Demon Turned Lover [BxB]

Sober up

"Be glad I'm letting you break rule number one."

I laughed as I dragged the black office chair closer to him, clutching the water bottle I took from his desk. My feet dangled above the silver rug as the chair was too high up.

"Here, drink this," I instructed as I handed him the bottle.

Mammon slouched against the headboard and pushed the nude duvet away from him, before removing the bright red cap. I glanced down at my lap as I felt a warm sensation spread over my cheeks. He was shirtless; just my luck. I was used to him being shirtless and I never really cared about it, so why had I cared now? I didn't know whether it was because of what he said yesterday but either way, it was a stupid reason.

"Why are you so red?" Mammon questioned as he pressed the back of his hand against my forehead. I squirmed at the touch of his hand as my nails dug into the crevice between the faux-leather and the handle. I really hoped he didn't catch on.

"Geez, you're burnin' up, 'sure you don't got a fever?"

I let out a sigh of relief as I placed my palm on my cheek, attempting to play off the fact that I was red because of him. "No I probably don't, doesn't matter anyways. How are you feeling?"

"Like shit. I have a fucking headache 'cause I drank too much."

"Wait, don't demons have high alcohol tolerances?"

Mammon's eyes widened just as his cheeks were taking on a red tint, "Yeah- but there's a limit to how much, okay."

I chuckled, watching as he stammered and scratched his nape awkwardly. I had noticed that everytime he was embarrassed, he would scratch the back of his neck—I found it sort of...cute. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Nah, I'll probably just get a cereal bar or something," Mammon replied dismissively, setting the half-empty bottle on the treen drawer adjacent to his bed.

"But that won't fill you up. Why don't I make you somet-" The grumbling of his stomach answered my question before I could even finish. We both looked down at his stomach before bursting into laughter, whilst his stomach continued rumbling—almost as though it was mad that we were laughing, and not feeding it.

"I'll take that as a yes," I said as I got up from the chair, the seat squeaking quietly as I did.

Mammon grinned at me sheepishly before shoving the duvet to the other side of the bed, further wrinkling the cream-coloured sheets—and exposing his muscular body even more. I hastily strutted out of the raven-haired's room, my main objective being to hide my florid face from him. God, if anyone ever saw me like this, it would be the end of me.

"You know how to cook?" he asked, each word he spoke accompanied by a footstep.

"Eh, sort of. I know the basics, what about you?"

"Nah, prefer baking."

Baking? That surprised me. Mammon hadn't seemed like the type to bake or cook—I would have thought that he lived off of instant noodles, or maybe other instant foods. "You don't seem like the type to bake."