"Eight years together in this theater and you never, not once, got a little tipsy and fucked the stick right out of his ass?"
I choked on my laugh and shook my head. "Never. Seriously, Ronan."
"Then why does he look at you like you rebuffed him after he wrote you a book of sonnets?"
This time, I couldn't hide my expression fast enough, my laugh from a moment ago twisting into a tangled grimace.
Ronan inched forward. "Did you? Can I read them?"
I puffed out a breath and pursed my lips. I was hungry. I was tired. Nireas was being strange after so long of…of nothing, and Ronan was a horribly persistent pest who could read me like a book.
"Did you burn them? Were they very bad?"
The words spilled free, easier to speak than to ignore. "I kissed him!"
Ronan blinked at that, head tipping, waiting.
I shrugged and sighed. "That's it. I kissed him. Ages ago. Basically when I started here."
"Kissed? Just…on his mouth?"
"Oh, Ronan, please, I hate cold eggs!"
Ronan glanced down at the plates of food like he'd forgotten them completely and grunted in agreement. He hurried to join me on the chaise, passing one plate into my hands before settling himself comfortably, wings tucked to the side to hang over the edge of the cushion.
"There's more to the story, even if it was just a kiss," Ronan said.
"I liked him," I said. "He was… He's different now, but he was nice and funny then. A little protective too, told me what rooms to avoid, until… You know how it is here. Some of the guest acts assume all of us humans are available to try on for size."
"Some of the stagehands too," Ronan agreed with a shrug, and I nodded.
"So Nireas was helpful in that way, he gave me time to find my footing, quietly, without embarrassing me. I thought we were flirting, but it wasn't so fast, the way everyone else moved. It helped me adjust a bit. There was someone who just liked talking to me," I said, picking at my eggs for a moment before taking eager bites, suddenly remembering my own hunger.
"For as long as I've been here, I'd assumed he was pining after you. That maybe the pair of you had a romance."
"Just a kiss," I repeated, aware of Ronan's stare on the side of my face. "After a show. An act that made me a little uncomfortable. He had me bundled up on his lap and we didn't talk about it, but I know he was soothing me. And I kissed him."
"Did he kiss you back?"
Arms around my hips, against my back, hands cupping my face as we pressed one kiss into another into another, until I was flat on my back, Nireas warm and heavy and sweet on top of me.
"For a bit," I said, trying to push the memory away, surprised at how vivid it still was after all these years. "And at first, I didn't notice much difference. He talked a little less, didn't find me after the shows. Eventually, I realized he really was avoiding me."
"Idiot," Ronan muttered, shaking his head.
I shrugged. "I was…too young at the time to really push him to explain himself. And…and it was just a kiss. And the theater can be very diverting," I said with a half-hearted laugh.
I'd nearly fallen in love with Nireas. But I'd nearly fallen in love with a few men in my time at the theater. The only difference was I'd been falling in love backstage with Nireas, with conversations and kindness, rather than under the spotlight, fucked thoroughly for an audience's entertainment. And once Nireas had stolen back that conversation and kindness, it'd been almost easy to fall back out of love with him.
Or at least that was what I told myself.
* * *
"You were quiet tonight,"Constantine noted, balancing over me, pushing my knee toward my chest in a stretch that made me hold my breath.
"My mouth was full," I answered, but without the teasing bite the words deserved.
Constantine had taken my suggestion from the night before and brought it to life on stage, and there'd been a point deep in the act, when my mouth was stuffed with Antin, right to the back of my throat, and my body was screaming as Con fucked me, that I'd thought I might die.
It'd been thrilling and blissfully distracting from the reality of the day.
"You were worried," Constantine corrected.
Margaret had not turned up for work, nor had anyone seen any sign of her in her neighborhood.
Another theater girl, missing.
"Yes," I admitted softly, breathing out in a huff as he moved to the other leg.
"They're coming down from the stage," Constantine noted, as the thunder of footsteps grew louder from the hall.
He pulled away from the bed, the pair of us naked again, him tending to me after the strain of the act. He wasn't nice, this demon, but there was something almost like kindness. At the very least, he seemed determined to manage my physical upkeep.
He extended a hand, and I reached for it slowly, somewhat reluctant to leave the sanctity of this room. No one—except maybe Ronan—would dare interrupt us here. The actors and stagehands were all too afraid of Constantine, and even Mr. Reddy displayed a rare deference to our guest.