Bargaining with the Devil: A Death and the Devil Novella

by L. J. Hayward

  He came into a narrow corridor a short distance down, where he found the men’s staff toilets and went in. He’d replaced the original SIM with a cloned card and put the phone back together when the door opened. Pretending to be checking messages, Jack looked up casually.

  “Hi.” Angel smiled while biting his lower lip. The silver glitter on his chest sparkled like diamonds under the bright white lights.

  Jack dragged his gaze off all that bare, tanned skin and met Angel’s big, baby blues. “Hey. How’s the bum?”

  “I don’t know. Want to check it out for me?” He turned and offered his tight, rounded rear for perusal. The white boxer-briefs of the angel costume left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

  Christ. Jack’s dick certainly wanted to check it out and having suffered two false starts already, it didn’t seem likely to take no for an answer. Thank God for the cup. Angel peeked sweetly over his white, feathery wings at Jack.

  “Fuck,” Jack moaned. “I only came in to check my phone.”

  Angel faced him, doing sexy-sulk like a superstar. “Wherever did you keep a phone in that outfit?”

  “Took the padding out of the cup.”

  Angel laughed and leaned forwards, pressing his chest to Jack’s, putting his mouth next to Jack’s ear. “Me too. Not enough room, otherwise.”

  He smelled good. Like vanilla and spice. And his body . . . slender but firm, and already right where Jack wanted . . . not him.

  Jack carefully moved them around so he was closest to the exit. “Look, this isn’t a great time for me. I’m working.” Not to mention the guy he was fucking on a semiregular basis was wandering around the place and he had a fondness for large firearms. “So are you, and I’m pretty sure fraternising with other staff was number three on the trouble list.”

  The super-pout was back as Angel reached for the phone. “Can I at least give you my number?”

  Dodging him, Jack opened the door. “Maybe later. When the party’s over.”

  Leaving the poor bloke with a glimmer of hope, Jack went back to the party and spent the next ten minutes working around to returning the woman’s phone to her pocket. Thankfully, she hadn’t missed it—a damn near miracle—and didn’t notice Jack slipping it home, distracted as she was by the obscenely large chocolate-dipped strawberry he teased her with.

  His official job done, Jack couldn’t yet relax because Ethan was still hanging around. He kept his distance, except for a brief moment when they brushed past each other at the bar. Jack thought maybe he’d been forgiven for his harsh outburst when Ethan dragged a discrete finger across his chest. That thought vanished when Ethan studied the mix of red and silver glitter on his fingertip.

  “It’s not what you think,” Jack began, but Ethan merely cleaned his finger off on the bar mat and walked away.

  He didn’t see Ethan again after that. Stuffing a strangely large lump of regret into an already bulging drawer in the mental filing cabinet he imagined as part of his compartmentalisation abilities, Jack finished out the party, neatly avoided Angel, and hurried to meet the car that had come to pick him up.

  Lewis kept the debrief very short and, not wanting to hang around any longer than necessary, Jack threw on jeans—after removing the ridiculously large cup—and T-shirt over the stupid costume and stalked down the hall to the suite reserved for him.

  Just why he thought his night should have got any better was a mystery, because of course the suite wasn’t empty.

  “Hello, Ethan,” he said wearily, locking the door behind him.

  In a chair by the window in the sitting room, Ethan was perfectly still. “Jack. I trust the job is finished successfully.” He’d turned on the lamp behind his chair, throwing soft light around the room but leaving himself in shadows.

  “Yeah. All done. Listen—”

  “I shall take my leave, then. All’s well that ends well.” He stood and after buttoning his suit jacket, came towards the door.

  “Ethan.” Jack would have reached for him but Ethan was exuding a sharp, don’t-touch vibe. “Stop.”

  For a wonder, he did. Poised level with Jack, looking past him at the door, ready to make his escape should he change his mind.

  “I’m sorry. What I said earlier, it was wrong. I didn’t mean it.”

  “You did mean it, Jack.” Ethan’s voice had at least warmed even if only to a pained, wry tone.

  Jack grimaced. “I did, but not the way it sounded. Can we at least talk? I don’t know about you, but I need a drink. And a shower. And possibly a cushion to sit on. Those women had sharp nails.”

  The corner of Ethan’s mouth quirked up. “You should have dodged better.”

  There were a lot of things Jack should have done better, but if the only lasting damage was a few claw marks on his arse, he’d take it as a win. He just needed Ethan to listen and understand, once he’d worked out what to say and how to say it.

  Ethan wandered back to the window, looking out at the night-time city. He stood back and to the side, not silhouetting himself. Jack went into the kitchenette and opened the bar fridge.

  “Want anything?” He grabbed himself a beer from the minibar. The long day was catching up to him, dragging at his arms and legs like a sea anchor. A coffee would have been nice, but he didn’t want to wait for it.

  “No, thank you,” Ethan said softly.

  Twisting the cap off, Jack took a long drink and after turning out one of the chairs at the table, sat. Ethan didn’t move, didn’t look at him, and while he wasn’t fidgeting, he wasn’t in that cold, predator stillness Jack feared. He knew Ethan better now, understood him more than he had three months ago, but there were still pieces of the puzzle missing. His moments of stillness were one of them. Jack didn’t know what might send Ethan into one of these moments. Once, Jack had thought it was Ethan trying to rein in homicidal impulses, but he’d learned fairly quickly that Ethan didn’t have any. He had few compunctions about killing in general, but he was far from erratically homicidal. It was probably related to his obsessive-compulsive tendencies but Jack wasn’t certain. All he knew for sure was that in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t alter how Jack felt more than just physical attraction for Ethan.

  That sense of precariousness Jack had felt in his living room earlier was back. Like he was close to doing something either incredibly stupid—or right. This time, he let himself fall.

  “I’m sorry.” It popped out without thought, but it was real. “I mean that, but you’re right, too. I did mean what I said earlier.”

  Ethan moved then, to look over his shoulder, his expression blank. Not because he’d retreated but because he was working hard to not show his thoughts or feelings. “I know. I won’t say it didn’t hurt, because it did. But when I got away from you and stopped to think, I realised it wasn’t really about my offering you backup.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” Jack said. He took another drink, and another, then forced himself to put the mostly empty bottle on the table. “But that was part of it. You know I can’t have you interfering with my job. We talked about this last time.”

  “Which is why I offered, rather than just acting on my own.”

  “And yet you showed up. You followed me, all the way to Melbourne, wormed your way in and then hung around.”

  Ethan hesitated, turning to look back at the city outside. Even at this angle, Jack saw his lips twitch, as if he had several thoughts fighting to be said. Whatever the other thoughts were, the one that made it out was, “I wasn’t trying to interfere with your job, Jack. All I knew was something had you off-centre. Even the most benign of jobs can go bad if your head’s not in the right place.”

  Wondering what hadn’t been said, Jack nodded. “Yeah, I know, but give me some credit. I can get my shit together when required. And you saw for yourself just how benign the job was.” His cheeks heated at the memory of Ethan seeing him like that.

  This time, there was no indecision and the corner-quirk of Ethan’s mouth got so big it pulled t
he other side up as well. “Mm, indeed I did.”

  Ignoring that, Jack leaned forwards, elbows on knees, hands dangling. “And this is the bit where you get to call me a hypocrite. What I said about not wanting to be seen with you in public, that came out wrong. I mean, I do think it’s a risk, to you. You are a wanted criminal, in case you’d forgotten.”

  “I hadn’t.”

  “The agreement with Tan only goes so far. It protects you up to an arbitrary point only he knows.”

  Ethan waved dismissively. “I am aware.”

  “I know, but here’s the hypocritical part. I know you’ve taken care of yourself for a long time before I came along. You sneak in and out of the country and even though I know you’ve been here, I never find any proof of it. You don’t need me worrying about it, but I do. What if it all goes tits up? What if something happens and you have to scramble? What if—”

  “Jack,” Ethan cut in firmly. “I’ve had to scramble before and it’s been fine. I’m rather practiced at it.”

  “Yeah.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “God, this is going all wrong again.”

  “It’s not, actually. I forgave you quite some time ago.”

  Jack peered at him over his hands. “You did?”

  “Mm hmm.”

  “When?”

  “Precisely? I believe it was when I first saw you in the lounge. You were serving drinks to a pair of very intoxicated women, one of whom was trying to pat your behind. The way you kept just out of her reach while never failing to be polite was enthralling.”

  Jack eyed him suspiciously. “That’s what made you forgive me?”

  “Oh no. That’s just what you were doing when I did.” Ethan’s smile turned a bit sexy, a bit teasing, and all smirky. “It’s the costume that made me forgive you.”

  “Fuck off,” Jack muttered. “That’s ridiculous.” Ethan had to be making fun of him.

  “No, it’s true. You looked . . . amazing. The way your skin gleamed like old gold, light and shadow playing over your chest and abdomen . . .” He bit his lower lip, as Angel had done, but this time the action sparked something hot and needy in Jack’s belly. “You have spectacular legs. They were perfectly displayed by the red underwear.”

  “You’ve seen me in my undies before.” He couldn’t help but like hearing Ethan say these things, even if they were exaggerated.

  “For brief moments. I’ll grant you, the wings were a bit overdone, but the rest of the ensemble was delicious. The horns peeking out of your black curls. The boots. The underwear. All the bare skin . . .” He trailed off and when he spoke again, his voice had gone so husky Jack had to strain to make out the words. “Even the eyeliner and the lipstick.”

  Jack had rubbed the lipstick off but the eyeliner seemed a bit trickier, so he’d left it for later contemplation. Maybe it would get a stay of execution if Ethan liked it that much.

  Visibly pulling himself back from some edge, Ethan continued in a more even tone. “Seeing you in the costume, I finally knew why you reacted as you did when I offered to accompany you.”

  “Yeah? And?”

  “And as sexy as you looked I knew you would find it all completely ridiculous and would hate me seeing you like that.”

  It wasn’t the first time Ethan had pinned him with a spot-on insight. If they managed to keep going it probably wouldn’t be the last time, either. And maybe next time Ethan would cut a little deeper and see why Jack felt that way.

  But that was something Jack could deal with at a later point. Much later.

  “So,” he said slowly, “I’m forgiven for my thoughtless words?”

  “Yes. And am I forgiven?”

  Jack frowned. “For what?”

  “For following you and being seen near you in public, after you expressly asked me not to.”

  Letting him stew for a long moment, Jack stood and took off his shirt. Along with the eyeliner, he’d left the glitter and oil alone. “I don’t know, Ethan. Maybe I need a little more explanation. I mean, why, once you saw I was okay, did you stick around?”

  Slowly, he undid his jeans and pushed them down, revealing the stupid red boxer-briefs. He really should have taken off the boots first, but he managed to toe out of them without looking too ridiculous. Well, no more ridiculous than he already did. Though if Ethan kept biting his lower lip like that while looking at him, then maybe it wasn’t so bad.

  “I’ll be in the bedroom whenever you’re ready to explain your actions.” Jack turned and walked into the other room.

  It was still ridiculous, but he was willing to put up with it, especially when he heard Ethan—normally so graceful—stumble in his haste to follow.

  Jack settled on the bed, propped up on the pillows, and watched as Ethan entered. His jacket was already gone, shirt half unbuttoned as he stopped at the foot of the bed to finish undressing. The panes of his sunglasses roved up and down Jack’s body, the looseness of his pants doing nothing to hide his excitement.

  Not that the stupid red undies were any better. Worse, even, as Jack’s erection threatened to rip the seams. The very long day was dragging on the rest of his body, but his dick was awake and extremely energetic.

  Jack tugged at the leg of the undies, trying for some relief and just getting the slow burn of cotton rubbing over his dick. “You realise I’ve been up for nearly twenty-four hours, right?”

  Ethan stopped mid-struggle with his cuffs. “Are you saying you don’t want to . . . ?”

  “Not at all.” He stretched, arching his back, and spreading his legs a little. “Just that perhaps you’ll have to take charge.”

  This time, Ethan froze. Jack worried, until Ethan’s hand moved to his crotch, making an adjustment that left him biting his lips. Then he dove into a pocket and pulled out a handful of condoms and lube sachets and tossed them onto the bed. Grinning, Jack relaxed into the mattress and watched him strip.

  Naked, Ethan kneeled on the end of the bed and carefully peeled Jack out of the stupid costume. Hard dick finally released, it slapped up onto Jack’s belly with a firm thump, making Jack groan. Ethan spent a few moments drinking in Jack laid out like a buffet for him. Seemingly coming to some sort of a decision, he removed his glasses, blinking in the low light as he tossed them to the bedside table, then he picked up Jack’s foot.

  Strong thumbs pressed into his sole and pushed up towards his toes. Jack moaned, toes flexing, then curling in as Ethan rubbed firmly at the area just under them.

  “Is that good?” Ethan asked.

  “Very,” was all Jack managed.

  Ethan made a quiet, pleased noise and continued. Done with one foot, he kissed the ankle, set it down and started on the other. Then he had Jack roll over and worked on his calves. He peppered his ministrations with kisses and gently caressing fingers, so that even as Jack melted into the bed, his dick stayed incredibly hard, pressing into his belly insistently. As much as he wanted to give it what it wanted—what he ultimately wanted—the current situation was too nice to give up just yet.

  It was a close contest when Ethan reached Jack’s arse. Between the strong hands digging into his glutes and the occasional brush of thumbs along the crack and lips across the cheeks, Jack was writhing within moments. Before he could forget about leaving Ethan in charge of things, the crazy bastard moved onto his lower back. It was another challenge, however, when Ethan’s hands worked up to his shoulders. Partly because Ethan was straddling Jack’s arse, rock-solid dick rubbing over his skin, leaving little trails of moisture. Mostly because Ethan stopped the hard massage in favour of gentle, sweeping strokes of his warm palms that slowly removed the synthetic skin over Jack’s tattoo.

  Jack knew his reactions to others seeing the tattoo were contrary. He’d got it for very private reasons and became annoyed when people asked him about it. It was right there, branded on his skin for any man he got naked with to see and touch and wonder about. But Jack hated them asking. Wouldn’t answer them. Waved it aside. If he was particularly cranky about it
he said, “It reminds me of my mother,” which was usually enough to make them back off.

  It was different with Ethan, though. Ethan didn’t ask and yet Jack felt as if he almost knew regardless. All he’d said about it was, “I like your tattoo. It’s very beautiful.” Since then, he silently reiterated his words with fingers and kisses, which he did now.

  But after the first kiss, Ethan pulled back, making lip-smacking sounds.

  “What’s wrong?” Jack twisted his neck, trying to see him.

  “Nothing. I simply wasn’t expecting to taste the oil, that’s all.”

  Sinking back into the pillow, Jack mumbled, “We could shower.” Though he hated the idea of moving right then.

  “Hmm, no, not yet. Maybe after.” Ethan leaned down and kissed his shoulder again, this time not pulling away. “It’s too beautiful in this light.”

  Jack wanted to snort in derision, but he was already too far gone again in the sensation of lips and fingers and the pleasant weight across his arse.

  A minute, or perhaps an hour, later, Ethan finished his communion with the tattoo and got off him. “Roll over.” When Jack had managed it, Ethan slung a leg over his hips again and settled down. He idly massaged Jack’s chest for a while, then leaned down and applied his lips.

  Jack wrapped his arms around him, loose and lazily running his hands up and down his back. The mellow mood of the massage was starting to ripple with waves of excitement as Ethan mouthed across his chest, kissing and licking and scraping his teeth over sensitised skin. He lapped at Jack’s nipples, flicking them with his tongue, sending jolts of electricity down through his belly and into his dick, which was already humming at the touch of Ethan’s shaft and balls. Jack’s name was moaned between kisses and Ethan starting grinding against him with purpose. Hands gliding lower, Jack’s fingers slipped into Ethan’s crack, grazing his hole.

  “Yes,” Ethan hissed, spine arching as he threw his head back. “Jack, yes.”