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“Shiro, you're shivering...”

A spark of a warm fire ignites with a flick of his wrist, a talent of his magic as the sparked flames ignite blue then fade to a orange glow as it consumed the kindling collected beneath it.

The Time King knew nothing about building a fire and only knew the most basic in medical training but from what he knew, the human body would succumb to hypothermia if exposed to the cold for long periods and must be kept warm.

Especially if weakened from an injury as great as Shiro's...

His gloved hand supports Shiro's back as he eased the man forward, making him cringe and cough, blood running down his chin, to weak to protest.

He had an urge to lick that blood but refrained...

As Mephisto pulled back his hand the purple satin is soaked with blood. He inspects the ripped clothing on Shiro's back to reveal an exit wound still seeping blood.

Mephisto grimaced, however having Shiro's blood all over him he didn't mind at all. “It went through and through, and you've lost a lot of blood. Here, let me hold you... to keep warm til help arrives.” The demon ran his right hand ran down Shiro's shoulder then left arm, pulling him close as he felt the cold, blood-soaked clothing clung to his skinny frame.

Shiro grunt, trying to conceal any visible agony but at the moment pressure was applied to his arm he gasped out sharply, the red centers of his pupils dilating.

"Nnngh, stop! Don't touch – I think it's broken!” He strained through his teeth then goes into another coughing fit.

“Shh, it's okay. Help will be here soon.” Mephisto soothed as he unsheathed his pale hand from bloody satin to gently stroke the heavy silk of the young Paladin's head. His long nails grazing the scalp as he held him close, keeping him warm and off the snow.

All the while the demon looked down on the priest, admiring his hair as he stroked it. Shiro was just in his mid twenties yet his hair was almost completely gray. Stress perhaps?

Mephisto was distracted as a trickle of blood ran down Shiro's cheek. There was a graze on his temple still bleeding, likely from the attempt which barely missed his head, the dagger-like claw went through Shiro's chest, through his right lung then out. His arm in vise-like jaws as he was pinned down, jaws snapping, struggling to reach his head as it tore through his defending right arm. Shiro managed to return fire from his small .38, a lucky shot, killing the creature and at that point he blacked out. He was beat to Hell but he would survive.

It was Mephisto's fault, at least to the priest's point of view. He wasn't there to help him and when he did arrive he done nothing to stop it...

However to the demons point of view, Mephisto's opligation was to oversea and dictate not to intervene; no matter how much he wanted to.

As the demon stroked the short heavy silk, even when he had first scooped the injured man off the snow, Mephisto could literally feel the tension build in the priest's body. Looking down he sees his maroon eyes fixed on his rifle a few feel away. Cold, hard, emotionless...

Shiro was dubious to trust anyone, let alone a demon. He did not like to be touched and preferred to work alone but Mephisto was the exception, even if it was just tolerated.

Yet these thoughts gave the hardened priest a twinge of guilt. Mephisto could be considered a friend, Shiro's only friend, at least he wanted to be...

However he was a demon and no ordinary demon, a demon king no less; the highest in class and Mephisto was quick to remind.

And Shiro, an exorcist, a demon hunter; the Paladin. The first and highest in his rank.

“Would it make you feel better if you held it to me? I could get it for you.” Mephisto's flat tone broke Shiro's concentration, startled he looked to the demon in the corner of his eye, the demon nodded to his weapon. Could he read his thoughts?

Only answering Mephisto with an uneasy squirm, Mephisto lament.

“All I've done and you still don't trust me... What do you think I'll do – kill you at the first chance? I've had many and If that were the intention I would have left you to freeze back there bleeding in the snow. - Or I would have killed you rather than keep you warm right now, consoling you while we wait out the help I called.” He let his grip tighten on Shiro's head, digging his nails in the skin yet not enough to prick it. Shiro grunt. "I would simply snap your neck and move on, being the creature you believe me to be..."

The exorcist looked up to meet the demon's gaze, concealing his alarm yet just barely. “That's... not very consoling. Matter of fact, it sounds like you've thought this through.” Mephisto laughed, returning to gently stroking Shiro's head.

“You give me plenty of reason to.”

Shiro's chagrin caused him to blush, resting his head back against Mephisto's chest he mumbled low, gazing in the fire and fighting the ever increasing urge to fall asleep. “I didn't mean it...”

“Apology accepted.” Mephisto smirked, continuing to stroke Shiro's head. “You're a cold-hearted bastard Fujimoto, but I suppose that's why I find you so intriguing...”

“And your cruel and just as cold...” Shiro remarked.

“Hah, then we make a fine match then, don't we.” It wasn't a question, Mephisto gently rest his head on Shiro's. "Quite a paradox..."

Another drawing that's been sitting on my desktop, the short story was put together to explain the scene when I hit writer's block. Don't worry though, Shiro's going to be okay. ^^

Comments are appreciated!

Description

“Shiro, you're shivering...”

A spark of a warm fire ignites with a flick of his wrist, a talent of his magic as the sparked flames ignite blue then fade to a orange glow as it consumed the kindling collected beneath it.

The Time King knew nothing about building a fire and only knew the most basic in medical training but from what he knew, the human body would succumb to hypothermia if exposed to the cold for long periods and must be kept warm.

Especially if weakened from an injury as great as Shiro's...

His gloved hand supports Shiro's back as he eased the man forward, making him cringe and cough, blood running down his chin, to weak to protest.

He had an urge to lick that blood but refrained...

As Mephisto pulled back his hand the purple satin is soaked with blood. He inspects the ripped clothing on Shiro's back to reveal an exit wound still seeping blood.

Mephisto grimaced, however having Shiro's blood all over him he didn't mind at all. “It went through and through, and you've lost a lot of blood. Here, let me hold you... to keep warm til help arrives.” The demon ran his right hand ran down Shiro's shoulder then left arm, pulling him close as he felt the cold, blood-soaked clothing clung to his skinny frame.

Shiro grunt, trying to conceal any visible agony but at the moment pressure was applied to his arm he gasped out sharply, the red centers of his pupils dilating.

"Nnngh, stop! Don't touch – I think it's broken!” He strained through his teeth then goes into another coughing fit.

“Shh, it's okay. Help will be here soon.” Mephisto soothed as he unsheathed his pale hand from bloody satin to gently stroke the heavy silk of the young Paladin's head. His long nails grazing the scalp as he held him close, keeping him warm and off the snow.

All the while the demon looked down on the priest, admiring his hair as he stroked it. Shiro was just in his mid twenties yet his hair was almost completely gray. Stress perhaps?

Mephisto was distracted as a trickle of blood ran down Shiro's cheek. There was a graze on his temple still bleeding, likely from the attempt which barely missed his head, the dagger-like claw went through Shiro's chest, through his right lung then out. His arm in vise-like jaws as he was pinned down, jaws snapping, struggling to reach his head as it tore through his defending right arm. Shiro managed to return fire from his small .38, a lucky shot, killing the creature and at that point he blacked out. He was beat to Hell but he would survive.

It was Mephisto's fault, at least to the priest's point of view. He wasn't there to help him and when he did arrive he done nothing to stop it...

However to the demons point of view, Mephisto's opligation was to oversea and dictate not to intervene; no matter how much he wanted to.

As the demon stroked the short heavy silk, even when he had first scooped the injured man off the snow, Mephisto could literally feel the tension build in the priest's body. Looking down he sees his maroon eyes fixed on his rifle a few feel away. Cold, hard, emotionless...

Shiro was dubious to trust anyone, let alone a demon. He did not like to be touched and preferred to work alone but Mephisto was the exception, even if it was just tolerated.

Yet these thoughts gave the hardened priest a twinge of guilt. Mephisto could be considered a friend, Shiro's only friend, at least he wanted to be...

However he was a demon and no ordinary demon, a demon king no less; the highest in class and Mephisto was quick to remind.

And Shiro, an exorcist, a demon hunter; the Paladin. The first and highest in his rank.

“Would it make you feel better if you held it to me? I could get it for you.” Mephisto's flat tone broke Shiro's concentration, startled he looked to the demon in the corner of his eye, the demon nodded to his weapon. Could he read his thoughts?

Only answering Mephisto with an uneasy squirm, Mephisto lament.

“All I've done and you still don't trust me... What do you think I'll do – kill you at the first chance? I've had many and If that were the intention I would have left you to freeze back there bleeding in the snow. - Or I would have killed you rather than keep you warm right now, consoling you while we wait out the help I called.” He let his grip tighten on Shiro's head, digging his nails in the skin yet not enough to prick it. Shiro grunt. "I would simply snap your neck and move on, being the creature you believe me to be..."

The exorcist looked up to meet the demon's gaze, concealing his alarm yet just barely. “That's... not very consoling. Matter of fact, it sounds like you've thought this through.” Mephisto laughed, returning to gently stroking Shiro's head.

“You give me plenty of reason to.”

Shiro's chagrin caused him to blush, resting his head back against Mephisto's chest he mumbled low, gazing in the fire and fighting the ever increasing urge to fall asleep. “I didn't mean it...”

“Apology accepted.” Mephisto smirked, continuing to stroke Shiro's head. “You're a cold-hearted bastard Fujimoto, but I suppose that's why I find you so intriguing...”

“And your cruel and just as cold...” Shiro remarked.

“Hah, then we make a fine match then, don't we.” It wasn't a question, Mephisto gently rest his head on Shiro's. "Quite a paradox..."

Another drawing that's been sitting on my desktop, the short story was put together to explain the scene when I hit writer's block. Don't worry though, Shiro's going to be okay. ^^

Comments are appreciated!