Warlocks of West Hollywood : The Newcomer

by J. S. Crowley

  He’s leading me down a side street, and it seems like there isn’t much here save for a gas station and a few apartment buildings. Maybe he’s taking me back to his…?

  “The hottest place in town,” he says.

  Which I sort of doubt, because the crowd is definitely going the other direction and when I open my senses up, I don’t feel any mass of fantasies up ahead.

  Once again, I don’t feel him either.

  “I should probably warn you not to do that,” he says. He looks over his shoulder at me, and although he smiles there’s a note of seriousness in those eyes. “Most people don’t like you prying around in their head.”

  I stumble.

  Try to save face.

  “Most people don’t know when I do.”

  He chuckles. My semi goes stiff again.

  “These people will,” he says.

  Then he reaches back and grabs my erect cock, makes a purring noise in the back of his throat.

  “Mmm, I’m going to have a lot of fun with you,” he says.

  When he lets go of my dick, I moan; the lack of his touch is almost painful.

  “Good boy,” he says.

  We’re around the back of the nightclub, now, facing an apartment building that looks like any other. He strides toward it. There’s a part of me that wonders if I should back out now. He seems to know more about me than I do about him, and that’s a power dynamic I’m definitely not used to. The rest of me likes it. He has me in the palm of his hand. I want that to continue. In more ways than one.

  I follow.

  Is this one of those exclusive house parties I’d been having wet dreams about? One where models and porn stars come to play with the rich and powerful?

  He goes up to the door and presses his thumb against the keypad.

  The door buzzes unlocked, and he opens it for me.

  “After you,” he says with the bow of his head.

  I’m speechless.

  Not from the act of chivalry, though it’s admittedly flattering. But because the door in no way opens up to a regular apartment building.

  The walls are rough stone and heavy red light seethes below, fog and bass pulsing up from the depths.

  “What is this?” I whisper in astonishment.

  “Welcome to Ifrit,” Parker says. He walks past and grabs my hand. I swear sparks dance between our palms. My heart and cock lurch. “Come, boy,” he says again.

  Oh, I want to. So badly.

  4

  Ifrit is like no club I’ve been to before.

  I can also tell it’s like no other club in LA.

  Iron bars line the walls along the stairwell. A flight down, and the walls open up into cages with gogo boys in black speedos and spiraling tattoos gyrating to the music. I slow down to stare and Parker eases up the pace.

  These guys are hot.

  Not just sexy, but hot. The heat radiating from them makes me sweat. Okay, maybe the way they move is making me sweat, too, but I swear they’re like furnaces. The guy next to me—skin dark and covered in pearl-white tattoos—grabs the bars and squats low, moving his hips so sinuously he can’t have actual joints. A moan purrs in the back of my throat. His eyes don’t leave mine. Black, black eyes. White sharp teeth. He smiles and licks his lips and my cock throbs painfully with want.

  “Don’t get too close, Caleb,” Parker says with a smile in his voice. “They bite. And not in the way you want.”

  He tugs on my hand and I tug my gaze away from the dancer, but I don’t stop watching them. Every shape and size, smooth-skinned or hairy, bald or with braids. At least a dozen gogo dancers watch us descend, and it takes all my self control not to drop to my knees right there and see just how big the bulges in their pants really are.

  “They’re how the club gets its namesake,” Parker says.

  “What, Ifrit?”

  Parker nods.

  “So they’re not human?”

  Parker laughs. “They are in the ways that count.”

  My eyes catch on an Asian guy with pointed ears and an eight-pack. He’s only in a jock, and his ass is so tight and round even I want to bury my cock in there. He smiles when he sees me and curls a finger in welcome. It’s like a hook around my chest.

  “Trust me, babe, you aren’t ready for him yet. He’d eat you alive.”

  Parker grabs my cock with his free hand. That snaps me back to attention with a throb. It’s a quick movement, but it’s more than enough to remind me who I’m truly here to be with.

  “What is this place?” I ask again. I hate that he’s already taken his hand off my crotch.

  “This is where people like us can socialize.”

  “Like us?”

  “Warlocks,” Parker says, as though it’s obvious. “And other creatures of the night.”

  I laugh.

  “Warlocks? And did you really just say ‘creatures of the night’?”

  “That’s what we are. Well, you and me. We both have special skills, are a little more than human. Have you ever tried spellwork?”

  I shake my head no. I knew I had powers, but I’d never delved into magic. It always just seemed…forbidden. And not in the fun way.

  “Oh, baby. You have a lot of learning to do.” His smile comes back. “Don’t worry, I’m an excellent teacher. Lesson one, though: don’t touch the Ifrit. And lesson two: don’t try reading anyone’s thoughts down here. Consent is sexy.”

  Then he winks and pulls me down the rest of the stairs. I follow, mind reeling. I have no idea what I’m getting myself into—magic and demons and warlocks, oh my—but Parker’s presence is intoxicating. He could tell me we were walking into a cult and I’d follow willingly.

  That said we might actually be walking into a cult.

  The stairwell opens into the club, and my thoughts are stunned senseless.

  The place is huge.

  Easily three times the size of the last club and just as packed. Here, though, the clientele is clearly a world apart. Every age and race and size of man walks about. They chat and laugh by the bars or in the leather booths lining the room. Others huddle in the shaded back rooms I can barely see from where we stand. It’s not the fact that this place is men-only that makes my heart race, though. It’s the warm feeling in my chest that tells me these aren’t all really men.

  Like the guy leaning against the bar, whose long devil-like tail sticks from the back of his tight jeans and curls around the leg of the very hairy man next to him. Or the guy with a greenish tint to his skin whose smile is filled with dagger-like teeth. I can’t even imagine making out with him, but the guy next to him with his hand down the back of green-guy’s pants clearly doesn’t mind. Or there, in the corner beside a steel door with a neon sign proclaiming SECOND CIRCLE, the guy lighting a cigarette with a flame that dances off his index finger.

  “Where are we?” I ask for what feels like the millionth time. We’re still in the entrance and the club is heavy with music and the cologne of men but I can’t bring myself to step deeper inside. A part of me wants to. The rest wants to run away.

  “You’ve never been to a place like this before?” Parker asks.

  “What are these people?”

  Parker shrugs.

  “Magical types like us. Other Warlocks. Astral creatures. Fairies. Were-whatevers. And all here because they like dick as much as you and me.” He squeezes my hand. “It’s a lot to take in,” he says. He winks. “Though you look like an expert at taking it.”

  My heart flips over again. He leads us toward the bar.

  While more speedo-clad gogo dancers gyrate on cubes and bars, others hang from the ceiling on hoops or loops of chain or the rafters themselves. Just like the Ifrit dancers in the cages outside, these men are all types. A scruffy bear pulling down the hip of his jockstrap while a few patrons rush to slip in folded bills. A beautiful Latino man twerking from a handstand, his pedestal covered in ones. A burly black man hanging from the chains, upside down and legs in a perfect split. And I swear the
Korean guy dancing on the pole in the corner has tiny, translucent wings.

  If it weren’t for Parker guiding me, I would have never left the entry out of shock.

  But now we’re at the bar, and I’m squeezed between Parker and a guy easily twice our size with biceps bigger than my head and for a brief second I can only wonder how big the rest of him is. Then the bartender sidles over and my thoughts cease.

  “Hey babe,” the bartender says. He leans over, kisses Parker quickly on the lips. Wait, are they together? The bartender looks at me and it doesn’t take a psychic to see the lust that fills his eyes. “Who’s the newcomer?”

  He seems to emphasize the word comer and yeah, even that’s enough to make me get a semi again. The man’s Middle Eastern, grizzled and gorgeous—thick scruffy beard and eyebrows, strong chiseled jaw, wide shoulders and thick arms. His strong hands are covered in tattoos and I’m immediately fantasizing about those palms on my chest, those white teeth on my nipples. He looks like he knows how to play rough and that feels like a challenge every inch of me wants to accept.

  Then I realize I’ve been staring at him, rock-hard, when they’re waiting for my name.

  “Caleb,” I say. “I’m Caleb.”

  “I think he wants you,” Parker says, his words a warm purr. He doesn’t sound jealous at all—quite the opposite—so maybe they aren’t dating? “Caleb, meet Rafi.”

  I want to correct him and say I want both of them, over and over, but my words are stuck in my throat.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Rafi says, “I think I’d destroy this one.”

  He doesn’t lean in to kiss me and my cock quivers with the thought of his lips on mine. Instead, he reaches out and shakes my hand, and even though Parker told me not to, I show Raf just how strong I am.

  In his mind, I’m behind the bar, and I shove him to his knees, one hand in his hair while he grips my thighs.

  “Do you want this?” I ask, my voice low and dangerous, my free hand on my crotch.

  “Yes,” he moans back. And that means game on.

  “With your teeth,” I growl, unbuttoning the top button on my shorts, and he obediently unzips me.

  In this vision, I’m not wearing a jock, and my dick flops out, thick and hard as steel. I smack it against his cheek. He growls with hunger.

  “Now take it. All of it.”

  He nods and licks his lips and doesn’t take his eyes off my shaft as he swallows it, inch by inch. I moan in pleasure when he reaches the hilt, the head of my dick brushing down his throat, twitching, making him gag.

  “Hold it, boy,” I say. I clench my fingers in his hair.

  The noises he makes are happy, hungry, and every vibrate makes me twitch.

  Keeping a tight grip on his hair, I pull back, his lips sliding over me, just stopping at the crown, before plunging myself back in. He moans in pleasure with every thrust, his dark eyes darting up to meet mine. His hands roam up to my ass, squeezing me in closer. He buries his nose against my pelvis, eyes watering and submissive and wanting. His own cock bulges beneath his tight black jeans. I don’t let him touch it.

  Yet.

  Over and over I thrust into his hungry jaw, the pressure building inside of me with every pulse. In real life, I could go for hours, but for now I let the moan grow in the back of my throat.

  The pressure builds, hot and taut. His mouth feels so good, his lips tight and warm and wet, his tongue lapping eagerly against my shaft. He wants it. I can feel the need dripping off of him, the sweat and desire as thick as the load I’m going to shoot.

  “You’re going to make me cum, boy,” I groan.

  He moans with want, tightens his grip on my ass cheeks, thrusts me in deeper. Harder.

  His want of my seed pushes me over the edge.

  “Fuck!” I yell, thrusting deeper, my whole body twitching as warmth floods through me, my dick bucking with every spurt. I hold his head there, tight to my cock, flooding his throat with semen.

  I keep him there, quivering, until he has swallowed every last drop. Then I pull out, my cock wet and still rock hard, and kneel down in front of him. One hand in his hair, holding his gaze to mine, the other clamping over his dick.

  “Remember this, the next time you think I’m someone you can push around.” I smile. Lean in and bite his lip, tasting the remnants of myself in his saliva. “You only get to dominate me when I want it.”

  Then I lean back.

  The bar snaps into focus and Rafi snaps up to attention. It was barely a second in the real world, but both of us are panting. He stares at me with wide eyes, chest heaving, sweat on his brow. And he’s grinning.

  Like I said, I can’t—and wouldn’t—do anything to someone’s mind unless they give me permission. As Parker said—consent is sexy.

  “What did I just miss?” Parker asks, looking between the two of us.

  Rafi growls happily and shakes his head. He looks like a wolf, and if I wasn’t hard before, I am now.

  “Caleb has skill,” Rafi says. “I take it you think he’s the one?”

  Parker nods.

  “What do you mean?” I ask. Even after that slight display of power, I still feel at a disadvantage. Especially when Rafi reaches a hand out and a bottle of bourbon and two glasses float over to him.

  “We’ve been waiting for a fourth to show up,” Parker says.

  “Fourth?”

  “For our coven,” Rafi replies. He pours the bourbon without touching it, his hands neatly folded on the bar while he watches us.

  “Who’s the other?” I ask.

  “You’ll meet Braxton soon,” Parker replies.

  “What does your coven do?” I ask. I’d heard of them before—a family-like group of witches or warlocks, a safe place for casting spells and the like. All stuff I’d heard of but hadn’t dabbled in. Just like everything else at the club.

  “With you?” Rafi says, sliding the drinks over. “Everything.”

  He winks at me and fire floods my chest. He leans over and wraps his hand behind my head, tousles his fingers in my hair to pull me closer.

  “That little trick of yours…” He growls again and my cock jolts. “Well, let’s just say I look forward to seeing what the rest of you can do.”

  He bites my ear and I gasp in pleasure.

  Then he pushes back and walks to a patron at the other end of the bar. Leaving the bourbon bottle between us.

  “He can move shit with his mind,” I say. It’s honestly the only thing I can say or think right now.

  “And you can get into people’s heads,” he replies.

  “So what can you do?”

  He smiles wide. Gods, that smile.

  “Maybe if you’re good, you’ll find out.” He hands me the drink and shrugs. “Or bad. I guess we’ll see.” He winks. “Cheers.”

  It feels like I’m being tested, yet I’ve never been so turned on by so many people before. And I know that this is just the beginning of the fun. Especially if Rafi keeps to his word.

  “To a new start,” I say.

  Parker and I clink drinks and down the bourbon while around us otherworldly men dance. Parker pours us more shots. I can’t imagine tonight getting any better.

  And then I spot Derek in the crowd.

  5

  Derek is standing a little further off, by a pedestal dominated by a beautiful androgynous creature in a corset and stilettos and stars over their nipples. The dancer’s movements are intoxicating, but it’s Derek who has my attention. The mover has changed out of his uniform and is now in plain blue jeans and a sleeveless flannel shirt, and he’s talking with a few guys I don’t recognize. Total lumberfox. All he needs is an ax—I’ve got plenty of wood for him to work on right here.

  “Someone you know?” Parker asks beside me. His voice is bemused.

  “Yeah,” I say. “That guy helped me unload my stuff this morning.”

  “Looks like you want him to unload a little more than that.”

  I chuckle at the bad pun, but I can
’t take my eyes off of Derek. What’s he doing here?

  “I thought you said this place was only for magical…people.”

  I can’t say ‘creatures’ because I don’t see myself as a magical creature like a unicorn or some shit, but Derek didn’t seem like he had a power when we met.

  “It is,” Parker says. He hands me a shot. “Ordinary mortals can’t get in. So it looks like your mover is hiding more than a semi right now. Go make a move. Don’t worry, I’m not the jealous type.”

  I look at him, and the smile he gives back says he means it. I down my shot and head over, liquid courage giving me resolve.

  “Derek?” I ask.

  Derek looks startled to see me there. He eyes me up and down, then a little smile appears on his face.

  “Caleb,” he says. He takes my hand. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you here. Though…glad I am.”

  For once, I don’t shoot any images through his brain. My pulse is racing and his touch is hot and I know there’s no need.

  I love the chase. But sometimes, it’s nice to know that the work is over, and tonight, you’re going to get fucked in the best possible way.

  Derek introduces me to his friends, whose names I forget immediately—they’re cute enough, both ottery types with a few nice tattoos and warm smiles. My focus is entirely on Derek. On how close he stands next to me. On how the back of his hand keeps brushing against mine, the hairs on his arm making my heart flip with every brush. I keep one hand in my pocket to hide the boner threatening to rip through my shorts.

  I glance down. Derek’s just as hard and it takes a lot of self control not to grab him by the dick and lead him to the bathrooms. He smells like cologne but beneath it there’s a musk that has my blood racing, an animal scent promising sex and fucking and rutting, something wild and feral and powerful. He looks at me, his eyes hungry and that smile on his lips. He reaches down and grazes his cock with his hand, making it buck and the denim stretch.

  “So how did you get in here?” he asks.

  I break my gaze away from his cock. His friends are talking to each other now, leaving Derek and me to fucking each other with our eyes and imaginations.

  “I can read people’s minds.” I reach out. Brush the back of his hand with mine. Among other things, I whisper into his thoughts, flashing scenarios of me sucking him off or him fucking me through his mind.