Hey dudes. Since I don't work there anymore, I figure I'll do a real Sexy Tuesday.
Angel in the Middle - Chapter Two where Franco meets Tribal.
Franco sat in a corner of the Heretic Bar with his chair tipped back and a bottle of Corona in his hand. He’d changed in the Hummer to make sure he met the “leather night” dress requirements. His chest was bare under a leather vest, and he’d left his dark hair loose to fall to his shoulders. He expected to attract attention, and he wanted the action to come to him. He raised the beer bottle and flexed a muscle.
A wide-eyed twink paused by his chair. “Wow, dude, you must have some workout routine.”
“I wrestle demons for a living.” Franco let his gaze dismiss the boy. He wasn’t in the mood for wide-eyed innocence, even fake innocence. Not tonight. The twink danced away with a shrug.
A bit of wannabe rough trade swung near. “Wanna wrestle me?”
Franco snorted. Another twink, but with spiky blue hair and nipple rings twinkling on his bare chest. The wannabe turned, revealing tribal tattoos shaped like wings on his shoulders, and shimmied his hips down to the floor and back up. Tight jeans cupped a perfect ass. The short, spiky hair wasn’t Franco’s preference, but the kid moved like a professional. He looked over his shoulder and winked. “Come on, Big Guy, you know you want me.” He raised his arms and humped back and forth to the beat. Franco considered the offer.
And cursed when a fog settled over the scene, blocking out the music and hiding the tribal tattooed kid behind a white veil. He took a swig of his Corona and waited. When Raguel strode out of the mist, the hint of a sneer tweaked lips so perfect they could have been chiseled by an Italian master. Franco sneered back. Raguel hadn’t approved of Da Vinci or Michelangelo.
“Why do I always find you in places like this?” The angel held his white robe up off the scuffed concrete floor and positioned himself so that he didn’t touch anything.
Franco dropped the chair down to four legs. He couldn’t tell Raguel that he frequented these places in hopes of being left in peace with his mortal lust. He’d spent seven hundred years doing both Heaven and Hell’s bidding, and Raguel’s sneers made the opposition look appealing. “Just finished a job. Another one of the fallen claw his way out of the pit?”
Raguel pointed a finger, and a figure took form in the air. Tall. Slim. Blond hair down to his waist. Franco’s gaze moved down the fall of hair. He’d always been a sucker for long hair. White mist covered the figure like a robe. The chest was flat and smooth. Male. It was always hard to tell from the facial features. Raguel and his type didn’t grow beards. Franco doubted they grew hair around their balls either. Not that he’d ever figured out why they needed balls. Raguel certainly never put his to use. Prick wouldn’t even show him a beauty like this unclothed. Franco studied the fading figure, drinking in the unique light of his soul. “Doesn’t feel like one of the pit dwellers to me.”
“Looks like he missed the target.” A demon who could mimic a human was dangerous. One that still looked like the angel he’d once been was the worst sort. “What’d he do to get kicked out?”
“Questioning is not your job. Hunting is. His name is Darius. Find him. Banish him.”
“Like I said, I just finished a job. You’re interrupting my rest period so this one will be twice the agreed-upon rate.” Raguel paid in something more valuable than coin, forgiveness for transgressions.
Raguel chuckled, surprising Franco. He’d never heard the Archangel laugh. “I find you here, and you still think to redeem your soul? Twice, three times, what difference will it make?” Raguel leaned over and put his hands on the table. “I lose patience with you, Franco. You were a bad bargain then, and you still are. How long do you think to hover between salvation and the pit?” He stood and wiped his hands with a look of disgust. “Find the fallen one and banish him.”
Bastard wasn’t even going to tell him what he was up against. Raguel would be just as happy if one of the damned dragged him down to Hell. He’d learned to gamble with his soul long ago. “Twice the rate.”
“When I have confirmed the job is done.”
Ah, so he’d read him right. Something about this one had caught in Raguel’s craw. Maybe he should have demanded three times the rate.
“And done quickly.”
“I hear and obey, oh master.” Raguel waited, staring at him. Franco raised his Corona and gestured toward the dance floor. “I have plans for tonight.”
“Finish them.” Raguel gave him a final disapproving sneer before he turned and vanished into the mist. At least the bar didn’t burst into flames. Franco often suspected that Raguel had been involved in the fiasco at Sodom. Everyone was more liberal these days.
He closed his eyes. Damn Raguel and his kind. They were so perfectly formed that he couldn’t keep his body from reacting, but this time he pulsed with need for the blond. Even that one’s soul light felt wrong for a demon. A dangerous hunt, but he didn’t plan to begin with his cock pointing the way.
He opened his eyes. With a sensuous twist of his hips, the dancer with the tattoo caught his attention again. “Whadaya say, Big Guy? Want some tribal action?”
Franco slapped a fifty on the table. “I don’t want to look at you. I don’t want to hear you talk.”
Tribal tattoo opened his mouth, and Franco pulled back the fifty. Tribal shrugged and closed his mouth. Franco dropped the fifty again. Tribal crossed his arms over his pierced nipples and looked up at the ceiling. Franco slapped another fifty beside the first. Tribal’s gaze flicked down at it.
Franco picked up the bills and held them out. “Look, you’re not the only talent here tonight.”
Tribal pulled his lips into a pout. Franco didn’t move. With a sigh, the other took the money, folded it, and tucked it into his jeans. Franco rose, grabbed him by the chain he wore as a belt and headed to the back door of the bar. Tribal wove through the tables with practiced ease that told Franco he shouldn’t have bothered with the second fifty. This one liked being bossed around. Hell, he could have had him without any money at all. But money kept the encounters from becoming personal.
(Warning: Beyond here there lies sex)
The parking lot was barely lit. Franco led the way past a couple of men who were busy groping each other to where he’d parked his Hummer in a quiet corner of the lot. Tugging on the chain, he pulled Tribal around the far side of the truck. There he pushed him against the metal and grabbed his jaw. “Remember, no talking.” Tribal raised his eyebrows, opened his mouth, and wiggled his pierced tongue. The kid had more metal than an appliance store. “All right, I’ll give you something to get you started.” He loosened his grip and shoved his tongue deeply into Tribal’s mouth. He tasted of cheap rum and coke. Franco pushed his tongue further in, taking in the taste.
Tribal didn’t gag or pull away. Instead he twisted to take in more tongue, his hands already on Franco’s jeans, unzipping them. Franco grabbed the nipple rings and pulled downward. With a slight moan of protest, Tribal slid down his front.
Franco closed his eyes. The image of the fallen one danced in front of him, catching him by surprise. Whenever he envisioned Raguel, the figure stayed motionless in his mind, Raguel’s expression showing distaste at being used even in another’s imagination. Darius’s image danced, moving as Tribal’s body had moved in the bar.
Franco let out a sigh of appreciation as a warm, wet mouth closed over his cock. In his mind, he seduced Darius, pulling him from his dance and kissing him. Darius tasted of sweet honey mead, and his skin felt as smooth as silk. Franco tangled his fingers in that blond hair and pushed him downward.
His hands clutched at Tribal’s spiked hair and pulled him tight against his crotch. Franco felt the pressure of his tongue and the scrape of his teeth. He took a deep breath and held it as Tribal sucked on him. Then he summoned the fallen one’s soul light. Now he could feel long hair between his fingers and smell a hint of sandalwood in the oily air of the parking lot.
Holding the smell in his mind, he loosened his grip. Tribal grunted a bit, but pulled back on Franco’s cock slowly, sucking as he went. Franco let his breath out and then shoved into him.
Tribal’s hand found Franco’s balls and cupped them. Franco bucked when he pinched one. Then nails raked along the inside of his thigh, and he gasped. When Tribal scratched the other thigh, Franco widened his stance, pulling his legs as far apart as his jeans allowed. He let go of the spiky hair, and Tribal twisted to slip between his legs and face his buttocks.
Tribal nipped one butt cheek, then slowly ran his tongue over the sensitive bite mark. Franco found he was holding his breath in anticipation of the next move. He felt Tribal shift position to other cheek. The tip of his tongue drew a slow circle, as if marking the spot. Then the scrap of teeth and a quick bite. Franco’s cock quivered in the cool air. He was tempted to use his own hands to finish while the other played with his backside. He felt Tribal pull his butt cheeks apart, and gasped as a tongue slipped between them to touch his puckered hole.
“Sweet mercy.” Franco leaned forward and braced himself against the truck. Tribal’s tongue teased around the hole, wetting the area. Franco felt his muscles tighten in anticipation. He’d never be the bottom to anyone’s top, but he doubted that was what Tribal had in mind. He felt one slick finger pushing past his tight muscles and wiggling inside him. He took a deep breath and rested his forehead against the cool metal of the Hummer as Tribal probed upward to find the nub of nerves.
Finger still probing, Tribal shifted, squeezing between his legs to face him again. Then his mouth closed over Franco’s cock while his finger stroked the prostate. Franco felt his entire body vibrate. He fisted his hands against the truck and thrust. He heard a dull thud as Tribal bounced against the metal of the door. But the other didn’t pull back. He still expertly sucked and prodded. Franco bucked, his body falling under Tribal’s control. His skin burned with desire. His hips thrust back and forth as if to a secret rhythm. The lights of the parking lot swirled, and the figure of the fallen blond danced in front of him.
He spilled into Tribal’s mouth in a long series of thrusts, lust emptying from him as quickly as his seed was spent. He pushed away and rolled to one side, bare buttocks pressing against the Hummer.
Tribal slithered up his sweaty body and met his eyes. He pulled the two fifties out of his pocket and let them fall to the pavement. “My master says he will speak with you when you find the fallen one. There will be payment for services rendered, of course.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Franco’s. “You taste good, Big Guy.” Then he vanished in a flash that left spots whirling in front of Franco’s face.
He stood there, with his jeans around his ankles, smelling the brimstone of Tribal’s departure. Damn. If there’d been anything missing from this problem, it had just shown up and fucked him. He picked up the bills, pulled up his pants up, and climbed into the Hummer.
He’d been assigned to hunt a fallen one who looked like an angel. One Lucifer himself took an interest in. And now a map lay on his dashboard. A map that hadn’t been there when he’d gone into the bar. He picked it up. Ybor City. He’d be driving all night. He and the devil might be in Georgia, but Darius was in Florida.