Something comes to Jack in a moment of self disgust.
Shadows slide along Jack’s thighs, so lightly at first, that he thinks nothing of it.Then slowly, the shadows get more restrictive.
He feels a hand stroke his throat and hold it fast.
He tries to scream, but something stills the noise. Something stills every noise, stills time, stills everything but the pounding of Jack’s blood in his veins. And he’s too far gone to fight back, too far gone to thrash or cry out when he knows it won’t help, knows, deep down, that he doesn’t /deserve/ help.
So he surrenders to them like a doll surrenders to its owner. He goes limp and malleable, blue eyes sliding closed as the fingers and palms multiply and surge forward. Eventually, there isn’t an inch of him that hasn’t been touched, and not an inch of him that isn’t bare to them.
Worst of all, he doesn’t hate it.He wants so badly to feel connected to something, just once, just for a moment, that he gives himself over to them, to these alien hands that sprout from the shadows like his sins, dragging him down, down, into their dark depths.He lets the air be forced from his throat, lets himself be relegated to staggering, stuttering little breaths. When he opens his eyes, he can see two more, so clearly. They’re half lidded and they would be familiar, so identical to ones that he’s seen watching him in the darkness as he’s thrust in and out of, as he’s made to cry out until his throat is raw and his cock is throbbing and his heart is trying to burst free from his chest. But they’re filled with something more, than what Proto alone, possesses. They are inhuman, and Jack loves them for it.
"You’re such a good little murderer, aren’t you, Jackson?" the creature murmurs to him, and Jack lets his head be bobbed dumbly, even as tears spring at the corners of his eyes. He doesn’t know whether they come from the pain of being pressed into or the pain of the creature’s words. He doesn’t care any more. "Yes." he says, and his voice is weak and thin. "Yes." The creature who is and is not Proto smiles at him, it’s plasticine face shifting minutely.
"That’s right… Lie back and let me give you all the pleasure you’ve taken out of this world." Jack closes his eyes, and he’s still crying, but he doesn’t fight back. He doesn’t try. He lets himself be turned and twisted, lets the creature murmur words of pain and doubt and fear into his ear even as his cock is pumped until he’s crashing over the other side of an orgasm.
The creature leaves him lying at the side of his bed, limp and tear stained and immobile. “Good night, Jackson.” he says. He kisses the side of Jack’s face. “I’ll be seeing you.”
He melts into the darkness beneath Jack’s bed, and he’s gone. He’s gone.
Only the emptiness remains.
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