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Cold nights like this had always been the best to seduce him.
Michel hated the cold, the crispy wind and thick snowfall, all of it. He preferred to stay indoors in weather like this, near the pleasant heat of the fireplace, maybe even under a few layers of fur blankets if he had the chance. But of course that wasn’t always the case – when he was a chevalier, when he worked for Empress Celene, he had spent lots of bone-chilling nights under the stars, waiting for the morning to come next to a small campfire he’d made. Those hadn’t been his favorite missions, but duty had always come first. Still came first.
That was the sole reason why he found himself in a small cabin in Emprise du Lion, a day or two away from his aim, a small village named Sahrnia.
That demon was the reason for why he had to venture out to such an icy place - only his sense of duty could drive him out to such a frozen wasteland. As he arrived in the Emprise, he hoped that he could reach the village in a day if he rode fast but the weather and the snow forced him to slow down, with no choice but to seek refuge for the night. The cold would have been unbearable otherwise.
The small, abandoned cabin he had found wasn’t ideal but it was sturdy enough not to collapse on him while he slept and there were no holes in the roof, perfect to provide shelter for the night. It had two small rooms separated by a door. He led his horse in the outer one – if he left poor soul outside in this weather, he was sure he wouldn’t have a mount by the time he woke up in the morning. He himself took the inner room, quickly lighting fire in the old fireplace to at least try to heat up the place, then dragged the mattress from the ancient bed in front of it. Stripping off his heavy armor he lay down on it, wrapped himself in his furs, and tried to fall asleep as quickly as possible, so he could escape this cold for at least a few hours.
That was when the demon approached him. He could have only been lying there for five minutes when he suddenly heard chuckling from behind him. His eyes snapped open and he immediately reached for his sword that was next to the mattress, within his reach on purpose, but he didn’t have time to grab it. He had hardly been able to move when the demon was already on him, pushing him to his back as he held down his wrists, hands cold and strong like chains. Michel stared up at the demon straddling his hips, grinning down at him and waited.
“Well, well, well, look who I caught” Imshael started, leaning closer to him. “Still after me I see. A year has passed – haven’t you tired of it?”
“No. I won’t give up until I complete my mission, until I kill you, demon!” Michel snarled at the other but otherwise made no move to try to escape. He knew there was no point in it, the demon had the upper hand.
“Spirit” Imshael gritted his teeth in irritation, his expression becoming grim and pouty. “One would think that after a year you could have memorized it… I’m starting to think that you are more pretty than smart.”
“Oh, I am smart enough to know when I’m faced with a demon, demon” Michel looked back at Imshael challengingly. He wasn’t going to give up without a fight.
“Not smart enough not to deal with them though, or we wouldn’t be here, would we?” Imshael grinned again, his eyes glowing dangerously as he leaned closer to the ex-chevalier, looking straight to his eyes. “Not smart enough to resist me.”
At that Michel merely closed his eyes with a sigh, but didn’t bother with a response. He had never gone down without a fight but he knew when he lost. This was such a situation – another battle lost against Imshael. He felt the demon’s lips collide with his own, an action he had been anticipating ever since Imshael arrived. He responded to the kiss, although trying to seem reluctant. If nothing else, he wanted Imshael to believe it took more persuasion than this for him to submit to his will.
Not that Imshael wasn’t already aware of how eager he was about such encounters of theirs. The first time the demon advanced like this, he was shocked and confused. He was defeated then, backed up against a wall in some ruins. His sword clattered to the stone at one wave of Imshael’s hand and he closed his eyes when he felt the demon grab his throat, awaiting his death or possession, but he felt lips on his own instead. He had no idea what to do at first – his instinct to push Imshael away wasn’t an option, given the demon’s strength and he had no other way of escaping. He was alone somewhere in the middle of the Dales’ wastelands… But by the time he resigned to this fate, he realized that at some point he started enjoying it. He knew it wasn’t demonic influence, he was aware of his own thoughts and felt no traits of Imshael trying to possess him. This realization scared him more than the fact that he slept with a demon.
Until their second time quite some time had passed. Michel had gotten close to Imshael in the meantime and they had fought, but he constantly had what had happened in his mind, just like a parasite, nagging at the back of his thoughts, curiosity and desire chewing on him… He knew there was going to be a breaking point for him.
It was about a month later that they fought again. Imshael didn’t hold back, sending all of his poor, possessed puppets at Michel, not giving him any other choice than to slay them. Then it came to the point where the demon had to face Michel himself with no one left to fight instead of him. The ex-chevalier let Imshael get closer than usually – although not close enough to be able to harm him – and eventually they found themselves in a position very similar to their first time, with Michel’s back against a cliff, his hands pinned against the rock surface. The man still had strength in himself, Imshael knew that, felt that, so he frowned as he pushed Michel against the stone, anger distorting his face.
“Why aren’t you fighting me? I’m not letting you die easily!” the demon hissed in annoyance, pressing closer to Michel, their bodies touching, an action meant to be intimidating.
That was when a treacherous gasp left the ex-chevalier’s mouth. It didn’t matter that he quickly turned his head away to hide his embarrassed expression with his reddening cheeks, his body had betrayed him. He knew that at this closeness, Imshael had to feel the tightness in his pants that was really starting to bother him. The demon’s closeness drove him crazy with lust and he couldn’t do anything against it.
“Oh, so this was why you didn’t want to fight?” Imshael grinned, then leaned to Michel’s ear, whispering into it in a voice that made the man shudder. “You needn’t have put on such a show for that, you only have to ask… It’s your choice, after all.”
Michel kept his mouth shut. Yes, he knew it was his choice but he didn’t even dare to think of the prize he would have to pay if he asked for what he wanted directly. He wouldn’t give up his soul for a night of pleasure. So he just stood there, stubbornly not replying the demon and prayed to the Maker, to the Old Gods, to anyone that Imshael wanted this, wanted him badly enough that he wouldn’t just leave him now.
“Not saying anything I see…” Imshael muttered with a disappointed look on his face. “It doesn’t matter – if one time made you this eager for me, I’ll have you begging for me yet. I have all the time in the world.”
With that, Imshael smashed their lips together roughly. Michel sighed with relief, returning the kiss eagerly and didn’t mind the demon’s forcefulness. He got to touch the demon again and that was all he cared about.
They had been together more than Michel bothered to count. No deals, no trades, no choices. Imshael always asked and Michel never answered, and they simply continued what they started. It was a strange matter that neither of them brought up, both of them aware of the fragile, abnormal nature of this relationship. If they did, it could have ended, and none of them wanted that.
It was mostly Imshael who initiated. There were times when Michel fought back and resisted him, when he felt the creeping guilt take over him, when he was afraid that there would be a prize he would have to pay eventually. But as Imshael moved north, into the mountains and Michel chased him, following the chaos he had left after himself, as he got lonelier and lonelier with each day, and the nights got colder, he found himself resisting even less than before, secretly welcoming every visit of Imshael. The heat, the closeness, the familiarity of him brought comfort to him – sometimes he felt like this was the only thing that kept him going. His guilt for letting Imshael loose on the world was the reason he was chasing him, but Imshael himself was why he hadn’t exhausted of it yet.
“Missed me I see” Imshael growled into his ear as he broke the kiss, his hands already working on Michel’s shirt. His voice went straight into Michel’s groin, and he rolled his hips against the demon’s, his hands going to undo the buckles of his coat.
They undressed each other with knowing hands, all the movements familiar by now. Michel loved how hot Imshael’s body felt against his, how it warmed him in the cold of the night. It made him forget all about his worries and left only the lust on his mind. He pulled Imshael closer, down into another kiss and he let him. He wrapped his legs around the demon’s now naked hips, pulling him closer, the contact of their groins making both of them moan out in pleasure. Michel was becoming more impatient with every passing moment, with every touch he felt on his body. This wasn’t nearly enough, he wanted Imshael to do more, to touch him properly, to take him…
Just as he thought he couldn’t bear it anymore, he felt Imshael’s touch trail down on his body, slender fingers sliding inside him and he moaned long and needy, completely shamelessly – there was no point in trying to hide what he wanted anymore. He moved his hips against Imshael’s hand, urging him to hurry up. He needed him badly and had no patience to wait more than necessary.
The demon, who had been pressing kisses to Michel’s neck, now smirked against his skin at his impatience, but hurried up nevertheless. He drew back his fingers but before the ex-chevalier could voice his protest at the absence, he entered him slowly. Michel’s breathing became ragged as he started moving, his hands clawing at his back, and Imshael bit down on the soft flesh of his neck, eliciting a particularly loud groan from him.
Michel didn’t care about trivial things such as dignity at this point. During their first time he had tried to remain focused, determined not to show how much he had wanted him. But by now he had given up on that, just like Imshael had given up on pretending this was only part of his plan to break Michel’s will. He called out the demon’s name, asking him to go faster, harder, to give him more and Imshael obeyed, doing just what he needed. He hated that the demon knew what he wanted. He hated that he always found himself begging for more. But there was nothing he could do against it.
It had always been awkward to lie there in bed with him after. Those silent, empty moments seemed to drag on forever as he was wrapped in his arms, torn between comfort and discomfort, love and hatred. It had been only after their first time that Imshael left immediately, since then he had always stayed, if not for the whole night, at least until both of their breathings calmed down. They rarely ever talked afterwards. Michel had nothing to say – his thoughts were either not worth voicing them or thoughts that shouldn’t even have existed, let alone be said aloud.
Suddenly Michel found himself on his back, Imshael on top of him as the demon leaned to kiss him. It was a hard and passionate kiss, and Michel brought a hand up to tangle it in Imshael’s dark hair, pulling him closer. They kissed until they ran out of breath, then Imshael pulled back but stayed on top of the ex-chevalier, looking into his bright eyes. Everything about them seemed to be reversed – light and dark, mortal and demon, life and death…
“What is on your mind?” Imshael inquired, trailing his lips along Michel’s jawline. “Tell me, what is it that you want?”
“Nothing” Michel whispered as his eyes fluttered shut.
“Liar.”
“Demon.”
Imshael smirked, then leaned forward and kissed Michel long and deep, a hand coming up to cup his face gently.
“Spirit” he corrected the ex-chevalier after he broke the kiss, still smirking. Then he pulled away, standing up from the mattress and reached for his clothes.
Michel watched him dress silently. He wanted to stop him, to call him back beside him and sleep in his arms tonight. But he couldn’t have allowed himself to forget that he was dealing with a demon, a very dangerous one at that. He was already over the boundaries of common sense, he had no wish to step right into madness.
And if Imshael saw his longing gaze, he didn’t wish to do anything about it.
In the next few days, Michel reached Sahrnia and took up residence in an old abandoned building at the edge of the village. He would have preferred to find a place for the nights outside, but the buildings in the near were infested with red lyrium and Red Templars. For his own safety, he was forced to stay inside Sahrnia. The Red Templars also held him back from his goal – he made some trips in the Emprise, mostly around Sahrnia and Suledin’s Keep, but the area was infested with the enemy. He had no way to get in to Imshael and had to protect the remaining townsfolk of the raids. He had no chance of getting closer to the demon. For the first time in the last year, his goal seemed truly unreachable.
This was also the first time in months that he hadn’t seen Imshael for more than a week straight.
Then the Inquisition came along. He had spoken to their leader, the Inquisitor personally. He had told him his cause, just like he had told before to anyone who inquired. With the Inquisitor in Emprise du Lion, the Red Templars started disappearing, a path clearing up to the Keep.
He had been so close. Right at the gate of the Keep, he could almost sense Imshael’s presence. But when the Inquisitor arrived and helped him fight, when he looked at the Keep and knew that this might very well be the end of his mission with the Inquisitor at his side… He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t go in. So he made up an excuse, something to justify why he couldn’t face the demon inside and took off running towards Sahrnia, but not for the aid of people but away from his shame.
It didn’t take long for the Herald of Andraste to come to him and declare the demon dead.
Michel smiled and expressed his relief as he was expected to, and part of him even believed it. Then he did the only thing that could give meaning to his life now – offered his service to the Inquisition and was welcomed to it.
He travelled to Skyhold with the Inquisition scouts escorting him, and he kept smiling and pretending to be alright until they got there, until Lady Montilyet escorted him to his own room. Only when he was finally left alone could he allow himself to break down. Michel screamed and shouted, hit the hard stone wall with all his force till his arms felt numb, then he collapsed to the ground and cried.
Because he knew it had been the right thing to do to let the Inquisitor kill Imshael. Because he had been a threat to everyone in Thedas, to all of the world, and now the people were safe from him. Now no one had to fear him anymore, there wouldn’t be any more pain and death left in his trail. But that didn’t stop the ache in his chest that squeezed his heart and made the tears roll down his cheeks.
Knowing that he had done the right thing still didn’t bring his lover back.