The Devil's Beloved, a Steamy MM Fantasy Romance (part nine)

The Temptation of Rideriel

There’s a certain honesty in erotica; it’s hard to keep up a character’s well-ordered, manicured mask when they fall into the fires of their libidinous nature.

I speak from a place of real world experience. As a goblin of high desirability (I was voted Most Eligible Bachelor by the Swamp Witch Coven Almanac three years in a row), I've known many lovers:

Frolicking, hairy-chested fauns. Elves with delicate, twinkling features. I even had a fling with a muscular orc warrior with a passionate heart and the most expertly braided ponytail.

Yes, love, true or otherwise, has always found its way to me. I write romance not only as a spectator, but also as an avid participant who left so many breathless in my wake...

But... there was one who...

There was a faerie who passed through my life so long ago. I won’t bore you with the details, but when he left, I...

Now, now; I’ve said too much. Let’s return to the story before his memory takes hold of me again.

***

Jophiel and Amitiel came up with a lead. A minor angel had witnessed an incident involving a scribe. The angel had gone to grab a scroll for an upcoming military campaign, when he was surprised to find the filing room locked.

Curious, he had pressed his ear up against the door to listen to what was happening on the other side, only to be surprised by the most indecent noises. When the sounds stopped, he hid himself as best he could.

The door opened, and out walked the scribe Rideriel and Tzyeriel. Stunned, the minor angel couldn’t help but tell his friends.

Jophiel had Rideriel brought before him. The angel was slight of build, with curly, chestnut-colored hair.

He was sweating as he sat waiting for Jophiel to begin the inquiry.

The Archangel circled him thoughtfully, taking in his nervous bearing. It was obvious he was hiding something. Jophiel began his line of questioning,

"Do you know why you were brought in here today?" Rideriel nodded meekly, staring at the floor. Jophiel continued,

"Every angel must love God and mankind above all else. As part of our duties, we are expected to forgo certain... activities."

Rideriel anxiously wrung his hands. Jophiel gently raised his chin, forcing him to look up at him, and asked,

"Did you break your vow of chastity? Is it true you fornicated with the Seraph Tzyeriel?"

The scribe’s mind raced back to that terrible, wonderful day. It was some months ago; he'd been sorting through a series of documents, when Tzyeriel had walked up to his station. Upon seeing the beautiful Seraph standing before him, Rideriel gasped, immediately looking away to hide his interest.

For most Heavenly angels, carnal temptation wasn't an issue, as they weren't designed to feel it in the first place; but occasionally, for whatever reason, an angel felt certain inclinations toward his own kind. A few of them gravitated to others with similar passions, but when such activities were discovered, they’d be cast out of Heaven.

Rideriel had fought his urges for a long time. He was secretly grateful for his station, as he was far less attracted to lithe scholarly angels in his workspace than the strong, powerful angels of Heaven's military.

Tzyeriel had lightly touched his hand and said,

"There's no need to be nervous." The Seraph’s words sent a pleasurable tingle through Rideriel’s whole being. It was such a thrill, feeling that strong, rough hand make contact with his own. The scribe looked into Tzyeriel’s eyes. Within an instant, a thousand words worth of meaning were exchanged between them.

Somehow, he realized Tzyeriel was the same as him. The scribe had so desperately wanted to kiss him, to hold him and...

Rideriel caught himself, pushing down his shameful urges.

With great effort, he pretended their encounter was as dull and ordinary as any other, saying,

"I... I am simply not used to being in the presence of one of your position. Pray tell, is there something I might be able to assist you with?" The Seraph said,

"My name’s Tzyeriel, I was supposed to receive a scroll for my next mission, but it never arrived. I was told I should come here for it." Rideriel nodded and replied,

"If it's been misplaced, it would be in the back. There's an entire filing system to navigate; if you aren't familiar with it, it can be rather difficult to sort through." Tzyeriel grinned at him mischievously, and asked,

"Could you spare a few moments to go in there with me? I’m sure you'd be very helpful."

The Seraph gave him a wink that sent the scribe's heart racing. Rideriel knew better than to say yes, but he just couldn't help himself.

He got up from his desk and led the imposing figure down the white marble hallway.

As they descended into the lower levels of the record offices, Rideriel couldn't help but notice the way Tzyeriel's powerful muscles rippled with each step. The scribe’s mind raced with anticipation as he imagined what might happen next.

When they arrived at the filing room, Rideriel began searching through the dense stacks of documents. As he waded among the endless sea of paper, he'd felt Tzyeriel's hot breath on the back of his neck and thought,

Oh, he truly is an angel of torment!

***

I wasn't supposed to fall for him.

He was far from my type. Faeries and goblins have as much in common as rabbits and Rottweilers. My people are dwellers of the underworld. We’re a very cavernous, earthy folk, while faeries are a chaotic, flighty species, always flitting from one bed of roses to the next, with emotions that are fierce in both anger and love.

But this one... he was different.

It started harmlessly. We were friends, of a sort. I met him during one of the autumn festivals. He’d decorated himself in a suit stitched from sunflowers.

I liked his laugh. As we talked, I realized he had a refreshing wit that held up the world for what it was, and not what others might wish it to be. He found me amusing too. We had the same sense of humor and found a similar irreverent joy in life.

But where I was all bluster and blades, he radiated a special softness, a warmth as bright as the flower petals hugging his form. There was a grace in him I’d never encountered before. When I was in his company, I didn't need to bear myself as a fearful monarch.

With him, I could truly be myself.

We got to know each other better over the following months. My duties constantly had me engaged elsewhere, so our conversations primarily took place through the magical orb in my study. We regularly exchanged messages about our own lives; I'd reveal my latest triumph in dealing with the neighboring kingdoms, and hear his stories of the latest faerie court mischief.

Then we met in person again. I made the terrible mistake of flirting. Normally I wouldn't have done so, not with a faerie, but I'd started feeling a certain way about him. There were so many times in our correspondence he'd challenged me, laughing sweetly at my arrogance and calling me out when he knew I was bluffing.

I suspect I came on too strong during our time together. My people are direct in nature, and there was something about him that enraptured me. He smiled nervously at my advances, laughing them off as if I were joking, leaving me that day more enamored than I'd been with many of my other flings and dalliances.

We continued to send messages to each other afterwards. He’d write and write; too much, honestly. There were many times I’d ignore him for a few days just to remind him I was important, and far too busy to constantly entertain him.

Then came that night. I'd had far too much wine and sent him a picture. It wasn't lewd, but it was most certainly more risqué than anything I'd ever send a mere acquaintance.

Upon waking the next morning, I'd realized my mistake, and went to tell him I'd sent the image by accident, but then I saw what he’d sent in return. It was a picture he'd taken of himself. He was clothed, after a fashion, but... not modest. There was a gentle playfulness in his eyes, a loving expression he'd never shown me before.

In a panic, I made a joke out of the whole thing, but as usual, he saw right through me.

When we next met, he asked me about the picture, and how I felt about him. I sidestepped the question, changing the subject. He was visibly upset, but I figured I could just dance around the thing as if it had never happened.

Afterwards, I found myself replying to his stories less and less. He still sent me messages. I'd try to ignore him, but every few days I'd step aside from my duties to read his jokes and his sly observations about the goings-ons of the Nether realms...

And then he stopped writing to me.

I waited; days, then weeks. I sent him messages, but he never responded.

I ordered my scouts to visit the faerie courts. Nothing. He had vanished without a trace. My emissaries searched far and wide, but there was no sign of him anywhere in the entire realm.

At first I was angry; no one had ever treated me in such a fashion. I was high royalty, used to having the rapt attention of everyone in my inner circle, but time passed, and I came to realize how much I'd taken him for granted. I thought he’d always be there, bringing his sunshine into my life.

I’ve tried not to dwell on it, yet here I am in the human world, hoping I'll find him here, if only so I might hear his laughter once again.

I admit it, my excuse of leaving my Kingdom to avoid a possible uprising isn’t entirely true. I'm here because I'm trying to find the one who got away.