As usual, the cottage was filled with the sweet scent of herbal tea and delicious food. Azazel loved how he could walk inside and feel immediately welcome. It was something only Emma and Granny ever really did. Everyone else seemed to either try to kill him, stab him, or drink his blood for their twisted preverse pleasures.
In his past life, food was more of a formal function. It was a nice change of pace.
His current body would prefer blood, but he still enjoyed human cuisine.
Azazel sat down on the sofa with a contented sigh. The past few days were spent dealing with Luke and his father's entertainment, which really took a lot out of him.
He didn't find any of it all that entertaining.
Emma walked into Granny's living room. Her head was tilted to the side. Azazel could tell she was rather worried about him, since he ventured to hell while his wounds were healing. She didn't need to even say anything for him to pick up on it. Perhaps he was getting better at reading women.
"How was hell?" Emma asked with a glint of excitement lighting up in her gaze.
Azazel would rather not relive the experience of visiting hell, but he knew he owed it to her to explain what he observed.
"Lucifer showed us some human torture," Azazel mumbled. "And the souls... their bodies smell terrible."
It was an understatement. Azazel could not express how truly awful and disgusting the sight was, and the smell that followed was worse.
She took a step back and frowned.
"Is that what I smell on you?"
"Does it smell like shit?" Azazel asked her.
"Yes," she responded.
"Then yes," he snickered. "They smell like shit."
His statement caused a giggle and a light blush to rise in her cheeks. Emma couldn't deny that his words were hilarious to her.
"Do not ever become a human," Azazel found himself murmuring as he pulled her down to the couch with him. "So gross, humans. Emma is perfect."
"T-Thanks," she stammered. "I guess. Remember. I'm half human."
She thought his words were a strange back-handed compliment.
His fingers rose, teasing her lip and then trailing across her skin to brush her neck. He watched the shiver he created race over.
"My kitten," Azazel finished with a playful glare and a light tug on her black hair.
Emma flinched slightly in response, but clearly enjoyed the gentle tug.
"Not too hard."
Emma leaned her body closer. She was getting ready to kiss him, before she took a good, long whiff of his clothing. She immediately scooted to the other end of the sofa.
"Azazel," she groaned. "Why must you always smell so bad?"
"It's not my scent," Azazel leaned back, thinking about how the sofa was going to need to be incinerated after he left. "It's all the interesting things I end up passing."
She cringed.
"I didn't mean literally pass from my body," he said, somehow feeling the need to correct himself.
Perhaps my asscheeks loosened up during their flapping at the dining table.
"I realize," she laughed in response.
She didn't want to think about all the disgusting smells the demon could have come across during his time with Lucifer and the Hell Scholar.
Emma was not so naive to assume the visit to the dark realm involved seeing pretty unicorns and angels. She was half-demon herself. She realized disgusting things roamed down there.
"You've gotten a bit bold, Emma," Azazel mentioned as she knelt between his spread knees, her hands holding onto him. "Your touches, especially."
"You started it," she protested.
Azazel's smile widened. For once, he didn't flash her his fangs.
"Do I make you feel safe, Emma?"
The question caught her off-guard. It was different from his typical humor, which was subtly perverse.
Emma definitely felt safe with him. She was developing more feelings for him, but she'd never be able to put them into words.
Even though she had put it into words during a past slumber. She just didn't realize it.
"Yes," she whispered.
I know you're in love with me, kitten.
He refrained from repeating it out loud. For now.
Emma paused and groaned. She couldn't do it. The stench coming from his clothes was too awful. She stood up.
Azazel looked up at her, utterly amused and yet somehow disappointed at the same time.
"It's that good?"
"It definitely is," she giggled. "If that's your idea of good."
"It is," Azazel flashed a toothy grin in her direction.
Even he could smell himself.
I'm revolting.
Emma noticed a pile of folded up things on the table next to Azazel. "What's that?"
"Hell memorabilia," Azazel started with a shrug. "Luke insisted we bring it back here. He wanted items to immortalize his memories of his time there."
She picked up a tee-shirt and held it up against her small frame. She looked down and laughed from the image plastered across the front.
Azazel, instead, covered his mouth. He would be amused if the image wasn't of the stripper, Blaire; he had almost ravaged her body in the hallway of the strip club.
I won't think about that because it's making my di-
Azazel didn't finish the thought, as he could sense Emma's eyes on him. He shifted in his seat nervously.
"I suppose there are plenty of curvaceous women in hell," Emma stated bluntly as she watched the effect the simple shirt was having on him.
"There is only one Emma," he stated, attempting to shift the focus.
Please don't ask about it.
Emma was staring at him.
She's going to ask about it.
He forced a smirk on his lips as he cocked an eyebrow at her.
Emma should have just kissed him to make his mind go blank. It worked far too well for both parties.
Instead, she placed the shirt against her body, and she made her eyes large and down like.
Is she gyrating like a stripper? With a stripper over her chest?
Fu-
"Azazel?" Emma asked softly.
Bloody hell.
"Yes?" He growled back, shifting again, and sat back against the sofa with his thighs spread.
Azazel wasn't exactly the master of seduction with that motion, though.
"I'm so lost," he admitted in an attempt to save his ass.
"In your wonderful world," he felt like adding.
She tossed the shirt on the sofa next to him and frowned.
Woman's intuition…
"I'm going to read Luke's notes later."
Azazel looked at her nervously. Nothing had actually happened. It was obvious to her how awkward he was still acting. He just hoped Luke didn't include anything regarding him in the scene he wrote about the demonic strip club.
As Lucifer's apparently son and a demon, he shouldn't have been acting like a hormone-fueled teenage boy, except he spent too many years as a human man and a virgin. Even as a hot demon, he still couldn't get it in.
Well. He could, but not in the person he wanted to get it in.
Though it wasn't entirely his fault at that point.
"Azazel," Emma said with a dry tone.
Azazel swallowed. The questions were not going to stop, and his uncomfortable shifting had brought to her attention that his problem was growing worse.
Fight or flight?
"You are saying my name a lot, kitten."
"I like your name," Emma smirked.
"Say it."
Fight.
Azazel had decided with confidence.
Emma laughed before shaking her head, ignoring his request.
"What am I supposed to read, then?" Emma asked, attempting to pull it from him.
"Blumbledore's magical texts?" Azazel suggested.
"Are you sure nothing happened?" Emma persisted.
He wanted to throw himself from the roof. That's where his body would remain, if he even survived through the night on the cold, hard ground.
Trouble.
I knew she was in trouble when she walked in. Wait, I think this is a line from a pop song.
Azazel had amused himself.
Until he suddenly sensed another's presence behind him. It was a demon. A female demon. A particular female demon with a particular air about her.
Only one demon could carry herself in that manner.
"Emilia."
Azazel closed his eyes tightly, as if he knew death stood inches away from there, waiting for him.
Emilia leaned down, tracing a finger across Azazel's jawline. She moved the finger downward, as if she were going to slice his throat open with her lingering fingernail.
"Is my daughter too much to handle?
"Absolutely not," Azazel responded, sweat forming over his forehead.
"Shithead," a high-pitched voice could be heard.
Egor, the imp, crawled out of Luke's bag and began to climb over to Azazel's lap.
The sight of the imp caught both Emma and her mother off guard.
"What…?" Emma blinked a few times as she watched Egor climb up the male demon's chest, scaling the fabric of his shirt.
Azazel was confused, but his confusion quickly turned to annoyance when Egor spread his little body across his face. The imp was trying too hard to rip off his nose with his weak fangs.
Emilia removed her hand and stood up straight, placing her hands on her waist. "It's been awhile since I've seen an imp."
Azazel grabbed the imp, squeezing him in his fist. He scowled at the creature. He was already frustrated, so the last thing he wanted to see was a screeching imp.
Though it did seem to be a good distraction.
"I'll get rid of this thing."
"Piss face."
The imp squirmed in Azazel's hand as the demon walked to the front door. He opened the door and pulled out his Bokeball with his free hand.
He flung the imp out the door, then held up the ball.
"BllarrhhjsWarg," he began. "I choose you... to devour Egor, that is."
He quickly slammed the door closed after the wolf was freed from the ball. He didn't much care to witness the wolf shred the imp to bits.
Azazel turned to face Emma and Emilia, who were both staring at him.
"Yes?"
Emma frowned.
She's going to make me talk.
The demon lifted his fist to his lips and cleared his throat. He was about ready to speak when he heard a voice.
"It's done!" Granny yelled out from the small kitchen.
Granny, you saved me.
"Ah, yes," Azazel mumbled. "It's time to feast, my dearest ladies."
The two women glared at him.
He was going to have to explain himself at the dinner table, it seemed.