Page 91 of The Succubi's Choice

It’s a small shock, the thought that she’s almost certainly had more experience at this than an ageless Archdemon, so she, ever so gently, runs her nails across his scalp.

He makes the same small noise, shutting his eyes completely, his brow furrowing.

“You talk a lot about me not having enough physical contact,” she starts, slow, not stopping, “but it seems you’re the same way.”

He blinks up at her, like she was soothing him to sleep, and he smiles, crooked. “You have forever to stop that,” he says, and even his voice sounds sleepy. “I don’t think anyone’s ever done that.”

“Across all the people you’ve possessed?”

He shakes his head, slow. “People don’t get close. Not like this.”

It hangs in the air, heavy with subtext that she feels like she’s only half understanding, but before she can ask, he tilts his head up, placing a kiss on the hollow of her neck, lingering there, as if tasting her skin.

Haltingly, he kisses up her neck, exploring with the confidence of a newborn kitten, and about as soft. Like each bit of her is new, like each moment of touch is different, and it sends a shiver down her spine.

“Do you want to go to the bed?” She asks, soft, feeling like too strong a suggestion would spook him, would break whatever fragile mood is hanging over them like a piece of glass.

He nods, pulling her to her feet along with him, and he’s strong, much stronger than she gives him credit for. All these times she’s been close to him, and the strength surprises her.

And the first time they technically met he held her in the air.

And this surprises her.

So she marvels at the lines of his back, the cut of his shoulder, as she walks behind him, deeper into the apartment.

At the closed door, he lays a finger on the doorknob, then shakes his head, as if to himself, before opening it normally, pushing it open and stepping inside.

It’s...exactly a normal bedroom. Slightly messy, slightly cramped, with rumpled bed sheets and a comforter pushed all the way to the floor.

She steps inside, and there’s no chill down her back, no extra protection of runes. Just a normal door, nothing changed.

He’s standing in the middle of it, and the indescribable look that’s always across his face is...embarrassed. Slightly.

“This is the actual room, isn’t it?” She asks, stepping a bit closer to where he stands at his nod. “Not a fake, or whatever dimension alteration you did last time?”

That gets a smile from him, small, and he holds his hand out to her again, like he’s wont to do. Like he has no other way to guide her someplace.

She steps up, up and close in his personal space, deliberate, and he takes in a quick intake of breath.

“You’ve said...” she starts, not quite knowing where she’s going with it, “you’ve said this isn’t something you’ve done much of.”

He shakes his head, slow. “Not much.”

“Have you...in this body?” She asks, because any other way of phrasing it doesn’t seem to work.

He hesitates, then nods, as if getting the weirdness of the statement, but understanding the need to question. “A few times.” He runs his hand down her shoulders, and with a start she realizes she’s still in her tiny little pajamas. Still braless, still wearing just terrycloth shorts and a tank top. “I didn’t know her, not well, and it was distasteful.”

“It’s the knowing that does it for you, isn’t it?” Reciprocating his motions, she runs her hand across his broad shoulders, and up to his chin.

He shivers, right at the place where she saw him twitch when helping him tie his tie, and she lets her hand fall away.

“I can’t tell if you hate that or love that,” she says, baldly.

“Two hosts ago, I was hung,” he says, his voice still soft. “I was in control, so I kept the body alive, but it took me hours to get out.” He says the words, but his eyes are looking down at her lips. “It’s not a quirk I like.”

“That’s dark.” She stands on her tiptoes, pressing a small kiss to the spot, and he twitches again. “I can’t even pretend to understand that. You.” She kisses him on the cheek, right on the scruff, and she can feel him smile against her. “Can you...can you tell me if I do something you don’t like?” She asks.

“I trust you,” he says, just as quick.

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