Sparks in the Darkness Pt. 03

Peter paused, and eyed the heavy roll of money, then evaluated Octagon's face, carefully neutral, eyes dangerously impassive. After a pause, and a cough, he said, "I'm listening."

Octagon smiled, but it was a cruel, practiced smile that Oscar hadn't used in years. It was a smile with more in common with a thunderstorm than a summer day. Then, he nodded.

"Great, yeah. Great choices, Peter." Octagon's smile persisted, but the attitude of it effortlessly changed to express approval. "I'm trying to get in touch with a regular buyer of yours. You know her. She's probably in her sixties, but looks like forty. Curvy, red hair. Doesn't look like she belongs." He paused, as Peter stared at him a moment. "... the succubus, Peter. The fucking demon. You know her?"

Peter's jaw set, and his face hardened, but he nodded. "Yeah," he said quietly, voice tinged with anger. "Yeah, I know her."

Good. Progress, Oscar thought. "You're going to set up a meeting with her."

Peter hesitated a moment. Oscar felt Peter evaluate him again. No surprise, Oscar thought. Big shift, complicated loyalties involved, here. "Hey hey." he snapped his fingers, his smile melting. "Money, Peter. Eyes on the prize." Peter smirked slightly, and then nodded.

Peter evaluated Octagon's face. "So, what - I set up this meeting, you kill her, and suddenly I'm out of a job?" He shook his head. "That doesn't seem like a great deal to me. How about if ..."

Octagon shook his head again, giving a purposefully cruel chuckle. "No, see - you've misunderstood, Peter. That's partly my fault. But you're not in a strong negotiating position, Peter. Hell, you're not even in a weak negotiating position."

As Peter studied his face, Octagon continued. "See, you've been found. You've been selling dangerous tools, at discount prices, to inexperienced, dangerous people." Oscar let himself smirk, a threatening curl of his lips. "The problem isn't actually me, Peter. It's that I know exactly the right person to put you out of work, permanently. Probably with scorch marks."

Peter's eyes widened in surprise, recognition - and maybe a tinge of excitement. "Fantisma," he murmured. "You work for ..."

"So while you're still on, 'this guy's only paying me 5k, I'm still a going concern, here'," Octagon interrupted, motioning around the van. "But that's not really the deal, is it? I'm offering you 5k because I don't like the smell of burning flesh, Peter. You and me? We're standing between titans, Peter. I'm doing you the favour of moving you out of the way - and it's better for me, easier, if I do it with five thousand dollars. But either way - you're moving."

Peter studied Octagon's face. "You want me to set up a meeting between Fantisma and ... the ..." Peter heistated, fumbling for the words.

"All I want you to do is make a phone call. You set up a perfectly normal buy from one of your customers. Same as always. There's an alley in Steel Canyon, off Whyte, behind the coffee place in that financial building." Peter nodded cautiously. "You know the place! Great." Octagon smiled, devoid of warmth and filled instead with menace. "Get her to meet you there. Call me -" he produced a piece of paper with his number on it, and set it on the metal shelving. "- give me at least an hour's lead time, and we'll be there."

He locked eyes with Peter again, but before he could bring his will to bear, Peter looked away. Just as good, for now. "But don't try to fuck me, Peter. I will drop you, Peter." Looking away, Peter nodded.

Octagon patted the door, as he stepped back down onto street-level. "Great. Good talk, Peter. I'll be hearing from you. I know I will."

He pushed the doors closed, as he walked away. Oscar suppressed a shudder. He didn't like doing that - embracing the lessons learned from his years as Octagon. It was for a greater good, he reminded himself. It was for a purpose. He fought the bile back down. He closed his eyes, and breathed.

He also listened for the van doors - but heard nothing. Good.

As he walked away from the park, the Rolls-Royce pulled up alongside him, arrogantly interrupting the flow of traffic. Oscar pulled open the rear door, and climbed in silently. He took a moment to stare out the window - the Wizard van hadn't moved from its spot beside the park.

"Anywhere else?" Sam asked.

Oscar exhaled, and shook his head - then reconsidered. Cold iron was the only weapon that could kill a demon - but there were other things that might hurt them. Maybe enough for a distraction at a key moment.

"... yeah," Oscar said. "Do you know a really good culinary supplier in town?"

Sam looked at him in the rearview mirror. The men's eyes men, and Sam smiled. "Sounds good," he said, and pulled the Rolls-Royce back into traffic.

Chapter Nine

Preparations made. Photos exchanged.

Oscar was in the middle of chopping vegetables when his phone rang around a quarter after six. He answered it on the first ring.

"Hello, lover!" Zoey's voice rang over the phone. "I'm pulling into my place, but I wanted to touch base. Find anything out today?"

Oscar smiled to himself, taking a moment to revel in his new nickname. "Uh, some. Got a hold of a traveling magic salesman. Mostly overpriced junk, but he recognized her description. I gave him, uhm," he hesitated, considering how to phrase the next bit. "I gave him a persuasive reason to give us a call the next time she ordered. Cost you a bit, though."

"Ohh, a trap, nice," she answered, as the phone crackled a bit. "I'm doing a working dinner. Teleconference with our West Coast offices, plus I've got a phone call scheduled with Kyoto at 9 pm, that's scheduled for twenty-five minutes, but will probably run an hour. And I've got to read my Monthlies from the Euro offices." She made a deliberate gagging noise, and Oscar laughed.

"If you're free tomorrow night, we could, uhm," she paused, and Oscar felt his breath catch. "Catch up," she finished. "I'd love to feel you again," Oscar felt his cheeks flush.

"That'd be, uh, great," he answered. "I mean. I'm pretty busy," he said, his tone humorous. "Tonight I'm going to be doing, uh ... some meal prep," he said, pausing and looking around his kitchen. "But I think I can make time tomorrow night."

"That'd be delightful," she replied. "Alright, kisses, gotta go - text me what time Sam should pick you up tomorrow," she said.

Oscar hung up, and looked at the simmering pot cooking on his stovetop, inhaling the pungent scent.

Later, his phone buzzed again. It took him a moment before he could step away from his crucible to check it.

"I'm bored. Permission to send " and then an emoji of a pepper, and another of a camera.

Oscar shook his head, chuckling to himself. He glanced over to the crucible. What melted once would melt again.

"Don't you have super important financial documents to review? Also, yes" he typed, then hit send.

The response came immediately. "Guys in my DMs like" and a photo, from Zoey's hip level, up at her face, reclining on the couch in a sand-coloured baby doll top ... and a half peeled banana thrust into frame. She eyed the camera with a smirk that was obviously barely containing laughter.

Oscar laughed, and started to type, just as another photo - the presumably same banana, lengthwise on Zoey's coffee table, next to her TV remote. She texted, "U like?"

Oscar laughed out loud, as a third photo came in - her smiling face, eyes shining, lips parted, teeth together - holding up a banana that had been aggressively bitten into, lengthwise.

"Very nice ... ouch! Haha" Oscar replied.

The next pic was angled down, from over the arm of the couch. In the photo, Zoey looked up at the camera; her shoulders were bare, lips lightly pouting, looking slightly to the side of the camera's center, eyes looking haunted. From this angle, her head covered her torso - but not the bottom of her rear, or her legs, that curled up to almost touch her butt; enough to make it obvious she was wearing no pants.

Oscar studied her pouting face, and shining pale blue eyes. He was a bit out of his depth. What's the right response? Zoey had literally millions of followers on Instagram that heaped words like gorgeous, sexy, stunning, on photos of her in business attire. He set a finger on the picture, and zoomed in.

He responded, "Wow" with a little smiley face, whose eyes were hearts.

He hesitated, then added, "I love your eyes there. It looks like you."

There was a lengthy pause in the photos. Oscar wondered if he'd said something wrong, and just as he was about to flurry send comments about how sexy the photo was, he received another.

It was a photo in her bathroom mirror. The camera was suspended to her left - telekinesis made this all easier, Oscar supposed. She was in the same sandy babydoll, leaning on the edge of the counter - pulling herself up a little, her bare hips showing. She stared into the mirror, and thus, into the camera. In this photo Zoey was smaller, vulnerable; her eyes shone down the camera barrel, looking directly at Oscar. Her experience with modeling and posing showed - yet something about her face, the composition, spoke of vulnerability. Oscar stared at the photo for a long moment.

Then a second arrived - same spot, same pose, but she was deliberately cross-eyed, with her tongue out.

He laughed.

"Oh, I loved both of those," he texted. A third photo, of Zoey in front of her mirror, mid-laugh, head back, eyes closed, mouth open came in. "Behind the scenes," she texted.

"That might be my favorite," he answered.

The next photo was a tight shot, a set of white teeth pulling at her lower lip - the blackcurrant lipstick made it clear it was Fantisma's lips, not Zoey's, and it was posed to match her tattoo. The memory, the scent, the heat of feeling Fantisma against his face rushed back to Oscar, and he felt himself stir, beneath his pants.

Before he could respond, another photo came in - a tight shot of Fantisma's cock. Her strap-on, lying on her couch, beside a banana peel. She had her black and white fingernails resting against the purple of the dildo.

"Thinking of you" she wrote.

Oscar felt his cheeks flush. He licked his suddenly-dry lips, and started to text back, but wasn't sure what to say. The few years difference, and his inexperience, suddenly felt crushing.

"I really enjoyed being your Prince" he typed. Then he backspaced ... then typed it again, and sent it.

There was a slightly longer pause, and then a GIF arrived. In it, repeatedly, endlessly, Fantisma's blackcurrant lips slipped down the purple shaft, nearly to the base, then it slid back, glistening with her saliva, again and again. Oscar bit his lip, and felt himself stiffen.

Fantisma texted a emoji of a purple heart. And then, "Let me see". And then, "(if you're comfortable)".

Oscar looked around the room, trying to figure out where to position himself. He texted back, "I've never sent one before."

"Yum" she answered.

He slipped out of his pants, and positioned himself on the couch - leaning back. He held the camera about a foot back, and took the photo. It looked, uh, fine, to him, but not the most impressive. It wasn't as nice as Zoey's, certainly.

He sent it through.

"Oh, Prince, your cock is so nice" she answered. A second text asked, "Is it hard for me?" He groaned upon reading it.

"Yes" he answered. He wrapped his hand around himself, and stroked gently.

Another photo arrived - Fantisma's thigh, bare, held up; just, the curve of her thigh, and Oscar's breath caught.

"Are you rubbing yourself thinking of me?" her next text read.

"Yes" he replied, quickly. Another GIF came in, of her hand, wrapped around the dildo, gently stroking down, then up; at the top, she ran her thumb over the tip. Oscar gasped.

"Good" she texted. "Do you remember how hard I made my Prince cum? You got it all over my chest."

A photo came though of Fantisma, pulling up her black top; the curve of her left breast showed, and against the milk-white of the breast, the pale pink of her areola - her nipple still hidden.

"Your cum was so warm," she typed.

"Oh Mistress" Oscar fumbled as he tried to type with one hand, scrolling back through the photos.

A GIF came though. Zoey's pale blue eyes; they glanced down, as if looking out of frame, then back up, to 'meet' Oscar's gaze again - and then a wink, and the corners of her eyes twisted, as off-frame, she smiled. Oscar watched it four times.

"Show me. Please." she messaged, and then a photo; her thumb and forefinger, held slightly apart, a strand of her cream connecting the two.

Oscar whimpered, and struggled to arrange the camera. The shot was sloppy; the head of his cock was swollen, now, his balls tightening.

The response was immediate. "I can't wait to make you cum again, my Prince."

Oscar vigorously rubbed to the thought, playing the GIF of Zoey's eyes, and cried out as he came; the phone buzzed with another message.

"Let me see it."

He panted, and examined his hand, struggling to maneuver her phone, feeling himself blush with embarrassment. He awkwardly took the photo of his coated fingers, and sent it though.

"Oh, my Prince, that's so nice. I love that you came for me." It was followed by an emoji of a pair of lips, a purple heart, and a red heart.

"This has been a really great distraction (and relief lol)" she texted, as Oscar wiped his hand clean.

"Honestly same" he responded, his breathing slowing.

"See u tomorrow" she texted, with the emoji of a winking eye, an eggplant, and water drops.

He wasn't so naive that he didn't understand what that meant.