The Half of It

Chapter Six

″I can't believe that you're finally here. It's been way too long.″ Words clashed with the sensitive skin of his neck with a whiff of warm breath, and Matt stood rigid. ″You're in my arms again, where you belong.''

The unexpected gentleness of the tone that was becoming oddly familiar by each word that slid off the man's tongue caused Matt to convert his panic into a productive recollection of his memories. He was beginning to feel almost certain that he had heard that voice before, seen that face before somewhere too, and he just needed to pluck it from one of his wisps. The scar in a tone of meat, the large earth-colored eyes full of hope, the way the man's hands were protectively pressed against his body - they were everywhere, and Matt felt oddly nostalgic.

And then, Matt wondered why he was not fighting the man off. He wondered why he didn't have a normal human reaction in such situation, where he would wrestle the stranger down to the floor, twist his arm behind his back, sprain his wrist, do enough of anything to buy himself some time so he could get out of there and run.   

But the person pecked the trail down his neckline with thick fingers firmly wrapped around his elbows. Matt gasped under the alarming sensation of the wet mouth that collided with his skin, lips softer than they seemed when Matt first cataloged the man's face in the mirror, and it was as if their proportions expanded whenever they kissed Matt's neck.

Matt lost the track of time he had spent being caressed, held, kissed, explored in the middle of his bathroom.

Those fleshy fingers drove themselves over his forehead and up into his bangs that were still roughly scattered all over his white face, gripping them tenderly and pulling them back so the back of Matt's head was steadily pressed against the man's mouth.

″Let me refresh your memory.″ 

Matt absentmindedly nodded, and the man tilted his head to the side and smashed their lips together.

-

″So,″ Allura lowered the tiny, wooden tray down onto the knee-high table between Hunk and Pidge. ″What sparked up your demon interest?″ She drew out a cup by cup, positioning them on the glassy surface as each grounded with a clink. ″It's not like we have many common visitors or customers, especially not of your age with such specified requirements. So I will allow myself to believe that there has to be a reason you guys are here.″ She sat herself down across them, gently throwing her right leg over the left. She eyed them like a professor who would eye their students upon asking them a complex question. Allura carefully lifted the slopes of her lilac skirt to her ankles.

Pidge sighed and allowed themselves to sink back into the upholstery fabric of the armchair. ''It's kind of a crazy story, you see,″ they paused, ″and we don't know how much of a believer you are and what could you possibly think of us after we tell you this, but our friend got himself bonded to a demon.″ They rubbed their nose. ''We don't know what to do, Allura.''

″I dream of a demon girl almost every night.″ Allura deadpanned. 

Pidge's eyes widened in perplexity. ″How come?''

Allura released the large slopes of her skirt, lifting her arms to rest on each side of the armchair. ″Honesty, I don't have a clue.″ She baffled. ″None of the books I translated helped me find an answer, no matter how many times I went through them, no matter how many days I spent searching.″ She brought a rim of the porcelain cup close to her lips. ″Silly of me to expect that the content will magically change itself the next I come around for information just because I am too eager to know the answers.″