Surprise (a smutty short) ~warning for gore

Thus the deal was done. The man Francis Michael O’Connol was mortal no more. Uriel wept.
Nasreddin grinned, and was gone.

*

“Deeevvvvvvyyyyyy,” Nasr called out on a long, ascending note, as if calling for a reluctant cat. “Deeee~eeeeevvvy,” he tried again.

Silence met Nasr’s call. It hung conspicuously from the nicotine stains on the walls, and was interrupted by the slow shuffle of Nasr’s feet along the dingy carpet. Hush, hush, scuff.

“Aw. Come on Devy. Don’t gotta be like that. I got a surpriiiiiiiiise for you.”

Devon squinted up at the ceiling. He’d been contemplating the dark on the insides of his eyelids for at least an hour, and banishing that serene blackness bordered on painful. He drew a deep breath and let it out on a sigh, his gaze fixing on the bar of light cast from the parting of the curtains.

“What is it,” he finally called back in short refrain.

“If I told you,” Nasr’s voice taunted lightly as he approached the bedroom, “it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

“Don’t be a fucking moron. It’s still a goddamn surprise if you tell me or you show me. Fucking dick brain.”

The bed springs grimaced and groaned as Devon pushed himself up to sit. His fingers fanned onto the dingy sheet behind him, his stare at last dropping from the ceiling. He eyed the door as it creaked slowly open. Just as slow as in any horror movie, with Nasr’s hand splayed against the peeling paint. Light from the bare bulb in the hall spilled in about the man, and Devon could just make out that Nasr held one hand behind his back.

“Deeee~eeeevvvvy.”

Devon rolled his eyes. He flopped back on the bed, landing with another groan from the mattress. “Fucking creepazoid fucker. Don’t be such an asshole. M’sleepin’.”

“Aw, come on, Devon. Devvy Dev Dev.” Nasr’s steps came thumping inward. “Don’cha wanna play along? It’s fun!”

“No, asshole. I wanna go to sleep. ‘less you brought me something good like some fucking tacos or fries or something, but I don’t smell any fucking takeout behind your fucking back. ‘least it’s not your goddamn dick in a goddamn box. Fucking pervert.”

A giggle tore erratically through the room. The bed bounced about Devon’s feet, swaying with the impact of Nasr having hopped atop it. Devon cracked his eyes open and gave an irritable grunt.

“Nuh uh. I gotcha something better! Muuch, muuuuuuuch, bettah!”

“The fuck.” Devon cracked open his eyes again. Fucking demons were so fucking unpredictable. “What’re you smokin’, man?”

Another giggle. Bubbling and burbling. It sucked itself inward and collapsed into nothingness. Goddamn but Nasr could be creepy.

“Smokin’... eehee. Hee. Ha.”

Dark eyes squinted at their yellowed counterparts. Devon stared up at Nasr. He didn’t like the way the man was behaving. Not one bit. That is, until the silhouette shifted. The hiding hand was brought from behind, and the yellow-tinted light from the hall bounced along the gleaming steel of a long, slender boning knife.

“Ooooh.” Devon pushed himself up again, his interests piqued. He grinned widely up at Nasreddin. “For me? Shit, man. That looks expensive. Careful, I might start to think you give a damn.”

“Uh huh. Fucking fag. Didn’t I say I had a surprise? Shit.”

Knees splaying wide beneath the blanket, Devon went tipping forward. He raised both hands, wiggling his fingers and clutching at the air like an impatient child. Gimme, gimme!

“Didja get me anyone to go with it?” Doubtless too much to hope for.

The knife came about to his outstretched hands, and the serrated edge sliced easily through one of Devon’s palms. A ribbon of red welled up in the moment of stunned silence that followed. Nasr’s grin went wider still, and his voice dropped low.

“Surprise.”

Devon didn’t like the tilt of Nasr’s head. He didn’t like the particular angle of the man’s grin either. The way it slanted up to one side and exposed his yellowed teeth. Entirely too many teeth.

“Fucking asshole!”

“Awwww. Did widdle Devy-wevy hurt himself? Gonna cry, Devy-boy? Huh? You were so happy just a minute ago. What’s the matter? Don’t wanna play? It’s no fun if you’re the one catching, huh? Huh? S’that it?”

A streak of red stood bright and lurid against the dingy, faded blanket in the wake of Devon’s hand. He threw the itchy cover away from its pooling in his lap, away from the pale, scrawny legs that went swinging for the edge of the bed. A hiss rattled through the air. Devon’s palm stung like nobody’s business.

“Oh fuck off, Nasr,” he spat impatiently.

“Mmmm. Naaaaah. Surprise first.”

Devon was already making for the bathroom. “Fuck off. I need a bandage now, you stupid fuck.”

The bed gave a loud skreek and groan. Nasr landed heavily on the floor, and Devon twisted a look over his shoulder. The bluff hadn’t worked, it seemed. Devon turned back about in a sudden hurry, his heart skipping as his stomach sank.

He made it as far as the hall before the first blow came. The impact wasn’t from Nasr, but from the floor as it went rushing up to meet him. His palms smacked down first, and his cheek bounced hard enough to bruise. Devon’s cursing was full of anger and spit, barely intelligible for how he panted it into the carpet.

“Aww. Devy! Devydevydevy.” Nasr cooed as he retracted his foot from where he’d tripped the man. “Where you goin’?? I gotchu a fuckin’ pressie, and you just go runnin’ off. You’re supposed to say ‘thank you,’ or some shit. Didn’t your momma ever teach you no manners?”

Nasr was ever too-hot to the touch, and the heat of him seeped through the man’s jeans as he laid himself out over Devon. The warmth flared along Devon’s bare back and legs, the weight of the settling body almost a welcomed thing. Almost. Devon gave a jerk, a twitch, trying to pull free. Nasr in turn scrubbed the tenting of his trousers against the flannel of Devon’s boxers in a lewd grind.

“See? I knew you’d like it.”

The words brushed along the back of Devon’s ear, breath stroking over the curves of the lobe to pool uncomfortably inward. He attempted to raise his hips, to tuck and fold and bounce the weight off of his back. His uninjured hand shot out along the rug, chewed-upon nails digging for purchase amidst the grit of dirt and ground-up old food.

“Get off, you stupid shit.”

“Not ‘til we’re done,” Nasr growled. The weight shifted atop Devon, and in an instant the slender boning knife had impaled the center of the man’s hand. Nasr spoke through the sudden outburst of noise and writhing beneath him. “We ain’t nowhere near done, Dev.”

It wasn’t the first time Nasr had driven something through his hand. It was the first time that he’d driven something so sharp through. It didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would, eyes fixed on the blade that had pierced neatly between his bones. That is, until he moved it, and then it hurt so much he wanted to vomit. Certainly it hurt enough that he couldn’t stop from keening and jerking beneath the weight of Nasr’s body. Nasr, in turn, laughed and bucked in rude prodding.

“Fuck you,” Devon growled when he was able to manage it. “Fuck you, you fucking shit-eating cock-sucking sonuva goddamn mother-fucking bitch. Get the mother-fucking fuck off of me and go back to fucking hell, goddamn it.”

Laughter filled his ears. High-pitched, unsteady giggling that dropped into a wild sort of cackle. The pain in his hand blossomed as the knife sawed up and out. Devon sobbed into the carpet, blowing up a smattering of dust and light-weight debris. Most likely crackers. Probably crackers. Maybe. His palm was warm, and the carpet turned slowly squishy beneath it.

“Fucking crazy-ass mother-fucker. That shit hurts.”

“Uh huh,” Nasr purred and ground again, chuffing hard at the back of Devon’s ear. “You like it when it hurts.”

Teeth crashed and ground along thin skin and curving cartilage. Devon gave another indignant yowl and turned his arm about. He smacked at Nasr with his less-injured hand.

“Not like that, you stupid cunt. Gedoff and gimme the knife.”

The rocking and jostling didn’t stop. Coils of oily, tangled hair caught on Devon’s fingers as he smacked and pulled, but Nasr went on undeterred. Devon’s ear turned damp for the continued biting, for the panting that came hot and humid along the inflamed lobe. He hissed and kicked at the floor, cursing anew as he stubbed his toes.

“Fucking shit, man,” Devon whined.

“Mmnn. Dun’ be such a goddamn baby,” Nasr growled.

“I ain’t no fucking baby, you stupid fuck.”

Breath pattered along Devon’s neck. Wisps of vocalization hit his ears, though there were no words to them. The flat of the boning knife was cool along his thigh, and he realized from the tug and release of fabric that Nasr was slicing away his boxers.

“I hate you so fucking much.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nasr drawled. “You keep saying that shit, but I don’t think you know what it means. You’re fuckin’ hard as a telephone pole, you fuckin’ baby.”

“That doesn’t mean any goddamn thing.”

Devon hitched a breath as Nasr reached past his hip to grope and fondle. His cock twitched eagerly into the heated touch, and his balls tingled with ache. Devon bit down on his tongue a moment, then gave in and shifted into the reaching hand. Rocked back slightly to the constant humping from behind.

The fingers grew more determined in their fishing. They wrapped about Devon’s shaft and grasped tight. Pumped and stroked, unfurled to paw along his balls. The cold of the knife worked at his other thigh, and his waistband slid uncomfortably along his hip before the elastic finally snapped.

“Nnnn. See. I knew you’d like it.” Nasr taunted, his fist gripping all the tighter as he set to stroking in time with his rocking hips.

“Fuck you.” Devon panted.

Still, he didn’t pull away. Instead he tipped his ass all the more invitingly. The knife tumbled to the rug, and the hiss of Nasr’s zip sounded from behind Devon.

The demon wasn’t gentle in going about it, but he rarely was. A soft whine rolled through the roof of Devon’s mouth as he squirmed. Nasr didn’t relent. Didn’t pull back. Instead he pushed through, hard and fast. Rocked and drove deeper. In further even as Devon tucked and folded and choked out a sob for the catch and tug, though it was only a few such rocks before the slide became easier. Easier save for the stretching as Nasr slid impossibly deeper.

“Nah, nah. I’m fuckin’ you, Dev. You stupid or somethin’? Shit.”

Devon squeezed himself tighter about the building pace of Nasr’s cock. He liked the way it pushed and slid, the way it made everything shift about. Liked the flares of heat near the surface, the tickling sensation that ran along to the backs of his balls. Moreso he enjoyed the back and forth passage that built pressure in his gut and made everything draw taut. Made the whole world faded and distant compared to the tingling of his fingertips.

Nasr giggled, though the giggle was wrought with breathiness. Devon rolled his eyes. Shut them as he shuddered, and pressed his injured palm into his face. Fuck it hurt. He panted against the wound, letting the blood smear along his lips, over his chin. Clenched down tighter along the thick throb and slide of Nasr’s cock within him. Fuck it felt good.

“Mn. Then fuck me harder, you stupid shit. Is it even in yet? Fuck, I thought this was the goddamn foreplay," Devon taunted through his parted fingers.

Devon was rewarded with a single violent thrust before Nasr withdrew entirely. Heavy fabric shuffled and shook behind him, and Devon twisted about in time to see Nasr kick his jeans into the wall. Dark knees descended for the floor, and clutching hands grappled at once about Devon’s leg and hip. Dirt and old food crackled beneath him as he was hauled, twisted, and then made to fold anew for the lean Nasr took over Devon. Two sickly yellow eyes gazed down at him, unnerving for how unnatural they were. Not nearly as unnerving as Nasr’s smirk.

“‘kay.”

Nasr draped himself forward, his cock finding the bloodied ring of Devon’s asshole with relative ease. He speared inward, strained Devon’s back against the rug, and stretched that spasming muscle wide as Nasr sunk deep. Settled with a smack of hips and drew back to repeat the plunging, forceful thrust. A cry split Devon’s lips. Nasr drew out again, leaving Devon gasping and feeling abruptly hollow, only to be filled too full and too fast. Devon couldn’t help but burble. Couldn’t help but roll his shoulders back and hunch into that drive, even as his nails bit into the soft tissue of his cheek.

“Oooh. Oh. Guess maybe your dick ain’t so tiny after all. Too bad you dunno how t’use it prop--ah!”

Nasr’s teeth sank hard into the curve of Devon’s chest. They dug and gripped, grated back and forth. Worked in deep and deeper to flower not just a bruise, but a series of bloodied perforations. Devon keened, moaned, and kicked one leg into the man encouragingly.

“Shit,” Devon hissed happily.

His head tossed to the other side. His hips creaked and his spine rocked. His knees folded, and he stilled the flopping of his feet by turning them in against Nasr. The carpet burned at his shoulders, and grunts burst through his breathing without any bidding of his own.

He curled his toes and held his breath as the heat built, as his heart raced. One knuckle popped, and another, and Devon let his hand fall away from his bloodied face. He licked at his lips, shuddering hard for the stroking of Nasr’s hand along his cock, and groaned outward for the way the man pushed up to sit back into his heels. For the drag of his body along Nasr’s sloping thighs.

Then came the heat. Building more. Pressure and pulling. Twinging and gathering deep in Devon’s gut, pulsing and sparking low between his legs, driving him forward and up. He tensed and arched into Nasr’s hand, tightening about the splitting, burning sensation from behind. Gripped at it shamelessly as his cock pulsed and throbbed.

“Surprise,” Nasr crooned out as Devon came.

Pain split into the ecstasy of release. It flashed red through the silver on the backs of Devon’s eyelids, and he choked as his groaning was interrupted by half a cry. Burning. Burning that bit deep into his abdomen and speared past the pleasant heat that had pooled into his palms and flooded through his body. Burning that left his eyes watering as they snapped open. He stared at the ceiling, thrashing as the pain spread, sliding sideways.

Devon gaped at Nasr. Shocked. Dismayed. But.. Nasr would never kill him. He was Nasr’s toy. Nasr needed him. Why else would Nasr keep coming back? Keep hunting him down. But there, through the jostling and jarring, he watched the handle of the knife travel. Watched in disbelief as his blood pooled out and seeped like warm bathwater along his sides.

“The fuck . . .”

More jarring giggling. Nasr plucked the knife up, blood running along the blade. He bucked into Devon still, and grasped at one slack leg to hold him in place. Devon’s eyes watered, and he reached with his wounded hands to try and piece himself back together.

“Fuck.. the fuck. Fucking.. fuck. Fuck you!” From whining to shrieking, but it was getting harder to do. Harder to breathe. Tears stung at Devon’s eyes.

“You look pretty in red, Devvy-boy. Real fuckin’ pretty.”

Devon’s head rolled again as he was jarred. Jostled. Agony had chased away the euphoria of his release, and seemed set on devouring him whole. He twitched, jerking, and choked as his fingers slid along something squishy. Something.. spilling out of him. Nononono.

“I--” the word squeaked out, but nothing followed.

Nasr continued to work into him. To jar and jostle, to grip tight. The tip of the knife drove little pricks into his hip as Nasr gripped hard along his opposite leg. It was so difficult to breathe. So difficult to think. Devon sniffed. Wet and thick. Twitched and trembled harder. Harder. He felt as if he might shake right out of his skin. Felt too loose and open in some places. To heavy and sick in others.

But then came the black and swallowed him whole.



-



---

Everything was distant. So distant. He felt as though he were floating. Floating, warm, and perfect. His fingers twitched, and Devon slowly became aware of the sound of water. Drip. Drip. Drip. Not quite so steady as the second hand of a clock.

“Oooogh,” he groaned.

His head hurt. It hurt in a halo. It hurt behind his eyes, as though someone were trying to press them out with his thumbs. It hurt between his temples. It hurt at the corners of his jaws.

“About goddamn time.” Nasr’s voice in his ear. Though tired sounding. More subdued than Devon had ever heard it.

Arms shifted about his chest. Tightened. Gripped near crushingly. Drip. Drip. Devon cracked open one eye. The mildew-stained tile at the front of the bathtub reflected hints of shadow at him.

“The fuck...”

His head hurt, and he was hungry. So hungry he thought his stomach might gnaw its way out through his ribs. His head hurt, and he was hungry, and he was thirsty. So thirsty he could drink the Sahara’s worth of water. Had it all been a dream, then? But what the fuck was he doing in the bathtub? And with Nasr? Nasr, who was allergic to soap.

Devon twisted to peer at the man, slapping warm water to the sides of the tub. He squinted, but his eyes wouldn’t focus. He felt like he’d been on one hell of a bender.

“The fuck?”

“Surprise, Francis,” Nasr crooned at Devon, the words rife with barely-suppressed laughter.

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story by Marcus Avenier
art by Felix Avenier (Marie Weissner)