milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Okay, he's back. Jittery, (though he knows better than to show it,) and watching the bar from a place in the corner (where he can have his back to a wall) and fingers curled tight around his glass.

But he is here.

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Snide, and snarling, and his nails across her collarbone.

She tenses, still and pale under his hand.

She remembers (cold, ice cold and flame dying drowned pain) everything.

He shakes his head, and leans in to give her dear throat an icy kiss.

Exhaling softly against her skin.

Head back, eyes shut and breath catching in her throat and but it still hurts and she's never going to forget it.

Ever.

Fingers pressing, heat flaring up under them but it's not enough, never enough.

He exhales again, this time with a soft, amused sound, and puts his hand on her shoulder to calm her and get her to retract her claws.

because she'll never forget when she let her guard down and he took advantage.

But she slowly relaxes, calming.

Still whispering soothing (cold) sounds, his fingers come to trace the barely-visible veins.

She leans forward, and rests her forehead on his shoulder, trying to hide a shiver.

Silence, and stillness, too, as his imagination goes.

She waits there, for a moment, and she thinks - knows, really - that he won't harm her here.

She'll trust in that.

Still so near, and he wants to freeze all that blood inside her.

Eyes shut, and it takes effort not to burn him down.

How easy it was to find her, and hurt her.

A moment where she clenches her fingers on his arm, then relaxes.

Starting as small as she had.

And growing to rival her.

(grew conscious of its lonely state;
No one nor nothing could hear its cries
In the lonely depths of Utter Nothingness--
Like a forlorn babe,
Lost and in despair,
In a cold dark forest.)

And he hated her.

...and...

And she hated him.

But-

He hisses a cold breath again, a warning.

She raises her head, half-bares her teeth in an animal-like snarl.

...and from a distance not-so-far away, comes a quiet chuckle, and the smell of a slowly burning cigarette. If they look up, they'll see it comes from the man sitting near the observation window. He's smiling.

I's been a very amusing show.

His head snaps up, and he takes a small step back from Fire.

But an arm slips around her waist.

Oh.

Oh.

Fire exhales, a slow hiss, and half-turns to Frost.

"Your Belial?"

'I'm not anyone's,' he remarks casually. His voice reaches them easily, though he's not all that close.

There's a glance at Frost which can only be described as 'chilly'. He's never been the biggest fan of this creature. Fire, on the other hand, is getting a look that's both appraising and...filthy.

It's the only word for it.

A pleased grin, and a light push, sending her in his direction.

To Satan;