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 The Tears of AnaelBy Adrian MailennaTa'avahiel drew a deep breath as he
walked through the hallway of cats, flinching every time another tabby or
calico rubbed itself against his leg and streaked another line of fur
across the immaculate white of his gown.  The air was thick with the smells
and yowls of a thousand cats doing their thousand feline things, hunting,
playing, sleeping, mating, all shot through with the fine food and drink of
the Prince who ruled them all.  One low purr rumbled differently from the
rest, spilling out into the hall from beyond a half-open door.  The angel
rolled his eyes, folded his wings carefully, and slipped inside.  A
cat-eared youth lay sprawled in folded a bed, his tanned, golden skin
gleaming with sweat as it lay against the watery blue sheets and the sleek,
powerful leopardess who shared them.  The jungle cat yawned, baring her
great, sharp teeth, and Ta'avahiel stopped his approach, waiting as she
nosed her companion awake.  The youth barely seemed to notice his presence,
as though members of Heaven's Choir came daily to his door, and drew the
great cat's head to him, kissing her between the eyes.  "Tybalt..." The
youth's ears twitched a little, as though expecting Ta'avahiel to continue,
and the kiss slipped lower, until his lips met the cat's, lingering there
in a deep, gentle touch of affection.  It was pointless to argue.  "Tybalt,
Prince of Cats, whose subjects were once as gods and have never
forgotten..." The kiss broke for a moment as Tybalt peered over his
companion's head, narrowing his bright green eyes to slits.  He considered
the angel with slow, lazy confidence, twitching his tail beneath the
sheets. "You forgot 'each equal to any king', but that may pass." The kiss
resumed, dying off into a show of warm, contented nuzzling, as if he
enjoyed watching Ta'avahiel squirm in discomfort at their open, bestial
affection.  "Go, Remi," he murmured, sending his subject away, and the
leopardess stalked from the room, glaring at her master's visitor for his
intrusion.  The angel closed the door, unfurling his wings once more.  The
gesture would be lost on the Prince, he knew, but it always felt better to
speak bathed in His glory.  "If a man layeth with any animal, he must be
stoned." Tybalt yawned, in his peculiarly feline way, running his tongue
across the edges of his teeth.  "Higher than a kite, Tavah, but I am both
and neither, and the rules bear little upon me, as well you ought to know."
His ears folded flat against his head, as though in demonstration. 
Ta'avahiel bristled a little at the Prince's defiance.  "That was an
abomination, before the eyes of God." A low chuckle served as an answer. 
"You saw only a kiss, little bird.  Leave it be." "Judas betrayed the Son
with the same." The Prince stretched, letting the sheets fall around his
body as he raised his hips, cracking each joint in his back in a slow, lazy
rise to his hands and knees, then fell over to his side again, considering
his visitor.  "You didn't come to lecture me, Tavah.  You want something
from me, and it must be something that no one else can give." He thought
for a moment, gesturing to a small pouch on a nearby table.  "It's probably
not my weed, but you're welcome to some if you want." Ta'avahiel shifted
awkwardly, trying to recover his dignity from beneath the Prince's idle,
uncaring gaze.  "Something only you can bring me, yes." Tybalt traced his
long, elegant fingers along the sleek, naked curves of his belly as he
considered the statement.  "You mean something only I can steal," he
purred, rising to his feet, and began his slow, jungle-cat walk to the
door, unashamed of his nakedness or his lithe, androgynous beauty.  "But
Heaven has no need of thieves, or so you've said before...  it needs only
ask." His fingertips brushed against Ta'avahiel's chest, their claws bared
just enough to slice razor-thin cuts into his robes.  "So this must be
something special...  something trusted to you and lost, or something
secret you wish to have." A hot blush was all the confirmation he needed,
and he leaned in, standing up on tiptoe, until his breath teased against
the angel's lips.  "What is it, Tavah?  What tempts you so?" "The tears of
Anael, keeper of love and passion," Ta'avahiel explained, trying
desperately to ignore the fleeting, guilty pleasure of the Prince's touch.
"There are three, shed when Cain slew Abel, and turned to priceless gems."
As any of his subjects might have done, the Prince turned away as he grew
tired of the history lesson, idly watching the sunlight play over his
supple, perfect skin.  "Where and who, Tavah.  Where and who?" "The Second
Circle of Hell, Tybalt, kept by the daemon-wolf Andrealphus." The comment
barely escaped Ta'avahiel's lips before Tybalt interrupted.  "No, no,
absolutely not.  Last time an angel sent me to the Second Circle, I came
back with this awful burning for a month." He grinned, having too much fun
to be embarrassed.  "She did make it worth my time, though...  would you?"
Ta'avahiel set his jaw, determined not to play the Prince's game.  He was
losing patience.  "Naturally." Tybalt's eyes grew wide, and he pressed up
against his visitor once more.  "Did you say Andrealphus had them?" "Yes."
The cat-eyes narrowed once more, and the angel felt a little shiver of
uncertainty prickling up his spine.  He could almost hear the gears turning
behind the Prince's emerald green gaze.  "You used to be on...  special
terms with him, didn't you?" Tybalt asked.  "As Saint Bacchus was to Saint
Serge, yes.  But that was long ago, before the Fall." "Oh, yes....  I
remember them." The gears spun a little faster as the cat-ears flicked back
and forth.  Now he was interested, the angel knew.  Why he was interested
might be better off left unknown, but for now, it was a matter of price. 
The wheels turning in the Prince's head were almost audible in their
machinations.  "Give me day from you, Tavah, bound to my will." A day's
absence was inexcusable; he would be missed.  "One hour." "For that I
wouldn't leave my door." The Prince cocked his head to one side, raising an
eyebrow in that unsettling way, as though judging the value of Ta'avahiel's
time.  "Even Michael gave me two.  Six." "Two, then, the same as he did."
"Don't toy with me, Tavah.  You want the Tears more than I want your time.
Three." Three hours at the Prince's hands seemed reasonable.  Others of the
Choir said he usually wanted softness and warmth, curling up in comfort as
cats were known to do, and that his attention ran short at other times. 
"Done." "Come back in a week, then.  I'll have your Tears then." A silence
hung in the air, and Ta'avahiel smiled.  This would be easy.  Already the
Prince's attention had run out, and the he was dressing, leaving his black
leather clothing open as he chose from his hundreds of bright, shiny
ornaments, as though they mattered more than all the world.  ----- Tybalt
missed Remi, though he'd only left her a day before.  Remi was fun, clever,
eager to please, and warm.  He wanted to play with her, to be surrounded by
her warmth again, not the icy winds of the Second Circle that bit deep,
even through the sleek black leather that stretched tight against his
flesh. The cold made him angry.  He found a foothold behind the neck of
some poor condemned soul caught alive in the rough, jagged rock, and pulled
himself a little higher.  A foot above him, a woman wailed, some nasty
bitch who had slept her way to the top, passing deserving men and women
along her way, until she found that He could not be seduced.  A quick slap
shut her up, the back of his glove against her face, though the column of
her imprisoned lovers began to scream.  For a moment, he considered
breaking out her teeth, or even better, their teeth, to give them something
real to scream about, but other things came first.  He had cursed himself
for ever coming and cursed the parted lovers for the screams that broke his
concentration, but now, he cursed the daemons, cursed their endless savage
rape of the damned, for having so much fun, even as he traveled in misery.
Despite his lamentations, it was a short climb to the top of the arch he'd
chosen, and from there a single leap, a long, fluid motion to cut the
eternal night, to land on Andrealphus's roof, where he dropped into a neat,
predatory crouch.  The air here was thick with the daemon's essence, a
palpable weight against his body that tensed his muscles and filled his
lungs with the heavy scents of wolf and cedar wood.  An entrance there had
been abandoned there, long ago, but he'd never forgotten it, and the heavy
stone lifted free as cleanly as it did so many years before.  That was
good. The room beneath him was a little warmer, stoked by a fire that gave
no light, and black as pitch, dark beyond even his sight, save for the
faint blue sparkle of the Tears that awaited him.  He let out his line,
tested it, and descended, headfirst, into the darkness.  It was a long way
down, and he'd barely gone halfway when he heard the hard, rhythmic
clicking of claws against the stony floor.  The cool, daemonic gaze of
Andrealphus fixed itself upon the back of his neck, sending the downy
little hairs there pricking up in alarm, and he froze, coiled tight in the
impenetrable blackness.  He heard a low, growling laugh.  "Nice of you to
drop in, Tybalt." He allowed himself a little smile.  "It's been too long,
Andrea.  I hear you've a new plaything...  Catherine, right?" The voice
came a little closer.  "Oh, yes.  So much hate, she has.  So much fear. 
She makes her own prison, where a look becomes a rape becomes her murder
for my amusement." He laughed again.  "But you didn't come to play with
her." It wasn't a question.  Tybalt gave a little twirl, letting his tail
brush against Andrealphus's thick mane of hair, and they watched each
other, now face to face, their eyes glowing faintly in the darkness, one
pair green, and the other gold.  "Of course I didn't.  I came to play with
you." Ice-white teeth sparkled in the darkness.  "I don't believe that for
a second, kitty," the daemon-wolf laughed.  "Though I'm flattered by the
lie." His huge pink tongue darted out for a moment, tracing its way across
the shining teeth.  "You came to take something, didn't you?" Tybalt didn't
feel any particular need to deny it, especially now, as his fingertips ran
long, delicate trails up the hard expanse of the daemon's chest.  The
muscles in his legs relaxed, just a little bit, until he felt the daemon's
cool, even breath against his own.  "I need the Tears of Anael, lover. 
There's an angel who needs corrupting, and I'll make it worth your while."
Andrealphus's tongue lapped out again as he considered that.  "I haven't
played with Tavah since the fall," he murmured, and smiled brightly,
leaning forward to press his lips against the Prince's skin.  "They say you
have a silver tongue, Tybalt.  Let's see you use it." No more invitation
was offered, and no more was needed, as Tybalt slid his hands through the
daemon's thick fur.  Still upside-down, he began to uncoil, lowering
himself further, ever so slowly, as he kissed his way down the daemon's
body, every press of his lips tied gently to the one before, every inch of
the journey a slow, sensuous tease, pressing smooth skin and warm leather
against the hard, stony flesh before him.  He kept his touches gentle,
almost loving, subtle against a body jaded by eons of butchering eternity's
tide of fresh meat with perversion honed sharp by boredom and cruelty.  It
had been centuries since the last time, but Tybalt still knew the soft,
comfortable tease that would drive the Andrealphus mad.  Already he could
feel a deep, aching desire growing in the daemon's body, a thousand little
spasms that sparked over his stony muscles.  They egged him on, and he
crept lower, teasing them, until bright icy-blue flashes of hellfire
crackled over the midnight fur and the gleaming obelisk of flesh that rose
to greet him, towering far below like an ancient, forbidden tribute to
perversion as he slid slowly down the rope.  The daemon-wolf cupped
Tybalt's rear in his hands, feeling it slide beneath his palms.  He earned
a low purring for that, from deep in the cat-boy's chest, as his hands slid
the soft flesh beneath their palms, as though the time between them had
never passed.  "You've missed that, haven't you, kitty?" Tybalt's answer
came as a kiss, a gentle caress of lips and teeth and tongue, all warm and
rough and slippery, his soft, sensuous nuzzling better at home against a
lover's cheek than this seat of raw, sexual power.  "Why don't you find
out?" Andrealphus growled playfully at the treat suspended before him,
tightening his grip on Tybalt's leather-clad hips until the seams gave way.
Cool air licked against Tybalt's newly-naked flesh, making him yelp in
surprise.  "I should say so," the daemon hissed, pressing his cheek against
Tybalt's thigh.  "You're all pink and excited under that tail of yours." He
pressed a finger there, sliding it closer along the ragged seams and the
crease of golden skin beneath.  Tybalt squirmed in delight, finding himself
the victim of a tease for once.  "Are you excited anywhere else?" Again
Tybalt's answer was a kiss, this time a tight-lipped, eager suckling that
sank down the daemon's thick, sensitive phallus.  He bathed it with the
hot, gentle caresses of an almost-feline tongue, even as it forced his jaws
open wide and pressed into the barely willing tightness of his throat.  The
daemon was swallowed by pleasure, just as surely as Tybalt swallowed him,
and even had he tried to press the matter, Tybalt still, lowering his legs
to the floor in a fluid, gymnastic motion that let him hold his intimate
kiss until his feet touched ground.  He drew away, feeling the demon-flesh
slip from his jaws, and slid forward into a sleek, inviting crouch, like
the jungle cat he was.  His tail lashed the air, as though drawing
attention to the long, jagged tear in the seat of his pants.  "Isn't this
good enough?" Crackling hellfire, Andrealphus slid over him, lapping at the
newly exposed flesh with his long, wet tongue.  "No," he growled.  "There's
nothing in it yet, and you're not making those sexy yowling noises."
Purring his satisfaction, Tybalt reached back, running his fingers through
the daemon's thick, ice-white hair, teasing the edge of a soft-furred ear.
"You're going to have to fix that, aren't you?" he laughed, teasing his
former lover with the warm, soft crease of his rear.  The daemon's grip
tightened, putting an end to his squirming, and he called long, obsidian
tentacles from the floor to coil around Tybalt's wrists and ankles.  "In
time." Glittering black cuffs of stone held him fast, as cold and
vulnerable as he had pretended to be.  "You're not begging yet." Tybalt
thrashed hard at the indignity of being bound, but he remained victim to
the stone's implacable grasp, his hips raised against the thick shaft of
daemonic flesh that pressed against him.  He settled, growling deep in his
throat.  "Cats don't beg." Great licks of icy-blue hellfire rose from the
floor, turning his sleek bodysuit to dust in long, sudden streaks of hot
pleasure.  Cold air flowed in to fill the void blowing the white ash off
into the darkness, leaving only naked skin in its wake.  "Oh, but you will,
Tybalt," the daemon-wolf laughed, letting his hands trace the lines of
Tybalt's supple flesh.  "This is Hell.  Everyone begs." Tybalt's breath
grew hot and ragged under Andrealphus's warm, possessive stroking.  The
hellfire cast long, faint shadows across the room, playing over him like a
thousand ghostly lovers that danced the sweet, hot edge between ecstasy and
agony.  Save for his tail, he was deliciously hairless, the better to feel
his pleasure, but now the blessing had become a curse.  He found himself
purring, pressing up against the hands that explored him, or bucking
hungrily as they encouraged his own excitement.  The blossom of pleasure
that held him might well have been enough, but a new sensation pressed its
way in, a kiss from the daemon-wolf against the curve of his hip.  Like a
serpent, Andrealphus's long wolf-tongue slithered along his flesh, taking
slow circles that drew steadily closer to the star of flesh beneath his
twitching black tail.  Even as he pressed back, it denied him satisfaction,
lingering just beyond the edge of his sensitive ring.  "Beg, Tybalt.  Beg."
Tybalt's roar of frustration echoed across the room, and he clenched his
teeth again as he fought to break his stony bonds.  It was useless, he
knew, but still he tried, forcing out his response.  "Cats.  Don't.  Beg."
He calmed again, beaten.  "But dogs do catch them." Darkness swept over the
room once more, and the hellfire disappeared into long, coiling trails of
grey-white smoke.  "So be it," the daemon-wolf growled, creeping over him
once more, pressing into him, thick and unforgiving, still slick with
saliva and the evidence of his excitement.  "So much harder for you." He
pushed in savagely, hard enough to force a yelp from Tybalt's throat as the
tight ring of feline muscle stretched taut, almost tearing against his
bulk, then held down snugly around the shaft beyond.  A long, silent scream
of pleasure-pain drowned in Tybalt's throat as the daemon took him, a deep,
brutal thrusting that threatened to tear him in half with its invasion. 
Like an animal, Andrealphus drove into him, hard and feral as the wolves in
his hellish lineage.  Deeper, harder, faster, the daemon claimed him, and
Tybalt pushed back, ever hungry for more.  Slowly, his world began to fade
away, into and the smell and taste and feel of the sex, then not even that,
just hot, luxurious pleasure, melted down and condensed into a single pure
ecstasy made liquid and poured over both their bodies, trickling like honey
down curves of black and gold.  ----- "Six days, Tavah, six days in the
Second Circle it took, to get those for you." The Prince stepped into the
light of the lone candle in his chamber, seemingly content despite the
fading chafe marks that ringed his wrists and ankles, and the slight wobble
in his walk.  "I hope you appreciate it." "More than you know, Tybalt."
Ta'avahiel watched the Tears sparkle on the Prince's mantle, even more
beautiful than he remembered.  "I'll serve your three hours, now." The
Prince flopped into bed.  "The Second Circle is very cold, Tavah," he
murmured, stretching out against the silk.  "And they say the wings of an
angel are soft and warm, and their embrace snug and happy." A little smile
crept across Ta'avahiel's lips.  He had been right, after all.  The bed
flexed beneath his weight as he slid in beside the beautiful youth,
sweeping him up and holding him in healing, holy light.  Tybalt was soft
and comfortable against him, and seemed to invite the gentle pats that the
angel offered, like one of his more domesticated subjects.  Only when the
cat-boy squirmed against him, only when faced with his body's betrayal, did
Ta'avahiel remember the way the Prince's touch brought out the secret,
primal urges of his soul.  He might have recoiled in horror, but Tybalt's
sudden, predatory weight was upon him.  "You want more, don't you.  You
like the way I tease you." The Prince meowed in amusement, smiling cruelly,
his ears pricked up in excitement.  "You'd like to know me better, as
Andrealphus once knew you.  Admit it." Ta'avahiel bristled again, trying to
wrench himself away, but it was useless, so he merely protested.  "It is an
abomination, Tybalt, before the eyes of God." The Prince's smile grew wider
as he pressed his weight more firmly.  "But the eyes of God don't see here,
now do they?  You're free here, for whatever ends you'd like." "But men
were not to love one another so, Tybalt." Ta'avahiel's voice wavered a
little, still trying to deny his dark and secret desires.  The Prince shook
his head, leaning in a little closer, feeling the excitement that the angel
could not deny.  "Such a simple thing, Tavah, a hardness or a softness, one
tightness or another.  You might as well split my subjects into white and
black." He laughed a little, leaning over to blow out the candle, watching
its smoke curl up into a long, beautiful trail of infinity.  "But in the
dark, all cats are grey." -- Copyright 2004 Adrian Mailenna.

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