King of Thieves

by Jane Kindred

  And then he felt Belphagor’s cock beside his own as Belphagor lowered himself over Vasily and let their erections rub against each other, creating delicious friction, though he had to take his mouth away from Vasily to keep their bodies at the same level. Instead, he kissed Vasily’s chest, teasing his hardened nipples with slick circles of his tongue but not closing his mouth over them. Vasily bucked his hips up against Belphagor in frustration, and Belphagor pushed back, thrusting as if he were inside him, and they began to rock steadily against each other, hardness to hardness, though the soft skin pulled with just enough resistance that it hurt wonderfully.

  Belphagor remedied that after a moment with a palm full of oil, and Vasily groaned with delight at the slipping and sliding of their cocks together, the sweet oil running down between his thighs. He would always associate the smell of almonds with wild desire and the thrill of being in Belphagor’s arms. It was Belphagor’s favored lubricant, and Vasily had never encountered it before him.

  Just when he thought he might come from rubbing against Belphagor’s cock, it slid down between his legs and pushed him open insistently. Vasily shivered as Belphagor drove relentlessly inside him, his body tingling as if his radiance had been sparked. With his wrists still pinned at his sides, he could only lie still and take it, moaning as Belphagor thrust against that spot inside him that made him feel like he was going to explode.

  And then he did, drawing back his firespirit heat just in time as he ejaculated with a loud groan, Belphagor’s body trapping the sticky fluid between them while he fucked him harder, intensifying the sensation until Vasily thought he might go blind. Belphagor withdrew at last and crawled forward, bringing his cock so close Vasily thought he’d let him take it in his mouth after all, but stopping just short, his fist jerking hard under the engorged head until he shot and nearly missed Vasily’s mouth altogether. With a groan of relief, he pressed himself to Vasily’s lips and let him take the rest while he growled out his release.

  Then his mouth was on Vasily’s once more, licking it clean, sucking his lower lip and smothering him with kisses until Vasily thought he’d pass out from lack of oxygen and happiness.

  “I love you,” Belphagor whispered again when he came up for air. “Always remember that. No matter where we are or what I do to you, I love you.”

  Clearly, something terrible was about to happen.

  Despite his anxiety, exhaustion took over and Vasily slept in Belphagor’s arms, waking in the morning to find him up early and getting dressed. He propped himself on one elbow, noting with disappointment that Belphagor’s pants were already laced up. Instead of his jeans, he wore the elkskin leathers—Supernal Army dress breeches dyed black—that hugged his ass perfectly, with a loose, flowing white shirt tucked in at the waist, its ruffled collar and cuffs covering most of the visible tattoos. Belphagor rarely let him see him walking about completely naked. It was infuriating.

  Tying his cravat in the mirror, Belphagor saw him watching and glanced over his shoulder. “Do you trust me, malchik?”

  That didn’t bode well. Vasily studied Belphagor’s attitude, trying to determine whether the question was meant as part of his discipline. He decided it was safest to assume. He sat up. “Da, ser.”

  “Will you do anything I tell you, without question?”

  Vasily’s heart beat faster. “Da, ser.”

  Belphagor nodded, observing him. “Come,” he said.

  Vasily paused. Did he mean come, or—? The body language didn’t suggest anything sexual. He rose and crossed the room.

  Belphagor drew his head down for a kiss and Vasily closed his eyes, sighing into his mouth, but Belphagor let him go abruptly. “Drink this.” Vasily opened his eyes to see Belphagor holding up a vial of an almost silver liquid, like the surface of the Acheron at dawn. He certainly hoped it wasn’t water from the Acheron. The river that separated the Demon District of Raqia from Elysium proper was an undrinkable waste receptacle.

  He accepted the vial and removed the stopper. Belphagor wouldn’t give him anything dangerous. This was a test to see if he could manage to obey a single command without pitching a fit. He knew his attitude had been childish of late.

  It tasted foul as it slipped onto his tongue from the vial. Vasily swallowed quickly, not wanting to pause to identify it. It made his face tingle. He reached up to scratch his beard and found smooth skin.

  “What the hell?” He couldn’t withhold the exclamation.

  Belphagor turned him toward the mirror, and Vasily gaped at the reflection staring back at him. He looked like himself—at fifteen. He still felt the same height, but in the mirror, he matched Belphagor’s and was just as thin and lithe—with less muscle.

  He met Belphagor’s eyes in the depths of the glass. This was going too far. “You want me to look like a boy?”

  “No, as a matter of fact, I do not. I quite prefer you the way you are. But for the next little while, you will not be my boy. You will be a boy.”

  “I don’t understand.” Heat crackled in his pupils. He’d never really looked in a mirror while his fire had risen with his temper. It was a little frightening. And kind of hot. Figuratively, as well as literally. If only he didn’t look like a scrawny youth.

  Belphagor drew back Vasily’s hair, hanging long and straight as it had before he’d grown his locks, and in his natural red. “I’m going to give you to someone at the Fletchery.”

  “You’re what?”

  Belphagor stroked a thumb down his cheek where the trademark sideburns ought to be. “You don’t have to participate in any act that makes you uncomfortable. This isn’t for my benefit. In fact, the more you play coy, the better, since you’ll be playing the part of a virgin, and I’d just as soon you weren’t used by someone desirous of remedying that.”

  “A virgin?” Vasily whirled on him. “This isn’t funny, Bel. Give me the anti-glamour.” He flinched as Belphagor pressed his thumb to the piercing at his neck.

  “This is your reminder of who you are and to whom you belong. And you have your word. If anyone tries to force you to do anything you don’t wish to do, if this gets too difficult, you come to me and say the word.”

  “Belphagor—”

  “But you will play the part as well as you can manage.” Belphagor’s tone was firm. “I need this from you, Vasya. I don’t want it. But I am in a bind. And it will pay us well.”

  So that was how it was. Someone had offered him enough facets that he was willing to make a fool of Vasily, to sell him to some pervert. “I hate you, Beli.” The words hissed out of him, unable to be taken back, but they were contradictory. He hadn’t meant to use the name that told Belphagor he loved him at the same time.

  Belphagor’s dark eyes seemed to flinch, though it was his only outward reaction. “As well you should. Bring me the frock coat.”

  Vasily’s mouth dropped open, and then he snapped it shut and stalked to the wardrobe to fetch the beautiful black velvet that was his. He’d earned it, though the memory of how he’d done so and what a fool he’d been to trust an angel instead of trusting Belphagor made his cheeks burn in an unpleasant way. Belphagor held out his arms, expecting Vasily to dress him.

  “Am I your valet now?” he growled, aware that his voice had lost its deep rumble, though as it had been all his life, it was still raspy and rough.

  “You’re whatever I say you are,” Belphagor snapped.

  Blinking back angry tears, Vasily shoved the sleeves over Belphagor’s arms and buttoned it for him with sharp jerks. “You look stupid,” he snarled, stepping back. “It doesn’t even fit you.”

  Belphagor turned before the mirror, tugging the cuffs of his shirt out from the sleeves. “Better than it fits you at the moment, boy. I suppose I could have the seamstress at The Cat take it in for me.”

  Vasily held his breath. Belphagor wouldn’t dare.

  “But we have an appointment. Get dressed and fetch a cloak to cover yourself. We’ll go out the back way.”

  Vasil
y sullenly obeyed, though his own clothes hung on him. When he’d dressed, he pulled on one of the ragged cloaks they kept—the one sized for the older demon and not himself—and opened the door. Unexpectedly, Belphagor yanked him back from the threshold with a hand around his upper arm, where he ought not to be able to encircle it but did.

  “Say the word now and I’ll forfeit.” The quiet entreaty seemed tinged with alarm. “I’ll find some other way if you can’t do this.” If he couldn’t do this… If Vasily couldn’t handle a simple, foolish game meant to line Belphagor’s pockets…

  He answered in a clipped tone. “Nyet, ser.”

  Belphagor let out a breath he’d been holding and released Vasily. “Khorosho.”

  They slipped through the rear of the bar and through the exit to the alley, and Vasily started when a slight figure emerged from under the eaves.

  “Hello, Vasily.” The blond boy smiled, and Vasily narrowed his eyes, trying to place the face he felt he ought to know. “Don’t tell me yesterday was so commonplace you don’t remember me sucking your dick.”

  Vasily’s eyes widened. “Khai?” And then he realized how he’d been played by both of them. Belphagor had set this up to humiliate him as punishment for his disrespect. And it was working like a charm.

  When Belphagor explained on the way that Khai would play the part of the boy who caught his eye, he thought Vasily would invoke the safe word then and there.

  “And why not me?” he demanded. “Why do we need Khai at all?”

  “Because my reputation precedes me,” Belphagor explained patiently. “If I bring my own boy to the Fletchery with me to serve my needs, it will seem contrived. Khai will encounter me there as if we’ve never met, and I will deliver you as the necessary price for my entry.”

  “The price for your entry is a virgin you’ve agreed not to fuck.”

  “Precisely.”

  “This whole thing is disgusting.”

  “Without question.”

  “Then why are we doing it? Why are you giving me away?”

  Belphagor glanced at Khai, sashaying beside them like a smug ingénue. “We should part here,” he said to Khai. “You’ve already been introduced to the Fletchery, correct?”

  Khai nodded. “A friend pretending to be a firedust addict introduced me for a finder’s fee and said I was his recently orphaned cousin. Since he didn’t own me outright, I was promised a roof over my head and food in my belly if I offered my services. They let me see how I liked it there for a few nights, and I told them I’d think about it.” He beamed, demonstrating his innocent look once more. It was quite convincing. “So looking forward to assisting you in any way I can.” He took off down a side alley, and Vasily fairly fumed as he watched him go.

  “Listen to me, malchik.” Belphagor spoke sharply, getting Vasily’s full attention. “I am not giving you away. I am giving you up temporarily to play a part. I will play mine well, and I expect you to do the same. But you mustn’t mistake my skill at the game for truth. Regardless of how I treat you once we’re in, you are my malchik. You’re mine, do you understand me?”

  Vasily gave him a sullen nod.

  “If I promise to reward your good behavior, will you promise to deliver it?”

  Vasily’s smoldering hazel eyes were suspicious but interested. “What reward?”

  “A very intimate, bare-handed thrashing your ass won’t soon forget. For starters.”

  Vasily bit his lip.

  “Yes, just like that,” said Belphagor softly. “Play the coquette. Aloof and a little shy, but sensual.” He’d had enough experience at the role in his youth to know it was just the thing for the sort that patronized the Fletchery. “Are we agreed?”

  Vasily let out an almost wistful sigh, as if thinking of the promised thrashing. “Da, ser.”

  The demon who admitted Belphagor looked Vasily over with skepticism. “You say he’s a fledgling? Isn’t this the boy who’s been living with you at the Brimstone?” He gave Belphagor a knowing glance. “We’re well aware you’re the Prince of Tricks.”

  “My apprentice is an adult,” said Belphagor, “as you’d know if you were indeed acquainted with me. This is a cousin of his, Rubiel. I won him in a wingcasting tournament.”

  “And you haven’t sampled him for yourself?”

  “One firespirit is plenty,” Belphagor said with a laugh. “But I have trained him.”

  “Trained him?”

  “Rubiel.” Belphagor snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor.

  Vasily stared at him for a split second longer than he ought to before dropping to his knees and bowing his head.

  “He’ll follow any command and will only speak when spoken to.” Belphagor wrapped his fist in Vasily’s hair. “Isn’t that right, boy?”

  He could feel the heat radiating from Vasily’s skin, but the demon managed a respectful enough, “Da, ser.”

  Belphagor gave the sleek fall of hair a sharp yank. “In angelic, boy. This isn’t Russia.”

  “Yes, sir!” Vasily gasped and added, “I’m sorry, sir!” when Belphagor kept twisting.

  “Good boy.” Belphagor relaxed the hold and stroked his hair. He knew there’d be a great deal to make up for after this adventure, but that had been particularly cruel, a violation of their contract with one another that Vasily would never be punished or humiliated for obedience. But it couldn’t be helped. He couldn’t afford to have anyone recognize their intimate connection with such a slip.

  Luckily, his host didn’t seem to know Belphagor’s reputation as well as he believed. “He isn’t human, is he?” the demon asked with a grimace of distaste.

  Belphagor laughed. “No, indeed. Just a bit dim.” At this, he pressed his hand to Vasily’s shoulder as silent reassurance that he was only playing the part and these words weren’t his true feelings, but he could sense the hurt through the firespirit skin. Damn. This game was going to be harder than he thought, and the stakes much higher than he’d intended.

  “Well, isn’t he lovely?” The familiar voice from the entrance to the salon made Belphagor bristle with unease.

  He met the demon’s nod with a frown. “Kezef.” He’d had dealings with this demon before at the wingcasting table, but it was his reputation as a dominant that Belphagor didn’t care for. From the stories he’d heard, Kezef didn’t believe in a consensual exchange of power. He took advantage of a submissive’s desire to please in order to reduce him to a state of acute distress, exploiting the demon’s fear and shame to keep him from reporting any abuses or seeking to flee them.

  “I’m surprised to see you here, Belphagor. You’re usually such a stick in the mud.”

  “Nonsense,” said Belphagor. “Unlike some, I merely require a willing partner.”

  “And this little morsel.” Kezef approached and lifted Vasily’s chin to look him over. “Is he willing?”

  Belphagor resisted the impulse to strike his hand away. “His father was willing enough to offer him as collateral for his debts. I’m not sure the boy knows yet whether he’s willing or not.” He realized as soon as he’d said it that this was a mistake.

  Kezef’s eyes gleamed as he ran his thumb over Vasily’s full lower lip. “Well, I hope to see more of him. Perhaps he and I can make that determination together.” He gave Belphagor a gallant bow. “Your contribution to the Fletchery is most intriguing. I’ll put in a good word for you with the charter members.”

  “The charter members reserve the right to vote on any new applicants,” the intake demon explained. “It ensures that only the right sort are admitted into our exclusive membership. In the meantime, Kezef can show you around while I take Rubiel to be instructed on his role here.”

  Belphagor frowned, but he knew he couldn’t object. Vasily wasn’t supposed to be here for him. “Certainly,” he said. “Though I’d like to check in on him later if you don’t mind. Since he’s a bit backward, I promised his father I’d keep an eye on him and see that he’s well treated.”

  Th
e demon gave him a distracted nod. “Stand up, boy. I’m talking to you.”

  Kezef held his arm out toward the salon, and Belphagor had no choice but to leave Vasily and go with him. He glanced back at the door and saw Vasily’s escort taking him by the arm and steering him toward another corridor leading away from the entryway. Vasily looked up and met his eyes, a blaze of pure hatred flashing at him for an instant before he lowered his head and followed.

  Tretya

  A pair of dormitories lined either side of the corridor, girls in one and boys in the other. Though Vasily had known plenty of demons as young as these who’d worked the streets—and had done it himself—it set his jaw on edge to see them corralled here like cattle to be bought and sold by others instead of choosing to sell what they had. Not that there was really much of a choice; for most, it was selling or starving.

  Still, this took it a step beyond, took what little power they might have imagined they had. Most he’d known had also pretended to be older, while here it was their youth and inexperience that was the draw. The brief glance into the girls’ dormitory had turned his stomach. They’d been dressed in pinafores that gave them the appearance of being even younger than they were, except that the fabric was diaphanous.

  A slender, dark-haired boy with almond-shaped eyes and the pale complexion of an angel looked up from his bunk as Vasily entered. He seemed somewhat older than the others.

  “Silk,” said the escort, “this is Ruby. See that he’s presentable and explain the rules to him. And make sure he understands them. He’s a bit slow.”

  Vasily seethed at the role Belphagor had cast him in. “Rubiel,” he corrected.

  The demon placed his hand on Vasily’s head. “That’s what your old master called you,” he explained patiently. “Your name is Ruby now. Do you understand?”

  Vasily tried not to clench his teeth and growl. “Yes, sir.”

  “Listen to Silk.” He patted Vasily and went to the door. “And Silk, find out if he has any special skills. He’s been trained as a submissive, but I don’t think he’s had much discipline.” Vasily disguised a snort by coughing into his hand.