PillowTalk[WARNING: Semi-explicit sexual content] Azrael knew in which room the belly dancer would be waiting and swiftly made his way around the other masked and unmasked revelers. He didn't pause or pay any notice to the orgiastic behavior going on around him as he traced his way across the larger room, passing the smaller long tables. He only gave a cursory glance at the head table to see which devil resided as the host of the night, sketching a faint bow of acknowledgement when his eyes met the man with the red cape. He was a minor demon, and not someone Azrael would be required to address. He continued on to the alcove. Pushing aside the curtain, he entered, not even waiting to see if the room was in use. He said loudly enough that anyone listening nearby would hear, "You have served me well, and deserve to be rewarded." The willowy figure rose from an Egyptian-style couch that harmonized oddly with the faded friezes on the walls. A clay oil lamp hung from the ceiling, and a whiff of incense followed the movement of the dancer across the room. Silks pooled at Azrael's feet, long black hair spilling over white shoulders, and changeable light eyes looked up into his. The eyes glistened behind the mask, a faint smile turned up the corners of the mouth, as Azrael appreciated the approaching dancer. His breath quickened with anticipation. "And what reward will Azrael have for a poor dancer?" came the husky alto. "Something exquisite and ... lingering?" The sensual murmur traveled up his body along with the feather-light brush of long-fingered hands, until the two were face to face. Azrael sighed, "Oh, how you tempt me." "I ask nothing better than to die in your arms, my lord... lingeringly." He embraced the dancer and murmured, "It wasn't her. But I have an idea on how we can still make this work." "Tell me." It was a breath in his ear. "I am yours to command." Azrael's fingers flicked the dark hair off of the creamy shoulders, caressing the bared skin beneath. "I have asked for her to be returned from whence she was abducted, but will then change my mind and ask for her company again... Only we will have her watched so we will see who it is that snatches her." "Mmm. Is my role to be that of go-between, again? Or watcher?" Azrael chuckled. "You might enjoy watching.... " Then he cleared his throat. "But perhaps both, depending on the timing of this. She works at a café... one that I think Decuma will begin to frequent." "I didn't know that. In what quarter of the city?" his partner asked. "A coffee house near the University, she said," Azrael answered, as his fingers continued their journey along the fine silks, finding the clasp that held the back closed. "I have a few friends in that quarter," mused the dancer. "And I can look like a student, easy." Long fingers began to play with Azrael's buttons. Azrael released the dancer, allowing greater access, while taking liberties of his own, adding, "Then we may be able to keep her under a twenty-four hour surveillance. I do not want them to take her without someone seeing." He sighed in pleasure as the dancer's fingers worked their magic. "And when they're seen taking her ... what then?" A tilt of the head indicated the couch. Azrael was easily led to the couch, shedding his cloak along the way. He leaned back into the cushions, his shirt falling open to reveal the dark curly hair beneath that lightly covered his well-muscled chest. "It isn't the when, but the who that I'm interested in. If we can, we identify them, and we follow them. I'm hoping they will lead to the one behind the abductions." The dancer knelt beside him in a rustle of silks and with deft hands continued to undo his clothing. The hands paused momentarily as Decuma's shirt fell away and revealed the half-healed sword cut, red and angry from his previous exertions. "Ohh, my sweet lord," breathed the dancer, "whose nasty cruel steel did that?" The dark head bent, and soft lips briefly caressed the wound, with just a flicker of tongue, as if to kiss away the pain. Then the dancer looked up again, light eyes gleaming bright blue with interest. "Well, we know where they'll come first, once they have her. Here." "Perhaps..." Azrael replied thoughtfully, "Although one of them might go to make a report of their success." He ran a finger along the dancer's jaw and murmured, "I would expect that from anyone I sent to do a job." Painted lids lowered, in pleasure or speculation. "You'd need more than one watcher, then." "You said you had friends." Azrael raised his hips to allow the dancer to ease his lower garments off as he continued, "But of course I assume you would be discreet." It wasn't a suggestion, and Azrael's eyes held a warning as he said that. He would not be pleased if his name were mentioned, real or otherwise. "You are the only one whom I expect to deliver... the news." "And I'm the one with the entrée here," came the practical reply. "If you order her to be brought here again, shall I assume you'll be here to take her ... again?" The nuances underlying that 'take' were perceptible; of course, given their current positions, it was an easy deduction to make. "You might assume that, unless another opportunity... arose." Azrael's voice had grown husky. "Hard luck on the girl, if you're not." Warm breath teased. "Others might ... take advantage." "They would be very sorry if they did." Azrael wasn't joking. He had already made his wishes clear and anyone who crossed him would wish they didn't. "Geryon knows, and they would keep her... safe... until I arrived to claim her." He locked a hard hand behind the dancer's neck and pulled the dancer's face close to his. "When I claim something as mine... it stays mine." The light eyes were shading violet with passion now, gazing into Azrael's. "Who would dare deny your claim on them, my lord Azrael?" came the husky alto. "Who would wish to?" Azrael pulled the dancer to him. "Indeed, who would?" |
