Chapter Twelve #2
“What’s the price,” Schuyler asked.
“You know.”
“Anything else?”
“I want you. Ain’t nothing else worth having.” Rae slid closer, grabbing Sky’s waist. Their faces only inches apart, Azrael’s hazel eyes filling Schuyler’s. “That’s the price, Cher.”
Schuyler felt the urge to say yes, not even debate, just give in. It’d been years since he’d tasted Rae’s kiss. Felt his arms around him. Despite knowing it could lead to a relapse, he wanted it. “Papa took a similar fee, so you really can’t expect us to go again right now.”
“Us?” Azrael sneered, and spit, “I don’t want that boy. Just you. I know by the way you walkin’, you ain’t give up what I want to Papa.” Rae slid his hands down, grabbing the seat of Schuyler’s jeans, gripping his ass.
Schuyler trembled, and looked at Issac, whose face he could not read. The young man appeared uncomfortable, but also seemingly into it, as there was no sign of protest anywhere on him.
“Don’t worry ‘bout him,” Rae whispered, licking Schuyler’s ear, sending a sensual shiver run from ear to crotch; it was a direct message from one body to another. “He can be the cuck.”
Schuyler felt weak, his footing unbalanced, ready to grab and start kissing Rae right there. “Is there nothing else?”
“Did I come wanderin’ over to you, waving a bag o’dirt?
No, don’t think so. Yous came to my door, yeah?
” Azrael ran his slender fingers over Sky’s cheek, sliding the thumb between his full lips.
Schuyler nearly buckled, accepting the thumb into his mouth, unbothered by the smokey after taste from the welding.
“You know you want to be a good boy for me again.”
He fell instantly into being submissive for Rae.
Like with any drug, one hit was all that was needed to get reeled back in.
How else would they find the dirt—from a cemetery no one’s heard of?
Rae’s hands were on him. A touch his body remembered, one it wanted more of.
He was behind Schuyler, kissing on his neck.
“And I’ll owe you nothing else? Sex for the dirt.”
“Don’t make it sound cheap, like some transaction,” Rae objected, annoyed at how Schuyler approached the situation. “This is love, and you’ll come back for more on your own, but tis’ a fair trade this time. Sex for dirt, yes?”
Schuyler’s constitution weakened, leaving him wondering if he were strong enough to not find himself rocked back into old habits: the non-stop sex which occupied their days, Rae’s bullshit, the fights, and getting angry with himself.
He’d broken the cycle once and feared being able to accomplish such a daunting task a second time.
Yet, already his hips shifted when Rae was behind him, seeking him out.
Schuyler looked at Issac, who stood watching silently as he worked through the people he knew.
If Orenthal could not help, then anyone else he thought of wouldn’t be able to assist in the timeframe they needed; he’d have to send out inquiries and wait for their responses.
There was no guarantee they would have another chance.
While still questioning if Issac’s spell was worth the risk of waking a dormant addiction, he felt himself smacked by an energetic Push, a nudge intending to make him more agreeable.
Rae had no need for tricks, and had he employed any, Sky would already be on the floor, dazed and legs up.
The Push he received was meager, not powerful enough to affect him.
Azrael retrieved his hand from down the front of his overalls, smearing the wetness on Schuyler’s lips. Sky looked at Issac, waiting for an objection, or for him to seem displeased, but the young man was softly biting his bottom lip, eyes glued to the scene in front of him.
Had the Push come from him?
“Waiting for that verbal consent, Cher,” Azrael grinned, kissing him softly.
Issac couldn’t. Could he? Schuyler hadn’t covered any of the unethical spells one could do. He kissed back, his lips instantly remembering the rhythm of Rae’s.
“What’s it gonna be?”
Still kissing, Schuyler looked past Rae to Issac, searching for any indicator he should say no. His scrunched, saddened face showed he didn’t care for the make-out session, but there was no motion from him to stop. The dirt. The spell. Azrael’s lips against his skin.
Schuyler finally opened his mouth. “Okay, but only this once.”
Azrael’s red eyes ignited. “Laissez les bons temps rouler!” he proclaimed, spinning around.
With a flick of his fingers, a spider’s web design of chains spread out behind Issac snatching him up and wrapping leather straps around his wrists and legs, holding him in place.
“You stay right there and watch the show, lil’ thing.
” Issac’s clothes vanished. The cold chains slapped against his bare skin.
Azrael forced Schuyler into a spin and pushed him up against the wide base of the closest spire.
Then he pounced, his hands searching every inch of Schuyler for somewhere to grab, to claim: his chest, his ass, his neck.
Rae’s tongue slid up every inch of him, making Schuyler shiver.
Azrael pushed up against him, groin to ass, one hand on the back of Schuyler’s neck, holding him in place.
Schuyler felt every ounce of restraint melting away, loving the presence behind him.
Rae’s other hand rested on the waistband of his jeans, ready to pull them down—but lingering in the moment, savoring the first exposed skin of Sky’s ass.
Schuyler’s lips trembled, his breath caught and thrown back by the cold metal base he was pressed against. He spread his legs slightly, arching his back and pressing against Azrael’s crotch.
“That’s a good boy,” he slurred into his ear—and Schuyler nearly lost it. His erection pushed against his briefs, which pushed against the denim. He hadn’t been called that since the last time they were together; a position he accepted with only a very few.
Schuyler’s moans grew louder than the music as Azrael grinded on him, pushing him against the metal, one hand now in his hair, tugging.
Held in place, Rae kissed him all over, licking and biting at his ears.
Teasing his cock through the jeans. Azrael drove his hand back into his overalls, wetting his fingers once more before he rubbed them in his pit and slid them into Schuyler’s nostrils.
His eyes rolled back in his head as he huffed the familiar scent, stronger than any popper.
Schuyler’s body convulsed at the rush overtaking him, but Azrael held him up.
With a flick of his fingers, Schuyler’s clothes vanished except for the jock he now wore.
Azrael took handfuls of fuzzy, round, plump posterior, framed by the yellow straps cupping them.
Az’s hot breath glided down Schuler’s skin; everywhere it passed needed more attention, needed to be touched, for which Schuyler begged audibly.
Azrael dropped to his knees, kissing on the cheeks. He grabbed Schuyler’s balls and tugged gently, increasing the pressure and pull; it made Schuyler moan even harder. Rae licked from the cheek, up Sky’s back, until their mouths met.
Schuyler reached back and put his arms around Azrael as their tongues reacquainted themselves. The tenderness lasted only a moment, before Rae pushed Sky back against the wall.
“Which one, Cher?” He asked in a breathy Cajun whisper, both hands on Schuyler’s nipples, tweaking and twisting them.
Sky writhed against his body. Azrael removed his right hand, sending his left around Schuyler’s throat, while he rubbed the right in his own armpit.
He pushed his fingers into Schuyler’s nostrils, releasing another wave of sweat laced with amyl nitrate.
“Which one?” he asked again, this time with growing impatience.
Schuyler reached back, fighting against the overalls, and wrapped his fingers around Rae’s penis.
His fingers slid below it and the leather strap-on harness which was tightly affixed, finding the soaking spring of wetness that was Azrael’s cunt.
Azrael’s arm went across his chest, pulling Sky back toward him.
Fingers deep in his nose. “Gotta pick one.”
Schuyler was lost in the effects of Rae’s sweat, the domination he’d missed, the way he already teetered on orgasm, but was withheld. “You know the one I like.”
Azrael proudly owned a large collection of toys, including dildos in every shape and size.
Some rotated, some pulsed, others vibrated.
He owned ones which could please, and ones which delivered pain.
Among them was the one Sky enjoyed the most: a pleasing average sized, veiny in the right way, but no other frills.
No tentacled appendages or rough, rigid terrain designed to tear up the real estate desired.
The one selected was a favorite of Schuyler’s because the dildo synchronized with Azrael emotions and with the intensity of their sex.
Unlike the others which held no emotion, only there to dominate and destroy, this dildo connected them.
Azrael grunted. The dildo selected was not his preferred one, liking the more extreme versions, but he relented.
He turned Sky around to face him; they kissed deeply, with the frenzied lust of lovers long parted.
Azrael pushed Schuyler’s face into his open armpit, giving him another big huff, which once again sent Sky wobbly in his knees.
Azrael held out his other arm, from which ribbons of black energy raced down to his palm; they spun around until the black a purple dildo appeared.
“Gonna do what I say, yeah?” Azrael attached the dildo to the harness, pushing its rigidness against Schuyler’s rear. “Yeah?”
“Yes,” Schuyler replied as he steadied his feet.
Azrael reached around, grabbing Schuyler’s throat. “Yes, what?”