A little slice of domesticity, and a reminder that Griffin actually has a job to do, whether he likes it or not.

Word Count: 6091
CW: Relatively tame sex, casual threats, strong language, discussion of death.

 Balakai wasn't sure how much later it was, except that it was bright out, when he was woken rudely from sleep by a loud, sharp knock echoing up the stairs. His head jerked up, hair mussed and eyes hazy with sleep, an irritated growl rumbling in his chest. It was the rumble, not the knocking, that woke Griffin in turn. He wasn't ever worried about people entering where he lived when he was alive. Some magics he had spent a long time working to be a master of using, and locking wards were some of them. He made a pathetic noise of aversion and moved closer to the demon, unabashedly ignoring the sound.

Until it came again. Then Griffin went very still and the growing storm of his irritation was clear in the tension that made his shoulders go taught and his muscles bunch. He moved slowly, near dragging himself off of Balakai as he stumbled to his feet. He did not bother with trousers or anything else. If someone was going to come and trouble him so newly alive, they could bask in the glory of his full on nakedness.

Balakai would've been content to ignore it, much as the noise irritated him, but Griffin hauled himself out of bed and after a moment of reluctance the hell hound followed with some vague idea of taking a piece out of whoever had woken him up and made them move out of what had been a very comfortable position.  Not as comfortable as falling asleep buried inside a warm cunt, but what was?  

Griffin leaned heavily against the wall as he made his halting way down the stairs and yanked open the front door with a frown at his brows and his mismatched eyes narrow. If it was Nikki already, he was going to forget how much of a pain in the ass killing the human might be.

Balakai pulled up short at the end of the stairs when Griffin pulled open the door and revealed the subject of their recent conversation standing on the doorstep.  The black-haired daemon stood just in front of his smaller, silver eyed husband.  He'd clearly been the one knocking.  Cat-quiet, the hell hound retreated back up the stairs and back into the bedroom to find clothes in case he had to bolt.  

Noah's eyes narrowed slightly at Griffin's appearance, studying him up and down with no real offense at his nudity.  "We've been trying to get hold of you, Mr. Summerville."

"Hard to answer the phone when you're dead, Sinclaire."  He yawned and leaned in the doorway, eyes shifting to Relic.  A shit of a grin pulled at his lips as he recalled the previous night's subject of conversation.  He crossed his arms over his chest, casual as you like. "Did you really let a Fallen angel put a bell on you and pass you about?"

Relic, to his credit, did not immediately react except for the fact that his eye, the other covered by a black eye patch not much visible through his long hair, went cat slit.  

"Wanna be dead again?"  He asked in a voice that was falsely cheerful.  He took a step back toward Noah, and Griffin did not miss his hands slowly working into fists and easing back again.

"Usually,"  Griffin answered with not one shred of remorse.  "Give me a few days and I can get back to work. I was in several pieces until yesterday."

"It's been six weeks." Noah's voice was quiet, only just loud enough to be easily heard. One of his gloved hands slid free of his pockets as Relic stepped back towards him, finding a place instead looping his fingers through the belt loop on the back of his daemon's slacks. "Are you telling me that in six weeks you have gotten nothing done? Tell me again why I'm paying you?"

The witch gave a long sigh. "Look at me, Sinclaire.  Do I look like a man who's been up to anything for a while? I'm not being a cunt. I was in the ground for those six weeks. Because of this job, thank you. Mention Julian to the wrong people in the wrong way and you get dead. Did you know that?" 

It was the truth, artfully applied, but the truth all the same. "Would you like to negotiate additional pay for the new scars I have, or the trauma of being rendered limb from limb? Have you ever choked to death on dirt several times before you managed to haul your only recently not-a-corpse out of a hole? No?" His fair mood from the previous night evaporated and he was tired again already.  

"There isn't anyone else for you to turn to. Not with him, and you know that or you wouldn't be here.  Let's not play.  You would not have agreed to my terms or sought me out to begin with if you had any other option.  I need two more days before I can do much more than stand.  After that it'll be two more and I'll have news for you."

Griffin wasn't about to apologize.  He also didn't want to lose this job.  Getting paid the kind of money he made to kill someone he'd wanted to kill for a long time was perfection and even if it brought up a bunch of feelings he hated feeling, he was in the shit now and would see it through.

Those silver eyes narrowed slightly, as though he did not quite accept the explanation as given.  Except after a breath his expression cleared, as though he decided not to call him on it.  His gaze instead was drawn over Griffin's shoulder.

Balakai lingered at the top of the stair, curiosity driving him to watch but caution keeping him lingering back in what shadows existed on the landing.  He stilled when the Sinclaire's eyes settled on him.  Despite the anxious nerves that crawled up his spine, he aimed for insolent nonchalance, leaning against the stair rail.  

Noah's hand tightened slightly where he held onto Relic. He let his gaze drop back to Griffin, shaking his head slightly. "Do you need the number for an exorcist? We have one here in Boston- a very good one."

Relic's brow furrowed at Noah's comment, seemingly out of nowhere, and Griffin noticed him sniff the air, the furrow turning into an all out frown as his cat eye narrowed, the gold of it like dark honey.  "You smell like sulfur," the daemon's voice was low and laden.  

Griffin shrugged, not following Noah's gaze because he was aware of Balakai up above him.  "Might have been sex instead if you hadn't interrupted.  Unless you'd like to come in and join?"  

He knew that this conversation was going to go off the rails quickly if he didn't have care.  While he didn't make it a point to know Relic well or too personally, he knew much of what passed on a large scale in the supernatural world. Plenty of people had gotten wrapped up in the Sinclaire's troubles with the Fallen angel Andriel and he wasn't unaware that Relic would likely turn into a disaster.  A very skilled assassin of a disaster and Griffin was too new alive to do much to stop him besides slam the door in his face.  "I'll take the number of that Exorcist, though.  Never know when it might come in handy."  His smile was chilly.  

With a grunt of discomfort, the witch straightened from the doorframe.  "As much as I'd love to make innuendo and piss off Relic until he punches me, I need to eat.  I'm still on the clock, unless you've replaced me with someone else, and will see to your witch problem that isn't me.  Unless there's something else?"  He ran a hand through the tangles of his chestnut hair, the tear-like new scars where Balakai had ripped off his arm, very dark and livid.  So were the clear bite marks at his shoulder and neck.  And his other arm... and both of his legs, one just above the knee and the other a horrible slash across his upper thigh.

Noah considered him for another long moment.  Then he quietly pulled his wallet out and pulled out a business card.  He passed it to Relic to hand to Griffin, then shrugged a shoulder.  "Don't waste my time, Mr. Summerville.  I don't much care what you do in your personal life but you're in my backyard.  Don't muck it up or you won't find anyone willing to pay your bills for as long as I care to recall you exist."

He turned on his heel and walked down to the waiting car.

Relic reached out to hand Griffin the card and his golden eye caught a slight movement from up the stairs, narrowing dangerously.  He stared at Balakai for a long moment before he finished handing the witch the card and released it, stepping back as soon as he could.  The shadows in the entry behind Griffin twitched and moved and he had to work very hard not to grin at seeing the usually very collected Night Hunter so of kilter.  

"You are a mess, Griffin, but you usually have more sense than this.  That one... will ruin you and even Lord Velorum won't be able to put you back together."

"Promise?"  Griffin replied with a cold smile.  

Relic looked back up the stairs one last time, a little shiver running down his spine.  "No one to protect you this time, Balakai.  You're in my city now."

Griffin frowned and after a heartbeat handed the card back.  "On second thought, I won't be needing this, thanks." He made a shooing motion with both his hands.  "Off you go, Relic.  Your master is waiting and he doesn't look all that patient."

Relic almost snarled, but held his composure.  "One of these days, Griff, you're going to fuck up bad enough that someone comes for you.  I won't be sad to see you go."

"I make people come all the time.  Lots of practice.  Wanna see?"  And he wiggled his eyebrows and laughed when the daemon just huffed in disgust and left.  He shut the door and leaned against it, light headed and much more shaky than he'd let on.

Balakai stuck his tongue out at the daemon, but held his silence.  For a long beat after the door closed he didn't move.  Then he tromped down the stairs, shaking his head.  "Fucking summoned daemons, getting uppity.  Blah-blah-blah I'm Relic Night and I think I'm too good for people."  

He pulled a chair out from the little kitchen table and pointed to it.  "You really think about siccing an exorcist on me?  That's almost sweet that you'd outsource.  Don't think you could take me yourself if it came to it?"  He grinned, clearly not particularly troubled by the idea of it.  He opened the fridge, sucking on his bottom lip pensively as he stared at what was in it, thinking.  

"You really hungry or just trying to get them to fuck off?"

Griffin didn't argue, just pulled himself off of the door with a long sigh and sank into the chair, scrubbing his face with his hands.  

"Can't it be both?  It can be both."  He rolled his shoulders and let his hands fall to the tabletop.  "Starving, actually.  Will be for a few days.  Need fuel for healing and all that."  He watched the demon move around the kitchen a little obliquely, admiring the contained muscle of him.  

"Not sure I can, actually.  I've never met a hell hound before, and certainly not one that walked himself out of Hell.  Maybe if I was at full and knew enough about that spell you have carved into you." He gave a little shrug and yawned again, clearly not interested in the labor that required, though.  "And no, not considering an Exorcist.  I don't like Templars.  They like to set people like me on fire.  If I wanted you gone, I'd get creative.  Or... you know.. just ask."

The demon pulled two beers and a tupperware out of the fridge, giving the tupperware a little shake and inspecting it before he held it up for Griffin's approval.  "Ramen take out from a place down the road.  Want me to wack it in the microwave?"  

Without waiting for an answer he did precisely that and opened both beers, setting one down on the table by Griff and sipping his own while he waited for it to heat.

"No one's ever tried.  I'm good at staying out of their way.  I'm not interested in that kind of pain, thanks.  If someone's going to fuck me up I might as well get an orgasm out of it."  He flashed the witch a toothy grin.  "S'why I like you.  You might try to fuck me up, but you've got some redeeming qualities.  Unlike exorcists." He tipped back another drink and added, "Or Templars."

Griffin chuckled a little wryly, peaking an eyebrow.  "I do?  I'll have to work on that.  Can't have anyone thinking I'm anything less than utterly reprehensible.  Then they start having expectations and that is just a swift trip to nope for me." 

"To be clear, I mean you're a good fuck.  Take a compliment."  The microwave beeped and he pulled the container out, fishing silverware out of a drawer and setting them both down for Griffin.  Whatever contentment and peace had held him earlier was gone, leaving him pacing restlessly.  He didn't sit but moved a constant sort of circuit around the small space, pausing here or there but never for long.

The witch let the tension from the visit of the Sinclaires ease out of the sore muscles of his back and shoulders, carefully continuing to stretch.  It still ached something awful where Balakai had ripped him apart, but he wasn't about to complain.  Pain was just a part of living.  He did observe the demon seeming to look after him, and whether that was because it simply suited him to have Griffin a way or something else, he didn't care.  For the moment, he didn't hate it.  

"I miscalculated both my own strength and yours.  Wasn't trying to banish you.  Just get some room."  He might owe Balakai an apology for accusing him of working for Julian and threatening him, but he wasn't about to give him one.  Instead he continued with, "My mark, Julian, nasty bit of work.  And that's coming from me.  At least I'm honest about what a shit person I am.  He is... something else."  

His hands tightened into fists on the table before he made them relax.  "I fucked up last time.  Wasn't going to make a mistake again.  Which reminds me, do you have my phone?  I needed to ask the Sinclaires something and forgot while they were here."

 At the question, Balakai went to the drawer where Griffin had kept Julian's file and pulled both his phone and the file out of the drawer. He tossed them onto the table.

"Not sure if it has any charge.  I turned it off when it started to annoy me.  Got a battery pack though."  He snagged the cord and pack off the counter where it had been charging itself, tossing them next to the file.  He finished his beer and set it with the line of other bottles on the windowsill above the full recycling bin.  

He shrugged a shoulder and went back to the fridge, coming out with a pizza box.  He opened it, sniffed the two slices that still remained, and pulled one out to eat, hip propped against the closed fridge door.  "Why haven't you killed him before then?  If he fucked you so bad."

Griffin turned on the phone, which was at fifteen percent and enough to get a text out. 

Did you know Julian was staying across the street from this place when you chose it for me?  

He knew it could have been an accusation, but didn't give a shit. If they'd known and set him there on purpose, included the info in the brief, then he did owe an apology and as much as he hated it, he'd consider giving it.  He tossed the phone on the table when he was done and set into the food with care.  He was starving, but eating too much would just make him puke it all back up.  It also gave him time to considered.  

Griffin didn't look at the demon when he finally answered.  "He's more clever than I am a lot of the time, but less patient. And wasn't working alone last time.  I don't know if you've noticed, but I tend to burn bridges, not build them, and there aren't a lot of people who would have my back.  I made it that way, so I'm not whining about it, but if it was as easy as just killing him, I would have done it.  Plus, he thinks I'm dead, so there's no reason to believe he'd bother me.  I can wait him out, ya know?"  And that was his favorite way of dealing with problems.  Just going somewhere else until they died.  It was a lot of work to kill people a lot of the time.  Complicated.  

Balakai dropped the empty box onto the precarious pile of recycling and settled into the chair across from Griffin, licking his fingers clean of grease and sauce.  "Well, you are a dumb bitch, so that's not hard."  He trailed his nails across the table.  They looked normal, short and oval, but in the path of his fingers little lines scratched across the finish of the table. 

Griffin sighed and took a slow swig of the beer, setting it back down with satisfaction.  "I can move in the world the way I do because I know the rules.  And just how far to push them till they scream.  Like don't fuck with Sinclaires.  Or the Round Table.  I wait till someone is willing to pay me because then if someone's pissed that their bitch friend got put in the ground, I can deflect. If I had just gone after Julian, even with the fact that there were people who suspected him of murder, without an order from a bigger fish, it would have left me vulnerable for reprisal if someone decided to get froggy. There's some seriously worse things than dying and I've met a lot of them.  Immortals are creative."

When his phone buzzed with a response, it was pointedly brief.  

No.

 "I s'pose that's fair.  Sounds like he's run out of friends though.  He killed two more people while you were gone, a witch and her boyfriend.  Student from out of town, no coven here to shelter her.  He's a real sick fuck."  There was a note of something akin to admiration in the demon's voice, or perhaps just amusement at the lengths to which humans would go.  

"He moved also, about a week after you 'vanished'." He made quotations in the air with his hands and huffed a low laugh.  "I think he's squatting at the girl's place now that it's summer and everyone's moved out for the season or gone home.  Least, that’s what I would do."

Griffin scrubbed his hands over his face again, pondering both the Sinclaires' reply and what Balakai shared.  "He doesn't kill because he is crazy.  He was doing something.  I interrupted before, thought that I'd done enough damage to fuck his spell enough to make it not worth it.  Apparently not.  Or-" 

His blood ran a little cold and he couldn't bring himself to voice the thought in case the speaking of it made it real.  "And yes, he is.  Makes me and my shock fetish look like a saint.  He enjoys breaking people.  I only ever just kill them.  Well, these days."  He had to correct himself.  There had been a day when he had been nothing short of a nightmare, when his world had been taken from him and he'd had no reason at all not to burn everything around him.

He watched Balakai leave furrows in the wood behind his hands and shivered a little at the memory of the feel of them on his skin.  He didn't like talking about Julian.  There were complicated and troubling feelings wrapped up in him and though Griffin would be very happy to put him in the ground, had longed for the day he could do, it would hurt.  There were still memories of sunny afternoons just watching the sky go by and pretending to forgive a life that had been too damned long.  He'd slipped up, had fallen for the lie that either he or life would ever be anything else than it was.  The hurt of hope was so much worse than nails on his skin or claws rending flesh from body.  He hated the soft and gentle parts that he tried so hard to destroy, the ones that would always betray him.

The only thing that really could.

"How do you know?" Balakai asked. The question was honest and curious, not laced with mockery like it could have been.  "Time does a fucking number on most humans and you either learn to cope, or you fucking lose it.  He may think he still has a reason for it, but I wouldn't be surprised if he's just shy of a raving lunatic.  Though still rational enough to operate."  

Balakai tilted his chair on its back legs, head tilting back as he stared pensively at the ceiling, worrying his lower lip.  He'd spent a good deal of time while Griffin was dead stalking Julian.  Since he made Griffin squirm, it made Balakai curious.  He'd been very careful, and had amended the Sinclaire file whenever he found something of particular note, knowing he'd probably forget the details by the time Griffin asked, if he ever asked.

With deliberate slowness Griffin stood, pointing to the demon and then the chair, a kind of sharp focus making his gem-like eyes almost glow in the warm light that spilled into the room.

The chair clicked back down onto all four legs when Griffin stood.  He cocked his head a little to one side as he looked at him.  Burnished gold eyes met odd-colored, and a slow smirk curled his lips.  He let his gaze slide down the witch's arm, studying the chair he pointed at, deciding whether or not he cared to obey the silent command.  In the end, curiosity won out and he slid to his feet, padding silently around to drop into the seat.  He was still barefoot, but he'd found black skinny jeans and one of Griffin's shirts again, only the middle button fastened.

When the demon sat, Griffin took a place on his lap, knees on either side of his hips.  He slid his once delicate fingers up into the near white hair and nuzzled under his ear, grazing teeth and lips there as he answered.  

"He wasn't crazy seven years ago.  He was deliberate and purposeful."  He rocked just a little against him, enough to be distracting because he had noticed the restlessness of him.  One he shared, for all that there wasn't a whole lot that he could do about it because he'd be on his face if he tried.  He despised the first few days after a resurrection, the weakness and helplessness of it.  But, he'd provoked the demon, so he couldn't be mad.  He'd known what he was courting when he'd invited the mad dog in.  

"You can be both." His hands settled on the witch's hips, and he tilted his head back to give Griffin access to throat and jaw.  Unworried about what he might do.  There were faint white lines where the broken bottle had bitten into his skin, fading already but not gone.  His hands kneaded over the lean curve of Grif's ass, pulling his hips close and grinding up against him with a little, throaty moan.

"If he is nuts, then we have bigger problems.  Witches gone mad, like me, attract a lot of attention.  And cause trouble we don't want."  Griffin slid his tongue along the long column of Balakai's throat and nipped just a little under his chin, lips curled in a slight smile.  "He was collecting power last time. I know how he did it.  Because he learned it from me."  And his voice was dark, heavy with old wickedness.

"Mad?" He laughed.  "No, you're not mad Grif.  You're too careful to be mad.  Right now, anyway."  One of his hands slid away from the witch's hip and instead opened the fly of his jeans, shimmying the tight denim down just enough to free himself.  He guided himself into Griffin, not even quite all the way hard yet, rocking their hips together in a slow, easy motion.  

"Now I'm curious.  How do witches collect power?  I thought you all howled to the moon or something."  His hands pawed over Grifin's naked skin, relishing the feel of him.

The witch made a little breathy sound at the feel of the demon in him, pausing just a moment to rest his cheek against his jaw as he moved just a little, languid and unhurried.  Then his lips traced along where he'd left marks on Balakai in turn and he felt a heat of possessive pleasure.  Maybe they would not remain, but right now, they were there and they were his and he was delighted.  It made him slick at just the feel of them under his tongue as he kissed him, hands kneading Balakai’s scalp.  

"Fool me once," he answered with a bitter edge to the words.  There was a blade in them, though not for the demon.  "One can't become as I have under the light of the moon.  Only darkness can do that.  Only horror."  

Balakai moved slowly, not quite drawn up to passion yet. Enjoying the sort of lazy grinding for its sensual pleasure.  He liked sex in all of its forms, from edged with violence to things like this- casual, easy.  Soft, some might say, but neither the demon nor Griffin were meant for softness.  "I don't really care about the details, you know.  Just the fucked up, sexy bits."  

He leaned back a little and smiled wickedly before he kissed him, long and slow, tongue invading his mouth and tasting all of him.  He bit at his bottom lip as he drew back, finally letting it go only when he had no other choice.  "And maybe you're right.  Not right now.  It's easy enough to fall, though.  Even angels do it and I am nothing of them."

Balakai’s chuckle was cut off by the witch's kiss and his hips bucked a little into the slickness of him.  Lips parted and let Griffin invade his mouth the same way he fucked Griffin's cunt.  When he drew back finally, the demon drew a deep, slow breath.  Eyes hooded and the burnish gold of them intent on the taller man in his lap, who nearly loomed over him in this position.  Not that Balakai minded.  "Maybe I'll see how easy it is to tip you off the knife edge.  When you've finished working.  I'd like to see it."  He leaned up and nipped the hollow of Griffin's throat with blunt teeth, then turned his head to run his tongue over the livid, new scars.

The noise that came from Griffin was obscene, his body melding into that of Balakai to accommodate him, sliding slowly along the length of him and he let his head fall back, arms holding his weight as he just rode him slowly, enjoying it and remembering the feel of his own body.  "You have to murder a lot of people in passion.  Not while fucking them, exactly, though that'll do it and I did, but you have to have feelings.  I gave the maidenhead of many to darkness, their brand new cocks lined up on fence rails like birds flocking.  Salem town paid for what they did to me, to my kin.  The whole of New England did.  I learned how long it takes a strong man to die choking on his own seed, and what screams sound like when you peel off skin before or after steaming someone.  Pious men were my favorite, begging their god to save them while I offered their testicles to the new moon.  They died slowly, because that's not enough blood loss to kill you."  

He gave a little sigh and rolled his head back forward, eyes very dark.  "Come with me on a grand tour of modern debauchery and unholy seeking the bottom?"  

He let his nails drag sharp along Balakai's shoulders, pressing into him like the wanting little slut he was.  "I am ever hungry," he said leaning down and resting his brow on that of the demon.  "Eternally unsatisfied.  Wrought of bitterness and bile and irreverence.  Nothing, nothing is precious to me. Is that what you would like to taste, Hound of Hell who's stolen himself?" 

A low rumble echoed in Balakai's chest, a pleased sound as he listened to Griffin talk and moved with him.  One hand slid up the witch's back, supporting him, while the other circled low on his hips to help them move together in slow rhythm.  And he listened the same way he watched.  Quiet.  Patient.  Eyes narrowed to mere slits and the corners of his mouth curled in a smirk.  

"Griffin," he purred the name low in his throat, rough edged and quiet, "let me tell you a secret."

He slid his hand up to Griffin's hair and pulled the witch's head down to his shoulder, tilting his head to nibble along the curve of his ear.  "Hell hounds are different creatures than other demons.  We are soldiers- and no sins hold purview over us, for all would make us less effective as what we are.  I have no pride to prick, no more wrath than normal, nor lust for all that I'm a debaucherous cunt.  No gluttony, no sloth, no envy beyond what man possesses.  And less than you by half."  

He rocked into him a little harder, enjoyed the way Griffin felt in this position, wrapped around him, his own weight keeping Balakai's cock deep in him.  "I just want to watch.  And when you're glutted on power I want to pin you down and fuck you in the blood and filth of your killings.  Whether you want me or not.  Though I think you would."

"And you would be right," Griffin replied in hardly more than a whisper as he arched into him, aching hole full of him and equal parts slow, throbbing pleasure and near agony of unuse.  It crawled up his spine and raked sharp nails along new nerves and made him shake because he could be both things, near screaming from the pain of it, and panting like a bitch for the pleasure.

"My dear voyeur of the profane.  What makes you so sure that my hunger and greed will not consume you too?"

He moved his hips in demand, still slower than the animalistic fucking they'd enjoyed before.  He felt his bones crack and a sick feeling tried to rip loose, though he fought it down.  Griffin bit the demon's shoulder, hard, and worried the skin there, drawing it angry and scarlet.  As before, his nails dug deep into the hard, muscled flesh of his upper arms, and he moaned, half cry.  

"I'd like to see you try." Balakai murmured fervently.  Truth, raw and unedited and redolent with all the implications therein.  His muscled corded, tightened under Griffin's bite and his grip on the witch tightened, fingertips digging in bruising hard but nails still blunt, contrast to the sharpness of the nails that cut into his inked shoulders.  Slid down to hold Griffin's hips and move him, not relying on his only recently living muscle to move.

"Now, fill me up until I can't breathe and let me get back to sleep.  I have work to do tomorrow."  Griffin laughed, images of the horror they two could unleash driving him to a fevered pitch of want and suffering.

Balakai didn't need to be asked twice.  

He pulled the witch hard down against him, grinding into him with short thrusts, still slow but deep.  His hands on Griffin’s hips to use him like a toy.  Shifted the angle so the friction for Griffin was in the right place, moaning at the soft squeeze of him on his cock.  He didn't rush.  Drew it slowly out until he gave a low groan and shuddered, cock twitching inside Griffin as he came.

Had the witch been one of the sort who could change their shape, he would have been a cat and he would have purred in satisfaction.  Every thrust was hurt and fire and it echoed through the whole of him as if his bones were hollow and the only sound they knew was the gasp of his breath as he felt the demon come.  Felt himself filled to aching that when lent to the perfect friction made him clench around the quaking cock in him and climax in turn.

It was terrible in the sharp of it, and a masterpiece of hot, rolling delirium.  He cried out, voice breaking like the rest of him, and he clung to Balakai as his chest heaved and his heart protested the trial of its function.  He shook from more than just the pleasure of it, but gave little care for the wrecked mess of himself.  It was perfect.

"More fun than just watching?" he teased, still rather breathless for all that it had been easy and light.  He went very languid in his lap as he let himself curl against the demon’s chest, head resting on his shoulder, eyes closed.

Balakai leaned back in the chair, eyes closed as he basked in pleasure.  The welcome weight of Griffin collapsed against his chest and shoulder.  His hands traced idle paths over the taller man's skin before eventually settling on his hips again.  He made a low, contented noise and shrugged.

"Different kinds of pleasure."  He shifted a little, grunted as he slipped free of Griffin and he pushed the witch off his lap.  "Let me up, since I'm going to guess you can't make it up the stairs by yourself."

"Not without falling on my face a few times, I would guess," he laughed at himself.  Griffin was uptight about almost nothing when it came to this.  He had no real pride because it had all been burned away.  And he'd died enough times that he simply understood and accepted the reality of himself.  It always seemed like such a pointless waste of time to lament what could not be changed.  He just didn't have enough fucks to give at the best of times and so was quite sparing with them.  Thus, he slid, still shaky, from the demon's lap with help from Balakai, managing to catch himself on the chair to keep from tumbling over.  He was grinning and at ease as they made their way up the stairs and he didn't actually even bother cleaning up because he couldn't be assed to care about that either.  He'd shower later.  

And call the cleaning service.  The demon had left the place something of a state over the last month and a half and Griffin most certainly did not do most of his own housework.  

The witch curled back into the sheets and pulled the heavier blanket over himself, since the air conditioning kept the inside pleasantly cool, almost chilly.  He hated trying to sleep when it was too warm.  He cracked a green eye, watching the presently blonde without much study.  "Joining?"

Balakai watched him get settled, standing at the foot of the bed and leaning against one of the posts.  He shook his head at the question.  

"Nah.  I'm not of such a fragile constitution."  He flashed the witch a grin and bent to gather up some of the clothes scattered on the floor- some of them got pitched into a basket standing in the corner, the rest he carried out to join the sheets in the laundry room.

Griffin just nodded and settled into the blankets, lulled into untroubled sleep by the reassuring sounds of the demon moving about the house.