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“Fuck!” Tristan cursed as he felt himself being sucked by a hot, wet void. Mort’s lips were tight around his cock, and his fingers skillfully stroked Tristan’s balls.
The latent confusion of this sudden physical confession of mutual desire kept Tristan from fully sinking into the sensation for a moment or two, then he gave in. The feelings were so good, so intense. He felt deep energy, long denied, being released and flowing through his body, twirling down his spine. Mort sucked him like he loved him, with an energy and a desire that obliterated any thought in Tristan’s head.
Mort stroked and sucked, cajoling and then commanding orgasm. Tristan had always thought of the act of sucking dick to be submissive, but somehow Mort made it an entirely dominant act. Tristan laid back and let himself be made to feel good, comforted, pleasured, and finally, released.
“FUCK!” Tristan roared as his hips jerked and a stream of seed escaped his cock and filled Mort’s mouth.
Mort swallowed every drop of cum and sat up between Tristan’s legs with a smile.
“Feel better?”
“God, you’re fucking good at that,” Tristan said when he could finally breathe. His ass still hurt, but his head felt clear. He was doing better, a lot better than he had before.
“I just wanted to make you feel good. You deserve pleasure as much as you deserve pain.”
“I deserve pain?”
“Well.” Mort smirked just a little. “You did refuse to do as you were told by both of us. You earned that whipping. Agamemnon wouldn’t have looked at you twice if you hadn’t gone out of your way to get his attention. Calling him Aggie,” Mort snorted. “You were lucky to get off with a whipping. I think he liked you.”
“Liked me? I don’t fucking think so. I pissed him off.”
“True, but sadists always have a soft spot for masochists intent on deserving punishment,” Mort said.
“What are you?” Tristan changed the subject and put the spotlight back on Mort. “I mean, really. Demons are coming for you, demanding you go back. But you don’t look like a demon to me. You don’t act like one, either. So….”
Mort gave a little shrug.
“So you’re, what, a demon?”
“Not quite,” Mort said. “I’m…” He thought for a second. “I’m more like a delivery guy.”
Tristan laughed. “Some fucking delivery guy. What do you deliver?”
“Souls.”
Two and two came together and made four.
“So you came, that day… you came to… take me…”
“I had already quit. I was not coming to take you. I suppose you could say I simply found you.”
“I’m glad you did,” Tristan said.
“Are you? Even though I just got your ass whipped by a punisher demon?”
“I probably deserved it,” Tristan said, displaying greater insight than usual. His head felt a lot clearer than it had in a long time. Some of that was because of the fucking awesome orgasm Mort had just given him, and some of it was from the pain the Punisher had dealt.
“Well, arguably,” Mort smiled. “We have a problem, though. Agamemnon is going to return. He will come back night after night, or if not him, someone else. They will never let me stay here.”
Tristan thought about that for a long moment. Mort was sitting next to him on the couch, their legs entangled in casual new intimacy. Then, an idea came to him, an idea so perfect it made him smile slowly.
“What?” Mort said, his tone slightly wary. “I don’t know if I like that look on your face.”
“If they won’t accept your resignation,” Tristan said. “Maybe it’s time you got fired.” He yawned deeply.
“Maybe it’s time you got some sleep,” Mort said in turn. “You must be exhausted.”
6
Tristan slept most of the day, which was his habit anyway if he wasn’t disturbed, and woke around six o’clock in the evening. He felt a certain amount of excitement and anticipation as he clambered out of bed. Most of his life he had been a fuck up, and fucking up had never done him or anybody else any good. Now, though, it was going to save a friend.
“Mort? Mort! MORT!”
“I’m in the kitchen,” Mort said calmly. “It’s mere feet from where you’re standing.”
“Right,” Tristan said, poking his scruffy blond head around the door with a rakish grin. “Are you ready to hear my plan to get this whole problem sorted?”
Mort was sitting in a kitchen chair, his long legs extended under the table, sunset light starting to gleam across his face. There was a hint of skull, cheekbone and teeth, for a moment. Tristan blinked and it was gone.
He charged over to the table, putting both hands on it, leaning forward with an almost feral excitement. He’d usually have sat down, but his ass hurt. Because a demon had given him a beating. That humiliation would not go unavenged.
“Alright, so, you’re already doing the first thing you need to do to get fired. You stopped showing up. Usually that’s enough. But sometimes, like this time, they work out a way to force you back into work. And that’s when you go to step two. Being a huge fuck up.”
