Iblis’ Affliction

by Nero Seal

  5 YEARS AGO

  “PLAY WITH ME, MASTER.” Sweet breath crashed against Talha’s cheek and kicked him out of his sleep better than any slap could. Hot weight sat astride his abdomen, as vigorous fingers slithered over his bandaged chest. Moving on its own, Talha’s palm darted forward and collided with Slater’s chest. Glossy and tacky, it slicked under his fingers, making him wonder if Slater smeared himself with oils.

  For better sex? For advantage in a fight? For both?

  Slater leaned closer, raw hunger in his eyes.

  Swallowing the first alertness, Talha schooled his features into mild annoyance before slapping the switch with his spare hand. Golden light, coming from the lamp on his left, illuminated Slater’s mottled skin. A rash of small red dots spread from his fingers up to his elbows. Noticing a sprinkle of rare white bumps mixed in, Talha assumed these were constantly itchy ant stings. The rest of his body wore bloated clusters of random sized welts, left by other insects.

  Not oils. Ointment. He’s itchy.

  “Haven’t you played enough in the woods? It looks like you had a lot of fun.” Observing the tormented skin, Talha spotted the thickest and reddest bump, below the left collarbone; purple scratch marks surrounded it. With a smirk, he poked the disturbed skin with his finger.

  The reaper hissed, eyes wide with disbelief. Sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, he leveled Talha with a warning glare. “Don’t do this, Mas-s-ster…”

  Talha’s anger vanished, as Slater furiously scratched the bump. He imagined the reaper cursing in the night, trying to relocate the anthill, ants stinging his hands and crawling under his clothes, yet, he’d never given up. The vivid image in his head broke the hanging tension. Laughter burst from his chest rocking his body.

  Angry suspicion narrowed Slater’s eyes as a question formed behind his blown pupils, still, Talha couldn’t stop laughing. He thought that if he didn’t know Slater, he would have never believed he was Iblīs. He looked so miserable, tearing at his itchy bump with his nails. If the trap in the forest had infuriated him, now it resembled a childish call for attention. Gasping for air, Talha wiped his running eyes, giving Slater a fresh, examining look.

  Maybe I’m overthinking it. Maybe he is an overgrown kid who never had a childhood or choice. Maybe he wants to be noticed?

  Fighting a smile had never been this hard. “Did you have fun? Was it worth it?”

  “Yes, Master.” Slater grinned, his transparent eyes twinkling with mischief. “And about to have some more.”

  Lightning of awareness struck Talha, as Slater ground his hips against his lower abdomen. Focus jumping down, he swallowed. Two thin layers of underwear prevented their private parts from touching, making him feel naked, unprotected.

  The iron grip of Slater’s fingers clasped around Talha’s palm, still pressed against the oily chest. The drumming of the reaper’s heart so loud and fierce, that Talha thought it was about to break through the ribcage and leap out into his palm.

  Using the moment of confusion, Slater glided the imprisoned limb across his pectoral muscles toward his nipple.

  Dumbfounded, Talha gawked at the wet spot soaking through the fabric of Slater’s black trunks that stretched over his length. The lewd hips quivered under his gaze, rubbing the naked skin of his inner thighs against Talha’s flanks as Slater’s ass massaged his cock.

  Fuck my life; this motherfucker is already hard.

  The first impulse to smash this aroused face with his fists perished as he thought that it was exactly what Slater tried to achieve—to infuriate him, to make him lose control, to force the physical contact that might result in a mad, bloody fuck.

  Glimpses of their previous encounter, the ones he thought he’d obliterated from his memory, resurrected in his mind with great detail. He remembered how warm and soft Slater’s insides had been. A male body, Talha knew was never designed to deliver such pleasure, had welcomed his every thrust with a blissful twitch of inner muscles. But, most of all, he remembered, the gaze. A single visible eye glowing with the pure fire of passion no mortal being was capable of. And that passion had been directed at Talha.

  The mere memory washed him in heat. Pushing the reaper away, he won some space and, making sure his pupils trapped Slater’s, he commanded in a calm, measured voice, “Get. Off. Me.”

  “Not tonight, Master. Slater has been patient. Slater waited. But Slater is getting thirsty. Play with me, Master.” Back arching, Slater guided Talha’s hand over his maculated chest and down to the red, round scar glowing above his left hipbone. When thick, blue veins throbbed beneath his touch, Talha snatched his hand away and wiped the sticky ointment off on the sheet. His adrenaline spiking as his heart joined the rapid pulsations, echoing in his fingers. Slater’s cheek twitched in disappointment, but the lust never drained from his eyes. “It’s getting annoying, Master. Does Slater disgust you this much? That might be a problem…”

  Talha didn’t have time to process the question, because Slater added, “Tonight, Master doesn’t have to touch, but Master has to watch.”

  Pulling the waistband of his trunks down, Slater revealed the maimed skin of his groin. This shameless action scalded Talha’s face with a pungent heat of arousal and shame, sobering him.

  Coming into my bed in the middle of the night; shoving his dick right in my fucking face. And he expects me to do what, suck it? What does he think I am? Never in his life had he expected to find himself in a situation like this, being pinned down by another man. A naked man, who watched him with the withering gaze of a woman. For many days Talha had tried to get used to the idea of touching Slater, fucking him. He could make his peace with a brutal, bloody fuck. At some deep, primeval, and unexplainable level, it felt innate. Like pristine, animalistic domination among the strongest, where the final accord was a sexual submission of one to another. With the right mindset, he was sure he could do it again. But with a cock swaying in front of his face, he felt like a molested girl in an overcrowded train.

  “You have some nerve…” Talha groaned. Getting mentally ready for a fight, he peered up. Slater’s jaw bulged with tension; the slit of his mouth so sharp, that his lips lost their color. Desire, mixing with uncertainty, settled in the void of his dilated pupils as his expression begged for something.

  The human emotion in the murderer’s eyes was fresh. Now, gazing at Talha with a mixture of a question, doubt, and craving, he looked young, almost vulnerable, as if he waited for appreciation or any kind of acceptance. Talha wavered, finding it weirdly appealing. If Slater wasn’t this pushy, he would even be cute.

  Under his inquisitive gaze, the younger man swallowed; the apple of his throat jumped, drawing Talha’s attention to his protruding collarbones, stained with old burns. Lifting his ass from Talha’s hips, Slater fixed the waistband of his trunks below his balls. His cock slapped against his lower abdomen, painting it with slick. The tight foreskin was stretched back against his length, revealing the glossy head; its dark, red color screaming of Slater’s desperation. Spitting in his palm, Slater pressed two wet fingers beneath the cockhead and drew a small circle around the frenulum. Every muscle on his body strained as small tremors rushed down his limbs. His eyelids hooded; he bit his bottom lip watching Talha from under long lashes.

  Time died, as Talha stared into the galvanic blue of his gaze. The throbbing in his veins strengthened, as every flex of Slater’s body promised him deprived, intense pleasure.

  Slater’s balls tightened, and Talha’s vision zoomed to the hairless skin of his groin. If not for the scars, it would look smooth, tender. Saliva flooded his mouth, and even his vision resonated in beat with his building arousal.

  I didn’t even hit him, yet I’m already hard… Why? Why do I react to him?

  No man had ever attracted him. No man had ever looked at him this way. He couldn’t understand his own reactions and that confused him even more. Talha scowled, not ready to admit that another man attracted him on this level. No way I’m going to play this g
ame.

  “Cool down, Spotty. You’re about as alluring as a beaten-up dog.” Hiding his arousal behind scornful words was easier than admitting that he craved to push Slater down and fuck him senseless. “Come once you are healed.”

  He tried to sit up, but Slater’s fingers clawed at his chest. Digging into the bandaged wound, they drew a painful hiss out of his mouth. Red bloomed under the murderer’s touch.

  “Master stays-s-s.” It wasn’t an order, but an ultimatum said in a breathless, heated voice, and then there was a moan. Strained, drawn out, vibrating. “Mhhh…”

  Talha slapped the cruel fingers away from his hurting chest. “You are forgetting your place. I’m not here to please you, Mutt.”

  Talha didn’t know where the word came from, but the insult came out naturally.

  Slater didn’t seem to listen; the hard line of his mouth softened as he released the compressed air out of his chest. Lips parted, glistening with saliva, and Talha swallowed his words, staring at the glossy inner surface of his mouth. Its softness called for him, and Talha wondered how it would feel around his length.

  That didn’t make sense. Even if his gender wasn’t a problem, he opposed everything that Talha found appealing. Rough, pushy, dominant, disrespectful, fickle, immoral, and childish. He was everything Talha couldn’t stand in people, yet, watching him masturbate and scratch his itchy body simultaneously he couldn’t help finding him cute and weirdly erotic.

  Not for the first time, his morality, traditions, and upbringing screamed for him to reach for his gun and put a bullet between Slater’s eyes, but a paralyzing heat, flooding his core, robbed him of the ability to move. Fighting his betraying body, Talha dropped his gaze.

  I’m so fucked… He thought, fixating his mind on his white-knuckled fist that crumpled the bedsheets. How can I want him? This is ridiculous…

  “Are you disgusted, Master?” Dark, hoarse notes in Slater’s voice hauled Talha’s attention to the reaper. Slater’s stomach tightened, accenting every indentation of his toned muscles, as heavy crimson flushed his face, intensifying the dark color of his lips. “That’s okay, too. As long as you watch, Slater doesn’t mind. Watch, Master, watch.”

  How can this be okay? This is so fucking wrong… How can you want to have sex with someone who you think is disgusted by you?

  “Did you come to Behçet’s bed like this too?” He wasn’t sure why he wanted to know, or even kept this conversation going. It wasn’t his business, but for some reason, this information felt vital.

  Slater startled; his hands stopped, and his left eye twitched.

  “Why? Is this the reason for Master’s disgust? Master doesn’t want to touch what Asani touched?” Skin blanching, Slater tried to control the intensifying tic beneath his eye. Fruitlessly.

  “Answer me.”

  Blue eyes frosted over, and a part of Talha’s soul instantly missed that boiling lust that reigned there a moment ago.

  “Slater did. Unlike Master, Asani understood Slater’s needs and fulfilled them. He was a generous master…” Slater ran the back of his index finger across the scattering of white, wrinkled burns, decorating his lower belly. “…until Ifrīt. Does Master want someone young too? Someone smooth and pretty? Is Slater no good?” The last words left his mouth like spite.

  “Enough!” Hands clasping around Slater’s biceps, Talha shoved the reaper aside, revolted by the comparison and overshared information. Winning his freedom and a few seconds, he sat up only to shrink back as the reaper spun and surged at him. Plunging into the mattress, Talha barely managed to tug his right knee up to his chest, causing Slater’s solar plexus to collide with the sole of his foot.

  “No, Master, not this time. Slater is tired of waiting. Don’t tell Slater he made a mistake. There, in the mosque, Master said you always get what you want. Slater believed you because Master said he wanted Slater. It was written in your eyes. The thirst that couldn’t be faked. Slater gave you a chance, even though Master didn’t fit. Was it a lie, Master?” The heavy gaze of pure, raw emotion charged through Talha’s core, making him wonder if it was hatred or lust or something else he observed. A labored breath washed his face in the sweet smell of freshly baked pastries. “Slater doesn’t think so. Slater is never wrong. Your thirst was pure. Then … why? Master has already fucked Slater twice. Why does Master refuse now? Want to hurt Slater to get in the mood?”

  His tic intensified, as Slater shot a look of dissatisfaction down, but the next instant, his visage cleared, and a toothy smile split his face. His hips rocked against Talha’s erection. “Ohhh, Master is in the mood. Master is just being … shy. Adorable.”

  “I told you to get the fuck off!” Tangling in the net of unwelcome arousal, Talha needed a second of quiet to collect his thoughts and control his needs, because whatever spell Slater cast, it was working. Thinking became harder and harder with every passing second. Giving in would be so easy now. Every cell of his body screamed for him to lean forward and crush Slater in an iron embrace so hard the reaper’s bones would crack in his arms. To slam into his willing body time after time, so Slater couldn’t stand for a week. Yeah, giving in would be so easy. Yet, something stopped him. Slater’s intentions lacked transparency, and because of it, Talha couldn’t come up with a consistent behavior strategy. If he fucked him now, Slater would take it as a green light and keep sneaking into his bed night after night. At that moment, Talha’s cock thought it was a brilliant idea; Talha’s mind insisted on the opposite. What’s next? Why does it have to be Master, and Master only?

  “Slater doesn’t think so… Slater wants Master to look. Slater wants Master to touch…”

  Swaddling his fingers around Talha’s ankle, Slater guided the captured foot down his stomach until the sole reached his groin.

  Talha stopped breathing as Slater’s cock throbbed under his foot. His heart echoed in his fingertips and small veins under his eyes. Like a paralysis demon, Slater took his ability to blink and swallow. He could only watch the glossy cockhead slip up and down under his toes as Slater’s hips moved in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

  Massaging the red, blood-pumped flesh, he had to admit that the touch didn’t gross him out. Contrariwise, he was rock-hard.

  A clear drop of precum, rolling out of the slit, changed the velvety texture of Slater’s cock making it slippery, tender. His foreskin moved with every thrust, hiding and revealing the violent-red head.

  A pounding filled Talha’s ears. He wasn’t sure if the sound came from the pulsing veins of Slater’s cock beneath his toes, or those were thuds of his heart. Like ritual drums, the beat entranced him, instilling a primeval urge into his core. One he never knew he possessed.

  What Slater offered had an intoxicating taste of freedom. Unlike with a woman, this didn’t have to be gentle. Unlike with a woman, he didn’t have to control himself. Talha wondered how it would feel to completely let go. To let himself dissolve in lust and passion without thinking about hurting his partner. To go as fast and brutal as he pleased. Like the last time, but without anger dulling his sensations.

  Slater’s head snapped backward, providing with a perfect overview of his long neck, clean-shaven chin, and another cluster of mosquito bites. Shallow, short pants broke out of his throat, and his teeth bared in a painful grimace. A small, needy sound trembled in the air; Slater rolled his head to the side, sinking his canine tooth into his plump bottom lip.

  Talha stopped understanding himself. He could have kicked the reaper out of his bed, beat the shit out of him, and leave his body in a pool of blood. He could have grabbed a gun and finish this madness here and now. Instead, he watched how flaming red spots bled through Slater’s skin, mixing with scatterings of insect bites. How Slater’s hips froze every time Talha’s heel bumped against his tight, drawn-up balls, and how small intakes of air accompanied abrupt twitches of his shoulders. How droplets of sweat coated his skin. Mixing with ointment, they flared in the golden electric light.

  Talha could have stop
ped this all, instead, he craved to reach out and trail the thick veins on Slater’s neck; squeeze his throat to feel the beating of life beneath his fingertips. To hear air pass through the crushed trachea, and meet Slater’s pupils—dilated with need and pleading. To paint his skin with fingerprints so it would bruise for a week. He craved Slater so bad, his bones itched, but the reaper slanted away. Pressing one palm against the mattress behind him, the reaper bowed his chest; his head fell backward as his breath trapped in his throat. Desperate thrusts of his hips quickened, and Talha’s mind blanked. His mouth burned with a desire to lean forward and taste the salt of Slater’s skin and paint his shoulders with bloody bite marks.

  As if reading his mind, Slater’s head snapped forward, and a heavy gaze shot through his core. Hypnotizing, stripping of pride and morality, it corroded Talha’s soul, making him slowly accept the unacceptable.

  At that moment, Talha truly believed that Slater could be Iblīs because he couldn’t find another explanation for this doomed, diabolic lust.

  A woman craved a man submitting to a law of nature. When a man craved a man it was haram[28]—a shameful sin. Yet Slater wasn’t just a man. The bloodiest murderer of Anatolia, who mowed down souls and lives as if they were nothing, spread his legs for him. At that moment, Talha understood the Quran. Just like with Adam and Eve, Iblīs offered a temptation of forbidden fruit. But instead of knowledge, he offered power. The power to control the world and the devil. In exchange for his soul.

  Talha had sinned. He’d killed, defrauded, kidnapped, and smuggled. Yet, despite straying from the loins of Islam, he somehow believed he wasn’t completely doomed. Like there was still hope for salvation.

  What Slater offered felt final, irrevocable. Because this time, sex wouldn’t be forced by circumstances or alcohol. Because after this time, Slater would come to his bed and stay till morning, and what now felt like a mortal sin would soon become something regular, acceptable, welcomed. Talha figured it by looking in Slater’s eyes.