May 1st FIC: The Last Breath, Sam Oliver/Tentacle, FRAO
Title: The Last Breath
Author: tanzensiemit/Sev
Fandom: Reaper
Pairing/character: Sam Oliver/Escaped Soul (Tentacles)
Rating: FRAO - Fan Rated Adults Only
Prompt: "Make it stop, please...!" - wee_boo
Kink: Tentacles, Non-Con, Breathless, Multiple Orgasms
Warnings: Slash, Non-Con, sexual abuse, sexual predator, pseudo-religious/religious themes, abuse, blood, references to murder, crime details, rape, living restraints
Disclaimer: Reaper is the intellectual property of Tara Butters and Michele Fazekas (all subsidiaries rights reserved) and The ABC Studios and The Mark Gordon Company, licensed to The CW network. I make no claims of working for, knowing anyone who works for, or having any affiliation with anyone associated with either the companies listed or the show, nor actors working for the show, Reaper. All rights are reserved and upheld.
Rounds of Kink
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The Last Breath
When Sam gets up in the mornings there are only a few basic needs he needs to take care of before he gets dressed and leaves for the day, relieving his bladder is usually at the top of the list. It had been what drove him out of his bed twenty minutes before his alarm went off. Unfortunately when he stumbled his way down the hall to the shared bathroom he ended up in a Las Vegas Gentleman's club. Not a bad place to end up, really, but when you're standing barefoot in blue print boxers and a ratty tee-shirt, well it looses it's appeal.
"Ah Sammy!" A familiar voice called from a dim booth in the corner. The Devil slid effortlessly from the rounded bench and headed towards Sam with a to wide white smile shining from a perfectly tanned face.
Sam's shoulders slumped in an exaggerated show of exasperation while his face broadcast just how much he didn't appreciate yet another impromptu teleportation that Satan liked to use in order to get Sam where he could talk to him. Usually it was places Sam really shouldn't be but the Devil never seemed to care about the little details.
"Come on. It's like seven in the morning. What can be so important that it couldn't wait until after I actually got ready for the day!" Sam complained loudly as the Devil came within proper earshot, so that Sam wasn't yelling across to much open space.
The Devil smiled a little wider and turned his hands palm up in a gesture of not-quite surrender or placation but a move to reassure the ever jumpy and suspicious human he'd had the most fun messing with. "Come now, Sammy, time waits for no man. Besides," The Devil's arms swept wider, hands making small bouncing motions, "this place is a great wakeup call, don't you think?"
A scantily clad waitress in four inch heels moved towards them with a tray carrying a tall flute of some florescent drink, complete with a tiny umbrella. She stopped only long enough between the two men to lean towards the Devil, showcasing her ample cleavage, more likely the clear line of sight down her artfully ripped shirt, and offer him his drink. The Devil took it with one hand and offered a fifty as payment with the other which he tucked between the cleft between the woman's breasts. He patted the firm rump presented to them when the waitress turned to leave, making the girl giggle as she headed back out into the crowd. Sam watched all this happen and couldn't help but be both envious and appalled by the display. This was definitely not something he was use to or thought he ever would get use to.
"Look, what do you want?"
The Devil took his time sipping at the concoction, eyeing Sam over the edge of the glass. He licked at his lips and lowered the drink. "Are you always this hostile in the mornings? No wonder Cady left you." It was a cheap shot, he knew, but it's the little things, he found, that riled his little 'Reaper' up the quickest. As predicted, Sam tensed and favored the Devil with a pretty impressive glare. He liked that Sam, though afraid of him and what he could and would do, he still managed to find his balls and stand up to him, even in such stilted and often passive-aggressive ways.
"There's a particularly nasty soul that's slipped through the cracks and, as you can understand, I'm not happy about it." Satan smiled, shrugging, "Well I'm not happy with any soul that manages to escape but this one? This one has been with me for very long time and I want him back."
It seemed, to Sam, that these souls that were escaping were always on the Devil's top ten list of ones he really wanted back. He's pretty sure that if he was in the Devil's shoes he'd want those souls back as well but Sam couldn't help but feel a slight admiration for any of those poor suckers that managed to escape. It reminded him that there was a way out and gave him hope that he still had a chance to get out of the contract that tied him to his current fate as the Devil's bounty hunter. Still, even under all that, he felt a surge of fear that 'Another One' was loose and he had to get it back.
"Fine. What was this one in for?" Sam asked after heaving a put-upon sigh. "Tax evasion, murder, another crazy arsonist? Oh, I know! Is it another psycho supermodel that wants to melt my face off?"
"You say that with such venom, Sam. I'm beginning to think you don't enjoy your work."
"Really? What was your first clue?" It sounded more like a whine than Sam liked to admit but at this point he didn't care. It was already embarrassing enough that he was getting some odd looks from some of the girls walking around without suddenly letting loose on the floor but that's what was going to have the Devil didn't get a move on. "Just...can we hurry this up? I've got to get to work soon."
"Bah, fine, take all the fun out of it." The Devil moved towards the table and sat down his drink then turned back towards Sam. He pulled a photo from a pocket inside his jacket and passed it to Sam. The man in the picture looked like an average middle-aged man from suburbia. Brown hair, dull features, and a face that was easily forgettable. He just looked so...normal. "Yeah, I can tell what you're thinking but don't let his looks fool you, Sammy, this guy is a real piece of work. He's into all the biggies: kidnapping, torture, rape, and my personal favorite, murder. Eugene Derider spent the better part of twenty years traveling around the states, adding a new body to his ever growing list with each town he passed through. He would have continued his little spree if he hadn't gotten greedy."
Sam cringed and handed the photo back. "That's highly disturbing and more than a little uncomfortable."
"After thirty years with me and Eugene’s still got it." The to white smile flashed again in the smoky atmosphere. "Enough about that. Look Sam, I want him back and you're the lucky hunter that I'm charging to get him."
"Why do you do this to me?" Sam threw up his hands up to wave off the answer he already knew. "No, nevermind. Just put me back in my room, give me my vessel, and let me go to work."
The Devil narrowed his eyes but his smile didn't dim. If anything it grew sharper. "I'm not sure you understand the situation here Samuel." He placed a hand on Sam's shoulder and the world shifted around them. When everything settled they were standing in Sam's bedroom where a vessel sat innocently on the edge of Sam's bed. "He's already struck once. Mindy Landon was a sweet young woman, just finished her first year at Bradford and was home for the break. Eugene left pieces of her skin on the front porch of her parent's house and her body just down the street in the gutter. She wasn't so pretty; closed casket if you know what I mean." The images he let slide across the Reaper's vision weren't so pretty either but the boy needed to know what he was up against. He was confident in Sam's abilities, assured that the kid would come through for him like he always did, but there was only so far dumb luck stretched.
Sam needed to get to the bathroom only it wasn't just to drain his bladder anymore. He'd probably bring up last night's dinner. Sam jerked backwards and the images immediately vanished leaving him alone with lead in his stomach, a mystery vessel on his bed, and utterly, utterly alone. Actually he was kind of glad he was because he sure as hell - HA - didn't want the Devil to see him sinking to his knees, bending half over on the floor with his arms wrapped around his middle, staring wide-eyed at the hardwood.
It wasn't until much later, after dragging his sorry ass into the bathroom to take care of business and then get ready for work, that Sam remembered that he didn't ask what Eugene could do. Vaguely he wondered if the Devil would actually tell him or make him work for it. He was betting on the latter.
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The images stayed with him, floating in the back of his mind for the most part but would slip into his mind's eye at random moments and send him into a state of sickened panic. He had to snap out of it quickly, which wasn't always easy, or run the risk of alerting others that something was wrong. Sam knew he was a terrible liar and on the best of days he might could fast talk his way around verbal obstacles and eek away with little harm...most the time. But today was no where near a good day. Not with visions of Mindy's mutilated body swimming to the forefront.
His friends weren't so easily fooled and immediately picked up on Sam's reluctance. Sock, being Sock, refused to let it slide. He poke, prodded, whined, and even went so far as to pull out the best friend card not once, but three times before he got the details of the latest soul. Neither Sock nor Ben had been to gung-ho on tracking Eugene down and Sam couldn't blame them; he wasn't to enthused on the prospect of cornering this guy either. Still, where Sam went he knew his friends would go as well so they'd spent the better part of their shift formulating plans, dodging Ted, and skipping out to do some research.
An appointment with INS took Ben off the search but he came through with a location for Eugene. Seemed the guy was a British National just like Sarah and with some fancy footwork - sweet talking the pretty receptionist and the lady down in records was considered footwork for Ben - he managed to get a address of where their soul worked. He sent the info along which lead Sam and Sock down to Miller Construction Supply on the edge of the town proper, near the water. If Sam realized how long it would take to search the entire yard he would have brought another flashlight.
"I don't know why we do this my man." Sock asked for about the fifth time tonight as they crept around the back lot of the construction company the escaped soul took up employment at. "I mean, fighting the good fight, taking down the badest of the bad but it's Saturday night! We could be down at the bar, sucking down some watered down best and scoping out the bounty of betties."
It was the same spiel he'd been hearing most the night just rearranged and delivered in a different yet still whiny tone that just bordered on annoying but had just enough truth and shared longing behind it that Sam couldn't really get upset because damn if he didn't want to be down at the bar right now, drinking a mug of chilled goodness and snacking on some chili fries. When they coined the phrase 'No rest for the wicked' they forgot to mention the bit on the end where there was even less for those that hunted them.
"I could go over, again, the fact that this was not my first choice in careers here Sock."
"Yeah, yeah. Mom and Dad sold your soul, forever indebted to the Devil, gotta track down the swirly minions of hell and suck 'em up in cracky, random and totally awesome doodads, then ship them off to hell via the Gladys express." Sock moved around a pile of spilled 2x4s, moving further away from Sam and taking their only flashlight along for the ride, leaving Sam stumbling almost blindly in the darkness. "Dude, broken record."
Sam glared halfheartedly towards the light and subsequently Sock, "Let's just find this guy, put him in the vessel, then I promise we can go grab a six pack and some pizza then head back to the apartment to cheer Ben up."
"Ha! Probably the only guy alive that's got it worse than you at the moment."
Sam stumbled over something that felt like a cinderblock that nearly sent him face first into a pile of gravel. "Ow, shi...Damn it, Sock. Come on. It's not that bad. True it's gotten a little out of hand but he agreed to help her out and if things go south then not only will she be deported but Ben's going to end up in jail."
"She's using him and effectively cockblocking him from that fine little nur-oomph!" The sickening sound of something heavy hitting flesh, a muffled cry of pain, and a noisy crash ended whatever Sock had been saying and left Sam spinning on his heels towards the sounds with a cry of his own. The flashlight had been knocked out of Sock's hand and was flickering despondently by a crate of woodchips.
Sam's eyes were about as wide as he could get them as he nervously scanned the night around him while making his way slowly towards where he thought he'd heard Sock land. He was a little unsteady and almost ended up on his face but thus far he was covering ground steadily and whatever had attacked his friend hadn't came after him yet. He didn't delude himself into thinking that it wouldn't, that whatever was out here had left after getting that shot in on Sock. It was still here...somewhere.
Creeping around the same pile of 2x4s Sock had, Sam caught the outline of his friend's body laying in a crumpled heap a few yards away. He took another frantic look around then chanced calling out. "Sock? Sock, man, talk to me, okay?" He moved a little closer and raised his voice. "Sock? Please, Sock, talk to me."
Something wet hit the back of Sam's neck, making him freeze and suck in a breath that seemed to burn his lungs at the abrupt halt. It felt like he couldn't move, couldn't think, but slowly, almost in slow motion, Sam brought a shaky hand up to touch the back of his neck, smearing the slick, chilly patch of wetness against his fingers and neck. He found it odd, in that instant, that something so wet could feel so warm when just a second ago it had chilled him to the bone. Time was a luxury he nor Sock had and he was wasting it.
Thick bands wrapped around Sam's arms, pressing them painfully against his sides. The vessel, a modified military baton, fell to the ground from suddenly lax fingers and was lost in the darkness at his feet. Sam struggled, feet kicking out at an unseen target, but nothing he did granted him an leverage or score him hits on his attacker. If anything it simply wasted energy. After a few moments his struggles lessened and he sagged against his bonds. It was at that point that he figured out that whatever was wrapped around him wasn't necessarily all that solid. They squirmed.
"You know, when I learned that there was a Reaper around here figured Big Red had a big fellow with skills and weapons that would give me a real challenge. Imagine my surprise when some little twink and his boyfriend start sniffing around." A warm breath ghosted over Sam's ear followed by a laugh that turned his blood cold. "What'd you two think you could do? Catch me off guard, maybe with my pants around my ankles?"
Eugene grinned beside Sam's ear as he shifted their bodies closer. He pressed himself almost intimately against his captive's back, hips snugging firmly against Sam's backside, and rippled the brands keeping the Reaper immobile. He laughed when the boy shuddered and made a face of absolute disgust and horror. "Maybe I've got it backwards. Maybe you're not the Reaper at all."
"Wh...what'dyo..." Sam's tongue felt heavy in his mouth, to thick to form words but loose enough to allow sound to continue to pass through. If he couldn't talk then he couldn't try to yell for help, couldn't holler for Sock, couldn't try to talk his way out of this. He knew that was bad no matter how you sliced it but the knowledge of it happening and actually experiencing the sensation were two separate entities. When combined with the adrenaline already pumping through his veins, Sam was heading into a blind panic. Panic made you do stupid things; like try an previously useless strategy to escape.
Derider worked a hand beneath Sam's loose hanging button up, the wife beater that was worn underneath was quickly wrestled free of Sam's pants then wormed warm fingers along the quivering Abs beneath. "Me? I want anything and everything life has to offer." The hand moved lower, caressing the thin dusting of hair just below the Reaper's belt. "And right now, it's offered me you."
Sam's eyes flew wide at the implications dripping from the soul's words and bucked against the man's touches, trying to twist and struggle free of the iron grip holding him tight. Unbidden images of Mindy Lindon swam in front of his eyes. The sightless eyes crying tears of blood and the split lips wide as if screaming assaulted his senses. He couldn't help but think that was going to be him soon if he didn't find a way to get out of this. He was all alone out here with a friend he wasn't even sure was still alive at this point since Sock hadn't made a noise, hadn't stirred.
Eugene made short work of the belt and zipper holding Sam's pants together and pushed them low on the other man's hips. The first feel of hot skin and the smell of fear was intense. It always was. Man, woman, it was all the same rush when his hands met their bodies and they realized just how desperate their situation had become. There was no mistaking the deliberate dip and sweep of fingers into the creases running along narrow hips, or the ghostlike touches that moved over intimate territory. From the startled whine gurgling in the back of the little Reaper's throat, the kid was finally getting with the program.
"I was due another catch.” Derider started in a low almost husky voice as his hands cupped and squeezed at Sam’s dick through the thin cotton of the man’s boxers. “Ever since little Mindy gave me everything she had I’ve been itching for another score. Mmm, she was a fine little piece too.”
Sam felt the soul hardening. He couldn’t miss it since the guy was all over him, pulling him back against a solid chest, hips grinding into his ass. He’d never been more afraid of anything in his life than he was of the man and his sickly sweet voice and roaming hands. An involuntary whimper spilled from his mouth with each heavy handed pet and squeeze from Eugene’s hands which only grew louder when something twined around his naked calves and started to slide upwards along his legs, leaving a wet trail that made him shiver.
Every noise, every squirm only served to entice action to derive more; always more. He could never just stop with the half hearted cries, the first push into an unwilling body, the constant struggles and pleas that soon turned to sluggish whimpers as their life slowly slipped out of them. Eugene tried to cultivate these moments, to draw them out for hours of continued pleasure and pain; his pleasure and their pain. It was all the same to him in the end.
The last breath, as Derider liked to think, was the one true delicacy of man. The body was lush and supple, ripe for the taking but could only sate a connoisseur of flesh but left so little when the light was extinguished. Once there was no more breath left to scream then there was almost no use left for a body in his opinion. That was until he discovered the taste of an abused, dying breath. Tasting of fear and blood with the musk of sex still fresh in the air, saturating the moist puffs of that one last breath…it was divine and Eugene spent a lifetime sucking down the remnants of other’s lives.
He relished in telling Sam this. All the little details of licking inside the yawning mouth of the freshly dead, tasting the blood, bile, and himself and how he was going to savor everything the little Reaper was going to give him before he did the same. And Sam would give him everything too. That last breath was what he craved.
“When I escaped hell I found out a few interesting things about myself, how my time underground changed me.” Eugene stated in a matter of fact tone as if he were simply regaling an old story told between friends instead of molesting a very unwilling body of a man that was supposed to be his demise. By this time he figured the Reaper knew he was referring to the handy little tentacles currently sliding up the leg openings in Sam’s boxers and the one snaking up his little rabbit’s chest to wrap around that pretty little throat. A person’s imagination was their worst enemy sometimes.
Sam bucked and nearly yelled when the slime coated eel like thing wrapped around the base of his cock while another tracked between his thighs. He never thought something like this would ever happen to him. Maimed, torn limb from limb by an angry escapee, or even melted into a bubbly puddle of man-goo but getting raped by a tentacle monster? Yeah, that never crossed his mind except in a booze-induced nightmare after watching a bad Japanese movie marathon with Sock when they were seventeen.
Something soft wrapped around Sam’s throat and squeezed, making his gasp. In that moment the blunt tip of whatever that thing was slipped between his lips and delved deep inside his mouth almost choking him. He gagged against it anyways and was rewarded with a several shallow thrusts that plunged it further down his throat. His hands scrambled at his thighs where they were pinned, trying to get some purchase so he could claw that damned appendage away from his mouth so he could breath!
Eugene laughed quietly against Sam’s ear then licked around the shell, the tentacle still thrusting almost lazily while the other two started to stroke the flaccid length of the Reaper’s anatomy. His little pet wasn’t enjoying himself but that didn’t matter. That pert little mouth was making all the right noises, the sloppy dribble of saliva trekking down the Reaper’s chin … the first spurt of warm liquid emptied down the Reaper’s throat which sent the poor boy to choking around him. The tears started then and he couldn’t help but laugh.
“How easily they break.” The soul cooed gently, rubbing his erection against the cotton barrier stretching over Sam’s ass. “Those tears probably won’t stop either, will they?” He didn’t wait for an answer, didn’t bother pulling the still pulsing tentacle from the Reaper’s throat to even give him a chance. Whatever the boy would say wouldn’t matter. He never really cared anyway.
The boxers were pushed down the back of Sam’s ass, exposing the fleshy globs which Eugene grabbed a hold of and twisted playfully in his hands. “I enjoy the last breath but the first taste? That’s just as good.” His erection pushed against the stretched flesh in his hands. “So sweet, so ripe.” The Reaper groaned and fresh tears slipped down the boy’s cheeks. It was beautiful.
Derider pulled a hand away from Sam’s body and made short work of pulling himself out of his own pants, the rigid flesh sticking out of the slit of his own boxers. He didn’t push in right away but nestled his dick in the valley of Sam’s crack and rocked his hips forward, setting up a slow rhythm. “You’ll just be another notch on my belt, I’ve killed so many before you, but you’ll be my first Reaper.”
Horror flashed across Sam’s face. ‘This is not happening. This is not happening. This is not happening!’ The not so subtle nudge and slid of something that sure as hell shouldn’t be there wasn’t helping matters. ‘ Probably for the first time Sam started to pray for some divine intervention.
He hoped someone was listening.
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Author: tanzensiemit/Sev
Fandom: Reaper
Pairing/character: Sam Oliver/Escaped Soul (Tentacles)
Rating: FRAO - Fan Rated Adults Only
Prompt: "Make it stop, please...!" - wee_boo
Kink: Tentacles, Non-Con, Breathless, Multiple Orgasms
Warnings: Slash, Non-Con, sexual abuse, sexual predator, pseudo-religious/religious themes, abuse, blood, references to murder, crime details, rape, living restraints
Disclaimer: Reaper is the intellectual property of Tara Butters and Michele Fazekas (all subsidiaries rights reserved) and The ABC Studios and The Mark Gordon Company, licensed to The CW network. I make no claims of working for, knowing anyone who works for, or having any affiliation with anyone associated with either the companies listed or the show, nor actors working for the show, Reaper. All rights are reserved and upheld.
Rounds of Kink
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The Last Breath
When Sam gets up in the mornings there are only a few basic needs he needs to take care of before he gets dressed and leaves for the day, relieving his bladder is usually at the top of the list. It had been what drove him out of his bed twenty minutes before his alarm went off. Unfortunately when he stumbled his way down the hall to the shared bathroom he ended up in a Las Vegas Gentleman's club. Not a bad place to end up, really, but when you're standing barefoot in blue print boxers and a ratty tee-shirt, well it looses it's appeal.
"Ah Sammy!" A familiar voice called from a dim booth in the corner. The Devil slid effortlessly from the rounded bench and headed towards Sam with a to wide white smile shining from a perfectly tanned face.
Sam's shoulders slumped in an exaggerated show of exasperation while his face broadcast just how much he didn't appreciate yet another impromptu teleportation that Satan liked to use in order to get Sam where he could talk to him. Usually it was places Sam really shouldn't be but the Devil never seemed to care about the little details.
"Come on. It's like seven in the morning. What can be so important that it couldn't wait until after I actually got ready for the day!" Sam complained loudly as the Devil came within proper earshot, so that Sam wasn't yelling across to much open space.
The Devil smiled a little wider and turned his hands palm up in a gesture of not-quite surrender or placation but a move to reassure the ever jumpy and suspicious human he'd had the most fun messing with. "Come now, Sammy, time waits for no man. Besides," The Devil's arms swept wider, hands making small bouncing motions, "this place is a great wakeup call, don't you think?"
A scantily clad waitress in four inch heels moved towards them with a tray carrying a tall flute of some florescent drink, complete with a tiny umbrella. She stopped only long enough between the two men to lean towards the Devil, showcasing her ample cleavage, more likely the clear line of sight down her artfully ripped shirt, and offer him his drink. The Devil took it with one hand and offered a fifty as payment with the other which he tucked between the cleft between the woman's breasts. He patted the firm rump presented to them when the waitress turned to leave, making the girl giggle as she headed back out into the crowd. Sam watched all this happen and couldn't help but be both envious and appalled by the display. This was definitely not something he was use to or thought he ever would get use to.
"Look, what do you want?"
The Devil took his time sipping at the concoction, eyeing Sam over the edge of the glass. He licked at his lips and lowered the drink. "Are you always this hostile in the mornings? No wonder Cady left you." It was a cheap shot, he knew, but it's the little things, he found, that riled his little 'Reaper' up the quickest. As predicted, Sam tensed and favored the Devil with a pretty impressive glare. He liked that Sam, though afraid of him and what he could and would do, he still managed to find his balls and stand up to him, even in such stilted and often passive-aggressive ways.
"There's a particularly nasty soul that's slipped through the cracks and, as you can understand, I'm not happy about it." Satan smiled, shrugging, "Well I'm not happy with any soul that manages to escape but this one? This one has been with me for very long time and I want him back."
It seemed, to Sam, that these souls that were escaping were always on the Devil's top ten list of ones he really wanted back. He's pretty sure that if he was in the Devil's shoes he'd want those souls back as well but Sam couldn't help but feel a slight admiration for any of those poor suckers that managed to escape. It reminded him that there was a way out and gave him hope that he still had a chance to get out of the contract that tied him to his current fate as the Devil's bounty hunter. Still, even under all that, he felt a surge of fear that 'Another One' was loose and he had to get it back.
"Fine. What was this one in for?" Sam asked after heaving a put-upon sigh. "Tax evasion, murder, another crazy arsonist? Oh, I know! Is it another psycho supermodel that wants to melt my face off?"
"You say that with such venom, Sam. I'm beginning to think you don't enjoy your work."
"Really? What was your first clue?" It sounded more like a whine than Sam liked to admit but at this point he didn't care. It was already embarrassing enough that he was getting some odd looks from some of the girls walking around without suddenly letting loose on the floor but that's what was going to have the Devil didn't get a move on. "Just...can we hurry this up? I've got to get to work soon."
"Bah, fine, take all the fun out of it." The Devil moved towards the table and sat down his drink then turned back towards Sam. He pulled a photo from a pocket inside his jacket and passed it to Sam. The man in the picture looked like an average middle-aged man from suburbia. Brown hair, dull features, and a face that was easily forgettable. He just looked so...normal. "Yeah, I can tell what you're thinking but don't let his looks fool you, Sammy, this guy is a real piece of work. He's into all the biggies: kidnapping, torture, rape, and my personal favorite, murder. Eugene Derider spent the better part of twenty years traveling around the states, adding a new body to his ever growing list with each town he passed through. He would have continued his little spree if he hadn't gotten greedy."
Sam cringed and handed the photo back. "That's highly disturbing and more than a little uncomfortable."
"After thirty years with me and Eugene’s still got it." The to white smile flashed again in the smoky atmosphere. "Enough about that. Look Sam, I want him back and you're the lucky hunter that I'm charging to get him."
"Why do you do this to me?" Sam threw up his hands up to wave off the answer he already knew. "No, nevermind. Just put me back in my room, give me my vessel, and let me go to work."
The Devil narrowed his eyes but his smile didn't dim. If anything it grew sharper. "I'm not sure you understand the situation here Samuel." He placed a hand on Sam's shoulder and the world shifted around them. When everything settled they were standing in Sam's bedroom where a vessel sat innocently on the edge of Sam's bed. "He's already struck once. Mindy Landon was a sweet young woman, just finished her first year at Bradford and was home for the break. Eugene left pieces of her skin on the front porch of her parent's house and her body just down the street in the gutter. She wasn't so pretty; closed casket if you know what I mean." The images he let slide across the Reaper's vision weren't so pretty either but the boy needed to know what he was up against. He was confident in Sam's abilities, assured that the kid would come through for him like he always did, but there was only so far dumb luck stretched.
Sam needed to get to the bathroom only it wasn't just to drain his bladder anymore. He'd probably bring up last night's dinner. Sam jerked backwards and the images immediately vanished leaving him alone with lead in his stomach, a mystery vessel on his bed, and utterly, utterly alone. Actually he was kind of glad he was because he sure as hell - HA - didn't want the Devil to see him sinking to his knees, bending half over on the floor with his arms wrapped around his middle, staring wide-eyed at the hardwood.
It wasn't until much later, after dragging his sorry ass into the bathroom to take care of business and then get ready for work, that Sam remembered that he didn't ask what Eugene could do. Vaguely he wondered if the Devil would actually tell him or make him work for it. He was betting on the latter.
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The images stayed with him, floating in the back of his mind for the most part but would slip into his mind's eye at random moments and send him into a state of sickened panic. He had to snap out of it quickly, which wasn't always easy, or run the risk of alerting others that something was wrong. Sam knew he was a terrible liar and on the best of days he might could fast talk his way around verbal obstacles and eek away with little harm...most the time. But today was no where near a good day. Not with visions of Mindy's mutilated body swimming to the forefront.
His friends weren't so easily fooled and immediately picked up on Sam's reluctance. Sock, being Sock, refused to let it slide. He poke, prodded, whined, and even went so far as to pull out the best friend card not once, but three times before he got the details of the latest soul. Neither Sock nor Ben had been to gung-ho on tracking Eugene down and Sam couldn't blame them; he wasn't to enthused on the prospect of cornering this guy either. Still, where Sam went he knew his friends would go as well so they'd spent the better part of their shift formulating plans, dodging Ted, and skipping out to do some research.
An appointment with INS took Ben off the search but he came through with a location for Eugene. Seemed the guy was a British National just like Sarah and with some fancy footwork - sweet talking the pretty receptionist and the lady down in records was considered footwork for Ben - he managed to get a address of where their soul worked. He sent the info along which lead Sam and Sock down to Miller Construction Supply on the edge of the town proper, near the water. If Sam realized how long it would take to search the entire yard he would have brought another flashlight.
"I don't know why we do this my man." Sock asked for about the fifth time tonight as they crept around the back lot of the construction company the escaped soul took up employment at. "I mean, fighting the good fight, taking down the badest of the bad but it's Saturday night! We could be down at the bar, sucking down some watered down best and scoping out the bounty of betties."
It was the same spiel he'd been hearing most the night just rearranged and delivered in a different yet still whiny tone that just bordered on annoying but had just enough truth and shared longing behind it that Sam couldn't really get upset because damn if he didn't want to be down at the bar right now, drinking a mug of chilled goodness and snacking on some chili fries. When they coined the phrase 'No rest for the wicked' they forgot to mention the bit on the end where there was even less for those that hunted them.
"I could go over, again, the fact that this was not my first choice in careers here Sock."
"Yeah, yeah. Mom and Dad sold your soul, forever indebted to the Devil, gotta track down the swirly minions of hell and suck 'em up in cracky, random and totally awesome doodads, then ship them off to hell via the Gladys express." Sock moved around a pile of spilled 2x4s, moving further away from Sam and taking their only flashlight along for the ride, leaving Sam stumbling almost blindly in the darkness. "Dude, broken record."
Sam glared halfheartedly towards the light and subsequently Sock, "Let's just find this guy, put him in the vessel, then I promise we can go grab a six pack and some pizza then head back to the apartment to cheer Ben up."
"Ha! Probably the only guy alive that's got it worse than you at the moment."
Sam stumbled over something that felt like a cinderblock that nearly sent him face first into a pile of gravel. "Ow, shi...Damn it, Sock. Come on. It's not that bad. True it's gotten a little out of hand but he agreed to help her out and if things go south then not only will she be deported but Ben's going to end up in jail."
"She's using him and effectively cockblocking him from that fine little nur-oomph!" The sickening sound of something heavy hitting flesh, a muffled cry of pain, and a noisy crash ended whatever Sock had been saying and left Sam spinning on his heels towards the sounds with a cry of his own. The flashlight had been knocked out of Sock's hand and was flickering despondently by a crate of woodchips.
Sam's eyes were about as wide as he could get them as he nervously scanned the night around him while making his way slowly towards where he thought he'd heard Sock land. He was a little unsteady and almost ended up on his face but thus far he was covering ground steadily and whatever had attacked his friend hadn't came after him yet. He didn't delude himself into thinking that it wouldn't, that whatever was out here had left after getting that shot in on Sock. It was still here...somewhere.
Creeping around the same pile of 2x4s Sock had, Sam caught the outline of his friend's body laying in a crumpled heap a few yards away. He took another frantic look around then chanced calling out. "Sock? Sock, man, talk to me, okay?" He moved a little closer and raised his voice. "Sock? Please, Sock, talk to me."
Something wet hit the back of Sam's neck, making him freeze and suck in a breath that seemed to burn his lungs at the abrupt halt. It felt like he couldn't move, couldn't think, but slowly, almost in slow motion, Sam brought a shaky hand up to touch the back of his neck, smearing the slick, chilly patch of wetness against his fingers and neck. He found it odd, in that instant, that something so wet could feel so warm when just a second ago it had chilled him to the bone. Time was a luxury he nor Sock had and he was wasting it.
Thick bands wrapped around Sam's arms, pressing them painfully against his sides. The vessel, a modified military baton, fell to the ground from suddenly lax fingers and was lost in the darkness at his feet. Sam struggled, feet kicking out at an unseen target, but nothing he did granted him an leverage or score him hits on his attacker. If anything it simply wasted energy. After a few moments his struggles lessened and he sagged against his bonds. It was at that point that he figured out that whatever was wrapped around him wasn't necessarily all that solid. They squirmed.
"You know, when I learned that there was a Reaper around here figured Big Red had a big fellow with skills and weapons that would give me a real challenge. Imagine my surprise when some little twink and his boyfriend start sniffing around." A warm breath ghosted over Sam's ear followed by a laugh that turned his blood cold. "What'd you two think you could do? Catch me off guard, maybe with my pants around my ankles?"
Eugene grinned beside Sam's ear as he shifted their bodies closer. He pressed himself almost intimately against his captive's back, hips snugging firmly against Sam's backside, and rippled the brands keeping the Reaper immobile. He laughed when the boy shuddered and made a face of absolute disgust and horror. "Maybe I've got it backwards. Maybe you're not the Reaper at all."
"Wh...what'dyo..." Sam's tongue felt heavy in his mouth, to thick to form words but loose enough to allow sound to continue to pass through. If he couldn't talk then he couldn't try to yell for help, couldn't holler for Sock, couldn't try to talk his way out of this. He knew that was bad no matter how you sliced it but the knowledge of it happening and actually experiencing the sensation were two separate entities. When combined with the adrenaline already pumping through his veins, Sam was heading into a blind panic. Panic made you do stupid things; like try an previously useless strategy to escape.
Derider worked a hand beneath Sam's loose hanging button up, the wife beater that was worn underneath was quickly wrestled free of Sam's pants then wormed warm fingers along the quivering Abs beneath. "Me? I want anything and everything life has to offer." The hand moved lower, caressing the thin dusting of hair just below the Reaper's belt. "And right now, it's offered me you."
Sam's eyes flew wide at the implications dripping from the soul's words and bucked against the man's touches, trying to twist and struggle free of the iron grip holding him tight. Unbidden images of Mindy Lindon swam in front of his eyes. The sightless eyes crying tears of blood and the split lips wide as if screaming assaulted his senses. He couldn't help but think that was going to be him soon if he didn't find a way to get out of this. He was all alone out here with a friend he wasn't even sure was still alive at this point since Sock hadn't made a noise, hadn't stirred.
Eugene made short work of the belt and zipper holding Sam's pants together and pushed them low on the other man's hips. The first feel of hot skin and the smell of fear was intense. It always was. Man, woman, it was all the same rush when his hands met their bodies and they realized just how desperate their situation had become. There was no mistaking the deliberate dip and sweep of fingers into the creases running along narrow hips, or the ghostlike touches that moved over intimate territory. From the startled whine gurgling in the back of the little Reaper's throat, the kid was finally getting with the program.
"I was due another catch.” Derider started in a low almost husky voice as his hands cupped and squeezed at Sam’s dick through the thin cotton of the man’s boxers. “Ever since little Mindy gave me everything she had I’ve been itching for another score. Mmm, she was a fine little piece too.”
Sam felt the soul hardening. He couldn’t miss it since the guy was all over him, pulling him back against a solid chest, hips grinding into his ass. He’d never been more afraid of anything in his life than he was of the man and his sickly sweet voice and roaming hands. An involuntary whimper spilled from his mouth with each heavy handed pet and squeeze from Eugene’s hands which only grew louder when something twined around his naked calves and started to slide upwards along his legs, leaving a wet trail that made him shiver.
Every noise, every squirm only served to entice action to derive more; always more. He could never just stop with the half hearted cries, the first push into an unwilling body, the constant struggles and pleas that soon turned to sluggish whimpers as their life slowly slipped out of them. Eugene tried to cultivate these moments, to draw them out for hours of continued pleasure and pain; his pleasure and their pain. It was all the same to him in the end.
The last breath, as Derider liked to think, was the one true delicacy of man. The body was lush and supple, ripe for the taking but could only sate a connoisseur of flesh but left so little when the light was extinguished. Once there was no more breath left to scream then there was almost no use left for a body in his opinion. That was until he discovered the taste of an abused, dying breath. Tasting of fear and blood with the musk of sex still fresh in the air, saturating the moist puffs of that one last breath…it was divine and Eugene spent a lifetime sucking down the remnants of other’s lives.
He relished in telling Sam this. All the little details of licking inside the yawning mouth of the freshly dead, tasting the blood, bile, and himself and how he was going to savor everything the little Reaper was going to give him before he did the same. And Sam would give him everything too. That last breath was what he craved.
“When I escaped hell I found out a few interesting things about myself, how my time underground changed me.” Eugene stated in a matter of fact tone as if he were simply regaling an old story told between friends instead of molesting a very unwilling body of a man that was supposed to be his demise. By this time he figured the Reaper knew he was referring to the handy little tentacles currently sliding up the leg openings in Sam’s boxers and the one snaking up his little rabbit’s chest to wrap around that pretty little throat. A person’s imagination was their worst enemy sometimes.
Sam bucked and nearly yelled when the slime coated eel like thing wrapped around the base of his cock while another tracked between his thighs. He never thought something like this would ever happen to him. Maimed, torn limb from limb by an angry escapee, or even melted into a bubbly puddle of man-goo but getting raped by a tentacle monster? Yeah, that never crossed his mind except in a booze-induced nightmare after watching a bad Japanese movie marathon with Sock when they were seventeen.
Something soft wrapped around Sam’s throat and squeezed, making his gasp. In that moment the blunt tip of whatever that thing was slipped between his lips and delved deep inside his mouth almost choking him. He gagged against it anyways and was rewarded with a several shallow thrusts that plunged it further down his throat. His hands scrambled at his thighs where they were pinned, trying to get some purchase so he could claw that damned appendage away from his mouth so he could breath!
Eugene laughed quietly against Sam’s ear then licked around the shell, the tentacle still thrusting almost lazily while the other two started to stroke the flaccid length of the Reaper’s anatomy. His little pet wasn’t enjoying himself but that didn’t matter. That pert little mouth was making all the right noises, the sloppy dribble of saliva trekking down the Reaper’s chin … the first spurt of warm liquid emptied down the Reaper’s throat which sent the poor boy to choking around him. The tears started then and he couldn’t help but laugh.
“How easily they break.” The soul cooed gently, rubbing his erection against the cotton barrier stretching over Sam’s ass. “Those tears probably won’t stop either, will they?” He didn’t wait for an answer, didn’t bother pulling the still pulsing tentacle from the Reaper’s throat to even give him a chance. Whatever the boy would say wouldn’t matter. He never really cared anyway.
The boxers were pushed down the back of Sam’s ass, exposing the fleshy globs which Eugene grabbed a hold of and twisted playfully in his hands. “I enjoy the last breath but the first taste? That’s just as good.” His erection pushed against the stretched flesh in his hands. “So sweet, so ripe.” The Reaper groaned and fresh tears slipped down the boy’s cheeks. It was beautiful.
Derider pulled a hand away from Sam’s body and made short work of pulling himself out of his own pants, the rigid flesh sticking out of the slit of his own boxers. He didn’t push in right away but nestled his dick in the valley of Sam’s crack and rocked his hips forward, setting up a slow rhythm. “You’ll just be another notch on my belt, I’ve killed so many before you, but you’ll be my first Reaper.”
Horror flashed across Sam’s face. ‘This is not happening. This is not happening. This is not happening!’ The not so subtle nudge and slid of something that sure as hell shouldn’t be there wasn’t helping matters. ‘ Probably for the first time Sam started to pray for some divine intervention.
He hoped someone was listening.
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