Omake [Extra!]: Demons Aren't Cute

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It is a Sunday, and, most coincidentally, Ivan is at the counter per usual; swishing his tail across the floor while watching Matthew cook pancakes. It's a simple thing- cooking pancakes. Or, rather, Matthew makes it look effortless- as if it is second nature to make batter into clouds of sweetness.

So far, the demon has been over for pancakes thrice in the past few weeks, no summoning required. Matthew doesn't mind, really, but whenever Arthur visits, he insists that he senses an 'evil presence that must be eradicated', and going on about seances and ouija boards and the like.

Evil. As if. Would an evil demon of darkness and Hell or whatever wash his own dishes? (Granted, Matthew had to fix Ivan with a stern glare before he would even pick up a sponge, but, nevertheless, the dishes were done.)

Still under the heavy gaze of Ivan, Matthew flips off the stove and sets the spatula aside, plating his creation; chocolate chip, and sets the once batter-filled bowl in the sink. "Alright, they're ready!" he announces, sliding the two stacks of pancakes onto the counter. He picks up the bottle of maple syrup, and looks expectantly up at Ivan. "What shape would you like this time?"

"Mm…" Ivan tilts his head, and narrows his amaranthine eyes, his tail swishing harder. "How about another pentagram?"

Matthew fixes the demon with a steely glare, and Ivan has to admit that Matthew could make a decent demon- if he would just speak up and stop being so nice all the time. And cute. Demons are not cute- Ivan gives himself a little shake and subconsciously tugs up his scarf to hide his darkening cheeks. "Pentagram," he repeats himself, clearing his throat slightly.

"Hm." Although Matthew's discovered that he is quite good at pancake art, he hasn't formed another occult symbol since The Incident. "Am I going to summon another demon if I intentionally form another pentagram?" he inquires, fingers tapping along the edge of the bottle. "Because if that happens, I am going to blame it on you."

"Nyet, Nyet," Ivan insists, "but if you are lucky, the Devil himself may show up-"

Matthew cuts Ivan off with another look. "I do not want any more demons in my house!" he says, crossing his arms. "One is quite enough."

Ivan simpers, folding his hands under his chin and leaning closer to Matthew. A burst of icy breath brushes the Canadian's nose as Ivan speaks: "Da, I am more than enough."

"Oh, be quiet." But it is Matthew's voice that drops in volume as he flushes and ducks his head. Honestly. He's frequently dazzled by the demon, and Ivan knows very well the effect he can have on Matthew.

Pausing to tug on his curl- a nervous habit- Matthew picks up the syrup again. In quick, decisive movements, a pentagram is formed on Ivan's pancakes and whipped cream spiraled on top.

"Here you are," Matthew says, handing Ivan a fork. After reaching up to quickly scratch his nose, Matthew pours syrup over his own pancakes. As he grabs another fork, he feels a gaze freezing the back of his head.

Fork in hand, Matthew sighs and turns around, leaning against the counter. "What is it, Ivan?"

But Ivan does not seem to be listening, but, rather; staring intensely at Matthew's nose. "Do… do I have something on my nose?" Matthew asks hesitantly, dropping his head and reaching up to check-

-but before he can, a frosty hand grips his wrist and forces it back down by his side, another arm pressing into the small of his back, causing Matthew to lean over the counter, unable to move; Ivan's hands are akin to steel chains.

"Wha- what are you doing?!" Matthew demands, somewhere in between a squeal and shout, simultaneously flustered and miffed. The position is rather compromising, and more than a little exciting.

Ivan doesn't speak, but leans down without breaking eye contact, his expression intense and curious. Staring boldly into Matthew's eyes, he slowly licks the length of Matthew's nose, mouth curling into a smirk and showing a flash of fangs.

"You had whipped cream on your nose," Ivan explains, then, with a wink and another grin, disappears in a crack and flash of smoke just as a knock sounds at the door…

A few moments later, a rambunctious figure skids around the corner, almost slipping on the hardwood floor; Alfred barges in and immediately shrieks in horror at the state of his brother: "MATTIE!"

And, yes, there is Matthew; a stuttering, blushing mess leaning heavily on the counter and mumbling something under his breath about murder and whipped cream.

A/N: There will be more than a few extra scenes with this one shot. Thank you for reading, please review. ;3