Notes and Disclaimers:  The following is an original work by me, freely using the creative genius of Suzuki Juliet, to whom I am indebted.  The characters of Akuma to Dolci are owned by Hana to Yume Comics. Lucky dogs.  

This manga is only on 'Contract Four' and has been running since June 2005! ;__;   Happily, the wife made me buy it, and happily, we'll be in Tokyo when the next volume comes out. ^__^  If you like my story (and if the pictures manage to stay where I put them) drop me an email and let me know.

                                                                                                                                 Stirling Twilight            

 

 

Dessert for Breakfast

 

 

            She thought it was amazing that an inanimate object could make her moan. And yet there was the clock, obstinately refusing to advance beyond 2AM. No amount of wishing, cursing, threatening or ignoring softened the Rock of Gibraltar heart of the clock.

            Mayuri threw off the quilt and sat up. Muttering, she snatched up her robe, shoved her feet into slippers and dressed herself as she crossed to yank open the door.

            After pausing in the bathroom, she unconsciously made her way to the kitchen. The warm, comfortable embrace of home deepened as she drew near the source of the heat. The massive brick oven at the heart of the house was seldom cool. Even at the height of summer, Mayuri spent hours baking. Magic kept the heat from roasting, just as in winter, magic fed the flames.

            She stood upon the threshold, looking into the dimly lit room. What to do? Read? Eat? Cook?

            Like it was a question?

            Grinning, she flicked on the overhead, dropped herself into a chair at the table and pulled her mother’s cookbook into the light. Dozens of tiny post-it notes stood out from the pages, each declaring that Butte had praised a particular recipe. At the thought, the temperature of the room became nothing compared to the warmth in her chest. She laced her fingers together over her pounding heart and squeezed, trying to calm the racing organ.

It was decided; she would make five new items and five he loved. That should satisfy him until...

            “Morning,” she smiled, flipped over the cover and randomly opened to a page devoid of notations. The image of him eating and smiling with pleasure at each bite filled her mind as she read the recipes, looking for one to try.

            A glance at the clock told her that it was 2AM...still.

            “Good,” she murmured as she rose, tied her hair off her face with the handkerchief from her pocket, and started gathering ingredients: sugar, flour, eggs, chocolate, and butter.

            Moaning at another inanimate object, she held the large brown bottle into the light and tilted it, scrutinizing the vanilla extract that pooled in the corner.

            Not much. And certainly not enough.

            Her gaze naturally slid across the room to the incised circle on the stone floor; the focus of her mother’s magic, the summoning wheel. Mayuri could call upon the little demon Chibi-chan and send him for vanilla. But since she had mistakenly summoned the King of Demons, Butte, there was no longer a guarantee that he wouldn’t answer her call and his veracious sweet tooth was a force to be reckoned with.

What to do?

The local convenience store was hardly convenient, being a forty minute round-trip walk, and was unlikely to have the vanilla she favored if it had any at all!

            Her wand was in her hand before a second sigh slipped past her lips.

            And Chibi-chan was returning her hug in a matter of seconds. His tiny claws clutched her cheeks as her arms encircled him, taking care to not hurt his bat wings. Forehead to forehead they shared a moment before Mayuri displayed the disappointing bottle and promised candy in exchange for a full one.

            Chibi-chan was gone in a flash.

            Secure in the thought that he would soon be back, she set to work creaming the butter. Working in the sugar, then the eggs, she was ready for the vanilla when Chibi-chan reappeared, a bottle twice his size in his claws.

            His paroxysms of ecstasy over the sourball she offered made it hard to not give him a dozen others, but her mother’s rules were literarily carved in the stone floor and only the agreed upon price would be paid. Ever. Mayuri understood the consequences of changing the terms without notice and contented herself with his pleasure.

            It made sense, when she thought about it. Chibi-chan was small and hard candy a sufficient reward. Human-sized Butte—tall, handsome and sporting horns that projected from just above his ears, angled down and then turned to point at his cheeks—required something more substantial. In creating the cookbook, her mother had amassed an almost infinite source of variety to pay him with; the demon world equivalent of Fort Knox.

            “Thank you, mama,” Mayuri murmured as she spooned vanilla into the waiting batter and resume stirring.

            The rest of the night passed in a haze of flour and sugar. Piping the finishing touches on a row of petit fours, pressing sugared violets into place atop lemon bars and drizzling chocolate across delicate pastries shells concluded the marathon. Surveying the crowded table, Mayuri wasn’t surprised to hear Butte speak from behind her.

            “Couldn’t sleep?”

            She shook her head without looking up. The mental image of him drooling, his eyes locked on the opulent display was enough for the moment.

            “That’s a lot of desserts.”

            “Um,” she agreed with a nod. “Would you like some?” Butte was seated at the table before she got to the end of the question. As he struggled to choose which he wanted first, she turned to make tea. “I ran out of vanilla,” she gestured to the empty bottle, “and had Chibi-chan get more.”

            “Hmm?”

           Turning back, she wanted to scold him for not paying attention, but the words died when she saw a long, scroll contract in his one hand and quill, poised to write, in the other.

            “One bottomless bottle of the highest quality vanilla extract,” he offered, the quill scratching in the echoing silence.

            Desire swelled but caution firmed her voice. “For?” It was too late to proffer the desserts; they had already been offered and accepted, removing them from the field.

            Butte sat back, his gaze on a middle distance as he tapped the feather against his chin.

            The silence lengthened.

            Mayuri was so convinced he was going to ask for an endless supply of some favorite dessert that when he finally looked at her and smiled, she smiled back.       

“Your first kiss.”

            Her jaw dropped and she might have said, “What?” but couldn’t be sure.

            He nodded. “I’ve been thinking about you...and your cooking.”

            She saw his eyes dart to the table as if he couldn’t control himself.

            “And I think that someone who can make such amazing sweets must be even sweeter herself.” He rose, the contract and quill dropping to the floor as he materialized beside her. His arms gathered her to his chest as he bent to whisper in her ear.

            “I want to taste you.”

            Mayuri gasped, recoiling, desperately trying to recover her wits. “W...w...wait!” she managed, her hands pressing against his chest, vainly trying to force him away. She felt the fires of Hell under her palms.

            He shifted, freeing an arm, and one of his long, black nails dragged from her collarbone to her earlobe. Again he bent to her ear, breathing out, bathing her with the scent of burning wood. His hot breath chilled her superheated body and when he bent lower, Mayuri couldn't will herself to move. He pressed his open mouth to her skin, searing the place where her shoulder and neck met.

            It wasn't a kiss.

            Panting, she marveled at her body as her head titled, exposing more of her neck. She hadn't thought to allow him, yet her body reacted without approval. His hand forced itself into her hand, their palms meeting as he laced his fingers between hers. Slowly—excruciatingly slowly—his mouth followed the same path his nail had taken. Lips dragging, breath scorching, she shivered, though not from cold. His arm across her back drew her closer as his teeth caught her earlobe.

            Again she gasped, stiffening, but Butte softly hissed, soothing her. His hand skimmed up her back to caress her neck on the opposite side as his teeth returned to her neck and gently chewed their way back down.

            "You've done this before," she whispered.

            "Never once," he breathed, his hand cupping her jaw. "Never wanted to."

            "But you do, now?"

            He moved to stand before her, taking care that his horns didn't touch her, and molded her body to his. "I want to taste you more than what you cooked."

            This moan didn't come from an inanimate object. As always, he spoke so frankly there was no reason to doubt and her spine melted. But with surrender came a second of clarity.

            "On one condition."

            "No conditions," he breathed, his hand stroking her jaw, drawing her closer.

            "Yes. One." She managed to lean away, albeit a scant inch.

            "Oh?"

            She freed her hand from his and pressed it against his chest, ready to push him away. "I pick the time. I say when."

            He smirked before placing his cheek to hers and resuming his assault on her senses. His words were pressed to her skin as he moved lower. "Fine...so long as it's tonight." His caressing lips came together in a kiss against her throat and she swayed. Kissing a path up her neck, his goal was unmistakable. But he stopped a hair's breadth from her panting mouth. Eyes half closed, his head tilted as he studied her lips. He leaned closer, exhaling on the corner of her parted lips before bestowing a tiny kiss to her cheek. Drawing back, he repeated this action on the opposite side.

      And engulfed her world. The heat of his body against hers, the scent of his breath, the tender kisses he pressed to her skin. There was no mistaking his affection.

            "Neh, Mayuri."

            Blinking, Mayuri realized to her mortification that her eyes had closed. "Um?" She struggled to focus, to breathe.

            His eyes were locked on her lips. "Say yes." He kissed her chin, gently pushing her head back to meet her eyes. "Say yes." Cradling her head in both hands, he leaned to within an inch of her lips, inhaled deeply, then drew away.

            Surprised by the sudden cold, Mayuri looked up and met his hungry gaze. And her heart relented. She dipped her head and blushed at his unguarded delight.

            Still holding her head, he leaned forward, gently touching his lips to hers. As one, they inhaled at the contact. Butte stepped closer, his lips stroking hers, greedily feasting. He exhaled her name, his tone pleading as his fingers raked along her scalp. The echoing moan was opening enough and his tongue slipped into her mouth. Hot, thrilling, he pulled her closer, his hand fisting in her hair. Heat flooded her limbs and she sagged against him. Butte quickly wrapped his arms around her, supporting her as his onslaught slowed.

            Slowed enough for her to touch her tongue to his.

            Butte paused, drawing back enough to smiled down at her. "I was right."

 

 

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