That Damn Imp Ch. 04

Somewhere in a shaded glen, where the weather was warmer than where Koshka was currently living, Puck stretched out on the thick, soft grass, listening to the breeze whisper through the trees. He stared up at the azure sky, interspersed by a small puff of white here and there, framed by the verdant canopy that hung above him.

It was such a beautiful day here. Perfect for a picnic. Too bad Koshka wasn't here to enjoy it with him. Ahh, that little spitfire. Many would call Koshka a virago, a shrew, or a termagant. Honestly, it was just one of the things Puck liked about her. That tickling was a divine surprise even if Koshka clearly had not meant for him to enjoy himself, and the spanking... well, his butt was still a bit warm from it, but oh, oh. He wondered if he had helped her release some of her negative energy while he was Malcolm. Well, there would be tomorrow night... until then, he had to be patient. Being 'mature' wasn't much fun, but Puck knew it had its uses. He let out his breath in a small huff as his hand slid down his chest, feeling smooth skin and comfortable linen.

His fingers brushed past his belt before settling on his groin, feeling familiar flesh under the material. Resting his other arm behind his head, he started to slowly fondle and grope himself, gently massaging along his length. Memories of Koshka and the passion they'd shared gave him plenty of pleasant images that would forever be seared in his memory.

Heat filled his stomach and thighs as Puck felt that all-too-familiar knot within his core. His self-ministrations became firmer, and it was not long before his member was straining against his pants.

"Venjanca," Puck whispered, referring to his lover by the name with which she'd first introduced herself, all these centuries ago. The fae continued to fondle himself, his hand rubbing along the length before he reached his testicles, palming them before applying gentle pressure.

He imagined Koshka's lips around his aching need, her head bobbing up and down eagerly as she tickled his balls. He remembered the taste of her womanhood, and how she wiggled it at him as he tasted of her. The way her body felt against his as he spooned against her.

Her teeth scraping against his nipples, the way she'd teasingly tugged at his pubic hair, or the bites she'd left along his shoulders and arms...

"Koshka. Venjanca..." Puck breathed, removing his arm from behind his head to slide the hand into his shirt, rubbing a nipple with a finger. His stomach fluttered, and once the nipple had hardened, he moved to the next one, recalling Koshka sucking tenderly on that one, giving it playful nips and licks. His groin strained against his pants, and Puck squirmed around a bit, his sac tingling. A wet spot on his pants reminded him of just how horny he'd made himself.

His manhood was weeping as he continued to massage himself through the material, and he arched his back, undoing his belt to finally release the aching member. It stood proudly, angled slightly towards his stomach. A drop of precum dripped to his stomach as he wrapped his fingers around the base of his organ, giving it a squeeze.

"Oh, Kitten..." A slow grin spread across his lips as he thought of the hellcat. He ran his fingertips lightly along the shaft, watching it twitch as he recalled her nails gently running along his length. Oh, gods. These memories may be delicious, but nothing compared to glorious reality. All in due time, he reminded himself. His hand now moved at a steady pace, thinking of Koshka riding him, her inner walls clenching around him and milking him of the passion he had to offer her.

His rhythm became hard and fast, his breath becoming irregular as he worked his cock. How many times had he jerked off in the past, imagining what it would be like to be with her? Well, now he knew, and that made his self-ministrations a bit more enjoyable, to be sure.

His hips jerked slightly as soft pants burst from his throat, pressing his head back into the grass. His movements forced the foreskin up and down mercilessly, the flicking of the skin only further stimulating the sensitive cockhead.

"Venjanca!" Puck groaned, arching and gasping as his hand moved in furious rhythm, reaching a pulse-pounding crescendo. His other hand dug into the grass, curling into the dirt as his body stiffened. With just a few more jerks, his sac tightened before he attained his release, his cock swelling just a bit more as pleasure overcame the fae.

His head dug back against the fragrant grass as his hand continued its ministrations, slowing its rhythm by a fraction. Several pearly strands of cum erupted from him, landing on his chest and stomach. His hand slowing further, Puck let out a slow, shuddering groan as cum continued to dribble out of him, coating his fingers.

Puck opened his eyes and looked at himself, and the mess he'd made. Well. He'd worry about cleaning later, right now he was content to simply stay as he was, thinking of his favorite demon as he continued to minister to himself with an idle pace, feeling the gentle clenching and unclenching of his balls.

Sweat dappled his brow, and Puck waved his free hand, summoning a breeze to wash over him and cool his flesh after his heated self-care. Letting out a small sigh, he shivered as the cool air caressed his skin, allowing himself to fall limp, his hand still at his groin, fingers loosely wrapped around the base of his shaft and balls.

With his other hand, he ran his fingers along his chest and stomach, taking note of the sticky mess. Too bad Koshka wasn't here to lick it off. Oh, now that was something to try. He'd have to made sure that idea was brought to reality at some point in the future. Envisioning it caused the heat to whisper through his loins again.

Running his thumb along the slick eye of his organ, he shuddered not from coolness, but from the heat that surged afresh through his core and inner thighs.

o0o

Koshka had stated that she would be here at seven, so Puck waited outside for her at five before, dressed in a nice shirt with black pants, and a dark blue jacket. Only a couple of minutes after seven, he saw a familiar red car pull along the road, slowing down in front of him before the window rolled down.

"What's cookin, good-lookin'?" Koshka sang out. Malcolm regarded her with a faint but warm smile.

"I Believe you're the one doing the cooking tonight, as you told me," he responded smoothly. He gestured for her to pull onto his driveway. She emerged from the car with a plastic bin of what he was certain was dinner.

"Need help?" he asked as he watched her shift the container to one hip as she closed the car door.

"Be a gentleman and open the door for me, will you?" Koshka asked as she nodded towards the entrance to the condo. Quickly, he slid to the door and opened it, taking the moment to admire her rear end as she slid past him. Once she was admitted to his apartment, she bee-lined towards the kitchen island, setting the tub down and lifting the lid, pulling out several smaller containers.

"What are we having for dinner?" Malcolm asked as he watched her open a couple of containers. She quickly dumped the contents of one into one of his pots before setting it on the stove. It appeared to be some sort of stew, with a thick broth and savory pieces of meat and vegetables he could not quite identify.

"This is derived from a Hungarian goulash soup generally known as gulyas leves. I figured we could have something hot for this cool night, and I have some fresh-baked bread to go with it. The soup has been simmering most of the afternoon, so just let me spice it up a bit more and cook for another half hour, and we're good to go. In the meanwhile, I have some salad for us to start with. Would you please get some appropriate dishes?"

He nodded and retrieved bowls, forks and spoons, and a couple of glasses. He had white and red wine as well, and he turned to her, asking her which one she wanted.

"I think red will do for this occasion," she replied casually as she put several ingredients together to toss a salad. Through the semi-translucent material of one container, Puck saw brown swirls against cream.

"What's in there?" he asked.

"Dessert. A Serbian recipe for nut rolls. Orenhjaca."

"You know what they say, the fastest way to a man's heart is through his stomach," Malcolm dryly commented as he opened the lid, peeking inside at what looked to be a delicious pastry, the inside heavy with nuts and rich, sugary nut paste.

"That's not true. The fastest way is through the chest, with a sharp knife. It's been scientifically proven," Koshka replied with a deadpan tone as she stirred the goulash. Malcolm stared at her for a moment, Puck frantic that Koshka may have figured out his secret. But then, her face broke into an impish smirk, and he let out a short chuckle of relief.

Koshka swiftly tossed some lettuce in a spring mix with a garnish of almonds and feta cheese to be drizzled with a raspberry vinaigrette. The earthy, spicy scent of the stew filled the open space of the living area and kitchen. He poured them some wine, and took a bite of his salad. It was light and refreshing, and served as a refreshing precursor to the main course.

"So, how was your day?" Malcolm asked after several more bites of the salad.

"Mm." She shrugged, seeming a bit pensive. "A friend is dying, and I was visiting with her today."

He found himself at a loss how to reply for a moment, before he collected himself. "How is she coping?"

"Better than many would think." Koshka shrugged before she took a bite of her salad. "She will be missed, but she has made peace, and is living day by day for as long as she has left."

The imp studied her through the glasses that his human guise wore. The compassionate woman he saw before her was Venjanca, a demon as old as he, if not more. Her power was of his own caliber, if of a considerably more destructive bent. Wronged souls had cried out to her for revenge, and the price was almost inevitably blood.

Yet this very same being who had no compunctions about solving a problem with a sharp, pointed object, took the time out of her life to bond with and minister to a human near the end of her days. The same person who was willing to adopt a pair of difficult-to-place older sibling cats from a shelter? Was 'Koshka' no less a farce for Venjanca than 'Malcolm' was to him? She could still be pretty bad-ass in human form, of course, but her capacity for compassion warmed him to her all the more. He could call Koshka an act, but he was certain that her kindness was genuine. After all, these acts of kindness she had committed weren't done for attention.

I have the feeling that I'm going to like you the more I get to know you like this, my dear Venjanca, Puck mused as he finished his salad and poured them some more wine.

The bread, still a bit warm, was unwrapped from a protective shell of aluminum foil, the heady scent of the rye providing a pleasing balance to the spicy scent of the soup. He cleared away the salad dishes and set out bowls and plates at the small dining table. Amidst a couple of plants, the area commanded an excellent view of the riverfront.

"Care to give me a tour of this place? The soup needs to cook a bit longer," she asked. He nodded and gestured to the side of the kitchen where a stairway led to a bedroom and bathroom. The master bedroom in this unit was roomier than many would expect for a condo, and came with a well-appointed bathroom. Koshka's eyes moved around the room, seeing now neat it was. The bed was made up perfectly, and there did not seem to be one thing out of place.

"Do you approve?" he asked in a half-teasing tone.

"It certainly is very nice. You picked a great place to live, and you have good tastes."

He smiled at that. He couldn't take full responsibility for how neat this place was, having used the maid service the condo sometimes called upon. They'd sent over a woman who, irony of ironies, was Russian, though her accent was much more thick than Koshka's own, and the maid was blonde. He didn't consider this any sort of violation of the rules - plenty of humans employed maids, and as long as they were treated fairly, what was the harm in having some human assistance?

The other side of the apartment contained a smaller bedroom with a three-quarters shower. Malcolm had converted the spare space to something of a study/exercise room. She walked along the walls, perusing the titles on the shelves. Plenty of history, particularly that of Europe. Some of the books were old.

She recalled what Malcolm had told her the other night. How he was born in the United Kingdom before having come to America as a young child. His father was British, his mother Scottish, though both were now deceased. As she glanced back at him, he offered her a small smile.

Truth was, Puck considered himself a creature of the Isles, identifying himself as Celtic, Scottish, Welsh, or British in turns, and was well-heeled in the various cultures that had come and passed in the Isles. When needed, he could easily take on the persona of someone from any part of the Isles he so chose. The story he'd come up with for Malcolm was easily constructed from realities of his life, and thereby, easier to hold up the facade.

Koshka lifted the lid, inhaling the scent of the soup. "Mmm, now it's done." Setting the lid aside, she ladled the soup into the bowls Malcolm held before he ferried them over to the table. She cut the rye bread into thick slices before grabbing the ceramic butter container and bringing both over to the table.

Malcolm looked down at his bowl. In a broth that looked and smelled almost as delicious as the chopped meat and vegetables that sat in the dark brown liquid. Lamb, carrots, and potatoes were chopped in small bite-sized pieces, along with minced onion, garlic, and a few other flavors Malcolm was not immediately able to identify. The bread could be dipped into the stew to soak up some broth, or to catch a bit of the solid food.

It was clear that Koshka knew what she was doing. The flavors of the stew complimented one another nicely, and fresh-baked rye bread with butter added a rusticness to the meal that put Puck at ease.

More wine was poured, and more flirting and teasing occurred through the meal. His feet, encased in nothing but socks this time, slid over to brush along her toes. Her eyes met his, and she raised an eyebrow before regarding him with a faint smirk, brushing her own toes along the top of his.

When he finished his bowl, Puck had another half a bowl, finishing a bit after Koshka completed her own meal. They took their dishes over to the sink before Koshka took the container of nut rolls along with some napkins and moved over to the sofa.

"Does eating on the furniture bother you?" she asked as she turned to him.

"Provided that you eat carefully, there should be no problems," he replied. It wasn't that big a deal to Puck, but he realized that shrugging it off would be out of character for Malcolm. He took what remained of their wine and brought it over, settling down next to her. He'd missed this close contact, and almost without thinking, he draped his arm around her shoulders.

She wiggled close, leaning against him. With a slow sigh of contentment, he kissed her brow. The dessert forgotten for the moment, Puck simply savored the presence of his most favorite demon in the world. He squeezed her closer, inhaling the faint scent of her perfume. His hand slid down her arm, rubbing it gently as he heard a soft hum of approval.

Now, this was nice. As the meal settled into his stomach, he rubbed her back before running his fingers along her face, brushing them through her hair.

"Is there something we can watch?" Koshka asked casually. He blinked and glanced in the direction she had nodded, recalling the entertainment set he had bought. It was nothing too fancy, just a nice, large screen with slim speakers, and a DVD player that, according to the salesperson, would also be able to access the Internet. Puck figured that was enough, and besides, he wasn't too materialistic, something that he incorporated into Malcolm, making his human self a person of elegant, but not ostentatious tastes.

He'd also learned how to operate said equipment, so could manage the remote controls with reasonable proficiency. "I don't know. What did you have in mind? A TV show, a movie?" he asked as she eased herself to a sitting position.

"Figured a movie would be nice, if you're up to it."

"Sure, sure. No problem." He fumbled with the buttons a bit, trying to remember how he'd navigated the menu, and after a couple of tries, had found the Movies selection. Most of the movies looked... well, blah. Of course, if he was so bored, he was certain he could find ways to distract himself... and Koshka, as well.

There were a few superhero movies and new releases, and he raised his eyebrow, pondering the selection.

"That one looks good," Koshka pointed out Jungle Book. Malcolm nodded and pressed Select, confirming the purchase with another click of the button. He settled back on the sofa as Koshka opened the container and put a slice of the pastry she'd made on a napkin, handing it to him.

As the opening credits played, he took a small bite of the nut roll. This spurred him to a larger bite, and the nutty paste melted against his tongue amidst the rich, flaky dough and crushed pecans.

"Mmm. I'm going to need you to come cook for me more often," he teased gently as he took another bite of his treat.

"You'll have to make it worth my while," she shot back. With a slow smile, he draped his arm across her shoulder.

"I'm sure I can find very good reasons for you to continue feeding me," Malcolm replied, adding a flirtatious edge to his normally dry, cultured tone. He kissed her forehead before taking another bite of the pastry, settling in for the film.

The movie was actually pretty good, and Puck found himself genuinely enjoying the story, though he was finding his company to be the highlight of his evening. He was sorely tempted to reach down and fondle or caress Koshka along certain parts of her body, and see where things went from there. However, although Koshka's desire tantalized his senses, there seemed to be a certain sort of reserve around her.

By the way she was comfortably seated against him now, her free hand resting lightly on his knee, it couldn't be because she was upset with him. Maybe she was just tired, or something was bothering her?

"Is everything all right?" Malcolm whispered, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"I don't see why it wouldn't be."

He chose to fall silent at that, especially as the movie got to a good part. He took another nut roll, and so did she, now leaning back against the cushions. Wanting to maintain some comfortable intimacy, he lightly hooked his free hand under her knee and tugged it towards himself, indicating that she should drape her legs across his lap. His palm slid along her lower leg, and she did not seem to mind, wiggling into the sofa a bit. Thin black socks hugged her legs and feet under a pair of loose, dark green slacks. His hand rested on her ankle for a moment before reaching under the hem of her pants leg, fingers finding where the sock stopped. Lightly, he brushed against her skin. Mmm. He moved his hand back down to cup the sole of her foot before squeezing it gently. A short, contented hum met his ears, and he started to rub the bottom of her foot.

After he finished his treat, he cleaned his fingers and set the napkin aside, resisting the urge to lick his fingers. That wasn't proper behavior, he thought regretfully. This fleeting sorrow was quickly set aside as he ran his hands along her feet, giving her a light, loving massage. He continued to regard Koshka with casual, gentle affection, feeling her relax under his ministrations.