Rook's Demon

by JC Holly

  He sighed. “Hand. Then when the barista noticed, Damon told him what he was doing.”

  Carly’s jaw dropped. “Seriously? Holy shit, that’s baaad.”

  Rook shrugged. “Oh, I dunno. It was kind of exhilarating.”

  “I meant ‘baaad’ in a good way.”

  “That’s pretty much what I said, too.” He chewed his lip. “Risky, though. Could’ve got arrested.”

  “And that’s what makes it fun, dummy. The thrill.”

  Rook raised an eyebrow. “I take it you’ve done similar, then.”

  “Nothing more than bathroom stalls, occasionally with the door open, but one of these days I’ll find myself a nice pervert...” She wandered back to the cashier’s desk as someone walked into the door. “It’s the dream, anyway.”

  “I’m sure.” Rook stood and waved the man over. “Brooks, right?”

  The man nodded, and Rook retrieved the chosen design from his filing cabinet and fed it into the machine that turned it into a transferrable stencil. It wasn’t a difficult tattoo, but his mind was still on Damon. The stencil made life easier.

  Damon had been quite the dinner date, even excluding the public hand job. Friendly, talkative, and obviously gorgeous. Quite the man. There seemed to be endless depth to him. His eyes were those of someone who’d seen a lot, perhaps even too much. It was curious how he managed to seem so worldly when he was only a few years older than Rook.

  “Let’s get this applied,” he muttered as he placed the stencil on the man’s bare shoulder. “How’s that?”

  “Looks good,” the man said with a nod. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  Rook peeled back the paper, leaving the tattoo marked on the man’s flesh. He sat forward in his chair, and found his back didn’t complain like it normally did. Bit of luck. He scooted it over a little for a better position then started work.

  He should have kept his mind on the job, but he’d done similar stuff so many times that he didn’t really need to. Besides, the guy’s shoulder reminded Rook of Damon’s body. All those scars—it had looked like someone had gone at him with a barber’s razor, or a rapier. Damon had said something about being a soldier, but who the hell fights with swords these days? Why mess around for five minutes parrying blows when you can cut someone in half with a machine gun before they even pull a blade?

  Maybe Damon had made that up. Maybe they were from something else. Abusive parents? Months spent as a hostage? A kidnapping gone wrong? Rook smirked. Now I’m just making shit up.

  He distracted himself from that line of thought with another. Namely, the hand job. He’d never done anything like that before. Sat out in a public place while Damon worked his cock, and even told the waiter. And that wasn’t the crazy part. The crazy part was that Rook had got off on it. The thrill of being out, where anyone could see. People sat nearby, wondering why Damon was leaned at a funny angle and why Rook was pulling odd faces...

  “So, uh, been tattooing long?”

  Rook came back to the here and now. “Hmm?”

  “I said have you been doing this for long?”

  “Oh.” Pay attention, Rook! “Yeah, a good few years now.”

  The man started to talk about his experiences with other tattooists, and Rook forced himself to converse. Fantasizing about Damon would have to wait.

  * * * *

  Damon threw down his pen and leaned back in his chair. The last invoice was filed, and the accounts were done. He flexed his writing hand while his other massaged his tired eyes. Normally, something so mundane wouldn’t cause an issue, but he’d not slept at all last night and had been distracted throughout the whole afternoon and evening, making the work twice as hard.

  “I should hire an accountant.” He smirked. “Wonder if Rook is any good with figures.”

  He had a good figure, and Damon was looking forward to seeing it in action again, but that was hardly the same thing. For a moment he mused on whether he should call Rook and arrange something but thought better of it almost instantly. Let the grass grow a little before replowing. Besides, it was late.

  Of course, his penis had other ideas and began to strain at his fly at the thought of meeting up with Rook’s ass again. Damon unzipped his pants and eased his rapidly hardening cock free. He licked his palm and moistened his thumb then began working his now rock-hard cock, occasionally rubbing his thumb over the head. He started slow, daydreaming about kissing Rook and running his hands down the man’s torso. His fingers found the man’s belt and worked it loose, his pants dropping to the floor as Damon turned him around and bent him over. Damon sped his strokes as he imagined sliding his cock deep into Rook’s tight ass, feeling the warmth and pressure. He was just about to come when someone knocked on the office door, making him jump.

  “What is it?” he called, his tone sharp.

  “Uh, we need you on the floor, boss. It’s crazy busy.”

  Damon sighed and readjusted his pants. “There in a minute.”

  The bar was indeed jumping. Despite the customers and pounding music, though, Damon couldn’t tear his mind from Rook. Kissing Rook, touching Rook, fucking Rook. Telling Rook I’m actually a centuries-old demon that feeds on sexual energy...

  Damn it.

  Chapter Seven

  The next day was a pleasant one for Rook. The day was warm, the ground was dry, and business was light. Ordinarily the last part was a problem, but it had been a good month on average, so the odd light day was no big deal.

  Carly had arrived ten minutes late, citing traffic as her excuse. Rook shrugged it away, and the pair settled behind the cash register with donuts and large, overpriced coffees with too much foam from the nearby drive-through.

  “So,” Carly said, as she thumped her legs onto the desk. “Did you call Damon last night?”

  Rook blew on his coffee. “Should I have done?”

  “Well, it’s not law, but you two get on well, and the sex is good, so why not?”

  “I thought I’d try and play it cool.”

  Carly raised an eyebrow. “Why the hell would you do that? Get on that cock and ride it till it’s soft, ya jackass!”

  Rook choked on his coffee, spurting the hot water over his hand. “You’re so eloquent, Carls.”

  “I’m just saying that you haven’t got any in a long time, and you should try and make the most of it.”

  He wiped his hand on his jeans. “But I want more, Carly.”

  “More?”

  “Like a relationship?” He sighed. “He’s a great guy, and I’d like to see how far we go. Sex is all well and good, but it’s nothing without something to back it up.”

  “That’s where our opinions differ, boss.” She grinned. “But I know what you mean. Can I make a serious suggestion?”

  “Sure. But if it’s about riding him again, the rest of my coffee is going in your lap.”

  “Call him up. Invite him over for a meal. Cook, talk, eat, cozy up on the couch.”

  Rook smiled. “Y’know, that’s actually a good idea. God knows you were due.”

  Carly punched him in the arm. “Hey! All my ideas are good.”

  “All your ideas are about sex.”

  “And sex is good. Duh.” She dropped her feet back to the floor. “Call him while I go pee. That way you won’t be distracted by my need for vicarious filth.”

  Carly wandered off to the back of the shop and disappeared into the bathroom. Rook eyed the phone. It was still pretty early in the day, so Damon would have time to prepare, but not so much time that he’d feel obliged to say yes. He could easily come up with an excuse. Stop sabotaging yourself, idiot. He picked up the phone and chewed his lip as he listened to the dial tone.

  “Do it,” he muttered, then dialed.

  The phone was answered on the third ring by a voice Rook didn’t recognize. “Black Velvet, how can I help you?”

  “Uh, hi. Can I speak to Damon, please?”

  “What is it regarding?”

  “I’m a friend.”

>   There was a pause. “Nothing personal, but we get a lot of callers claiming to be a friend of the owner. You’ll need to do better than that.”

  Rook tried not to roll his eyes at the handset. “Okay, then, it’s Rook. I’m his tattooist.”

  “One moment, please.”

  The line went quiet for a minute before Damon’s silky voice came on the line. “Rook. How are you?”

  “Pretty good, thanks. Get a lot of crank calls or something?”

  He chuckled. “Lots of people trying to get on guest lists, and a few one-nighters trying to wrangle their way into a second date.”

  “Well, I hope I don’t fall into the first category, and I really hope I don’t qualify for the second, either.”

  “I don’t drink coffee with one-night stands.”

  “I’m relieved,” Rook joked, though it felt good to hear him say it. “Listen, are you free tonight? Around seven or eight?”

  “I have a shift, but I can get someone in to cover. Advantage to owning the place. What do you have in mind?”

  Rook chewed his lip for a moment. “I was thinking you could come over to my place and I’d attempt to cook for you.”

  “Attempt?”

  “Well, I’m not the greatest chef in the world. Maybe takeout would be better.”

  Damon laughed. “I have a better idea. How about you come to my place and I cook you something.”

  “Oh, you think you’re a better chef than me, do you?”

  “I do a handful of dishes really well, and I’m passable at the rest. Also, my place is close to the fire station in case something burns down. Or you decide you want a fireman to join us in the bedroom.”

  Rook lipped his lips. “I didn’t say anything about sex.”

  Damon’s voice lowered. “What makes you think you have a choice?”

  Rook’s stomach lurched in a delicious way. The memory of Damon taking charge, making Rook do exactly what he said...“Yes, master.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.” Damon laughed. “We’ll see how it goes anyway. I’m not the kind of person who takes what he wants unless I’ve got permission. I’m not a monster, you know.”

  They joked a little more then decided upon seven thirty, which gave Rook a couple of hours to prepare after closing, and Damon gave directions to his place. Rook hung up and looked at the address he’d written down. It was a little way out of town, in one of the fancier areas.

  “You can come out now,” he called toward the bathroom. “I’m sure you heard it all.”

  Carly’s head poked out from around the bathroom door. “You bet your ass I did, master.”

  Rook’s stomach lurched for a second time in as many minutes, this time less pleasantly. “I, uh, well, we...uh...”

  She grinned and flicked her hair to the other side of her neck. “Chill, boss. Been there, done that, still got the ball gag.”

  He tried not to sigh in relief. “Is there anything you haven’t done?”

  She frowned and counted off on her fingers. “Just got public and watersports left, I think, and there’s no fucking way I’m doing watersports.”

  “Yeah, me neither. Though if Damon wanted to try something in the back of a speedboat...”

  “You’re an idiot, boss.”

  “Yup.” Rook grinned and swigged the last of his coffee. “Why else would I hire you?”

  She shrugged. “Fair point. My killer ass and perky tits are somewhat lost on you, after all.”

  “That they are, Carls. That they are.”

  * * * *

  Damon stepped out of his portal into his bedroom at twenty past seven and immediately started to change into something else. His relief staff had come in late, and he’d barely managed to get out the door before Rook arrived. He glanced out the window at the driveway and was relieved to find that Rook hadn’t come early.

  He stripped everything off and threw it into the corner, then pulled on a pair of silk boxers and began to rifle through his wardrobe. The night was casual, but it was also important. It was the first time that he and Rook would be completely alone. No bar staff, no customers, no nearby coffee drinkers or baristas. Just him, Rook, a meal, and a bottle of wine.

  After a few frantic minutes he decided on something simple. Black dress slacks and a black shirt. Casual, but not too casual. He ran a comb through his hair then shook his head vigorously to mess it up again, then jogged down the stairs just as a car crunched to a halt on the gravel outside.

  “Damn it,” he said, as he opened a portal.

  He jumped through into the club’s darkened storeroom and plucked a bottle of red wine from a shelf, then dived back through to his house. The portal disappeared again with a flash of light, just before the doorbell rang.

  Damon opened the door to find Rook standing there, a slightly bemused expression on his face.

  “Did you see that?”

  Damon’s heart sped. “See what?”

  “A bright flash of light just before I rang the bell.”

  “Oh, that. Yeah, I turned the hall light on and the bulb blew. No biggie, I’ll sort it later.”

  Rook nodded and Damon waved him into the house, before chastising himself for using a portal so close by.

  “You normally greet visitors with wine?” Rook asked with a grin.

  Damon glanced down and realized he was still holding the bottle. “Oh! I heard the car as I was about to open it. Have to let this stuff breathe a bit before drinking it. You look good, by the way.”

  He wasn’t just saying it to change the subject, either. Rook was in navy-blue cargo pants, with a lighter-blue tee under a thin jacket. Suddenly, Damon felt overdressed.

  “So do you,” Rook replied, as he took off his jacket and hung it on a hook near the door. “So, what are we dining on tonight?”

  “I was thinking steak, if you’ve no objections?”

  He grinned. “I never say no to a mouthful of meat.”

  Damon pointed toward the kitchen. “That’ll keep me occupied while I fry the steaks, then.”

  Rook laughed and headed down the hallway toward the kitchen door. “Hell of a place you have here.”

  “Thanks. It was left to me after my parents died.”

  In actual fact he’d bought it with cash after selling a vase he’d bought three hundred years ago. That was a tale for another day, though. Assuming that when he worked up the nerve to tell Rook, the man didn’t run a mile or try to exorcise him.

  “Well, it’s beautiful.” Rook stepped into the kitchen. “Wow.”

  Damon stepped in behind him and pointed Rook to one of the barstools that sat by the worktop that separated the kitchen and dining room. “Thanks. I had it modernized a while back. It’s got a microwave and everything now.”

  Rook laughed. “I hope you’re not intending on microwaving the steaks.”

  “Tried that. Didn’t go well.” Damon dropped the bottle of wine onto the worktop then pulled a corkscrew from a drawer. “Drink?”

  Rook nodded. “Not going to let it breathe, then?”

  “Eh, I decided against it. Slows down the boozing.”

  “Well, I’m all for boozing. I can always call a cab if I need to.”

  Damon raised an eyebrow. “You mean you’re not staying the night?”

  Rook grinned. “Only if you treat me right.”

  “Oh, I intend to be the perfect gentleman.”

  “Then I might as well leave now.” He took the proffered glass of wine. “That’s no fun at all.”

  Damon laughed and began to chop an onion and a handful of mushrooms. “So, not much of a cook, hmm?”

  “Not so much, no. I can do the basics and a pretty good stew, but that’s about it. I tend to order out a lot.” He sipped at his wine, and Damon found it hard to keep his eyes off the man’s lips. “So, where did you learn to cook?”

  “I was a chef in a small restaurant for a few years. I picked most of it up on the job, really. Started as an assistant and worked my way up.”


  The restaurant had been in France at the turn of the last century, but most of the cooking rules still applied. The water didn’t have to be boiled so thoroughly, though.

  “Quite the life you’ve led. You must have started very young.”

  Damon just nodded. “How do you like your steak?”

  “However it comes.”

  “Works for me.” He slapped two steaks into the frying pan. “Oh, I decided on the tattoo placement.

  “Don’t tell me. Shoulder.”

  He grinned. “Yup. Will you be able to book me in soon?”

  Rook nodded. “Anything for my master.”

  He’d obviously said it as a joke, but just the word had Damon’s pulse speed a little. It’d be hard to get through dinner without relief, especially given that his “alone time” earlier was aborted. He’d not found time after to finish what he started, and he could feel the pressure building. On top of that, the two portals had used a little more energy than he’d have liked.

  “That a fact?” He flipped the steaks, his expression neutral.

  Rook hesitated then quickly nodded.

  “Well, in that case...” Damon licked his bottom lip. “Suck my cock. Now.”

  Rook had obviously expected something along those lines, as he was up on his feet and around to Damon’s side of the worktop in seconds. Eager to please. Nice. He leaned in to Damon, who did the same and planted a powerful kiss on the man’s lips, pushing his tongue against them until he opened his mouth. Their tongues met and Damon explored Rook’s mouth as Rook did the same. The food forgotten about for the moment, their hands explored each other’s bodies, questing, touching, stroking.

  Damon broke the kiss first and placed his hands on Rook’s shoulders. “On your knees.”

  The man obliged, a wave of sexual energy pouring off him. Damon could have taken him then and there with no complaints. Instead, he let the man unbuckle his jeans and bit his lip as Rook’s fingers found his cock and pulled it free from his boxers.

  He hardened fast, and Rook licked his lips and moved in. With one hand Damon turned the steaks down to a lower heat, and with the other he stopped Rook.

  “No. Just open your mouth and stay still.”