Prince of Tricks

by Jane Kindred

  Belphagor turned and began to walk down the steps, and Vasily stared at the step in front of him in outrage, feeling come dripping down the relentless hardness of his cock. Was he just going to leave him here like this? The stairs had gone silent. He wasn’t even sure Belphagor was there.

  “Stand up and pull up your pants, malchik,” came Belphagor’s voice after several seconds.

  His face burning with humiliation, Vasily straightened and pulled himself together and then descended through the dark to where Belphagor was waiting—probably because the bastard couldn’t see any farther without him—his cock painfully engorged against the rough fabric.

  Belphagor smiled in the pale red glow of Vasily’s breath and cupped Vasily through the jeans. “Good boy,” he said with a squeeze. He continued descending, letting Vasily walk in abject discomfort beside him until the cold of the staircase and Vasily’s foul mood at last dampened his cock’s stubborn enthusiasm.

  When Vasily had gone halfway soft, Belphagor glanced over at him. “I’d work you up again just for the fun of it, but we probably shouldn’t linger in case the Ophanim manage to figure out where we’ve gone.”

  His erection resurged once more at Belphagor’s outrageous words, and he sighed with a stream of glowing frustration.

  Watching Vasily gaze with wide, fascinated, firespirit eyes at the world of Man was in itself worth the fall. Stepping out of the cleft in the rock tunnel by the railroad tracks at Lake Baikal had become banal to Belphagor over the many journeys he’d made. He’d forgotten how extraordinary it was.

  The Siberian landscape, even in winter, was wild and heartbreakingly beautiful in a way nothing could be in the celestial sphere. Around the great frozen lake, ice draped everything like the slow drip of mineral deposits on the walls of a cave, cascading in sheets against the rugged stone where it had melted under the lonely winter sun and frozen again after the early dusk, and freezing at the ends of pine branches in long, sharp, glittering needles. It was so different from the Heaven he knew that they might as well be on the moon.

  The train itself, of course, was a kind of magic specific to this world. Heaven still lingered in the genteel age of horse-drawn carriages and hansom cabs—not that any demon would have ridden in one of those either. Belphagor had never been sure why the portal came out here, though the story went that the first Fallen, angels known as Grigori who’d been cast out of Heaven for mixing their blood with the inferior blood of Man, had fallen literally from the sky, creating the deepest lake in the world with the force of their impact.

  Whatever the truth of it was, it made for as gentle a transition as possible into the fantastic realm of Man. Even the first train they took on the Circumbaikal Railway was smaller and less overwhelming than the next they’d take when they reached the Trans-Siberian. And the four days it took to cross the continent provided a gradual introduction to the post-industrial-revolution world before depositing them at the end of the line in the bustling metropolis of Moscow.

  Another benefit of the lower sphere that Belphagor had forgotten was the ease with which his airspirit abilities could be employed. Most humans were extremely susceptible to influence, and without spending a facet—which in the world of Man was a considerable sum; they were known as diamonds here—he managed to obtain a private compartment for them. This presented all manner of possibilities.

  With Vasily forbidden release, Belphagor was able to torment him in a myriad of ways. As exceedingly satisfying as it was to have his own cock sucked while Vasily crouched naked on the floor in front of him, afraid the provodnik or provodnitsa would knock on the door at any moment, he particularly enjoyed performing fellatio on Vasily himself while the firespirit cursed him and squirmed, white-knuckled, struggling not to come. When he finally released Vasily on the verge of losing control, he sat back on his heels and jerked off onto the flaming red erection, letting the pearly drops rain down on the throbbing head and leaving Vasily nearly weeping with frustration. With no showers on the train, he was coated in dried layers of what he termed Belphagor’s “selfish enjoyment”.

  By their last night on the train, Vasily was so incensed that his skin was flickering with a constant ruby wave of radiance. Having never experienced his own radiance in Heaven, where the lower-order angels and demons generally could not, he was briefly distracted from his discomfort at the wonder of it—until Belphagor made him drape himself over the tiny compartment table so he could fuck him from his bunk and then curled up and slept the blissful sleep of satisfaction while Vasily lay dripping with him, without permission to move.

  When Belphagor woke in the morning to find Vasily still in position—though angry enough to burn him with his skin if Belphagor wasn’t careful—he lost his resolve and fucked him again, pulling him onto his lap to lie back on the bunk as his own climax neared and whispering in his ear, “Touch yourself, malchik. I want to see you come while I come inside you.” He’d timed it perfectly, as Vasily would have burst at the very suggestion, and Belphagor jolted into him moments later with a growl of pleasure while a copious amount of semen streamed out of the tormented firespirit cock and bathed Vasily’s abs. Vasily made the most satisfied sound he’d ever heard emitting from a demon, with a full-throated groan of relief that was surely audible in the adjacent compartments, if not throughout the entire car.

  “Khoroshiy malchik,” Belphagor murmured and kissed his temple. “Good boy.”

  “Spasibo, ser,” Vasily moaned in utter contentment.

  Belphagor ran his fingers through the hot jism and painted it over Vasily’s skin. Like Vasily, it had the vague scent of a sweet charred wood. “Bozhe moi, but you’re beautiful.” The sound of the train whistle and the slowing motion of the train brought him back down to earth. “But we’ve just pulled into the station where we get off,” he said with a laugh at the double-entendre. “You should probably put some clothes on.”

  In punctuation of this remark, the provodnik rapped at their door, and Vasily scrambled off and searched the floor frantically for his clothes while Belphagor took his time lacing up.

  “Eto poslednyaya ostanovka,” the provodnik barked, rattling the door Belphagor had thankfully latched from inside.

  “Miy prosto konchayu,” Belphagor called.

  “What does that mean?” Vasily was working on his jeans with some difficulty over the sticky layers of spunk.

  “He says this is the last stop.” Belphagor grinned. “I told him we were coming.”

  Vasily glared as he pulled his tight T-shirt over the spunk that hadn’t dried. “You’re a bit of a bastard, you know that?”

  “Ublyudok,” said Belphagor, and winked at Vasily’s puzzled expression. “We’re in Russia, malchik. Get it right.” He stood and tugged Vasily’s bundle of locks to bring his head low enough for a kiss, savoring the smoky taste of him, and held on to the hair a bit longer once he’d let go of his mouth. “You know I wasn’t a fan of this mess you’ve been making of your hair, but I think it’s growing on me. Makes it really easy to get a good handful.” He yanked for good measure and then popped the latch on the door, leaving Vasily to follow him out.

  He might have gone in the opposite direction just to spite Belphagor if he hadn’t been in the largest city he’d ever seen in his life, surrounded by people who weren’t even his own species, with all manner of horseless conveyances rushing through the gray, icy streets at speeds that made him dizzy. He stuck close to Belphagor, feeling a bit lightheaded and sweaty despite the cold, and attributing it to the strangeness of everything.

  Belphagor glanced at him as they wove through people who were warmly bundled in furs and hats, heads down against the wind. “We need to get you a coat.”

  “I’m not cold.”

  “Nevertheless, we don’t want to draw any more attention than we already will. I also need rubles.”

  “Rubles?”

  “Local currency. They don’t take facets here, and facets are far too valuable in this world anyway, so I need to pawn
a few.”

  Vasily watched in awe as Belphagor conversed with passersby in fluent Russian and ascertained the location of the nearest pawnshop. He’d heard snatches of the language in Raqia all his life, but flowing effortlessly from Belphagor’s tongue, it seemed surprisingly lovely. He supposed most of what he’d heard had been ribaldry, as most demons fell back on the tongue of Men to be able to speak as they pleased in a rather puritanical Heaven.

  Belphagor soon found the shop he wanted, where he not only pawned a handful of facets for a seemingly vast sum of coin and paper currency, but found a woolen coat that fit Vasily perfectly, and even managed to pawn his angelic army uniform for a change of more ordinary clothing.

  “Where did you come by the uniform, anyway?” Vasily asked as they were heading back into the cold.

  “Well, that’s an interesting story,” Belphagor replied vaguely. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

  Something about his reticence triggered Vasily’s suspicions, and he stopped on the street with one arm still half in the coat. “Did you fuck an angel?” Belphagor’s silence was answer enough. “You’re unbelievable. You completely lose your mind over me whoring with angels and then you go off and fuck some angel at the villa while I’m being held prisoner by that piece-of-shit duke?”

  Belphagor stopped. “How do you know I was at the villa?”

  “I heard you when they were throwing you out. I was chained up in the scullery icebox.”

  “Son of a bitch. I can’t believe I was that close. No wonder the little prick was smirking.” He reached a hand up to Vasily’s cheek, but Vasily jerked away. “I’m going to make him pay for that. Did he hurt you?”

  “No, he didn’t hurt me. Quit changing the subject. You fucked one of those angels while you were so damned concerned about me running out on you. Just say it.”

  Belphagor sighed. “Vasya—”

  “Poshel tiy na khui!”

  Belphagor’s mouth twitched. “Well, your Russian is improving.”

  “I mean it. Fuck you.” Feeling smothered by the warm coat, Vasily turned on his heel, forgetting he was in a strange place, and nearly tumbled into the traffic of fast-moving vehicles when he slipped on the icy surface of the hard walkway. Belphagor moved swiftly to catch him and pull him back, and they both fell on their asses. Without hesitation, two passing Russians stopped to help them up, both older and one of them a matronly female. Vasily was stunned by the kindness from total strangers on the street, and he’d certainly never encountered a woman of any age in Raqia who would stop to help a grown man, particularly one who looked as gruff as he did.

  “Spasibo,” he said as Belphagor thanked them with more eloquence.

  The woman who’d grabbed hold of his arm suddenly put the back of her hand up to Vasily’s forehead.

  “U vas yest likhoradka.” She shook her head with a frown. “Vam nuzhno k vrachu.”

  Vasily glanced at Belphagor for translation.

  “She says you have a fever and we should get you to a doctor.” Belphagor thanked her again, telling the woman that was precisely where they were headed, and she nodded and went on her way. He turned to Vasily, unsmiling. “She’s right, Vasya.”

  “That I have a fever?” Vasily scoffed. “You ought to be used to my temperature by now.”

  “No, you’re warmer than usual. You’re sweating. It’s below freezing out here.”

  Vasily frowned. “I do feel a little stuffy. But this coat—”

  “The coat isn’t even lined.” Belphagor shook his head. “I’m sorry, malchik. I should have realized this might happen.”

  “What might happen?” Vasily was growing alarmed. He really didn’t feel well at all, and he’d been trying to ignore it. “Is the terrestrial air dangerous for firespirits?”

  “No, it isn’t that.” Belphagor put an arm around him and began walking with purpose. “Firespirits do just fine down here. The Seraphim, in fact, seem to thrive.”

  “There are Seraphim in the world of Man?”

  “Not that you’d notice. They can jump directly in and out of the spheres, and they only show up to hunt demons. But what is dangerous is the diseases humans spread. I’ve built up an immunity over the years, but you’ve never been exposed to them before. Someone could have coughed near you on the train and passed an airborne virus to you.”

  Vasily didn’t like the sound of that. “What’s a virus?”

  “It’s an invisible thing that will make you feel very sick for a little while. We have to get you someplace where you can just stay in bed and ride it out. It’s like a hangover, only it lasts for days.”

  Vasily shivered at the thought of some invisible creature inside him. He wasn’t so sure he liked this world after all. The people seemed nice, but he hadn’t expected tiny evil beings he couldn’t even see that could inhabit him and make him sick.

  Belphagor had steered them down a flight of stairs into some kind of underground market, where he stopped and perused a heavy book chained to a metal box and then began dropping ruble coins into the front of the box. Vasily leaned against the wall beside him, too dizzy to try to figure out what he was doing, and closed his eyes.

  “Alo. Dmitri doma? Belphagor. Bel. Ot Raqia.”

  Vasily opened his eyes, which surprisingly hurt to do. “Who are you talking to?”

  Belphagor put his hand over the metal object he was holding, connected to the box by a coil of wire. “I’m on the phone. It’s a communication device.” He moved his hand away. “Dmitri? Blagodarit Nebo. It’s Belphagor. I’m in Moscow. I’m here with a friend, and we need a safe house. On bolen.” He paused a moment, seeming for all the world to be having a conversation with someone. Vasily must be sicker than he thought. He was having some kind of waking dream.

  “How would I know?” Belphagor snapped. “The flu, if I have to guess. He’s never been below before.” The rest of the conversation with the box was in Russian, and Vasily gave up trying to understand.

  “Vasya. Malchik.” Belphagor was shaking him. He must have fallen asleep standing up. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “My friend Dmitri’s going to put us up.” Belphagor put an arm around him once more and slung Vasily’s arm over his shoulder, turning him toward another set of stairs. “We’re going to take the metro. It’s an underground train.”

  Vasily nodded, trying to keep his eyes open, though it felt like he’d ground firedust inside his lids. He let Belphagor lead him, barely aware of the train they boarded. He kept looking out the windows and seeing nothing, then remembered the train was underground. Why in the world would an underground train need windows?

  Before he knew it, they were up on the street again, where the cool air felt much better on his face. He tried to take the coat off. It was roasting him. But Belphagor wouldn’t let him.

  Then they were climbing the stairs into an apartment building, and someone else was helping him through the door. Belphagor was crouching in front of him, tugging at his boots for some reason, and Vasily grasped the person beside him for balance as Belphagor took them off and then put some kind of soft shoes on his feet.

  “What are you doing?” asked Vasily, or at least he tried to ask it, but he’d begun to shake violently, now suddenly as cold as a block of ice in Elyon’s scullery even though they were inside and he was still wearing the coat.

  “We don’t have an extra bedroom,” someone said. “But I’ve closed off the dining room and moved the daybed into it. It’s kind of small, though.”

  “You should see the bed we have at home.”

  Vasily caught the interested look the Russian demon gave Belphagor at that before another fit of shivering took him and the demon steered him into a bed and peeled the coat from his shoulders despite his protests.

  Belphagor was piling blankets on top of him, which helped the shivering somewhat.

  “You’re k-kind of an ublyudok,” Vasily murmured, trying to keep his eyes open.

  Belphagor kissed
him on the forehead. “I know.”

  Sedmaya

  Belphagor held the hot cup up to his nose, savoring the smell of real, black Russian tea. “You’re a lifesaver, Dmitri,” he said after he took a grateful swallow.

  “He’d better not have some damned dengue fever or something, Bel.”

  “It’s not dengue fever, for Heaven’s sake. He picked something up on the train.”

  “The train from Siberia. I’m pretty sure they have dengue fever there.”

  Belphagor nearly choked on his tea. “They do not have dengue fever in Siberia. It’s a tropical disease carried by mosquitos.”

  “We have mosquitos.”

  “In winter?”

  “All right, but if we all die, it’s on you.”

  Belphagor laughed. “I’ll make a note of it.”

  “So where did you find this one anyway? He looks like an American punk rocker.”

  Belphagor smiled into his tea. “I look like a punk rocker. Vasily looks like a heavy metal god.”

  “O, bozhe moi.” Dmitri brought his cup of tea to the table, deep earthy brown hair that spoke of his purebred earthspirit heritage falling into his angelic baby blues as he shook his head. “You’re in love.”

  “Shut up. Who’s this Lev who answered the phone?”

  Dmitri grinned. “Oh, just a hot Grigori piece of ass I picked up at an underground disco.”

  “You did not.”

  “I absolutely did. He didn’t even know he was Grigori; can you believe it?”

  Belphagor stirred more sugar into his tea. “How could he not know?”

  “His mother was a common demon. She never told him who his father was. But I took one look at him wiggling that ass on the dance floor, and I knew.”

  Belphagor laughed out loud and nearly expelled tea through his nose. “You knew because of his ass.”

  “You’ll see,” Dmitri said with a mischievous wink and drank his tea.

  “So where is this hot piece of Grigori ass?”

  Dmitri’s face went bright red as he looked over the top of Belphagor’s head.