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Descendants of the Mundane	By : wickedorin Category: Final Fantasy VIII > Het - Male/Female Views: 699 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VIII, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
Descendants of the Mundane and the general overall concept of Descendants
of the Mundane is entirely copyright Orin Drake 2003, as are the characters
Kyrie (Almasy Leonhart Kinneas), Rodger Kinneas, and John Sparda.
Obviously everyone else has been taken from various Final Fantasy games
and Devil May Cry, and other people own those. But you ought to know
that by now, right?

        Background: It was
a stupid idea I came up with while playing Devil May Cry. I mean,
come on. Daughter of Squall meets son of Dante. It sounded
so rediculously funny that I just had to. So I did. In the
beginning, this wasn't meant to be serious, or even to actually exist in
Kyrie's universe at all. It was just too weird not to play with,
y'know? But it grew on me. Damn you, Ky. I guess it's
set more or less a couple of years after the end of Retribution Nor
Redemption. Enjoy, I hope. Do not read, however,
if you've got a really narrow view of relationships or sexuality (keep
the other two stories in mind, in other words--Kyrie and Rodger have been
together for a long time and they're very secure in one another).
You might get warped. Heh heh.

        Also Note: In the interest
of... well, myself, really, this is written under the theory that "demon"
is a term that incorporates all hellspawn--"devil" is used specifically
for a humanoid, intelligent, "higher demon". So all devils are demons,
but demons are not devils. Just in case there's any confusion.
        WARNING!!! This
is yet another chapter that contains descriptions of free sexual thought
and sexual circumstances of which the more sensitive and/or vanilla of
among should not be reading. It may warp one's poor mind. No,
seriously. If you can't handle it, don't read it.

Descendants of the Mundane

Chapter 5

by Orin Drake
        "She chastise you?" Rodger
joked after the phone was hung back on the wall.

        "Terribly." Kyrie
responded, diving right back into the pizza.

        "And Michael's still breathing?"
he continued, grinning.

        "As far as she was aware
at the time she called." He was a great guy, he really was.
He just needed to be watched quite often. A challenge for her aunt,
certainly... Speaking of challenges, she turned to John and regarded
him for a short moment. "You must meet my aunt sometime."

        The boy tried his best not
to look too worried about the suggestion. More of her family... well,
not that he minded. He was just... concerned. He'd heard enough
about this woman to know she'd be quite "interesting". "Oh.
Kay."

        Rodger couldn't help a chuckle
at that reaction. It was pretty much expected.

        Once again they found themselves
in front of the television--only this time, it was a winner-takes-all video
game extravaganza. At first it had only been a few old, simple side-scrollers
just to test out John's range of ability. But a half-devil needed
something
to entertain himself with when not in fear for his life; he turned out
to be quite expert in hand-eye coordination.

        It was when John absolutely
kicked Kyrie's ass at a combat fighter that had jaws dropping--well, Rodger's
and Kyrie's, anyway. The silver-tressed newcomer looked just as easy
and pleased as ever. Maybe a little too much.

        The recently defeated lowered
her head for one moment before speaking, low and theatrical, "Vincent must
never know of this ability."

        John grinned to the point
where his canines glimmered. "Yes, Ma'am."

        Ah, that made things a little...
nicer. "That's right." She shot back, jokingly. "Treat
me right, boy."

        Rodger sat back against
the sofa and watched with a little too much enjoyment. He had no
idea where this was going, but he knew it'd be amusing as hell.

        "Well, then." John's
voice had lowered, become a breathy, wicked little treat for her.
"I suppose I should let you in on the secret."

        Her eyebrow raised, but
her expression was a difficult smirk. No words could ever have been
more effective than the look she jabbed him with.

        And to that, he only responded
with a larger grin. He waited, biding his time until she was just
on the verge of opening her mouth--"Button mashing."

        Instinctually, Rodger winced
just a little bit. He was so fucking sure she was going to hit him--not
seriously, of course. But enough. He just felt it coming...
probably mostly from when he'd done and said things to drive her to that
edge, himself. Hey, they both loved to strike one another's nerves
every once in a while.

        Thank whatever powers were
out there that John saw it coming. He was quite certain, as he grasped
the wrist coming at him, that she never would have hurt him, per
se. She still had that amused but devious smirk across her face,
and the force she'd have struck him with would have been hardly more than
to roll an unaware person backward, but... this was more fun. The
more he hung around, the more comfortable he got--and the more he learned
to enjoy himself. "Tell you what."

        He could not hold it anymore.
Rodger started laughing at the whole situation.

        His wife cast him a wicked
glance--but not before a chuckle broke out of her, too. She attempted
to retain her composure for the rest of what devil-boy was suggesting,
however.

        John was very careful to
plan out exactly when to speak, and how low and soft to do so. "Best
two out of three. Winner gets 'control'."

        Now this was a very interesting
proposition. "Absolute control?" she kept her voice just as soft
and mock-sweet as the boy that still had light hold of her wrist--and was
clearly enjoying it.

        "Complete and absolute."
He assured, very much liking this game. Might as well live it up
as much as he possibly could, right?

        "Fine." She agreed
quietly, retrieving her wrist back to her side. All she needed was
a little motivation.

        Never one to understand
the complete draw of sports, Rodger suddenly found that he more or less
got it. Or at least one version of it. This was utterly fascinating;
he needed to know how it would end. He'd even have said so,
if he weren't so concerned that voicing it wouldn't suddenly end this most
interesting of competitions he had ever seen. And that was saying
a lot. He had once seen a very drunken Cloud and a very "slightly
less than sober" Quistis complete in a "straight line walking contest".
Now that, that, was priceless.

        The war began with no more
words. A new game was started at three rounds, characters were selected,
and the three second countdown came up on the screen.

        Kyrie struck first, her
button-pressing instincts right on target with an uppercut. John
countered almost instantly--there was a flurry of button mashing, crunching
and shouting sound effects, and pixelated blood. Fingers moved wildly.
Adrenaline surged. Thirty seconds later, Kyrie's chosen character
was on the ground, twitching.

        John's cocky grin never
left. "Another character, maybe?" he suggested innocently.

        She glared at him in silence.
Time to bring out the big guns. "Alright, fine. I'll take you
up on that." Maybe the element of surprise was in order. She
chose a petite female character in hopes she could get a good surprise
factor going.

        The boy only kept his expression,
starting the next round. What he did not expect was this particular
petite character's first move--leaving his character in a puddle of blood.
Second round over at 3.45 seconds.

        It was Kyrie's turn to grin
wickedly. "It's called the 'Crotch Split Triple Kick Combo'."
She informed innocently. "I am informed it's technically a game glitch,
but I thought it was perfectly fair."

        Rodger found himself placing
a hand over his mouth so that he would not make enough noise to interrupt.
The look on the other boy's face at his wife's words were... ah.
Just great. Magnificent. It was nice to see her vicious playful
nature being hammered into someone else for a change.

        Once the numbness passed
out of John's emotional core, he had to force himself to relax again.
Oh, she was not one to be trifled with, was she? Not in the realm
of video games... His voice was calm, soft, hiding underneath it
a volley of hellfire as though he were talking to a hapless child that
had just seriously pissed him off. "Alright. We both get one
more character switch for the last round."

        With a nod, his opponent
agreed. "Want a drink first?" her tone was ever so gentle, ever so
wonderfully calm.

        "No." His response
was more matter-of-fact than cold--but it was certainly final.

        But this was not the end
of things. Not for her. "Well then mind if I have one--"

        The boy's eyes almost seemed
to take on the same color as Kyrie's. "No drink. Just play."

        The tiny bit of control
Rodger thought he had, snapped in a heartbeat. He grasped a pillow
from the side of the sofa and covered his face, laughing hysterically.

        A sideways grin lit her
face--both at her husband's reaction and at John's. Perhaps they
both knew more than they let on. She'd gotten one very important,
slightly alcoholic tidbit from her aunt that aided in making her the video
game player she ultimately became--one shot. One shot, any alcohol,
drink slowly. You'll never need more; one shot is all the mind and
muscles need to be able to leave most "logic" behind and function on instinct.
In the case of video games, instinct became hand-eye coordination.
And, to even Kyrie's surprise, Quistis' solution to acquiring even the
most difficult of successes worked.

        Perhaps John knew that.
Or perhaps that very mild twitch under his eye was indication that he just
wanted to get this thing over with. Either way, his opponent once
again nodded her agreement. With that, the utterly silent boy chose
another character that looked like a good mid-range bloke, and waited.

        Somehow finding the desire
to make this last occasion completely "fair", the challenged selected the
same character with a costume change. There, fair's fair. Now
they were both on the same level. This one would be sudden death.

        The countdown commenced
on the screen amidst the muffled laughter still emanating from behind them.
3... 2... 1...

        John leapt toward his nemesis
with a flaming kick of death--only to find that his enemy had taken two
backflips and was waiting for him on the side of the screen. So.
If she couldn't fight dirty, she'd just have to avoid confrontation altogether.
Well, he was game. In a move of utmost and complete cocky certainty,
certain that her character was too far away to do any major damage, he
made a show of dropping the controller in his lap.

        Were she to ever have been
a "real lady", she'd have asked him if he was sure about that. She'd
have grilled him, teasingly, as to whether or not he thought that was really
a smart move--but screw it. This was for control. She hadn't
gotten to where she had without learning Vincent's exceptionally cruel
and dirty tricks. The character that John had himself selected, had
a special move that not even she would have remembered; had it not been
for this moment, this time, this place, this utmost perfection--

        Rodger's astonished gasp,
peeking over the pillow, was drowned out by the sound of the final bell.
It all happened too fast, so fast even the lightning fast devil hunter
hadn't realized it in time to grasp the controller again, saving himself
from a fate so horrendous...

        Kyrie sat back comfortably,
placing the controller in front of her on the floor as though it were a
cherished and revered item. Her words were quiet, delicate.
"The booklet called that move a Spin and Slash. But I have since
come to know it as the Across the Screen Rocket Disemboweler." With
a deep breath and a sense of accomplishment, she whispered, "I win."

        At this point, her husband
was a shaking, sobbing/laughing, helpless entity stretched across the couch.
This was all so wickedly... beautiful.

        John opened his mouth to
react, but his brain could form no words. Defeated. Absolutely
and completely defeated. Disemboweled and gushing blood in the background
as battle stats and credits rolled in front, a quiet ending theme hurting
just that much more.

        But--wait a second.
Really, just... wait a second. It's not like he'd actually lost anything
terribly important here. So control was hers. It was... frightening
in one respect, sure. But quite pleasing in another. He looked
at her expectantly, all of the ferocious competition sloughing off like
water.

        She gave him an appreciative
grin, trying to figure out just what she should do with her power.
Really, she should go upstairs and get the collar... but fuck that.
Quite literally. She didn't want to leave just yet. "Well,
boy," she dared, "Take 'em off."

        Exactly why he was
surprised about the suddenness of her request, he wasn't sure. She
was a regular machine when it came to these matters. Not that he
minded... "Here? Now?"

        "Oh yeah." Somehow
the fact her husband was still helpless with amusement behind her just
made this feel all the more... interesting. This was what sex was,
this was what sex was supposed to be--hilarious and life affirming.
Or, well, something like that.

        Not that Rodger didn't want
to be a part; but his stomach hurt. A fact made more interesting
when he heard his wife utter quietly, "I'll be right with you." Right
before he felt an intrusive warmth in a very established, practiced location.

        Somehow laughter and sex
seemed to go together. At least, that much was quite apparent from
Rodger's almost immediate reaction to her very crude physical advance.
Even as she watched John teasingly take his goddamn sweet time getting
up, let alone trying to discover a new and very slow way to get out of
his shirt, she heard her husband's laughter grow increasingly quiet.

        Shirt finally off, John
marveled at the sight in front of him. Never in a million years...
"What about you?" he asked casually, trying to draw out his performance
as long as possible. At least he could try to get back at her.

        "What about me?"
she grinned, making a particularly accurate and lengthy movement with her
hand that succeeded in silencing the giggles altogether--with a gasping
moan. She was just a little too familiar with the "landscape".
Which really only gave her more devious ideas...

        Again, the shirtless boy
tried his best to be casual about the whole thing. "Well, I know
you won, oh Mighty Highness. But, seeing as how I have no
shirt and you still do... can't you afford me a peek?"

        What a fucking gentleman.
She smirked. "Well, alright. But you'll have to take over for
me."

        The body underneath her
touch went absolutely stiff--but not with anything resembling a negative
reaction. In fact, he was damn glad he still had a pillow to curse
into. As for John... well, he looked mildly surprised... though certainly
not phazed. It was simply a reminder of a fact he'd discovered long
ago; he was a hedonist. Pleasure was pleasure, no matter the form.
He was very much aware that the pleasure these people had to offer him
were well worth the "energy".

        Needless to say, she was
quite pleased to see the silver haired boy kneel beside her, ready and
willing to fulfill the wager won scant seconds earlier. Hell, the
ending music was still playing, repeating eternally in the background.
She demonstrated a rhythm to the best of her ability, then left it to "the
pros".

        Without so much as a pause,
John took over. Kink was good--kink was great. Kink
made the world go 'round. This was definitely a new experience...

        There was just something
about being jerked off by another male, actually. Being touched by
someone with the same "hardware" carried a little more than just kink--as
well as his wife knew him, she could only know so much about the male body.
...And of course there was still that glorious kink factor.

        Kyrie wasted no time.
In a flurry of movements that would have made her clothes-flinging husband
envious (had he been able to pay attention), she was completely nude in
the living room. Not that such a thing had never happened before,
of course. Though, this time was a little... different. That
much out of the way, she kneeled back at the couch and watched hungrily.
It was a little hard to believe this whole thing was happening...

        John's dazzlingly bright
blue eyes fell expectantly on her--but he found that devious grin playing
across her features again. After all, she had won. She
had won control. That meant, frankly, she was probably going
to use it to torture the hell out of him.

        Granted she was a vicious,
cruel and callous bitch when she had to be. But, seeing the realizing
stare that met her grin, she supposed she didn't have to play that
way. With a practiced move that could only have been completely realized
by John wearing a pair of Rodger's pants, she reached down and popped the
button, slowly guiding the zipper all the way down. And then, of
course--she stopped.

        Even though he could have
had several words with her for that kind of behavior, a little tease wasn't
really all that bad. Not that he'd ever admit it. He gave her
that wicked cocky smile, titling his head to indicate the area below his
stroking hand. "Care to work your magic again?"

        While all coherent thought
had been drained from the situation, Rodger had a mild clue in the back
of his mind as to what was going on. He sure as hell felt the sudden
looseness of his pants, taking a breath as warm flesh slid down his navel--and
with a cooing groan, he understood it was not his wife's.

        All at once, the universe
decided to catch them by the throat and shake--the phone rang. It
seemed like an impossible happening, something that just should never occur
to begin with; but certainly not now, not after all of this and the promising
things to come...

        With a glare to the heavens,
Kyrie was the one elected to get the receiver. Instead of bothering
with the one in the kitchen, she made a long stride on all fours like a
cat, grasping the cordless on the far end of the living room. Glancing
at the caller ID screen on the back, she found herself highly amused.
"Oh, Rodger..."

        This time, the moan was
not so filled with pleasure. It was agonizing, in fact. Especially
when the warm hand made a retreat--first giving a teasing squeeze.
He supposed, in his clouded state of mind as he flailed to sit up and grasp
the offered phone, it was good she hadn't picked it up. Regardless
of who was on the other end, if they'd heard his sound of agony, they'd
have most assuredly would have called authorities. Taking a glance
at the screen himself, he felt... stupefied. With a quick look at
the other two, both looking back just as innocent as if they were both
fully dressed, he cleared his throat and pressed the answer button.
It was a struggle to keep his voice level. "M-Mom. Oh yeah,
hi."

        Kyrie chuckled lowly; John
bit his lip so he wouldn't laugh at all. But the two of them sure
as hell didn't stop. Or, at the very least, Kyrie didn't--she
quickly scooted behind the boy and started to peel the rest of his clothes
off.

        Rodger looked like he ached
all over--with a pleasant half-smile. He loved his mother dearly,
of course. But she could have called tomorrow, maybe... "No,
not at all. We were just relaxing." The half-smile became a
bright grin a moment later. "Oh yeah. Ky sure handled that
situation today, alright..." He knew he couldn't look at her.
If he saw what his mind told him was unfolding right next to him, he'd
probably hurl the phone out the window...

        "Yeah." He went on
pleasantly, as if he didn't hear the clothing being thrown across the room.
"That'd be great. Next week, maybe." The look on his face suddenly
became a cross between pain and sick amusement. "He's, uh... a friend.
Of Ky's. Yeah. No, he's... yeah. That's about right..."

        John barely heard the assurances;
he was staring with wide eyes up the stairs, to where his "partner" had
just darted off without notice. Seconds later, she emerged from her
bedroom, strolling casually with her hands folded behind her back as though
she weren't in all of her naked glory, about ready to live out some terribly
fun experiences. Having handled a gunblade for several years gave
her some excellent upper body strength, not to mention coordination and
good distance judging--as she approached the first stair, she flung he
arm out and threw the object previously hidden behind her like a frisbee.

        Aaaahh... John caught
the collar easily on his first finger. Acting as smooth as he dared,
he simply let the object loop around until it fell by it's own accord over
his arm. Though he certainly wasn't about to do any extra work--she'd
won, after all.

        It was at that point Rodger
was getting desperate--but he tried so hard not to let it in his voice.
This was his mother, and he did really love her, and she was talking
about important things like meeting with Irvine for dinner again sometime
soon... but really, couldn't she just call back later?

        Taking her sweet time, Kyrie
finally made it down the stairs and back beside "the loser of the tournament".
By that time he had positioned himself to sit on his haunches with his
legs tightly together, between the sofa and the television, facing her.
Waiting. Ready, with a wry smirk.

        A sudden opportunity in
the conversation finally gave Rodger the opening he needed. "Well,
we were kind of planning to... uh... yeah. Okay, Mom. I love
you, too. Talk to you tomorrow." Only when the receiver was
off did he let relief wash over him. With the vision of his wife
placing the collar around John's neck... well, that was that. Fuck
modesty--he tugged his shirt off and quickly stepped out of his pants.
The hell he was missing out on this.

        The recently collared boy
took a moment to appreciate the feel of the article around his neck.
This was... a new situation, to be sure. He certainly always fancied
himself as more dominant, but... well, he could see that couldn't possibly
always be the case with the other two around. Hey, variety was the
spice of life and so forth.

        Kyrie actually stood up
and took a few steps back, admiring her captive. Hyne but he looked
damn fine. "Very nice." She oversimplified.

        Rodger cleared his throat.
"And, uh, as for where we left off..."

        "I was getting to that."
His wife grinned. "I won, remember."

        He put his hands up jokingly.
"Okay, fine. You're driving."

        Only the most sadistic,
devious expression crossed her face. Instead of physically taking
charge... she sat straight down in front of the sofa, laying back on her
elbows without the least bit of shame. "Okay. You two, on the
couch. Let's see some action."

        The two boys... looked at
one another. Neither of them had ever done this before. All
John could respond with was, "Uh..."

        Rodger snickered quietly,
walking to the selected area and sitting down (without exposing the cushions
to too much of his ass). "I'm game."

        Clearing his throat, the
silver tressed boy agreed. "Me, too. But... I don't want to
be on the bottom." He grinned wickedly at that sentiment actually
having passed his lips so easily.

        The brunette seemed to be
considering that for the first time. "Hm. Me either."

        Kyrie made a joking, exasperated
sigh. "Fine, fine. Just sit together then, hm?"

        Well, John could do that.
He lifted for a moment and rearranged himself a little closer to the center.
The two boys gave one another knowing looks before turning their attention
back to the "mistress".

        "Oh come on." She
joked, looking very comfortable on the floor. "You weren't biding
your time earlier."

        "Well, we weren't expected
to do anything then." Rodger made the excuse sound as plausible as
he could, just to see if he could goad her. That was a fun game in
itself, as John had recently discovered.

        She sighed as though the
whole world were suddenly placed upon her, then invited herself to sit
between them. "Then I'll start for you." She offered kindly,
giving her husband just the slightest press of lips against his.

        Before he had the chance
to return it, however, she had already teasingly moved to the other.
It was simply her luck that she was gifted with the ability to kiss exceedingly
well, as John found out quickly. Before he had the chance to turn
his body toward her in mindless hedonistic glory, however, she was already
moving away. From John's lips of cinnamon fire, she crossed back
to Rodger's, of mint and ice. They were
flavors, all astoundingly
overcoming her senses. As she finally pulled away back to her place
on the floor, the two of them seemed to take on her initiative. What
the hell--they were already that close anyway. John was first to
connect--a little unsure at first but loosening up quickly.

        Kyrie laid back on her elbows
again, and thought she might just fucking explode. Hyne but
this was... just... shit. This was so much better than she'd ever
imagined. They'd moved closer, their bodies bucking rhythmically
against one another, arms entwined if only to give feel and friction to
the more sensitive nether portions, their lips moving, tangling, fighting
for better position with the thoughtless, lusting fervor of new lovers...

        She gasped, possibly for
the first time in her life trying to stave off the orgasm.
She hadn't even started touching herself--this was incredible. Beyond
anything she'd ever dreamed or imagined--even beyond the (extensive) artwork
she'd been witness to. This, was... impressive. All it took
after the extended minutes of watching such a gloriously beautiful scene,
was Rodger's telltale muffled shriek--

        Like dominoes. One
after the other, sound and motion shattering as the only coherent thing
that existed was exceptional pleasure.

        The room filled with that
feeling, and all was silent. Eventually, bits and tatters of heavy
breath came through the sleepy haze. Little by little, the three
of them recovered by some miracle. Actual thought fumbled
to get a hold of the situation. It took a great deal of doing to
get the mind working again.

        "How was that?" Rodger finally
panted, finding himself draped over one end of the couch.

        There was another long pause
in which breathing was the only sound. "Holy... fucking... Hyne...
and a half..." she murmured weakly from the floor.

        One leg having fallen off
the couch sometime between "now and then", John found himself draped over
the opposite end from Rodger. He felt too exhausted to open his eyes,
let alone talk--but, as his father had once said, it seemed his mouth never
did get tired. "Everyone... have a good... time?"

        "I think..." Kyrie began
the painfully long process of trying to sit up and catch her breath, "I
can honest... honestly answer... 'Yes'." Ah, screw sitting.
Laying was okay.

        They laid there collectively,
albeit separated, for a good fifteen minutes before anyone had the desire
to speak again. This time, it was Rodger's turn. Straight to
the point: "I'm really tired."

        His wife laughed quietly.
"I'm glad." After a moment's thought, she added, "Me, too.
Good work, John."

        The boy lazily made a saluting
gesture with his hand, too worn out himself to do much else. Not
like he actually had to work at any of that, but... it was nice to be given
a compliment.

        "And you too, darling."
She added before Rodger had the chance to get a word in.

        "Alright then." He
agreed. Hey, it wasn't all John's work. "I know it's kinda
early, but... can we go to bed now?"

        She chuckled, feeling exactly
the same way herself. "I just have a quick phone call to make."

        "A phone call?" her husband
teased. "What, Vincent has to know everything?"

        She responded with a non-verbal
sound that more or less equaled giving the middle finger.

        Whatever that phone call
had been, it was short. And apparently none too important, as she
walked up behind the two boys brushing their teeth with a yawn. "It'll
be nice to sleep in." She commented, waiting for a free sink.

        "Like usual, you mean?"
Rodger inquired with a mouth full of foam.

        Kyrie stared at him blankly
in the mirror, then took her toothbrush. "Fine. I'll be downstairs,
then."

        Her husband ever so romantically
spat the remainder of toothpaste into the sink, then made long, melodramatic
strides to her. "No no, don't let me offend you, my darling."

        John grinned to himself,
unwilling to interrupt their moment with a quip or two of his own.
They were a good threesome, sure, but he had to remind himself that he
was still a bit of the outsider. Or, well, the latecomer, anyway.
What an amusing thought.

        Kyrie caught the reflection
of his grin, giving him one in return. "And will you be accompanying
us?"

        Very tempting. But,
then again... "I think you two should have a little time."

        "Aww." The married
couple joked together.

        "Alright." Kyrie relented.
"I'll brush my teeth then tuck you in."

        "Pft." Rodger commented.

        "Oh, I'll tuck you in, too."
She assured him with a vicious little smile.

        The "tucking" was really
nothing more than saying a good-night to John, while being in the guest
room with him. Saying goodnight just happened to involve a kiss.
Purely innocent, of course. Oh, it was nothing passion-filled or
sinful by any stretch of the imagination, but it was nice. Sweet.
Fulfilling.

        Off to her own room, Kyrie
slipped in behind Rodger and cuddled up tight with a spouse's kiss and
a contented sigh. Yes indeed. Things were going quite well.

        Half an hour later, she
discovered that such things never could last for too terribly long.
She woke with the sense of motion in the doorway, instinct making sure
her consciousness kicked into play quickly. It was only John, in
the end, but... it was more than that. She knew the look about him
all too well--he'd just had a nightmare. Not just any nightmare,
though. It was one of those goddamn mind-fucking nightmares that
were so ungodly, utterly, horribly real...

        He stepped inside as she
sat up, making eye contact only briefly. Before she had the chance
to ask him a question or so much as try to calm him down, his shaking voice
was able to express the raging emotions still echoing in his head.
"Look, I... I know how this sounds, but..." He took a deep breath
to still his nerves. "I think my father's trapped in Hell."

        Well now. This was...
interesting. "Hell?" she inquired, surprised into full alertness.
"As in, the actual place, Hell?"

        "Y-yeah." He stared
into nothingness, absently running a hand through his damp hair as he tried
to get a hold on his present situation. The dream had been so fucking
awful; but even beyond that, there was a threatening message to it of the
likes he'd never known before. Bad dreams? Yeah, he'd had them
before. But never like this.

        A patient expression met
his tone. Whatever this meant, there was only one question that really
came to mind. And, like all of those sorts of things, Kyrie couldn't
help but ask. "There really is an actual Hell?"

        The question itself almost
seemed to calm him a little, as if the pure insanity of his own reality
being reflected back at him made everything a little easier to handle.
"Yes, there really is. I'm half devil, you know."

        Ah, yes. She'd almost
forgotten that part. Well, then. The important things first.
"What do you need?"

        What a question. Though
he got the drift. "To get to the gateway. I think... I think
I can get there by train. I don't know why, but I do think so."

        To his surprise, there wasn't
an ounce of condescendence in her tone. It was just comforting, friendly,
and matter-of-fact. "We'll get you to the train station early tomorrow.
From there you can get to where you need to go. Just get some sleep
for the rest of tonight, okay? I'm sure you'll be glad to have it."

        How she had managed to actually
make him feel comfortable after the dream, after the realization
he'd just had... He looked at her for a moment, expressionless.
"Thanks." He offered, unable to come up with anything else.
"I, uh... well... Nevermind."

        "No, John. Anything
you need." She assured.

        He felt really stupid for
even thinking it, but... "Well, I was kind of wondering... I mean,
I don't want to come between the two of you or anything, but... it'd be
nice... if it's my last night here for a while..."

        Rodger, who had been trying
all the while to pretend to still be fast asleep in the knowledge that
Kyrie could handle the situation, couldn't help a soft grunt of amusement.
It was... kinda sweet in a slightly sick way.

        She flashed a warm, almost
reassuring expression. "You don't have to be so terribly polite about
it." She laid back down beside her husband, patting the space to
the other side of her.

        He didn't really need to
give any verbal response. Slowly, he laid down himself, strangely
content in the idea that he'd simply be leaving in the morning to go back
to his kill-or-be-killed existence in another dimension. Without
any more need for words, he turned into her. She, in turn, turned
into her husband--it was a wonderfully comfortable three person spoon.
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Descendants of the Mundane