Kanilla's chapter! It's awesome, trust me!

Also: go to the Sweet Revolution awards site, recently set up by Kanilla and I. It's for pure slash, of course. I can't do a nice direct link from here because FP is not always cool, but this is the irritating way I can put it: sweet (hyphen) revolution (dot) webs (dot) com. Please, please go look at it.

Five

Sunday morning found Iova sitting pale faced and withdrawn in the living room with his knees drawn to his chest. The skin beneath his eyes was tinted with blue after another restless, sleepless night spent staring at the wall while trying not to think. It was just too easy to fall prey to brooding and wallowing in self-pity when the silence became too deafening. Laycus on the other hand had slept like the dead. The demon had fallen asleep with one arm tucked loosely around Iova’s chest, his nose pressed into a shoulder blade, and he’d barely been able to feel or hear the silent breaths. It was like sleeping with the undead (which, he supposed, wasn’t so far from the truth).

His butt felt sore after last night, but he no longer blushed when he thought about what had been done to it. It was not painful, but he clearly felt the discomfort when he sat, like now, and unless he refrained from sitting down for the rest of the day it was a discomfort he’d have to live with.

And that was only two…or three?fingers. How on earth is he going to fit?

He really didn’t want to find out. Sex was disgusting, no matter if it was the straight or the gay kind.

Not to mention he had cried like a girl last night. He felt angry with himself just thinking about it, and the shame brought a faint blush to his face. He was a boy, wasn’t he? A puny, weak boy, but nevertheless a boy.

Worse, Laycus had driven him to have an orgasm, despite being in pain and crying, something that should not have been possible in the first place.

His lips pressed together hard so he wouldn’t chew his bottom one raw again. He leaned his head back in the comfortable, stylish chair and closed his eyes and tried to picture that he was back in his own bed. It was harder than it should be, but he hadn’t been in his room since Friday, and his thoughts were too jumbled for him to maintain an image longer than a short while. Today his weekend with Laycus was ending, and he couldn’t help feeling restless and eager to leave. Laycus had promised to send him home tonight, and part of him longed to see his parents again just to be assured that they were still alive.

He just hoped to God that Laycus would not bring up the idea of meeting his mother and father tomorrow. The demon had mentioned such a desire, but Iova had remained silent and unwilling to reply, and thus the topic had been pushed aside. A meeting like that could possibly be disastrous. Of course, he had no doubt that Laycus would not only behave like a perfect gentleman before his parents, but he’d make them fall for his fake smiles and charm.

Was he the only one who saw through the façade? No, the woman from yesterday had addressed Laycus with such sarcasm that she must know his true face as well. He hadn’t particularly liked her either, but the way she spoke had earned her some respect from him.

“You are on your own, Iova.”

Those were the words she had told him, and though he’d never had any hope that another demon would be kind to him he’d felt so alone at that time, sitting at the dinner table among people that didn’t give a damn about him. No, not people- they were not people.

His fingers toyed absent mindedly with the hem of the big tee shirt he wore. In addition to the boxers it was the only piece of clothing he had managed to find in the darkness of the bedroom. The shirt hung on his thin frame, but it gave him a sense of safety. He uncurled his legs and stretched them to be rid of the stiffness.

Where was his magick now? It had been suppressed, yes, but it had not left his body. He pulled up the tee shirt to stare at his stomach. The seal was invisible to the human eye, but he could feel it there when he tried, carved into his skin with blood and a different kind of magick- demon magick. Remembering what the seal looked like was difficult; the memory had grown diffuse in a short time.

His stomach growled, but the thougt of food was nauseating rather than appealing.

The sound of music made him turn his head to listen. It was a violin, wasn’t it? But there was no other instrument playing, and he hadn’t seen a stereo anywhere in the building, so someone must have picked up an actual violin. Could it be Laycus? The legends did describe the devil as one who could play the fiddle or the violin, and it would suit Laycus. Curiosity compelled him to leave the chair, walk forward and ignore the childish (but wise) fear of the demon, and he followed the sound upstairs, down the long corridor to the open door at the very end. He felt his breath hitch once he was at the doorstep, worried and anxious that he would be molested, but he wished to see for himself.

Belial played the violin with his eyes closed and a soft smile on his lips. The flick of his wrist and sway of his body were elegant, as fluid as water, and Iova watched in utter fascination.

I know this melody. It’s the Toccata, I think. My father played this one a lot, but not nearly as well.

The sound that resonated from the violin was powerful, yet breathtaking, and Iova had crossed the doorstep without even noticing. Either there was magick at play, or demons were exceptionally good at handling instruments. Minutes passed, unnoticed, as Belial worked the violin, and only as he removed the bow from the instrument did Iova dare to draw a deep breath. Yellow eyes opened and blinked slowly once or twice before glancing to the doorway.

“Young sir, do not hesitate to come inside,” he said with a pleasant smile and lowered the instrument from his shoulder. “If you wish to listen, take a seat.” Belial made a gesture towards one of the chairs by the wall and waited for him to sit. “Any requests?”

Iova had been raised in by a father that loved classical music and a mother that couldn’t stand it. As a little child he’d sat outside his father’s office, listening to the pieces he played and the strings of curses that followed if the man couldn’t get it right. The names of the melodies he remembered were mostly lost to him now, but he could still picture the way his father paced back and forth and couldn’t seem to get any rest when there was a particular piece he could not play.

“The Devil’s Trill,” he said quietly, and the irony was not beyond him.

The corners of Belial’s mouth tilted up in amusement. “You wish to challenge me, is that so? Very well, young sir. Listen closely, then.” He raised the violin, closed his eyes and let the bow touch the strings. Even the simplest of motions from his hands produced a lovely sound, and Iova could not tear his eyes from the white, glove clad hands that played with skill his father could only dream of. The tune shifted quickly, following a pattern he could only vaguely recall from his childhood, and once it began to follow another pattern entirely Iova felt a chill touch his spine. Rapid motions of the bow created eerie tones that must be near impossible to achieve for a violinist, but Belial’s playing was flawless, perfect in every aspect. The melody hit its peak and slowed, mellowing out until the bow came to a stop.

“Was that satisfactory, young sir?” The violin stayed perched on his shoulder, his smile subtly amused, and only as Iova nodded did he lower it and bow at the boy.

“Are you a demon?” Iova moistened his lips and let his teeth sink into the bottom one. Belial showed no sign of surprise at the question.

“I am a Shadow and a servant,” came the humble reply. “But I am not the same as my Lord.”

Iova realized then that Belial was genuinely happy to serve the sadistic Laycus, and something twisted painfully in his stomach with that thought. How could anyone be pleased to carry out the whims of a child-molester, a twisted and manipulative being like Laycus? Or maybe the demon had mindwashed Belial, because that sure as hell was easier to believe.

“Young sir, may I suggest that you get dressed before our Lord awakens from his sleep? He will be up soon.” Belial placed the instrument in its case with something akin to tenderness and made certain that the bow was fastened properly before he closed the lid.

“I couldn’t find my clothes.” Iova stared down at his naked toes. They were cold, despite the comfortably warm temperature in the house. He had no wish to go back to the bedroom to search for them if there was a chance of waking Laycus up.

“That’s alright, Iova. I shall prepare an attire for you while you are in the bathroom.” Belial swept past him and waited in the doorway. “Come, young sir. Our Lord does not approve of tardiness.”

There was no malice in the Shadow’s voice, only a polite warmth, and Iova followed him without protest.

“You look pitiful, my pet.” Laycus drawled as he spoke, and the distaste in his voice was only too obvious. His abnormal eyes measured the quiet boy that shared dinner with him, and as he put down his fork and knife he saw the alarm flicker in Iova’s eyes. “You do not touch your food, though your stomach growls. You have not touched liquid this afternoon, and the lack of sleep does nothing to improve your complexion.” His mouth became a thin, unhappy line. “I have not had the pleasure of seeing you smile all weekend.”

Iova had long since put down his eating utensils and was now staring at his plate in hopes of making it go away. Even if he pretended to have become mute Laycus would force him to speak up, and yet a reply refused to form on his tongue. It should be obvious why he couldn’t eat or sleep, shouldn’t it? Being in this house, in the demon’s company made him feel like a child that had disobeyed, a child that had no voice to make himself heard. It was impossible to relax, and since this morning there was nothing he wanted more than to leave and collapse on his own bed.

“Is my company that terrible?”

“Yes.” The word slipped out before he could bite it back, but Laycus was not angered by his reply. The demon eyed him with a gaze that made him shudder, hard and beautiful at the same time and so perfectly ignorant of human understanding.

“I do not understand this aversion of yours. Tell me, what is it about sex that frightens and disgusts you so? Are you scared to be dominated? Or is it simply that physical contact is so foreign to you that you cannot accept it?” Laycus arched an eyebrow curiously. “No human being has ever denied me to touch and cherish them, but you do, despite the lust you feel when my hands are on you.”

“I don’t,” Iova protested and raised his head. “I don’t want you to touch me.”

A smile touched the demon’s lips, utterly cruel and mocking, and his words caused the boy to blush fiercely. “Ah, but you do, pet. I believe we established that fact a couple of nights ago, so why do you keep denying it? You begged for your release on my request,” he purred. “It was beautiful, and I fully intend to make you beg for my attention again.”

It was amazing how quickly the colour could drain from a human’s face. As he tended to when he was anxious, Iova bit into his bottom lip and chewed the already chapped skin rawer. The metallic taste of blood touched his tongue, bitter, but he couldn’t stop it any more than he could stop being uncomfortable in Laycus’ presence.

“You still haven’t answered my question, Iova.”

To ignore the question was not an option, he knew that, but Laycus wanted an answer that was not tangible or coherent in his head. His aversion to sex had no roots in sexual abuse or bad experience with the act, yet his muscles right away tensed when Laycus looked at him in that predatory manner of his and reached out for him. It was illogical in every way, but that did not make it less real to him. He plucked at the sleeve of the white shirt Belial had found for him. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “It makes me…feel sick.”

“Not because I am a man, I can assure you.”

He’s saying I’m gay, and he’s not even being subtle about it.

If you openly admitted to being gay in school there were other words to be thrown in your face. Fag, cock-sucker, homo; all words that your classmates had the right to call you if you liked other boys, words they would attach to your face and laugh while they said them. And here Laycus was doing the exact same thing, only with more finesse, more elegancy than brute teenage boys.

Before you came along I wasn’t gay or straight. I was nothing, and I was fine with that. I don’t want to fall prey to the homophobes in my class just because you showed up and declared me gay.

He thought of Krad, one of the few boys in his class that he’d spoken with. Krad was positively the gayest boy he could think of, but he was also strong and smart enough that the other boys didn’t dare punch in his face or harass him the way they would harass Iova if they found out. He was not strong; in size and punch he could not compare to them. The concept of being gay was not what bothered him; he was under the impression that love didn’t take things like gender into consideration when it decided to strike, but he was scared of what others might do to him.

Laycus rested his chin on the knuckles of a hand and smiled. “Now, why don’t you tell me your various favourites? I am aware that you are terribly apathetic, but even you must have certain preferences when it comes to food, films or music, hm?”

“Why?”

It was completely pointless to be telling Laycus things he had no interest in.

“As your lover and contractor I am entitled to ask whatever I wish, dear one. Now, answer me.”

In a rare show of defiance Iova shook his head and glared firmly across the table. “No.”

There was a subtle shift in the demon’s calm expression, but he held his chin high and fisted his hands on his lap to keep them from trembling.

“You fully well knew the terms of our contract when you signed it, Iova,” he said coldly. “I have every right to indulge in your life, your mind, every thought in that mind. Are you denying me my right?” Laycus pushed back his chair to stand up, and he approached the other end of the table with deliberately slow steps while watching the fear mingle with the defiance on the boy’s face. “You are a mere human. I have been kind to you, but you give me nothing in return. I have been patient and treated you with care, but perhaps you wish me to stop? Perhaps you’d rather I force that weak body of yours beneath me and pay no attention to your pain?” He paused. “Because I assure you, I can make it hurt worse than anything you have felt in your entire life, boy.”

Iova gritted his teeth and lowered his head. “Don’t.”

Laycus ran a single finger along the column of Iova’s throat and forced him to lift his head again. “Don’t what, pet?”

“Don’t hurt me,” he whispered and swallowed.

“Will you obey me then?” Laycus asked and stroked his cheek gently with a thumb.

Iova tried to look away, but the hand had a firm grip on his chin when he tried. His mouth was so dry after not drinking for hours, but that was entirely his own fault, and the single word that left his lips was hushed. “Yes.” It pleased Laycus, for the demon released his chin and smoothed down his hair lovingly.

“Tell me.”

His eyes fell shut while the hand petted his hair and made his scalp tingle to nicely. “I don’t really…I don’t watch movies so often, or listen to music,” he began. “I like Innocence. It’s a French movie. And I like eggs.”

“Is that so?” Laycus smiled.

“Y-yes.” He could not think of anything else that he really liked. It was easier to avoid social contact when you had no favourites to share or gossip over, and he had floated splendidly through life without being noticed.

“And what is it that you do not like?”

“Math.”

“And is there something that scares you, Iova? It is oh so human to have a phobia, and I don’t think you are an exception.”

Of course, Laycus was right, but that was one piece of information that he didn’t want to share. It was one thing to share likes and dislikes, but phobias were very personal, and his was childish enough to be embarrassing. The hand stopped petting and pulled lightly at the curly strands instead.

“Do not be shy,” the demon murmured close to his ear, and the warm puff of breath startled him. “I have had you naked in bed with me, what reason do you have to be shy?”

“I don’t like thunder.”

This seemed to amuse Laycus, for the demon chuckled. His lips touched the shell of Iova’s ear, caressed it and left fluttering kisses on the skin there for a while before moving down to the earlobe. The moment his mouth closed around it Iova held his breath and swallowed hard, and Laycus lavished the ear with enough attention to make the boy’s heart pound in his ribcage.

“See? That was not as hard as you imagined it to be.” He pulled back. “When school ends tomorrow I wish to meet your parents.”

Iova looked stricken.

Monday morning was a blur. Iova got up when his alarm clock rang, (though he’d not slept for more than four hours) brushed his teeth, got dressed and accompanied Laycus to school. The demon was bright and early at his doorstep, smiling his usual smug smile, but the lack of sleep throughout the weekend had exhausted Iova too badly to feel much of anything. He managed to get through the first four classes without solving a single math problem or answer any questions, but as soon as he rose from the chair and started the walk to the next classroom the dizziness kicked him in the head. He sagged against a wall, unconscious, and spent the next hour unaware of everything.

Waking up was a slow process, and the bond of sleep was heavy to shake off. It tried to hold him down, make him go back to being unconscious, but he fought his way out of it and managed to crack open one eye to peer at his surroundings. There was a strange smell in the air that he recalled, synthethic of sorts, but he couldn’t pin point it until his eyes fell on a bucket of blue paint on the floor. A soft, deep hum chased away the silence.

And oh God, his head hurt.

He rolled onto his side with a groan and pressed a hand to his pounding forehead. Had someone run him over with a truck? He had been in class, then in the corridor, and…His memory was blank from there on, so he supposed he had either been knocked out or fainted.

“You’re awake, huh? Fabulous.”

The person that kneeled next to to the couch he occupied was Lesley Gray, Art teacher and coffee-o-holic. His smile was kind, and the man’s relief was evident. There was white and purple paint on his cheeks, a spot of not quite dry orange on his stubbled chin, and his coat had once been white, but did now have a closer resemblance to the colours of the rainbow. He put a hand on Iova’s chest and pushed him back down the moment the boy attempted to sit up. “How you feelin’, Iova? Your head hurt?”

He managed a little nod.

“I’ll find you some aspirin, sit tight.”

The smell of coffee made his nostrils flare, and his eyes fell on a half empty cup on the floor when he rolled onto his side. It was a nostalgic smell, once that reminded him of his father, but it also brought along a thick lump in his throat that he could barely ignore. Thankfully, the headache was keeping him from making any complex thought process, and when Lesley finally returned and made him swallow down a pill with some water he had no qualms about obeying. Lesley picked up his mug, sipped it and sighed thoughtfully. His hand on Iova’s head was large, the fingers long and bony like those of a pianist, but not quite as elegant. They were a man’s hands, ringless, and the warmth felt soothing against his clammy forehead. “It’ll start workin’ in a minute, lad, don’t worry. You fainted right outside my classroom, you know.” He quirked an eyebrow in wondering, but did not ask. “Teenage boys need sleep to grow.”

“Thank you.” The blessed pill was slowly starting to numb the intense ache, and soon enough he dared to sit up and wrap the blanket tighter around himself. “I didn’t mean to inconvenience you, Mr Gray.” Had it been any other teacher he would never have bothered to apologize, but having caused trouble for Lesley made him feel a little guilty.

Lesley’s laugh was deep and warm; it rumbled deeply in his chest. “You didn’t. You’re light ‘nuff that I could carry you here myself.” He pulled a paint splashed stool over and took a seat, mug in hand, and shook his head. “That boy, Mace, punched another kid in the face and got them both wound up at the nurse’s. Small office, you know, so she had her hands full with stichin’ ‘em up. Took you here instead, figured you needed some sleep, hm?”

Heavens knew he really had needed to lie down a bit. Now that the headache was gone he felt considerably better than he had this morning, though he couldn’t have slept all that long. Laycus would have come to find him if school was over, and the room was demon-free as far as he could tell. It was just the two of them and an unknown amount of canvases, buckets of paint and brushes. This was Lesley’s office, located on the top floor among the rooms that weren’t regularly in use, but as one might expect from the office of an Art teacher it was really more of a studio. The floor was covered in old newspapers, many of them torn and worn down from shoes and spilt paint, and various paintings hung on the walls. Thanks to the poor weather the light inside the room was dim at best, but candles had been lit on the wooden desk in the corner to illuminate the large, unfinished painting that leaned against a wall.

“Want to stick around for a bit?” Lesley smiled. “School’s out in thirty, so it’s pointless to go back to class. You can paint some, if you like.”

“I’m not so good at painting.”

“Just relax then, ‘kay? I’m gonna work on this piece here.” Lesley pushed the stool aside as he got up and approached the large canvas. His fingers pulled out a brush from behind an ear, and he reached out to press the ‘play’ button on the CD player standing perched on his desk among jars of water, rolls of paper and smaller tubes of paint. Music from the 50s replaced the silence, and Iova’s eyes followed the man while he took steps to the right, then the left, to reach something on his unfinished canvas. The shapes were vague, he couldn’t really tell what they were supposed to look like (or maybe it was an abstract painting?), but watching someone paint was just as fascinating as it had been to watch Belial play the violin yesterday.

Since he renewed his contract with Laycus he had been unable to relax and settle down, to go back to his old, meaningless life, and sitting here now he realized that this was the first time in days that he felt at ease. Being in Lesley’s office gave him a little breather that he sorely needed, and Laycus’ temporary absence was more than welcome. The clock ticked; in half an hour this break would be over and life would resume. More precisely, the humiliation and shame would go on. He dreaded leaving the school in Laycus’ presence, because everyone would see them together, and teens weren’t exactly averse to creating morbid rumors that could further alienate him from them. He drew him knees against his chest and let his chin rest atop them.

The 50s must have been a happy decade if this is what people listened to. Or maybe they were just pretending to be happy, like everyone does now. Happiness is scarce these days.

Lesley hummed along to the music while he let his brushes created complicated, yet free patterns on the canvas, and though the man normally was laid back and calm he gave the impression of being utterly at ease while he painted- mind and heart in harmony. The cup of coffee sat on the desk, untouched, and that was the first time Iova had seen him without it.

“Your parents travel lots, don’t they?”

“Yes.”

They traveled more than a lot, truth to be told. Both his mother and father worked as translators for a computer software firm, which required them to make a lot of business trips. Most of the time they were sent to the same country for a job, but the times they didn’t they usually joined up somewhere in the middle.

When he was a child they had still been there for him and Matthew, but around his eight birthday they had both been hired by the firm they currently worked for, and for the years that followed their presence became a rare thing. Matthew had gotten along just fine, happy to be left alone and given a larger allowance to spend on girls, cigarettes and booze.

“Must be lonely.”

“Not really,” he said and shrugged.

Just sometimes.

Lesley said no more after that, and the minutes that passed were spent in comfortable silence.

The sudden knock on the door made him sit straight up on the couch and clutch the blanket hard in his hands, so strong was his reluctance to join Laycus for the trip home. He told himself to breathe easy- it might be one of the other teachers or pupils, right? But even as Lesley approached the door he felt his heart sink all the way to his stomach. If Laycus for some reason decided to leave him alone today there was still tomorrow to despair. And every single day for the next five years until their contract ran out and Laycus would end his life.

Was it worth it?

Lesley’s tall form in the doorway blocked the view, but the sound of Laycus’ smooth, polite voice was unmistakable.

“The nurse was kind enough to inform me that you took Pike to your office.” There was a hint of amusement in the demon’s voice, as though he didn’t think the room was worthy of the title as ‘office’.

“Yeah, that’s right. The lad needed some sleep. Do you have business with him?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Lesley stepped aside to let him in, but his relaxed smile from earlier had vanished, lips tenser and eyebrows drawn tightly together as he watched Laycus enter the room. “Pike, it is time to go. I brought your things from the classroom and put the homework in your backpack, so rest assured.” Laycus’ smile was anything but reassuring.

Coming along was the only option, but Iova’s eyes strayed to his teacher, and the anxiety must be obvious enough on his face that the man noticed, because he stepped forward and put a hand on Iova’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You’re welcome to stay a lil’ longer if you like, lad.”

He lowered his head. “Thanks, but no thanks. I need to get going, .” The blanket pooled on the couch when he got up, and instantly he felt colder. As promised, his things were waiting for him outside the door, and Laycus must have stuffed all the books into the backpack to make it feel as heavy as it did.

“Mr Arelli.”

There was a pregnant pause.

“Run along, Pike, but please do wait for me at the entrance.” Laycus turned his attention back to Lesley, and the boy seemed to have been forgotten that moment, something he didn’t mind in the slightest. “Yes, Mr Gray? Can I be of help to you?”

Lesley’s eyes were hard. “Iova’s just a boy, Mr Arelli. He’s at a vulnerable age. Doesn’t need no one to mess with him.”

“Are you suggesting my relationship with Pike goes beyond that of mere teacher and student?” Laycus smiled sweetly, but the next words to leave the man’s mouth made his smile falter a fraction.

“I doubt a contract makes you a friend to the lad, Mr Arelli. Your lot isn’t known to be the nicest bunch, after all.” Lesley turned away from him and picked up his brush again, unaware of the surprised, but much intrigued expression on the demon’s face.

“Tell me, who is your contractor?” To encounter another human whom had sold his soul to a demon, right here in the same school, was beyond anything he had expected, but it added a little spice to the game. Who might the demon possibly be? Someone he knew? Ah, this was truly fascinating. He found himself subconsciously leaning a little closer to the human.

“Well, unlike the lad I’m under no obligation to satisfy your curiosity. Sorry to disappoint you.”

Laycus ginned toothily. “That is fine. Meeting you was a pleasure, Mr Gray, and seeing that we are colleagues I assume we shall meet again in the near future.” His words were answered with the merry tune of the CD player only, and as Laycus withdrew and closed the door behind him he couldn’t quite wipe the pleased smirk from his face.