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Demons are different from humans. As a summoner, Nene of course knows this, has known it since her apprentice days; even before Hanako, when she’d mostly dealt in minor spirits and short-term contracts, tiny water nymphs and faceless shadow demons, she’d known that.
Even so, that knowledge doesn't always save her from getting in a little over her head. Pinned to the floor beneath her summoned familiar, Nene thinks maybe now is one of those times.
“Hanako, what — ?” she starts, voice breaking into a high, startled noise when he nips her neck with sharp teeth.
Even for Hanako, inscrutable greater demon and Nene’s bonded familiar, this is bizarre behavior; he’s certainly never shoved her over, held her down, and bitten her before in the time that they’ve been contracted. Despite the tension of their initial meeting, Hanako has if anything always displayed a remarkable amount of self control.
It sounds cruel to say that summoning Hanako had been something of an accident, but in Nene’s defense, when she’d agreed to look into summoning demons on the more ancient, powerful side, she’d never expected one to answer.
Once the smoke and mana burst and the dramatics of breaking every witch-stone powered light in her house was done with, Hanako had taken his bow and listened patient and pleasant to Nene explain that, really, she didn’t mean this to happen, she didn’t think anyone would come, she was only testing out higher-powered summons for a client, and he could go home now, thank you. Leaned against her desk, sharp-faced and ethereally beautiful, he’d taken one of her hands in his, dragging his pitch black talons lightly on the inside of her wrist.
“You summoned a Prince of Hell as a joke?” he’d asked, interest and surprise and some other, distinctly inhuman emotion in his voice.
“Not a joke,” Nene had said, wringing her hands before her. She isn’t really into the scary bad boy type, but wow, greater demons are very beautiful, aren’t they? “More of a test, really.”
“That’s too bad,” Hanako sighed, and a mixed relief and disappointment swelled in her chest until he’d continued. “I’ve never had a master before, you see, and I’ve taken an interest in you.”
His grin was a promise — of what, she didn’t know. “You made a deal with me, whether you meant to or not, and I’m not leaving before I get my dues.”
It had been very hard to convince Hanako to leave after that, and as the months slipped by, Nene had eventually given up. True, he can be annoying and overbearing, teases too much and is honest too little — but still, she likes him. He’s an extremely competent and overqualified assistant at the very least; and now, all this time later, she likes to think they’re something like friends.
All manners of supernaturals are dangerous; demons are some of the worst. Princes of Hell, attractive and knowledgeable and surprisingly dependable or not, are at the very top of that food chain. Even with the bond chaining the two of them together, Nene is very conscious of the fact that Hanako could tear her limb from limb if he so chose. She’s also painfully, heart-poundingly aware that he isn’t, and in fact in the nearly year they’ve been bonded seems to have formed a vested interest in making sure she doesn't so much as stub her toe.
Even so, contracts have costs. Most lower level spirits and demons need mana stones, precious gems, human food, or any number of magical substances to keep them from dematerializing. Hanako, by contrast, subsists on blood, death, or sex. They’ve gotten by with purchased blood packs and the occasional drinking session from Nene’s wrist — but now, staring up at Hanako’s wide, crazed eyes practically glowing with need, she wonders if maybe all along that wasn’t quite enough.
Nene presses a hand to Hanako’s cheek; his usual ice-cold skin radiates a heat almost painful to the touch. “Hanako,” she begins, alarmed and uncaring of her spilled bag or the ache of her elbow from where it’d been slammed to the floor, “what’s wrong? You’re burning up — do you need more blood?”
He laughs raggedly, leaning in to press his forehead to hers. “Blood,” he croaks, that demonic rumble he usually masks slipping through. There’s a creak of claws straining against her floors, and Nene wonders absently if his form isn’t bigger than usual right now. “You’re already bleeding, Yashiro; you do know that, don’t you? You’ve been bleeding all day.”
Embarrassment floods her, not helped at all by Hanako’s clear, pained fascination as he watches her face flush. It is true that Nene had gotten her period this morning; she’d run out of ingredients for the spell she usually performs to prevent it and had forgotten to get more. That was the reason she’d been headed out in the first place before Hanako had stopped her.
Come to think of it, he had been odd today — stilted and strange and conspicuously absent, always down the hall or across the room where she’d usually be shoving him off of her. She’d assumed he’d just been having a prickly day, and to be honest, she’d been feeling grumpy and out of sorts, anyway. It hadn’t occurred to her that he would know.
Gathering her nerves, Nene reminds herself that Hanako isn’t human; maybe he doesn’t know the proper decorum about a situation like this. With a pat to his cheek, she says, stilted and fumbling, “Ah, yes; that’s actually what I was going out for. I just need to buy supplies — ”
A growl rumbles from Hanako’s chest, not quite bestial but distinctly inhuman; it sparks a traitorous sort of interest in her, making her breath catch. “No,” he says, almost a pout, tucking his face back into her shoulder.
Nene blinks. “No?”
“No,” he echoes, nuzzling her neck. “Hey, Yashiro — I’m hungry. I can have some, can’t I?” Another sharp nip to her skin, and he purrs, “You’re already bleeding. Can’t I have some?”
The implications make Nene feel dizzy with confused, embarrassed desire, and she tries desperately to remind herself that for all of Hanako’s flirting and bravado, he still isn’t human; maybe he doesn’t mean it that way. “I told you,” she replies breathily, lowering her hand from his face to present her wrist to his mouth. “If you need blood — ”
Before she can even finish her sentence, Hanako seizes her arm, fangs sliding into her flesh easy as butter. Through some combination of Hanako’s very sharp teeth and very polished magic, his bites never really hurt; this one, though, burns enough to make her eyes water. Maybe he’s too hungry, too desperate — or maybe, she thinks as she locks eyes with him, staring into the mess of swirling, bubbling longing that she finds there, he wants it to hurt this time.
She winces as he frees his teeth only to suck at the wound; and that, too, hurts, all the way through his drinking and his licking at the punctures after. Even as Nene watches them close before her eyes, the flesh of her wrist remains tingly and tender and strange in a way it usually doesn’t.
“Do you feel better?” she asks, surprised by the thin whine of her voice.
To her surprise, though, that almost desperate desire hasn’t left him yet. “It’s not enough,” he sighs, breath hot as he nuzzles back into her neck. His fingers skate up her leg, claws catching in her tights in a way that’s sure to leave holes and ladders. ”It’s not enough; I need — ”
The hunger in his voice sounds painful; maybe that’s why Nene wants to go along with whatever he means to do to her. But then again, pinned to the floor with his thigh slotted neatly between hers, his teeth on her throat and his hands hot on her skin, maybe that isn’t all of it.
“What do you need?” she asks gently, trying to convince herself not to make this weird, to not read too much into it. He’s hungry; he’s just hungry. “Whatever it is — if I have it, you can take it.”
Hanako’s teeth snap close enough to her ear to make her jump, and his voice is a low and rough. “That’s a dangerous thing to tell a demon of avarice, you know.”
This time, when his claws trace up her thighs, they slice clean through her stockings and onto bare skin, only just drawing blood. “Are you this giving with everyone?” he asks darkly. “If it had been another demon you’d tied to you by accident, would you have offered yourself to them, too?”
Nene winces as he traces his hands down her legs again, almost soothing were it not for the way they irritate the scratches he’d just left on her. “I — ”
“Telling me I can take what I want,” he chuckles, dry and incredulous. “I can’t take this anymore, Yashiro; I really can’t.”
His mouth opens, sharp teeth just barely pricking at her neck. Nene moans instinctively, heat twisting tighter in her gut; Hanako lets out a long, shuddering breath, and then his teeth are sinking into the side of her neck.
Like at her wrist, it hurts: Nene feels every centimeter his fangs slide into her, feels them force past the resistance of her flesh, feels her blood escape hot into his mouth as he closes his lips over the wound. Tears pool in her eyes, already beginning to overflow to slide thick down her cheeks, and her body jerks, legs kicking out instinctively. Hanako catches a thigh under one taloned, unnaturally large hand and makes a low, blissful hum as he drinks from her neck before slowly, reluctantly letting go.
In the time it takes for him to lick her wound clean, blood has already escaped down her neck to cake in her hair and stain the fabric of her white blouse. She’ll object to that later, but she’s distracted for now by the tenderness of her throat, the throbbing between her legs, the way Hanako looms over her, self-satisfied and still obviously, achingly hungry.
Still, she can’t spend forever on the floor — and if she doesn’t leave soon, she won’t make it before the store with the specific ingredient she needs closes, and she’ll have to wait the whole weekend. She’d really rather not deal with her period that long. Putting her hands to Hanako’s chest, she smiles weakly and asks, “Are you sated for now? I can get you a blood pack, but I really have to head out now — ”
Hanako’s eyes darken. “No.”
Nene frowns. “Hanako, I understand that you’re hungry but I need — ”
“Do you understand?” he asks, leaning in so close they're nearly nose to nose. Like this, Nene can see his slitted pupils, the unnatural sheen to his eyes, the traces of her blood on his lips. “Do you understand what you smell like to me right now, Yashiro? How strongly I’ve been holding back all day, not touching you, not breathing when you’re in the room, not wanting to be too greedy and scare you off?”
When Nene gasps, Hanako’s eyes dart down to her mouth; and the smile on his face is pained and frustrated, hardly a smile at all, like a dog showing its teeth. “My cute little master,” he coos, brushing her bangs from her face. “So giving, so trusting, so naive — I could just eat you up.”
Only the bond pulsing hot between them offers any insurance at all that Hanako won’t literally eat her; but even then, the fear that pulses through Nene’s veins only makes her hotter, only makes her desire twist tighter and tighter. She thinks of the taste of blood in his mouth, clinging to his teeth, wonders if it’s thick and metallic to him or like something else, something sweeter, something she’ll never be able to taste with her own human tongue.
His face is ever so slightly gaunter now, features different from usual in a way she can’t name, just to the right of human. His form hasn’t slipped all too far, but even so, Nene is fascinated by the difference between this and the horned, tailed, otherwise human appearance he most often shows. Is he afraid to frighten her? Is he laying low? Is it just easier that way?
Demons are creatures ruled by instincts. Hanako usually has more self control than this; he’s all quippy and ineffable, shockingly human until he reminds her that he isn’t. Has the blood not been enough for his subsistence, and he’s been shouldering that alone instead of telling her? Does she just smell so good to him right now that he’s losing his head? Or is it both?
Impulsively, she voices the question she’s always been too afraid to ask. “Do I taste good?”
The noise he makes is nearly a purr, fond and feline. “You taste phenomenal. Impossible. Like no other human I’ve ever had.”
Before she can reply, his hand spans her throat: not choking but holding, kept in place with only the barest hint of pressure. “You have a sweet soul, Yashiro,” he murmurs, licking a stray streak of drying blood from her collarbone. “It comes through in everything you do — in your magic, your scent, your taste.”
Nene shudders, opening her mouth, but Hanako continues before she can reply. “And I’ll be certain that no one else will ever taste it,” he hisses, that same strange, croaking, distinctly demonic rasp in the back of his throat. “No other demon will ever have you — not like I have, not like I will. They’re not allowed to covet you like I do. And you’re downright irresistible right now, Yashiro, whether you realize it or not — the smell of blood and sex has been radiating off of you all day. It’s almost too much to bear.”
Distantly, beyond the embarrassment that Hanako has been able to smell her bleeding and, even worse, her period-fueled sexual frustration, she wonders about his current disposition. Hanako can be protective at times, makes jokes about wanting her or wanting to eat her, but this feels — different. Demons are known to lose control over their forms and instincts and desires when underfed, further confirming her worry that the blood drinking hasn’t been enough. Making a mental note to chew him out for keeping that secret later, she thinks of solutions; other than blood, there’s only two ways to feed Hanako — death and sex. Especially given the fact that a hungry demon is likely to give in to their aspect, death seems like the worse choice; she doesn't think she could stomach him killing to sate his appetite, and definitely not to the level he may need right now.
Staring up at his amber eyes and sharp, slitted pupils, Nene swallows as she remembers exactly what Hanako’s primary aspect is — greed.
Bolstering her resolve, Nene snakes her hand up his body to the back of his neck, drags him down, and kisses him.
The first thing she notices, lips pressed to his frozen lips, is the taste of her own blood, coppery and cloying and unpleasant. Then Hanako opens his mouth, spurred back into action, and that thought is immediately lost as he moves against her. Every bit of that hunger spills over into their kiss: Hanako holds her by the throat, keeping her pinned to the floor, and takes from her what he wants to, leaving her breathless and squirming beneath him. When his form slips enough that his tongue turns long and thick and monstrous in her mouth, she moans; he stills just a moment before attacking her with increased vigor.
His teeth are sharp when she presses her tongue to them, curious and wanting, sharp enough to barely cause any pain even as they puncture her. The taste of blood floods their mouths and Hanako groans, withdrawing slightly to kiss her more shallowly, pressing muffled words between them that she can’t make out in a language she’s not quite sure is human at all.
Those words sputter into a harsh, demonic hiss that sounds almost like a curse when she rocks her hips up, seeking friction from the thigh still slotted between her legs. Immediately, he pulls away; a pathetic whine escapes from Nene’s throat, but Hanako only laughs breathlessly, almost hysterically, and slides his way down her body until he’s lying belly-down on the floor. Pulling her legs over his shoulders, he presses a chaste, gentle kiss to the inside of her thigh.
“My sweet little master,” he murmurs with a sharp-toothed smile. “So kind, even to monsters like me — so ready to believe in our goodness, our restraint, our humanity.” His hands slide down her thighs, slicing her tights to ribbons and leaving long, shallow cuts on her skin. “So thoughtless in your action and proud in your recklessness, with no consideration for your own safety or wellbeing.”
His lick to one of the longer, deeper scratches on the inside of her thigh almost feels like an apology — until it turns into an open-mouthed, toothy kiss that makes her wince in pain even as it instantly heals the wound. When he speaks, his voice is a snarl. “Going somewhere without me, when you smell like this, when any minor demon you pass on the street will want you, taste your scent under their tongue, covet what even I haven’t had — ” He bites her, not quite enough to draw blood. “It makes me crazy to even think about.”
He certainly looks the part: wide, over-bright eyes practically swirling with protective rage and pulsing desire, lips parted and smeared with blood. His horns have elongated, long and twisted, his under-eyes and the edges of his pointed ears the color of the night sky. He’s terrifying, otherworldly, distinctly inhuman — and beautiful. Absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful.
“Tell me you don’t want this,” he whispers, thick and guttural, “and I’ll stop. Tell me this is too much, too strange, too fast, and we need never speak on it again.”
Nene swallows, uncertain not in her desire but in admitting that desire. Shyly, she begins, “But your hunger — ”
“Damn my hunger; this isn’t about that. This is about you.”
It isn’t that the desperation has gone away or even been put on pause; Hanako still looks like a man possessed with all the countenance and overwhelming aura of a beast. But as he searches her face for some kind of sign, she feels the bond pulse warm between them, and she knows what he’s asking for is not tolerance but something beyond that: a confirmation of her trust in him, a certainty in her desires, an acceptance of who and what he is beyond the niceties and necessities. Choose me, his amber-chip eyes seem to be saying, the way I chose you.
That same sickly heat is still radiating off his skin when Nene presses her hand to his cheek once more. “I already told you, didn’t I?” she asks, trying to convey with her expression what she can’t bring herself to say in words: that she wants it, wants him. “Whatever you want, whatever I have — you can take it. I want you to take it.”
Hanako lets out a long, shuddering sigh and presses a soft kiss to the inside of Nene’s palm before returning her hand to her. When he opens his eyes, they’re all but overflowing with such potent greed it takes her breath away. “I’m yours, Yashiro,” he murmurs, mouth pressed to her thigh, a sharp, desperate edge to his voice. “Mind, body, and soul, I belong to you. And you — ”
His claws rip her tights open at the center seam, leaving her panties and upper thighs entirely exposed. “Belong to me.”
In an instant, he’s sliced her underwear off her just as efficiently, careful not to scratch her this time. Nene would be embarrassed by the very obvious evidence of her period were it not for the immediate, breathy moan Hanako lets out and the very obvious enthusiasm in the way he immediately proceeds to bury his face between her legs, like this is all he’s ever wanted, like he could die here.
The first swipe of his tongue has her gasping, already wound up by hormones and all their bizarre foreplay. Hanako moans again like even the first taste of her is the most delicious meal he’s ever had, and the vibrations have her trembling, reaching out automatically for something to grab hold of. They find purchase on his horns, ridged and hard and almost velvety in texture, and before she can panic over some possible demon faux pas on her part, Hanako takes in a shuddering, needy inhale, encouraging her to hold on tight.
Hanako eats her out like she’s his last meal, sucking and gently kissing her clit, tongue between her lips or prodding at her entrance. Her hands on his horns urge him ever closer; his hands hooked under her thighs hold her still and steady even as the intense stimulation has her instinctively wiggling away. When Hanako growls, that, too, vibrates devastatingly against her; and his voice when he speaks is downright monstrous. “Stay.”
“Yes, sir,” she breathes, meaning it as a joke or a jab and not expecting the pleased rumble it provokes from deep in his chest. Her face flushes, but before she can backtrack, Hanako’s inhumanly long, flexible tongue is pressing inside her.
It’s unlike anything she’s ever experienced before, unlike anything fingers or toys could provide, and she throws her head back, gasping open-mouthed as she tries to catch her breath. Hanako makes more satisfied noises against her, almost like a purr or a growl or a hum but distinctly other, distinctly demonic in a way that excites her. His tongue fucks into her, and she writhes against his face as he savors the taste of her.
Using his horns as leverage, she bucks up against him, and he lets her. Familiar or not, it is not lost on Nene that it’s a Prince of Hell’s tongue currently writhing inside her, licking her open, feeding on her blood and lust and pleasure, attentively bringing her closer and closer to orgasm. It should frighten her; maybe it does frighten her, to some degree. But she can’t deny how hot it makes her feel, either, to think that such a powerful being is currently between her legs, serving her, calling her master. The way he wants her, claims her, craves her makes a wave of giddy heat crash over her in an overwhelming wave.
“Hanako,” she’s gasping, hands slipping from his horns down to tangle in his hair, yanking him impossibly closer, “I — I’m — ”
Though he gives no verbal indication that he’s heard her, that rumble builds in his chest again, and his mouth’s efforts increase, spurred by her words or the hair pulling or some combination of the two. His tongue seems to grow larger inside her, almost too big to fit, and the surprise of that sensation along with the continued vibration has her suddenly there.
Even as she comes, Hanako doesn’t stop; he fucks her through it, holding her hips off the floor as they jerk against his face. By the time her orgasm is cresting into ending, Nene is shaky and exhausted, her ears ringing; and she shivers, fucked out, as he withdraws his tongue.
She all but shrieks when, a moment later, he presses a wet kiss to her clit. Still coming down, the overstimulation is nearly painful, and she tries to jerk away, immediate and instinctive.
Only Hanako’s hands hold her in place, settled in the arch of her lower back, claws only barely not breaking skin. He laughs, dark and satisfied. “Oh Yashiro, my adorable little master — you didn’t think I was done, did you?"
When she meets his eyes, she finds his slitted pupils dilated to the degree that the warm, familiar gold only barely peeks out at the edges, and the toothy smile he flashes her, sharp and shiny and blood-smeared at the corners, is teasing and predatory in equal parts. The unhealthy flush is gone from his face but the blatant, hungry desire remains; and as she watches, his tongue peeks out to lick his lips.
“Don’t forget who your servant is,” he says, overflowing with mana and satisfaction. “I am the Prince of Greed. The only one you summoned, the only one in your home, the only one allowed to see or taste or have you like this — and when presented with such a delicious gift, just ripe for the taking, who am I to not enjoy it to the fullest?”
One hand trails down to lay at the inside of her thigh, large and boney, and Nene watches mouth agape as his claws shorten and round before her very eyes. “It may take a while to prepare you — but don’t worry; I can be very patient. Whether we’re here an hour or a day or two, I think it will be a perfect fit.”
Nene’s head falls back with a gasp as his fingers push inside her, and when she next looks up, even the whites of his eyes have gone fully black.
“Work hard, Master,” he coos; and the smile on his face is downright devilish.