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She looks like a painting the first time he sees her. Wrapped and tangled in brambles, thorns pricking at her with even the smallest movement, hung high and helpless just for his viewing pleasure.
An angel. Wings caught in thistle and limbs wound in vines.
It's a sight that piques the demon's curiosity at the very least. Not so much the hows or the whys, but the whats. What would she do if he approached her? What could she do? What kind of fun could he have with a trapped angel?
What wonderful questions.
When he strides up to her, the scene only becomes more picturesque. From up close he can see the trails of thick blood dripping down her skin, as gold and brilliant as everyone says an angel's blood should be. The stains across her pure white gown are oddly coruscant, bringing a beauty to her suffering.
Her expression doesn't come into clear view until he's standing on the ground just below her. Exhausted, despondent, and so deliciously hopeless. Things that don't belong on the face of a holy servant but somehow look so perfect there regardless. Or perhaps that's just the propensity of his demonic nature—an innate joy in the world's random acts of cruelty.
"Oh my," he starts with a sneer, all dramatics and sarcasm. "What's a pretty thing like you doing so far from the pearly gates?" Nothing more than a slight twitch of a wing and the flick of her empty gaze give away the life still clinging to her being. Still, the demon tucks his arms behind his back as he waits for a response that doesn't seem to be forthcoming. "Come now, surely heaven isn't forcing vows of silence upon you angels."
Then, just as lifeless as her eyes, a tired rasp ekes out. "Go away," she says.
He's just a tad surprised at the clarity left in her voice. Even cut and raw, it still sounds crystalline. But that's not enough to disarm him. "Well that's not very mannerly," the demon chuckles. "You know, I might be more tempted to help you out of there if you asked nicely."
"I don't want your help," the angel answers without a beat.
At that, the demon hums, very obviously enjoying this. With his own batlike wings, he lifts himself into the air just high enough to float a head above where the angel hangs. "It sure looks like you need it though." He gently lifts her chin up as he asks, "How long have you been up here? I imagine it's been awhile. I've never seen an angel with such dull eyes."
Examining her over, the demon tilts the angel's head back and forth, back and forth. Meanwhile, the angel looks him over as best she can until she retorts flatly, "And I've never seen a demon with such gangling limbs."
The demon's brows shoot up and he twists the angel's neck up toward him. "Do you really think you're in any position to be speaking like that to me?" Not that he's truly offended by such paltry insults. But the audacity of this weak angel to snap back intrigues him.
She stares at him dead in the eye. "If God has resigned me to be devoured at the hands of hellspawn, then so be it." She says it so matter of fact, as if this is always what her life has amounted to. As if all she has ever done was for the purpose of becoming the poor pathetic thing he sees before him.
And it annoys the demon to no end.
All those goody two shoes up in the clouds devoting themselves and everything they do to someone who could toss them aside and they'd just let it happen. There's something about it that boils his blood and he can't help the grip he tightens around her chin as he pulls in close. "You'd let me have you right here. No fighting back. No resistance. Because you think God may or may not be calling for your torture at my hands?" he whispers gravely.
"Because I trust that God knows what I need right now," she corrects.
She's certainly steadfast. He'll give her that much. It's impressive how she doesn't even flinch as he wraps an arm around the small of her back. "Well, as far as I can see," he starts, bringing her flush against him, "your fate is in my hands, my dear—not His. Kinda seems like I might as well be your god right now, hm?"
As he waits for a reaction, the demon stares her down, eyes dark and expectant. But she only stares right back. Even when he tucks a lock of blood drenched hair behind her ear. Even when he licks his lips hungrily. Even when he leans down to catch her mouth with his. Even when he nips at her tongue and tugs her closer. All she does is comply.
It's all so… fascinating.
He's indulged in the flesh of a couple blessed beings before—not quite angels but not so far down the hierarchy as to touch the secular world. Each of them proved to instill a powerful want within him just by their heavenly nature. Angels should be no different. In fact, touching an angel this way should be driving him mad with lust.
This one, though, is odd. Her lips are sweet and decadent, skin soft and luxurious. Hell, even her blood, sticky and thick under his hands, feels velvety and pleasant. By all means, she feels wonderful. Everything about her body lines up with what an angel should feel like. So why isn't he losing himself to an urge to take her totally and completely?
He kisses her deeper, presses up against her harder. Tries to urge forth that incredible arousing mania by force. But nothing bubbles up. Just an easy comfort that compels him to enjoy her slowly.
So he does. His tongue and hands explore her with measure and he notes the way her wings twitch in the brambles when he sighs contentedly. There's a smirk in his voice when he murmurs against her lips, "You're actually enjoying this, aren't you?"
The angel whimpers something small and embarrassed. "Absolutely not. How dare you even suggest it," she argues.
"Feisty little thing," the demon laughs. "Your labored breaths and flushed face betray you, though, sweetheart."
"Don't call me that," she growls.
He slides a hand down her waist to sit at her hip and gazes over the glare her tired eyes attempt to shoot him. "Then tell me. What should I call you?" A pause—though he can't blame her for hesitating. "Really now. My tongue has already tasted your body. Is your name where you draw the line?"
Her glare hardens and it's cute the way her eyes flicker to his lips at the mention of his tongue. "Nene Yashiro," the angel finally mutters with reluctance.
"Hm. Yashiro." The demon lets the word sit in his mouth as if pondering its meaning. He feels the syllables at the back of his throat and catches the sounds behind his teeth until he's satisfied. "Alright then. Be good and hold still for me, Yashiro," he whispers, suddenly closing the gap between them once again.
A spark rolls up Nene's back and she wants to shout. If not for the demon stealing her breath, she would. Instead, all she can muster is a quick gasp through her nostrils and perhaps a shrill but muffled squeak. Honestly, she isn't quite sure. Because the next thing she feels is gravel under her back, blood cold, puddled, and stagnant mixing with the fresh warm batch spilling from her wings as she's laid to the ground.
When her eyes open again, the demon is hovering over her, his smile an odd mix of triumph and condescension. Nene tries to say something, but he's quick to hush her with a raised finger. "Save your strength," he instructs, though it sounds more like a joke. "You'll need it if you plan on standing ever again." Fully intending to ignore him, Nene attempts to sit up and is quickly shown how correct the demon is.
Not even able to lift her neck, she feels the pull of pain and exhaustion dragging her unconscious. Before her sight darkens completely, though, she can just make out a low and smooth voice hissed into her ear.
"Amane Yugi. Come find me if you're ever looking for some company."
Those hands haunt Nene for days after. It's like she can still feel them on her. The light drag of his claws teasing her over her robes. The commanding pull of his grip on her chin. The smooth slide of his palms around her back. Or perhaps "haunt" isn't the right word. Intrigue? Captivate? Mesmerize? Whatever the right word is, her mind is constantly occupied.
That's probably why when Amane's hands are roaming her body once again, Nene feels like he's scratching away a torturous itch.
Somewhere dark and secluded in some wooded place between the borders of heaven and hell, Amane presses her up against a tree. His teeth graze over the crook of her shoulder until his lips are at her neck. "Y'know, I didn't think you'd actually take me up on my offer. Not that I mind, of course," he murmurs.
Lifting his head back to see her wanting face, Amane licks his lips and Nene tries to look away. "I'm only here to repay the debt for saving me," she grumbles.
With a smirk, he raises a knee between her legs, delighting in the gasp that follows. "Sure, sure. Then I'll happily take your payment."
And his tone is so high and mighty that Nene wants to break away from him and his rotten attitude. But she doesn't. Because all she can think about is his leg between hers, grinding up until static is running all through her back. Such an interesting and wonderful static she's never felt before. Obviously, she can't help but be curious about it. Can't help wanting to feel it even more just to know it better.
That's all this is—payment of a debt and sating curiosity. Nothing more.
Eventually, nothing more turns into quick rendezvous. Quick rendezvous turn into lengthy trysts. Their meetings grow longer and longer until the two are spending entire nights and lingering mornings together. And with every minute they spend together, Nene's wings grow just a shade dingier and her halo just a bit dimmer.
He's tainting her. They both know it. Every moan he pulls from her is accompanied by the flickering of her celestial glow and he's dreading the day she doesn't retain her light. If this had happened earlier on in their little affair, Amane might not have cared. Let her get booted out of God's house. Not like it's his problem.
Things are different now though. After so many visits, neither can deny the affection that's grown between them. It sneaks up on them. One day Nene's kissing him harshly, just paying him back for freeing her. The next, Amane's holding her like he might never see her again. And as much as he loves the idea of having her with him always, Nene doesn't deserve to be cast out of heaven.
That's why one day when they're lying together in his bed, his hand eagerly cupping her breast as he's biting her lower lip, the stuttering of her halo's glow lasts just a second too long making Amane break away in a slight panic. Only when the weakest little light returns above her confused expression does Amane dare to breathe again, a sigh heavy with relief and regret pushing out of his lungs.
Gently, he's pulled out of his moment of relief when Nene reaches up to caress the side of his face. It's almost automatic the way he leans into her palm, nuzzling it as he says, "I'm sorry. Just got worried for a second." He pauses, letting Nene smooth her fingers through his hair as he kneels over her. She could melt away most of his troubles with those fingers petting through his locks if she tried. "Listen, Yashiro," he starts softly, "maybe we should—"
Then suddenly the hand that's in his hair slides down over his mouth. "Whatever you're about to say, the answer is no," Nene states, her voice somehow firm and comforting at the same time.
Amane's attempt at replying is nothing but muffled sounds initially, but he's quick to pull back from her hand and try again. "But your wings… Your halo…"
"So they're getting a little dim," she answers with a shrug.
"Yashiro. You're falling . If we keep doing this, heaven won't let you back in." His voice is so pressing, so filled with concern that Nene feels his ache. That feeling only grows when Amane leans down and rests his forehead on hers. "I'm not sure I could forgive myself for being the reason that happens."
The guilt that oozes from Amane's words dig into Nene. Hoping to offer some modicum of comfort, she rests her hands on either side of his head, holding him securely against her forehead as if to tell him that she wants to stay like this. Then she offers quietly, "You know, you wouldn't be the reason I get cast out."
Scoffing lightly, he counters, "The bite marks on your neck and my fingerprints across your skin say otherwise."
"That doesn't mean that you're at fault," Nene urges.
"I don't see anybody else's hands dragging you down to hell," he retorts with a bit of bite.
"It's not dragging if I'm following along willingly, is it?" Perhaps Nene's tone is a bit more frustrated than she intends. The following pause between them makes it seem that way at least.
Until, in the smallest voice she's ever heard from him, Amane asks, "You'd let yourself fall from God's grace?"
"Amane." Nene grabs his full attention as she pushes his head back. Just enough for him to see the intention and honesty in her eyes. "If you're the one catching me, I'd jump ."
And immediately, Nene pulls Amane back down to her lips. There's no time for him to argue or think. Especially not when she starts moaning low in her throat as his rational thought gives way to lustful instinct and he's pressing as much of his body to hers as he can.
They let their hands roam anywhere and everywhere—down shoulders, over hips, inside thighs. With mouths constantly attached and such thorough touching, it doesn't take long before Amane is grinding down on Nene. Hip to hip, she feels him entirely. He's so hard already and he only seems to get harder with every enthusiastic thrust, pleasing himself with the smallest bits of friction he can get against her mound.
Just a bit of quick maneuvering is all it takes for Nene to adjust herself in just the right way so that his next mindless thrust pushes his head inside her. It's so unexpected that he gasps and he can feel the smile that stretches across Nene's face. And it's so devious and sneaky and… hot . He almost can't help but slip out a hiss under his breath as he urges himself deeper.
Once he's completely sheathed, Nene groans at the feeling of Amane filling her out, stretching her to the shape of him. This feeling of her body naturally accommodating him wherever he touches has become one of Nene's favorite sensations. It feels like proof that this is right—that they're right. How could this be against the rules when they fit together like they were made for each other?
Heaven's laws be damned—and they can damn her along with them.
Her attention doesn't stay on the moral issue of their relationship for long. Instead, it's pulled away when Amane drives quick, short bursts into her. "God," he hisses as he buries his face into the crook of Nene's neck. "How do you always feel so good ?"
Nene doesn't have an answer. After all, she might ask the same of him. All she can offer is a heady whimper as she wraps one hand over his lower back and the other on the back of his head, begging for his mouth on her skin.
Of course, Amane is all too happy to oblige. His lips grab at the side of her neck, sucking at the sweet taste of Nene's angelic body. A nibble here and there makes her twitch cutely and when he moves to kiss the underside of her jaw, he revels in the way her thighs squeeze around his hips—as if she's trying to keep him for herself.
In the midst of it all, Amane must hit something right judging by the half-gasp half-shout he hears. Not to mention the following shift down below as Nene pivots in an attempt to repeat it. "Mm," Amane hums, his devilish smile hot on her neck. "I liked that. Make more pretty sounds for me."
The request barely registers before he lunges in, staying planted as deep as he can and Nene can't help the shrill cry that escapes when he presses himself up, up, grinding against her clit. "A-Ama—!" she manages before biting back her voice.
"Oh, you almost had it," he teases with a chuckle. "C'mon, you can do it. Just try again."
So patronizing. So condescending. It would surely annoy her in any other circumstance. At the moment, though, the tone only stirs up more desire within her. So much that she doesn't care how pathetic she sounds when she immediately whines out, "Amaneee…"
And she only cares a little bit when he kisses her cheek rewardingly. "Such a good little angel," he praises with a purr. Then he moves to capture her lips, breaking after a moment to moan against her, " So good," before resuming.
And Nene gladly receives him, resting her hands over his shoulders as she lifts her head up to eagerly meet him in the middle. They both become a sighing tangle of tongues and writhing. Amane slows his hips in exchange for more intense movement—tender and passionate.
Everything is wonderful. Everything feels amazing. Amane can't ask for a more perfect moment.
Until there's squirming beneath him.
As soon as he notices, Amane lifts his head and goes frozen at the sight. Above Nene's eyes, her bangs are soaked under the drip, drip, dripping of her halo melting over her head. Not dissimilar to the blood that drenched her skin at their first meeting so long ago, it runs thick and gold down her forehead, catching on her brows and slipping down the side of her face. Singed feathers fall loose from the wings spread out under her, leaving them spotty and sparse. All the while, she's squinting up at him, mouth hanging open as her chest rises and falls.
Amane never thought about what the descent from heaven might look like. Even if he had, he's sure he would have never imagined that it would be this breathtaking.
The view is so fragile, though, breaking at the lightest graze of her fingers on his cheek. "Amane," she breathes. But he's still distracted, his eyes following the stream of gold messily running down her neck. Seemingly unbothered by it, she wriggles her hips and moans impatiently, "Amane, mooore."
"Yashiro, listen," he urges, tone heavy and serious. Easily enough, she stills, a curious if not a bit concerned expression on her face. Once he has her attention, Amane takes a deep breath to ground himself. "This might be your last chance to change your mind. Are you sure this is what you want? Absolutely sure? To trade in your halo's light for hell's flames?"
Nene blinks at him, looking thoughtful, as if considering her options. And he hates to admit it but the hum at the back of her throat makes Amane nervous. After all, if she says no, how is he supposed to go back to life before Nene? Lie in his bed at night with the memory of her behind his eyelids? Whisper her name while he's deep inside the unlucky succubus or lust demon he uses to satiate his lonely cravings?
The truth is there is no going back. Without Nene, a brand new hell awaits him. A much more painful and miserable one than he already knows.
However, he barely has time to let his mind wander to what that new hell might look like. Because Nene is wrapping her legs behind him, pulling him deeper into her, tugging him down so her lips rest next to his ear.
"I'll be a pile of ash before you can stop me from burning for you, Amane."
It's unfair. She shouldn't be so good at this. At breaking him completely with a single sentence. She shouldn't be able to make him curse under his breath as he dives for her lips, losing his mind at the taste of her.
Honestly, you'd think she's the demon the way she tempts him so easily. His body listens to her, reacts in kind to her, reforms into shapes that fit her needs. It's evident in the way he melts at the roll of her hips against him when he's kissing her so hard he forgets to move. "Oh, fuck ," he groans low in his chest, thoroughly enthralled by how she wordlessly asks for him and absolutely taken by her enthusiastic moan when he obeys.
At some point, Amane notices the disappearance of her hands from his body. Peeking his eyes open, he sees them clawing and fisting into the bedsheets, which is quite pleasing in its own way but just won't do.
Staying busy at her lips, Amane grabs one of her wrists and pulls it to his shoulder. "Such pretty hands," he mutters. "Want them on me."
When he places her other hand on his waist, she's quick to wrap her arms around his back to hang onto him. The tighter her hold, the more he presses into her. The more he presses into her, the louder her gasping whines become. Until she's nothing more than a mess of lewd bleats and desperation.
Soon enough those bleats evolve into urgent sobs and Nene's entire body is squirming with every hiccuped sound she makes. And Amane can't get enough. Ragged and condescending, he chuckles. "Gonna come for me already, angel? A little soon, don't you thi—" But his banter gets caught in his throat when he lifts himself up to get a look at her.
Most of her skin is tinted in reds and pinks, her face especially flushed. Her erratic and heavy breathing makes it seem as if she's never worked her body harder. And of course there are the last traces of her heavenly origin being stripped from her being—halo nothing more than sticky residue and wings plucked and leathery.
Awed and breathless, all Amane can seem to muster is an incredulous, "Yashiro…"
Nene squints up at him and her eyes flicker to his mouth hanging agape. That's all it takes to spark something low in her gut. Reaching to lace her fingers behind Amane's neck, Nene pulls herself up to him. "Don't stop," she whines as she meets his lips. "You can't just stop like that." As if to demonstrate, Nene tries to use Amane as leverage to shove herself against him but instead her hips just writhe about hopelessly, an even more needy whine clawing out of her.
It's not like Amane has never seen Nene aroused and overcome with desire. In fact—and to Amane's great delight—she can be quite vocal about it when her guard is down. But this… this is more than just desire or lust. This is need. Immense and unfiltered. A need for pleasure? A need for intimacy? Or maybe…
A need for sin.
The righteousness that flowed through her just a short while ago is gone, leaving an emptiness that is begging to be refilled. Already weakened by carnal temptations, it's no wonder her body is craving vice, hungry for this new definition of what she's to become.
So hungry that Amane's gawking frustrates her to the point of action.
Nene shoots up with a grunt, pushing Amane back onto his knees, giving her the opportunity to rise up on her own above him. The way she grabs and positions his shaft under her is rough and demanding and. So. Goddamn. Hot. Amane's eyes threaten to roll back into his head as she slides down onto him, her distinct disregard for him as anything other than a toy striking a warm ache through him as he throbs inside her.
It's a new sensation, being at Nene's mercy. Not one he's disliking though. Especially when she grabs the back of his neck with one hand to hold him in place and grasps his shoulder with the other to use his own body for leverage. All he can think to do is urge her rise and fall by her hips, though he's very aware she needs no assistance at this point. In fact, he almost wants to laugh whenever she starts mindlessly begging him for more—as if she isn't about to take all she can get, with or without his help.
So instead he offers his patented playfulness, egging her on as he moans hot against her skin, "Ohh, doesn't it feel good, Yashiro?"
"Yes…"
"Pushing heaven aside and replacing it with pure satisfaction?"
"Yes…"
"Replacing it with me ?"
"Yes…!"
"Let me become your new heaven, Yashiro." He pauses to nibble under her jaw just a touch. "I'll satisfy all of your temptations. Fill you with so much wonderful sin that you'll forget the constricting salvation that held you hostage for so lo—"
"Yes, yes, yes!" Nene shouts as she begins slamming herself down over and over. Trying to find his lips, Nene whines into Amane's skin, frustrated at every meeting that isn't her mouth to his. Cheek? No. Chin? Nuh uh. Is that the side of his nose? Where the hell is his damn mouth?! This is not the time to be teasing—
And then his tongue presses past her lips, pulling her into just the kiss she needs. "Yashiro," he sighs. Between wet smacking and groans, Amane continues, "Doing so good. Just a little more. Almost—ngh—fallen."
If he's totally honest, Amane is a little disappointed that he isn't the main force driving her final transgression. The thought of fucking her through her fall makes him want to pin her to the bed just so he can shatter what's left of her angelic form himself. But as Nene finally breaks apart on top of him, lewd and ecstatic cries cracking through her hiccupped breathing, he's reminded how this is her choice. Her holy genesis crumbling under the weight of the pleasure she's worked herself into is her doing. The spill of his seed deep inside her is something she's cultivating. Every last shudder and twitch is indicative of Nene accepting perdition. More importantly, though, it's indicative of Nene accepting Amane . And just that realization is more than enough to push him over the edge as he embraces her tightly, ensuring that he burns his finish into her as deeply as possible.
By the time the rush of climax dulls into warm afterglow, the two of them are already lying on the bed again. Amane remains wrapped around Nene, holding her to his chest until he hears a quiet complaining sound, tired and raw in her voice.
Slowly, if not a tad nervously, he pulls away with the intention of checking on her. However, any words he plans on saying get caught in his throat when he sees the two small nubs protruding from either side of her head.
Horns. Dark and oddly rounded for a demon—even newborn as she is. Regardless, Amane can't help but think that they suit her. So he lays a kiss to one. And she recoils with a pained groan, skull sore from such a quick growth.
"Sorry, sorry!" he says, rubbing her back in comforting circles. "You'll… you'll get used to them soon."
In response, Nene hides her face into his chest, another tired whine in her throat. Amane just chuckles, holds her, and does something he never would have guessed he'd ever do—thanks God for sending him an angel.