A muffled thump, a not-so-muffled ‘ow!’ a quieter ‘fuck’ and a drawn-out moan, wake Angelo from his sleep.

“Whoozzare?” he asks into his pillow, dream’s cobwebs still ensnaring his mind.

“Please, for the love of God, tell me you’re up to getting fucked tonight.”

Suddenly, Angelo is very much awake. He reaches over, snaps on the light, and scrambles into a sitting position, thinking to himself ‘why don’t I sleep with a bat? Or a gun?’

“Who the fuck are you!” he shouts, fists at the ready.

The man on the floor groans, humps a few times, and then sobs, “Please help me, please please please help me.”

“How did you get in here? What do you want?”

“Teleported. Sex.”

“Teleported!” Angelo wonders if this is a vivid hallucination.

The man stops his furious floor humping to glare up at him.

“Well how else am I supposed to travel? I’m a demon! I’m not going to take the subway! I have standards.”

Then he rolls onto his back and starts to rub himself through his painfully tight black trousers. Angelo can’t help but notice that he is incredibly gorgeous, large and muscled, like he could wrap up Angelo in his big manly arms and keep him safe and unbelievably satiated. Angelo mentally slaps himself a bit.

“Demon. Right. What’s a demon doing on my bedroom floor?”

“I left it too long,” the demon pants, “oh I knew I should have had a top-up, but look, it was Dracula’s 1000th birthday party. He wanted to party on for one thousand nights straight, I couldn’t just leave, you know? You don’t snub someone like Dracula, but oh-oh-oh I’m so close, help a guy out?”

“You seem to be doing good on your own, man.”

“Fuck you! And by that, I mean, please let me fuck you. I left it too long, too damn long, and this is killing me, literally killing me.”

“Oh,” Angelo says, watching the man writhe fruitlessly on his floor, “you must be a sex demon or something, right?”

“Got it in one! Professional incubus, at your service.”

Angelo sits back, relieved. He was worried he had a serial killer in his house.

“So, what, you need sex to survive?”

“Yes, exactly, you’re so clever. You must read or something,” the demon’s frustration bleeds into his voice, making him hiss, “I need sex to get energy, and I need energy to live, and you’d help a dying man out, wouldn’t you?”

Angelo scratches his stomach, looks down at his crotch. Yeah, he could get interested.

“And what’s in it for me? If I sleep with you?”

“Wow, you’re incredibly romantic. Is that something you ask all your partners, ‘what’s in it for me?’ My god you must be overwhelmed with the number of men banging on your door.”

Angelo gets up, shucks off his pants.

“You know your mouthiness is doing it for me.”

“I’ll show you how mouthy I can be," he unzips his pants with a whine, "You can use my mouth, my ass, whatever you want, just get over here.”

“Pushy, pushy.”

Angelo sits atop the demon, pins his hands to the floor, and proceeds to have his wicked way with him, using mouth, ass, thighs, and so on. Whatever gets the job done!

“That was incredibly satisfying,” the demon says three days later.

They’re still on the floor. Angelo has terrible rug burn and feels like a human wet noodle.

“I’m so full I don’t think I could move,” the demon continues, “I could go into a food coma.”

Angelo pats him on the chest, “Guess you’ll just have to stay here and sleep it off.”

“An excellent notion.”

The demon stays and sleeps it off. Then stays a little longer. And then a lot longer. Eventually, he forgets to leave entirely. Angelo, of course, never asks him to go.