Chapter Nineteen #2
There was a respected food market within a short stroll, the King’s prized botanical garden was nearby, and the river a pleasant walk away.
The thought of sharing these with Damaris, of feeling his shared pleasure at new tastes and the humid warmth of the gardens left a pleasantly fuzzy feeling in Archie’s chest.
What are you thinking of? asked Damaris. In the privacy of the carriage, he was less a cloak draped across Archie’s shoulders and more a loosely demon-shaped shadow that enveloped Archie. He nuzzled the sensitive skin behind Archie’s ear, and Archie let his eyes flutter closed.
Showing you more of the human world. Finding things that might make you happy. And thought only in his own mind: Having someone to spend time with.
Their new apartments comprised of the top two floors of a divided townhouse.
The bottom floor belonged to the landlady, which Archie did not grasp the significance of until he realized that their rooms came with a reception room and private bathing room on the first landing, and then their bedrooms on the top floor, leaving a whole floor’s distance between their own residence and hers.
A letter lay on the floor just inside the door as if it had been slid in from outside. Archie bent and retrieved with with some surprise.
Smells of Prince Jasper, Damaris informed him.
Gods, that was quick. Jasper’s intelligence network was impressive – a network they were now a part of, Archie surmised.
He hesitated; balking at the idea of Jasper already coming to collect in on their deal.
Damaris unpeeled himself back into his own form, plucked the letter from Archie’s hand and tossed it onto the table next to a vase of flowers. He can wait.
Archie didn’t have much opportunity to respond, or view their new rooms, or much of anything else as Damaris pulled Archie towards the bedroom without even lighting the lamps.
Flinging his arms around Damaris’s shoulders, Archie’s feet left the ground as Damaris hefted him up in an most unorthodox bridal carry, stretched up into his full height and took the stairs, four at a time.
The ceilings must be high, Archie noted absently as he clung on for dear life; he didn’t hear Damaris’s antlers scrape against anything.
Their new bed was firm; Archie bounced comfortably on the mattress, startled into a gasp as Damaris tossed him and then followed him, leaning down to press into a bruising kiss.
Archie met him halfway, opening his mouth and groaning eagerly at the press of sharp teeth against his lips, the danger of pain to come.
Since Damaris had reinstated his corporeal form, everything had felt more real.
The warmth of his mouth, the wet slide of his tongue against Archie’s, the brush of thick eyelashes against his cheek, the ghost of breath tickling against his skin.
Things Archie hadn’t thought could get even better but now was proof Damaris was real.
Damaris pulled back, and Archie pouted, not even embarrassed at the whine that escaped him. “Wait, come back.”
“One last detail,” said Damaris, sliding off the bed and lighting a lamp with a flick of his fingers.
As he stalked towards the end of the room, it took Archie a moment for his eyes to readjust to the light.
The far end of the room was draped in fabric, a blanket, Archie realized at the same time as Damaris pulled it loose to reveal an enormous gold-wrought mirror that covered almost the entire back wall.
“What,” spluttered Archie as Damaris was suddenly behind him, Archie’s chest against his chest, one arm securing him there.
The other hand stroked against Archie’s cheek, his jaw, down his neck and then his chest, lingering on all the places most sensitive.
He stopped short just below Archie’s waistband.
Archie found himself staring at the mirror, at the way Damaris’s arm pulled him tight, upright, the way he strained against it.
At the way Damaris’s fingers played at the line of his hip, tugging his shirt loose.
He could see the way his hair and clothes were already disheveled even though they had barely begun, the blush staining his cheeks and neck.
The growing bulge between his legs. A heated reminder of their first encounters in the mirror in his bedroom.
He made contact with Damaris’s deep, deep eyes, hooded with anticipation and staring straight back at him.
He shuddered and tried to look away but Damaris caught his chin and forced his head back to look.
“So you can see,” whispered Damaris, his breath a sensuous lick against the shell of Archie’s ear, “what you look like to me. This is how I shall have you, as often as I please.”
Archie understood, finally, what his new deal with the demon looked like.
Wet, agonizing lust coursed through him as Damaris exhaled and unleashed his craving, his greedy ambition to see Archie at his most debased.
Archie’s eyes fluttered as he cried out.
Damaris had been so good, so careful recently he’d almost forgotten what it felt to bask in the unfiltered force of his desire.
To have Archie panting and shaking for him before they had even done anything.
For Archie to also see it all, unable to flinch away from his own arousal.
“Yes. Yes, take me. Have me however you like. Claim me, please.” Archie let himself, for the first time, give into his own appetites.
He thought of that strong, smooth tower keeping out all magic, and imagined it crumbling into dust, opening himself up.
He felt Damaris’s mind and magic crash down onto him, drowning him in desire; he screamed his mortal body unknowing how to cope.
Damaris fed on him and he fed on Damaris, an ouroboros of pleasure.
Finally, this was what it meant to be possessed by a demon.
End.