  His movements were slow and deliberate. First, in order to get the prince used to his touch, the oil was spread with little pressure from his nape to his shoulder blades. Hands moving in symmetry, Addhir made sure to thoroughly prepare his surface before he began to carefully feel up every muscle, mentally mapping out any knot and tension he could find. In its most basic rendition a proper massage required first and foremost anatomical knowledge. However, that alone would not do. Thus Addhir remained especially conscious of the other’s breathing, every little twitch or gasp that might speak of pain or pleasure, until he fell into a rhythm that Gaara’s body dictated. Every once in a while he ceased his ministrations on a firm trapezius to softly smooth over every inch of skin above water, returning the warmth of his hands to any spot that might have grown sad and lonely since his last caress.

  “Is there anything my prince is looking forward to this evening? Or are his thoughts rather occupied with the night still to come?”

[otherworldlysinners]

desertgourd​:

  “You’re not too heavy.” It was a statement Gaara might reassess after a few blocks, his shoulders beginning to ache, ear pricked for any sign he was about to vomit while Lux still fought for footing beneath them.

They trudged straight past Gaara’s street. The quaint, lively neighborhood around them descended into rows of decrepit houses and glass-strewn sidewalks. Now they walked roads riddled with potholes and wheezing with the stench of his old stale apartment. He gritted his teeth against the itch at the back of his neck and moved on.

To his relief, Lux eventually steadied himself until he needed only a hand on the back of his arm for balance, a little help turning corners, and once, a quick redirection as he tried to traipse down a trash-lined alley that reeked of urine. He kept his liquor down, at least; Gaara had to admire him for that.

His own few drinks had ebbed into a pleasant drowsiness, and the chore had transformed into something resembling companionship. In another life he might have been walking home from a night out with a friend. For now, this would do.

When he spoke, his voice had dropped its old derision.

“What were you trying to escape tonight?”

  The walk was long, and anything but pleasant. Lux half expected Gaara to change his mind every time they passed another block. To his surprise though, the other neither stopped nor complained even once. In fact, he rarely spoke at all, unless it was to redirect or caution Lux whenever that one almost tripped over his own feet.

  Lux didn‘t like silence. Never had. But while he did not know enough about Gaara to properly interpret his‘, (maybe he just wasn‘t the most chatty person?) he also could not think of anything meaningful to say himself. „Sorry ‘bout your pants, I hope I didn‘t ruin them“, „D‘you know that movie... what‘sits name... with the guy, and then they walk down the street at night and jus‘ get shot?“, and „You sure I‘m really not too heavy? I think it‘s fine, yunno, maybe I can just-- whoa, nope, nope, bad idea, shit, I‘m sorry“ were only a few of the lines he hopefully would have forgotten by sunrise. Eventually, Lux decided to simply chew his tongue for the rest of the way. His dread and self-pity slowly faded as his mind grew foggier and foggier. His bones yearned for the comforts of his bed - any bed, for that matter - even if his skin was crawling with the thought of how cold it would feel.

  „Nothin‘.“ The word was out before he had even processed the fact that Gaara had asked him a question, let alone which one. Luckily his mouth knew exactly how to go through the motions. Even so, Lux could sense the presence of the cut on his cheek so strongly as if it had only just been placed there. He shrugged. „Jus‘... had a bad day, is all.“

[otherworldlysinners]

Ich hab eine Mauer aus Eis gebaut, so weiß und so kalt wie der Mond. Wenn du mich findest, sei vorsichtig, ich bin keine Liebe gewohnt.

Sonne, Mond und Sterne (Horrorkissen)

[otherworldlysinners]

desertgourd​:

  Gaara stretched out a hand and heaved Lux to his feet. They stumbled a step as Gaara, who weighed one hundred and thirty pounds on a good day and was about as strong as he looked, acclimated to his size, but soon settled into a formation in which Gaara provided the most possible support while still touching him the least. Then they were off.

  “You remember where you live, don’t you?”

   The cool touch of the other‘s hand sent a shiver through Lux‘ body, which he could barely suppress. Beelz was right. What a slut he was. A slut for anything with a working heart beat. It‘s not too late, a small and hopeful fracture of his soul whispered. You could still-- WHAT?! Still what?! Turn this thing around and woo the guy? Grasp at the straw of a chance that he wouldn‘t end the night alone, crying himself to sleep? What delusion! What cruelty! As if that could even work, after how he had conducted himself! As if Gaara didn‘t deserve better than this - better than being chosen as a last resort to patch the holes in the heart of a man who had nothing he could give him!

  Lux‘ stomach turned, but it had nothing to do with the alcohol, or his sudden shift into vertical. He had never been so sick of himself.

  It took quite a moment for his world to stop spinning, but even when it did, Lux found his legs too wobbly to stand. Somehow though, they seemed to make it work. As he half-swayed, half-stumbled down the street with Gaara‘s help, Lux could not decide what he wanted more: To disappear into the concrete or lean fully into his support, pretending that this was actually a warm embrace and not a friendly act of service from a complete stranger. Alas, neither was an option.

  „Sure...“, he muttered behind a curtain of copper hair. He couldn‘t look up. His head was growing too heavy, and he felt cold. The night was warm and kind of humid, but still he yearned for a thicker jacket. Laughable. Even in winter, he would often go without one.

  „..‘s not really ‘round the corner though... ‘m sorry, am I too heavy? I‘m not hurting you, am I..? I‘m too heavy, I know, I‘m sorry.“

[otherworldlysinners]

desertgourd​:

Gaara fought the déjà vu. Fought the part of him insisting: This here, this darkness, this desolation, the void in which the castoffs of the world lurk, where they come to die - this is where you belong. He wondered if he had looked like that, once. If every gaze cast upon him had twisted with this same sympathy-turned-disgust.

  He realized with a keen sense of discomfort that he would have looked worse. The man was sloppily drunk and in the depths of war with his own self, of this he had no doubt. But he dressed well, and his lean muscles filled out his clothes. His skin and hair shone healthily. The pallor and gauntness of chronic neglect had not yet ruined his face. Even the acts of refusing help and offering to pay Gaara for his drink indicated shame, and shame was a tool possessed only by those with something left to lose.

  Standing above him in the warm and quiet cocoon of night Gaara understood this man may have fallen from grace but he was indeed still falling; he had not yet crashed.

  “I’m going that way.” Gaara nodded to the left. Though he did not outstretch his hand the offer of physical assistance was implicit in the single step forward, taken the way one might approach a feral cat. Don’t feed the strays. He had heard that once. Had it been directed toward him? He could not remember. 

Take the olive branch. It was a thought he communicated through his face alone. You don’t know how bad it will get. “If you live in that direction. You’re welcome to walk with me. I’m Gaara.”

  The light was too bright. Looking up at the stranger, Lux could barely make out the outlines of his face, his dark figure crowned by a halo of flickering white from the street light up above. How ironic. A line about angels and divine humour shot through his mind, but it sounded like the script of a very cliché romantic drama. Lux let it go with a tired sigh.

  „...Lux.“, he introduced himself quietly, his head hitting the wall behind him as he tried to catch a glance of the other‘s eyes. Lux squinted. The idea of walking, no matter where or with whom, filled him with dread. His whole body ached, though he did not know what from. The step forth barely registered. He tried to lift his hand, and his arm felt as if somebody had strapped iron weights to it.

  „Can you help me gettup--?“

[hiveswap]

His slutty looks and abandonment issues have captivated me

[otherworldlysinners]

desertgourd​:

  Gaara let him go. For he recognized, too, the stubborn face of a man who could not yet face his own demons. Those, the man would have to work out for himself (Gaara would, too, if he got to the truth of it).

  He squared away his tab - throwing a few extra dollars to the bartender for her troubles - and made a pit stop in the restroom to blot at the spill on his pants, still damp. Then he was out on the streets of this place he now called home.

  It was quieter than the bustle of his old neighborhood. No unkempt men screaming at passerbys from outside the corner deli. Less shattered glass and debris from last month’s car crashes cluttering the storm drains. Not far enough away to make him completely at ease on his midnight insomniatic walks, but a start.

  A familiar face greeted him from the sidewalk. Gaara’s steps slowed as a flashback hit him like a truck.

  New Year’s Eve. A deserted subway station. Insults lobbed, profanities scowled. A broken shoe and a threat. Beneath it all, a safe journey home, and the feeling of being needed - no, better: of being wanted.

  He sighed deeply, but did not approach. Experience - both second-hand and first - taught him that doing so would not be welcome. It could not possibly be worth the trouble. Yet:

  “That’s as far as you made it, then?”

   „She‘s been doing better lately. No panic attacks, and she‘s eating on most days. She even allowed the music therapist to play a few songs for her on the harp last week.“   „Is that him? One of her sons? Hot damn. Janet, you didn‘t tell me he was this cute! Is he single?“   „We had to up her weekly dosage of risperidone, and we are pretty pleased with her response so far.“    „I‘ll be with you in a minute, Mister Palmer, let me just finish talking to our guest, please.“   „Oh my, those flowers are beautiful! She‘s gonna love them!“   „Holding eye contact is still difficult for her, but who knows? I feel like today is one of her better days."   „What would you rate the pain on a scale from one to ten?“   „Every year he comes ‘round on the same day. Never tells her who he is, and she doesn‘t seem to remember. Maybe it‘s the pills?“   „When you‘re done, could you please make sure to come back and sign some of these documents for us? We‘ve been trying to get in touch with your brother, but he never answers the phone.“   „I think one time she mistook him for his father, went right in for a kiss when I was bringing them tea.“   „Quick! Fetch Dr. Evans, code white in room 24!“   „How could you let him walk in there by himself?! You know how volatile she is before her evening medication!“   „Seven kids from six different fathers, can you imagine? They should‘ve locked her up way sooner, if you ask me.“   „Sir, you‘re bleeding, are you sure that you‘re okay?“

  “That’s as far as you made it, then?”

Lux eyes shot open so quickly as if somebody had slapped him. He had not really fallen asleep, but that did not matter. He could see them before him, every time he closed his eyes. Like ghosts they haunted his every move. Images. Voices. Faces. As soon as the music  stopped and he was left with nothing else to look at and nobody to talk to, they came creeping from the shadows, eager to fill in the blanks for him. Lux had never liked being by himself. Maybe that was why they came every time - to keep him company. But now they had scattered, scared off by a voice much stronger and a presence more real than them. Lux glanced up at the stranger with hooded eyes. Something told him that he had seen that face before, dark as it were.

  Right. The guy from the bar. The kind one. Slowly, Lux forced his lips into a tired smile. What difference did it make, honestly? He could fall asleep, drunk and pathetic at a street corner, and drag himself home the next morning. Or he could avoid broad daylight and all those honest office workers on their early coffee runs, and sleep in his own bed with at least a sliver of his dignity intact. The choice was easier than it should have been.

  „...guess you got me there“, the young man muttered, running a hand through his tangled hair.

  „I guess I... I‘m not fine. I guess... I could maybe... use some help.“