Trafficking in Pleasure

Barely four days after Andy's fangs had been ripped out and Epitome was a mess. He had never quite calmed all the way down after that night with Kyriliah and on top of that he had been having nightmares every time he fell asleep. He didn't know what the cause of the nightmares was, but he figured the lack of sleep they were causing was the cause of his lack of appetite and increased moodiness.

The fifth day, he was starting to feel nauseous, his stomach cramping as he sweated like he had a fever. The maids said he was fine, though; no signs of illness, no temperature. He would have slapped them on the seventh day if he hadn't been so busy hurling the sparse contents of his stomach in to a bucket.

It felt like he was dying. Curled up on the edge of the too big bed, sweating and crying and shivering and waiting for that next wave of nausea to hit, Epitome wouldn't be surprised if he found himself in Hell in the next blink of an eye.

As if on cue, Kyriliah appeared.

“The maids insist you haven't been sick,” he said and Epitome merely groaned in response. Then what the hell was wrong with him? He saw legs on the other side of his putrid-smelling bucket and didn't bother to look up. He was sure all that face wore was contempt. “I told them it's just the withdrawal symptoms. It's about time they hit.”

“Fuck,” Epitome grumbled as he hiccuped bile in to the bucket, barely managing to move in time to avoid getting it on the bed. “This is all your fault. If you had just kept your word...”

“I knew this was going to happen, though,” Kyriliah remarked casually, moving Epitome slightly so he could sit on the bed with him, cushioning the boy's head in his lap. It was tempting to vomit in his lap if the chance came up, but he didn't want to know what the punishment for that would be.

“Why?” Epitome couldn't keep the whimper out of his voice or the tears from rolling down his cheeks—he blamed that on the vomiting, though. His throat was burning like a bitch.

“Because you're useless if you're drugged up all the time.” He didn't sound nearly as impatient as Epitome had expected him to. “I need you to get through this.”

“So sorry I've been so useless,” he spat. For a moment, he thought maybe Kyriliah was going to show some compassion. What a fool he was. “I hope I die from the withdrawal so I can be even more of a pain in your ass.”

That comment received a sharp slap to his cheek followed by a strange caressing motion. Kyriliah's hands were deceptively soft. “I don't want you to die. I want you to make up for what you've taken from me in the form of your abuse of Andy,” he said, continuing to pet the boy's cheek. “And I think you will be a good deal easier to put up with when you aren't suffering withdrawal. I've been lenient with you thus far because I'm aware of how moody addicts are when they haven't fed their addiction in a while.”

“You could have changed that by--”

“And would have ruined the whole purpose of denying you the drugs in the first place!” Kyriliah was really getting tired of this back and forth. “Look, I never wanted you to have drugs in your system even before I had any idea of what I was going to do with you. Customers aren't interested in drug addicts, alright? Now quit acting like a petulant child who wasn't allowed to eat dessert first and change those acrid smelling clothes. You're coming to my room.”

“What now?”

And suddenly it was the strangest thing and Epitome was sure he was hallucinating because Kyriliah was smiling and it wasn't fake and it wasn't that I'm-about-to-tear-you-limb-from-limb-and-get-off-on-it smile, either. It was almost... gentle?

“You haven't been sleeping well. You'll stay in my room. And that way if you do die, I'll be the first to know.”

Epitome couldn't help but ask, “What if I throw up in your bed?”

A look of disgust crossed Kyriliah's face for a moment but he quickly shook it off. “That's what the extra bed sheets are for. And Andy can get anything out of fabric, don't worry.”



Epitome still wasn't sure why he was in Kyriliah's room or why the demon was in there with him, but it was comforting in a way. He had a warm body to cuddle up to while he shivered and someone to hold his hair back when his stomach churned and rose in his throat. At one point, Kyriliah had even bathed with him and carefully scrubbed his skin and hair clean of the awful smell of sweat and bile. He wondered vaguely if this was what Andy had felt like before (minus the awful withdrawal symptoms, of course).

He knew this strange happiness wouldn't last, of course. He enjoyed the last fleeting moments, trying to prolong this luxury. When the day came at last that he truly did feel better, he refused to move from the bed.

“How are you feeling today?” Kyriliah sat on the edge of the bed like he always did when he first came back in to the room, one hand idly stroking through the boy's long blue hair. “Your fever seems to have broken and you aren't shivering. How's your stomach?”

“It's...” Epitome began but his stomach answered in turn with a loud growl. “Empty,” he admitted.

“Alright, I brought up some fresh crackers earlier, so that's fine. You're well other than that?”

The incubus shook his head, pulling the blankets tight around him. He didn't want Kyriliah to kick him out. He had never seen such affection as he had the past two nights and as strange as all of it had felt, he didn't know that he was ready to give it up, either; not with the chance that he'd never enjoy such gentleness again.

Kyriliah seemed to sense that there was something else going on here as he rolled Epitome on to his back, crouching over him. “What's wrong?” he asked, nuzzling the boy's neck, stroking his cheek with his thumb. “Perhaps you're tired? Being so ill must have taken quite a bit out of you.”

“Yes,” Epitome answered quickly. “I'm exhausted and your bed is so warm and comfortable...”

Chuckling, Kyriliah kissed Epitome softly, nipping his lip before drawing back. “I suppose you could stay in my bed a while longer. The nights have been getting colder. Andy usually sleeps with me when it gets cold, but I'll tell him you've taken his place. And the bedsheets need cleaning one last time.”

Epitome merely nodded, trying to hide his excitement. He was taking Andy's place! It had been a hell of a fight to get to this point, and he had gone to a bit of extremes to get here, but finally it was all paying off. As long as he didn't piss Kyriliah off too awfully bad, he was going to be living the good life now.


Perhaps not all too surprisingly, Andy was thrilled when he received the news. He had thought it strange that Epitome almost seemed to be infatuated with Kyriliah, but it was clear after a while that the two were a perfect pair. While Epitome didn't want the demon to beat him half to death, he had admitted to enjoying a bit of violent sex, and Andy was thrilled for that, as well.

Let him have it! he thought. He hated it. He hated the violence and blood and anger and walking on eggshells all the time... it was the hugest relief to know that he wasn't expected to be Kyriliah's little toy anymore. He'd still be his main servant, but he wouldn't be the one sleeping in bed with the demon or fulfilling his sexual needs. It was almost enough to make him forgive Epitome for what he had done to his teeth.

Almost, but not quite. Andy didn't have a particular attachment to his fangs (he didn't use them, after all), so he hadn't cared much about the loss once the doctor had given him medicine. It had been a strange feeling, the sort of light and dreamy feeling the medication had left him with, but at least the pain was gone. However, one his mind was cleared up from the pain he realized the true horror losing his fangs meant—he was damaged goods.

Kyriliah couldn't use him now and no one else would want to buy him, either! Especially not that gorgeous man who had been at the gala with Sir Wonka. Andy had seen the way he looked at his fangs when he spoke...without them, there was no way he would have any interest in Andy if he even had any to begin with! He hoped perhaps that he wouldn't see the man again until his fangs had grown back in.

“Andy, get the maids to begin preparing for a nice dinner to be held in two days,” Kyriliah told him in passing that evening. “Wonka insisted on visiting.”

“Just Sir Wonka is coming, sir?” he asked hopefully.

“No, he's bringing his friend Pentecost, as well. Wonka thinks he might make a purchase this time.”

Andy wondered if the fates would ever smile on him.