The warning startled him, but not enough that the emotion played upon his features. Despite what may be believed in this prison away from the world, he was not normally an expressive and irrational man. The upset of reality may have tarnished that, but perhaps through exposure he could return to what he once was. Shifting his body into a more natural position, less the side-long, inelegant posture of an individual dragged forcibly into the water, and something more deliberately sensual, turning to face his companion and climbing into his lap, Kirin allowed himself to lean dangerously close to the devil’s face and whisper faintly, “Were you seducing me?”

The faint glow of those flaxen orbs seemed to darken somehow, though the curl of his lips indicated good humor. When he spoke in reply, Kirin could feel the heat of his breath, could smell a sour sweetness intermixing with the usual overwhelming pheromone of the man, and it brought a tightness to his chest that made each breath a little more difficult. “Was it not the other way around?”

“Are you so susceptible to an amateur?” The jest came unbidden, but the jovial nature of the exchange shifted the tightness to a flutter.

The water swished lightly as Angeles leaned forward, closing the few inches until there was only a hair’s breadth between them, and answered in such a low, sultry way that even the chill of the cold could not prevent the blood that immediately rushed into his groin. “I am so susceptible to you, Kirin.”

Passion erupted too quickly between the two for the young man’s mind to appropriately process the implications. All that mattered in that moment was the hot flavor of his partner’s lips, the tongue that seemed to know the secret path to heaven, the hard body that pressed eagerly into his own, squishing the liquid away and leaving his drenched shirt to cloy against both men’s torsos. A familiar fire was quickly consuming his senses, destroying any reason in its trace, and an insatiable desire for more demanded that he press further, deeper, harder.

What ensued was a culmination of mutual desire, of hands against sensitive flesh, of soft moans and heady kisses. He was manhandled and pushed out of the pool and onto the hard stony floor, where their passions peaked in a sticky mess that would beg for cleaning later. Though yet again, he denied a full joining, some spike within him unable to consent to such, the torrid affair was no less impassioned.

The crimson haired immortal laid out next to him in the aftermath, his own lust spent, his breath finding a steadier rhythm. By some compulsion for continued contact, something that was impulsive rather than calculated, Kirin moved over, his sluggish body loath to face the act of independent movement as it still fought off the warming pleasure that had besieged him. But move he willed it, and so it did, the shorter male pulling himself to rest his head against Angeles’ chest. His companion did not aid the act, but also did not pull away, and as Kirin settled into a rather intimate position, resting in the aftermath of pleasure with his partner, Angeles lifted his arm to half embrace the other, his eyes closing against the faint blue illumination of the chamber.

Kirin’s ear pressed against the rippled musculature of his stranger, and he listened with some unspoken curiosity. He could hear the strong, steady beat of the heart within. Already, it was finding a more regular pattern, settling from the excitement of bodily exchange. That thought struck him as odd, and he focused inward, upon his own little organ that was still rapidly pounding, the excitement not yet satisfied within it. Ah, he thought, recoiling into the secret reaches of his mind. Angeles was not the same, after all. This was not something that had ever been different. It was then that a realization was forced into acceptance.

This had no future. Though right now, the Adonis in the chamber might be his own, that was through sheer happenstance. His desire stretched no farther than the need of his lust and hunger. And when this imprisonment was over, so too would their intimacy. He couldn’t allow himself to be devoured, because he could already feel what he had not wanted to accept. His body understood it truer than his mind. Part of him begged to stay, to enjoy the moment while he had it, to cherish what he could and allow worries to wait. And he did, for a moment or more.

A memory floated through his mind, a familiar sensation bringing it to view. When he was very young, still a child in immortal eyes, he had found an abandoned puppy. It had a hurt leg, and so he carried it home. His parents did not care for the beast, but consented to his requests on the condition he kept it out of the way. And so he did. Keeping it in his room, he nursed it back to health, fed it, kept it clean, taught it where to do its business. As it was healed, he became so very proud of it and so attached. He realized it was the only thing in the world that would ever truly be his.

But one day, it got out. While he was at school, it escaped and found his sister’s room. She was several years younger, and sweet, and by the time he got home, she and the dog had become fast friends. Jealousy and the fact he was supposed to keep it out of the way compelled him into taking the dog from her and locking him back in his room. But the situation had been changed. The dog cried now, it scratched at the door. It whined at him to let it out, and when his pride had been sufficiently crushed, he did. It ran straight to her room, and curled up with her in a manner he had believed exclusive for himself.

That was when he realized, only he was thinking the matter was special. The dog never did believe he was the most important one, just that he was the only one. Becoming greedy with his emotions had only opened himself up to pain.

He couldn’t allow it, then. The pain in his chest, the excitement that only he got lost in. That had to go away. He was not so foolish as to think he could deny any interaction, and he had no desire to lose this pleasurable exchange, but he decided he didn’t want to know more about Angeles, not truly. If he understood him, if he became too interested, if he allowed himself to be delusional enough to think the intimacy mattered, he knew that he would be devastated again, and he was afraid of himself. Afraid of how it would feel to watch Angeles with someone else, someone he felt was better. To understand his place in the society hierarchy so poignantly.

He lifted himself up. The hand which had become a familiar weight on his back did not protest, but fell away easily. Having spoken almost nothing to one another, he found his wet clothes, splashed his sullied body clean, and moved to leave. When he glanced back, for he could not control the urge, he found Angeles sitting up and watching him with the same glowing stare he always possessed, no emotion identifiable upon his visage. Neither said anything as Kirin turned back, and climbed the ladder back to his personal cell.

It was so cold. But then, he urged himself to be like it. And as he laid down for his rest, he felt himself growing numb. It was a preferable state than any other.