Demon Turned Lover [BxB]

Drive to Hell

         In lieu of his head, fear in his stomach seemed to whiplash each time the sable BMW accelerated, the red speedometer arrow at seventy reflecting his interior. Mammon's egregious driving did not worry him the way God had intended—he was solicitous about what the siblings, and Sol would say. Their relocation was so sudden; what roots would he have to pull out, after manifestly leaving them cut.

        "How much longer do we have?" Luka asked apprehensively, nails drawing along the purple veins of Mammon's hand on his thigh. Despite being overrun by his mind, he had noted how they swerved into a narrow road, dense chartreuse shrubbery fringing the pathways.

        "We're close, baby."

        "Are we...staying at the cabin?"

        The raven-haired's eyes darted to him, a shade unease flickering in them. "Would a hotel not be better?"

         "I mean, we're only staying for a week. Wouldn't it be a waste?" Luka cast his hand above the demon's. "Besides, don't you want to experience our life before?"

         "If you wanna' stay there, then I will too." His hand clenched the padded steering wheel slightly, but the brunet remarked this.

        "You don't want to stay in that house...do you?"

        His other hand caressed his thigh as though it was his nape. "We never had good experiences in that house baby."

       That, it was true. Ever since they had hared on crunching snow, naught benign chased after them. But that reason was just a foil, and the throne could see square through it. "It's not that...it's something else bothering you."

       Luka twisted in the warm leather seat to look at him whilst he stared ahead, the lime tree swinging from the rear view mirror trying his attention. "What...happened?"

      "My mom died in that house," he said. "I wanted to tell you before...but I didn' know how to bring it about."

        "I'm sorry." The throne towed a sombre breath before a question streeled through his mind. How could Mammon brook this all? Powerful the brunet was made, but weak in the face of hardship—a man who cried at the death of an ant. Was he compassionate? Or was he weak? "I wish...I was strong as you."

       Mutinous had this Earth forged him. He was angered by how the living of this planet were treated.

       "What?"

       Abuse. Rape. Illness. Poverty. Starvation. Death. With no doubt, life was a test; but how could such tests be deployed on feeble creatures, with their mind the only weapon.

       "I still can't get over what they said about Shiloh, my memories...what's real and what's not."

       In spite of the powers melded with his eyes, his onus in the Heavens, he was still under test.

       "I don't blame you Luka. You've already gone through so much shit, jus' for that to happen?"

       He could free the mortals from their pain, he could let them live in lands of fruits and flowers, he could rule greater.

       "If anything, you're the strong one."

        Luka slapped himself internally over the malcontent thought, but hastily returned to the conversation, reaching over to kiss Mammon on the cheek. "We're both strong."

        Shops started to flood his peripheral view. The throne gaped at the vacant grassy field, where the Christmas market came to pass the last time they were here. He could see themselves, taking charge of Nina's stall as she reminisced with old friends. The town looked quaint under the lens of light. Masses were out and about, dressed in tank tops and ice-cream glazed smiles. "The town's so pretty in the summer..."