Beelzebub found his hand moving of it's own accord, slipping under Adam's arm and grasping him right below the ribcage. The feel of the brat child's soft skin under his own cool hands sent shudders down his spine. What was he doing?

It was this place. So crazy, the right side of things always down, and the left side the right, spinning like a mad impressionistic painting of reality. It made his throat hurt with fear.

He had spent so many years watching other people think and feel, sensitive to others' emotions because it was necessary to be to complete his assigned tasks, Adam's presence was jarring. An aura almost as overpowering as Lucifer's--but more engulfing because he cared. Beelzebub was numb to fury and madness, but that bright, shining hope in Adam kept him rocking on his heels if he didn't prepare himself. And he was hardly prepared for this sudden display of sensuality.

The words he wanted to say caught in his throat, but he couldn't look away and his eyes said all that anyone would need to say.