Mates Part 1 (MxBxMxMxM)

Chapter 1: The Pact and The Masquerade

Edited: 4/20/25

(A/N) Image of Rimmon.

In the sulfur-choked gloom of Hell's underbelly, Rimmon spun gleefully in an oversized chair, its rusted hinges squealing like a banshee's wail. The dimly lit office, carved from jagged obsidian, reeked of ash and old secrets, its walls flickering with the glow of caged embers. Rimmon, a wiry demon with a penchant for chaos, propped his feet on the desk with a defiant thud, his spiky raven-black hair tipped with crimson catching the firelight. His tattered rags mixed with ash silks-relics of his damnation-clung to a slender, sinewy frame, youthful yet timeless, as if Hell had frozen him between boyish mischief and eternal torment.

The door creaked open, a slow groan heralding the only soul Rimmon dared call friend. He didn't need to look up to know who filled the doorway-Ki's presence was a storm rolling into a cramped sky, heavy and unyielding.

"I see your manners haven't improved," rumbled a voice like distant thunder, laced with dry amusement.

Ki loomed, a six-foot-three colossus of muscle and menace, his gray silk shirt straining against biceps that could crush stone. A leather jacket, worn yet regal, hugged his broad frame, while dark brown hair spilled in wild waves, framing a chiseled jaw dusted with sideburns and a scruffy patch of chin hair. To Rimmon, Ki was a feast for the eyes-a fallen angel sculpted from raw power and rugged charm, his crimson eyes smoldering with secrets. But Ki's heart, to Rimmon's eternal chagrin, chased curves no demon like him could offer.

"Impeccable manners for my bestie," Rimmon shot back, flicking a thin finger through the air with a playful flourish. His sharp teeth glinted in a grin, mischief dancing in his dark eyes.

Ki smirked, unfazed, and sank into a chair opposite, the wood groaning under his weight. "I have a job for you, Rim."

"Pfft!" Rimmon slapped a hand over his mouth, barely stifling a laugh. Ki's brow furrowed, his cluelessness to humor as endearing as it was exasperating. "Straight to business? No 'How's life, Rim?' or 'Great to see you, old pal'?" He kicked off the desk, sending the chair into a lazy spin, its squeaks punctuating the silence. "Hit me with it."

Ki's smirk sharpened, a blade's edge glinting in his gaze. "This is serious. I know you need the work-and you'll enjoy this one."

Rimmon slowed his spin, planting his elbows on the desk and resting his chin on his hands, eyes narrowing with curiosity. "I'm listening."

"You know King Draken, I assume?"
Rimmon snorted, rolling his eyes. "Who doesn't?"

Draken, sovereign of Operiel, was a legend whispered in awe and dread. Crowned young after his father's mysterious demise, he ruled from a floating castle that pierced the clouds-a fortress of alabaster and flame, suspended by arcane winds. Dirty blonde hair fell in soft waves over a physique that outshone even Ki's, his dragon-shifter power a tremor in the earth itself. To Rimmon, Draken was a flame flickering in his daydreams, a forbidden allure that stirred his hunger-a ravenous, treacherous thing coiled in his gut.

"Rim." Ki snapped his fingers, yanking Rimmon from his reverie. "Focus."

"So, what's the gig? Steamy shower pics of His Majesty?" Rimmon mimed a camera, clicking his tongue with a wicked grin. "Or something juicier?"

Ki chuckled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Never change, Rimmy." His tone softened for a fleeting moment before steel crept back. "I need you to steal something from him."

The air stilled, the ember-light casting jagged shadows across Rimmon's face. His grin faded, replaced by a wary stillness. Steal from Draken? The words hung like a guillotine, sharp and final. For once, no quip sprang to his lips.