It was times like these that Yato felt who he used to be return to him. The reckless and rough hunger for blood and destruction he felt when he was a God of Calamity. Thats why he could never be with her.

In all other aspects of his life he was a changed man, because of her. Because of what she had shown him. But no matter how hard he tried, his baser instincts, his carnal desires, were a raw reflection of the man he used to be.

He had excused himself with a promise that he would call if he needed help, leaving Hiyori and Yukine to their studies. He had gone all the way back to his old residence, the abandoned temple he used to sleep in, that was the only place he could show this side of him.

Humiliating noises of desperate pleasure tore past his lips as he sat, his head thrown back as a bead of sweat trickled down his temple, allowing himself just for a moment to indulge.

He imagined Hiyori, no matter how hard he tried no other woman would grant him the same release. He imagined her in dirty, sinful ways that almost scared him. He pictured her bent over on her bed, skirt hiked around her waist as he pushed her down into the mattress as he roughly took her from behind. The noises she made sent electric shocks to his groin as he bit his lip so hard it bled, the metallic taste only intensifying his pleasure.

He imagined holding her hands immobile, pulling at her hair to expose her porcelain neck for him to litter with love bites. How her legs would tremble with the pleasure he was giving her. He imagined how the bed would lurch with every thrust, her wails of ecstasy ringing in his ears as he mercilessly pounded into her. She was so beautiful.

He felt dirty. He felt shameful even as he stroked himself rough and fast in the darkness. He had no doubt in his mind that she was a virgin, she deserved far better than what he imagined for her. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to imagine himself making love to her softly, it just wasn't in his nature.

He had decided he couldn't act upon it. He wouldn't do that to her, she didn't deserve to feel love that way. She deserved gentleness and feather light kisses and slow, passionate love. Not what he could supply.

So here he sat, in a dark temple as he moaned like an animal in heat, imagining every dirty fantasy he had suppressed during that week. His body tensed and a strangled cry was ripped from him as he found his release, his eyes squeezed shut and mouth open as ragged breaths escaped him.

And just like that he melted, relaxing as he fought to catch his breath. The feelings of guilt quickly overwhelmed him. He knew he was a sick man. But you know what they say:

You can take the God out of the calamity, but you cant take the calamity out of the God.