Chapter Text
Devildom’s nights were chilly, at least for those not tucked up in bed as they should be.
MC’s feet dangled from the stool clearly made for a demon much taller than her. Her feet were getting cold and she considered heading back to bed without finishing her warm drink.
It was interesting to learn that, other than directly next to the lava flows, the temperature here was much like a desert. She still wasn’t entirely solid on how magic was used to keep certain areas temperate, but knowing Satan, there was no way that he would let his books degrade faster in the heat. If only they had heated floors.
Then again, she wasn’t supposed to be out of bed at this hour, and she wouldn’t be able to convince them of the “magic” of geothermal heating until morning.
It was the middle of the night, well past curfew, and all of the lights were out in the House of Lamentation. All of the lights except for the kitchen light.
MC had been in there for quite some time, mulling over her sleeplessness. She briefly considered asking Lucifer about the draught he had mentioned previously when she tried to visit Belphegor the first time, but reconsidered immediately. 'Hadn’t he said I might not ever wake up?'
She would just have to ask Barbatos next time she saw Diavolo. 'Maybe I should go wake up Beelzebub,' she thought, taking time to consider it. He would let her sleep on his couch and hold her hand. She suspected if she got cold he’d let her snuggle. He was very warm. Lots of warm.
So far warm hadn't been helping. The drink she had been nursing for the last hour could attest to that.
Her best course of action would be to go to the planetarium and see if Belphegor was still awake, or nudge him awake with her foot. He’d likely begrudgingly walk her back to her room and put her to sleep, but only if she threatened to sleep on his pillow in the planetarium so that he couldn’t use it. 'I'll have to go full body pillow if I want to win out and get actual sleep tonight,' she thought. 'He's been so grumpy lately.'
She sighed and put her cup in the sink, snuffing out the candles, and shuffling her way out of the kitchen. Only the dim light from the hearth guided her. There was no need to turn on her D.D.D. for light in the hallway, she’d made this trek more times than she’d like to admit. Thankfully, Lucifer didn’t seem to mind so long as she stayed in the house and eventually made her way back to bed.
The hallway was cooler, and she regretted not taking her robe with her. The planetarium would inevitably be even colder still. Greedy for more warmth she took the longer route through the common room instead following the rest of the hallway.
It had carpets for her cold soles, and there would likely still be dying embers in the fireplace giving off the last of their warmth. One day, she would have to get up early enough to see who it was that started all of the fires, but that was not this morning.
It was much darker in the common room than it had been in the hallway, with the light from the kitchen now failing to outline her path.
She remembered where most of the furniture was and made her way towards the doors on the opposite side, D.D.D. clutched in her right hand and left hand out in case of stray couches. The pockets of her robe would have been useful for holding the contraption and freeing her hand. She didn’t have the energy to really regret it, too languid to put any real effort into anything other than moving forward to kick Belphegor awake. Besides, as long as she stayed to the edges of the room she should be able to avoid the seating clusters.
‘It must be half past two now,’ she thought before her thigh struck an unexpected furnishing.
The furniture in the common room was what she would call “show couches”, beautifully built, low set, and not the most comfortable to lounge on. But, she had forgotten that Belphegor had weedled a very comfortable chair out of Lucifer. A chair banished to the outskirts of the room; A recliner with very tall sides to accommodate very tall demons, she remembered belatedly, as she tipped face first over it.
She braced for the uncomfortable impact and the semi-scorpion shape of her landing, but she was met with warm hands instead.
She froze in place and the warmth of the hands soaked through her nightgown,across her clavicle and belly. They didn’t wander, only righted her. One of the embers popped in the silence and she jumped.
“You’re awake again,” the low voice said. It poured out of the darkness, smooth and melancholy, but familiar.
She shuffled round the chair that he’d failed to recline, using his knee as a guide and gently touched his face. “Asmo?” she asked.
He cupped her hand in his and removed it from his face. He held it loosely between them.
“I suppose you wouldn’t be able to recognize my voice in the dark,” he said with a breathy laugh, devoid of mirth. The characteristic upward lilt to his voice was missing.
Despite the warmth of her hand in his, she felt the cold more clearly and her skin goosebumped.
“What are you doing down here?” she asked.
He could tell she was already looking at the door. “Just thinking,” he said, the timber of his voice lower than she’d heard before.
Briefly, she found herself wondering if his cheerful tone was really his natural voice; he sounded now like he actually was related to Lucifer, but it felt unnatural.
He wasn’t holding her in place, and she let their hands fall away from one another. He didn’t move to retrieve it. He wasn’t vying for her attention, crowding her space, no innuendos, just silence on the backdrop of the dying fire.
“I’m about to go back to sleep,” she said, and he knows she’s lying. She’s likely going to Belphegor.
“Will you be all right here?” she asked.
“No."
It was a statement. There was no pleading in his voice but neither was there steel, only a finality to it that signalled his confidence in that truth. Though, whether he thought she was lying or whether he was saying he wouldn’t be all right she wasn’t certain.
“Stay with me,” he said. She almost hadn’t understood him, his voice was so hollow and deep, almost guttural.
“It’s late,” she said, demurring gently and turning to move past his other knee. She heard him shift slowly in the chair, but he wasn’t trying to capture her; he could have easily done so with his strength and speed. Instead, he gently took her trailing hand in one of his.
“Please don’t go to him,” he said, and his words were tight with emotion.
Not even a full step passed, the emotion in his voice stopped her long before his hand had reached her. It was difficult to be in the presence of such raw despondency; it didn’t feel like an intrusion, but it felt unstable, unsafe. She wanted to ask what he meant and why his words made her heartsick.
When she didn’t move out of his grasp, he gently brought her hand further into the darkness, and she went willingly along with it, her knees hitting the front of the chair once more. She’d expected to be reeled in rapidly, to feel his breath on her collarbone and his fingers in her hair.
“Sit” he offered, but with the lack of his usual gaiety it sounded like it should have been a command.
Sitting carefully, warily at first, then with greater comfort when she realized he had spread his legs wider to accommodate her rather than titillate, she reclined against him.
He released her hand once he had guided her safely in the dark, returning to the armrests of the chair.
“Asmo…” she said, as the warmth of his chest bled through the back of her nightgown. His even breathing was barely perceptible, the chitin of his scorpion adornment flexing gently against the cotton, making the smallest creaking noise. “What’s going on with you?” she asked. He had manifested his demonic body and she had been completely unaware as he hid himself in the dark.
He was so still. So unlike himself.
“Why do you never come to me?” he asked her, his voice tight.
This time it was her turn to be still. “I don’t know what you mean, Asmo,” she said. “I don-”.
He cut her off, “No lies.” There was no malice in his voice, no tiredness or judgement, only certainty.
“I…” the words died on her lips.
“Why do you always go to them?” he asked, this time plaintively and he rested his chin against the back of her head. He left little puffs of air against her hair, the rest of his question unspoken, ‘and not me’.
“Night or day,” he continued, “naps, feasting, cards, reading, gaming, there is always somewhere else, or someone else, you’d rather be with. It doesn’t seem to matter who so long as you can avoid me.”
“Asmo,” she tried to to comfort him. She rested her arms over his and pulled them securely around her middle. “We go shopping together, don’t we?”
She felt him tense slightly when she readjusted him to be closer.
“And there is always someone to tag along.”
He paused letting the obvious float in air before addressing it. ‘You’re afraid of me. You’re uncomfortable being alone with me.’
“I know you’re up almost every night,” he said. “I usually know when you’ve gone visiting, or pulled Belphegor back to your room.” Once he’d even left his pillow behind as he trudged back to his own room, muttering about stupid, cute humans.
She tried to turn and look at him in her surprise, but he held her still within her new, warm cage.
“I know you seek comfort with them every night in some way or other,” he said, and held her tighter still, even his thighs clenching around her slightly.
“Can you not care for me the way you do them? Am I not enough somehow?” he asked hoarsely, and her heart ached at his words.
“Why do you fear me so?” he said, whispering his pain to her.
“Oh, Asmo,” she said. Her left hand reached out to the stability of the armrest and pushed, only her shoulders impaired now by his grip, and she pulled away.
She was moving to leave and his heart was breaking. Even more than before.
A harsh ‘thwang’ and his world tipped backwards. He lay there for several heart beats, trying to understand.
He had felt his chest both imploding and being pulled apart a moment ago, and now the only sensation was her still and supine on his chest as he lifted and lowered her with each of his breaths.