Once, Ryka had despised walls. He wasn’t used to being confined in tight spaces, and being trapped with a host had only exacerbated the feeling. But that host had changed his feelings on a lot of things. Walls among them.

Because Kyle so very much enjoyed being fucked up against one, it had made being surrounded by them quite easy to live with. Now the worst part was deciding what room to use.

Like Lucifer’s palace, their home had an impressive main hall, complete with a new addition - matching thrones. Those had been installed at Lord Satan’s insistence, and were mostly playthings for the imps. Except when they were playthings for Kyle and Ryka.

Their fun had started on those very seats, but then Kyle had made a breathless plea - could Ryka please do him a favor? The near-begging had been thrilling to hear, but completely unnecessary. All Kyle needed to do was hint at his desires, and Ryka would bend over any way Kyle asked him to.

But what he had wanted was for Ryka to impale him against one of the throne room walls, and Ryka had eagerly obliged, hooking his arms under Kyle’s knees and backing him against the nearest solid, vertical surface.

Satisfying Kyle was his most important job, and the only one he took seriously. All he wanted was to know he’d done well. Something he was confident was the case this time, given that Kyle had - somewhat sheepishly - asked to be carried to bed. Nothing gave Ryka greater joy than knowing he’d railed Kyle hard enough that he wasn’t sure his legs would support his weight.

Glad for a few more moments of close contact, Ryka readjusted his hold, now carrying him princess-style. Kyle’s head rested on his chest, where he undoubtedly heard Ryka’s still-racing heart. He didn’t say anything, though, just smiled up at Ryka, wearing a blissed-out expression Ryka was sure matched his own.

“Wings up,” Ryka reminded him. This part had been easier in dreams. Now, though, Kyle grumbled and tried to fold his wings close to his back. He succeeded in getting them off the floor, and out from under Ryka’s feet. “It’ll be embarrassing if I trip and we both go down.”

“No one can see.”

Maybe that was another good thing about walls. Privacy. Kyle had managed to get used to life in the aerie, but was clearly more comfortable in a structure similar to what he’d lived in as a mortal.

“I’d still rather not, if that’s alright with you.”

“I suppose.” Kyle redoubled his efforts, and Ryka could feel the muscles in his back quivering. He’d done an even better job than he’d thought if Kyle was struggling this much.

“Nap time?” Ryka suggested.

“Please.”

So Ryka set him down on their bed and arranged himself around Kyle, their wings overlapping to envelop them both. Purring in tandem, they settled in for a rest, Kyle asleep as soon he closed his eyes.

***

Ryka, however, couldn’t relax, nevermind sleep. He had too much on his mind. He’d very recently put a request in to the higher-ups, and it was a big ask, especially of Heaven. The waiting was torture. When Kyle was paying attention, he managed to hide his anxiety, but now that he didn’t have to pretend, his nerves won out.

The tip of his tail was twitching, thumping at the end of the bed. By the time he realized it, Kyle had already stirred awake, yawning and stretching before tilting his head up to look at Ryka. “Can’t sleep?”

“Sorry, stud.”

“Why?”

For not sharing what he was planning, even though his intentions were good. “For waking you.” Watching Kyle sleep had at least been soothing, even if he hadn’t been able to rest himself.

“I don’t think I’ll be up for long,” he returned, another long yawn following his words.

“Mind if I go for a walk?” The thought of disturbing Kyle’s sleep again made him even twitchier. But if Kyle wanted him here, he’d stay.

What Kyle wanted, though, was to sleep without someone fidgeting next to him. “Knock yourself out,” he replied. He wouldn’t tell Ryka to get the fuck out unless he really deserved it, and for this, he did not. Still, Ryka took the hint.

“Sweet dreams, then.” There was power behind those words, but nothing that would work on another immortal. Besides, Kyle didn’t need any assistance in making Ryka the star of most of his dreams.

It was still begrudgingly that Ryka unwound himself from Kyle’s embrace, planting a quick kiss on his forehead before getting to his feet. At least now he didn’t have to fret leaving him behind. The walls added to the sense of security, but Kyle was finally, truly safe. For a while Ryka had been convinced he’d be spending their eternity having to protect him - not that he wouldn’t have gladly done so - but the one benefit of his new status meant that Kyle was untouchable. In that, he felt like he’d won.

So it was only the usual reluctance that kept him lingering in the doorway, and not any fear for Kyle’s safety while he was gone. With one more look back to fully appreciate the sight, Ryka departed.

***

Alone, Ryka could wander wherever he liked. He had the means to get to any part of Hell he chose, and although Kyle claimed he was always happy to go anywhere with him, there were parts of Hell he preferred not to visit. Like the Pits.

A mortal had once guessed that Hell was divided into rings where the damned were tortured based on their sins. Although his estimation of how Hell was organized was off by a longshot, it was certainly true that different parts catered to different sinners.

The worst were seen to personally by Lord Satan. Most were humans whose names were associated with atrocities on a grand scale, like genocide. They would spend their eternities suffering through every death they had caused, over and over.

Rapists and pedophiles were passed around to any demon interested, and slave owners and traders toiled away in the mines, or at the beck and call of their new immortal masters. Murderers were subjected to their own crimes, and so on. There was a fitting punishment for most every sin, and every blackened soul received their just desserts.

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

Except in the Pits. The fiery, soul-filled valley that looked like every media version of Hell that Ryka had ever seen during his time in Purgatory. Bubbling lava, sulfur-fume belching crevasses, and countless scores of the damned, all trapped in by imposing mountain peaks rising around them. Those that just barely avoided salvation wound up here, where just knowing you were in Hell was punishment enough.

Some received worse, as the demons tasked with guarding these souls were given free rein to do as they pleased with them. It was a good place to come and burn off steam, as it were. Or gamble if you had anything to offer up. There were well-organized fighting rings, where the damned were pitted against each other for their captors’ amusement.

Kyle hated this place, and Ryka did understand why. It was crowded, noisy and miserable. And home to far too many familiar souls. Most Ryka had sent here directly in his time as Kyle’s host, those who had tried to hurt Kyle and wound up Ryka’s victims instead. A few had earned their ticket here by knowing him.

So far, he hadn’t purposefully sought any of them out. It was nice knowing they were there, though, and if he happened upon one by accident, he certainly wouldn’t have minded. But that wasn’t his intention when he stepped out of a portal and into the chaos.

The few demons in the vicinity bowed as he passed, one particularly young - and weak - incubus sinking to his knees, both a sign of respect and an offering. But Ryka just ignored him; it wouldn’t be as fun without Kyle there to play, too.

Figuring he may as well look the part if he was going to be treated like royalty, he manifested his whip, leaving it slung over his shoulder as he strode through the parting sea of damned souls. He trailed fire behind him, the brimstone beneath his feet igniting at the whip’s touch. He grinned; if Kyle were here, he’d be rolling his eyes.

He was so busy imagining Kyle berating him for such stereotypical behavior that he almost missed a very particular whiff of fear. One he hadn’t smelled in a long time. He was surprised he had picked it up at all, given where he was. But oh, he remembered it well.

And once he recognized it, it was easy enough to trace, even through the miasma of misery surrounding him.

In Heaven, the saved got to choose how they’d look for their eternities. They could even request to change if they so desired. In Hell, you looked as you did at the moment of your most heinous sin. Albeit as a wan, sunken-eyed version of the person you once were. Still, Ryka had no trouble picking out a particular sinner in the wallowing throngs.

“Mr. Principal. Long time no see.”

It felt like the eyes of every soul in the Pits turned to look at him, then immediately turned away. Except for one, who now stared transfixed. Dr. Taylor, the man who had been Kyle’s superior when he’d been a teacher. The same one who had - on more than one occasion - taken advantage of the threat Ryka posed and used him to garner good behavior from some unruly students.

“I told you, didn’t I? That this would be your fate.”

Dr. Taylor gaped at him. It was hard to hear him over the screams of agony echoing off the mountainsides, but Ryka didn’t miss it when Dr. Taylor gasped out a horrified “Ryka.”

“I didn’t think you’d forget me.” He paused, stepping closer and letting his whip fall to his side. “Are you having fun yet?”

Groans from every soul within hearing range answered his question, and Dr. Taylor whimpered. Ryka wondered what he’d suffered here, if anyone had taken special interest in him. There were so many, and he knew most simply languished, endlessly shuffling through the masses of fellow sinners.

He decided to ask. “What have they been doing to you?”

Dr. Taylor blinked slowly, hollow eyes taking in the wretched scenery. So only this, then. Ryka wondered if he had time to change that before Kyle woke, looking for him. Probably not.

But then Dr. Taylor opened his mouth and croaked out a name. “Kyle?”

Ryka’s rage was immediate. Fire flashed down the whip in the moment before he cracked it next to Dr. Taylor’s head. He recoiled, sinking to the ground with hands over his head. Demons and damned alike retreated to what all hoped was a safe distance. Ryka’s reputation preceded him among both.

“You’re not worthy to say his name, sinner.” Another crack of the whip, this one striking the ground and sending shards of stone flying. The space around them grew larger. “There’s no help for you this time; my conscience is elsewhere.” And surely Mr. Principal knew exactly who he meant, and knew that Kyle held rank here, too. And power over the one currently wielding the whip. “Pity for you.”

He knew his limits now, knew better than to risk destroying this soul, too. Doing so would only ruin his fun. There’d be no coming back to torture him again later.

“Mercy,” Dr. Taylor pleaded, his voice a little stronger. Aside from screaming, he probably hadn’t used it much.

“Mercy’s not really my thing.” It was surprising that he’d forgotten this. Or maybe he’d mistaken Kyle’s influence for Ryka’s restraint. A mistake Ryka was eager to correct. A few more lashes, each a little closer to their ultimate target, the last just grazing Dr. Taylor’s cheek. A red gash appeared.

The damned could suffer injuries just as mortals did, feel the same pain. But they would heal, reset, all so it could be done again. Ryka planned to make his mark, starting with a matching cut on his other cheek. But he was rudely interrupted.

“So here you are.” That cool, imperious voice was the last one Ryka wanted to hear when he was in the middle of amusing himself. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Intent on showing less respect at every meeting, Ryka sighed and glanced back over his shoulder. Every other soul - immortal or otherwise - had fled to such a great distance that Ryka could hardly pick out faces. The only he could unfortunately see now was Lord Satan’s.

“Can I help you?”

“It’s not business, I assure you.”

That was good news, at least. If it had been about some menial task that needed to be done, Ryka would have turned the whip on his creator without a second thought, consequences be damned. “What is it, then?”

“Might we talk alone?” When Ryka hesitated, His Unholiness continued, “You know he’s not going anywhere. If you wish, I’ll have him delivered to your-”

“Please don’t,” he hissed. He was sure Kyle had no desire to see this man again. In fact, he wasn’t sure he wanted Kyle to know he was here at all.

“Since you asked nicely.”

As much as it pained him to give up his fun, Ryka turned back to Dr. Taylor. “You lucked out.” Just to ensure Mr. Principal didn’t rest too easy, Ryka put on his cruelest grin to add, “This time.” Which ensured he was gifted one more lungful of delightful terror before he was whisked away.

Back to Lord Satan’s palace. At least it was close to home. And they were, as promised, alone. “You don’t want Kyle to know that one’s here?”

Ryka sighed. “I’m sure he suspects. But he doesn’t need reminders. So don’t give him one.” This with a snarl, and Lucifer held his hands up.

“Not my place.”

“Bullshit. This whole dump is your place.”

Now it was his turn to sigh. “I do look forward to a time when you’re no longer angry with me.”

“And I look forward to one where you stop fucking with me. Good thing time’s infinite, hm?”

“Fair, I suppose,” the Devil replied, smiling. A genuine one, too. “Though I think my news may help speed things along.” At that, Ryka froze. It was being spun in a positive light, this news, but Ryka also knew who he was dealing with. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Not now, and certainly not for this.”

“I hate it when you do that, too.”

“Apologies. Really.” He sounded sincere, so Ryka let it drop. There were bigger issues at hand.

Looking around, as though suddenly there would be someone eavesdropping, Ryka dropped his voice and asked, “What’s the news?”

“I put your request to Heaven. You can start whatever planning and preparations you need.”

For a moment, Ryka just stared at him, disbelieving. Whether it was because of him or because of Kyle hardly mattered if what Lord Satan was hinting at was true. “Really?” He knew he sounded like the imp he’d once been, anxiously hopeful. He couldn’t help it.

“Yes. It’s been approved. And I do hope I’ll be invited.”