That suits fit like a glove. Actually, just like a particular glove on a particular hand in a particular location. The night is young and his smirk is fresh. Golden orange eyes trickle down to his hand. He twists it under the black martial. The demon coos to him like a chick to the hen.
“You know,” he churns out, tightening his tie as the giant watches himself in the mirror. “I love when you call me master.” It’s a tease to tickle though there is never a response or action. “I accept love letters at midnight and serenading by the window.”
His smirk widens.
Friendly reminder I’m a failure