The pen flowed across the parchment, its fluid motion inscribing deeds of debauch endeavor upon the page. Reclined comfortably within the chair, his achromic gaze sheathed behind crimson lids, the Incubus gave into the pen, surrendering his will to it, allowing it to transcribe such sinful acts with his fingers and thumb acting only as a guide, only as a stilt to secure the pen's lead. With every word that was written he could see the events unfolding, swirling across his mind in a storm of imagery, and as those impressions were infused to his very core with the transcription inside the tome, he felt a satiated sense of hunger.
The Sinful Zealots, the Chosen, were starting to discover their new purpose, all of them connected by an intricate web - much like the one that formed the choker adorning their throats - that fastened them to him. Their errant deeds were the timber that fed his internal fire.
The chime of the bell drew his gaze open, though he knew of the arrival long before the melodic sound was heard. He had felt the young hatchling approach a few blocks away, could taste the sweetness of her innocence as it permeated from her supple form; an innocence now marred by the black blemish of corruption.
The pen was placed between the splayed pages and the book closed around it, marking the unfinished recollection. With a fluid ripple of movement he stood from his seat and made his way to the shelf, replacing the volume in its appropriate spot.
Drawing in a deep breath that was slowly exhaled through the infernal splay of a genuinely fiendish grin, he felt her advance to the stairs and begin her ascent, the subtle vibrations that distorted the corporeal realm with shimmers of her abandon apperceived, harnessed, and consumed.
************************************************** ********************
The gentle caress of a warm draft greeted Icesong's upward progress, a yearning sough swirling about, immodestly encircling bare legs, drifting beneath the hem of her dress in wicked salutation to envelope succulent curves. A tangible caress felt, brushing and grazing, bringing flesh to a tingle with each new stride as the soft scent of cinnamon drifted upon the air.
"Aukai?"
The mezzanine was empty save for the scattering of tables and the distinguished organization of bookshelves. It was a still frame, a hollow chamber, save for the small flickering dance of a lone candle's flame upon a vacant table.
It was but a moment later when the fantasies filled her sparkling blue eyes, illusions created across the landscape of the room, visions wrought of lascivious impetus. On the table, against the far wall, kneeling upon the floor-- crimson flesh engulfed her in its deviant objective throughout a myriad of images as a pair of bodies, masculine and feminine, collided in lewd elation.
Through the course of the devilish mirage the scene changed, flickering between blinks to reveal the appearance of another form, another man, whose unexpected interlude would disrupt the scarlet continuity, but maintain the sensuous exertion, conjoining with the effort of the Carnal Prince to bathe her in the vigor of torrid coitus. This man familiar. This man known.
Lume.
"Icesong?"
The sound of the Rikku's voice from behind her shattered the lustful landscape, stealing from her the euphoria of liquid release, abandoning her on the precipice of culmination. In an instant the brush of the wind, the heat of the touch, the sights of her unholy union...
...gone.
