Somehow, a routine formed over the course of time. Though how long was, as always, difficult to determine, a sense of familiarity began to form between the pair. Time allowed Kirin the needed solitude to master his emotions, which he felt were much controlled after he slept and ate. Then, he would climb down to sit with Angeles. Neither were inclined to talking; any questions Kirin asked were answered as vaguely as possible, and Angeles simply did not ask anything. Except to share in the younger male’s blood. This became a regular occurrence, every few feedings. And then lust would be explored. It was a satisfying disruption to the monotony of isolation, but it left the ebony haired immortal with a sense of longing. It was not true intimacy, but the shallow husk of it, parading around in carnal desire. He smothered his emotions down. This was all he needed for now.

He was becoming better at sensing the demonic immortal that shared his prison. Or perhaps, Angeles’ presence was simply growing stronger. Every day, his eyes seemed to contain more ferocity. His touch became sharper, urgent and demanding. Insatiable. A part of Kirin still wanted to explore this creature, desperately to understand what he was, but he withdrew at every opportunity. It was not worth the pain, and though he accepted this as somewhat cowardly, it was not shameful enough to sway his resolve. Besides, he was reassured after every time that his companion was fairly apathetic on the matter.

This would be why the break from such a routine was quite jarring.

It happened just as Kirin moved to leave, after a typical duration of time spent sitting in near silence. Angeles would wrap his arm around the smaller man, hold him close, and then allow the time to lapse empty save the sharing of such simple warmth. It was always the same. But today, as the slight immortal approached the exit of the dome cavern, Angeles was there. Kirin had become used to the other moving without him realizing, even the phantom-like nature of his sudden shift from one side of the room to the other. But he was not accustomed with being blocked in such a manner. Interest swirled with fear in his chest, and he stopped short just before colliding with that stony expanse of flesh before him.

“I keep waiting. When will this stop?”

Kirin would have liked to say he was becoming accustomed to the sensual nature that was inherent in that voice, but he wasn’t. Every time he heard it, the sound grew more precious than the first, like a treasure he relished and needed more of. It caused a flutter in his chest, a tightening in his groin, a warmth to touch his cheeks. He tried to deny that. And yet, this time, it also left him puzzled.

“What?”

“This. It is a miserable existence, is it not? You are like a patron of the zoo - you come to watch the caged beast, but you are too timid to tame it. Am I so frightening to you that you will limit our exchange into the most base of nature?” The voice was not the sultry, alluring sound he was accustomed to, but sounded dangerously cold, and sharp. It was still pleasant, but had an icy chill that caused Kirin to shudder.

It was also so terribly frank, he was left dumbstruck. The palpitations in his heart left an ache in his chest, and he stepped back in a defensive manner while he allowed his mind to consider his reply. It could not be made hasty - he had learned that well enough. The words were undeniable. There was a deep rooted, instinctive fear that he harbored towards this man, and while their situation compelled him to draw towards the fire, to dare to play with its touch, he was unwilling to grasp it fully within his hands. He understood the consequences too much, and he tried to make himself cold against his own desires. But this demeanor was something new, a shade of the beast unfolding, a flame brighter than before.

Angeles’ eyes were striking. They bore down on him with the merciless attention of a falcon upon a mouse. He stood straight, barring any hope of escape with his sheer mass that obscured the entrance to the shaft. His jaw was hard, and he stood with all the statuesque resolution his perfection allowed. Kirin had long since washed and worn his clothes, ragged though they were, but in that moment felt as stripped bare as he had ever been, naked to the core. He retreated back another step, which caused those golden eyes to narrow in an almost sinister fashion. This was dangerous.

“Are you not trying to frighten me right now? What can you expect, when you are so resolute in remaining my perfect stranger?” The words bubbled up of their own accord, and he damned himself internally. He hadn’t decided on the best course yet, but under that stare, that shocking conviction, his pride would not allow him to wilt so pathetically. Why had he become this way in the first place? Prison must have cowed his spirit more than his mind had yet come to accept.

“Are you an innocent in that game?” It was so sharp, so cold, it cut into him like a knife, that sound which he longed to hear so desperately. His jaw clenched against its truth.

Something stirred in his depths. He felt the careful wall he had spent all this time crafting quiver. He had grown numb to himself, in calculated ways. Allowing the complacency of a new existence to fill the void, he had ignored any other implication that this stranger may yet mean for him. Every sensation he was given, that was accepted as nothing more than the gratification of urges between consenting adults. It was the fulfillment of a natural phenomenon. Any interest further, he rejected. He smothered. He slowly contained within a small part of his mind, dark and horrid, and he crushed it down. It was so carefully conceived, so cleverly done without the other prisoner knowing, yet he felt it now shaking. His paranoia came to a head, an attempt to guard himself against any further assault.

“Must I always be the one to give? Will you not be sated until you have devoured my soul, as well, Angeles? Is that what you are, a siren sent to drain me of my essence and life?”

A scream rose within his throat before he understood why - the change was too swift to anticipate. From guarding the door, the demon in flesh lunged forward, his hand outstretched. There was no warmth or enticement in his eyes, no hope for this to be an act of lust, as they remained cold and desolate. The sound was cut off sharply by those digits, so often caring in their machinations against his body, tightened about his throat. His flight instinct adjusted quickly to fight, and his own hands rose up to claw at the arm which pulled him close. The constriction was not just a threat - it crushed dangerously hard, cutting off his air flow so suddenly that his lungs already cried out for relief, having exhausted much of their supply with the shocked outburst. Kirin’s eyes were wide and horrified, and he could do nothing but watch as Angeles leaned down, his own golden orbs harshly bearing into him.

“Was it the fact I asked for permission that frightened you? My consent to allow you to keep your ass to yourself? Perhaps it was my concern for your body that grew cold after every feeding, or the lust I have held for your lips since our first meeting? Which was it, Kirin, that has made you think of me as a monster you need to tread carefully around?”

Just as suddenly, with jarring force, Angeles released the younger man with a push, sending his slight body toppling to the ground. He gasped for air, the sound a terrible wet rasp, forced against a cough that struggled to clear out a blockage that was never there. His face was sickeningly pale, even more so than his natural complexion, and his hands, claws dripping with blood, came up to feel the bruised stretch of flesh, inspecting it for any deficiencies. The crimson haired brute did not seem to notice the gashes scraped into his arm - but then again, in a moment they were healed. His blood dripped down to the floor, wasted liquid left to stain the stone.

Confusion gripped at every molecule that made Kirin. Horror swirled with a sudden angst, and for the first time he thought he identified something akin to pain in the cold visage of his sudden attacker. The crease in his brow, the firm contortion of those beautiful features, the stillness of those glowing eyes. It only baffled Kirin further.

“If I had the design to harm you, do you not see how easily that could be accomplished? If I sought to take what I needed from you, I could do so. So I ask again. When will this stop, Kirin?”

He didn’t understand. His mind was having difficulty moving through the various pathways of coherent thought. He willed himself to stop, to breathe, to comprehend. His companion was irritated with... What? His own coldness? He tried to recall the routine. It was not so different from the first time he had actually yielded to Angeles’ desire for his blood. They were companionable. Kirin would occasionally ask a question which was dodged. How was that his fault? His chest was beating so terribly, his heart uncontrollable, that he was quite sure the stress of it all would be his death if this devil wasn’t. There was something deeper. He had felt it. Since that time, Kirin had feared his own emotions, of what they would mean if Angeles became involved. The man wasn’t normal, wasn’t immortal like he was. He was something alien, and that made him unpredictable. And he was so frightfully powerful.

The wall within his mind suddenly broke.