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 Posted: Wed Sep 11, 2013 9:42 pm
Barth was loathe to leave the chair he was lounging in, but the meeting was over.
He had hoped, privately, that all the delays would also delay the event, but he knew that was more of a pipe dream.
He unhooked his leg slowly, getting both boots on the floor, and beginning the slow process of standing. He picked a piece of dust from his sleeve.
"Well, it's been…err, you know. It's nice to all get together like this."
Zar, for a demon of paperwork and business etiquette was strangely indifferent to meetings. The gathering of people ran contrary to the grain of his interests and the longer they dragged on the more self-conscious he became. He’d averted the usual social anxiety by instead focusing very firmly upon the individual he’d (probably irrationally) decided was his nemesis. When things wound down his attention didn’t wane in the least, finding himself irritated by even the very way that Barth spoke, cautious, doddering, indecisive, everything that he was not.
He edged over, calm and relaxed but with a tail that drew out its tense designs on the air behind him. “You know as well as I do that it was a horrendous gathering of dysfunctional individualists Barth. Social niceties are perhaps surplus to requirements in this instance.” He smiled far too sweetly at the sloth demon. “I am impressed you even managed to grace the gathering with your presence, seen as how the sins are so often above everyone else.”
Barth edged doorward. "Oh no, on the contrary. Sinning is, well. It's just the basics. Sort of, more, beneath- and I've never liked climbing." He looked at the very few remaining stragglers. "But I do like all the, you know. Camaraderie. Cooperation."
Zar stayed close to Barth but not too close, patient and persistent. “I didn’t see any of either. Demons couldn’t work together if our prolonged existence depended on it.” He always felt like what they needed was a leader, but no leader powerful and absolute enough would ever surface. They were fundamentally a lot like humans. He too eyed the stragglers, watched them move out of earshot. “We haven’t actually spoken in some time. Not since the disastrous artifact quest.” Disastrous because like so many things in his life, he’d come away empty handed with not even gratitude to show for his efforts. “I should come have something to drink at your dorm, wouldn’t you agree?” He didn’t leave much wiggle room.
"Oh, I don't know. I gleaned some err, sort of interesting research…a drink?"
Barth eyed the hallway and weighed his options.
"It's…a long walk," he hedged.
“Oh I don’t know. I am averse to physical exertion as a general rule, but if the gain outweighs the effort I am perfectly willing to invest.” He didn’t elaborate what sort of gain he meant. “Though if the walk is so much of an issue, we could stop over at my abode before proceeding.” Ensnaring someone with hospitality was the oldest trick in the demon book. “I have been curious to see what sort of progress you have made on your human research and one what eventual effects your artifact possessed.” He didn’t have much to offer himself information wise, but it never hurt to bluff, especially when one had an agenda. He’d always felt like Barth was the most oblivious demons in the dorms, he wasn’t about to be intimidated by him for even a second.
As they reached the hallway, Barth tipped a skateboard off the wall with the edge of his boot, looking defeated.
"I suppose, if your room's closer. I wouldn't mind dropping by. I'm just not going to be signing any forms, in advance."
Zar smiled in a sweet and entirely business-like fashion. “I wouldn’t dream of it. We can assume your aversion to formalities is a technical verbal assent. After all, it is simply a visit. ” He found himself wishing he had had time to set out a few more cushions before he left, but surely he couldn’t be blamed for not anticipating any opportunity at all.
He let his tail drop to slink around the truck of the skateboard obligingly, implying he would help drag it, should the need arise. “Most of the paperwork I do is for my father, it is hardly relevant to your needs I imagine.”
"Any assent is informal and off-record and certainly not binding."
Barth waited, balanced on the skateboard, posture slouched. He certainly wasn't going to turn down a drag.
"I find it wiser to keep my business as far from my father's business as possible."
Zar set off in the direction of his dorm, skateboard in tow, there was a lot of strength in his hooves simply by design, and as such it was hardly even an effort. “I was never afforded the luxury of staying clear of my father’s business. He insists. Firmly. That I do his menial work. I have no reason not to.”
He smirked. “He is one of those tedious souls who believes in the conditioning aspect of hard work.” He carefully did not elaborate further on the topic of assent.
Barth shivered. "Menial labor." He said each word with drawn out horror, like he had bitten into something unpleasant. He couldn't even repeat hard work.
"And you're err, benefiting from that, then. Conditioned, and so on."
“If you would even call it a benefit.” He said, his smile turning even more toothy. Barth was the only person he could ever feel even slightly powerful in the presence of. Somehow it was satisfying to know that there were creeple in the world to whom what he did day to day, might in some roundabout way, seem macho. “It mostly means I never get weary of even the most horrendously boring tasks.”
There had never been any option, but it made him feel better to pretend It was something he’d chosen. “I always took the persistence of hard work as a sign that your kind weren’t doing their job correctly.” What he wouldn’t have given for a sloth demon to waltz in as a child and decide he was working entirely too hard.
Barth twitched in slight and genuine irritation.
"Living moralistically," he said it with even more blackness than labor.
“I wouldn’t call all hard work moral.” He said, teasingly, still feigning more confidence than he actually had.
“You’ve always been a mystery to me you know.” Zar confessed, heading along the corridor to his dormitory. “There is a great deal I like to think I know about sin demons but no one generally has any hard information on you. Or how to tell what sin you represent.” He still, grudgingly wasn’t certain exactly what sin Barth hailed from, if any, and being uncertain in the first place was his absolute pet hate. He suspected sloth, but information on that particular breed was the most difficult to come across of all. He assumed because writing was effort.
As they drew nearer his dorm he grew progressively more aware he had no idea what he was doing – he was acting without a plan – it was madness. “You already know I am an incubus, no matter how hard I aspire to be something more.”
"All of it has a moral tint," Barth said begrudgingly, but listened.
"Yes, I had thought you were a paperwork incubus. Initially. You know, fear of…that. Not that it's any less miserable as a hobby, but it's not what you are," Barth considered.
"I'm Sloth," he answered, almost absently, "and a dabbler. I'm fond of progress, you know, everything with the push of a button. Making life easier. And you're…the classic variety of incubus?"
“I frankly wish I was. Purely paperwork, that sort. But it seems it was more a parental pipe dream. There is only so far one can bend one’s nature before it springs back into its desired shape. My instincts, unfortunately, do not run singularly toward business or paperwork.” And nor did his natural abilities. His human shape, no matter how much he tried to convince himself that it was suited to subterfuge, was fundamentally suited for a whole other function.
As he opened the door – still emblazoned with its plaque offering to do homework for free, an offer few had taken him up on – he stated. “And unfortunately I hail from the most classic variety. My mother covers much of the upper business levels of Halloween town. Her timetable is quite impressive. She is completely at ease in social settings.”
He pushed the door open, and the room within was comfortable, luxuriant, exquisitely clean, but it looked like no one lived there. Even the bed sheets remained smoothed out to absolute perfection. “Make yourself comfortable.” He volunteered. “I’d like to think, being sloth, you are capable of that at the very least.”
Barth let the skateboard roll to a stop, then popping it up with is toe again, rested it against the nearest object. He collapsed gratefully in the closest chair.
"Very gracious of you. You mentioned drinks…?"
“Yes. I am rather gracious. And I have a few.” He didn’t eat or drink without company, so what he had was stored neatly for the long term. He figured it wasn’t much of an irony in his life to offer what he had to the individual he considered his greatest nemesis, it was simply another oddity.
“I have a selection of beverages.” He said by the closet, “ranging from the warm and sweet.” He smirked subtly and peered inside. “To the alcoholic, though those I hear can land a boil in detention.” It was strangely harrowing to have someone in his room, in his space again, and he had to consciously force himself not to think too deeply about it. “Do you have any preference?”
"Non-alcoholic, please. Doesn't have the usual effect on me, I'm afraid."
Thin black thorns had begun to wind around the legs of the chair Barth was occupying.
"You said you wanted to hear the details of my research?"
His tail fished out a bottle of a rich, heady tasting drink his family tended to favour, and taking it with a taloned hand, he filled a glass. “Certainly.” He said, mentally cringing at his own awkwardness. For an incubus, he was over time forgetting more and more how to socialise. It was like losing the ability to walk or some other essential function.
Handing over the glass, he sat down on the chair next to him, in doing so possibly hinting why most of the chairs were two seaters or chaise longue. “Last time we spoke I was positively fascinated by some of the things you mentioned. I am used to most people in this pathetic school being, quite frankly, vapid idiots.”
"Willfully so, most of them."
Barth accepted the glass, propping his leg up on the chair and taking a lengthy sip.
"If you'll excuse me being frank for a moment. It has to do with the research. Most creatures here aren't suited for err, anything beyond a bit of scaring. And you've been here long enough. This is more of an army than a school. It's war they're preparing us for. You've doubtless seen some of your fellow students…permanently dissipated. Or farmed to be used as weapons. With the occasional consent of the school, I suspect. Some have gotten marked, joined up with the Horsemen's little club. Human-killing, nasty business. I rather like humans. And I think the Horsemen are a bit like a bomb, does its job but I don't fancy being close by when they do. And that grey business has been effecting all of us, even Christmas. There's a media blackout on any of the above topics. So. It's no wonder that there's a wellspring of vapidity. And I certainly can't…grease the wheels in a significant way to ease every difficulty. But war isn't my favorite pastime."
Zar listened intently, still, even now relieved to hear someone who seemed to actually have a handle on things as they were rather than the lies the school as a whole was fed. “I have not only seen simply my fellow students dissipated.” He said grimly. “Nuru. My former partner – for a given value of such – ended up weaponised. The hunters, when I was there extended me the same offer of courtesy.” And he’d considered, he’d considered many times, when things got too hard, he dwelled on it. “I like humans, quite the failing in a demon I should suppose, but there has been nothing quite as satisfying as when I seduced one. Long story short, I am fond.”
He nodded. “I completely agree however, with horsemen being dangerous, with the lies, even with war hardly being desirable. We are a collective sitting duck thanks to the wilful ignorance that abounds.” He tried not to think too hard about the grey, about feeling like he was no longer a him but a we, collective and disconnected. Mostly he tried not to think how it had been a relief. “It all feels very hopeless to me.”
"I don't deal in hope. But I have my own plans. I don't like to see them upset. …This drink is very good."
Barth tilted it a bit, regretting that the glass was heavy. He set it on the arm of the chair to rest.
He looked genuinely sympathetic at the news of Zar's partner.
"Ah. Yes. I remember him. I'm sorry to hear that. I'd gotten the same offer, re: weaponization. I turned it down. As I said, I'm not really inclined towards being a weapon. Not a human's, and not the Horsemen, and not Amity's. I'm researching a deweaponization process. Humans are very innovative. I've seen the inside of their chambers, done what I could to reconstruct blueprints, and understand their process. Complicated and dangerous magic, and it must involve our fear cores. But, anything that can be done can be undone. Or should be. The rose we discovered on our…hiking adventure has regenerative properties, which could be helpful in keeping the core intact. No matter how many petals you pluck, it always generates more. Very fascinating. …Unfortunately, all that I've been able to glean from it so far is…an effect of the pollen, maybe. Contact with the petals improves the appearance, but obliterates the libido. Causes a lot of err, unwanted advances. Very strange flower."
It was fascinating to listen to someone talk who had a sense of direction and intention, everything Barth said had purpose, an angle. It was motion where Zar had none, and to be outdone by a sloth demon in life momentum was difficult to bear. “Deweaponisation? That’s a curious thing to pursue. Many of the weapons they have chosen that life, if you could call it a life. I considered it for a time, as an escape, I should be quite irritable if I found myself dragged back here.” He said here with a disgusted curl of his lip.
“I was hopeful I might find something of use on that ill-fated trip, but I am simply not cut out for the outdoors life, I assume. I would say that those side effects are unfortunate; given that libido should be the primary focus of my life, but I feel like it would be a lie, there is little call for my particular talents here. If you ever find a way to single out the unwanted advances side of it though, do drop me a line.”
He eyed Barth over the rim of his glasses, eyes as always - when he gave his undivided attention – narrowed to mere slits. “I can’t imagine research is a speedy business for you, given what you are.”
"Some are recruited, that's true. Some aren't. And some don't survive the process. I think they'd find their pathways smoother if they kept things above board. Treat it like any other job option, show up at career fairs. It's what I'd do."
He looked over at Zar.
"I am. Slow about researching. But it'd be for mostly personal use. I like to protect my interests. I wouldn't mind lending you some petals. If you could find a roundabout use for them."
“I guess it’s hard to be above board when no one believes you exist. That has to be a bit of a limitation on handing out flyers.” But he supposed he could understand the desire to have some sort of reversal. In Halloween nothing was absolute as a general rule, the opposite of what it was for humans. Weaponisation as irreversible was hard to tolerate as a result. He suspected there was more to it than what the other demon was letting on however, he didn’t seem the altruistic type. The idea of him looking to save people from weaponisation simply for it’s own sake didn’t sit well with him, even with the excuse of looking out for his own.
At the offer to be provided with some petals, he raised a brow but quickly shook his head, self-conscious in a way most unbecoming of a demon. “I doubt that I could find much use for them. The capacity for attraction is supposed to be innate in me, and though killing my libido might help in the short term, in the long term it is only bottling up unavoidable issues. ” He couldn’t imagine it feeling very great to wake up after everyone throwing themselves at him to realise he’d been lacking sex drive the entire time.
Thinking about sexuality was always awkward, his tail was already somewhere under the chair, seeking out the thorns.
"Oh, I'll think they'd find most creature are willing to accept quite a lot." Barth appraised Zar with slow curiosity. "You do have that secretary thing going on. That's quite nice."
He paused in the middle of assembling another argument as to why he was a failure as an incubus, giving Barth a similar curious look, though tinged with a hint of bafflement. His mother had never been any help in defining what attraction even was, always bending to his father’s decree that he would work for the company in the long run.
“Secretary.. thing?” he asked dazedly, derailed for just a moment. “And I wouldn’t say it’s nice. It’s not exactly rendered me chasing people off with a stick. I feel like a bird born without any actual wings. I am just cheated at every juncture.” Even through this new tangent of complaint, he couldn’t help focusing on the compliment, it had to have motive, everything had motive, surely? He set it aside, he was likely being paranoid again.
"Oh yes, you know, the err-" Barth twirled his claw, "button-up shirt, and tie, and undone hair, and so on." The thorns continued to coil, some of them finding their way to the tail, which had wandered too close.
"Office fantasies, err, over a desk, that sort of thing." That was Zar's…thing, wasn't it? Nothing wrong with professional discussions, between professionals.
He’d never thought about his attire as anything other than functional, fitting, formal enough for purpose. It made him realize that perhaps the draw towards it might have been something else more subconscious at work in his decisions.
His tail slunk around the thorns, twisted up and prehensile, completely ignoring the sharp bite against his skin.
Forgetting to breathe was certainly a new experience but it happened to him anyway at the mere mention of being over a desk. “Perhaps. I never really considered anything about my appearance as being erm. Functional. In a racial sense. I am used to most succubi or incubi putting everything very much on display.” He shot a glance over at his own desk and regretted it, turning his attention back on the conversation as much as he could, though he was sure he wasn’t looking in the right places any longer in general.
"Ah. Well, that's. One option, with the…minimalistic approach. But err, there are certainly creeple who are into it. The secretary thing. I-" Barth's voice came out a little higher pitched then he intended. He looked very hard at his glass. "could use a straw," he finished lamely.
Something about Zar’s posture shifted in response to the shift in tone. It was like a vaisel or some other feline with a shaken string, even his pupils changed subtly and he found himself inclined to lean nearer. No straw was forthcoming.
“Are you?”
Barth shrunk in the seat, voice still a bit strangled. "Strawless?"
Zar’s smile was about as toothy as it got. As far as he was concerned, when it got down to deflecting, he could practically feel the kill in his claws. The chase itself was still unfamiliar, stumbling on instinct he didn’t understand. “Oh come now, I know you know what I mean. You mentioned some people being into the secretary look and the other associated …scenarios that you mentioned.” And he couldn’t stop his twinned pulses from racing at the possibilities.
“I was asking, are you?”
"Desks," Barth said helpfully, now slunk about as far down in the chair as he could get. Thorns curled and uncurled across the length of Zar's tail, exploratory. "I might, err, that is… I have occasionally thought, I mean, I've never personally-" He swallowed, managing a lost, "…yesss…?"
A human was one thing, a human was prey, fragile and predictable, his peers were something else entirely, but, he told himself, he wasn’t the timid one here. Not to mention it was rapidly becoming very very difficult to keep himself in any sort of rational mode when there were all kinds of nerve fireworks coming from his tail already.
“Good. Because, surprisingly. So am I.” He reluctantly tugged his tail free of the thorns and got up, taking advantage of Barth’s low position in the chair to straddle his hips. He held up the glass obligingly. “I think it’s one of those… go home late from work nights if you ask me.”
Barth hesitated, his claws lightly finding Zar's knees. They slid in a leisurely fashion up along his slacks, where he drummed them, considering.
He looked into Zar's eyes, and there was a calculatory shift.
"You have been overworked lately,"
It was a strange, out of place spike of wariness that took him as Barth’s trailing claws tapped into everything primal in him. But it didn’t matter that there had been something dangerous about the way Barth could let the fidgety hesitance go, he wasn’t afraid, he’d suspected he was dealing with more than what the surface interactions implied. He met his gaze coolly. Demons were never simple.
“Overworked with the wrong sort of work.” He said, letting his tail coil around Barth’s waist loosely, he leaned in close, till he felt his horns meet his. “I haven’t used my bed in months.”
The clack of horns stirred deep into the roots, sending a pleasant vibration through Barth's temple. He was a different variety of bedroom artist, but the statement tugged at his black heartstrings. Either way, for an incubus or a sloth demon, an abandoned bed was deeply tragic.
"We can't have that. Not after you've provided such excellent service for the company. Corporate will have to consider a lengthy vacation to show you the depth of our gratitude."
“I always wanted a job with perks.” Zar said, more emotive than his usual drawled monotone, reaching out with his own elegant claws to trail along Barth’s arms before settling behind him, palms flush against his spine – supporting him. He couldn’t have him getting uncomfortable now could he?
His tail was its own curious entity, exploring the fabric and once again looping around whatever thorns came too close, testing them against its own strength.
"We'll see you have multiple perks," Barth said, taking Zar's bottom lip lightly with his teeth, before giving him a softer, exploratory kiss. His skin was cool, and mouth was framed with a dark, carefully-managed goatee.
The thorns were veining thickly into the carpet, at this point.
"Charms are in my coat pocket," Barth murmured.
Zar tasted about as near to perfect as honed fear design could make him, his own skin deceptively warm and soft. It was with a surprisingly degree of tenderness that he returned the kiss, still on a razor’s edge between instincts and planned and logical responses.
He let his tail snake around to hunt out the charms, taking the leisurely groping route on the way there, when they were retrieved, curling around to take them in hand and eye them, regretting immensely the need to fleetingly break the kiss, breathless from even that. “You know, I have never had to use these.” He said. “Our fear tends to sync itself. Or so my mother said.” He gave Barth a half lidded look. “She could be wrong.” He pressed the charm to the back of his hand, it was probably wise, he felt, Barth had every possibility of being stronger and he didn’t fancy being laid up in bed as a result of this. He mirrored the gesture nimbly on the back of Barth’s hand before turning his attention to slipping his coat from his shoulders, folding it in a flick of his claws before handing it off to his tail, which set it aside. Any Incubus worth his salt knew the expensive nature of what most demons wore and how not to ruin it. He leaned indulgently back into the kiss, bolder, more confident, his claws dancing across rows of buttons as he undid them. His efficiency thankfully translated impeccably into removing the often many layers he had to contend with.
Barth's silk cravat was knotted over his throat, the coat thick and soft, and the shirt itself made of a thin, light fabric which slid easily while Zar undid his buttons.
"I wouldn't be surprisssed. Speed isn't my specialty, although in the arena of control- But we wouldn't want to reset our days without accident counter. At least until I know you better."
The returned kiss was amenable, and Barth didn't hurry to deepen it, touching the cusp of Zar's tongue and coaxing his lips to relax.
Normally everything Zar did was at an absolute pace of efficiency, every second wasted almost intolerable, but as he undid Barth’s clothing it was something else entirely. His pace was languid and measured, as if they had all day. And he didn’t notice he was doing it, it simply felt the way it always did, as if someone had turned down the pace of the world and simply not told him. Each item he removed was folded and set aside, and he let his claws delicately trace over bare skin as it made itself known. He left the cravat till almost last, undoing it with the same nimble deftness as the other items, letting his claws trail fleetingly and unconsciously over the line of what in humans would be the jugular vein, down to his chest before raking further, always uncannily following the lines of major nerves and arteries.
All the while he maintained the gentle dance on the edge that was the kiss, despite being armed with lethal fangs, able to keep every lick and n** gentle and fleeting. Despite the mirrored slow pace however, it was hard not to tell that he was enjoying himself.
Barth tolerated the presence on his throat, but the thorns rippled dangerously, more alert than Barth's horizontal positioning would suggest. His body stayed comfortable. His skin was smooth, silvery blue, with dark hairs on his chest and lower stomach. A few scars, from being pierced through with swords, were on his middle and back.
As Zar undid the buttons, Barth made the first push of his fear through their lips, a low, mild sip of relaxed drowsiness, barely a taste before the sensation was gone, a dissipated vapor.
The fleeting kiss of fear was unexpected to Zar, and far from startling him, the sensations crept in so easily he didn’t even notice at first until with a shallow sigh he felt some of the tension ease out of his posture – tension which had been resident a very long time.
He took his time, taking the opportunity to look Barth over, he didn’t expect anything less than attractiveness from a fellow demon, but that made the effects no less potent. He let his free hand linger on the scars briefly, imperfections for some reason deeply attractive to him in ways that the innate perfection of their kind didn’t quite reach.
He didn’t want to let go of the kiss, something intoxicating about even that taste of relaxation, deepening it subtly with a feedback of his own fear, heady, wild and resplendent with desire.
The want intensified in Barth in an unexpected spike, like a crackle from a carefully stoked fire. The answering fear was nearly involuntary, more powerful than the first, like taking a deep, dark, heavy swallow, and some of the physical weight and warmth lingered, settling in Zar's chest and limbs instead of disappearing entirely.
This time he felt it, this time the kickback filled him with some of the best feelings he could imagine, his life had been about hollow voids and frantic scrabbling for efficiency. This was like a drug, the kind of drug they didn’t make anywhere. Satisfied weariness felt good, and it drove him onwards, shrugging off his coat, undoing his buttons with his tail before removing his shirt and tie, setting them aside. Somehow he hoped that being closer, skin to skin, as near as he could get, would make this feeling stay, the twined up mingling that was different than it had ever been.
Freed from the usual constraints his body was the expected perfection, marked with strange ink blot like markings that bled down across his body in lieu of body hair. And there were scars too, but strange, twisted claw marks, each one leading up in the exact same sweep - it implied they were self-inflicted.
Zar broke the kiss briefly. His tail slithered around the other demon’s waist again, and this time the squeeze was firm, all muscle and strength. The surge of raw power was contagious, lending his motivation and drive where Barth leant his relaxed satisfaction.
He didn’t relinquish his tail’s grip. “So are sloth demons even able to top?”
Barth smiled in response. He didn't answer immediately. The claws on his feet curled idly on the edge of the chair with odd dexterity.
The thorns had thickened surrounding the entire base of the chair, snaking their way over the carpet. Some had reached the base of Zar's walls. A series of vines curled up Zar's hooves and calves, climbing with alarming intentionality. They spread over Barth's shoulders like sinister fingers. The bite of the thorns was mild, for now, but not absent.
"Are we opening negotiations?"
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Posted: Wed Sep 11, 2013 9:44 pm
He should have been afraid, he thought, as if he was an external observer, watching the steady and insistent spread of the thorns, but he wasn’t, even as they took hold of his hooves, the twinges and pinches of sharp edge against his skin tapping into instincts deeper than he understood. He realised he could be covered head to toe in the twisting thorns and still would not be afraid.
Besides, it was questionable who had who, he reminded himself, his tail still twisted around the other demon like a very long, sleek serpent, no longer squeezing but like a boa constrictor, picking up the slack of exhales naturally, insistent.
“If you think you could win them, you are welcome to try.” He said with a sultry smirk, trailing a single razor sharp claw across the geography of Barth’s body. And still he couldn’t shake the deep, secret thought that something about the twisting thorns was sensual in itself. “I told you in the meeting, roses aren’t scary.”
"That's the point," Barth said, sharp, arching mildly into the claw. The press of thorns was ghostly but steady, until they found Zar's waist. They bound him in a quick and gripping motion.
Barth's thorns had also found his own upper body, although they cushioned more than restrained. He sat up on the power of thorns alone, resting one arm consideringly on his knee, chin on his wrist.
His eyes made the journey over Zar's body, before locking on Zar's eyes.
"Let's retire to your office."
The thorns whipped up Zar's shoulders and neck, and dragged him with biting insistence towards the desk. Barth followed, bound by Zarth's tail, and uplifted by a boiling knot of thorns that kept Barth aloft while they both made fluid progress towards that corner of the room.
Zar hissed through his teeth, a sharp gasp of breath as the thorns seized him, restrained firmly by the sheer quantity.
He was about to give a snipe of defiance when he found himself dragged physically to the desk by the thorns. And he let them, his breath absolutely taken away by the sheer shock, audacity and - right at the root of everything - excitement at what just happened to him. Refusing to give up his hold on Barth was his act of defiance; certainly, he could move him, but anything else he was going to have to negotiate for.
The vines dragged Zar down, neck-first, and Barth bent over him. There was another kiss, soft and slow as before, and a deliberately strong wave fear. Zar's arms felt heavy. Zar's legs felt heavy. Moving them was difficult, slow, foreign, and as Barth pulled away, the vines coerced Zar around, and began the work of binding him to the desk.
The documents that had been neatly stacked, while not completely scattered, were in mild disarray.
"Are these your work papers?" Barth asked, one hand resting lightly on the smooth expanse of Zar's back. This time, he didn't flinch at the word.
That damnable fear. Even as it slithered into his veins, sapping the energy and fight from him, there was nothing he could do to fight it. No, that was a lie. He didn’t want to fight it. It felt good, it didn’t even dampen his own fear but sidled along with it. He’d have sworn if he was a swearing person as he found himself twined up to his desk. He tried to fight, on principle, but even his hooves were far too restrained to make a difference.
He hadn’t even noticed the papers. He hadn’t actually noticed paperwork. Significant paperwork too, accounts, records he couldn’t really lose. But right now they seemed small, petty and irrelevant compared to what he was doing, just worthless paper of no consequence.
“Yes.” He said, and his voice didn’t sound like him, hissed words and carefully enunciated edges, alive, vibrant and anything but flat. “Yes. They are. Important ones.” His twisted his tail hard around Barth, dropping any pretense of gentleness in the moment, but his fear had done its work, it was painful but not a dire threat. He clattered a horn against the wall as he tried to look over his shoulder at him. “So you will cease this immediately.”
Barth inhaled, hissing from the powerful suffocating grip, but sighing after with a kind of ecstasy. His claws flexed, a moment, then relaxed and moved down.
"I won't damage them," he said.
Zar was pressed against the papers, which rustled and shifted underneath both of them.
"You'll just have to be careful."
Zar chuckled throatily, and he didn’t even begin to know where the amusement came from – he couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed at anything. But for some reason it was satisfying. He was helpless, yet he didn’t feel weak, he didn’t feel defeated. He felt free and alive, claws sinking into the wood he’d polished meticulously every day for as long as he could remember, feeling it give way under his grip, there would be deep gouges in it.
And he didn’t care.
The thought of ruining the paperwork should have been a horror of horrors to him, and maybe at one point it might have been, but right now he wanted one thing and one thing only.
“I shouldn’t doubt it will be easy to be careful.” he purred, a challenge he didn’t believe. “You’ll wear out before I do.” He closed his eyes with a sound of involuntary pleasure, used to being the one undeniably in control, never the inverse.
Barth’s claw dropped even lower.
Zar made a sound somewhere between a snarl and a hiss and again his tail twisted, slithering higher until the very tip nestled at Barth’s clavicle, twitching with a sort of fury but not strong enough to truly defy him. “I didn’t say you could go there.” He’d always been of the opinion there would be a lot of red tape involved in him letting anyone anywhere near that particular asset. “It’s off limits.”
"Ah, a breach in the terms and conditionsss," Barth said, the tail at his throat, "but we never did get around to signing anything. And since you're in no condition to draw anything up,"
He inched close to Zar's ear, "I'm going to assume technical verbal assent."
“You absolute b*****d.” He hissed in reply, stung by his own machinations. Forgoing the documentation was always a bad idea. Or at least, in theory a bad idea. The way it felt was anything but bad, and finally his tail loosened, the fear overwhelming even the rebellious resistance in it, where once it crushed, instead it loosely and affectionately looped, trailing across his body encouragingly, slow and patient, spreading Zar’s own fear involuntarily as he moved, crumpling paper as he did so in a way that made his own obsessive tendencies recoil.
But he couldn’t help it. Everything about him was built to this.
He closed his eyes and rested his chin on the table.
The more he relaxed, the easier it was to focus. It made the rest of the world - normally a tangle of stresses - completely irrelevant in comparison. Without tension, without the drawn out worry, he came into his own, his fear far from gradual.
He flexed his wings, holding them as spread as he could manage for balance.
There was something soft about it, fading around the edges, and the hard desk and papers could almost be sheets. The relaxation built, traveling to Zar's calves, and up through his shoulders, as if he was in a room filling with warm water. For now, his head was above it, but it wouldn't take long to seize and cover over that too, until everything was a muted, comfortable, underwater quiet, and even pain didn't matter.
And he embraced it, every part of the relaxation, distance but not distance as he knew it as if on the outside of a warm room in the dark and cold but distance from all the things he loathed and that irritated him. He could drown in these sensations and it would be a happier death than what he’d lived. Except, on further examination he found he didn’t want to escape any longer, not if things could feel like this, not if there were still ways to feel alive. And he did, his thoughts sung, a tapestry of technicolour emotions.
He was already going to make all this paperwork unusable and was somehow freed and delighted by that and the fact he didn’t care.
Why hadn't Barth thought to consult with a professional. He wasn't being entirely professional at this point. He couldn't be, not with the dizzying, heightened consumption spinning through his own head, electrifying his skin with a hyper-sensitivity.
He should keep his head, he knew, but-
In Barth's fear, too, the all-covering relaxation began to shift at the edges, a wandering, even further from the setting, and from the sensation itself, although the feeling stayed in a consistent, abstract way. Foreign, but providing a steady and comforting background. A bright, rocking sea, with a single, dark-red boat and linen sails unfurled in a gentle breeze. They drank from a cool glass, that didn't seem to empty, and there was satisfaction in each swallow.
There was no resistance; he let the shift in fear take him, wherever the other demon naturally went, he was willing to go too, letting the world recede willingly, finding himself somewhere else. And it was new. He almost never slept, so he never dreamed, and as his pulse picked up, it picked up in time with sipping from the glass. And the rocking of the boat melded with the touches of skin on skin to the billowing of the breeze.
It took him, and he let it, but in turn added his own flavour to the flitting dream, enriching every carnal flavour and sensation, turning up the dials on sensation and perception.
“Delicious.” He said, but he did not speak.
"You are," Barth replies, and he doesn't speak either.
They are in a hammock on the beach, and Barth is unafraid of tiring. The boat is tethered nearby. Their drinks are within reach. The shade blocks out the punishment of the sun, and in the warmth and cool they simply enjoy each other.
The other is still there, in the distance. The desk. The window. The thorns. There, Zar can feel the thorns, and they respond to his thoughts as well as Barth's, tightening when he wants them to tighten, giving him slack when he wants room, adjusting by whim and request, as tangled up in Barth's fear as he is.
There, it's the shift of papers, but on the beach it's Barth's hands.
It was everything Zar had ever really wanted, an escape, a proper escape he could believe in even as he remained aware of his body, of them twined up and safe in the twisted enveloping thorns. He was not afraid to let his mind stretch out, nothing to lose at all but himself, his pacing like a steady quickening heartbeat, unobtrusive, tied to the tempo of the tangled dreams. It was like losing himself to the insanity again, to the concept of we, of being more, spread out thin. But it wasn’t cold or terrifying, it wasn’t unnatural or broken, it felt proper and glorious.
The Zar on the beach has the sails of the boat echoed in the wings - webbing between the normally ruined bones – that he wraps around Barth, the Zar on the beach is proud, confident and terrible.
And yet he would go wherever Barth led.
Barth was still leisurely, but not at the expense of energy, just as a result of choice and mood. He shifted under Zar's wings.
The thin layers were starting to build up, not just centered on one part or the other, but the entire physicality, each other, the space they lay in. There was anticipation, but Barth didn't hurry to meet it.
Zar wanted to stay immersed in these feelings, their fears bleeding over, following the lazy deep channels of Barth’s relaxation, twined up as much as they were.
But with the point of no return came the old familiar fears, the stirring of something much more potent and dark in the depths of his thoughts. And it bled into the dream, a shadowy beast that prowled around them both - held at bay but undeniably present. It flexed its talons and in the real world he tightened his tail.
And for the first time since he’d given himself over, he felt fear and anxiety return, and he held closer to Barth.
Barth's fear stayed in the same, steadying doses. The sound of the ocean washed over the sand. At the desk, he was at Zar's back, but in the dream, they faced each other. Barth was aware of the creature. The hammock swayed gently.
"Are you afraid of it?" Barth murmured into the dip between Zar's neck and shoulder.
“Yes.” He said, watching it warily, shielded by the warmth of Barth’s body. It didn’t matter to admit it, no one else could hear him, and he no longer cared about vulnerability.
The beast bared fangs a lethal parody of Zar’s own and crept nearer, unblinking eyed fixed on Barth, but still it did not leap or attack.
“It always comes,” He said, his breath catching as he clenched his claws with a grating sound on wood that cut through the dream. He buried his face against Barth, hating to look at it, hating to feel that coiled fury, the predatory need that waited like the ferryman to collect on what it was owed. “I always have to stop it.”
"I was ashamed of the thorns, for many years. I felt like a little demon who kept wetting his bed." In the dream, the waiting conclusion washing further and further up the shore didn't stutter the conversation.
"Last year, I just let them come."
The trees rustled in the ocean breeze.
"Don't be afraid," Barth said.
He had never let it free, he always fought it, keep it out of range, and keep it civil. But here and now, he wasn’t alone, and Barth wasn’t weak. It wasn’t him keeping it back from a frail and vulnerable scareling. The other demon was his equal, more than his equal in many respects.
So without fear holding him back, he let it carry him, let the waves sweep up closer.
With them the creature grew, and it stalked nearer and nearer, hunkered down like a cat, a twisted thing somewhere between a goat and a demonic lizard, slitted eyes fixed on Barth. It was a thing and it was a sensation, swirled up in Zar’s fear, dark and murderous, nearer and nearer, singing more and more in the want and need. He let It come until he could not stop and nor could it.
The tension grew and stretched out like a discordant violin in a horror movie, the voice that called out Barth’s name somewhere far from the encroaching tide and sands didn’t sound like his own. He pulled him closer, desperately wanting all of him and more, wanting to keep him here, hold him here in this place, in the sensations that felt so good he could drown in them. But he couldn’t sustain it, and finally there was a moment when everything drew together, when Zar could take no more, when his body, tortured beyond its usual limits finally gave out.
He soared as close to power as he’d ever been.
And the monster leapt in and took his place.
It was only an instant, but when it came, as the tide reached a crescendo, he jolted, jolted and tried to twist in the thorns, flashing fangs and claws, his tail turned weapon, the single instant where all his demonic nature was laid bare.
The response from the thorns was instant and furious, seizing Zar in thick and encompassing ropes, smothering and binding him by sheer number to the desk and floor, but not enough to stop the struggle. Vines broke. More piled on.
Barth woke at the sudden and murderous violence from the tail, breath expelling-
Another series of vines went into serious combat with it, raking, squeezing, lashing, prying, to get Barth air and space.
Zar fought like a thing possessed, locking down on Barth and refusing to let go, even as vines tore at him enough to sink deep, he fought until they bit into his flesh and drew deep inky blood, the pain was infinite, exquisite, a place he’d never been and he was sure the ferocity of it would kill him. But the struggle was not indefinite, just when he seemed to be gaining traction, winning his struggle and set on tearing free of his bonds along with much of his flesh, it passed. It was as though an electric current had been passing through him, and had moved on. He slumped into the thorns and his tail finally relaxed its terrible vice grip on Barth.
He couldn’t speak, breathless and dazed with the ferocity of what had come over him and at the same time, amazed at the strength he’d been capable of.
In the wake of the shared dream, the world came back into focus. It was very grey. The desk seemed hard, and the room was chilly. Barth found he could breath again.
He slumped tiredly against Zar's back, and as an afterthought, the thorns began to uncoil, and wither. His actual lips moved, in request.
"The bed, please," is all Barth said.
As the thorns uncoiled, Zar slumped against the desk with a clunk of weighty horns, still breathless but satisfied in a way he had never been, even the lingering fullness was pleasant. But it was much too real again, a world not of sand and closeness but harsh black and white, where he’d spent far too many lonely days. The withdrawal was heartrending, a brush with satisfaction and happiness and left all the emptier by its absence. His strength was diminished but he had strength enough to lift Barth with his tail, gentle this time, using his wings - or what there was of his wings – to carefully steady him as he took shaky, but firmly composed steps to the bed. It was with great reluctance he slipped the other demon free, drawing the sheets over that he might cover himself if he chose and laying him down. The bed itself was comfortable, almost startlingly so for such a stuffy looking room, with the sort of expense and consideration only afforded a true workman’s tools.
And using the bed for the first time in many months despite changing the sheets weekly, he climbed into it himself, pulling the sheets up to his chest, ignoring the mending wounds, on his side facing Barth.
He didn’t know what he was waiting for, if anything.
Barth was bruised, and worn. He'd used a great deal of fear, and felt completely drained. But he didn't feel as if the demon next to him was an enemy. He understood him better. What he was, what he'd been trained to be, what he could be.
Barth examined him a long while through half-closed eyes.
"Belzgaphor," he said at last.
Zar closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure what his emotions were, he wasn’t used them this raw or close to the surface, still vivid from removing all their constraints. He didn’t even know his own father’s true name, he’d never told him, and he could only guess if his mother had told the truth when he told him hers.
He didn’t know what Barth wanted from him, if anything, if it had just been a fling like Nahm. He didn’t expect loyalty, he didn’t expect a relationship – the other demon had one already and he wasn’t sure if he was looking for more. Even the idea of being useful from a business perspective seemed far-fetched to him. But he had his Name, that was more than any other demon had ever given him.
“Zaraphomet” he replied unflinchingly, he had had nothing to lose at the start of the evening, and he still had nothing.
He splayed a wing and flipped the covers up over Barth too, and with a boldness borne of exhaustion he hadn’t felt in a long long time, sidled over to spoon himself alongside him, resting his forehead against his shoulder, while his tail set his glasses on the side table. Being ripped away from the sloth demon’s fear and set back into the confines of his own again was hard to bear.
“I hope you will forgive me this indulgence.” He said weakly. “It is most unprofessional.”
"Not at all," Barth said, letting his claws move idly through Zar's hair, "this is my office, in a sense."
Another pause.
"That last bit was quite good."
The contact was more than he could hope for, and he felt deeply guilty for wanting it, he’d be roundly scolded if his mother had any idea, she had always reminded him that her job was to be discreet and remove herself conveniently when her job was done.
“Yes. It was.” He looked mildly concerned. “Has that ever happened to you before?”
"Most of that was on the new side," Barth admitted, closing his eyes. "Which part did you mean?"
“All of it. Particularly the,” he frowned a little more deeply, “well, the beach.” There was an odd twist of anxiety mentioning it, as if he was talking about something either everyone knew about or which hadn’t actually happened. Either way, it was admitting vulnerability. “I’ve never... I assume it was you.” After all, he was a sloth demon, it made sense.
“A great deal of it was new to me too.”
Barth looked awkward at that. "I drift off, sometimes. During. It usually doesn't- effect anything, I mean, unless my partner notices, in which case…usually they find it, um, irritating. But sharing a dream, that's new. I must have gotten carried away. Or when we were exchanging fear…I'm not sure. It seemed like the natural thing to do, at the time."
Zar raised a brow. “I suppose that I can understand that not everyone gets that. I mean I am sure most would find it irritating to have to deal with my inclinations. Claws in the face often offend.”
He nodded gently against him. “And yes. It seemed natural to me too.” The scrunched up sensation of withdrawal only intensified the more he thought about it. “It was very pleasant.” Formality led to gross understatement.
"I try to avoid it. I was just, err. Overwhelmed. I think. But," Barth sighed, and brushed back his own hair, resting his wrist on his forehead, "if you liked it, then…"
Barth yawned.
Yawns were frankly contagious, and Zar found himself yawning before he could even reply.
“I did.” He said, cutting off the answer lest it be something he didn’t want to hear. He had enjoyed it more than he could reasonably stress and retain his dignity. Decorum dictated he should leave, but it was his own room. He wasn’t going to go anywhere. He hadn’t slept in months but was prepared to again in the foolish hope that maybe somehow, he could repeat that strange effect.
“I am going to sleep.” It sounded almost an irritable thing to say, but instead it was a subtle and final act of submission, surrendering one more small thing to the other demon. He didn’t think even giving this much up that he would come to harm.
This said, aware that it might be the last contact he had with anyone in another extensive span of time, he curled up, as twined as he could reasonably get, and let himself drift slowly off to sleep.
"Mm," Barth said, and the phrase was, for him, the final reward- more than climaxing, the surrendered and sleepy peace that came after.
There were still a few thin thorns under the bed, but Barth was exhausted. Danger while he slept was not an issue, it hadn't been for months now, but he was badly depleted. He needed the recovery time. Zar's body, relaxed, in bed…he couldn't have asked for better results. A demon. He should have tried this much earlier… even in the foreign room, the mattress was decadently soft, the sheets cool. Zar was warm. His clothes were somewhere, but he wasn't too bothered.
He gave Zar a brief kiss, a drop of fear from his dwindling supplies, and then he too slept.
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