Author: Draco volans PM
COMPLETE. A medieval time. A desert Palace. A young necromancer. His demon familiar. What would you do when you have a moment of distraction? MxM. Slash. Demon. Summon. Magic. Sorcerer. Necromancy. One-shot.Rated: Fiction M - English - Fantasy - Words: 5,689 - Reviews: 7 - Favs: 23 - Follows: 2 - Published: 11-13-11 - Status: Complete - id: 2970043
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorised duplication is prohibited.
AN: Product of a bored mind. Sexual content ensues.
Footsteps echoed loudly on centuries old tile as three men escorted a fourth slighter figure, down an opulent hallway. Like the floor the walls showed their age. Sandstone, rough to the touch, bleached white from the native paint, stretched high to a ceiling almost beyond sight. From this high vault, great monolith columns fell, creating open portals out from palace to the great desert cityscape swelling beneath, its distant dunes and bustling bazaars.
It was an attracting view.
Unexpectedly, the lithe figure stayed himself between two columns, gazing down at the metropolis, face hidden behind a tan cowl, body beneath charcoal robes and silver gilding. The men escorting the figure halted, having no choice but to arrest their procession for the one which they had been charged.
Of the cortege, two were evidently guards, clad in a bronze armour so polished, it refracted the very light that hit it. In looking at these men, it was obvious to describe both as burly, equipped with identical finely cropped mustaches and beards.
Muscles bulged as their hands, strong and calloused, tightened the grip upon their spears, which like the bronze armor and helms, proved to be just as burnished and cared for. Silver spearheads, bright and free from the dirty rust that so frequently graced the metalwork of lesser men's weaponry, glinted in the light.
Uneasily, the duo cast their gaze at the figure perusing the city. They dared not touch this man. They dared not to even look him in the eye, rumours of his sorcery having infected the guard worse than any plague. Despite being their fondest wish, only shame kept them from fleeing the day's duty, punishment for disobedience to their lord holding no candle before this man. This demon. Instead they cast questioning looks toward the final member.
This man, wore not the elaborate attire of the guard, or the heavy black robes of their charge, but a simple toga. Cream in colour, a gold broach joined the fabric together at one shoulder, arms, shoulders and legs exposed.
Head shaved, lines etched their way out from the man's eyes, indicators of age a decade or two past the fighting fit guardsmen, his face oddly narrow for a man. Apart from these few wrinkles, the man was unblemished from any sign of work, completely lacking the facial hair of the former pair. He was differentiated further from the soldiers, by being slightly portly around the middle, his eyes calm.
Unlike the palace guards, Rashaad was careful to keep his expression neutral. It would not do for his highness' master of house, to be so cowed toward a guest, even one so ruinous if rumours were to be believed. But that didn't stop the man from giving a longer that what was routinely practiced, pause of silence. It was almost a minute before he spoke.
"My lord, the royal apartments await you," Rashaad said courteously with a bow to the figure's back, words coming from a voice that lacked the depth and richness his age and size would predict. It was this gentleness of tone that fully answered his condition.
He was a eunuch.
The so called lord looking out over the city, tilted his head slightly in recognition that he had heard the man, but stayed between the columns, a soft breeze billowing the robes that secreted every trace of flesh away from the world's eyes. Unusual attire for sure, given the never-ending desert heat.
It was not until long moments later, when Rashaad was considering speaking again, cold sweat flooding his body at the thought of having to remind the young man of anything, and what he would do if he chose to ignore him and stay where he were, that the figure turned. Rashaad bowed his head swiftly, but not swiftly enough to avoid sighting white almost translucent hair, and a flash of luminous crimson eyes. The servant swallowed nervously, gaze fixed on the tiled floor.
He felt like an acolyte again, freshly cut, the master's crop raised in preparation to tan his ignorant hide. All day long the eunuch had been discipling the mutterings and gossip of the palace staff about their master's newly arrived guest. Guarded whispers of a demon, with eyes of fiery rust, that wrested your unwilling soul away to seek his perversions.
Rashaad had earlier that day, had a servant boy beaten for breathing such slander about a guest of his highness, despite the major-domo having never set eyes upon the particular object of curiosity himself. Now that he had, he could only dismiss the rumours as being entirely insufficient. The eyes were the most hauntingly beautiful he had ever witnessed, sure to curse his dreams ever more.
The servant composed himself mentally, expecting condemnation as the figure trailed past him. A dark robe passing through the vision of his bowed head, and continued down the hall. Rashaad straightened himself up, perturbed by his own fear. Starting to breath again, he looked after the back of the man and shook himself mentally.
Why had he felt afraid? Surely there is no reason. His position in the master's keep assured him protection given to few outside of immediate family. And often more than even they were afforded. Yet when that body had passed him by, he felt what could only be described as a paralysing numbness and terror that sank to the depths of his bones. He frowned after the reputed sorcerer. What devilry was at work?
Rashaad shifted, indicating for the two soldiers to follow, which they did with considerable reluctance, and the trio set pace with the cowled figure. Though if it was they leading him, or him leading them, was no longer certain. After a time of navigating hallways, Rashaad stepped align with a set of double doors, golden, and stretching to the ceiling.
"This is the apartments his highness, the Sultan, has gifted you my lord," Rashaad stated, gesturing for the guards to open the heavy doors. One of the soldiers stepped forward and began pushing the rightmost frame, swinging the heavy metal inward.
"Only the most regal guests of the Sultan are permitted quarter in this wing of the palace. His highness' own room's are…"
Rashaad fell quiet as the cloaked man stepped past the threshold of the doors leaving him standing awkwardly outside the quarter. Motioning the guards to stay in the passage, he stepped in behind. Whilst the palace hallways were hardly unnoteworthy in splendor with their high ceiling and golden columns, the grandeur of the royal apartment left it for dust.
Despite the chamber's many columns, the atmosphere was light and airy. Sheets of red silk cascaded from the vaulted ceiling, proving both decorative, and functional, keeping desert winds from sweeping sand in from a truly majestic balcony pavilion. Short steps led down to a great annex, bequethed with many lounges and plush pillows, and decorated sparsely, but tastefully with gold and ebony urns. A pleasant aroma of perfume incense competed to relax the senses.
"This will suffice."
Rashaad tilted his head slightly. The Sultan's mystery guest had a voice like that of air. Quiet, and somehow everywhere and nowhere at the same time. The figure, back to him, walked toward a table laden with fruits and precious delicacies. The eunuch even recognised a bowl of ice chunks.
Ice was a luxury afforded by only the most exceedingly wealthy. To obtain, great hunks needed be taken off mountain peaks and in a method borrowed from the Romans, swiftly transported and buried deep enough to keep solid. No easy task in a desert. The Sultan was sparing no privilege for his guest, which reminded Rashaad.
"His highness has granted you full use of his palace. Anything you should wish for, will be provided."
Rashaad lowered his gaze as the figure flicked back his hooding, but avoided faltering in his words.
"The sleeping quarters are through the hall behind the viridian silks, and the servants have already drawn a hot both."
Rashaad's gaze drifted up the lithe back despite his better judgement. The same strange crystal white hair that he had glimpsed beneath the cowl, fell to the line of the young man's neck. And indeed the Sultan's guest was visibly, to the servant's eye, quite young, not even yet of twenty summers.
Pale skin caught his attention as the boy lifted a grape. It was milky-white and delicate looking. Rashaad's eyes widened slightly. He had not seen skin so pale before. No doubt that it was practicality rather than propriety that made him cover himself so thoroughly. Skin such as thus would not fair well under the desert sun.
Perhaps he is an albino. That would explain the red eyes.
The ethebe lifted another grape to his lips, and realising that he had fallen into silence, Rashaad quickly carried on his notice.
"The Sultan has also granted you access to the Harem should you so desire," the eunuch voiced, though marvelling that the visitor was afforded such freedom.
The Sultan's own sons were not permitted such luxury, and nor had anyone else visiting at the ruler's invitation, ever been granted such license. Nor still, had any guest of his master been treated with such secrecy. The boy having arrived in early morning to spend many hours alone with the sovereign. The Sultan hadn't even permitted Rashaad, whom typically was privy to every secret and desire of the aging ruler, to know the guest's name. Only that he was to treat him with the same deference that he gave his highness.
"There are many hundreds of beautiful and willing concubines…"
Rashaad's voice quavered. The boy had, without a care, shed his robe to his feet. Flawless skin was laid bare before his sight. There was not a single blemish or scar to be found. Not if Rashaad were to stitch together the choosiest pieces of all the Sultan's Harem, could he hope to come close to such perfection. Smooth, hairless skin that stretched on forever. A lithe build, slender, but showing signs of exercise, being toned in all the right places.
The eunuch's gaze fell to the boy's buttocks. They were high and tight, the type that slavers would expect to fetch a king's ransom. They were however, not entirely naked before his sight, rather held in a weave of thin black strands. A type of mesh that did far more to display than it did to conceal. Although a strip of cloth hang from the front of boy's legs, Rashaad had a unobstructed view between the boy's cheeks, and could observe the shapely beginnings of the boy's sex.
"...many concubines a-and cat-catamites"
Rashaad swallowed. He could feel his stem swelling beneath his toga. He was no sandali. Unlike the black Nubian slaves in the Harem, boys who would lose both aspects of their gender at eight summers, his manhood was intact. He had lost his ability to seed, the resulting masculine features and the feelings of lust, but he was not incapable of pleasure.
Although it had not happened for a good many years now, there had been many occasions in his younger years, where the four wives of the former Sultan, or more commonly the lesser concubines, sought the flowers of marriage, without the fear of unwanted fruit. Fornication proving just another of his secretarial duties.
Though now, just looking at the mere back and behind of this boy, Rashaad felt a unfamiliar and visceral stirring in his core. Something he had not felt in his forty years as a eunuch. Temptation.
Is this how complete men feel?
The servant licked his lips nervously. He had better leave. All the sooner to get away from this boy. There was something unnatural at work here.
"If you require anything," Rashaad began dry-mouthed, "the palace servants are at you disposal."
The man watched as the boy's hand, bejewelled with several lustrous, yet plain rings, brought a strawberry up to his mouth. Rashaad flinched at the faint echo of sucking, his hardness bobbing rigidly in reply beneath his toga.
The unnamed boy finished the morsel, before, back still to Rashaad, half-angled his head over his shoulder. The eunuch had his gaze transfixed by a red eye. He felt dread surge violently through his veins. The visible corner of plush attractive lips parted.
"Ensure I am not disturbed," the airy voice intoned softly.
Rashaad's body was arrested incapable of movement whilst the gaze was upon him, held under an invisible force. When the eyes left his, the man was able to quickly bow to the boy's back, and retreat a hasty path out of the chamber.
The man stood shakily in the passage outside the apartment, gesturing to the guards to seal the door.
"Post additional men to make certain no one gains entry to this room," Rashaad commanded the pair, before hurrying off. The eunuch wanted no part further with the boy.
He did not know what secret reason his master had for allowing the unknown youth such entitlement, and he did not want to know. The boy was a demon, his presence alone bewitched the mind and ensnared the senses. His aching tumescence stood as testament. The Sultan could engage this boy at his peril.
Rashaad hurried off, intent on only finding a remedy for the distraction between his legs.
Deft fingers plucked at the bunch of grapes, stealing away another morsel. The offering was brought to his lips, and he bit into the fruit, enjoying the sweet flood of juices across his tongue. It had been some time since he had tasted such a delicacy.
Crimson orbs drifted closed as he savoured the moment, licking a finger clean. His hand fell to a bare hip bone, and his eyes flicked open, and he tilted his head sideways, as if sensing something, before turning.
He was not alone in the great room. Where once was only one occupant, another now stood beside the discarded bundle of robes upon the marble floor. The newcomer cast back his hood, exposing the same clear white hair and maroon eyes of the Sultan's guest. The same plush lips, the same lithe body. In fact, apart from the fact the newcomer still wore an outfit matching that which the room's inhabitant had left on the ground, they were entirely identical.
The more naked male, far from perturbed at discovering his doppelgänger in the quarter, displayed not fear on his face but scorn.
"Zekiel, what are you doing?" the boy asked, crossing his arms across his bare chest, red eyes narrow in irritation. The newcomer, Zekiel, grinned and gave an unaffected shrug.
"I thought I'd test your body out," Zekiel said with a wide smirk, as he bent to retrieve the discarded robe from the floor, folding carefully with half-attention.
"Whilst I cannot emulate your powers or ... pluckiness..." the boy with the crossed arms lifted a brow.
"I believe I could become accustomed."
Zekiel finished folding the robe and drew near to the first boy, placing the bundle of cloth on the back of a futon as he stepped in front of his twin whom was looking none to impressed.
"Well it doesn't suit you. Take it off."
Zekiel glanced over the first boy tilting his head in a curious fashion, before he shrugged, obviously conceding, and smirked. He gave a mocking bow.
"As you wish, Master Rye."
As the clothed boy bent his body, and said the word 'master', his eyes flashed from crimson, to a poisonous yellow, the vocal tone shifting from the airy quality of the other boy, to a deeper, more velvet baritone. As he straightened up Zekiel's body morphed and shifted.
The dark robes, contorted and were sucked tight against skin, taking on a more purplish hue. Limbs lengthened and stretched. Ears tapered out into a more elven quality until finally, at the conclusion of the bow, a demonic looking individual now stood naked in place of the pale boy.
Zekiel now stood a good head taller than the so called 'Master Rye'. Although having the obligatory number of limbs for humans, his skin was a dark, an almost black plum colour, complete with dottings of runic symbols in a light blue that almost seemed to appear and disappear in a type of optical trickery.
Hair whilst short, was raven black, matching the pigment of his dusky nipples, one of which had a silver bar pressed through. Build, though limber, was visibly muscled. Biceps, pectoral and abdominals pronounced and indicating preternatural physical ability. Finally his sex, whilst in its flaccid state, hung low and heavy, fuller soft than most humans could hope for when hard.
Zekiel crossed his arms in imitation of the youth, black curved nails glinting, a playful smile in place.
"Is this more suited to your liking, Rye?"
The boy rolled his crimson eyes in reply.
"Immensely," Rye murmured, un-phased by the demon's state of undress. The boy turned stalking off toward the futon. Zekiel smirked wider behind his back, yellow eyes drifting over the boy's mesh-clad buttocks and the barely hidden rosebud entrance nestled between. The demon scowled as the boy sat down upon the futon, view stolen.
The boy leaned back into the pillows, exhaling heavily.
"I take it you did not enjoy your sojourn with the Sultan?" the dark skinned demon enquired, moving towards the table of refreshments.
Rye sighed once more and tilted his head back, watching how the soft breeze blew across the silks descending from the ceiling.
"It went as predicted," the boy remarked with a tired air.
Back to the boy, the demon's jaw clenched slightly, before with a frown he picked up a small urn and smelled it with his nose. The pleasant aroma of wine tickled his senses. Clutched it between his long nails he poured a serving into a goblet. Turning, the demon approached the reclined boy who accepted the drink from his hands without complaint.
"Nothing that held your interest then?" Zekiel enquired, looking down on the human from where he stood in front of the boy.
"Sadly not," the boy replied. He exhaled heavily once more, and leant forward in his seating, tilting his neck in his hands.
"Are you unwell Rye?" the demon asked, hand reaching out cup the boy's cheek, taking care not to scratch his face with his claw-like nails. The boy pale skin was warm to the touch beneath the demon's darker covering.
"I am fine," the red-eyed boy said, waving off the hand from his cheek.
The boy sipped from the goblet the demon had passed him.
"The magics I performed for the Sultan were not taxing on my body or energy, just my patience."
Zekiel pondered the boy for a moment, before sinking down to a kneel before the futon. At the height, the demon had a level view of the boy's pubis. The mesh that held his buttocks came only halfway around the boy's hips, leaving the inside of his hipbones and thighs unveiled, though sadly, not the boy's sex, which was hidden by the hanging strip of fabric.
The kneeling demon reached out a hand, dark nails retracting such as to be of no harm, and he grasped ahold of the boy's foot. Rye sighed as Zekiel began to massage, thumbs and fingers pressing into sore spots.
"Mmm. Nothing interesting. A few extra years to his life span. Curing a few maladies."
The boy took another sip from the goblet, before glancing down at the demon bent diligently to his task.
"A chastity spell for his wives," the boy said with a laugh. Zekiel snorted.
"A veritable waste of your talents," the demon said, yellow eyes glancing up to crimson.
"Availing fat old men of trouser rot."
The boy laughed aloud, his airy voice echoing in the room longer than what were strictly natural. He took another sip of wine.
"Mmm, whilst I would certainly rather be out summoning armies of rank beasts and undead warriors..." the boy bit his lip thoughtfully.
"Sadly there are not as many wishing for their own personal hordes as I would like."
The boy leant himself back on the pillows once more, arms out to the side, staring at the ceiling. The action shifted the strip of loin cloth to one side, granting Zekiel the view of the thin silk pouch attached to the mesh by four strings, two to each side, that supported the boy's sex.
The demon's pupils contracted.
"Your ability at summoning from the void is greater than any mortal I have ever known of Rye. That I am here is proof. Such a gift should not go unused."
The demon abandoned his ministrations upon the boy's foot and moved his hands up higher to begin massaging the boy's calves.
"You could always return to Europe?"
The pale boy snorted, looking down at the demon in amusement.
"Please. Their magisterium burns more innocents for witchcraft then the rest of the world put together."
Zekiel gave a grin displaying two dozen sharp fang-like teeth.
"You know as well as I they are also the largest collection of hypocrites this side of the void. There would be no shortage of paid work for a necromancer of your talent. And besides my master..."
Zekiel planted a kiss to the outside of the boy's knee, giving a wry look.
"It makes life more interesting."
Red eyes dilated slightly.
"Perhaps once they relearn to advantages of regular bathing."
Rye leant his head back once more, the gap between his legs widening. Zekiel grinned. The demon shifting himself more fully between the sorcerer's legs. He bent his head and extended his tongue, licking a short trail past the boy's knees up his thighs, skin shivering and forming bumps under his ministration. Yellow eyes looked up.
"China perhaps?" Zekiel suggested.
The boy frowned thoughtfully, shutting his eyes.
Zekiel bent back to his task, licking a path higher.
"The ugh- the emperor did pay rather well for that animated terracotta army like that his ancestors had. The payment wasn't as high as what the Sultan is paying for this, but ugn- but at least it wasn't uninspired."
Zekiel removed his head from suckling at the sorcerer's hip bone. The demon's dark hand latched onto the hanging loin cloth, shifting it around the boy's hip and out of the way. The thin silk holding the shorter male's gender, stretching as the organ began to fill.
"Whatever makes you happy Rye," the demon murmured, bringing a hand up to toy with one of the strings holding the pouch tight with his fingers. The dark nail of his thumb lengthened out to its original length. Zekiel ran the blade-like appendage under the string.
"You could always just take a region yourself to lord over."
The demon twitched his thumb, slicing through the first string.
The boy frowned.
"A region for myself?"
Zekiel grinned, running his thumb under the string below it.
He cut the twine, releasing one side of the silken pouch. The boy's sex pushed against the remaining hindrance. Zekiel's gaze tapered off of the phallus to the two remaining cords on the other side.
"With your powers you could have whatever..."
"Or whomever you desired."
Zekiel smiled with his eyes as he tossed aside the pouch of silk, appraising the organ laid bare before him. It was of good size. Not much over average size in length or girth, but in terms of attractiveness, it was tiers above.
Swollen with blood, the head had a colour very much like the red orbs staring down at him. The demon smirked, taking the shaft in his hand, enjoying the feel of the boy's hot, hard, steel. Yellow eyes met crimson.
"You already command the void. Why not the rest."
Zekiel sank his head down upon the flesh.
Legs twitched and hands dug into the demon's hair, as the mouth went to work, sucking hard, tongue, longer than a humans, swirling around the shaft.
"Gah! Zekiel! Gods!"
Dark arms bound themselves around the boy's thighs and the demon drove his mouth faster and farther onto the swollen need. Razor sharp teeth, designed to shred and rip flesh, grazed edges, stimulating sensitive skin.
"Unnn. Don't stop."
Sucking the arousal harder.
Swirling the tongue faster.
"Zekiel! Uhhh. I'm close."
Swallowing to the hilt.
The boy's body shock, eyes clenched shut as orgasm rocked him. Fluid exploding out of his sex, only to be sucked down by the smirking demon, yellow eyes having narrowed to slits as he drank.
The boy slumped forward, and Zekiel supported his upper-body effortlessly with one hand as he licked off the last flowing drop of the boy's seed. With the last of the offering gone, the demon stood, and seated himself upon the futon, allowing the boy to lean back into him.
A dark nail traced a line back and forth across the sorcerer's shoulder as the Zekiel awaited the boy to regain coherency. It was the demon's turn to stare lazily upwards at the ceiling silks.
Red. So much like his master's eyes.
So much like blood.
The demon looked back down, feeling a tug upon his nipple. The boy pressing his side toyed again with the silver bar passed through the sensitive tissue.
"Satisfied Rye?" Zekiel asked with a wry grin. The boy sighed, rubbing his cheek against the unadorned pectoral whilst his hand played with the piercing through the other.
The demon grinned, tracing a path on the boy's side with a claw. Rye's eyes drifted shut.
For long minutes they lay in silence, and the demon was wondering if the boy had fallen asleep when his all to familiar crimson orbs snapped back open.
"No?" Zekiel echoed, tilting his head.
"No," the beautiful boy affirmed, pushing himself up. Zekiel looked at his master curiously, as the lad repositioned himself, straddling the demons legs. Red eyes focussed on yellow, and the boy gave his summon a lascivious grin, and bent his head.
Teeth latched onto the stud through the demon's teat.
"Unn," Zekiel murmured as the boy's mouth began to suck and tease his piercing, pulling at the flesh. The boy shifted position, softly biting at the unadorned nipple opposite, one hand going to tweak the stud his mouth had just abandoned, the other descending between the demon's legs.
A hand gripped his sex, rapidly bringing to life the organ that had been flaccid throughout. Blood pumped into Zekiel's flesh, causing it to rapidly swell, growing longer and thicker by the second. Even as the boy's fingers slipped off, unable to wrap themselves around his girth, he grew larger still.
"Mmm, that's more like it," Rye murmured appreciatively as he ran a hand down the demon's full sex, once it had reached the pinnacle. The boy's crimson eyes smiled at the curious expression on the demon's face.
Rye ran a hand once more over Zekiel's complete length.
"Now this will satisfy me," the boy said with a grin. The demon blinked, and laughed aloud.
"If that is what you wish, I am but your humble servant," Zekiel said, returning the boy's look.
"Humble indeed," Rye murmured, squeezing the hot flesh in his hand, before shifting forward, moving onto all fours at the end of the futon.
The boy looked over his shoulder at his demon familiar, red eyes gazing at Zekiel through his bangs, pale skin ready to be marked, sex swollen with need once more.
"You did say that you wanted to 'test' my body out did you not?"
The demon, not needing any more invitation than that, moved forward behind the boy. A nail lashed out and cut a line down through the mesh still holding the boy's buttocks, forming a long slit at the crevice.
Zekiel rubbed the head of his tumescence along the new territory, pressing against the boy's rosebud entrance.
"As my master wishes."
And thrust himself forward.
Outside the doors, guards shifted uncomfortably at the sounds of great screams. Whether of pleasure, or whether of pain, it sounded like all hell had been unleashed.
There were great grunts, and growls. Heavy moans and shattering screams.
The men drifted further away from the door, unnerved, as the 'sounds' went on.
At one particularly loud cry, the torches along the hall, which would be lit as darkness drew near, exploded into life, sending torrents of blue and green fire roaring up to the high ceiling above.
The guards fled, yelling of demons and hellfire.
Inside the room, Zekiel eased himself out of the tight body, a torrent of fluid escaping after his spent sex. The leavings coloured pink, a combination of his seed and the boy's own blood.
The demon let go of the boy's hips, noting that his claws had dug in at one point creating deep gouges, dripping thin lines of claret. He cupped the boy's cheek.
"Are you unwell Rye?" he asked examining the boy. His perfect pale skin was no longer unmarked, virtually every surface that could be reached now being made up of scratches, bruises and red red blood.
Crimson eyes lifted themselves up from where they had landed when the boy had collapsed forward over the edge of the futon.
"I'm fine," he murmured, licking chapped lips that had been chewed on at one point.
Zekiel snorted, before he lay across the boy's back, giving a lick to a circle of red on the sorcerer's shoulder where the demon had bitten down on.
"Scars don't suit you Rye. You should take it off."
The boy rolled his eyes at the parroted words, before frowning. His eyes glowed bright for several moments, and the innumerable scratches, bruises and punctures across his fragile body rapidly began healing over, even the spilt blood and seed rapidly fading away until...
Not a mark remained, and Rye's skin was just as perfect as it had been when he had first stepped foot into the room. Crimson eyes dimmed back to their normal fashion.
"Satisfied?" the boy asked.
"Immensely," the demon replied, settling in position over the boy's back, rubbing his sides.
Rye rolled his eyes, smiling lightly, and sighted his goblet discarded on the ground just beyond his reach. Frowning the boy flicked his fingers. In a puff of smoke a little two-foot demon appeared.
The diminutive grey imp, wide-eyed, picking up the goblet and nervously, tottered forward with it into arms reach. The boy snatched up the goblet and drank down the remainder, before tossing it back to the startled summon.
The imp, appearing uncertain what to do next, gawking up at the master, and the much higher ranking demon across his back.
"That's cute," Zekiel murmured, massaging the boy's shoulders. Red eyes flashed, and the Imp exploded into a pile of ash.
"Tch. Fine," the demon said with a scowl.
"Though you could have made him get 'me' a drink before you sent him back."
Rye rested his head upon his arms, enjoying the demons ministrations.
"My magic anchors you. You have no need for human foods. Now shut up and keep up what you're doing, minion."
Zekiel snorted, but kept his pace in massaging the boy's back. The boy's eyes drifted shut, and the demon allowed himself a secret smile.
Minutes drifted by in pleasant silence. That was until the doors to the room burst open unexpected and Rashaad ran in with six guards.
"What!" the eunuch spluttered, seeing the boy intertwined with the dark figure.
"A demon! I didn't wan-"
Crimson eyes flashed and the man never finished his sentence as he, and the six guards exploded in a spray of ash.
Zekiel raised a brow at the boy, as if to say, 'and they call me a demon.'
Rye, if he saw this look, didn't say anything, and just gave a heavy sigh. He pushed himself up wincing as he bent to retrieve his robes off the back of the futon.
"It doesn't look like i'm getting paid," the boy muttered, pulling the clothes on.
"Just another country I'm not welcome in."
The boy sighed heavily, but the demon just gave a wide grin.
"Cheer up Master. There is always The New World."
AN: And there we go.
I had been bouncing around half a dozen half-written stories of mine all day, unable to really focus on getting any one thing done. After a bit of procrastination, I found some random photo of a dark elf in my phone (as you do), and decided to distract myself and do a little necromancer master/demon slashy thing to give my brain a break.
…Moment's over, now back to working on other updates. Thanks for reading.
"...it doesn't suit you. take it off"
-The Fifth Element. Mr Zorg
"with my knowledge and your ...pluckiness"
-Stargate SG-1 10.19. Adria.
"...bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses..."
-Harry Potter. Snape's class introduction.
Until next time.
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