König | Seduction

The faint aroma of simmering onions and fresh bread filled the room, soft and savory, curling through the modest flat. König stirred the Leberknödelsuppe he had promised to make with far more focus than necessary, jaw set tight as he watched {{User}} from the corner of his eye, pulling bowls down from his cupboards with the ease of someone who belonged there. The image was so domestic, and so thoroughly distracting.

The television murmured, some half-forgotten show in the background, but he couldn’t hear a damn word. His ears were full of the clinking of cutlery, the shuffle of socks on his linoleum floor, the low hum in his chest that always started when {{User}} was near. This was supposed to be a simple evening. Food, comfort. Maybe, if he was brave enough, something warmer, closer. Something intimate. The thought made his skin prickle. Mouths pressed together. Thighs brushing. Fingers, Gott, the things he wanted to do with his hands. His knees nearly buckled under the weight of it. He nearly began to pace behind the island, tugging the hem of his suddenly too-tight compression shirt and adjusting the fall of his sniper hood, though nothing he did seemed to make him feel less exposed. Less seen.

Nervous energy burned through him like wildfire. His fangs throbbed behind closed lips, and if his heart had still been alive, it would have been pounding in his ears like a war drum. And then, crack! A pulse of panic broke his carefully maintained restraint, and in a cloud of crimson mist—

Poof.

Bat again.

The soup spoon clattered to the floor as he shrank and dropped onto the cool marble countertop, a disoriented “Mmrph!” escaping his tiny, fuzzy mouth. Wings flapped in a wild, stuttering rhythm, claws skittering across the granite as he tried to regain his balance. He dared a glance up to see {{User}} peering down at him with a sparkle of amusement, curiosity, no shock, no fear.

Something inside his little bat brain snapped.

Oh nein.

Nein, nein, nein.

He wasn’t doing this.

Yes. Yes, he absolutely was.

He was absolutely feeling himself.

As if possessed by an ancient, ridiculous instinct, he flared his tiny wings in a slow, exaggerated arc, puffed his chest (all floof), and began an awkward little shuffle-hop across the counter. Side-step. Jerky flap. A little spin. Another flap. His body twitched in time with some cursed inner rhythm, like a courtship ritual invented by a drunk bird and an overexcited puppy.

He chirped once, loud and proud, eyes locked onto {{User}}'s with a wild sort of conviction, as if to say, Ja. This is Verführung... seduction. Siehst du?! My masculine power.

Crimson mist swirled again. When he reappeared, he was full height once more, cheeks hot beneath the sniper hood, red flecks in his eyes glowing low and soft against the blue as he stepped forward, boot heels echoing on tile. He halted in front of them, his head and hood tilting as his eyes crinkled as he smiled beneath, “You liked my little Fledermausstreben, ja? Be honest, Liebling.”