Warnings: Slash, and I guess I should say blasphemy.

Disclaimers: Brimstone is the creation of Ethan Reiff and Cyrus Voris.

Feedback, including constructive criticism, is always welcome. Many thanks
go to DJ ( or it wouldn't have been posted at all ) and sockii for their
comments and encouragement.
 
 

El Diablo
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by Varsha

Oh, El Diablo, won't you sell me back my soul?
                                --Arcadia
 

No one knows how tired I am of it all. Do they think that it's easy to put
up with all the moaning, the bitching, and the complaining about how unfair
life is -- was. Not to mention how unfair the afterlife is to those judged
evil, cruel, vengeful, or thoughtlessly apathetic. There are so many of
them now, so many who demand constant attention, who grow stronger with the
passing of the years and think to challenge me. Me! Lucifer, Chaos, the
Morning Starr, the Prince of Lies, El Diablo, Deil, Teufel, the Devil, or
whatever it is you wish to name me it makes little difference to me. I
cannot fail in my duty; if this is all I'll ever have, I shall do the job
to the best of my meager abilities. But, it isn't easy. There are not many
rewards, after all this is a punishment, to rule in Hell.

But there are a few perks, and I am watching one of the best of my
distractions while he goes about his business -- my business -- doing my
bidding. I really like it when he listens to me. Then again I really like
it when he doesn't. Ezekial Stone, committed to Hell because -- for all the
good he did in his life, for all his worthwhile motives -- he killed a man
in cold blood. Oh, don't get me wrong, he did it for the very best motives;
he did it for himself, to make himself feel better, but where had that
gotten him? Here, that's where. Right here with me. And now he's mine. All
mine, to do with what I will. God sometimes I'm so glad your rules are so
strict, that there's no such thing as forgiveness or absolution, not unless
the soul truly understands.

I can't help but admire Ezekial when he stands up to me; he is only
endearing himself to me more with every insult uttered in pain and
frustration; there is no true maliciousness backing them up. It's a game. I
like to play games. After all, it's the only fun I get these last few
millennia, and Zeke seems to enjoy playing them along with me. He wouldn't
dream of playing these games with anyone else -- he might hurt someone's
delicate feelings -- but he knows he can't hurt me, so he allows himself
free rein, and so, do I.

I think I shall let him see me now; it only does him good to keep him guessing.

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Roses. He'd asked for roses. Flowers for her. I'll bury him in flowers,
suffocate him with the cloying smell of a thousand blooms, tear him apart
on the hooks of the thorns... My rage achieved towering proportions, but I
was not about to give him the satisfaction of witnessing my righteous ire.
It's just the game, that's all it is. He knows he can't get away even for a
minute, but still he tries. What is it that he's trying to forget...? Me?
The fury swells and burns hotter; I must go and find a way to vent my
anger. Thousands of rose bushes will wither and die... I shall deal with
him later; I will show him that, I will not be denied.

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This time when I revealed myself to him, it was in his flee-trap of a room.
Must remind him somewhat of home.

He wasn't surprised to see me -- he'd gotten over that little trick of mine
rather quickly -- but he was less than welcoming. Well, I could warm him up
better than anyone; I am very good at that sort of thing, if I do say so
myself.

"Ezekial, what do you have to say for yourself?" Not my best opening, I admit.

"What do you want me to say?" He refused to look at me.

"Ah, but that's too easy. Is that what you're looking for tonight? The easy
way?"

He turned then, giving me his full and complete attention. He'd been
drinking; his eyes were heavy, glazed over, but he hadn't drunk enough to
forget.

If he wanted easy, he'd have to ask for it; and that was the hard part
wasn't it? I waited. I have forever to wait.

His beautiful body swayed towards me, as if I had compelled it to, but I
hadn't. I watched as he swallowed, the prominent Adam's apple moving up and
down his long throat. I smiled, not in triumph, that would come later, but
because as one of God's creatures he was magnificent.

He lifted his hand, and he was lost.

Suddenly he was in my arms, and I crushed him to me as his mouth latched
onto mine, hot and hungry with need. I don't know how he'd gotten there; it
had been much too easy. I must have moved to meet him halfway.

I wanted more. Lifting his chin, I forced him to meet my eyes. "Ask me," I
demanded; I refrained from putting the weight of power behind that demand.
I wanted him to know that, this time, it was to be his own decision.

"Please," was all he said in a voice so low a human wouldn't have heard.

That was all I needed. And this would be all I want. He was pushing me
back, hands clawing away, pulling at my clothing as he sought out and bit
into the pieces of warm skin he revealed. I stretched my head back letting
him ravaged my throat with his lips and his tongue, suckling contentedly
until he sunk his teeth into the spot where my neck joins the shoulder,
marking me. It appeared that my acidic taste on his tongue was not enough
to satisfy him and that now he desired access to my very essence. In
response I twisted my hands in his hair, yanking, directing his mouth to
mine, drawing his tongue into me, wanting to take what was willingly being
given. But he fooled me by handing over control, subjugating his will to
mine, so I did not have a chance to bend it.

Desire flared, and I tore his clothing to shreds. I wanted to feel him
naked, bared of all pretense against what passed for my heart. His
responding touch was bold, and frantic. His mouth sealed itself to mine.
And I welded our bodies together.

Neither one of us really had to breath, but we had to break the soul-deep
kiss if we were to alter our positions. Reluctantly, I let him go after
gnawing on his bottom lip to remind him of my possession of his mouth.

I am not known for my patience; in consequence, our first coupling,
tonight, will be fast and furious for I have a carnal appetite that is
unequal to none.

Ezekial stretched himself out on the bed, on his stomach, waiting with his
legs spread for my pleasure. I ran my hands possessively down his body,
stroking each glif that had been branded into his pale skin. I caressed his
body, touching, probing, making sure not to miss a spot so he would be
unable to forget that I had fondled every inch of that cool flesh. Mine! He
is all mine, now and forever. He moaned, encouraging me even as he ground
himself into the mattress seeking relief. Relief only I could grant him.

I refused to wait any longer, so I took him hard in one quick thrust that
only seemed only to drive him to wilder depths. He wanted this; he wanted
me. I wasn't coercing him in any way, and -- impossible as it is to imagine
-- I felt a few of the finer feelings for him as they smothered into life.

"Ezekial," I whispered as I pounded into him, riding the waves of pure lust
he created as he writhed and moaned beneath me, driving me to unparalleled
heights by his wantonness. We smoldered, riding out the hot waves of flame
until I let go and went up in a dazzling flash, carrying him along with me
into the depths of the blaze.

Before the night was over I had fucked him in ever orifice, twice. But as
we lay here, near dawn, I watched him rest as he indulged in only escape
allowed him, brief respite though it was. He rested heavily against my
chest, his head under my chin, and I continued to watch as I ran my fingers
through his thick hair. His flesh was marked, and his body thoroughly
ravished. He looked depraved and corrupted, by me. I had done this to him
and it was breathtaking.

I don't want to break him.

At that moment he opened his eyes, as if he could sense my momentary lapse
towards concern, only to reveal his anxiety. I could see the extent of his
devotion the depths of those unclouded eyes. I couldn't help but recall my
own words to him: that the eyes were the windows to the soul. At least he
still had his, and it was beautiful. He lifted a hand to my hair and pulled
my lips down to meet his, and for a while he shared the beauty of that soul
with me.

Once more, in that soft whisper pitched too low for human ears, he said, "I
do love you, you know." If only for tonight.

I held him fiercely against me, and closed my eyes. I could never love
again; why couldn't he accept that. He was creating his own Hell.

I had never wanted to break him.

Varsha
2000