Red Nightmares at Midnight

Douglass : As the sound of the lift cranking to ascend to the upper levels met her ears, distressed hazel eyes moved ceiling ward; "Good hunting," she whispered to the nothingness. She respected and loathed him all in the same moment; to possess such drive, have such purpose; for a short while she thought she had the same, simply to find out that maybe she wasn't all that significant. Hoisting herself to her feet, she lumbered slowly towards the door, but something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye; head snapping quickly, hand instinctively reaching for protective metal nestled against the small of her back, only to find nothing. She'd given up carrying a gun here, there was no purpose; only time Dante ever threatened her anymore was in his sleep; and the past few nights that she'd actually been with him, he'd been as peaceful as a sleeping babe. But it had only been her own reflection in the mirror above the dresser; tense muscles relaxed; slightly; as she looked herself over; hair tussled and untamed, tattoos giving illusions of shapes that really weren't there, giving her features a hard edge that was born soft and contoured; eyes empty. It killed her, that fact; this place had become her safe haven, a place where she could be weak and fragile if needed, this room especially; and still she guarded against herself. Anger pulsed through every vein of her body as heavy discontented breaths were taken and pushed away; something finally snapping as a hard right fist landed square in the middle of her own reflections forehead. Reflective glass spilled all across the dresser top, billowing to the floor as it tinkled and clattered on its way down. Blood began to seep from the open wounds of her hand, the bit of air meeting nerve endings tingled and soothed; pain was a sign of life. A final shaky breath left her breast as head lowered and fist pulled away form the broken mirror on the wall, unreleased. "Douglass, are you alright?" Lucille questioned, the machine was becoming concerned about her behavior, true Douglass was not an ordinary woman, but she'd never acted in this way. "No, I'm not," hazel eyes unmoved by the voice that broke into her thoughts remained upon the broken shards. "Is there anything I can do to help?" "Not unless you can read minds." "Douglass, what is bothering you?" "Have you ever wanted to say something so badly; and just be completely unable to do it?" Brows furrowed as the words left her, she knew the answer, but needed to ask the question. "I'm going downstairs Lucille." Ignoring anything else the mainframe might babble off she turned and left the room, blood trickling across the back of her hand as she moved to the stairs; now she had two messes to clean up.



Old rhythm, familiar. Dante tore down the deserted desert road, his bike humming finely beneath him. Emerging into the city, he took a different perch atop an office building, wouldn’t do to have too many passé habits. The fuckers might actually start scheduling these little jaunts, he thought with a smirk. But the wind flapped crimson leather around him, a sibilant shadow atop the night. All senses attuned to the air, he watched, listened and waited. Nothing seemed to be too out of place tonight, for a change. Yet there was a calm, as if the world had taken a deep breath and was holding it, waiting for the explosive climax. Eh, screw it, he thought with a dark chuckle. After sitting quietly for two solid hours, he figured he might as well call it a night and just prowl a bit. Not surprising, he ended up at Mike’s place, one of the two bars he frequented. Mike hailed the red clad hunter heartily, sitting him a whiskey even before asked. Bless him. “Evenin’ there, hunter,” the swaggering bartender grinned. Dante returned it and downed the potent shot; even before he got it back to the counter it was full again. Taking care of that one, he lounged on the bar, idly watching the ebb and flow of the dance floor, a memory of he and Douglass winding around it returning, only to be catalogued and filed with the rest. Mike toddled over to engage in boring and meaningless conversation. “Long night?” Dante snorted. “Not hardly. I ain’t had to draw a gun once.” Mike laughed. “That boring, hm? I’d think you grateful for the breather.” Dante shrugged and idly watched a rather leggy brunette stroll up to the bar. She returned his glance with an inviting smile and a once-over that would make a lesser man melt into his socks. But Dante merely gave her a wink and let her return to her table. “Eh, good for humanity, bad for business, so it’s a toss up, I’d think,” he finally answered, knocking back another shot of Daniels. Mike chuckled. “Where’s your little doll?” he asked carefully. A moment, then the hunter answered, “At home, PMSing about something,” was the clipped answer. “Ahh,” Mike drawled knowingly. “Lover’s quarrel?” he inquired with a smirk, then sobered from the freezing glance of those icy eyes. “Just funnin’, Dante, easy.” Hastily moving to answer another call for booze, Mike left the hunter propped against the bar. Feeling eyes on him yet again, Dante slewed around to see the brunette giving him overly brazen looks from her table, much to the chagrin of her male companion. He couldn’t help but give her another wink, mostly to just piss the miscreant human off, which it did when she laughed and nearly got up from her table. But the man beat her to it and advanced on the tall hunter, shoving up his sleeves. Dante just shoved off the bar, grinning like a buffoon, more than ready to administer a beating to the hotheaded bullshitter.



Douglass : Downstairs Douglass had taken a stance before the well beaten sand bag, eyes lacing over it as though the damn thing would jump out and bite her. Blood now dripped from the lacerations across the back of her hand, and the nerves still sent stinging sensations to her brain; but she'd ignore them. "Turn off the lights Lucille." "Would you like the strobe, Douglass?" The machine had fallen back into her role as operator of the compound, no longer questioning or offering gaunt tidbits of mechanical advice; "No, off." Without further question, the room was bathed into pitch blackness, not even the glow of the moon through a window to offer the scantest glimmer for the human eye. Perfect. Immediately an injured right hand landed on the bag, sending waves of tingling pain up her arm and into her shoulder, a shudder at the sensation; how wonderful it felt at the moment. Blindly, left hand drilled into the bag, followed by a knee as if to the groin; in the seething darkness anger, frustration, hesitation, guilt; it all took a backseat, just the pain and the movement existed. In the dark, sight no longer helped; all nerves were standing at a tension to direct her mind to where the sandbag was swinging; sound amplified as though each little creak and thud were being put through a bullhorn; and so it went; for hours.



Mike could only shake his head and sigh at the carnage that littered his floor. Twelve broken tables, twenty-two busted chairs, countless bottles, glasses and dishes littered the floor, along with about fifteen comatose humans. Idly Mike opted to give his bruisers the night off when Dante visited. They’d made the mistake of trying to interrupt the fight and gotten clobbered in the process. But Dante just strode from the mess, the cheekily grinning bastard, that damnable bitch that’d started it right behind him. The tall man, not even sporting one bruise, just a few cuts and scratches, gave the keep a jaunty grin and tossed down about a thousand bucks, cash, on the bartop, saluting with two fingers to his forehead and strolling outside, that brunette hanging on his arm, cooing in bovine rapture. Mike could only laugh and get out the broom. Being the good gentleman he was, Dante gave the chit a ride home, letting her straddle his bike in front of him, paying just the right amount of attention to her innuendos and charms. He never once gave her his name, even after she pulled and cajoled him upstairs to her high-rise apartment. Giving her just the right words and phrases, as well as a few naughty kisses outside her door, the hunter just disentangled himself from her longing clinging arms and retreated back downstairs, not without a bit of regret. But he shook his head, flexing slightly sore knuckles. He’d really needed that, he realize with an evil grin. Mounting his bike once more, he tore out of town, heading for home and a good cold beer. A rather nasty thought slithered through his brain. Probably be the only thing he get his mouth on tonight, he thought snarkily. But he quickly brought his mind from the gutter; though it was nice to just linger down there in the basement of the male mind every once in a while.



Douglass : The rational of time had ceased to be in the black of the lower training quarters; arms, legs, shoulders; they all had taken part in the beating afforded to the already sad looking bag. Blood smeared across every bare spot of flesh upon the woman; her own, cascading off with the blows of her fists only to be redeposited somewhere else upon her body as other limbs and appendages came to fall upon the unoffending piece of leather and sand. A single line across her forehead from the attempt to wipe away sweat that had dared to try to seep into her useless eyes; still she defended them. With each blow of the right fist, the pain no longer tantalized, it longer soothed, it only made her wince slightly; Jesus what did her hand look like by now? Finally ceasing the mindless assault, she only stood, shoulders heaving with panting breath; she felt better, more clear headed. Lucille had remained shocking quiet through the whole thing, a nuance that surprised her. "Lights please, Lucy." Eyes squinted and darted away from the highly offensive flood that invaded her sense far too quickly, a left arm raising to shield away the penetrating waves. "Douglass, you are injured. You should take care of that before infection sets in. And you got blood all over the training quarters." "I know Lucy, I'll take care of it, just after I clean myself up a bit." Going upstairs she washed her face, the whole time admiring the hamburger she'd made of her most useful appendage, Stupid move Dee. How long had she been down there? Glancing at the clock it must have been somewhere around four hours. After ridding her flesh of the partially coagulated blood, she went about cleaning up after herself; first ridding the training room of her life substance, then gathering up the mirror shards and depositing them in a waste container; she was cleaning up the dishes when the sound of the lift began to crank.



Striding into his place like a conquering lord, Dante couldn’t help but bite back a hearty bellow. Damn, he felt worlds better. But the reality slammed into his forehead upon entering the kitchen, seeing Douglass jamming dishes in the dishwasher. Woman looked like death warmed over, he thought idly with a quirked brow. But he only sighed and shrugged a bit. Snagging an apple from the fridge, as well as a bottle of cold clear vodka, he asked offhandedly, “Rough night, Douglass?” Dante himself couldn’t feel better.



Douglass : "Rough, no. Helpful, yes." Her demeanor from hours earlier had changed drastically, the clouded brooding replaced by an almost friendly overtone; the closest she'd get without faking. Carefully keeping her right hand from view, she slipped the last of the dishes into the dishwasher, closed it up and started it up. Turning to look at him, a crooked grin seeped its way onto her lips; "That color's not right on you; you need something more red." Pulling a paper towel from the dispenser she handed it to him, using her left. "Seems you had a good night, no?"



He quirked a brow then grinned devilishly, nonchalantly wiping at the lipstick that decorated his neck and throat. “Yeah, was about all she had left, though. And believe me,” he said, swigging a drought from the bottle, “it was worth it.” But he finished the apple hurriedly, amazed at how hungry he was, and finally told her, “I can smell the blood, you know. Might as well let me see. I know you’ve injured something, Douglass.”



Douglass : Shrugging slightly with an upturned brow, shit, she held up her right hand for him. The flesh of her knuckles peeling back, mangled badly; still red and sore. She didn't feel it, just a strange numbness; really it looked worse than it felt. "And you don't smell like sex so it couldn't have been that good."



Pulling off his gloves, using fingers and teeth, Dante examined her hand and sighed. “Woman, I swear…” Invoking just a bit of demon blood, he forced his digits to heat to call more white blood cells to the area to help in faster healing. But he nearly bopped her one, indignant. “I didn’t fuck her, nosy. Just took her home. It was the total and glorious carnage known as a barfight that made it all worthwhile.” Releasing her hand, he gave her a teasing poke in the chest. “Don’t be jealous.” That said, he smirked once more and retrieved his bottle and swaggered down the hall.



Douglass : "Can't be jealous of something I've never had." She eyed him as he left, once his figure disappeared around the corner, eyes fell to her hand. Jesus, his very presence brought the dilemma back into her mind. As eyes roamed over the curves and folds of the disfigured tissue, she whispered aloud, scarcely audible as breath, "I want to tell him, but how?"



He either didn’t hear her mutter, else ignored it. After a quick shower and change of clothes, he settled back into his chair with his guitar, for the second time in a month in the mood to play. Letting his fingers zip across the strings, he swilled with one hand and plunked with the other, letting the rhythm come easily. He knew something was nagging the everloving shit outta Douglass, but hell, let her steam about it. Didn’t bother him one little iota. Leaning back in his chair, he tinkered musically, not really playing, just letting his fingers flow over the strings. One of these days, she’d learn. That couldn’t be taught.



Douglass : The music brought her mind back from the depths of thought; waking her stilled brain. A slight smile curled at her lips as she followed the tunes; a memory of the last time he'd played darting back to her; wouldn't be too bad to have history repeat itself, but it couldn't happen, not until things were made clear again. Standing in the doorway, she crossed her arms just below her chest, muddled locks spilling around her shoulders and down her back; "You know, you could quite possibly be the sexiest thing alive when you're playing that guitar." A snarky little grin; a final tease before she tried again.



Memories from the last time had been niggling at Dante’s brain as well, but they were, as usual, categorized and put into the appropriate file in his mind. He was in a damned good mood, and there wasn’t shit gonna trash it. Unless it happened to be big and nasty and sporting a foul temper. He had to chuckle as he envisioned himself at eight am. Yeah, that’d about do it. He didn’t hear Douglass approach; carpet muffled foot falls, but damned if he didn’t almost drop the instrument as he heard her little comment. But he blinked, fingers stilling as he looked up at her. A slithered naughty smile curved his lips as he leaned back, slinging one leg over the chair arm. “Think so? I’ll have to play more often, then, ne?”



Douglass : "Perhaps," but the visage of playful lust slipped from her features. Sighing deeply she rolled her eyes around the room, praying for strength. "Dante, he didn't have to tell me his name, I already knew it," her voice had become flat, but it didn't lack emotion, not like normal. Moving into the room, she slumped down in front of him, kneeling as she had the last time they were at the chair. "I've been wanting to tell you, God knows I've been trying; I just can't get the words out." Hazel eyes locked onto his, features wrought with distress, "I still can't say it Dante, and I don't know why." A single finger slipped to his leg, slowly tracing the letters; by damn it had worked for him in the hospital when he couldn't speak, the simple act had sent the message, she just hopped that it would work for her. "L.." "U…" "C…" Her eyes never moved from his.



He watched her as she crossed the room to kneel before him, a bit of puzzlement darkening his eyes. What in hell was going on? She’d been strange ever since she came back from Italy. But he straightened, leaning down a bit, letting her know she had his attention. He wouldn’t ask, but he’d listen. A frown creased his brow as he watched her finger trace letters across his jeaned thigh, reading them silently. Realization dawned and suddenly left him cold. The name slipped from his lips on a breathless sigh. “…Lucas…?” He had to sit back. “…Lucas is alive…?” he whispered, wide eyes staring at the wall. Then they lowered, fixating on the woman before him. “And you saw him in Rome. You’re sure!” Hands grabbed her arms, yanked her up to face him.



Douglass : "Who do you think drew a knife across my neck?" Eyes were bare, not hard; revealing the vulnerability she felt. "He didn't believe me about you either, that little fact is the only reason I'm still alive Dante; best I can come up with is he gave me the benefit of the doubt."



Realizing what he was doing, he let her go, leaning back in his chair with a wide-eyed stare. “Holy shit,” he murmured. But brows drew down in puzzlement. “…but why didn’t he come home…? Fucking hell!” he swore, shooting to his feet and striding past her out the door, headed for his study. He was leaning over the computer console, demanding Lucille to dig up old records when he stopped. No, Lucas wouldn’t leave any tracks. Damnit. Part of him wanted to go haring off to the nearest airport, to find the man he’d once known as his best friend. But the other, more sensible part knew better. If Lucas knew Dante still lived, he’d eventually find his way home. He just plunked down in his desk chair, expelling a heavy breath. Fuck, what next?



Douglass : She followed slowly, stopping at the still opened door; one room she'd never dare enter without his permission was his study; Lord knew he'd shoot her for it. "I asked him…" swallowing back the lump in her throat, "I asked him why he left; a final wish before my death. I'm not the easiest person to get along with Dante, you know that; so he refused to tell me more than, 'I didn't have much choice.'" She stood huddled in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself; defending against the frustration she felt; it taken her so long to finally say it, and now the words came so easily; damn humanity. "I wish I could tell you more."



“He never said a word, just vanished,” Dante said quietly. “Drove Trish nearly insane. She left a month later looking for him. Was the last we saw of her.” He turned off the monitor and just sat in the darkness, idly wondering how many more ghosts were going to resurface tonight. None, he devoutly prayed. Rising to his feet, he stepped into the hall, raking a hand through his hair. “Don’t worry about it, Douglass,” he said, in an effort to reassure her. “Lucas’ll find me, I’ve no doubt of that. He was my best friend. Just don’t worry about it. He’s a snarky bastard, but a good man beneath all that attitude.” Putting a hand at her back, he gave a small push. “Get to bed, it’s early.”



Douglass : "What about you?" She looked to him, refusing to be forced around against her will; but moving slightly with his insistence.



He nodded down the hall. “I’m about to hit the pillow myself. My knuckles ache a bit,” he said with a wicked little smile.



Douglass : She nodded to him, letting the grin slip away from her mind. Despite the tension the circumstance had created, she felt better; as if a twenty ton weight had lifted from her shoulders. "Do you want to be alone Dante?" She didn't look at him as he spoke; only stopped in the doorway to her own room.



Jesus, what a loaded question. Good old fashioned common sense had him backed up against the wall. Exhaling a heavy sigh, he looked down at his bare toes, deep in the rich carpet. “Either way I answer, Douglass, I’m screwed,” he told her with a grin. “If I say no, you’ll think me a lecher. If I say yes, you’ll just think me trying not to be the lecher you think I am.” His eyes twinkled a bit. “So, yeah, there we are.”



Douglass : She snaked fingers between his, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, "That's not what I meant Dante; a figure of your past just materialized out of the mists of time; God knows that has to be a heavy load on the mind. He wasn't even a part of my past and it felt like I was holding the world on my shoulders." She looked up at him, hazel eyes meeting his, "I won't think less of you either way."



“It was a joke, Douglass, lighten up, babe,” he told her with a light snort, fingers curling around her hand. “But if you put it that way, then c’mon. Come sleep with me. So I won’t get lost in that huge bed all by my lonesome. I promise to even wear clothes this time.” He grinned, giving her a wink. “And don’t worry about Lucas,” he said again. “If he decides to come, then he does. If not, he’s gotta know I’ll find him, the bastard,” he said with a chuckle.



Douglass : Jesus, it was like Dante almost didn't care! Why the hell had it been so damned hard then?! Sighing contentedly she followed, letting him lead her by the hand. "What if I don't want you to leave your clothes on?" A small playful grin tugged at the corners of her mouth, suddenly very aware of the fact that she looked like shit. Hell couldn't blame him if put a brown paper bag over her damned head. Looking back at her door, brows rising on her forehead, "Maybe I should take a shower first anyways; I must smell like a damned gym bag."



A brow rose to her question, but he couldn’t answer fast enough. Was getting really slow with those snappy answers, boy, he told himself. But he chuckled to her statement. “Yeah, go snatch a shower, but it’s not my fault if I doze off afore you get done. I was the one who worked tonight, you know,” he informed her loftily, with a smart crack to her backside. “All that work’s damned hard on a man, you know.”



Douglass : A lip curled at the hand to her ass, and she gave his arm a hard yank. "Why don't you join me then? Maybe we should both take a cold shower." A snarky teasing in her voice; cold shower? Yeah fucking right.



A chuckle rippled from his throat, a dark sinuous sound. “Ah, but I already took one, sweets. And cold, hot, doesn’t really matter. I’m always hot inside, so it’s a moot point,” he purred at her ear, bending slightly to whisper against her skin. Teeth delicately scraped across her skin. “Go, before Lucille screams at me for debasing her wall, right here in the damned hall.”



Douglass : "She'll get over it," smiling into his neck teeth nipped lightly at the skin; guess it didn't matter if she smelt like a gym sock. "And you can never take too many showers," lips brushed against the pulse of his throat, but as she lifted her right hand to brush it across his shoulder, a sharp breath through clenched teeth hissed; it stung like a bitch all of a sudden, God damn it!



He had to laugh to her retort, but he shook his head, taking her arms and setting her away from him. “The first time was wonderful; Dee, but you never kissed me. Why?” That little fact’d been bothering him ever since and he needed to have some sort of answer, preferably the truth.



Douglass : A loaded question; just maybe. She had no smart remark, no retaliation for that one; holy shit. Sighing deeply, she'd never had to explain it before, it had always just been instinct, and Sam damn well would never have questioned her. Looking off over his shoulder, out into some kind of nothingness she thought for a long moment, choosing the words carefully. "Because it means too much." Eyes ventured over to his, no bull-shit write across her face. "Sex is a natural drive, an instinct; everything that lives reproduces, its part of nature. Humans just happen to enjoy it too. But to kiss…" brows furrowed as she shook her head lightly, "A kiss is something that only humans take as a symbol of adoration; a peck to the cheek, a kiss to the forehead, it shows that you care. But the kind of kiss you wanted Dante, it means something more than that; something deeper." She licked her lips before continuing, "I care about you, you know that. I'd do anything for you, anything you'd ever ask; but I won't mislead you by giving you something that means nothing. Does that make sense?"



“Yeah,” he said woodenly, “it makes perfect sense.” Arms returned to his sides. He looked away for a moment, inhaled a deep breath then released it. “…Douglass, it only means nothing if you want it to. You’ve kissed me before, right before you went haring off to Italy. Did that mean nothing? Damned if I know.” Anger suddenly sparked behind his eyes. “And since sex is just a ‘natural drive’, I can reason that our little escapade meant nothing but that, hm? Wonderful. I’ve grown used to just being an object of lust.” Snapping his mouth shut abruptly, he shook his head, rebellious strands falling to hide storming eyes as he turned around, shoulders bunched with extreme effort to control his temper. “I’m sorry, Douglass, for expecting anything else.” That said, he just hushed once more and strode for the end of the hall. What had he been expecting? Served him right for daring to hope, and upon reflection, he realized that was exactly what he’d been doing. Lessons twice learned, Dante ol’ boy.



Douglass : Shit, just keep you're mouth shut Dee, that's all you had to do. "Dante, I didn't mean it like that…" Was there a point to this? Obviously he had his mind made up; shoulders fell to lean against the wall, head bowed and a curtain of blond tresses shielded her face, providing a curtain through which she could speak. "Yeah, I did kiss you before I left. It meant everything Dante, probably the only reason I came back." Arms slipped around herself, crossing just under her chest, "I've been here for half a year now, at least. If it meant nothing at all it would have happened sooner." That said, her final confession, she shifted her weight and turned to head back to her room, the shower was calling again, guess it really would have to be cold.



The impact his fist made in the wall was delicious; sharp lines of pain shot up his arm to imbed in his brain as he snarled. Plaster went flying, Lucille clicked and whirred in alarm, but didn’t dare shoot off her mouth. “Fucking God, Douglass!” he roared, whirling around. “Do you enjoy this shit?! Huh?” A growl slithered from his lips. “This ain’t working, Douglass,” he stated flatly. “It just ain’t.”



Douglass : "What do you want from me!?" She whirled back around; arms opened wide waiting for whatever might be thrown her way. "What the hell am I supposed to do when I don't even know where you stand in all of this?! At least I told you where I stand in this bloody mess! God damnit Dante," her right hand curled into a tight fist as her arms dropped to her sides, the act pulling at the damaged tissues and sending small ripples of pain up into her arm, helping her keep her head, "What, do you want me to lie to you? Tell you that I'm in love with you and proclaim my undying devotion? Jesus fucking Christ! You've gotten more from me than anyone I've ever known in my adult life and it's still not good enough for you!"



“I don’t want to go through it again, Douglass!!!” he roared back, voice resounding eerily in the hall. “I spent eleven damned years avoiding humanity, because of what I lost! And when I dare try to think I could get a fraction of that life back, just a mere smidgen, I find out that what I thought might be something different was just a fucking natural drive?!?! Think how that makes me feel, Douglass! Knowing it wasn’t even me you were fucking!” Swearing colorful curses in a language unknown to human ears, he just snarled, baring evil canine teeth and turned abruptly, storming to his room, the door not closing behind him; Lucille seemed frozen.



Douglass : Fuck you God; all her mind could come up with. Legs moved with purpose, pushing her quickly into his room, not even hesitating at the doorway, passing right through the arch and stopping a few feet from him. "How in the hell do you think I feel!? And that's what's fucking killing me Dante, I can feel you! I can't even feel my own hands on my body," a hand moved to her right side, "but I can feel every last place that you touch! And I can feel fucking emotions again, emotions that have been dead in me for ten God damned years! You mean everything to me, and that's why I can't do it; that's why I can't give you something that I'm unsure about!" She had to look away, eyes closing tightly, teeth setting firmly; it was true, he did mean the world to her; shit, it even took her off guard.



Rage thrummed through him so that he shook with it. Blood rose with the need to lash out, to rend and tear until nothing remained but a barren waste before scarlet demonic eyes. His vision strangely doubled as storming irises slowly began to bleed to stark crimson as the demon inside wailed and pushed, the anger lowering the human force of will. Lips rippling over extended canines, he half-whirled, tousled hair following the movement of his head to fall before glaring black-on-red eyes as they snared the human behind him. But fists clenched as he exerted his will over himself, forcing the lashing frothing thing back down, where it belonged. God, but he wanted to lunge, pin her to the wall and feed, but by Christ’s bones, he would not! He wasn’t an animal, damnit! It took him nearly five minutes to get to where he could rationally speak once more and he growled, “…it’s so tempting…”



Douglass : The black on red, she knew what that meant; his demon blood was getting the better of him; but she'd burn in hell if she backed down now. "I'm not tempting; I told you before all you have to do is reach out and take it." It was strange, she wanted to fear him, she wanted to turn, run and find a safe haven, wait out the storm and then try again; but she simply couldn't fear him, it was an impossibility in her mind.



Strange eerie eyes, a mixture of white, blue, black and red, fastened on the pulse beating in the woman’s throat, making his mouth water dangerously. The memory of sinking teeth deep into that same skin at the height of extreme physical climax chose that moment to club him right across the brain and those eyes almost crossed. A noise akin to a growl and snarl escaped his lungs as he indulged his earlier thought and lunged at her, slamming both of them into the near wall, hard enough to knock her head against the paneling. There was no prelude, no warning and several things happened simultaneously. Massive hands snatched her wrists and pinned both to either side of her head, a knee slammed between her thighs and shoved her upwards just as his head lowered, snarling mobile mouth slashing across hers, effectively silencing any sounds of protest. So easy, how rage gave way to lust. Teeth nipped, tongue licked and probed, refusing to be denied what he sought. Plastered against her as he was, the heat seeped from his skin into her, his demon blood roiling through his veins. Nostrils flared as his mouth plundered hers; all the want, need, desire and passion he possessed for another sentient soul pouring from that simple, yet brutal, action.



Douglass : She didn't even have time to blink, the movements didn't register until spots of light began to flash before her eyes, the impact her head made against the panel causing such. At first she couldn't react, her mind was set ablaze by the dancing colors, the pressing heat that came with trauma. Eyes blinking drearily for a moment, it took several long ones for her to realize that he hadn't killed her, she wasn't drowning in a pool of her own blood, no she was drowning in him. When rational thoughts finally gripped her mind, at first she just remained limp, not participating in this one sided onslaught; she only observed, testing the strength of her binds; completely incapable of moving. Slowly she became aware, aware of the need in his actions; and aware of her own needs. Head lifted away from the panel, as much as it could as she began to return the kiss; not only accepting what he offered but giving herself into it. Her heart began to race as lips pressed tightly to his, tongue lashing against its counterpart, seeking refuge in the others mouth. God damn you, her only thought.



Quick ears caught the increase of human blood, thrumming brightly through blue veins. A low guttural moan slithered from his lungs to hers as Dante dimly realized she wasn’t fighting him, nay, accepting. That little factoid prompted his fingers to relax their harsh grip on her wrists and trail burning digits down her arms, sliding roughly down her ribs to grip her waist, yanking her further astride his thigh as the white head tilted, further parting her mouth to wind his tongue around hers, slick muscles writhing and sliding against the other between sealed lips. He wasn’t gentle. Thrusting his tongue further into her mouth, primal instinct took over, causing the strong appendage to seek and explore this previously forbidden cavern, tasting the soft moistness with nearly barbaric abandon, long killing fingers splayed against her hips, kneading flesh beneath calloused palms, sliding over coarse fabric.



Douglass : It was so strange, the sensation of being wanted so badly, and in return to want so badly. As fleshy binds released her wrists, despite the pain that ruminated deep in the knuckles of the right hand, arms snaked around his neck, left hand gripping tightly the hair at the back of his head, holding on as though she'd never let go. The taste of him clouded her mind, scarcely she was made aware that she wasn't hardly standing on her own anymore, and her left leg instinctively sought some form of self stabilization; knee lifting partially, the appendage wrapped around Dante's leg, muscles flexing and holding fast to the new found perch. Her body pushed against his, surely his heat would melt the two together; fuse them into each other.



A smidgen of reason snuck up and clubbed the devil hunter behind his brain, making him stagger a bit and, with reluctance and a bit of a growled snarl, he released her, letting her feet once more slide to the floor. Lifting his head, he rested his forehead against hers, breath escaping his lips on harsh pants. Hands lifted to her shoulders, just to rest there. “Tell me, Douglass,” he challenged. “I dare you to tell me no.” The time for civility had long passed, ever since she stormed across the threshold of this dragon’s lair.



Douglass: Her own labored breathing passed swiftly between parched lips, warm breath caressing his mouth before wafting out into the room, her tongue passed across them and she swallowed once before she could speak, "Did I ever say that?" Flat palms came to rest against his temples, long slender fingers snaking between platinum locks, resting idly on either side of his head. She tilted her head slightly, as though to kiss him again, but lips stopped just short of his, as they moved sensitive flesh scarcely brushed against its counterpart, "You do realize that if you ever come home with lipstick on you again; I'll castrate you right then and there."



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