It'd been a long time since Blaine had flown freely. The cold air licked his face and shoulders like an affectionate puppy, calming his racing heart.
Though his wings were built for flying faster than the speed of light, tonight he beat them in a slow and steady tempo. Humans were fragile.
But despite his best efforts, Andromeda vomited nonetheless.
After nimbly dodging putrid globules of bile whizzing past him, he gazed down at her in sympathy. He'd been in the same state recently himself, so he could totally relate.
Better out than in.
And just as it had with him, it seemed to make her feel better; her heartbeat and temperature regulated, and she stopped shivering. Perhaps there wasn't any need to take her to a hospital now.
Maybe it was in his best interests if he didn't. He wasn't sure how well he'd be received dropping her off in Accident and Emergency in all his winged glory. It wasn't exactly a stealth move in an area of town that was bound to be mobbed on a night like this. He was liable to be seen no matter how hard he tried, but he'd been too panicked earlier to really consider the logistics of it. But now that he was thinking more clearly, he still didn't know what the Hell else he was supposed to do with her.
He supposed he could always take her back to the Foyer. Ring the doorbell and boost. She'd already told him where she lived, so it wouldn't look suspicious. But then she might wonder why he didn't stick around till someone opened the door. How would he explain leaving her, unconscious, on the porch at 3am? Uh, sorry Andromeda, I lost my shirt in transit and didn't want to offend any God-fearing nuns.
That ought to go down like a lead balloon.
And to top it off, he doubted the old nuns would be strong enough to lift and carry her inside. Dead weight was always heavier.
Realistically, that only left him with one viable option.
But no... That was crazy talk... He didn't know the first thing about caring for a sick mortal. And his apartment wasn't exactly human friendly.
But as he scrutinised Andromeda's tiny, swathed face, he realised he had no other choice.
Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. It was easily another golden opportunity to play the chivalry card. A surge of anger swept through him at the memory of Lara leaving him when he was helpless, which cemented his decision.
Swiftly changing course, he headed in the direction of his apartment. Humans rarely looked up at the sky anymore; they were always glued to their screens, so they were safe in the dark for now.
He swooped into his bedroom through the open skylight, landing softly on the padded carpet. After placing Andromeda, cocooned in her cloak like a fuzzy caterpillar, on his unused king-sized bed, he proceeded to close every window and turn on the heating at full blast. He didn't want her to die of something as ridiculous as hypothermia after all his efforts to save her.
When he was done, he stared down gormlessly at her lifeless body, wondering what to do with it. He sniffed the air a couple of times and his nose wrinkled in disgust. Her cloak was stained with vomit, so he guessed that was a good place to start.
He untied the ribbon drawstring and unravelled it carefully from around her shoulders. Looking her over, he realised her chin and neck hadn't escaped the unfortunate onslaught either. Tutting like a high-strung matron, he bounded to the en suite and brought back a moistened towel to clean her.
Perching on the edge of the bed, he wiped her down, careful not to allow his skin to make contact with hers; he needed to focus. But even when he'd collected every last rancid drop, the sour stench of bile still emanated from her. Nose an inch from her jawline, he followed the scent trail to the bodice of her dress. He exhaled in frustration. It was like bloody vomit dominoes.
Propping her up with one arm, he undid the lace bustier with his free hand and yanked the dress over her head in one fluid motion before triumphantly tossing it to the floor alongside her cloak.
Now, stripped down to lacy black underwear and a pair of pumps, there was nowhere left for the vomit to hide.
He wiped the residual sheen of bile off her half-naked chest with a satisfied smirk. That ought to do it. Thanks to his heroics, some of the colour had even been restored to her lacklustre cheeks and lips. She was starting to look like her old self.
But the more she did, the stranger he felt being this close to her in his human form. He'd spent so long maintaining a respectful distance or observing her from the shadows that this was completely new to him.
His gaze flitted around the room in embarrassment before inadvertently landing on her lips. The way she'd smiled at him when they danced had given him the weirdest case of déjà vu. As if they'd been in that situation before.
But that was impossible. Wasn't it?
The memory of her lips lighting up the dark like a lantern flashed before his eyes. Only this time, his inner-eye was imprinted with a painfully high res image of her wearing a green dress at the time.
His stomach lurched like he'd just taken a dip in a rollercoaster, and his mouth flung wide open. What the Hell?
Scolding himself, he hastily clamped his jaw shut and continued zealously wiping her down (even though there was nothing left to wipe); all the while mentally shoving the rogue thought into the dark recesses of his mind from whence it came. Now was not the time for indulging in a spiralling vortex of fantasy.
Not when there was no denying the tangible reality of tonight's encounter. If it wasn't for Shari's interruption, he definitely would've kissed Andromeda.
You can kissssss her now if you want, the hissing voice whispered suddenly in his left ear.
Blaine jumped, startled by its sudden re-materialisation; and though her body jarred with the impact, Andromeda didn't rouse.
It was true. No one could interrupt him now.
He leaned in and inhaled the deep groove of her collarbone. The scent of apples was slowly replacing the acrid smell of vomit.
Realisssssstically sssssspeaking, you can do anything you want to her. She'ssssss out cold in a ssssssleep like death. She can't sssssstop you.
Suddenly aware of his own semi-nakedness and proximity to Andromeda's limp and skimpily clothed body, the same hypnotic desire to touch her threatened to overpower him as it had in La Loco. As if he was a puppet on a string, his towel-bearing hand took on a life of its own, dropping the damp piece of cotton of its own accord and hovering shakily over her bare chest. He felt his eyes close and his hand lower until all five fingertips were ever so lightly tracing the length of her neck from the hollow of her throat to the soft flesh underneath her jaw, where they lingered.
Though he was barely touching her, it still burned; like how he imagined a lit cigarette might feel on a mortal. But the sensation was bizarrely pleasurable. He sighed and his inner-snake rose, erect as a phallus, urging him to obey his darker nature and take control of the situation.
His eyes opened and he climbed onto the bed, straddling one of her slender legs and using his knee to pry her thighs further apart. Putting his hands on either side of her head, he brought his face down towards hers, closer and closer until her scented breath was mingling with his in little clouds.
Why elsssssse did you bring her here? Finish the job and win the bet. DO IT NOW.
The indefatigable voice had reason.
If he intended to bed her eventually, didn't it make more sense not to squander this opportunity to get it over and done with? She'd literally been handed to him, gift-wrapped; and afterwards he could discard her as easily as his ripped shirt.
Doing thissssss will desssssstroy her. Issssssn't that what you want?
He gulped, panting heavily as he contemplated the voice's seductive lure while the heat of Andromeda's body pulsated in inviting waves underneath his large frame.
Of course it was what he wanted. Belleville simply wasn't big enough for the both of them.
But even so, she was meant to be a conquest. Would it really nullify his ennui if he took her by force?
Time seemed to stand still as he weighed up the pros and cons of his options, poised on an oddly discordant edge. Like the moment just before the last glow of daylight dimmed to black.
A low growl escaped his lips as he staved off the desperate urges of his inner-snake to stop thinking and just run his tongue all over Andromeda's naked skin. If he succumbed, there'd be no turning back, and he knew it. But Goddamn if it didn't sound so good.
With a cock of his head, he slowly traced the outline of her collarbone with the tip of his nose like a wolf, flirting with the temptation to give in to his baser instinct and unleash the beast...
No! He pulled back sharply, blinking as if he'd been roused from a hypnotic state. Not like this.
You're making a misssssstake! The voice shrieked while his inner-snake writhed and snarled in agreement.
Blaine tightened his fists. It was so difficult to think with the electricity rippling through his nose, but deep down he knew a victory like this would be an empty one. I know what I'm doing. "Now leave us," he commanded them both aloud.
His request was met with stony silence.
The voice died out, and his inner-snake fell sullenly back into its slumber.
Exhaling painfully in relief, he sprang backwards off the bed like a wildcat. Andromeda's entire body bounced roughly on the mattress from the force of impact, but thankfully she didn't stir. Next on the agenda was finding something to cover both their modesties tout fucking suite, more for his sake than hers.
After hauling the first sweater he came across in his elaborate walk-in-wardrobe over his head, he grabbed the nearest shirt and tentatively began to dress her in it; careful not to touch her skin as he laboriously buttoned it all the way up to her neck. Then he removed her shoes and tucked her so tightly under the covers of his bed, the only exposed part of her was her face.
By the time he was done, he was drenched in a nervous sweat and in dire need of a joint.
But he couldn't risk smoking anywhere near her in case the fumes made her sick and he'd have to undress her all over again. He wasn't sure he had the strength to resist her a second time. And he couldn't leave her alone because she wasn't out of the woods yet. She could still choke on her vomit and die. And he couldn't afford to let that happen. Not after ignoring the counsel of the voice and his inner-snake.
So he spent an agitated, smoke free night on a chair by the bed watching her. In the end, this was just too important to be half-assed about.
I have her right where I want her. He smirked as he pored over her sleeping form. First her handbag, and now her virtue. It's all coming together.
But as the night went on, he couldn't help but think how small she looked in his enormous bed. He marvelled that something so insignificant could be causing him this much trouble.
He didn't trust his powers to examine her, not after the strain he'd been under. So he got up every now and then to check her breathing the old-fashioned way; leaning his ear next to her mouth. This was often accompanied by the placing of a hand over her thickly swaddled chest to inspect the strength of her heartbeat.
In theory he knew how delicate humans were, but faced with the palpable, physical evidence of it, he was enraged at the pervert responsible for putting Andromeda in that state. It'd completely ruined his chances of picking up the kiss where they'd left off. Given the opportunity, he'd happily combust the creep all over again. Or perhaps he'd indulge himself a little; exercise the full wrath of his supernatural strength and make old skullface suffer a slower, more painful death.
The demon grinned in the dark with satisfaction at the thought, his teeth glinting like fangs in the moonlight.