Creative Writing: Fahrenheit 451

All he could see was red, pure anger seeping through every one of his actions. He kicked and kicked in a brutal rhythm, not thinking about anything other than the fact that he hadn't been there when it happened. What if Amaimon had found out, said something and then been hurt because the other him lashed out in anger. He would hate himself forever. What if Amaimon had been killed? What if he'd come home to that? He couldn't stand the thought. In the end he may have been hitting the other him for touching his brother, for being here and convincing him he was his mate. But really it was his anger at himself that drove most of his actions. He could understand the other trying to cover things up to try and avoid any time line mishaps, deep down

The anger in his gaze was gone the moment he looked at him, so obviously hurt and torn. Tears streaked his face and Mephisto could bet on what was going through his mind. Screaming frightened him. Violence too. But what the time King could see mostly in his watery gaze was guilt, so much of it that it pained the older demon greatly. Amaimon thought this was his fault...thought he had...cheated on Mephisto. That was as much his fault as the frauds for bursting in and screaming. Yet, hearing the moans and soft voices of two people in his bedroom had caused him to panic so very badly that rational thought had been flung from his mind. Just the pain of thinking his husband was doing such a thing drove him selfishly to cries of anger and betrayal. He loved Amaimon, would die for him, had tried to die when he thought he'd left, and would die long before he so much as thought about giving himself in any way to another. To think Amaimon felt so differently, even for that short while, had broken his

He pressed his hands firmly to his stomach to try and slow the bleeding, yet the hole in his back bled freely, making his magic, even as he tried to heal himself, have a hard time keeping up. His mind was fuzzy, thoughts coming slowly to him, the only clear two being 'thank god he's gone' and 'thank god he didn't hurt Amaimon too' as he slumped fully to the ground, face pressed to the wood floor. It was cold and made him sleepy, though that was honestly probably the blood loss, which was slowly beginning to taper off as his body worked overtime to fix the gapping hole in his torso. Belatedly he wished he could see Amaimon from where he lay, wanting to hold him and say sorry like he had intended to. But he hardly thought he would be able to speak