A/N; NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART. If not for this chapter, for others.

This was meant to be a two-part segment but I'm not sure if it might stretch to three or not. Oh well. I suppose I'll have to see.

Any religious comments or inaccuracies in this write are NOT meant to be offensive to ANYONE. I'm putting this merely in a demon's perspective. I am in no way attempted to be insulting to anyone's beliefs or anything like that, and I want to make that clear ahead of time.

Anyway, moving on. Just a little side project that came to me this morning in the earlier hours. I always have loved me some Dip. It wasn't supposed to turn out as sadistic as this but it seems that's the direction it's going. So you've been warned well in advance. If you don't sit well with blood or any kind of humiliation or vague torture, please, just do yourself the favour and read something else.

Much love~



Damien touched the blond's hands like a child first exploring the innocence of flowers, and bitterly he rolled his tongue over the horizon of a thinned cheek bone to rid the Brit's face of a salty tear. His fingers were quivering and Damien could feel the papery limbs sliding beneath him in their shyness. The wide blue eyes refused to meet his own of a dignified scarlet and he let a flicker of annoyance take to his expression as he licked his lips slowly in the silence, still with the blond's crying muted to a salty flavour on his tongue.

His hands wandered the other male's body, fingers finding each curve and bone with an unspoken elegance, or perhaps just a skill that he had never really accounted for in the past. Each of Pip's breaths were fearful and tainted with an unjust amount of innocence for a seventeen year old boy. Damien's eyes searched the blond's face for some kind of recognition but he wouldn't give it to him, his nerves clearly too high-strung as Damien impressed his palms into any section of milky flesh that he could locate beneath what would have been the two or so layers of clothing that hid the mortal's flesh with practise on a usual basis.

Damien hated Pip so much. He hated him from the first day they met as children, as anyone hated the happy-go-lucky Brit with seething ignorance. Jealousy, perhaps, of someone who could find the good in everything, when their lives were hardly so miserable. He hated Pip for being such a picture of perfection with age, and he seemed to only get prettier day by day. As he let his lips travel along the base of the other teenager's jawline, he let them run down over the Christian's jugular, ignoring the salty burn of purity on his own lips of sin. It was of no matter, because Pip wasn't going anywhere. He was silenced beyond his own control, and entirely in Damien's. His hands found the other's again, becoming streaked with the maroon haze of blood from the pegs pressed through the blond's palms. Damien eyed the sacrilegious marks with a slyness, running his tongue swiftly over the pointy hedge of his eyeteeth as he pressed closer to Pip with interest.

"Where is your God now?"

The blond's eyes finally fell away from the cardinal-coloured and bluebird depictions of carefully painted history from the stained glass of the church's windows, onto the demon before him as another tear rolled over an ivory cheek. Damien only smirked at the droplet like another meal, licking his teeth again as though tempted by some kind of snack as the evanescent figure stared at him pitifully from the cross he'd been played into. Even the white silk Damien had pulled around his hips in his nudity played no contest to the British boy's skin, and it made the demon seethe.

"This is a blasphemy."

Pip's words made Damien's fingers curl and he pulled back his lips slightly, revealing pink gums as he grinned cheekily at the blond. The inverted rosary around his next left inky stains against his skin from the black ink Damien had dipped it in before setting it around the evangelic boy's throat like some kind of gift of the underworld. Which, in a whole other reality, it was.

"Pip, there is no such thing as blasphemy. I'm a demon in your church. When the folks come in for mass tomorrow, they'll have the most beautiful pet Jesus Christ they've ever seen. If you're lucky and live that long, maybe they'll even let you down before they stone you to death for being such a disgrace to their religious community."

"This isn't my fault!"

The crack in the blond's voice as he began to cry harder almost lulled Damien into a series of wheezy laughter, but he contained himself and instead rose a hand, levitating off of the ground with a tender smile as he pressed himself against the thin figure tagged to the cross at the head of the church's alter.

"You're right. What a shame it would be for you to be punished for my doings. You know how I love to piss these fuckers off."

"Let me down."

"Manners, Pip. You're in God's house."


The shrillness in Pip's voice curled a nasty grin onto the demon's lips as he pressed his mouth into the crook of the other's neck, hands dancing eagerly in a greedy stance over his thighs.

"Damien, let me down."

"No. I like you up here."

The erratic sobs of the blond shook his frail frame with such force that Damien drew back a bit, still with a milky thigh resting in each hand, held around his waist. Pip's head fell, and he looked so terribly humiliated that Damien let his grin recede back into an unkind smile.

"Will you still come to pray to God every Sunday, Pip? Do you still think someone is up there to watch you and protect you while I strip you of your religion?"

"Let me down-"

"-If I fucked you right here against this cross, do you think-"


"-God would forgive you of your sins? Do you think he'd send a bolt of lightning down to purge me from his house and spare you your chastity-"


The shriek was ear-splitting and it only drove a howl of laughter out of the demon as he hovered away from Pip, floating a few feet back before dropping to the floor of the church with the grace of a pixie and standing in spot. Pip was still screaming at him with a level of madness only capable of someone being tortured beyond their mind's stability, and Pip was on his last limits.

Damien closed his fist slowly, and Pip awoke in a cold sweat, eyes wide and tears still fresh on his cheeks as he curled his legs within the pooling sheets of his own bed, horror shaking in his chest. A dream. A dream.

A dream.

He pressed his palms into his face, only to peel them away with a shriek caused more by shock than pain as the bloody, pierced holes in his palms burned, dripping red roses into the material of his white silken bedsheets.