The silk is sticking to my thigh and the nargile hose is warm from her lips when it passes into mine. I take a long, slow draw—apple and clove—and exhale it toward the moon like a lazy offering. My nipples still ache in that good way. My legs are sticky. I feel like a very satisfied pastry.
The Succubus lies sprawled beside me, glistening like oil on velvet, still wearing a single earring and half a smile. Her tail flicks once against my calf, light as a whisper.
And then—of course—from somewhere deeper in the woods:
"Oh flame among the silver leaves—"
I groan into the sky.
The Succubus laughs, low and amused. "Your twink again."
"Of course it is."
She props herself up on one elbow, passing the nargile back to me. "I tried to seduce him, you know."
I blink. "You what?"
She licks her teeth, slow. "Just a little test. Bit of glamor. Touch of thigh. Whispered promises. The works."
"And?"
She grins wider. "He clutched his lute like a holy relic and said, I quote—'Back, foul creature! My body and soul belong to the Pure One!'"
I choke. I actually choke on the smoke. Succubus pats my back like she's trying to burp a baby harlot.
"Foul creature?" I cough.
"Mhm. Then he dropped to his knees and prayed. Out loud. To you."
"To me?!"
"Called you 'the flame-hearted saint of Seebulba.'"
I collapse back into the silks and howl. Half laughter, half despair. "He thinks I'm pure! I once gave a handjob during a knife fight."
"And yet," she says, grinning wickedly, "you're the light of his little twink life."
"Gods help him."
"Gods help you, peaches. That's a lot of projection to carry."
I take another drag from the nargile, squinting at the moon.
"I should've just let Gregory have him."
She gasps, mock-horrified. "You'd let that poor boy get boned to death by a goat-dicked demon?"
"I said should've. I didn't."
She hums. "You're protective."
"I'm territorial."
"Same thing, sweet peaches."
The lute keeps playing, slow and earnest and slightly off. I groan and throw an arm over my eyes.
Succubus leans in and nuzzles my neck. "So... should I try again? I could appear to him as you. Naked. Glowing."
"No. I don't need him falling in love with me again. He's barely recovered from last time I spat in his mouth."
Succubus sighs dreamily. "Romance is so strange among mortals."
"Romance is a scam."
"And yet—" she brushes my collarbone with a claw, "you didn't laugh when he called you pure."
I don't answer. Just pass her the pipe. The smoke curls upward. The moon stares down, unblinking.
The lute plays on. Gods help us all.