DANCE WITH THE DEVIL

by elfin



�Would you dance with the Devil on a moonlit night?� he asked.

I thought about it, and replied, �Sure, why not?�


A song was playing, nice and slow, and standing, I reached out, wiggling my fingers in his direction.

Obviously surprised, and definitely amused, Lucifer wrapped his fingers around mine and also stood.

He�s a tease.  But he�s the Devil, so it�s only to be expected.

I, on the other hand, am a fast learner.  The reason I�m so good at what he�s chosen me to do is that I can read people.  I can read him.

I pulled him into my arms carefully, sliding one arm around his waist, taking his hand into mine.

He glared at me, but I just smiled and held him, moving us both to the music.

I could feel the tension cording his body, his free hand stiffly on my hip.

Leaning in, ghosting my lips against his ear, I whispered, �Relax.�

�What are you doing, Ezekiel?�  His voice was clipped.

�Dancing with the devil.�


I'd never been this close to him before and I surprised at the warmth of his human facade.  It's an illusion, we both are in a way, and I expected it to be cold.





But he was warm.  And he felt real, more real than anything had felt in the months I'd been back up here.

Without acknowledging what I was doing, I held him a little closer, a little tighter.  And finally he relaxed into me, arm sliding around me to mirror my embrace.

I rested my cheek against his hair, feeling gentle heat in the silken strands.  He smelt slightly of ash, of burning embers and smouldering fires.  The scent had an oddly comforting familiarity to it that bemused me.

"What are you doing, Ezekiel?" he asked again as we moved slowly to the seductive rhythm.

I didn't know.  At that moment I could barely recognise myself.  "Ssh," I soothed after a second.  Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I was pushing us both.

'He's the devil!" that voice in my mind was yelling, 'you're dancing with the devil!  It's supposed to be a metaphor!'

But something about it felt good.

Sliding my hand across the back of his dark, silk jacket, I spread my fingers over the small of his back, pressing him closer to me.  The song changed.  Our movement didn't falter.


'I won't leave, I can't breathe, Until you're resting here with me


Slowly, he turned his hand in mine, pushing his fingers through my fingers.  I smiled to myself once more, closing my eyes, just feeling another warm body in my arms.

My mind chose not to substitute Ros into the devil's place.  That silent voice had quieted in uneasy acceptance as the music filled the empty places in my soul, just for these precious minutes.

I lost myself in the moment.

To hold him like this, to hold anyone like this after so long, moved me in a way I hadn�t been expecting.

I�d started this dance to annoy him, but I found I didn�t want to end it anytime soon.  I could have just stood there until the sun came up, moving with him, my senses filled with him.  In closing my eyes I�d searched for the scent and feel of him.  But as the words floated passed us, I�d become aware of more.

A shifting darkness had started to touch the edges of my mind.  Dark, heated feelings that weren�t mine and that I couldn�t quite grasp scooted around the very limits of my consciousness.  My own emotions were turned slightly by those bleeding into me, but instead of fighting it I let it happen.

I knew it was him.  I realised I was almost welcoming him, his chaotic thoughts and confused, unreadable memories.  I didn�t try to see them or understand, I didn�t want to know that much.  But I could feel� anger, cunning, a thirst for revenge.  And fear, thinly weaved into the pattern of the part of him touching me.

I rubbed my thumb unthinkingly over the back of his hand, my fingers over the expensive material of his jacket.  The song surrounded us.  Nothing else existed but the beat of the music, the heat of the words, and the two of us.

I could feel him, his lips against my neck, not kissing, just touching.  I wasn�t surprised, shocked or repulsed.  None of those things my instinct told me � yelled at me � to be feeling.

I lifted my head at the same time he did, and for a moment the expression on his face was one of such intense beauty that afterwards I wasn�t sure I�d seen it.  His mouth opened, words ready, but before he could speak I touched my lips to his.  I hadn�t thought about it, but something inside me wanted to do it.

For a second we were absolutely still, neither of us pushing further.  Then I tongued his bottom lip, tasting him; the copper tang of blood, the bitter flavour of sulphur.  And something else.  Something like� butterscotch.

I could feel myself growing hard from the sensations; the way he felt against me, the way he�d let me hold and lead him, the silken feel of his hair against my eternally stubbled cheek, the taste and texture of his lips.

My thoughts, tapped by the heated darkness of his presence in my mind, were of only the promise of my touch, the possibilities for the hours to come.  There and then I wanted him.  I had no idea why and no desperate need to analyse it.

With the tip of my tongue I traced the curve of his top lip, meaning to slip inside his mouth and kiss him properly.

�No!�

He pulled away from me so forcefully, tore himself from my mind so violently, that the abject feeling of rejection equalled the white-hot pain that sliced down my spine.

�What?�  Wrong question.  �Why?�

He was standing two feet away, staring at me, eyes flashing with fire, his whole form trembling, as if with the effort of holding the illusion of his fa�ade.  For a long time we stood like that, nothing else mattering but what was happening.  What could have happened.

And then he was gone.

I opened my mouth to call out to him, and I realised I had no idea what to call.

Rubbing my neck, shaking my head, with no idea what had just happened, I finished my beer and left the bar.