The Rise of the Demon King's Consort

The cobweb was back in the corners. Flies, cockroaches and other six-legged bugs. There was a rotten body lying in the corner. No legs. No arms and no head. A piece of history of what the Demon King had been busying himself with while Paris had lived in exile. Paris frowned somewhat of the sickening smell, but never the less lay down with cautious movements in the familiar bed of his King, once his lover.
The red silken sheets no longer smelled of roses and soap. The sheets were smudged, stained with blood and semen, torn and shredded in the corners. The bed was oval, built as a recess into the stone floor. The mattress underneath Paris contained the soft hair from millions of men and women. He’d shuddered from the thought, in the beginning. Now, he couldn’t care less. As the general rule was, he remained naked. His brown curls were soaked, and smelled pleasantly from the scented bath. His limbs felt heavy and he was sleepy from having been in the hot bath for so long, his skin all soft wrinkled on his toes. He turned away from the body, shutting out its existence. He was anxious of what lay ahead. Who else was going to join him in here? The King? Not probably. A guard? Nope. Or perhaps a member of the court? Yes. That was most likely. Someone who deserved a reward. Perhaps Paris could visit his sleeping children afterwards? He didn’t move to see as there was a rustle of fabric as someone entered through the clothed entrance. Large veils separated the entrance from the living room. How strange to hear the rustle of the curtains again. So strange to hear such a once familiar sound, and to only be a guest, not living there anymore.
Paris turned to face his dominator, and was surprised to find the Demon King there. The king was actually keeping his word, making his threat into reality. Paris spread his legs automatically and laid down, staring away, finding his focus, surrendering himself completely as he always did. It did feel weird though, without his mask. He tried covering his face with the front of his hand, and it relieved somewhat. There was a multitude of butterflies in his stomach. And he all of the sudden became nervous. What was expected of him? He couldn’t recall, so therefore he remained there in limbo. The Emperor took his time, letting his robe fall to the floor, surveying his Temple before him. He gazed around, and seemed to have a change of heart, getting up on his feet. He walked out, calling for a servant, appearing a moment later with a hunched, lost soul.

“I want this room cleaned. Remove the body, wash the bed sheets and scrub the floors. My precious Childbearer must have his things in order. The king motioned for Paris to get out of the bed, took his hand and led him out into the living room.

“Perhaps I should just have you here, by my throne, what say you, my beautiful?”

Lots of dominators had called him their beautiful. Particularly the soldiers fancied that word. But it had been the Demon king who’d called him that first. Back when things had been different. The Demon King came to a halt before his throne, and cupped Paris face in his palms. Paris refrained from looking into his golden eyes, did not want to see. He was kissed on his lips, a soft, passionate yet chaste kiss. Paris did not try to kiss back, but remained motionless, statuelike, afraid of the intimacy offered by the king, afraid of himself and the turmoil of feelings the children had awakened in him.

“You used to like it when we kissed like this, Paris” the Demon king whispered, his breath hot on Paris lips as he rested his forehead against that of Paris’, “you taught me how to kiss, remember, taught me how to enjoy it. How you so teased me…!” the Demon King sighed, swallowing hard.

“Daddy?” a child suddenly spoke. They both turned to stare at the three year old, Sakias. Paris freed himself from the Demon King and went over and collected the three year old in his arms.

“You must sleep, little one” Paris whispered, ushering the little one to bed. The child began to cry, as he was unable to sleep because Paris had returned, displaying anger of being put to be again. Then the little one, Saieros , also woke, crying at the sound of his daddy’s voice, seeing them as they entered the bedroom.

The Demon King remained in the living room, watching his Temple disappear behind the doorway with the children. It was all so good and horrible at the same time. Paris was back, forgiven and immediately tending to his children. But he ignored his King and paid more attention to the children. The Demon King felt a flare of jealousy, felt the smoke rise and grow, turning into flames. He grabbed a servant which was passing by with dirty sheets, grabbed his throat and dragged him close, closing his hands around the servant’s head and pressing the servant’s eyeballs into the skull while he kept the Demon King kept his gaze at the door way which Paris had disappeared into. He ignored the thrashing of the servant yet smiled wickedly at the screams. It felt good to deal out pain when one felt jealous. The servant went limp, and the Demon king let the body fall. As Paris walked out a good while later, the Demon king smiled warmly at him, offering him his hand.