Chapter Text
I’m walking past the opening of another corridor when I lose hope of finding my destination. My stomach growls for what feels like the umpteenth and loudest time tonight. I clutch my stomach while I continue to turn corners and groan at the sight of nothing familiar. A few more turns and I'd be willing to get on my knees and pray to find my way through this labyrinth of hallways— that’s how desperate I am right now.
My next turn is different, with my stomach-guided eyes failing to recognize the person in front of me also turning the corner coming my way. I smack into a man’s chest head-on, and he jumps about a foot high while I stumble backward. He yelps and his hands come to his chest like some kind of cartoon character trying to tuck away any damageable assets while I right myself. After his Tom & Jerry-esque theatrics end, he poorly tries to hide the fact that he nearly shit his pants. Meanwhile, I stand there watching him recover, acting as if he’d had a near-death experience. When he eventually stops to study me, he looks offended, of all things.
When he meets my eyes they seem unnecessarily disconcerted, he looks like he’s figuring out if he should curse me out or just curse.
“Caro Sathanas…” He mutters angrily as he looks me up and down and takes a breath. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here…What are you up to tonight?”
His breath goes straight into my face and I swear I smell expensive wine and something nutty on it. For some reason, I briefly think he embodies that scent, and the thought of unaffordable food, unfortunately, makes me hungrier. I look him up and down with a skeptical, pitiful look as I realize who I’ve come face to face with—a look that seems to offend him even more.
Is this sissy drunk?
I almost say it out loud, and I have to stop myself from downright pummeling this guy with my first impressions of his sobriety. Poor guy , is what I would think, if it weren’t for who it is.
I know who he is, though, of course I do. He’s been Cardinal at The Ministry for some time now, and the Siblings of Sin have been all but secretive with their fantasies of him. He’s led Mass extraordinarily well for several years, and up until his recent promotion to the band’s front person he’d been somewhat of a translator alongside Nihil. He’s one of the only members of the church fluent in Latin—nobody quite knows how or why that is—he’s always spoken highly of by the Siblings, and still somehow never publicly looked down upon by The Clergy—which means a great deal after the previous leaders’… denouements . He’s a renowned and sought-after leader, admired and lusted for by most, and envied by others. Emphasis on ‘most’.
Some of us still have our wits about us, thank Satan.
Those who don’t are either throwing themselves at him or looking for opportunities to. While he’s still a cardinal for the time being, it hasn’t stopped Sister Imperator from placing him as the temporary frontman for the entire “Worship Collector’s” branch of The Clergy. Being where he is now comes with a reputation to uphold, and a past reputation required to even be considered for the position.
His reputation , however, isn’t my first impression. While his leadership skills can be admirable, the other side of his job still requires more…specialized expertise. Simply put, he has to have sex appeal for the job. Lust is a powerful tool, and The Clergy is always quick to utilize it against the masses. According to rumors among Siblings, some influential blood runs through his veins, and according to the Siblings still, it supposedly runs to all the right places. But right now all I see is an entitled rat man with the supposed libido of a champion and what I'm believing more and more to be a drinking problem.
He’s not dressed up for a ritual, Mass ceremony, or even one of those special events that the ghouls occasionally put on, but he’s still in a suit for some reason. It’s a deep, blood red—a darker version of one that I’ve seen him perform in before. It’s almost black in the dim corridor’s lighting, and my eyes wander over it carelessly as we both seem to study each other for the time being.
Tight suit.
I scoff, disdainfully thinking about him choosing to wear a suit today to show off his thin waist and how it tapers to emphasize his other ass ets. The offense on his face only worsens when hearing my nonverbal disapproval. He scoffs back; as if to say ‘How dare you even entertain the idea that you could scoff at me.’
Yeah right, rat man. I'm too starved to give a shit about his reputation right now.
“Got any idea where the kitchen is?” I ask coolly, making a point not to outwardly give a shit about him and his ego.
He scrunches his brows, and my first impression only worsens the longer I stand there waiting for an answer to what’s supposed to be a pretty simple question.
“.. Cosa intendi? I’m sorry? ”
He almost whispers the words, and his eyebrows shoot up as he glances away to clear his throat and repeat himself at a more audible volume.
“You’re looking for food? Out her—”
I stare at him blankly as a perfectly timed cacophony of stomach noises cut through his words.
“It’s either that or the lodging wing. I don’t come to this side of The Ministry often, but I’m looking for food…evidently.”
I end my quip sarcastically so he knows I'm not intimidated or impressed by him. He catches on.
“..Right, eh..uh—“
My top lip threatens to curl up in another pitying, disgusted look as he slurs and struggles to speak like a normal person. Is he seriously drunk right now? I want to push his buttons but I don’t wanna downright insult him, especially not when he’s intoxicated. There’s no fun in a shattered ego if he runs the risk of not being able to remember it. This egotistical rat man, in my humble opinion, deserves to feel below someone at least once—and remember it too.
I'm being a bully, and I know it. I don’t have any reason to do this, even though I really, truly want to—damn my morals.
“It’s just this way—“
He points down the way I just came, and I groan internally at him indirectly pointing out my poor navigation skills.
“You can follow me if you’d like.”
Now that my uncharacteristically pure morals have corrupted my bullying plans, I don’t have a reason to stick with him anymore. Having a guide to the kitchen won’t make me feel better— food will. I also don’t appreciate the way his attire combined with the wafting scent of his cologne and wine are making me feel a bit tipsy myself.
“I’m okay, I can make it work. Thanks, though.”
I take a couple of steps back around the corner I’ve just turned, and within 6 feet I can hear him padding behind me. I don’t bother speeding up the pace, he’ll still be able to see where I go even if I do, but I glance back at him anyway.
“You think I’m gonna get lost?”
I call back to him, stuffing my hands into my pockets as I keep moving and hoping I can find the kitchen and prove him wrong.
“Seeing as you’ve already gotten lost, I don’t think it would be wrong to expect a pattern, no?”
He chirps playfully, catching up to me faster than I was hoping he would, and then he matches my pace. I don’t mean to sound like a hangry toddler, but the toddler-like grumble that comes from me in response to him doesn’t help my case. I start to veer right as the hallway forks, cutting across in front of him, and his arm catches me from the front to nudge me leftward.
Dammit.
I should have paid better attention when I had my first and only tour of this place years ago. Even after the countless moons I’ve spent busying myself and living here, I can’t ask for a map or another walkthrough of the areas I'm not yet familiar with. It feels like asking my boss to show me to my cubicle every morning when I arrive for work; unprofessional and downright embarrassing.
I spin on my heel angrily to start down the hallway that he nudged me towards, and to my dismay, the same process repeats at least 4 more times before he winds up in front of me while I hungrily drag my feet in his wake.
My bullying tactics wouldn’t have worked even if he was sober, he’s too pleasant for me to get a jab in.
He stops before a door, glancing behind his shoulder at me and then in front again. I start to question if following him was a mistake or not. He could’ve led me anywhere, and my hungry ass just followed him without a second thought. He reaches for and tugs the handle to the ominous-looking door, opening it to an anticlimactic reveal of a state-of-the-art kitchen setup.
“Pretty lucky that you ran into me, eh? You look like you should eat, you are rather…mm…thin, to say the least.”
Pleasant my ass…
He’d been pitying me, that bastard . My stomach has already started to make me act by the time it registers in my mind what he’s said, so I end up giving him an offended look of my own as I pass him to get into the kitchen. I stop to make sure he sees the look, and then edge further into the room and around the island in the center of it.
“...Right, so, that’s pretty fucking rude. Thanks for helping me out, but I don’t need a guide to find what I need here.” I eventually spit out the words at him, a part of me silently praying that maybe he’s already let the door shut and he’s turned tail on the other side of it.
But I look up at the doorway and see him standing in it with a presence that I hate to admit fills out pretty well.
Bowls.
I start to rummage through the cabinets and drawers around me, realizing along the way that there’s way more of both than I’d expected there to be. Even if I'm in here for a while looking for a bowl, the fact that I'm near food of any kind is enough to keep me from turning tail and giving him a piece of my mind. He pisses me off for what probably isn’t a good enough reason; he just acts so standoffish and egotistical.
In the back of my mind, ever since he’d been transferred here from another branch of The Clergy’s workforce, I’ve always secretly wanted to see what kind of person he was—and what he looked like, but that cat had escaped its bag long before this chance face-to-face encounter. I’ve attended Mass plenty and a Ritual or two before, so I’ve seen him, yes, and to my dismay, my fellow Siblings weren’t exaggerating when they’d said he was a looker. His suits were always tight and his pipes were too good not to at the very least mouth along with. Too bad when he wasn’t singing satanic praises to the masses he was spewing unfiltered comments left and right.
Unshockingly, though, the pattern of being good-looking and having no filter has yet to be broken by anyone in this place, him included.
“You may want to, uhh, cook yourself a rather.. big meal since you look like you need the substance.”
I find the bowls in an overhead cabinet, but as I take one from the neatly stacked rows I nearly drop it because of his comment.
What’s this dude’s deal?
I'm not even in tight clothing right now so I don’t know what he’s seeing that’s prompting his comments, but the fact that he thinks he has the right to comment in the first place nearly floors me. His ego’s worse than I ever could have imagined.
“Excuse me?”
I turn to face him from across the room, placing the bowl on the island between us while I gape at his audacity. Before I can even get a word in he pipes up again.
“Oh yes, I forgot to ask your name. I’m sure you know mine, but I must ask—”
I’m so done.
“Get out,” I growl at him under my breath.
“ Scusa? ”
“I said get OUT , you fucking asshole. I’m not going to listen to you body shame me to my face when I’m just trying to get some food.” I snap at him and give him a look I can only hope will convince him to fuck off, but the bastard doesn’t look like he’s taking the hint at all.
In fact, he’s moved even further into the kitchen from the doorway and he’s at the island with me now; clearly much more comfortable in his skin now for some reason.
“All I asked was your name piccola signora…”
I don’t understand the last bit but the way he mutters it under his breath is more than enough for me to know it’s not a compliment.
“I don’t have to tell you anything about me, fuckwad, now get the hell away from me–”
I turn to find the supersized pantry in the kitchen, attempting to dissuade him from sticking around. I grab a random bag of chips and tear it open, coming out to dump it into the bowl while I give him a murderous look. Once I’ve returned the bag to its home I snatch the bowl from the counter and attempt to go on my merry way to find my chambers.
“You realize you must answer me, yes? You are not my equal, ragazzina arrogante, I am your superior.” He calls after Ias Inear the kitchen exit, a growing sense of authority behind his words.
“Get off your high horse, you’re no Papa. The only thing I’m required to do is acknowledge your presence during Mass and we’re well past that.” I shoot back, still moving away from him.
I reach for the door handle to pull it, but something curls tightly around my elbow and yanks me back. My full body is used against me as momentum to pull me away, and I grunt. This arrogant shithead couldn’t handle not getting his way and now he thinks he has the authority to force me to stay until he does?
“What the hell, let GO of me– ”
“I asked for your name, girl.” He growls behind me, and I can smell that expensive wine again on his breath. He has some serious drinking problems if this is how he negotiates things out of people. I turn around, reaching again for the handle when he snatches me away from it and slings me against the island in the center of the kitchen. I wince from the grip he’d had on my arm, and my back hurts from the way he shoved me against the firm marble, but I don’t have time to assess bruises. He follows suit and starts towards me, but I dash to the other side of the room to put distance between the two of us.
“You’re crazy . Stay AWAY from me, you lunatic.” I huff out at him, trying to sound as unfazed as I can by his violence.
I left my bowl near him, and as hungry as I am, I'm in no rush to get it back now that he’s closer to it. Getting away from him is the top priority now, food could come later. He storms around the kitchen huffing like an intoxicated, satanic steam engine, and I find my heart beating louder than my train of thought now. He’s completely cornered me now unless I could somehow clear the island and dash for the door again. But I’m no athlete—I'm in sweatpants and a pullover sweatshirt for pete’s sake, and I'm already sweating bullets—there’s no chance of that happening.
He closes in on me and presses me up against the back wall of the room, closing my body in with his arms on either side of my shoulders. Under different circumstances, I would find this pretty damn hot. It’s late at night, nobody would likely come in to interrupt, and the man who’s technically my boss was towering over me in the corner as if he couldn’t control himself. But my lust is notorious for finding the worst situations to present new turn-ons to me, so I have to ignore its misconstruing thought process for the time being.
“Your Cardinal asked you a question. Answer.”
Power dynamic kink? Chec—
Shut up, shut up, shut up.
I feel my cheeks flood with warmth while I try to control my libido and keep face all the while, but he keeps inching himself closer as he demands an answer from me. I refuse to let him catch onto my distress, so I glare up at him like I'm ready to bite him or kick his dick so hard it retracts. Idea.
I clench my mouth to pool some saliva in my mouth, letting it build up before I hawk the wad straight into his face, a thin line now connecting back to my lip from his cheek.
His face curls up in disgust as one of his hands comes up to wipe the glob from his face, and he exclaims with repulsion. Bringing his arm up to wipe his face severs the strand of spittle from my mouth, and I try to seize the opportunity for escape and dash through where his arm had been. I feel a hand snatch my clothing into a fist and I'm jerked back, hard , into the wall and I feel my head ringing with defeat.
FUCK.
He shoots an unforgiving glower at me before he closes me in again, this time holding both of my elbows in his palms to prevent another dash from happening.
“How dare you, you conniving little—”
He stops mid-slander and scowls down at me as if noticing something. I feel my face warm even more, and a realization hits me.
Not now…please not now…
“Are you…blushing?” He asks incredulously, his face morphing from utter disgust to quizzical astonishment in a heartbeat. My heartbeat, that is, since it’s now spiking to a whole new level of unprecedented excitement.
God damn it.
“Let…Let go of me, you creep…”
I mutter through gritted teeth as I duck my head, biting my tongue so I don’t say anything I might regret. If there’s anything that fails once my libido gets the best of me, it’s my filter, and I can’t risk saying something else snarky to him.
He doesn’t answer me though, nor move to let me leave his grasp. He keeps me caged in against the corner of the room just staring down. There’s an unspoken tension thickening the air the longer the silence reigns, and I have to force myself to meet his eyes after some time passes, even if just to confirm time hadn’t stopped completely. I don’t hold his gaze long, though, because there’s an eerie intensity in it.
He looks so serious like this, and then a whiff of wine comes to my attention once more, consuming my senses. He’s blowing his breath straight down into my face, so there’s no way I can’t smell it, but the scent is strong enough to make me feel intoxicated myself. Just how much has he drank tonight?
I avert my eyes as I curse my still-warm cheeks and the crackly sensation of having him so close in front of me. And to the left. And the right.
Satan Almighty, he’s everywhere…
He’s filling up my peripherals and every sense possible, and the way he’s staring wordlessly, full of intent makes the inner fire in me spark up. I can hear the lewdest part of my mind secretly wishing something else would fill me up, and I have to start from square one with my pathetic attempts to cool my cheeks down.
One of his hands starts to come up to right my face and force a meeting of eyes, and it feels like he’s moving in slow motion. What kind of cheesy, quirky rom-com is this?
Whatever it is, I can’t take any more of it.
“Alcinia.”
I murmur breathlessly, just as his fingertips start to near my chin in a holding position. He stops—
thank Satan
—and he takes the slightest step backward, giving us both room to breathe again.
“Alcinia…” He repeats back to me, almost in the same tone that I’d said it with. He looks more quizzical than before, and he mutters my name a few more times as if trying to grow accustomed to the way it felt in his mouth. Mouth…
His mouth is even closer now. Inches away. Inches…
I wonder how many…
Stop. Stop it.
I snatch my arms from his grip and shuffle from in between the wall and his body, catching a note of cigarette smoke on his garments as I'm forced to brush past them. I dart for the door, grabbing my long-lost bowl of chips on the way, and I stumble down the hallways looking for my side of the Ministry so I can eat and go to bed.