Lovers & Devils [BxB]

Sleeping duty

       Day twenty.
The faucet spouted water steadily, the sound of the neon sponge chafing on the encrusted black bottom of the pan permeating the arched beige kitchen. The lemon dish soap wafted in the living room air with its blended siblings spices and chicken. I lounged on the pewter couch, legs up to my chest, feet grappling the curved leather rest and ankles locked. Mammon was washing the sauced plates and the wine glasses built like paunchy men that somehow had toothpicks for legs. We had both finished eating the spaghetti I cooked for dinner so it was only fair he be put on cleaning duty. I kept myself busy too! Studying the wired bowl of ousting fresh granny-smith apples and reminiscing the peeled apple salad I made him this morning. It tasted a lot better in Heaven, but he was happy with squeezie honey. And me. I looked over at him, eyes tripping over his back muscles visible from the cut-outs of his white tank top, dimples flexing under as he moved his arms. He's so big...I mentally slapped myself, blinking like I was resetting myself. Lust of the eyes is sin too...

"Er...Dante? Are you done yet?"

"Nearly."

I looked back down at my phone, the screen fuzzy from the sleep prickling my eyes like an eyelash. I scrolled down and tapped on Ezekiel's contact.

Lukas: Mind sending me the documents on Mammon? Mine kind of...got destroyed in the wash

The conversation we had days ago replayed in my mind as I typed out the message. It was wrong, but I just couldn't let it go. It was as though my mind wanted a reason to blow out the yellow candle flame we had, an I told you so, but the oily wax was already leaking down my fingers—just like it had my mother's.
Droplets of water could be heard plopping from the tap after it was turned off, and shade flopped over me when he switched off the kitchen lights like the sprawling potted plant in the corner with its droopy monstera leaves. I smiled, putting down my feet on the wood.

"Finally finished?"

Mammon nodded as he wrung his drying hands. I rose from the couch, and stretched my arms showy, my back curling a bit. "I think I'll go to bed now. You should do the same, and keep your phone away from you!"

I stepped round the angular coffee table but felt his brisk grip on my wrist, and I looked up the line of his arm. It loosened and tightened, his dilemma pulsing with the point in my wrist.

"Wait."

I tilted my head, concern splintering in my core.

"Sleep with me," he rasped.

That splinter seeped through my walls and I almost stopped breathing. I blinked. In my mind, I was like that scream painting I saw once in a museum in Oslo. I failed to look him in the eyes, zeroing in on his healed nose as I choked on mismatched letters before spitting them out. "Sleep...with you?"

"Devil! Not like that!" Mammon retracted his hand and slapped it on his nape, blush dusted on his cheeks mimicking my own.

I shoved at his shoulder. "Don't word it like that then!"

He chuckled but it sounded forced. "I'm gonna' sound like a fucking pussy but..."

The raven-haired glanced sideways at the glass ashtray caring for adopted butts. "'Been having...bad dreams, fuck, nightmares if you want."

I knitted my eyebrows together, and anxiety creeped up my spine as I looked in his leaden eyes. A demon having nightmares, what sense did that make? They were the harbingers of nightmares—restless painted nights thinking hanging clothes in the corner could be ghouls, heat like the fiery abyss itself sweltering with hidden you underneath your blanket. But, here he was, staring down at the Buffalo plaid sweatpants pooling at his feet, heart-wrenchingly embarrased. "What are they about?...If you don't mind."