Chapter 1

Kiorl stood outside the Prince's chamber door and sighed. He hated having to run interference between the Prince and his father. As much as he loved Nassau, he could be an uppity little shit when the mood struck him, and his tempers were equal only to his dark father's mood and tantrums. When the Lords of Hell got angry, things didn't just get smashed. People died and the world above was torn in chaos. Kiorl alone, most senior and most favoured of all the advisors of the court, knew that most of the tragedies and natural disasters of the human world were caused by the rage of Nassau and his father.

The tall panther knocked on the door again, claws scratching at the ornate carved wood.

"Nassau? Sire? Please come out. You have guests waiting on you."

There was the sound of something heavy and expensive smashing into the door next to Kiorl's head.

"GET OUT!"

Kiorl swore under his breath.

"Nas, I'm not even in there. Come on, open the door."

"NO!"

Kiorl clicked his claws against the smooth stone floor, retracting and stretching the muscles in his feet. His ears swivelled to pick up the unmistakable sound of the Prince sobbing.

"He always sends you," no longer shouting, the Prince's voice was soft and broken, "He always sends you to clean up after a fight. Like he would ever apologise."

"I came because I care about you." Kiorl took another deep breath, running one hand through his messy blue streaked Mohawk, "Let me in."

"NO! You're supposed to be my friend, my council. Not father's plaything."

Kiorl's long claws tore gouges in the stone floor.

"Nassau Del Rae! As your oldest friend I demand that you open this door!"

There was a long cold silence, and then the richly carved and detailed bedroom door of The Prince of Hell, Commander of the Seven Armies and Last Son of Ifrit, the Lord Nassau Del Rae opened with a squeak.

"There now," Kiorl pushed his way into the room, careful to step around the shards of smashed white marble, the pillar of the bed which Nassau had destroyed in his fit of rage, "Isn't this better?"

"No." Nassau sulked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

The Prince of Hell looked nothing like any human would expect him to look. Any mortal upon seeing him would have, quite wrongly, cast him for an angel. He had a beautiful face, soft almost elfin features and eyes like ash and flint. His long hair, black as night and usually soft and smooth as fresh silk was an array of tangles. He was half dressed in a simple pleated kilt of blue wool which he wore without a belt, and from his shoulders rose magnificent wings of red-gold feathers. Most people would call him an angel. And then they would die.

Nassau did not look at Kiorl, the only demon he ever cried in front of, as the big cat crossed the room and folded himself into the space between his wings. Kiorl pushed strong fingers into the muscles of his friends back, easing away the tension in the strong flight muscles, avoiding the area where the feathers began to sprout from his milky skin.

Kiorl hadn't been present for the latest run in between Nassau and his father. He had been relaxing, sunk in the soft golden stupor that only really good sex could bring. Nassau's father, wearing his least outlandishly sized form, and risen from the bed to see his son and Kiorl had risen through layers of dreamy afterglow to hear the shouting and then the sounds of Nassau leaving in a rage. Wise demons did not get in Nassau's way when he was in one of his moods.

"Do you wanna tell me about it?"

"There isn't anything new," Nassau sighed, his voice heavy, "We just go round in circles. He wants me to start taking over more duties up top. I don't want to go back up there. I want my friend back and he wants you with him at all times." A pause, "Oww, fuck."

"Sorry." Kiorl took his hands from the Princes back. His claws had whipped out and now Nassau bled from four thin but deep punctures. The panther hated to feel conflicted. He was Nassau's oldest friend, they had been cast from smokeless flame at about the same time, were roughly the same age. Kiorl loved the Prince as only a true friend could. But he had also been the King's near permanent lover for almost as long. It served the Palace Court well to have a confidant in the King's bed and as the Prince's friend, but at times when they fought Kiorl hated to have the double standard hanging over him.

"You are going to have to go back up there eventually."

"I can't. Everything reminds me of him."

Kiorl sighed, this too was old ground for them.

"Nas, it's been twenty years."

The Prince stood with a sigh and walked across the room to a large wooden cupboard like a wardrobe. The doors were oak lattice set with silver and bronze, patterns which made up wings. Nassau opened them to reveal a variety of objects, chief among them a large double headed silver axe inscribed with runes. There was a marble bust which took up most of the cupboard. The stone man was handsome, although not classically so, with curly hair and a strong square jaw. The carving was beautifully done, the detail fine and perfectly lifelike.

Nassau put out a hand and stroked the face of the man he had loved.

"Nassau..." Kiorl put a hand on the Prince's shoulder, holding him back, "Don't. You make it worse for yourself."

Nassau was crying, diamond bright tears spilling over his cheeks.

"Anything. Any wish. Any but my own." He sobbed, the words almost incoherent, "and by then it was too late."

"I know. But he loved you, that doesn't change." Kiorl knew that against the deep sorrow of the Prince his words meant very little, "Come on my Lord, you have guests waiting." By degrees he got Nassau to his feet and closed the cupboard. It took a while to get the Prince ready to receive visitors but by the time his hair was soft and shining and his skin of smooth and pale and unmarked by tears and Kiorl's hands were tired from fussing and brushing, Nassau had recovered himself enough to stalk majestically through his palace. Kiorl left him to it, and went to see to the other member of the household to whom he owed diligence.

Nassau's father, the Lord Sathriel, ruler of Hell was reclining on his throne. Unlike his son, who went for the understated sort of look, the Diablo himself like gold and baroque. The throne was huge, all swirls and gargoyles, and Sathriel inhabited it like a man relaxing in a pavement café. He wore his everyday form, classical and imposing. A vast expanse of red skin, cloven hooves and huge black horns, one set that curved upwards and another which began to spiral either side of his skull. He licked his lips with a pointed tongue and fixed Kiorl with black eyes.

"M'Lord," Kiorl knelt before the throne, dipped his head and made a strange genuflecting gesture, "At your service."

"And how is my son?" Sathriel asked as Kiorl stood, brushed down his tunic and came towards the throne.

"He is visiting in his Throne room, there is a new human for his consideration."

"Have there been many lately?" Sathriel reached out a hand to Kiorl and the panther aligned himself so that he was wrapped in the big demon's arm. The King didn't keep track of recruitments, it had always been Nassau's forte.

"About six this last decade. Sitka and Zai both brought in mates this past few years, and one of the Asina brothers recruited, but I can't remember which one."

"Well they do look stupidly similar. I had to leave so early today, we never got a chance to finish up."

Kiorl raised an eyebrow at the King who was his bed mate. The panther reached out a hand to fondle the weight of Sathriel through his lion cloth. Kiorl dropped to his knees before the throne, between the devil's red skinned legs, running his short claws up the big firm muscles. He twitched the cloth away and took the thick hardened length of the King into his hands. Familiarity did not make light of Kiorl's appreciation of his lover as he took Sathriel's huge cock into his mouth. Sathriel let out a low moan, weaving thick fingers into Kiorl's messy Mohawk and Kiorl opened his throat around his Lord.

The panther was lucky among demons. Not just for his age and physical strength, or for his power, that of seduction. Kiorl could have anyone and anything we wanted. Many wished for the Lord's favour, some actively sought it, but he always returned for Kiorl, always asked for him between other exploits. Kiorl enjoyed the pleasures that the King gave him and purred around the heat that filled his mouth.

"Up." Sathriel commanded, one big hand locked under Kiorl's chin. Kiorl stood and stripped away his tunic and turned away from Sathriel. The red skinned demon smiled in appreciation of Kiorl's fine smooth shape. His black fur shone over the sleekness of his slender muscles. His long tail swished back and forth, exposing his fine muscular buttocks.

Kiorl raised himself into the King's lap, his back to the broad red chest, planting his paws on the throne either side of Sathriel's thighs. The devil's hands curved around him strong thick fingers squeezing his thighs and butt. Kiorl felt the thick head of his Master's cock against his entrance and exhaled slowly as he had learnt to do. Taking the King's royal hardness was no small feat and Kiorl had gotten good at it over the years. He spread his cheeks and sighed as he sank down upon the thick red cock. Sathriel moaned low in his throat, and placed his big hands on the armrests of his throne, Kiorl's prehensile tail wound about one wrist.

Sathriel's cock inside him was hotter than lava, thicker than Kiorl's wrist and ridged with throbbing veins. Kiorl placed his hands on the devil's knees and began to thrust upon the thick spear inside him. His narrow body shuddered as he raised himself up and down, impaling himself on his lover's cock. Sathriel watched lazily as the little panther did the work, thrusting and clenching around him. Kiorl was good at what he did, the best in fact, but the Diablo was fond of his lover. Kiorl began to speed up as he felt his own orgasm building. Sathriel's cock filled him as no other ever did and his pumped up and down, dragging his nerve ending through fire, pleasure building in his own rock hard barbed cock.