Archive of Our Own

Something had gone wrong.

Danny was certain he’d followed all the proper steps for the ritual: a pentagram drawn on the hardwood floor; a lit candle placed at each point of the sigil; a bowl of acacia, oil of Abramelin, and Danny’s own blood set aflame; the incantation spoken in flawless Enochian…

Except what he’d summoned was not the curvy, leggy blonde he’d envisioned manifesting in the summoning sigil. Instead, it was a man: long face, square jaw, short (though his height lay somewhat in question, since he was sitting down), with no curves to speak of, just a compactly muscular build on a slight frame. Even the hair was wrong: long and raspberry red.

But the eyes, dark and ringed with kohl… Well, those were a little intoxicating. Though he didn’t exactly look pleased to be here.

“Oh no… It’s always the weirdos,” he said, surveying the runes and magical paraphernalia decorating Danny’s bedroom. “I guess that makes sense. Who else spends the time learning this crap?”

“Took a wrong turn at Albuquerque?” Danny joked. There was no other explanation for how this being had ended up in his bedroom.

“No.” The figure looked at Danny, tilting his head and smiling in a way which did something to Danny that he didn’t much like. “You brought me here.” He gestured to the sigil and the still-burning bowl of herbs.

Danny barked a manic little laugh. “Nope. Absolutely not. Maybe it looks that way, but I had something else in mind.”

The strange man examined the runes and symbols drawn inside the sigil. “Mmm, no. This spell works off your intentions and desires. So…” He spread his hands. “This is what you wanted.”

Sure, like Danny intentionally summoned an androgynous hottie he could easily bend and manhandle to his sexual will. Lies and slander!

“But you’re a guy.”

“My dude, you like dudes.”

Danny scoffed, apoplectic. That was impossible! He’d only dated and lusted after women.

Except that wasn’t really true, was it? The reason he’d gone through with this ridiculous ritual in the first place pointed to a somewhat flexible sexuality. After all, why had the wedding invitation gotten him so out of sorts? It certainly wasn’t the bride’s jealousy he was trying to inflame by bringing a smoking-hot date as his plus-one.

“It’s okay,” the man he’d summoned said. “You’re not the first person to find out this way.”

“This happens a lot?”

“I’m an incubus. You wouldn’t believe how many people do these sex demon spells assuming they don’t have any repressed desires.”

“I’m not repressed,” Danny insisted, moving from the floor to the bed for a little more leverage against this strange demon man calling his sexuality into question. “But that’s not the point. I can’t bring a guy as my date to a wedding —”

The incubus threw his head back and laughed a deep, throaty sound that absolutely didn’t arouse Danny in any way. “That’s why you summoned me? Oh, wow. That’s a new one.”

Great, so he’s kind of a dick.

“Fine, I’ll send you back,” Danny grumbled, slapping his hands on his thighs as he stood up to his full height.

“Hold your horses, big guy,” the demon said with a sly smile. “Did I say I wasn’t interested? It might be fun.”

“For you, maybe. I have no intention of making a spectacle of myself at a friend’s wedding. Or anywhere really, but especially not —” Danny stopped, shook his head. “It wouldn’t be right. It’s bad form to upstage the bride and groom.”

“Except that’s what you were planning on doing anyway, just with some buxom blonde, am I right? Just who are you trying to impress anyway?”

Danny scowled and decided they weren’t going down that particular avenue yet. Or ever. He changed tack and asked, “What’s your name, O unholy one?”

“Smooth subject change. But whatever, I’ll bite. Maynard James Keenan.”

“First, middle, and last? Did you assassinate a US president, or are you a serial killer?”

Maynard laughed again, a sound Danny was beginning to like more and more. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I suppose you’re not gonna tell me. I’m Danny, by the way.”

Maynard glanced around the room, then down at the sigil. “Any chance you might let me outta here, Dan? I’m a little claustrophobic.”

Danny considered it for a while, then begrudgingly broke the sigil by rubbing at the chalk line with his foot. Maynard stood (yep, he was at least a foot shorter than Danny) and stepped out of the circle. Danny found himself suddenly afraid of what a sex demon might be capable of unfettered by the sigil.

Maynard noticed him backing away. “Oh, what? You think I’m gonna steal your soul?”

“Or steal something else…”

Maynard scoffed. “Just because I’m an incubus?”

“Sorry, is that — offensive?”

“Yes!”

“Okay, I’m sorry.” Apologizing to a demon. Not the direction Danny thought his life would take today. “I didn’t mean to be… insensitive.”

Danny took a small china plate from a nearby candle shelf and set it over the burning bowl of herbs to choke out the flame. Then he snuffed out the candles; the last thing he needed was to burn down his apartment because he was distracted by a sex demon — try explaining that one to the insurance agent.

Maynard padded around the bedroom, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans while he examined the books on Danny’s shelves. He wore no shirt, so Danny saw the tantalizing scorpion tattoo trailing over his spine and disappearing into his jeans. Danny wondered what the rest of it might look like, and — fuck!

Maynard glanced over at him, as if sensing the momentary spike in his heart rate. The light smirk on his lips said that he absolutely did. Shit.

“Can you read minds?” If there was even a sliver of a chance Danny was taking Maynard as his date, telepathy should be something he knew about upfront.

“I don’t need to be a mind-reader to know you’re thinking about fucking me.”

“Now hold on,” Danny started, certain that the sudden heat flushing over his skin belied any protestations he could make. “That’s not — I wasn’t —” He almost said “fuck you” but knew that would get misinterpreted. Of course an incubus would assume everyone with a pulse wanted to bang him.

Maynard just smiled and went back to perusing the bookshelf. He picked up a small framed photograph and studied it; it was a picture of Danny and two of his closest friends, Blair and Justin.

In a move that did little to diminish Danny’s fear that Maynard was a mind-reader, Maynard looked from the photo to Danny and asked, “Who’s the one getting married?”

“Okay, seriously, how the fuck are you doing that?”

“I can hear your heartbeat. And, no, before you ask, that’s the only bodily function I’m attuned to.” At Danny’s look of bewilderment, Maynard added, “I told you, I get a lot of weirdos.”

“Present company excluded?”

“Jury’s out on that one.” Maynard’s smile was more of a smirk, as if he knew a secret and had every intention of keeping it.

“Well, y’know, fear can stimulate the heart just as much as arousal,” Danny said in flimsy protest.

“Which means you’re afraid that I saw this.” Maynard motioned with the frame still in his hand. “Or you have a really specific kink.”

Danny huffed, pacing the floor with his hands on his hips. No one had ever called him on his stupid crush, because he’d never been foolish enough to admit to it, not even to himself. But Maynard was clearly built different — a supernatural lie detector — so Danny’s usual defense mechanisms of obfuscating and clumsily changing the subject wouldn’t work here.

“It’s Justin,” Danny finally admitted in a grumble. “The one standing next to me.”

“Ah. Not my type, but I guess he’s alright. And apparently you’re not his type either.”

“Okay, dude, you don’t need to rub it in.”

“I’m fucking with you.” Maynard set the photograph back on the shelf and laid across the bed. His long hair fanned over the duvet. “Tell me about him.”

“Why?”

“Because obviously you’re considering bringing me as your date, so I need to know the backstory. If I was a” — Maynard used air-quotes here — “normal person you were dating, I would have at least heard of your friends, if not already met them.”

Danny folded his arms over his chest. Maynard looked oddly right splayed across Danny’s bed, as if he belonged there, and Danny didn’t like the weird somersault his stomach made at that thought.

It was too late to try another variation of the spell — maybe he could rush the cleanup, but not the prep time for a new spell; if he’d fucked this one up while taking his time, he could only imagine the mistakes he’d make if he hurried. And finding a “real” date on such short notice was out of the question.

So his options were either not to attend or to risk the snickers and stares of the entire wedding party by showing up with a dude. Or he could go alone, set up camp at the open bar and inevitably make a drunken fool of himself.

“Alright, well…” Danny started, “he’s British, which makes everything he says sound really smart and condescending at the same time. We’ve been friends for about five years now. He plays bass, but his day job is a sports reporter for the Times. So, y’know, we get along.” Danny gestured to the Lakers jersey he was wearing.

“What’s he think about your attraction to the dark arts?”

Danny shrugged. “He tolerates it, I guess. The way you do when your friend is really into something you don’t quite get, but you appreciate their energy. I mean, he’s into soccer — er, football, according to him — and I just can’t get too excited about that.”

“How long have you been pining?”

“I’m not pining —”

Maynard raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Six months, I guess. And, yes, he was already engaged at that point. I guess it felt safer that way. Not like I was gonna tell him and run the risk of fucking up his engagement.”

“You thought he might go, ‘oh, groovy, Daniel, I’ve been waiting a bloody age for you to say you fancied me. Let’s shag, baby.’”

“He’s not Austin Powers,” Danny said, chuckling despite himself. “But, yeah, y’know… I was hoping I had a chance. Deep down.”

“How masochistic.” Maynard turned onto his side, gazing up at Danny in a somewhat seductive pose. Though with a body like that, everything this man did was seductive. “Isn’t it better to never have a chance than to squander it?”

“Well, yeah, but I guess — I just didn’t want to know for sure.”

Maynard sat up and rose from the bed. “So we’ve established that you’re a little pathetic.”

“Hey —”

“Well-adjusted people don’t summon demons.”

Danny shrugged in silent acquiesce.

Maynard went on, “But you seem like a decent guy, so I’m going to help you out.” His form rippled, like sunlight shimmering on the surface of water, and his outfit transformed into a sharp white three-piece suit.

Danny’s mouth went dry, and blood surged in his groin. “You — uh, white’s a little loud, don’t you think?”

Maynard rolled his eyes. With another shimmer, the suit became black, suitable either for a wedding or a funeral — which seemed appropriate, considering Danny would be mourning, in some form.

“Not to be rude, but can’t you… do that, but turn yourself into a woman?”

“No, Dan. You have to be honest with yourself. And really, what better way to start than with someone you literally never have to see again? No hurt feelings, no clingy bullshit. Look at you. You could break anyone in half who looked at you funny.”

“Okay, yeah, maybe, but — I don’t wanna have to do that.”

Maynard approached him and placed a hand on Danny’s chest; Danny’s skin tingled. “Look, there’s a special kind of hell when you don’t know who your friends are. When you have to tiptoe around them out of fear. That’s no way to live. So maybe it’s a good idea to test the waters and see who sticks around. You might be pleasantly surprised.”

Danny swallowed, both out of nerves and Maynard’s close proximity. It was no small mercy that Maynard hadn’t poked fun at Danny’s near-constant erection since summoning him. This close, Danny could see the intricacies of Maynard’s face, most notably the freckle above his upper lip.

“I guess you’re qualified to talk about hell,” Danny said, “being a demon and all.”

Maynard nodded, patting Danny’s chest. “Exactly. So suit up.”

“So… what’s our cover story? How did we meet?” Danny asked as he drove them to the beachside hotel where the wedding was being held.

“The truth will set you free, Daniel.”

“I’m not telling people you’re a demon I summoned to be my plus-one! Fucking hell!”

Maynard laughed. “It’s a great conversation starter.”

“How would you know? You’ve never been in this situation before.” Maybe Danny got a bit of a lead foot when he was nettled, because Maynard braced himself against the passenger door as the car sped up.

“Okay, slow the fuck down, Speed Racer. Better late than dead.”

Danny eased up on the gas, amused that Maynard gave even half a shit about his safety. “Alright, alright. Cover story. Let’s see… You could be an actor. It’s LA. Everyone’s got a SAG card.”

Maynard considered this with a thoughtful expression.

“You don’t have to be a big star. Obviously that would fall apart,” Danny explained. “Just be a background extra. People in this town love to brag about that shit.”

“You don’t need to explain Los Angeles to me. I’m familiar with the miniature hell of hipsters and wannabes.”

Danny wanted to poke at that and find out what the real hell was like, but there were more pressing matters at hand. “Okay, so you’re an actor —”

“No. It’s too Los Angeles.” Maynard scowled. “How about I’m a writer? Or an artist? Or both.”

Danny gave him a brief glance while they were stopped at a light. “Yeah, that tracks.”

“And if people ask where they can see my work, I’ll tell them it’s mostly in underground zines and indie publications. ‘I don’t want to taint the integrity of my art by associating it with capitalist consumer culture.’”

“Ah, so you’ve traded one form of insufferable for another. How did we meet, again?”

“That one’s on you. I don’t even know what you do.”

“I’m a musician. Studio stuff, so, y’know, technical.”

“Now who’s insufferable?” Maynard said with a small smirk. “What do you play?”

“Drums.”

“Should’ve guessed. You’ve got the arms for it.”

Danny wasn’t used to hearing compliments (or disguised flirtation) from another man; he blushed, feeling hot all over. “Can we please figure out how we met?”

This was going to be a disaster.

“Fine, fine.” Maynard propped his head in his hand, an arm against the car door as he watched the rows of palms pass by. “Why not a bar? Is that too normal for you?”

“Yeah. I guess. It just seems… boring, is all.”

“People meet in boring ways all the time. The meet-cute was invented by Hollywood to sell movie tickets.”

Danny snickered. “Alright, well, can you try not to be so much of a cynic? People will wonder what the hell I could possibly see in you.”

“Your dick, for starters,” Maynard said, grinning at how flushed Danny got over that.

Heartrate-eavesdropping motherfucker.

They arrived at the hotel in time for the cocktail hour. Danny briefly considered running headlong into the ocean to spare himself the social agony of coming out, but Maynard saw the hundreds of folding chairs set up on the sand and said, “Y’know, we could just pretend we’re buddies who ran into each other here. Look at all the people they’re expecting. No way a single person knows everyone here.”

“What happened to ‘be honest with yourself’?” Danny asked, though he was immensely grateful that Maynard wasn’t going to push him. “Or ‘test the waters and see who sticks around’?”

“I’m reassessing my strategy. And you look like you’re thinking about drowning yourself in the ocean —”

“How are you not a mind-reader?”

“I’m intuitive. I guess sometimes that seems like telepathy.”

They went inside, spaced a safely heterosexual distance from each other. Crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow upon the spacious hall adorned with lush foliage and cascading vines. The floor was polished to a mirror-like sheen.

Danny recognized a handful of the guests inside (he’d only met a few of Justin’s inner circle), but he was grateful to see some familiar faces. He led Maynard around the edges of the crowd and to the bar where Blair and Adam were chatting.

“Having fun yet?” Danny asked, sidling into the space between them. He needed a drink so goddamn badly, just a shot to take the edge off. He had no idea how he might react to seeing Justin tonight, to the swift guillotine blow of losing him to heterosexual matrimony. He knew he never really stood a chance anyway, but there was something tragic and final in witnessing that door close forever.

“Just waiting for you,” Blair said before sliding Danny a shot glass with two fingers’ worth of something amber.

Danny downed the shot and said, “Guys, this is Maynard. He’s an aspiring novelist —”

“Screenwriter,” Maynard corrected him with a sly smile. “This guy. In one ear and out the other, huh?”

Blair and Adam chuckled. Blair said, “That’s Danny for you,” and Danny laughed like he wasn’t the butt of the joke. At least they didn’t seem to suspect anything. “Motherfucker never listens.”

“That’s bullshit,” Danny crowed. “You just never say anything worth paying attention to.”

They all laughed. “Probably true,” Blair said.

Maynard looked at Adam. “Adam, right? Danny told me you were the quiet one.”

Adam grinned. “That’s how you describe me to people?” he asked Danny good-naturedly.

“Everyone’s quiet compared to Danny,” Blair said.

They took seats at the bar. Danny ordered a strong Jack and Coke, while Maynard opted for some fancy French wine. Maynard was sitting beside Adam, which made it easy for him to engage in conversation: “Danny also told me you’re in the film business.”

“Yeah! Special effects. Well, practical effects, actually. Latex prosthetics, fake blood, monster makeup, that sort of thing. I’ve worked on a ton of big blockbusters. I could probably get your screenplay in front of somebody high up on the studio chain.”

Maynard laughed, but it had a different timbre than Danny was used to. “Well, I’d have to finish it first. That’s the hardest part, right?”

“I guess so. Might be easier with the right motivation; sometimes studios buy scripts just on a pitch. What’s yours about?”

“Oh, just a silly little apocalypse thing. LA buried under a tidal wave.”

“Hey, apocalypse films are hot right now! You could totally sell that,” Adam said brightly.

While Adam and Maynard talked films, Blair nudged Danny with an elbow and murmured, “So, where’d you meet this guy?”

“Oh, just hanging out at our usual place. After a few drinks, he said he’s never been to a wedding before, and I was like, ‘hey, what a coincidence! You should tag along!’ So he did, and here we are.”

Blair chuckled. “Still striking out in the dating scene?”

Incredible! Blair didn’t seem to think Danny brought Maynard as his date, just that Danny was pathetically single! And why would he assume they were together? Danny had never implied or spoken of an attraction to men, and his height and bulk belied the stereotypical image of a gay (or at least some flavor of queer) man. Maynard definitely fit the waifish twink aesthetic, but Danny? No way.

Danny relaxed at this realization and laughed, mostly at his own nerves. “Yeah, well, you RSVP to these things so far in advance. How the fuck am I supposed to know what my situation will be six months from now? I don’t even know what I’m gonna eat tomorrow.”

“Sucks you couldn’t be a groomsman,” Blair said.

“Yeah, well, y’know, shit happens. Or doesn’t, in my case.” Danny laughed it off; at the onset of the wedding planning, Justin had approached Danny and asked if he wanted the honor of being a groomsman. Subsumed by the heartsick dread of watching his crush get married, Danny had stammered out some flimsy excuse (“I’d love to, and I’m honored, man, but y’know, work is spotty and I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it”), so Justin had picked someone else.

“Glad you could make it anyway.”

By the time the four of them filed out to the beach, Maynard and Adam had seemed to hit it off, laughing and talking about movies and Hollywood nonsense. The sun was setting over the ocean, bathing the beach in an amber glow.

While Justin looked handsome standing under the canopy in his suit and his long curly hair slicked back, it was Maynard who drew most of Danny’s attention. The curious angles of his face; his dark, mysterious eyes (in total contrast to Justin’s sky-blues); the raspberry sheen of his hair; that cryptic little smile.

Not for the first time, Danny wondered what that mouth might feel like against his own — or wrapped around his cock. The thought inflamed him with shameful desire. It had taken years for his crush on Justin to accumulate into something he could no longer ignore, but within a few hours of knowing Maynard, Danny was already fantasizing about him.

Could Maynard hear Danny’s accelerated heartbeat?

Apparently he could, because Maynard glanced at him with a questioning arch of an eyebrow — or perhaps he was curious how Danny was handling the marriage vows.

Danny offered a bashful smile in return, and he was grateful that Maynard didn’t press the subject.

As the ceremony went forward, Danny found himself letting go of his crush, or at least accepting its impossibility. He wanted Justin to be happy, and that was all. But Danny’s feelings had served their purpose by highlighting his sexuality in rainbow colors — though the time he’d had anal sex with a (now ex) girlfriend while imagining her as Justin should have clued him in on that.

Now that Maynard had forced Danny to face his denial and come to terms with the broader scope of his feelings, he felt as if he could safely explore this part of himself and find even just a fraction of the happiness the bride and groom shared now.

After the guests made their way back inside, Danny and Maynard hit up the open bar.

“What’s hell like?” Danny asked him, sipping another Jack and Coke.

“I’m surprised it took you this long to ask.”

“I’m asking now.”

Maynard took a swallow of wine before saying, “For me, it’s basically this.”

“Attending the wedding of a total stranger?”

“No. The bullshit three-ring circus sideshow of freaks in LA.”

Danny glanced at him. “For you?”

“Yeah. Everybody’s experience of hell is unique. An endless, personalized nightmare.”

“Are you fucking with me? How are you allowed to tell me this? Don’t the higher-ups have a problem with you spreading, uh, trade secrets?”

Maynard snorted. “‘Higher-ups’? Hell isn’t a Fortune 500 company. That whole ‘hell is a bureaucracy’ trope is postmodern bullshit.”

Danny smiled despite himself at Maynard’s habit of dismissing everything he didn’t like as bullshit. He was just grouchy enough to err on the side of cute rather than obnoxious. Or maybe Danny was already drunk on Maynard’s inexplicable charm, because he thought about saying that, or at least dropping a flirtatious line.

In an act of mercy, Justin swooped in before Danny could embarrass himself. “Dan! I’m so glad you came!” He dropped into the empty seat beside Danny, and the familiar prickle of attraction Danny had felt around Justin for the last six months reared its habitual head.

“Yeah, I fit it into my schedule,” Danny joked. “Have you met my” — Date? Boyfriend? Personal sex demon? — “buddy Maynard?”

“Charmed to meet you, mate!” They shook hands behind Danny’s back. “How do you know Dan?”

“Drinking buddies,” Maynard said, lifting his wine glass in a mock toast. “I’m working on a screenplay — actually, a few of them — but one is a Woody Allen-style comedy about middle age. You know, yuppie shit. Anyway, there’s a wedding scene, but I’ve never been, so Danny invited me along for research purposes. Congrats, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Justin said, giving Danny a brief glance that he couldn’t read. What the hell did that mean? Did Justin see through their flimsy cover story? Or was that a ‘get a load of this guy’ look? Either way, it set Danny on edge.

Maynard didn’t seem to care (or notice; he didn’t have the long-term bond with Justin that Danny did).

“Have you met Adam?” Justin said to Maynard. “He’s in the industry. Might be able to help you out.”

“Yeah, he’s great,” Maynard agreed. “We had a rousing conversation about the historical accuracy of the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park.”

Danny had no idea if that was meant to be sarcasm.

“Smashing!” Justin said in that corny way of his when he played up his accent.

“I thought you said he wasn’t Austin Powers,” Maynard said to Danny with a sly smirk.

Justin laughed, taking the joke in good humor. He glanced down at his plain three-piece suit. “I could’ve borrowed a bit of his fashion sense, eh?”

Maynard laughed, light and breezy, and Danny felt a fist squeeze his heart. He should’ve been imagining an illicit threesome, what with both of his crushes so close and tempting his arousal, but all Danny could think of was pushing Maynard’s long hair out of his face and tasting the wine on his lips.

Tenderness? In my sexual fantasies?

Justin rose from his seat and clapped both of them on the shoulder, like they were all buddies now. “Good catching up with you, lads. I’ll see you around.” He turned and disappeared into the crowd of guests.

Maynard kept an eye on Justin for a moment before turning to Danny. “I still don’t see it.”

“See what?”

“Whatever you see in him.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Saw.”

“Oh?” Maynard arched an eyebrow. “Moving on quickly, aren’t we?”

“I know when to quit.” Danny leaned in as if sharing a secret and, to some degree, he was. “But thank you. I think just being here and bringing you along helped me get a lot of personal shit in order — even if I didn’t say anything, y’know?”

Maynard smiled and swirled the last splash of wine in his glass. “The night is young.”

A little while later, Maynard got up and Danny lost sight of him. At one point, Maynard had been mingling with Adam and a small group of others, then he’d reappeared in another, unfamiliar social circle. It seemed very possible to Danny that Maynard might be outing him in these little groups, though he couldn’t imagine what the possible payoff would be.

During this moment of anxiety, Justin took an empty seat beside Danny at the bar. “Wish you would’a told me,” he said softly.

Danny’s heart took off in a panicked sprint. Sweat broke out across his forehead. “Told you what?”

“That you like blokes,” Justin said in an even lower voice.

Danny just stared at him. His throat was impossibly dry, but he didn’t trust himself to wet it by taking a drink. He’d end up missing his mouth entirely, or choking because his throat had closed up to the size of a pinhole.

Justin interpreted Danny’s expression of stark terror as confusion, because he went on, “Oh, come on. Maynard’s just a friend you invited so he could research a screenplay? That’s a reach and we both know it.”

“Did Maynard say something to you? He likes to fuck with people.”

“Nah, mate, I just know how to read you.”

“I…” Danny started, unsure where he was going at this conversational crossroads: denial or admission. He thought about Maynard’s initial thesis: there’s a special kind of hell when you don’t know who your friends are. Was it really so bad if Justin knew the truth now? Undoubtedly he would be sucked into the vortex of Married Life, his free time whittled away by spousal obligations, then the constant demands of children, and maybe they would only ever meet up for the occasional basketball game, but by that point their lives would have drifted so far that they’d barely have much to say to each other anyway.

So who gave a shit?

“Alright. Yeah. We’re… new,” Danny admitted, grateful that he could at least be somewhat honest. “I like him.”

Justin grinned. “That’s great. I’m happy for you. If I had known sooner, I could’a set you up.”

In a brazen moment of confidence Danny was certain he’d never feel again, he asked, “Was there ever a chance, y’know, for us? If I’d said something earlier…” Nervous heat shot through him, all the way down to his toes. It should have been something they could laugh about now that he’d opened up, but Danny felt more exposed than ever.

“Never mind,” Danny said, covering it up with bluster. “That’s a joke! I was kidding!”

Justin smiled as if he saw right through Danny — and if he truly knew how to read Danny, he did. “Maybe. Maybe not. But I know I never would have meant to hurt you.”

“So you knew? And you didn’t… You just let me pine like an idiot?”

“Is that what you were doing?” Justin gave him a tender look. “Yeah, I s’pose keeping mum was the wrong call. I thought you were figuring things out for yourself. It seemed cruel to interrupt that process just to shut you down. You’re a smart guy; you knew it wasn’t gonna work between us when I was engaged.”

“Yeah, of course.” Danny laughed to hide the pain.

Briefly, he let himself imagine that timeline, where he was an infinitely braver version of himself, where Justin reciprocated his affection. Would they have been happy? Impossible to know. You can only regret the past for so long before it swallows your future.

“We should get together after the honeymoon,” Justin said. “The four of us.”

Shit, would that even be possible? The spell didn’t work on a timer, but it would be unfair to keep Maynard hostage for the next week or so — for any period of time, really. He could send Maynard back tonight (Danny despaired at the thought), then summon him for the double-date. But was there any guarantee Maynard would show up again? His appearance had been entirely up to chance today, and even if Danny guided the spell with his intentions, what if Maynard was busy with some other dateless schlub?

“Oh, uh, yeah, sure, that’d be great,” Danny said. He glanced over his shoulder, searching for Maynard in the crowd. He found him looking ethereal in a small group of bridesmaids. Were they flirting with him? Was he flirting with them? Danny had no reasonable claim to jealousy, yet he felt it all the same.

When the crowd began to thin, Danny turned to Maynard and asked, “You wanna get out of here?”

“God, yes. Please.”

Once they were back in the car, Maynard sighed and slumped in the seat as if he’d spent weeks walking the desert.

“Something wrong?”

“I’m exhausted.”

“But we barely did anything.”

“Speak for yourself,” Maynard said, running a hand through his hair. “All the smiling and conversation and pretending to be human and faking like I give a shit. ‘Oh, please, tell me more about your homemade soap business.’ ‘Wow, no, I totally can’t tell you had your nose done, Sheryl, it looks great! Who’s your surgeon?’ ‘You met Leonardo DiCaprio? What’s he like in real life?’” He scoffed and smothered a scream between his teeth.

For Danny, all of that came naturally. He didn’t understand how Maynard could be exhausted by interaction, unless it was a demon thing. Adam was somewhat of an introvert, but he was shy and awkward, the complete antithesis of Maynard.

“Except Adam,” Maynard clarified. “He was actually tolerable.”

“So this was almost like hell for you.”

“Yeah, kind of.”

“I’m sorry,” Danny said after a moment. “I wouldn’t have stayed so long if I knew you weren’t having a good time. I wish you had told me.”

“I guess I could have.” Maynard smiled sadly. “You’re one of the good ones.”

Danny wanted to pry into that, but now wasn’t really the right time. “Do you wanna go home?” he said instead.

He wished he knew the right words to make that sound friendly; “home” implied that it was theirs, a place of mutual comfort, but “back to my place” held an air of sleaze, like Danny intended to get laid. Sure, that would be nice, but he liked Maynard and didn’t want him feeling like a sex object.

“Anywhere but here,” Maynard said.

Maynard was relatively quiet on the drive home, so Danny put on some music. Maynard nodded along, and Danny asked, “What kind of music do you like?” momentarily forgetting he was talking to a demon. But Maynard seemed to know movies and pop culture, so was it impossible he might know music too?

“You know it’s hell, right? We don’t get good music.”

“Oh! You have a lot to learn!” Excited by the opportunity to infodump about his favorite subject, Danny explained: “So this is Led Zeppelin, probably one of the greatest rock groups ever. Like imagine having the best drummer, bassist, guitarist, and vocalist in one band. But they already had an unfair advantage ‘cause Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones were session guys. I’m still mourning that we’ll never get to hear how fucking transcendental John Bonham would have been.” He stole a glance at Maynard, whose neutral (but slightly amused) expression beseeched explanation: “Right, so Bonham was the drummer, he died in 1980…”

Danny went on until they reached his apartment and he shut the music off with the car. Maynard had listened with few interruptions, occasionally smiling or chuckling at Danny’s exuberance, so that was a good sign.

They went upstairs to Danny’s loft. Danny’s mind whirled with thoughts of the summoning circle in his bedroom, of what Maynard expected to happen next, of his own selfish desires. But he had kept quiet about his crush on Justin, and look how that had turned out. So maybe it was prudent that he lay everything on the line now.

When they got inside, Danny turned to him and said, “I don’t want you to go yet. But if you’re sick of me or just want to go back home” — Danny wasn’t sure that was the right word, but it was the best he had — “I’ll do that for you.”

Maynard closed the door and leaned against it. “Then I’ll stay.”

“Only if you want to. I know you’re, like, here to ‘fulfill my desires’ or whatever, but that feels kinda gross, especially when sex is involved — ”

“So you are thinking of fucking me.”

Danny blushed instinctively, but the idea that he didn’t need to be ashamed of his desires rose up within him. “Yes, of course, I mean, look at you. But I would never force you to lie there and take it.”

Maynard snorted. “Bold of you to assume you’d be on top.”

And now Danny really wondered if Maynard was a mind-reader, because that was something he’d fantasized about in secret for months. Or maybe it wasn’t such a unique desire; Maynard had probably encountered plenty of closeted dudes who wanted the same thing.

Danny felt chemistry sparkling between them, fizzy like champagne or a shaken-up soda, and maybe if he just took a chance for once something good would happen.

Danny moved in closer, his hands grasping Maynard’s face, then the taste of wine crashed against his mouth. Maynard kissed him with equal measures of surrender and conquest, his lips following Danny’s lead but his hands tugging his lapels, bringing them even closer. The room tilted and wobbled, and Danny gasped at the enormity of his own desire for this.

“You okay, big guy?”

“I’m fine,” Danny said, catching his breath. “What about you?”

Maynard’s hands slid down, skimming over Danny’s chest and stomach, and even through his clothes, he trembled. “You’re not the first pathetic weirdo to kiss me.” Maynard’s mouth twitched with the hint of a smile at Danny’s feigned offense. “But you are the first one who’s been nice about it. And good at it. I like it. You should do it again.”

“I have to do everything?”

Maynard smiled, watching him for an appraising moment, then brought Danny’s mouth down to his own. Danny surged forward, pressing Maynard against the door, crushing them together. He’d never imagined this would turn him on so much, every sensation cranked past the maximum threshold. Maynard’s fingers skimmed over Danny’s jaw, tangled in his hair, and Danny heard himself gasp again.

“Please,” he begged, grabbing a fistful of Maynard’s shirt.

They made it to the bed, clothes coming off in a hot flurry of hands. Danny let Maynard lead, trusting the “expert” and nervously excited to submit. He gazed up at Maynard straddling his hips, their naked flesh twined, all too aware of his own erection nestled against the curve of Maynard’s ass.

Then his gaze found Maynard’s cock. Seized by desire and curiosity, Danny curled his hand around it. Maynard made a soft noise, and as Danny ran his thumb over the head, he folded at the waist, hair pooling on Danny’s chest.

Had anyone who summoned Maynard cared about his pleasure? It seemed unlikely that those summoning a sex demon to fulfill their own desires would consider the enjoyment of said demon. But Danny had experience (albeit not with men) in sexual relationships, and reciprocal pleasure was par for the course.

Maynard groaned and rocked his hips, reaching toward the night table with a desperate hand but coming up short. Danny read his intention and, with his longer limbs, fumbled the lube out of the drawer. Maynard rose up and took the bottle; Danny expected him to slick himself up for a smoother slide in Danny’s fist, but instead Maynard reached back and stroked Danny with a slippery hand. Danny twitched at the touch, every muscle curling in anticipation.

Then Maynard angled his hips, and Danny sank into him like sinking into the ocean. Maynard groaned a hungry sound, nails raking over Danny’s skin. Danny felt himself nestling deeper, deeper, until he was fully sheathed in that divine tightness. He shuddered, clutching Maynard’s hips as though he might float away otherwise.

“Fuck,” Maynard gasped, muscles going tight for a moment before he began to move. He stole Danny’s breath with every slow roll of his hips, and Danny scrambled to memorize every beautiful facet of their union: Maynard’s soft moans; the warm press of his hands over Danny’s stomach and chest; the tight heat of him around Danny’s cock; the way his hips moved in needful jolts; how his hair fell across his face as he bowed forward.

“Fuck,” Danny echoed, breathless. He skimmed down Maynard’s thighs, squeezing the lean muscle there, then touching the suggestive jut of his hip bones, and finally grabbing the tempting shape of his dick again. Danny’s palm was slick with sweat now, allowing him to stroke with decent friction. Maynard choked out a moan, his hips picking up speed. Impatient. Needy.

Danny had no time to wonder if Maynard responded like this with everyone, because everything down below drew deliciously tight, then he was gone, and he briefly thought, I am coming inside a man, before a final spike of sensation swept him away.

He got to watch Maynard fall apart, though, which would have made him come again if he’d had anything left in the tank. Maynard slumped, shooting over Danny’s fist (that was a sight to behold), and sliding off of him, nestling into the space beside Danny.

Cautiously, Danny draped an arm over Maynard. Post-coital closeness was habitual for him, even if the body beside him was unfamiliar. Danny could definitely get used to it. He already liked the way Maynard felt against him, around him. Inside him? Danny needed to know, craved it like nothing in recent memory.

“Was it good?” Danny asked after Maynard had been silent for a worrying handful of moments.

“I did not expect you to be insecure,” Maynard mused with a half-smile. “Not about performance.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve never — you know. So…”

Maynard’s smile grew an edge, as if he had thought of a private joke. He settled a hand on Danny’s chest and brushed his thumb over a nipple. “I like you, Dan. That counts for a lot.”

Danny knew that was true for him too; he would have never been comfortable doing any of this with someone he couldn’t banter and joke and feel safe with.

Feeling safe with a demon. Not how he saw this night turning out when he awoke this morning.

“But even if I didn’t like you,” Maynard added, “your cock is huge.”

“I bet you say that to all the guys.”

“No. Just you.”

Danny kissed him again, and again, and for a while the world was just hands and mouths and skin, exploration, sensation. Maynard did a fair bit of it himself, hands roaming over Danny’s chest, shoulders, and back, as though he was equally enraptured. Danny found the subtle points of contact that made Maynard squirm and moan: the juncture of his jaw; the freckle above his upper lip (that did not elicit much of a moan, instead a devilish smile); his nipples; the bony ridges of his hip bones.

Amidst this languid, slow discovery of each other’s bodies, Danny found himself kneeling at the foot of the bed, sucking kisses into Maynard’s thighs and deftly avoiding the spot he was most curious about. Maynard writhed and tugged at Danny’s hair, urging him to devote that same attention to his cock, which was drawn tight against his stomach. Danny risked a glance, consumed with what it might feel like in his mouth, how he would taste.

Before he could reconsider, Danny took the head into his mouth. Maynard gave a breathy cry, hips pushing deeper, and Danny backed off; he’d never really had the opportunity to test his gag reflex and did not want to find out his limits right now.

Their eyes met, and Maynard smirked in what Danny assumed was encouragement, so he took him in again, knowing what he lacked in technique he could make up for with enthusiasm.

Danny could feel his pulse on his tongue. Hearing him, tasting him, feeling the solid weight of Maynard in his mouth — Danny couldn’t resist touching himself. He moaned around Maynard’s cock, and Maynard squirmed before propping up on his elbows to watch.

“Of course this turns you on.”

Danny moaned in affirmation against the spongy head before swallowing it again, his hand pumping between his legs. His jaw started to ache, but he could power through.

Maynard sighed a sound of gratitude and combed his fingers through Danny’s hair. “Want me to fuck you?”

Danny froze, flushed all over. Just the suggestion made his cock twitch in his hand.

“I know you’re thinking about it,” Maynard said.

“And you still insist you’re not a mind-reader?”

Danny ended up back on the bed, gazing up at Maynard as two lube-slick fingers teased and slipped inside of him. He’d gone this far on his own, so the sensation wasn’t unwelcome or uncomfortable. Maynard worked his fingers in and out, spread them apart, curled them, until Danny went loose and shaky.

“Turn over,” Maynard said, a soft command that Danny was happy to obey. He turned onto his stomach, warm skin prickling at the sudden bite of cool air. He heard the mattress crunch as Maynard repositioned, felt Maynard’s warm hands tugging his hips into place.

Danny thought it would hurt, but Maynard fit inside easily, as if that was where he belonged. Pain was nonexistent. All Danny felt was a tight fullness that was not unpleasant, and an effervescence that threatened to overtake him. His muscles quivered, and he tilted his hips just as Maynard sank deeper.

Danny couldn’t stop the shocked moan that escaped him. A sweet surge of pleasure crackled up his spine, and his hips drove backwards in a bid for more.

Maynard chuckled low and deep, giving Danny’s hips a squeeze. “You like that,” he purred, and the movement of his hips was everything. Danny shivered, his senses heightened, consciousness melting into a well-fucked slurry. He rocked his hips into Maynard’s thrusts, urging him faster, deeper, more, more.

Maynard curled a hand around him, and the world fell apart with each stroke, hand and hips working in tandem. Danny came like it was punched out of him, shaking and gasping as it swept him away. He slumped onto the bed, and his senses lit up again when Maynard came inside him. Danny groaned a satisfied noise into the pillow. Maynard settled on top of him, chin digging into Danny’s shoulder.

Neither of them needed to ask if it was good. They both knew, perhaps connected on some greater spiritual level. Briefly, Danny wondered if that was part of the reason Maynard came to him: somehow their souls were entwined, even on different planes of existence.

Or maybe it was just a random roll of the dice. But Danny liked to believe things had cosmic significance.

Maynard slid off of him a little while later and tucked himself closer. Danny rolled onto his side to accommodate Maynard’s form.

“Never thought a demon would be cuddly.”

“I find you tolerable.” Maynard’s face was nestled into Danny’s chest, but he was surely smirking. “And warm.”

Danny wasn’t sure if Maynard was actually sleeping or simply doing something that passed for it, but he still kept quiet as he rose and went about his morning. He made breakfast for two, unsure what Maynard would want but hoping pancakes might satisfy him, if his preference for sweet wine was any indication.

Slowly, Maynard stirred, shifting in the bed. His hair was in lovely disarray, his eye makeup smeared. Effortlessly beautiful.

“Never had a man cook me breakfast the morning after,” he said, stretching his arms over his head. “Usually there isn’t one.”

“A man or a morning after?”

Maynard just smiled coyly. He stretched his legs now, albeit underneath the blankets, but Danny remembered the lean, naked shape of them from last night.

“Did you actually sleep? Is that something you need?”

“In Hell? No. But here it’s a luxury.”

“What do you dream about?” Danny could only imagine the images that filled Maynard’s head.

Maynard wore his secret smile and slid out of bed. His pale skin glowed with the golden hues of the early morning light. Danny ogled shamelessly as Maynard dressed with a magical shimmer. He wore jeans and no shirt, which seemed to be his default outfit. Not that Danny was complaining. No sirree.

Seated at the kitchen table, Danny pushed the extra chair toward Maynard with his foot. Maynard sat where Danny had laid out a plate of pancakes for him.

“There’s eggs and bacon if you want that instead. Or you don’t have to eat if that’s not... something you do,” Danny said.

“You saw me eat cake at the wedding.”

“Well, yeah, but I thought you were just being polite. Part of pretending to be human.”

Maynard smiled tenderly, as if he didn’t expect Danny to remember he’d said that. “Not with you. Never with you.”

Danny felt a disorienting wave of love for him then.

They ate for a few minutes in a comfortable silence. Danny’s mind wandered to thoughts of more mornings like this. Was that in the cards for them? Was that even something Maynard wanted?

As long as Maynard was here with Danny, he couldn’t be summoned by anyone else. Sending him back to Hell or whatever shadow realm he came from meant he’d be at the beck and call of anyone with a summoning circle and the right incantation.

But with Danny, Maynard could have a real life.

Danny set aside his plate and asked, “So, um, I don’t know how to be cool about this. But I want you to stay. With me.”

Maynard paused, watching Danny with an unreadable expression. He didn’t seem surprised, as if he knew Danny had been turning this over in his head all night.

Danny went on, “But if you don’t want that, it’s totally fine. I’m happy to send you back if that’s what you want. I just thought, y’know, I’d be honest and authentic and all that good shit with you right now. Because I do like you a lot, Maynard.” He blushed from his hairline to his toes.

“That’s very sweet of you. But” — that word cleaved through Danny’s heart — “you should be with a real person, don’t you think?”

“You are. You have thoughts and feelings and, believe it or not, free will. You’re real to me.”

Maynard smiled that soft, gentle way of his when Danny said or did something particularly charming.

“Just give it a shot. Justin invited us to double date when he gets back from the honeymoon in about a week or so,” Danny said. “You could try out being human — being with me — and if it doesn’t work for you, then you can go back. I’ll miss you like hell” — he grinned at the wordplay — “but I’d never keep you against your will.”

Maynard nodded and seemed to think it over. “If I stick around, I’ll have to adjust my backstory,” he said with a sigh, like it was some great inconvenience. “I am not committed to being a screenwriter.”

“One good thing about living in LA is you can change your trajectory on a whim.”

“Hell. Los Angeles.” Maynard made a weighing motion, and Danny laughed.

“Does me being here sweeten the deal for you?”

Maynard tried to stay stone-faced but Danny’s eager grin made him snicker. “A little.”

“You don’t need to make a decision now. But — is sticking around gonna be a problem? I know you said hell isn’t a bureaucracy, but, like, do you have someone to answer to? The devil?”

“No one’s coming after me, if that’s what you’re worried about. I don’t have a demonic pimp.”

“So why go back?”

“Because it’s not fair to you. I’m only playing human.”

“You’ve got all the important parts.” Danny blushed at how that sounded. “I don’t mean that in a sex way, although, um, yeah, I’m glad you have that. Just, yeah, your sense of humor and your personality, your kindness. You’re human in all the ways that count.”

Maynard smiled tenderly. “Alright. I guess I’ll stick around. For a little while.”

Five years later, Maynard still claimed he was only staying “for a bit.” Maybe a human lifetime was nothing to an otherworldly sex demon, but for Danny it was perfectly fine.