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An Angel's Name

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“Azazel,” The older woman jumps a little when he pops in, hand to her chest. “Goodness, I wish you wouldn't do that. You gave me a fright.”

“Apologies Madame,” He says, with a little inclination of his head. She accepts it with a nod of her own, and smooths out her dress. She is in her early seventies, Azazel knows, but she doesn't look older than half of that. The benefits of being a mutant, they have almost all found.

“Well, I suppose I know what you're here for.” He smiles, glad to get to the point. There is a familiar itch under his skin, and it needs to be scratched, badly. A hand that bears a heavy ring with an emerald set in it waves him down the hall, to the parlor, where she invites him to sit in one of the leather chairs. Everything here is expensive, in an understated way, and Azazel likes the attention to detail.

“Have you acquired anyone new?” He asks curiously.

“Yes, actually. Three new employees have joined us since your last visit. Would you like to meet them?” She is pouring him a glass of brandy as she asks, and when she hands it to him, he nods. “Are you bored with Taylor already?” His lip curls and she shakes her head with a disapproving frown. “Shame, he seemed to like you.”

“He likes getting paid.”

“Azazel, my dear, all my men like being paid. They're not here to love you.”

“For what I pay, I expect to get men who can act like they do.” She smiles at him before she picks up the phone and speaks to someone downstairs. There is a knock at the door before his glass is even half-drained.

“Now Azazel, be nice to them. I paid a lot of money for all three, especially Tòmas.” She opens the heavy door then, and admits the three men. Azazel can see them from where he sits, but Madame keeps the light cleverly arranged so that they can only see his outline. He lets his tail up over the arm of the chair just to be contrary, and Madame scowls at him unhappily. “This is Azazel. He is a valued customer here, and if he likes you, one of you will be lucky enough to enjoy his company.” Azazel hears the implication in her words, the The pay will be worth it that makes them stand straighter.

Except the one on the end.

Azazel can see which one must be the expensive one. He's the lovely man in the middle, with red-brown hair and light eyes, but coffee-colored skin. He gives off an air of charm that Azazel can feel halfway across the room. But there is uneasiness there, as he watches Azazel's tail winding back and forth.

The one to the right is smirking though. It's an arrogant look, a man who thinks he's seen everything already and can no longer be surprised. He's handsome too, but not like Tòmas. He's darker, his hair almost black, his skin a few shades deeper, and he has brown eyes. But his smirk makes his face more interesting to Azazel, his relaxed boredom a welcome change.

Madame sees where his eyes have gone. “Janos,” She announces, “Please, show our guest to your room.” Tòmas looks disappointed, but stands aside. Azazel pops across the room to stand beside Janos, and gets a perverse pleasure out of the way he starts, just a little. But his eyes do not shutter when he gets his first real look at Azazel's face. They light up instead, and his smirk seems to turn into something like a grin. Azazel is...surprised at this reaction. It is a new one.

Janos beckons him with a crooked finger and he follows, watching the sway of his body, a casual sexuality he's probably not even aware of. They don't have to go far; Janos is on this floor, a clear show of favoritism from Madame.

“Ah, English?” He asks, when he closes his door behind Azazel, locking it confidently. “Mine is uh, not so good.” The accent sounds almost familiar, and Azazel tries to place it, as he sits in the armchair, across from the bed.

“You are from Spain?” Janos shakes his head.

“Mexico.” He corrects. He keeps looking at Azazel like he's the most interesting thing he's ever seen, and Azazel likes it. He is well worth the money if he can put on this good an act, even if the conversation will be lacking. “You are from somewhere else too, yes?” The sentence is slow, like he's picking the words out carefully. At first, Azazel thinks he's making a reference to his appearance, but then he realizes it's the accent.

“Russia.” Janos smiles again, as he moves to the sideboard, pouring another glass for Azazel. He pours vodka though, with a sly look at Azazel. “The madame told me long ago she would never allow that in her establishment.” He chides. Janos presses a finger to his lips teasingly, then hands over the drink. He pours himself one too, and drinks it without flinching.

“Russia, very cold, yes? I see pictures, lots of snow.”

“It can be.” No one has ever asked him before, especially not one of Madame's men. “Very beautiful, Russia.”

“You miss it.” It is not a question, but Azazel nods. He does, to an extent. But his home has gone slightly mad in the past handful of years, and Azazel may be quick and clever, but he did not fancy his odds, all the same. “I miss my home too.”

“You are very far away,” He concedes. “Why are you in France? Why not Spain?” Janos shrugs carelessly.

“Is very different here. I wanted different.” Janos takes his empty glass, sets it aside, and slides into Azazel's lap. “I like different.” Azazel has no doubt about what he is implying, and likes how sincere he sounds. “Azazel.” He says, rolling the name around. “Very odd name.”

“An angel's name.” Azazel replies, his hands going under Janos' shirt, touching skin. “An angel with a devil's face.”

“A devil's hands too,” Janos purrs, arching into him. He presses to Azazel, already hard, surprising him. He wonders what the man imagines instead of him, if he's thinking of past lovers, or just a handsome face like Tòmas. “So tell me devil, what do you want?”

“What will you give me?” He asks. His face, he cannot afford to scare off the only men he can get without trouble. It would be counter-productive to earn a bad name for himself. Money can only buy so much.

“For you diablo, anything.” He sounds like he means it. “Do you want to fuck me? I would like that.” His smile teases, but Azazel is thrown off.

“No.” Janos actually manages to look disappointed convincingly, but his face perks up as he gets another idea.

“Perhaps here, like this? With your tail?” Azazel cannot get his footing back, not when Janos is being so enthusiastic. None of them have ever asked for his tail, or even wanted it near them. The idea has appeal though, and Janos can see it in his face. His hands go to Azazel's shirt, the buttons sliding out easily with his practiced touch, and Azazel moves for him so he can take it off, and toss it aside. His own he takes care of in short order, then he slides back easily, onto his feet, his fingers going to the buttons of his pants.

Naked, he is beautiful, even more so than before, and as he undoes Azazel's belt, Azazel is caught in the movement of his hands. His fingers are quick, but, and he will blame this on the alcohol later, it is almost as if the belt begins to tug before Janos' fingers get there.

In his lap, Janos is warm and pliant. That is all that matters, Azazel tells himself. He kisses Azazel without flinching once at his teeth, and he groans nicely when Azazel sucks a mark into his neck. He does not hurry either, does not try to get Azazel out. His body moves slowly against his, building it up for both of them. “Su cola,” He gasps, then frowns at himself, struggling visibly before saying, “Your tail, yes?”

This is new, even for Azazel, but the thought that someone wants to try is alluring. He brings it up and wraps the broad tip around Janos, making him gasp, Azazel's name it sounds like. He mumbles nonsense in Spanish, his hand warm around Azazel, hips rising and falling. Azazel is fascinated by the sight of him, seemingly so involved.

Janos comes first, but he brings Azazel off quickly enough after. He laughs against Azazel's chest when he gets his breath back, and hums a little into his neck. “Very fun, that.” He announces, before climbing off and grabbing a towel. He cleans Azazel first, then himself, all with a grin. “Will you want to again tonight? I am very, very good with my mouth, promise.” Azazel can believe it, almost believes that this is not an act. Madame should have paid the most for Janos, he thinks. Beauty is one thing, but this is something that will draw men back.

The thought of other men buying Janos makes jealousy curl in his stomach. He likes Janos, and does not relish the thought of coming only to find him already engaged. More importantly, he likes him like this, and he does not want to see how quickly some of the more interesting customers of Madame's will dampen his easy nature.

“Would you be opposed if I arranged for me to be your only client?” Janos looks up from the new drinks he is pouring with a sly grin.

“I think you like me diablo.” Azazel smirks and beckons him over, so he can pull him back down into his lap. “I want to hear it,” He teases, breathing on Azazel's ear before flicking his tongue over the point.

“I like you,” Azazel concedes. Janos smiles, wide and pleased, and takes Azazel's glass from his hand.

“I like you too,” He says, and even if Azazel doesn't believe it for a minute, he sounds genuine. “I will be yours alone then.” He downs Azazel's drink and kisses him, the glass falling to the rich carpet with a muffled thump, the taste of vodka in his mouth.


“You want to what?” Madame looks as though he's slapped her.

“I can pay the bill easily.”

“I don't doubt that, that's not the problem. You have never permanently engaged one of my men before Azazel, not even Thomas, who was a favorite. You spend one night with Janos and you decide he's now your kept whore?” Azazel shrugs, and she swears in French, making a rude gesture at him that he rolls his eyes at. “Fine Azazel. But if you engage him, it will be on a monthly payment. You miss one, I will engage him again. Am I understood?”

“As always Madame.” She sighs, crosses her arms.

“How many visits can I expect now? More times? Less?”

“Is that any business of yours?” He asks, his temper wearing thin. He needs to return to Shaw already, can feel Emma pestering him in his head about when he will get back, she is bored, she hates the new recruits, will he bring her breakfast. He cannot take her thoughts and Madame's questioning at once. “You have my money, Janos has agreed, is there another problem I should know about?” He stuns the woman quiet for a moment.

Non.” She grits out.

“Then I bid you farewell. I will return when I return.”

He brings Emma a box of eclairs, to her delight, and she rants for a good hour about the awful minds of their newest teammates, two mutants Shaw found somewhere in Greece with forceful abilities, and weak minds. They think filthy thoughts at her all the live long day, and she has half a mind to turn them into drones. He reminds her how well that particular plan worked out last time, and she wrinkles her nose.

“Janos.” She says, startling him. “He is handsome, my word. He's new, isn't he?”

“I like him.” He answers, with a shrug. He has no desire to hide anything from Emma. She keeps his secrets, always has. Shaw believes he owns Emma, Azazel knows.

But it was only fourteen years ago when a prostitute Azazel was frequenting begged him for one favor, a favor he would do anything for. There was a twelve-year-old girl, he whispered, and they were selling her. He was many things, he told Azazel, but he would not be party to this. And so Azazel teleported into a locked room, where a young blonde girl had her knees to her chest, tears dried on her face. She had not been afraid of him, even then. Instead, she had hugged him, sobbing, begging him to not reconsider.

It was the first time he met a telepath.

What to do with a young girl, he'd had no idea, but Emma was self-sufficient for the most part. She lived in pretty homes and penthouse suites, her every need attended to, while he conducted his business as always. There had been something nice though, about coming back to a place, to someone who was happy to see him.

Emma had come into her own eventually, and he was proud of who she was, of her power, not just her mutant ability, but her mind and personality.

She smiled as she read the emotions on the surface of his mind. She was his first, always, no matter what Shaw thought.

“Don't distract me with affection. That only works when you're not hiding something delightful from me.” She licks cream off her fingers in a very undignified manner. “So tell me, what's so different about this one?” Without giving her an eyeful she doesn't want, he shows her Janos' easy manner with him, how he laughs easily, smiles like he actually likes Azazel. “He's good. Even I can't see the deception.”

“Is memories,” He refutes. “Not perfect.”

“You've engaged him though?” He nods, and opens the paper that's been left on the table. “You should bring him a present when you go to him next.”

“A present?” Azazel searches for the editorials. He likes reading the letters to the editor, likes laughing at the idiots and their petty problems, or the middle-class men who think they can solve the world's problems. “He is prostitute, not mistress.”

“It would make him like you. Don't you want someone to actually like you?”

“You like me.” She huffs impatiently, and crosses her arms.

“You're just being contrary.”

“And you are being silly little girl.” She throws her half-eaten eclair at him.

Still, despite his nay-saying, he lingers over a set of cufflinks on a heist. They are silver, simple, but elegant. He pockets them, and tells himself he will do nothing so silly as wrap them.

Janos is delighted though, and puts them on immediately. “I have never owned any as fine as this,” He tells him, wrapping his arms around Azazel and kissing him, not even as a seduction. He breaks away immediately, still all smiles, and admires them.

Azazel watches him with something like forewarning drumming in his head. He is getting attached, and that's not good. But, he reminds himself, Janos is just a prostitute, just playing a part. He is like a pet for Azazel. Good pets get rewarded.

That is all this is.