Midnight Demons [ON HOLD]

How Do you Play Poker?

"Strip poker, Samael? What are you 17?" I scoff, starting to drink from the bottle before it is ripped from my hands.

I think I should mention that I am getting to be over the edge between tipsy and drunk. When I'm drunk, I one hundred percent make bad decisions that I would never make if I was otherwise sober. Such as playing strip poker with someone who may be a murderer.

"Well, that shouldn't be a problem, right, Luca? Since your boner is definitely circumstantial." His gaze is suggestively stuck on what may or may not indeed be a boner.

"For sure. But unfortunately, I don't have any cards." I make an obviously fake pouty face.

"Lucky for you, I always carry a pack of cards with me." Samael whips out a pack of playing cards from his pocket.

Continuing with this series of unfortunate events, I have no clue how to play poker. Which is why fifteen minutes later, I'm sitting in my underwear on my couch with a pair of twos and a single ace.

I wish I would have googled how to play poker before we started. Of course, I knew the basics. You know, like pairs, straights, and stuff.

I bite my lip as Samael raises the bet again with the markers we agreed on using for chips. They were Crayola brand, you know the good kind. Not that that changes anything because I'm still one hand away from losing my fucking boxers.

"You didn't tell me you were actually ass at poker." Samael laughs.

"Well, I've never played, so I didn't exactly know that I was ass at it," I huff, crossing my arms across my chest.

"Would you like to match my bet with the one marker you have or just fold?" Samael asks with a smirk.

"Can you give me a clue to what's in the hand you have?" I plead, clutching my cards close to my bare chest.

"Nope."

I pout some more at his answer. "Come on. You've already threatened me today. Don't I deserve a slight advantage?"

"No. But you should get ready to take off your boxers, babe." Samael smirks as he sets down his hand, revealing four kings and an ace.

"Goddamnit." I mumble.

Samael leans in close. "Let's see that hand, now."

"You know," I slur. "I think I have decided that these cards are my personal business and no one else's," I say, folding my cards in my lap.

Samael scoots closer to me on the couch. He grabs my thighs and hoists me up onto his lap. While I'm distracted by his actions, Samael takes my cards.

"Look at this. Unless the rules of poker have changed in the last ten seconds, then it looks like a win," Samael tells me as his thumb catches the waistband of my boxers.

"I'm one thousand percent sure that the rules of poker have changed, and therefore, I am not the one who will be losing an article of clothing," I inform him with all the confidence of someone does not have to stip in front of a fully-clothed man in just a short moment. The slur is still prevalent in my voice.

"Mmm, is that so?" Samael pulls my boxers down off my ass.

"Wait, um," I mutter while he continues to pull of my boxers.

"What's wrong?" Samael asks, pulling his hands out from the waistband of my boxers.

"I kinda don't wanna have sex right now. I'm really drunk." I tell him, my face flushing a deep shade of red. I've never been good at saying no. It's always been hard. Usually, I just suck the dick and disappear while he goes to get a towel. I've never had to be like, no, actually, I don't want to have sex on my couch at five am while my head pounds from a vodka-induced migraine.

"Who said anything about sex? I think you might be getting just a bit ahead of yourself, darling." Samael smirks, leaning back on my couch.

"Oh," I whisper. I look down, away from Samael's eyes.

"You sound so disappointed." Sam grabs my chin, forcing me to look back up at him.

"I-I-I'm not disappointed." I mumble.

"Are you sure? Because I might be a little disappointed if I was you. Missing out on all this." This cocky bastard.

"No, I feel no disappointment whatsoever," I say, shifting in my seat, which is just Samael's lap. Samael bites his bottom lip. "If you don't stop moving around, the night might be heading the direction you don't want it to be," He says in a sultry tone.

"What?" I ask, confused and, then I feel something massive and rock-hard growing against my ass. "Nevermind." I mumble, embarrassed by my ignorance.

"I think you should get to bed, and I should get out of your house," Samael tells me, caressing my hips with his roughly calloused hands.

"I guess," I slur. "Does that mean we're not going to see each other again?" I ask quietly. I'm not sure why I care.

"Maybe." Samael shrugs.

"Can I call you Sam in my memories?" I ask.

"Absolutely not," Samael smirks.

"Have a nice night, Sammy." At the mention of this newly proposed nickname, Samael throws me off his laugh onto the couch.

"That's so much worse." I watch as Samael stands, grabbing a blanket off of the sofa chair next to the couch. He drapes the blanket on my sleepy form.

"Sammy, I'm never gonna see you again, right?" I ask quietly.

"Probably," Samael tells me.

"Sorry, I can't play poker." I tell him, watching as he turns to walk toward my front door. Samael's ass is impeccable.

"Sorry, I broke your window. And got you drunk as well as naked," Samael apologies, turning around with a smirk.

"Good night, Sammy," I whisper.

"Good night, Luca." I smile.

I watch as Sammy closes the door walking out of my life forever. I can still feel my vodka headache as I begin to drift into sleep. I fall asleep, and my dreams are just the same as when I fell asleep earlier. Maybe they are just the sounds of my dead dreams flying around my head.