by Jane Kindred
Vasily resisted, but Silk threatened to try to undress him again, so he followed reluctantly. The two of them barely squeezed inside. “We’re not going to fit,” he said, but Silk pushed him back against the little sink and drew the door shut and latched it. “We’re certainly not going to fit with you on your knees.”
Silk smirked. “What makes you think I want to be on my knees?”
“You just were.”
“It was convenient. It’s not convenient anymore.” Silk unfastened Vasily’s belt and unbuttoned him. “You don’t seem to be protesting much,” he said with a nod of appreciation at the rising bulge in Vasily’s underwear.
“Do you want me to protest?”
Silk cocked his head with a mischievous look. “Perhaps. Just a bit.” He pried the waistband of Vasily’s underwear forward until the head of his cock came free and his erection became more enthusiastic. “Now that is a magnificent thing.” He licked his lips sensuously. “I do rather wish I could manage to kneel in here.” Silk pressed his palms against the mirror behind Vasily’s head and bent forward, his lips parting as if he’d take Vasily’s cock in his mouth after all, though he was too far above it. A shiny bit of saliva appeared on his tongue as he extended it, and he let the spit fall, slowly, watching it stretch from the drop on his bottom lip until it separated and struck Vasily’s cock with a slick, cool slap.
Vasily gripped the sides of the sink behind his ass and shivered as the spit slipped down the shaft. Silk let another drop go, and then another, until Vasily was squirming and gasping, heating the little room with his breath, his cock dripping with shiny trails. He’d never imagined not getting sucked could be this intense. He wanted Silk’s mouth on him in the worst way.
“Put your hand on it,” he begged in a low, rumbling whisper.
Silk straightened and sucked the spit back into his mouth. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
Vasily was taken aback. “Sorry, I—”
Silk slapped him lightly. “You’re just going to do what I tell you to. Aren’t you, pretty boy?”
Vasily flinched at the term, but Silk’s sudden shift in demeanor had him tingling with unexpected anticipation. He nodded silently.
Silk shimmied out of his pants and stepped up onto the metal toilet, balancing on what passed for a seat. He stroked himself, just a foot away from Vasily’s mouth. “You want this?”
Vasily nodded again.
“I bet you do.” Silk braced himself against the wall. “Come get it.”
Vasily leaned forward and slid his mouth over the waiting cock with a soft moan of pleasure and swallowed it, burying his face in the silky dark curls at the base.
Silk’s breath escaped in a sigh of delight, and Vasily glanced up to see he’d closed his eyes, his head back against the wall. This was what Vasily did best. He let go of the sink and wrapped his hands around Silk’s hips and worked Silk until the other demon was nearly delirious. Secure in Vasily’s grip, Silk let go of the wall and pushed his shirt up with his hands, stroking his chest and pinching his nipples, his face like an earthly painting of an angel’s or a saint’s as he turned his head to the side and tried to keep his building moan quiet.
Panting with the effort to hold the sound in, he opened his eyes just as his cock gave a sudden jolt and spilled into Vasily’s throat. He groaned, long and low, and slid down the wall to his knees on the seat while Vasily tried to follow him down, finishing him off, and finally, reluctantly, let him slip from his mouth.
“Wow.” Silk’s breathy voice shook and his eyes were bright as he dropped his feet to the ground. “That was fucking incredible. I forgot to tell you to jerk yourself off so we could come together.” Silk laughed weakly before giving Vasily one of his patented soft, sensuous kisses, and then looked up expectantly when he let Vasily go. “Well, come on, you lovely brute. Fuck my mouth with that thing.”
Vasily’s eyes widened, but he wasted no time in dropping his pants and obeying. Pushing himself into Silk’s waiting, open mouth, he braced himself against the wall above the toilet and tried not to get too deep or too rough, but Silk grabbed his ass and pulled him in close, nails digging into his flesh to keep him from drawing back. Feeling strangely helpless despite his position, he concentrated on not getting too warm while he moved against Silk’s lips in a gyrating motion, unable to thrust and pull back more than an inch. But just that inch, and Silk’s slithering tongue on the underside of his cock while he hummed against him was enough to bring him over. He smothered a guttural roar in the crook of his arm as he ejaculated deep in Silk’s throat against his eager swallowing.
When Silk let go of him, he pulled out quickly, afraid Silk couldn’t possibly breathe in his position, but Silk was greedily licking his lips, a grin on his face like a cat polishing off a canary.
“That was warm,” he remarked while Vasily pulled up his pants.
Vasily paused in buttoning up, horrified. “Did I burn you? Silk, I’m so sorry!”
“Did I say you burned me? Relax, my ruby plum.” Silk’s eyes twinkled. “Say, that’s quite a good descriptive name for you.” He grinned wickedly. “A delicious, firm, juicy red plum with the skin stretched taut. And the rest of your prick is pretty nice too.” Vasily’s face blazed with embarrassment, and Silk tilted his head back with a sensuous laugh. He regarded Vasily, playing with his soft cock. “Out of curiosity, can you burn someone with it?”
Vasily concentrated on his belt buckle. “I have, on occasion, forgotten to temper the elemental content of it.”
Silk shook his head in amazement. “You’re incredible.” While he stood and pulled on his pants, Vasily recalled that the only person he’d ever really forgotten with was Belphagor. Perhaps it hadn’t entirely been forgetfulness.
But the thought of Belphagor completely unraveled Silk’s carefully executed plan of distraction, and he returned to his seat and his melancholy, the rhythmic clickity-clack of the train beating out an inescapable refrain: “You’re not my boy. You’re not my boy. You’re not my boy.”
Belphagor managed to buy himself an extra day to get things settled before the others arrived in Raqia by booking them on a slower passazhirsky train and taking a firmenny himself. He was sick to his stomach at the letter he’d left for Vasily. If it worked too well, he wasn’t sure he’d recover. He had written nothing but the truth, knowing that Vasily, as easily wounded as he was and as literal as he could be, would never notice that he hadn’t said good-bye. It was the Moscow parting all over again, and he was a despicable bastard, but his scheme wouldn’t work if their falling out wasn’t believable, and it was Vasily’s fury that would make it so.
He’d left another note with Dmitri for Silk, not to be delivered in Vasily’s presence, asking Silk to meet with him once they’d arrived and gotten settled in. He couldn’t take the chance that Vasily would do anything rash. He needed someone to watch out for him. And Silk was clearly someone who both cared for Vasily and appreciated the value of a facet.
Though the thought of Vasily’s desire for Silk was like wearing a shirt made of coarse hair in front of a furnace, it was also the only thing that might make what he was doing forgivable. It hadn’t been his imagination that the desire was neither negligible nor one-sided. Silk had made that perfectly clear with his charming territorial display. If Belphagor hadn’t needed Silk’s complicity in his scheme, he might have decked the pretty little tramp then and there. But Vasily’s infatuation with him would smooth over any feelings of abandonment. After all, he’d already been planning to keep house with the young demon.
The first order of business, however, was finding an investor to buy out the current owner of The Cat. He couldn’t do it himself without arousing suspicion, but putting an end to the Celestial Silk Road depended on flushing out the angel or angels who had corrupted the usual dirty business in Raqia, and that meant flushing out whoever had swindled Masha and sold Anzhela to the Fletchery. And to buy out an anonymous angel required another not-so-anonymous angel as the front
man.
Phaleg was right on time.
Belphagor smiled at the sight of the dashing blond soldier over his cup of tea. He’d chosen a café in the Left Bank for their meeting. The bohemian district that lined the opposite bank of the Acheron from Raqia’s Demon Market had lost a bit of its luster since Elyon’s set had abandoned it, but no one thought twice about a couple of angelic officers in the Supernal Army stopping in for lunch.
Phaleg glanced at him quizzically as he took in the otherwise empty seating under the sidewalk awning. “Are you Arafiel?” he asked politely.
“At the moment.” Belphagor smiled with “Arafiel’s” face and let his gaze travel meaningfully over Phaleg’s fit, slender form. “How have you been, my exceptional boy?”
Phaleg paused at the chair opposite him. “I beg your pardon?”
“I always did love the way you begged.”
Phaleg’s eyes went large. “Belphagor?” he whispered.
“Who else would call you boy? Or have you taken my advice and found yourself someone who can put you in your place?” He nodded at the chair. “Which at the moment would be with your ass in that seat.”
Phaleg sat swiftly, gratifying Belphagor’s ego. “Nyet, ser,” he murmured. “I haven’t.” The Russian address warmed his heart. And other things. But that was not why he was here.
“I am both disappointed and irrationally pleased to hear it.” He poured Phaleg a cup of tea. “Thank you for coming to meet me—even if you didn’t know it was me you were coming to meet.”
“Your message said you had a business proposal. Was that part true?”
“It was indeed. How would you like to own a whorehouse?”
Phaleg choked on the tea he’d started to drink, and he set the cup down. “How would I what?”
“We had some lovely times at The Cat, didn’t we? I understand it’s a very lucrative enterprise.”
“Belphagor—”
“Arafiel.”
“Arafiel, you can’t be serious.”
“It would be purchased with my facets. I just need your face—which I could simply borrow, but I’d prefer not to sully your reputation without your consent.”
Phaleg searched his eyes, a mixture of fear, hope and dread in his own. He spoke quietly. “Are you asking me to do this?”
Belphagor set down his cup, his heart aching a bit at the desperation in those quiet words. “You mean am I asking for your obedience?” Phaleg swallowed and nodded. Belphagor wished they were somewhere private so he could comfort the angel with a touch. Instead, he steepled his fingers to keep them occupied. “I’m afraid not, dear boy. As much as I would love to crop you, cane you, whip you, tie you up, mount you, ride you to exhaustion and put you away wet—I’ve done enough harm to my relationship with Vasily.”
Phaleg’s face went pale and then flushed, and he moved uncomfortably in his seat. Those elkskin pants of the Supernal Army were exceedingly tight.
As lovely as it was to see how easily he could incite such a reaction, Belphagor felt more than a twinge of guilt for putting him in a state he had no intention of remedying. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. I didn’t come here to tease you or torment you. I can’t seem to help myself. I only wanted to present this business opportunity to you. And it is only that. An opportunity. An offer. You’re under no obligation to agree to it just because of our history. Pretend it isn’t me making the offer.”
Phaleg gave him a thin smile. “Right. Because that’s so easy to do. If it were anyone else making the offer, I’d have walked away the minute you opened your mouth. Or challenged you to a duel for having the audacity to suggest such a thing. I am an officer of the Supernal Army.”
He’d definitely hurt the angel’s feelings. “I’ve insulted you, and I apologize. The offer was no reflection upon your character. You’re just the first person I thought of, since—”
“Since I’m the only damned angel you know.”
Belphagor glared in annoyance at the truth of the statement. “Since you were once a patron of the establishment. It’s a perfectly respectable brothel. The finest in Raqia. And yes,” he admitted with chagrin, “you are the only angel I know.” He pushed back his chair with a sigh and started to rise, but Phaleg clasped a hand on his arm.
“Surely you’re not leaving so soon, Arafiel? You’ve made a valid point, and I admit I’m curious to hear more.”
Belphagor raised an eyebrow and settled back into the seat. “Indeed? Well, I’m pleased. But don’t agree to it to please me.”
Phaleg laughed. “Don’t be absurd.” He held Belphagor’s gaze over the rim of his teacup as he took a sip, and then set the cup back in the saucer. “There’s no other reason I’d do it.”
Phaleg was a done deal. Once they’d worked out the details, Belphagor set about making the rest of his arrangements. And part of those arrangements required the help of the demon Khai.
He found him in the usual pickup spot for rent boys in the Demon Market.
Khai eyed him, still in his guise as Arafiel, and smiled beguilingly as Belphagor paused. “Need a hand with anything, sir?” He tucked his own hand into his loose waistband to demonstrate the nature of his assistance, in case it was in any doubt.
Belphagor considered him. “I think I might need more than a hand. How are you at hammering and screwing things?”
Khai laughed. “I excel at all sorts of odd jobs.”
“Just the demon I’m looking for,” said Belphagor. “Have you a regular place of business, or shall I provide the workspace?”
“So it’s not outdoor work.”
“No, it requires too much equipment.”
Khai had been moving closer to him during their banter, and he reached down and cupped Belphagor’s crotch discreetly as they stood shoulder to shoulder. When Belphagor didn’t step away or object, he gave him a sudden, rough squeeze, drawing a groan from Belphagor despite himself.
“I know of a workspace you can rent by the hour, complete with equipment. If you want me to use the equipment, my fee will also be by the hour.” Khai lifted his eyebrows meaningfully. “If you want to use the equipment, the fee is according to the tool and the application, but I have a few exceptions: no rope, no iron and no other participants.”
“A reasonable policy,” Belphagor managed.
“I take it you’d rather I use the equipment.” Khai assumed an appropriately authoritative expression and sharp voice as he released him. “Come on, then. Time is crystal.”
Belphagor pretended to be intimidated and followed silently as Khai led him to a row of seedy-looking boarding houses on the edge of the Devil’s Doorstep that in reality boarded no one more than an hour. At Khai’s barked command, Belphagor provided the required deposit of facets to the toothless demoness in the parlor and allowed Khai to haul him up the rickety stairs. Inside the room, a narrow cot with a straw tick mattress was the only furnishing.
Khai shoved him toward the bed and went to the closet to pick out his tools. “Bare your ass and get on your hands and knees,” he ordered over his shoulder. Belphagor slipped off the pendant that controlled the glamour and put it in his pocket, standing with his arms folded when Khai turned around holding a leather gag and a paddle drilled with holes.
“I told you to— Bozhe moi. Belphagor, you son of a bitch.”
“Very impressive,” he said with a smirk. “I had no idea you were so versatile.”
“A facet’s a facet.” Khai tossed the toys onto the mattress. “What are you doing here?”
“I need some information, and depending on the information, I may have a proposition for you.”
“Intriguing.” Khai plopped himself down on the bed. “Ask away.”
“Are you in any way affiliated with Armen Nekirevich or any present or future scheme of his?”
Khai scowled. “No and hell no. Not only did he not pay me for his boneheaded Fletchery scam, but he threatened me for refusing to participate in slandering you after the deal went sideways and had some
of his crew try to rough me up.” He lifted his shirt to reveal a band of bruises along his ribs.
Belphagor frowned. “Looks like they did more than try.”
“They were trying to do much worse.”
Even discounting the violence, Khai’s grudge against Armen for the lack of payment ought to be plenty to ensure his loyalty. “How would you feel about me hiring you for a couple of weeks?”
“A couple of weeks? Is this more ‘punishment’ for Vasily?”
“No. Vasily and I aren’t together.”
Khai stared up at him. “That’s…surprising. You two seemed…”
“It doesn’t matter what we seemed. I fucked up and he’s with Silk now.”
“Silk? That conniving boy from the Fletchery?”
“Seems he’s a bit older than he pretended to be.”
“Well, that was fairly obvious.”
Belphagor raised an eyebrow. “Not to us old folks, apparently.”
“So what do you need me for? My price is still conditional if you intend to play rough with me.”
Belphagor couldn’t suppress a snort at that. “I don’t intend to play with you at all. Nothing personal, it’s just not what I’m looking for. I need you to pose as my new paramour to make my separation from Vasily convincing.”
“I take it it’s not convincing, then, all on its own?”
Belphagor sighed. “I’m hoping it isn’t. But I need Vasily to believe it right now so the rest of Raqia will believe it.”
Khai whistled. “Let me get this straight. You dumped your ‘boy’ as part of a rook?”
“Not singlehandedly. We were teetering on the brink of a breakup. I just pushed us over it. It didn’t take much.”
“And you want me to make him jealous.”
“No! No, not at all. I just need to look…” Belphagor floundered for the right word. “Shallow.”
Khai observed him with a look of growing understanding. “So you need me around to give the impression that you’re not falling apart. Which…you are.”
