Unubore no Kanshin

Have you ever been so enamored with something that it felt like to lose it would be fa Wi Willing to go to incredible lengths to acquire that shining jewel? Thought as much.
I sat in the quiet of my room for hours before soft sounds below me told me my obsession has returned. I creep down the studs carefully and peer through one of many holes in the wall. Not obvious ones, mind you, no. Strategically placed. I dislike being discovered before I want to be.
I watch hungrily as he stalks around in the bedroom. Frustrated and cursing under his breath. Oh, how I want to reach out and soothe away the anger. To take care of him. He strips off his long coat and tosses it over a chair before sitting down on the broad bed to remove his boots.
He continues to undress before me, slow and unassuming. Once in a while he would look around, perhaps feeling my leering gaze on him, but would then write it off as paranoia. His strip tease complete, he heads for the bathroom, and I hear the water running. Excellent. Just as I’d hoped.
I scramble carefully, quietly, over to the holes in the bathroom wall. He’s testing the shower water with his hand, the heat from it already producing a slight sheen of moisture on his pale body. I’d watched him before, in other hideaways, and noticed how surprisingly meticulous he was for a demon, especially a lower one. True, organizationally he had the skills of a packrat, and kept little in order, but his body, his beautiful lean body… Such care was always taken with his appearance; he was a feline among hyenas.
I’d been the one to lead him to this new shelter, complete with all the modern conveniences. He questioned for a bit where the residents had got to and left everything running, but after a few days of luxuries, stopped. I’d dropped subtle hints to him in his sleep, perhaps abusing my magic a bit, about this location, but I knew that here, in this place, I could finally make him mine, if only for a while.
Though he’s often forced to, he hates coming and going by way of the sewers. It’s well after dawn, and that means he arrived in the house through the grate in the basement. He always has a masked expression of distaste and disgust when he departs via that route. So he showers. He showers to clean away the smell and the feeling of the highway of waste.
He lets out a little sigh of contentment as he steps beneath the hot spray. The water immediately melts away the gels in his hair and it curls and waves before he slicks it back flat with his hands. The water turns white gold to sandy brown, but only I notice. He just stands still for a moment, allowing the heat to permeate his cold body.
As he reaches for a bar of spicy-smelling soap, his fingers are just centimeters from my face, separated only by some tile and board. As it was, a few flecks of water have dappled my face as I watch him rub the soap across his smooth, flawless flesh.
He sings a bit to himself, but I can’t identify it right off. I’ve heard it before, one of the many songs he’s habit to play to fill the silence of being alone. I don’t listen to the words so much as his voice. It’s not perfect, but it can be when he tries. When he’s being truly passionate about his music. Now, now he’s just relaxing.
I slide down to a lower hole as he begins lathering his groin and thighs. Soap and fingers slide over shaft and through dark curls shimmering with beads of light. He’s particular here, making sure every fold and wrinkle is cleansed, then moves down to his calves. My gaze remains on lean, strong thighs curving up into a tight, smooth posterior, muscles clenching and unclenching as he moves about in his routine.
He finishes his cleaning and steps out of the shower, shaking off like a dog before reaching for a thick red towel resting on the sink. He rubs it quickly over his head, and when it’s pulled away, his bleached blonde locks stick off like a porcupine for a moment before settling down in a soft, short mane. As he turns, the light catches his hair and it glows for a moment like a halo. My archangel…
I return to my previous hole and watch him wander around the room for a bit. The TV’s on but he’s not really paying attention to it. He’s seen this before. I’m sure there’s little he hasn’t seen before. He picks up the remote and surfs around a bit. Two-hundred channels and nothing on. Oh… wait. He’s found something. A comedy to fill the early hours. I don’t know this one, but he obviously does by the light of amusement in his wolf blue eyes.
He laughs quietly, as if he’s trying to not disturb someone else with his banality. It’s his breeding showing through. Others, so many others, think he’s borne of low blood and lower manners, but I know better. I’ve researched, pried, and investigated. He’ll never admit it, how refined and proper hallyally is, but it’s not necessary. I know. And he often gives himself away. The grace in his swagger, the proper speech and intellectual references in his insults and jibes. Even the sweep and posture of his body as he stands still, listening, hunting, watching…
He begins to doze. The comic has melted away, and a troop of peppy news programs, game shows, and soap operas take over the waves. He flips off the television and slides beneath silk and satin covers, switching off the ornate lamp on the bedstand. Without it and the flickering glow of the television, the room is nearly dark, but I can still make him out just fine as the cloak of Morpheus winds around him and he begins to dream.