dancing with the devil.

[pourquoi]

<center>"They say that the devil is really a woman;
and if she were to breed with God himself,
Nikolas would be the offspring."



Was it surprising to say that the man was a lawyer? Yes, you know the kind. The kind that all honest people fear. Charming, devilish, and those eyes -- so easy to fall in to. How could he not be telling the truth? Why would he lie? Of course not. Never. Not him. Not the devil himself.

Nikolas had never lost a case in his life and never would. He kept his reputation clean and straight, indulged in social activities -- charities, benefit dinners -- just to make him one of the most-loved lawyers in the city. And the most feared. Behind the social iron curtain, he was a creature of permanent carnal lust for both men and women. He was in control -- the ace of spades -- he held all the cards, worked all the pawns.



If you are wise, you will stay out of his way and everything will be wonderful.
</center>

[pourquoi]

They had been sleeping together for almost a month now. Inwardly, he really couldn't blame her. It wasn't that Nikolas was vain, but he knew he had power and that is what attracted her. The way he controlled her. He barely spoke to her except to entertain her fancies that he actually cared but her, and those statements were few indeed. The woman was a petite thing -- not much to Nikolas' personal likings, but she served her purpose. She was subservient in nature both sexually and in personality, and even though they never went out in public together (he would never allow that with any of his toys) he could tell simply by watching her.
On this particular morning, she had woken up later than him, as always. He was dressed in a severe suit, reading the paper with a cup of black coffee. When she walked toward him, the perfection of his hazel eyes slid toward her and narrowed sharply. He could already predict her words. He could see it in her expression and the way she walked with her eyes down toward the sterile white of his tile floor. Clean. Perfect, pristine floor, he silently admired.

"Nikolas.."

His eyes silently moved up her form again without admiration, even though she would be a beautiful woman to anyone else. The look told her to continue without words.

"I think.. I think I'm falling in love with yo--"

"Get out. Now."

The harsh rasp of his voice stunned her enough to look up with damaged cerulean eyes, though she seemed frozen like a deer in headlights.

"I said get out."

A few minutes later she was crying as she walked into the equally harsh streets while Nikolas drained his coffee and silently reflected that he would need a new body to screw.

[pourquoi]

Silently, Nikolas concluded that he had found his new toy ? and what really perplexed him, amused him even is the thought that the boy might be thinking the same thing. They were vicious cut-throat people, Nikolas and Jonas. People like them went to bed together and either one or the other would wake in the morning bloody and tied to the bedposts. Nikolas watched him prowl across the courtroom like a tiger ready to tear out necks vein by vein ? particularly Nikolas? own. The court case was a state-wide renowned murder trial ? a simple case, really, but both men knew that those watching were not there for the death trial itself, but for Nikolas and Jonas. The jury slowly began to file back in again; the two lawyers stalked forward to meet each other (men like them never walked). Valentino?s invading hazel eeys mentally raped the man, fucked him senseless and Jonas? eyes seemed similarly haughty.. or perhaps they were merely reflecting Nikolas? own. ?Good luck, Mr. Burns.? A dangerous smile flooded his lips as he spoke and extended his hand. As Nikolas had suspected, Jonas? handshake was firm and powerful ? a predator?s grip. A shark?s smile passed Jonas? lips. ?I will not need it, Mr. Valentino.? They both returned to their seats without a mere passing tension, though neither really reflected upon the trial or its results; but the happy whimper from Nikolas? client informed him that they won.



Within two days of the case, Valentino recalled his original thoughts and expectations of Jonas once again as he tied the man to his bedposts with barbed wire. He couldn?t help the curve of a smile as he watched Jonas scream while Nikolas himself only spoke in a bare whisper. ?Do you want your luck back, you pitiful fuck??

[pourquoi]

I can't explain what it is that he is
But he is what he is for a very good reason
I can't explain why he does what he does
But he does what he does cause his heart is pure -
Of that much, I'm sure.

Sarah had been frantic that day, and both her husband and her son stayed out of the way. The preperations for the party were going poorly, everything from bad karma to bad weather pinning their thumbs against her. She insisted she would prevail, and without help. At eight o'clock the guests started piling in the house, the distinct air of unease spreading through them like a herd of cattle about to stampede. That's what tipped Nikolas off that it was time to go outside, despite the damp climate and his mother's shrill orders not to go outside, that he would catch a cold. It wasn't her order that made the eight year-old want to rebel, it was her voice. High-pitched and squeaky to almost painful proportions. Like a dying sparrow.

Like any good child of his age, he crawled through the wet, mud-slicked foliage regardless of his sunday clothing and the reprimands (angry crow calls) he knew would come. Sharp hazel eyes widened at the mess of sticks, twigs, and feathers as the boy wisely froze. The dull brown bird which was serenely nested there stared it him with bulging black eyes, but did not move. Nikolas stared the songbird down for several minutes, the terrified creature all too ready to bolt forward and protect its clutch. Prepared, Nikolas let it.

He was a wise little boy for his age and when the bird leapt with arching claws for Nikolas' (fauxly) innocent hazels, he picked up one tiny fist which was firmly curled around a garden stone and knocked the bird back with a sharp blow to the skull. There was no sharp crack as he had expected. Just a stunned pile of feathers and blood in the bushes with him, eyes still open -- some disturbed, earthly angel. Curious now, he touched the bird, and when there was no reaction, he picked it up, curled it in his palms.

Without hesitance he balled his thumbs against its throat and squeezed. Nikolas wanted to hear the sparrow scream; and scream it did, shrieking in pitiful cries until it reached the calibur of his mother's voice at the peak of death. The cream-feathered chest no longer lifted with breath. At that moment, Sarah looked out the window and saw the happiest expression she had ever seen on her young son's face.

Our lives tick by like pendulum swings
Poor little things, puppets on strings
Life is full of beautiful things
Beautiful people too
Beautiful people
Like you.