Work Text:
Her fiancé always left her on full moon nights. This night was no different.
Charlotte awakened to an empty space in her bed and the chill of the draft through her chamber’s open window, its long curtains fluttering in the breeze. She assumed Griffith went out for walks on nights like these, but the knowledge he was near did little to lessen the needy ache she felt in his absence.
The ache was not confined to her heart. It would be wrong to admit it, but at the end of long days spent ignored in favor of Griffith’s duties as supreme commander, she felt a persistent emptiness in her core. Her body cried out for him.
Though they were not yet married, Griffith attended to her as a husband did his wife. The tabulation of their love was as thus: he’d fulfill her every time he parted her thighs, climbing atop her to thrust while she held on for dear life, and ardent desire would connect their bodies and souls as she thanked the Lord for creating someone so perfect. Even after he was spent, it would not be the end. He’d bring a finger up against her and rub the tenderness there until she saw stars behind her eyes.
Charlotte gripped the sheets beneath her, suddenly hot. The memory was a pot to cook in; the silk felt cool against her hands as she raised one foot to overlap her leg and twisted under her blankets.
If Griffith were here, she thought to herself, and this became the phrase that began every thought. All she found was a pale imitation of him whilst teasing her nipple through the veil of her nightgown. The other hand first fondled her breast and then ghosted over her hip, lifting her nightgown to brush the skin of her thighs. When it reached the forbidden juncture therein, Charlotte came to a halt. Her hand rested impotently above her heat.
She couldn’t. It would be sinful to breach the holy space within her without her betrothed to guide her. Her touch was inferior to Griffith’s anyhow, her fingers as clumsy as a hand full of thumbs.
Charlotte pinched her trapped nipple in reprimand, and her body tingled from the pain. It did not stop her from mashing both her hands against her sensitive breasts, pulling and kneading. As long as she didn’t touch down below, didn’t prod it, she wouldn’t be doing anything wrong. A low moan escaped her lips as she brought her hips up, arching her back.
In her mind, Griffith’s feminine face loomed over her, his mouth plump and pink and open. In dulcet tones he’d tell her she was a good girl, spread prettily on the bed for him. Good girls deserved good things, and she would be a good wife, one whose belly would swell with his children.
His own stomach was hard alabaster, his strong form shaped to attack and defend—the body of a knight and the head of an angel. He was laying his succulent lips on the goosepimpled skin between her breasts; his breath would be warm as he proceeded to suckle what was his by right; she gasped, twisted her left breast, and—
“Well, well, well,” a female voice purred. “What have we here?”
Charlotte flailed like a fish breaching land and yanked the covers up to her chin.
The voice belonged to a tall figure, one which climbed through the window and slinked to the middle of her room. This room that was ten stories above the ground, overlooking a grassy courtyard. This room that was beyond the reach of any ladder.
“A bit dark, isn’t it? I want to see you better.”
A fiery orb appeared in the palm of the intruder’s hand and floated up to the ceiling. The room was instantly bathed in ominous purple light, and Charlotte could only gasp.
The woman was naked save for a black corset and thick matching collar. She had long legs, large breasts, and teal green hair covering her head and womanhood, her shoulder-length locks like an octopus’ tentacles in both appearance and the way they moved, each tendril questing through the air of its own accord. Oversized bat wings curled around her hourglass figure to mark her as indisputably inhuman. Yet worst of all was the strength of her aura, a miasma so thick as to render the grand bedroom an inescapable cell.
Her sultry red lips curved into a smile at the sight of Charlotte’s open-mouthed stare.
“Do you like what you see?” she asked, cocking her hip.
“I—what are you?” Charlotte whispered.
“Some call me a goddess,” the woman said as she came to the foot of her bed, swaying with each step. “Others, demon.”
“Oh,” Charlotte cried, “oh, stay back…!”
And she scooted backwards only to hit the headboard. The woman brought a finger to her lip in contemplation, then shook her head. Her alien hair bounced with the motion.
“Mm, don’t think I will. I wanted to see his little mortal morsel for myself, you know. It’s not like him to take a… willing… lover.”
Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut, begging to be woken from this dream.
“And so long-term! What is it about you that’s special, I wonder. Other than your royal blood.” She felt a weight settle atop her legs, and the woman’s knee came in between hers. “My name is Slan, dear girl. You’ll be screaming it soon enough.”
She grabbed her by the throat, long nails digging into her neck, and claimed her mouth in a devouring kiss.
Charlotte’s eyes popped open; Slan’s were closed, fanning her cheeks with the full length of her sooty eyelashes. The demon woman wore kohl on her eyelids to line them. Her tongue jostled hers, licking the insides of her mouth like she wanted to eat them, and Charlotte tried to turn her head away. She felt pinpricks of pain as the claws on her neck tightened.
Charlotte flicked the tongue back weakly. There was nothing else to do but suck on it, though doing so went against everything decent. She pretended it was a piece of hard sugar, but strange instead of sweet.
Slan pulled off of her with a wet pop and smiled lewdly. She licked the side of her own mouth; somehow her ruby lipstick hadn’t smudged.
“You taste good, little girl,” she said. “Do you want me too? Let’s see.”
She removed her hand from her neck, and what Charlotte hoped would come out as a scream was only a yelp managed between breaths. Slan chuckled at the sound.
“No one’s coming to save you.”
Her fiancé’s noble knights could. Sir Locus or Grunbeld or Griffith himself would come and run the demon through. But she spoke with mirthful confidence, the corners of her eyes crinkling as if she knew the end of a joke Charlotte wasn’t privy to. A cruel joke like the ones she only knew harsh men to enjoy.
The tear that slid down her cheek felt like surrender.
Slan lapped it up, kissing the sides of her face as she shed more tears. The action would have reminded Charlotte of her earliest memory—her mother kissing her tears away—if it weren’t made perverse by the addition of Slan’s hand between her thighs. To her horror, she felt herself grow slick from the entry. Slan then pulled away and licked her two longest fingers.
“So sweet. So pure.”
As Slan hovered over her and peered into her tremulous soul, she in turn revealed the depths of her own jade eyes and slitted pupils. Griffith’s eyes had those too, Charlotte realized. Though still sky blue, they had become glowing and catlike when he miraculously returned to her. It was a sign of his holy status. He was blessed by God, the demon’s opposite, but their eyes were both hypnotic.
Slan’s were undressing her, fixing her with a slow burn. Those eyes eroded the tightness in her neck and jaw—made her hands go limp at her sides. It was impossible to speak, and words sloshed around in her mouth like wine while Slan’s penetrating gaze brought on vertigo.
Slan reached out to brush back a lock of her hair almost tenderly. “Poor pet,” she cooed. “You don’t know what you want. Not truly. You’re too much of a good girl.”
The noise that left her was crossed between a hiccup and a moan. Charlotte looked away, blushing furiously. Smirking, Slan pressed her shapely body onto hers, the warmth of her soft breasts enveloping her own. She glided back and forth over her, their breasts together. Before she knew what she was doing, her arms were pulling the demon closer.
In a flash, Slan’s mouth covered hers once more. This new kiss was less of a violation than it was an offering, her tongue waiting to be invited. It made her face flush and breasts heave, and goosebumps swept over her.
Through the haze, Charlotte recalled a story about female demons. Possessed of enticing forms, they preyed on those with impure thoughts and sucked away their souls through a kiss. If so, it was too late for her. She was already damned.
Charlotte let her mouth be plundered, panting hot breath into Slan’s neck when she let her breathe. She knew she was wet and wanting, and the demon’s skin smelt not of fire and brimstone but pepper and flowers.
Slan pushed herself up, the weight of her chest defying gravity. She toyed with her breasts as she straddled her, pushing them together and letting them drop, watching Charlotte with heavy-lidded eyes that promised more. Her breasts’ pale peaks were hard, eye-catching. Her abundant flesh spilled out of the narrow hands cupping her chest and wobbled ever so slightly. She licked her lips, and Charlotte’s mouth went dry. The lascivious display was something out of an establishment she’d never set foot in, the kind her guards might snicker about.
It was more than indecent, Charlotte thought as Slan reached her own nipple with her tongue. It was obscene.
Then Slan bent low to lavish her fluttering stomach with kisses. Charlotte had never felt worthy whenever Griffith worshiped at her navel like this. Still she hesitantly threaded her hands through Slan’s hair to hold her there, attached to her well-loved stomach like a sea creature. The hair, too, was soft—not as spiny as it looked. Her heart thumped wildly, and her belly twisted into a new knot with each kiss, but what the demon sought was yet to come on its pilgrimage down her body. Slan’s nails dug into her thigh for purchase, and she clutched the demon’s head in fear.
Charlotte knew what followed when Griffith put himself in that position. There would be no going back. She tried to slam her legs shut but to no avail; the hands on her thighs held steel beneath their feather-soft skin.
“You’re so young,” Slan crooned. “And you haven’t tasted the world. You’ve only eaten fruit from his hand.”
Charlotte looked at the ceiling, imagining it peeling away to reveal the wonders of heaven. If she fully sullied herself, would God let her in?
“Enjoy the fullness of mortality before you are dust,” Slan said, breathing into her. “Let me take care of you.”
From her lips the notion dripped like honey. All her life she had needed someone to take care of her, men such as Griffith and her father before him. The thought of her father only inspired revulsion; he was no better than Emperor Ganishka in his lust, and perhaps no better than Slan. But she wanted to believe the stranger poised below her intended to guide rather than hurt. Girls were sometimes stolen by sleek elf princes and enchantresses in fairytales. Instead of being stuck in a familiar nightmare, she could be lost in a story.
A frenzied giggle burst forth, surprising her and earning an arched eyebrow from Slan. Her head felt so light, reason swallowed by the beautiful creature at her waist. Charlotte watched Slan whisper more velvet words against her skin, head between her thighs, hair moving like eels. Her inner muscles twitched at the sight.
“I’ll show you true heaven,” Slan told her. “I want you to embrace eternity.”
Charlotte squirmed with her upper body as she remained locked in place, the dampness of her lower half open to the world. Whether Slan was from hell or a storybook, it didn’t matter. Her breath was so close to her sex, her bud. She gave a meek whimper and nodded her consent in the hope that the demon would show mercy.
“Lie back,” Slan murmured.
She licked a wet stripe down her slit. It was cold, and Charlotte pictured her fine hairs rising from the sensation. Slowly Slan’s tongue traced the outline of her, taking the time to tease her folds. The engorged skin leapt at the contact. It was all she could do not to gush fluid into her mouth, and she bit her knuckle as she turned her head, trying to wriggle as best she could. Slan swirled her tongue around her center before giving it a sopping kiss. All the nerves in her lower body sparked alive, and she squeaked out an ah! that was more mouse than princess.
Somehow she knew Slan was smiling.
She relentlessly pressed down on her bud as all the blood rushed to it. The vision of Slan’s statuesque form twisting above her as she clutched her swollen breasts was one that left her breathless, drowning in sin. She moaned out an apology to God, or to Griffith, since to her they were almost the same. Sharp, guilty pangs joined the strong thrum of desire pulsing from the deep, and with another flat brush against her sex, she called God’s name.
Slan probed deeper, flicking her tongue into her core but still heaping attention on her little bundle of jumping nerves. She was more thorough than Griffith in pleasuring her, leaving no centimeter of her sex untouched. The woman wasn’t making love, but she was making something greater, a testament to carnal power written with each stroke of her tongue. Her walls clenched as Slan’s tongue slithered around her bud again, and then her lips closed around it to suck; with a gasping squeal, Charlotte exploded into the demon’s mouth, expelling a tiny shower of clear liquid.
She was tumbling down from her peak, heart racing, when Slan patted her thighs and said, “Good girl.”
Another lustful twinge came from her sex. Charlotte shivered atop the bed, colder and filthier than she’d ever been, but she couldn’t deny the joy of being feasted upon. Of being accepted at her very lowest.
She lay there spread-eagled until Slan stroked her dripping heat.
“Oh, I’m not done with you yet.”
Charlotte whimpered uselessly. Slan thrust her tongue into her sex, and the time for precision was past—no more stroking her bud like a paintbrush on canvas. The sudden change made her groan as she angled her hips to flood Slan with her fluids; a new flame was burning in her lower stomach, and Charlotte grinded down onto Slan’s mouth to quench it.
A strange sensation took root within her core. It felt as though Slan’s tongue was expanding, filling her cavern in an impossible way. As her tongue swirled inside her, Charlotte mewled and shifted her hips, confused. One moment she was stretched to the womb, and in the next Slan pulled out of her in one fluid motion to look her in the eye. What Charlotte saw left her gasping.
Now dangling from Slan’s mouth was a long, serpentine appendage, slick from its own wetness and the juices from her body. The demon’s tongue had turned so long and thick as to surpass a man’s organ.
She couldn’t believe something like that had just been inside her. Slan stroked her thighs to soothe her trembling, then manipulated her infernal tongue around her bud, tickling the nerves. It was so unexpectedly arousing that her belly lurched, and she cried out, riding a minuscule wave.
“Please…” she whined, on the verge of sobbing.
“I haven’t heard you scream my name yet,” Slan mused after a raspy lick that sent tingles down her spine. “I’m a little hurt.”
She moaned a nonsense word in response.
Slan licked again. Charlotte could feel each droplet of saliva sliding off her lengthy tongue. She shuddered, unable to stop herself, and keened like an animal.
“Yes, make music,” Slan beckoned. “Be human and free.”
Her fingers danced around her folds, testing the torrent of new slick but avoiding her hole. Charlotte grew even more vocal and tried to buck against her digits.
“I want to draw out every note of your song.”
Slan paused to watch her squirm, her hands and mouth maddeningly still. She waited and savored the sounds of desperation—then pressed the tip of her girthy tongue to her entrance and pushed in.
Charlotte hissed at the pain as it breached her. Slan paid her no mind, forcing the tongue deeper inside. As she adjusted to the muscle intruding into her core, the fullness quickly became pleasant. Like something her small body was made to accommodate. It pulsed through her in tune with her heartbeat, and she felt like a living, breathing puppet maneuvered and stroked by a prehensile forearm.
A smooth burn worked through her every wall. Her insides tightened around it, milking the organ as if it were Griffith's manhood. It scraped her with its bumps and kept flicking in and out; Charlotte grabbed her breasts and moaned in lieu of the words to describe it. It was all for her, only her.
“Say my name,” Slan ordered after she withdrew. It made Charlotte gasp, but then she pushed back inside. She was so stretched that she felt a gaping emptiness whenever Slan removed her tongue.
“Slan…” she mumbled in a daze.
The demon eased her way back in. Charlotte could only moan with pleasure as her speed gradually increased to a blinding pace. In and out, wiggling around, fast enough to give her whiplash. Her head lolled back. The rough sensations and intensity reminded her of that fateful night Griffith first made love to her, but the rain she’d tasted on Griffith’s lips was nothing that could drown her, nothing like this ocean. She was soaring through the skies above. She was burning in the pits of hell.
“Slan!” she cried out as the cliff was fast approaching. The beast didn't slow, thrusting her tongue in and out, coating her bud with saliva that couldn’t chill the heat rolling off of her sex.
“Slan!” Charlotte screamed again. A shudder like an earthquake ran through her, and she didn’t just see stars behind her eyes. She saw constellations. She saw meteor showers.
Arching off the bed, she thrashed like a woman possessed as her pleasure rolled languidly through her body, alighting every inch of skin. Her entire world shrunk down to that single point between her legs, and she could feel herself clenching up over and over again. She'd never climaxed for so long, or as hard, and it shamed her that Griffith had never brought her to such heights as a demoness could.
Slan waited for her to finish heaving, cleaning her sloppy mouth. Her tongue had returned to its previous form. She caressed Charlotte’s sweaty bosom and gave her collarbone a gentle kiss.
Charlotte experimentally moved her fingers and toes. She was left with all the energy of a fresh corpse, but no vulture swooped in to prey on her. No portal to hell was opening.
Muscle memory led her hand to stroke her partner’s cheek, but the demon grabbed her wrist and set it down.
“You’re a sweet child. Tell Femto, or, Griffith, I said hello. It’s been a while.”
Before she could ask her what she meant, Slan vanished in a whirl of black feathers. Aside from the stickiness left between her thighs, it was like she was never there.
Charlotte curled in on herself where she lay with the blankets kicked down by her feet, unable to do any more than listen to each breath that came and went. It didn’t take long for sleep to come—but it was plagued by images of Slan eating her from the inside out, spearing her willing body upon her snakish tongue. The memory of hearing her own euphoric scream as she climaxed was the last thing her dreaming mind gave to her.
She awoke the next morning to see her fiancé sitting on the bed with an inscrutable expression. He said not a word in greeting.
“Where do you go at night?” she murmured.
“Charlotte,” he said. “What happened to you?” And when her face scrunched up in confusion, he continued to say, “You smell like lovemaking.”
It all came back to her—the demon and the pleasures she’d wrung from her body. It was no dream if Griffith could smell it. Charlotte's eyes welled with tears as she threw herself into his arms, beating her fist against his armor.
“I… it was a demon. A demon, but one that made me… want it! I love you, I love you, I'm sorry,” she blubbered into his chest.
He would never want her now. Their perfect future together was surely shattered. She braced herself to be thrown aside, but Griffith held her tight, stroking her hair.
“It isn't your fault,” he said slowly, soothingly. He repeated it twice for good measure. “You know I have enemies. This demon, did he identify himself?”
“Slan. She said her name was Slan.” Charlotte pulled away from him. “She acted as if… as if she knew you.” Her eyes searched his. Griffith’s gaze gave away nothing.
“She was lying to you, dearest. It's in their nature to deceive. But rest assured,” he said with an edge to his voice. “This won't happen again.” He kissed her softly on the lips. “Try to get some more rest. I can't imagine how you must feel. If you need anything, anything at all, I’m never far.”
His sympathy in the face of her weakness prompted another sob. She kissed him again and swore she'd be true. He told her he loved her and that he'd protect her.
“You'll always be under my wing, little dove,” he said, getting to his feet.
She drank in his features before he had to leave her once more. His generous lips, his long, straight nose, and most of all, his eyes.
Eyes like the demon's.