Sable had answered the summons with almost frightening speed. It was his birthday, after all, and if Demorielhad called him down, it was bound to quite possibly be the single most expensive and shiny birthday gift he had ever received in his sixteen years of life. Demoriel was an exceedingly wealthy man. Sable had already resolved that if his gift wasn’t both expensive and shiny, there would be some severe teenage whining and angst until he did get what he wanted. The incubus was shamelessly pouty and he harnessed this power easily. He could do great things with enough complaining. The fact that Demoriel was wrapped around his pinky finger helped a hell of a lot as well.

The birthday boy entered his guardian’s expansive chambers and took a seat in a gargantuan chair that could have fit several intimate bodies, complete with lap-sitting and leg draping. Sable was, however, the only body in the seat…or in the room for that matter. It took nearly thirty whole seconds to reach the peak of his boredom (a new record) and he began to hop anxiously up and down in his seat, his mussed up yet ever silky ebony hair falling over his face in careless strands. What was taking him so long? Sable had even taken the time to put on a gorgeous silk shirt with golden clasps that matched his eyes. Demoriel constantly stressed presentation. Hygiene was a big one too. If Sable didn’t take at least forty-five minutes to bathe himself a day (half an hour of which must be devoted to hair care), Demoriel locked him in the bathing room.

Sable continued to squirm in his seat. For being such a huge room, there wasn’t anything interesting to stare at. Paintings, off-white bed spread, mirror, really big rug…Demoriel had officially climbed his way into Sable’s list of “top five most boring people I know.” That wasn’t much of a feat, however, as Sable wasn’t sure if he even knew five people. After several long moments of agonizing boredom, he hopped to his feet and did what came naturally to him, as well as incubi in general; he touched things. He loved taking in textures and his sense of touch was extremely sensitive, though he had no idea that demonic genetics had anything to do with it. He touched the bed spread…soft and silky. Paintings…most were also silky. Rug? Oddly enough, it too was silky. Silk was a definite reoccurring theme in Demoriel’s vast residence. Considering it was only occupied by incubi, he filled his home with things pleasant to the touch…and what was more pleasant to the touch than silk? Well, aside from mud. Sable didn’t know why, but he loved squishing his hands and feet in the mud. Demoriel, of course, forced that habit to cease after only a few months of taking the boy in. Occasionally, Sable would indulge in his mud squishing hobbies, but at the price of increasing forced bath-time by a full hour.

The boy was so occupied with touching everything in sight that he didn’t notice Demoriel’s presence for many, many seconds. When his guardian finally did clear his throat, Sable spun around, knocking over one of the paintings. Though only sixteen, he was fractions of a centimeter shy of six feet. This caused the maturing incubus to often lose full control over his gangly adolescent limbs, causing Demoriel to lose several pieces of fine art and sculpture in the process.

“My, my…how miraculous,” Demoriel breathed. “Nothing broke. I am truly impressed, Sable.”

“Th-thanks,” Sable said sheepishly, looking at his feet. Even though he had been raised by the man, he was often taken aback by how…pretty he looked. It was bizarre. Even though Demoriel must have been several hundred years old, he hardly looked 18 and barely reached Sable’s chin in height. Soft, strawberry-blonde hair framed a slender face and fair complexion. Deep magenta eyes scrutinized the birthday boy with hardly concealed annoyance.

“Why were you touching the paintings?” he questioned.

“Because you’re boring as hell and kept me waiting for, like, an hour.” Sable retorted, regaining his composure. Demoriel arched a slender eyebrow.

“Last time I checked, six minutes and forty-seven seconds hardly constituted as an hour.”

“Yeah? Well…you called me here, so…Hey, it’s my fucking birthday, alright! Make with the gift or I’m out of here!” Yeah, Sable thought to himself. That was graceful.

“I knew your obedience was merely a self-serving ploy to force me to yield gifts,” Demoriel said in such a painfully sarcastic tone it made Sable wince. “But I suppose that living sixteen years without destroying an entire building is a notable achievement worthy of reward.”

Sable had no reply other than to sit back down in the gigantic chair and scowl.

“Alright, geezer. Make with the material wealth. And don’t skimp out on the gift-giving, either. I know you’ve got money coming out of your ass, and it had better show!” Demoriel was used to this kind of vulgar behavior coming from his ward. It was a primal display of dominance, or rather an attempt at making such a display. He sat down in the chair, draping his legs over Sable’s. Both of them were comfortable with shows of intimacy, as both of them were intimate beings.

“Sable… You’re an incubus.”

“Wow, congratulations, my observant friend.” Sable inwardly smirked. Oh yes. That was most definitely witty. Demoriel chose to ignore him, however.

“You are a maturing incubus, as a matter of fact. You’re developing into a fine young man, and yet you are being kept from what it is that comes most naturally to you.”

“Breathing?” Once again, ignored.

“My gift to you, oh impudent one, is an opportunity to be what you were meant to be.”

A slender pair of arms wove their way around Sable’s neck, and he found himself more than slightly unnerved when he quickly realized that they were most definitely not Demoriel’s arms. He was even more disturbed when a whip-like appendage wrapped itself up his leg in a more than slightly sensual manner. “This,” Demoriel continued, “is Agrat.” Sable slowly allowed himself to turn and face the owner of the offending pair of arms.

Voluptuous would have been the best way to describe the figure he saw before him, but even that was an understatement. A perfect, heart-shaped face stared down at him with glittering auburn eyes, partially hidden behind long locks of vivid red hair that spilled over her bare shoulders. Actually, much, much more than just her shoulders were bare. Sable’s eyes couldn’t help but stray from her face, and Agrat clearly didn’t mind. She seemed to relish the attention. The whip-thing unraveled itself from Sable’s thigh, and it revealed itself as a slender tail that matched the tiny horns protruding from her forehead. The arms, however, did not release their grip and pulled him closer to her instead, placing Sable’s face in a rather envious location.

“Umph…Demhoreal…?” he asked, voice muffled by the gorgeous figure.

“Agrat, he does need to breath occasionally.” With a pout, she loosened her arousing death-grip.

“Wha-what am I supposed t-to do with her?” he asked breathlessly, partially dreading but mostly eagerly awaiting the answer.

“I trust that she will show you. Trust me, it was no small task summoning this fine succubus, but it will be well worth it. She is yours to do with as you please…”

“Oh, I please,” he promised. In truth, he had only the faintest idea what incubi and succubi interactions were meant to be like, but he was sure that he would be far more well-informed soon enough. His suddenly very uncomfortable pants were assuring the same thing.

“I do not envy your job, Agrat…I’m not even sure Sable’s really seen a female in his sixteen years of life,” Demoriel said apologetically.

“Oh, don’t you worry. This kid’ll see plenty of female soon enough. I guarantee it.”