Wicked Boy - 5. Chapter 5

“No what?” Jeremiah regained his balance, sitting crossed legged on the floor of the den.

“I don’t want you.”

“Liar.” The boy snapped back. Kiaza winced, some tiny grain of truth slicing at him like sharp sand under a scale. Jeremiah glared at him, and Kiaza took a moment to wonder why he wasn’t scared. “I know that you want me.”

“I don’t.” Kiaza picked up a lump of smouldering charcoal and considering throwing it at the boy to get his point across. “Get out.” He tossed the burning wood at the boy.

Jeremiah yelped, getting up, kicking the embers back into the fire, brushing burning fragments from his clothes.

“No!” He strode right up to the fire, reached in and yanked Kiaza up and out by his wrist. “I came all this way to find you and I am not going without a fight.”

The little snake hissed, both sets of eyelids narrowing. He pulled himself free of the human.

“Have you any idea how out of your depth you are boy? Can your brain even wrap around the damage I could do to you, have done to you?” Kiaza wished he was taller, more imposing and threatening like Kiorl could easily be. “I am a major demon for fuck’s sake, and this is hell.”

“And you’re not too popular around here.” Jeremiah’s desire made him bold. Just being in the presence of the little snake was enough to push his craving over the edge into full blown lust. “The Prince is angry with you, and you’re staying in someone else’s room. I’m betting you can’t do anything to me, or get anyone else to do it for you.”

“How dare you?!” Kiaza’s eyes blazed. He couldn’t ever remember being so angry in his entire life. He’d been more upset, more frustrated, but never this angry. The human was so insolent, so sure and certain of himself, and Kiaza seethed with rage. That a human would say these things to him: he was one of the oldest demons in hell. Kiaza would prove him wrong, and while he might not be strong, he could be just as cruel as any of the others. He snatched up Jeremiah’s wrist and bit him.

The young man screamed in pain, and the Kiaza was sent slamming back into the wall as Jeremiah’s palm connected with his cheek.

“OW!” Jeremiah was holding his arm close to his chest. “Fuckedy, fucking, fuck! That hurts!”

“Good.” Kiaza shot back. He licked the boy’s blood from his long fangs, pressing his cheek softly with one hand. His scales were warm where Jeremiah had hit him. “Go away.”

“NO!”

“You just can’t take a hint can you?” Kiaza pushed himself off the wall and walked right up to the boy, mere fractions of space between them. “I left you. I didn’t bring you here or tell you to find me. I left you. It means I don’t want you!” Kiaza spat the words and smiled, pleased with himself at his vitriol. He was not prepared, therefore, when Jeremiah grabbed the back of his head with his good arm, and kissed him.

It was the sort of kiss Kiaza used on his prey. Jeremiah’s lips were firm against his own, his tongue not ceding any ground in its invasion of Kiaza’s mouth. The boy tasted like soot and oranges combined with the soft tang of himself, and the taint of anger and frustration. The overall effect, combined with the force of his kiss, made Kiaza suddenly dizzy. Jeremiah’s hand snaked down his scales, palm flat in the small of his back, pressing their bodies together. The heat from Jeremiah’s skin radiated into him and Kiaza entered back into full consciousness as he groaned into the human’s mouth.

They broke the kiss in order to draw breath, and Jeremiah grinned in a self-satisfied manner.

“See, that’s way better than fighting.”

Kiaza pushed him away again.

“No!”

“Oh, stop being ridiculous!” Jeremiah pulled him back. “Whatever power you think you have, it obviously doesn’t work on me. I want you, and you want me back, I can taste it.”

Kiaza smirked.

“You’ll lose that arm if you don’t do something fairly quick.”

Jeremiah looked down at the wrist which Kiaza had bitten. The skin around the two puncture marks was black, the holes themselves strangely large, red and swollen. His veins stood out in sharp dark relief against his skin.

“Oh fuck.” The experience of looking made him sway where he stood, his brain suddenly occupied with pain and fear. “What have you done to me?”

Kiaza had been expecting him to collapse, or beg for mercy; to cry or plead, but generally fall to his knees in worshipful terror. It was the appropriate response to a major demon, not the false and lively arrogance Jeremiah had shown him. The slender reptile was shocked when Jeremiah grabbed his wrist and dragged him bodily out of the den and into the main hallway of the house.

“Where is everybody?!” He demanded with a sharp tug. “You did this, you have to help me.”

“Trouble in paradise already?” Sitka was perched on the bannister, and his onyx eyes narrowed as he focused on the two of them. “Crap, Kia, what have you done?” The horned demon came trotting down the stairs to the human, and Jeremiah’s adrenaline was starting to slack off, leaving him looking slightly out of focus. “Fuck.” He caught the young man as he passed out and cradled his head on his own dark skinned chest. “Do you want him dead?”

“I…” Kiaza stopped. With very few exceptions, he had never really been unsure of anything in his entire life, but now he stood rooted to the carpet watching the poison from his fangs turn Jeremiah’s arm black. He was right, without something fast the boy was going to lose the arm, if not his life. “I don’t know.”

Sitka kicked him.

“Ow!”

“Look, Kiaza, you might be a major demon and I’m sorry but you need to wake up and make a fuckin’ choice. If you wanted this boy dead, I assumed you would kill him yourself. But he seems to have a hold on you, even if you don’t like that he does. Now do you want him dead?”

“No.”

“ZAI!” Kiaza followed his friend’s sudden dash into the kitchen. “You need to fix this.”

The grey furred demon broke apart from kissing his lover and looked down at Jeremiah’s body dumped on the kitchen surface. Tobias was already winding up to having a rant about people putting feet on his worktops.

“Kiaza, you gotta lose your temper less often.” Zai took a shallow stoneware bowl from a shelf. “This is going to be vile.”

Removing snake venom involved sucking and spitting, and lots of it. Zai drew out the thick ichor and spat it into the bowl in shiny globules before continuing to suck out contaminated blood. Only when the arm was free of distressing coloured veins and Jeremiah himself was starting to look rather pale, did he stop and lap at the open puncture wounds with his tongue. The skin sealed over until the only mark was a pair of soft pale bruises.

“I was right, that was disgusting. You owe me.”

“But…” Kiaza stared at his housemate as Zai dumped Jeremiah’s body unceremoniously in his arms.

“He’s your pet. You deal with him. Just don’t bite him again.” Zai waved as he wandered off. “Have fun Kiaza.”

“Fuck you.”

“No thanks.”

Kiaza looked down at the boy in his arms, and then realised how heavy he was. They fell to the floor in an undignified heap, and the snake followed the long lines of Jeremiah’s body with his eyes. Apart from in the club, he hadn’t really taken the time to absorb the way Jeremiah looked.

Asleep, he seemed soft and vulnerable, his lashes ridiculously long and dark against the pale skin of his cheek. He had a gentle smatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose which must have been covered up with make-up previously. Kiaza ran his fingers through the young man’s silk-soft hair and sighed gently. There was something fragile in his breathing, shallow and gentle, and the long line of his neck, the thinness of his wrist at that angle. He was somehow breakable.

But Kiaza didn’t want him. A human had shown up in hell, voluntarily, which never happened, and claimed he wanted Kiaza. Nothing good could come of this. If there had ever been a way back, for Kiaza to rebuild his relationship with Kiorl and Nassau, if he let Jeremiah into his world that wouldn’t be possible.

It’s not possible now. Kiaza sighed. Nassau hates you and Kiorl is in love with the idea of being in love.

Kiaza shuffled out from underneath the boy, and left him on the floor. He walked up the stairs towards his old room, and rapped his knuckles against the burn mark on the door.

“Come in.” Atoki was lying on the bed with his nose in a book, and Vruuaska was curled up, cat-like, on the thick pile rug near the fire. “Hey Kiaza.”

“Hi. Sorry.” Kiaza couldn’t remember the last time he’s actually apologised to anyone. “Can I borrow your fluffy friend there?”

“Erm…” Atoki frowned. “Sure.” He slithered across the bed and began to brush the top of Vruuaska skull. “Wake up sweetheart. Kiaza wants a favour.” The big leonine wolf snuffled and pushed his muzzle under his huge paws. “Come on, get up.”

“Babe?”

“Kiaza needs you to do something.”

“Erm… yeah.” Kiaza started rather hard at the opposite stone wall. The pair of them were adorably sweet together, and they’d made enough marks on the room that Kiaza was sure he did not want it back. His eyes travelled down the thick white scrape where Vruuaska’s horn had scarred the wall. “Could you take Jeremiah to Kiorl’s room? I can’t carry him.”

“Well, sure.” The ash furred demon got up, shook himself and resolved into his rather more bipedal shape. “You’re gonna actually sleep up there tonight?”

He didn’t.

Kiaza spent more than an hour staring at the shape of the sleeping boy in the big dish shaped bed, the sort Kiorl had always favoured and that Kiaza had never gotten used to, before vanishing downstairs. He tucked himself up in the hearth arms wrapped around his knees, and tried to fall asleep.

Sleep did not come.

All he could think of was the young man asleep upstairs. Sitka had been right, and if Kiaza has really wanted Jeremiah dead, nothing would have stopped him. Not size, or desire or physical strength. Nothing. It wasn’t like he hadn’t killed many people before. And leaving his victims writhing in the ultimate pain and pleasure loop wasn’t something he’d ever lost sleep over either. He was a demon, and it was his job.

Jeremiah complicated everything. Kiaza didn’t even want to phrase the thought in his head, let alone put it into actual words, but he hadn’t been able to think of anything other than the boy since he’d returned home. He had tried to distract himself well enough, but always there in the back of his mind was the weird knowledge that Jeremiah hadn’t been the one to come out of their union worst off. It had been such a simple equation: take a man home, get warm, get happy, fuck him until the point of no return, and leave him there. He’d done it hundreds of times, possibly thousands, but he couldn’t explain why Jeremiah was different.

The thought of the boy upstairs in the bed made him shiver despite the flames. Jeremiah would be warm, soft and hard all at the same time, his skin smooth and supple and delicious. Kiaza could go up there now, kiss the boy until he was completely out to breath and then have his world rocked apart again by the motion of the young man’s hips.

Suddenly the idea wasn’t enough, and Kiaza wanted something physical to hold onto. He’s not jerked off in centuries, there was no need, and it was with a certain amount of trepidation that he slithered his palm down his front to touch himself. He hissed, the flickering of his forked tongue in the dry heat of the fire, and wrapped his fingers carefully around the hard length of his cock. He was not barbed like Kiorl, or thick and scaly like Inai was, and Kiaza had never considered his cock to be anything very special. Not very long, or very thick, with soft pinkish skin, protruding from a gently ridged opening in his scales. Kiaza sighed as he stroked himself, swiping ichor from his fangs over his fingers and touching them to the softly pointed tip. He couldn’t even recall the last time he had done this.

He filled his mind with anything other than Jeremiah, desperate to think of Kiorl and Nassau; the fun and pleasure they used to have. But his brain was being tricksy, and kept returning to the young human. What he wouldn’t give for Jeremiah’s toned flesh under his hands. His thighs parted and clenched, yearning to be pushed apart and invaded. Only Nassau had ever taken him like that, exposed and on his back, driving into him with the full force of power and possession. And now he wanted it again.

Kiaza spread the thick venom from his fangs over his thumb and pushed his hand under his arse. It was embarrassing how much he wanted the boy, the silly human who should have meant nothing and somehow meant everything. With no one around to judge him apart from himself inside his own brain, Kiaza panted Jeremiah’s name as he worked into himself. He screwed shut his eyes and imagined Jeremiah ploughing into him, hands wrapped around his hips, working into his body over and over until he was sated and happy. Afterwards they might lie together, Kiaza would wrap around him for warmth and contact, and they would talk. Just as he realised he was imagining a life rather than a delightful fucking, Kiaza came, unexpectedly and messily, all over himself.