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A Test of Loyalty

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“We could just walk away, you know. I bet they wouldn't notice for hours.” Casper jerked his head at Mink and Gort, who were in the midst of yet another loud argument. Komiyan couldn't remember what this one was about, if he'd ever known. Possibly he hadn't really been listening.

“You're probably right,” he admitted. “But they wouldn't wait for us.” Not that he could blame them there. The two of them weren't entirely useless, of course; if they had been, Komi was fairly sure that Gort would have killed them by now (or at least him). Or maybe just ditched them, without even the excuse of their having wandered off. But they also weren't nearly the equal of a half-dragon or Mephistopheles' Disciple in a fight, nor did they have Jill's skills with other people. They were around for general sneaking and stabbing and for that, Gort could get just about anyone. Komi might be a coward, but he wasn't a fool. He had zero illusions about how easily he could be replaced.

Casper rolled his eyes. “You're assuming they'd be done by the time we got back.”

Komiyan hesitated. He always hesitated; it was what he did. Then again, it was usually the few times he didn't that he got into trouble.


That, however, had been then. At least a year ago, Komiyan wasn't sure exactly. All those occasions kind of blurred together. He couldn't remember if they had actually left, at least that particular time. Probably not – usually his loyalty to Mephistopheles (or maybe just to Gort) won out and kept him there - though he might have agreed to pass the time with cards or dice or even just betting on the argument. Sure, he always lost, but it was better than waiting around (and way better than actually listening to the fight).

These days, things were different. Casper had his mansion and title and Komiyan was the Disciple, though not of Mephistopheles. Gort and Mink still argued, or so he assumed, but at least he rarely had to be around when they did it.

When he saw Gort now, they were almost always alone. And now that Komi was his sworn Disciple, he never ignored him.

Right now was a case in point.

Gort didn't often bring Komiyan to his realm in the Hells. It took more effort than he usually liked to expend or maybe he just welcomed the chance to visit Darken. Komi had never asked him directly, so he didn't really know the reason. After the first time, however, he quickly learned what to expect whenever he was summoned.

It was always stiflingly hot, as was to be expected from the Lord of Hellfire (a title everyone now used, most even without obvious mockery). But at least it no longer reeked and he'd never seen even a hint of slime.

The heat scarcely mattered. Gort never let Komi keep his clothes on for long, not down here, where he could be sure everyone knew better than to interrupt them. (Komiyan wasn't sure if all the demons and devils knew what happened when Gort brought his Disciple down to visit. He hoped they didn't, but he knew better than to think their ignorance was at all likely. Knowing his luck, all the drow did, too, but it wasn't as though he were likely to return home to check.)

If he were lucky, he was merely ordered to strip. Today, he wasn't, and Gort wasn't the type to simply undress him. Instead, he cut his clothes off, using a sword far too large for that sort of detail work: a blade made for hacking rather than any sort of precision. He wasn't particularly careful about it either, though none of the inevitable cuts were deep. It only took a minute or two – maybe even less – but by the time he was done, they were already healed. Only a few trickles of blood remained to show that Komiyan had even been cut at all.

It had been hard to hold still, the first time. He'd learned better now.

Gort grinned at him, looking quite pleased with himself. He must know by now that Komiyan would obey him without question, but he still seemed to thoroughly enjoy it. Fingers spread wide, he dragged a hand through the blood now streaked along Komiyan's left side, then raised it to his lips and licked it off. His grin never wavered and there was a familiar mad light in his eyes. “On your knees, Disciple.”

The ground here was bare rock and as burning hot to the touch as beach sand on a sunny day; it would have been uncomfortable to kneel on even fully clothed, but Komiyan didn't consider protesting. He dropped, winced a little, and waited for further instructions.

Armor was apparently less of a problem for a devil. As best Komi could tell, Gort's armor appeared and disappeared at will. (He'd considered the possibility that this meant it was all an illusion and really his master was naked down here all the time, but had decided he didn't really want to know.) He was at least considerate enough to assume a form that was at least mostly human-sized, but he'd only tried not doing that once before and that time only briefly. Even Gort could learn. (He was still noticeably bigger than he'd been when human, but Komiyan knew better than to mention it. Even now, Gort was sensitive about how short he'd once been, though he seemed completely lacking in embarrassment about nearly everything else.)

“Suck me,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir.” The first time he'd heard that order, it had been one of the few times since he'd agreed to become Gort's Disciple that he reverted to his old habits: he hesitated. It wasn't that he wanted to be disobedient; he simply hadn't been expecting it. He probably hadn't been that good at it, either. It wasn't as though he'd had much experience.

Komiyan still wasn't sure why Gort chose to bring him down here just for this. He'd never seemed that interested in him before. If asked, he'd have said Gort tolerated him at best. He wasn't sure how he felt about it either; when he was back in Darken, he regarded the possibility of being summoned with a strangely contradictory mix of dread and anticipation.

But it was at least easier than it had once been, now that he'd had some practice. Gort was only half-hard at first, but that didn't last long, and Komi had learned how not to choke (or at least not much) even when he was fully erect, though when he spread his legs a little and buried both hands in Komiyan's long hair, pulling his head even closer, it was a little hard to breathe. He wished for something softer beneath his knees or maybe something to squeeze with his hands other than Gort's dick or ass, but this was about Gort's pleasure, not his own, and Komi did his best.

It was good enough; Gort came with a sound that was almost a growl, then released him. He smirked down at his Disciple, obviously enjoying the sight, and Komiyan clenched his fists at his sides to keep from giving into his urge to cover himself. He knew that wasn't allowed.

“Good.”

He was shaking a little now, breathing fast and shallow enough that he felt light-headed. He couldn't say if his own erection were the product of arousal or fear, because he knew what came next.

“Hands and knees, Disciple.”

Like this, Komiyan's trembling was more obvious. That was part of the point of this position, that and the way it made it so much harder to see what Gort was doing behind him. It wasn't especially surprising that Gort preferred it this way. After all, he had always enjoyed being feared, though Komiyan had thought it might have lost some of its luster now that it was so much more common. But the fear wasn't the point either, or not exactly. The point was overcoming it, on Gort's orders.

“Don't move. And don't scream.”

This was a test: a test of his loyalty. It was also the only test Komiyan had ever failed. He was determined not to fail again. He was sweating profusely now and he heard the first droplets hit the rocky floor before he felt the first cut. It was tiny, just the tip of the dagger's blade dipped briefly beneath the skin, but he whimpered, then bit his lip. That was allowed, but only barely. The next one was longer, but still shallow: a caress, but one that cut. Komi tried to remember to breathe.

This was still the hardest thing he'd ever done. When Gort cut him like this, little wounds that stung and ached but wouldn't have killed him even before he had the power of a Disciple, it was hard to remember that he wasn't a prisoner (or at least, not exactly). Hard to remember that despite the pain, these wounds would heal almost instantly now that he wore the Regalia. He knew this was Gort, not Tarvin, and that he wouldn't kill him. He knew this torture would end, but with every cut, he was back in that dark basement, helpless and alone.

Komiyan didn't know how long it lasted. He never did; it could have been mere minutes or entire days. He only knew that by the time Gort was done, his back and thighs were one blaze of pain, all the little stings blended into one much larger ache, and his blood was splattered on the rock along with his sweat.

When Gort pushed inside him, it was a relief. That hurt, too, particularly given that Gort disdained such niceties as any sort of preparation as unnecessary, but it meant the test was over. He'd passed. Komiyan swayed a little, but a strong arm wrapped around his waist and held him there. It was as much comfort as Gort would offer, that and the hand that reached between Komi's legs to stroke the cock that was beginning to stir in response to his thrusting.

It still surprised him that he could be aroused so soon after he'd been overwhelmed by such utter terror, yet it never failed. This much, Komi welcomed, despite the pain. And for this, he could be as loud as he wanted, something he never failed to take advantage of. His moans now weren't the screams he'd swallowed, but they were a relief just the same. Almost as much of a relief as his orgasm when it finally arrived or Gort's words just before he sent him back.

“Good. You've pleased me.”


There were certain advantages to friends like his. After the first time he'd shown up like this: naked, covered in blood, sweat, and cum, and still shaking, Casper didn't bat an eye. He just sighed and shook his head.

“Again?” Casper asked, but he didn't really expect an answer. Then he helped Komiyan to his feet and led him to a bath.

He usually bathed Komi himself, too. Casper had learned the hard way not to leave him; he was too likely to simply fall asleep in the tub. Then he led Komiyan to bed, where he did something a lot closer to passing out than merely sleeping.

Casper didn't even ask too many questions later. Now that he had need of such things, Komiyan appreciated that kind of discretion.

The inappropriate jokes, of course, were only to be expected.