#pious!desperate!bard

[snarkymonkeyprime]

Because I love to make y’all squirm.

“Do you remember?” Thranduil purred.  He tugged on Bard’s wrist, drawing his arm up.  With his free hand, he pushed the thick sleeve of his jacket down, exposing the vulnerable skin of his arm.  He ran his blunt nails along Bard’s pulse.

His groin jolted in pleasure at the rough scrape.  He stared blindly at the pale fingers on his wrist, fearful of what might happen should he meet the demon’s eyes.  “You . . . took my blood.”

Thranduil removed his free hand and tugged on Bard’s arm, drawing him close.  He slid his empty arm about Bard’s waist, pulling him tight.  “I did,” he murmured.  Like the church so long ago, he leaned in and breathed out, air soft and warm at Bard’s neck.  Unlike the church, a ghost-like brush of lips followed.  “I could have easily used a knife,” he pointed out, chuckling.

Bard swallowed, mind growing cloudy.  Without thought, he tilted his head, exposing his neck.  “Could have,” he parroted.

Thranduil held Bard’s arm toward the floor, sliding his hand until their fingers laced together.  He drew his tongue along Bard’s neck, his opposite hand digging possessively into Bard’s hip.  “I tasted you for hours,” he growled.  He set his teeth against Bard’s neck and bit, hard, bruising but not cutting.

Bard groaned, jumping at the act.  His hand clenched in Thranduil’s and his other shot up, tangling in the soft strands of the demon’s hair.  Breath coming in short, sharp pants he pleaded, “Please!”

Thranduil said nothing, only bit harder, skin splitting around his fangs.  

Bard sagged in the demon’s arms, wondering how he heard “Mine!” so clear as a bell.  His eyelids fluttered and he clutched at Thranduil, groin painfully hard as the demon sucked at the weeping wound.

Thranduil pulled off with a groan, chest heaving.  He ducked his head, licking Bard’s neck, the wound tingling like so long ago.  Voice ragged, he rumbled, “Mine.”

Like a leaden curtain, shadow tumbled over Bard’s eyes even as the voice echoed, “Mine,” and rattled about inside his mind.

What have I done? he thought before he slipped under.

[snarkymonkeyprime]

*rolls*

A week passed following Tilda’s alarming recovery.  Within two days, the color had returned to her pale cheeks and she giggled and laughed like old.  Only Sigrid appeared uneasy at the abrupt change.  Her unease had faded quickly, however.

A week of Bard alternately relieved and horrified.  When would it happen?  When would that creature return for him?  And why had it not wanted his soul?  He’d read enough on possessions and the sale of souls; rarely did a deal fall through and no one foolish enough to take the steps Bard had had ever survived.

There was a reason the preachers of the Valar knocked the threat of demons into everyone’s head.

He’d not slept well the last week, his steps slow and deliberate as he made his way to his delivery truck.  He halted as he rounded the edge of the garage, startled to see the door of his vehicle wide open and the garage quiet and empty.

Bard slid his hand to the small of his back, wrapping his fingers around the worn hilt of the blade he kept there as he edged alone the side of the heavy truck.  He stalled again when a foot appeared on the first step into his truck.

The demon jumped down, brushing off his jeans.  But not Bard’s demon.  This one appeared younger, hair a richer blond, eyes blue where the other’s had been steel.  He wore a dark gray t-shirt, his forearms bared even in the chill of early winter.

“Who’re you?” Bard growled.

The demon smirked.  “Your . . . guide.”

Confused, Bard’s fingers tightened on his weapon.  As he began to drag it free, the demon clucked his tongue.

“I would advise against it.  You saw how fast my father moved, I’m sure.”

Father?  Sour fear stung Bard’s tongue and he dropped his hand.  “What does he want?” Bard asked, defeat thick in his throat.

“For now?  For you to survive.”

Bard’s brow furrowed.  “Come again?”

The demon grinned, this time cruel and sharp.  “You didn’t think all demons were allies, did you?”  He approached Bard, arms folded.  “They know he has you.  And they’ll kill you.”

“I don’t --”

“Of course not,” the demon snapped.  He sniffed, clearly annoyed at Bard’s confusion.  He eyed Bard critically for a breath.  “I am Legolas, son of Thranduil.”

Thranduil.  Bard’s knees quivered and he nearly fell, stumbling instead against his truck as his balance tipped.  He had read stories of that demon.  King of Shadow Realm, one of nine believed to exist alongside Middle Earth.  Blood-thirsty and cruel.  Murderer.  Traitor.

Legolas’ eyes sharpened.  “He thinks you can help us.”

Bard’s gaze snapped to Legolas.  “Help?” he rasped.  

“He has never tried to dispel the stories,” Legolas explained, his voice softer now.  “The greater his reputation, the safer we were.”  He reached out and grabbed Bard by the bicep, dragging him back upright.  “And now, one among you wishes to unleash the Nine Realms on Middle Earth.”  

The words tossed and burned in his head, leaving him dizzy.  Unleash the Nine Realms?  While he’d learned a great deal about demons all his life, they were still stories.  Tangible and believable but Bard himself had never experienced the proof of them.

Until last night.  Until Thranduil tore his skin and drank his blood.  His pulse jumped as he remembered lips against his wrist, the warm, slick pressure of the demon’s tongue.  The dark possession in those cold eyes.

“Impossible,” Bard rasped.

Legolas frowned.  “So is much in your mundane, little world.”

“If this is true, what can I do?” Bard snapped.

The demon’s fingers bit into Bard’s arm.  “For now?  Survive.”

[snarkymonkeyprime]

As teased, some demon!Thranduil.  I’m rusty so apologies for the shittiness.

“You humans and your . . . quaint rituals.”

Bard wheezed in response to the cool fingers that gripped his throat.  Vicious and tight, they squeezed hard before he was thrown back against the stone walls of the church.  His back sparked in pain as he tumbled to the floor.

Candlelight guttered, flame flickering harsh and throwing deep, thick shadows across the cracked floor.  On his knees, eyes wide, Bard hunched his shoulders as the steps neared once again.

Stride strong and slow.  Glad in a dark suit, shoes gleaming even in the scant light.

Bard fell back on his arse, swallowing as his gut lurched.  The man -- no, the ears spoke otherwise.  Sharp and alien.  Eyes bright like starlight.  Hair pale and long, loose over one shoulder.

“Demon,” he rasped.

Teeth sparked in the dark of the church.

“You are a quick one,” the creature purred.  He halted out of Bard’s reach, hands clasping a silver tipped cane, stance wide.  He arched an eyebrow.  “Quick, but not very bright,” he chided.

Though his back complained, Bard scrambled until he struck stone, the chill a strange counterpoint to the terror that burned in his chest.  “Th-this is a house of the holy,” he rasped.  “The domain of the Valar.”  He fumbled with his shirt collar, digging for his charm.  “You have no --”

The cane lodged in the stone, quivering, the dark wood scant inches from Bard’s temple.

The demon crouched before him, moving faster than Bard’s eyes could follow.  He grinned again.  “No power?” he prompted.  The grin dropped.  “That you would think those arrogant creatures would care a whit for a useless human is almost charming.”  He gripped Bard’s jaw, bruising skin easily.

“They have no care for you.”  He leaned in and breathed out, air brushing the loose curls at Bard’s nape.  “They delight in your desperation, however,” he hissed.  “Many do.”

Bard squeezed his eyes shut, remembering again why he’d been in the church so late this night.  Tilda’s sickness wasn’t waning.  It was growing.  His little girl would die if a cure couldn’t be found.

The words echoed in his head.

Valar, I beg you.  I will give anything I have to save her.  Please!

The chuckle left him shivering.  “Ah, I see you have finally caught on.”  The demon’s thumb stroked his aching jaw.  “I often take payment in souls, you know?  Tarnished though they might be.”

“Anything,” Bard whispered.

The fingers left his skin though the pain lingered.  He blinked in confusion, staring up at the strange eyes.  

“You make this deal in full understanding then?” he stated.

Remembering the blistering heat of his youngest’s fevered brow, Bard nodded.  He would rather burn than let his sweet Tilda suffer any longer.  He only hoped the demon would allow him some time with the children.

The eyes narrowed.  “No.”

Bard jolted.  “What?”  Desperate, he surged to his feet, limping toward the demon.  “I know what you ask!  I give it!”

Again that deadly gleam.  “Oh, I didn’t say I wouldn’t collect,” he warned.  He reached out and patted Bard’s cheek.  “I have something much better in mind for you.”  He withdrew and reached into his coat, pulling out a slim, glass vial.  Not waiting for Bard’s question, the demon snatched his hand, pulling his arm straight and exposing his wrist.

Bard yelped when sharp teeth tore his skin, blood welling up and spilling down his flesh.

The demon eyed him and licked Bard’s blood from lips as he held the vial up, taking the slow, thick drops.  Once the vial was filled, he slid his thumb over the top and turned Bard’s arm, ducking his head.

Bard shivered again, biting his lip at the moan that bubbled in his throat.  The demon’s tongue lapped at his torn skin, the wound burning pleasantly.  Those odd eyes darkened with each slow stroke.

He dropped Bard’s wrist and straightened, pulling a small stopper from his coat and capping the vial.  He let it dangle from his fingers.  “I own you now.  I will come calling.”

Bard stared at the smears of red on his wrist, the wound already closed, a thick white line the only sign of injury.  “And my daughter?”

“Come morning, darling Tilda will be free of sickness.”  The demon tucked the vial away and reached up, swiping his lips and licking his thumb at the remainder of Bard’s blood.  

He eyes narrowed again, almost playful.  “Pleasure doing business, Bard.”

Darkness plunged around them and Bard grunted in surprise.  The few candles that had been lit suddenly sprang to life and Bard was dismayed, though unsurprised, to find himself alone again.  He looked again at his wrist, stomach turning at the smears of red.  He covered it and swallowed, shutting his eyes.

“Anything.  Anything to keep them safe,” he murmured.  Turning once more to the altar, he knelt and murmured a litany of prayers, the words leaden and false in his ears as they echoed in the dark room.