The Demon Lord and his Hero (BL)

"I can't guarantee it won't sound fake." Syryn knew what it sounded like. Imitating one wasn't something he'd ever attempted.

"That's fine," Salem replied.

With the pretty boy watching him, Syryn couldn't do it. His cheeks turned red from just the imagination of himself making lewd sounds while Salem watched. He desperately reached into himself but the sound was caught in his throat where it died a silent death.

"Actually, I don't think I can," Syryn informed the waiting blonde. They were wasting time and had to leave but Salem's gaze was calculating and pinned to him with bad intentions.

"We'll have to settle for a real one then," the blonde answered. Since their public kiss more than a year ago, Salem had applied his scholastic mind to reading and absorbing several racy manuscripts that taught its readers the art of giving and receiving pleasure. Erotic intelligence aside, the alchemist was eager to see the fruit of his studies.

Syryn had attracted him enough that he wanted to try it out on the boy. He hoped that the little beauty would be a willing subject to his ministrations. If he objected to it though, Salem wouldn't push his luck.

"Right here?" Syryn sounded unsure as he surreptitiously eyed the corpse. The demon child had spent several years growing in the company of violence and debauchery and had long become desensitized to dead bodies or any lack of respect to such. It wasn't a question of how wrong this was, no, that had sailed the moment Syryn had decided to help Salem.

"The objective is to have them think he was with a woman." Salem caged Syryn between his arms and the wall. The man he had just killed deserved no consideration, at least not from Salem.

"What if his ghost is hovering next to us?" Syryn asked. He was buying time to decide if he would later regret this final act of disrespect to the dead.

"We don't have to do this if it makes you uncomfortable," Salem replied with understanding for Syryn's hesitance. It wasn't as if it mattered too much if Salem was caught - he was a dying man anyways.

His first kill had been easy. The deceased was a rotten excuse of a human and had been willing to prey upon Salem's life so this was just payback. As for the other kills to follow? The older alchemist struggled to come to terms with what he would have to do.

Salem released Syryn from having to make a decision. "Let's go home," he told the younger boy, tired from the stress that he had endured for hours.

The younger alchemist remained unmoving from his position against the wall. Beneath the taller boy's calm exterior, a tension was buzzing under his skin and Syryn could sense it. "Salem, when we get home, you'll have to come clean." It was conveyed quietly but couldn't be mistaken for a request.

Nodding, the blonde cast an illusion upon himself. The younger boy did the same and followed the other past a shortcut that took them across a fishing hub.

Later, the two alchemists tiptoed into the house just an hour short of dawn's arrival. They locked themselves in the alchemy chamber and pulled all the curtains close for as much privacy as could be afforded for Salem's confession.

"So, first kill?" Syryn asked.

"How did you know?"

"I didn't. It was a random question to break the ice."

Salem wasn't sure where to start. Tonight's cold-blooded murder was premeditated, planned after a year-long internal struggle. The ease with which he had accomplished the act disgusted even himself but there was no way to sugar coat it - he was now a criminal.

"Salem?" Syryn questioned when the blonde had retreated to his thoughts. Exhaling to free the ball of tension that was curled inside him, Salem undid the illusion that was always on, 24/7, ever since the mark had awakened on his skin.

Before Syryn's surprised eyes, a malignant design appeared, spreading out like ink across the blonde's throat in a pattern that was familiar to the younger boy. Syryn could feel the maliciousness of it radiating, cutting open his senses like an animal gutted inside out and put to dry in the scorching sun.

"You're fucking kidding me," he spat angrily. "Who put that on you?!"

Syryn was suddenly shaking from the fury that hit him like lightning cleaving his soul. The mark was a dark spell that could not be undone by either of the two; not even Syryn with his vast knowledge of magic could remove this.

"You know what this is?" Salem ruefully smiled. The antiquated piece of work on his throat could rarely be found anymore in the vast repository of knowledge that existed in their time.

"Yes, I do. It's a nasty curse that should have died along with its creator." Syryn replied. He had seen the mark in one of Traxdart's old tomes - a perfect circle within which a snake spiralled inwards towards the centre where a butterfly with three wings was trapped. The number of wings indicated the years that Salem had left. It looked beautiful and it was everything but.

Sucking in a breath of anger that was a cold clot in his system, Syryn wished he didn't know that Salem was dying. There was a way yet, a bloody path for his friend.

"Tell me everything."

Salem hadn't hoped for emancipation from his cursed life but the fact that Syryn knew about it brought a sense of relief to him.

"What's there to explain? I'm the fourth generation and the last living member of my great grandfather's descendants. This curse was placed on us by the head of the Fotairn family when their luck began to dwindle. They've gotten fat and wealthy by parasiting off the life spans of my family members."

Salem's relatives had gone from seeking help from the priests to mages, and then finally to a few well-known soothsayers. A majority of their children were all dying before reaching adulthood and they couldn't understand why. A few though escaped the curse and kept their blood from dying out. Salem's father had even taken a bride from amongst one of the elves, hoping that the mixing of races would provide a path of escape from the tragedy that stuck to their family. It was to no avail. Everyone was dead now save for Salem.

"As far as I know, this mark shouldn't be visible." Syryn reached out to trace the pattern of it with a curious hand. Another reason that the curse was so vile - It sat imperceptible on its victim, eating away at their life essence and converting it into luck for the caster.

"I was fortunate enough to be welcomed by my mother's side of the family even though she herself was despised for breeding with a human. I suppose I owe it to inheriting my grandmother's looks," Salem's mouth lifted in a cynical smile. "Grandfather is a scholar and has an extensive library. It was there that I found a tome on curses hidden in plain sight, undercover as a book about alchemy."

"Was it written in the script of neruha?" Syryn asked.

"Yes." So they'd read the same book.

"It was just a matter of following the instructions to reveal the curse mark. I knew what it was but not who did it so I came back here where my father's family had set their roots. A historical investigation of the Fotairns revealed the exact year that their fortunes began to turn. Would you believe it was the year that my paternal family lost their first son to a freak accident?"

That was how it went - unnatural deaths that could not be reconciled with. "How did it happen?"

"A branch from the tree he was resting under seemingly broke and fell on his head, killing him instantly. 28 years old when it happened."

"You turned 17 this year," Syryn replied bitterly. "19 years old is too early for a flame so bright as yours to be extinguished. I'm glad you killed that man."

His death had added a year to Salem's lifespan. That was the most tragic aspect of the curse. If the victim wanted to live, he had to become a killer. Wiping out every living member of the family that came from the original caster of the curse liberated the victim from his premature death. Either way, it was a sorrowful fate for Salem.

"You're right, I'm glad I killed him. The Fotairn family is quite aware of the ritual that is keeping them protected and rich. They'd have to because the curse demands a sacrifice from their family every year. Having fewer Fotairn heirs provides a measure of relief to their victims because it means there's less magic powering the bond. That thrice-cursed son of a whore had 9 children with his first wife and 3 more with his mistress."

Syryn was taken aback at hearing the alchemist swear.

"Then it means you'll just have to kill them all." It was quietly and firmly spoken. The Fotairns were still perpetuating the curse and living off the deaths of Salem's family. It was only fitting that they all died for it.

Salem clasped Syryn's hands and fixed him with a look that was equal parts gratitude and adoration. He had lived with the burden, alone and miserable, hoping to find a friend who could understand his plight without judgement. To have a brilliant Syryn not only sharing in his pain but sympathising with him brought a deliverance that temporarily calmed the storm he was trapped in.

He leaned in slowly, giving Syryn time to reject him but the younger boy parted his lips and lowered his gaze to Salem's mouth. It was an invitation that the older boy took hungrily. Salem had never kissed anyone else. It was Syryn that stole his first and he was willing to give more.

The younger boy parted the seam of Salem's lips with a slippery tongue that wanted to taste the half-elf. The blonde alchemist was clearly inexperienced but he more than made up for it with an eagerness that had him sucking on the intruding tongue. Stirred by it, Syryn bit Salem's lips and turned the kiss into something primal and depraved. It was a hell of a way for the blonde to find out that pain too could be arousing.

Drunk on the honeyed mouth that taught him more than his books could ever, Salem dove for the skin on Syryn's neck. His wet mouth latched onto the satiny pale skin and licked a wet trail down the pulse of the younger teen's throat. Quick hands undid the buttons to Syryn's tunic while his mouth laved kisses all over beautiful collarbones.

Syryn's breaths were heavy in the air, gasping when Salem's hot mouth found one of his rosy nipples. A moan was ripped unbidden from Syryn's mouth when Salem flicked at it with his warm flattened tongue. The younger male pressed his lips together, embarrassed at the sound that he made. The blood in his body had rushed down to the organ that had been growing since their kiss began.

And when the blonde devoted his attention to Syryn's other nipple that had pebbled from the cold temperature, it was a shock of warmth and pleasure that sent a shiver down Syryn's spine. His hands found purchase on the blonde's shoulders and Syryn whimpered needily.

"Stop, Salem. I can't - can't bear the humiliation of coming from just this."

In response, the blonde freed the rosy wet nipple and leaned back into his chair. He then tugged Syryn forward right onto his lap. Indigo eyes widened at the intimate way he had been positioned on Salem's strong thighs.

"No one has to know, not even Rowan," the blonde murmured, low and sultry, eyes bright with knowledge of the anti mage's desire for the boy on his lap. As far as Salem was concerned, Syryn didn't belong to Rowan. The sentiment was reflected in Syryn's eyes.

"You say that as if I'm promised to him," Syryn grit out. He would jump off a cliff before feeling guilty about this. Rowan was pledged to a lucky priestess, and the entirety of Elysium knew that. Channelling the rush of annoyance he felt at hearing Rowan's name, Syryn ground his hips in a rolling motion that brought a groan to Salem's beautiful lips. Their erections were pressed flush between the rustling cloth of pants.

"So good," Salem gasped, "again, with a little more pressure."

Blonde hair undone and eyes glazed over from pleasure, the half-elf was a sight for sore eyes. His hands flew to Syryn's waist and encouraged the boy to move even as lips crashed in a messy kiss.

Breaths mingling in hot pants, Syryn lost himself to a bright hot fulfilment that demanded immediate release. He was grateful that Salem wasn't pushing for more even though it was what his body wanted. The blonde cupped Syryn's butt in a strong grip and thrust upwards, edging the boy with a promise for what he could have.

"Nnghh- Salem!" Syryn cried out and shamefully came in his pants. It had been a smooth ride up until Salem pushed him over the edge with that lethal move. He pressed a forehead to the blonde's shoulder and hid his face from his partner in crime. So embarrassing! He thought, sated from what little had been given to him.

Pressing a light kiss to Syryn's temple, Salem exhaled and wrapped his arms around the limp Syryn who was draped over him like dead weight.

"Alka will awaken soon," he reminded the dead weight.

"Let him."

"If Artemus finds out, I might get thrown out of the house." There was humour in Salem's complaint.

"How? How does everyone know?" Syryn raised his head, meeting Salem's amber flecked eyes.

"Gossip travels fast. A gorgeous thing like you is hard to hide away," Salem replied while a knuckle gently traced the contours of Syryn's cheek.

"The truth Salem," Syryn nipped at the moist lip that beckoned to him.

The blonde then slipped his fingers through the silky hair on Syryn's nape and tugged the boy's head in for a deep kiss that was slow and sensuous. When they broke apart, Salem leaned back and let his eyes rove over Syryn's chest.

"It's how they look at you. That's how I found out." Had he given himself away too?

"Lies."

"It's almost time for breakfast, Syryn."

With a sigh, the younger boy lifted a leg off the captivating blonde. "Fine. I need a bath." His trousers were sticky and disgusting.

"I can help with your next kill... if you want it." Syryn lingered, waiting for Salem to say something but the blonde's only response was a small smile. They had two years for Syryn to change his mind so Salem refused to encumber the boy with a burden that wasn't his to bear. If Syryn still felt the same way when it was time to reap another life, he would gladly take any help the dark-haired beauty would give.

"I'll see you at breakfast then." Syryn turned and walked out of the alchemy chamber, leaving Salem wrung out but feeling lighter than he ever had.

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