Lust
[Controversy - Prince]
After all, he was Lust, one of the Seven Deadly Sins.
He pulled the glass of wine from his lips, a smile creeping across his face as he watched women by walk VIP and turn their heads, drawn to him but unsure why. From the tops of perfectly coiled blonde hair to the bottom of his always-pedicured feet, he exuded seduction. They really didn't have a choice but to be attracted to him.
Lust sat in VIP, away from the many women and men walking around. He owned this club—Club Aphrodite, named for the Greek Goddess of love. It was one of the smaller clubs in the city, hidden in between two larger clubs. Because of this, people often overlooked it, unless a wild group of college kids rented it to throw an 'upscale' party. Like tonight.
It didn't quite matter to him who was here, as long as they were beautiful and of age.
Two women—a pretty redhead and a blonde with bad highlights—paused and looked over at him from his position looking over the rest of the club. Without even reading their thoughts, he knew what they wanted.
Everybody wanted the same thing from him—to please him, to be pleased by him. Depended on where their kink lied. Either way, when he came around, desired radiated from people, smelling like rose petals and ambrosia. He could often taste their desire, as sweet and smooth as melted chocolate on the tip of his tongue.
The more they desired him, the better he felt.
"Come to me," he mouthed, crooking his finger and motioning them to him. Their thoughts pushed at him, demanding he read them. He no longer read minds for fun. Once he learned to control it, he blocked all thoughts out. Even as a demon, some of the thoughts he heard made his stomach turn.
The redhead moved first, turning on her whole body to walk toward him. The blonde followed, her mouth opening slightly. Lust tried not to make a face; he hated bad highlights. The security guard looked at him, and Lust allowed the two girls to enter his space.
He made mindless small talk with them, half-paying attention. Charm was his first language, flirting his second. He spoke every other language somewhat fluently, though, and he spoke in French now to whisper compliments to the women while he whispered in their ears.
They had no idea what he said, but they giggled anyway, bodies arching. To please, he realized. They wanted to please him.
Good. He was in the mood to be pleased for once.
His presence made women, and men when he wanted, act in ways they usually wouldn't. When he gave them the full power of his charm—and he rarely turned it off—they moved freely, acted wildly. They acted on their desire. Their lust.
The blonde frowned, putting a hand on his chin and pulling her close.
He chuckled. "Don't worry, honey, I have enough time for you, too."
He let her kiss him, let her please him. Meanwhile, his eyes roamed the club.
Sexual pleasure for Lust was something to do, even when he didn't crave it—although, he did crave it often. Everyday, sometimes twice a day. Rarely did he ever not want to have sex or some form of it. And there was never a time he couldn't get it.
Someone dancing caught his eye. A young woman, no older then twenty-one or twenty-two, with her hands in the air. Her hips moved in a way that followed the spirit of the song, drawing an infinity sign. He couldn't help but zero in on her, listen to her thoughts. After just a second of everyone's thoughts, he heard just hers.
I hope my hair isn't frizzing up.
Every few seconds, she fought the urge to run her fingers through it. Something about her best friend swatting her hands and telling her to stop multiple times before he noticed she was here. How had he ever not noticed she was here?
Why does it feel like somebody's watchin' me? I wish I had my glasses.
The redhead unbuttoned his shirt, and the blonde kissed him on the neck. "I could take the two of you home tonight," he moaned. By far, they weren't the most experienced, nor were they even good at what they did, but it what they wanted to hear.
"Please," the blonde moaned against his neck.
But I'm not, he thought. He no longer felt like doing anything with the two of them, not with her dancing there, enjoying herself.
She searched around the club with narrowed eyes, looking for the person watching her. Her friend—an equally as tall girl with a head full of curls—leaned toward her. Thanking God—now that was ironic—for having super hearing and sight, Lust tuned into the conversation. The friend asked what was wrong, what were they searching for. The young woman shook her head and said "Nothing," at first, but then she looked around once more and said, "Actually... do you ever get the feeling you're being watched?"
He watched her eyes scan the dance floor once more, and when she didn't see anybody out of the ordinary watching her, her eyebrows un-furrowed and her lips dropped from their wondering pout. The friend said, "Of course people are looking at you! You're beautiful!"
Lust agreed, although no one was paid the young woman attention but him. Not like they should've anyway. It was apparent she was the star of the club. The wallflower turned strobe light. How did everyone miss her?
The girl laughed. Uneasiness littered her thoughts, though.
Lust watched her off and on the rest of the night, while diverting attention to the sober women in the club. They paid him plenty of attention after he sent the two women back to the dance floor with nothing but a kiss. As the party ended, Lust finished the last of his wine; he didn't waste alcohol. He parted the crowd. The desire surrounding him flowed through his veins. Lust grinned, looking over the top of the heads until he saw—
Someone bumped into his back. Her. He knew because her thoughts immediately started panicking, projecting themselves to him. He steadied her, a hand on her waist as he looked down at her. She peered at him with wide, apologetic eyes, and he noticed she looked at him just like everybody else. With desire.
"I'm sorry!" she apologized, putting her hand on his. Now that he was closer, and the lights were on, he could see that her eyes were a dark, dark brown framed by thick eyelashes. Her lips turned up at him in surprise. Tall and curvy, he noticed she was still a full head and some change short than him.
He smiled down at her, not quite ready to let her go. "My apologies, I should stay out of your way," he said.
She grinned. "Oh, no, it's totally not your fault. I'm super clumsy! And these heels?" She giggled nervously, motioning toward her feet, which were covered in a pair of sparkling, silver heels. "They definitely aren't helpin'."
She had a southern accent. He wondered where she was from because she didn't sound like she was from New Orleans. Her accent was more country, less city. "Well, you're absolutely beautiful," he complimented.
"Oh!" She used her free hand to cover her smile. A little shy, he noted. "Thank you!" She dropped her hand, and it fluttered in the air before falling at her side. They weren't moving now, but she hadn't noticed because the people around her had gone around them. Her friend was gone, having walked away after Lust grabbed the girl with nothing more than an eyebrow raise and pride for her best friend.
"Thank you," he teased. "I'm Luca." Well, actually, he was Lust. Luca was his human name.
He could feel heat radiating from her cheeks. "Clare." She pronounced it Clay-err. She stuck a hand out for him to shake.
He grabbed her hand and brushed his lips against her knuckles. "A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. Would you mind giving me your number?" He wanted to see her again, and he never wanted to see people again.
Her eyes—which he hadn't thought was possible—widened even more. "My number? Um okay." He handed her his phone and had the pleasure of watching her type in her number with shaking fingers, those long red nails clacking against his screen.
He winked when she handed it back to him. "Thank you. I'll be in contact."
She smiled. "Okay. Cool!" She looked like she was only a second away from falling over, but he resisted the urge to laugh at her. "See ya!" Everybody had left by now, except the security guards, who was about to usher her out.
He motioned for her to go ahead of him, and she ducked her head and thanked him before walking away He watched her leave, thinking about one of his favorite quotes ever:
I hate to see you go, but I love to see you leave.
Sloth
[All My Love - George Ezra]
Sloth rolled his eyes, shoving his sword into the neck of a demon that annoyed him. The demon slumped over onto the ground with its hands to its neck in utter surprise. As if Sloth didn't do this every other week. This was his "thing," as Athena, his best friend, would say. He used to kill anybody, but now he stuck to demons. As long as humans left him alone, he left them alone.
It hadn't always been that way, though. Athena had changed him when they met three and a half years ago. She had forced him to look at his actions and change without even asking him to.
His brother, Pride, gave him a dark look, effectively pulling him from his thoughts. "Not in my bar. I have to clean that up," he snapped. Sloth didn't like many of his siblings, but Pride had a bar he could drink at for free (not that he worried about money), and he left Sloth alone. Sloth liked being left alone by everybody, but especially by his siblings.
He shrugged. "You have intolerant customers."
"The only thing intolerable in here is you, brother."
Sloth grinned.
He had to leave in a few minutes. He had a "date" with Athena to a wedding. One of her friends was marrying their high school sweetheart boyfriend and had selected Athena as one of the bridesmaids. Hillary, Athena's other friend, happened to be a bridesmaid as well, and the last two days, their conversation had revolved around nothing but picking up their dresses, shining their heels, doing their hair, and getting their make-up down. They giggled over their own wedding ideas—Hillary wanted a pastel themed wedding in the summer, while Athena preferred dark blue, baby blue, silver glitter.
He thought he would look good in a blue tie.
The wedding reminded him, quite painfully might he add, of something he usually kept buried deep. He had a little crush on Athena, and it hadn't always been that in way. In fact, it had taken up until a few months ago to realize he liked her like that.
Just as he was finishing his drink, Pride asked him, "Shouldn't you be going?"
The demon's body was still on the ground.
He sure should be. Sloth put some money on the counter—he may have been many things, but he made sure to leave his only tolerable sibling something—and stood up. "Body's starting to smell."
Pride gave him a dark look, calling for someone in the back to come clean him. "Next time bring a—"
Sloth didn't know what he wanted him to bring next time. By the end of his brother's sentence, Sloth teleported back to his car, already parked at the church. He ran his fingers through his hair, popped some gum into his mouth, and headed into the church.
He couldn't wait to see his girl all dolled up.
Well, not his girl.
Athena, as she often told any man she did not like, belonged to no one but the world. A free soul, she always said, backing away from them and to Sloth—who, out of her sight, always gave them a dark look to make sure they wouldn't come back.
He entered the church just in time for the wedding to start and sat next to Ricky, Hillary's boyfriend. Another person he tolerated more than others. Ricky greeted him with a fist-bump, excitement in his eyes as he waited for Hillary to walk down the aisle.
Athena came fourth the last, right after Hilary, and her sage green dress fell down down her supple curves. The slit on the side exposed the brownness of her muscles calf and thigh. The dress cinched at her waist and dipped low to show off her breasts. The only thing missing was a necklace, which he had in his pocket for after the pictures.
She glanced over to the side, her arm linked through some guy's, and the way she looked—breathtaking, ethereal, seemingly otherworldly—sent a shiver right through him. You look so beautiful, Athena, he practiced. Would he say it seriously, like he meant it? Would he joke about it so she couldn't see he liked her?
The rest of the wedding meant little to him. He followed everybody out of the church and to the reception, waited the forty minutes or so for the stupid pictures to be taken, and by the time Athena sashayed over to him, his patience had worn thin.
"My, my, don't you look like a dream?" he teased, sticking his hand out for a dance. The quote came from her favorite movie, although he couldn't remember the name of it. They watched it a few dozen times a month, and she cried at the same damn parts every time.
She giggled, wrapping her hands around his neck. "Dance with me, Sebastian."
He didn't have to be asked twice. He placed his arms round her waist, pulling her closer. Athena radiated warmth, and not in the physical sense. Her entire essence filled him with cinnamon sticks and other romantic shit. "The wedding was nice," he told her. She smelled like that expensive perfume she always eyed but had never bought. He had given it to her for her randomly one day.
"It was beautiful." She closed her eyes, hands lazily clasped at the nape of his neck. She rested her head against his chest as he spun her slowly around the room. "When you get married, what color suit do you want?"
"What color do you want me in?" he murmured.
"Huh?"
He grinned, knowing she had heard him correctly. "What color do you think I would look good in?" Being a powerful demon came with cons—sometimes things got a little boring, and Sloth played with his emotions, since they were the only things that didn't get repetitive.
A country song played. The bride and groom danced a few feet away, looking into their eyes with all the love a person could feel for someone at the age of twenty-one.
One day, Sloth thought. One day Sloth would tell her he liked her. He'd bring it back to his British roots, speak to her in the accent she loved so much, and tell her he fancied her, like he once told a girl when he was fifteen. Make her laugh and smile. She'd do that thing where she looked down at the ground first to gather herself then back up at him. She didn't even know she did it.
"All white," she decided after a second or two.
He smiled. "You answered that quickly." He wanted to think it was because she had given it thought before. He pictured himself in all white. He could see it; as usual, Athena hit the nail on the head.
"I'm a design major, remember? It's my job to know what looks good."
Did you know that when you lie you squeeze your hands together because you feel guilty about it? He knew, of course, Athena found herself attracted to him. Her attraction was the reason they met. He caught her staring, and he walked over to her with a smirk on his face. Women often looked at him like he put the moon in the sky, but Athena's stare felt a little different.
"True. Why all white? I'd look good in blue."
They made another slow circle. Her hands now rested lazily against his neck, and the soft scent of her smell wafted up to him intermittently now. "The blue would make your eyes dazzle, but the rich, caramel coloring of your skin paired with that creamy white suit?" She looked up at him, rolling her eyes to the back of her head. "You would look delectable."
Delectable? He wondered if he he looked delectable to her right now. He had gone with a silky royal blue button-up. Did it make his eyes pop like she said? "I've always wanted to look delectable."
The way her eyes rolled to the back of her head? He'd make that happen again if he had the chance. And again. With her legs around his waist... his face... He mentally shook the thought off before she knew exactly where his thoughts were.
She rolled her eyes, this time in minor annoyance. "You already do. Every woman in here, including the bride, would take a bite out of you like you're a piece of that cake."
He sighed, moving his hand from her waist as the song switched to something faster. He spun them in quicker circles. "It's always 'let me bite you like a cake,' and never, 'Sebastian, do you even want to be cake?' I much prefer to be apple pie."
She laughed.
He spun her out toward the dance floor, holding one of her hands tightly in his before pulling her back to him. She ended up with her back to him, doubled-over laughing. He wrapped his arms around her, grinning. That laugh never got old.
"Apple pie is gross. Be banana pudding," she giggled. He swayed her from side-to-side exaggeratedly.
"That's a country ass dessert," he replied.
"It's my favorite dessert."
"Well, you are a country ass person," he teased. He unwrapped his arms from around her. Born and raised in the middle of rural Alabama, Athena had to be the countriest person he knew, and Sloth had explored damn every corner of the rural south.
"Listen here, baked beans for brea—ahh!" He dipped her suddenly. Her leg flew into the air, but he kept his hand on her back, holding her up. He could feel her thigh against his waist, the dress sliding down to expose more of her smooth legs. He fought the urge to gently stroke it.
He grinned. "What were you saying again?"
She tipped her head back and laughed, and when he brought her back to both feet, she threw her arms around his neck. "Nothing," she managed to squeeze out between laughter.
He could've danced with her the rest of the night and been none the happier—he had yet to give her the necklace—but he saw Hillary making her way toward them, sans Ricky. Sans Ricky meant she wanted Athena. He sighed to himself but smiled at Hillary.
Hillary, who knew his secret, gave him a mischievous smile. "Save some of the romance for the ones that got married, you two," she teased.
Romance. He wished.
He noticed Athena didn't protest it. Neither did he. He simply let her go. "See if you can spend a minute with her in that dress without things getting little romantic," he joked. The diamond necklace in his pocket almost seemed to weigh him down.
Hillary purred, cupping Athena's face playfully. "A whole minute? It's been a few seconds, and I'm already feeling a little spicy."
He chuckled, leaving them to their giggles as they danced across the dance floor. He found Ricky over by the bar, ordered a whisky, and sat down. It took every ounce not to look back at Athena.
Ricky chuckled. "So when are you going to tell her you're in love with her?" Ricky reminded Sloth of Hillary. Both of them were nosy do-gooders with American good looks: blonde hair and blue eyes, except Hillary had a tinge of red and Ricky was all blonde. He also hailed from Toronto, whereas Hillary was from... actually, he never asked and didn't think it had come up in conversation.
Unable to help himself, he looked back to the dance floor. Hillary swung Athena around and around, the two like misbehaving schoolgirls out there. He watched for another second, just long enough to catch Athena look at him and smile. He turned, aware that she hadn't just stolen his heart. No, no, that wasn't enough. Athena had managed to gather whatever was left his soul and taken some of that, too.
"We're just friends."