Date: Thu, 04 Jun 1998 19:33:37 BST
From: Michael Gouda <stachys@eurobell.co.uk>
Subject: 'Lucifer'

                            LUCIFER 
                            =======

                         Part 1 The Book
                         ---------------

     It was all his great aunt Marion's fault . . . 

     If she hadn't had a birthday and Adrian hadn't felt pressured into
buying her a present . . .

     If she hadn't made pointed remarks about liking old books and how the
backstreets of the town were full of second-hand bookshops . . .

     If her birthday hadn't fallen on the 25th of the month and his pay day
wasn't until the 28th . . .

     If he could just have ignored that birthday without incurring her
displeasure which might have meant being left out of her will  - and she was
after all pushing eighty . . .

     And all those 'ifs' meant that Adrian was wandering down the High
Street when it was at its hottest and grubbiest, the air feeling close and
sticky and the sky a heavy uniform grey. He had just finished his part time
shift in the local BurgerBar and had hoped that the air outside would be
less clogged than the greasy atmosphere of his work place. The hot spell it
seemed was about to break and not before time. Stagecoach buses and cars
made pedestrians' lives hazardous while the vehicle exhausts pumped out
choking pollution fumes to fill the air.

    Sundry 'homeless' sat against the walls and spread their legs and feet
out onto the pavements begging. Some had dogs and Adrian felt more sorry for
them than he did for their human owners. Most of the dogs looked bored and
would obviously have preferred to be running around after rabbits than
sitting looking forlorn in the High Street. He was pleased to see though
that they looked well-fed - which was more than he could say for their
owners.

     Except one - who was young, dogless and quite attractive with curly
dark hair and wide eyes which looked open and appealing. He was dressed in a
pullover - must be hot, thought Adrian, and some tight jeans which, as the
man - well he was scarcely older than a boy really - sprawled his legs out
onto the pavement, wrapped and emphasised the shape of his genitals in a
very stimulating way - surely intentionally.

     Adrian tried to catch his eye but the boy seemed to be looking into the
middle distance, his eyes glazed and unfocussed. Maybe he was on drugs,
Adrian thought.

     The Spa Town had once - perhaps some two hundred years earlier (Adrian
was not all that good at history) - been the height of fashion when
gentlemen in silk hose and ladies in crinolines came to take the water at
the Pump Room, but Time and the corrosive effects of sulphur dioxide had not
dealt kindly with the elegant stonework which was now pitted and marked so
that it looked as if it was eaten away by a disease. Nor had the economic
recession helped for almost every other shop front was now boarded up, the
graffiti and advertising posters making a patchwork of cluttered disorder.

     But aunt Marion had been right in one thing - there were secondhand
bookshops in abundance especially in the little side streets which branched
off the main thoroughfare every twenty yards or so. Adrian wondered how they
could possibly make any sort of profit, there being so many of them and so
few apparent customers. Some of them had tried to attract custom by putting
a box of dog-eared paper backs and old remaindered hardbacks in the front
with a sign saying 'Only 50p each' but it was hardly an unrefusable
inducement to buy.

     Adrian, though, was out for a bargain so he stooped down and rummaged
through the contents of one such box. Now would Aunt Marion appreciate a
grubby, torn, 'bodice-bursting' Mills and Boone - he thought not. He might
be a cheapskate but he didn't want to appear to be one. Right at the bottom
of the box was a yellowed book which, at first sight, appeared as unsuitable
as the first. Its print was crabbed and blurred and the paper was thick, the
pages seemed almost torn rather than cut to size, their edges rough and
uneven. It had no front cover and Adrian was about to toss it back in
disgust when his eye caught a date in Roman numerals at the bottom of the
title page - MDCLXXV.

     It took him a little while to work out but eventually he deciphered it
as 1675. The title seemed to be in Latin 'Compendium Rerum Malorum' and the
author someone called Thomas Weir of Edinburgh. None of this meant very much
to Adrian, a Compendium, he thought, meant a collection - but certainly the
book looked old and, if he had worked out the date correctly, could be quite
valuable. It would do for Aunt Marion. He wondered if perhaps the book had
got into the box by mistake and the bookseller make a fuss about selling it
to him for 50p so he picked out three other books and took them into the
shop.

     "Four from your bargain box," he called out cheerfully to the little
man, crouched like a gnome behind the counter, and looking as dusty as most
of the stock on his shelves. He waved them in front of the man's face and
then plonked down two pound coins on the surface.

     The man grunted and seemed to want to look at the titles but Adrian
swiftly turned and made for the door and the man picked up the coins and
examined them closely as if he thought they might be counterfeit.

     Outside it had started raining. Large drops the size of penny pieces
splashed onto the dusty pavement. The grey sky looked as if it was going to
burst. Shit! He and the books were going to get wet and he hadn't got
anywhere to put them. He needed some shelter. The Public Library, though,
was just round the corner and Adrian broke into a run to make the steps
leading up to the pseudo-Gothic front just before the heavens opened and the
rain came down in torrents. Adrian wondered whether the attractive young man
he had seen earlier had got some shelter.

     Adrian stood in the covered entrance hall and stared out at the
sleeting rain. What to do now? Glancing at his watch he found he still had
half an hour before his lunch break was up. He looked at the books in his
hand, three thrillers which might be worth reading and the old volume while
looked even more tattered and miserable on closer inspection. Could he give
this to his aunt? He turned over the first page and tried to make out the
writing. If it was all in Latin then there did not seem much hope but to his
surprise it was apparently written in English - or at least a sort of
English. 'A fpell for gaining the heart's defire'. What on earth did that
mean?

     Suddenly he realised that he was probably in the right place to ask
questions and he took the book into the Reference Library where, behind a
wooden counter, a bespectacled woman was doing something academic with a
large book. Her grey hair was scraped back from her face into a bun at the
back  She looked up as Adrian approached and smiled, immediately looking
less severe.

     "Excuse me," said Adrian politely, "I've just bought this book and I
wondered if you could tell me something about it."

     The woman took the book and looked at it. "Interesting," she said.
'Compendium Rerum Malorum' - Collection of Evil Things." She turned over the
pages. "It appears to be an anthology of spells." She turned back to the
Title Page. "1657. Thomas Weir. Don't know the name. Let's see what the
Encyclopaedia has to say," she said to herself and turned aside to a shelf
from which she chose and took down a large volume. She riffled through the
pages and eventually found an entry. "Here we are." She read out aloud,
"Weir, Thomas: Born in 1600. After having led an apparently normal life as a
religious man, he confessed in 1670 to sorcery and horrible debauchery. He
was burned at the stake near Edinburgh in April 1670 along with his sister,
Jane, who was accused of incest with him. 'The Bow', the family home of the
Weirs, became a house haunted with phantoms until its destruction about
1830."

     "Is it valuable?" asked Adrian, holding his breath.

     "Well," said the woman, "I'm no expert and the book's obviously not in
good condition - but an enthusiast of demonology might pay a couple of
hundred pounds for it."

     Adrian breathed again. That wasn't a bad profit. "Is it written in
English?" he asked. "Some words seem very odd." He pointed to the entry he
had read on the first page. "Fpell - defires?"

     "Oh that's just the long 's'. Printers in those days used a long form
for the letter 's' if it was anywhere but at the end of a word. Yes it's in
English. Look that reads 'A spell for gaining your heart's desires'. Pretty
marvellous that would be - if it worked."

     Adrian agreed, thanked her and went back out to the entrance hall. He
sat down on one of the benches that ran round the inside. The rain seemed to
be easing. Soon he would be able to go out again. While he waited he opened
the book and read the first spell. It was difficult to make out and he found
he that the easiest way was to mouth the words just under his breath.

     "I conjure you," he read, "Prince Lucifer, dark Angel of Light, to
procure for me what my Heart most defires - no, desires, in the name of your
lieutenants Mammon, Asmodeus, Satan, Beelzebub, Leviathan and Belphegor."

     He got to the end, the names causing him the most difficulty and
suddenly had the feeling that he was being watched. He looked up and saw the
boy he had noticed earlier in the High Street. He was standing just inside
the doorway and staring at him but had obviously not been as lucky as Adrian
in escaping the rain for his hair was plastered to his scalp while his jeans
and pullover looked soaked.

     Adrian gave him a sympathetic smile and, as if this encouraged him, the
boy approached. "Pissing weather," he said.

     "Got caught in the rain, did you?" said Adrian, though the answer was
obvious. "Haven't you got anywhere to go?" As he said it, Adrian realised
that the question could be seriously misconstrued.

     The boy gave Adrian a shrewd look, seemed to make a decision and said,
"Yeah I got a place. Just couldn't get back there in time. Want to see it?"

     Adrian realised that he would be late back for work but he nodded
anyway and the boy turned and led the way briskly through the now gradually
decreasing raindrops across the road and down a side lane, much like the
ones Adrian himself had explored in his search for the bookshops earlier.

     They did not say much, the boy limiting his remarks to a brief
introduction, "Steven" and Adrian responding with his own name. Half way
down the street Steven stopped and turned left to where a flight of stone
steps led down to a basement. At the bottom there was a scuffed painted door
which had once been blue and a window which had bars on it. Steven unlocked
the door and the two boys went in. Inside lit by the subdued light from the
window was a single room which contained a bed, a small table and two chairs
and in the corner a gas ring and sink. In the furthest corner a plastic
curtain hid probably what was a shower. Someone had tried to brighten the
walls with an amateurish painting of a country scene showing a cottage set
in a wood with hills in the background but the proportions and perspectives
were all wrong and Adrian himself if the room had been his, would have
painted it over with a coat of white emulsion. A greasy-looking rug - once
red - covered the centre of the floor.

     "Gotta get out of these clothes," said Steven, pulling the jumper over
his head. His body, Adrian noticed, was still adolescent and hairless, the
stomach flat. He kicked off his trainers, unzipped and pulled off his jeans
without the least trace of embarrassment - perhaps he had done it too often.
He was wearing a pair of dark blue jockey underpants. He took a towel from
beside the sink and rubbed his hair until it was dry and tousled. Then he
wiped his body and legs.

     Adrian watched expecting him to put some clothes back on but instead he
leaned back, half lying on the bed, his hips thrust forward. The vigorous
towelling had disturbed his briefs, pushing the leg open so that Adrian
could see his balls and the root of his cock. Steven looked across the room
at him, his expression telling nothing. Eventually he said, "Come on! You
know you want to!" 

     Adrian took a step forward, then another. He was standing over Steven,
his hand only inches away from his groin, the boy looking up at him, his
eyes wide open. Then the boy's hand was on his thigh and moving upwards over
the material of his trousers. Adrian could feel his penis hardening even
before the boy's hand reached his balls. He put his own hand over Steven's
cock and could feel it growing through the blue underwear.

     The boy's  eyes flickered. He whispered, "A tenner."

     Adrian froze. "You want money?" he asked, snatching his hand away.

     Steven let his eyes fall. He said. "I've got no job. What sort of life
do you think I can have on Social Security? I have to make it any way I can.
I'm sorry."

     Adrian said, "I haven't got any money either. I only have a part time
job and probably don't get much more than you." 

     There was a pause and Adrian was about to turn and leave when Steven
suddenly smiled. It made his face look beautiful. "What the hell," he said.
"I make a rotten hustler anyway." He grabbed at Adrian and pulled him down
on top of him, their groins pressed together. The naked flesh was under his
hands, soft and silky, though the underlying muscle was hard.

     "Let me take my clothes off," Adrian said and Steven let him go,
pulling off his own underpants and socks.

     Swiftly Adrian stripped off his shoes and socks, jacket, trousers and
underpants until he stood, in just his shirt having trouble with the
buttons. They both shivered with the damp chill of the basement room and the
excitement. Steven couldn't wait for Adrian to get his shirt off. He grabbed
him again and pulled him down, holding each other, their tongues and hands
exploring each others' bodies. 

     Adrian, on top, slowly inched down Steven's body, kissing and licking.
He paused and sucked at the nipples, then went down and put his tongue in
Steven's navel, smelling his scent, a mixture of soap and sweat. Steven
giggled and wriggled so Adrian went even lower so that he could reach the
fuzz of pubic hair around that sprouting cock.

     "Turn round," said Steven's voice, high with arousal, "so I can do the
same to you.  Adrian needed no second urging and soon both boys' faces were
buried in each other's groins. Adrian ran his tongue up and down the erect
shaft facing him and then licked the firm young balls, taking each one into
his mouth and gently mouthing them one at a time.  Then he moved back and
enclosed Steven's prick as far as he could into his mouth. He could feel his
own erection being taken into Steven's warm mouth and knew ecstasy.

     He put one arm over Steven's legs and gently explored his arse.  He
found the puckered hole and inserted his finger.  He heard Steven gasp and
then felt him doing the same. He pushed harder, at the same time sucking and
wanking with his free hand.

     Steven gasped, "I'm coming," and then clamped his mouth down again.

     There was a warm, salty spurt filling Adrian's mouth and spilling down
his chin but all he felt was his whole being centred in his own groin as a
source of pleasure, exploding and pulsing again and again. 

     Afterwards, they lay together stickily and Adrian told him about the
book of spells and how, just before Steven had turned up, Adrian had said
the spell for granting his heart's desire. Steven laughed. "Am I your
heart's desire?" he asked.

     "Well I was thinking of you at the time. I did rather fancy you," he
admitted. "I'm not sure I believe that it really happened because of the
spell though."

     "Can I have a go?" asked Steven. "If I ask for something and get it,
that'll prove it."

     "OK," said Adrian, "but you've got to say what you want first."

     "That's easy." said Steven. "I need money more than anything."

     "Go on then," said Adrian and watched while Steven ploughed through the
spell. For a moment they waited and then, when nothing happened, Steven
sighed.

     "Well," said Adrian defensively, "it doesn't say it'll happen
immediately."

     He got up and dressed while Steven lay in bed suddenly depressed.

     As he was leaving. Adrian said, "Will I see you again?"

     Steven didn't answer.



                       Part 2 The Image
                       ----------------

     Adrian lived with his mother in a small two-up, two-down on the
outskirts of the Spa Town. She had a job in a Supermarket which kept her out
of the house during the day but she was always there in the evenings. He had
never known his father. Adrian sometimes suspected that there never had been
one - in the married sense at least - though his mother called herself Mrs
Pritchard. Not that this made much difference for half the pupils at the
school Adrian went to had no fathers - not living with them at any rate, and
some of those who did had cause to regret it!

     Adrian had quite enjoyed school though this had not stopped him leaving
as soon as he legally could, his prime objective being to find himself a
lucrative job, become independent and get a place of his own. Now. twelve
months later and just past his seventeenth birthday he had to face reality
in that the part-time employment at the BurgerBar - all he had managed to
obtain - would never make his fortune, that he would need qualifications
above and beyond his meagre GCSE's if he ever wanted anything better. Great
aunt Marion's money - it was rumoured that she had a fortune (though if she
did, she kept it close to herself) - would be more than welcome.

     His home was constricting to Adrian. He could not take anyone home in
the evenings - not for sex anyway, and he had worried about the few that he
had met and invited back in his off-duty periods during the day in case nosy
neighbours enquired of his mother who they were. These encounters anyway had
seemed unsatisfactory to Adrian and only provided temporary sexual relief
which otherwise would have to be gratified by solitary and manual methods.

     The meeting with Steven the day before, though brief and ending so
disastrously, had been different, Adrian thought. The phrase 'heart's
desire' sprung again into his mind and Steven's mocking remark, 'Am I your
heart's desire?' He wasn't sure about that but try as he might he could not
get Steven's face out of his mind, those large eyes, so apparently trusting
and confident, the way his dark hair curled over his forehead, the sensuous
mouth that had smiled so bewitchingly - and which had fastened onto his cock
like a lamprey. At the remembrance, his penis hardened. He knew he wanted to
see Steven again. But did Steven feel the same? If he did, there was no way
Steven could get in touch with him, he did not even know his name - but
Adrian knew where he lived. Did he dare to call round? Their parting had
hardly been propitious. Steven hadn't even answered his tentative question
as to whether they would see each other again. But Adrian had rushed off so
quickly and Steven couldn't have followed immediately for when he had left
he had been lying naked on the bed.

     'Heart's desire'! Adrian had asked it from the Book, and the Book had
produced Steven - but not apparently granted Steven's request for money!

     Adrian leaned out of bed and picked up the Book which was on the table
beside it and again flicked through the pages. It seemed not to have been
put together in a very organised way. There were spells, recipes,
instructions for the gathering and processing of herbs, all apparently
jumbled together - and no index either.

     Then something at the top of a page caught his attention.

     'For the gaining of one's true love's affection', he read. Then the
book flipped shut and he had lost it. It took a while to find it again. 'For
the satisfactory performance of this spel,' he read, 'it is necessary to
have some hairs or clippings of the nails or article of cloathing of the
beloved or other appurtenance.' Shit, that was no use. He had nothing like
that. What the hell was an 'appurtenance' anyway? You had to make a wax
image and include the hair or whatever, say the spell over it and then carry
it next to your heart until you next saw your beloved. It also advised the
mutual eating of periwinkle leaves - whatever they were. As it said: 'Venus
owns this Herb, and saith that the Leavs eaten by man and his beloved
together, causeth love between them to grow and prosper.'

     "Adrian," a shout came from downstairs - his mother calling. "I'm just
off to work. I'll be back at five. Can you get yourself some lunch?"

     "No problem," he jumped out of bed and called over the bannisters. "I
may be in town anyway. I'll get a burger."

     He could hear her grumbling about junk food as she went out of the
front door. "I'll eat an apple with it," he said to himself and went back to
his room. He studied the book, then went downstairs to find a dictionary. He
looked up 'appurtenance' and found it meant 'anything belonging to someone
or something'. He sighed. It didn't help at all.

     Back in his room he dressed, feeling despondent. His shirt lying on the
floor was crumpled. He was working in the afternoon this Thursday and they
wanted you to look smart though he couldn't imagine why as no customer even
looked at you. Perhaps the shirt would do for one more day. He was about to
put it on when he noticed some marks down the front. 

     Shit! Now he couldn't wear it. What were they though? It looked like
dry tooth-paste - or - he remembered yesterday's tussle on the bed, which
had started before he had even managed to take off his shirt. The discharge
of Steven's cum into his mouth and the dribbling down his chin. It must be
Steven's - an 'appurtenance' if ever there was one. If you could get a DNA
profile from bodily fluids then surely you could use it in a love spell.

     Suddenly cheerful, he looked for what else he needed. 'Take some wax -
the common sort will do - and soften it in the hand.' Where could he find
wax? Candles, that was it. There were some in the cupboard under the sink
downstairs, waiting for an emergency like a power cut. He raced down and
found one. The white cylinder was hard and wouldn't soften - not in his hand
at any rate - just like something else, he remembered. Then he thought of
lighting the gas and holding it over it. He nearly burned his hand but at
least the candle softened and he was able to mould it. Should it just be the
face or the whole body? Shit! He'd left the book upstairs - and the shirt.

     Carefully he scraped the precious stains with his fingernail onto a
piece of paper. The instruction didn't make it clear whether the image had
to be the whole body or not but it was easier to make a figurine rather than
attempt an accurate representation of the face so he modelled the wax into a
human shape, carefully incorporating the powder with it. Then he carved,
with his mother's nailfile, a face and a cock and balls between the legs -
he felt this to be important. It wasn't easy and the result didn't have the
lissom grace of the original but hopefully it would do. Feeling slightly
foolish he said the three-fold spell over it, kissing it on the lips,
genitals and feet after each sentence. "Bind Steven to me in this the image
of his person. Cleave Steven to me in this the likeness of his being. Secure
his love for me through this the figure of his body."

     Well that was it. The spell was cast. Now all he had to do was carry
the image in his inside jacket pocket, left side where his heart was, until
he saw Steven again. If only he had some periwinkle leaves. He read the
description of the plant again:

     'The common sort hereof hath many Branches trayling, or running upon
the ground shooting out smal Fibres at the Joynts as it runneth, taking
thereby hold in the ground and Rooteth in divers places. At the Joynts of
these Branches stand two small dark green shining Leavs, somwhat like Bay
Leavs, but smaller, and with them come forth also the Flowers (one at a
Joynt standing upon a tender Footstalk) being somwhat long and hollow,
parted at the brims, somtimes into four somtimes five Leavs, the most
ordinary sort are of a pale blue Colour.'

     To be honest it didn't mean much to him. OK blue flowers, dark leaves
and growing along the ground but unless it was as large as a sunflower
Adrian didn't think he would have noticed. After all flowers were not really
his strong point.

     Well he'd just have to rely on the wax image.

     He finished dressing and, feeling quite cheerful, ate some breakfast,
brushed his teeth - after all you never knew - and set out for town.

     After yesterday's rain, the air smelled fresh and washed, and the sun,
though shining warmly, didn't have the enervating heat of the past weeks
when every exertion seemed to bring on a sweat. He smiled happily to himself
and even managed to greet his next door neighbour with a "Good morning, Miss
Davis." She was a dowdy little sparrow of a woman with glasses who was
energetically digging into her flower border with a small fork.

     "Oh, oh," she said seemingly startled. "Good morning, Adrian."

     He went on down the road when a thought suddenly struck him. He turned
and walked back. "Miss Davis," he said.

     She bobbed up from her patch as if on a spring and looked terrified,
almost as if he were about to mug her.

     "I just wondered if you knew what a periwinkle was," he said.

     "Oh," she said, and then cleared her throat. "Two things. It's either
the name for a small edible shellfish or that plant over there." She pointed
to something with trailing stems and blue flowers.

     "Yes," said Adrian, feeling like punching the air. "That's it. I
wonder. Could I pick a few leaves?"

     Miss Davis looked puzzled. "Well, yes," she said.

     "Thanks, Miss Davis," said Adrian, and then feeling mischievous, added,
"It causeth love to grow and prosper, you know."

     "Er, no, I didn't," said Miss Davis and watched him with bewilderment
as he hopped over the low wall into her garden, picked off half a dozen of
the dark, shiny leaves and continued on his way, whistling.

     Steven was not where he had seen him yesterday at his pitch on the High
Street. Adrian felt slightly disappointed as if they had met there, he could
have pretended it was a chance meeting. Calling personally at his basement
flat could hardly be construed as such.

     On the way to his flat he rehearsed what he would say when he got
there. Oh hello, Steve - No - Hi, Steve. I was just passing so I thought I
pop in - pop in! - thought I'd call and see how you were - but it had only
been yesterday - Steven would know he was after him. Might ignore him
completely - ask him for money again. What if the spell didn't work - he
felt the image in his inside jacket pocket - was it next to his heart?
Stuffing hell! What was the matter with him? He was acting like someone with
his first boyfriend. So - if he was rejected, he could face rejection. If he
thought he would be so embarrassed, he might not even bother to call. It
wouldn't be the end of -

     "Hi, Adrian," said a voice. It was Steven, smiling, looking genuinely
pleased to see him. "I was wondering how to get in touch. You left yesterday
so quick. Got time for a coffee?" He was everything Adrian had remembered.
Beautiful - in what looked like some really expensive new clothes.

     "Steven, you look as if you've come into a fortune," said Adrian.

     "Thanks to you," said Steven and turned to him, there in the High
Street, with people all around them, and kissed him, full on the mouth.
"Come on," he said, "First one to get home, gets to fuck." He turned and
raced up the street, Adrian, after a second's surprised hesitation, in
pursuit.

     They arrived at the top of the basement steps together, laughing and
clutching at each other.

     "Dead heat," said Adrian.

     "OK, OK," said Steven, "We'll have to decide some other way." His eyes
glinted with mischief.

     Once inside the flat they stood and looked at each other. Adrian could
scarcely believe that he had met the boy who was smiling at him only the day
before. He felt that he had known him for half his life. He put his hand
over his left breast and felt the outline of the wax image through the
material of his jacket. 'Secure Steven's love for me through this the figure
of his body,' he mouthed silently.

     "Where did the fancy clobber come from?" he asked.

     "Your spell. It was your spell that did it. After you left I went out
and bought a scratch card. I won 1000."

     "Told you it would work," said Adrian. He touched the boy on the cheek
with the palm of his hand and then cupped it round the back of his neck
drawing him forward so that lips met lips in a long kiss. He felt Steven's
tongue probing at his mouth and let it in, the muscle, slick and smooth,
twining with his own. He tasted a sweetness and wondered what Steven had
been eating.

     Their hips came together, groin pressed against groin, both cocks erect
and that irresistible urge to copulate spreading through their entire
bodies. Adrian's hand went to the zip in Steven's trousers but he drew back.

     "Wait, wait. I need a shower," said Steven.

     "Prick teaser," said Adrian, then suggested, "Let's have one together."

     They jostled into the tiny cubicle scarcely big enough for the two of
them, laughing and pushing. Steven turned on the water so that it was hot
and they soaped each other.  As they got to each other's groins, they got
excited, the lather slithering over erect cocks and balls.

     "Turn round," said Steven in a breathy whisper into his ear.

     "Tenner," said Adrian, teasing, and kissed him on the mouth. Adrian
turned his back on Steven and felt soapy hands rubbing the cleft of his
arse.  He relaxed his muscles and a finger was inserted, then two. He bent
over spreading his buttocks to allow even further access.

     Suddenly Steven said, "Shall I put my cock in?"

     Adrian wanted him to, wanted to feel Steven inside him, becoming part
of him but was worried. "I've never done it before," he said.

     "I'll be gentle," said Steven. "Do you want me to?"

     "Yes," Adrian said'

     "Hang on, then," said Steven and he stepped out of the shower and
disappeared behind the curtain. A little while passed before he returned,
still dripping.

     "Where have you been?" asked Adrian.

     "Condom," said Steven shortly and Adrian, for the first time, knew the
reality behind all that talk there was about AIDS and HIV. But he had no
time to think about it further for he felt the tip of Steven's penis
nuzzling his hole, then pushing.  He tried to relax but gasped when it
actually pierced the sphincter.  But then it was inside.  He could feel it
in him and the thought that it was Steven made him excited again, overriding
the pain.  Added to that, Steven's hands came round and held his cock,
rubbing it with the lather so that they slipped deliciously up and down the
shaft.  He pressed back to get Steven even further in and then started
pushing in and out, getting quicker and quicker as he approached his climax.

     Then Steven muttered in his ear, "Oh Adrian, I love you, I love you,"
and Adrian felt the spurt inside him and at the same time came himself so
that he jetted a stream of cum onto the floor.

     Afterwards they lay naked together on the narrow single bed, Steven on
his back, his arms around Adrian who nuzzled his head into the space under
Steven's chin.

     "What's your name?" asked Adrian.

     It was a time for shared confidences and the telling and receiving of
personal details, the beginning of a relationship. Steven told him of the
rows with his family and the final one where unforgivable things had been
said and he had left to live on the streets for a while until begging and
some petty stealing got him enough to put a deposit down on the damp single
basement room. "You can make a bit on the streets," he admitted.

     Then Adrian explained about Great aunt Marion and her birthday present,
and finally - the Book.

     "So two spells worked," said Steven. "You got me and I got the money."

     "Three," said Adrian. He reached over to where his jacket lay on the
floor and fumbled in the breast pocket for the wax image. "I did another one
this morning."

     "What's that?" asked Steven.

     "It's to keep you, to secure my true love's affection," said Adrian.
"Then there's periwinkle leaves. Eating them cause love to grow and prosper.

     Steven looked at the image carefully. "Is that me? Well at least you
have given me a cock and balls" and he snuggled up to Adrian, their bodies
close together, and began to play with Adrian's which immediately responded. 

     Adrian sighed contentedly. "So that's all right then."

     "The money won't last for ever," said Steven. "I've already spent quite
a bit."

     Adrian sat up, serious. "There is a way," he said, "according to the
Book, by which unlimited wealth and desires can be obtained."

     "Sounds good. What is it? Another spell?"

     "The signing of a Pact with the Devil."

     There was a silence while the words seemed to hang in the air between
them.

     Eventually Steven said in a quiet voice. "I don't think I like the
sound of that. Adrian, don't get into this too deep."

    

                        Part 3 The Pact
                        ---------------

     At home that evening, Adrian turned to the Book again. On the last few
pages were the instructions for making a Pact with the Devil. It was
complicated and there seemed to be three parts. There was a potion which had
to be made and drunk - but the instructions were there, as was also the
recipe for making the drink. Then there was a spell for the conjuring up of
the Devil - with suitable precautions for protection - and finally there was
the Pact itself which had to be written with the left hand and signed in
blood.

     Adrian sighed. It was going to be difficult and he was a bit squeamish
about the blood, but it had to be done - and done quickly - for tomorrow was
Aunt Marion's birthday and, if he was going to give her the book, now would
be his last chance.

     He looked at the list of ingredients for the potion: aconite
(Wolfsbane), digitalis, hellebore root and hemlock. He sighed again. Even
more difficult than he thought. He had never heard of any of them.

     "Mum," he called through to the kitchen where Mrs Pritchard was
preparing the meal. "Do you know where I can get some 'aconite' from? I
think it's some sort of herb."

     "No," she said unhelpfully. "We don't sell it in the shop." But then
she added, "I expect her next door will know. She's a great one for plants
and such."

     Of course Miss Davis. Why hadn't he thought of her? "I'll just call
round," he said. "Won't be a moment."

     "Supper will be ready in a half an hour," she said.

     It was still quite light but Miss Davis wasn't in her garden so Adrian
knocked at her front door. There was a long pause and he wondered whether
she was out but eventually he heard the rattle of a chain and the sound of
bolts being pulled back. The door opened a crack and her timid face peered
out. It cleared when she saw who it was though she still didn't open the
door wide.

     "Adrian," she said. "I wondered who was calling so late." Late! It
couldn't be much more than half past seven and it wouldn't get dark for
another couple of hours. Still when you're old . . .  "What can I do for
you? Not more periwinkle leaves?"

     Adrian started. He had forgotten all about them when he was with
Steven. They should have eaten them together.

     "No," he said. "It's something else this time." He looked at the piece
of paper on which he had jotted down the names. "I'm looking for some
aconite,  digitalis, hellebore and hemlock. I think they're plants."

     At the mention of plants, Miss Davis looked suddenly interested. "My!"
she said. "That's quite a collection. Dangerous though!"

     "Dangerous?" echoed Adrian. "In what way?"

     "Oh yes," said Miss Davis. "They're all deadly poisonous - if you eat
enough of them."

     "So you wouldn't have them in your garden, then?" said Adrian.

     "Oh yes," said Miss Davis happily. "I don't have children or pets, so
there's no need to worry - and I wouldn't be silly enough to eat them
myself. Why do you want to know?"

     Adrian paused, his mind racing. He hadn't been prepared for this
question. Then he fell back on the old excuse from school. "It's a project,"
he said.

     But Miss Davis was brighter than she looked. "You're not at school
now," she said.

     "Oh no," said Adrian. "College. I've started a course at College."

     "Have you? Your mother never said. What is the course?" The woman was
becoming too curious, thought Adrian. "Comparative religion?" She smiled.
Was this a joke?

     Adrian laughed as if he understood. "No," he said, thinking it best to
keep as near to the truth as possible. "We're looking at some seventeenth
century herbalists and trying out some of their recipes. Not to really drink
them of course."

     "Interesting," said Miss Davis, then briskly, "Well, come on, while
there's light." She opened the door and they both went into the garden where
the evening sun lit up the banks of flowers which hours of tender care had
produced. "Now by aconite, I assume you mean aconitum vulparia, Wolfsbane or
Monk's Hood - the winter aconite, eranthis hyemalis, which is a completely
different plant of course you won't find at this time of year."

     "That's right," said Adrian, "Wolfsbane."

     "Well there you are," she said pointing to a tall plant with frondy
leaves and purple bell-shaped flowers. "Called Monk's Hood because of the
shape of the flowers of course - very poisonous. Now Digitalis is the Latin
name for Foxglove over there. It's still used as a heart stimulant." She
pointed to some plants with even taller spikes down which purple and white
flowers grew. "Foxgloves. Nothing to do with foxes of course," she
explained. "Fox is a corruption of 'Folk's', the little Folk, the fairies.
The hellebores are here, in the shade which they love," and she showed him
some more dark leaved plants which looked rather unhealthy. "Not at their
best at this time of year," she said. "They're winter and early spring
flowers." She paused while Adrian consulted his list.

     "Hemlock," he reminded her.

     "Can't help you there," she said. "That's the poison Socrates used to
commit suicide with." Adrian nodded though he had no idea who Socrates was.
"Hemlock's a wild flower. You'll find some up on the hill," she waved her
hand at the hill which reared up behind the houses. "It's an umbellifer with
purple splotches on the stem."

     Adrian looked blank. "I'll show you. I've got a book." 

     "Can I take some leaves of what you do have?" he asked.

     "Wait a minute," she said and she went into the house, not inviting him
in and came back with the book. She also had a pair of secateurs and a
newspaper. She showed him a picture of a tall plant with thick stalks and a
head of umbrella-shaped white flowers.

     "It's like an umbrella," said Adrian.

     "Yes. That's what 'umbellifer' means. You can find them alongside the
road that leads up to Lonley Farm, on the right hand side. There's a whole
clump of them. Very poisonous. Remember the purple blotches on the stems."
She took the book back as if she feared he might run off with it. Then she
went into the garden and cut off some stalks with leaves from the various
plants, carefully wrapping them in the newspaper.

     "There you are," she said, giving him the package. "And do make sure
you wash your hands after touching them." She went into the house and shut
the door. A second later, and before Adrian had had time to turn away, it
opened again. "Good Luck with the project," she said and added, with a
smile, "Sounds like witchcraft to me."

     Adrian looked at his watch. He had spent a quarter of an hour with Miss
Davis. That meant he still had another fifteen minutes before the meal was
ready. He set off at a steady run towards the hill, his trainers slapping on
the dry surface of the tarmac. Soon this gave out to a track with ditches at
either side and started climbing. Adrian was out of breath now but he forced
himself onwards. Surely Miss Davis was not the kind of woman who would go
for long walks - just a gentle stroll. Then he saw them, tall, elegant
plants with thin spiky leaves and masses of white flowers formed into
umbrella shapes. He noticed the rather sinister purple splotches on the
stems which otherwise looked like bamboo. He pulled off a stem and some
liquid oozed out onto his hand. After a little while it started to irritate
and he wiped it on his jeans.

     He turned for home. He was late and he knew his mother would nag but
she would get over it and he now had everything for the potion.

     His mum had gone on a bit about his being late for supper. Apparently
she was going out that evening and wanted everything finished and cleared up
by eight o'clock but, after Adrian had promised to do the washing up, she
had cheered up and the best thing was that he would be alone for at least
three hours to complete and carry out his plan.

     He read the instructions:

     'Juyces are to be pressed out of Herbs when they are yong and tender,
and also out of some Stalks, and tender tops of Herbs and Plants, and also
out of some Flowers. Having gathered your Herb you would preserve the Juyce
of, when it is very dry (for otherwise your Juyce will not be worth a
Button) bruise it very wel in a stone Mortar with a wooden Pestle, then
having put it into a Canvas Bag (the Herb I mean, not the Mortar for that
will yield but little Juyce) press it hard in a press, then take the Juyce
and put it in a Vessel which can be diluted up to ten times.'

     The comment about the mortar not having much juice at least showed that
Thomas Weir had something of a sense of humour but Adrian himself did not
have any of the implements that Weir recommended. He would have to
improvise, after all the main object was to get the juice out of the leaves
and things and catch them in some sort of container. Eventually he wrapped
them in a clean tea towel and used his mother's pastry rolling pin. A little
liquid oozed out which he squeezed into a glass. It was greenish in colour
and did not smell very nice. Perhaps diluted it would not be so bad. He took
it upstairs with him.

     He got a clean piece of writing paper and made a copy of the pact as
recommended by the book. Written with his left hand, it looked amateurish
and strange.

     'Pacta cum daemonibus. Lucifer, Angel of Light and Darkness, Lord and
Master, I recognise you as my God and promise to serve You while I live. I
promise to adore your Body and to pay Homage to you at least three times a
day, to do Evil, and to cause as many people as possible to do Evil. I give
you my Body, my Soul and my Life and, having given them, I never wish to
repent. In exchange for this you will grant me all that I desire in things
both Material and  Immaterial.'

     'Thus signed in my own blood,'

     Now came the difficult part. He found a sharp knife in the kitchen and
made a faint stab at the thumb of his left hand. It didn't seem to want to
pierce the skin. He tried again and gasped as a little drop of blood
appeared. It was hardly enough to sign his name. Shutting his eyes he
plunged the knife in and, though the sharp pain caused his eyes to water, he
was gratified to see a much greater quantity of blood. Quickly he dripped
into the only container he could lay his hands on - the glass which held the
tooth brushes in the bath room. It might be contaminated a little with
toothpaste but that would hardly matter. Now what could he write with?
Really he could do with one of those old-fashioned fountain pens, but who
had one of those nowadays? He would have to find something soon for blood
clotted quickly and already the wound in his hand had stopped bleeding. He
did not want to have to stab himself again. Eventually he found a
matchstick, carving it into a point with the knife.

     Then dipping it into his blood again and again and, with his left hand,
he shakily signed his name at the bottom - Adrian Pritchard.

     There - that was done. Now the final thing was to drink the potion and
say the spell. Adrian though did have a little sense of the dramatic. He
went downstairs again and collected two candles which he lit and put on his
bedside table, first moving it into the middle of his room. Then he placed
the Pact between the two and switched out the light.

     He had the glass with the potion, diluted to the right consistency, and
the spell, which he had copied out to make it easier to read.

     He wished he had Steven with him for moral - and physical - support but
that could not be helped. He was not on the telephone and lived too far away
to go and fetch. He would have to do it alone.

     Adrian took a deep breath and drank the potion. It tasted foul, as
bitter as gall, so that his throat gagged and for a moment he wondered
whether he would choke it all up again. But after another breath he managed
to control the instinctive rejection and focused on the spell.

     Seated in a chair and in the wavering light of the two candles, he read
out loud:

     "Emperor Lucifer, Master of all rebel Spirits, I pray you to look on me
with Favour in the Name which I give to your great Minister, Lucifuge
Rafacale; I beg you also, Prince Beelzebub, to protect me in my Enterprise;
O Count Astaroth be favourable to me and grant that tonight the great
Lucifer may appear to me in human Form and give me all that I ask, according
to the Pact that I shall present to him."

     Suddenly everything blurred in front of him. He felt a tingling in his
finger tips which gradually spread up his arms. He tried to lift them but
they seemed paralysed. A dreadful feeling of panic rushed over him. He
remembered Miss Davis's warnings - 'They're all deadly poisonous - if you
eat enough of them.' And he had drunk the concentrated juices of all of
them! There was a buzzing in his ears and for a moment he could see nothing,
even the light of the two candles disappeared. He experienced a dizzying
feeling of lightness, of floating, of drifting. 

     Then everything cleared.

     Standing in front of him was the figure of a man. Even by the fitful
light of the candles, Adrian could make out his features clearly. It was a
handsome face but cold and cruel with a sallow complexion. His dark stubble
formed the suggestion of a moustache and little pointed beard which
emphasised its length. His eyebrows flared upwards at the sides (Adrian was
irresistibly reminded of Dr. Spock) and his eyes were penetrating and had a
yellowish colour though the pupils were elliptical like a cat's.

     He was naked and his phallus stood erect and proud from a bushy nest of
pubic hair.



                         Part 4 Lucifer
                         --------------


     For a while there was a silence as each stared at the other, the
stranger with a sardonic half-smile on his face.

     "Hi," said Adrian not quite knowing what to say.

     "'Most High' would be more appropriate," said the man. His voice was
low and vibrant and sent a shiver down Adrian's spine. "You have summoned
me."

     Adrian found his voice - just - and stuttered. "I would like t-to make
a P-pact," he said and pointed to the paper which lay on the table between
them.

     Lucifer - if it was he - picked up the paper and looked at it. "You
want 'all things material and immaterial'." It was a statement rather than a
question. "And what are you prepared to give in exchange?"

     "It's all there," said Adrian. "I'll serve you, er - adore your body,
pay homage, get others to do wrong etc. etc. Isn't that enough?"

     "You will also give me your body," said Lucifer, reading from the
paper. Then he looked up and gazed at Adrian speculatively. He seemed to
like what he saw for he said, "I am mindful to try the pleasures of the
flesh."

     Adrian was not quite sure what he meant though he thought he knew. "And
then you will agree to the Pact?" he asked.

     "It is customary to seal it with a kiss," said Lucifer. "Remove your
clothing."

     Adrian hesitated. Did he really want this? And yet - 'all things
material and immaterial' - all he ever wanted, enough money to buy
everything, a house, a car, clothes, a computer, a helicopter - his head
whirled. He ripped off his shirt and unzipped his jeans, pulling off his
trainers and socks so that he could get the jeans over his feet. He drew
down his shorts and stood there naked in front of his Lord.

     Lucifer held out his hand and Adrian stepped towards him reaching out
his own hand. They touched and Adrian felt the other's flesh against his. It
was dry and warm though had a rough texture which was strange but not
unpleasant. Lucifer drew him close and his head dropped to Adrian's left
breast, nuzzling him with his lips. Then he felt a sudden sharp bite just
above the nipple and started away with a cry. For a moment the pain was
intense, spreading outwards to fill his whole body, then it faded, becoming
an ache before finally disappearing. Where Lucifer had bitten him, there was
a blue scar.

     "You have my mark," said Lucifer. "Now you are mine." He clasped him
and now his embraces were tender and ardent. Adrian felt himself becoming
stimulated, imprisoned as he was between the other's thighs and with that
prick, which had never lost its hardness all the time, pressed into him and
jousting with his own erection.

     Suddenly Lucifer stooped and picked Adrian up in his arms. He did it
with no trace of effort or exertion, the muscles in his arms scarcely
tightening, and carried him over to the bed. He laid him down gently on his
back, lifting his legs so that his arse was exposed and vulnerable. Adrian
knew what was coming and tensed himself for the assault but instead of a
steel-hard rod, he felt a tongue, slightly rough like a cat's, licking under
the base of his scrotum and then along the perineum that sensitive area
between the anus and the balls which is the centre of sexual being.

     Adrian could scarcely bear the delight and arched his body upwards so
that his arse was even more open and into which the cat-like tongue probed
and licked. He could not stop himself making animal-like noises being almost
out of his mind with the desire to cum and be fucked.

     Then Lucifer's cock plunged in searing him with a pain which was both 
ice-cold and red-hot, exquisite agony and delight. It filled him and at the
same time fulfilled him. Adrian had enjoyed it with Steven because it was
Steven whose cock was inside him, but Lucifer's member was giving him the
most acute physical pleasure, the frenzied ecstasy spreading out through his
whole body in wave upon wave of anguished delight. He had never felt
anything like this before and he wanted the cock to remain inside for ever,
going deeper and deeper until it merged with his very Being.

     He felt it being withdrawn and then plunging in again until the
movement was regular - and at each stroke he knew delight and physical
satisfaction.

     Then the cock inside him pulsed and he knew that Lucifer was coming. He
reared his own body up, clutching the other's haunches and pulling him if
possible even closer, even further inside. His own cock twitched and jerked
seemingly stimulated from behind, from some central core in his bowels. He
came and came again and could not stop, the throbbing pulses feeling as if
they were emptying out his very entrails.

     He collapsed backwards on the bed, utterly spent, gasping and panting,
his limbs trembling uncontrollably.

     Dimly, through the mists of that aching post coitum he heard Lucifer's
voice.

     "The pact is sealed. What is your wish?"

     "Money," mumbled Adrian, scarcely aware of what he was saying. "I need
money."

     "Granted," came the sound of that low, vibrant voice - and then he was
gone leaving Adrian to a night of tossing restlessness and turbulent dreams.

     The following morning Adrian awoke feeling as if he had the flu. His
limbs ached and he felt alternately flushed and then shivery. From outside
the door, he heard his mother coming upstairs and then knocking on the door.

     "I thought you were going to do the washing up last night," he heard
her voice complaining. "Instead all I find is a revolting mess in a tea
towel - and what have you been using my rolling pin for?"

     Adrian groaned and opened his eyes with difficulty. "Sorry, mum," he
said. "It was - I didn't feel very well."

     She opened the door and came in carrying a mug of tea.

     "And what on earth have you been doing in here?"

     Adrian focused his eyes on his room. The table with the candles he had
used last night had been overturned. Luckily the Pact had disappeared but he
wondered whether the evidence of the debauchery was noticeable on the bed.

     "I'll clear it up," he promised.

     Fortunately his mother was in a hurry to get to work so, apart from
grumbling a little, she did no more than pick up the table, restore it to
its place beside his bed and put the tea on it. "Don't lie there all day,"
she said and went out.

     A couple of minutes later he heard her go downstairs. He drank his tea.
It made him feel slightly better. Suddenly there was a call from downstairs,
urgent, excited.

     "Adrian, Adrian." He got up, groaned, pulled on underpants and jeans
and went downstairs. His mother was standing in the hall at the bottom of
the stairs. She had an official looking letter in her hands. "It's Aunt
Marion. She's dead. This is from the solicitors. They say you and me are her
'heirs and beneficiaries'. That means we get some money doesn't it?"

     Adrian felt slightly dizzy. It was the money he had asked for - but he
hadn't really wanted Great aunt Marion to die. She was a dry old stick but
she had as much right as him to live.

     "Odd," said his mother. "She wasn't ill when I last saw her. Must have
been sudden - heart attack I suppose."

     "When did she die?" asked Adrian.

     His mother looked at the letter. "Doesn't say - oh yes it does. Day
before yesterday."

     Adrian felt a bit better. She had died before he had asked for the
money. So Lucifer hadn't actually killed her. Still it was a coincidence.
The thought of Lucifer reminded him of last night and he suddenly felt a
twitch of excitement in his groin. It had been such bliss that he wanted it
again.

     His mother looked up. "What's that mark on your chest?" she asked.

     Instinctively he covered it with his hand. "Just a bruise," he said. "I
must get dressed."

     In the bathroom mirror he examined the blue-black bruise mark in the
mirror. Adrian remembered seeing a similar shape in the sheep fields around
- a cloven hoof - the mark of the Devil. He stepped under the shower and
turned the water on, then squeezed some gel into the palm of his hands and
rubbed it into a lather on his body. As he soaped his genitals, his cock
rose though in an attempt to recreate the pleasure of the previous night he
found he was transferring the focus of his attention to his arse, inserting
first one finger, then two into the hole. But they wouldn't go in far enough
to give him the ecstasy of the night before and, thinking of the
satisfaction he had obtained from Lucifer's cock, he murmured his name, over
and over again. "Lucifer . . . Lucifer . . . Lucifer . . ."

     Instantly He was there, standing beside him, ithyphallic as always,
echoing the words of the Pact, "I promise to adore your Body and to pay
Homage to you at least three times a day." He took him in his arms, wet and
slick as he was and their skin glided together sensually. "Bow to me,
Adrian. Pay Homage as you have agreed."

     Adrian stooped in compliance towards him, thinking perhaps that he
wanted him to suck his cock but Lucifer stayed him. "When you bow to
Lucifer," he said, "you bow away from him." And Adrian knew he had to
present his buttocks, open and ready, slippery with the gel so that
Lucifer's cock slid in as far as it could go. Adrian sighed, willing to
accept and fulfilled.

     Gradually the momentum built up, the ecstasy was repeated and as
Lucifer came inside him his own orgasm spattered the wall of the bathroom,
leaving him, as before, drained and exhausted. As he staggered to stay
upright, he felt Lucifer's cock leave him and he cried out at the empty void
it had left. Then there was no one with him in the shower.

     On shaky legs he dried himself and put on some clothes. He did not feel
well but could not bear to stay in the empty house so he went into Town.

     He was fortunate to catch a bus which dropped him in the street at the
top of Steven's as his legs would not have carried him any distance and even
the short walk tired him so that he was weak and shaky by the time he
reached the basement. He knocked on the door and Steven opened it.

     He smiled when he saw who it was, then looked concerned as he saw the
state Adrian was in. "What's the matter with you?" he asked. He grabbed hold
of him as he staggered and nearly fell, helping over to the bed on which
Adrian collapsed.

     "I'll be alright. Just need a bit of a rest."

     After a while during which Steven made some coffee and forced Adrian to
drink it, he seemed to get a bit stronger and sat up.  "You see," he said
with a smile and sounding more like his old self. "I  told you I'd be OK."
He went on to tell Steven about the Pact and Lucifer's appearance. Then
there was Aunt Marion's death and the inheritance. "We've got money coming,
Steve," he said. "Real money."

     Steven listened to the story with amazement and some disbelief but
Adrian's obvious sincerity convinced him. "OK. So what do we do now?"

     Adrian looked at him and smiled invitingly. "Guess," he said, undoing
the zip in his jeans.

     "Randy bugger," Steven said but nothing loath joined him on the bed
though he wasn't expecting the passion with which Adrian approached their
sex, nor the near animal ferocity with which he demanded to be fucked,
almost raping him, forcing him to lie on his back and then sitting on his
prick so that it was driven hard up into his arse.

     Even then he wasn't satisfied so that after Steven had come he hadn't
himself and he wouldn't let him withdraw almost shouting, "Leave it there. I
want to feel it there. Please don't let me be empty."

     Steven felt worried. He knew something wasn't right. This was
completely different behaviour from the previous two times that they had had
sex when Adrian had been tentative and inexperienced. Gently he pulled out
and tried to finish off Adrian with his hand but he would not let him.

     "What's the matter. Adrian?" he asked but Adrian couldn't or wouldn't
tell him and just lay beside him, his head buried in his shoulder, while an
occasional shiver ran through his body and Steven held him.



                       Part 5 Subjugation
                       ------------------

     Suddenly Adrian sat up and said he must go. Steven watched him put on
his shorts and jeans, which were all that he had taken off, and then leave,
walking out of the door and climbing the steps up to street level as if he
was in a dream. Steven wondered whether he was capable of negotiating the
traffic of Town - he certainly didn't look like it - so he hurriedly got up,
dragged on a pair of jeans and a sweater and followed Adrian. He was still
in sight at the top of the road but turned off to the right at an
intersection with the High Street.

     Steven broke into a run and was not long in himself turning the corner.
Adrian was not in sight though there were not enough people to hide him from
view which meant that he had either gone into one of the shops - MotherCare,
a dress Boutique, Dewhurst's Family Butcher, Jane's Wool Shop - he doubted
it or he had turned down the next street which led to the Bus Station - and
the Public Lavatory! Could he have gone cottaging? If he had, what did that
say about their relationship?

     Steven hovered on the corner for a few minutes, not knowing quite what
to do. Should he go in and - if he was there - face him? What could he say
to him anyway? Perhaps it would be better if he just walked out of the whole
affair. But he decided that wasn't an option. He felt something for Adrian
which was worth fighting for. He went in.

     There was the usual smell of piss and disinfectant. The row of urinals
was empty. The cubicle doors were all open except one. Could it just be that
Adrian had just needed a shit? Then he saw it. In the gap under the door he
could see the legs of someone lying on the floor. He recognised the jeans
and trainers as Adrian's. But what was he doing? Was he ill? Had he
collapsed in there?

     "Adrian," he called.

     There was no answer and the legs did not move. Steven tried the door
but it was locked. He'd have to get over the top. He took a run at it,
grabbed hold of the edge and pulled himself up, his trainers gaining some
sort of purchase on the wooden door. He peered over. Adrian was spread out
on the floor, face down, his jeans pulled down so that the cheeks of his
arse were bare and exposed. Steven climbed over the top and dropped to the
floor. Though there was no one in the cubicle with Adrian, and obviously
couldn't have been, as Steve had had the exit under observation from only
moments after Adrian must have entered and had seen no one leave, the state
of Adrian's body made two things clear. The first was that he had come
copiously all over the floor and the other was that someone had fucked him
energetically and harshly.

     As he touched Adrian, he groaned and started to roll over and sit up.
When he saw Steven, he smiled.

     "Hi, Steve. What you doing here?" He giggled as if it was a great joke.

     "What happened, Adrian?"

     "What do you mean? I just felt a bit tired," said Adrian and laughed
again. It was as if he was drunk or on a big high. But Adrian didn't do
drugs - or did he?

     "What about?" he gestured to the state of Adrian's bare arse and the
cum-spattered floor.

     For a moment Adrian looked serious. "Just the Pact," he said. "Part of
the Pact."

     "Come on back to the flat," said Steven.

     "Can't, mate. Gotta get home. I'll be in touch." He got up and made for
the door. Then he stopped, turned and kissed Steven on the lips. "And
remember Auntie's millions."

     Steven watched him go.

     But Adrian did not get in contact the next day, nor the next, nor the
next - and Steven got more and more worried. Eventually he decided to go
round to Adrian's house and find out, if he could, what the hell was going
on. That second time they had met, Adrian had told him his address so he
knew where to go.

     He knocked at the door and waited but there was no answer. He was about
to knock again when a voice said. "I don't think there's anyone at home." A
little grey-haired woman with glasses was standing on the next door steps.
"Mrs Pritchard's at work and Adrian's left."

     "Left!" said Steven. "How do you mean 'left'?"

     "He and his mother had a row. She was telling me how much he'd changed.
Got moody and depressed, would flare up - and then, he just left. He hasn't
been in touch for two days and she doesn't know where he went."

     Steven had more than an idea where homeless people congregated in Town.
If it was warm then there was the patch of grass around the church, where
there were seats to lie on, and shelter in the porches if it should rain.

     But Adrian wasn't there. Steven asked around but no one admitted seeing
anyone answering to his description, fresh-faced, straight black, glossy
hair, tall, slim.

     When Steven actually saw him, hobbling along the gutter beside the
road, he was nothing like that description. He could scarcely believe it was
the same person. The dirt on his face would certainly have obscured the
freshness but the bloom of his skin was gone. It looked taut and grey,
pulled tightly over the bones of his face. There was a spattering of angry
red pustules around his nose and mouth. His hair was matted and lack-lustre,
the eyes unfocussed and staring.

     He met Steven's horrified greeting with a blank gaze, one that almost
denied recognition. Steven gently took him by the arm and they went back to
his flat, Adrian allowing himself to be led unprotestingly. Once back Steven
stripped him of his rancid-smelling clothes, the front and back stiff with
dried semen and gently bathed him with warm water. The skin of his body
looked wrinkled and old, as if it had been submerged in water for a long
time. It was covered with scratches as if he had clawed himself with his
finger nails - and so thin that his ribs stood out above the sunken flesh.

     All this time, Adrian said nothing but at last, when Steven had put on
some of his own clean clothes, and prepared a cup of sweet coffee, he let
out a deep sigh. Only then did Steven ask him, "What has happened to you?"

     Again the answer came. "It's the Pact. I must have congress with
Lucifer three times a day."

     "But why?" asked Steven.

     "You don't know what happens if it is denied," said Adrian, and as if
talking about it brought back the memory, his body was shaken with racking
tremors. "Itching, dreadful itching, stomach cramps, hallucinations. You
can't believe the agony."

     "I'll get a doctor," said Steven.

     "And tell him what? That I have to get fucked by the Devil?" He lay
back on the bed wearily and closed his eyes.

     "You need some food," said Steven, "to get your strength up. When did
you last eat?"

     Adrian's answer was so low that Steven could barely hear him. "I can't
remember."

     "Look," said Steven. "I'll go out and get a pizza or something. There's
a Take-Away on the corner. Will you be alright for ten minutes? Does this
Lucifer just turn up?"

     "I have to call him," said Adrian. "I'll try not to."

     "Stick it out, kid. There's two of us together now. I won't be long."
He covered Adrian's body with the duvet before he left.

     But there was a queue at the Take-Away and they took an unconscionable
time heating it up so that it was a good half hour before Steven returned.
Anxiously he unlocked the door and went in. He breathed a sigh of relief
when he saw the mound on the bed.

     At first he thought he was asleep and decided that rest would be good
for him but when he bent over to look at him, he saw that Adrian's eyes were
wide open. He was shaking with uncontrollable shivering and his fingers were
raking the skin of his body to try to stop the irritation. He lay beside
him, holding him, trying to keep him still and, at the same time to warm him
up. His breathing was laboured and smelled rank.

     He found he was muttering consoling words. "It's alright, Adrian. Keep
fighting. I'm here with you." But he saw no signs of recognition in Adrian's
staring eyes and the gasps were turning into words. Steven at last could
make them out.

     "Lucifer . . . Lucifer . . . Lucifer . . . "

     Suddenly Steven sensed a presence behind him and, turning his head, he
saw a figure standing beside the bed, between him and the window so that it
was just a dark silhouette against the light. The shape was that of a man
and at first Stephen thought that he had left the door open and someone,
perhaps even a friend, had wandered in. He sat up and then saw that the man
was stark naked. From the fork between his legs a monstrous phallus
projected, erect and demanding.

     He heard a voice, low but with a timbre that reverberated through his
whole body. "Stand aside, boy. He is mine - and needs my attention."

     Steven stood up to face him. "No," he said. "He doesn't want you any
more. Cancel the Pact."

     Lucifer laughed and the sound was terrible. "The Pact is irrevocable."

     Behind him Steven heard Adrian sit up and give a low moan. He stretched
back his hand and groped blindly for Adrian's, found it and squeezed to give
him a little reassurance. Adrian's hand was cold and damp.

     "Your Homage is due," said Lucifer and took a step forward.

     Adrian whimpered and started to babble, almost as if he were two people
arguing with each other. "No . . . please . . . no more . . . yes . . . fuck
me . . . I want you in me . . . it hurts . . . I want to cum."

     Steven looked at him. He was twisting and turning, wrenching at his
clothes, pulling at his jeans to bare his arse while at the same time trying
to turn away from that erect phallus which was advancing towards him. The
expression on his face was one of terrified loathing mixed with a dreadful
anticipation. Saliva dribbled from the corner of his mouth which was now
uttering no more than sub-human grunts.

     Now Lucifer's cock was almost touching Steven and Adrian had turned
himself so that he was on his knees facing away from him, his bared arse
raised in anticipation of the entry.

     "No," screamed Steven. "Get away from him."

     Lucifer raised his hand and struck him a sweeping blow. It did not seem
to have much power but Steven was hurled across the room, hitting the wall
at the foot of the bed with the back of his head and, for the moment, too
dazed to move. Dimly, as if through a haze, he saw the huge cock plunge into
the waiting hole and bury its full length inside. Adrian let out a scream of
protest and delight. Then all Steven could see were the haunches of the
intruder as he ploughed into the defenceless arse.

     It was all over very quickly. There was one last terrible lunge and
Adrian's cock exploded, spurting cum over the bed in an unbelievable stream.
His head bent back in a rictus of agonised pleasure. Then Lucifer withdrew
violently and Adrian collapsed on the bed and lay still.

     Lucifer turned to Steven, his eyes shining yellow with lust and
victory. "He is mine and will always be mine," he said.

     Steven shook his head to clear it. "You are killing him," he said.

     Lucifer shrugged his shoulders as if that had very little consequence.
"Then he will be mine all the time," he said.

     "Can you not spare him for a while?" asked Steven. "I love him."

     "He agreed it in the Pact."

     Steven turned to look at the prostrate figure on the bed and then
turned to Lucifer. "Release him from the Pact," he pleaded.

     Lucifer's refusal was apparent in the look of contempt he gave him.

     "Than take me instead," said Steven. "Let him go and take me."

     "What do you want in exchange?"

     "Nothing. Just let him go."

     You want nothing in exchange?" Lucifer's tone was incredulous.

     "Just set my friend free."

     The figure on the bed stirred. "No," said Adrian in a weak voice.

     Lucifer laughed. "You see he wants it all for himself." He glanced down
to his cock which had remained erect even after his orgasm and which now
twitched obscenely.

     Adrian's voice strengthened. "I do not want it. I do not want my friend
to have to go through this Hell."

     A sudden change seemed to go through Lucifer's face. A spasm twisted
one side making it go lop-sided so that the words he said were indistinct,
almost as if forced out of him against his will, some words giving him
greater difficulty than others. "Greater . . . love . . . hath no man than
this," he said, "that a man lay down his life for his . . . friend." He
paused and then ground out between his clenched teeth. "I find this mutual
self-sacrifice - obscene!"

     His once-handsome face twisted even more and a stink of corruption, of
long-dead flesh filled the air. Lucifer's apparently invincible erection
drooped and the penis hung flaccid and ineffective. He gave a scream and
grabbed hold of himself, jerking at his member in a vain effort to
revitalize it.

     "Anyway it doesn't change the situation," he panted, so great was his
exertion. "You signed the Pact - in your blood. You get the money. I get
YOU!" He finished in a scream and dropped his cock which swung as if
lifeless.

     Steven realised there was nothing else to be done. 

     Then there was a weak comment from Adrian. It was as if he was suddenly
realising what had happened - and what it meant. "But you didn't . . . You
have given me nothing . . . She died before I signed the Pact. I would have
got the money anyway. You haven't kept the Pact."

     Lucifer suddenly looked as if he had shrunk, his whole body
diminishing. "You can have anything you want," he said despairingly. "What
do you desire?"

     "Nothing," said Adrian. "I want nothing further from you."

     The scream which issued from Lucifer's open mouth had an almost
tangible quality. It bounced around the room growing louder and more
anguished as it was forced out of him. Then, just as it reached the level
when the boys feared their ear drums must burst, it and he vanished. 

     The silence which followed was almost as loud!

     Neither Steven nor Adrian dared break it.

     They huddled together on the bed, holding each other for their mutual
comfort rather than in any sexual need.

     Eventually Adrian whispered, "I love you," he said. "I will always love
you." 

     In answer Steven planted a gentle kiss on Adrian's forehead. "Where are
those periwinkle leaves?" he asked. "Would they go well on a cold pizza?"

    
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