Lucifer

LUCIFER

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Part 1 The Book

It was all his great aunt Marion's fault . . .

If she hadn't had a birthday and Adrian hadn't felt pressured into buying her a present . . .

If she hadn't made pointed remarks about liking old books and how the backstreets of the town were full of second-hand bookshops . . .

If her birthday hadn't fallen on the 25th of the month and his pay day wasn't until the 28th . . .

If he could just have ignored that birthday without incurring her displeasure which might have meant being left out of her will - and she was after all pushing eighty . . .

And all those 'ifs' meant that Adrian was wandering down the High Street when it was at its hottest and grubbiest, the air feeling close and sticky and the sky a heavy uniform grey. He had just finished his part time shift in the local BurgerBar and had hoped that the air outside would be less clogged than the greasy atmosphere of his work place. The hot spell it seemed was about to break and not before time. Stagecoach buses and cars made pedestrians' lives hazardous while the vehicle exhausts pumped out choking pollution fumes to fill the air.

Sundry 'homeless' sat against the walls and spread their legs and feet out onto the pavements begging. Some had dogs and Adrian felt more sorry for them than he did for their human owners. Most of the dogs looked bored and would obviously have preferred to be running around after rabbits than sitting looking forlorn in the High Street. He was pleased to see though that they looked well-fed - which was more than he could say for their owners.

Except one - who was young, dogless and quite attractive with curly dark hair and wide eyes which looked open and appealing. He was dressed in a pullover - must be hot, thought Adrian, and some tight jeans which, as the man - well he was scarcely older than a boy really - sprawled his legs out onto the pavement, wrapped and emphasised the shape of his genitals in a very stimulating way - surely intentionally.

Adrian tried to catch his eye but the boy seemed to be looking into the middle distance, his eyes glazed and unfocussed. Maybe he was on drugs, Adrian thought.

The Spa Town had once - perhaps some two hundred years earlier (Adrian was not all that good at history) - been the height of fashion when gentlemen in silk hose and ladies in crinolines came to take the water at the Pump Room, but Time and the corrosive effects of sulphur dioxide had not dealt kindly with the elegant stonework which was now pitted and marked so that it looked as if it was eaten away by a disease. Nor had the economic recession helped for almost every other shop front was now boarded up, the graffiti and advertising posters making a patchwork of cluttered disorder.

But aunt Marion had been right in one thing - there were secondhand bookshops in abundance especially in the little side streets which branched off the main thoroughfare every twenty yards or so. Adrian wondered how they could possibly make any sort of profit, there being so many of them and so few apparent customers. Some of them had tried to attract custom by putting a box of dog-eared paper backs and old remaindered hardbacks in the front with a sign saying 'Only 50p each' but it was hardly an unrefusable inducement to buy.

Adrian, though, was out for a bargain so he stooped down and rummaged through the contents of one such box. Now would Aunt Marion appreciate a grubby, torn, 'bodice-bursting' Mills and Boone - he thought not. He might be a cheapskate but he didn't want to appear to be one. Right at the bottom of the box was a yellowed book which, at first sight, appeared as unsuitable as the first. Its print was crabbed and blurred and the paper was thick, the pages seemed almost torn rather than cut to size, their edges rough and uneven. It had no front cover and Adrian was about to toss it back in disgust when his eye caught a date in Roman numerals at the bottom of the title page - MDCLXXV.

It took him a little while to work out but eventually he deciphered it as 1675. The title seemed to be in Latin 'Compendium Rerum Malorum' and the author someone called Thomas Weir of Edinburgh. None of this meant very much to Adrian, a Compendium, he thought, meant a collection - but certainly the book looked old and, if he had worked out the date correctly, could be quite valuable. It would do for Aunt Marion. He wondered if perhaps the book had got into the box by mistake and the bookseller make a fuss about selling it to him for 50p so he picked out three other books and took them into the shop.

"Four from your bargain box," he called out cheerfully to the little man, crouched like a gnome behind the counter, and looking as dusty as most of the stock on his shelves. He waved them in front of the man's face and then plonked down two pound coins on the surface.

The man grunted and seemed to want to look at the titles but Adrian swiftly turned and made for the door and the man picked up the coins and examined them closely as if he thought they might be counterfeit.

Outside it had started raining. Large drops the size of penny pieces splashed onto the dusty pavement. The grey sky looked as if it was going to burst. Shit! He and the books were going to get wet and he hadn't got anywhere to put them. He needed some shelter. The Public Library, though, was just round the corner and Adrian broke into a run to make the steps leading up to the pseudo-Gothic front just before the heavens opened and the rain came down in torrents. Adrian wondered whether the attractive young man he had seen earlier had got some shelter.

Adrian stood in the covered entrance hall and stared out at the sleeting rain. What to do now? Glancing at his watch he found he still had half an hour before his lunch break was up. He looked at the books in his hand, three thrillers which might be worth reading and the old volume while looked even more tattered and miserable on closer inspection. Could he give this to his aunt? He turned over the first page and tried to make out the writing. If it was all in Latin then there did not seem much hope but to his surprise it was apparently written in English - or at least a sort of English. 'A fpell for gaining the heart's defire'. What on earth did that mean?

Suddenly he realised that he was probably in the right place to ask questions and he took the book into the Reference Library where, behind a wooden counter, a bespectacled woman was doing something academic with a large book. Her grey hair was scraped back from her face into a bun at the back She looked up as Adrian approached and smiled, immediately looking less severe.

"Excuse me," said Adrian politely, "I've just bought this book and I wondered if you could tell me something about it."

The woman took the book and looked at it. "Interesting," she said. 'Compendium Rerum Malorum' - Collection of Evil Things." She turned over the pages. "It appears to be an anthology of spells." She turned back to the Title Page. "1657. Thomas Weir. Don't know the name. Let's see what the Encyclopaedia has to say," she said to herself and turned aside to a shelf from which she chose and took down a large volume. She riffled through the pages and eventually found an entry. "Here we are." She read out aloud, "Weir, Thomas: Born in 1600. After having led an apparently normal life as a religious man, he confessed in 1670 to sorcery and horrible debauchery. He was burned at the stake near Edinburgh in April 1670 along with his sister, Jane, who was accused of incest with him. 'The Bow', the family home of the Weirs, became a house haunted with phantoms until its destruction about 1830."

"Is it valuable?" asked Adrian, holding his breath.

"Well," said the woman, "I'm no expert and the book's obviously not in good condition - but an enthusiast of demonology might pay a couple of hundred pounds for it."

Adrian breathed again. That wasn't a bad profit. "Is it written in English?" he asked. "Some words seem very odd." He pointed to the entry he had read on the first page. "Fpell - defires?"

"Oh that's just the long 's'. Printers in those days used a long form for the letter 's' if it was anywhere but at the end of a word. Yes it's in English. Look that reads 'A spell for gaining your heart's desires'. Pretty marvellous that would be - if it worked."

Adrian agreed, thanked her and went back out to the entrance hall. He sat down on one of the benches that ran round the inside. The rain seemed to be easing. Soon he would be able to go out again. While he waited he opened the book and read the first spell. It was difficult to make out and he found he that the easiest way was to mouth the words just under his breath.

"I conjure you," he read, "Prince Lucifer, dark Angel of Light, to procure for me what my Heart most defires - no, desires, in the name of your lieutenants Mammon, Asmodeus, Satan, Beelzebub, Leviathan and Belphegor."

He got to the end, the names causing him the most difficulty and suddenly had the feeling that he was being watched. He looked up and saw the boy he had noticed earlier in the High Street. He was standing just inside the doorway and staring at him but had obviously not been as lucky as Adrian in escaping the rain for his hair was plastered to his scalp while his jeans and pullover looked soaked.

Adrian gave him a sympathetic smile and, as if this encouraged him, the boy approached. "Pissing weather," he said.

"Got caught in the rain, did you?" said Adrian, though the answer was obvious. "Haven't you got anywhere to go?" As he said it, Adrian realised that the question could be seriously misconstrued.

The boy gave Adrian a shrewd look, seemed to make a decision and said, "Yeah I got a place. Just couldn't get back there in time. Want to see it?"

Adrian realised that he would be late back for work but he nodded anyway and the boy turned and led the way briskly through the now gradually decreasing raindrops across the road and down a side lane, much like the ones Adrian himself had explored in his search for the bookshops earlier.

They did not say much, the boy limiting his remarks to a brief introduction, "Steven" and Adrian responding with his own name. Half way down the street Steven stopped and turned left to where a flight of stone steps led down to a basement. At the bottom there was a scuffed painted door which had once been blue and a window which had bars on it. Steven unlocked the door and the two boys went in. Inside lit by the subdued light from the window was a single room which contained a bed, a small table and two chairs and in the corner a gas ring and sink. In the furthest corner a plastic curtain hid probably what was a shower. Someone had tried to brighten the walls with an amateurish painting of a country scene showing a cottage set in a wood with hills in the background but the proportions and perspectives were all wrong and Adrian himself if the room had been his, would have painted it over with a coat of white emulsion. A greasy-looking rug - once red - covered the centre of the floor.

"Gotta get out of these clothes," said Steven, pulling the jumper over his head. His body, Adrian noticed, was still adolescent and hairless, the stomach flat. He kicked off his trainers, unzipped and pulled off his jeans without the least trace of embarrassment - perhaps he had done it too often. He was wearing a pair of dark blue jockey underpants. He took a towel from beside the sink and rubbed his hair until it was dry and tousled. Then he wiped his body and legs.

Adrian watched expecting him to put some clothes back on but instead he leaned back, half lying on the bed, his hips thrust forward. The vigorous towelling had disturbed his briefs, pushing the leg open so that Adrian could see his balls and the root of his cock. Steven looked across the room at him, his expression telling nothing. Eventually he said, "Come on! You know you want to!"

Adrian took a step forward, then another. He was standing over Steven, his hand only inches away from his groin, the boy looking up at him, his eyes wide open. Then the boy's hand was on his thigh and moving upwards over the material of his trousers. Adrian could feel his penis hardening even before the boy's hand reached his balls. He put his own hand over Steven's cock and could feel it growing through the blue underwear.

The boy's eyes flickered. He whispered, "A tenner."

Adrian froze. "You want money?" he asked, snatching his hand away.

Steven let his eyes fall. He said. "I've got no job. What sort of life do you think I can have on Social Security? I have to make it any way I can. I'm sorry."

Adrian said, "I haven't got any money either. I only have a part time job and probably don't get much more than you."

There was a pause and Adrian was about to turn and leave when Steven suddenly smiled. It made his face look beautiful. "What the hell," he said. "I make a rotten hustler anyway." He grabbed at Adrian and pulled him down on top of him, their groins pressed together. The naked flesh was under his hands, soft and silky, though the underlying muscle was hard.

"Let me take my clothes off," Adrian said and Steven let him go, pulling off his own underpants and socks.

Swiftly Adrian stripped off his shoes and socks, jacket, trousers and underpants until he stood, in just his shirt having trouble with the buttons. They both shivered with the damp chill of the basement room and the excitement. Steven couldn't wait for Adrian to get his shirt off. He grabbed him again and pulled him down, holding each other, their tongues and hands exploring each others' bodies.

Adrian, on top, slowly inched down Steven's body, kissing and licking. He paused and sucked at the nipples, then went down and put his tongue in Steven's navel, smelling his scent, a mixture of soap and sweat. Steven giggled and wriggled so Adrian went even lower so that he could reach the fuzz of pubic hair around that sprouting cock.

"Turn round," said Steven's voice, high with arousal, "so I can do the same to you. Adrian needed no second urging and soon both boys' faces were buried in each other's groins. Adrian ran his tongue up and down the erect shaft facing him and then licked the firm young balls, taking each one into his mouth and gently mouthing them one at a time. Then he moved back and enclosed Steven's prick as far as he could into his mouth. He could feel his own erection being taken into Steven's warm mouth and knew ecstasy.

He put one arm over Steven's legs and gently explored his arse. He found the puckered hole and inserted his finger. He heard Steven gasp and then felt him doing the same. He pushed harder, at the same time sucking and wanking with his free hand.

Steven gasped, "I'm coming," and then clamped his mouth down again.

There was a warm, salty spurt filling Adrian's mouth and spilling down his chin but all he felt was his whole being centred in his own groin as a source of pleasure, exploding and pulsing again and again.

Afterwards, they lay together stickily and Adrian told him about the book of spells and how, just before Steven had turned up, Adrian had said the spell for granting his heart's desire. Steven laughed. "Am I your heart's desire?" he asked.

"Well I was thinking of you at the time. I did rather fancy you," he admitted. "I'm not sure I believe that it really happened because of the spell though."

"Can I have a go?" asked Steven. "If I ask for something and get it, that'll prove it."

"OK," said Adrian, "but you've got to say what you want first."

"That's easy." said Steven. "I need money more than anything."

"Go on then," said Adrian and watched while Steven ploughed through the spell. For a moment they waited and then, when nothing happened, Steven sighed.

"Well," said Adrian defensively, "it doesn't say it'll happen immediately."

He got up and dressed while Steven lay in bed suddenly depressed.

As he was leaving. Adrian said, "Will I see you again?"

Steven didn't answer.

Part 2 The Image

Adrian lived with his mother in a small two-up, two-down on the outskirts of the Spa Town. She had a job in a Supermarket which kept her out of the house during the day but she was always there in the evenings. He had never known his father. Adrian sometimes suspected that there never had been one - in the married sense at least - though his mother called herself Mrs Pritchard. Not that this made much difference for half the pupils at the school Adrian went to had no fathers - not living with them at any rate, and some of those who did had cause to regret it!

Adrian had quite enjoyed school though this had not stopped him leaving as soon as he legally could, his prime objective being to find himself a lucrative job, become independent and get a place of his own. Now. twelve months later and just past his seventeenth birthday he had to face reality in that the part-time employment at the BurgerBar - all he had managed to obtain - would never make his fortune, that he would need qualifications above and beyond his meagre GCSE's if he ever wanted anything better. Great aunt Marion's money - it was rumoured that she had a fortune (though if she did, she kept it close to herself) - would be more than welcome.

His home was constricting to Adrian. He could not take anyone home in the evenings - not for sex anyway, and he had worried about the few that he had met and invited back in his off-duty periods during the day in case nosy neighbours enquired of his mother who they were. These encounters anyway had seemed unsatisfactory to Adrian and only provided temporary sexual relief which otherwise would have to be gratified by solitary and manual methods.

The meeting with Steven the day before, though brief and ending so disastrously, had been different, Adrian thought. The phrase 'heart's desire' sprung again into his mind and Steven's mocking remark, 'Am I your heart's desire?' He wasn't sure about that but try as he might he could not get Steven's face out of his mind, those large eyes, so apparently trusting and confident, the way his dark hair curled over his forehead, the sensuous mouth that had smiled so bewitchingly - and which had fastened onto his cock like a lamprey. At the remembrance, his penis hardened. He knew he wanted to see Steven again. But did Steven feel the same? If he did, there was no way Steven could get in touch with him, he did not even know his name - but Adrian knew where he lived. Did he dare to call round? Their parting had hardly been propitious. Steven hadn't even answered his tentative question as to whether they would see each other again. But Adrian had rushed off so quickly and Steven couldn't have followed immediately for when he had left he had been lying naked on the bed.

'Heart's desire'! Adrian had asked it from the Book, and the Book had produced Steven - but not apparently granted Steven's request for money!

Adrian leaned out of bed and picked up the Book which was on the table beside it and again flicked through the pages. It seemed not to have been put together in a very organised way. There were spells, recipes, instructions for the gathering and processing of herbs, all apparently jumbled together - and no index either.

Then something at the top of a page caught his attention.

'For the gaining of one's true love's affection', he read. Then the book flipped shut and he had lost it. It took a while to find it again. 'For the satisfactory performance of this spel,' he read, 'it is necessary to have some hairs or clippings of the nails or article of cloathing of the beloved or other appurtenance.' Shit, that was no use. He had nothing like that. What the hell was an 'appurtenance' anyway? You had to make a wax image and include the hair or whatever, say the spell over it and then carry it next to your heart until you next saw your beloved. It also advised the mutual eating of periwinkle leaves - whatever they were. As it said: 'Venus owns this Herb, and saith that the Leavs eaten by man and his beloved together, causeth love between them to grow and prosper.'

"Adrian," a shout came from downstairs - his mother calling. "I'm just off to work. I'll be back at five. Can you get yourself some lunch?"

"No problem," he jumped out of bed and called over the bannisters. "I may be in town anyway. I'll get a burger."

He could hear her grumbling about junk food as she went out of the front door. "I'll eat an apple with it," he said to himself and went back to his room. He studied the book, then went downstairs to find a dictionary. He looked up 'appurtenance' and found it meant 'anything belonging to someone or something'. He sighed. It didn't help at all.

Back in his room he dressed, feeling despondent. His shirt lying on the floor was crumpled. He was working in the afternoon this Thursday and they wanted you to look smart though he couldn't imagine why as no customer even looked at you. Perhaps the shirt would do for one more day. He was about to put it on when he noticed some marks down the front.

Shit! Now he couldn't wear it. What were they though? It looked like dry tooth-paste - or - he remembered yesterday's tussle on the bed, which had started before he had even managed to take off his shirt. The discharge of Steven's cum into his mouth and the dribbling down his chin. It must be Steven's - an 'appurtenance' if ever there was one. If you could get a DNA profile from bodily fluids then surely you could use it in a love spell.

Suddenly cheerful, he looked for what else he needed. 'Take some wax - the common sort will do - and soften it in the hand.' Where could he find wax? Candles, that was it. There were some in the cupboard under the sink downstairs, waiting for an emergency like a power cut. He raced down and found one. The white cylinder was hard and wouldn't soften - not in his hand at any rate - just like something else, he remembered. Then he thought of lighting the gas and holding it over it. He nearly burned his hand but at least the candle softened and he was able to mould it. Should it just be the face or the whole body? Shit! He'd left the book upstairs - and the shirt.

Carefully he scraped the precious stains with his fingernail onto a piece of paper. The instruction didn't make it clear whether the image had to be the whole body or not but it was easier to make a figurine rather than attempt an accurate representation of the face so he modelled the wax into a human shape, carefully incorporating the powder with it. Then he carved, with his mother's nailfile, a face and a cock and balls between the legs - he felt this to be important. It wasn't easy and the result didn't have the lissom grace of the original but hopefully it would do. Feeling slightly foolish he said the three-fold spell over it, kissing it on the lips, genitals and feet after each sentence. "Bind Steven to me in this the image of his person. Cleave Steven to me in this the likeness of his being. Secure his love for me through this the figure of his body."

Well that was it. The spell was cast. Now all he had to do was carry the image in his inside jacket pocket, left side where his heart was, until he saw Steven again. If only he had some periwinkle leaves. He read the description of the plant again:

'The common sort hereof hath many Branches trayling, or running upon the ground shooting out smal Fibres at the Joynts as it runneth, taking thereby hold in the ground and Rooteth in divers places. At the Joynts of these Branches stand two small dark green shining Leavs, somwhat like Bay Leavs, but smaller, and with them come forth also the Flowers (one at a Joynt standing upon a tender Footstalk) being somwhat long and hollow, parted at the brims, somtimes into four somtimes five Leavs, the most ordinary sort are of a pale blue Colour.'

To be honest it didn't mean much to him. OK blue flowers, dark leaves and growing along the ground but unless it was as large as a sunflower Adrian didn't think he would have noticed. After all flowers were not really his strong point.

Well he'd just have to rely on the wax image.

He finished dressing and, feeling quite cheerful, ate some breakfast, brushed his teeth - after all you never knew - and set out for town.

After yesterday's rain, the air smelled fresh and washed, and the sun, though shining warmly, didn't have the enervating heat of the past weeks when every exertion seemed to bring on a sweat. He smiled happily to himself and even managed to greet his next door neighbour with a "Good morning, Miss Davis." She was a dowdy little sparrow of a woman with glasses who was energetically digging into her flower border with a small fork.

"Oh, oh," she said seemingly startled. "Good morning, Adrian."

He went on down the road when a thought suddenly struck him. He turned and walked back. "Miss Davis," he said.

She bobbed up from her patch as if on a spring and looked terrified, almost as if he were about to mug her.

"I just wondered if you knew what a periwinkle was," he said.

"Oh," she said, and then cleared her throat. "Two things. It's either the name for a small edible shellfish or that plant over there." She pointed to something with trailing stems and blue flowers.

"Yes," said Adrian, feeling like punching the air. "That's it. I wonder. Could I pick a few leaves?"

Miss Davis looked puzzled. "Well, yes," she said.

"Thanks, Miss Davis," said Adrian, and then feeling mischievous, added, "It causeth love to grow and prosper, you know."

"Er, no, I didn't," said Miss Davis and watched him with bewilderment as he hopped over the low wall into her garden, picked off half a dozen of the dark, shiny leaves and continued on his way, whistling.

Steven was not where he had seen him yesterday at his pitch on the High Street. Adrian felt slightly disappointed as if they had met there, he could have pretended it was a chance meeting. Calling personally at his basement flat could hardly be construed as such.

On the way to his flat he rehearsed what he would say when he got there. Oh hello, Steve - No - Hi, Steve. I was just passing so I thought I pop in - pop in! - thought I'd call and see how you were - but it had only been yesterday - Steven would know he was after him. Might ignore him completely - ask him for money again. What if the spell didn't work - he felt the image in his inside jacket pocket - was it next to his heart? Stuffing hell! What was the matter with him? He was acting like someone with his first boyfriend. So - if he was rejected, he could face rejection. If he thought he would be so embarrassed, he might not even bother to call. It wouldn't be the end of -

"Hi, Adrian," said a voice. It was Steven, smiling, looking genuinely pleased to see him. "I was wondering how to get in touch. You left yesterday so quick. Got time for a coffee?" He was everything Adrian had remembered. Beautiful - in what looked like some really expensive new clothes.

"Steven, you look as if you've come into a fortune," said Adrian.

"Thanks to you," said Steven and turned to him, there in the High Street, with people all around them, and kissed him, full on the mouth. "Come on," he said, "First one to get home, gets to fuck." He turned and raced up the street, Adrian, after a second's surprised hesitation, in pursuit.

They arrived at the top of the basement steps together, laughing and clutching at each other.

"Dead heat," said Adrian.

"OK, OK," said Steven, "We'll have to decide some other way." His eyes glinted with mischief.

Once inside the flat they stood and looked at each other. Adrian could scarcely believe that he had met the boy who was smiling at him only the day before. He felt that he had known him for half his life. He put his hand over his left breast and felt the outline of the wax image through the material of his jacket. 'Secure Steven's love for me through this the figure of his body,' he mouthed silently.

"Where did the fancy clobber come from?" he asked.

"Your spell. It was your spell that did it. After you left I went out and bought a scratch card. I won 1000."

"Told you it would work," said Adrian. He touched the boy on the cheek with the palm of his hand and then cupped it round the back of his neck drawing him forward so that lips met lips in a long kiss. He felt Steven's tongue probing at his mouth and let it in, the muscle, slick and smooth, twining with his own. He tasted a sweetness and wondered what Steven had been eating.

Their hips came together, groin pressed against groin, both cocks erect and that irresistible urge to copulate spreading through their entire bodies. Adrian's hand went to the zip in Steven's trousers but he drew back.

"Wait, wait. I need a shower," said Steven.

"Prick teaser," said Adrian, then suggested, "Let's have one together."

They jostled into the tiny cubicle scarcely big enough for the two of them, laughing and pushing. Steven turned on the water so that it was hot and they soaped each other. As they got to each other's groins, they got excited, the lather slithering over erect cocks and balls.

"Turn round," said Steven in a breathy whisper into his ear.

"Tenner," said Adrian, teasing, and kissed him on the mouth. Adrian turned his back on Steven and felt soapy hands rubbing the cleft of his arse. He relaxed his muscles and a finger was inserted, then two. He bent over spreading his buttocks to allow even further access.

Suddenly Steven said, "Shall I put my cock in?"

Adrian wanted him to, wanted to feel Steven inside him, becoming part of him but was worried. "I've never done it before," he said.

"I'll be gentle," said Steven. "Do you want me to?"

"Yes," Adrian said'

"Hang on, then," said Steven and he stepped out of the shower and disappeared behind the curtain. A little while passed before he returned, still dripping.

"Where have you been?" asked Adrian.

"Condom," said Steven shortly and Adrian, for the first time, knew the reality behind all that talk there was about AIDS and HIV. But he had no time to think about it further for he felt the tip of Steven's penis nuzzling his hole, then pushing. He tried to relax but gasped when it actually pierced the sphincter. But then it was inside. He could feel it in him and the thought that it was Steven made him excited again, overriding the pain. Added to that, Steven's hands came round and held his cock, rubbing it with the lather so that they slipped deliciously up and down the shaft. He pressed back to get Steven even further in and then started pushing in and out, getting quicker and quicker as he approached his climax.

Then Steven muttered in his ear, "Oh Adrian, I love you, I love you," and Adrian felt the spurt inside him and at the same time came himself so that he jetted a stream of cum onto the floor.

Afterwards they lay naked together on the narrow single bed, Steven on his back, his arms around Adrian who nuzzled his head into the space under Steven's chin.

"What's your name?" asked Adrian.

It was a time for shared confidences and the telling and receiving of personal details, the beginning of a relationship. Steven told him of the rows with his family and the final one where unforgivable things had been said and he had left to live on the streets for a while until begging and some petty stealing got him enough to put a deposit down on the damp single basement room. "You can make a bit on the streets," he admitted.

Then Adrian explained about Great aunt Marion and her birthday present, and finally - the Book.

"So two spells worked," said Steven. "You got me and I got the money."

"Three," said Adrian. He reached over to where his jacket lay on the floor and fumbled in the breast pocket for the wax image. "I did another one this morning."

"What's that?" asked Steven.

"It's to keep you, to secure my true love's affection," said Adrian. "Then there's periwinkle leaves. Eating them cause love to grow and prosper.

Steven looked at the image carefully. "Is that me? Well at least you have given me a cock and balls" and he snuggled up to Adrian, their bodies close together, and began to play with Adrian's which immediately responded.

Adrian sighed contentedly. "So that's all right then."

"The money won't last for ever," said Steven. "I've already spent quite a bit."

Adrian sat up, serious. "There is a way," he said, "according to the Book, by which unlimited wealth and desires can be obtained."

"Sounds good. What is it? Another spell?"

"The signing of a Pact with the Devil."

There was a silence while the words seemed to hang in the air between them.

Eventually Steven said in a quiet voice. "I don't think I like the sound of that. Adrian, don't get into this too deep."

Part 3 The Pact

At home that evening, Adrian turned to the Book again. On the last few pages were the instructions for making a Pact with the Devil. It was complicated and there seemed to be three parts. There was a potion which had to be made and drunk - but the instructions were there, as was also the recipe for making the drink. Then there was a spell for the conjuring up of the Devil - with suitable precautions for protection - and finally there was the Pact itself which had to be written with the left hand and signed in blood.

Adrian sighed. It was going to be difficult and he was a bit squeamish about the blood, but it had to be done - and done quickly - for tomorrow was Aunt Marion's birthday and, if he was going to give her the book, now would be his last chance.

He looked at the list of ingredients for the potion: aconite (Wolfsbane), digitalis, hellebore root and hemlock. He sighed again. Even more difficult than he thought. He had never heard of any of them.

"Mum," he called through to the kitchen where Mrs Pritchard was preparing the meal. "Do you know where I can get some 'aconite' from? I think it's some sort of herb."

"No," she said unhelpfully. "We don't sell it in the shop." But then she added, "I expect her next door will know. She's a great one for plants and such."

Of course Miss Davis. Why hadn't he thought of her? "I'll just call round," he said. "Won't be a moment."

"Supper will be ready in a half an hour," she said.

It was still quite light but Miss Davis wasn't in her garden so Adrian knocked at her front door. There was a long pause and he wondered whether she was out but eventually he heard the rattle of a chain and the sound of bolts being pulled back. The door opened a crack and her timid face peered out. It cleared when she saw who it was though she still didn't open the door wide.

"Adrian," she said. "I wondered who was calling so late." Late! It couldn't be much more than half past seven and it wouldn't get dark for another couple of hours. Still when you're old . . . "What can I do for you? Not more periwinkle leaves?"

Adrian started. He had forgotten all about them when he was with Steven. They should have eaten them together.

"No," he said. "It's something else this time." He looked at the piece of paper on which he had jotted down the names. "I'm looking for some aconite, digitalis, hellebore and hemlock. I think they're plants."

At the mention of plants, Miss Davis looked suddenly interested. "My!" she said. "That's quite a collection. Dangerous though!"

"Dangerous?" echoed Adrian. "In what way?"

"Oh yes," said Miss Davis. "They're all deadly poisonous - if you eat enough of them."

"So you wouldn't have them in your garden, then?" said Adrian.

"Oh yes," said Miss Davis happily. "I don't have children or pets, so there's no need to worry - and I wouldn't be silly enough to eat them myself. Why do you want to know?"

Adrian paused, his mind racing. He hadn't been prepared for this question. Then he fell back on the old excuse from school. "It's a project," he said.

But Miss Davis was brighter than she looked. "You're not at school now," she said.

"Oh no," said Adrian. "College. I've started a course at College."

"Have you? Your mother never said. What is the course?" The woman was becoming too curious, thought Adrian. "Comparative religion?" She smiled. Was this a joke?

Adrian laughed as if he understood. "No," he said, thinking it best to keep as near to the truth as possible. "We're looking at some seventeenth century herbalists and trying out some of their recipes. Not to really drink them of course."

"Interesting," said Miss Davis, then briskly, "Well, come on, while there's light." She opened the door and they both went into the garden where the evening sun lit up the banks of flowers which hours of tender care had produced. "Now by aconite, I assume you mean aconitum vulparia, Wolfsbane or Monk's Hood - the winter aconite, eranthis hyemalis, which is a completely different plant of course you won't find at this time of year."

"That's right," said Adrian, "Wolfsbane."

"Well there you are," she said pointing to a tall plant with frondy leaves and purple bell-shaped flowers. "Called Monk's Hood because of the shape of the flowers of course - very poisonous. Now Digitalis is the Latin name for Foxglove over there. It's still used as a heart stimulant." She pointed to some plants with even taller spikes down which purple and white flowers grew. "Foxgloves. Nothing to do with foxes of course," she explained. "Fox is a corruption of 'Folk's', the little Folk, the fairies. The hellebores are here, in the shade which they love," and she showed him some more dark leaved plants which looked rather unhealthy. "Not at their best at this time of year," she said. "They're winter and early spring flowers." She paused while Adrian consulted his list.

"Hemlock," he reminded her.

"Can't help you there," she said. "That's the poison Socrates used to commit suicide with." Adrian nodded though he had no idea who Socrates was. "Hemlock's a wild flower. You'll find some up on the hill," she waved her hand at the hill which reared up behind the houses. "It's an umbellifer with purple splotches on the stem."

Adrian looked blank. "I'll show you. I've got a book."

"Can I take some leaves of what you do have?" he asked.

"Wait a minute," she said and she went into the house, not inviting him in and came back with the book. She also had a pair of secateurs and a newspaper. She showed him a picture of a tall plant with thick stalks and a head of umbrella-shaped white flowers.

"It's like an umbrella," said Adrian.

"Yes. That's what 'umbellifer' means. You can find them alongside the road that leads up to Lonley Farm, on the right hand side. There's a whole clump of them. Very poisonous. Remember the purple blotches on the stems." She took the book back as if she feared he might run off with it. Then she went into the garden and cut off some stalks with leaves from the various plants, carefully wrapping them in the newspaper.

"There you are," she said, giving him the package. "And do make sure you wash your hands after touching them." She went into the house and shut the door. A second later, and before Adrian had had time to turn away, it opened again. "Good Luck with the project," she said and added, with a smile, "Sounds like witchcraft to me."

Adrian looked at his watch. He had spent a quarter of an hour with Miss Davis. That meant he still had another fifteen minutes before the meal was ready. He set off at a steady run towards the hill, his trainers slapping on the dry surface of the tarmac. Soon this gave out to a track with ditches at either side and started climbing. Adrian was out of breath now but he forced himself onwards. Surely Miss Davis was not the kind of woman who would go for long walks - just a gentle stroll. Then he saw them, tall, elegant plants with thin spiky leaves and masses of white flowers formed into umbrella shapes. He noticed the rather sinister purple splotches on the stems which otherwise looked like bamboo. He pulled off a stem and some liquid oozed out onto his hand. After a little while it started to irritate and he wiped it on his jeans.

He turned for home. He was late and he knew his mother would nag but she would get over it and he now had everything for the potion.

His mum had gone on a bit about his being late for supper. Apparently she was going out that evening and wanted everything finished and cleared up by eight o'clock but, after Adrian had promised to do the washing up, she had cheered up and the best thing was that he would be alone for at least three hours to complete and carry out his plan.

He read the instructions:

'Juyces are to be pressed out of Herbs when they are yong and tender, and also out of some Stalks, and tender tops of Herbs and Plants, and also out of some Flowers. Having gathered your Herb you would preserve the Juyce of, when it is very dry (for otherwise your Juyce will not be worth a Button) bruise it very wel in a stone Mortar with a wooden Pestle, then having put it into a Canvas Bag (the Herb I mean, not the Mortar for that will yield but little Juyce) press it hard in a press, then take the Juyce and put it in a Vessel which can be diluted up to ten times.'

The comment about the mortar not having much juice at least showed that Thomas Weir had something of a sense of humour but Adrian himself did not have any of the implements that Weir recommended. He would have to improvise, after all the main object was to get the juice out of the leaves and things and catch them in some sort of container. Eventually he wrapped them in a clean tea towel and used his mother's pastry rolling pin. A little liquid oozed out which he squeezed into a glass. It was greenish in colour and did not smell very nice. Perhaps diluted it would not be so bad. He took it upstairs with him.

He got a clean piece of writing paper and made a copy of the pact as recommended by the book. Written with his left hand, it looked amateurish and strange.

'Pacta cum daemonibus. Lucifer, Angel of Light and Darkness, Lord and Master, I recognise you as my God and promise to serve You while I live. I promise to adore your Body and to pay Homage to you at least three times a day, to do Evil, and to cause as many people as possible to do Evil. I give you my Body, my Soul and my Life and, having given them, I never wish to repent. In exchange for this you will grant me all that I desire in things both Material and Immaterial.'

'Thus signed in my own blood,'

Now came the difficult part. He found a sharp knife in the kitchen and made a faint stab at the thumb of his left hand. It didn't seem to want to pierce the skin. He tried again and gasped as a little drop of blood appeared. It was hardly enough to sign his name. Shutting his eyes he plunged the knife in and, though the sharp pain caused his eyes to water, he was gratified to see a much greater quantity of blood. Quickly he dripped into the only container he could lay his hands on - the glass which held the tooth brushes in the bath room. It might be contaminated a little with toothpaste but that would hardly matter. Now what could he write with? Really he could do with one of those old-fashioned fountain pens, but who had one of those nowadays? He would have to find something soon for blood clotted quickly and already the wound in his hand had stopped bleeding. He did not want to have to stab himself again. Eventually he found a matchstick, carving it into a point with the knife.

Then dipping it into his blood again and again and, with his left hand, he shakily signed his name at the bottom - Adrian Pritchard.

There - that was done. Now the final thing was to drink the potion and say the spell. Adrian though did have a little sense of the dramatic. He went downstairs again and collected two candles which he lit and put on his bedside table, first moving it into the middle of his room. Then he placed the Pact between the two and switched out the light.

He had the glass with the potion, diluted to the right consistency, and the spell, which he had copied out to make it easier to read.

He wished he had Steven with him for moral - and physical - support but that could not be helped. He was not on the telephone and lived too far away to go and fetch. He would have to do it alone.

Adrian took a deep breath and drank the potion. It tasted foul, as bitter as gall, so that his throat gagged and for a moment he wondered whether he would choke it all up again. But after another breath he managed to control the instinctive rejection and focused on the spell.

Seated in a chair and in the wavering light of the two candles, he read out loud:

"Emperor Lucifer, Master of all rebel Spirits, I pray you to look on me with Favour in the Name which I give to your great Minister, Lucifuge Rafacale; I beg you also, Prince Beelzebub, to protect me in my Enterprise; O Count Astaroth be favourable to me and grant that tonight the great Lucifer may appear to me in human Form and give me all that I ask, according to the Pact that I shall present to him."

Suddenly everything blurred in front of him. He felt a tingling in his finger tips which gradually spread up his arms. He tried to lift them but they seemed paralysed. A dreadful feeling of panic rushed over him. He remembered Miss Davis's warnings - 'They're all deadly poisonous - if you eat enough of them.' And he had drunk the concentrated juices of all of them! There was a buzzing in his ears and for a moment he could see nothing, even the light of the two candles disappeared. He experienced a dizzying feeling of lightness, of floating, of drifting.

Then everything cleared.

Standing in front of him was the figure of a man. Even by the fitful light of the candles, Adrian could make out his features clearly. It was a handsome face but cold and cruel with a sallow complexion. His dark stubble formed the suggestion of a moustache and little pointed beard which emphasised its length. His eyebrows flared upwards at the sides (Adrian was irresistibly reminded of Dr. Spock) and his eyes were penetrating and had a yellowish colour though the pupils were elliptical like a cat's.

He was naked and his phallus stood erect and proud from a bushy nest of pubic hair.

Part 4 Lucifer

For a while there was a silence as each stared at the other, the stranger with a sardonic half-smile on his face.

"Hi," said Adrian not quite knowing what to say.

"'Most High' would be more appropriate," said the man. His voice was low and vibrant and sent a shiver down Adrian's spine. "You have summoned me."

Adrian found his voice - just - and stuttered. "I would like t-to make a P-pact," he said and pointed to the paper which lay on the table between them.

Lucifer - if it was he - picked up the paper and looked at it. "You want 'all things material and immaterial'." It was a statement rather than a question. "And what are you prepared to give in exchange?"

"It's all there," said Adrian. "I'll serve you, er - adore your body, pay homage, get others to do wrong etc. etc. Isn't that enough?"

"You will also give me your body," said Lucifer, reading from the paper. Then he looked up and gazed at Adrian speculatively. He seemed to like what he saw for he said, "I am mindful to try the pleasures of the flesh."

Adrian was not quite sure what he meant though he thought he knew. "And then you will agree to the Pact?" he asked.

"It is customary to seal it with a kiss," said Lucifer. "Remove your clothing."

Adrian hesitated. Did he really want this? And yet - 'all things material and immaterial' - all he ever wanted, enough money to buy everything, a house, a car, clothes, a computer, a helicopter - his head whirled. He ripped off his shirt and unzipped his jeans, pulling off his trainers and socks so that he could get the jeans over his feet. He drew down his shorts and stood there naked in front of his Lord.

Lucifer held out his hand and Adrian stepped towards him reaching out his own hand. They touched and Adrian felt the other's flesh against his. It was dry and warm though had a rough texture which was strange but not unpleasant. Lucifer drew him close and his head dropped to Adrian's left breast, nuzzling him with his lips. Then he felt a sudden sharp bite just above the nipple and started away with a cry. For a moment the pain was intense, spreading outwards to fill his whole body, then it faded, becoming an ache before finally disappearing. Where Lucifer had bitten him, there was a blue scar.

"You have my mark," said Lucifer. "Now you are mine." He clasped him and now his embraces were tender and ardent. Adrian felt himself becoming stimulated, imprisoned as he was between the other's thighs and with that prick, which had never lost its hardness all the time, pressed into him and jousting with his own erection.

Suddenly Lucifer stooped and picked Adrian up in his arms. He did it with no trace of effort or exertion, the muscles in his arms scarcely tightening, and carried him over to the bed. He laid him down gently on his back, lifting his legs so that his arse was exposed and vulnerable. Adrian knew what was coming and tensed himself for the assault but instead of a steel-hard rod, he felt a tongue, slightly rough like a cat's, licking under the base of his scrotum and then along the perineum that sensitive area between the anus and the balls which is the centre of sexual being.

Adrian could scarcely bear the delight and arched his body upwards so that his arse was even more open and into which the cat-like tongue probed and licked. He could not stop himself making animal-like noises being almost out of his mind with the desire to cum and be fucked.

Then Lucifer's cock plunged in searing him with a pain which was both ice-cold and red-hot, exquisite agony and delight. It filled him and at the same time fulfilled him. Adrian had enjoyed it with Steven because it was Steven whose cock was inside him, but Lucifer's member was giving him the most acute physical pleasure, the frenzied ecstasy spreading out through his whole body in wave upon wave of anguished delight. He had never felt anything like this before and he wanted the cock to remain inside for ever, going deeper and deeper until it merged with his very Being.

He felt it being withdrawn and then plunging in again until the movement was regular - and at each stroke he knew delight and physical satisfaction.

Then the cock inside him pulsed and he knew that Lucifer was coming. He reared his own body up, clutching the other's haunches and pulling him if possible even closer, even further inside. His own cock twitched and jerked seemingly stimulated from behind, from some central core in his bowels. He came and came again and could not stop, the throbbing pulses feeling as if they were emptying out his very entrails.

He collapsed backwards on the bed, utterly spent, gasping and panting, his limbs trembling uncontrollably.

Dimly, through the mists of that aching post coitum he heard Lucifer's voice.

"The pact is sealed. What is your wish?"

"Money," mumbled Adrian, scarcely aware of what he was saying. "I need money."

"Granted," came the sound of that low, vibrant voice - and then he was gone leaving Adrian to a night of tossing restlessness and turbulent dreams.

The following morning Adrian awoke feeling as if he had the flu. His limbs ached and he felt alternately flushed and then shivery. From outside the door, he heard his mother coming upstairs and then knocking on the door.

"I thought you were going to do the washing up last night," he heard her voice complaining. "Instead all I find is a revolting mess in a tea towel - and what have you been using my rolling pin for?"

Adrian groaned and opened his eyes with difficulty. "Sorry, mum," he said. "It was - I didn't feel very well."

She opened the door and came in carrying a mug of tea.

"And what on earth have you been doing in here?"

Adrian focused his eyes on his room. The table with the candles he had used last night had been overturned. Luckily the Pact had disappeared but he wondered whether the evidence of the debauchery was noticeable on the bed.

"I'll clear it up," he promised.

Fortunately his mother was in a hurry to get to work so, apart from grumbling a little, she did no more than pick up the table, restore it to its place beside his bed and put the tea on it. "Don't lie there all day," she said and went out.

A couple of minutes later he heard her go downstairs. He drank his tea. It made him feel slightly better. Suddenly there was a call from downstairs, urgent, excited.

"Adrian, Adrian." He got up, groaned, pulled on underpants and jeans and went downstairs. His mother was standing in the hall at the bottom of the stairs. She had an official looking letter in her hands. "It's Aunt Marion. She's dead. This is from the solicitors. They say you and me are her 'heirs and beneficiaries'. That means we get some money doesn't it?"

Adrian felt slightly dizzy. It was the money he had asked for - but he hadn't really wanted Great aunt Marion to die. She was a dry old stick but she had as much right as him to live.

"Odd," said his mother. "She wasn't ill when I last saw her. Must have been sudden - heart attack I suppose."

"When did she die?" asked Adrian.

His mother looked at the letter. "Doesn't say - oh yes it does. Day before yesterday."

Adrian felt a bit better. She had died before he had asked for the money. So Lucifer hadn't actually killed her. Still it was a coincidence. The thought of Lucifer reminded him of last night and he suddenly felt a twitch of excitement in his groin. It had been such bliss that he wanted it again.

His mother looked up. "What's that mark on your chest?" she asked.

Instinctively he covered it with his hand. "Just a bruise," he said. "I must get dressed."

In the bathroom mirror he examined the blue-black bruise mark in the mirror. Adrian remembered seeing a similar shape in the sheep fields around - a cloven hoof - the mark of the Devil. He stepped under the shower and turned the water on, then squeezed some gel into the palm of his hands and rubbed it into a lather on his body. As he soaped his genitals, his cock rose though in an attempt to recreate the pleasure of the previous night he found he was transferring the focus of his attention to his arse, inserting first one finger, then two into the hole. But they wouldn't go in far enough to give him the ecstasy of the night before and, thinking of the satisfaction he had obtained from Lucifer's cock, he murmured his name, over and over again. "Lucifer . . . Lucifer . . . Lucifer . . ."

Instantly He was there, standing beside him, ithyphallic as always, echoing the words of the Pact, "I promise to adore your Body and to pay Homage to you at least three times a day." He took him in his arms, wet and slick as he was and their skin glided together sensually. "Bow to me, Adrian. Pay Homage as you have agreed."

Adrian stooped in compliance towards him, thinking perhaps that he wanted him to suck his cock but Lucifer stayed him. "When you bow to Lucifer," he said, "you bow away from him." And Adrian knew he had to present his buttocks, open and ready, slippery with the gel so that Lucifer's cock slid in as far as it could go. Adrian sighed, willing to accept and fulfilled.

Gradually the momentum built up, the ecstasy was repeated and as Lucifer came inside him his own orgasm spattered the wall of the bathroom, leaving him, as before, drained and exhausted. As he staggered to stay upright, he felt Lucifer's cock leave him and he cried out at the empty void it had left. Then there was no one with him in the shower.

On shaky legs he dried himself and put on some clothes. He did not feel well but could not bear to stay in the empty house so he went into Town.

He was fortunate to catch a bus which dropped him in the street at the top of Steven's as his legs would not have carried him any distance and even the short walk tired him so that he was weak and shaky by the time he reached the basement. He knocked on the door and Steven opened it.

He smiled when he saw who it was, then looked concerned as he saw the state Adrian was in. "What's the matter with you?" he asked. He grabbed hold of him as he staggered and nearly fell, helping over to the bed on which Adrian collapsed.

"I'll be alright. Just need a bit of a rest."

After a while during which Steven made some coffee and forced Adrian to drink it, he seemed to get a bit stronger and sat up. "You see," he said with a smile and sounding more like his old self. "I told you I'd be OK." He went on to tell Steven about the Pact and Lucifer's appearance. Then there was Aunt Marion's death and the inheritance. "We've got money coming, Steve," he said. "Real money."

Steven listened to the story with amazement and some disbelief but Adrian's obvious sincerity convinced him. "OK. So what do we do now?"

Adrian looked at him and smiled invitingly. "Guess," he said, undoing the zip in his jeans.

"Randy bugger," Steven said but nothing loath joined him on the bed though he wasn't expecting the passion with which Adrian approached their sex, nor the near animal ferocity with which he demanded to be fucked, almost raping him, forcing him to lie on his back and then sitting on his prick so that it was driven hard up into his arse.

Even then he wasn't satisfied so that after Steven had come he hadn't himself and he wouldn't let him withdraw almost shouting, "Leave it there. I want to feel it there. Please don't let me be empty."

Steven felt worried. He knew something wasn't right. This was completely different behaviour from the previous two times that they had had sex when Adrian had been tentative and inexperienced. Gently he pulled out and tried to finish off Adrian with his hand but he would not let him.

"What's the matter. Adrian?" he asked but Adrian couldn't or wouldn't tell him and just lay beside him, his head buried in his shoulder, while an occasional shiver ran through his body and Steven held him.

Part 5 Subjugation

Suddenly Adrian sat up and said he must go. Steven watched him put on his shorts and jeans, which were all that he had taken off, and then leave, walking out of the door and climbing the steps up to street level as if he was in a dream. Steven wondered whether he was capable of negotiating the traffic of Town - he certainly didn't look like it - so he hurriedly got up, dragged on a pair of jeans and a sweater and followed Adrian. He was still in sight at the top of the road but turned off to the right at an intersection with the High Street.

Steven broke into a run and was not long in himself turning the corner. Adrian was not in sight though there were not enough people to hide him from view which meant that he had either gone into one of the shops - MotherCare, a dress Boutique, Dewhurst's Family Butcher, Jane's Wool Shop - he doubted it or he had turned down the next street which led to the Bus Station - and the Public Lavatory! Could he have gone cottaging? If he had, what did that say about their relationship?

Steven hovered on the corner for a few minutes, not knowing quite what to do. Should he go in and - if he was there - face him? What could he say to him anyway? Perhaps it would be better if he just walked out of the whole affair. But he decided that wasn't an option. He felt something for Adrian which was worth fighting for. He went in.

There was the usual smell of piss and disinfectant. The row of urinals was empty. The cubicle doors were all open except one. Could it just be that Adrian had just needed a shit? Then he saw it. In the gap under the door he could see the legs of someone lying on the floor. He recognised the jeans and trainers as Adrian's. But what was he doing? Was he ill? Had he collapsed in there?

"Adrian," he called.

There was no answer and the legs did not move. Steven tried the door but it was locked. He'd have to get over the top. He took a run at it, grabbed hold of the edge and pulled himself up, his trainers gaining some sort of purchase on the wooden door. He peered over. Adrian was spread out on the floor, face down, his jeans pulled down so that the cheeks of his arse were bare and exposed. Steven climbed over the top and dropped to the floor. Though there was no one in the cubicle with Adrian, and obviously couldn't have been, as Steve had had the exit under observation from only moments after Adrian must have entered and had seen no one leave, the state of Adrian's body made two things clear. The first was that he had come copiously all over the floor and the other was that someone had fucked him energetically and harshly.

As he touched Adrian, he groaned and started to roll over and sit up. When he saw Steven, he smiled.

"Hi, Steve. What you doing here?" He giggled as if it was a great joke.

"What happened, Adrian?"

"What do you mean? I just felt a bit tired," said Adrian and laughed again. It was as if he was drunk or on a big high. But Adrian didn't do drugs - or did he?

"What about?" he gestured to the state of Adrian's bare arse and the cum-spattered floor.

For a moment Adrian looked serious. "Just the Pact," he said. "Part of the Pact."

"Come on back to the flat," said Steven.

"Can't, mate. Gotta get home. I'll be in touch." He got up and made for the door. Then he stopped, turned and kissed Steven on the lips. "And remember Auntie's millions."

Steven watched him go.

But Adrian did not get in contact the next day, nor the next, nor the next - and Steven got more and more worried. Eventually he decided to go round to Adrian's house and find out, if he could, what the hell was going on. That second time they had met, Adrian had told him his address so he knew where to go.

He knocked at the door and waited but there was no answer. He was about to knock again when a voice said. "I don't think there's anyone at home." A little grey-haired woman with glasses was standing on the next door steps. "Mrs Pritchard's at work and Adrian's left."

"Left!" said Steven. "How do you mean 'left'?"

"He and his mother had a row. She was telling me how much he'd changed. Got moody and depressed, would flare up - and then, he just left. He hasn't been in touch for two days and she doesn't know where he went."

Steven had more than an idea where homeless people congregated in Town. If it was warm then there was the patch of grass around the church, where there were seats to lie on, and shelter in the porches if it should rain.

But Adrian wasn't there. Steven asked around but no one admitted seeing anyone answering to his description, fresh-faced, straight black, glossy hair, tall, slim.

When Steven actually saw him, hobbling along the gutter beside the road, he was nothing like that description. He could scarcely believe it was the same person. The dirt on his face would certainly have obscured the freshness but the bloom of his skin was gone. It looked taut and grey, pulled tightly over the bones of his face. There was a spattering of angry red pustules around his nose and mouth. His hair was matted and lack-lustre, the eyes unfocussed and staring.

He met Steven's horrified greeting with a blank gaze, one that almost denied recognition. Steven gently took him by the arm and they went back to his flat, Adrian allowing himself to be led unprotestingly. Once back Steven stripped him of his rancid-smelling clothes, the front and back stiff with dried semen and gently bathed him with warm water. The skin of his body looked wrinkled and old, as if it had been submerged in water for a long time. It was covered with scratches as if he had clawed himself with his finger nails - and so thin that his ribs stood out above the sunken flesh.

All this time, Adrian said nothing but at last, when Steven had put on some of his own clean clothes, and prepared a cup of sweet coffee, he let out a deep sigh. Only then did Steven ask him, "What has happened to you?"

Again the answer came. "It's the Pact. I must have congress with Lucifer three times a day."

"But why?" asked Steven.

"You don't know what happens if it is denied," said Adrian, and as if talking about it brought back the memory, his body was shaken with racking tremors. "Itching, dreadful itching, stomach cramps, hallucinations. You can't believe the agony."

"I'll get a doctor," said Steven.

"And tell him what? That I have to get fucked by the Devil?" He lay back on the bed wearily and closed his eyes.

"You need some food," said Steven, "to get your strength up. When did you last eat?"

Adrian's answer was so low that Steven could barely hear him. "I can't remember."

"Look," said Steven. "I'll go out and get a pizza or something. There's a Take-Away on the corner. Will you be alright for ten minutes? Does this Lucifer just turn up?"

"I have to call him," said Adrian. "I'll try not to."

"Stick it out, kid. There's two of us together now. I won't be long." He covered Adrian's body with the duvet before he left.

But there was a queue at the Take-Away and they took an unconscionable time heating it up so that it was a good half hour before Steven returned. Anxiously he unlocked the door and went in. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the mound on the bed.

At first he thought he was asleep and decided that rest would be good for him but when he bent over to look at him, he saw that Adrian's eyes were wide open. He was shaking with uncontrollable shivering and his fingers were raking the skin of his body to try to stop the irritation. He lay beside him, holding him, trying to keep him still and, at the same time to warm him up. His breathing was laboured and smelled rank.

He found he was muttering consoling words. "It's alright, Adrian. Keep fighting. I'm here with you." But he saw no signs of recognition in Adrian's staring eyes and the gasps were turning into words. Steven at last could make them out.

"Lucifer . . . Lucifer . . . Lucifer . . . "

Suddenly Steven sensed a presence behind him and, turning his head, he saw a figure standing beside the bed, between him and the window so that it was just a dark silhouette against the light. The shape was that of a man and at first Stephen thought that he had left the door open and someone, perhaps even a friend, had wandered in. He sat up and then saw that the man was stark naked. From the fork between his legs a monstrous phallus projected, erect and demanding.

He heard a voice, low but with a timbre that reverberated through his whole body. "Stand aside, boy. He is mine - and needs my attention."

Steven stood up to face him. "No," he said. "He doesn't want you any more. Cancel the Pact."

Lucifer laughed and the sound was terrible. "The Pact is irrevocable."

Behind him Steven heard Adrian sit up and give a low moan. He stretched back his hand and groped blindly for Adrian's, found it and squeezed to give him a little reassurance. Adrian's hand was cold and damp.

"Your Homage is due," said Lucifer and took a step forward.

Adrian whimpered and started to babble, almost as if he were two people arguing with each other. "No . . . please . . . no more . . . yes . . . fuck me . . . I want you in me . . . it hurts . . . I want to cum."

Steven looked at him. He was twisting and turning, wrenching at his clothes, pulling at his jeans to bare his arse while at the same time trying to turn away from that erect phallus which was advancing towards him. The expression on his face was one of terrified loathing mixed with a dreadful anticipation. Saliva dribbled from the corner of his mouth which was now uttering no more than sub-human grunts.

Now Lucifer's cock was almost touching Steven and Adrian had turned himself so that he was on his knees facing away from him, his bared arse raised in anticipation of the entry.

"No," screamed Steven. "Get away from him."

Lucifer raised his hand and struck him a sweeping blow. It did not seem to have much power but Steven was hurled across the room, hitting the wall at the foot of the bed with the back of his head and, for the moment, too dazed to move. Dimly, as if through a haze, he saw the huge cock plunge into the waiting hole and bury its full length inside. Adrian let out a scream of protest and delight. Then all Steven could see were the haunches of the intruder as he ploughed into the defenceless arse.

It was all over very quickly. There was one last terrible lunge and Adrian's cock exploded, spurting cum over the bed in an unbelievable stream. His head bent back in a rictus of agonised pleasure. Then Lucifer withdrew violently and Adrian collapsed on the bed and lay still.

Lucifer turned to Steven, his eyes shining yellow with lust and victory. "He is mine and will always be mine," he said.

Steven shook his head to clear it. "You are killing him," he said.

Lucifer shrugged his shoulders as if that had very little consequence. "Then he will be mine all the time," he said.

"Can you not spare him for a while?" asked Steven. "I love him."

"He agreed it in the Pact."

Steven turned to look at the prostrate figure on the bed and then turned to Lucifer. "Release him from the Pact," he pleaded.

Lucifer's refusal was apparent in the look of contempt he gave him.

"Than take me instead," said Steven. "Let him go and take me."

"What do you want in exchange?"

"Nothing. Just let him go."

You want nothing in exchange?" Lucifer's tone was incredulous.

"Just set my friend free."

The figure on the bed stirred. "No," said Adrian in a weak voice.

Lucifer laughed. "You see he wants it all for himself." He glanced down to his cock which had remained erect even after his orgasm and which now twitched obscenely.

Adrian's voice strengthened. "I do not want it. I do not want my friend to have to go through this Hell."

A sudden change seemed to go through Lucifer's face. A spasm twisted one side making it go lop-sided so that the words he said were indistinct, almost as if forced out of him against his will, some words giving him greater difficulty than others. "Greater . . . love . . . hath no man than this," he said, "that a man lay down his life for his . . . friend." He paused and then ground out between his clenched teeth. "I find this mutual self-sacrifice - obscene!"

His once-handsome face twisted even more and a stink of corruption, of long-dead flesh filled the air. Lucifer's apparently invincible erection drooped and the penis hung flaccid and ineffective. He gave a scream and grabbed hold of himself, jerking at his member in a vain effort to revitalize it.

"Anyway it doesn't change the situation," he panted, so great was his exertion. "You signed the Pact - in your blood. You get the money. I get YOU!" He finished in a scream and dropped his cock which swung as if lifeless.

Steven realised there was nothing else to be done.

Then there was a weak comment from Adrian. It was as if he was suddenly realising what had happened - and what it meant. "But you didn't . . . You have given me nothing . . . She died before I signed the Pact. I would have got the money anyway. You haven't kept the Pact."

Lucifer suddenly looked as if he had shrunk, his whole body diminishing. "You can have anything you want," he said despairingly. "What do you desire?"

"Nothing," said Adrian. "I want nothing further from you."

The scream which issued from Lucifer's open mouth had an almost tangible quality. It bounced around the room growing louder and more anguished as it was forced out of him. Then, just as it reached the level when the boys feared their ear drums must burst, it and he vanished.

The silence which followed was almost as loud!

Neither Steven nor Adrian dared break it.

They huddled together on the bed, holding each other for their mutual comfort rather than in any sexual need.

Eventually Adrian whispered, "I love you," he said. "I will always love you."

In answer Steven planted a gentle kiss on Adrian's forehead. "Where are those periwinkle leaves?" he asked. "Would they go well on a cold pizza?"

--

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