Angel's POV
Angel was still kneeling.
And he was angry.
For whom—himself or the savage bastard—he didn't know.
Maybe both.
Or maybe he was angry even with fate itself.
He could still taste him in his mouth.
Bitter.
Sour.
His mouth was stinging like it had been kissed by acid and bad decisions.
When in truth—Angel had just given a stranger—a man to boot—a blow job.
That's the cold hard truth.
His crying eyes narrowed.
Color slowly drained from his burning cheeks, leaving only the sick shame behind.
God, he wanted to puke.
Or gargle holy water.
Or set himself on fire.
He hated him—that silver-eyed sin incarnate, with a Roman statue's face, a body like Michelangelo's sculpture with the morals of a drunk alley cat.
'I didn't even know his fucking name!' disappointment filled him.
'Very classy Angel. Very Classy.'
He cursed the demon-like bastard in every language he knew.
'@%$!!!—Asshole!'
But the moment their eyes met—bam.
Fire.
Heat.
A goddamn inferno in his chest cavity.
One look was all it took.
Just one.
And the fever in his body came rushing back.
It burned him.
He forgot about that damned Luchese.
The STIs he memorized for med school.
Forgot about the bitter-sour taste on the tip of his tongue.
Even the smell.
And the shame of what this handsome devil did to his mouth.
Forgot everything.
Except him—the man in front of him.
They were both kneeling now.
And the bastard reached out, thumb brushing over Angel's lips—those same lips he'd just violated with zero shame and a lot of protein.
Like nothing happened.
Like a damned lover.
Like he was tracing the edge of a glass he wanted to drink from again.
He'd consented earlier, yes—now God help him.
Angel trembled.
Knees still on the bunched up bed cover and sheets.
'It started to hurt…' making his face grimace a bit.
But his body was still frozen—not listening to his brain.
Then the demon struck first—diving in.
Like a man diving head first into temptation.
His hands clamped around Angel's nape, dragging him forward into a kiss that felt like the whole damned universe was being shoved down his throat.
His mouth was ruined—raw, messy, full of everything unsanitary and dangerous—and yet Angel kissed him back—with wild abandon.
Matching his pace.
"...Can taste myself," the demon murmured.
Angel whimpered into the kiss, closing his eyes.
'Dear God, Saints and Saintess,' he thought while he was still coherent, 'I'm kissing a man who says things like that.'
The man gripped his waist, pulled them flush together like he wanted to merge atoms.
Angel's arms went to the devil's neck.
For anchor.
Or survival.
Then the kisses drifted down his throat.
His eyes suddenly opened to the now dark ceiling above them.
Mouth gasped for oxygen.
His brain fired a flare.
Sanity coming back.
"Stop."
And to his shock—the bastard did.
The air stilled.
Heavy.
Wet.
Flammable.
Then—
"J-just… don't leave any marks on my neck please," Angel begged, voice was hoarse.
'Nope. Sanity has not returned yet, you idiot,' he scolded himself.
Another beat passed.
"Really?" the devil-like bastard asked with a sigh of relief.
'Are you seriously relieved that I didn't tell you to really stop? Like stop-stop?'
Angel wasn't the indecisive kind.
No.
Once he decided on something, he always saw it through.
And he already decided at this moment.
'I wanted this. I chose this. Him. Over the old pervert waiting for me at home.'
That—it was for sure.
'If I'm already going to hell, I may as well pick the handsome VIP suite.'
"You can… mark me," Angel whispered.
"B-below the neckline. Where my shirt hides it."
The bastard grinned.
Feral.
He felt it stretch against his skin.
Then—bite.
Right below his collarbone.
"Ahhh—are you a fucking dog?!" Angel yelped.
"So this spot's okay?" the silver-eyed demon teased, voice all velvet and venom.
"Y-yes," he whispered while squirming.
"P-please…" he begged again, "...just… be gentle."
The psycho laughed—low and sexy.
It brings shivers down his spine.
'God… his laugh was so hot.'
"You want to move to the bed?" the man asked, voice sounds like gravel and sin.
It was damned hypnotizing.
Angel could only nod.
Mute.
"Can you stand?"
He shook his head fast.
'Nope, I'm a cooked spaghetti noodle now.'
So the devil scooped him up, bridal style, and tossed him onto the bed like some Victorian princess about to be ruined.
The city of Florence glowed beneath the balcony.
Sirens.
Scooters.
Buzzing people.
But all Angel saw and heard was him.
Silver eyes hovered over him—smirking, licking, sucking, biting again.
Then hands slid down.
Jeans were suddenly undone.
Roughly yanked, and got stuck around his knees, stubborn like Angel's pride.
'Those were original levi's, you animal!'
Briefly remembering that he left all his luggage in the last hotel.
But it didn't matter now.
The man was already kissing his chest—hot, wet, relentless.
Then he went lower.
Too low.
'Wait! That's—' he forgot that he didn't say it out loud.
The man was unstoppable.
Wet tongue met a nipple.
Then teeth.
Angel cried out.
Back arched.
Thoughts scrambled.
He tried to remember something—anything—medical.
But his brain and his heart was in sync, and doing somersaults and singing Britney fucking Spears' Toxic.
Then zip.
Jeans gone.
Fingers trailing down.
Over his underwear.
Then the man cupped it.
Angel gasped.
His whole body lit up like a bloody Christmas tree with boundary issues.
'God, it was delicious.'
"Ahhh… hahhh… please…" Angel moaned.
"Please what?" the demon teased.
"D-do something… anything, you psychotic incubus!"
The demon leaned in—smirking.
His eyes were glowing like polished steel.
Like molten silver.
Sharp.
Hungry.
Hypnotic.
"Tell me exactly what you want, pretty thing," the bastard's voice was like a Pope from the Vatican—coaxing him into confessing.
But Angel couldn't breathe.
Couldn't think.
Throat felt like something was jammed in it.
He just stared up at the man's handsome face like he was drowning.
Then the stranger suddenly stood up, leaving him alone—sprawled on the bed.
'W-what… hey… silver-eyed psycho, come back,' Angel was even surprised with his thoughts.
He could only blink in the empty air.
It was dizzying.
The man rifled through a drawer.
"Should I turn on the lights?" he offered Angel.
"No," he answered in a throaty voice too fast.
The bastard chuckled and came back with something in his hands with a stupid grin.
His weight dipped on the bed while laughing.
Then he kissed Angel again.
Harder.
Hungrier.
Then—snap.
His underwear was gone.
A second later—slickness.
Cool fingers met his heated skin.
'Cold!'
Angel whimpered and squirmed.
"W-what is that?" he asked in-between kisses.
The asshole answered simply:
"Lube."
He poured it all.
"Of course, you're a fucking boy scout, you damned incubus…" his face was red as hell.
The man only chuckled on the nickname.
"You are a literal demon scout leader!" Angel continued.
The devil laughed out loud again.
Then one slick hand wrapped around Angel's hardness.
Pumped.
Firm.
Expert.
Angel moaned—loud, desperate, and almost angry.
He pulled the man's silky hair.
Bit his own lip to keep himself from moaning too much.
Then he came.
Too fast.
Too much.
'More!' his mind roared.
But it wasn't over.
'Thank God.'
Not even close.
Because now—wet fingers.
'Inside!'
"AH—wait! That's—" Angel jerked.
But the man didn't let him move.
"Easy," the devil whispered.
Just one finger.
Then two.
Then three.
Angel was panting, writhing, trying to hold on to his sanity like it was a receipt in the wind.
Every nerve in his body screamed in confusion—and somewhere deeper, a quiet ache stirred.
This bastard didn't even exchange names with him!
It felt so… wrong.
Obscene.
Something he'll burn in hell for.
But beneath it all, something coiled.
Something shameful.
Something hot.
He moaned.
Loudly.
Shamelessly.
His back arched instinctively.
"Ahhhh!"
It burned.
But it was too late to protest.
The psycho bastard wasn't asking anymore.
He was consuming Angel—like a glutton.
Angel could hear the quiet squelch of lube.
The wet slap of fingers working him open.
It felt so loud.
And the glutton's pained grunts.
The fingers scissored inside Angel.
Slick and fast.
Then they were gone.
He gasped at the sudden emptiness.
Only for something hot, thick and heavy to press against his entrance seconds later.
"Are—you—"
"Yeah," the man rasped.
His voice sounded wrecked.
Desperate.
"I'm sorry—I can't hold back anymore."
The demon grunts louder, voice wrecked. "I need to be inside you," voice trailed into a whisper.
Angel barely had time to curse—
Before the man pressed in, breaching him, stretching him wide.
"YOU-FUCKING-BEAST!" his scream tore the air.
It hurts!
The worse yet.
Angel's body clamped around him like a vice.
The bastard groaned loudly.
Forehead slamming against Angel's shoulder.
Breathing him in.
"Fuck—"
Breathing ragged.
"—you're so fucking tight."
But the man's body didn't care.
It needed more.
The silver-eyed devil pulled back just an inch.
Then slammed in again.
Angel gasped.
"Damn you, slow down, you beast—"
"I can't," the beast growled.
"Non ce la faccio piu, amore...(I can't anymore, love)"
His grip on Angel's hips tightened.
"I'll fucking lose my mind," he whispered.
And he did.
The beast-like-bastard fucked Angel.
And he wasn't stopping.
He was gone.
Lost in carnal pleasure.
No rhythm.
No mercy.
Savage.
He slammed into Angel like something in him had broken loose.
Like there was no tomorrow.
Angel clutched the sheets, gasping, cursing, moaning.
His eyes locked with the strangers—
And the bastard was giving Angel a look.
One Angel couldn't read.
Couldn't name.
But it made his insides twist.
Instead, he wrapped his legs around the bastard like he wanted to choke the life out of him.
And then—somewhere between thrusts and gasps and that filthy, wrecked voice moaning in his ear—
The pain blurred.
Pleasure bloomed.
'It felt so good.'
"You feel so fucking good," the man groaned against his ear.
"I'm gonna cum—I'm gonna cum inside you."
The psycho wasn't asking for permission.
"Try it I'll fucking cut your dick off, stranger," Angel countered, breathing hard.
Suddenly regretting his decision of wanting this deranged man.
'Too late to turn around now, shit.'
The crazy bastard just grinned dangerously—didn't even stop from the threat.
He pounded harder.
Deeper.
Eyes wild in the dark.
Like he wanted to crawl inside Angel and never leave.
"Fuck…." the demon choked.
Then he came.
Deep inside Angel.
Angel could feel it.
Warm.
Violent.
Unforgiving.
And Angel—he broke, forgetting his regret, hips still moving.
Fully surrendering his body, heart and soul to the devil.
He came untouched.
With a high cry and shaking legs.
Just from the friction.
The heat.
The way the man's voice sounded.
The way he looked at Angel.
They collapse.
Sticky.
Tangled.
Hearts racing like they'd race a fucking marathon.
The room was spinning.
Angel couldn't move.
The stranger was still inside him.
Still hard.
Then—
The fucking incubus started to move again.
"Shit, you've got to be kidding me," Angel could not believe it, he croaked.
'I have to run,' his mind said one thing, but his body didn't even want to move and leave.
Instead his hips met the man's every thrust.
"You're not done yet, are you, you beast?"
Then Angel moaned again.
**