From The Dark Realms With Love
I wrote a drabble. There was a general outcry that I left it hanging. Nikery bribed me. >.>; With dragons. *_*
From the Darkness Saga.
NOT WORK SAFE. *pointed glare* mechante_fille, nikerymksherea, this means you. Read my bloody warnings. :P
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Azragael uncorked the bottle of wine one-handed, downing over half of the contents before klunking it back down on the table and scowling at the offending bottle. Weak, flavorless, and nowhere near strong enough. There was nothing worse than cheap wine. Except maybe cheap ale, because that tasted remarkably like cat piss. Downing the rest of the bottle anyway, Azragael made a note to severely maim and torture the idiot demon that had brought it back from the mortal world.
Obviously if you wanted something, you had to go fetch it yourself.
Unfortunately, running off to the mortal world to pick up a few cases of wine and a nice keg of ale was completely out of the question. Ever since the unfortunate demise of Dark Lord Baharazel, Azragael's hands had been full trying to keep everything running smoothly. The other five Lords of Darkness had all been helping as well, but by this point Azragael's temper was ready to snap.
Yesterday he'd denied thirty mortal souls their opportunity for reincarnation. Sadly, it had only improved his mood for about five minutes. The day before that he'd flayed one of his subordinates and fed the man's innards to his pet hellhound, Daisy. While Daisy had appreciated the gesture, it hadn't gone far toward relieving Azragael's smoldering temper.
Today he'd planned on getting very, very drunk, only to be thwarted again by the minimal quantities and low quality of alcohol on hand. He considered, eyeing the four remaining bottles, then systematically began throwing them across the room. The last bottle hit the doorjam just as one of his subordinates tried to enter, resulting in said subordinate acquiring wine and glass in its dark hair.
"What is it?" Azragael snapped, sparks crackling as they leapt into the air from the ends of his hair.
"M-m-m-m-m-my Lord..." the demon stammered, trying to bow without kneeling in the broken glass, "R-r-r-r-riots... In the Fifth Realm..."
It figured. Azragael shot the man a glare that had never failed to make the recipient wet his pants, and this one was no exception. "Get out."
The man couldn't obey fast enough. Azragael watched him go dispassionately, then calmly lit the spilled wine on fire. The flames were rather artistic, really, and he watched them for several minutes until at last they ran out of fuel and died away.
Now there was a black spot on his nice pretty floor. He summoned someone to clean it up for him, though it really would have been perfectly easy to do it himself, because making someone else do it was more fun, even if he did leave long before anyone got there.
Azragael reappeared floating in the air above the fifth realm, spotting the problem almost immediately. Mostly Lost Souls, though he could see the unmistakable reddish skin of several demons intermixed between. He snorted. Foolish, that. A mortal soul, if tortured extensively enough, would give up and simply return to the reincarnation cycle. Demons, on the other hand, had nowhere else to go. An angry Demon Lord could torture them for a very long time.
Nonchalantly he let his power slip free, rippling out around him and igniting the air in the imitation of six fiery wings. Immediately the fighting ceased as all heads jerked upward, staring for a few short counts before a panic emerged as everyone attempted to flee at once. He smiled slightly, exposing the points of his fangs. Nice to know he could still inspire stark terror with a minimum of effort.
Randomly he began setting people on fire, just to make certain they understood that what they'd done was not allowed and a worse punishment would occur if the incident was repeated. Setting people on fire was considerable fun, and lightened his mood quite a bit by the time all his targets had managed to relocate themselves elsewhere. Whistling a rather lewd drinking song he'd learned from a werewolf a few centuries back, Azragael returned to his citadel.
"Rub between 'er tits an' squirt squirt..." Azragael trailed off, blinking, as he stared at the figure standing impatiently in the middle of the audience room, arms crossed, and glaring as usual. "Er, Lurizal... What are you doing here?" he asked, too surprised to think up anything less inane.
Lurizal scowled, the expression quite the familiar one as he always seemed to wear it or something similar when Azragael was around. "Looking for you, obviously. I take it you were dealing with that minor incident in the fifth?"
Azragael rolled his eyes. "Appear suitably intimidating, set a few on fire, problem solved."
Summoning up a chair to sit in, carved black obsidian, of course, Lurizal frowned. "I'm more concerned with the fact that they tried it in the first place. It seems as though the loss of that fool Baharazel has triggered all kinds of madness."
Azragael shrugged and summoned a chair for himself. Gold, with ruby accents. "It will die eventually. Make a few examples, spread a little pain, no more problems."
Lurizal snorted quietly. "Just don't lose your temper, Azragael. You've got a short fuse as it is."
"Eh, I'm fine." Azragael waved away the warning. "What's the worst that could happen?"
One pale golden brow arched upwards. "Oh, I don't know... you could incinerate an entire realm?" Lurizal said dryly.
Azragael blinked, then grinned broadly. Lurizal winced. "That was not a suggestion," he snapped. "Honestly, you are the worst excuse for a Dark Lord. Whatever happened to the days when you actually did your job rather than lazing about and doing whatever suits your fancy?"
"I got bored," Azragael snapped back, feeling his earlier good mood vanish. "You may be content with sitting around playing figurehead so that the peons stay in line, but I find it damned boring!"
Lurizal's ice blue eyes flashed dangerously. "Oh, so instead you just run off to the mortal world to play with your toys. How befitting of the mighty Lord Azragael. Consorting with lesser beings in taverns and fornicating in back rooms. Yes, I can see what lofty uses you put your time to."
Azragael stepped back as though struck. "How.. how did you..."
Lurizal arched a brow again. "Oh come on, did you really think no one would notice? It didn't take me that long to figure out where you kept disappearing to. You're so fond of mortals, you should have been one."
For a moment, Azragael said nothing at all. He stood perfectly still, the only motion remaining being embodied in the depths of his hair and eyes with their dizzying impression of dancing flames. "I am what I am," he said at last, voice very quiet. "I can be nothing more. I apologize for not meeting your lofty ideals of what one of us should be like, Lurizal. Perhaps it is I who should have died, rather than Baharazel."
"Perhaps you should have," Lurizal retorted stiffly, rising from his seat. "Go back to your games and precious mortals. It isn't as though you're good for anything else, after all." He turned, vanishing before he'd taken more than a single step. Azragael stared at the spot he'd occupied for several long moments before screaming in rage, every furnishing in the room shattering into a thousand tiny pieces by the force of it.
An instant later he, too, vanished.
He'd been intending upon finding a tavern and drinking himself into insensibility. Anything to dull the pain of Lurizal's hatred. Azragael laughed bitterly at the irony of a Lord of Darkness needing something so base as mortal alcohol to keep from doing something utterly humiliating like crying. Demons didn't cry. Dark Lords definitely didn't cry.
Obviously, Lurizal was right. He was a failure as a Lord of Darkness. That the thought didn't hurt as badly as he thought it should only proved the point further. Whatever cosmic entity assigned such roles apparently had quite the sense of humor, he thought morosely. He was so going to get drunk and pass out for a week.
Except, he wasn't anywhere near a tavern. He wasn't even in a town, for that matter. Instead, he was standing in a large clearing between a forest and a cliff. Occupying that clearing was a tall grey castle with mist clinging to it in strategic areas that almost seemed as though someone had deliberately decorated that way. Azragael knew he'd never seen it before, and yet it felt very familiar.
Curious now, he stepped through the curving iron gates into the courtyard, passing by a number of elaborately pruned hedges in the shape of monstrous beasts. He stopped when he spotted one of a satyr, struggling not to laugh as he observed the great care someone had put into making certain that the leafy little goat-man was quite lovingly endowed.
Feeling a little cheered by the bizarre gardening skills of whoever tended the castle grounds, Azragael hopped up the steps and through the front doors which obligingly opened for him. Inside the decor was 'artistically ruined' in a manner more in keeping with a Hollywood film rather than an actual crumbling castle. Or would be, if Hollywood or films had been invented yet.
The hellhound guarding the door whimpered and backed itself into a corner as the goblin a little further down the entrance hall jumped and bolted for one of the twin staircases going up to the second floor. Azragael arched a brow, then shrugged and continued onward. It wasn't as though he didn't get that kind of reception regularly.
He started to follow the goblin up the stairs, then paused as his hearing picked up the faint sounds of steel upon steel. Intrigued, he followed a narrow corridor deeper into the castle, turning two corners and passing through a set of cut-crystal doors before emerging in what appeared to be a salle. The sounds of weaponry had ceased one hallway and a corner turn back, and one of the duelists had already left.
The remaining duelist stretched slowly, then turned around, stopping short when he spotted Azragael. It was hard to tell who was more surprised, Azragael or the swordsman. Granted, the swordsman had a right to be surprised by the sudden appearance of a Dark Lord in the castle, but Azragael's surprise was for an entirely different reason.
He recognized the man.
Tall for a human, though not as tall as Azragael himself, the man had the sleek build of a lifelong warrior with the scars to match. One crossed vertically down his face, missing his eye by the barest of margins. He had straight dark hair that was starting to escape the tie that held it back, and sapphire blue eyes.
"You..." Azragael said, confusion thick in his voice, "I know you..."
The dark-haired swordsman arched a brow. "Lucien," he stated. "And you are the High Lord Azragael. If you've changed your mind about not taking him, you're not doing it without a fight."
Azragael frowned in puzzlement. "Taking him? Taking whom? What are you-" He stopped, as suddenly the memory came to him. This man had been kneeling on the floor of a death-soaked castle, blood seeping from the wound in his stomach. He'd had a sword then, to, lifted to keep Azragael away from the slender red-haired boy that had been holding him close.
"Oh. Oh." Azragael blinked. "No, no, I'm not here for, um... Ciaran, was it? Actually, I'm not really sure why I'm here at all." He scowled. "I meant to transport into a tavern."
From the expression on the man's face, he didn't believe a word of Azragael's explanation. The demon sighed. "What, you've never wanted to drink yourself into oblivion before?"
That eyebrow seemed to be permanently stuck in the up position. Really, humans got drunk all the time. Was it so much of a stretch to imagine demons doing the same?
"No," Lucien said slowly, "I can't say that I have. Nor can I imagine what would drive one of the Seven Lords of Darkness to do so either."
"Six," Azragael muttered. "Your Ciaran wiped out the seventh. Which is part of my problem, but I almost had that fixed when Lurizal had to show up and kill my happy."
Lucien stared at him for a moment. "Has anyone ever told you that you're insane?" he asked finally.
"Frequently," Azragael replied. "Why?"
Lucien sighed. "No reason." He looked Azragael over carefully for a minute, then shrugged. "So, I believe it is safe to assume Lurizal is High Lord Lurizal of the Inner Circle... do I even want to know what two Lords of Darkness fight about?"
Azragael scowled. "Everything. Anything. If I haven't done something recently to piss him off, he'll make a reason. Lurizal's hated me for years. Nothing's ever good enough for Lurizal the perfect. He's always snapping at me to do my job better and quit slacking off and don't have any fun..." The scowl deepened. "If it wasn't Lurizal I'd say he was jealous, but Lurizal wouldn't know fun if it jumped up and bit him in the balls."
Lucien eyed him skeptically at first, then his expression softened into something a little more thoughtful. "Do you do your job?" he asked.
"Of course!" Azragael was surprised the human even had to ask. "I don't hold my position by power alone."
"Then why does he think you're slacking?" Lucien asked.
Azragael hesitated. "... I don't know. I usually only sneak off when there's nothing else to do. You wouldn't believe how boring it can get sometimes."
Lucien considered for several minutes, a faint frown creasing his brow. "I'll admit I know nothing of the Dark Realms or what goes on there, but I did know someone who behaved a lot like you're describing Lurizal..." His lips twisted into a faint, wry smile, and for a moment Azragael thought he could see what his son saw in this man. "My father treated me much the same. Always pushing me. Nothing I ever did was good enough for him. It wasn't until after he died that I realized he'd been trying to force me to better myself. To never accept 'good enough' and always strive to be better than the best."
Azragael stared at the man. "He can't... Lurizal wouldn't... I'm not..." He blinked. "Would he?"
"I don't know this Lurizal, so I have no way of ascertaining that," Lucien replied. "All I know is what I have experienced. If you want to know for certain, you're going to have to ask-"
"Lucien? Are you still... oh."
Lucien and Azragael both turned to regard the boy who had just entered the salle, a smaller, softer version of Azragael with warm grey eyes. He moved immediately to Lucien's side, one arm sliding around the warrior's waist. "Father," Ciaran greeted quietly.
Azragael held up his hands in an approximate imitation of the "don't shoot, I surrender" thing that humans did when threatened. "I'm not here for you or your pet human or anyone else. I got lost while looking for a tavern, that's all," he said, wondering how many more times he was going to have to explain himself.
Ciaran's grey eyes scrunched up in confusion. "Tavern?" he echoed.
"Don't ask me, I didn't understand it either," Lucien told him dryly.
Azragael stared at both of them incredulously. "Doesn't anyone drink around here?" he asked, feeling as though he'd stepped into the twilight zone. Whatever that was. He squinted at Ciaran. "Are you sure you're my son?"
Lucien rolled his eyes. "Ciaran doesn't drink because Ciaran gets rather... affectionate... when he's indulged." He shot an amused, and obviously loving look at the shorter redhead.
Azragael snickered. "Okay, so he is my son." He paused, blinking. "Oh, I think that gives me an idea..." Grinning wildly, Azragael bowed to the two highly confused lovers before vanishing into thin air.
The highest quality wine 'borrowed' from a clueless mortal? Check. Extensive array of magical spells and counter-spells? Check. Courage to actually see his plans through? Eh, well, that was why he had multiple bottles.
One of which was already half-empty in anticipation of facing Lurizal, and would most likely be empty by the time he went inside the gleaming black marble fortress that Lurizal called home. For a man who was naturally so pale, he certainly seemed to have thing for surrounding himself with an abnormal number of black objects. Although, considering that he normally preferred to dress in white and blue with the occasional gold accent, there was a distinct possibility that Lurizal did it simply because he figured he was supposed to. Lord of Darkness and all that.
And he was rambling as his brain ran away without him while his feet stalled rather than actually move forward. More wine. He obviously needed more wine.
Downing the rest of the bottle, Azragael squared his shoulders. Onward, into the lair of the beast! Or maybe upward. Downward? Wherever-Lurizal-was-ward! Yes, that was more like it. Five seconds of remembering what he was doing and ten seconds of figuring out how to teleport later, Azragael vanished and reappeared in Lurizal's study.
Lurizal obviously hadn't been expecting him, for his pretty ice blue eyes widened fractionally before narrowing dangerously. "Azragael. What are you doing here?"
"I was looking for a tavern," Azragael explained, setting his pilfered bottles of wine down on Lurizal's desk with absolutely no concern for the desk's proper contents. "But I got lost somewhere and then there was this fellow with the sword who said some things and then I had to come see if it's true but I had to stop for some wine first cause I can't ever talk to you unless I'm tipsy and then it's okay." He paused, blinking. "It's really good wine. Want some?"
While Lurizal stared at him as though he'd finally lost his mind, Azragael produced two glasses and filled them both, placing one in Lurizal's hand. He moved the rim of the glass up to Lurizal's mouth encouragingly, more than a little surprised when Lurizal obediently took a sip.
Those pretty blue eyes blinked in surprise. "It's good," Lurizal said.
Azragael smirked. "I told you I got the good stuff." He delicately clinked his glass to Lurizal's then took a careful sip. It wouldn't do to get too plastered. Not yet anyway. Wait, wasn't there a spell for that? Right, and he needed to cast the counterspell on Lurizal.
Murmuring both spells beneath his breath, Azragael cheerfully downed the contents of his wineglass, almost purring in delight. Oh yes. That was the quality stuff. Rich and delicious and warming and distracting him from what he was supposed to be doing which was... which was... Something having to do with Lurizal.
He watched as Lurizal finished his glass, helpfully refilling it as he attempted to remember what he was doing. Lurizal. Lurizal had said something. Something not nice. Then he'd gone someplace that wasn't where he meant to go but that was okay because he'd talked to interesting people and they had some ideas but then he'd had to leave because looking at them made him want so he'd left... But there'd been an idea in there somewhere too. Something involving wine, and Lurizal, and Lurizal's lap...
No, wait, did it involve Lurizal's lap? He wasn't sure, but he rather thought that it should. Any good plan should involve Lurizal's lap. It was a very nice lap, after all. Azragael had tested it more than once. Granted, it would be much nicer without pesky clothes to get in the way, but Lurizal didn't seem to see it that way.
Oh, hey. Maybe that's what the wine was for.
Deciding that must be the case, Azragael refilled Lurizal's glass yet again and snuggled into the lap that he liked so much. Lurizal frowned at him, blinking slowly as he took another sip from his refilled glass.
"You're... in my lap." He blinked again. "Why are you in my lap?"
Azragael smiled cheerfully and snuck a sip from Lurizal's glass. "Because you have a nice lap," he replied as solemnly as a slightly-tipsy Lord of Darkness could manage while perched in his fellow Dark Lord's lap and trying not to purr.
"Oh," Lurizal managed, still frowning slightly as he tried to figure out what was off about that statement and obviously struggling. Azragael decided that Lurizal needed more wine, and obviously he needed some help in drinking it, as he was still sober enough to be trying to think.
Thinking was bad. Drinking was good. Getting a nice deep mouthful of the beautiful red wine, Azragael twisted in Lurizal's lap and covered the other demon's lips with his, gently coaxing that delicious mouth open so that he could share his mouthful of wine with Lurizal. And, well, if sharing turned into a slow, sensual exploration of Lurizal's mouth, well, that could hardly be helped.
It took longer than Azragael had expected before Lurizal shoved him hard, off his lap to collide with the desk before landing on the floor. He heard a crash as Lurizal's chair tipped over and then Lurizal was standing, one hand to his mouth as he stared down at Azragael. It was rather funny, the way he wove slightly back and forth and kept blinking to keep from going crosseyed. Apparently he needed to get Lurizal drunk more often.
"You... you..." Lurizal rubbed firmly at his temples. "What did you do? I'm..."
"Drunk," Azragael confirmed, picking himself up off the floor with the very helpful aid of that nice solid desk. "S'fun, isn't it?"
Lurizal attempted to scowl, though he didn't quite manage it as he couldn't seem to figure out how to make all the appropriate facial muscles work at the same time. "You... I... Why did you..." He backed away as Azragael moved toward him, blue eyes widening as his back collided with a wall. "You... why..."
He liked being taller than Lurizal. It made it easier to trap the handsome blond demon in the circle of his arms and lean in close to those very nice lips. "Why did I kiss you?" he said helpfully. "Because I wanted to. Because your lips and your eyes and your lap have been taunting me for millennia, and if you're going to be mad at me all the time, then I might as well give you a reason to be mad at me, hmm?"
Logic shared, Azragael captured those delicious lips again, feeling Lurizal's hesitation and confusion at the entire situation. He tasted Lurizal's lips, slowly encouraging them to open up to him as he deftly undid the buttons of Lurizal's shirt that he so had not spent an hour memorizing so that he could undo it without looking and ran his hands up the smooth skin of Lurizal's chest.
Lurizal moaned softly, providing Azragael the opportunity he'd been waiting for to deepen the kiss again. Lurizal was just as deliciously tantalizing the second time as he'd been the first, heady and dizzying and utterly delicious. Azragael wanted to drown in that mouth, only he couldn't, because demons didn't drown, but he still wanted to anyway.
He brushed a thumb over one of Lurizal's nipples, circling it gently and drawing out another low moan from his captive. Delighted, Azragael repeated the motion while his other hand slipped free to finish undoing the fastenings of Lurizal's shirt and slip it off the blond demon's shoulders.
For a moment Lurizal blinked at him in mild bewilderment, looking slowly over first Azragael, then himself, frowning slightly. An instant later a hand buried itself in Azragael's long red hair, clenching tightly as Lurizal dragged him back down for another kiss.
His sheets did not smell like mountain lilacs and mint. Nor could he think of anyone he knew who owned such sheets, especially considering the very fine texture he could feel beneath his fingertips when he shifted his right hand back and forth. The left hand, though, had something even nicer beneath it. Warm skin, silken soft over smooth muscle. Skin he'd mapped out every inch of, repeatedly, as he'd pounded into its owner across the desk, against the wall, into the mattress...
Wait. Desk?
Azragael jerked his head up quickly, dislodging the arm that had been draped casually across his lower back, as memory returned. Sure enough, there were Lurizal's pale gold curls spread out across an even paler blue pillowcase, perfect chest rising and falling evenly as he slept.
Oh, damn. He'd gotten Lurizal drunk. And then they'd... Lurizal was going to kill him. Everything he'd done up until this point would look like mere spankings when compared to what Lurizal would do once he was sober. What had ever possessed him to think that getting Lurizal hammered would be a good idea?
Wait, maybe 'hammered' wasn't quite the appropriate choice of words.
He groaned quietly, calling himself all types of fools beneath his breath, then bit his tongue as Lurizal stirred. He held his breath, watching pale lashes flutter before Lurizal's eyes slowly opened. He blinked unfocusedly at Azragael for a long moment (During which Azragael memorized the look of those pretty not-yet-mad-at-him eyes for future fantasizing after Lurizal forbid him within seven leagues of the Inner Circle) then frowned slightly.
"Azragael."
Azragael winced, then put on his best attempt at an innocent smile. "Riz."
Lurizal's frown deepened slightly. "You drugged me."
"I got you drunk," Azragael corrected. "There's a difference."
"You are not getting out of it on a technicaaaaahhh..." Lurizal trailed off into a soft moan as Azragael's thumb had found his nipple and was tracing little patterns around the sensitive skin. It was equal parts amusing and pleasing that the prickly demon was so very sensitive in so many delicious places.
Pressing his advantage, Azragael dropped his head to suck on the other one, drawing another moan and several breathless mewls from the pale-haired demon. Lurizal tasted nice everywhere, and the helpless sounds he made as he writhed beneath Azragael's touch were the sweetest sounds Azragael had ever heard.
He should have done this centuries ago, he decided. As long as Lurizal's wicked tongue was engaged in... other things, it couldn't be used to berate Azragael. Hmm, and speaking of tongues...
Azragael slid slowly up Lurizal's body to capture those sensuous lips, tongue flicking out to taste as Lurizal willingly parted them to allow him entrance. He was even more delicious in reality than he'd been in memory and Azragael wasted no time plundering the depths of that so-enticing mouth.
Lurizal arched suddenly, crying out wordlessly as Azragael's stealthily descending hand found what it was searching for and skillfully stroked life into the rapidly-stiffening flesh held firmly in his grasp. His hips twitched as he attempted to buck into Azragael's grip, yet held down by the weight of the flame-haired demon's body. Slow torture, the steady, even pace, not enough and still too much.
Azragael lifted his head slightly to admire the sight of a breathlessly panting, writhing, helpless Lurizal, before kissing a slow trail down Lurizal's neck and across his chest, pausing briefly to give attention to one hard nipple before continuing downward again.
He released his grip only moments before dropping his head to swallow Lurizal whole, delighting all over again in the exquisite flavor of the man. He tasted like ambrosia, fire and ice and everything nice. No, wait, that wasn't the right saying. Not that it mattered, because only Lurizal mattered. Lurizal and his gasping, frantic whimpers interspersed with helpless mewls and the way his hands clung desperately to Azragael's horns, uncertain whether they were trying to pull him away or push him down further.
Deviously, Azragael ran his teeth ever-so-lightly along Lurizal's length. Lurizal cried out sharply and came, his hot seed filling Azragael's mouth as the flame demon drank it all down like the sweet nectar it was. Lurizal collapsed back down onto the bed, breathing heavily as Azragael licked first his mouth clean, then skillfully gave Lurizal's softening member a loving tongue bath.
He took his time working his way back up Lurizal's body, pausing here and there to pay special attention to little spots that needed a bit of extra love before sprawling out contentedly atop Lurizal and grinning down into slightly unfocused blue eyes.
"So," Azragael said conversationally, "Am I forgiven yet?"
On the third attempt Lurizal managed to summon an approximation of his usual icy glare. "When my limbs remember how to move again, you are so dead," he promised.
Azragael grinned broadly. "Well then, that just means I have to make doubly certain you can't get up, doesn't it?" he quipped, before leaning down to steal a kiss.
Lurizal didn't even try to protest.
From the Darkness Saga.
NOT WORK SAFE. *pointed glare* mechante_fille, nikerymksherea, this means you. Read my bloody warnings. :P
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Azragael uncorked the bottle of wine one-handed, downing over half of the contents before klunking it back down on the table and scowling at the offending bottle. Weak, flavorless, and nowhere near strong enough. There was nothing worse than cheap wine. Except maybe cheap ale, because that tasted remarkably like cat piss. Downing the rest of the bottle anyway, Azragael made a note to severely maim and torture the idiot demon that had brought it back from the mortal world.
Obviously if you wanted something, you had to go fetch it yourself.
Unfortunately, running off to the mortal world to pick up a few cases of wine and a nice keg of ale was completely out of the question. Ever since the unfortunate demise of Dark Lord Baharazel, Azragael's hands had been full trying to keep everything running smoothly. The other five Lords of Darkness had all been helping as well, but by this point Azragael's temper was ready to snap.
Yesterday he'd denied thirty mortal souls their opportunity for reincarnation. Sadly, it had only improved his mood for about five minutes. The day before that he'd flayed one of his subordinates and fed the man's innards to his pet hellhound, Daisy. While Daisy had appreciated the gesture, it hadn't gone far toward relieving Azragael's smoldering temper.
Today he'd planned on getting very, very drunk, only to be thwarted again by the minimal quantities and low quality of alcohol on hand. He considered, eyeing the four remaining bottles, then systematically began throwing them across the room. The last bottle hit the doorjam just as one of his subordinates tried to enter, resulting in said subordinate acquiring wine and glass in its dark hair.
"What is it?" Azragael snapped, sparks crackling as they leapt into the air from the ends of his hair.
"M-m-m-m-m-my Lord..." the demon stammered, trying to bow without kneeling in the broken glass, "R-r-r-r-riots... In the Fifth Realm..."
It figured. Azragael shot the man a glare that had never failed to make the recipient wet his pants, and this one was no exception. "Get out."
The man couldn't obey fast enough. Azragael watched him go dispassionately, then calmly lit the spilled wine on fire. The flames were rather artistic, really, and he watched them for several minutes until at last they ran out of fuel and died away.
Now there was a black spot on his nice pretty floor. He summoned someone to clean it up for him, though it really would have been perfectly easy to do it himself, because making someone else do it was more fun, even if he did leave long before anyone got there.
Azragael reappeared floating in the air above the fifth realm, spotting the problem almost immediately. Mostly Lost Souls, though he could see the unmistakable reddish skin of several demons intermixed between. He snorted. Foolish, that. A mortal soul, if tortured extensively enough, would give up and simply return to the reincarnation cycle. Demons, on the other hand, had nowhere else to go. An angry Demon Lord could torture them for a very long time.
Nonchalantly he let his power slip free, rippling out around him and igniting the air in the imitation of six fiery wings. Immediately the fighting ceased as all heads jerked upward, staring for a few short counts before a panic emerged as everyone attempted to flee at once. He smiled slightly, exposing the points of his fangs. Nice to know he could still inspire stark terror with a minimum of effort.
Randomly he began setting people on fire, just to make certain they understood that what they'd done was not allowed and a worse punishment would occur if the incident was repeated. Setting people on fire was considerable fun, and lightened his mood quite a bit by the time all his targets had managed to relocate themselves elsewhere. Whistling a rather lewd drinking song he'd learned from a werewolf a few centuries back, Azragael returned to his citadel.
"Rub between 'er tits an' squirt squirt..." Azragael trailed off, blinking, as he stared at the figure standing impatiently in the middle of the audience room, arms crossed, and glaring as usual. "Er, Lurizal... What are you doing here?" he asked, too surprised to think up anything less inane.
Lurizal scowled, the expression quite the familiar one as he always seemed to wear it or something similar when Azragael was around. "Looking for you, obviously. I take it you were dealing with that minor incident in the fifth?"
Azragael rolled his eyes. "Appear suitably intimidating, set a few on fire, problem solved."
Summoning up a chair to sit in, carved black obsidian, of course, Lurizal frowned. "I'm more concerned with the fact that they tried it in the first place. It seems as though the loss of that fool Baharazel has triggered all kinds of madness."
Azragael shrugged and summoned a chair for himself. Gold, with ruby accents. "It will die eventually. Make a few examples, spread a little pain, no more problems."
Lurizal snorted quietly. "Just don't lose your temper, Azragael. You've got a short fuse as it is."
"Eh, I'm fine." Azragael waved away the warning. "What's the worst that could happen?"
One pale golden brow arched upwards. "Oh, I don't know... you could incinerate an entire realm?" Lurizal said dryly.
Azragael blinked, then grinned broadly. Lurizal winced. "That was not a suggestion," he snapped. "Honestly, you are the worst excuse for a Dark Lord. Whatever happened to the days when you actually did your job rather than lazing about and doing whatever suits your fancy?"
"I got bored," Azragael snapped back, feeling his earlier good mood vanish. "You may be content with sitting around playing figurehead so that the peons stay in line, but I find it damned boring!"
Lurizal's ice blue eyes flashed dangerously. "Oh, so instead you just run off to the mortal world to play with your toys. How befitting of the mighty Lord Azragael. Consorting with lesser beings in taverns and fornicating in back rooms. Yes, I can see what lofty uses you put your time to."
Azragael stepped back as though struck. "How.. how did you..."
Lurizal arched a brow again. "Oh come on, did you really think no one would notice? It didn't take me that long to figure out where you kept disappearing to. You're so fond of mortals, you should have been one."
For a moment, Azragael said nothing at all. He stood perfectly still, the only motion remaining being embodied in the depths of his hair and eyes with their dizzying impression of dancing flames. "I am what I am," he said at last, voice very quiet. "I can be nothing more. I apologize for not meeting your lofty ideals of what one of us should be like, Lurizal. Perhaps it is I who should have died, rather than Baharazel."
"Perhaps you should have," Lurizal retorted stiffly, rising from his seat. "Go back to your games and precious mortals. It isn't as though you're good for anything else, after all." He turned, vanishing before he'd taken more than a single step. Azragael stared at the spot he'd occupied for several long moments before screaming in rage, every furnishing in the room shattering into a thousand tiny pieces by the force of it.
An instant later he, too, vanished.
He'd been intending upon finding a tavern and drinking himself into insensibility. Anything to dull the pain of Lurizal's hatred. Azragael laughed bitterly at the irony of a Lord of Darkness needing something so base as mortal alcohol to keep from doing something utterly humiliating like crying. Demons didn't cry. Dark Lords definitely didn't cry.
Obviously, Lurizal was right. He was a failure as a Lord of Darkness. That the thought didn't hurt as badly as he thought it should only proved the point further. Whatever cosmic entity assigned such roles apparently had quite the sense of humor, he thought morosely. He was so going to get drunk and pass out for a week.
Except, he wasn't anywhere near a tavern. He wasn't even in a town, for that matter. Instead, he was standing in a large clearing between a forest and a cliff. Occupying that clearing was a tall grey castle with mist clinging to it in strategic areas that almost seemed as though someone had deliberately decorated that way. Azragael knew he'd never seen it before, and yet it felt very familiar.
Curious now, he stepped through the curving iron gates into the courtyard, passing by a number of elaborately pruned hedges in the shape of monstrous beasts. He stopped when he spotted one of a satyr, struggling not to laugh as he observed the great care someone had put into making certain that the leafy little goat-man was quite lovingly endowed.
Feeling a little cheered by the bizarre gardening skills of whoever tended the castle grounds, Azragael hopped up the steps and through the front doors which obligingly opened for him. Inside the decor was 'artistically ruined' in a manner more in keeping with a Hollywood film rather than an actual crumbling castle. Or would be, if Hollywood or films had been invented yet.
The hellhound guarding the door whimpered and backed itself into a corner as the goblin a little further down the entrance hall jumped and bolted for one of the twin staircases going up to the second floor. Azragael arched a brow, then shrugged and continued onward. It wasn't as though he didn't get that kind of reception regularly.
He started to follow the goblin up the stairs, then paused as his hearing picked up the faint sounds of steel upon steel. Intrigued, he followed a narrow corridor deeper into the castle, turning two corners and passing through a set of cut-crystal doors before emerging in what appeared to be a salle. The sounds of weaponry had ceased one hallway and a corner turn back, and one of the duelists had already left.
The remaining duelist stretched slowly, then turned around, stopping short when he spotted Azragael. It was hard to tell who was more surprised, Azragael or the swordsman. Granted, the swordsman had a right to be surprised by the sudden appearance of a Dark Lord in the castle, but Azragael's surprise was for an entirely different reason.
He recognized the man.
Tall for a human, though not as tall as Azragael himself, the man had the sleek build of a lifelong warrior with the scars to match. One crossed vertically down his face, missing his eye by the barest of margins. He had straight dark hair that was starting to escape the tie that held it back, and sapphire blue eyes.
"You..." Azragael said, confusion thick in his voice, "I know you..."
The dark-haired swordsman arched a brow. "Lucien," he stated. "And you are the High Lord Azragael. If you've changed your mind about not taking him, you're not doing it without a fight."
Azragael frowned in puzzlement. "Taking him? Taking whom? What are you-" He stopped, as suddenly the memory came to him. This man had been kneeling on the floor of a death-soaked castle, blood seeping from the wound in his stomach. He'd had a sword then, to, lifted to keep Azragael away from the slender red-haired boy that had been holding him close.
"Oh. Oh." Azragael blinked. "No, no, I'm not here for, um... Ciaran, was it? Actually, I'm not really sure why I'm here at all." He scowled. "I meant to transport into a tavern."
From the expression on the man's face, he didn't believe a word of Azragael's explanation. The demon sighed. "What, you've never wanted to drink yourself into oblivion before?"
That eyebrow seemed to be permanently stuck in the up position. Really, humans got drunk all the time. Was it so much of a stretch to imagine demons doing the same?
"No," Lucien said slowly, "I can't say that I have. Nor can I imagine what would drive one of the Seven Lords of Darkness to do so either."
"Six," Azragael muttered. "Your Ciaran wiped out the seventh. Which is part of my problem, but I almost had that fixed when Lurizal had to show up and kill my happy."
Lucien stared at him for a moment. "Has anyone ever told you that you're insane?" he asked finally.
"Frequently," Azragael replied. "Why?"
Lucien sighed. "No reason." He looked Azragael over carefully for a minute, then shrugged. "So, I believe it is safe to assume Lurizal is High Lord Lurizal of the Inner Circle... do I even want to know what two Lords of Darkness fight about?"
Azragael scowled. "Everything. Anything. If I haven't done something recently to piss him off, he'll make a reason. Lurizal's hated me for years. Nothing's ever good enough for Lurizal the perfect. He's always snapping at me to do my job better and quit slacking off and don't have any fun..." The scowl deepened. "If it wasn't Lurizal I'd say he was jealous, but Lurizal wouldn't know fun if it jumped up and bit him in the balls."
Lucien eyed him skeptically at first, then his expression softened into something a little more thoughtful. "Do you do your job?" he asked.
"Of course!" Azragael was surprised the human even had to ask. "I don't hold my position by power alone."
"Then why does he think you're slacking?" Lucien asked.
Azragael hesitated. "... I don't know. I usually only sneak off when there's nothing else to do. You wouldn't believe how boring it can get sometimes."
Lucien considered for several minutes, a faint frown creasing his brow. "I'll admit I know nothing of the Dark Realms or what goes on there, but I did know someone who behaved a lot like you're describing Lurizal..." His lips twisted into a faint, wry smile, and for a moment Azragael thought he could see what his son saw in this man. "My father treated me much the same. Always pushing me. Nothing I ever did was good enough for him. It wasn't until after he died that I realized he'd been trying to force me to better myself. To never accept 'good enough' and always strive to be better than the best."
Azragael stared at the man. "He can't... Lurizal wouldn't... I'm not..." He blinked. "Would he?"
"I don't know this Lurizal, so I have no way of ascertaining that," Lucien replied. "All I know is what I have experienced. If you want to know for certain, you're going to have to ask-"
"Lucien? Are you still... oh."
Lucien and Azragael both turned to regard the boy who had just entered the salle, a smaller, softer version of Azragael with warm grey eyes. He moved immediately to Lucien's side, one arm sliding around the warrior's waist. "Father," Ciaran greeted quietly.
Azragael held up his hands in an approximate imitation of the "don't shoot, I surrender" thing that humans did when threatened. "I'm not here for you or your pet human or anyone else. I got lost while looking for a tavern, that's all," he said, wondering how many more times he was going to have to explain himself.
Ciaran's grey eyes scrunched up in confusion. "Tavern?" he echoed.
"Don't ask me, I didn't understand it either," Lucien told him dryly.
Azragael stared at both of them incredulously. "Doesn't anyone drink around here?" he asked, feeling as though he'd stepped into the twilight zone. Whatever that was. He squinted at Ciaran. "Are you sure you're my son?"
Lucien rolled his eyes. "Ciaran doesn't drink because Ciaran gets rather... affectionate... when he's indulged." He shot an amused, and obviously loving look at the shorter redhead.
Azragael snickered. "Okay, so he is my son." He paused, blinking. "Oh, I think that gives me an idea..." Grinning wildly, Azragael bowed to the two highly confused lovers before vanishing into thin air.
The highest quality wine 'borrowed' from a clueless mortal? Check. Extensive array of magical spells and counter-spells? Check. Courage to actually see his plans through? Eh, well, that was why he had multiple bottles.
One of which was already half-empty in anticipation of facing Lurizal, and would most likely be empty by the time he went inside the gleaming black marble fortress that Lurizal called home. For a man who was naturally so pale, he certainly seemed to have thing for surrounding himself with an abnormal number of black objects. Although, considering that he normally preferred to dress in white and blue with the occasional gold accent, there was a distinct possibility that Lurizal did it simply because he figured he was supposed to. Lord of Darkness and all that.
And he was rambling as his brain ran away without him while his feet stalled rather than actually move forward. More wine. He obviously needed more wine.
Downing the rest of the bottle, Azragael squared his shoulders. Onward, into the lair of the beast! Or maybe upward. Downward? Wherever-Lurizal-was-ward! Yes, that was more like it. Five seconds of remembering what he was doing and ten seconds of figuring out how to teleport later, Azragael vanished and reappeared in Lurizal's study.
Lurizal obviously hadn't been expecting him, for his pretty ice blue eyes widened fractionally before narrowing dangerously. "Azragael. What are you doing here?"
"I was looking for a tavern," Azragael explained, setting his pilfered bottles of wine down on Lurizal's desk with absolutely no concern for the desk's proper contents. "But I got lost somewhere and then there was this fellow with the sword who said some things and then I had to come see if it's true but I had to stop for some wine first cause I can't ever talk to you unless I'm tipsy and then it's okay." He paused, blinking. "It's really good wine. Want some?"
While Lurizal stared at him as though he'd finally lost his mind, Azragael produced two glasses and filled them both, placing one in Lurizal's hand. He moved the rim of the glass up to Lurizal's mouth encouragingly, more than a little surprised when Lurizal obediently took a sip.
Those pretty blue eyes blinked in surprise. "It's good," Lurizal said.
Azragael smirked. "I told you I got the good stuff." He delicately clinked his glass to Lurizal's then took a careful sip. It wouldn't do to get too plastered. Not yet anyway. Wait, wasn't there a spell for that? Right, and he needed to cast the counterspell on Lurizal.
Murmuring both spells beneath his breath, Azragael cheerfully downed the contents of his wineglass, almost purring in delight. Oh yes. That was the quality stuff. Rich and delicious and warming and distracting him from what he was supposed to be doing which was... which was... Something having to do with Lurizal.
He watched as Lurizal finished his glass, helpfully refilling it as he attempted to remember what he was doing. Lurizal. Lurizal had said something. Something not nice. Then he'd gone someplace that wasn't where he meant to go but that was okay because he'd talked to interesting people and they had some ideas but then he'd had to leave because looking at them made him want so he'd left... But there'd been an idea in there somewhere too. Something involving wine, and Lurizal, and Lurizal's lap...
No, wait, did it involve Lurizal's lap? He wasn't sure, but he rather thought that it should. Any good plan should involve Lurizal's lap. It was a very nice lap, after all. Azragael had tested it more than once. Granted, it would be much nicer without pesky clothes to get in the way, but Lurizal didn't seem to see it that way.
Oh, hey. Maybe that's what the wine was for.
Deciding that must be the case, Azragael refilled Lurizal's glass yet again and snuggled into the lap that he liked so much. Lurizal frowned at him, blinking slowly as he took another sip from his refilled glass.
"You're... in my lap." He blinked again. "Why are you in my lap?"
Azragael smiled cheerfully and snuck a sip from Lurizal's glass. "Because you have a nice lap," he replied as solemnly as a slightly-tipsy Lord of Darkness could manage while perched in his fellow Dark Lord's lap and trying not to purr.
"Oh," Lurizal managed, still frowning slightly as he tried to figure out what was off about that statement and obviously struggling. Azragael decided that Lurizal needed more wine, and obviously he needed some help in drinking it, as he was still sober enough to be trying to think.
Thinking was bad. Drinking was good. Getting a nice deep mouthful of the beautiful red wine, Azragael twisted in Lurizal's lap and covered the other demon's lips with his, gently coaxing that delicious mouth open so that he could share his mouthful of wine with Lurizal. And, well, if sharing turned into a slow, sensual exploration of Lurizal's mouth, well, that could hardly be helped.
It took longer than Azragael had expected before Lurizal shoved him hard, off his lap to collide with the desk before landing on the floor. He heard a crash as Lurizal's chair tipped over and then Lurizal was standing, one hand to his mouth as he stared down at Azragael. It was rather funny, the way he wove slightly back and forth and kept blinking to keep from going crosseyed. Apparently he needed to get Lurizal drunk more often.
"You... you..." Lurizal rubbed firmly at his temples. "What did you do? I'm..."
"Drunk," Azragael confirmed, picking himself up off the floor with the very helpful aid of that nice solid desk. "S'fun, isn't it?"
Lurizal attempted to scowl, though he didn't quite manage it as he couldn't seem to figure out how to make all the appropriate facial muscles work at the same time. "You... I... Why did you..." He backed away as Azragael moved toward him, blue eyes widening as his back collided with a wall. "You... why..."
He liked being taller than Lurizal. It made it easier to trap the handsome blond demon in the circle of his arms and lean in close to those very nice lips. "Why did I kiss you?" he said helpfully. "Because I wanted to. Because your lips and your eyes and your lap have been taunting me for millennia, and if you're going to be mad at me all the time, then I might as well give you a reason to be mad at me, hmm?"
Logic shared, Azragael captured those delicious lips again, feeling Lurizal's hesitation and confusion at the entire situation. He tasted Lurizal's lips, slowly encouraging them to open up to him as he deftly undid the buttons of Lurizal's shirt that he so had not spent an hour memorizing so that he could undo it without looking and ran his hands up the smooth skin of Lurizal's chest.
Lurizal moaned softly, providing Azragael the opportunity he'd been waiting for to deepen the kiss again. Lurizal was just as deliciously tantalizing the second time as he'd been the first, heady and dizzying and utterly delicious. Azragael wanted to drown in that mouth, only he couldn't, because demons didn't drown, but he still wanted to anyway.
He brushed a thumb over one of Lurizal's nipples, circling it gently and drawing out another low moan from his captive. Delighted, Azragael repeated the motion while his other hand slipped free to finish undoing the fastenings of Lurizal's shirt and slip it off the blond demon's shoulders.
For a moment Lurizal blinked at him in mild bewilderment, looking slowly over first Azragael, then himself, frowning slightly. An instant later a hand buried itself in Azragael's long red hair, clenching tightly as Lurizal dragged him back down for another kiss.
His sheets did not smell like mountain lilacs and mint. Nor could he think of anyone he knew who owned such sheets, especially considering the very fine texture he could feel beneath his fingertips when he shifted his right hand back and forth. The left hand, though, had something even nicer beneath it. Warm skin, silken soft over smooth muscle. Skin he'd mapped out every inch of, repeatedly, as he'd pounded into its owner across the desk, against the wall, into the mattress...
Wait. Desk?
Azragael jerked his head up quickly, dislodging the arm that had been draped casually across his lower back, as memory returned. Sure enough, there were Lurizal's pale gold curls spread out across an even paler blue pillowcase, perfect chest rising and falling evenly as he slept.
Oh, damn. He'd gotten Lurizal drunk. And then they'd... Lurizal was going to kill him. Everything he'd done up until this point would look like mere spankings when compared to what Lurizal would do once he was sober. What had ever possessed him to think that getting Lurizal hammered would be a good idea?
Wait, maybe 'hammered' wasn't quite the appropriate choice of words.
He groaned quietly, calling himself all types of fools beneath his breath, then bit his tongue as Lurizal stirred. He held his breath, watching pale lashes flutter before Lurizal's eyes slowly opened. He blinked unfocusedly at Azragael for a long moment (During which Azragael memorized the look of those pretty not-yet-mad-at-him eyes for future fantasizing after Lurizal forbid him within seven leagues of the Inner Circle) then frowned slightly.
"Azragael."
Azragael winced, then put on his best attempt at an innocent smile. "Riz."
Lurizal's frown deepened slightly. "You drugged me."
"I got you drunk," Azragael corrected. "There's a difference."
"You are not getting out of it on a technicaaaaahhh..." Lurizal trailed off into a soft moan as Azragael's thumb had found his nipple and was tracing little patterns around the sensitive skin. It was equal parts amusing and pleasing that the prickly demon was so very sensitive in so many delicious places.
Pressing his advantage, Azragael dropped his head to suck on the other one, drawing another moan and several breathless mewls from the pale-haired demon. Lurizal tasted nice everywhere, and the helpless sounds he made as he writhed beneath Azragael's touch were the sweetest sounds Azragael had ever heard.
He should have done this centuries ago, he decided. As long as Lurizal's wicked tongue was engaged in... other things, it couldn't be used to berate Azragael. Hmm, and speaking of tongues...
Azragael slid slowly up Lurizal's body to capture those sensuous lips, tongue flicking out to taste as Lurizal willingly parted them to allow him entrance. He was even more delicious in reality than he'd been in memory and Azragael wasted no time plundering the depths of that so-enticing mouth.
Lurizal arched suddenly, crying out wordlessly as Azragael's stealthily descending hand found what it was searching for and skillfully stroked life into the rapidly-stiffening flesh held firmly in his grasp. His hips twitched as he attempted to buck into Azragael's grip, yet held down by the weight of the flame-haired demon's body. Slow torture, the steady, even pace, not enough and still too much.
Azragael lifted his head slightly to admire the sight of a breathlessly panting, writhing, helpless Lurizal, before kissing a slow trail down Lurizal's neck and across his chest, pausing briefly to give attention to one hard nipple before continuing downward again.
He released his grip only moments before dropping his head to swallow Lurizal whole, delighting all over again in the exquisite flavor of the man. He tasted like ambrosia, fire and ice and everything nice. No, wait, that wasn't the right saying. Not that it mattered, because only Lurizal mattered. Lurizal and his gasping, frantic whimpers interspersed with helpless mewls and the way his hands clung desperately to Azragael's horns, uncertain whether they were trying to pull him away or push him down further.
Deviously, Azragael ran his teeth ever-so-lightly along Lurizal's length. Lurizal cried out sharply and came, his hot seed filling Azragael's mouth as the flame demon drank it all down like the sweet nectar it was. Lurizal collapsed back down onto the bed, breathing heavily as Azragael licked first his mouth clean, then skillfully gave Lurizal's softening member a loving tongue bath.
He took his time working his way back up Lurizal's body, pausing here and there to pay special attention to little spots that needed a bit of extra love before sprawling out contentedly atop Lurizal and grinning down into slightly unfocused blue eyes.
"So," Azragael said conversationally, "Am I forgiven yet?"
On the third attempt Lurizal managed to summon an approximation of his usual icy glare. "When my limbs remember how to move again, you are so dead," he promised.
Azragael grinned broadly. "Well then, that just means I have to make doubly certain you can't get up, doesn't it?" he quipped, before leaning down to steal a kiss.
Lurizal didn't even try to protest.