Prince of Tricks

by Jane Kindred

  Trembling, Phaleg scrambled to obey, and Belphagor turned him toward the grimy window and pushed his feet wider apart, the pants still around his ankles.

  He stood behind Phaleg and spoke at his ear as he reached around to unbutton the dress shirt. “Think about the other angels who may be passing by below, with no idea that you’re standing here in the dark doing a demon’s bidding, with a demon’s jism all over your mouth.”

  Phaleg moaned, swaying back against him.

  Belphagor slipped the fabric over the angel’s arms and let the crisply starched shirt of the uniform fall in the dust. “Is this what you want? Is this who you want to be?” He cupped the angel’s balls through his legs. “A pretty toy for a demon cockwhore?”

  “Yes,” Phaleg moaned.

  Belphagor released his grip and took him by the shoulders, turning the angel to face him once more, and pushed him back against the glass. The angel’s cock was like the oversized stamen of a flower sprouting gloriously from among its pale golden bed.

  “Masturbate for me,” Belphagor ordered.

  Phaleg stroked his cock with a groan of gratitude, his eyes closing as he leaned his head back.

  “Stop.”

  The angel’s eyes shot open, and he dropped his hand from his swollen prick. For a novice, he was quite good at obedience.

  Belphagor braced himself with both hands flat on the glass beside the angel’s head, leaning just close enough to him that Phaleg’s cock pressed lightly against Belphagor’s abs where his shirt was still partly unbuttoned. “Before I let you come, you have to do something for me.” He forced himself to keep a straight face at the angel’s look of astonishment. Clearly, he felt he’d just done something for Belphagor. He tightened his abs, and Phaleg bit his sticky lip. “Will you answer my questions without questioning me in return?’

  Phaleg nodded.

  “Good boy. Put your hand around your cock and hold it there.” When Phaleg had eagerly complied, Belphagor put his lips to the angel’s ear. “What do you know about the Union of Liberation?”

  “Fuck,” hissed Phaleg, and he tried to move away, but Belphagor shoved him back.

  “Did I tell you to stop touching your cock?”

  “You tricked me!”

  Belphagor inclined his head. “Nevertheless. Hand to cock. Or will you deny that you’re deep in the grip of the most fulfilling sexual experience of your life and forgo the orgasm I’m about to grant you?”

  Phaleg’s eyes were furious, his face pink with humiliation, and his breathing rapid. “You’re mocking me. This is a joke to you.” He blinked angrily as the rims of his eyes reddened and welled with tears.

  “Not at all, dear boy. I am deeply honored to be here with you, that you’ve put such trust in me. Your blossoming desire”—he flicked his eyes to the still raging erection between them—“is something beautiful to behold. I want to give you what you need, what you’ve been longing for, what you feared you’d never find.”

  “I put my trust in you foolishly,” Phaleg hissed and then closed his eyes, defeated, with a tear escaping down his cheek.

  “You haven’t,” said Belphagor. The angel flinched as he stroked the golden hair. “You’re just afraid to keep trusting me. You’re afraid I’ll expose you because you’ve let yourself be more vulnerable with me than you’ve ever been with anyone else, given me all of your power, even your pride.”

  More tears were falling, and Phaleg turned his head aside.

  “It’s a tremendous gift,” Belphagor whispered with his cheek against the angel’s. “I accept it with the grave responsibility attendant such an honor.” He kissed the damp cheek, and the angel made a miserable sound in his throat. “But your fear is holding you back from having what you want more than anything. Let go and give it all to me, and I promise I will cherish it like precious porcelain.” He licked a salty tear from the pure celestial skin. “Cock in hand.”

  With a gasp of anguish as if Belphagor had buried a knife in his gut, Phaleg put his hand around his cock.

  “Good boy,” Belphagor whispered against his skin. “Such a beautiful, good boy.” He moved back, hands still against the glass. “Will you answer my questions? Will you be utterly debased?”

  “Yes,” gasped Phaleg, tears freely flowing.

  “Tell me about the Union of Liberation.”

  When he answered, it was with a tone of such defeat that Belphagor almost wanted to stop. “It’s a secret society among the Supernal Army.”

  “Stroke your cock. Slowly.”

  Phaleg obeyed with a soft sigh.

  “What are the aims of the society?”

  “To replace the supernal dynasty with a constitutional monarchy.” Phaleg kept stroking, his hand slowly sliding up and down the length of his cock. “And to liberate the Fallen.”

  “You may stroke harder. Is Duke Elyon of the House of Arcadia a member of the Union of Liberation?”

  The sound of Phaleg’s hand moving vigorously over his cock was loud in the quiet room. “Yes,” he groaned. “He’s in the upper echelon.”

  Belphagor let him work at himself, watching the angel’s face as his climax built, listening to his soft grunts and groans of pleasure. He was a stroke away from shooting hot semen over his hand.

  “Stop,” Belphagor ordered as the angel’s breathing reached a fevered pitch.

  Phaleg moaned as if he’d been kicked, but dropped his hand instantly, his body twisting as he strove to control himself.

  “You’re not to come until I say, do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir.” Ah, now that was lovely. Spontaneous deference.

  “Da, ser,” Belphagor snapped. “You will answer in the peasant tongue.”

  “Da, ser,” said Phaleg in his flat angelic accent. Belphagor rubbed at his cock through his pants as it twitched wistfully, though there was no chance of another full erection. He wanted to turn the angel over onto his knees against the glass and drive his cock up the virgin ass while the angel shouted “Da, ser!” the entire time he fucked him.

  “Cock in hand.” He smiled at Phaleg’s desperate groan as the angelic hand practically choked the end of his cock. “Stroke slowly. That’s it. A little faster.”

  Phaleg let out a soft, unconscious string of expletives as he tried not to come. “Fuck. Oh, fuck me. Oh, shit.”

  “What is the Union of Liberation planning for tonight?”

  Phaleg’s legs were trembling uncontrollably. “To assassinate the principality,” he groaned out. “Please,” he moaned. “Oh, fuck, please.”

  Belphagor knew the angel couldn’t hold back a second longer. “Open your eyes,” he ordered.

  Gasping and whimpering, Phaleg opened his eyes and looked into Belphagor’s, completely bereft of his own free will and his eyes shining with the knowledge of it, as if he’d taken the purest hit of firedust in the Heavens.

  “Come for me,” said Belphagor, and Phaleg erupted in a beautiful stream of white that must have gone three feet into the air, the angel nearly wailing with relief, jerking out more of it in spurts and pearls of release, until his knees buckled and Belphagor caught him and let him slide with him to the floor of the dirty, hourly rent room.

  Phaleg began to shudder and sob, curling into a fetal cocoon, and Belphagor rocked him in his arms, kissing his hair. When the angel was sobbed out, Belphagor lifted his chin and kissed him on the mouth, tasting the salty fluid that had dried there. He’d promised himself not to, but the angel was so utterly wrecked and lovely, he couldn’t help it.

  “What are you going to do?” Phaleg asked hopelessly as Belphagor released his lips. “Will you expose the Union? I’ll take the fall for them. I’m sworn to die for the cause. I won’t give you names.”

  “You’ll give me names if I ask for them,” said Belphagor matter-of-factly, and the angel’s face burned with shame when he couldn’t deny it. “But I don’t need any names. I have no intention of exposing anyone. I couldn’t care less about the principality or your revolution
.”

  “Then why—?” Phaleg shook his head, utterly baffled.

  “Why did I make you betray everything you believed in for the best orgasm you’ve ever had in your life?”

  Phaleg closed his mouth and swallowed as he nodded.

  Belphagor smoothed the angel’s hair. “Come now, we know there was more to it than that,” he said gently. “You didn’t do it for an orgasm. You did it because you needed to surrender everything to me to feel for a few minutes of your life what it was to be authentic and free. And understood.” He smiled. “And I understand you very well. I promised you could trust me, and I never go back on my word. I will never expose you to anyone. In any way. If we meet again on the street, I’ll walk past you without a glance unless you choose to acknowledge me for the benefit of those you’re with as the whore you purchased for a night. And I will graciously play the part I played earlier this morning with your comrades at arms—not that I’ll be selling anything again,” he added. “I’ve retired.”

  Phaleg relaxed with his head in Belphagor’s lap. “Thank you,” he sighed as if a great weight had been lifted from him.

  “But I hope you’ll trust me a little further,” said Belphagor. “I need to know more. I would have asked you more questions, but you’d put such trust in me already, I couldn’t let you fail at the impossible task I’d set before you. That would be cruel.”

  The angel laughed softly. “You gave me permission to do what you knew I couldn’t stop.”

  Belphagor smirked. “Of course.”

  “So what is it you need to know?

  Belphagor knew he would tell him anything now. “Duke Elyon has taken someone very important to me, and it has something to do with this mission of your Union.”

  “Taken someone? A demon?”

  “Naturally. No offense, dear boy, but no angel could ever be this important to me.”

  “Elyon talked about recruiting a demon to kill the principality. In case the revolt failed, the demon would go down as a martyr to the cause.” Phaleg gave him an apologetic look. “I have no control at my level to affect these decisions.”

  Belphagor frowned. Vasily wasn’t likely to kill for the duke, and certainly wouldn’t volunteer to be executed for some foolish cause. “So how is that to be carried out? While the larger assembly is there for a protest, Union members infiltrate and stir up the crowd to revolt? And then this demon somehow gets past the Ophanim Guard to make the attempt on the principality’s life?”

  Phaleg nodded. “Essentially, yes. The Union would provide a distraction, allowing him to get close. And in the aftermath, we arise with our solution to end the chaos of the principality dying without an heir—since little Grand Duchess Omeliea would never be put forth as a viable option, and the principality’s younger brother would be suspect after such an event, particularly with the assassination of the previous principality still so fresh in everyone’s minds.”

  “That sounds foolish,” said Belphagor. “Destined to fail.” But perhaps the upper echelon didn’t intend for it to succeed.

  Phaleg began to shiver, the sweat he’d worked up no longer sufficient against the unheated room.

  “You should put on your pants before you freeze to death,” said Belphagor. Phaleg sat up, looking embarrassed, as if he’d been waiting for permission and realized now the game was over. While he struggled to work the elkskin back over his legs, Belphagor picked up the shirt and dusted it off, setting it over Phaleg’s shoulders. The angel glanced up as Belphagor crouched behind him.

  “I want you to know,” said Belphagor, “that I meant what I said. I’m deeply honored by what you gave me, and I will cherish it. And if you ever find yourself again in need of someone who understands you, you can find me at The Brimstone. Ask for Belphagor.”

  “Belphagor?” Phaleg looked puzzled, and then realization seemed to dawn on him. “You’re that wingcasting champion who…”

  “Who takes every angel who plays against him for every last facet he has.” Belphagor winked mischievously. He helped Phaleg up and waited while the angel pulled himself together, and then brushed at the dusty shoulders of the woolen jacket. “May I kiss you?”

  Phaleg blushed liked a schoolgirl. “Of course.”

  Belphagor pulled the angel close, but instead of kissing him once more on the mouth, he kissed the smooth cheek. “You were breathtaking on your hands and knees,” he whispered. “Never forget that.”

  Pyataya

  Belphagor turned one last trick outside the Market before dawn and left the satisfied officer sleeping. And naked. He tucked the blankets around the soldier who would be just a bit wiser when he woke to find his uniform gone. Belphagor might not be able to pass as an angelic officer under close examination, but the uniform and cap he’d stolen would let him move through the assembly of Union supporters without being noticed.

  He headed back to The Brimstone after sunup, feeling wired from being awake since the previous morning. Even if he’d had time to sleep, he doubted he could have. He drank a full pot of black Russian tea, with a vodka chaser from the bottle Vasily had procured for him from the Market before he’d disappeared, hoping for a second wind. The reminder that Vasily had been up early and thinking of him—the reminder of their intense night together, Vasily stretched beneath him wearing nothing but the velvet frock coat, arms bound to the bedframe above his head—made him ache in the expected places, but also in others that seemed to have nothing to do with sex or desire.

  His hands ached for the lack of Vasily’s smooth, flushed skin he was used to being near him all the time; his lungs ached from breathing in too deep, trying to catch the lingering smoky scent of him that was just beyond the register of his senses; and his breastbone ached. Or something close to it. Something just to the left. Oh, hell.

  He had to do something else to keep from going mad. There had to be more information he could gather before tonight that would help him prevent the culmination of the events that had been set in motion to put Vasily at the heart of a revolution, and to get his boy back before it was too late. In any event, he couldn’t sleep, and he couldn’t sit in this room and wait for dark.

  Before he headed out, Belphagor reluctantly smothered the glowing coals in the small brazier that vented through the roof of The Brimstone. The morning was bitterly cold. Sooty smoke from dozens of the little stoves had already been rising from the den when he’d returned. He hadn’t had to use his much since Vasily had come to stay with him. He warmed his hands against the dwindling heat before he closed the brazier door. He was wearing a pair of fingerless gloves—something he also hadn’t seemed to need in ages—and still the warmth just didn’t seem to penetrate. He’d grown dangerously accustomed to all the tiny, daily ways Vasily had changed his life.

  It was too dark in the little room to tell what time of day or night it was, or how much time had passed since they’d woken up here. Vasily sat behind Sefira with his knees drawn up beside her and his arms wrapped around her, hugging her to his chest to keep her warm. She didn’t look very good. He kept having to shake her gently to keep her from dozing off, worried that if she slept again, she wouldn’t wake up. She’d taken a bad blow to the head.

  He tried to keep her talking, figuring she couldn’t slip into unconsciousness if she had to concentrate on speaking.

  “So how high up do you suppose this thing goes? Is Elyon the top?”

  “Sounded like he was giving orders to me,” she murmured with her head against his chest. “‘Make sure the demon is close to the principality before it goes down.’ Not ‘we need to make sure.’”

  “Before it goes down.” Vasily shook his head. “Do you think they really mean to assassinate him? Right there in plain sight?”

  “He was giving rather specific instructions on how to get the knife just under the ribs. Any whore knows that advice; if you’re in trouble, you don’t want to miss. Nothing’s worse than making some rapist son of a bitch angrier because you wounded him. You stick him hard in the
soft organs, and you run like hell.”

  Vasily nodded against the top of her head. Working the street had been dangerous for him, but it had scared the hell out of him to see the young girls on their own dealing with some of the worst of demon nature—and as often as not, angel nature. It was why situations at houses like The Cat were so coveted: warm beds, companionship, protection, and the safety of lights and numbers. There were no such establishments for men, but he thought it seemed only fair. Men, after all, were the ones the women had to worry about.

  Sefira’s neck went slack against him, and he shook her. “Stay awake, Sefi. Keep me company.”

  She moaned, half conscious and trying to resist his prodding. “Go ’way, Tabi. ’m sleepy.”

  “Sefira.”

  She jolted awake and began to weep tears of exhaustion. “I’m so tired, sweetmeat. My head hurts.”

  “I know,” he said, rocking her gently. “I’m sorry. But you have to stay awake until I can get you help.”

  “Not gonna be any help,” she said resignedly. “I heard them talking while they had me tied in the back of the cart under the blankets. They want it to look like you strangled me. That’s the only reason they didn’t finish me themselves.”

  Vasily shook his head vehemently. “That is not going to happen. I won’t let it. Belphagor won’t.”

  Sefira sighed against his chest. “You really are too adorable. I’m very glad I got to be your first. Wouldn’t’ve missed that for the worlds.” Her body went slack against him, and this time he couldn’t rouse her. He felt for her pulse at her throat, relieved that it was still beating, and then eased her carefully onto the wood floor, his hand beneath her head as he laid her down.

  It was infuriating that he couldn’t do a damned thing to help her. She didn’t deserve to be in here with him, caught in the middle of whatever foul scheme Duke Elyon had planned for him. He straightened and crossed to the door, punching it with his fists like he was boxing, and swearing at the top of his lungs until his throat was sore and his hands were bloody. How the hell could he have been so stupid as to get involved with these fucking angels?