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She was starting to pick up on his tells. He always wore that insufferable grin; all teeth and points, predatory to a fault. A cruel veneer of bloodlust and demigod-hood. His emotions seemed to maintain themselves in the realm of hunger and vague disdain that paired well with a condescension married to amusement.
It was as if no issue was big enough, concerning enough to warrant his total focus or energy. A deity amongst ants. Nothing would affect him, no storm or war or bomb or man could shake him from his throne.
At least, that’s what he wanted you to believe.
It took some time, sure, but suddenly staring at this sun no longer urged her to turn away. This wasn’t the perverse twist of humanhood that all of the stories, tales, and whispers told of, the macabre combinations of the Devil you knew and the Devil you didn’t. This was no painting of Death. It was a man who had lived too long.
His teeth were always sharp, too sharp. They bit too rough and they weren’t pretty to look at. His hands grasped too firmly, skin too smooth and lips too dry if he went without drink for too long. His voice too disarming, too soothing for coming from a mouth full of blood.
But his eyes.
His eyes showed everything his words, his lips, his teeth, his hands, his skin, his mouth, couldn’t. Didn’t.
They sharpened at the bite of wit. They hardened at displays of avarice and hubris. They dulled at grey memories and after days of nightmares.
And they softened at her.
She didn’t catch it for an embarrassing amount of time. She’d defer to a trick of the light rather than him harboring any conceivable, never mind positive, emotions. Especially at her of all people.
Their entanglements were always just that. They were, and then they weren’t. There was no cuddling, no comfort. No searching hands or late morning whispers, disclosures of discomfort or despair. Just their brief excursions under the midday sun, in the darkest corners of a dungeon.
These brief respites were transforming, though. One round would lend itself to another. She would never dare to accuse him of treating her with gentle hands or teeth or tongue, but the pressure, the bite, became more focused. Poignant. Like he was keeping track.
One tryst was quicker than their typical escapades, where he had her shaking, undone within minutes after pressing his hands just so, his tongue extended a certain amount, tracing a very distinct pattern in what she could only describe as a well-loved part of her.
Loved.
All movements and patterns he had discovered before, stumbled upon in moments of frenzy under the guise of feral gluttony.
He was learning her.
Loving her.
The day that made her pause and look, really look, was when he offered her tea. Not wine, not blood, tea. Her favorite blend, with a drip of honey.
She stared for a long time at that until they fell asleep together after.
It was like the winds shifted. The moon glowed brighter, the sun burned hotter. He became more insatiable, but never in the same ways. Some days he desperately craved her company, and only her company, fulfilled with simple strolls or trips to the shooting range. Some days he called upon her with urgency, a desire to exert his power and display his regency in finery, overwhelming her. Rich meals and long nights in silk sheets that appeared at random, and disappeared just as quickly.
His eyes, though.
His eyes shone in a way they never had. Integra warned against intimacy in the face of obsession, sternly worded dissuasion to maintain focus and distance. Be an adult, she said. Put your feelings second to duty.
She always laughed at that. You sound like your father, she’d coo back, not unkindly. The knight would blush hot and dismiss her immediately.
Tonight found the pair under a full moon, sipping their respective drinks and gazing silently at the sky. Their hands loosely rested on top of each other, her breath coming out in small clouds against the brisk temperature. She didn’t mind.
He looked to her like she was the moon he endlessly wandered under.
“Will you stay?”
She didn’t hesitate as he leaned into her space, fingers deftly slipping her cup back into its saucer and placing it down next to her, leaning her down onto the blanket on the ground, lips reverently tracing her pulse, sharp teeth a breath away.
“Forever,” she murmured, tipping her head back in a mirrored show of reverence. “Forever.”