Demon's Lust (m/m)

No human tongue could properly capture his name, yet for convenience's sake he referred to himself as Azki among the mortals. He was one of the younger kin, sired from fire and passion and flesh. For two hundred years he had scouted this world: a short time among the kin, yet this was just enough that he was free to find sport among mankind on his own.

For months he had observed the city of Carraza, gazing down upon its festivals of color and sound and scent. The cultural reawakening had cast its gaze back to the classics, and so statues and paintings of nudes predominated as they had over a millenium past.

Only a few short years ago bared arms or ankles would shock the sensibilities of women and arouse desire in the men (indeed, these features still did). Yet there was a bohemian fashion to it now, in their sculptures and paintings at least. Though the high-born citizens of Carraza would never bare more than they had before, they tittered over those who objected to the new art as prudes.

It was easy enough to hide among the cathedral gargoyles: leathery bat-wings billowed outward from Azki's back, and curled ram's horns sprouted from his forehead. His body was lean and muscled, as fit and statuesque as the works the artisans now carved in mimicry of the ideal human form. A serpentine tail flicked between his bare feet, and he gazed down upon the city with crimson eyes flecked with gold. Cloaked by the night, he was indistinguishable from his silent marble companions.

Azki would purr with delight at the scent of decadence in the air. Women milled through the streets in brightly colored gowns, and the cut had been lowered to bare the curves of creamy shoulders or the fullness of a bosom. Prostitutes openly fluttered along the walkways like geese, hair unbound and cascading down their backs in ringlets. So much passion these people had for the worldly arts, and with the approval of the Duke, no less!

He would take flight then, his laughter of delight ringing clear in the air and cracking against the somber paeans of the monks. Every day his cackling would bring their sober chanting to a halt. Those stern and pious men cowered behind their gray stone walls, as if terrified of the beauty unfolding in the sun-lit streets. More than once he'd grinned through a stained glass window, giving the monks a good fright that left them scattering for their crucifixes to drive him off.

Mischief, however, was poor substitute for nourishment. Night had fallen. It was time to feed.

While there was plenty nourishment to be had in the city, Azki preferred the simpler fare found among the outskirts of Carraza and her borders. Azki liked to savor his meals , and it was easier to take his time in the isolated farms. Though the country sensibilities of the villagers had remained uncorrupted by Carraza's blossoming culture, carnal lusts still wormed in the hearts of the most pious and conservative of men. Why they hid what had been endowed by their creator, Azki could never understand.

Silently he landed on the roof of a farmhouse and crawled along the wall like a spider. He listened carefully. Once he was confident that the inhabitants were fast asleep, he tucked his wings and crept through the window.