Author's note: Directly follows Turned by the Incubus

*****

Father Jonathan lit a candle, and said a quick prayer for Tristan. It had been a week, and they still hadn't heard from him. It was gnawing away at Father Jonathan, since it was the first reconnaissance mission he had sent Tristan on.

Had he given the young man too much responsibility and sent him into danger too soon? Should he have waited for another Knight to accompany Tristan?

But then, the townspeople had needed help. Several of their men had been burned to ashes, clearly the work of a demon.

Father Jonathan had given him orders to only investigate and report back, so that Father Jonathan could consult with the others and send appropriate help.

But it had been a week, and still no word from poor Tristan. Father Jonathan sighed. He shouldn't have favourites in the Order. They were all doing important work, saving the world from terrible demons. Everyone played a part in that, no matter how small.

Still, Tristan had been devoted to their Order for years, training hard and studying all the necessary texts to become the best Knight he could be. Most of their trainees preferred one or the other - either training in battle or studying, and that allowed Father Jonathan to help them on a track within the Order. Some members travelled around to gather new knowledge, some stayed in the monastery to study the old books and cross-reference them, and then there were the Knights, who went out and slayed demons.

Father Jonathan had never been brave enough to face a demon with one of the holy swords, but he had been part of a team to defeat a demon several times. He had recited incantations to keep the demon at bay or to weaken it, while the Knight fought it. He definitely admired the courage of those young men who decided to become Knights.

And Tristan had it in him to become one of the best Knights the Order had seen in years. He spent most of the day training or studying, but was also friendly to everyone else, always willing to help out or give advice.

More than once, Father Jonathan had caught him sitting quietly in the main hall, looking up at the statues of the heroes of legend. It was obvious that Tristan longed to be like them, and Father Jonathan was sure he would manage feats of bravery just like those men.

Father Jonathan told himself that that was why he was so worried about Tristan. He simply didn't want to lose one of his best, and most promising Knights. He was the Father of their Order, he couldn't play favourites.

He looked out the window, watching the sun go down, and his heart sank at the thought of another day without the safe return of Tristan.

*

He retired to his private chambers, intending to finish writing up the events of the day in his diary, making notes of progress of new recruits or interesting texts members of the Order had found. He turned back several pages, reading some old notes, and smiling as all those tiny, seemingly insignificant steps added up to something great. His eyes lingered on a note on Tristan's return from a successful mission. Tristan had been wounded, his arm had been scratched by the demon he had managed to defeat with the help of another Knight.

Tristan had been ill for some days, with a fever, and Father Jonathan had checked on him regularly, to make sure there were no signs of demonic possession. It had been hard to watch the young man sweat profusely, whimpering on the bed in pain.

Father Jonathan remembered how he had sat down at Tristan's bedside and taken his wrist to check his pulse, and how Tristan had instead grabbed his hand tight. Tristan had asked him, his voice hoarse, to kill him if he turned into a demon.

Father Jonathan had reassured him, and promised that there would be no need for that, patting him on the arm.

"Please, Father," Tristan said, his dark eyes boring into Father Jonathan's. "Please, if I become a - like them, please, kill me."

"Of course, Tristan," Father Jonathan had assured him, even if the thought of having to kill Tristan made him sick to his stomach. "You have my word." Then he had given Tristan a kind smile. "But you will be fine, boy. It's a fever, nothing more. The cream on your arm is working very well. You probably won't even have a scar."

And just as Father Jonathan had said, Tristan had healed and been fine. He had been a little embarrassed about asking Father Jonathan to kill him, but Father Jonathan had assured him that it was a perfectly normal part of being ill like that.

Father Jonathan turned the book back to today's page. He could still see Tristan's feverish, desperate face in his mind's eye, and the sound of his voice as he begged Father Jonathan. Then he firmly told himself to stop thinking about Tristan. There were dozens of other Knights out on missions, Tristan was no more special than the others.

*

Father Jonathan fell into an uneasy sleep, and woke up with a start. Had there been a noise?

His room was dark, except for the light from the moon and stars coming in from the outside. His sleeping chambers were in one of the towers, and he liked having the window open for some fresh air.

In the corner near the door, something moved, and Father Jonathan's eyes focused on it immediately. As tall as a man, and as broad. One of the other members of the Order, coming to rouse him?

"Yes?" he demanded, hoping he sounded awake. He moved slightly, reaching out with his right hand for his nightstand, where he kept a flagon of holy water, just in case. Blessing it was as much part of his bedtime ritual as putting on his nightshirt that fell down to his ankles.

"Father Jonathan?" The figure stepped forward, stepping into the moonlight streaming in through the window.

Father Jonathan gasped, sitting up immediately. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of Tristan, alive and well. "Tristan!" he exclaimed, grinning happily. He got out of his bed, walking over to Tristan. "You're alive!"

"Of course, Father," Tristan replied, smiling down at him.

Father Jonathan looked him up and down. Tristan wasn't wearing his armour, but a pair of brown trousers and a faded white tunic that was threadbare. "Where did you find these clothes?" he asked, frowning. "Did you lose your armour? What happened?"

Tristan opened his mouth, then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell forward.

Father Jonathan caught him with some difficulty, and lowered Tristan onto his own bed, moving the taller man so his arms and legs were on the bed.

It had happened so fast that it was only now that Father Jonathan realised he felt flush and hot all over, his heart still racing. He sat down on his bed, next to Tristan, who was stirring again. "What happened, Tristan?" he asked, brushing a few locks of hair out of the way and resting his hand on Tristan's forehead.

He gasped when he felt a surge of heat rush through his hand and arm, and he pulled it back. He was panting, staring down at the floor. He hadn't felt that in years.

"Father?" Tristan managed, his voice weak.

Father Jonathan took a deep breath, and pushed those feelings aside. He wasn't sure where that had come from, but he had practice ignoring it. It was strange, though, he hadn't needed to push those feelings down in years. He thought he was too old for that now, in his forties, his entire life dedicated to the Order and slaying demons. He had assumed that his body had got used to not feeling... that sort of thing. "What happened, Tristan?" he asked, hoping his voice wasn't wavering.

"I - I don't know," Tristan admitted. He sighed. "I went into the forest to investigate, and then nothing. The local townspeople found me asleep at the edge of the woods, naked." He reached for Father Jonathan's arm, his fingers closing around Father Jonathan's wrist.

Father Jonathan clenched his other hand into a fist, his fingernails digging into his palm. There was another surge of heat, a flash of - of desire. His mind conjured up an image of Tristan, naked in the grass, asleep and as vulnerable as he was now. The wave of desire grew stronger at that, and Father Jonathan recoiled, pulling away from Tristan.

He stood up, turning his back to the young man. The intense feelings were having an obvious effect on him, and it wouldn't do to show Tristan. "And they got you those clothes?" he asked.

"Yes, Father," Tristan said. Creaking from the bed told him Tristan was moving. "Father? What's wrong?"

He turned around with his hands clasped before his groin. "And you remember nothing from the woods? Nothing at all?"

A worrying idea was forming in Father Jonathan's mind. The bodies that had been turned to ash. The surge of heat and desire. His own cock, already half-hard.

Tristan shook his head, pushing himself up on his elbows. "No, Father. Why? Is something wrong?"

"Possibly," Father Jonathan hedged. "You have been gone for a week now, boy."

Tristan gasped. "That long? No!"

"I'm afraid so," Father Jonathan replied.

Tristan's eyes were wide with shock. "Then those townspeople - I have to go back! They still need help!" He swung his legs over the side of the bed and started to get up.

Father Jonathan reached out, his hands on Tristan's shoulders and pushing him back down. "No," he said, then winced as hot desire coursed through his arms and the rest of his body. Tristan's shirt was so thin, he might as well have been touching his bare skin.

And oh, how wonderful it would be to feel bare skin under his fingertips, skin not his own but someone else's. And why not someone like Tristan? Someone so brave, so handsome...

He pulled his hands away, recoiling and stepping back. No, he had to get himself under control. He took a few deep breaths, willing the mental images of his hand gliding over Tristan's muscular chest away. He had attended training sessions plenty of times, so he knew exactly what Tristan looked like without a shirt.

At the time, he had only paid attention to technique, to seeing who was strong, who had the strategic mind, who fought dirty. But his mind had stored away other details, like Tristan's back glistening with his sweat as he raised the practice sword, his biceps bulging as he lashed out.

He took another deep breath.

"I'm afraid," he said finally, meeting Tristan's dark eyes, "you may be under the influence of a demon."

"What? No!" Tristan gasped, and placed his hand on his chest, as if he was checking that it was still him. "I feel fine, Father! I'm not wounded, look!" Before Father Jonathan could stop him, Tristan had already pulled the threadbare tunic over his head, and spread his arms. "Look!"

And Father Jonathan did look. Yes, Tristan looked perfectly healthy, a few old, faded scars across his chest, but apart from those his skin was smooth.

Father Jonathan found himself stepping forward, one hand already reaching out, yearning to touch. Just to glide his hand across those thick biceps, just to feel the muscles underneath his fingertips... He made himself stop moving and folded his arms across his chest. "I don't mean physically," he said, looking away from Tristan and his far too tempting skin. "I mean mentally. The memory loss points at demonic influence. You may not even notice it yourself."

"But I feel fine, Father," Tristan insisted. "Besides, if I were a demon, how would I have got inside the monastery?"

"It doesn't protect against all demons," Father Jonathan muttered. There were demons who could still be invited in, and almost automatically, his mind ran through a list of demons who could get inside that way.

He stared at Tristan once he figured it out. "Incubus," he said, stepping back.

Incubi and vampires were similar types of demons; the type that could enter the monastery if invited in. While incubi possessed living humans, vampires possessed dead ones, but both had strong mental powers, making victims suggestible, and both fed off human victims. Incubi fed off the sexual energy released during orgasm, and vampires on blood. Some incubi and vampires restrained themselves, feeding on the same human time after time, while some had no self-control and fed until the human was that.

The bodies burned to ashes. It had been the result of an incubus feeding until its victim was completely dead and had nothing left to give.

Tristan's smile turned evil, an expression Father Jonathan had never seen on his face before. "Oh, finally. Took you long enough to figure it out." He shook his head, tutting in disappointment. "Some Order you are. Can't even recognise an incubus until he's touched you several times."

The surges of desire, of course. Father Jonathan grimaced. Tristan - the incubus - was right. He should've realised sooner.

The incubus got up. "Well then, Father, now that I'm here, we might as well enjoy ourselves," he murmured, his voice low and seductive. He reached for Father Jonathan.

Father Jonathan darted out of the way. "No!" He was feeling stronger now that he knew what he was dealing with, even with some desire and heat still remaining inside of him.

"Come now," the incubus said. "It's much more fun than repressing it. I should know." He smiled, and for a moment he looked just like the Tristan Father Jonathan had known. "I repressed so much, Father. I had no idea I could feel so good." The last word had been a groan, and the incubus looked at Father Jonathan as he ran his hand down his broad chest, cupping his groin through his trousers. "So very good."

Father Jonathan's eyes were on the incubus stroking himself through his trousers, then he shook his head. No, he was a member of this Order, he was its Father. He was used to ignoring his own base desires for the greater good. Sure, in his youngers years he had used his own hand on himself, but as he got older it became easier to ignore those desires by focusing on his goals. He had to defeat the demon.

He had to get to the flagon of holy water. He could use that to subdue the incubus and wake up the rest of the monastery, assuming that the incubus hadn't attacked anyone else. He considered running away, but Tristan was stronger than he was. The incubus would catch up with him and grab him, hold him until the desire became too much.

He circled the incubus, glancing at it from the corner of his eye. "Never."

"Are you sure, Father? I've seen how you look at me. At the rest of us Knights. All those times we were training and you were there."

Father Jonathan felt his cheeks flush. "It wasn't - I wasn't - I was checking how you were progressing!" That was the only reason he regularly checked on the sword-fighting practice.

"Hm-mm." Tristan's voice turned suggestive. "So all those strong, muscular young men, fighting each other with swords, or wrestling, all sweaty and bare-chested, that did nothing to you?"

"No!" Father Jonathan snapped. He kept moving. It was good that the demon kept talking. It meant Father Jonathan could keep moving slowly, foot by foot, and get closer to the other side of his bed where the nightstand was.

"Or perhaps you do prefer women after all," the incubus mused, still idly palming its groin. "Which ones do you like best? Blondes? Brunettes? Redheads? Voluptuous beauties? Wide hips? Big or small breasts?"

Father Jonathan kept his eyes averted as he tried not to think of any type of woman, but focused on the need to get to his flagon. He couldn't look at the incubus, it was too distracting. Only a few feet away now, he was getting closer...

Quick as a flash, the incubus reached out and grabbed Father Jonathan's arm, turning him around so he faced the incubus. Father Jonathan groaned at the hot desire that filled him, and he tried to pull out of the incubus' grip. He wasn't sure if it was Tristan's strength or the demon's that was holding him in place. "Ah, no, Father. No water." The incubus grinned down at him, his grin wild. "Remember when I begged you to kill me if I turned into a demon?"

"Tristan, don't do this," Father Jonathan replied. There was a part of Tristan still in there. That part had to remember its duty, right?

"I changed my mind, Father," the incubus told him, pulling Father Jonathan closer. "I want to stay like this. I'm finally free. I can do what I want." He leaned closer, and Father Jonathan gasped as the incubus' hand palmed his aching groin. "I can do who I want, Father."

"Tristan, don't," Father Jonathan managed, even as his hips rocked into the incubus' grip. Oh, it felt so good to be touched like this, after all this time, to feel someone else's hand.

"You have ignored and repressed so much, Father. So much need, so much desire..." the incubus trailed off, pressing its hand down more firmly. "Oh, now I see. You have no preference. You like men as well as women, don't you?"

Father Jonathan managed a nod. He had had that realisation when he had been in his late teens. The girls from the town he grew up in turned his head as much as the men did, when they were working in the field.

"You know what I am," the incubus murmured, and kept stroking Father Jonathan's groin through his nightshirt. "How I can change to suit your desires best? Would you like that, Father? I could grow breasts, a cunt for you to fuck, be the most attractive woman you've ever seen. Or would you prefer me to stay like this, like your precious Tristan?"

Father Jonathan shuddered. It was impossible to ignore the mental images the incubus was putting in his mind, or the floods of desire that his touch was causing. "Please," he managed. Please, the incubus had to stop, or he would no longer be able to resist.

"I'm afraid I can't do both at the same time," the incubus chuckled. "But if you can't make up your mind, I'll stay like this. Perhaps next time, Father."

"Tristan, please, you have to stop," Father Jonathan asked him. Tristan had to stop, because his own self-control was slipping away, bit by bit. He wanted to give in. Why shouldn't he give into his desire? He had done so much good throughout the years.

"I don't want to, Father," the incubus replied. He let out a soft moan. "All that desire you have, I can almost taste it. It tastes so good."

Father Jonathan couldn't help but let out a moan of his own. "Tristan..." Tristan shouldn't be doing this. They shouldn't be doing this. He had made a vow of chastity.

The incubus moved even closer, and Father Jonathan could feel the heat of his body. Oh, he smelled so good, so tempting. "You want to, I want to," the incubus whispered. "Let me, please." He began to pull Father Jonathan's nightshirt over his body.

Father Jonathan raised his arms, part of his mind yelling at him to step back, to run out the door. The other part of his mind was too relieved at another's touch to care.

The incubus threw the nightshirt aside, and let his hands run down Father Jonathan's chest. The pulse of desire hit him hard with the skin on skin contact. "Oh, you definitely want to," the incubus said, looking down at Father Jonathan's erect cock.

Father Jonathan clenched his hands into tight fists. It was all he could do not to touch the incubus. If he did that, it felt like crossing yet another line. One transgression was permissible, forgivable, even. He'd take his punishment. "Will you kill me?" he asked.

"Kill you?" the incubus asked. "Oh, Father, of course not. I have plans for you." He let his fingers drift further south, across Father Jonathan's flat stomach. "So many plans."

Father Jonathan nodded. That was promising. If this incubus planned on feeding on him again, Father Jonathan still had a chance. Next time the incubus came, he would be prepared. He would have assistance. Yes, he could give in this once, lure the incubus into a false sense of security, and strike back next time.

The incubus sank to his knees, glancing up at Father Jonathan with Tristan's dark eyes, and Father Jonathan gulped. Was he just kidding himself? Would he be able to resist this tempting incubus?
The incubus opened his mouth and licked from the base of Father Jonathan's cock to the base, moaning appreciatively. "You taste so good, Father," he said.

Father Jonathan whimpered. Hearing that in Tristan's voice shouldn't make the desire inside of him burn even hotter. He moaned as the incubus took his aching cock into his wet, hot mouth, swallowing it down. "Ooh!" No one had ever done that to him.

The incubus smiled up at him, hands on Father Jonathan's hips, keeping him in place. The wet tongue stroked and caressed Father Jonathan's cock as the incubus bobbed his head back and forth.

Father Jonathan was moaning helplessly, his fingers twitching by his side, and he was thrusting his hips forward. This was amazing, he had never felt pleasure like this, not when he had used his own hand on himself. The tongue was perfectly rough, but smooth where it had to be. It was slick and wet, but there was enough friction to make pure bliss shoot up Father Jonathan's spine. "Please!" he moaned. He didn't want this to end, but it felt so good, and he knew he wouldn't be able to last.

The incubus swallowed around him, then pulled back. "Don't hold back, Father," he said, his voice slightly rough. "Feed me your come." He licked his lips, then went back to sucking Father Jonathan's cock.

Father Jonathan moaned, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. It was too much, especially hearing those words in Tristan's voice. What did it say about him that he liked that the incubus was using Tristan's body and appearance to please him? "Please," he muttered, unsure what he was begging for. He wanted more, but it was already too much. "Please!"

The incubus moved faster, bobbing back and forth and pressing his nose against Father Jonathan's pubic hair, moaning as he took the cock down his throat.

Father Jonathan gasped as the pleasure grew and grew until it became too much, and his entire body was hit with white hot bliss as he came, moaning and shuddering, down the incubus' throat. He felt the incubus' throat work around him as he swallowed, and Father Jonathan groaned, his hands coming forward to rest on the incubus' strong shoulders. More desire shot through him, so much it almost hurt.

It felt like his orgasm lasted forever, but eventually the pleasure faded away and the incubus licked his cock clean before standing up again.

Father Jonathan was still swaying on his feet. He felt lightheaded, and without the incubus to lean on, he fell backwards onto his bed. He felt tired all of a sudden, panting as if he had just fought a great battle and was finally able to rest.

"Are you falling asleep, Father?" the incubus asked.

Father Jonathan struggled to open his eyes. "What?"

"Are you falling asleep?" the incubus repeated. "It would be so much easier if you did."

He wanted to sit up, but he couldn't find the strength and energy to move his arms, so he lay there. "Easier?" What would be easier?

The incubus, still wearing Tristan's face, smiled. "To bring you back to my master, of course." He leaned down onto the bed, stroking Father's Jonathan cheek. "You'll be like me soon, Father. I promise you, you'll like it."

"No, please," Father Jonathan replied, but the incubus' touch already made him feel intense desire, and it came out as a moan.

"You can do what you like, with whoever you like," the incubus promised. "With all the men and women you desire, Father." He pulled his hand back and stopped touching Father Jonathan.

He groaned. No, he had to fight it. He had to stay awake. He couldn't let Tristan take him.

Another part, the part that had been relieved to feel the touch of another, rejoiced at the thought. Yes! After so many years of celibacy, it was about time they made up for lost time! They could fuck anyone, at last!

Father Jonathan looked up at the incubus. Tristan looked so happy, so satisfied. As an incubus, he didn't have to worry about anything except feeding and fucking.

Maybe it was the best thing that could ever happen to him, Father Jonathan thought hazily, as exhaustion took over, and he fell asleep.