Revelations(62)
I slap his hand away. “Just stop it,” I warn him. “I don’t wish to discuss him with you in that way.”
“In what way do you wish to discuss… him? I presume that’s why I’m here, isn’t it? You wish to make a deal with me in this, your oh so final hour, do you not? Why am I not surprised?”
“I don’t give a fuck if you’re surprised or not, but you’re right. I’m ready to deal with you.” There, I said it. Aloud. I’m going to make a deal with the fucking devil. Better me than Jesus, though. Much better. I don’t think I could bear it if he were forced to abase himself in such a way before this bastard. Me, it doesn’t matter so much. Or not at all, actually. Everyone probably assumes I fuck him on a regular basis anyway, that’s how low their opinion of me is.
“Well, I know what it is that I want, but let me hear from your own sweet lips what you wish in return.” He actually moves back, crossing his arms expectantly against his chest as he regards me, waiting for my reply. How can he not know?
Apparently he doesn’t know everything. News flash. Or else he’s simply toying with me, which wouldn’t surprise me at all.
“All right, I’ll spell it out for you. Jesus lives and I die. There, plain enough for you? Or would you like me to draw you a diagram?”
His deep throated laughter echoes through the night. “Yes,” he retorts,” make it a Venn diagram, and we can see just how we intersect.” He reaches for me, his fingers sliding into my hair. I shake him off irritably.
“Don’t do that, you don’t have permission to touch me!”
“Yet…”
“Yet,” I echo. “You haven’t agreed to my terms. Without that, there is no bargain. I know how this works, you tricky bastard, you’re not going to put anything over on me. Not now, not ever.”
“As if I would,” he counters smoothly, his hand sliding, very much against my will, down my back, cupping one bare cheek. “Succulent,” he comments succinctly.
I reach back, grab his wrist, and force him to release me, before stepping farther away from him. “The bargain,” I repeat. “You know what I’m willing to do.
Tell me if you’ll do as I wish.”
“You can be so tiresome.” He rolls his eyes at me. “Very well, let’s get this part out of the way and get down to something more entertaining, shall we?”
“Just tell me,” I snap. “I don’t intend to wait here forever, I have a busy day tomorrow, as well you know.”
“Indeed I do know just how full your itinerary is, Mr. Jarvis,” he responds in his bemused way. “As you wish. I take it you intend to take Jesus’ place, and die in his stead, is that a fairly accurate summation?”
“It is.”
“And how do you propose I substitute you for him?”
“That’s your problem.”
“I see. Have you overlooked just one little point, Judas, my sweet?”
“What?” My head is still aching, and I want him to go away, once we’ve concluded our damnable bargain. I wish for sleep. And better dreams.
“If you’re killed in Jesus’ stead, how will I get what I want from you?”
“That’s your problem,” I snap. “And frankly, my dear demon, I don’t give a damn.”
“You divas are all alike.” He chuckles. “Temperamental to the bone.”
“Just tell me he’ll be safe,” I say wearily, closing my eyes against the pain, a dull pounding in my temple now, exacerbated by his presence. “All I want is for him to live and be happy, that’s all. Can you do that or not?”
“Of course I can,” the slick trickster assents, reaching into an inner pocket, from which he produces some sort of document. Three guesses what that might be.
It probably reeks of sulfur and brimstone.
“I suppose you want me to sign that?”
“I do.”
“I suppose you want blood?”
That produces another laugh. And a pen. “Not necessary, although a nice gesture, Judas. No, feel free to use this.”
I take the pen, and sign the document, examining it as well as I can in the limited light the night affords. Which isn’t very damn much. “There, take it and be damned,” I murmur, “now please go away and let me sleep.”
“You’re sleeping out here?” He arches an eyebrow.
“None of your fucking business!” I growl.
“I could stay and keep you company.” he offers. God, he’s enjoying this far too much for my taste, the bastard.
“Go to hell,” I counter. “As soon as possible.”