Dance (Diavolo x Reader)

Dance

It's about the movement. The hips as they trace the most exotic of shapes; the hands as they push and pull like the tides; the back as it arches over a bridge of emotion.

It's about the expression. The eyes as they lock with every viewer; the breathing as it falls in line with the beat; the sultry smiles as they disappear quicker than they arrive.

It's about the energy. The flames of passion that burn inside; the overwhelming zeal that overcomes all exhaustion; the eternal spirit of vivacity that never truly stops.

Dance.

Your eyes burn with passion at the very word, a sudden itch to break out into movement overwhelming your senses. But this is not the time for that. You keep your body perfectly still as you walk forward, each step taken so gracefully that it looks like you're floating.

"You are nervous," Barbatos comments, halting before the door that will doubtlessly lead you to the demon lord. He glances back at you from the corner of his eye.

To the ordinary observer, his face is perfectly placid: not a drop of emotion anywhere on the flawless skin. But you are a dancer, trained in the art of expression. Even he cannot hide the soft affection that lurks in the deep greens of his eyes.

"I am," You respond. "But only because I have not yet begun."

The edges of his lips curve upward at that, and Barbatos pushes open the door leading inside the hall. It's almost entirely empty, sparsely decorated with the skulls of various animals, and on another occasion, you might stop to marvel at them—but not right now. After all, why would you look at the bones of the dead when something much more magnificent and very much alive stands right in front of you?

Your eyes purposefully rise from the butler's shoulder, stealing a glance at the demon lord that you've seen so many sculptures of.

He is even more majestic in the flesh.

Lord Diavolo's presence is overwhelming. You can feel his gaze on you as you train your eyes on the floor, respectfully bowing as low as you can manage. It's a practiced move, one your body learned to perfection when you were just a child, but you can't help but think that bowing has never been more important in your life than now.

"Rise," Lord Diavolo orders, his deep voice filling the hall. It almost sounds like music, you think, quietly realizing that it would be the most whole sound you've ever danced to. Beautiful, rich music.

"Look at me."

You raise your eyes.

Millennia of training have made it such that your neutral face truly is expressionless, all your emotion reserved for when your body breaks forth into dance. But it's never been more difficult to keep a still face than now, as you try to hide your awe. The prince's eyes are unlike anything you've ever seen: burning a brilliant orange, bright as amber but dipped in bronze all the same, two intense suns that seem to light up the room when you look into them.

The eyes of a king.

You maintain your neutral expression, not failing to recognize the way the demon lord stares at you for longer than is necessary, likely trying to make you uncomfortable. But you know that it's simply a ruse to see if you will break, as the many who have come before you.

You remain still, unflinching as the prince observes you.

If what Barbatos has told you is true, then this is the moment where the prince makes his first decision: whether to give you a chance or not. It is an honor to entertain the demon lord, acting king of the Devildom. Only one in a thousand make it past this threshold, and many of your childhood teachers had been turned away by this man's father, told that their hearts were too weak to properly hold the demon lord's interest.