Azazel

byFeverDreamer©

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is more of an erotic mood piece than an explicit story, so don't expect endless balls-out screwing. All characters are 18 years of age or older.

*****

He stood out from the first day. Of course, there were some obvious reasons, like being the only new student in our last year of high school. He also had a slight, slim build, with a mop of blonde hair on top of his head, which gave the impression that he was always trying to slide away, to slink into some shadowy out-of-sight corner. The clothes he wore also stood out from the selections from Old Navy or Hollister that the other students displayed, like he'd stepped out from a few decades in the past, or a country in another hemisphere. Then there was his name.

Our English teacher asked him about it. I shared two classes with him, a math course and English. "Azazel? That's Jewish, is it?"

He shook his head, slight curls waving, then when the class continued to stay quiet, he spoke up. "No. Or, I mean, I'm not Jewish. The name might be. I think my Mom just liked it."

"Right, then," the teacher shrugged, and moved on. Few things will set a young person farther apart from their peers than a name that few can understand or relate to. A few weeks into the school year he was already slipping into the role of the outcast, with little effort from himself, teachers, or other students to have it be any different. Sitting with my usual compatriots in the cafeteria, I would see him sit alone, finishing his meal quickly, then gather up his books to go to the library. After the first week, I would later learn, he took to eating his lunch entirely in stairwells or on seldom-travelled steps at the side of the school.

It was an unexpected event that put me on the path to friendship with Azazel. I missed one day of school with a slight cold; faking it mostly, to be honest. When I came into math class the next day, I learned that the teacher had announced a new project we would do in pairs. She told me, in a tone that didn't leave any room for questioning, that Azazel was the only student that didn't yet have a partner. A friend or two in my class gave me a look and a shrug as I went over and introduced myself. "Hey, I'm Joe," I said and extended my hand.

We had some free time in class that day to work on our project. Azazel's personality was somewhat unexpected, once we got to talking. Though he was the quiet kid who stood apart, he quickly became friendly, even cracking a few small jokes, and anytime we decided how to split up a piece of work, he would always volunteer to take the more difficult portion. He was quiet and evasive when I delved into more personal subjects, as I'd heard from others.

"So, where did you go to school last year?" I asked him casually.

"Oh," he shrugged, "Just...out west."

"Your whole family moved, then? What does your dad do?"

He looked down at his feet, "Um, actually it's just my Mom and me. Well, and a sister. She doesn't go to this school though."

"That's cool," I quickly blurted out. "Sorry, I've actually got a lot of friends with one parent, it's cool. Uh, what does your Mom do?"

"She...just kind of stays home right now."

"Oh...okay. So, when do you want to work on this project some more?"

The assignment was quite light at first, and didn't require us to do too much. But I would sometimes see Azazel around school and give a friendly nod. One day in English someone had taken his usual seat, so he politely, and somewhat nervously, asked if he could take one seat on my side. After that he would usually take a seat nearby, and I would exchange the occasional remark with him, while still talking with my other friends in the class, but somehow Azazel lacked the will or ability to join the larger group.

The math class project entered a second stage, requiring more work, and we decided to meet up when school ended. I stood there in sneakers, dark blue jeans, and a t-shirt, backpack slung over one shoulder weighing me down, as I waited for Azazel until I finally spotted him, book bag thrown over one shoulder.

I said, "So, uh, we need to decide where to do this. There's a public library a ten minute walk away...also, uh, I guess we could go to my house..." I offered the last option unenthusiastically.

Azazel had a hand in one pocket, I heard him tinkle some keys, "Do you have a car?"

"Um, no."

He smiled, "Well, I do, come on and follow me, Joe." As we walked to the parking lot he turned his head to me, "We could even work on the project at my home, if you want? It should be fairly quiet."

My curiosity got the better of me. It was usually something of a pain to go to the homes of a lot of my friends, places that were clearly ruled by their parents, still imposing lists of rules I couldn't relate to, often looking around corners to monitor their almost-adult children for signs of misbehaviour. Give me the mall or the anonymity of a library any day. But as I looked at Azazel, walking in his casual leather shoes, brown slacks, and dark-green button-up shirt with a collar wider than any present fashion, the ageless leather book bag slung over his shoulder, I wanted to know if there was anything more to this odd figure that had arrived at our school, someone that could have been a poster boy All-American reflected in a slightly distorted funhouse mirror. "Okay," I said. "Just let me know if I'm staying too long or being a pain in the ass or anything."

He led me over to an old Mercedes in the student parking lot, and gave me a smile when I complimented the ride. As we pulled out and he turned in the other direction from which I would usually go, I volunteered a bit about where I lived, an unremarkable subdivision of houses only ten or twenty years old.

He steered us into a neighbourhood that wasn't too far from the school, but which I'd only passed on major thoroughfares. Driving along the twisting roads of the neighbourhood, Dead End and No Exit signs abounded, and it was full of large green trees that towered over the roadway and felt like driving through a park.

"It's pretty nice," he said. "Our new house. We've been in it since the spring, so my Mom's had a chance to get it how she likes, mostly."

I looked out the window as the evening sun bathed me in a comfortable warmth. "Why'd you have to move?" I asked without thinking about it too much.

"Oh," Azazel answered, and I could sense hesitation and some nervousness in his voice. "Just the usual stuff. You know. Wasn't my decision, really."

We spent the rest of the ride in silence. When he pulled into the driveway I couldn't see the house at all, at first. Then we drove up to the garage, and beside it there was a lovely two-storey house, with flower beds and green bushes in front that looked natural and casual without being overgrown. 'Lovely' is not a word I use often, but that's really what it was. A sort of relaxed peace came over me just as I looked at the home, though it was joined by a sort of strangeness, being aware of the strong effect I was feeling.

There was a board over the door, what looked like a family crest, and writing that seemed to be in another language. I couldn't make it out, anyway. Azazel led me into the home, muttering an apology, "Sorry if things are a bit scattered, we weren't expecting any guests..."

The feeling was even stronger indoors. All the rooms I could see on the first floor were bathed in a diffused light, and the subtle smell combined flowers with a hint of something baking in the kitchen.

Azazel led me into the living room. Plush couches covered in blankets of various earthy colours surrounded a large carved wooden coffee table in the centre, sitting on a deep woven rug. Large plush pillows were scattered both on the couches and the floor.

Azazel pointed to the room shyly, "Is this alright? I wanted to get a big TV with like a video game system, but my Mom is kind of resisting. Um, I do have a computer in my room with some neat stuff on it if you want to go later? Don't think this whole house is stuck in the 18th century or something," he gave a little laugh.

"No, man, this is cool," I said, and walked in, throwing my bag down and then sitting myself down on one of the big couches. "It's very cool, very chill."

He nodded and pointed to the hallway, "Ok, get your stuff out, I'm going to see what we have to snack on. Don't worry, I'm a bit hungry too."

I dug into my bag as I heard his steps depart, then heard a second set of steps. A feminine voice said, "Oh honey, I thought I heard your car. You're home."

I looked over my shoulder, and could see two figures embracing against a large window in another room. There was Azazel, and he had his arms around a woman in white, slightly taller than him. The arm closer to me was around her waist, and I wasn't sure, but it seemed that his other hand was at her breast. Just as I turned around their faces parted as if from a kiss.

I couldn't see her face, with all the slightly curled black hair at the sides of her head, falling over her shoulders, until Azazel cleared his throat and said, "Uh, Mom, I brought a friend."

I felt embarrassed for looking, but I couldn't turn away, as she turned her head towards me, and a hand with several glittering rings on it brushed her hair behind one ear. She smiled at me, large wide green eyes and big white teeth between full lips. "Lovely. Joe, is it? Hello, I'm afraid I've been napping, you'll forgive me if I'm still a bit dozy." I noticed what she was wearing as well. I could see some sort of white silk nightie, with a thin white robe on top of it. As she stood before the sunlight in the window, I could see much more, and it was an image I would recall to mind constantly. Azazel's mother, the dark outline of her body in the sunlight, her full round breasts that stood out so firm even without a bra, the places where her thighs flowed up into the curves of her hips.

My eyes met hers again and I felt like she knew exactly what I was looking at, and I felt scared to death that she did know. I think she gave me a little wink, then patted Azazel on his butt, "Why don't you boys get down to your schoolwork, I'll fix you some refreshments."

My face felt on fire as Azazel sat with me and we started in our work. I excused myself to use the bathroom, half-hoping to run into his mother again, though apparently the kitchen was in another direction. I pulled out my cock and it was throbbing and almost fully hard. I entertained the idea of masturbating right there, but fear of losing track of time and thus being discovered, or at least suspected, dissuaded me. I re-adjusted my underwear so it could fit and hide my erection better, splashed some water on my face, and went back.

We worked together on the project a little longer, and then Azazel's mother came in with a tray. She was still wearing just the nightie and thin robe, though it wasn't transparent in this light. She was barefoot too.

"Aw, Mom," Azazel whined when he looked at what was on the tray. He gave me an apologetic glance, "Um, this is just what we usually have, it's tea and some biscuits. I could get you a Coke or something, probably..."

I waved him off, "No man, it's cool."

His mother laughed, "My dear's just embarrassed of my cooking now, is he?" she gently chided him. I was surprised when she sat herself down on an wing chair next to us, settling in like she was going to be there a while. I wasn't used to most of my friends' parents wanting anything to do with us, socially. She crossed her bare legs, one over the other, and the material she was wearing slid back well above her knees. "Those biscuits and cookies are from our own kitchen."

I nodded and reached out to try one, as Azazel poured out cups of tea, first for his mother, then for me, and finally himself. The tea was a little different, but good. The baked goods, as well, tasted different, like the taste of some other continent, but not unpleasantly. It was becoming a theme with the whole house.

"I didn't introduce myself properly," his mother said to me. "Call me Eva, please. None of this 'Mrs. Sinclair' stuff. It's so nice that my boy has met such a good friend here already. I know moving is hard." Without looking, she reached into a wooden box on the table at her side and pulled out a small pipe. "Do you mind if I smoke?" she asked.

I shook my head.

"Good," she lit up her pipe, and gently inhaled and exhaled the thin, grey smoke. "Would you like some?"

I shook my head, "Not right now."

Azazel and I sat quietly on the sofa, sipping our tea, occasionally reaching out for another crunchy morsel, as his mother sat there and smoked. I tried to sneak glances at her chest as it rose and fell, some of her mouth-watering cleavage visible above the line of her nightie.

She finally heavily exhaled out her nose and stood up, with a little smile, "Alright, you boys are still getting to know each other, I think I'm just getting in the way right now. No, no, it's perfectly normal, I'll let you two boys to your business. Don't work too hard. Joe, you're welcome to stay for dinner if you want."

With that she stood up, pipe between her teeth, and slowly walked out. I made sure Azazel was looking elsewhere, then lingeringly watched her ass move side-to-side as she walked out of the room.

We worked on the project a while longer, until we were clear on what we would do over the next week, and I then mentioned I should probably get going. Azazel asked me to stay longer, not out of politeness but out of genuine friendship, but I was too nervous of overstaying my welcome. I offered to take the bus home, or even maybe walk if the evening stayed warm, but he insisted on driving me back.

It was only back in his car, with the fresh air streaming into the open window, and the sights of everyday dull suburban reality flashing by on the roadsides, that I realized what a high I had experienced back at the house. It wasn't a drunkenness or a stupor, but only now was I conscious that I was beginning to come down. I didn't know if it was the food or the smoke, or the house itself. Or, another thought occurred to me, his mother.

We were mostly quiet on the ride back, but I spoke up when we were near my house. "Your mom's pretty cool."

Azazel shrugged, "Yeah thanks, I guess."

"I bet a lot of guys wish their mom was like that," I said, then added a little laugh to hopefully make the remark very ambiguous.

As he stopped by my driveway and let me out his last comment was, "She likes you too. See you at school tomorrow."

*****

We finished the project well, meeting a few other times in the school library, and so we talked a little less after that, especially as I had a part-time job to go to at least 3 times a week. One day after English class he stopped me and asked if I wanted to come over on the weekend.

"Well, I finish work around three, so I can come by afterward?" I said with a shrug.

He nodded and smiled at me, "Excellent. I'll tell my mother. I mean, just so she'll stay out of our hair. Maybe make something for dinner. No big deal, it'll be cool to hang out again."

That Saturday I took the bus from work to a stop on the closest large street near their home. Walking through the streets using a rough map I'd sketched out on the blank side of work memo, I wasn't sure what to expect.

Azazel greeted me at the door, and we did fairly normal things. We played some games on his computer (which was in a room which looked like a study, and I don't believe was his bedroom) and then we watched some TV in a small side-room until his mother announced that dinner was ready.

At the centre of their dining room was a large heavy wood table. Much of it was decorated with antique-looking items, including a candelabra, but around one end three places had been set, and some delicious looking food was already set out. The walls were decorated in a combination of paintings and framed photographs of people I didn't recognize; I felt too unsure to ask if they were relations.

Me and Azazel sat across from each other, and already each grabbed a fresh-baked bun to munch on, when his mother walked into the room.

Eva was dressed much differently than when I had seen her last, the first time, though it was unmistakeably her, her face and hair had barely changed at all, and showed off her natural beauty that was only subtly touched by makeup. She wore dark slacks which hugged close to her hips, and an untucked dark green blouse with buttons undone halfway down. Her hair was loosely bound in the back, so that I could see the full beauty of her face.

"Joe, it's so nice to see you again, you've stayed away too long," she smiled at me as she sat down at the head of the table. "I'm sure Azazel agrees too, we'll have to see if we can't entice you to come over more often. With a good meal."

She brought out the main course a few minutes later, and along with that opened a bottle of dark red wine. I looked over at Azazel, but he made no special remark, and she didn't even ask my opinion as she filled my glass, so I just drank along with mother and son. The food was delicious, the mood relaxed, even though there was little conversation and we mostly stayed quiet.

As we looked at our empty plates, and his mother was beginning to ask what we wanted for dessert, I saw her turn to Azazel with some kind of meaningful look and say, "Oh, my dear, have you noticed the time?"

"Hm?" he blinked at her.

"The time. Didn't you..."

"Oh yes," he straightened up in his chair, then looked over at me with a sort of doey and apologetic look. "I'm sorry, but one of our neighbours a few houses over, an elderly lady, her husband's away for the weekend, and I promised to drop by. Just check that she's taken her medicine and such."

"Oh," I said.

"It should take twenty minutes, maybe less. I'll be right back."

"I could go with you," I volunteered, "Even wait outside."

"No, no. Come on, I'll be right back and then we can eat dessert, okay? You can't just leave."

"Oh. Alright. I guess."

Azazel hopped out of his seat, and leaned over to kiss his mother on the temple. "Good luck, Mom," I heard him say, and he walked out of the room. I heard him shuffle around in the hallway, and the front door closed a moment later.

I turned to look at his mother, who had one elbow on the table, and her chin resting on her hand as she looked at me with a slight smile. Our eyes met and held my gaze until her first words brought me out of the spell.

"Coffee?"

"Hm?" I twitched a little in surprise.

"Would you like some coffee, dear?"

I looked down at my plate, there was a sort of feeling in our glance that made me feel strange. "Oh, alright."

"Well, I'll bring it to you in the living room in a few minutes. Go on and have a seat. No, don't worry, I'll clean up here."

She stood up and I watched her swaying step to the kitchen. I bit the inside of my bottom lip and tried to shake the daze in my mind as I left the table.

As I sat on the couch, Azazel's mother came a few minutes later with two cups of coffee. She put them down on the table and sat down in close to me. I could smell her perfume.

I leaned over and grabbed my cup. The coffee was dark and looked strong. "No cream?"

"This kind is best drunk straight, trust me."

I shrugged and drank a good portion of it. Like I needed to get even more of a buzz.

She pulled a little closer to me, one leg folded under her, as she reached out and touched my knee. "It's so nice when you come over. We're a bit isolated here as you've noticed."

"Oh," I said, glancing at her, then back down.

"Azazel likes you a lot. He's going to be a remarkable young man, I know, but right now he needs a friend at school, someone his own age." She rubbed her hand up and down my thigh a little. "And, do you like me? I like you."

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