by Eden Winters
Home would freeze over first. “Do you really think so?” Because Vik sure didn’t.
“Times, they are a changing. Sooner or later, your mom has to get with the program.”
If only. “Coming right up.” The night was young. Anything could happen. After all, Vik had a full day, right?
2
“Damn, you weren’t kidding.” Vik whistled, taking in the ghouls, goblins, and other assorted wraiths crammed into a tiny apartment. A man who appeared mostly human strolled by wearing nothing but a thong, a smile, and a pair of horns. Vik whirled around to follow the guy’s movements. Oh, yeah. Hot. But not a keeper to take home to Mother. “What is this place?”
“We surface demons host a lot of masquerade parties—gives us a chance to score with humans and each other without anyone ever knowing who we really are.” Ralph leaned in close and whispered, “Last week, I even got my tail licked.”
“Lick… your tail?” The liquid in the glass Vik clutched in an iron grip suddenly evaporated in a hiss of steam. Fuck, but it’d been a long time. And nobody licked demon tail like his former flame, Prince Diomede. Hmmm… just because their mothers weren’t talking and Mom ordered anyone caught sneaking up to the fifth level punished, didn’t mean they couldn’t find neutral ground to hook up on, right? Maybe…
Ralph grinned. “Yeah. Really hot…”
The glass in Vik’s hand melted and oozed between his fingers. Oh shit! Too busy dancing to a pounding beat, no one seemed to notice but Ralph. Vik stashed the evidence in a potted plant.
“Now.” Ralph rolled up the sleeves of his clown costume. “First off, let’s find you a man. Take some pressure off, and I’m sure we’ll think of something.”
Vik, who’d donned overly-tight jeans and specially made boots to hide his hooves, ran his hand up his bare chest, considering his own costume. Wasn’t much he could do about red skin and three-foot horns but duck in doorways and avoid ceiling fans.
“You make it sound easy.”
“It is! A catch like you, prince and all that? Mom, the Big Fucking Deal of the Sixth Level? Piece of cake.” Ralph sounded a touch envious.
Vik didn’t know what cake had to do with anything, unless Ralph planned to use it for man bait.
“Mingle. See if someone strikes your fancy.” A guy smiled from across the room. Ralph smiled back.
“Does what to my what? Is that as good as getting your tail licked?” Ah, Home. If Vik had known tail licking was involved he’d have visited Ralph sooner.
Ralph rolled his moon-colored eyes. “See if anyone puts lead in your pencil.”
“Huh?” Put lead in what pencil? Vik preferred the pre-leaded kind himself. Less messy.
Again with the eye roll. “If someone gives you a hard-on, let me know.” Ralph handed Vik his half-full glass of something red and spicy-smelling and stalked off.
Oh, surface dwellers and their human lingo. What part of a demon was the “fancy”? His dangly bits, maybe? Don’t strike those, stroke them, though Vik wouldn’t mind some hunky male swatting his ass a time or two. Above the tail, that is. Tails were sensitive.
Ah, now the tall one over there. He’d do nicely. Vik sauntered over.
And stopped three feet away. Another guy stepped up ahead of him. “Hi, handsome!”
Damnation. If not for the whole remaining undetected thing, he’d reduce his rival to ash.
Oh! Tall, dark, and sinister! By the potted plant. Vik hoofed on over.
A short little demon dressed as a leather daddy beat Vik to his prey. “There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!”
The human squinted down at the demon. “Do I know you?”
The demon winked. “You will. Intimately.”
The human smiled and wrapped an arm around Vik’s competition. “I live right across the hall…”
In Vik’s brain a clock went tick, tick, tick. His mother, tying him forever to a demoness who could crush his nuts during a moment of passion. Brrr… The mere idea wilted his horns.
After an hour of false starts and a growing inclination to quit his search for someone to stroke his fancy, a high-pitched squeal jerked him from his alcohol-induced stupor. One more drink and he’d be in danger of his breath igniting on his next belch.
“Oh. My. God!”
“You’re not even close, buddy,” Vik replied.
A guy dressed from head to toe in form-fitting black giggled and sauntered across the floor, skin-tight fabric leaving little to the imagination. “Where did you get those fangs and crazy lenses?” A pair of piercing eyes peeked out from an eye slit in the hood—glowing amber, lined with black. Lithe and a bit on the thin side, like Vik’s favorite singer, the guy reached out and stroked his fingers along Vik’s left horn.
Oh. OH! Vik shuddered. Now if the man in black would just touch the tail he’d crammed into his blue jeans—maybe help get the kink out.
Apparently oblivious to Vik’s crossing eyes and weak knees, the guy gushed, “I had this friend, just a friend you see, nothing more, no matter how much he begged me to marry him.” He fluttered a hand in the air. “Anyways, he got his fangs off an Internet site. They’re the kind you have to fit over your own teeth.” He pantomimed, pushing against his top teeth, and continued talking with his fingers in his mouth. “They looked real, but one popped off at the wrong moment, if you get my meaning.” He punctuated his words with a wink and a nudge. “Took us days to find it. Thank goodness it was in the carpet under the bed and not, well, you know.”
Wow. How did all those words escape that puny body without the man so much as taking a breath? Damn. He could probably go deep and stay there a long time…
“Anyhoo, I’m Dillon. I live downstairs.” He removed a pair of gloves and held out a delicate-looking hand. Vik took the offered appendage gently. He’d crushed bones before by accident. “Not like that,” Dillon complained, “I’m not gonna break.”
Vik squeezed harder.
“Ahhhh!” Dillon wailed, jerking his hand back.
“What… I’m sorry. You said…” Oh shit. Time was running out and Vik had gone and broken a human.
Dillon threw back his head and laughed. “Gotcha!”
“No, you don’t, not yet.” Oh Home. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why not just come out and say, If I don’t find someone tonight my mom’s gonna match me up with a demonic nutcracker? But nooooo! He had to go and spew the world’s worst pickup line.
And it worked?
“Oh, I have faith in me.” Dillon winked. “What say we blow this Popsicle stand?”
“Blow who?”
Dillon’s tinkling laughter filled Vik’s ears again. He reached out and wrested a half-melted glass from Vik’s hand. Damnation! When had he melted this one? Dillon casually tossed the melted blob into the industrial sized trash can taking up way too much room in the apartment. “You and me, big guy. Somewhere we can… talk.” He walked his fingers up Vik’s bare chest with a gleam in his eyes and a wicked smirk.
Finding a man couldn’t be this easy, could it?
With a nod to Ralph, who gave a two-thumbs up sign from across the room, Vik followed his newfound admirer out of the apartment and down to the street. Was this guy human, a demon, or another hybrid? Would it be rude to ask?
Not having dated much, he hadn’t a clue what to say next. It didn’t matter; Dillon never seemed to run out of words. “So, where’re you from?”
Honesty. Dr. Phil always touted honesty in a relationship. Why not start now? “The sixth level of Hell.” Vik braced himself for judgment if the guy were from a higher level, or disbelief if he’d snagged himself a human.
“Don’t worry about it, honey,” his companion said on a giggle. “I’m from Cleveland. We’re practically neighbors!”
“Do you mind me asking what you are?” Vik waved a hand to indicate the all-black attire. There. He’d said it.
“I’m a ninja. You do know what a ninja is, don’t you?”
“Ninja.” Vik tried the word o
ut. “Nope. ’Fraid not. Exactly what does a ninja do?”
Dillon wrapped an arm around Vik’s waist. His head came up to Vik’s shoulder. “Why, we’re legendary. Got a corrupt king you need taken out? I’m your man! I can overthrow nasty warlords, fight off an army of evil minions single-handedly, save kittens from trees, and still be home in time for dinner.”
Hmm… Fight off an entire army of minions? Nice! So maybe in a direct challenge, Dillon could defeat the likes of Tazlina. Check one off in the plus column.
“You can’t crack nuts with your thighs, can you?” Might as well get that out of the way right now.
“Sweetie, if nuts get near my thighs, cracking ’em won’t be on my mind. Busting them, maybe.” Dillon laughed at his own joke.
It was a joke, right?
They’d traveled about two blocks when Dillon stopped. “Since the party was in my building, and we’re mobile, I suppose we’re going to your place?”
Vik’s place? Yeah, he could do that. He wrapped his arms around his prospective new lover. “Hold on tight.”
Two hands grabbed his ass. He flinched at the sudden tightness in his jeans. Yow! Talk about a tail pinch!
“Only doing what you told me to!” Again Dillon loosed his raucous laugh.
Vik tightened his hold and altered Dillon’s memory to include a cab ride. They materialized in his apartment and he kept Dillon in suspended animation to adjust the decaying glamour. When the illusion of sheetrock walls once more hid stone, he willed Dillon awake. Yeah. He definitely needed glamour practice.
“Oh, damn! I love your apartment!” The lithe ninja abandoned Vik’s arms for the faux view of the New York City skyline. “I’ll bet a place like this sets you back a good bit. You must be loaded! I had a boyfriend once, had more money than he knew what to do with. Treated me like a king. After a while he got boring. I mean, how many times can one man go shopping?”
Dillon whirled around the apartment, stroking marble countertops, clicking buttons on the stove. “Neat! My whole apartment would fit in your kitchen.”
Had Vik overdone his conjuring for his personal dwelling to the point where his guest was more interested in the space than in him? Eventually Dillon tired of exploring and returned to Vik, sliding beneath Vik’s arm like he belonged there. He dropped his voice to a husky murmur.
“As nice as this is, it’s not your apartment I came to see.”
Vik’s own personal whirlwind spun around him, removing Vik’s jeans, socks and boots. Time to distract his guest away from the hooves. What would Dillon think about…
“A tail! How cool is that? I don’t know where you got your costume, but this totally rocks!”
Costume? Didn’t a ninja who lived in a demon-occupied building know what a sixth level prince looked like? Oh, well. Maybe he just didn’t get out much, especially not if he lived in exile like Ralph. Where were ninjas from, though? What level was Cleveland on? Better not be the eighth level. Mom would have a fit.
Dillon shimmied out of his clothes, leaving a pile of black fabric on the living room floor. He stood proudly, not the least bit of shame marring his confident stance. Instead of being skinny, he bore a wiry build, with unblemished skin a shade darker than alabaster. His hair—formerly hidden under a hood—tumbled down his back in a mass of obsidian waves. In the right light Dillon’s eyes would spark like embers. Nice! If his warrior prowess could match Tazlina’s, in the looks department he was the sun to Kiana’s moon. In a word, he was perfect. If this was how ninjas were made, Vik definitely needed to get upstairs more.
As before at the party, Dillon walked his fingers up Vik’s chest. “I don’t care where you’re actually from,” he murmured, breath warming Vik’s skin, “wherever it is they sure know how to grow ‘em.” He closed the distance with his lips, kissing a path as far up Vik as he could reach, being under six feet tall. Then he closed his mouth around a nipple, sending fire curling through Vik’s innards. Vik locked his lips to keep the blaze contained, and turned his head to discreetly cough smoke. Damn. Just Damn.
Dillon missed Vik’s close call, eyes definitely not trained on anything above Vik’s waist. He released a moan and sank to his knees.
“You’re definitely size proportionate, aren’t you?” The smile in his voice, and an appreciative, “Hot damn!” said “size proportionate” might be a good thing.
All of Vik’s cock couldn’t possibly fit in Dillon’s mouth, could it? Oh, Home! Total lack of gag reflex must be a ninja skill. Vik grabbed the back of his couch to keep from falling, as the ability to weaken knees was also one of Dillon’s skills.
Vik sank to the floor before he got there the hard way, dislodging Dillon on the way down. He wound his fingers in silky strands of jet black hair and pulled Dillon’s mouth toward his own. Tasting himself on Dillon’s tongue nearly drew fire again, but Vik tamped down the urge to loose flames. While he explored Dillon’s back with his hands, he ran his tail up one lightly furred calf, ready to drop the sensitive appendage to the floor to play dead if Dillon reacted in a bad way.
Instead, Dillon pushed back against Vik’s tail with his perfectly rounded ass. “That is so hot!” he drew back enough to say before diving back into Vik’s mouth with his tongue.
Well, if Dillon liked a little tail tickling, he was gonna love…
“Now that’s something you don’t feel every day.” The words came out on a whimper. Yeah, having a tail stroking your balls on vibrate mode did have the tendency to rob one of speech.
Suddenly Dillon jerked away. “Wha…?” Vik made a grab but closed on air. Another ninja skill, possibly. Teleportation, because Dillon crouched a few feet away, with a grin of pure seduction. Vik’s cock got harder.
“I know what you want.” Without further ado Dillon grabbed Vik’s tail, his tail! and ran his tongue over the sensitive tip. Homefire and brimstone! Lightning flashed behind Vik’s eyes. Oh damn. Better not let Dillon see fiery eyes!
Vik writhed on the floor. Damn, but the man knew how to lick tail. No one had given Vik a good tail licking since… Nope, not thinking about Big Blue now. Not, not, not!
“Home, that’s good!” Vik arched his back, offering more tail for the licking. This being could really suck demon tail, but now wasn’t the time to consider how he might have learned.
Dillon’s smallish body was perfectly formed, and his cock made a nice mouthful for Vik when they faced opposite directions. All the while Dillon moaned, chanted, groaned, and whined. Never for a moment was he ever still or quiet, even mumbling with his mouth full, adding a bit more sensation.
They wound up with Dillon on top of Vik, staring down like some avenging angel, the ends of his dark hair tickling Vik’s skin. Oh, an angel. An image to file away for later. The uneven stone floor—conjured to look like pile carpet—jabbed into Vik’s back. As stealthily as possible to avoid his date’s noticing, he summoned a thicker pile to the carpet, giving them a soft surface to romp on since Dillon didn’t seem in a hurry to take their adventures to an actual bed.
A quick bait and switch replaced the guy’s ordinary latex condoms with a pack of Inferno 3000s, “Heat protection for your erection.” Now was not the time to risk a meltdown to put the bubblegum incident to shame.
Their gazes locked. “I know what you want,” Dillon said again, tapping a fingertip against Vik’s hole a moment before he lined up something larger.
Oh, Home! Vik ran out of lube sometime last week and hadn’t restocked!
For Dillon, lack of lube didn’t pose a problem and he slid inside with ease. Huh? When had he lubed up? Damn, but Vik liked all these ninja skills!
Vik tucked his tail between his open legs and nudged Dillon’s opening. “Go for it,” Dillon murmured, setting up a punishing rhythm.
Only one other had ever said that. Vik plunged his tail inside, matching his speed with Dillon’s. Dillon’s groans echoed off the walls. Hot damn! Somehow he’d prepared himself without Vik knowing. Ninja skills were da bomb!
�
�That’s it!” Their skin slapped together, the ninja giving Vik what he hadn’t even known he needed.
Somehow they managed to lie half-on, half-off the couch. The next time Vik opened his eyes the ceiling grew closer. What the… Oh, beneath him the kitchen table squeaked and groaned.
At one point Vik gripped the conjured windowsill while Dillon pounded into him from behind. Damn, damn, damn, damn!
They wound up back on the floor.
“I’m coming!” Dillon roared.
Teeth sank into Vik’s neck! Fangs? Ohhh…
The world shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, each one reflecting an image of, not an overly-energetic surface-dweller, but the demon prince from long ago.
Dillon fell asleep in Vik’s arms. Vik buried his face in a mass of silky waves, comforted by a familiar, memory-tickling scent that danced away every time he tried to grasp on to the meaning. Oh, yeah. Nice.
Wait! Did his date smell of Hellfire and Brimstone #5?
3
“Wakey, wakey, sleepy head.”
Vik jerked awake. A disheveled Dillon stared down at him. Oh, Home! He’d meant to get up early and restore the apartment’s glamour. Instead, his overnighter stared at bare rock walls adorned with flickering torches, which now bathed his pale skin in gold.
One moment before Dillon would likely run screaming, he showed himself beauty personified. Oh well, if Vik would never see him again, he’d take a second chance at the honesty thing. “You’re gorgeous.”
“And that’s not a costume.” Dillon spoke matter-of-factly, stroking a finger against Vik’s horn. “You’re some kind of demon, aren’t you?”
“Ninjas are demons, too, aren’t they?” Vik really, really needed to get out more.
Dillon traced his fingers over the tips of Vik’s horns, inspiring a shudder, then plinked one of the ornate gold rings in Vik’s earlobe—his mark of rank. “We met at a costume party. I wore a costume.”