It's a Thursday night like any other. 11:00. Full club. A cadre of talented dancers on the main two floors. Active cages. Active pedastools. Dancefloor packed. A year in town and there's no sign of stopping. In fact, its popularity is growing.
     Upstairs, in the private and exclusive clubs, women and men dance for a price. On the fourth floor, they do more than dance. A young noblewoman with magenta hair, a boob job, two tattoos and two piercings is making a name for herself in that room. Insatiable Sarah. Blowjob Betty. Do It Dot...
     Yes, it's a towering and thundering success, Julian Kane. Fornication, Pleasure, Lust, Desire, they're all around. You wanted to make a show, you made it.
     Normally, the Genius of Fornication is on the dancefloor. In the dark corners. In the private rooms. Ever since he popped out of your little altar room, he's been hanging around, loitering. Forgetting to go home.
     Maybe that's it...
     But he's not on the dancefloor tonight and no one in the upper rooms or in the backrooms or in the corners have seen him. Has he finally gone home? No...
     n that room of mirrors, he is curled up on the cushions, looking at his own reflection. The reincarnation of Narcissus. Golden, curly locks. Handsome. Two cocks -- two too many for most. A perversion of a once angelic form. From his shoulders, the remains of wings, the protrusion of skeletal energy.
     "They were red," he murmurs. "They were red..."

     "What's going on?" Julian asks, half-demanding, as he swings the door open and steps into the room. He's been looking all over for you, and after searching and process-of-elimination, resorted to coming to his own private bedroom attached to the club. The energy led him to his altar room.
     "What?" Julian follows up with, hearing the words. "Pharzuph! Hey!" Julian steps over towards you to see you better, moving around to take up your view.

     Eyes leave the mirror for the first time in an hour. More. And he rolls over onto his back, his lovely face upturning to look at you. Golden eyebrows raise in unison, a chorus of glimmering motion, and crystalline eyes fix on you as much as he ever fixes on anything.
     "Julian," he says, he beams it. And the memories fizzle, starting to dissolve in the curse ... or is it grace... given to him. Why was I here? Oh well. "I needed some quiet. No one comes in here but Him." Andrealphus. Or Pharzuph. Or anyone else you might have in here. Or you.
     Almost no one comes in here...
     Pharzuph rolls over, wearing only a pair of gold pants, vinyl painted jeans makes them look like leather only they breathe. He curls up on his stomach and looks back into the mirror.
     Oh... right...
     That's right...
     My wings were red. "My wings were red, Julian... did you know that...I had long lines of red light...like the neon in the club only ..." He stops, losing his train of thought.

     Red? Julian's confused. He knows you are confused too. Julian sighs and takes a seat near you on the cushions. Dressed in black leather and a blue shirt, he's rather sedate for the evening. Instead of participating, he's in his 'owner' mode.
     "There's red light in the club, yes," Julian explains, touching the skin between where wings sit. "And yes, I know...your wings are red sometimes," he adds, fingers making soothing circles. Something's upset you tonight.
     "Did He come see you?" Julian wonders. "Has He been here? He was here earlier today..." a distracting conversation.

     "Who?" Pharzuph asks honestly, head on the cushion, he curls beneath your touch. The part of him that remembers, forever and perhaps graciously separated from the part that is conscious, longs for that. What this has done to you. What this has done to him. What this did to you.
     "I was looking in the mirror. It was telling me things... sometimes, glass does that..." Ask Cassandra, she'll tell you. "I ... was remembering..." He never remembers anything. "I don't know maybe not remembering. Maybe I was just thinking." He never does that either. "... Red wings and a big golden pillow..."
     He was thinking of his room. Do you remember the room, Ramariel? He stayed in the Basilica of Love, his room was made completely of stained glass. He would play his lute, the first lute that ever was, and he would sing.
     "I like that shirt," Pharzuph says, his hand reaches up to touch the blue. "I need new clothes. I think I wll go shopping tomorrow. Maybe I will buy a fur."

     "You don't like fur," Julian teases, knowing that it might be missed. He continues to caress, looking to some point on a wall. "I'll give you the shirt," he whispers, '...and tomorrow, we'll buy new shirts." Because we can. We can do anything. "Would you like that? We can go out for a while, you and I." Samantha may have other plans.
      "And we can also get you another golden pillow. Or several. And we can put them in here so you may lie on them as much as you like. Maybe...a lute too? That might be...nice."

     "Just you and I... I weep Julian," and he does, "... but I do not know why. Do you know why..." Even if you told him, he would only forget it. The fall of such a mind. The fall of such a soul. He fell so far. He landed in the fire and lost it all. "I would like that," Pharzuph rolls over again, the skeletal remains, the symbols of wings once made of pure Love's glow, fold together neatly as he ends up on his back. "We can go buy things. You would buy me a pillow? A golden pillow?" Lute. His eyes peer. He almost asks -- what's that? "Would you hold me if I had a golden pillow..."
     He gets jealous of your human girls. He doesn't know why. It bothers him, bubbling up from Ancient Matters, but fizzles away, turning to another topic. All Pharzuph knows is that he enjoys when you are near. He thinks of you. Even when he is double filling some of your dancers as only he can do.
     "Julian... this is your room..." he says. "You mean my pillow can stay in this room? We should buy a throw of mink. I like fur..."

     There is sighing from Julian again. "No, I don't know why you cry," Julian whispers, fingers at your cheeks. "Tears mess up your beautiful face." Gently, his fingertips retract. Julian closes his hand, putting the other hand at your stomach. "And yes, I would buy you anything," he whispers. "And here," he murmurs, shifting around so that your head may rest on his lap. "We'll buy golden pillows and a fur then. Mink and sable, hmm? I prefer sables, myself. That would help the room a lot."

     His eyes widen. "Sable... sable yes... and ermine." His eyes travel the circumference of this room. "I like the mirrors," he doesn't remember that that's how he came here. How long has it been now?
     Pharzuph smiles as he settles his head on your lap. His body stretches, as feline as Samantha's would, if not more so, as your hand rests on his stomach. "I am glad you are here," Pharzuph says. "I always look for you, Julian." His way of saying that he misses you. He smiles, a curl of flesh. "I am here... and you are here..." he lures, lifting. He kisses your chin. Such a sweet kiss. "You are so handsome. I wish you were mine. I could keep you." Pharzuph chuckles. "You should enjoy me. You would enjoy me..."

     Julian laughs. We always arrive to this. "I do enjoy you, I have enjoyed you." He shakes his head, fingers running through blonde strands.
     I have belonged to you. In some way, I still do. Maybe again, in another lifetime...
     "I'm glad I'm here too," Julian admits. "And you're here all the time!" he teases. "You do keep me. Or I keep you."

     Pharzuph pauses to think. Normally this does not take long. "I do live here... I think. I'm always here, anyway. Is that alright? I think you keep me," he teases back. Brows lift and eyes widen a touch. He smiles, beautifully. "Do you like keeping me, like a little treasure. I like it here. I don't really remember where I was before. I wish I could, but maybe I have always been here. Well... after the red wings went away..." He remembers that. Now.
     Something is happening. Why would he remember? Is it because Andrealphus is divided? Is it because Love is trying to remember and in remembering snaps its own former synapses?
     Pharzuph smiles and sighs. "As long as I please you," he murrs. He turns his head against your thigh, glancing up. The Come Hither Look that is his trademark. He kisses the leather and then he curls up there.
     He lies still for a while. A long while. Very uncustomary. "I had red wings... and there was this book... it was a golden book..." The Book of the Songs of Love. "I must have liked gold and red," he notes matter-of-factly. "I wonder where I was," he posits. "Maybe I was in Venice or India..."

     Julian closes his eyes. I am unprepared for this. Not this. Not you too. "You were in India," he remembers for you. "We both were. You liked gold and red, yes, and you had a jacket with those colors." You were glorious then. You are glorious now. "And you played the lute and sang. Sometimes you would read. We'd listen. Everyone would listen."
      "We've been together a long time, you and I, hmm, Pharzuph?" Julian looks down. "We have. It's been a very long time for us."
     "And yes, I like keeping you," Julian whispers, bending to kiss your ear. For a while, it was tiring. I ran. But not anymore. "I like to have you with me. We'll always...be together."

     "Really?" He seems surprised. "I didn't know I could sing." Perhaps he can't. He hasn't since his last day on that golden pillow. One thread of thought drops, another is plucked. You kiss his ear, and Pharzuph smiles. "I like being kept. I like being your treasure. Wrapped in your furs. Is there anything I can do for you, Julian?" His hand reaches up, fingers light upon your lips. "I will please you... It is my greatest joy. We could raise such energy, everyone here will be trying to mimic us. There is no one who raises energy the way we do." His hand moves, cupping your face. And he smiles.
     It is the smile that would tell you not to worry. If he knew that there was anything to worry about...
     "Maybe that is why I am so much at home here," he says to the notion of being with you a long time. "It is home to me. There is comfort, pleasure, dancing and laughing, and you. I am happy, Julian..."

     "Good," Julian grins, finding some comfort in that. "Good. I want you to be happy, Pharzuph." Someone should be happy in our sorry states.
     I said it. I thought it. What's going on with us...
     Julian sits up a little, but his hands continue to caress your skin. "As for what you can do," he grins, "...I'd like...a bourbon and coke, and perhaps some grapes." He teases, but those would be nice right about now. "Then, we can talk about what you can do for me yourself..."

     Service. It makes him happy. Andrealphus' once brilliant captain is happiest when a being a valet. The gorgeous smile winds its brilliant way across his mouth and Pharzuph rolls, re-energized. "I will peel them for you," he announces. "I am the best peeler of grapes in the world. No one in the Acropolis," the sex club in Hell's own oasis, "...can touch me..." But you know that already. Andrealphus would only take grapes from one hand.
     The gold vinyl hugs his legs, his form, they were button-fly jeans once. His barefeet move soundlessly over the cushions and through the door to the next room. What a vision. Even with the remainders of wings that once were.
     When he re-emerges, the pants are still on but open in front, flaps lying wide, his groin visible, and the piercing at his bellybutton. It matches the piercing of his tongue. He chimes as he smiles, playing with the little ball pierced in his tongue. He carries a bottle of bourbon. "I will go downstairs... there have to be grapes and coke, right..."

     "In the refrigerator in the other room. The bar," Julian points, spinning himself around on the cushions to take up most of it. He gets comfortable, and a small smile creeps across his features.

     "Oh..." He sets down the bottle of bourbon and smiles. "I will go get it..." Pharzuph turns with a glimmer of heated air and disappears through the door again.
     There is a weird kind of ease to this. He doesn't realize he's done this a thousand times before... well, part of him is not aware. Part of him is. You can see it in the ease in which it comes. In the absolute joy it brings him.
     Softly, he pads back into the room, carrying a bowl of grapes tucked against his side with one arm, a bottle of coke and two glasses in his other hand. Quite the balancing act.
     "I will peel them," he continues, "...and I will feed you from my own fingers. Will you let me, Julian?" Bottle, grapes, glasses and Pharzuph plop down next to you. "And you will tell me how much I please you..." he teases. "Like no other... not even the beauties, all the beauties who fill your club..."

     The smile grows. "I will," Julian replies, eager for this. He hasn't let himself indulge with Pharzuph in a while. Well, any man for that matter. "I don't mind them unpeeled, though, remember..."
     Sometimes, memories can bring pleasure. Julian's hand reaches out to settle on your thigh, and his smile only gets brighter.

     Your smile is a catalyst for his own smile. It grows, like the spreading of the universe. "If you wish them peeled, whisper it to me and I will do so...here, lie here..." Pharzuph places a small cushion on his lap, sitting in the lotus position, the pillow is in the bowl his legs create.
     Such a view. With your head upon the pillow you will have a front row to the spectacle of the open folds of Pharzuph's pants, the diabolically beautiful genitalia, doubled, and the body, ending in the face. Above you, Pharzuph dangles a grape in front of you. Just above your mouth. "Open..."

     The view is spectacular. "I barely remember," Julian's mouth parting, "...when we were like this last." Not that you will either, but he has to say it. To speak to you as if you know and remember what it was like. No one else would know, save one. Only one other of us remembers that Time. We were...perfect. Oh, but we also...yes...felt eventually...as if we had been rendered as inferior in the face of human creation. Some argued even more than that. A shift in philosophy, on some servitude we'd been forced into.
     But are we not servants now? No, we are Free, somehow.
     But dear Pharzuph. He does not look Free...
     The first grape taken, Julien consumes it slowly. It's sweet, cold, and wet. The smile comes again. Grapes are somehow always refreshing.

     Heaven punished Pharzuph very harshly. For one of its greatest minds, its brightest stars, it gave the strictest condemnation. It was a gift of Andrealphus, however, that lifted his ability to remember. He did it because he did not believe that Pharzuph would survive what they had done to him...
     Pharzuph lids his eyes as your mouth accepts the fruit from his fingertips. Pleasure. The skeletal remains of wings, crystallized into this form when he fell, shudder, clicking, and he rolls the chiming ball pierced into his tongue. How that feels when you kiss or when his mouth goes down on you.
     "It must have been a long time ago," Pharzuph purrs, taking another grape, "...because I do not remember it. I would have remembered this joy...hmmm..." He laughs softly, teasing your mouth with the next grape before he lets it go. "We should do this every night. Even though you are busy. Never too busy to lick my fingers...? Do you want a drink?"

     "Not yet," Juliam murmurs, mouth full. "More grapes," he smiles, kicking off his shoes. Barefoot, his feet come flat on the floor at the cushions' edge. Knees sway open and closed. He sighs, this time contentedly. "It was. But no matter. We can enjoy it now."
     "And after this..." Julian looks up, brows raising in curious teasing, "...something even more sweet? Your lips and the rest of you."

     Another grape is plucked and you are fed like an emperor. He is a willing servant. Pharzuph's mouth forms a curl and his eyes of Babylonian beryl sparkle and they lid again. The Genius of Fornication is sweet on the cushions. There is no doubt of that.
     "I live to be in your mouth, like this grape," another one is offered to you...before he surrenders it, he rolls the coolness of it against your lips, finally giving it to your tongue.
     He bends, golden curls draping in front of his eyes. He rolls a grape from his tongue to your tongue and straightens. "There is no part of me that you can't have," he breathes myrrh and cinnamon.

     Oh, Pharzuph. You cannot hear it. But others do. The sound of something askew in the Symphony. In your own Band...that of Andrealphus. It fainly strums in the wrong...just...off...key. Beneath the grandeur of the cacaphony that sounds among Hell's minions.

     Julian's brows arch again and he smirks. A veil of blonde hair drizzles before him, more splendid than any silk. "I was thinking the same thing," he whispers, lifting up to place a wet kiss upon your lips.

     Something is wrong... or is it... Right?
     Lust goes through the motions, the same gyrating, hip swiveling, member throbbing, quivering motions. The machine, the very well-oiled machine, runs as it has always run, carried by a multi-millennial momentum.
     But something is wrong...
     Andrealphus...

     Pharzuph cannot hear it, but he can hear your breath. And taste it. Grapes are balanced on his thigh, your head in the bowl of his lap. And he kisses you, mouths opposite...the sensation is vivid. The chime rings in your mouth with the twirling of his tongue.
     O, Love...
     What have you done...
     Chiming, ringing, the temple bells. They peel within the joined mouths. Pharzuph parts the embrace. "More," he wonders. Grapes or me?

     "Yes," Julian whispers, indeed wanting both. As close as you are, you'll hear the groan that escapes him. But the tenor of it...no, it could not be pain. Not with the smile that refuses to leave his lips. Julian's hand reaches up and pulls your head down to him again, his back arching so that he might meet you.

     Yes...
     The hallmark and motto of your Word.
     Yes...
     Pharzuph surrenders his mouth, setting the grapes for a moment aside. He shifts beneath you, the cushion moving off his lap, his legs stretch out behind him. The kiss continues upside-down, downside-up. Suckling, swirling...
     Lust...
     But it is not without emotion. The emotion... does not know what to call itself, but it is there.
     It is there...
     For Love never left. It was just forgotten...

Posted by rowan at September 14, 2003 08:00 AM