Saints - Take 3

Peyton tossed her coat onto the creme coloured chaise that was positioned against the wall not far from the buffet Abbadon had chosen to sample. While the evening had taken a turn for the worst, she was determined not to let it colour every aspect of her life. Far too often she let it bleed into her relationship and home life, tonight she was attempting to distance herself from what was inevitable and clearly unorchestrated.

She removed the glass of bourbon he had sought consolation in from his hand, likely seeking its comfort due to the very nature she tended to behave after run-ins with Valafar and his antics. Setting the glass back onto the bar and returning the top to its rightful place on the decanter, she guided him toward the leather armchair he favoured.

"Don't apologize for their behaviour. It isn't your fault that they showed up." She murmured, knotting her fingers in his dark locks. Planting a kiss beneath his jaw, she tugged roughly on the handful of hair she had in her grasp, reciprocating the harsh pull with slow, gentle kisses up his neck.

"Though, I strongly suggest you give me what I want tonight." Peyton whispered in his ear, before taking it between her teeth and nibbling on it lightly. She was in no mood for compromise, not after her evening had been spoiled. And while Abbadon was unforgiving with control, she knew he would make exceptions and tread lightly thanks to an unscripted appearance of Stella. He knew exactly how temperamental Peyton could be, as well as how fragile she truly was beneath her fiery demeanor.

Abbadon's hand found itself resting in the familiar mold that his grip had created the night Valafar had taken it upon himself to retell the stories that the walls of the old house had played witnesses too. The smooth depths in the laquered wood were something that should have taken hundreds of years to form rather than a few minutes of irritance.

A rough moan escaped from the demon's lips at the expert mix of pleasure and pain and desire filled his body. He basked in temporary respite as the control he so often sought was pulled from his shoulders. It relaxed him in an odd way to hand over the shell of his being to Peyton. It was trust in the only demented form he knew how to give.

His eyes closed with a heavy sigh and his weight caused the well worn leather under him to creak as he leaned back. He brought a hand to the base of Peyton's neck, guiding her lips across his collar bone. He carassed her back, his finger tips tracing their way to her waist before he noticed the unwelcomed drag of tearing skin that inhibitied his intentioned gentle touch. Abbadon caught glimpse of the sharpened claws protruding from where his well kept nails should be and the metallic scent of blood filled his senses. His pupils dialated from both fear and arousal and his muscles tensed; he could feel the begining of war settling Valafar had ignited within him peeking over the horizon.

"Fuck." He spat, jerking his hand back to his side. He pressed his finger tips against the chair ensuring that the ragged claws had sheathed themselves.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." He spoke so quickly that one word ran into the other. His brow furrowed as the disgust towards himself built rapidly inside of him. He didn't care that the injury was not more than an unpleasent scratch; his body had betrayed him.

Peyton bit her lip as Abbadon's nails drug across her flesh, her breathing hitching slightly as the sensations of pain and pleasure began to combine. Experiencing her significant other allowing his guard down and giving way to his selfish desires was incredibly heady, though just as quickly he found himself slipping into that familiar disconnect she was often greeted by.

"Shh..." She murmured, running her fingers along his skin before pushing the button down over his shoulders. It took a few moments to gently coax him into releasing his grip on the worn arm chair, but eventually he sat disrobed above the waist, sandwiched between supple leather and smooth, porcelain skin.

Peyton redirected his hand toward her breast, urging Abbadon to pursue her versus sitting back and throwing a pity party about possibly harming her. While she was much smaller in stature, and incredibly fragile in the scheme of things, she found the primal urges he allowed to peek out from the cracks undoubtedly attractive, and she wasn't quite ready to relinquish Abbadon to himself yet.

"Abbadon Solace, you are to carry me up that stairwell and fuck me silly, do you understand?" She purred, slipping her hand into his trousers.

"Peyton, I need a minute." Abbadon looked away from her, his eyes focusing on a distant point in the room. The fingers of his right hand rubbed and proded the left as if he had injured it and needed to ensure it was still attached.

He wouldn't risk that, he couldn't. Shutting her off wasn't a sustainable idea, not after the evening's unfortunate turn. He wasn't sure of the reason his body had started to shed it's shell and he wouldn't tempt it again. That was playing with a very large fire while doused in kerosene. He knew what he was capable of.

"Peyton, you're incredibly beautiful and the desire I have for you is unbelieavble, but." He paused, trying to peice together his words carefully. "I don't think I can do this tonight.." He leaned forward and pressed his lips againt her temple. Rejection was something Peyton handled well, he doubted being in the same room with who she believed was his former mistress would help her handle it any better.

"It's nothing you did, there is something wrong with me right now and I'm not sure what." He tried to further console her. His hand reached out to caress her arm. The movements were jerky and uncertain, lacking the usual confidence that the man possesed.

Peyton felt as if the colour of her cheeks could light the darkened parlor room that she and Abbadon now sat uncomfortably in, the skin typically pale now crimson from her mounting embarrassment. The rejection was not one taken lightly, and while she would usually lash out at the nearest living, breathing object, her level of intoxication and the general disarray of coming face to face with the elusive Stella prohibited it.

Instead, she rose from the spot she had taken in Abbadon's lap and smoothed her dress down and shifted uncomfortably before him, feeling as if a never had just been exposed to the harsh conditions that were Abbadon's emotions, ever changing like the seasons.

"I'll be working if you need me. Don't wait up." Peyton murmured. Turning on her heel, she found her way to the familiar room she had taken upon as her own on the first trip to the swamp. Seldom did she sleep here any longer, but it sounded like the perfect mini-oasis to recharge her batteries from a night tinged with Stella's faux innocence, Valafar's obvious prodding, and Abbadon's surprising rejection.

Slipping out of the lace dress, she curled up in bed with her sketchpad and pen by her side. While avoiding her significant other probably wasn't the best idea, she needed a little breather and hopefully submerging herself within art therapy would do her some good.

A knot grew in Abbadon's chest at the obvious pain that he had caused Peyton. He didn't understand why protecting her often resulted in hurting her. Though, he would always prefer her bruised ego to the alternatives.

Loss of control was once something he relished in. He was free of human bounds, of human senses, whatever hint of morality he had retained after centuries of being surrounded by mortals. He was free. Now, he feared it. Fear wasn't a word used lightly by a creature who had been forged in the fires of hell. He had torn one of the only things he had ever known to warm his heart limb from limb, he had torn her organs from her body, and her screams had only fueled him - he was a monster. He refused to allow that to happen again.

Ocassionaly, he felt as if the demon beneath his surface was an entirely different entity - as if humanity had claimed some part of his damned soul. Deep down he knew that he was not a case of Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde though. The monster and the pleasant casing were one and the same.

Abbadon found his way to the edge of the swamp. Eyes peering into the darkness that gave away none of it's secrets. The weathered white stone that marked Evelyn's grave stuck out from the darkness like a ghost. He gravitated towards it, he always did. Even though nothing lay there now beyond a white washed pile of broken bones. His hand reached out tentativley to touch the fragile stone he had refrained contact from for so long. He winced as peices of the stone broke away under his grip. When he lost her the first time it hurt, but it felt like peices of her were breaking off of him all over again when the last reminders he had of her slowly succumb to time. In a way he did, he was damned to walk the earth longer than he would ever be able to remember her name and her face - let alone her touch and her voice.

What the fuck is this? Abbadon's neck jerked back as he felt warm liquid run down his cheekbone. His tentatively dabbed at the flesh and he examined the clear liquid on his fingertips.

Am...am I crying? What the hell is wrong with me? He wondered in a mixture of confusion and disgust. Never in the thousands of years of his existence had a tear been shed. He may not have even known what it was if he had not seen tears running down the faces of humans as they begged for their lives and prayed to their god in their last moments.

Despite his confusion, an overwhelming feeling of guilt and regret washed over him and more tears followed uncontrollably. Feelings and emotions had crept into his being like a trogan horse - foreign invaders that destroyed him from the inside where he was unable to combat them.

_

"Peyton?" Abbadon barley managed the courage to speak while he stood in the doorway of Peyton's room. His hair was ruffled, the skin around his eyes was swollen and red both from the tears and rubbing, and he was audibly stuffed from his bout of crying.

Peyton had managed to manipulate the paper before her with a haunting look into her soul. The pen scratched black ink across the page, shading things darker to add more depth to the tunnel that was scrawled upon the page. One solitary white space loomed at the top, the exit of the darkness, and the fleeting beacon of hope for herself, a raven, flying overhead.

Ink stained her hands as she worked feverishly over the page, desperately searching for some peace of mind from the distasteful turn her evening seemed to continue making. Art was always a healthy outlet for her, something that made the events she was living through less unbearable, and while it released some tension, it always reflected the emotions she felt, giving her way to Abbadon's questioning had something particularly dark been put on the page.

The familiar footsteps approaching her door could not coax her eyes from the page. She was far too emotional for confrontation, which often times turned into one of their infamous arguments. Instead of continuing down the hallway, his downtrodden steps ceased at her doorway, something that didn't frequently happen when things grew awkward between the two.

While she had been intent on ignoring him, for his own sake, Peyton's eyes darted up toward his face, completely alarmed by the sound of his voice. It wasn't one she knew, it was distressed not from irritation, but in anguish. His eyes wore the tell-tale signs of crying, which was something she knew he was completely unaccustomed to, as she had never even seen a hint of despair touch his face for more than a moment.

"Abbadon.. What's wrong?" She inquired, slowly retiring from the bed and closing in on him. While it may not be the best approach, flocking to him upon his emotional state, the intense desire to comfort her lover was unable to be masked, even by good senses.

The idea of what could have possibly unnerved Abbadon Solace to the point of tears was beyond her realm of understanding, though she was determined to unearth the mystery if possible.

"Babe, what happened?" Peyton questioned, concern coating her voice.


sketch:
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"I don't know, Peyton...I don't know what's wrong with me." He forced the words out. The floor boards creaked under his shaky legs as he walked to the foot of the antiqueated bed. His hands tangled in his hair, pressing against his temples as if he could physically force whatever this uncomfortable feeling inside of him out.

What was he supposed to do? Reveal to her that he had never felt remorse or a pang of guilt up until that moment? At least, guilt and remorse were what he assumed the unwelcomed feelings gnawing at his insides to be.

"I've never cried - never. I don't even know what made me cry." Abbadon spat the words, disgusted at himself for feeling such human emotions.

"I feel so awful. What the fuck is happening to me?" His eyes pleaded with Peyton to provide some kind of answer. His hand reached out to Peyton's waist, his thumb ran over the skin that was taunt over her hip bone. Beneath the layers of guilt and self hatred, he felt something else. Something towards Peyton that calmed him, but if he was being entirely honest it was something that he had felt for a while now and only just started to acknowledge.

Peyton mulled over Abbadon's decision to come to her and speak so freely about his emotions, or the lack of being able to express them properly. One moment he was pushing her away downstairs after clearly enjoying her advances, the next he clamored up the stairs and found himself leaning in her doorway, beckoning for her attention once again. While she was accustomed to his frequent changes in mood, she had never seen him look remorseful.

Her brows pulled together as she searched for a delicate manner to ask about the unraveling of his emotions. "Do you know what's been bothering you? Have you been stressed about work? Or me, even? I sincerely hope I'm not the cause of this.. You're far too pretty to cry." She teased light-heartedly, placing her hand over his much larger one, hoping to comfort him a little.

"It's natural to cry, normal. Quite honestly this is the most emotion I've seen you express in the time I've known you. I know it's quite difficult for you to be open, to share your thoughts or feelings, so I'm.. relieved I suppose, that you came to me." She continued in all seriousness this time.

"Talk to me.. I'm not going anywhere." Peyton insisted as she patted a space on the bed beside her, feeling as if she were coaxing a child into coming clean about a wrong he had committed and was too fearful to outright say it.

"It's not." Abbadon disagreed with Peyton's insistence that crying was something that was okay. For humans. He scrunched his nose at the thought of him begining to possess any traits of humanity.

Peyton's invitation was too much for him to resist in his fragile state. He burried his head against her shoulder and his arms pulled her as close as their bodies would allow. Every heartbeat that fluttered under Peyton's chest only served to remind of how wrong his affection for her was, how dangerous it was for her to be with him, and how he was too weak to fight his own selfish desires and keep her away.

"I can't Peyton, even if I wanted to tell you all of the terrible things I have done - I can't." She'd run. He knew it - and running far, far away would have been the best thing for her. Besides, there was no way to confess the sins he had commited.

"God fucking damnit." Abbadon wretched as his mind began to tear itself apart. Am I going crazy?

"I don't deserve you Peyton. I don't deserve even the thought of you. I'm a truely disgusting creature but I think I'm in love with you and I couldn't ever bear to have you leave." The words left Abbadon's lips faster than he could ever hope to catch up to and cover up and was thus left with admission of what he had been denying to himself for far too long.

Peyton was caught in the crosshairs of her own emotions from Abbadon's guilty slip, unprepared and unaware of the way she would feel upon the admission. Naturally knowing that he did have such deep feelings was a relief, especially since it had been in question the duration of their relationship. However, she felt particularly low in the sense that he was brought to tears and seemed angry to profess his love.

Resting her cheek against him, she continued to think in silence. Her emotions tended to seduce her no matter what situation they had found themselves wallowing in, but her desire to comfort him was laboring long and hard against her usual line of defense.

Wiping her eyes quickly, Peyton pulled away from Abbadon, making certain to face him head on. "I love you- you know that." She began, offering him a small smile as she grabbed his hands within her own.

"However, you don't have to say it back.. I cannot say that I understand what you have been through, or know of your previous relationships. Maybe hidden in them lies the key to why you're so unavailable. Don't feel as if you have to say it, or that I'm pressuring you into it. I would rather you not tell me if you're uncertain than to say it and take your word back." She admitted, sighing raggedly.

While she had been pining over him for a majority of their relationship, she had never anticipated him to come to her in tears, much less exasperated ones, upon professing he may have deeper feelings brooding for her beneath his rough and rugged exterior.

"Please don't feel as if you have to reciprocate love in order to keep me here. That isn't the case, Abbadon." Peyton added with a bit more finality

"No, you misunderstand." Abbadon paused in his bout of self hatred to correct Peyton.

"I love you." The words weren't uncertain anymore, instead they held the usual confidence that one could expect from the arrogant man. He thought he had been stricken with the illness once before, but had recently discovered that Evelyn had only managed to to warm his frozen heart while Peyton had set it afire.

"I know that I don't have to say it in return, I don't have to do anything. I'm in love you, Peyton. The only reason I have to doubt it is my own insistence that you stay with me. It's selfish, and it's bad for you." Abbadon hoped that he could keep the darker crevices of him hidden away long enough that Peyton would live out her natural life without ever so much as stumbling across one. But he knew he cared for her far too much to keep her that far away, and the closer he allowed Peyton to get - the more danger she was in.

Relief washed over her as the forbidden words spilled from Abbadon's lips. Peyton had never heard him claim to love an object or activity, much less another living, breathing creature. Somehow she managed to possess something within her that cracked his cold, sheltered heart, and while she was unaware of what that might be, she was much too enthused to question his better judgement.

"Yeah? Because it really is nice to hear." Peyton admitted, her voice slightly muffled by the tears that had involuntarily began to roll down her face, staining her cheeks.

Leaning into him, she allowed herself to cry against his shoulder for a few minutes. She knew he would likely be confused by her tears, as they tended to occur only among the worst case scenarios within their relationship, though this time she cried for an entirely different reason. She felt more secure in his life, rather than an object that could be discarded upon a whim if he felt as if she were too clingy or was afraid to allow her to get too close for his own undisclosed reasons.

Peyton had been so sure that he would find an excuse, any one would do, to push her away. While she felt as if she were important, and Ms.Abbott had expressed her own thoughts on the matter, it was still in question, and would remain to be, until he had spoken otherwise.

"Say it again?" She inquired, this time laughing through her tears. She was well aware her emotional state could be misconstrued as manic at the moment, but considering Abbadon's own emotional instability, he could say nothing ill of her without being entirely hypocritical.

"What? That I love you?" Abbadon inquired, his lips brushing across her forehead in soft kisses as he spoke. It addled him to feel Peyton's tears soak through his linen shirt but have her cling to him and smile as though she were happy. He had never seen a human cry from happiness - only fear and pain, the latter he had exposed Peyton to all too often.

"I love you, Peyton. I have never loved anything in this godforsaken world apart from you." He whispered the words against her ear as if they contained some great secret that could only be kept by the two of them. He didn't understand how words could make a human so happy, but he knew he would repeat them all night if they would continue to bring Peyton such joy.

"...and, if I ever lost you, I don't think love is something I would ever know again." Abbadon added more thoughfully, pulling her away from his shoulder and tilting her chin up so she would face him. Gentle touches were foreign to him but he carefully smoothed Peyton's ruffled hair, tucking a final peice behind her ear. The 'if' was there to serve as a comforting lie to them both. He knew one day, time would destroy the only light he had ever known.

Peyton wrestled with the idea that Abbadon had never loved another before her. With his lack of emotional connection to people, she would assume that he had suffered a great loss in the past, or have been in a nasty relationship which marred his willingness to become intimate with another. At least, those were the only explanations that her naivety could conjure up, clearly unable to grasp the rules and regulations that were ingrained in a creature forged from the fiery pits of hell.

It was then that it occurred to her she knew very little about this man's life prior to Peyton waltzing in and moving into this weathered home and the remnants of history that it continued to occupy. While he had become more accepting, the two of them never truly conversed of their personal lives outside of the present. It created friction between the two whenever one stepped on the toes of a topic of conversation veered to one that was obviously a sore spot.

"Why do you love me? And.. why is it so hard for you to admit that you do?" Peyton inquired softly, almost afraid that if she spoke or prodded the reasoning behind his strained proclamation, he would provide her with an answer that made her uncomfortable, as the answer to his struggle could be no more complicated than Peyton Sawyer was, indeed,  a difficult person for someone to love.

"Because Petyon." Abbadon sighed, forgetting that the answers to that weren't as plainly laid out to Peyton as they were to him. He treaded carefully on the unfamiliar territory that was 'emotions'. Doors had opened to parts of him he did not had been created and he was wary of exploring. His hands tangled in his hair once more, pulling at the tresses in frustration as he struggled to find ways to answer Peyton's questions. "I'm so scared that you'll get too close to me. I'm scared you'll trust me too much and I'll hurt you."

"You tame my inner demon." Relief washed over him as the he was finally able to be honest. His explantion was the most truthful thing he had told Peyton through the entirety of their relationship.

Of all the things the man had learnt during his extended stay on earth - telling the truth was not one of them. His life was shrouded in secrecy, the existence of his kind was buried as far beneath the surface as they could keep it. Lying was his nature.

"In more ways than you'll ever know. I've never felt at peace the way I do when I lay in bed with you at night, with you in my arms, feeling you breathe on the curve of my neck while you have one hand on my chest and the other around my side." He allowed his body to fall back into the bed as he spoke, ruffled hair laying in every which way causing the very uptight man to take on a boyish look as he spoke in adoration of his lover.

“I would hardly call you tame..” Peyton murmured, offering him a cheeky smile. Abbadon was just as calm as she was. They both tread lightly, because while they could talk one another down, they were just as sure to be the reason that the other was a volatile, exasperated mess.

There had been few times that she had known him to look peaceful, none of which seemed to occur while they were having in-depth conversations. The change of scenery, the relaxed nature he had suddenly taken on, it was comforting. No more facades, just the raw, unspoken emotions that he had come to bottle up inside. To release some of the gentler ones, the ones that weren't angry or frustrated, it was new, but she certainly didn't want them to run away and hide, scared in the shadows.

"I like this version of you, exposed." Peyton whispered, afraid that her words would somehow send him into recoil. She knew him well enough that she should praise him for his efforts, because he clammed up like a child at even the slightest bit of reprimand if he allowed himself to become vulnerable.

Running her fingers through his hair, she locked her eyes on his. "I don't want you to lose this part of yourself; it's far too important."

"I don't know what part of me this is." Abbadon replied, his voice exaperated as his eye closed in content while Peyton played with his hair.

There was little room for peace in the mind of a millena old demon, even less when he was given time to resinate on what he had done. He did his best to keep everything with Peyton in the present and as far away from the past as possible. It felt undenyably good to tell the truth for once though. The secret keeping was exhausting and often the biggest contributer to his ill tempered mood swings.

"But I know that the key to it is right here." He reached out for the hand Peyton had tangled in his hair and closed his fingers around it. He knew the emotional distance he kept between them had been a hurdle for Peyton's love but he hadn't known how to even begin to connect the roads between them until now.

The ever present worry in his mind of all of the 'what ifs' had not vanquished, but was at least muffled and set aside for the moment. He wasn't ready to let go of the relief he had found in this hidden place of his mind.

Humming quietly, Peyton rested her cheek against their interlocked hands, while a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "This? This is why I love you." She murmured, finding herself comfortably seated next to him.

While she knew Abbadon was still a mystery to be unraveled, he had come leaps and bounds in one night. She could appreciate the effort he was making, and while she did, was cautious of how much further to proceed. His soul was bared to her, and she was careful to show appreciation, yet knew not how far to continue, as his track record of shutting down was more often than not. The last thing she wanted was for Abbadon to shut down and return to some of his older, unhealthy ways of communication between the two.

"Hey.. I'm going wash up and get ready for bed. You coming?" Peyton inquired, climbing into his lap before ruffling his hair playfully.

"That would probably be a good idea." Abbadon's words contradicted his actions, his arms wrapped around Peyton - holding her in his lap. He rested his chin on her collar bone, contemplating how long this feeling of contented ease would last. He existed no where but here tonight and it was a welcome relief for a creature who's existence was a constant struggle.

The silence that blanketed the home was reminiscent of the silence that would over take a horror movie before the monster would make a reveal, it hung thick and heavy in the air in a very unnatural way. He shifted Peyton is his lap until one arm was hooked under her knees and the other behind her back and rose from the bed. Abbadon walked through the dark halls of the old house but he knew them too well for navigation to be an issue, he stepped over each creaky floor board and even managed the narrow, winding staircase to his room with Peyton in his arms.

"Wait here." Abbadon placed Peyton on the edge of his bed, pressing his lips to her forehead. He stepped off into the bathroom, twisting and pulling at the brass knobs of the clawfoot tub. It was one of the few times he was thankful for his extra strength - he couldn't remember the last time it had been use, showers were more his thing. With enough turning the pipes hissed and hot water began to flow through and he returned to Peyton.

Peyton allowed herself to be whisked away into the familiar bedroom she had moved into, the one that in the early days of Peyton and Abbadon, she was forbidden from entering. The dwelling was dark, but comfortable. The aroma was of antique books, dust, and musk. While it would be displeasing to most individuals, even a bit creepy, she found herself oddly at ease in the depths of Abbadon's proscribed dwelling.

The sound of running water piqued her interest. While Abbadon had bathed with her before, it wasn't a commonplace in their relationship. They very much led separate lives when it came to their preferences to personal hygiene. She enjoyed soaking in a tub, the water laced with bath oils. He, on the other hand, speedily showered and then went about his day, likely burying himself in his office going over numbers or whatever businessmen worried incessantly over.

"What are you up to, love?" Peyton questioned, peering up at him through the dark. Reaching out in front of her, she pulled him close by the front of his button down, seeking the comfort of his protective hold. She had never felt more secure in a relationship, and while the road to where she and Abbadon were now was long and tedious, it was worth every scrape, bump, and tussle they endured.

"I want to take a bath with you." Even in his more gentle moments Abbadon left little room for his actions and motives to be questioned. His fingers worked the buttons of his dampened shirt before discarding it onto the floor.

Abbadon was well aware of the foreboding atmosphere his bedroom presented. Dimly lit, dark and dreary, it held every cliche of 16th century Gothic European castle including the resident monster. It was a room that had been lost to time and while she may not have known it, the room offered Peyton more knowledge about Abbadon than he would ever willingly give up. The only thing holding her back from every answer she could ever want to know was lack of suspicion and investigation.

"Mm.. Abbadon Solace taking a bath with me-- and after you said you loved me. Now I know what sensory overload is like." Peyton teased, hopping down off of the bed and onto the floor in front of him.

"I'll take it, though. You can overwhelm me with kindness any day." She continued, offering him a smile before she slipped out of the chemise she had donned on earlier in the evening. She then nimbly undid the button and zipper on his slacks, coaxing him out of them and in he direction of the bathroom.

She knew better than to waste any precious time, because in the blink of an eye, his good intentions could be shattered by some impromptu sense of insecurity. In an attempt to assure they would not have the course of event's changed, her tone became lighter, grasping at straws so he would stay with her rather than depart into his shell once more. And while she had become accustomed to these phases, the night's rocky start and transition into a declaration of devotion and affection was not something she could risk by any means.

"Come on." Peyton murmured, taking a few steps in the direction of the bathroom and extending her hand toward him, coaxing him into following through with his earlier idea to take a bath with her. She knew he was making an effort to support her emotional needs, so she wanted to both let him know she appreciated it, but keep him from feeling overwhelmed by it.

Abbadon tried to hide the small hint of a grimace that twisted across his face when Peyton mentioned the confession of his love. His love wasn't something desirable - it was an awful disease that had brought a gruesome death to the only other thing it had ever touched.

This. This peaceful night where Peyton saw pieces of Abbadon he had never exposed to anyone or even acknoweledged himself, where he gave her raw pieces of himself, and only desired to be closer and closer to her was the calm before the storm he knew was brewing. Peyton may not have known what kind of things the love of a demon could awaken or prehaps more accuratley she did not know what kind of love she had found, but Abbadon did. And now, there was not much choice but to try and weather it out together. That thought was foriegn to Abbadon, like many of the one's he had tonight, but this time it was not unwelcome. The thought of being anything but alone drew him in.

His larger hand reached out for Peyton's as she led him towards the bath he had drawn for them. His hands were not particurally calloused and rough but Peyton's had always seemed so delicate against his own. He wondered how trivial him and his moods must seem to her, to a human who did not know the urgency and self-loathing he often felt.

Abbadon reached for a book of matches on the marble counter and striked one against the rough flint strip. The flame flickered against the darkness of the room and quickly caught to each unburnt wick Abbadon lent it too until every candle around the stone basin of the sunken tub was lit.

Peyton leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching as Abbadon lit the candles that set around the tub. The idea of candles, or any romantic decor for that matter, seemed out of place in the dark, foreboding room, and yet somehow the walls being bathed in the yellow light seemed somehow normal.

"Thank you for this.. It helps. I know I denied it, but seeing Stella at the opening of the gallery really got to me. What's worse is that Valafar was the one who brought her. I didn't consider him a friend, but I didn't expect him to sink to such a level of malice." She murmured, smiling uncomfortably at the events that had unfolded earlier that evening.

To make matters worse, she had chosen to place her beliefs in Valafar, a man who fancied the idea of toying with everyone's emotions, over Abbadon while their Stella fiasco had been at its peak. Guilt washed over her as her own actions had played such a large role in the hiatus that their relationship had taken months ago. While she had never apologized in so many words for her own behaviour, there was no doubt that it had been eating away at her.

"It really got to me." She acknowledged, moving toward the tub.