Chapter Text
One of the logs in the fireplace crackles and sends small sparks flying up into the air. Some embers land on the dark stone in front of it and die. The room is bathed in the dark yellow light from the flames and aided by many candles. Enough so it goes unnoticed, as one of them burns down and goes out.
All the windows are shuttered tight, so none of the heat can escape, nor any cool nightly breeze and the temperature in the room had gradually risen.
Charles tries to ignore the heat. His skin is flushed from, his lips dry and he keeps wetting them with his tongue. A bad habit really, for it only seems to help in making him more aware of how much he wants something to drink.
Later, when it’s done, he promises himself silently.
He kneels on the floor, his fingers covered in white dust. The chalk in his fingers is almost worn down to a stub as he draws in grim determination one symbol after the other onto the black floorboards. Sweat trickles down from the nape of his neck, where his brown hair sticks wetly to his skin. The droplets run along his spine until they get absorbed by the white shirt already clinging wetly to his back.
Charles had shed his waistcoat and jacket before he started, if he’d known the room would soon get as hot as hell, he would have taken off the shirt too. But he can’t be bothered to stop in his designs long enough to take it off now. He merely thinks how very fitting it is, before he concentrates on the drawings again.
Finally the last symbol is done. He stands up, a little too quickly and sways dizzy from the heat. But he doesn’t give himself any respite. Instead he frowns in concentration as he lets his eyes dart across the design, making sure he got everything right. He wipes his hands on his trousers, not caring that he leaves stains on his black of his trousers. All he’s got eyes for is the white glyphs on the black ground.
Charles steps over to the table standing to one side of the room. He ignores the glass of water standing there. He isn’t finished yet. He still needs to do the last rune. His fingers work open the buttons on his shirt, pulling it down from his left shoulder. His eyes dart to the book he’d left open on the page with the spell. He’s studied it and knows it by heart, still he now searches out the last symbol he has to draw. It’s so simple, yet in this might lie the danger of getting it wrong.
He picks up the knife he’s laid out, grips it tightly and puts the tip to his pale flesh. The blade is sharp and pierces the skin easily, cutting deep to draw blood. The pain is sharp and dizzying, but Charles grits his teeth and cuts downward. He gasps as he lifts the knife from his bleeding flesh, but tries to act quickly to get the second half of the design edged into his shoulder. The hardest part is to do it slow, to have enough control to make the second cut intercept the first right in the middle and make it just as long as the first.
His shoulder fells on fire. He can’t help his hand shaking as he puts down the knife, before he steps back to the circle. With two fingers he traces the X shaped symbol. Touching the wound makes it burn even more, but he tries to get as much of the slick blood coating his fingers. Charles takes a shuddering breath, then starts his incantation.
“I conjure thee creature from the darkest corner of hell. I invoke and bind thee by the power of the runes, by the power of my blood…”
Suddenly the heat in the room rises. It is hard to breath, the words seem to get stuck in his throat, lodged tight as if something tries to keep them there. Charles presses his fingers down hard, where the two lines intersect. The pain is intense. As a scream tries to tear free from his throat he uses that to continue.
“- and … by the power of my body, and by the power of my soul.” Still he has to struggle for each lungful of air, but doesn’t dare stop. Failure was inacceptable. Not only for the time and energy wasted, but there might already be a demon listening and if he stopped now he could end up torn to shreds. “Come forth into this world, I call thee to do my bidding, bend your will to mine, until I deem it fit to send you back or I die.”
There is no sound except for the crackling fire, then suddenly the temperature in the room drops as the heat is suddenly sucked towards the circle – that no longer is empty.
Charles blinks away the tears from his eyes and tries to focus on the kneeling figure. And as the figure stands up, one thing comes as a particular surprise.
Demons, though pictures and drawings might indicate otherwise, look surprisingly human in shape. Or at least this one does. And it is decidedly male. As Charles tears his gaze away from the figure’s crotch and his thick veiny cock, he finds it makes hardly any difference for the rest of the creature looks just as perfectly human. Charles’ gaze followed the trail of dark hair upward across a sheer landscape of firm muscles. Charles wets his lips, then stops as his gaze catches the light gleaming on the three long, sharp metal claws sticking out between the demon’s knuckles.
So not so human looking after all.
Finally Charles looks up into the face. He would call it handsome, if it weren’t for the eyes that glowed golden and the way his mouth twitched as if ready to snarl.
Charles knew, this is only the first step. Technically, the demon could still simply vanish, as long as it didn’t agree to any deal. Yet demons were curious creatures, and bored, so he would most likely agree to the binding and if only to see if he couldn’t trick Charles into getting killed and thus left free to wreak havoc on this world.
“Tell me your name, demon!”
The demon simply grunts.
Charles doesn’t let that faze him and tries again. “Please tell me your name, demon!” The polite phrasing comes more by habit than intent. But the demon raises an eyebrow and his expression changes. He lets his gaze roam unabashedly over Charles’ body and something like interest seems to spark in his yellow eyes.
“Name’s Logan. What’s yours, bub?”
Charles’ mouth opens automatically to respond, before he catches himself. He swallows down a mouthy reply and continues with the ritual words.
“Step forward Logan and accept this, my blood, which will bind thee to me.” Charles holds up his fingers, stained with blood from the symbol etched into his shoulder.
The demon smirks, and for a moment Charles believes he will indeed decline and just vanish. But then Logan steps out of the circle to clasp Charles’ hand in both of his.
Charles has hardly time to be surprised how warm, dry and… normal the demon’s hands feel, as Logan’s claws slowly slide back into his flesh and he leans forward. His tongue laps along Charles’ fingers, hot and wet, before he slowly takes them deep into his mouth to suck the blood from them.
Heat pools at the pit of Charles’ stomach, catching him by surprise. The demon keeps his eyes on him the whole time, a spark of amusement glittering in their depths, which mixes with something dark and wanton.
Charles’ instincts tell him to back off, that he is getting more than he has bargained for here. But it is hard to listen to, when curiosity edges him on.
Finally Logan lets off Charles’ fingers. The yellow gleaming eyes dim down to a more normal looking, warm honeyed brown. His gaze lingers on Charles’ shoulder though, where the x shaped rune he’d cut into his skin is still oozing blood.
“So, what do you want of me, bub?”
“Charles. My name is Charles.” Now that the demon is bound to him, it is safe to give it his name. “And – “ Charles takes a deep breath. He’s waited so long for this, and can hardly believe the moment has finally come. "I want you to kill my stepfather, Kurt Marko.”
“You couldn’t manage that by yourself with some other magic?”
“His death mustn’t be traced back to me, so no, I can’t use any of my spells.”
“Hm, consider it done. But what do I get for my trouble?”
There had been a note in the book that despite the spell binding the demon to his will, the demon might still want some form of compensation for what’s asked from it. Charles had decided he’d think about it once the demon was summoned and such a request was made. He has no idea what a demon might want. Blood? A soul to eat? A sin committed by Charles, so his own soul would get more tainted and thus more delicious for the demon?
“I’ll think of something.”
The demon’s gaze wanders from Charles’ naked shoulder across his chest, and further down, leering unabashedly. “I already have, Charles.”
Charles can’t deny the arousal burning through his body. He licks his lips. His body is probably safer to give a demon than his soul.
It’s merely reasonable.