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The glowing of Nazim’s wards warned him of his unexpected visitor before he even heard the knock on his front door.
They were a gift from his grandmother, who dabbled in the dark arts, and had been made to last. Even Nazim, with the small drip of power he had inherited, was able to maintain them long after her death, though it was more out of sentimentality than anything. These days, Nazim was very familiar with the demons who came to his door.
“Ugh, took you long enough,” a curvy young woman stood in Nazim’s doorway, struggling in her stilettos under the weight of a man who looked twice her size, clad in an oversized, sodden hoodie which was dripping over her shoulder.
“Shit, Supple … what happened to him?” Nazim held out his arms and staggered backwards as Supple dumped the man’s weight entirely in his direction.
“Nothing. And that’s the fucking problem,” Supple said, shaking the rainwater off of her white-blonde hair and pulling a box of cigarettes from her purse. As soon as the door shut behind her, her light brown skin began to flush and darken until she was a color closer to magenta, two long horns twisting from her dyed hair. “Fig’s glamour ebbed in the middle of the fucking club,” the succubus muttered, lighting her cigarette with a snap of her fingers. “Had to dazzle two dozen patrons just to get out without causing a scene.”
Nazim sighed, hefting the body in his arms over to the couch. And here he had been anticipating a quiet night with beer and a book. Now, he had an insensible incubi dripping rainwater all over his leather upholstery. Pulling off the heavy hood, Nazim ran his fingers gently through Fig’s damp curls, across the white, curving horns which stood out prominently from his dark indigo hair. If anyone had seen Fig like this, there would have been no doubt of what he was. Magic use and the otherworldly was yet a secret in this age, and unbonded demons such as Fig and Supple would be in danger of imprisonment if the Council of Warlocks turned its eye their way.
“Nazim?” a faint voice asked, and Nazim looked down to see Fig gripping his sleeve. When he was younger, Nazim had learned at his grandmother’s knee about the dangers of demons. Fearsome creatures, they were, with nothing but wickedness in their hearts and a taste for human souls. Then he met Fig, who was more akin to a hapless puppy, from his floppy, curly hair to his large eyes, which were pupilless and black, sparkling with lavender stars and distant, swirling nebulas.
Nazim shook his head sternly and looked away before he was entranced by the depth of Fig’s gaze. Worrisomely, the incubi’s skin was an unhealthy, powdery blue. “He didn’t even get a bite?” Nazim asked Supple, who snorted, flipping through her phone with her cigarette dangling perilously between her fingers.
“Wouldn’t let anyone near him. Hunkered down in the corner and got nipped on ginger beer.” Cubi, unlike humans, didn’t possess the traditional metabolism for breaking down alcohol. For some reason, ginger and related roots brought them into a state of drunkenness.
“On an empty stomach?” Nazim groaned. He startled as he felt Fig’s cool cheek nuzzling against his palm, his thumb sucked into the slick, cloying heat of Fig’s mouth. “Jesus, Fig,” Nazim grumbled, and Fig made a low, whining noise as Nazim drew his hand away.
“Forgive me these trespasses, my friend. It is only that I am so weak with hunger,” Fig said pleadingly.
“You wouldn’t be if you had eaten something,” Nazim said, but he stroked his knuckles over the side of Fig’s face, making him purr as his skin flushed lavender. Skin to skin contact was a limited way of transferring energy, but if Fig had dedicated himself to a night of dancing he would have gotten enough to last through the weekend, at least.
“I swear I did attempt it,” Fig muttered, pressing Nazim’s palm to his face with both hands, nuzzling and nipping at his wrist hungrily. “But I … I’m afraid my nerves overcame me.”
“He doesn’t hunt for himself because you’re spoiling him here,” Supple said accusingly, dunking the remnants of her cigarette into Nazim’s half-finished beer. “You,” she pointed one bubblegum pink nail in Fig’s direction. “Stop talking like a fresh-from-the-Styx infernal. And you,” she snapped her gaze to Nazim. “Just sign the boy’s contract and spare the rest of us.” She brushed the rain off the shoulders of her fur jacket as she strode to the door, the glamour settling over her like a second skin.
“Supple!” Fig yelped, rising half-off of the couch, but the succubus was already gone, the wards sputtering and growing dark behind her. Abashed, Fig turned back to Nazim. “Listen not to her lies. She is well mistaken.”
Nazim smiled sadly, ruffling Fig’s hair again before pushing to his feet. Signing a contract would guarantee Fig a steady supply of nourishment, meaning that he wouldn’t have to trawl bars and clubs for bites like Supple did, but it would also bind Fig to this plane, and to Nazim, for the rest of Nazim’s natural life. And Nazim wasn't even a true warlock, had hardly enough magic to summon the remote from across the room and would never be able to power Fig to accomplish the grand, demonic deeds he was capable of.
Nazim was just a friendly neighbor who “fed” Fig when he needed it with platonic skin-to-skin contact. Sometimes, this required Nazim to spoon Fig from behind as they watched movies together on the couch or for them to hold hands as Fig accompanied Nazim on his errands. But that was as far as it went, even though Nazim quietly burned inside with his embarrassing, hopeless desire.
It was just the natural reaction to an incubi, he always told himself. But Fig had never come to him for more than cuddles and companionship, and Nazim respected that.
“Come on you little drunkard,” Nazim said, crossing his arms over his chest as he gestured with his head. “You want me to take you back to your apartment?”
Fig lived just a few doors down, in the apartment of his summoner. Former apartment, certainly, late summoner, perhaps. The woman had disappeared shortly after she called Fig onto this plane, before she even got around to either signing Fig into a contract or selling him to another who would, leaving him to fend for himself in a magic-hostile city. Nazim didn’t know why Fig insisted on remaining in his old mistress’s house, alone among her grimoires and instruments of torture, instead of returning to his own plane. Perhaps he was still waiting for the day when she would return to complete their contract.
“Not tonight,” Fig said pleadingly as he struggled with his rain-soaked hoodie, and Nazim was forced to help pull it off when it got stuck on his horns. Nazim hurriedly glanced away when he saw that Fig was wearing nothing underneath, his gold-pierced nipples dark wine against his pale blue skin. Oblivious to Nazim’s discomfort, Fig attempted to push himself off the couch but staggered and would have fallen if Nazim hadn’t caught him. The feeling of all that bare skin under his fingers made Nazim light-headed, and it wasn’t just because his magical energy was leaking from where they touched. “Just … I just need a little,” Fig said, sighing as he snuggled into Nazim’s arms. “Please?”
The ginger must really be hitting him hard. Fig was usually too shy to ask openly for Nazim to feed him, hence the semi-regular fainting spells.
“Alright, alright,” Nazim said, his heart pounding in his chest as he half-supported, half-carried Fig into the bedroom. It was only because the couch wasn’t large enough to hold the both of them comfortably, Nazim told himself. He might have to hold Fig for a while tonight for this feeding to take … the incubus looked like he was in bad shape.
Just like the first time, Nazim brushed away that thought with a guilty throb of arousal. He helped Fig onto the bed and left him to struggle out of his wet jeans as Nazim began unbuttoning his shirt.
When Nazim looked up again, he found Fig watching him hungrily in the low light of the bedroom, and for a moment Nazim could believe that they were lovers preparing for sleep. Or even that Fig had picked him up at a bar, with full intentions to glut himself on Nazim’s energies as he fucked-
Nazim turned away abruptly, feeling warm to the tips of his ears.
“Nazim,” Fig whispered plaintively as he slid to the edge of the bed, his dark fingernails digging into his thighs. Behind him, his thin tail waved back and forth in entreaty.
“Yeah, I’m coming,” Nazim smiled thinly as he shooed Fig into an obedient shape before curling around his back.
It should have been awkward, since Fig was tall and broad and Nazim was not much smaller, but Fig’s skin was pleasantly cool and he smelled of something sweet and smokey. Nazim slid closer until his chest was pressed flush against Fig’s back, resting his chin upon the curve of Fig’s shoulder.
They lay in silence for a while, and soon, Fig’s skin began flushing lavender, absorbing Nazim’s magic like a flower opening to the sun. It was beautiful, truly. Fig was beautiful. Every time he laughed, or his eyes sparkled as Nazim introduced him to something new in the human world. Nazim knew that Supple was right, and it was untenable to allow Fig to depend on him so when there was no permanent bond between them, but the incubus was such a timid thing despite his large, well-shaped body that Nazim could not help but feel protective towards him.
If only it was just protectiveness.
“My gratitude … and apologies,” Fig said quietly, tracing his finger over the back of Nazim’s hand where it was clasped around his waist. “I know that I am a bother, but I … I enjoy the way you taste.”
He probably didn’t mean it the way that sounded. Though Nazim was careful to keep a strict space between his hips and the curve of Fig’s ass, the husky sound of Fig’s voice was enough to make him shudder, his cock throb in his briefs.
“Fig,” Nazim drew in a slow breath. “Why wouldn’t you let anyone approach you at the club tonight?”
Fig stiffened, breaking from Nazim’s grasp slightly to look him in the eye. “Do you recall how you found me?” he asked softly.
Nazim’s lips thinned in anger. Fig’s former mistress had left him encircled in blessed salt before her disappearance. He would have died of starvation if he hadn’t been able to follow the bead of Nazim’s magic to his sleeping mind.
Their first meeting had been an embarrassingly erotic dream where Fig had spit out a garbled explanation of his predicament between eagerly attempting to choke himself on Nazim’s cock. Nazim tried not to think about this too much when they were in the solid world.
“I was alone for so long,” Fig whispered, turning to look at Nazim, his eyes glittering darkly in the intimate light. “I cast out my dreams every night, but it felt as though I was running through an endless nothingness, screaming for a connection, for anyone to see me.” He smiled shyly, reaching out his hand to cup Nazim’s cheek, his thumb rubbing against Nazim’s bottom lip. “You were the only one who did. I know not why, but ever since then, the thought of feeding from any but you pains me ...”
Setting his jaw, Nazim eased away, and Fig drew back his hand with a hurt look. “You don’t mean it, Fig,” Nazim said, his voice rough. “You … you’re just hungry.”
Just like the first time. Just like every time after that. They spent plenty of time together - enough that Nazim considered Fig a proper friend - but Fig only reached for him when he needed a meal, and Nazim couldn’t allow himself to misunderstand Fig’s intentions. Even when they stayed in bed until the wee hours of the morning, whispering of dreams and the nature of the universe. Even when Nazim cooked them breakfast, and Fig ate everything put in front of him even though his body had no use for it. Even now, when Nazim ached to kiss him.
But it wasn’t the same for Fig. Nazim didn’t even know if demons held any concept of love. It would be unfair to burden the incubus with the depths of Nazim’s ill-fated feelings.
Fig glanced away, then seemed to compose himself. “I am hungry,” he murmured, his chin lowered to his chest and his hair falling over his eyes. “Can you … give me some more?”
Nazim swallowed. They had done this the first time, when Nazim had been forced to break into Fig’s apartment to drag out his collapsed body. The incubus had been so unresponsive that Supple had instructed Nazim to jerk himself off and feed Fig his come. The memory made him uncomfortable. Even with Supple’s teasing offers to help, Nazim had felt like a sex offender feeding his messy fingers into Fig’s slack mouth, which turned into eager suckling as the incubi’s thick lashes had fluttered open. Not much of an introduction, as things went, but Fig had accepted Nazim’s help with open adoration.
It felt much different now, with both of them undressed and laying in the same bed, Nazim’s skin still aching with longing where it had been pressed to Fig’s. He was already half-hard in his briefs and thought that he could come with only a few strokes, as long as Fig kept watching him with such hunger in his eyes…
“Okay,” Nazim took in a quick breath, flipping onto his back to stare at his dark ceiling. “Do you want to stay, or …”
“Please,” Fig said, and suddenly he was sliding close to Nazim’s shoulder, mournfully stroking his hand down Nazim’s arm. “This time … may I use my mouth?”
Nazim breathed through his nose, feeling a drop of sweat fall down the side of his face when he turned and saw Fig’s dark, forked tongue flick over his lips and disappear back into his mouth. “Why? You’ve never needed this before.”
Fig shook his head, his curls sliding over the pillowcase. His expression was so sad that Nazim found it hard to breathe. “Supple knows a summoner who’s willing to send me back to my home plane, but I need enough energy to make the journey in one piece.”
The bottom of Nazim’s world suddenly fell away. “Oh,” he said weakly.
“I’m not suited for this plane after all,” Fig sighed shakily. “I simply cannot … resign myself to being touched by strangers. I cannot keep imposing on your patience just to wait around for something which will never come.”
Did he mean the return of his summoner? Nazim’s throat tightened with anger, with no source or true cause.
Fig’s face fell, evidently misunderstanding Nazim’s expression. “Of course, this is an imposition as well … I could … I could make this pleasurable for you. I could be any who you desire-”
“That won’t be necessary,” Nazim said quietly, grabbing Fig’s shoulder. Despite the cords of hard muscle under Nazim’s hand, Fig fell submissively for him when he pushed the incubus into the pillows, making a surprised sound when Nazim clumsily pressed their mouths together. It was the first time they had kissed, and Fig’s lips felt cool and soft, sweeter than Nazim had ever dared to imagine.
If this was his one and only chance, the last time he would ever have Fig like this …
“You were never an imposition,” Nazim smiled tightly, clasping Fig’s face between both hands. “If this is what you need, you can take it. Anything.”
Fig made a broken little sound, grabbing Nazim’s hips and hauling him onto Fig’s lap. They kissed roughly, clumsily, Nazim taking ample opportunity to fondle Fig’s ridged horns and his adorable pointed ears, enjoying his desperate pleasure. He tried to commit this firmly to memory - Fig’s slick tongue, the sharpness of his eyeteeth, how unpracticed he seemed despite it all, so greedy for anything that Nazim would give him.
At the first roll of Fig’s hard cock against Nazim’s trapped erection, an embarrassing moan escaped Nazim’s lips.
“Allow me to taste you,” Fig panted, and Nazim nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Slowly, Fig kissed his way down the swell of Nazim’s chest, covered by a smatter of dark hair, over his hard, shuddering stomach.
“Please,” Nazim pleaded when Fig swirled his tongue over the thin line of hair leading from his navel to the band of his briefs.
Fig pressed a kiss to Nazim’s hipbone, his curls dragging softly across Nazim’s thighs. The incubus was almost entirely lavender now, darkening rapidly into a rich plum color. When he pulled down the band of Nazim’s briefs, Nazim’s cock sprang out with embarrassing eagerness, already dripping at the tip.
With a hungry sound, Fig rushed to pop the head into his mouth, sucking at it like he had Nazim’s thumb earlier, then taking him deeper, deeper, until Fig’s face was buried in Nazim’s coarse pubic hair, sucking him off with long, wet pulls, taking full advantage of the incubus’ lack of a gag reflex. With a cry, Nazim arched, shuddering violently as cool fingers fondled his balls until they drew tight.
“I’m going to-” Nazim gasped between breaths, and Fig pulled off with an obscene pop.
“Will you lay with me?” Fig asked, his voice rough. It should have been expected with the vigorous manner he was sucking Nazim’s cock earlier, but something in the sound made Nazim think that he was close to tears.
Tenderly, perhaps betraying too much, Nazim leaned down to press his palm against Fig’s cheek, watching him nuzzle into the touch even though he was well-fed at this point.
“Whatever you want,” Nazim whispered softly, before pulling him up to slot their lips together once more.
If he were a warlock like his grandmother, with power sparking from his fingertips, Nazim would use it all in this moment to stopper the sun, to allow this night to linger just a little longer. To enjoy, as long as he could, the patter of the rain upon his window and the dim glow of his bedroom light playing over Fig’s gorgeous body as he prepared himself with lube-slicked fingers. He made a beautiful shape in the darkness as his eyes fluttered shut, his hips twitching with pleasure as he moaned into Nazim’s mouth.
“Can I help?” Nazim asked, mesmerized, and Fig laughed softly, leaning forward to press his lips over one of Nazim’s eyelids, and then the other.
“You deserve a sweet dream,” Fig said, holding his clean hand over Nazim’s eyes as he used the other to position Nazim’s cock. “Think of one who you love,” he whispered as he began sinking down.
There’s no one, Nazim thought, gritting his teeth. No one but you.
His hands found Fig’s hips then, relishing his wild cry as Nazim held him down and began fucking into his tight, hot body. Fig’s hand fell from Nazim’s face as he leaned forward to grip the headboard, moaning as he tried to fuck back against Nazim’s thusts, but unable to do little more than take it.
“You’re so beautiful,” Nazim murmured, looking upwards, from the white curl of Fig’s horns, to his bouncing hair, to his mouth, which was wet and open, panting his helpless pleasure.
“That’s just my … influence,” Fig sounded choked.
Maybe it was. Nazim was starting to feel light-headed, drunk even though he’d only had half a beer. More likely, he was finally realizing how stupid he had been this entire time, trying to deny his feelings. And now it was too late. Fig was going to leave this plane for good and he would never know …
“Nazim!” Fig yelped as the human rolled them over until Fig was pressed with his back to the cushions, his legs splayed wide as Nazim re-entered him with a slow, slick press.
This new angle was perfect for Fig’s pleasure. Nazim could see the way Fig trembled with each of Nazim’s thrusts, his body twitching as he neared his peak.
“I … can’t,” Fig cried, his fingers twisting in the sheets. “Until … until you …”
“What?” Nazim asked blearily, shuddering as he felt Fig’s tail slide down his lower back, flicking across his tight sac like a tongue. “Oh fuck,” Nazim collapsed on Fig’s body, his hips twitching through a powerful wave of pleasure, spending everything he had into Fig’s hungry hole, which clenched rhythmically to milk every last drop.
“Nazim,” Fig cried, as he hugged Nazim tight, his fingernails digging into Nazim’s back as he came between their bodies. “Oh Nazim.”
Nazim meant to answer, but the words were slow to come to his tongue, and it seemed that he was slipping into the grey of oblivion ...
--
His wards were going off again.
Probably tripped by an off-leash familiar. Nazim pushed himself up in bed, feeling as if he had been run over by a truck and left on the highway to bake for a few hours. His head was pounding and his body was sore, though he was sure he hadn’t been the one to-
Last night.
Frantically, Nazim looked around, but the bed was empty, the sheets cold. He dropped his head between his arms, his chest feeling tight. Fig was gone. For good, most likely … returned to a world where he wouldn’t have to scrounge for scraps of affection, or deal with a neighbor unsuccessfully hiding a big, embarrassing crush.
“Nazim!” Fig burst into the bedroom, and the bloom of relief in Nazim’s body was so sweet, so strong that when Fig rushed towards him, Nazim clasped him tight to his chest, smothering Fig’s sobbing cries as his hands clutched at Nazim’s shoulders.
A sudden spark of pain made Nazim wince. He raised his hand to his neck, blinking as he felt the unmistakable ridges of a bite. It was still damp with blood.
He looked to Fig, who had withdrawn to the other side of the bed, curling into himself despondently. “I had to do it … I … I had taken too much and you would not wake up and Supple would not respond to my pleas-”
Nazim held up a hand, pausing Fig in his desperate rambling. “You … you opened a contract with me?”
“I do not expect you to complete it,” Fig shook his head miserably, picking at a loose thread on the coverlet. “It was my lack of control which caused this.”
“You know this means that you can’t return to your own plane?” Nazim asked slowly. Even if he did not sign his portion of the contract and bind Fig to feeding only from him, Fig’s existence was now inextricably entwined with his own, and he was trapped here as long as Nazim yet lived.
“I never wished to leave,” Fig sniffled, dripping from his eyes again. “I only ever wished to be with you.”
Nazim felt something within him crumble, grabbing Fig and pressing him close as the incubus nuzzled his wet face into the side of Nazim’s neck. Perhaps it was the near-death experience, perhaps the devastation of almost losing his secret love. Perhaps it was just Fig, his eyes which held galaxies, and his deceptively handsome features which concealed a crybaby of an incubus who ate all of Nazim’s ice cream whenever he came over and hated the touch of strangers.
“Then be with me,” Nazim said, kissing Fig’s lips and tasting his tears. “Let me take care of you, for as long as I live.” Fig’s face broke into a bright smile as he threw his arms around Nazim’s neck, his tail lashing excitedly behind him as they tumbled back into the bed.
Later, they would scour Nazim’s old books and clumsily cobble together a contract which would no doubt make Nazim’s late grandmother roll over in her grave. Later, Nazim would sign it in his own blood, and feel a surprising swell of possessiveness at seeing his signature branded magically upon the small of Fig’s back. Later, Supple would finally pick up her phone, responding to Fig’s dozen or so frantic voicemails with a single text asking if they’d figured themselves out or if Fig needed help moving a body.
But for now, there was just Nazim and Fig in the morning sun, and the rest of their lives to figure things out.