King of Thieves

by Jane Kindred

  Just as Vasily didn’t know about Belphagor’s past. But there were some things he just…couldn’t. “All the same, I’m sorry you had to endure that. And regardless, what I did was wrong. I’ll do everything I can to earn your trust again, to make you feel safe.”

  Vasily relaxed his death grip on Belphagor’s hand and twined their fingers together. “I feel safe in your arms, Beli.” Belphagor closed his eyes, the shattered pieces of his world sliding back together like mending bone. Everything had been so out of focus. Every color muted, every taste and scent just a bit off, every sound lacking harmony. But it was going to be okay now. Vasily was his boy.

  “I need to say something else, though.” Belphagor took a deep breath. After what Vasily had just shared with him, he didn’t want to say this wrong. “You made me feel a little unsafe too.”

  Vasily turned his head toward him, his brow wrinkled with something between dismay and outrage, as though he wasn’t sure yet which he ought to feel. “I what? How did I make you feel unsafe?”

  “I gave you a word. A safe word. That wasn’t just for you. It’s for me to know when you’re not okay. For when things go too far. I asked you more than once if you needed to say it, and you refused. I probably should have known anyway—I definitely should have—but you did me a disservice. It isn’t fair to let me abuse you because you’re too proud to tell me I’ve gone too far. Pushing someone beyond his limits into true torment doesn’t get me hot. That’s for the likes of scum like Kezef.” Vasily flinched. A feathery white line still marked his shoulder where Kezef had beaten him. Belphagor kissed it. “That doesn’t excuse what I did. I was wrong from the start. But you compounded my transgression. Now I have to bear the guilt for both of us.”

  Vasily was quiet for a moment, and Belphagor feared he’d just undone everything, until the raspy voice came at last. “What will you do to me?” A shiver went through Vasily at his own words as he whispered, “It will have to be severe.”

  Blood rushed to Belphagor’s cock and his heart in a confusing, marvelous competition. He breathed Vasily’s skin like a drug and held him tight, relishing the hardness caught between them. “I love you, sweet boy. And it will be terrible. Mark my words.”

  Dvadtsat Pervaya

  Raqia saw an unprecedented level of arrests in the weeks that followed as angels and demons alike named accomplices and comrades in an effort to save their necks. It seemed the Celestial Silk Road had been far more extensive than anyone knew. Belphagor had dreaded the spectacle of hangings certain to take place in Elysium, but the principality chose to exile the participants to hard labor in the stormy east of Ma’on on the border of the frozen Empyrean. It was a rare punishment reserved for those the ruling house wished to make an example of.

  Nearly everyone Belphagor had encountered on his detour into the seedy underbelly of Raqia’s sex trade had been implicated, including Raum and Balam, and even Armen Nekirevich, who had apparently assisted with the sell-off of the Fletchery’s girls because, as he put it, there was nothing unnatural about the commodification of demonesses. But to Belphagor’s disgust, Kezef had somehow managed to keep his hands clean.

  For his part in exposing the scandal, Major Phaleg had received a commendation—and promotion—from Principality Helison. As a supernal staff officer, Phaleg’s investments in the Demon District’s houses of ill repute were overlooked. So long as every demon in its employ was of an age to consent and had done so, his extracurricular activities would be ignored.

  This left Silk happily enjoying his new status as the unofficial Supernal Supplier of Ass, as he termed it, and Belphagor comfortably anonymous as Phaleg’s silent partner. Anzhela’s Lost Boys had settled in to what Silk called “Boarding School for Future Rakes”, taking lessons from an angelic tutor Belphagor had beaten at the wingcasting table who’d agreed to work off his debt imparting knowledge. And Belphagor continued imparting his particular specialty, employing the boys on occasions where an adult’s motives might be suspect and a youth ignored, creating his own little guild of thieves.

  But there was one more piece of Belphagor’s plan he hadn’t implemented yet. Though she’d agreed to abide by his terms, happy enough to keep the boys she’d become quite fond of under her wing, he could tell Anzhela was anxious to return to her duties at The Cat. Not that she didn’t trust Phaleg to run it, but he could only contribute so much to the daily operations of the brothel, and the longer she stayed away, the more the procuress appointed by Sergeant Veloas had time to stake her claim and win the girls’ trust. It was long past time he called on The Succubus.

  As with his first visit, he was ushered into Koshka’s den without so much as an inquiry as to whether she wished to take him as a client. It was early in the day, as before, and this time he was her first appointment. He had thought her quite pretty, but this morning, freshly made up for the day’s work without having been mussed, she was stunning. She greeted him in a flowing, diaphanous robe of scarlet when he opened the curtain, ready to put her arms around his neck and ask his pleasure, until she saw who it was.

  Her face lit with genuine happiness. “The Prince of Tricks!” Instead of stepping back, she flung her arms around him in a joyous embrace. “All Raqia is abuzz with what you’ve done.” Koshka pulled herself away after a moment, looking embarrassed at her display. “Thank you for bringing Anzhela home. You don’t know what it means to me.”

  “I did what I could,” he said. “There were other girls I couldn’t help, sold before they left Heaven. I was lucky to find her.”

  Koshka shrugged, the gesture of a woman resigned to the ways of celestial inequity. “Many of us get our start that way. But it’s not for Anzhi. Masha didn’t want that.”

  “And what did Masha want for you?”

  “For me?” Suspicion clouded her expression. “She was a very good mother. She did the best she could.”

  “Please don’t misunderstand. I’m not casting aspersions. Perhaps I should have asked what you want. The Succubus… Are you happy here?” Her suspicious look deepened. She’d told him before she didn’t want to be reformed. He was treading on delicate territory. “It’s just that Anzhela told me the owner of this establishment ‘won’ you in a duel. If you’re happy working here, I’ll leave you in peace, but if The Succubus isn’t your choice, I’d like you to know that your master owes me a debt and has agreed to let you return to The Cat in exchange for my canceling that debt.”

  Koshka’s eyes widened and welled with tears that she quickly blinked away. “The Cat? I can work at The Cat?”

  “You can do more than work there, dear lady. I’d like you to manage it.”

  It took him some time to convince her his offer was sincere and that there were no strings attached, but once she’d accepted his word, she didn’t waste a minute gathering her things and heading for the door. Belphagor had to stop her and gently recommend that she dress for an outing before they departed.

  He gave her the day to get settled—Madam Pharzuphova, who’d tipped off the drovers, he happily dismissed—and brought Anzhela over in the evening, saying he’d hired a new madam and wanted her approval. He hadn’t told Koshka he was bringing her either, and the looks on their faces when they saw one another was worth all the trouble. A sort of shy wonder overtook them both, and he slipped out quietly to let them get acquainted.

  He’d sent Vasily off to the Stone Horse for the evening, telling him he needed him out of his hair just to get him good and mad before he had his way with him. He took his time walking back to the Horse and found Vasily finishing himself off for a large crowd of admirers, jism erupting from the head of his cock like lava, so hot it almost glowed. He clearly hadn’t allowed his boy enough indulgence in that department, expecting him to keep his heat contained.

  “Doesn’t it just make you want to spank him until he cries?” Silk had appeared at his side. He rested a casual arm against Belphagor’s shoulder and followed up with an exaggerated sigh. “That spectacular ass. It’s a shame I n
ever got a chance to abuse it.”

  Belphagor raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you?”

  “He only has ass for you, dear Prince. He didn’t mind a little cock play and seemed to rather relish having one down his throat, but the pleasure of delivering punishing blows to his backside was something I was never fortunate enough to experience.”

  “Play your cards right, and perhaps you will. But not tonight.” Belphagor’s lips curved in a dark smile as he watched Vasily collect his tributes. “Tonight I have plans for him. Don’t expect to see him for a few days.”

  Silk let his arm fall away from Belphagor’s shoulder with a look of admiration. “Lucky boy.”

  “I thought you wanted me out of your hair.” Vasily followed Belphagor into their room, seething with resentment. Belphagor had clearly been feeling better for days, and instead of spending time with Vasily, he’d— “Ow!” After the involuntary exclamation at the tight grip of Belphagor’s fingers in his locks, Vasily froze.

  “Take off your clothes and give them to me. Folded neatly.” Belphagor’s voice was utterly calm, which unnerved Vasily more than the usual deep command delivered cold and sharp.

  Obeying automatically, Vasily gave him his folded shirt and his belt, and bent to untie his boots, but Belphagor stopped him with another harsh jerk against the locks at his crown.

  “Pants first, then boots.”

  “But these aren’t boot cut. They won’t go over the boots.”

  “Did I tell you to speak?”

  Vasily swallowed and shook his head.

  “Pants first, then boots.”

  Bewildered, he unbuttoned the jeans and tugged them down, followed by his underwear, leaving his cock unabashedly proclaiming his arousal. With the garments pushed down to his ankles, he crouched and tried to tug one pant leg over the heel of his boot. It was impossible, and he only managed to get his boot stuck.

  “Try the other,” Belphagor suggested.

  Vasily glanced up at the placid face, unable to fathom what Belphagor was up to. He tugged uselessly on the other pant leg until it too was stuck.

  “I’m very disappointed in you.”

  Furious, Vasily opened his mouth and then quickly shut it. Belphagor hadn’t told him to speak. He contented himself with a fiery glare.

  “Stay.” With the curt command, Belphagor went to the vanity and opened the drawer where he kept his equipment. Crouching behind him, he pulled back Vasily’s arms and bound them at the wrists with rope. In the silence that followed, Belphagor’s shirt hit the ground beside him. Then the pants. Belphagor came around to the front, his heavy boots still on, though his pant legs had been as tight at the ankle as Vasily’s. He’d cheated and used airspirit magic. “You see? It was a simple request.” For once, Belphagor was naked in front of him, but the firm erection in Belphagor’s hand made him forget the tattoos. “Stroke your cock.”

  Vasily narrowed his eyes, tempted to charge Belphagor like a bull. What kind of game was he playing now? Issuing commands that couldn’t be obeyed?

  “Do you refuse?”

  “Nyet,” Vasily growled. He deliberately left off the “ser”.

  Belphagor’s eyebrow twitched. “Then do as I say.”

  Vasily jerked at his bound wrists. “Ya ne mogu.”

  “Can’t?” Belphagor’s fist rose and fell over his shaft. “Or won’t?”

  Frustration was getting the better of him. “Ya ne mogu!”

  “I didn’t tell you to speak.”

  “You asked me a question!”

  Belphagor took a sudden step in toward him and yanked Vasily up onto his knees by the hair. “Open your mouth.”

  Eyes sharp with angry tears he wasn’t about to shed, Vasily obeyed and nearly choked as Belphagor barreled in without ceremony.

  “This ought to keep you quiet,” said Belphagor, his voice infuriatingly flat. He held Vasily to his crotch without moving. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you. You’re incorrigible, refusing every simple request.” When Vasily’s tongue curled around him reflexively, he jerked on his fistful of hair. “Did I tell you to suck?” Belphagor jerked again. “Answer me, boy.”

  He was too full to do more than make a moaning noise around Belphagor’s cock, and Belphagor’s fist in his hair prevented him from shaking his head.

  “I said answer me. Are you stupid?”

  Despite himself, a hot tear of frustration and humiliation slid over his cheek. Belphagor had never called him stupid before.

  Unexpectedly, Belphagor pulled out and went down to his level. “Sweet malchik. That didn’t feel very good, did it?”

  “Nyet, ser.” He couldn’t stop the tears now. Belphagor kissed him, and they flowed harder.

  “We have an agreement, you and I.” Belphagor lifted his chin. “We submit to our base desires because we find it mutually enjoyable. More than enjoyable. We need to submit to them. They bind us closer together. Would you not say this is so?”

  Vasily nodded.

  “Speak, boy.” Belphagor’s voice was gentle.

  “Da, ser.”

  “I violated that contract and treated you with contempt. Just as I did at the Fletchery. I went beyond your consent, beyond your desire. I behaved as dishonorably as Kezef.”

  “No. Nyet.” Vasily shook his head adamantly.

  “Yes, malchik. And you permitted it. You lied to me with your silence. Letting me behave that way with you was a betrayal, as much as my betrayal of your trust. When I asked you a direct question just now and then told you I hadn’t given you leave to speak, I deliberately violated your trust, yet you allowed me to continue. I told you to open up and take my cock, and you obeyed. Knowing it was the last opportunity you would have to utter a safe word, you allowed me to silence you instead so you couldn’t. With your complicity, you put me in a position where I could only continue to abuse you. And I, in turn, allowed it, knowing I was taking away your ability to be honest with me. So now we both know where we went wrong.”

  Vasily’s face heated with shame. It was true. He’d felt abused, and yet he’d opened his mouth to take what Belphagor gave him. As if Belphagor were nothing more than a sadistic prick like Kezef.

  Belphagor stroked his cheek. “We have both fallen low. So today we will atone. Today we will learn to use your safe word. We will learn to trust one another.”

  He rose, drawing Vasily up with a hand around his upper arm, and left him standing in the center of the room as he crossed to the wall where his strop hung. “I plan to hurt you.” Belphagor took down the strop and folded it in his hand. “I know that you want me to. I also know there will come a stroke when you do not—but that is still something you want, for me to be cruel and torment you without heed to your cries. The moment my cruelty no longer makes you feel safe, no longer feels like love, the moment it begins to seem for the sake of my pleasure without regard for yours—I expect to hear your word.” He stroked the leather over his palm. “Do we understand one another?”

  Vasily’s skin prickled with apprehension, but his cock was as hard as ever. “Da, ser.”

  Belphagor turned him roughly toward the bureau. “Do you love me, boy?” he whispered at Vasily’s ear.

  Vasily closed his eyes. “Da, ser. Ya lyublyu tebya, ser. Vsegda.” Always.

  “Khorosho.” Belphagor swept his arm across the clutter on the bureau, sending it crashing to the floor, and shoved Vasily forward. “Place your cheek against the wood.”

  Trembling, Vasily rested his cheek on the bureau top. The first stroke hissed through the air without warning and struck, raising heat in his ass as though he’d concentrated it there himself. He remained silent and still. Belphagor struck again, on the other side, and then, without pausing between strokes, the leather strop rained down on Vasily in a brutal rhythm, making it hard to stay steady with so little surface to brace against. Especially with his boots caught in his pants.

  His vow to himself not to cry out was soon broken, but he couldn’t use the word. Not yet. He
needed this. They both did. He needed to know he belonged to Belphagor completely, every sharp sting against his flesh promising he would never be abandoned, every impact delivered with the force of Belphagor’s love and desire. Vasily was his malchik, his boy. He belonged. He was safe.

  Belphagor paused to reach between Vasily’s legs, and Vasily moaned, almost ready to come in an instant at the firm grip around his cock. He’d forgotten already what they were doing. His ass felt like fire. When Belphagor’s hand slipped away and he resumed his blows with the strop, Vasily’s flesh tingled with the nearly disembodied awareness, the oneness with Belphagor, the place where pain was no longer recognizable and the thudding impact of the leather felt almost like orgasm itself.

  And then the strop sliced through the air and struck his back between the shoulder blades like a knife. The force was so violent and sudden, he couldn’t move or think. But the word burst out of him in a surprised ejaculation of sound. “Seraphim!”

  Behind him, Belphagor went motionless, and in the absence of new sensation, the stripe on his back sent searing pain across his nerves, drawing a violent shudder from him with a sound that was half groan, half cry. Belphagor raised him off the surface of the bureau and turned him about. His face ashen, which frightened Vasily more than anything, he drew them both to their knees and gathered Vasily in his arms.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. My sweet boy.” He rocked Vasily, who wept silently against Belphagor’s shoulder, unable to put his arms around him. “Thank you for stopping me. I don’t know if I could have borne another like that.”

  “I love you, Beli,” he gasped.

  Belphagor pushed him back onto his heels and held Vasily’s face between his hands. “I ya lyublyu tebya, malchik. Vsegda i vsegda i vsegda.” Vasily’s tears were caught between their lips, and he cried out against Belphagor’s mouth as something sharp pierced the side of his neck, reopening the holes Belphagor had once placed there. He’d palmed a needle somehow—the only place he could have had it was inside his boot—and the steel bar followed it through, capped with the spiked finial as Belphagor drew the needle away.