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when we first started goin' around together

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“Why are we here?” Sandalphon asked, looking around and sniffing the air.

“Don’t act like this is the first time I’ve taken you to Starbucks,” Hastur shrugged, waving a hand and unlocking the door so she could stroll through like she owned the place.

“At night,” Sandalphon insisted. “Not at night.”

Hastur was already behind the counter, fussing with the espresso machine. The lights overhead were dimmed, but she could see clearly in the low light. A small miracle kept the security system from going off, kept it from disturbing her exploration.

“You didn’t tell me we were breaking and entering,” Sandalphon continued, walking up to the counter and peering over at her.

“Breaking? What have I broken?” Hastur finally figured out how to turn the machine on and it whirred to life.

“It’s the principle.”

“Oh, and I’ve got principles now? What next? A pretty face and eyes like goddamn seashells?” Hastur mumbled, irritated, fiddling with the buttons on the machine. “I think this is automatic.”

“Don’t be like that.” Sandalphon insinuated themselves behind the counter and grabbed at her thin waist. “You’re pretty. Don’t shut me out.”

“I only wanted coffee,” she said, shoving a cup under the spout and mashing a button. “That’s why we’re here, okay?”

“We could have gone to any other Starbucks that’s open on Earth right now. Or we could have time skipped. Or you could have asked me to miracle you up a cup.”

“One,” Hastur said, holding up her pointer finger, “I didn’t want to go to another Starbucks. I wanted to go to this Starbucks.”

“Two,” she added her middle finger, “I despise time skipping. It always makes me feel like I’ve swallowed my own tongue.”

“And three,” she declared, with a thumb, “your shoddily miracled coffee tastes like something you scooped out of a mud puddle. So, no thank you!”

The espresso machine beeped, as if to interrupt, and Hastur turned to it, looking murderous. She grabbed the cup and peered into it, unsure.

“You’re upset with me,” Sandalphon said, softly. They were still holding Hastur by the waist as she stuck her tongue into the liquid. “Why?”

“You want a face full of coffee?” Hastur deflected, twisting around. “I need syrup. Where’s the bloody syrup in this place?”

“If I help you find the syrup, will you tell me why you’re so unhappy with me?”

“No. Sucks to you. Let me go.”

Sandalphon let their hands fall away. Hastur made a beeline for where she’d spotted the syrup bottles lined up and began adding a pump of each one.

They did follow after her, however, and watched as she continued to add to the mixture.

“Hastur,” they tried again. “Pretty demon…”

“What?” she grumbled.

“Talk to me.” They approached again, crowding her up against the row of syrups.

“My coffee, your face,” she threatened, but it was with only half-hearted rage.

“I know, I know,” Sandalphon cooed, pressing a plush palm to her cheek.

“What do you know, then?”

“Put the coffee down first.”

Hastur took a sip before tossing it behind her, the liquid splashing up against the far wall. “Happy?”

Sandalphon cupped her face with both of their soft hands, then, and raised their eyebrows meaningfully. “Maybe I’ve become attached enough to know when you’re upset. And not about coffee.”

“It’s nothing. Can’t I be miserable for no reason? I’m a demon, remember?”

“Tut, tut.”

“Don’t you ‘tut, tut’ at me,” Hastur growled. “I’m having an off day, okay? I’m just...having an off day…”

Hastur slumped forward into Sandalphon’s arms and allowed herself to be held, finally. Music started up over the speakers and Sandalphon began to sway with her.

“I don’t dance,” she mumbled.

“I have it on good authority that this can hardly be called dancing.”

“Who’s?”

“Gabriel’s. He said dancing required an audience, a stage, and a boisterous musical number.”

“...I guess this is alright, then.”

“Is comfort not allowed for demons?” Sandalphon asked.

“What are you on about now?”

“Pretty demon,” they said again, coaxing and soft. “Won’t you let me help you relax?”

They let their hands trail down to squeeze at her scrawny rear, pulling her even closer.

“What, your cock missing my attention or something?”

Sandalphon smacked her on the ass, though it wasn’t very hard, especially through the layers of her coat and trousers. “So crass.”

“But am I wrong, though?” Hastur grinned.

“Maybe I’m not even thinking about my dick. Can’t I want to make you feel good?”

“Oh, but I thought your dick liked me. I thought we were friends.”

“You’re a brat, and a menace,” Sandalphon said, pushing her up against the counter.

“What else?” Hastur gasped, hopping up onto the counter and sending several syrup bottles crashing onto the floor behind her.

“Greedy,” Sandalphon rubbed along her slim thighs with both hands. “So greedy. Always thinking about getting your cunt filled.”

Hastur snapped her fingers, and suddenly her coat and trousers were gone, revealing the lacy red panties she’d been wearing underneath.

“Go on,” she said, opening her legs from where she was still sat on the counter.

“You’re demanding,” they continued. “And eager.”

They pressed a palm up against the fabric between her legs.

“Good,” she said. “I’m a demon. I’m supposed to be all those things. I’m supposed to be a nightmare.”

“Oh, is that what you are?” They moved forward and kissed her, deep and dirty.

“Yeah,” Hastur moaned, when they pulled away. “That’s it. You love it ‘cause it’s wrong, don’t you?”

Hastur was looking at them with those ink black eyes, legs spread, expression open.

“That’s...that’s not why…”

She shifted in place, looking anywhere but at them.

“Well...don’t you think I’m gonna ask why. Who knows why angels do what they do. Not me.”

Sandalphon kissed her again, this time tugging her down off the counter, and soon they found themselves tangled on the floor, Hastur’s long limbs wrapped around Sandalphon’s shorter corporation. They quickly divested her of her underwear, and set about getting their face between her bare legs.

“Fuck...ohhh, fuck,” Hastur whimpered. Her hands grasped without purchase at the tile floor while Sandalphon continued tonguefucking her as thoroughly as possible.

Her first orgasm hit sharp and quick, making her cry out and clench her thighs around Sandalphon’s head.

“Dirty cheat,” she moaned. “Some angel you are.”

Sandalphon only huffed out a laugh, and went right back to lapping at her, careful not to tease too much at her oversensitive clit.

Hastur felt a second wave coming on, and squeezed her eyes shut, letting the sensation roll over her, making her legs quiver and shake.

“Wait--wait,” she said this time, and Sandalphon looked up at her. “It’s a lot.”

“You want to stop?”

“Only for now,” Hastur admitted sheepishly.

Sandalphon nodded. They might not understand everything about Hastur, but they’d never push her. They laid down beside her, and pulled her onto their much broader chest.

“So,” they started, when Hastur remained quiet. “An off day?”

“Yeah,” Hastur agreed.

“How long do those…?"

“Dunno.”

“Ah.” Sandalphon began to rub at her arm, up and down, up and down. It was surprisingly soothing. “I suppose we’ll find out together, then?”

Hastur shrugged, but Sandalphon could feel some of the tension going away.

They had nowhere to be. They could outlast an off day, or as many off days as might happen.