New fic- DEEPLY warped and twisted.
I would normally post this on lifein1973, but I can't because of some silliness regarding my new email address- I haven't received the validation email,so can't confirm it, so can't post to any other journal than my own. If anyone out there's had the same problem and resolved it, what did you do?
As it is, I'm having to post it here and it will be linked to from lifein1973
Anyway, this story is part of an ongoing AU Life on Mars series of stories.
Everyone involved in writing this series is going to hell in a handbasket.
It is deliberatly sick, warped and twisted, and involves graphic sex scenes.
If it were a film it would be 'X' certificate.
And don't try this at home, kids.
TITLE: Endgame
AUTHOR: Cuvalwen
FANDOM: Life on Mars
SUMMARY: Chris quite takes Sam's breath away... and Sam finds that he's got Chris under his skin.
RATING: Red Cortina. Seriously.
WORD COUNT: 3,000
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This takes place directly after the events in The Games We
Play, a sort of happier ending to the Psycho!Samatic Cycle, if you will.
For a given value of ‘happy’, of course…
Many thanks to m31andy for support, comments, advice and betaing. And also curses for getting me started on this sort of fic, as well....
DISCLAIMER: Life on Mars is copyright Kudos and the BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.
Endgame
When Sam awoke the next morning there was no sign of Chris. Had it all even happened or was it simply just another one of those impossible, nonsensical dreams that had been haunting him for months? It seemed less real than 2006- and that had been fading into the shadows of memory for a long time now. There would be whole days when he wouldn't think of 2006 at all.
The bathroom. There must be something there, if all that he remembered was true.
The bath was, if not clean, then not bloodstained. Rinsed away? Luminol wouldn't be available for decades- no guilty signs in neon yet.
Reaching into the cabinet for toothpaste, he saw the small jar of Vaseline- was that where he had left it? It was clean on the outside, but if he were to look inside…?
He bit his lip slightly, then quickly twisted the lid off.
A smear of red on the translucent ivory jelly.
Sam closed his eyes.
It was real…
Then an icy knot of fear gripped his stomach- what was Chris doing now? Reporting him? Making a statement? Why had he told him so much- shown him so much? Chris must have been behind the other girls- but there was more than enough evidence to put him away forever for all the bodies.
But if Chris were to turn him in, surely the entire 'A' division would have been crashing through the door already. And why clean up, remove evidence? The blood tank was now empty- nothing to suggest what had been in there.
Only thing to do- go to work as normal, face it out. There's no real proof of anything….
* * * * *
At the station, Sam hesitated for a moment outside the double doors that lead to CID. Taking a deep breath he pushed them open and stepped through. Heads turned slightly and then returned to whatever they were doing- in Ray's case; reviewing the morning papers (or rather, page 3 of the morning papers) and in Chris', typing up some witness statements.
Ray grunted something that might have been 'Morning' if one used one's imagination; Chris looked up properly and grinned.
Not like the grins from last night, though. This was more like the old Chris, the one Sam had thought he'd known. He looked as young and puppyish as ever. Was it a full moon last night, or something?
"Mornin' Boss. You look like you had a good night!"
Sam stared at the DC, trying to read anything in Chris' open, guileless expression that might give him some clue as to how to play this now. But he was saved from having to answer by Gene Hunt striding through the door.
"Mornin' ladies! Ray, where's that report? Chris, why aren't those statements done yet? Sam, we're going to put the screws on that toerag in 3- see if a night at Casa del Nick has made him any more talkative. Oh, and Chris? Why've you blood on yer mug? It's my job to beat up the nonces remember, you wait your turn!"
Chris at first looked anxiously at his tea mug, then twigged and rubbed at a spot on his jawline, near the chin. He grinned sheepishly.
"Must've cut meself shaving, Guv."
"You! Shave! Don't make me laugh. C'mon Sammy-boy, villains won't confess all by themselves!"
As Sam followed Gene out, he looked back briefly to see Chris redouble his typing efforts, as if there was nothing more important in the world than documenting the fact that Mrs Jones had heard something that might have been a row at some point, but she really couldn't be sure….
* * * * *
All day, nothing. Not a word, not a sign from Chris, nothing but the usual slightly hapless eagerness that had at first made Sam feel almost protective when he'd first arrived. He had seen in him a hope for the future of policing- if he could get some of the ideas of proper procedure into Chris' mind, maybe things would improve in this backwater of a time, just a little? But now he could sense those little strands of modern policing twisting together into a rope that could have hanged him not 10 years ago.
But 70's policing was still in force as the suspect was 'interrogated', and Gene was impressed by how much less squeamish his DI was these days. And so there was a confession, therefore a result, therefore a celebration. Therefore the Railway Arms. Sam was torn between wanting to talk to Chris at last and not daring to risk it in public. So he was half relieved and half disappointed when Chris left after an hour, declaring that he had a date and exiting to the accompaniment of wolfwhistles and entreaties to 'Give her one for me!'
Sam himself managed to escape a further hour later as Gene was busy expounding to Annie what was needed in a good detective- balls of steel apparently, and gut instinct. And not to faint at the sight of a bit of blood.
Well, thought Sam to himself as he drained the last of his pint, handed the glass to an unsuspecting Nelson with a cheery nod and strolled out of the pub, two out of three ain't bad…
* * * * *
As Sam walked through his front door he shed his jacket into a heap on the floor and started to unbutton his shirt; only to stop dead as he saw Chris sitting in the chair. He couldn't have been there long- the glass of whiskey in his hand had large chunks of ice still floating in it. But Chris was leaning back at ease, and was smiling gently.
"Oh, don't stop, please. Carry on."
"Wh- what are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you, of course."
"What do you want?"
"You."
At that Chris stood in one fluid movement and crossed the short space to Sam. Puppy dog eyes, wide and hopeful.
"Don't you want me…?"
Chris moved even closer, tilted his head, and placed a gentle, chaste kiss on Sam's lips.
The contact was like an electric spark, shocking Sam back to life. He grabbed Chris' head with both hands and pulled him closer, Sam's mouth opening and tongue darting out to demand entrance. Chris obliged and more than obliged, licking, biting at Sam's lips, tongue, teeth; ravenous, insatiable.
They had to break for air and gazed at each other- panting.
Chris grinned- the grin from last night.
"So you do want me."
"Damn right," Sam growled, and fairly tore the younger man's shirt open.
Chris gasped in shock at the violence, but then his eyes narrowed and he growled with desire. Pushing back the fabric over the shoulders, Chris was momentarily incapacitated- his arms entwined behind him in the fabric as Sam dove ravenously to the neck. Teeth bit and lips sucked at the pale skin as Chris moaned and writhed. He felt like warm silk under Sam's insistent tongue. Salty and sweet at once, and so, so, smooth… Until a sharp, familiar metallic tang told Sam that he had drawn the very blood from the skin. Shocked almost he drew back and saw the smear of bright red against the darkening mark on Chris' throat. Chris only smiled, shaking himself free of the shirt and bringing up a hand to briefly caress Sam's face.
"Problem, Boss?"
"No!"
Roughly he yanked open the other's belt, tugged open the flies and with a single push denuded Chris from the waist down. His cock sprang out, hard and inviting, with a single drop of moisture on the tip as an invitation…
No. Make him work for this…
Taking Chris by the shoulders, he shoved him back into the armchair, observing with delight the mix of shock and lust on his DC's face. Dropping to his knees he grabbed the glass from which Chris had been drinking- tilting his head back he took in to his mouth two of the ice cubes along which a fair mouthful of the spirit.
Not swallowing yet though, he dipped his head and took the long, erect shaft into his mouth. Chris gasped, moaned, all but screamed as the burning heat of the alcohol mixed with the ice as Sam himself tortured Chris' cock with a feverous tongue.
Chris gasped and shuddered as the cubes melted against the hot skin, and icy water ran down the shaft within the Boss' mouth to drip out, cooling his swollen balls.
Suddenly the lips were tight around the tip and sucking hard as if sucking on a lollipop. Chris' hips bucked up involuntarily as the tongue lapped at the tip, even into the slit. Sam's hands grabbed the other's thighs, forcing them further apart, as his mouth descended again to take him all in.
Either the Boss has done this before Chris thought muzzily, or he's a natural at it… He grinned to himself at the thought of Sam on his knees in front of other men. Have to do something about that at some point he decided, imagining what Sam would look like, on his knees, mouth wrapped round another man's cock. The thought of it made him come, hard and suddenly, spurting into the back of Sam's mouth. It seemed to come as a surprise to Sam as well as he started to pull back, choking; but Chris grabbed the back of his head to hold him in place for a few seconds longer. Sam fought for a brief second, then gave in as the cock in his mouth twitched and shivered to the end of the climax.
Finally released, Sam fell back, eyes wide, with a trickle of Chris' seed running down from the side of his mouth. Chris grinned and, leaning forward, carefully licked up along the trail of milky fluid to Sam's mouth to capture it in a languorous kiss.
"My turn," he purred, rising to his feet and offering a hand to help Sam to his. "I want to see what you taste like."
At that, the younger man dropped lightly to his knees to deftly undo Sam's belt and flies. Tugging down the trousers and shorts, he smiled up as Sam's cock, released, stood erect and hard before him. Then, delicately and gently, he took the full length of it into his mouth.
Sam groaned, gripped Chris' head, entwined his fingers into the long silky dark hair as the mouth began to move up and down the shaft. Tongue caressing the tip like velvet, lips inexorably tightening around the base sending shockwaves through him that screamed for release- Sam cried out in ecstatic shock as teeth gently scraped along the underside over the now almost painfully engorged flesh-
But then Chris drew back, and looking up again with a totally fake, but very convincing expression of innocence observed,
"That blood gets everywhere, doesn't it?"
That drew a burst of startled laughter from Sam. Chris now looked more serious and demanded,
"Do you trust me?"
Sam started to nod, but the word that came out of his mouth was "No".
Chris nodded thoughtfully, then rising to his feet said softly,
"Strip."
He removed the last of his clothing and Sam blindly followed suit. Naked, they gazed at each other for a moment; then Chris reached out, holding Sam by the shoulders, and gently but firmly pushed him back to the butcher's block table again.
"Up," he whispered. Sam complied, pushing himself up onto the table so that he was sitting facing Chris.
"Lie back."
Again Sam did as he was told, and lay there gazing up at the ceiling, his breathing now shallow and apprehensive. Again a moment of nothingness, and then once again a finger, shockingly familiar now, traced its way between his buttocks. Maddeningly it circled Sam's entrance, brushing over the sensitive skin and continuing up to his already swollen balls and caressed the underside of the shaft. The jelly felt cool against the throbbing flesh. Sam gasped and arched backwards, desperate for release now, and suddenly Chris' hand moved like lighting to plunge his finger deep inside.
Sam cried out in an indecipherable mix of pleasure and pain, his hands now fists that dug his nails into his palms. Withdrawal, and then a second finger entered him, eliciting a groan of desire.
Now his hands gripped the sides of the block, he was desperate for more. All pain was washed away, inconsequential, as Chris moved within him, twisting, probing, opening him up. But let me not have to beg again, please…
"No, you don't have to beg this time." Sam's eyes shot open in surprise as Chris continued. "Now, it's all up to you."
"How?"
"Any time you want to stop, you just have to say."
"I don't- I don't want to stop…"
Chris smiled.
"I won't hold you to that…."
Reaching down with his free hand (the other was still stretching and tormenting Sam), he picked up a ball of thick yarn and brought it up to the level of Sam's head. Turning to look through lust-blurry eyes, he saw that one end was tied to one of the table legs.
Carefully, Chris wrapped the yarn twice around Sam's neck, then looped more around his own hand.
The last vestige of sanity was screaming at Sam to call a stop to this, but he couldn't- nothing could make him say that word. Instead he closed his eyes as he first felt the fingers withdraw, and then the pressure of Chris' cock at his entrance.
"Look at me," Chris murmured. Sam did so, to see Chris looking back into his eyes with a wolfish grin on his face. He paused for a second, then suddenly thrust in, hard, all the way at once. Sam almost screamed, but a jerk on the yarn around his neck tightened it, cutting off the cry half-formed.
Then the yarn loosened, but not totally, as Chris began to move, slowly, in and out. One hand tight on Sam's hip again to brace himself, the other controlling the yarn. Pulling slightly harder as he thrust in, slackening off as he withdrew.
As the rhythm built, harder and faster, the yarn tightened more and relaxed less. Fighting for every breath, Sam could hear the drumming of his blood in his ears as his vision started to fade and darken. He writhed and twisted on the block, hands gripping harder at the edges, fighting to breathe, fighting to stay alive, but losing himself totally in the magnetic pull of Chris' eyes; cool and impassive.
If you don't stop this, you'll die! screamed an inner voice.
"If this stops, I'll die," he moaned aloud in response.
Perhaps Chris was not quite as impassive as he appeared. At Sam's words it appeared that his concentration slipped; unable to hold back he came at last in final fierce thrusts deep into Sam. The yarn pulled even tighter than before, digging deep into his neck and now Sam came, hips twitching and jerking as milky white fluid momently was forced out to splatter indiscriminately over them, the force of it even reaching up to Chris' chest.
Chris gasped and staggered, withdrawing from Sam and leaning against the table for support.
"I've never seen anyone take it so far..." he gasped.
Sam swallowed painfully and managed to rasp out;
"Thanks. I'll return the favour some time."
"Now that I'll want to see…. But for now I'm calling the shots."
He bent again and this time picked up a long, delicate-looking instrument, with a wickedly sharp point.
Sam's eyes widened in apprehension.
"What's that?"
"It's called a scriber. It's an engraving tool- very sharp. And very, very useful."
He paused, and looked down thoughtfully at Sam's chest.
"We really need to resolve our little game, once and for all…."
Suddenly his hand darted forward, and incised two sets of parallel lines, one horizontal and one vertical, across the skin. A perfect noughts and crosses board.
Sam gasped in pain, then groaned as he felt the blood welling up and seeping out of the cuts, flowing slightly down his side.
"Scissor, paper, stone for first move?" Chris enquired.
Sam, not trusting himself to speak, nodded.
His mind full of blades, Sam chose scissors. Which were blunted by Chris.
Smiling lazily, Chris reached out and drew a very passable circle in the centre space.
"Your move."
Distracted by the blossoming pain, Sam tried to gather his thoughts. He instinctively knew that there was more riding on this than just honour.
"Top... left…" he managed.
"Yours or mine?"
"…mine."
Now a neat cross appeared. Another circle bottom left, threatening a diagonal line.
"Top right…."
Chris nodded absently and marked it on, ignoring Sam's whimpers. Then he added a circle to bottom middle and grinned triumphantly.
"And…?"
Let me have got this right…
"Top middle. Line."
For a second Chris looked shocked, then furious; then unexpectedly he laughed. He cheerfully incised the cross and with a flourish drew the line across the row.
"I knew there was a reason why I didn't turn you in!"
"You were going to?"
"I thought about it. But I wanted to give you another chance- your shower was truly impressive, you know."
"You want me for my shower?"
Chris grinned back.
"I love you for your shower."
At that he leant forward and gently began to lick the blood from Sam's wounds. Sam hissed and writhed again at the stinging sensation of hot breath, smooth tongue, warm lips on exposed flesh; embracing it, immersing himself. Each mark from the blade was caressed and cleaned as Chris, with meticulous care, explored each incision.
When Chris raised his head again, Sam's blood smeared across his face, Sam gazed up into Chris' eyes.
"You do know that one day, one of us will end up killing the other?"
"Oh yes. But not-" and here Chris broke off to kiss Sam, mouth still bloody and metallic- "Not today".
And as he re-wound the yarn around Sam's neck he added, almost as an afterthought,
"Not on purpose, anyway."
For some reason, this was the funniest thing Sam had ever heard.
The End
As it is, I'm having to post it here and it will be linked to from lifein1973
Anyway, this story is part of an ongoing AU Life on Mars series of stories.
Everyone involved in writing this series is going to hell in a handbasket.
It is deliberatly sick, warped and twisted, and involves graphic sex scenes.
If it were a film it would be 'X' certificate.
And don't try this at home, kids.
TITLE: Endgame
AUTHOR: Cuvalwen
FANDOM: Life on Mars
SUMMARY: Chris quite takes Sam's breath away... and Sam finds that he's got Chris under his skin.
RATING: Red Cortina. Seriously.
WORD COUNT: 3,000
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This takes place directly after the events in The Games We
Play, a sort of happier ending to the Psycho!Samatic Cycle, if you will.
For a given value of ‘happy’, of course…
Many thanks to m31andy for support, comments, advice and betaing. And also curses for getting me started on this sort of fic, as well....
DISCLAIMER: Life on Mars is copyright Kudos and the BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.
Endgame
When Sam awoke the next morning there was no sign of Chris. Had it all even happened or was it simply just another one of those impossible, nonsensical dreams that had been haunting him for months? It seemed less real than 2006- and that had been fading into the shadows of memory for a long time now. There would be whole days when he wouldn't think of 2006 at all.
The bathroom. There must be something there, if all that he remembered was true.
The bath was, if not clean, then not bloodstained. Rinsed away? Luminol wouldn't be available for decades- no guilty signs in neon yet.
Reaching into the cabinet for toothpaste, he saw the small jar of Vaseline- was that where he had left it? It was clean on the outside, but if he were to look inside…?
He bit his lip slightly, then quickly twisted the lid off.
A smear of red on the translucent ivory jelly.
Sam closed his eyes.
It was real…
Then an icy knot of fear gripped his stomach- what was Chris doing now? Reporting him? Making a statement? Why had he told him so much- shown him so much? Chris must have been behind the other girls- but there was more than enough evidence to put him away forever for all the bodies.
But if Chris were to turn him in, surely the entire 'A' division would have been crashing through the door already. And why clean up, remove evidence? The blood tank was now empty- nothing to suggest what had been in there.
Only thing to do- go to work as normal, face it out. There's no real proof of anything….
* * * * *
At the station, Sam hesitated for a moment outside the double doors that lead to CID. Taking a deep breath he pushed them open and stepped through. Heads turned slightly and then returned to whatever they were doing- in Ray's case; reviewing the morning papers (or rather, page 3 of the morning papers) and in Chris', typing up some witness statements.
Ray grunted something that might have been 'Morning' if one used one's imagination; Chris looked up properly and grinned.
Not like the grins from last night, though. This was more like the old Chris, the one Sam had thought he'd known. He looked as young and puppyish as ever. Was it a full moon last night, or something?
"Mornin' Boss. You look like you had a good night!"
Sam stared at the DC, trying to read anything in Chris' open, guileless expression that might give him some clue as to how to play this now. But he was saved from having to answer by Gene Hunt striding through the door.
"Mornin' ladies! Ray, where's that report? Chris, why aren't those statements done yet? Sam, we're going to put the screws on that toerag in 3- see if a night at Casa del Nick has made him any more talkative. Oh, and Chris? Why've you blood on yer mug? It's my job to beat up the nonces remember, you wait your turn!"
Chris at first looked anxiously at his tea mug, then twigged and rubbed at a spot on his jawline, near the chin. He grinned sheepishly.
"Must've cut meself shaving, Guv."
"You! Shave! Don't make me laugh. C'mon Sammy-boy, villains won't confess all by themselves!"
As Sam followed Gene out, he looked back briefly to see Chris redouble his typing efforts, as if there was nothing more important in the world than documenting the fact that Mrs Jones had heard something that might have been a row at some point, but she really couldn't be sure….
* * * * *
All day, nothing. Not a word, not a sign from Chris, nothing but the usual slightly hapless eagerness that had at first made Sam feel almost protective when he'd first arrived. He had seen in him a hope for the future of policing- if he could get some of the ideas of proper procedure into Chris' mind, maybe things would improve in this backwater of a time, just a little? But now he could sense those little strands of modern policing twisting together into a rope that could have hanged him not 10 years ago.
But 70's policing was still in force as the suspect was 'interrogated', and Gene was impressed by how much less squeamish his DI was these days. And so there was a confession, therefore a result, therefore a celebration. Therefore the Railway Arms. Sam was torn between wanting to talk to Chris at last and not daring to risk it in public. So he was half relieved and half disappointed when Chris left after an hour, declaring that he had a date and exiting to the accompaniment of wolfwhistles and entreaties to 'Give her one for me!'
Sam himself managed to escape a further hour later as Gene was busy expounding to Annie what was needed in a good detective- balls of steel apparently, and gut instinct. And not to faint at the sight of a bit of blood.
Well, thought Sam to himself as he drained the last of his pint, handed the glass to an unsuspecting Nelson with a cheery nod and strolled out of the pub, two out of three ain't bad…
* * * * *
As Sam walked through his front door he shed his jacket into a heap on the floor and started to unbutton his shirt; only to stop dead as he saw Chris sitting in the chair. He couldn't have been there long- the glass of whiskey in his hand had large chunks of ice still floating in it. But Chris was leaning back at ease, and was smiling gently.
"Oh, don't stop, please. Carry on."
"Wh- what are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you, of course."
"What do you want?"
"You."
At that Chris stood in one fluid movement and crossed the short space to Sam. Puppy dog eyes, wide and hopeful.
"Don't you want me…?"
Chris moved even closer, tilted his head, and placed a gentle, chaste kiss on Sam's lips.
The contact was like an electric spark, shocking Sam back to life. He grabbed Chris' head with both hands and pulled him closer, Sam's mouth opening and tongue darting out to demand entrance. Chris obliged and more than obliged, licking, biting at Sam's lips, tongue, teeth; ravenous, insatiable.
They had to break for air and gazed at each other- panting.
Chris grinned- the grin from last night.
"So you do want me."
"Damn right," Sam growled, and fairly tore the younger man's shirt open.
Chris gasped in shock at the violence, but then his eyes narrowed and he growled with desire. Pushing back the fabric over the shoulders, Chris was momentarily incapacitated- his arms entwined behind him in the fabric as Sam dove ravenously to the neck. Teeth bit and lips sucked at the pale skin as Chris moaned and writhed. He felt like warm silk under Sam's insistent tongue. Salty and sweet at once, and so, so, smooth… Until a sharp, familiar metallic tang told Sam that he had drawn the very blood from the skin. Shocked almost he drew back and saw the smear of bright red against the darkening mark on Chris' throat. Chris only smiled, shaking himself free of the shirt and bringing up a hand to briefly caress Sam's face.
"Problem, Boss?"
"No!"
Roughly he yanked open the other's belt, tugged open the flies and with a single push denuded Chris from the waist down. His cock sprang out, hard and inviting, with a single drop of moisture on the tip as an invitation…
No. Make him work for this…
Taking Chris by the shoulders, he shoved him back into the armchair, observing with delight the mix of shock and lust on his DC's face. Dropping to his knees he grabbed the glass from which Chris had been drinking- tilting his head back he took in to his mouth two of the ice cubes along which a fair mouthful of the spirit.
Not swallowing yet though, he dipped his head and took the long, erect shaft into his mouth. Chris gasped, moaned, all but screamed as the burning heat of the alcohol mixed with the ice as Sam himself tortured Chris' cock with a feverous tongue.
Chris gasped and shuddered as the cubes melted against the hot skin, and icy water ran down the shaft within the Boss' mouth to drip out, cooling his swollen balls.
Suddenly the lips were tight around the tip and sucking hard as if sucking on a lollipop. Chris' hips bucked up involuntarily as the tongue lapped at the tip, even into the slit. Sam's hands grabbed the other's thighs, forcing them further apart, as his mouth descended again to take him all in.
Either the Boss has done this before Chris thought muzzily, or he's a natural at it… He grinned to himself at the thought of Sam on his knees in front of other men. Have to do something about that at some point he decided, imagining what Sam would look like, on his knees, mouth wrapped round another man's cock. The thought of it made him come, hard and suddenly, spurting into the back of Sam's mouth. It seemed to come as a surprise to Sam as well as he started to pull back, choking; but Chris grabbed the back of his head to hold him in place for a few seconds longer. Sam fought for a brief second, then gave in as the cock in his mouth twitched and shivered to the end of the climax.
Finally released, Sam fell back, eyes wide, with a trickle of Chris' seed running down from the side of his mouth. Chris grinned and, leaning forward, carefully licked up along the trail of milky fluid to Sam's mouth to capture it in a languorous kiss.
"My turn," he purred, rising to his feet and offering a hand to help Sam to his. "I want to see what you taste like."
At that, the younger man dropped lightly to his knees to deftly undo Sam's belt and flies. Tugging down the trousers and shorts, he smiled up as Sam's cock, released, stood erect and hard before him. Then, delicately and gently, he took the full length of it into his mouth.
Sam groaned, gripped Chris' head, entwined his fingers into the long silky dark hair as the mouth began to move up and down the shaft. Tongue caressing the tip like velvet, lips inexorably tightening around the base sending shockwaves through him that screamed for release- Sam cried out in ecstatic shock as teeth gently scraped along the underside over the now almost painfully engorged flesh-
But then Chris drew back, and looking up again with a totally fake, but very convincing expression of innocence observed,
"That blood gets everywhere, doesn't it?"
That drew a burst of startled laughter from Sam. Chris now looked more serious and demanded,
"Do you trust me?"
Sam started to nod, but the word that came out of his mouth was "No".
Chris nodded thoughtfully, then rising to his feet said softly,
"Strip."
He removed the last of his clothing and Sam blindly followed suit. Naked, they gazed at each other for a moment; then Chris reached out, holding Sam by the shoulders, and gently but firmly pushed him back to the butcher's block table again.
"Up," he whispered. Sam complied, pushing himself up onto the table so that he was sitting facing Chris.
"Lie back."
Again Sam did as he was told, and lay there gazing up at the ceiling, his breathing now shallow and apprehensive. Again a moment of nothingness, and then once again a finger, shockingly familiar now, traced its way between his buttocks. Maddeningly it circled Sam's entrance, brushing over the sensitive skin and continuing up to his already swollen balls and caressed the underside of the shaft. The jelly felt cool against the throbbing flesh. Sam gasped and arched backwards, desperate for release now, and suddenly Chris' hand moved like lighting to plunge his finger deep inside.
Sam cried out in an indecipherable mix of pleasure and pain, his hands now fists that dug his nails into his palms. Withdrawal, and then a second finger entered him, eliciting a groan of desire.
Now his hands gripped the sides of the block, he was desperate for more. All pain was washed away, inconsequential, as Chris moved within him, twisting, probing, opening him up. But let me not have to beg again, please…
"No, you don't have to beg this time." Sam's eyes shot open in surprise as Chris continued. "Now, it's all up to you."
"How?"
"Any time you want to stop, you just have to say."
"I don't- I don't want to stop…"
Chris smiled.
"I won't hold you to that…."
Reaching down with his free hand (the other was still stretching and tormenting Sam), he picked up a ball of thick yarn and brought it up to the level of Sam's head. Turning to look through lust-blurry eyes, he saw that one end was tied to one of the table legs.
Carefully, Chris wrapped the yarn twice around Sam's neck, then looped more around his own hand.
The last vestige of sanity was screaming at Sam to call a stop to this, but he couldn't- nothing could make him say that word. Instead he closed his eyes as he first felt the fingers withdraw, and then the pressure of Chris' cock at his entrance.
"Look at me," Chris murmured. Sam did so, to see Chris looking back into his eyes with a wolfish grin on his face. He paused for a second, then suddenly thrust in, hard, all the way at once. Sam almost screamed, but a jerk on the yarn around his neck tightened it, cutting off the cry half-formed.
Then the yarn loosened, but not totally, as Chris began to move, slowly, in and out. One hand tight on Sam's hip again to brace himself, the other controlling the yarn. Pulling slightly harder as he thrust in, slackening off as he withdrew.
As the rhythm built, harder and faster, the yarn tightened more and relaxed less. Fighting for every breath, Sam could hear the drumming of his blood in his ears as his vision started to fade and darken. He writhed and twisted on the block, hands gripping harder at the edges, fighting to breathe, fighting to stay alive, but losing himself totally in the magnetic pull of Chris' eyes; cool and impassive.
If you don't stop this, you'll die! screamed an inner voice.
"If this stops, I'll die," he moaned aloud in response.
Perhaps Chris was not quite as impassive as he appeared. At Sam's words it appeared that his concentration slipped; unable to hold back he came at last in final fierce thrusts deep into Sam. The yarn pulled even tighter than before, digging deep into his neck and now Sam came, hips twitching and jerking as milky white fluid momently was forced out to splatter indiscriminately over them, the force of it even reaching up to Chris' chest.
Chris gasped and staggered, withdrawing from Sam and leaning against the table for support.
"I've never seen anyone take it so far..." he gasped.
Sam swallowed painfully and managed to rasp out;
"Thanks. I'll return the favour some time."
"Now that I'll want to see…. But for now I'm calling the shots."
He bent again and this time picked up a long, delicate-looking instrument, with a wickedly sharp point.
Sam's eyes widened in apprehension.
"What's that?"
"It's called a scriber. It's an engraving tool- very sharp. And very, very useful."
He paused, and looked down thoughtfully at Sam's chest.
"We really need to resolve our little game, once and for all…."
Suddenly his hand darted forward, and incised two sets of parallel lines, one horizontal and one vertical, across the skin. A perfect noughts and crosses board.
Sam gasped in pain, then groaned as he felt the blood welling up and seeping out of the cuts, flowing slightly down his side.
"Scissor, paper, stone for first move?" Chris enquired.
Sam, not trusting himself to speak, nodded.
His mind full of blades, Sam chose scissors. Which were blunted by Chris.
Smiling lazily, Chris reached out and drew a very passable circle in the centre space.
"Your move."
Distracted by the blossoming pain, Sam tried to gather his thoughts. He instinctively knew that there was more riding on this than just honour.
"Top... left…" he managed.
"Yours or mine?"
"…mine."
Now a neat cross appeared. Another circle bottom left, threatening a diagonal line.
"Top right…."
Chris nodded absently and marked it on, ignoring Sam's whimpers. Then he added a circle to bottom middle and grinned triumphantly.
"And…?"
Let me have got this right…
"Top middle. Line."
For a second Chris looked shocked, then furious; then unexpectedly he laughed. He cheerfully incised the cross and with a flourish drew the line across the row.
"I knew there was a reason why I didn't turn you in!"
"You were going to?"
"I thought about it. But I wanted to give you another chance- your shower was truly impressive, you know."
"You want me for my shower?"
Chris grinned back.
"I love you for your shower."
At that he leant forward and gently began to lick the blood from Sam's wounds. Sam hissed and writhed again at the stinging sensation of hot breath, smooth tongue, warm lips on exposed flesh; embracing it, immersing himself. Each mark from the blade was caressed and cleaned as Chris, with meticulous care, explored each incision.
When Chris raised his head again, Sam's blood smeared across his face, Sam gazed up into Chris' eyes.
"You do know that one day, one of us will end up killing the other?"
"Oh yes. But not-" and here Chris broke off to kiss Sam, mouth still bloody and metallic- "Not today".
And as he re-wound the yarn around Sam's neck he added, almost as an afterthought,
"Not on purpose, anyway."
For some reason, this was the funniest thing Sam had ever heard.
The End