No! Mine! [Invite]

Despite herself, the demon moaned at the familiar feel of his fangs. So close to him, the sensation of his returning strength was almost physical, and her body shuddered around his as she clung to him. Don was a very strange individual, but here in Hell, there was no Host to separate the power of allowing a Kindred to feed from her. Before, the skin he had sunk himself into wasn't hers; here, he was feeding directly from her. Her free hand slipped up his back and grasped into his hair, her words whispered.

"Thank Lucy yer alive..."

There were tears in her eyes as she sat there, letting him take from her whatever she could. A part of her didn't want him to stop. He was getting back to normal, back to the person he was before that damnedable Monster had tried to take him away from her. She would do whatever it took to bring him back.

When he spoke, there was nothing stopping the tears. They filled her eyes before spilling over, running down her cheeks. Her arm, freed, wrapped around him and held him tight against her as he relaxed. Instinct softened her, one hand delicately brushing through the tendrils of his hair as she contemplated what he said. More often than not, she thanked the fearless, spineless leader of Hell for anything, just as many humans thanked god. She knew him personally, but her House was indebted eternally to him. Often, they believed he would lead them back to victory.

It was the only reason she knew just how good the demon looked on his back.

Don wiped that thought from her mind and let him lean against her, reclining against the headboard of her bed, continuing her soft stroking of his hair. Her lips pressed delicately against his temple, her eyes fluttering closed. It was rare that they were able to do something like this. Normally, they were fighting, either with each other or with somebody else. He kept himself busy and she did not interrupt that. They were friends, after all. Companions. Battle buddies. Nothing more. So why was she crying?

As Eto tried to comfort her, a broken little sob broke free from her lips. The powerful, obnoxious Devil Princess, the Assassin of her home and family, clung to him. Moments before, he had been far too close to death for her comfort. Her emotions hadn't ever been so strong, not for a man. She didn't care if they were dying. Normally, she was one of the reasons they were dying. Yet, as his words wrapped around her like a comfortable blanket, she felt herself relaxing. She peered up at him with eyes shining, the soft, almost clear color, like a crystal.

As he stroked her cheek, she leaned into his fingers, letting out a soft breath. The accent changed and it brought a smile to her face as she sniffled, trying to chuckle. "Don't... don't fakken scare me like that... stupid fiend fucker." Her words lacked their usual heat as she leaned forward, resting her forehead against his and drawing comfort from his closeness. The visage she clung to, of her Host, began to fade away. Her hair lost its unnatural color, fading to an almost grey-black, her skin paler than that of her host's. She took a deep breath, then, and let the tip of her nose to rest against his.

Nervousness touched her, and she knew that should concern her. With Lucifer, she was painfully aggressive and forward. She normally took control of the entire situation. Yet, lying here in her home, with a man she had fought beside, it was almost as if... she were a girl. Gasp.

She snickered weakly at his little jab, if it could even be called that. Normally, they traded insults back and forth. Right then, if he had taken on an angry tone with her, she might have just crumbled beneath it. For once, somebody knew her secrets, and she was actually okay with that. Whether or not she would want everything the next morning, she didn't know. Perhaps she was just flooded with relief that he hadn't died at the hands of that creature. In that moment, it was difficult to even feel anger towards Nichiya, even though she knew she was going to try to kill him.

If Eto didn't kill him first, of course.

Then, lightly, she pushed her chin upwards. If he would stay as he was, her lips would delicately brush across his, obviously nervous about the action. The kiss was butterfly soft, barely existent, and for a second, she wondered if she had actually done that, her fingers still buried within his hair, her arm still wrapped around his shoulders. They were clinging to each other. On her bed. Right after she had thought he was dead.

Hmm. Wonder what she was thinking about.

There was a moment when the great and powerful Don doubted herself. His surprise was almost enough for her to pull away, already stringing together meaningless and empty insults in an attempt to cover up what she had just done. Yet, before her lips could part, his were upon hers, a delicate and passionate kiss. And one she had never before experienced.

It was so incredibly difficult from the rough, angry kisses where Lucifer shoved his tongue down her throat. It was the opposite of the disgusting, vile kisses forced upon her by her father. It was intoxicating, like the first cigarette of the night or the time she tried the best cut of steak. It was a walk in the woods or a drink at her favorite bar. Her mind couldn't bring forth the proper imagery, and after a single second, thoughts simply melted away.

Her arms tightened ever so slightly, her lips inexperienced. For once, she didn't take the lead. She didn't demand a fight or take what she wanted from him; she shrunk into Eto and held herself against him, allowing him to determine the kiss and, for a moment, everything else.

His hands explored her body and she arched into them, trying to maintain contact for as long as she could manage. Whispered moans fell from her lips until she turned, trying to capture his once more. She was far from used to the sensations caused by passion and care, the way he gently allowed himself to become familiar with her body, with what she liked and disliked. Lucifer had never bothered with that.

As fingers brushed along her spine, reaching her lower back, she pressed her frame hard against his, her moan louder than before, face contorting into a look of surprise. Her fingers, still buried within his red hair, tightened into little fists, pulling him ever closer to her.