Warnings: EXPLICIT M/M SLASH. And blasphemy, I suppose (wow, that's a new
one for me)
Notes: my first attempt in this fandom...feedback greatly appreciated!
Disclaimer: "Brimstone" belongs to someone with a lot more
money than I have. What I do here is for fun and definitely not
for profit.

* * * *

by sidewinder

I don't need sleep. I don't need anything, except to get my
job done. That doesn't mean I don't like to enjoy simple
pleasures, like sleeping, when I have the chance. 'Cause every day,
the thought is with me: one mistake and I'll never enjoy
another meal again. The feel of sunlight on my face. A game
of football with a Corona in one hand and the remote in the

Or the peaceful oblivion of eight hours of sleep.

Sometimes when I sleep, I even dream of Rosalyn.
Sometimes the dreams are even pleasant. Those are the
dreams that keep me going, that give me reason to try to earn
that second chance he promises me. Even if it's a crazy
fantasy to think we could ever be together again, it's one I
need to hold on to.

For fifteen years all I had was misery. In contrast, a little
fantasy goes a long way.

He doesn't always let me sleep. He likes to keep me on
edge, never sure when he's watching...never letting me
completely enjoy a moment of privacy and peace. Some
nights he fills my head with nightmares, ones that pull me
awake and guarantee I won't get a night's rest for days.
Other times he's less subtle--just kicks me out of bed and
orders me in no uncertain turns to move my ass. Then
sometimes he's just fucking annoying, playing games and
teasing me. Like when he fixed my alarm clock so I couldn't
turn it off--couldn't even unplug it, and had to listen to
that damn beep-beep-beep all night until I left the
room just to stay sane.

This night I was tossing and turning through nightmares of
my own creation. Since discovering the truth about Ash, her
demon eyes have haunted me every night. I should have sent
her back to Hell when I'd had the chance. I can't shake the
feeling that I'm going to be paying for that moment of
indecision for a long time. I don't look forward to running
across her again.

Restless, I tossed and turned for hours before realizing at
one point I was no longer alone. He was there, sitting on the
edge of the bed. I hadn't heard him arrive--no thunderclap,
no hint of sulphur in the air. Why he was sitting there, not even
looking at me, not jumping on me to get up and get back to
chasing demons, I didn't know. Something felt...wrong. He
was just staring out across the room, lost in thought and
apparently unaware of anything else. Probably bugged by
the same thing I was--Ash. Despite his denial I was certain
he'd revealed more than he'd intended about how he felt
about her, how she had betrayed him. How she frightened
him, though I couldn't understand how or why *he* should be
frightened by anyone.

Except God, I guess.

I watched in silence, waiting for him to explain himself,
say something, anything. Finally I shifted slightly and
immediately he whipped his head around to look at me. His
gaze was harsh for a moment, like he was pissed I had
disturbed him. Then...I don't know. Something changed. If
I hadn't known him like I do, I would have said he looked--
for the first time I'd seen--vulnerable. Knowing him, I knew
I had to be wrong and waited for an explanation.

"Something bothering you, Detective? Not able to indulge in
your wasteful sleepytime as usual?" His taunting voice wasn't
as sharp as normal. It was almost...understanding.

"Seems like I'm not the only one," I answered before I
could think better of it. One of these days, I know I'll push
him too far with my words. I suppose I won't stop trying
until I find his limit.

He reached for my face, and for a moment I thought I had.

I expected...I don't know what--a slap, a push, heat that
would burn my flesh...tortures I was used to. He touched
me and I flinched, but realized I felt nothing but the press of
his fingertips on my skin, light but warm. He traced the line
of my jaw slowly, his gray eyes never leaving mine.
"Knowing my wayward children are out there in this
world...yes, it bothers me. It's a terrible thing, you know,
the way they took advantage of my trust, my tender
care...you'd never do such a thing to me, would you,
Ezekiel?" There was a seductive lilt to his voice now. His
thumb brushed across my lips. I trembled.

"No, you wouldn't," the devil continued, his fingers
continuing along across my cheek. "That's why I chose you,
you know. Because I know I can count on you."

"Like you could count on Ash?" I'm not a fool; I could see
where this was going, what he wanted. What frightened me
wasn't thinking that I might not be able to stop him. It was
knowing I wasn't sure I *wanted* him to stop.

"I was wrong to place any trust in her. It was a lesson
learned and a mistake I will *not* repeat." His eyes
wandered around the room as he continued, his voice
hushed, "I didn't lie to you the other night--I never loved
her. I haven't needed love for a long time. But I still

His gaze turned back to meet mine, his fingers trailing down
my throat. Dammit. I could feel my body responding to his
touch, that seductive voice. He'd played his
games with me before but never this directly, never more
than a lingering leer or a touch that sent whispers of warmth
through me, as sick as it left me feeling afterwards. "What
do you need, Ezekiel?" he asked, voice just above a
whisper. "What do you need *right now*..."

I didn't answer. I was afraid to. /You,/ I could hear myself
saying if I dared open my mouth.

I think he still heard the voice in my head--my thoughts are
never my own whenever he is near. He smiled and leaned

And I didn't resist. His lips brushed against mine and I
welcomed their warmth. Part of me screamed that I should
fight him, that I could and he would leave, laughing at
having found another way to torment me. But I couldn't. He
moaned against my mouth, and the sound...it did something
to me, inside. The dark part of me seemed thrilled that I had
found some power, perhaps, over my tormentor.

He wanted me. He *needed* me, more than as his soldier on
Earth. He needed me as a lover.

I reached for his hair, tangling my hands in the long, dark
strands as the kiss continued, deepening, sending tendrils of
fire through my body. He broke the kiss and his breath was
hot on my face, his gray eyes specked with red. "You're
right, Ezekiel," he whispered into my ear, "you do so much
for me, yet I never show you true gratitude. Tonight I
will...tonight I'll show you things you never imagined."

I was stripped to the waist before I realized it, his hands
gliding expertly across my skin. A flash and the suit he had
been wearing was gone; my hand touched bare skin instead.
Disorientation hit when the sensation reached my brain: not
Rosalyn's skin. But the alarms subsided faster than they had
when I had touched Ash, only a few nights ago...maybe
someday I could be with someone and not think once of my
wife, not fight that aching guilt and regret that it wasn't her.


I'd never done this with a man before. Never wanted to.
Never knew what it felt like to caress the flesh of a body
like my own, muscled and taut, lacking the softness of a
woman's. His mouth swept down to kiss a spot on my
collarbone, his tongue tracing out a strange pattern on the
skin. His hair brushed my face--silky, the scent different
from a woman's. Not like flowers or perfume...like the
scent of ozone in the air after a thunderstorm. I always liked
that smell. He kissed my forearm, mouth pausing over every
tattoo that marked me. They seemed to respond to his touch,
warming, leaving my skin tingling in his wake. God, it felt
good. Would he do that to my entire body, kiss every mark?
Heat built in my groin at the thought, at the feeling of his
lanky body covering mine, claiming it, reminding me of his
claim on my soul.

His mouth traveled up my arm, down the other, back to my
chest. Slowly, methodically, until every kiss left me
gasping, shuddering, begging for more. "Please..."

"Please what, Ezekiel?" he purred, sounding so very pleased
with himself. Damn him.

"Don't stop..."

A muffled chuckle against my stomach. "Not even if you
begged me to. I do so enjoy...taking time...to admire my
handiwork...and oh my, is this for me?"

My entire body jerked as he ran his hand over the front of
my pants, over my cock. He laughed again, and then
finished undressing me with merciful speed. When he
lowered himself and continued his kisses down my right
thigh, I was gone. Lost to this terrible need he created
inside me.

No, wrong. He wasn't creating this; he knew it was there
and was only giving me what I wanted. Punishment,
pleasure...didn't matter. One and the same. Only another
demon could make me feel pain. Perhaps only another
demon could make me feel pleasure as well...

His mouth covered my cock, engulfing it in wet heat. I think
I screamed. Too long since I'd been touched like that. I
wasn't going to last at this rate, not with every inch of
my skin on fire and *him* there, doing that to me.

He pulled back and again was laughing. "Poor Ezekiel,
wired up like you haven't had a good lay in fifteen
years...oh that's right, you haven't, have you?" Gray
eyes flashed red as he ordered me, "Turn over."

No. Yes. I wouldn't. Didn't want that. Did I? My body
responded to his command even as my mind protested. He
was kissing me again, the tattoos all down my back. I
clutched the sheets and sobbed as his mouth reached my ass.
Tongue and fingers touched places no one had touched
before, wetting me, preparing me. Preparing me for
something I didn't want to think about how bad I wanted.
Then his cock pressed against me, demanding access.

"Relax," he growled, then bit my shoulder. "Unless all you
want is pain."

I tried; it still hurt. But I'd suffered worse. He was inside
me, and I didn't care. I was being fucked by the Devil and I
didn't care that it hurt and was humiliating, because it
felt..._real_. The world around me was nothing but a dream
but this was real--real touch, real pain...real pleasure. Heat
filled me like the fires of Hell, searing my soul, my skin, but
all I wanted was more. More of him inside me, more of his
skin wet with sulphur-sweat pressed against mine. More of
his kisses, more contact...more.

It seemed to go on for hours, and I didn't want it to end. He
took me in all ways and each time it left me wanting
more, even when he granted me release. My mind drifted
and at the height of our final joining, I saw glimpses of
things I couldn't understand, stray visions through the
fires. Our mock human forms lost coherence, wavered,
shifted. Looming over me, I saw his form change before my
eyes; for an instant, honey-gold hair flowed over his
shoulders, across a familiar face but with features softened
and filled. I saw a glimpse of white-feathered wings
unfurled, as he arched back, as he screamed my name.


It was gone in an instant, as the echoes of his pleasure
brought me across and I was left shaking, spent, exhausted.
That one image stayed burned in my mind. Was it a glimpse
of what he had once been, a thought shared through this
twisted communion? Or was there still the heart of an angel,
trapped in the devil's body after all...

His head rested on my chest, and we lay for a moment in
peaceful silence. My tormentor, my owner, my only chance
for salvation... Now, my lover? Not lover. There had not
been love in this, just shared need. Comfort, perhaps. Still, I
couldn't understand how I done it, wanted it--enjoyed it--
like this with *him*? How could I want someone I hate?

He finally stirred and rolled off me, again seeming to have
heard my thoughts. "You've never hated me, Ezekiel. You
hate what I do and what I am, but you're smart enough to
realize that I am not the one responsible for your damnation.
You hate *yourself* for that...just as you hate God, as you
should. He is the one who deems you should suffer for your
one mistake borne of passion. Just as He deems I
must...and mine is a suffering far worse than any human
soul could ever know."

For a moment the haunted look in his eyes almost had me.
"You want me to feel sympathy for you, is that it?"

"Hmph!" His eyes flashed and he smirked. "Sympathy is a
useless thing. What I want is for you to do the job to which
you've been assigned, and for you to do so in timely

Back to the ever annoying taskmaster. "Yes, boss," I
sighed, wincing at the thought of getting up and doing
anything considering the way my body felt.

"Oh, and you say that with such *passion*, Ezekiel!" He
slapped my side and winked. "Fine. Save your passion for
the next time we meet like this--just get my children back
home to my loving embrace and stop dilly-dallying, got it?"

He blew me a kiss, then was gone.

'Next time...' His words echoed through my head, leaving
me with a sinking feeling in my stomach. I wasn't sure if
he'd meant that as a threat or a promise. Probably both.

What bothered me was I almost was looking forward to it.


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