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Devil's Trill

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Victor has been watching this one for awhile.

The boy—the angel, rather—is slim, lovely, and utterly alone. Usually when Heaven’s children traverse the outskirts of Hell, they travel in packs: safety in numbers, and so on. A handful of times, Victor has seen an angel traveling alone, but always before the angel was fearsome and carrying a flaming sword, or wreathed in the mysteries of the Most High.

In short, they’ve always been far too many or too dangerous for Victor to ever approach. If he wants to keep his hide in one piece, anyway.

But not this angel. This one is alone, and Victor is intrigued.

Victor’s manor house is in one of the more far-flung fields of the nether world, closer to the overlap with the human world. He detected the lone angel’s presence a few hours ago, and came to see what brought one of his holy cousins down this way. Unlike many of Victor’s kind, Victor has nothing interesting or particularly worthy of divine punishment in his recent past: no murders, no tormenting of star-crossed lovers, no corruption of heroic leaders. He hasn’t even kicked any puppies.

That being said, angels don’t necessarily need a reason to want to exact retribution on demons, in Victor’s experience. So while he’s not expecting a hunter, he does take care to wrap himself in darkness before he traipses out to the edges of the field.

From his vigil, though, he doesn’t think he has much to worry about. The boy’s not a hunter; he’s too aimless and unfocused for that. He’s also not nearly well-enough armed. He’s just in the traveling clothes that messenger angels wear on long journeys, although it’s looking a bit tattered at the edges. And there’s something strangely mournful about him, about the way he moves. His head hangs, and instead of the unbowed stride characteristic of the host of heaven, this boy walks as though he’s carrying some great but invisible weight across his shoulders.

(“Boy” is the word Victor’s using in his head, although he of course doesn’t know how old or young this angel is. Angels as a species are as immortal as demons, of course. But right now he seems very bereft of the glory of his kin.)

His melancholia and shabby clothing do nothing to diminish his beauty, however. From the copse of trees where he’s blended into the shadows, Victor lets himself admire the boy’s slender limbs, his dark hair and perfect skin, the sense of hidden depths. He’s also positively leaking heaven’s light, like a small but brilliant beacon in the dark.

Other demons will be drawn here by the heavenly light; Victor was merely the first to arrive because the angel was crossing his property. And this lovely creature will all too soon find out why—when they are foolish enough to cross through the fields of the damned—his fellows travel either in packs, or heavily armed.

Victor watches him trudge along, some unidentifiable emotion pulsing through him. He has no particular love for angels, but neither does he wish to antagonize the angelic host. In fact, it’s been a very long time since Victor gave a damn about—much of anything, really. But something about this boy sticks in his mind, like a burr clinging to a wool coat. Victor should really just leave him to his fate, or at most, scare the foolish child off.

Instead, he creeps closer, then closer still. There’s something strange about this angel, something different that he can’t quite place—it almost seems as if he’s missing his wings. Angels can hide their wings, of course, just as demons can hide their horns and tails, so Victor can’t be completely sure. But he wants to find out.

And what was it Christophe said to him the other day? You should get another pet, Victor. Something to occupy you!

Maybe I will, Victor thinks.

* * * * *

Yuuri is so tired.

It’s been almost a year since he left the golden fields. Most of that time has been spent wandering through the human world, trying to stay inconspicuous, unnoticed. But Yuuri hasn’t been able to stay in one place for very long—too nervous, too restless, too heartsick. So he’s somehow wandered very far beyond anywhere an angel should be, and now he’s found himself in this empty, lonesome place.

The sun isn’t shining here. It’s not night-dark, exactly; more like extremely heavy cloud cover, a sky broody with the promise of rain. Yuuri doesn’t mind the darkness so much as he’s nervous about the fact that he has no idea where he is.

Or rather, he has an idea. He’s just very much hoping he’s wrong.

Wherever he is, he’s been walking for hours. Yuuri glances around, sees a thick copse of trees off to his right and starts to head towards them. He gets within about twenty meters of them before abruptly recognizing one of the trees—or rather, the large black spot on its side. The realization that he’s been walking in circles hits him like a physical blow, and he crumples, sinking to his knees and putting his face in his hands.

“Oh, my,” says a voice, from quite nearby. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen an angel cry.”

Yuuri startles, trying to get up and succeeding only in toppling over. His gaze fall on a tall figure, standing just a few feet away, clad in an elegant red and black suit, with silver hair and brilliant blue eyes.

“Don’t come near me!” Yuuri scrambles to his feet, backing hastily away and holding out a hand before him. The light inside him flares, making him glow and brightening the dim field.

The man—the demon—winces, lifting an arm to shade his face. But instead of smiting Yuuri with dark magic, he wrinkles his nose and says, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. It’s just going to attract more attention, and this isn’t really the place for that, is it?”

Yuuri flushes, scowling at the demon. “Don’t act as if you’re trying to help me,” he snaps.

The demon arches one elegant eyebrow and actually smiles. “If I wanted to hurt you instead, wouldn’t it have been easier when you were curled up on the ground crying?”

That sets Yuuri back. He hesitates, just for a moment, his righteousness dimming. The demon does nothing, just watches him calmly. Finally Yuuri relents, stepping back and looking at the ground, embarrassed somehow by the weight of those brilliant eyes.

It’s foolish to take his eyes off a demon, he knows. But not the stupidest thing he’s done lately, by a long shot. “I have no quarrel with you,” he says shortly. “Leave me be, and I w-won’t trouble you.”

“You’re a very long way from home to be going for a simple walk,” says the demon. His voice is deceptively mild, but Yuuri isn’t fooled; he knows a query when he hears one.

“I got lost,” he says.

“I see,” says the demon. He says nothing for several moments, long enough that Yuuri lifts his eyes again. The demon is watching him with an inscrutable expression, making it impossible to guess what he’s thinking. It makes Yuuri uneasy.

“Well,” says the demon at length, “far be it from me to tell an angel what path they should walk, but perhaps I can shed some illumination on your current situation.” The demon’s mouth quirks at his own pun. Yuuri suffers twin surges of the same emotion: irritation at the demon’s smug self-confidence, and irritation at himself for being unable to ignore how handsome the damned creature is when he smiles like that.

“You are alone in one of the far fields of Hell, and you are leaking holy light. Every infernal creature within ten leagues of here can sense you: a wingless angel, far from heaven and utterly alone.”

Yuuri blanches. Immediately, light flares in his hands and face again, and the demon flinches and covers his face once more. “I’m not wingless,” Yuuri says tightly.

The demon squints at him, attempting to shade his eyes with his hand. “Is that so,” he says. “Is there some other reason you’re still here, then? I understand Hell is easy to fly over, but you’ll never cross it walking like you have been.”

Yuuri’s face goes hot, for reasons that have nothing to do with the holy fire simmering in his hands. He tries to hide his reaction, but it’s too late. He glares at the demon, considering just blasting him with holy fire out of spite, but—that’s not something an angel should do.

Not that he has any right to use that metric anymore.

He drops his hands, and the light fades. The demon straightens again, and for a moment he and Yuuri just stare at each other. “What do you want?” Yuuri asks finally. “Are you just here to laugh at me?”

“Not quite,” says the demon. He smiles, and there’s… something different about this one; it seems less coy, somehow. “You were crossing my lands, and I was bored. I came to see what a lone angel was doing down here.”

“I already told you that I got lost,” Yuuri says sourly. “Now you know.”

“Indeed,” says the demon. “But you can’t get out of here without help. Not before my fellows find you, and I don’t think you’ll enjoy it very much if they do.”

Yuuri shivers at this despite himself. He doesn’t need the demon to elaborate; he knows full well the kind of vengeance demons enjoy exacting on his kind. “Either tell me what you want, or leave me alone,” he says, voice tight.

Unexpectedly, he gets a real answer. “Come to my manor for a few days,” says the demon. He’s watching Yuuri steadily, and if anything his blue eyes are brighter now, like lanterns lit in his head. “No one will harm you there, and I’d enjoy the company of one so lovely. And in exchange, I’ll see you safely to the edges of my lands when you’re ready to leave.”

Yuuri stares at him. Whatever request he’d been expecting the demon to make, it wasn’t that, somehow. Instinct is telling him to refuse—any sort of bargain with a demon is immediately suspect, and not to be trusted. But something makes him hesitate.

It’s still possible the demon is just toying with him, of course, but somehow Yuuri doesn’t think so. Like all angels, he can sense deception. And while he can tell the demon does not exactly wish him well, he… doesn’t seem to wish Yuuri ill, either. Which is strange.

Maybe he’s just too tired, at this point. Yuuri’s been journeying for so long, he doesn’t even remember the last time he truly rested. “I don’t know why you’d be interested in me,” says Yuuri at last. “I’m not worth anything.”

“On the contrary, I think you’re terribly interesting,” says the demon. “Not to mention beautiful. I would very much like to have you come stay with me for a little while.” He draws nearer, till he’s just a few feet in front of Yuuri. This close, Yuuri can feel his allure, the slight pressure that stronger demons all exert on anyone close enough to feel their influence.

Yuuri’s strong enough, old enough, that resisting a demon’s allure is as easy for him as breathing. But instead of resisting, for some reason he’s finding he wants to give in. The demon’s offer sounds so much more inviting than continuing his lonely journey, so much easier. All he has to do is say yes.

Yuuri swallows. He can’t seem to stop staring at those beautiful eyes. The demon smiles at him, and Yuuri sags. “Alright,” he hears himself say. “I’ll come.”

The demon’s smile brightens; his whole being burns with it, his pleasure curling the air around him, almost licking over Yuuri’s skin. “Wonderful,” he says.

* * * * *

Once the angel agrees to return with him, Victor wastes no time in immediately spiriting them both away from that empty field. He can travel almost instantaneously anywhere within his own realm; it’s one of the gifts that comes with being a more powerful demon lord.

They reappear in front of Victor’s manor—a sprawling edifice of dark, polished wood and delicately carved stone. The angel pauses, staring up at the massive front doors. A strange expression passes over his lovely face.

“Second thoughts?” Victor smiles lop-sidedly at the boy, disappointment already souring the back of his throat. He’d thought it was too good to be true, that such a creature would willingly consent to let Victor bring him home.

But the angel shakes his head. “Your house feels strange,” he says, still staring at the carven oak planks that make Victor’s front door. “It’s like it’s—not completely there.”

“Ah,” says Victor. “You can sense that? I’m impressed. Come inside, you’ll understand.” He walks up the steps, pressing lightly on the doors, and they swing open under his touch. He beckons, and after a moment the angel follows, though he looks as though he’s bracing for Victor to hit him.

The moment he steps over the threshold, he gasps, and almost stumbles. “Oh,” he says.

“Now you see,” says Victor approvingly.

“How in the world did you hide such a massive building?” The angel comes inside, staring up in fascination at the ceiling of Victor’s foyer.

“Someone very powerful owed me a favor,” says Victor. “But now you see why I offered to keep you safe here. No one will find you as long as you are under my roof.”

It’s true; Victor’s manor is functionally invisible to infernal and divine eyes alike. It’s probably one reason the angel passed so close without realizing he was within spitting distance of a demon lord, but it also generally keeps Victor safe from the hosts of the divine—not to mention the attention of his jealous rivals, of which he has quite a few. Regardless, no one looking for his lovely guest will be able to find him while he’s here in Victor’s home. Which suits Victor just fine.

“I knew you weren’t lying, but I didn’t realize what you meant,” says the angel absently. He’s still staring in fascination around Victor’s huge front hall.

Victor supposes he can’t be blamed. His manor is enormous, and a study in elegance. The manor is built of dark, heavy wood and sturdy brick, its furnishings of burnished gold and enamel. Huge tapestries and paintings hang from the walls, and elegant busts and statuary are tucked into every nook and cranny. Thick red carpeting lines the floors not covered in hardwood, with long staircases sweeping down from the second level to flank a massive fireplace.

“Come this way,” Victor says, and gestures for the angel to follow him. As they walk, Victor glances over at his guest, and says, conversationally, “You know, you haven’t told me your name.”

“Neither have you,” says the angel. But he doesn’t sound as guarded as he did before.

Victor smiles. “What a terrible host I am,” he says. “My name is Victor.”

“That’s an interesting name for a demon,” says the angel, and blinks at him. “Ah, well—my name is Yuuri.”

“What a lovely name,” says Victor, and means it. Yuuri must be able to tell, because he flushes again, a soft pink that starts in his face and spreads down through his throat. Victor’s smile widens; he has to be careful not to show all his teeth, no matter how much he wants to. He doesn’t want to scare Yuuri off.

Victor leads Yuuri to his sumptuous dining room, and sends for dinner to be served. The conjures he’s created for this are swift and skillful, and soon a large spread is set before them, meats and fruits and fine cheeses, rich red wine and decadent chocolate truffles. Much of it is human food, since Victor has quite the taste for it, but there’s also a collection of more esoteric dishes: something that looks very much like a cream pie that’s actually made of despair and lost memories; a pile of exotic-looking fruits that were each plucked from a child’s dream.

“This is… Very thoughtful of you,” says Yuuri, staring at the huge feast. He’s sitting very straight in his chair; Victor is trying not to stare at the spot on his back where his wings should be. “But surely you must know that angels don’t need to eat.”

Victor laughs. “Neither do demons,” he says, and gives Yuuri another of his most winning smiles. “That doesn’t mean we don’t enjoy it.”

“Oh,” says Yuuri, and goes quiet. Victor wonders very much when the last time was that Yuuri did something purely for the sake of enjoying it—wonders if he ever has in his whole life.

He wonders what other pleasures his angelic guest is naive to.

Victor tries a few times to engage Yuuri in conversation while they eat, but each of his attempts falls flat, and finally he gives up, content for now to let Yuuri drink his wine and eat his food. Yuuri seems to be working through something; he keeps glancing over at Victor, and then quickly dropping his eyes when he sees Victor staring at him.

Finally, Victor’s curiosity wins out. “Something troubles you,” says Victor. He sets down the glass of wine he’s been drinking and fixes his eyes on Yuuri.

His angelic guest glances up, stiffening a little as though Victor has just accused him of something terribly sinful. “I don’t know wh—” he says, and then stops.

Yuuri takes a deep breath. Victor watches as Yuuri visibly gathers himself, staring at his plate for several seconds before he squares his shoulders and looks back up at Victor again.

“I… was actually wondering something,” he says.

“Speak,” says Victor, and gives what he hopes is an encouraging smile.

Yuuri colors ever so slightly, but nods. “I know it’s a ridiculous thing to ask, for a lot of reasons,” he says. “But—but I was wondering if—if I could stay here. As your guard.”

Victor cocks his head, intrigued. He’d anticipated having to work to persuade his beautiful guest to stay for more than an evening, to give Victor the chance to undo him, but Yuuri continues to surprise him. “Why do you want to stay here?” he asks, when it becomes apparent Yuuri is waiting for his response.

Not that response, apparently. “I don’t want to talk about it,” says Yuuri quickly. “I-I’m sorry, it’s just—it’s not important.”

“Might it have something to do with your missing wings?” Victor muses. When Yuuri bristles, Victor holds up a hand. “Forget I said anything. You don’t have to tell me. But I’m afraid I have no need of a guard.”

“Oh,” says Yuuri. Victor watches as his face falls. “I see.”

“That does not mean I would not be willing to let you stay,” says Victor. Yuuri looks up at him quickly; the desperation in his eyes surprises Victor, but not in any way that makes him feel the least bit bad for what he says next.

After all, he’s not the one who’s supposed to have a conscience.

“You’re beautiful, and I want you,” says Victor. He lets that hang in the air for a moment, watches as comprehension dawns on Yuuri’s lovely face. Yuuri swallows. But when he says nothing, Victor continues. “If you stay, it will be as my pet. You would be mine. I would protect you, care for you, see to it that you know nothing but pleasure. In return, you will give me your submission. You would have no duties but to do as I say.”

Yuuri listens quietly to this, watching Victor with the most incredible expression on his face. Victor has rarely had the opportunity to converse with an angel so close; usually angels are much more interested in smiting his sort with holy fire than listening to their proposals.

But Yuuri is different. Yuuri is beautiful, and sad, and somehow special. And if Yuuri wants Victor to hide him away from the rest of the world, Victor will be only too glad to do so.

“If I accept, do I have to tell you why I want to hide?” Yuuri asks.

Victor shakes his head. “Not unless you want to,” he says. “Who you were and what you’re hiding from doesn’t matter to me.”

Something in Yuuri’s face clears at that. “I’m not going to be very good at the ‘pleasure’ part,” he says. “But—I accept.”

Victor allows a slow smile to blossom across his face. Despite his attempt at control, he knows he must still look like the cat that ate the canary. “One last thing,” he says, before he lets himself get carried away.

Yuuri’s eyebrows go up; for a second he looks apprehensive. “Yes?”

“You can dissolve our arrangement at any time,” says Victor. “Tell me you wish to leave, and I will let you go.” It’s true; Victor has no taste for rape. There are far too many willing to be his partner for him to force his attentions on someone, even someone as lovely as his angelic guest. And it spoils the taste, anyhow.

Yuuri stares. “You’re awfully conscientious for a demon,” he says. He sounds bemused, rather than scared, which Victor is pleased by. Nervous is okay, but he doesn’t really want to frighten Yuuri.

“And you’re awfully ready to sign yourself into my service, for an angel,” says Victor. He stands up, and comes around to Yuuri’s table. Yuuri gazes up at him, cheeks ever so slightly pink.

Victor wants to eat him alive.

“Time to get started,” he says.

* * * * *

Almost from the minute the words leave his mouth, Yuuri wonders if he’s made a mistake.

Not because he’s exactly afraid of Victor. As a demon lord, his actions and words are obviously suspect, but Yuuri has not been able to detect any real malevolence or deception in him, beyond the base-level lust he’s projecting every time he glances Yuuri’s way. Yuuri has spent many long years learning to perceive the intentions of others; he wouldn’t have entered into Victor’s home at all if he hadn’t felt reasonably secure that he’d be able to leave again if he wished. This particular demon is a creature of lust and hedonism, but there’s no cruelty in him.

Nor is Yuuri overly bothered by the idea of his impending corruption. Victor is not the reason Yuuri was driven so far from heaven’s light, after all. And the whole reason behind Yuuri’s request is his desire to hide from that life, to leave it in the past. His wings are gone. Let his virtue go with them, for all he cares.

No, the reason Yuuri is nervous is because he has absolutely no idea if he’ll be able to do what Victor wants him to and not be a complete failure at it. Submission and devotion, he can do. They’re built into his nature, as much a part of him as the light in his heart and the inability to ignore the suffering of another. But pleasure?

Pleasure is something he knows nothing of.

If Victor is aware of this, he doesn’t seem bothered by it. As soon as their agreement is made, he takes Yuuri from the dining room and leads him instead to a massive bedroom towards the rear of the manor house. The room is decorated as luxuriously as the rest of the house: two massive oil paintings on the walls, thick plush carpet beneath the feet, walls of heavy mahogany, one of which is lit by a crackling fireplace. They retire to a large, overstuffed sofa, where Victor gently pulls Yuuri closer so that he’s settled across Victor’s lap.

“While you’re mine, you will wear my mark,” says Victor. Yuuri doesn’t get the chance to ask what he means before Victor is gently placing hands around Yuuri’s throat, and Yuuri feels him conjuring a spell. There’s warmth, and faint pressure, and then the sense of something tightening, like a knot being tied. Then Victor leans back, looking pleased with himself.

“Look,” he says, and gestures at the wall, where a full-length mirror hangs in its heavy wooden frame. Yuuri looks, and sees his reflection wearing an elegant black collar. Demonic runes written in spidery gold run the length of the collar; as Yuuri watches, they pulse and burn with magic, like embers in the fireplace.

“Now,” says Victor, and Yuuri turns to look at him again. “Your first lesson.”

Yuuri braces himself for—he doesn’t know what. But Victor’s hands are on him again, shockingly gentle for a demon, and then Victor’s mouth closes over his. His kiss is warm and easy, his lips as intoxicating as the wine they were just drinking. Yuuri doesn’t know what to do.

But that turns out to not matter, because Victor seems not bothered at all by Yuuri’s shyness. He kisses Yuuri, slow and delicious, just their lips against each other. Slowly, Yuuri melts in his arms, feeling a lassitude spreading through him. His limbs grow heavy and somehow sensitive, and he finds himself squirming on Victor’s lap, lifting his head slightly to return the kiss. Victor makes an approving noise in his mouth, and then he starts to divest Yuuri of his clothes, until Yuuri is naked in his lap.

Victor pulls back, regarding him with those brilliant eyes, dark now with obvious satisfaction. “So lovely,” he murmurs, stroking his fingers very lightly over Yuuri’s stiff cock. “I’m glad to see you’re enjoying this. But you’ve never done any of this before, have you?” Yuuri reddens and shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I’m happy to teach you, my sweet little bird.”

Which is exactly what he does. A short time later, Yuuri is shivering, hiding his face in his own arm while Victor leans over him, peppering Yuuri’s throat and chest with kisses and slowly stroking Yuuri’s aching cock. Yuuri was not—unaware of sex, but a life spent in service and no partner in sight meant he rarely gave much thought to it. When Victor presses a fingertip further down, skating over the rim of his asshole, Yuuri can only whine, shocked little noises lost against his own arm.

“No, darling, I don’t want you to silence yourself.” Victor reaches up, tugging Yuuri’s arm away from his mouth. Yuuri stares at him, feeling wrecked, and whatever Victor sees in his face summons a wicked smile. Victor kisses Yuuri hard, pressing his tongue into Yuuri’s mouth at the same time as he strokes Yuuri’s cock more firmly, demanding, and Yuuri sobs against his lips, hips twitching a little.

“That’s it,” Victor says throatily. “Mmm, you taste so good, Yuuri….” Victor leans back for just a moment, long enough to messily lick his own palm as Yuuri watches him with wide eyes. Then he reaches down to grasp Yuuri’s prick again, settling atop him to resume kissing him, boxing him in on the couch.

In short order, Yuuri is squirming against his hand, panting and trembling, a need like he’s never known building and building in his guts. Victor’s tongue fucks into his mouth while he ruthlessly strokes Yuuri’s cock, and before long Yuuri is rocking helplessly against him, pleasure stealing his breath and setting his muscles to trembling.

It builds and builds, and then rolls over him all at once. Yuuri arches against Victor’s hands, and Victor closes his mouth over Yuuri’s with a growl as Yuuri bows up off the couch, spurting hot stripes of come over his own stomach. Victor works his cock right through the waves of pleasure, until Yuuri has gone limp again, shivering and twitching and oversensitive.

That’s when Victor sits up, sliding down Yuuri’s body to lap at the smears of come against Yuuri’s belly. Yuuri lets out a shocked moan at the sight of it. He actually has to covers his face with his hands, peering at Victor through his fingers, unable to completely look away.

Victor grins up at him, his expression positively wicked. “Like what you see?”

“What are you doing?” Yuuri’s voice comes out in a strained whisper.

Victor laughs. “I want to taste you, Yuuri,” he says. “I want to show you how good you can feel.”

Before Yuuri can ask him what he means by that, or why he cares, Victor has leaned down again, is licking up Yuuri’s chest until he fastens his mouth around one of Yuuri’s nipples. He bites down lightly with his teeth, and Yuuri lets out a shocked noise at the sudden flash of heat and pain.

“V-Victor!”

Victor bites down again, a little harder this time, and Yuuri squirms, shuddering underneath him. The moment the pain is about to become too much, Victor eases, lapping at the sore bud with his tongue. Yuuri’s breath hitches; he shoves his foot against the arm of the couch, a little overwhelmed by the newness of the sensation.

It’s not unpleasant, is the thing. It’s just strange, and he’s still wobbly from his first orgasm, and now everything is making him shy, self-conscious. Victor reaches up with one hand, pinching Yuuri’s other nipple hard and rolling it between his fingers. Yuuri whines, sucking in a ragged breath at the pain. Victor soothes it moments later with his tongue, and Yuuri shudders, falling back against the couch with a thud as sensation spreads out in a wave from his abused nipples, tingling and warm.

“Do you like how that feels?”

Yuuri squirms at the question. Even the sound of Victor’s voice is getting to him now, making his face burn for reasons he can’t quite understand through the fuzziness that’s filled his head.

“I-I think so,” he says, shaky. Victor pauses. There’s a shuffle of movement as Victor crawls up Yuuri’s body again. Yuuri peeks at Victor through his fingers and sees a considering look on Victor’s handsome face.

“You’re going to get very tired holding your hands there the whole time,” Victor says. His voice is mild, and he’s smiling, shockingly reassuring considering who and what he is. Yuuri feels himself blushing scarlet anyway, and hunches his shoulders a little in a vain attempt to hide. “Sweet thing, would this be easier if you didn’t have to look at me?”

The question is so startling that Yuuri actually drops his hands to stare at Victor for several seconds. “Maybe?” Yuuri says, and blinks. “I, I’m sorry, I—”

“Shhhh, it’s alright.” Victor kisses him as if to prove it, his mouth searingly warm. Yuuri relaxes a little under his kiss, even kissing back after a moment. They do nothing more than that for several moments, long languorous kissing that slowly swells that same heat in Yuuri’s body as before.

Finally, Victor pulls back just a few inches, close enough that his silver hair is falling in Yuuri’s face. “I’m going to take care of you,” he murmurs. “I think I know just what you need.”

Victor conjures a length of black silk from who knows where, and coaxes Yuuri to sit up in his lap. He ties the silk around Yuuri’s head, covering his eyes and blotting out his vision. He’s very solicitous, careful to make sure it isn’t too tight and that it doesn’t chafe, and then guides Yuuri to carefully lay down across Victor’s lap so that he’s stretched out along the couch on his stomach. Victor keeps a hand at Yuuri’s back, stroking slowly up and down his spine.

It’s good, Yuuri thinks. With his eyes covered, he feels somehow safer, less self-conscious, even though he’s just as naked as he was before. Victor’s hand on his back is a soothing warmth, almost as reassuring as his voice. It hardly even registers that Yuuri is having these thoughts about a demon, of all beings.

“I want you to do something for me, Yuuri,” says Victor. Yuuri squirms a little, but nods. “Stretch your hands out in front of you—yes, just like that. You can lay them on the edge of the couch there, but keep them there for me, okay? No moving them until I tell you to.”

“Okay,” says Yuuri, and sighs.

“That’s good,” says Victor warmly. Yuuri feels a flush of pleasure at the praise, and is glad he’s facing away from Victor and his eyes are covered. “Now, the other thing. While we’re playing like this, Yuuri, I want you to call me ‘Master.’ And remember that whenever we do this, I’ll take care of you, alright? Can you do that for me, Yuuri?”

Yuuri swallows. He hesitates a moment, and then, cheeks burning, he says, “Yes, Master.”

“Good boy,” says Victor, and Yuuri can hear his satisfaction. “So good for me, darling.”

Yuuri bites his lip, his cheeks hot at the praise. It’s ridiculous that something so simple should affect him, but he finds he can’t help but respond, desperate to chase this feeling, to lose himself in it. What does that say about him? What would his friends think of him, if they could see him now?

Before he can follow that dangerous line of thought, Victor slides his fingers through Yuuri’s hair and tugs very lightly, jarring him back to the moment. “Stay with me, darling,” Victor says, and though his voice is gentle there’s an edge just underneath it now. “Whose collar are you wearing?”

“Y-yours, Master,” says Yuuri quickly. He suffers a flash of gratitude that Victor could somehow read him, corral him away from those dark thoughts.

“I think you need a bit more distraction,” says Victor. “We’re going to try something.” Before Yuuri can think to ask what, Victor’s hand on his back is moving down, caressing Yuuri’s backside before squeezing lightly. “Remember to keep your hands where I told you, Yuuri.”

And before Yuuri can respond, Victor lifts his hand and brings it down against Yuuri’s ass in a stinging slap. Yuuri yelps, jumping in shock at the flare of pain; he hides his face against his forearms and focuses on keeping his hands where they are. Almost immediately, though, Victor is rubbing his hand over Yuuri’s ass, his touch gentle.

“Breathe, darling,” Victor murmurs. “I know it’s a lot.” Yuuri makes a wet noise in his throat, his mind too jumbled to respond even if he thought Victor wanted one.

Victor rubs his hand over Yuuri’s ass for a few more moments, his fingers dipping down to tease between his thighs, until the pain has faded a little and Yuuri finds himself wanting to squirm against Victor’s lap. Then, without warning, he spanks Yuuri’s ass again, harder this time. Yuuri cries out, rocking against Victor’s lap.

“Good boy,” Victor says, “that’s it.” Again he’s running his hand lightly over Yuuri’s ass, the other still gripping Yuuri’s hair, holding him in place. Yuuri’s eyes are watering now; he’s totally jumbled by the sensations Victor’s giving him. His ass stings where Victor spanked him, but now there’s a warmth spreading through his muscles, and Victor’s touch feels good, makes him ache, makes him somehow want more.

Victor spanks him again, and then again, three sharp slaps in a row before working his hand over Yuuri’s abused ass, soothing the sting a little bit. He keeps up this pattern, spanking Yuuri and then petting him, until Yuuri’s rocking into his hands, breathing hard and trembling from sensation. The blindfold is wet where he’s been crying against it, and somehow his cock is hard again, his ass and thighs aching where Victor’s been spanking him.

It’s too much, painful and bright and overwhelming. Yuuri doesn’t think he wants it to ever stop.

“You’re such a good boy, Yuuri,” Victor says. “You take it so well for me.” His voice is thick and gravelly now, and through his haze Yuuri thinks he can feel how aroused Victor is, the demon’s lust coming off him in waves, like radiant heat.

He can also feel Victor’s allure, the gift of persuasion that some demons have, but instead of a pressure at his mind it now feels more comforting—like a warm blanket, enveloping and reassuring. If Yuuri really wanted to, he could force Victor off him, leave right now. He doesn’t think Victor would stop him, and even if he did, he’s just one demon—easy enough for Yuuri to handle even wingless.

But he doesn’t want to do any of that. Yuuri wants to stay right here and let himself sink. He wants to let Victor swallow him whole.

“We’re going to change positions again, sweet thing,” says Victor.

“Yes, Master,” says Yuuri. Victor makes a pleased noise in response. Moments later Yuuri finds himself being pulled upright, which has him sitting for a moment in Victor’s lap, and Yuuri can’t help the faint whine that escapes as his abused ass rubs against Victor’s trousers. Immediately Victor pauses, sliding an arm around Yuuri’s waist to hold him more securely.

“You’ve been very good for me, Yuuri,” Victor says in a low voice. “Be my good boy a little while longer, please. I promise I’ll make you feel so wonderful.”

There’s a shuffle of cloth at this head, and then a shift as the cloth over his eyes is replaced by Victor’s hand. Firelight filters in through Victor’s fingers, mild enough to let him adjust, before Victor drops his hand and Yuuri has his vision again. Yuuri blinks for a few moments, before looking up to find Victor smiling at him from up close. Yuuri smiles back, instinctive as breathing, and Victor’s expression softens for a moment before he leans down to kiss Yuuri. It’s downright intoxicating, and when they’re done Yuuri finds himself even more dazed than before, as though all his nerves are frayed.

“Don’t worry,” Victor says, as he lays Yuuri down on his back once more. “I’ll give you back the blindfold in a moment. I just needed to make sure you were doing alright.”

“I’m fine,” says Yuuri. He can’t help but reach for Victor, cupping Victor’s face in one hand on some instinct he hardly understands. The smile it earns him does something to Yuuri’s heart, a twist of fierce pleasure that steals his air.

True to his word, Victor blindfolds him again, carefully adjusting to make sure it’s not too tight. Then he pins Yuuri’s wrists above his head, kissing gently over his face.

Yuuri’s breath catches in his throat at how helpless being pinned and blinded like this makes him feel. He half-hopes Victor misses it, but no such luck. “I wondered if you would enjoy that,” Victor says approvingly. “Maybe next time I’ll see how you do with your hands tied, too. Would you like that?”

Yuuri swallows. The question is scary—but with the blindfold on, it’s less scary. “I think so,” he admits after a moment. “Is, is that okay?”

There’s soft laughter in his ear, followed immediately by another flurry of kisses over his temples and face. “It’s more than okay,” Victor murmurs against his skin. “It would make me very happy. For now, though, I need you to be good. Keep your hands just like this, beautiful, and hold nice and still. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, Master,” says Yuuri. He relaxes a few increments at the praise, and at Victor’s kisses over his skin, Victor’s warmth buoying him up against his own insecurity. Victor’s in control, he reminds himself. He just has to do as he’s told.

Victor folds Yuuri’s legs up and back, then settles somewhere down by Yuuri’s thighs. Yuuri finds himself grateful for the blindfold and for the instructions to hold himself still, but he still shivers a little at the faint touches of Victor’s fingers against his ass and thighs.

His trepidation lasts just until he feels the touch of something cold and wet at his asshole—Victor’s finger, he realizes. Yuuri gasps, trying to follow the orders he was given, and then moments later Victor wraps his other hand around Yuuri’s cock and his lips around the tip, suckling wetly.

It’s a good thing Victor told him to hold still, or else he might have accidentally kicked Victor in the face in reaction. Instead, he squeezes his eyes shut behind the blindfold and tries to just breathe, shivering as Victor skillfully sucks him down.

The fingertip at his hole returns a moment later, but with the distraction of Victor sucking his cock, the sensation is more pleasant, less strange. Yuuri whines softly in his throat, his breath hitching as Victor slowly presses his finger into Yuuri’s ass. Soon he’s stroking in and out, setting up a rhythm with the bobbing of his head as he sucks Yuuri’s cock, and Yuuri can’t help but moan at the sensation.

It isn’t long before Victor adds a second finger. Before long he’s fucking his fingers in and out of Yuuri’s ass, working him open slowly as he sucks Yuuri down, and all Yuuri can do is lie there and try to breathe, to sink into the feeling as Victor slowly takes him apart. By the time Victor’s twisting three fingers inside him, Yuuri’s trembling with the effort of not rocking against Victor’s mouth and hand. Pleasure coils in his guts, his cock aching, and he’s trying so hard to hold still but it’s getting more and more difficult.

“Master,” he whines. The word sticks in his throat, shaky like his air. “M-Master, please—“

Victor pulls off Yuuri’s cock for a moment; there’s a lewd slurping sound as Yuuri’s prick escapes from Victor’s lips, and Yuuri shudders. “You’re doing so good, Yuuri,” he says. The huskiness in his voice makes Yuuri’s cock pulse with want. “You can come whenever you want, sweet thing. I want to drink you up.”

Before Yuuri can ask what he means, he feels Victor swallow him down again, and Yuuri moans, hips bucking of their own accord. Victor’s fingers press inside his ass, crooking at just the right angle; they brush over a spot somewhere inside him that sends a pulse of pleasure through Yuuri, and he cries out.

Victor thrusts his fingers in again, harder than before, aiming exactly for that spot. At the same time, he sucks Yuuri harder, his mouth so wet and hot Yuuri can’t possibly resist him. A few more rough grinds of fingers against that sensitive spot, and Yuuri is coming into Victor’s mouth, sobbing harshly as his orgasm scrapes him dry.

Victor doesn’t let him up, working him over until Yuuri is trembling and over-sensitive. Only then does he let Yuuri’s softened cock fall from his lips. There’s a rustle of movement, and then Victor is kissing him, slow and wet and filthy. Yuuri moans into Victor’s mouth; without thinking, he raises his arms, wrapping them around Victor’s neck and shoulders, pulling him closer.

“Yuuuuuuri,” murmurs Victor into his mouth. Yuuri pulls back, dizzy and a little unsure of himself. “Did you forget what I told you to do with your arms?”

Yuuri gasps. “Oh! M-Master, I’m sorry, I—I didn’t mean to—” He hastily raises his hands above his head again, putting them back where they were.

Victor laughs, kissing Yuuri’s temple very gently. “It’s okay,” he says. “It’s your first time, so I’ll let it pass. It takes practice.”

“I’ll do better next time,” says Yuuri. He’s still dazed from his orgasm and the spanking, which is the only thing keeping his anxiety somewhat at bay.

“Good boy,” says Victor, warm and approving. The praise sends a flush of satisfaction through Yuuri, and he without meaning to he sighs, relaxing under Victor again.

Victor lingers for just a few moments more before sitting up. Yuuri hears the rustling of fabric, then feels Victor folding his legs up and back again. Yuuri flushes under the blindfold at how exposed this position makes him feel, but that gets tossed aside as something wet and thick presses against Yuuri’s hole, making him gasp.

“I’m going to fill you up now, Yuuri,” says Victor. His voice has gone very hoarse now, rough like sandpaper. Yuuri feels Victor’s hands gripping his thighs, and then he presses forward, pushing his cock into Yuuri’s ass, and Yuuri is gasping and arching up off the couch as the blunt, swollen head of Victor’s cock breaches him.

He’s huge. Yuuri can’t even believe how big he feels, how intense it is as he slides in, but alongside the pressure is satisfaction, a pleasure that spreads through him like fine wine. Yuuri moans, and suddenly Victor is bent over him, kissing him, long drugging kisses that make Yuuri sag into the couch.

This time, though, he keeps his hands where he was told. “You feel wonderful,” Victor says into his mouth, between kisses. “So good, you’re so good for me…” Yuuri shivers, kissing back, achy and dizzy and full of desires he’s never known before. Victor is—overwhelming; on top of him, inside him, his essence pressing relentlessly at Yuuri’s mind like the tide. Yuuri should feel suffocated, horrified, but instead he wants to just wallow in it.

Victor reaches down between them, stroking Yuuri’s cock, teasing at the spot where they’re joined. Yuuri’s hips jerk a little from how sensitive he still is. “I want you to enjoy this,” Victor says. He cradles Yuuri’s face in his palm, kissing over Yuuri’s blindfolded eyes like some perverted blessing.

“Why?” The question falls out of Yuuri’s mouth before he can stop himself, too addled by his own body to stop. Yuuri winces as he hears it sounds, but it’s too late to take it back.

“Because it’s more fun that way,” he says, and kisses Yuuri. Yuuri can hear his smile as well as feel it against his lips. “Because… mm. Because you taste better when you’re lost in pleasure like this. Because—” He kisses Yuuri again, slower, smoldering, thrusting his cock into Yuuri as they kiss, and Yuuri moans too, clutching helplessly at the arm of the couch.

“Because I know you’ve never experienced it, and it’ll be so delicious to be the one to show you,” Victor murmurs.

Yuuri’s flagging brain takes a minute to work through all of this. Taste better, Victor said, and then it clicks: incubus. No wonder Victor is so eager to take him to bed. Victor kisses him again, and the thought flies away, lost in the pleasure of Victor’s touch and lips.

At some point Victor tells him he can let go of the couch, do whatever he wants with his arms, and Yuuri is grateful because it was getting hard to hold still, when Victor is taking him apart like this. He takes Yuuri’s blindfold off too, commenting how he doesn’t think Yuuri needs it anymore at the moment. Yuuri is more than happy to be able to meet Victor’s eyes, see the greedy, possessive way Victor looks at him while he’s slowly fucking Yuuri’s ass open.

Whatever it is that Victor wants, whatever his own reasons are for taking Yuuri to bed, it feels so good. And it’s been so very long since Yuuri felt anything remotely sweet. He wraps his arms around Victor’s neck, kissing him back and and finally surrendering to the urge to take equal part in this, and that’s when he stops keeping track.

Victor fucks him for what feels like hours. He seems to know exactly what angle and speed to thrust at to send jolts of pleasure up Yuuri’s spine; knows just where to touch to get Yuuri’s breath hitching. He brings Yuuri to climax three more times before finally sitting Yuuri on his lap and fucking him harder, chasing his own pleasure. Yuuri shuts his eyes, arching against Victor when the demon’s breathing gets ragged, his fingers pressing harder into Yuuri’s hips. There’s a sudden burst of warmth inside him, and then Victor sags, wrapping his arms around Yuuri and pressing his face against Yuuri’s neck.

“So good,” Victor murmurs, half-lost in Yuuri’s hair. Yuuri keeps his eyes shut and sighs.

For the first time in what feels like a hundred years, his mind is blissfully blank. He’s so tired, so wrung out; he doesn’t know if it’s because of some infernal magic on Victor’s part, or just that sex is really exhausting, but he also doesn’t care.

Yuuri goes in and out after that. Victor gets a warm, wet cloth and cleans him up, then leaves Yuuri under a blanket and vanishes for a time. “I’ve made you a bed,” he says when he comes back.

“Oh,” says Yuuri intelligently. Victor laughs, then scoops him up, blanket and all.

The bed turns out to be more like a soft, downy nest on the floor by Victor’s own bed, full of blankets and pillows and soft silks. Victor lays him down into it and tucks him in, arranging the blankets around Yuuri. “You can sleep in my bed with me if you’d rather,” Victor says, “but I thought you might want your own.”

“Okay,” says Yuuri, because thinking is hard and this bed is soft and comfortable. He hears another soft laugh, and then Yuuri knows nothing more.