Warnings: SLASH. But then you knew that already, didn't you?
Series: Games Demons Play (yes, the series finally has a name. Whoo hoo.)
* * * *
TEASE
by sidewinder
A warm breeze brushed across Ezekiel's skin, gentle yet
insistent enough to
awaken him. He never slept that deeply; he was a demon
without need for
rest, and slumber was little more than an illusion--just
like the body he
inhabited. He opened his eyes and discovered he was not
alone. That didn't
surprise him, for he had sensed the other's presence
in the air. Leaning
against the wall, near the window, was the man--if Zeke
could call him
that--whom he had recently come to know on a most intimate
level. The hazy
morning light bathed his naked flesh in a soft red glow
as he stood there,
gazing at Ezekiel, waiting.
For a moment Ezekiel found it difficult to speak, to even
form a coherent
thought. Desire flared inside him at the sight of his
inhuman visitor, yet
he held himself back and tried to remain outwardly calm.
"Did you forget
something...like clothes?" he managed to ask.
"Clothes seemed like such a wasted effort, don't you think?
You know why I'm
here," the devil told him. The sound of his rich, seductive
voice did little
to help Ezekiel fight his building desire. Yet he *had*
to fight it, if he
was going to maintain his dignity.
Even merely the illusion of it.
"What if I say no?" he asked.
The devil only laughed and shook his head. "You won't.
You *can't.* You want
it too much. Must you always try to deny it? It's really
becoming quite
tedious."
He was struggling to deny it but he knew couldn't, not
for much longer. He
couldn't tear his eyes from the devil, couldn't stop
his body's reaction to
the sight of him standing there, the sound of his voice...the
memory of the
things they had done together, before. Zeke's fingertips
were tingling with
the urge to touch him, to feel that inhumanly hot, bare
skin once again. The
breeze through the open window picked up, blowing across
his cheeks and lips
like the lightest of kisses, teasing him, taunting him
to try to deny his
arousal. He shivered.
"Come here, Ezekiel," the devil ordered, no laughter in
his voice now. No
more resistance would be tolerated; Ezekiel knew none
was, in fact,
possible.
Zeke rose from the bed walked toward the devil, not sure
whom he hated
more--Satan for doing this to him, or himself for wanting
it so badly. His
hands were shaky as he reached for the devil's chest,
and a sigh escaped his
lips as soon as he made contact. Warm...so warm and solid,
powerful...the
human facade the devil wore could not hide the power
inherent in his true
nature. Just touching him, Zeke could feel that power--*that*
was no
illusion. He met the fallen angel's eyes and it was like
staring into the
fires of Hell--so terrible, yet so dangerously beautiful.
More beautiful
than anything he had ever seen.
"I hate you," Zeke breathed, even as his hands refused
to leave his lover's
heated flesh.
"Everyone hates me. I'm used to it. But you want me, and
that's all that
matters." The devil gripped Zeke's hips and thrust against
him, grinding his
erection against his servant's. A groan escaped Zeke's
lips at the contact,
but he was silenced by a kiss, bitter with the taste
of fire, sulfur and
blood. He drank it in, greedy for more--more of the devil's
mouth, his body,
his heat. More. More of everything. He would sink to
the floor take the
devil into his mouth, he would get on his hands and knees
and beg the devil
to fuck him. He would do it all, because it all felt
so good, so unbearably
good, and--
"GET OFF THE ROAD, ASSHOLE!!"
Ezekiel jerked awake so violently he nearly tore loose
the seatbelt strapped
across his chest.
Seatbelt.
Where was he?
...In a truck, apparently. A busy highway stretched out
before him, and he
was seated next to a portly man shouting obscenities
out the window.
"Goddamned idiots with their fancy cars and cellphones,
actin' like they own
the whole fuckin' highway...oh hey, buddy, you all right?
Didn't mean to
startle you awake."
"That's...that's okay," the former detective answered,
slowly regaining his
sense of where he was and doing his best to shake off
the remnants of his
dream. He'd been hitchhiking, trying to get to New Mexico...a
truck driver
had picked him up that morning...he must have dosed off
somewhere along the
line and lost track of a good portion of the day.
Ezekiel attempted to shift into a more comfortable position--one
that would
lessen the pressure against his erection. Every time
he tried to catch some
sleep lately, he ended up dreaming about the devil. More
precisely, he
dreamt about having hot, incredible, inhuman sex with
the devil, although
his dreams always ended before reaching a satisfying
resolution.
It was almost aggravating enough to make him give up on sleep entirely.
Zeke wondered if that might not be the reason he was having
the dreams.
Maybe Satan was fed up with him "wasting time" sleeping
and so he'd started
mucking around with Zeke's dreams. It wouldn't be the
first time the devil
had fed him nightmares, but in the past they hadn't been
quite so...
Stimulating.
Of course, that was before the night in the motel, during
the snowstorm.
Nothing had been quite the same since then, though Zeke
knew that probably
shouldn't surprise him. It wasn't every day that the
devil came visiting to
fuck you senseless. An experience like that had a way
of changing a man's
perspective on things.
Twenty-three days had passed since that night. Zeke had
tracked down and
sent back two more demons since then, and the devil had
dropped by seven
times (yes, he'd been keeping track) to pester and provide
him with cryptic
clues to help his chases. But he hadn't done anything
more than that--hadn't
even *mentioned* what had happened that night in the
motel, and Ezekiel was
beginning to wonder if he'd just imagined the whole thing.
"Been havin' a rough time of it lately?" the truck driver
asked,
interrupting his thoughts. Zeke looked at the heavy-set
man--his name was
Stanley, if Zeke remembered correctly. Stanley shrugged
and continued, "It's
all right, you just have the look of someone who's lost
his way, seen better
times."
"Yeah. I've seen better," Zeke admitted. "Though I've
seen worse too."
Fifteen years in Hell--it doesn't get much worse than
that...
"I've seen some bad times too, mister. But you just gotta
put your faith in
the Lord and know he's gonna take care you. It's like
the Bible says..."
Zeke fought not to laugh as Stanley started droning on
about faith and God.
Religion was the last thing in which he needed a lesson.
He wondered how
Stanley would feel to find he was giving an agent of
Satan a lift? Zeke
figured that was something he'd best keep to himself,
though more than once
he was tempted to change his mind while listening to
Stanley blather on. He
did his best to tune out the chatty driver and think
of other
things--pleasant things, not like his dreams and the
devil. He thought about
Rosalyn, yet remembering her only made him feel worse,
kind of sick inside.
He kept trying to imagine the way her skin felt, the
way she smelled, the
way she smiled...
...but, damn it, every time he tried, the imaginary flesh
beneath his
fingers metamorphosed into the devil's. The lavender
and carnation scents of
Rosalyn's favorite perfume faded into brimstone and sulfur.
And all he could
see was Satan's irritating, self-satisfied smile, mocking
him, making him
feel even more miserable.
Life wasn't fair, Zeke thought to himself, and death was even worse.
* * *
They pulled into a truck stop near Santa Fe a few hours
later, a little past
sunset. The smell of greasy food in the air was more
temptation than Zeke
could resist, and he decided to splurge on a big meal
with the last ten
dollars in his daily budget. He needed *something* to
lift his spirits.
Stanley had said he'd check to see if any of the other
drivers might be able
to give him a lift the rest of the way to Albuquerque,
which was where he
was headed in search of his next demon. Otherwise, Zeke
would wait around
until the morning and take Greyhound when he had thirty-six
dollars to spare
again.
Albuquerque. What would an escaped demon from Hell want
to do in
*Albuquerque*, Zeke wondered, though he was certain he'd
find out
eventually. All he did was follow the crumb-trail of
clues the devil gave
him, and a newspaper clipping from an Albuquerque newspaper
had been the
scrap Satan had left for him two days ago.
"What'll ya have, hon?"
Ezekiel glanced up at the bleached-blonde waitress standing
by his booth and
gave her his order. "Bacon cheeseburger--medium rare,
with fries, and onion
rings, a double chocolate shake, and...oh, a slice of
the apple pie."
The woman raised an eyebrow at him and he gave her a sheepish
smile. "I work
up a healthy appetite when I'm on the road."
"I wouldn't exactly call that healthy," she said, "but
if that's what you
want, you got it."
"Thanks." There was one thing about being dead that Zeke
had to admit was
kind of nice--he could eat whatever he wanted and never
had to worry about
weight gain or his cholesterol levels--not even a bad
case of indigestion.
In fact, despite everything he consumed (and he consumed
as much as he could
afford, most days), he never even needed to relieve himself.
He didn't
understand the particulars of his demonic body's metabolism
but had long ago
decided that he was quite content to maintain his ignorance.
He looked out the window and watched the traffic on the
highway outside, the
car lights whizzing past the neon signs of the roadside
establishments. It
was a bleak and bleary scenario that seemed to stretch
all across the
country, one highway to the next--stripmalls, fast food
drive-ins, used car
dealerships...it always seemed to look the same, no matter
where he went. As
he waited for his food to arrive, Zeke realized he rather
missed L.A.,
having been out on the road for some time now. He missed
having Max to talk
to, even if she was kind of...strange. At least she never
questioned him too
closely about his weird behavior and the trouble he always
seemed to be
getting involved in. She probably would barely blink
if he told her the
truth, about who he was and what his "job" really involved.
Probably she
wouldn't even freak out if he told her he'd had sex with
Satan--she'd only
want to know if the devil was any good in the sack.
"My, my... We're looking pensive this evening."
Zeke closed his eyes. *Not now...* he groaned silently.
The devil always
seemed to know the worst times to show up. The former
detective took a slow,
calming breath and turned away from the window to find
Satan seated across
from him. The devil looked severely out of place, decked
out in his dark
suit and old-fashioned hat amidst the plaid and denim-wearing
truck drivers,
but no one except for Zeke seemed to notice his presence
at all.
Smirking--as usual--the devil asked, "Life on the road
got you down,
Ezekiel? Surely you didn't think all of your quarry were
going to settle
down in L.A., just to make life easy for you."
"You know what would make my life easier? A pay raise."
Zeke had asked for
one enough times. Not that it ever did any good.
"You're managing. Besides, if you really needed more money,
you could always
simply *take* some. Look at this sorry lot of mortals
all around you--you're
stronger and faster than any of them. Pick a pocket here
or there...maybe
dabble in the occasional armed robbery...surely that's
not beyond your
abilities. A little petty theft and you could travel
in style, instead of
slumming around and bumming rides like this."
"I'm trying to redeem myself, not add more sins to my
list. I'm not a thief
and I don't intend to become one now."
The devil sighed and shook his head, reminding Zeke of
a weary parent tired
of dealing with a stubborn child. The detective's food
arrived, and Satan
immediately helped himself to Zeke's French fries. "Do
you mind?" Ezekiel
complained, glaring at his unwelcome companion.
"Not at all," came the cheery answer. The devil snatched
another fry from
Zeke's plate and, after chewing it carefully, mused,
"I've been thinking
that perhaps I made a mistake in choosing someone for
this mission with such
delusions of moral righteousness. I expect you to do
whatever it takes to
get your job done, and I'd prefer it if it didn't take
you forever as you
ramble aimlessly around the globe."
"You always have to find something to complain about to me, don't you?"
"I don't want you to become complacent. Shall I remind
you how many times
you've come close to failing in your mission already?
How many times you've
nearly had *your* eyes shot, knifed, poked or gouged
out?" Satan emphasized
his words by stabbing the air before Zeke's eyes with
a greasy French fry.
Zeke snatched the fry from the devil's fingers. "I remember
perfectly fine,
thank you."
"Maybe, but if you don't start focusing more on your job,
some day one of
those 'close calls' is going to be close enough to send
you right back home
to me."
"We'll see about that."
"Yes, we will." The devil stopped picking at Zeke's food
and just sat back,
watching his servant eat.
It was highly unnerving.
Zeke had been struggling to keep any unwanted thoughts
from crossing his
mind since the devil had arrived. Any sexual thoughts,
to be precise. But
now his stomach was twisting in knots, and he couldn't
deny the heat
building inside him under the devil's intense gaze. Every
time he dared
glance across the table at his companion, he met those
unearthly gray eyes
and remembered the passion he'd seen in them that one
night. Part of him
ached to see that again--to *feel* it, like in his dreams.
Satan finally asked him, "Is there something else troubling you, Ezekiel?"
Zeke bit his lip, debating whether he should say anything
or not. Then he
figured he might as well; surely the devil would see
through him if he lied.
More than that his frustration was getting to him and
he was sick of the
devil and his games. "As a matter of fact, there is.
I've been wondering
about what happened...back during that snowstorm. You
know...between us?"
"Yes...?"
"Well...you haven't mentioned it since then. You act like
it never happened,
when..." Zeke trailed off, not certain what to say next.
"When what?" Satan prompted. "When you've been thinking
about me every night
since then? Wondering when I might visit you again, and
satisfy that burning
ache inside you for my touch?"
Zeke shifted uncomfortably. Fuck it. He was getting hard
now, his desire
growing beyond his ability to control it. The devil only
laughed. "It's
driving you crazy, isn't it, wanting me so badly when
you think you should
hate me."
"What did you do to me?" Zeke hissed, leaning across the
table. "Put some
sort of...I don't know, *curse* on me, to make me think
that I want you?"
Satan's laughter grew louder. "A curse? Oh, please! I
did nothing but give
you exactly what you wanted. You just can't accept that...
yet. But you
will. No one can give you what I can, and you know it."
Leaning in almost
close enough to kiss him, close enough for the detective
to feel the heat of
his breath as he spoke, Satan whispered, "Tell me, Ezekiel,
because I'd
really like to know. Did Rosalyn ever make you come so
hard you passed out?
Did she ever make you hard from just the sound of her
voice, so hard you
couldn't stand it, like you are right now?"
"You bastard. You goddamned bastard, don't you dare--"
"Temper, temper...!" the devil cautioned. "Don't forget
yourself, and who
*owns* your sorry-ass soul."
"For now," Zeke corrected.
Satan smirked and said, "So you keep deluding yourself."
Leaning back, he
regarded Ezekiel coolly and continued, "When you're prepared
to discuss
our...intimate relations with a little more civility,
you can let me know.
Until then, get your mind back on the job where it belongs."
Zeke blinked and in that fraction of a second, the devil was gone.
*I'm going to kill him,* Zeke thought with all seriousness.
*Somehow, one of
these days, I'm going to find a way to stick it to that
annoying son of a--*
"Hey there, buddy...Zeke, isn't it?"
Startled, Ezekiel looked up at the stranger standing next
to his table. The
man explained, "Stanley said you were tryin' to get to
Albuquerque, 'n that
you ain't much for conversation but you ain't no lunatic,
either. I'm
headin' that way now if you want the lift."
"That would be great, thanks," Zeke told him, picking
up the bill the
waitress had left on his table and counting out the last
of his change. He
looked sorrowfully at the remains of his meal, but he
had lost any appetite
for it. He got up and followed the driver out toward
the door, trying to
ignore his aching erection. *Just a minor form of torture,*
he told himself.
I've suffered worse.*
*And I'm going to get back at him for all of this if it's
the last thing I
do...*
[end...for now]
--