"Blasphemy"
by The Spike
1/99

As I suck his cock, the wind begins to howl.  Rain beats down and something flaps once against the window glass.  He tastes like ashes and like stone.  And a faint essence of something unearthly sweet.  I guess even the flesh of fallen angels is divine.

And Lord God Jesus he is hot.  Not hot like heated flesh, but hot like a poker brand on my tongue.  Hot as iron in a fire.  He sets my mouth  aflame.   I open my lips, let flames escape to lick at his hard, flat belly, his bony hips.  Hipbones sharp as blades under taut skin; red as brick ovens, red as welling blood...

He gasps, his hips buck under my hands, losing it to me now.  Losing his control, his human form.  Horns sprouting, each like a child's tooth breaking through the gum.  I can feel talons spring from his long thin fingers, scoring my scalp as he cards them through my hair.  I hear a sound like the weighty flap and rustle of canvas sails  -- of wings unfurled in too small a space.  And:

"Zeke...." he hisses.  "Look at me.  Look at what you're doing."

He has won, he thinks.  He has me body and soul complete -- seduced, debased, brought to my knees before him by my own weakness.  By my need.  The victory is important to him, I know and so I look, raise my eyes up to meet his triumphant gaze, my lips still stretched around the solid, searing flesh that spears me ... and I smile.

See, I always knew that this was him.  I never fooled myself.  Did he think I wanted any less than this complete unveiling?  I never did.  And seeing triumph in *my* eyes now, knowing who it is that mastered whom, he can hold back no more:  he comes and coming lets go the iron shackles on his cruel and blackened tongue.

And calls the name of God.

-end-