little t&a

you're coming back into my arms again

He was back at his parents' old apartment, watching T.V. Same station, different airing. Hollywood Squares instead of Neil Armstrong. Paul Lynde rattling out some campy zinger. Beyond, in the next room, he could hear his mother on the phone, her tone low and worried, but he couldn't tell what she was saying.

Marbas was sitting next to him again on the couch, languid, nearly casual. No pretenses, no masks of Julia or Carol or any of the dozens of other girls who'd wandered in and out of his life. Paul tried to focus on the T.V. set, only daring to look at Marbas in fleeting, sideways glances, as though full acknowledgement would be too much to bear.

"You took your time," the demon said simply.

(i guess it's done now)

"If that's what you'd like."

(carol said—)

"My powers are hardly dependent on a child's understanding. You performed the ritual. But the end result is up to you, Stan."

(i'm going back to normal)

(i've got to)

"Why?" Marbas didn't look surprised. Those yellow eyes were glinting with nothing but mild interest. "You took to the curse readily enough, once you saw what it brought you."

(i—)

"I said you'd have been no different if you'd always been this way. I said you'd never have given yourself up to him. But I was wrong. You did all that was required." His teeth glistened with spit. "You enjoyed it. You could keep enjoying it."

(i don't—)

"What's a body to you, Stan? Something imperfect. Something to despise." Marbas' fingers reached over and lifted a curly lock of Paul's hair, right at his temple. He felt the air on the remnant of his right ear, and cringed, trying to pull back. "Your insecurity makes you so malleable. What ties you to that other form? Nothing but familiarity. You'd be anyone at all as long as it gained you favor."

(you're wrong)

(i'm not like that—i'm myself, i have a self, i—)

"You hate yourself."

Paul didn't answer.

"I could give you less to hate." Marbas' human hand cupped the stub of his ear without actually touching the cartilage, just the surrounding skin, pushing against the side of Paul's face, easing his line of sight completely towards the screen. Paul inhaled sharply, unable to turn his head away from where Marbas was tilting it. His eyes were fixed to the television screen in front of him, the image fuzzing out, becoming his own. His face smiling at him. Only his teeth onscreen were straight and white. The longer he stared, the more changes he noticed. Subtle ones. Nothing that made him unrecognizable, just pushed him past sort of attractive and maybe almost into beautiful. More delicate, symmetrical facial features than he really had. A better figure, one with an actual waist and ass to go along with the tits, and a thinner frame overall. The kind of girl that Gene would want to have on his arm. The kind of girl that Gene was used to having on his arm.

(gene said he didn't want a playboy playmate)

(gene said he wanted me)

"Are you so sure about what he wants?"

(he proved it)

"He slept with you once." Marbas' voice was low and strange. "Would he have done that in your old body? Would he have ever considered it?"