Iblis’ Affliction

by Nero Seal

  “Follow me.” Metal jiggled in Master’s voice, turned blood in Slater’s veins into liquid ice.

  “Master?” Getting to his knees, he fidgeted. Their eyes met. The blood drained from Slater’s face, as Talha’s amber glare was colder than ever before.

  “Don’t talk.” Void of emotion, Talha’s voice came out flat. Slater reached into his memory to replay it and analyze the intonation, but Talha strolled down the corridor.

  Dread snaked down his spine and curled in his stomach, making him believe that as soon as Talha disappeared from his field of vision the illusion would disperse, and once again he would be stuck in the hospital room, all alone. Hurrying after Master, he tried to contain his unsettled emotions, but as soon as he looked up at Talha’s back, his heart ached making him feel like dying. So he kept trailing behind with his gaze glued to Talha’s shoes and his heart drumming in his ears, louder with every step he took.

  The metal doors of the elevator closed behind him, making his muscles hurt from spasming. He couldn’t relax even if he tried to. Standing within arm’s reach yet unable to touch Master wrenched out his every nerve, but it didn’t seem to disturb Talha. His breathing remained calm and rhythmical, his face—a mask of dispassion, and his eyes looking straight ahead of him.

  Slater rarely feared anything, as fear was tantamount to a weakness. However, he couldn’t ignore the dense ball of apprehension that formed in the pit of his stomach, that as soon as Master started talking, he would tell him to go away.

  Slater wanted Master to keep silent forever, yet, he couldn’t bear the mind-numbing stillness anymore. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, to break this silence but closed it, unable to break Talha’s order. Sucking the air through his nose, he inhaled the faint smell of bitter almond and leather, mixed with warm notes of freshly brewed coffee.

  His stomach clenched. He missed this scent and the warmth of Talha’s skin, the sting of Talha’s teeth clenching over his collarbone, the boiling amber of his eyes, brimming with lust and something else Slater could never name.

  This is stupid… Slater opened his mouth again, determined to speak, but the doors hissed open. Talha stepped out, never looking back. Dropping his chin, Slater followed. He kept silent all the way from the hospital to the car, and grounded his teeth when Master pointed to the rear passenger seat.

  The absence of bodyguards didn’t escape his attention, nor did the fact that Talha took the wheel. He rarely drove alone, meaning he didn’t want prying eyes watching them. Slater’s heart raced.

  Fixing his eyes at the reflection in the rearview mirror, he burned his Master’s face with his thirsty stare. With all his being, he wished for Talha to look at him, but the amber eyes were focused on the road. Not even once did they stray to Slater.

  The familiar contours of the mansion, surfacing behind the window, made his jaw hurt with pressure. Fingers crumpling the sleeves of his black shirt, he watched Talha guide the car through the gates and park it in front of the main entrance. Unsure what to do, Slater scrutinized every move of his master, searching for a sign or mute order, but Talha unfastened his seat belt and got out of the car. Watching Master’s powerful frame disappear behind the doors, Slater stumbled after.

  His soft shoes silently skidded over the marble floor and stairs, as he followed Talha upstairs. The insignificant flickers of the bloody night his memory provided added to his anxiety. He didn’t register entering the office but startled when the door shut behind him.

  For four long weeks, he’d waited for this meeting, aching to see Talha and hear his voice. To fall on his knees and press his forehead to his master’s hand and stay like this forever. Now, paralyzed under Talha’s executive glare, he didn’t dare breathe.

  “You know, four weeks weren’t nearly enough for me to face you and remain calm,” Talha said, and Slater’s stomach cramped. Sinking to his knees, he dropped his gaze; his fingers curling over his lap. Talha sighed and picked up a slim folder from the windowsill behind him. “Take this and disappear.”

  “What?” Slater’s head jerked up before he realized it, and a gun fell into the picture. The black, matte metal absorbed the bright daylight, as it rested on the edge of the windowsill, handle forward. Slater’s eyes strained as he searched for a shadow of a smile on Talha’s face but read only determination.

  “This is your bank account information with payments for every kill you did for me. This should be enough for you to start over. Take this and leave the country tonight,” Talha said, tossing the folder toward the ripper. It fell on the floor a few feet away from his knee. “Pick it up and go away.”

  Slater is dreaming. This isn’t real… Slater gaped at the brown paper folder.

  “No.” He barely heard himself say, forcing his stinging eyes to look up. “Slater won’t leave.”

  “Then you die,” Talha said matter-of-factly, examining his nails, as if the non-existent dirt he could find under them was more interesting than Slater. “You don’t have a choice.”

  Slater narrowed his eyes, then cocked his head in denial. Master can’t mean it…

  Refusing to believe it, Slater swallowed and carefully pressed his palm to the hardwood floor in front of him. Cold and dusty, it wore the evidence of desolation.

  Did Master lose everything and now can’t afford a maid? But he didn’t hang on the thought for long as it mattered not. Historically, money, power, and influence had always changed hands like a cheap, syphilitic whore, infecting the world. Illusive, they bore no value for him, because he knew that the real power was silent, invisible, yet deadly—like his karambit.

  “Don’t fucking move!” Talha warned, but Slater put the other hand forward, making the first crawling step toward Talha. Eyes glowing with hatred, Talha shouted, “I said, don’t fucking move!”

  That was new. Master rarely raised his voice and never yelled. Slater froze, facing the muzzle of a gun pointed at his eye. He flinched, as realization sank in. Master isn’t joking. Master doesn’t want Slater anymore.

  Talha’s cheek twitched as he started talking in a hurried, feverish manner. Never before had Slater seen Talha so agitated. “You don’t even realize what you have done. What your actions cost me. I’m not even talking about money, but the people who trusted me, worked for me? Zaal... You baked him like a fucking pig when all he had ever done was protecting you from yourself. He was one of ours, Slater!”

  “Slater missed Master.” Taking another crawling step, he feasted on Talha’s emotion. Potent and rich, they painted the world in bright colors, making him feel alive. His chest felt so full he thought he was dying. He almost smiled, realizing that Talha was mad, not indifferent. He could deal with anger, but not with disdain.

  “Shut up.” Finger, gliding over the matte steel, removed the safety.

  “Slater will do everything for Master...”

  “Do what? What else can you possibly do?” Talha laughed. His eyes so bright, they shimmered with a touch of insanity. Talha shook his head, took a long breath, and rubbed his brow with the heel of his armed hand, the barrel stirring his hair strands. When he spoke again, his voice sounded calm. “You don’t even realize what you’ve done, do you? Dogs like you don’t have remorse. Even if I could have forgiven you for losing London, I can’t forgive the bloodshed and what you did to me.”

  A grimace of disappointment seized Talha’s face. Slater hated seeing the hard lines around Master’s mouth, the thinned out upper lip, and his narrowed eyes. The bitter smell of Talha’s emotions reminded Slater of Camilla’s decaying head. He hated it. To fix it, he said, “Slater missed Master.”

  Talha ignored him. Slater’s mind trailed sinking in the memory.

  The claw-knife notching Talha’s chest… the sweet taste of his blood... the warmth of his body… the almost painful contractions of his passage. Slater didn’t regret a single thing as he stored those visions in the depth of his memory, making them sacred.

  Warmth crawled under Slater’s skin as he knew
that master carried his marks on his body, under his white linen shirt. The marks that would remain on Master’s chest forever.

  Mine… Master is mine. No one else can touch him. No one else will ever touch him. Only Slater.

  “I don’t need you anymore,” Talha whispered. “We are done. Leave now, or I’ll shoot you.”

  Ignoring his words, Slater slowly advanced toward Talha’s shoe. A burning need to touch his master’s skin shredded his chest more painfully than a bullet could ever do. “Slater won’t go anywhere. Slater will stay with Master.”

  “Stay back,” Talha croaked, swallowing hard. His finger found the trigger but didn’t pull it.

  Slater inched forward. His forehead bumped against Talha’s knee as he squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his chest to the floor.

  “Master belongs to Slater.” With a flat tongue, Slater licked Talha’s beige leather shoe, before rubbing his cheek against his shin then higher, against his knee, then further, until his pupils locked with the liquid fire of the amber eyes. “Master can’t have anyone else.”

  “Back off.” The muzzle shifted, and the cold barrel pressed to Slater’s forehead.

  “Even if Master hates Slater, there is no escape. Slater will go nowhere. Slater will do everything for Master. If Master wants Slater to disappear, Master should pull the trigger now.” Latching onto Talha’s pants, Slater tugged his body upward. His cheek rubbed against the cold metal as he stared Talha in the eye. His mouth opened, and his tongue trailed the black metal of the gun before he closed his lips around the barrel, the way he would do around Talha’s cock. Pulling away, he circled the tip with his tongue then pressed a wet kiss on the side before taking the barrel into his mouth again.

  Confusion erased the hardness of Master’s glare, and a light pink colored his cheekbones. The apple of his throat jumped when he swallowed.

  Yes, Master, look at Slater.

  “You are useless to me.” Hoarse and low, Talha’s voice lacked certainty. He shoved Slater away with his knee.

  Teeth clanged against the metal, before the handle of the gun crushed down to Slater’s cheek. Bright spots stained his vision, and ringing reverberated in his ears when he whacked against the floor, blinking the pain away. Electric jolts rushed from his teeth to his nape as a metallic taste flooded his mouth. Swallowing blood, he glared up.

  Talha’s eyes glinted with metal. “Step away. For weeks, I was trying to come up with an excuse for you, but I couldn’t find a single reason why I should keep you alive. And now, I don’t even know why I talk to you… You never listen. You say things I want to hear without meaning them, because they got you out of trouble too many times. You think sex and beating can solve everything, but this time is different. This isn’t working. I should have killed you long ago.”

  Slater’s eyes twitched. With shaking hands, he clasped Talha’s pants. Master didn’t push him away, allowing his palm to slap his chest, as the ripper brushed his nose against his hips. When his face leveled the tanned belt, Talha fisted his hair. Tugging onto his scalp, he bent Slater backward as he bent forward.

  The pressure in Slater’s spine sent jolts of pain to his head, forcing a hiss out of his throat. Slater’s spine vibrated as he stared into the boiling voids of Talha’s amber eyes. The muzzle pressed to the side of his throat, as Talha inched closer. Their eyes leveled. The air between them heated with their breathing.

  “Name one reason why I should let you live.”

  Slater froze, mesmerized. Master’s eyes resembled gems. Bright and rich, the color stratified to dozens of fractions, each darker than the next. Slater thought that if one day he killed Master, he would certainly keep his eyes, so he could look at them forever. Without thinking, Slater curled his toes. Fisting Master’s shirt he tugged himself upward, colliding his bleeding mouth with Talha’s lips. A gasp of surprise crashed against his teeth as Slater opened his mouth wider, licking Talha’s lips. Fisting the corners of Master’s shirt, he forced himself deeper into the kiss.

  Blissful warmth and softness welcomed him, as Talha timidly replied to the needy, awkward flexes of his jaw. Sweet and tender, the kiss melted his organs with heat. The familiar weakness kisses always instilled in him made his limbs tremble. Usually, he would hate it, but now he welcomed it with all his soul, wanting to feel Master more.

  “Slater is weak,” he whispered into Talha’s mouth, never breaking the eye contact. Talha’s pupils blew, turning irises into boiling rings of magma. Before Master could bounce back from a shock, Slater added, “Slater loves Master…”

  The painful grip at the back of his head weakened, as Talha pulled away. His lips red and glistening with the mix of Slater’s blood and saliva.

  “Shut up. You don’t know what love is,” Talha said, but his words lacked strength, coming out breathy and shaky. “You only say it because you think it is what I want to hear.”

  “Slater loves Master…” Voice barely above a whisper, he inhaled the painfully familiar smell of bitter almond and rubbed his face against Talha’s abs. The rough linen fabric of the white shirt chaffed his cheek. “Slater will kill anyone who stands in Slater’s way. Slater isn’t sorry, because Slater will do it again if Master touches someone else.”

  Talha’s eyes softened. The ever-present attention returned to the depth of his pupils, as he examined Slater’s face with concern.

  “Slater will drown the world in blood… for Master.” Slater swallowed, devouring Talha’s lips with his eyes. “There is no escape. Give up.”

  “You are fucking trouble…” The warm breath played over Slater’s chin as Talha leaned into the ripper and brushed his lips against Slater’s. The slippery tongue wormed its way into his mouth as the amber eyes closed shut. Possessive and impatient, two palms fisted Slater’s hair, one still holding the gun. Slater didn’t mind. The cool surface of the metal chilled his throbbing temple, making it easier for him to concentrate.

  Fighting the small tremors settling into his body, he dropped his eyelids closed, watching Master through his lashes. Swimming in ecstasy and erupting passion, he thought that as long as Slater was Master’s only weakness it would be fine, just like Master was Slater’s.

  The tight ball of pressure building up in his chest, detonated and killed a million small, unsettled thoughts with sharp shards of pure, raw lust.

  “Slater will do everything for Master,” he breathed into Talha’s mouth and closed his eyes.

  Talha’s lips curled into a smile under the kiss, before repeating, “So fucking troublesome…”

  I’M SO FUCKED… The thought melted in a heartbeat, as he pressed his tongue to Slater’s chin and dragged it toward his mouth. Imprinting a wet kiss to his bottom lip, he waited for Slater to relax his jaw, before lapping his tongue over his slick teeth. Sweet breath ricocheted in his throat when his tongue slipped deeper, engaging Slater in a kiss.

  His chest so full he could barely breathe. He didn’t know why he felt this weird elation because Slater’s words had always lacked weight. Incapable of deep emotion, Slater didn’t know what love was, so his confessions meant nothing. Yet, Talha couldn’t care less.

  Swallowing the metallic taste of Slater’s blood, he traced the rim of his lips, blindly searching for a cut in the ripper’s mouth with the tip of his tongue. Locating on the inner side of his cheek, an inch away from the left corner of his mouth, it oozed with electric saltiness.

  Running his tongue over it, he soothed the cut with light, gentle licks, every moment expecting for a knife to nick his throat, as had happened before. And for the first time in years, Talha wondered if this madness had a future.

  Trying to retain the remains of common sense, he pulled back, and his head emptied. Eyes shimmering with need, Slater’s skin glowed with the color of arousal.

  “More, Master,” the sinful mouth begged, glistening with saliva and blood.

  Talha squeezed his eyes so hard they felt like bursting, before opening them again, but the illusion didn’t evaporate.
On his knees, needy and shameless, Slater ran his tongue over his bottom lip.

  Talha needed that lewd mouth to clasp around his thickness to subdue the burning pain that spasmed his balls. Cock straining hard, it chafed against the rough fabric of his linen pants, and even the thin layer of his cotton underwear didn’t save his sensitive head from the painful sensation.

  To distract himself from the gravity pull coming from Slater’s indecent body, he brought the gun up and outlined the contour of the young face with the muzzle. Trembling with need, Slater was so beautiful. His desperate hands kept clinging to Talha’s shirt, building an impression that the ripper would collapse once his fingers grew weaker. Thick veins pumped with blood at the top of his hands. Bending around his whitened knuckles, they rushed up his forearms, the old burns like islands among them.

  So fucking beautiful… Guiding the tip of the gun over the swollen lips, Talha couldn’t stop thinking how prettily the weapon contrasted with Slater’s skin. Even if the ripper hated it; especially because he hated it.

  “So, you like guns, after all?” he asked, his voice drenched with lust.

  Curiosity, alertness, heat—everything mixed in the pupils, dilated with need, when Slater purred, “Master’s only.”

  “Was it delicious?”

  Slater’s eyes flared with mischief. His lips parted to reply, but Talha had already changed his mind.

  “Shhh.” Bringing the barrel to Slater’s mouth, he ordered, “Keep your mouth busy.”

  Without hesitation, Slater teased the barrel with the tip of his tongue. Lips caressing the steel, he let the length slip down his throat before pulling back. Eyes hooded, he repeated it over and over, inflaming Talha’s blood with his lustful gaze.

  Trunks clung to his leaking cock, and all thoughts abandoned him, as his everything concentrated on the slow movements of Slater’s mouth. A stupid, all-consuming envy toward the gun devastated. That greedy, possessive mouth should have been all over his cock, but every movement of Slater’s tongue was directed to the senseless steel.