B - Temptation Sensation

Temptation Sensation

The air was blue with smoke, and the music was smoky and blue. You
could almost see it, twining its way between the shimmering clouds,
creating new patterns in the slate mist. It swung low and deep, and the
singer's voice tickled the energised atmosphere with rough vowels and
purred consonants. It was what sex would be if you could take away the
bodies and strain the minds and concentrate the emotions until all that
was left was the pure essence. It was bottled orgasm.

In a dark corner, of which there seemed to be more than such a room
would justify, sat a young man. He wore a brimmed hat. That's all
anyone needs to know, really. In these days there is only one certain
sort of man who wears that sort of hat. It goes with the cigarette and
the suit and empty glass in front of him.

All that could be seen of his eyes was the reflection of the
cigarette's embers. They glowed alarmingly red, and seemed to be
laughing. In the hazy, shadowy atmosphere, in the swirling, growling
atmosphere, in his charcoal suit and dark hat, he was barely visible.
Just two glowing red eyes, amused, bemused, teasing, faintly mocking.
You knew the joke was at your expense, but you were damned if you knew
what it was or why you wanted to laugh along too.

Eventually, after several mournful songs that left you jubilant,
another young man joined him. He was dressed exactly the same, and the
two of them looked like thirties gangsters. A piano riff accented his
arrival, inspiring him to do improvise an impromptu little spin. A horn
wailed, and he sat down, pushing a drink in front of the other man,
trying not to blush at his own frivolity.

"You don't find all this a little ridiculous?" the first man asked,
raising his hat brim.

"You don't like it?" the other asked, seemingly concerned. A saxophone
started a slow moaning sequence that sent shivers down your spine, like
a trickle of ice.

"Oh, I can't think of anything more appropriate. The music is
particularly inspiring. What was it you wanted to discuss on such short
notice?" He stubbed out the cigarette and he took a sip of the
cocktail, putting it down with a hint of a grimace.

"What do you mean 'inspiring'?" the apparently younger man asked
suspiciously.

"Oh, you know. The talent, the misery, the use of negative emotion to
create something of powerful and arousing." He grinned; slightly cruel
in it's mocking edge. "You know you agree." His eyes slid, for the
briefest of brief seconds, to the younger man's lap.

The other man looked uncomfortable. "You've done this before," he
accused. "I haven't. Give me a chance to get used to it." He stared at
the clear liquid in his glass, then down it hurriedly. The other man
laughed, a warm, teasing noise, with the same power as the music. It
had that languid sensuality that made promises no one else would be
able to keep, promises you wouldn't want anyone else to keep because
you'd know it just wouldn't be as good as this guy could give.

"Come on," he coaxed, "tell ol' Luci."

The other man looked somewhat scandalised. "'Luci'?" He spluttered
under his breath. "Oh dear."

'Luci' chuckled invitingly. "Come on, out with it. I haven't got all
night," he smiled. He knocked the other man's hat away from his face,
revealing a too perfect bone structure and softly unruly golden curls.
Wide blue eyes flinched, and their pain was heart rending.

"You know what I want," he sighed, melancholy. "I? it's not fair," he
finished with in a whisper.

"I know." Luci moved round and tucked an arm around him. His hat was
also askew, revealing long dark ringlets out of style with the neat
suit and business-like air. Of course, for this man, business and
pleasure were so entwined his business was pleasure. "Who is it? I can
make any arrangements you care to name. It's not the singer, is it?
She's a bit of alright, and she's done this sort of thing before." He
grinned encouragingly.

"No, you can't help me. Just, tell me, what price have I paid, just to
come here?"

"What do you mean, I can't help you? Helping's what I do."

"Funny, never heard it described like that," the younger man offered a
wry grin. Luci chuckled.

"Well, give me a name, kid. Let me tell you what I can and can't
do."

"Gabriel."

The music kept playing. You could also see the notes and staves ripping
through the smoke and pushing between the bodies. Dark skin and dark
hair and dark clothes were the predominate fashion, all shades of
chocolate and coffee and sensual tastes, powerful tastes, emotive
tastes. Sequins flashed fire from eye to eye, and it suddenly became
apparent that despite the fact the cigarette had long gone out in the
ashtray, the first man's eyes still glowed like garnets. The singer
started a new song from her alcohol-tainted barstool, about lust and
love and adultery and pain and sex and booze and time. Her eyes were
rich with the emotion of what she sang, and the piano danced for her,
and the brass sang, and the audience knew every word before she sang it
because they had lived every word, just as she had.

"So much sin," the young man sighed. "Yet, they're all so happy. In
their own ways. Do they like the pain?"

"In their own ways. It's real, it's here. They're not. Does it make you
sad?"

"No, just envious. They have what I want. But? it's not how I thought
it would be. It's?"

"Exquisite."

"Yes, exquisite. The pain, the sorrow, the regret. Perfect, and
exquisite and perfectly exquisite."

"Do you understand?"

"No, Lucifer, I don't. I just know I want it. I want to feel, like
them."

"You want to be human," the devil soothed. "You want this to last
forever, this playacting."

The angel nodded. "I want? I want to fall. When I'm here, I'm sad. I
don't want to go back to heaven, except to stop the sadness. And, well,
I like it, in a perverse sort of way. It's real, like you said. I don't
want it to end because I'll forget I was ever sad. I want to know what
it is that makes me sad."

"Apart from not being able to have Gabriel?" the devil raised an
eyebrow.

"I only want him when I'm here. I mean, 'him' is entirely arbitrary.
You can't lust, up there. He's an 'it', and so am I. I prefer being a
'he'. But, yes, he's nice. I think I want to be him, sort of. But that
can't happen." The angel curled against the devil, letting the more
experienced 'human' draw him into a smoky embrace. The music twisted
around them, ruffling their hair and caressing their skin. The angel
sighed, deeply sad but somehow satisfied.

"Do you know lust?" The devil asked, letting one hand rest on the
tenting material in the angel's lap.

"Is there any going back?" the angel asked.

"You want to fall," the devil told him, "so, you've already fallen. As
soon as you wavered, you fell. Now it's just a question of where you
fell."

"Eternal damnation doesn't sound all that great, and I don't want to
plot against God," the angel admitted. "But, there's so much I want to
do. So much I want to try."

"So much to experience? Well, what you do is up to you. If you stay
here, you have free will. You also have death and decay and pain and
when viewed from the inside, it isn't nearly so exquisite. It's dark
and dirty and filthy and heavy, this life, this pain. You're heart will
drag in your chest and your head will spin. Each day will last a
lifetime and you will pray to be delivered every day. And it won't
happen."

"But? they pray for deliverance?" the angel frowned, lines creasing the
perfect skin. A saxophone curled its music around them, wrapping them
in orgasmic groans of twisting notes, distorting reality into a
beautifully sad thing.

"They don't get it. It all depends on death. Some suffer and suffer and
they keep suffering and they ask 'why?' Why, why? why do you think?"
Lucifer slid a burning hand under the angel's shirt, playing with his
belt.

"That's why I'm sad, here. They have free will, and they throw it way.
But, where else can I go? Do I follow you? Will I have to convince
others to follow you?" The angel squirmed in the devil's lap, aware
that whatever the Devil had planned, it was going to be the deciding
moment.

"Don't be daft. They say my greatest achievement is convincing them I
don't exist. Besides, all those who worship me are, for the most part,
bored teenagers who believe in me like they believe the Earth is flat.
I have a 'group' here. They collect the damned, so to speak, being
damned themselves. Find those who'd sell their souls, convince others
to. Would you like that? Bars and clubs and blues for eternity, artists
and actors and brokenhearted fools. Such exquisite pain."

The angel was making a quick count. One hand, two hands, three hands?
"What are you doing?" he murmured.

"It's these human bodies. Lust, sweet one. Would you like to find out?
More exquisite than pain, for its brevity. Desire. Passion." The Devil
ground his hips against the angel's, eyes glowing. The angel's moaned
with the guitar on stage, pressing down against the Devil.

"This... is? temptation," he whimpered, trying to get more leverage.
"Did you tempt Christ like this?" The Devil laughed, a rich and fruity
sound, liquid gold and dark chocolate and a hint of forbidden fruit.
"Did you offer this to Eve?"

"What they leave out of the Bible, of the holy books. Yes, lightness, I
did. Why do you think they called me a serpent? Phallic symbol, my
na?vet?." The devil moved then, lightning fast, taking the angel's
wrist and starting to lead him away from the table. He led him onto the
dance floor, placing one hand in the small of his back and the other
cupping his cheek. The angel stood there awkwardly, letting himself be
manipulated around the sticky floor.

Slowly, the devil leant forwards and kissed him. The angel's lips
didn't move, but the cool silk of the devil's lips brushed them
chastely, leaving him confused and wanting more. The devil smiled,
teeth white and pearly against the dark red of his rosebud lips. He
reached around and took one of the angel's limp hands and placed it
reassuringly onto his rear. The angel kept it there out of politeness
and not having the faintest idea what else to do, but as he felt
Lucifer's tight buttocks writhe beneath his grip he found his hand
tightening of its own free will and he began to enjoy himself.

This wasn't the eternal bliss of heaven; this was the sharp, frantic
pleasure of knowing moment by moment that it's going to end. As the two
of them moved together in the mostly empty space in front of the stage
every sensation was precious and every fleeting instant was savoured.
Their movements grew slowly more desperate, more passionate, as they
ground together to the rhythmic heart beat of the blues.

The angel's breath was coming in short gasps when Lucifer whispered in
his ear, close enough to tickle and send a wash of pleasure down his
spine, "Do you want to go upstairs?"

They stumbled up the bare concrete steps together, still locked in a
desirous embrace. They reached a cheap door at the top and Lucifer
shouldered it open. Inside the room was a wrought iron bedstead. The
sheets were black silk and it stood in front of a gaping window. The
angel pulled away for a second to stare out of the aperture.

Music filtered through the bare, rough floor, making the souls of his
feet twitch. He kicked off his shoes and dug his toes into the
concrete, revelling in the pain he would never have felt in heaven. The
room was filled with eerily bright colours. Staring out the widow, one
pane broken, he saw a mess of humanity drenched in neon. Life bubbled
on the streets, voices rose and fell like a sea of sound, light ran in
twisted shapes like plaited snakes, each colour garish and unnatural
and very, very human. He turned back to the sordid room to see Lucifer
lying on the bed, naked, watching him with open amusement.

"Do you like it? Out there?" The angel was fascinated with each new
sight. The Devil's body shone with the curls and curves of light, pinks
and blues and greens and whites merging into a sexual fantasy of
colour. He nodded mutely, unable to wrench his eyes off of the perfect
form.

"Come hither," the Devil smiled. "Come into my chamber, said the spider
to the fly."

It took no further encouragement. The angel staggered across the harsh
floor to the incongruously luxurious bed. They tore his clothes off
with a restrained frenzy, touching, caressing, tasting, experiencing.
Lucifer's hands explored and stroked and traced patterns across the
angel's pure skin. Fiery trails followed his fingers, leaving blackened
trails of meaningless symbols.

"You're marking me," the angel gasped, squirming in his grip, desperate
to press against the devil.

"I like people to know what's mine. I like Him to know what I have
taken from under his nose," Lucifer said breezily. He pulled out of the
angels grasp, taunting him, tempting him, teasing him. Drawing him in
of his own free will. "What did you see, out there?"

"Humanity. Pain, suffering, joy, desire? Humanity." The angel frowned
at the devil in human clothing. Taking matters into his own hands, he
pounced across the bed, straddling the laughing Lucifer. Heat spread
between them, and their bodies touched and met and caressed and joined
and the heat built until it burnt.

The music drowned them in winding patterns of piano and saxophone and
guitar and a clear sweet voice wrapping and exploring every orifice,
looking for ways in to take them and keep them bound to this earth;
dancing with desire to tickle and tease their naked skin. The neon
lights unwound themselves from their glass prisons to curl against
their skin, cool and smooth, like metal, pinning them up against the
shadows, chasing the shade around their undulating bodies; searching,
yearning, to enter places that begged to be pierced by the un-light's
austere throbbing beauty. The sorrowful susurration of voices and
bodies from outside seemed to cease, but the emotion carried in them,
the burning drive that made night follow day and kept the world
turning, it joined them and urged them on to an unspoken power which
took them and held them and left them wanting more, like that first
chaste kiss.

When the burning subsided, when the lights unwound themselves and the
music retreated back downstairs and the sounds outside took back their
potential energy, when they were forced to separate again and let the
world come creeping back in, things were different. The Devil said
nothing, but the ex angel could feel it. He'd fallen. The devil had
completed his task. He'd tempted and seduced and wooed and won, and now
he would leave without a word.

Indeed, he seemed to be doing so already. He unfurled himself from the
sweat drenched silk sheets and had started pulling on his trousers.
Suddenly, the former angel felt a great desire to make him say
something, to make him break this unspoken rule.

"You're going now," he said quietly, sadly. The pain really didn't seem
so exquisite from this side, but, in it's own way, it was still better
than the bliss. It made the memory of ecstasy so much more poignant and
desirable. "It's never going to happen again."

There was no reply, but the devil did pause briefly as he did up the
buttons on his neat white shirt.

"I suppose it's always like this. A one-night stand, I suppose."

The devil hesitated while doing up his shoelaces. Considering that it
had taken such a short time to get undressed, he seemed to be drawing
this out.

"I understand. I'll do it myself, no doubt. It's just? you watch them,
eternally. You seduced me by offering what they have. But, well, you
don't have what they have. You are the Devil. No one will ever love
you. You can't love them."

The Devil stopped in the doorway. He leant against the splintered
frame, hands in the pockets of his charcoal suit, hat hiding his face,
cigarette clasped firmly between dark, cool, silky lips. "I
know."

The fallen angel sat, facing the window, hands wrapped around the cold
iron of the bedstead. He could see the crowd, see hundreds of heads,
rippling and undulating like a river, always moving, never the same.
The devil stepped out, into that river, and began the slow process of
wading through that sea of happy humanity. They spread around him, not
even noticing him. He hurt them for the same reasons they hurt each
other. Out of spite, out of rage, out of jealousy. They had what he
could never had, so he was determined to take it away from them.

Amusement crept into red-embered eyes as he sought a lost soul to damn,
under the humanly garish neon, swaying to the pulsing soul of the blues
as it caressed the smoky night.