There’s rustling in your living room. Awkward and awful squeaks of the wooden floorboard ring throughout the small apartment. You only had one other copy of your key, which was strategically placed in that one eroded brick near your entrance. You hadn’t told anyone about your spare key, nor given your actual key to anyone. So who could be in your home?
Grabbing the nearest, sharpest knife you could find, you inch your way towards the door. Your breath is shaky and uneven. Your hands shake as you raise your knife, but suddenly– the lights turn on.
It’s Dex. In this blue suit. Absolutely dripping in blood.
Dex was your neighbor you would occasionally bump into from time to time. The two of you talked when it was convenient, but you hadn’t seen him around recently.
“You found my key?” You ask, almost not surprised.
“It was easy to find.” Dex sputters, blood quickly jumping out his mouth. He grins wickedly, his teeth coated in a thin, red sheen of blood. The crimson drips out of his mouth slowly, and the light catches on the drippage. It’s nearly glimmering.
“You’ve been watching me?” You ask another question, almost flattered at the attention. Dex chuckles with his whole body.
“It usually takes people a while to get that.” He states.
“Lucky guess.” You assume.
Grabbing the nearest towel you could find, you messily place it on your couch and guide Dex towards it by pointing the knife that’s still in your hand. He sits on the towel, doing as he’s told, while clutching his side, which has been actively bleeding out the entire time he’s been here. Groaning as he sits, he waits patiently for you. Nearly like a dog who’s waiting to be taken out.
His breaths are guttural and rich. His breaths are from deep within his diaphragm. His eyes are lidded and low while looking at you. You grab an old medkit laying around. Shitty gauze and basic sutures lay around in that plastic container, waiting to be used.
“You’re quiet all of a sudden.” You question. Dex’s throat bobs when he swallows the remaining blood in his mouth.
“Can’t think of much to say.” Dex mumbles. He’s hyperfocused on you.
“That’s a shame. You’re usually so excited to see me.” You say as you brush Dex’s hair back, wet patches of his bloodied hair clump together.
“I’m still excited to see you.” He says. You look down to see if he’s being truthful. He’s not hard yet, but the night is still young.
“Liar.” You say as you slowly inch your knife to his pretty throat. His eyes bulge in an awe, and his breath hitches in his throat. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows.
“You gonna cut me up?” He laughs.
“Course not..” You trail off as you mindlessly swing the knife around, almost too close for comfort.
“I’m patching you up.” You say, grabbing that medkit and dropping that knife on the floor. You hear it stick into the wood floor before it inevitably falls flat.
You straddle yourself onto Dex’s lap nice and cozy as you place some pitiful gauze on Dex’s flesh wounds. You brush your thumb against the deep valley that’s drawn across Dex’s right cheek. The brutal smell of iron permeates throughout your nose. It’s hard and nauseating. Yet intoxicating.
If Dex wanted to properly get fixed up, he would’ve gone to someone better. He knows better than to come to your home expecting urgent care.
Dex’s sweet red nectar oozes out of his wounds. It’s impossible to avoid at this point. You allow yourself the grace to give in. Starting at his mouth, you drink the thick gore that’s so graciously seeping down his face. Peppering messy kisses over Dex’s face, his face is littered in red. You smile down at Dex with his blood in your teeth. The scene ruined him. This was a high he would have to continue to chase.
The viscous fluid coated your esophagus, and it was nearly heavenly.
“I could watch you all day.” Dex mumbles as you continue to smother him with a mix of his blood and your saliva.
“Yeah? That-a promise? You already know I don’t like liars.” You whisper slowly into Dex’s ear. His reaction is pathetic. His whimpers are silenced by your mouth over his. You sloppily run your tongue over Dex’s teeth, and you can feel the indent of his missing tooth.
Time has passed, which you can tell by Dex's achingly hard dick pressing into your clothed pussy. You giggle as you move onto drinking from Dex’s arm.
“I’m not trying to get you off, baby.” You coo with pity. Dex’s whine is incomprehensible. He could throw a fit. You use your tongue to lick a long line on Dex’s big and veiny hand. Dex is small beneath you. You could cut him a little slack. You decide to give a little, rather than just take. Slowly gyrating your hips on Dex’s crotch, he shudders a bit at the new sensation.
“Fuck.. do I taste good? Do I taste good for you, baby?” He asks, his voice weak.
After muttering a small ‘mhm’, you grin the same bloody smile. “So good, baby.”
Your senses are fully enveloped by him. If only you could properly merge into Dex, maybe then he could see how much you care for him.
The friction of your pussy rubbing hard on his crotch is cut short by the deep, guttural groan by Dex. The wet patch on his suit speaks volumes. It’s hard not to laugh, but the mess of a man underneath you makes it hard not to.
“Am I that good for you, honey? You came without me even doing anything.”
Dex’s glossy puppy dog eyes frown as he nods. “I’m sorry, mama, I—”
“Shh—” you cut him off as you yank his head back by his hair. Peppering kisses on his neck, his mouth going agape, you mumble, “We’re only getting started.”
There was muttering from the defenders. Most of them had a look Vimes recognized, because it was one he was trying to keep off his own face. It was the look of people whose world had suddenly been swept from under them, and now they were trying to tap-dance on quicksand.
He tossed away the stupid pompous megaphone. He cupped his hands. "Some of you know me!" he shouted. "I'm Sergeant Keel, currently in command of the Treacle Mine Road Watch House! And I order you to dismantle this barricade--"
There was a chorus of jeers and one or two badly thrown missiles. Vimes waited, stock-still, until they'd died away. Then he raised his hands again.
"I repeat, I order you to dismantle this barricade." He took a breath, and went on: "And rebuild it on the other side, on the corner with Cable Street! And put up another one at the top of Sheer Street! Good grief, you don't just pile stuff up, for gods' sake! A barricade is something you construct! Who's in charge here?"
There were sounds of consternation behind the overturned furniture, but a voice called out: "You?"
