Cauchemar Amour

Translation of title: Nightmare Love



Actual Summary: Roman was content to hide his wings and work for low pay to keep his shitty apartment and fantasize about Savrin in the safety of his own loneliness. That is, until he gets THE Savrin Darvoski ordering coffee from his work - and unfortunately, he catches the demon's attention by being stupid and not locking his phone.

His home screen is a picture of Savrin.

Things go downhill fast.




To add to your reading experience, try listening to these songs (that more or less fit the story)

· Undisclosed Desires by Muse

· Resistance by Muse

· Never Wanted To Dance by Mindless Self Indulgence

· Nicotine by Panic! At The Disco

· Pretty Little Psycho by Porcelain Black

· Domino by Jessie J

· Gorgeous Nightmare by Escape the Fate

X X X X

Savrin Darvoski is not a saint. He has his moments of sadism, of cruelty aimed at anyone close to him. He also has moments where he smiles just to smile, when something makes him bend and cry from laughing far too much. He has moments where he is generous and gives to those who need it. He has moments where he seems like a dark, vengeful angel - and others where he is a spiteful, vile demon of temptation and cruel desires.

Roman knows this. He knows to keep his mouth shut in public, not to speak ill of the ancient demon, to keep his wings hidden from public view lest he be hanged - or worse.

But. He also can't deny the little thrill he gets whenever he hears mention of the man who runs the city or sees his picture in the newspaper. He knows this man would kill him rather than look at him, but Roman can't deny that the demon is attractive, with the dark hair and crooked smile and those dark, reptilian eyes or those dangerous, awful claws or even the teeth that he knows could tear his throat out in a flash of gleaming white.

It's his guilty pleasure to imagine Savrin pinning him down, drawing blood with the claws he fantasies about on late nights, to imagine that forked tongue on his skin, to imagine an intense mix of pain and pleasure.

The desires hit him whenever he lets himself relax in his dingy apartment, petting his cat and waiting for his microwave to go off. In secret he'd run his hands down the underside of his wings, scrape his nails over his thighs and pretend the hand pressed against the downy feathers of his wings is bigger than his own, tipped with dangerous claws, petting without hurting. He liked to imagine the nails on his thighs are so sharp that he doesn't feel when they cut through flesh and leave marks of blood on his skin.

Roman never did much with the thoughts, he never got too far in his guilty desires. The microwave would ding and he'd get up and eat his slightly too hot soup and down it with a cold beer or a tall glass of scotch with ice when he could afford it.

He knew he'd never be able to see his fantasies played out in the real world, outside of his dirty mind. After all, why would he, a lowly barista with shaky hands and a stuttering voice, ever be the object of an infamous demon's violent affections?

"Roman, for fucks sake, will you look like you're not dead inside for once?"

For his credit, Roman managed to arch an eyebrow at Svelte, a redheaded spitfire who'd come fresh from another city (he was always claiming Seattle was better than New York) with a penchant for profanity and flirting with customers. The young demon (for the horns and tail meant he was a demon) bared his tiny, kitten-like teeth before he turned with an angry lash of his tail.

"It's a slow day." Roman helpfully supplied, hiding a yawn behind his hand. Across the little coffee shop, an older lady gave him a disapproving look. Ah, but he was used to it and ignored her in favor of lightly kicking Svelte's shin.

The demon stuck out his tongue, snarling an insulting comment about his intelligence (though there was no malice in his tone). It was a slow day, with only a few customers every once and awhile.

"Mmph. Can you man the register? I need a smoke break."

"Sure." Roman barely looked up from the game he was playing on his phone, he simply moved to stand behind the register, short nails tapping at the screen. Distantly, he heard the door open with a jingle of the bell, and sighed before exiting the app, pausing a moment to look at his home screen. Svelte had once teased him about it - a picture of a certain dark haired demon with yellow eyes, taken back when the man was still just a pretty model.

He only set the phone aside when a hand covered in a leather glove slapped down onto the counter. He focused on the register, knowing when he spoke he'd either only see pity or cruel amusement.

"Wh-what can I get y-you?"

"Look at him, he's so shy!" Ah. One of these groups. Roman glanced up through his messy fringe, grateful for his unruly hair, at the group in front of him. Four men stood in front of the register, though he could only see three of them clearly, as the last was kneeling down to - to do something.

The man that had spoken leaned forward, hand going out as if to grab hold of his shirt, or the apron he wore over his clothes. With a squeak, Roman recoiled from the touch, feeling his wings twitch under the glamour he hid them under. Oh god, he hoped the glamour wouldn't break.

"Pl-please, sir, what c-c-can I get you t-t-today?" The question was ignored once again, for the man had seen something on the counter. Before the barista could stop him, the man snatched up his phone with a laugh.

"What are you? Some kind of freaky fanboy? Savrin, look at this weird fuck, he's got a picture of you on his phone! Who the fuck does that?"

Savrin.

Savrin fucking Darvoski was in the coffee shop where he worked. And now the demon was pushing aside his fellows and taking his phone from the man who'd taken it. Roman froze in horror, hands shaking so hard that he gripped the counter in a vain hope that he would not look like a stupid little boy. His phone was dropped with a clatter on the counter, making him look up with surprise and oh god, the demon was so close and Roman could smell his cologne, a sharp, heady scent that made his brain dizzy.

"Are you a fan?" His voice was even deeper in person.

And his eyes looked even more reptilian this close. His hair looked so, so soft, swept back and away from his eyes, from those perfectly immaculate eyebrows.

Oh yeah, he was a goner.

"I asked you a question. Are you deaf or mute?"

"N-no, j-just um...I'm s-sorry sir, if I-I offended y-y-you." Roman tore his gaze from Savrin, glaring down at his still trembling hands. A heartbeat of silence, in which he struggled to simultaneously keep his glamour up and not let his use of magic show.

And then, a blessed voice screeching his name and a hand slapping down onto his back.

Roman! Why didn't you tell me we had famous customers! Hi, I'm Svelte." The young redhead leaned over the counter, distracting the group long enough for Roman to grab at his phone and bolt for the back room, feeling his eyes sting with tears.

He felt stupid and dirty, thinking of the hands that had held his phone doing things to his body, touching him, petting him. He could still hear the demon through the closed door, calmly ordering coffees for himself and his friends.

A vanilla latte with an extra shot.

An original black Americano.

A soy latte with no foam.

And lastly, an Earl Grey with a generous amount of honey.

Roman opened the door wide enough to peek through, seeing the three men that had been with Savrin sitting at a window table, as well as Svelte making their drinks, humming to himself and swaying his hips. The barista frowned.

Where the fuck was Savrin?

Someone suddenly opened the door, stepping through and forcing Roman back on his ass.

"The fuck!" Lucky him - he'd landed on the sacks of oats they kept in the back, so only his elbows and heels ached from hitting the ground. And, although they were hidden beneath his currently wavering glamour, his wings throbbed where they were crushed beneath his meager weight.

"My apologies, are you hurt?" Oh fucking fresh hell.

"You're S-Savrin Darvoski."

"Yeah, the same one on your phone." Savrin was smiling, bending over Roman with his dark hair falling over yellow eyes. He was wearing a nice leather jacket that looked worn in places, probably designer jeans...suddenly, Roman felt silly sitting there in his ratty shorts and his Muse shirt with an apron over the top of it all. He probably looked as poor as he actually was.

"I think I'm g-gonna be sick." Roman whispered, slowly bringing his knees up to his chest in an attempt to further himself from the tall, black skinned demon. Savrin cocked his head to the side, a mocking sort of smile twisting his mouth and baring needle point teeth.

He watched as Savrin picked up his phone, red tipped claws curling around the device as he typed something into it.

"I'll call you later. Who knows, you might be fun." The ancient demon stood back up, carelessly tossing Roman's phone to him with a snicker. The moment he left, door slamming shut behind him, he turned and screamed into the bags of oats.

This was the start of a terrible, terrible weekend, wasn't it?

X X X X

By the time Roman stumbled into his dark (and very cold) apartment, he'd almost completely forgotten what he'd been told by Savrin. He didn't even want to eat, just collapse in bed and cuddle with Seraphina. After his...encounter with Savrin, other demons had swarmed the coffee shop, each one checking him out as if trying to see what made one of the most dangerous demons in New York even look twice at some boy in an apron.

In all honesty, he wasn't sure anyway.

Roman paused on his way to his bedroom to look at himself in the mirror. Really, what did he have? Sure, his silvery hair was a bit shocking when someone first sees it, but beyond that...His eyes were a boring, dull green, he was paler than pale, his nose was a bit crooked from being broken a long time ago, and he was narrow and bony all over. His only good point was his height.

As Svelte called him, he was a "beanpole with knife edges".

He poked at a sharp cheekbone, frowning at himself.

"What do I have that makes him interested?"

His phone buzzed suddenly, loud and startling in the quiet of the apartment. Roman scrambled to pick up, a little breathless when he finally answered the call.

"Hello?"

"Ah! You're Roman, no?"

"Er, y-yes, who's asking?"

"It's Savrin. I'm sending you an address. Get here fast, and look nice, got it?"

The call ended, leaving Roman standing in the hallway to his bedroom, confused and staring at his phone. Only a second went by before a message popped up with the address of a very popular nightclub.

Well, at least he had an excuse to finally use the heels Svelte got him for Christmas.