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Turning the Tables

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The summoning room smelled faintly of cinnamon. It wasn't quite enough to cover the scent of sulphur wafting from the summoning circle set into the stone floor, but it helped; Oliver's nostrils tickled when he inhaled, but he wasn't having sneezing fits the way he usually did when he tried a summoning. Whoever had set up the scent spell had a light touch, and a good bit of talent.

The summoner - he hadn't given his name to Oliver, and had ignored Oliver's (frankly more polite than deserved) introduction - turned from checking the circle, giving Oliver a coolly professional smile, and said more than asked, "You have signed the forms, correct?"

Of course he'd signed the damn forms; you didn't get this far into the facility without the waivers. He nodded, all the same, and held out the contract that stated that he was in his right mind when he requested that a demon be summoned and bound to his will, that Infernal Procurements would hold no responsibility for what happened after he left the building, and that, upon his death or the death of a further recipient, the demon would be released back to the infernal realm.

Not that anybody really cared about the legal rights of the creatures, but the last rider at least meant there weren't a bunch of unbound demons wandering around after their masters' deaths. Nobody wanted that.

"Very good, sir," the summoner said smoothly, taking the contract and giving it a quick look over. "Ah. A Romeo. If you'll take a seat, sir, I can begin."

Oliver had never been much good at summoning; there was a reason he was paying the exorbitant fees that Infernal Procurements demanded. That hadn't stopped him from trying to learn, and being told to just sit down and wait like a good little boy rankled, especially after the summoner's little Ah. A Romeo remark. As though someone like him had any right to judge Oliver, who was probably worth more than the entire Procurement facility combined. So what if he was ordering a Romeo? It wasn't like it was for himself. He needed an appropriate entertainment for the party Ashley had insisted he host this weekend, and in his circles, that meant something exotic, exciting, and above all, expensive.

The summoner was still looking at him expectantly, one eyebrow raised, as he waited for Oliver to do as he was told and take a seat. Flushing a little from combined anger and embarrassment at having to be prompted like an erring child, Oliver sat down on one of the observation seats, watching as the summoner got to work.

It was a complex circle. That worried him for a moment, but he brushed his nerves aside; whatever demon the summoner brought through from the infernal realm, it couldn't be that much of a threat. Oliver might not be a good summoner, but he was a strong warlock. He could hold anything this mage who had to work for a living could handle.

After the summoner scribed the primary circle, he picked up the vial of blood that Oliver had been obliged to give at the intake desk, using it to scribe the binding runes. Oliver could taste the magic flickering in the air, tingling on his tongue like he'd licked a battery. The runes done, the summoner stood and began chanting, the words practically colouring the air over the circle as he spoke them.

Oliver leaned forward, watching intently as the air within the circle began to shimmer like heatwaves above a hot road. There was something coming through. Now to see if the price he'd paid was at all worth it.

The shimmering darkened into a cobalt cloud, and for a moment Oliver thought that all the summoner had managed to bring through was a piece of localised weather. And then the cloud coalesced into a form, and the demon fell to its knees in the circle.

It wasn't the prettiest demon Oliver had ever seen - that honour was reserved for the Juliet his father had had summoned for his eighteenth birthday, seven years ago. That had been a magnificent beast, tailored to his specifications, whereas this demon was raw. Still, it was a new summon. Its appearance could be altered once the binding was properly in place. And it wasn't bad to look at in its natural form, the way some of them were. The tail was a little shocking, admittedly, as were the smooth, glassy horns curling back into the glossy blue-black hair, but it was attractive, in an alien, bestial sort of way. Perhaps he'd let it keep its natural form until the party.

"Up," the summoner said briskly. "Sir, you'd best come up with a name for it."

Oliver watched as the demon struggled to its feet, clearly disoriented. The summoner's magic was binding it and driving it to obey, for now; he suddenly found himself eager for the moment when that binding would be transferred to him. Even when he'd had the Juliet, his father had been the one holding the binding. He'd never had control of a proper demon before. Oh, he'd had little things, barely more than motes, and the summoning of them had been more trouble than they'd been worth; this was something entirely different.

"Valentine," he decided. "It's a Romeo; Valentine is a fitting name."

"Very good, sir," the summoner said, taking a leather collar from the table against the wall and crossing over to the circle, where the demon stood unsteadily, blinking startlingly blue eyes in dazed confusion. Oliver frowned; was the creature defective in some way? No - no doubt the confusion was a side effect of the summoning. He'd heard that good summoners could build such spells into their summons, and it would be a sensible thing to do. Infernal Procurements wouldn't get much business if they sold defective goods, after all.

He watched as the summoner buckled the collar around the demon's neck and scribed a rune onto the collar with what was left of the vial of Oliver's blood, murmuring, "Valentine. You will answer to this, and be called by it."

For a brief instant, anger flared hot in the demon's eyes. The summoner raised an eyebrow and, in an act of physicality that shocked Oliver, drew his hand back and slapped the demon hard enough to turn its head with the force of the blow.

"You will answer to this and be called by it," the summoner repeated, his tone implacable. The rune on the collar blazed, and the demon let out a quiet whimper, the defiance vanishing from its face. Oliver smiled; clearly, a bit of rough treatment was all it took to keep this one in its place. The contract's specifications about not being responsible for anything that might happen to him after the binding hardly seemed necessary, now that he saw the demon.

"Sir," the summoner said, glancing at Oliver. "If you're to hold the binding, you'll need to claim it."

Oliver licked his lips, suddenly uncertain. "Claim it?"

"Symbolism is important in these matters," the summoner explained patiently, his fingers still hooked in the collar, holding the demon still with nothing more than two digits and a bit of leather. Oliver fiercely craved that sort of nonchalant control, and he stood up, brushing off his slacks in an attempt to appear as coolly professional as the summoner.

"Very well, then. Get it ready for me."

The summoner tugged the demon over to the curtained-off section of the room, still leading it with a deceptively light hand. Oliver could see the rune on the collar burning, doing something to keep the demon docile, and found himself wishing he'd studied the nitty-gritty of demonology more seriously. That sort of control, with something as simple as a rune sketched in blood? The thought was intoxicating.

He'd wondered, when he'd first entered the summoning room, why the far end was curtained off. As the summoner pulled the plush curtain aside, he understood; the tools and furniture beyond were the sorts of things that might put off a more squeamish client, although Oliver could at least see the purpose of a good half of it. It was good that Infernal Procurements was so well-prepared, though. There could really only be one proper way to claim a Romeo, and he intended to do it thoroughly.

The summoner pressed the demon face-down over a padded table, earning the first bit of resistance since the slap. The creature bucked up against the summoner's restraining hands, twisting and hissing like an angry cat. Unruffled, the summoner smacked it again, a backhanded blow that set it off-balance long enough to be shoved down against the table. Keeping one hand firm on its back, the summoner cuffed its wrists one by one to sleek metal cuffs attached to the table, glancing back at Oliver and saying, "Romeo- and Juliet-class demons are best kept in silver, sir, for future reference. We have appropriate bindings available for purchase if necessary."

Its upper body immobilised, the demon was tugging at the restraints, all sign of docility gone now. Its tail lashed wildly, fast enough that Oliver wondered whether it would leave marks if it hit skin, the way a whip would. He wasn't given the opportunity to find out; the summoner grabbed the tail high enough to avoid the whipping spaded tip and tugged it up and back to expose the demon's ass, tying the end to the collar around the demon's neck.

"Does it talk?" Oliver asked curiously, taking a step closer. Bound and helpless, the demon was a much more intriguing sight. Nobody forgot that the creatures from the infernal realm had powers that humans could only dream of, but there were ways of neutralising them, and humans had been using them for centuries. There was something special about a powerful creature brought low, and he found himself moving to the head of the table, running one hand over the demon's glossy hair while the summoner fussed with cuffs at the other end.

"Romeo- and Juliet-class are considered reasonably intelligent," the summoner replied, his tone disinterested. "Not as clever as Portias, but then, you don't summon them for contract assistance, do you? If it's not talking, sir, it's because it doesn't want to."

A shudder rippled through the demon's body and its foot lashed out towards the summoner, the leg suddenly digitigrade and powerfully-muscled, tipped with a sharp hoof. The summoner dodged with the ease of long practice and grabbed the offending leg, wrenching it down hard enough to elicit a gasp of pain from the demon, and locked the first of the leg cuffs around the ankle.

Leaving the rest of the binding to the summoner now that the demon only had one leg free, Oliver turned his attention more fully to the creature, lightly stroking his fingertips over the smooth horns that curved back over its hair. He'd always thought that the additional parts - the tail, and the horns - that demons had must look odd, grafted-on perhaps, but the horns merged smoothly with the demon's forehead, the place where they joined dotted with further pieces of glassy-smooth horn like the little gemstones Oliver's sisters stuck on their fingernails. As he explored the sensation of them with his fingers, the demon yanked its head away, snarling.

"None of that," Oliver murmured, grabbing the demon's chin firmly enough that the skin where his fingers were pressing went white from pressure and turning its head to force it to look at him. Anger blazed in its eyes again, and Oliver smiled. Turning that anger into docility was going to be an interesting way to spend the three days until the party. Using his other hand to tuck a bit of stray hair back behind the demon's ear, he said, "You really should behave, otherwise this is going to be unpleasant for you."

"Fuck you," the demon hissed, shooting him a glare so reminiscent of a petulant child that Oliver couldn't help laughing.

When he heard the snap of latex, he glanced up at the summoner, who was pulling on a pair of thin latex gloves. Stroking the demon's hair again, Oliver said, "Use the spelled oil. I don't want it so tight it's no good for its job."

"Very good, sir," the summoner agreed, taking a small bottle from the nearby cupboard and spreading a generous amount over his gloved fingers. Oliver watched for a moment as the summoner's hand moved down between the demon's legs, his free hand pressing firmly down on the small of the creature's back to hold it still - not that that was really necessary, considering the restraints - but there wasn't much to see from the head of the table. He looked back down at the demon's face, smiling when he saw the way it was biting its lip to keep quiet. The summoner wouldn't be causing any pain, not with the spelled oil that was designed to relax and arouse the recipient, but the sheer frustration in the demon's eyes was oddly engaging.

Oliver knelt at the head of the table, keeping one hand cupped around the demon's cheek with his fingers trailing into its wealth of dark hair, and rubbed his thumb over its lower lip. It had a nice mouth, he decided, even if its face wasn't strictly pretty, put all together. The Juliet he'd had for his eighteenth birthday had been a more classic beauty, but then, it had been contracted to look a specific way, like his favourite actress. There was a certain feral beauty in this demon's natural form. The horns leant its face a wild look while still managing to look elegant, balancing high cheekbones and a slightly large, aquiline nose. But its mouth was the prettiest part of its face - or at least the part he could see the best use for, he amended to himself, smirking as he ran his thumb over the lower lip again.

The demon lunged forward and bit his thumb hard enough to make Oliver see stars. Yelping, he yanked his hand back, inspecting his thumb for damage. The marks from the demon's teeth were deep and he could see bruising beginning to show, but it hadn't drawn blood, at least.

"Fine," he snapped, twisting his uninjured hand into the demon's hair and yanking its head up. "If you can't be civilised, you don't get the use of your mouth until you learn better. You," he added to the summoner, although he didn't look away from the demon. "You have gags, yes?"

"In the rack on the wall," the summoner replied. "Shall I keep preparing it, sir, or have your plans changed?"

"Keep going," Oliver said, releasing the demon's hair and turning to examine the rack of gags. "But don't let it come. It has to earn that."

"Very good, sir."

It was the work of seconds to select an appropriate gag. Oliver turned back to the demon, the phallus-shaped piece of rubber in his hands, and smirked at the anger that flared in the creature's eyes when it saw what he was holding.

"You're going to be getting the real thing eventually," he said, moving back to the head of the table. "I want you to work all that biting out of your system by then."

The demon gritted its teeth, giving him a defiant glare. Oliver chuckled, shifting the gag to one hand and twisting the other in the demon's hair again, pulling hard enough to make the creature cry out, and took advantage of the cry to force its mouth open wider, pushing the gag in and buckling the strap tightly enough around its head to be uncomfortable, if not exactly painful. The gag, while certainly not pleasant to wear, had a hole drilled through the middle of it; Oliver wanted the demon chastised and pliant and unable to bite, not unable to breathe.

"You'll learn," he said, patting its head as the summoner continued his work, adding more of the spelled oil to coax the demon's muscles into relaxation. Oliver perched on the side of the padded table so he could watch the summoner work while he stroked the demon's back, feeling the tension slowly bleed out of it despite its best efforts. The summoner paused now and then, to add more oil or to give the relaxation spells time to do their work while easing up on the stimulation so that Oliver's other demand, that the demon not be allowed to come until he decided it had earned it, could be followed, but eventually he looked up at Oliver and nodded.

By then, the demon was limp against the table, breathing in short, stuttering inhalations through its nose. When the summoner withdrew his fingers and moved away from the table, it let out a sound, muffled by the gag, that sounded halfway between relief and regret, a sound that shot right to Oliver's cock. He slid off the table and moved to the end of it, unbuckling his belt. Claiming might be necessary for the binding, but it was just as necessary for his physical state right now.

He paused for a moment, looking down at the demon's cock, hard and twitching against the table. He drew one finger down it, earning a jerk and a muffled whimper from the demon, and smirked wickedly. Without looking away, he called over his shoulder, "Bring me a silver cock ring."

The demon whimpered again, obviously figuring out what he had in mind. The sound seemed to be wired right into Oliver's cock, making him even harder as he waited for the summoner to press the slim piece of metal into his hand. He stroked the demon's cock twice, rubbing his thumb over the head, and then slipped the cock ring over it, snugging it right up to the base before he murmured the demon's binding-name to activate the spells in it.

Grinning, he stroked the demon's cock again, more firmly now that the spells were active, and said, "You don't come until I say you can, Valentine. So you'd better start figuring out how to behave properly."

The summoner had done this part of his job as efficiently as he'd summoned the demon in the first place; when Oliver undid his trousers and pushed into the demon, he met with little resistance as far as preparation went - the demon made a feeble attempt to buck him off, but bound the way it was, it had little success. Romeos and Juliets tended to just be better made for sex, from all accounts; he'd be surprised if it was even possible to hurt one of them by fucking it too hard, so he didn't bother holding back the way he would have with a human partner. He gripped the demon's hip tight, digging his fingernails into its skin, and set a fast, hard pace; this was a claiming, after all, not some idle afternoon in bed with an equal.

Oliver was far from inexperienced, and he had the benefit of another sex demon to compare to; he was beginning to think that they had something about them that just made the sex better. Few of his human partners had been lacking, but the Juliet had been spectacular, and now, with the muffled whimpers Valentine was letting out around the gag ringing in his ears and the hot, tight sensation of its body around his cock, Oliver was having trouble holding out for long enough to keep his pride in front of the summoner. Torn between wanting to keep fucking the demon hard enough to bruise and wanting the summoner to see that he wasn't some teenager who lost control the minute he was inside someone, he settled for slowing down but tightening his grip on Valentine's hip, lowering his other hand to stroke the demon's cock teasingly. If he couldn't have whimpers because of how hard he was fucking the demon, he'd have them because it wanted to come and couldn't. Either way, they sent hot bursts of lust through him and he wanted to hear more of them.

When he came, too soon for his pride's liking - and that was something Valentine was going to have to be punished for - he felt an electric buzz along his synapses that had nothing to do with sex. The claim had taken; he had this beautiful creature under his control. Even now, though, he didn't pull out. He turned his head to look at the summoner, saying, "You've got plugs and harnesses, don't you? I'll be requiring one."

"Of course, sir," the summoner said, still damnably professional, not a sign of what he might be thinking. Oliver didn't like not being able to read him. He retrieved the requested plug and harness from one of the displays, showing them to Oliver, who shook his head.

"Not that one. Bigger. I want it to feel like it's getting fucked with every step," he said, rolling his hips and earning another soft whimper from the demon, enough to renew his interest but not quite rekindle his erection. No matter; they could take care of that once he got the demon home.

When the summoner brought over the second, larger plug, Oliver pulled out of the demon's ass and replaced his cock with the plug before any of his come could drip out, grinning at the sound the demon made, mingled frustration and anger. He made quick work of attaching the plug's base to the harness that would keep it in place, buckling the harness onto the demon, and then said to the summoner, "I'll be requiring a set of those silver cuffs. Add them, and the cost of what I've used here, to my account."

"Of course, sir," the summoner said. "I'll return with them in a moment. I would advise not releasing the Romeo until it has been cuffed properly."

Oliver waved him off; he wasn't some novice. He wasn't going to release Valentine now, even though he was pretty sure it wasn't going to be a real threat. He occupied himself with cleaning himself up and resettling his clothing, watching with amusement as the demon seemed to try to settle itself down with mixed results. Its cock was still hard, and Oliver idly stroked it a few times as he neatened his clothing and waited for the summoner to return; like the rest of the demon, it was an attractive cock, if not aesthetically perfect, and as slightly-too-large for the creature as its nose was. Maybe if Valentine behaved, Oliver would reward it by letting it fuck someone at the party. It would be a shame to let a cock like that go to waste.

When the summoner returned, he handed Oliver a set of finely-wrought silver wrist cuffs. Oliver moved to the head of the table, reaching down to stroke Valentine's hair gently. The demon glared up at him, panting around the gag, and Oliver sighed, running his fingers lightly down Valentine's cheek to rub over its lips, murmuring, "Still defiant? You'll learn."

He slid the cuffs around Valentine's wrists, touching the activation gems set in each one to tighten them enough that they wouldn't come off, and then reached up to unbuckle the gag. He had plenty of them back home, and he didn't particularly care to be billed for this one. The money wasn't the issue; it was the principle of the thing.

The summoner handed him a supple leather leash, and he clipped it to the front of Valentine's collar, letting his fingertips rub over the binding rune as he did. The rube blazed, and Valentine let out a pained whimper, going limp on the table. It wasn't the sort of submission that Oliver wanted, but it would do for now. He took advantage of it to undo the bonds tying Valentine to the table and tugged the demon to its feet, giving the summoner a nod as he turned to leave the room. Infernal Procurements had his information; they'd send a bill. No need for him to have any further conversation with the odious man.

His car was parked in the secured, underground parking lot that Infernal Procurements offered for their clients' convenience - while it was certainly perfectly legal to have a demon summoned for you, there were situations where you didn't want to be seen with it until you'd taught it to behave properly. Oliver wouldn't have minded running into some of his friends with Valentine in tow, especially considering how attractive the demon looked in the cuffs and leash, with its cock still hard and bound by the cock ring, but his father's business associates were entirely another matter. Discretion was the wiser option.

His nerves humming with the magic of the binding racing through them, he led Valentine to his car, giving the driver a nod as he opened the back door and pushed the demon into the spacious interior. He'd debated driving himself here today, but he was thankful he had, now; even cowed by the binding rune and the claiming, Valentine was enough of a handful that Oliver wanted to be able to keep his full attention on the demon until he'd grown accustomed to the binding. The driver - Melanie, he thought this one was, although it was difficult to be sure; the staff were all so interchangeable - could handle getting them to his place adequately.

He kept Valentine kneeling in the footwell for the drive, the leash curled around one of Oliver's hands, his other hand tight in Valentine's hair. A smart Romeo, in Oliver's opinion, would have taken advantage of that position to show some sign of obedience or contrition for being so difficult before, even if Oliver wasn't ready for another bout of sex yet, but Valentine made no such move. Oliver found he didn't mind the demon's recalcitrance; it would be just as enjoyable breaking him to heel.

When they arrived at his apartment building, maybe-Melanie pulled the car into Oliver's underground parking space and set about seeing to the car's maintenance, giving him a brief nod of acknowledgement. Oliver tugged the demon out of the car and over to the penthouse lift, swiping his keycard and waiting impatiently for the lift to arrive, tugging absently at the leash, keeping it taut between his hand and the demon's collar. It was like training a stubborn dog, he reminded himself. Give them an inch of slack and they'll take a mile.

The ride up to the penthouse seemed to take an eternity, with the magic still dancing along his nerves, setting his skin to tingling. The summonings he'd done before had never felt like this, but then he'd never summoned a Romeo before. Perhaps the flavour of the binding changed depending on the type of demon you summoned. The mage at Infernal Procurements certainly hadn't seemed bothered, and Oliver wasn't going to let anything that didn't bother him get to him.

When he tugged the demon out of the lift and the doors closed smoothly behind them, there was an odd little ping sensation that he couldn't quite place, a sizzling along his skin like he'd been touched in every erogenous zone he had, and the leash in his hand went slack. He turned his head to frown at it, wondering for a moment if the demon had faltered enough to give the leash a few centimetres of slack, and then he found himself pressed face-first against the wall, a long, lean, and exceptionally naked body pressing itself against his back to hold him still.

"You shouldn't try to hold bindings too strong for you," the demon murmured in his ear, one arm pressed against the back of Oliver's neck to keep him against the wall. There was a heavy thunk as the collar hit the floor next to Oliver's feet, followed quickly by the silver cuffs that had encircled the demon's wrists.

"You're just a Romeo," Oliver protested. A Romeo wasn't too much for him!

The demon chuckled, rocking its hips against Oliver's ass, its still-hard cock pressing against him. He bit back another protest, aware that making the demon even more angry than it must already be would only make things worse. And they were pretty damned bad already.

"There's no just when it comes to demons," Valentine said, its lips still distressingly close to Oliver's ear, so that its breath tickled him as it spoke. It reached down to take the leash from Oliver's hand; things had happened so fast that he hadn't realised it was useless, hadn't thought to drop it. Valentine lifted the collar with the leash, chuckling softly, and slipped the supple leather around Oliver's throat.

"It's keyed to you," Oliver said, despite his vow just a moment earlier not to make things worse. "It's not going to work on me."

"Puppy," Valentine purred, buckling the collar tight enough to be confining without interfering with Oliver's breathing, "Do you think I need your little toys to control you?"

Without waiting for an answer, it reached up to touch Oliver's temples with its fingers, sketching what felt like a rune of some sort, and Oliver let out a gasped whimper as sensation bolted through him right to his cock, making him weak at the knees from its intensity. Nothing he'd ever done, with humans or demons, had ever felt as intense as whatever the hell it was Valentine was doing with whatever magic it had.

"Stop," he gasped, bucking back to try to throw Valentine off. The demon was immovable, still draped along his back, and chuckled again, tapping Oliver's temple lightly with one finger. Recognising the threat for what it was, Oliver went still, trembling from combined fear and arousal.

"Now, I have some questions," Valentine said, trailing its fingers down Oliver's neck as though it was unaware of what it was doing. Each touch left a trail of electric sensation in its wake, and Oliver shivered against the wall, biting his lip. Questions wasn't a promising place to start. The demon continued, tugging the leash lightly to force Oliver to tilt his head back, "What did you have me summoned for? Specifics, puppy."

"A - a party," Oliver admitted, hating the stammer that slipped into his voice. "I'm having a party on the weekend and there's - there's supposed to be something entertaining."

"Something entertaining." Valentine traced a shape on Oliver's throat, over the place where his pulse beat, and Oliver whimpered as another rush of desire lanced through him. Valentine's tone turned venomous as it repeated, "Something entertaining. I'm not a thing."

"You're a demon!"

He knew it was a mistake the moment he said it. He could feel the demon's anger as it stiffened behind him, as the leash pulled tighter. He had a moment to cry, "No, wait, I didn't--"

Then Valentine sketched another rune onto his skin, and he screamed as his nerves sizzled with pain. The onslaught was mercifully short; he felt the demon catch him as he fell, and he blacked out.

When he came to, the sky outside was dark, and he was on his bed. For a moment he thought that the day had been nothing but a dream, one of the confused not-quite-nightmares he had sometimes. Then he tried to move, and he was brought up short by the collar around his neck, now attached to a chain that was fixed to the bed.

His clothes were gone. And Valentine was sitting at the end of the bed, with no collar or cuffs, nothing to restrain him but whatever sense of morality demons might have. It was precious little comfort, especially when Oliver considered what a Romeo might have been put through during previous summonings. What he'd had planned himself. He swallowed, whispering, "What are you going to do to me?"

"It's Wednesday," Valentine said. Oddly, there wasn't any anger in its voice, despite the last thing Oliver remembered. He clung to that as a ray of hope that he might just survive whatever it was the demon had planned. Still, the way Valentine smiled sent an odd chill through him, and the demon's next words weren't exactly heartening.

"So until your party on the weekend, you're going to be something entertaining, puppy. We're going to have some fun."

"And - after that?" Oliver asked. He didn't really want to know. Hell, he didn't want to know details about anything. But the more he kept Valentine talking, the less the demon would be doing anything else.

Valentine shrugged. "That depends on you, sweetheart. I don't go in for killing, but you've done a bang-up job of pissing me off, so I might decide to wreak some havoc some other way. And you are having a bunch of people over who would, by your admission, have been perfectly happy to take part in your plans for me, so I'm not inclined to be nice to them."

"They haven't done anything to you," Oliver protested, forgetting the collar and chain and making an abortive move towards the demon, unsure what, exactly, his plan was if he got there. The chain pulled him back, though, and Valentine laughed softly, getting to its feet and moving to the head of the bed, leaning down to press one hand against Oliver's shoulder to hold him still.

"Settle down," it said. "If you're entertaining enough, I might be convinced that I don't need to do anything to them. But you're wrong when you say they haven't done anything to me, puppy. They're coming to a party where a bound demon is the main entertainment. A demon you people class as a Romeo - and yes, I'm well aware what that means. It's illegal for you to treat other humans the way you treat us. Hell, it's illegal for you to treat animals the way you treat us. Your people have done plenty to mine."

A part of Oliver wanted to protest, wanted to say that they were just demons. But the memory of the pain that had seared his nerves before he'd blacked out stopped him, and Valentine smiled, as though it recognised why there was no argument.

"You see?" it asked, in a tone that said it wasn't expecting an answer. "You're learning already."

It sat on the bed beside Oliver, reaching over to trail its fingers over his chest. When it positioned its hand so it could start to write a rune onto his skin, he couldn't help an instinctive shudder, trying to pull away; both the pleasure and the pain that he'd felt from the demon's rune-writing had been too intense for him to want any repeat of either.

"You've got a choice," Valentine said quietly, pausing in its writing. "I stay here and play with you until the weekend, and you behave. Or..." It held up his phone. "I go through this and find your friends, and I pay them a visit. You'll be perfectly safe, and I won't come back for you. But I'll go after them, and I don't know that I'll be in anything like as good a mood by the time I get to them."

Oliver swallowed. It wasn't much of a choice, was it? But he'd been the one to go to Infernal Procurements. Sure, Ashley had hinted about a demon, but hadn't said anything outright. The decision had been Oliver's. He couldn't just send Valentine after his friends to save his own skin, could he?

A tiny, selfish part of him - not as tiny as he liked to think sometimes - pointed out that that depended entirely on how literal that saving of his skin was, but he pushed it aside. He wasn't always a good person, but he liked to think he was good to his friends.

"I'll behave," he said, the words coming out in a voice that was humiliatingly small. Valentine smiled and resumed drawing the rune on Oliver's chest, and as it finished, another blinding rush of arousal coursed through him, making him whimper from the sheer, overwhelming sensation of it.

"You aren't the first human to have me summoned," Valentine said conversationally, settling comfortably on the bed beside Oliver and reaching down to wrap its hand around his already hard cock, stroking maddeningly slowly. "But you're going to be the first one to have the privilege of seeing how it feels to be treated the way you treat us. I'm sure it'll be quite the education."

Oliver opened his mouth to protest, and Valentine touched the fingers of its free hand to Oliver's lips, shaking his head. Oliver fell silent as Valentine sketched a rune on his lips; to Oliver's surprise, as the rune was completed, he felt neither pain nor arousal, but rather nothing more than a warmth suffusing his lips and slipping down to coil in his throat.

"You're my pet today," Valentine informed him, still lazily stroking his cock. "That's how you see us, isn't it? As animals? And animals don't speak. You can make noises, but you won't speak until tomorrow." It grinned, leaning over to press a disconcertingly gentle kiss to Oliver's forehead as it palmed the head of his cock, earning a soft whimper from Oliver. "It'll be a new game tomorrow, pet."

At least this rune hadn't hurt; it was a small mercy, Oliver reflected, as Valentine kept working his cock almost painfully slowly, stretched out on the bed beside him and idly tracing its fingers over his chest. Its words had made the situation crystal clear; this was a game for the demon, and one that Oliver could survive by playing by the rules.

He tried to keep back the low whimpers that kept rising as Valentine toyed with him, but the demon's hands were too clever, the touch of whatever magic Valentine carried from the infernal realm too insidious to resist. Valentine smiled as the whimpers began to break free - and then it withdrew its hand altogether, and Oliver couldn't help letting out a whine of protest at the loss of stimulation so close to his release.

"Come with me," Valentine said, reaching up to unhook the chain from the headboard. It stood, tugging the chain in an admittedly gentle way, and Oliver got unsteadily to his feet. He half expected Valentine to insist that he crawl on his hands and knees, and he was going to fight that, but the demon simply raised an eyebrow and gave him a lopsided grin, tugging the chain again to lead Oliver into the bathroom.

"You stink of fear-sweat," Valentine said frankly, clipping the chain to the tub's faucet and slapping Oliver's ass. "Get in. You need to be cleaned up."

Oliver had his pride, but he also had his share of fastidiousness, and he was uncomfortably aware that his fear of Valentine had resulted in a not-so-sweet smell rising from him. He climbed into the tub, moving onto his hands and knees at Valentine's gesture. The demon took hold of the chain attached to Oliver's collar and pulled it tighter so that his head was forced down, closer to the faucet, and then tied it off, keeping him trapped there. He could still move his arms and legs, but with his neck bound the way it was, there was little point.

"Now, behave," Valentine said, its tone amused. For a few moments there was no contact and no noise except for the soft rustle of Valentine's tail moving about, and Oliver strained in vain to see what the demon was up to; with his limited range of view, he couldn't tell.

The warm water hitting his back was a surprise, but a pleasant one. As the water moved, Oliver realised that Valentine was using the flexible showerhead to get his body wet, and the warmth was soothing to muscles that had been tense for too long. Oliver couldn't help relaxing a little into the sensation, although he let out another frustrated whimper when the water moved over his still-hard cock, enough to be enticing but certainly not giving him any relief.

Once Oliver's body was wet enough for Valentine's satisfaction, it reattached the showerhead to let the water fall onto Oliver's back, and began bathing him in earnest, running a soaped washcloth over his body. The sensation was still more comforting than it had any right to be, and Oliver made an involuntary sound of pleasure as Valentine found and massaged tense muscles in his shoulders, its long-fingered hands moving cleverly over Oliver's wet skin.

Eventually, Valentine drifted its hand down to Oliver's cock, running its fingers down the hard, aching length, and Oliver couldn't help rocking his hips forward, desperate for more contact. Valentine chuckled, lightly fingering the slit of Oliver's cock and earning a high whine in return, and murmured, "Needy, aren't you?"

Oliver couldn't help it; his hips jerked towards Valentine's hand again, the light touch of the demon's fingers electric, sending sparks through his nerves. He didn't want to need it, but he'd never been left wanting like this before. Sex had always been eminently satisfying. For someone like Oliver, accustomed to getting what he wanted without question, being teased and held off like this was intolerable.

Valentine laughed again, wrapping its hand around Oliver's cock and stroking more firmly now, brushing the fingers of its other hand through Oliver's damp hair and saying, its tone amused, "You'll get what you want this time, pet, but you'll have to earn it next time."

Oliver couldn't bring himself to care about the threat implicit in that wording; with Valentine firmly pumping his cock after so long with nothing more than light, teasing touches, it was difficult to think about anything except how good it felt, and it didn't take long for him to come, letting out a rough cry as he shook beneath Valentine's hands.

"Well, at least you're a pretty pet," Valentine murmured, almost to itself. It retrieved the washcloth and began cleaning Oliver up again, its hands absurdly clinical in contrast to only moments before. Oliver took advantage of that clinical touch to try to calm down, now that he wasn't being stimulated, and by the time Valentine had rinsed the shampoo out of his hair and turned off the water, he had regained his balance enough that he was steady as he climbed out of the bath. He stood still as Valentine briskly rubbed him dry with a soft towel, but when he reached for the robe that he kept hanging on the back of the bathroom door, Valentine gave the chain attached to his collar a sharp tug.

"You're a pet," the demon reminded him, his tone gently chiding. "Pets don't get clothes."

Some pets got clothes, Oliver wanted to protest, but the spell keeping him wordless was still working; the only sound that he made was a soft protest. Valentine petted his hair and gave the chain a gentler tug, leading him out of the bathroom, through the bedroom and into the entertaining area.

Oliver's apartment was an opulent one, designed for parties rather than comfortable family living. The kitchen, dining room and living room were open-plan and separated by half-walls rather than individual rooms, and everything was up-to-date and of the best quality available. His father had insisted on it when Oliver had said he'd wanted his own place five years ago, and Oliver hadn't complained. It wasn't as though he'd been intending to settle down.

Valentine led him into the dining area and tapped one of the chairs; taking the hint, Oliver sat down. Valentine petted his hair again, and then set the chain on the table and went into the kitchen area.

Oliver could have watched the demon, but he was more interested in seeing if there was anything he could do about the collar around his neck. It wasn't the thing keeping him bound, really - Valentine's magic, and the threat that it would go after Oliver's friends, was a far stronger tie than the leather - but it bothered him, and figuring out how to take it off might prove that he wasn't just some helpless little human who couldn't fight back. He could put up resistance without forfeiting the game that Valentine had chosen to play.

He couldn't work out the clasp; there'd been some change made to it that he couldn't figure out without being able to see it. Frustrated, he let his hands fall to his lap, letting out a huff of a sigh. He could hear Valentine moving about in the kitchen, making the little clatters and scraping sounds that indicated it was making a meal of some sort, but he wasn't going to give the demon the satisfaction of looking.

Eventually, Valentine returned to the table and set a plate in front of Oliver, sitting down opposite with its own plate. Oliver glanced at the demon, uncertain, and was surprised to see Valentine smiling. Picking up a fork, it said, "Eat. You get to feed yourself today."

Trying not to think about what that might mean, Oliver ate. Valentine was a talented cook - Romeo- and Juliet-class demons tended to be skilled in the domestic arts - but the quality of the meal was wasted on Oliver, who was much more occupied with wondering what else the demon might have in store. It was Wednesday night, and his party was supposed to be on Sunday; that left three days for him to convince Valentine to leave before his friends arrived - and three days for Valentine to exact vengeance for everything that humans put its kind through.

He couldn't stretch out the meal forever, though, and when he was finished, Valentine took his empty plate back into the kitchen, leaving him to stew at the table for a few minutes. When the demon returned, it picked up the chain again and led Oliver back into the bedroom, once again gesturing for him to get onto the bed.

It was tempting to refuse. But Oliver climbed onto the bed, and Valentine attached the chain to the headboard again. Valentine sat on the edge of the bed and cupped its hands, frowning in concentration; cobalt light coalesced in its hands, like when it had been summoned, and a pair of strange-looking gloves appeared. The demon turned to Oliver and said, in a tone that brooked no argument, "Give me your hands."

Swallowing, Oliver held out his hands. Right now, he was willing to go along with whatever step in the game this was. Valentine slid the gloves onto his hands and strapped them firmly around his wrists before releasing him, a smirk crossing its face as Oliver examined his hands.

The gloves were strangely-designed; they held his fingers together and curled into a half-fist, the forefinger and middle finger resting against the tip of his thumb. They were meant to keep him from being able to use his hands without binding his arms, he realised, and from the look on Valentine's face, there was a purpose behind that that Oliver wasn't realising yet.

"Turn onto your stomach," Valentine ordered. Oliver balked at that; he'd been able to accept the touching that had gone on so far - hell, it wasn't like he hadn't done much, much more with his other sexual partners - but he wasn't prepared to just give in to full-on sex, not yet. Valentine chuckled at the wordless sound of protest that Oliver let out and reached out to stroke his hip, saying, "I'm not going to fuck you, pet. Now turn onto your stomach. I don't want to have to ask again."

Oddly reassured, Oliver still hesitated for a moment before finally obeying, turning awkwardly onto his stomach and resting his chin on his folded arms, still eyeing the odd gloves that Valentine had forced his hands into.

The touch of Valentine's hands on his ass, spreading his cheeks, made him yelp in protest, half-turning to look back at the demon. Valentine stroked the curve of his back, saying, "I'm not going to fuck you tonight. You're getting something in your ass, but it's not my cock. Now relax. It'll go easier for you if you do."

It was strange, but Oliver found it easier to relax with that almost-promise. He wasn't sure why sex was a line, but it was - and it was hypocritical, considering what he'd done to Valentine earlier that day - and Valentine's assertion that it didn't intend it to happen made him feel somehow better. He settled back down onto the mattress, trying to relax, as ordered.

Valentine kept stroking his ass for a few moments, before its other hand returned with slick fingers to press against his hole. Despite his best efforts, Oliver let out a soft whimper, unsure whether it was fear or arousal, and Valentine murmured, "You need a bit of help relaxing, pet."

The demon's free hand moved over Oliver's ass, sketching another rune, and Oliver steeled himself for the overwhelming rush of arousal that had accompanied runes before, but it didn't come. Instead, a low, throbbing heat began to surge through him, soaking into his muscles and curling tight in his groin. He let out a soft moan against his folded arms, and Valentine chuckled softly, still rubbing its fingers over his hole, not quite pressing in yet.

Oliver was hard by the time Valentine had one finger inside him, and he wasn't sure if this was supposed to be a punishment or not. Valentine was keeping him pinned with its free hand in the small of his back, keeping him from rocking his hips back against its hand, and it felt like more teasing, like before, but it seemed like there was a purpose behind it as well, and he couldn't figure it out.

Eventually, Valentine removed its finger, and Oliver was barely given time to catch his breath before something bigger, something rubbery and slick with lube, was pressing against him. He caught his breath on a moan; he wasn't sure whether Valentine was using the toys that Oliver had amassed over the years or was creating its own, but either choice included some intimidating options. Without being able to see it, the toy being slowly pressed into him felt huge, even though he knew, logically, that it couldn't be that big, since it didn't hurt beyond a slight burn that faded under the effect of the rune Valentine had sketched on his ass.

"There you go," Valentine said quietly as the toy - a plug, Oliver realised, as he felt the base of it nestle against his ass - slid home. It was big enough to make him feel full without being uncomfortable, at least, although as Valentine tapped the base thoughtfully, Oliver became very aware that there were bumps along its length that rubbed distractingly against his prostate. He let out another whimper, pressing his forehead against his forearm and trying to catch his breath with little luck.

"You can turn over now," Valentine said, its voice amused. It reached up to help Oliver turn onto his back, smearing remnants of lube onto his shoulder, smirking as the movement of the plug inside him dragged a moan from Oliver's throat. Once he was settled on his back - as settled as he could be - Valentine petted his stomach, almost affectionately, and covered him with a light sheet, saying, "You need to get some rest, pet. It's late, and you've got a big day tomorrow."

And it left the room.

For the first little while, Oliver tried to ignore his aching cock, figuring his arousal would abate sooner or later. When that proved futile - when he realised he could still feel the rune's magic pooling hot in his loins, sending more waves of lust through him each time his erection began to abate - he lowered his hands, thinking he could take advantage of Valentine's absence to jerk off, and then he discovered the purpose of the strange gloves. Their design made it impossible for him to take hold of his cock, and the rough fabric they were made from made it too painful to even try to just rub them against his cock for some stimulation.

He dropped his hands to the bed, letting out a wordless growl of frustration, and shifted a little, trying to get comfortable. It was impossible not to be aware of the plug in his ass, though; every time he moved, the bumps on the toy rubbed against his prostate, sending yet another burst of arousal through him.

Valentine had been right about one thing; it was late, and Oliver was tired. Arousal tried to win out over exhaustion, but exhaustion eventually won the day, minutes or hours after Valentine had left him alone to stew in desire. And he wasn't left alone in sleep; his dreams had a decidedly erotic tone to them, if a frustrating one. Valentine's magic wasn't going to let him come even in his sleep.