Disclaimers: The usual, I'm just using them. < No
one uses the Devil... >
Um, ah..okay... Fox thinks they own them... And this will never make me
I like to offer grateful thanks to my beta reader,
Deb Johnson, without
whom I'd make even more stupid mistakes than I do now.
Ezekiel Stone woke to a dull gray world that was threatening
rain, even so
after fifteen years in Hell he had never been so glad to see wet weather in
his life. Or should he say, his non-life, or his afterlife...? Whatever you
call it, it was still only a half-life while he did the Devil's bidding,
working towards a second chance at a real life; a life that could include a
pure untainted love, if Rosalyn was willing to take him back and give him
that second change... He wondered if she would comprehend what had happened
to him in the years he'd been gone; could she even begin to understand?
Would she even want to try? What would he do, if she didn't?
Stretching, Zeke walked the four steps that took him to
flipped the switch on his coffeemaker, and turned to find the dirty mug
he'd left in the sink last night. When he turned back, he was being watched.
Leaning up against the wall by the window, the Devil incarnate
his arms comfortably crossed as he surveyed him with a mischievous grin on
Zeke just winced, turned away, and ignoring him, went
to fetch milk from
"My, aren't we in a mood today."
"It always makes my day, seeing you this early." Ezekiel
decided that he
needed to work more on hiding his thoughts, and that the mug needed a good
washing, so he proceeded to do just that.
"You don't know how glad it makes me feel to hear you say that."
"Should I ask what you want?" The coffee wasn't quite
done yet but Zeke
didn't want to wait so he substituted the mug for the pot, keeping an eye
on it while it filled.
"Should you? Well, yes, you should be attentive to my...
needs. After all I
am your boss, now aren't I?"
Knowing that His Satanic Majesty wasn't kidding when he
requiring his attention, he replaced the pot and set the half-full mug on
the counter, turned around, a gave it to him. "I'm listening."
"How kind." Finally he stirred himself, pushing away from
the wall he
crossed to stand a foot away.
The grayish-eyes that caught his and held them in a unbreakable
blazing hotly with some emotion Zeke had rarely seen in them before;
something like a cross between disgust and approval. The look caused him to
shiver and he didn't think it was from fear.
"Have you seen today's paper?" With a casual gesture of
a long, tapered
hand he directed Zeke's attention to the newspaper that had been shoved
under the door, releasing his gaze at the same time.
"You know I haven't."
Lucifer took a step forward, and Zeke held his place at
the counter, there
was really no where he could go to escape; he'd learned that a long time
Hot breath brushed his face, and this time he resisted
the urge to meet
those otherworldly eyes; he kept his own lowered lest he get lost in their
bottomless depths. But, this was almost worse, the not seeing.
So strongly did Lucifer smell of ozone, that it made him
dizzy; the heavy
scent and waves of warmth reached out to envelope him like a comforting
caress. A hand lifted and came to rest on his shoulder; the warm presence
burned through the thin undershirt, searing his skin. "Well, you had
better," was whispered in his ear. And then he was gone.
The suddenness of the departure, left Ezekiel feeling
and strangely abandoned. But it was much easier to breathe. Straightening
his shoulders, he vowed never to let the Prince of Demons see how awkward
he felt in his presence, and that he'd never let him discover how easily
Zeke's image of himself was affected by the power he knew was growing over
him with each visit. He went to get the paper.
On his second cup of coffee, he found the article, which
was actually one
of the top stories of the day, but he had wanted to read the sports scores,
the weather, his horoscope, anything to keep his mind off his purpose for
being on Earth, even if it was just a few minutes longer. The headline
announced a murderer was going to trial today. A mass murderer of young
men. A mass murderer who kept pieces of his victims bodies in the trunk of
his car for weeks after he'd cut them apart.
Since his attention had been directed to the paper Zeke
guessed that this
was one of the 113 demonic criminals that had escaped, that he was now
attempting to hunt down and send back to Hell. This one, it seemed, had
done his damage, and it was too late to stop him, but even if this Moran
received the death penalty he couldn't die; only Zeke could send him back
where he belonged, to the deepest pits of Hell.
The courthouse was crowded but Zeke waved his detective's
badge and it
gained him a spot in the back against the wall. It was easy, once he heard
the opening arguments detailing the physical, psychological, and sexual
torture he put his victims through, for him to realize that this time doing
his job wouldn't be a hardship; if ever there was someone who deserved to
be sent to Hell, it was Michael Moran. But, how had the creature gotten
caught? The Demons weren't easily taken; maybe he wasn't as powerful as
some of the older ones he had dealt with? But the real problem was how was
he suppose to shoot out the man's eyes while he remained in the custody of
the LA Police? Well, without getting caught in the process anyway. Maybe
when he was escorted in or out of court for the day?
Ex-detective Ezekiel Stone positioned himself in the alley
courthouse watching to see how the transfer procedure was carried out. At
five after five, the prisoner bound in tri-shackles, so he couldn't fight,
let alone run, was escorted by two officers, with a third standing by,
shotgun in hand as he scanned the busy street.
Unfortunately, the officer should have been watching the
another man, with a mop of red hair, and a pistol in each hand rounded the
corner of the back alley and put two bullets into the cop with the shotgun.
He went down and didn't move again.
Zeke flew out of hiding, calling for the man to freeze,
but instead of
obeying the gunman turned and shot both the other officers, wounding one in
the arm and killing the other outright with a bullet to the heart. Zeke
shot the redheaded maniac in the back. It didn't even slow him down.
Another demon. It must be. There must have been two of them in on slayings
from the start and only one had gotten caught. Zeke cursed the cops for not
having figured out that Moran had a accomplice lurking somewhere.
Moving around, trying to get a clear shot at any one of
their eyes, Zeke
kept a bead on Moran as they regrouped, backing off using the young wounded
cop as a shield; gun to his head, they slowly retreated around the corner.
It was at that moment the heaven's opened up and let down a torrent of icy
cold rain. With streams of water drenching him, Zeke followed their
withdrawal with a bit more caution, and when he could see around the
corner, he could also see that they were gone; the alley was empty. They'd
fled, taking the rookie with them. With rain dripping in his eyes obscuring
his vision, he ran to the next turning without much hope; Zeke carefully
checked each and every avenue they could have taken without any luck. They
had escaped. He'd let them get away.
Back in his rented room, Zeke threw down his key in disgust.
pealed off his wet trenchcoat, and tossed it over the room's only chair.
Today had gone from bad to worse; he slapped the counter with both hands
and stayed there leaning on it trying to work through the blinding anger.
So he had no warning and no time to get himself under control, before --
speaking of the worst -- Lucifer was there. He was just standing there
looking at him with a perplexed expression -- such a profound look of
disappointment -- shaking his head.
Zeke hit the counter again, and spun around to face the music. "Damn."
"They should be, for all eternity." For the second time
that day the Devil
backed him against his own kitchen counter. "Ezekiel, Ezekiel, Ezekiel..."
He closed his eyes and addressed the unspoken reprimand.
"You can't be more
upset with me than I am right now." He waited, then opened his eyes.
Lucifer was studying his hair; he lifted a few strands,
and rubbed them
between his fingers. And in a casual tone, like it was almost an
afterthought, he asked, "You do realize, don't you, what they will do to
that young, good-looking officer?"
Zeke wanted to scream, vent his rage and frustration on
he raised his fists and struck out at on the only convenient target
Grabbing his wrists, Lucifer easily subdued him by pinning
him between his
body and the counter. Ezekiel writhed for a minute more testing his limits
until all fight bled out of him.
"Shhh... Save it for later." And then a hand was on the
back of his neck
pulling him down to meet a pair of hot, demanding, and wickedly seductive
A voice in Zeke's mind was screaming for him to stop,
telling him to fight,
to pull away; he knew he should hate this, that he should be disgusted ...
but he didn't, and he wasn't. Somehow it was just too difficult to summon
the righteous anger he needed to resist. What he did feel, descending over
him like a warm blanket of comfort after being left too long in the cold,
was resolution; it was like coming home, soothing, warm, and sustaining.
And even as he gave in, shifting his legs apart, opening his mouth, Zeke
knew he was delivering himself deeper, further into the grasp of the dark
power, and that thought was the only thing that kept his hands clenched
tightly to the counter behind him instead of embracing the Devil.
With as self-satisfied grunt, Lucifer backed off, but
he kept Zeke trapped
by bracing his hands to either side of him on the counter.
Ezekiel took the opportunity to breathe, gulping in great
gasps of air. The
experience had stripped him of everything; the icy fire of the kiss burned
its way to the very core of his existence, threatening to consume him,
compelling him to offer up everything, all he was, baring his soul... It
had been like nothing he'd ever felt on Earth.
Zeke should have known he wouldn't have the decency to leave it alone.
"...I believe we've found our common ground."
"Don't count on it."
The responding smile was sly and knowing, but all he said
was, "Haven't we
played that game one too many times already, Mr. Stone?"
Zeke couldn't imagine a way he could safely answer that,
so he said
nothing. The urge to give in and agree was too strong. Much safer to say
"But, I like this new game so much more, don't you?"
Enough. He pushed at a restraining arm, and breaking free
he turned, proud
that he hadn't bolted to the other side of the room. "I've got work to do."
The annoyance he'd glimpsed briefly on his boss' face, disappeared with his
"Yes. You do. Try old haunts; demons are such creatures of habit."
Zeke was grabbing up his key and his coat, when he stopped
in surprise; his
coat, all his clothing, and, when he ran a hand through it, even his hair
were all dry and toasty warm. He put the coat on.
The voice that floated after him as he went out the door
was full of
innuendo, "But the best of us can learn new tricks."
It was almost eight when he conned a overworked, underpaid,
help him find articles dealing with cases similar to the current one, only
committed years before. She showed him how to search the old microfiche
film, as the computer records only went back ten years. After giving him a
warning that the library closed in less than an hour, she left.
He'd found what he was looking for with minutes to spare.
A man had
murdered and tortured six young men in a two year period starting in 1967.
There had been a 'nest' used, just north of the city, but when the cops had
cornered a Mitch Mason, the serial killer resisted arrest and he had been
killed before they could question him. There had been some question as to
whether or not he'd had an accomplice. As an alias for Michael Moran, Mitch
Mason couldn't get any closer. This had to be it.
Zeke was thankful that now he had the location, he wasn't
going to have to
wait until tomorrow to rescue that cop. He couldn't get the picture of the
man's handsome face -- bright-blue eyes wide with fear -- out of his mind.
Tomorrow would have been too late to save his life. Maybe, if he hurried,
he'd be in time to save his sanity.
The warehouse was made of sheet metal, a solid blank impenetrable
broken only by rust stains, and one door. As it was the only way in; Zeke,
gun at ready tried the handle and to his surprise it turned easily.
With the closed door at his back, the warehouse was shrouded
The only light came from the far left corner, which was obscured by a stack
of large wooden crates. Quietly, Zeke followed the path created by the
stacks of filth covered debris towards the light.
Taking a quick peek around the corner of a crate large
enough to hold a
car, Zeke's attention was captured by the sight of the cop, minus his
uniform, hanging by handcuffed wrists from a hook that was attached to a
beam about nine feet off the floor. The naked man's toes could just barely
touch the ground. At the moment he didn't seem to care; he appeared
Movement detected had Zeke ducking back around the corner
breath, and his gun close to his chest. He waited few seconds before
risking a second glance. This time the hanging figure had been joined by
Moran, who was opening some sort of black leather bag and rummaging through
Since he couldn't see Moran's partner, Zeke decided to
climb on top of the
huge crate, to get a better view, and a better shot at the monster.
While he was finding his way up, he listened to the distressed
cop made in response to whatever Moran was doing to him. It sent shivers up
his spine, and left him in no doubt that these 'men' should be in Hell.
Zeke moved for a shot as soon as he had the man in sight;
he couldn't let
the cop suffer another second. Moran must have heard him, because he looked
up and spotted Zeke poised above; it was the last thing Moran saw before
his eyes were shot out, and his soul was sucked away, reclaimed by Hell.
Distracted by the screams of the demon, Zeke hadn't heard
the approach of
the second man. He didn't even know he'd been spotted until he felt himself
falling, watching as the stained cement floor neared his face. He'd been
pushed. When he hit Zeke managed a halfway decent roll, coming up and out
of it in a crouch; even better he'd contrived to keep hold of his gun.
His prey was nowhere to be seen. Zeke backed himself over
to the suspended
cop. Fresh blood had made a few thin trails down the smooth creamy skin
coming from various nicks and cuts, and the bullet wound from earlier
looked red and raw. It was no wonder he'd passed out again.
Thinking quickly while keeping his eyes peeled for movement,
he realized he
would have to lift the man down, and to do that he would need both hands.
So, the demon first. But where the Hell was he? That was the question...
Oh, fuck, he wanted to laugh; Zeke recognized how crazy he would sound, if
anyone could hear his thoughts.
A clanging -- the sound of something metallic being dropped
-- caused Zeke
to turn towards it, and instantly he realized it was a diversion, but it
was too late; a surge of power hit and slammed him up against the crate,
hard. Hitting his head, he saw blackness descending like a fog and fought
it off. He took a moment to let it clear; he could see, fuzzily, but he'd
lost the gun. Shit.
Zeke's searching hand groped across the floor as he kept
watch on the
creature through slitted eyes. This one was much stronger than Moran; he
wielded a power that was unique in Zeke's experience, so he had to be much
older than his partner. Maybe they had only teamed up in Hell, and Moran
had had a different partner in '69? This one must have had been in the
business of murder a long time ago.
Another gesture from the 'thing' sent him tumbling over,
crashing into the
cement floor he had just tried to leave. Zeke rolled with the blast, arms
over his head trying to save it from another lump. It was then he noticed
he'd been bruised and battered only by the blast, and not from impacting
with the things in the physical world. He should have remembered his first
fall...when he'd been pushed... He had to get undercover. And he had to get
his gun back.
The dash he made for the cover of darkness was forestalled
by yet another
blast, and this time the demon felt he was cowed enough to laugh at his
awkwardly sprawled, crushed figure. The redhead moved closer, saying to
him, "Well, your presence isn't exactly a surprise, but I hadn't expected
The Old Man to send me someone who looks as good as you."
Gathering the last of his reserves, Zeke pushed himself
to his knees.
Things couldn't end this way...
The creature moved closer, smiling pleasantly. "I would
like to know your
name before I make you one of my boys."
Zeke wiped a hand across his mouth, stalling for time.
"You do understand, that it doesn't make any difference to me..."
Again, another step closer. "... but it might to you."
It was then that Zeke's darting eyes spotted his salvation.
He started to
turn, trying to move into a better position.
"No, stay there; just like that. I like you that way."
Zeke pushed himself over, falling to his right, grabbing
up his weapon as
he rolled on top it, another turn and he was on his back, on the floor,
shooting at the spot where he hoped the demon would still be standing. And
he shot again, and again, and third time even as he heard the bloodcurdling
scream of a damned soul being ripped from the earth's surface; he continued
to fire until he was completely out of ammo.
Exhausted he collapsed back onto the floor, groaning.
Dizzy, Zeke was sure he was going to pass out or throw-up.
And then two of the tattoos on his arm sizzled, stung,
and burned as they
went up in smoke. Zeke groaned and wanted to curl up into a ball.
Barely an instant later, Zeke thought he must be dreaming...
instead of resting on the hard cement, he was now supported, carefully
cradled by a pair of strong comforting arms. He closed his eyes,
luxuriating in the sustaining succor; some of the sickness receded, enough
for him to remember he wasn't the only one suffering... Suddenly wide
awake, he struggled to pull away.
"Here, call 911." A cell phone was placed in his hand.
Zeke strained his neck to see who his benefactor was. He should have known.
"I can't interfere, remember?"
As Zeke placed the call for help, he wondered at the stern,
look on the face of the Devil. It had been a long time since he last saw
that look. All in all he thought he preferred the smug, self-satisfied
expression he usually wore while visiting.
After handing the phone back, Zeke struggled to stand.
"I have to get that
"Yes, and I have to help you to stand." The tone had been
hands, and arms didn't falter; holding him tightly until they both were
sure he wasn't just going to fall over on his face.
With Lucifer's arms around his waist, Zeke stretched up
and lifted the
handcuffed hands from the hook.
It was a weird feeling, being lowered to the floor, while
naked body of another man at the same time. All three ending up resting on
"Don't worry, he'll live."
Will wonders never cease, reassurance from the Devil.
But the words had
reassured him; he couldn't let the kid die.
Zeke wanted to put his coat over the kid, to keep him
warm, but Lucifer
stopped him from struggling out of it.
"Evidence." Was all he said, but Zeke knew exactly what he meant.
"Well, there has to be something we can use."
"Fine. I'll look. Don't go anywhere."
Zeke wanted to laugh. This whole thing was just crazy.
Maybe this fight had
finally pushed him completely over the edge.
Lucifer returned to stand over them. Then tossing one
of the demon's coats
over the cop, he asked, "Happy now?"
"Yeah. I think I am."
Impatient with the delay, Lucifer snapped at him, "Can
you walk yet?
They'll be here in a few minutes?" He emphasized his point by raising his
The pain still buzzed about his head, his vision was blurry,
and he felt
sucked dry, drained of every ounce of energy. Zeke never thought he would
be thanking the Devil for anything, and certainly not for making him feel
safe in his presence, or for saving his sanity. Never in his wildest dreams
had he imagined he would feel protected with the Devil walking at his side.
As he was guided back to his room, Zeke leaned heavily
onto the offered
support. For just a moment back there, he'd been terrified, of what he
wasn't sure... Maybe the unknown... All he knew was the demon had hurt him,
badly, and he could have been hurt a hell-of-a-lot worse. He'd been lucky.
Zeke knew he was out on his feet; so he must have hallucinated
been lowered onto his own bed with -- the only word that occurred to his
befuddled mind was -- tenderness. But the puzzle was soon forgotten as
almost instantly he fell asleep.
When he woke, it was well into the afternoon. Zeke realized
he was alone,
and that being alone was definitely not a condition he wanted to be in
right now. Left alone he would only start thinking about what his next
battle might bring, wondering what chaos the demons were causing right this
minute; and he'd start worrying, and brooding about something he had no
control over. Maybe he should go and find Max...but, no, Max could either
cheer him up or really bring him down depending on her mood when he found
her. A walk couldn't hurt, and maybe food would be a good idea, and then,
well, he just wait and see if anything turned up.
It was a bright spring day,
he shouldn't have had a care in the world; Ros was safe, living out the
rest of her life oblivious to his predicament, no new horrors had been
revealed for him to deal with, so he was free to live the rest of the day
as he wished. But something was clearly wrong; he felt like he was missing
an important clue. He just didn't know where to look.
Zeke wanted to call the hospital to check on the young
cop's progress, but
he'd never gotten the man's name. Instead, he bought a paper, found a bench
in the park, and sat down to read hoping to find an answer within the
There it was, just a blurb on page ten; stating that Officer
had been missing since yesterday, kidnapped by suspected mass murderer
Michael Moran, and another unnamed suspect, had been rescued upon receipt
of an anonymous tip. He was reported in fair condition, and was expected to
make a full recovery.
Well, that was good news.
Someone sat down beside him and looking up he discovered
looking back. Lucifer said nothing.
After a time, he turned away and appeared to be intently
studying the ducks
on the pond.
Zeke wondered if everyone who passed by could feel the
dark aura of power
that surrounded the man who sat next to him. Or was it just those who'd
lately been residents of Hell that felt the magnetic pull? The humans
seemed to accept him as a man. They knew he was there, they could see him,
but most went out of their way to move around him, avoiding him; and in all
the time they'd spent together, Zeke had never noticed anyone speak
directly to him. How would it feel to move though life like that, being
ignored, not quite real to the majority of humanity?
"Did you know about the second creature?"
Lucifer turned the full force of his penetrating gaze
on Ezekiel. "Yes. I
did. But, I didn't realize they had paired-up. It was a match made in
Hell." The corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement.
Zeke didn't know whether to be offended or laugh along,
so he did neither.
"One of them was very old," he observed instead.
"Yes. Johnathan Meadows. He came to me back in 1869. They
never caught him,
never even suspected him. He killed, raped, and tortured across the country
for most of his thirty-two years." After a slight pause, he continued,
"Mitch Mason joined us in '69 when a cop shot and killed him... in the line
of duty, of course."
While he told the story he'd watched Zeke expectantly,
searching his face.
What was he hoping to see?
"So, Mr. Stone, what else are you planning to do with
the rest of your day
"Ah, that again. You waste so much time on that pleasure."
"It make's me feel human."
"There are other things you could do instead, you know..."
Zeke got up. Newspaper tucked under a arm, hands in pockets,
towards the diner, and without glancing back he knew he was followed by the
"I suppose you don't mind if I join you?"
Zeke knew how this game was played; he'd learned the answer
to this one a
long time ago. "Could I stop you?"
He was answered by a huge smile. "What do you think?"
"I think you'll do whatever you want."
"Got it in one."
It crossed Zeke's mind to say something like: 'Yeah, you
can do whatever
you want as long as God allows it,' but that would have sent the fallen
angel off in a huff at the very mention of God's name. And for some reason,
today, Zeke didn't want to chase him away. All right, he wanted his
company. Maybe Lucifer was the only person who will ever be able to
understand what he's been through. And just now Zeke needed someone who
Lucifer ordered a dessert called 'Chocolate Decadence,'
that consisted of a
piece of sinfully dark-chocolate cake, topped with ice cream and hot fudge.
It made Ezekiel sick just to think about it. He settled for more mundane
fare of a hamburger and fries.
They hardly spoke, seeming to be content in one and other's
had he gotten so complacent about spending time with the Master of
Darkness? When had their silences become almost comfortable?
After they finished, left the diner, and Zeke began to
walk home, the Devil
dogged his steps.
When they reached the park once again, Zeke paused to
watch the stars
appear one by one as dusk fell around them.
"I wonder...are there other planets, other worlds, out
there where people
deal with the same things we do?"
A voice at his side said very seriously, "I can't tell you that."
Zeke turned to him with surprise; he hadn't actually been
question. "Really? Do you know?"
"Yes. I do. But my responsibility is to this world." And
he turned away.
But it was in the direction of Zeke's rooming house.
Inside, Zeke tossed down the key, took off his coat, and
pushing up his
sleeves he went to grab a beer. He didn't offer anything to the Shadowed
One who now haunted the room.
He slammed the fridge door, twisted off the bottle-cap,
all the while
feeling vague alarm building, increasing until it finally took root in the
pit of his stomach. He forced himself to calmly take a swig of the icy
beer. At the same time the itch between his shoulderblades warned him he
was being observed, definitely not a comfortable feeling.
He turned without thought at the commanding voice, and
froze, rooted to the
spot by the pure blazing lust he saw on Lucifer's face.
"No." The protest had slipped out involuntarily. The beer
bottle in his
hand landed on the counter with a thunk.
"Yes, Ezekiel. You need it. And I want it. It's that simple."
Again he made as if to protest, but he was stopped by
a finger to his lips.
"I will not be denied."
What should he do? But before he could even weigh the
consequences, make a
conscious choice, a pair of hot demanding lips claimed his, stealing his
will, breathing fire into his cold, dead limbs, setting his nerve-endings
ablaze. Zeke melted into the arms that reached out to claim him... Lost. He
knew he was lost, but right this moment it didn't matter, nothing did.
A hand cupped the tight bulge of his arousal, stroking
him firmly through
the material of his pants. Zeke moaned into the mouth that seized the
opportunity offered to plunder, forcing Zeke's to open even wider.
This was temptation; the forbidden fruit. He was engulfed,
deep into waters
he never would have tested he'd still been counted among the living.
Every shred of his being ignited when Lucifer sucked in
his tongue. Zeke
moaned again and ceased to struggle. In the end, he knew it to be a futile;
how could he even think to resist? The powerful magistracy of the Angel of
Light, commanding, magnetic, so strong...
A low laugh of triumph sounded in his ear as he gave in,
and moved to
embrace Lucifer, holding him to his heart. And he didn't care.
Zeke dropped his head to his seducer's shoulder as he
let rough impatient
hands strip him of all he wore, of everything. He wished he could say he'd
resisted with all his might, but the truth was he could barely stand to be
separated from him for the few seconds it took to find the bed.
After crawling up, Zeke leaned back, aching for additional
contact as he
waited for his destiny to come to him. All the heat in the room seemed to
coalesce around his nakedness. The heat coiled about him, thick and
enveloping, making it difficult to breathe.
Lucifer's eyes glowed with satisfaction; Zeke had never
anything to him before now.
The waiting, the moment, didn't last long. Lucifer fell
on him like a beast
starved of all passion. Hands grabbed his wrists and held them wide, pinned
him to the mattress like a butterfly pinned to a board; teeth sank into his
neck making him scream, pushing, arousing, driving him closer to unimagined
"My Ezekiel... Mine," claimed the dark voice.
He was caught for the moment, trapped in time by smoky
eyes that smoldered
with unfulfilled lechery.
And now his body was being marked and manipulated to Lucifer's
satisfaction, and Zeke let him, leaving no doubt in either of their minds
that his words had been the absolute truth.
Lucifer's caresses fired long unsatisfied desires. One's
that were deeper
and darker, and had more power to excite him than he'd ever understood.
If he'd wanted, Lucifer could have made him beg, but instead,
brought Zeke to the edge again and again with inhuman expertise, forcing
him to the pinnacle of ecstasy only to withhold release each time.
Zeke was nearly out of his mind with want and need and
lust and he clawed
at the man on top of him urging him to finish what he'd started.
The dark angel didn't needed to hear the words. It was
enough that when he
forced Zeke's legs wide apart, Zeke raised his legs to his chest of his own
accord; it was a clear as day what he was begging for.
In total accord Zeke was taken, possessed in one hard,
stroke. Then Lucifer was grinding into him granting his most secret,
long-denied desire. This time when Zeke screamed it was mixed with words of
encouragement and praise even while he cursed him for discovering what he'd
tried so long to hide.
The excruciating build up was nothing compared to the
furious sweet agony
of his release; Zeke would have done anything to prolong the intensity of
the moment, never wanting to be released from such glorious torment.
The savagery, of the encounter left Zeke, satisfied, but
It had felt so right, so real to be joined as one with the Devil. But at
Strong arms pulling him against a pleasantly warm body
soon pushed away all
thought. Sinking into the embrace, he let the feeling of contentment lull
him into self-deceit. Zeke was comfortable, sheltered, and dare he even
think it, needed? Lost, he fell asleep.
Zeke couldn't look at him. He squeezed his eyes tightly
shut; he didn't
want to see what he might find on Lucifer's face this morning. A warm hand
brushed his cheek, and Zeke did his best not to flinch away. He didn't want
to face this reality; he didn't want to discover that he meant nothing to
the monster who spent the night drowning him in passion the likes of which
he'd never before experienced.
"What do you ask of me?" Came a petulant angry question
from the man who
was pacing the room, loudly knocking about things that got in his way.
And still he remained silent. What was there to say? There
was nothing he
wanted that would be granted. Well, maybe...
"You won't forget?"
"Foolish question; you have a job to do."
Of course, the job, it had always been the job.
"Come on, get up; you have to go back to work," the Devil
chided. "You do
still want to save lives, don't you? Work your way back to your mortal
life? That *is* what you want isn't it Ezekiel? To be with Ros?" Something
glass broke in the sink.
Zeke flinched; he wanted to escape, the words, the job,
his life, this
Devil, but there was no way out, not even in death.
So, instead of running, he shoved back the blankets, and shouted, "Enough!"
Lucifer stopped his orgy of annoying object destruction,
and turned to
smile on him with approval. "Ah, there's the man I know and torment."
"Go to Hell."
"I will, don't worry, but before I go I just want to make
to you, so you have no doubts..."
"What is it?" Already weary with this game, Zeke ran a
tired hand through
"You're mine, and I don't let go of anything that is mine. Understand?"
"How could I not?"
Zeke flopped back down and covered his head with the blankets.
How could he
not? Not when he was reminded again and again with each encounter. That's
all he was, just another demon to be kept under control...put in his
And then he thought he heard one more thing, low and muffled
by the layers
of fabric, "Don't forget my heart is made of stone, and nothing you can do
will change that."
And then nothing. When he looked, all his saw was a trashed
had gone. He hadn't heard what he thought he'd heard, had he? And it
couldn't mean what he thought it meant, could it?
Return to story index