#hiatus for the next week as I'll be at another con! i'll be a guest judge and busy the whole time.

[zephyrchama]

You're in your room in the House of Lamentation, held down by the Avatar of Lust. He's got you secured in place just the way he wants you - back against the bed, face up towards the ceiling, eyes closed for the moment. He sits on your stomach with a brush in hand. Two heavy pouches are on your chest containing everything from basic moisturizer to specialized lip oils in a rainbow of colors.

"Just going to blend this a bit here," Asmodeus murmurs to himself. He adds another layer of eye shadow while returning to his story, recounting the time he watched a Little D try to rob a pastry shop. Absolutely hilarious, it was like a comedy sketch. You feel the gentle yet purposeful dab of the brush tugging at your skin and wonder if Asmodeus can see you blushing under the foundation he applied.

Every couple of minutes, he rakes his nails over your head as if moving hair aside. Powder is sprinkled on your face, making your nose tickle. You twitch and sniffle.

"Ah-ah! Patience!" he chides. The weight on your stomach shifts and the offending dust is blown off by a warm gust of Asmodeus' breath. It smells like berries. The sensation lingers on your mind more than the setting powder.

"Just leave everything to me. Your eyes are done now, so... Part your lips a little?"

His thumb is already on your lower lip, the rest of his fingers cupping your chin. You hear the clinking of glass as he roots around for something in the makeup bag. His pinky finger taps against your neck to the unmistakable rhythm of his favorite song. "That's my dear. Juuust like that."

His story now done, Asmodeus moves on to talking about his plans for the rest of the week. He's expecting a package from a new brand deal that's already been delayed twice and the company refuses to apologize. "Can you believe that?"

Your lips are wet and sticky from a fresh coat of... something artificially sweet. You don't respond, but his question was rhetorical anyway. On a whim, you flutter your eyes open. Asmodeus is leaning over you like a master craftsman lost in the trance of work. He's so close that the ceiling is totally obscured and you can almost make out your reflection in his pupils. It takes until he finishes swabbing something on your philtrum to notice that you're focused his way.

The instant he meets your gaze is obvious. He cracks a stunning smile, his face softens. He sets his tools aside, lining them up next to you. You feel his legs tighten around your ribs and he chokes back a giggle.

"Aah! I can't take this. You're so kissable, but that'd ruin all the work I just did! You're a sinful human, you know that?"

Asmodeus seems to be mulling over something in his head, but the way you smirk in response sends him over the edge. His lips are meeting yours. His palm hoists up the back of your head so he can make more skin contact without smearing your cheeks. The bags in his way prevent him from going overboard, but there's pressure on your chest as he pushes down to see just how far he can go.

With a final "mmph," he pulls away so you can breathe again, taking pleasure in the way your body moves to gasp down air. You wonder exactly what he's painting on your face, as his lips are a bright pink reminiscent of his sin color.

"There! Now we match."