#why doesn't cécile have a last name :( can i give him mine :( i mean what who said that.

[assmaster-8000]

"lighter?" shatters the silence that proofed the two of you in the empty hallway.

cécile frowns — very little deviation from his default expression. in all the time you've grown tentatively closer to the man, you'd really have thought he'd express more than this constant gesture of having his foot stuck up his own ass.

"no." he simply hums. his scar-ridden index and middle fingers clutch the waist of his cigarette, and he pulls it from his mouth to huff. your eyes follow the tendrils of smoke as they feel their way through the air, opting to ignore how they reel your gaze in with a suggestive curl over to his lips. his very pouty lips. you can't count the amount of times you've had to pry your eyes off their intimate entanglement with his cigarette filter, crowbar and all, in the past 30 minutes. hopefully, your own cigarette will keep you rightfully occupied.

"don't be a douche," you drawl. "you're not the only one who needs a little material reprieve."

"my patience for your shit has hit its limit 5 minutes ago. go use one of the torches in the other hallway."

"what, and singe off half my face while i'm at it?"

cécile offers you a pointed look, choosing to exercise silence. it's all you need to know that yes— he would definitely pay to see that.

"i don't think gael would appreciate you and i matching looks." you chirp.

cécile offers you a second, even more pointed look.

"you won't get anywhere using master gael to butter up to me," he flicks his wrist to send the greyed ashes from his cigarette butt flying before taking another drag.

"what? c'mon, i don't need gael to hit that soft spot of yours. you and i both know by now that you've grown weaker for me, or is your ego clogging you up from downstairs?" you laugh hoarsely, opting for a little hee-hee and a little ha-ha.

if only cécile had any humor in him.

cécile lazily pushes himself off the wall to face you, red eyes boring holes into your very skull as he backs you up impossibly further against the wall. you acquiesce to his deliberate show of power, taking one small step after the next back — not in a deliberate show of submission, however. it's not uncommon for him to use his towering stature and piercing gaze to get you to back off as soon as you cross some micro-boundary. at first, it did the job. you were smart enough to heed the big, red STOP sign. now? when you can see the ridges of the scar tissue that eat into his face, when you can smell his heady cologne, when you can almost feel his fist clench at his side... it's hard not to get a little excited in the dangerous game of 'string along the cat with your own tail' and throw all caution to the wind.

"there isn't a single moment i don't wish my hands weren't around your neck. not a single one. i've never met someone more insufferable," he hisses under his breath. alas, the usual this-secret-third-definitely-fucked-up-thing tension that pervades the air you share daily bombards your senses at full force alongside the tendrils of smoke that forcibly flee his lips when he looks at you like that. "you are so incredibly lucky you are under the protection of the sovereigns, not like you're present upstairs enough to even acknowledge that, because if master gael weren't here, i'd have—"

before you can stop yourself, the impulse rising in your throat gleefully kills all civility you did your darned best to attempt as you cave into the everlasting urge to dangle your own flesh in front of the lion.

"you'd have, you'd have— what? cracked my head open like an egg on this wall? save that charade, you'll sooner bore me to death than kill me yourself." you bark with laughter in his face. he doesn't reel back, even as you're sure your moist breath fogs his skin. no, he bares his teeth and leans into the bait.

"i might not be a god like your master, but i'll be fucked if you think i'm a helpless little damsel because i'm all alone in your world. you'd have killed me a long time ago if you were less pussy for it, that's what." punctuating the end of your little jab, you snatch the cigarette straight from his lips. it's a herculean task to ignore the thrill of nicking your pinky on his metal jaw, much less brushing his bottom lip, but you manage. fuck, by god you do. his eyes narrow impossibly smaller, before his hand flies up to clamp like a bear trap around your wrist. the blossom of pain is a dull agony compared to the tiny nick. your bones ache and protest at full under the force of his grip, so hard you fear they just might break, but somehow— somehow, you manage to wrestle your hand close enough to your face.

leaning in so close your foreheads practically touch, you bring his used cigarette to your lips— and you present to him the most grand, shit-eating grin you could manage as you take a fat inhale. the nicotine doesn't hit you first. it's the fact that the filter was damp before you kissed it.

the rush does flood your brain eventually, but in the end? you can't deny it pales compared to his pupils widening at the sight your lips. oh, it's just too much fun to not make a show of the cigarette dragging against your mouth for him as you pull away to puff smoke straight into his face. this could be your new addiction. he barely blinks as it assaults his eyes, and his gaze snaps back up to yours.

"you are impossible." he growls.

"me? impossible?" you chuckle, killing whatever meager distance that placated the two of you so you could stare directly into his eyes while you snuff out the cigarette on the lapel of his coat. he barely acknowledges the singe of fabric compared to the smell of you. "you could've just handed me your lighter, y'know. avoid all this." you gesture with a lazy roll of your wrist.

"so what? you could find some other way to get on all my nerves?"

"hah, another pussy excuse and you know it."

"you were right about one thing," he breathes. "you are no god. i don't think you are even man— you are something dirtier. more akin to a devil, tormenting me with every breath."

"you flatter me, cécile."

"that wasn't a compliment."

—

author's note; im severely sleep deprived so this is not my best work however? however? it doesn't matter. i needed to produce a cécile blurb at all costs. trying to make content off him with vague crumbs and my ever drooping eyelids is hard but ill try again when the extended demo drops lols