Master of the Game

by Jane Kindred

  Whatever the outcome, he intended to leave the tables this evening with debts owed to him by every demon who dared to challenge him. His reputation had taken a hit over the past few days of throwing games, and it had been an effort to regain his place at the master table, but by the end of the evening, there was no doubt of his abilities. This prompted the usual muttering that he had to be cheating when he consistently held his ground, but no one took it as far as a formal complaint.

  He was counting his facets when another player advanced from the next table to challenge him and took a seat.

  “Sorry, friend.” Belphagor spoke without glancing up. “I’m about to turn in for the night. But you’re welcome to defend the table as champion for the remainder of the evening.”

  “That’s a shame. I was hoping to offer you a wager that would make things interesting.” The smooth, familiar voice made his skin prickle with anger.

  Belphagor tied off his purse and raised his head to give Kezef a dismissive glance. “Nothing you could wager would make things interesting enough to abide your presence.”

  Kezef leaned back with his fingers clasped behind his head in casual repose. “You realize refusing a challenge automatically forfeits your title as master of the game.”

  Undeterred, he pushed back his chair. “Not if I’m turning in for the night, as I said. You’ll have to amuse yourself with someone else.”

  “You’ll have to play me tomorrow.”

  Belphagor shrugged. “Be that as it may…” He rose to take his leave, not bothering to finish the sentence.

  “The wager I intend to put forth is information I believe you have an interest in.”

  “Wager it tomorrow.” He turned to go, but Kezef’s next words stopped him in his tracks.

  “I recently learned who bought the girls from the Fletchery last summer.”

  Belphagor’s fists curled at his sides. When they’d rescued Anzhela and the Lost Boys from demon traffickers who were preparing to unload them in the world of Man, they’d been too late to save the underage girls, whose unspoiled virtue had apparently been a quick sell within Heaven when the Fletchery dumped its “merchandise” in a hurry.

  “I thought that might give you pause.” Kezef’s smile as Belphagor turned back toward him said he knew he’d already won the first round of the game without even dealing the cards.

  “And you intend to use this information as ante in a card game.”

  Kezef shrugged, unclasping his hands, and took up the deck. “Information has value to those who value it. Why shouldn’t I profit from it if I happen to have it in my possession?”

  “You’re a pig.”

  “You’re a hypocrite. Are we playing or not?”

  Belphagor hesitated. He couldn’t very well walk away if Kezef truly had this information. It had been weighing on him that he’d failed the girls, and he knew Anzhela carried the burden of having been unable to protect them as well, though she never spoke of it. “I could just pay you for the information—as despicable as I find the prospect. No need to waste time gambling over it. Name your price.”

  Kezef began to shuffle. “But gambling is so much more fun. Have a seat, Belphagor, and earn your title.” Both literally and figuratively, the bastard held all the cards. Belphagor ground his teeth and returned to his chair. Kezef dealt. “And what will you put up against my wager?”

  “As I said, name your price, and let’s get this over with.”

  Kezef set down the deck and picked up the cards he’d dealt himself, perusing them with a calculating eye. “I’ll have your boy.”

  Belphagor nearly toppled the marble table in his fury as he jumped up. “Idi k chertu.”

  Kezef laughed. “Go to hell? Is that the best you could come up with? Really, Belphagor, I’d heard you were such a skillful player, but I’ve never seen any evidence of it. Why don’t you sit down and stop acting like a fool before the den manager thinks someone’s cheating at the master table.”

  “I’m not going to play your fucking game, Kezef.”

  “But you’re usually so certain you’ll win. Is your faith in your own skill really so poor you won’t wager anything you value?”

  “Only a fool or a cretin would wager his most cherished possession.”

  “And yet for your own amusement, you auctioned off your most cherished possession’s ass to anyone with a purse full of facets. Tell me, did you watch the winner pound him? Did you make your boy beg to be drilled by a stranger just to get your rocks off?” Kezef set the die in the center of the table. “It’s your cast, Belphagor. Stop making a spectacle of yourself and sit down.”

  Belphagor gripped the edge of the wingcasting table and leaned close to him. “Listen to me carefully, you repugnant swine. I will not play your game. You want my title forfeit? So be it. I fold. The title’s yours.”

  Kezef smiled at him with infuriating calm. “I suppose you’re a little touchy about the subject, seeing as the merchant who won him that evening has been courting him ever since. And from what I hear, his advances haven’t been rebuffed. Your boy has been willingly entertaining him. Repeatedly.”

  Belphagor peeled his grip from the table and straightened, forcing himself not to react. “Since you’ve been banned from the Stone Horse, I can only assume you enjoy talking out of your own ass.” He lifted his hand to call the den manager over to acknowledge Kezef’s status as master player.

  Kezef gathered up the cards once more. “Relax. Your title’s safe for now. We’ll play tomorrow, when your disposition has improved with a little sleep. I know how much you older demons need it.”

  He hadn’t wanted to let the bastard get under his skin, but he could think of nothing else after he’d gone to bed. Vasily hadn’t come home yet. He was probably with Silk. And even if he wasn’t, Belphagor had told him to keep an ear out for information however he had to. He was not jealous of some repressed merchant Vasily wasn’t even attracted to.

  But suddenly he could only think of one thing when he closed his eyes: Vasily on his knees before the demon, giving him his special brand of oral pleasure. The idea had aroused him before, sending Vasily off to suck cock just because he said so. Now, in the darkness of his little cell on his cold, hard cot, it seemed idiotic. Why in Heaven’s name had he thought it would be hot to let someone else have his boy? His boy, dammit. Even if he refused to acknowledge it a bit longer for the sheer, perverse pleasure of tormenting him, Vasily was his.

  Belphagor lay awake for hours trying to tell his brain to shut up. He was being ridiculous, playing Kezef’s game, exactly as the demon meant him to. When had he become so easily influenced? He suspected it might have been around the time a lanky, flame-haired thief had made the worst attempt ever to cut his purse. Vasily had made him soft. It was hard to fault him for it.

  When Vasily finally came in, the firespirit tried in vain to be quiet, apparently in an attempt not to wake Belphagor. He’d obviously had far too much to drink. Seriously misjudging both distance and his own strength, he stumbled over the chair and knocked it halfway across the room before he managed to right it and fumble into bed. If Belphagor had been asleep, the heavy drop of Vasily’s body beside him and the thud of the wooden cot against the wall would have remedied that for certain.

  Belphagor rolled over and slid his arms around him, and Vasily jumped. “Have a good night?”

  “Thought you were sleeping.”

  “I was,” Belphagor lied. “But you were a bit noisy.”

  “Sorry. Guess I had more to drink than I thought.” Was it his imagination, or was Vasily not responding to his embrace?

  “You and Silk have fun?”

  “Not exactly.” Vasily seemed fidgety. “I spent the evening with Gaspard.”

  “Oh.” So damned Kezef had been right. “The whole evening?”

  Vasily turned toward him, finally. “You told me to ‘make friends’. Now you’re pissy about it?”

  “I’m not pissy, I’m just surprised. What did you manage to spen
d the whole evening doing? I thought he was something of a one-trick pony.”

  “You are being pissy.”

  Belphagor grimaced. “Maybe a little. So what did you do?”

  Vasily rested his elbow on the bed and propped his head on his hand. “I meant to tell you in the morning when I’m not so drunk. He’s drawing me.”

  Belphagor blinked, trying to make sense of the words. “He’s what?”

  “Drawing me. He draws. He asked me to sit for him.”

  “Drawing…with a pen?”

  “Some kind of charred wood, actually. He has dozens of drawings at his studio. He paints, also, I guess. From the drawings. And then he sells them.” Vasily’s cheeks were a tad ruddier than usual.

  “I take it these drawings—he does nudes?”

  “Nudes?”

  “Naked. He’s drawing you naked.”

  The ruddy cheeks got pinker. “Mostly, yes. He draped this cloth over one shoulder and across my stomach, sort of artsy-like, and had it pooled around me.”

  Belphagor eyed him shrewdly. The level of embarrassment seemed to be about something more than being drawn naked. “Vasya. Is this an erotic drawing?”

  Vasily dropped his arm and reclined on the cot, rolling slightly away from him. “I don’t know. What do you consider erotic?”

  “Does it require you maintaining an erection with that magnificent cock of yours while he draws?” He stole his hand over the upturned hip and found the cock in question, not quite hard but showing apparent interest at his touch. He wrapped his fingers around the shaft, and the tentative expression of interest became firmer. “You didn’t answer.”

  “I don’t know why I go to bed naked—nude—with you,” Vasily growled instead of answering. “You always take it as an invitation to molest me.”

  Belphagor laughed and kissed the warm shoulder. “Yes, I can see how you hate it.” He stroked the now undeniable erection. “Shall I stop?”

  Vasily groaned softly at his sliding hand. “You’re just mean enough to do that, aren’t you?”

  “I am, indeed. But I’d prefer to watch you come while you tell me about this drawing session.” He moved his hand slowly up to the head, enjoying the little shiver Vasily gave when his thumb traced the rim. “Did he have you lying on your side like this?”

  “Sort of,” Vasily breathed out. “Leaning on my shoulder with one knee up. Ohhh, bozhe moi.”

  Belphagor smirked at the exclamation and prodded him into the position he described, threading his arm beneath Vasily’s raised knee to get a better grip. Fondling Vasily’s balls in a bit of misdirection, he used his other hand to whisk the almond oil from the nightstand, and emptied the last of the bottle onto Vasily’s cock. The firespirit yelped at the cold but was soon groaning with pleasure as Belphagor—and his own skin—warmed it up.

  “So how did you maintain the required erection?” Belphagor asked against his shoulder, enjoying watching Vasily’s face. “Did he help you with it like I am?”

  “N-no,” Vasily managed. “He wanted to watch me jerk myself off.”

  Belphagor dropped his hand, and Vasily whimpered. “Go ahead, then. Show me.” Reluctantly, Vasily took himself in hand and began to work his cock with rapid efficiency. “I don’t imagine you kept it hard for long doing that.”

  “No.” Vasily slowed his hand with a frustrated growl. “I just—topped it off, so to speak, whenever it needed it, until he finished.”

  “That’s how you’ll do it for me, then.” Belphagor had stroked the abundant oil over his own cock while he spoke, and with Vasily’s upraised knee, it only took one swift, smooth thrust to open him up. Vasily had let his eyes close and he opened them with a gasp of surprise, which was rather charming, as if he didn’t know Belphagor as well as he did. Belphagor groaned with pleasure as he drove in deep, pleased that Vasily’s nipples went hard as he did so. “Was he a fast drawer, or did he take his time?”

  Vasily moaned, arching back into him to meet his thrusts. “He—sketched the outline fast. Then spent more time on the details.”

  Belphagor held on to the flame-red locks and fucked him fast and deep, and Vasily took it passively, moaning in staccato, his face and his cock both pink with pleasure. The firespirit’s hand stole back toward his cock, and Belphagor slapped the blushing head to let him know he’d noticed, making Vasily groan and tighten his muscles as if that single strike had almost made him come. Belphagor slowed down, getting to the “detail of the drawing”, and stroked one finger up and down Vasily’s shaft. Vasily moaned and let the warm breath hiss through his teeth, rocking his ass against Belphagor as he thrust and withdrew with excruciating patience.

  “Do you want to come?” Belphagor murmured at his ear.

  “Da, ser,” Vasily breathed. There was nothing like hearing those words uttered in that deep gravelly intonation.

  “What a good boy you are to remember the rules.” Belphagor withdrew slowly again and then slowly drove himself in, while Vasily whimpered. “I think you’ve earned the right to ‘top yourself off’, even though you clearly don’t need it.”

  With a grateful groan, Vasily wrapped his hand around his cock, and Belphagor picked up speed as Vasily’s hand did the same.

  “That’s it, boy. Come for me.” He was pounding him hard now, drawing sharp groans from Vasily, and he knew the harder he fucked him, the hotter the demon would become until he finally burst. He tilted Vasily back toward him and drew the upraised leg over his thigh to spread Vasily’s legs wider, twisting his fingers in the locks he gripped to force the firespirit’s head back. Gasping and arching, Vasily practically choked his own cock, and the hot, pearly fluid shot upward from it like a predictable and thoroughly marvelous geyser.

  Belphagor took the opportunity to fuck him even harder, both of them groaning and growling as they slipped and slapped together, until Belphagor closed his mouth over the piercing on Vasily’s neck to muffle the roar as he spilled into him.

  As they wound down, basking in the afterglow, with Vasily’s head turned to the side so Belphagor could kiss him, a loud, angry pounding on the wall beside them broke the silence.

  “All right!” the tenant shouted through the wall. “We get it! You like fucking! Now shut the fuck up!”

  They melted into one another, collapsing in giggles muffled into one another’s mouths. Belphagor was fairly certain he’d never giggled before, but what the hell. There was a first time for everything.

  In the morning, or what was left of it when he woke, Belphagor was surprised to find Vasily already up and getting dressed. In the annoying manner of the young, he didn’t even seem to be hungover.

  “Where are you off to so early?”

  Vasily snorted. “It’s nearly noon.” He put his boot on the chair to lace up. “Gaspard invited me over for an artists’ salon. Strange things these upper class demons get up to. I had no idea anyone but angels held ‘salons’. Not even really sure what a salon is.”

  Belphagor drew his knees up to his chest and hooked his arms around them—a gesture he knew was defensive, as if he were expecting Vasily to kick him in the nuts. “Now you’re going to salons with him?”

  “You’re pissy again.” Vasily finished off the boot and took his fancy coat from their makeshift wardrobe. “I thought I might learn something there. Gaspard is always going on about how liberationists are fools. I think he might actually be a Lebes supporter.” He seemed animated and cheerful—not an ordinary state for him—as if he actually looked forward to this salon.

  “You’re wearing the coat?” Belphagor was just full of witty repartee this morning.

  Vasily glanced down at the velvet garment as he buttoned. “You think it’s too much? I didn’t really know what to wear to a salon. I don’t have anything else nice.”

  Belphagor swallowed his irrational annoyance. “I’m sure it’s fine. You won’t have it on that long anyway, will you? I suppose he wants you to ‘sit’ for him after.” Belphagor’s gut twisted at the guilty look t
hat clouded Vasily’s features. He had the overwhelming urge to cover his nads.

  “Beli… Do you not want me to go?” The pitying look was almost more than he could take.

  His brow creased with irritation. “Why wouldn’t I want you to go? Of course you should go. Find out anything you can about the Lebes faction. I’d be curious to know how many demons are actually against their own liberation. I imagine it’s confined to those making good facets in ‘respectable’ trades.”

  Vasily shrugged. “I guess it would be. I’ll try to keep track of who’s who at the salon.”

  As he headed for the door, Belphagor bounded out of bed and pulled him back for a kiss, rather forcefully reminding him whose boy he was, even if he wasn’t going to give Vasily the satisfaction of saying it. “Don’t spend all your time with Gaspard.” He tried not to grumble the admonition. “You’re supposed to be making friends with the rent boys too, remember. We need to know if illicit rendezvous are actually happening at the Horse.”

  Vasily nodded. “Da, ser,” he rumbled, at once soothing and riling Belphagor’s passion.

  As he closed the door behind Vasily, his stomach soured as he remembered he still had Kezef to deal with.

  Vosmaya

  The unreasonably handsome demon was waiting for him at the master table with a smug smile when Belphagor came out after taking his time getting dressed.

  “Saw your boy on his way out. He cleans up well. I can’t wait to dirty him.”

  Belphagor counted in his head while he forced himself to breathe normally—and not to kill Kezef—before he put his hands on the back of the master chair. “Since it seems you must be hard of hearing, I suggest you listen to me carefully. I have no intention of betting my boy. By the rules of the house, the reigning champion must accept all challengers or relinquish his title. It does not say he has to agree to any asinine betting terms a challenger proposes.”