Heat Rating: Fire

Content Warnings: GLBT-homoerotica

How far will one faerie go for love?

At the club entrance, Zarik said something to the doorman, who checked a short list of names before allowing them inside. Ezarali walked close behind Zarik down a long, dark hallway, his heart pounding in his throat as the sound of music and screaming grew louder. He could smell leather and sweat and piss and blood, and he fought not to gag as they emerged through a heavy, black velvet curtain into the club.

It was full of people, which alone would have made Ezarali uncomfortable, and he clung to Zarik's arm as they wound their way toward the back of the room, his eyes widening at the horrors before him. In each corner was a cage containing a naked male or female, human or faerie, bound in tortuous positions, hanging from the ceiling of the cage, unable to stop the people that crowded around, touching, pinching, scratching at tender, exposed flesh.

But the worst was happening upon the main stage, a raised dais in the center of the room, where a young man was bent over a metal framework and strapped down until he couldn't move, his exposed ass shiny with lubricant, the thick gel oozing slowly down his thighs. It wasn't going to be enough.

Sharing the stage with him was a demon with horns like a bull and a tail like a spiked club. He was walking slowly around the stage, making a show of slicking lubricant on his cock, but it wasn't going to help. Ezarali couldn't take his eyes of the massive organ. More than a foot long and as big around as Ezarali's ankle, it was covered in bulging veins, the tapered head ending in four twitching feelers. As he stepped toward the helpless young man, Ezarali turned away and hid his face against Zarik's shoulder.

"I don't want to be here," he said, shaking.

"Keep it together," Zarik said under his breath. "We're almost there. Just a little longer." Zarik pushed through the crowd, dragging Ezarali along in his wake. At the entrance to another dark corridor, they were stopped by a pair of demons, both wearing black leather collars with sharp silver spikes on them.

"Lord Jaryk to see Master Bairal," Zarik said over the noise of the club. "He's expecting me."

"What's in the case?" one of the demons asked, neither of them moving out the entrance.

"Just some toys," Zarik said, holding the case out flat and opening it. Ezarali glanced inside and his skin went cold. It was full of restraints and whips and long, phallus-shaped objects too large to possibly fit inside a normal person. "I know Master Bairal has quite a collection, but these are my favorites." The demons appeared bored as they examined the contents, then one of them looked over at Ezarali.

"What's under the coat?"

"Now that," Zarik said, his voice low, "is none of your business." He closed the case with a snap and clicked the latches into place.

"Nothing gets past us without being thoroughly examined," one of the demons said with a frightful leer, revealing curved tusks at the corners of his mouth. "Rules of the house."

Zarik heaved an annoyed sigh.

"Strip, slave."

The last thing Ezarali wanted to do was take off the long coat, but Zarik's tone and the warning look in his eye brooked no argument. His hands shaking, Ezarali unbuttoned the coat and shrugged it off, shuddering at the hunger written across the demons' faces. The ‘outfit' Zarik had gotten him was little more than leather straps and big silver rings, with dark red cord lacing everything tight to his body. It hardly covered anything, making him feel exposed and vulnerable. After several minutes of their intense scrutiny, the demons stepped aside and gestured for them to pass.