Story Archive

'Tis the Season

by Kate441 & Raine

 

 

'Tis the Season

- Answer to the Fictalk Halloween Challenge

by Kate441 (kmluder@humanoid.net) and Raine (rain@isomedia.com)

 

Rating: NC-17, ***Adult Themes***

Summary: Witheld at authors' request

Disclaimer: There is no way the man would want responsibility for this one...

But just in case, 1013, FOX, Chris Carter own them, we don't.

Category: SAH

Keywords: Challenge Authors' notes at end

 

 

Tired. So tired.

 

He leaned his back against the rough-hewn rock and hung his head while he tried to catch his breath. Although it seemed like he'd been down here in the dark forever, two hours was probably closer to the truth. He wondered if he was any closer to an exit.

 

Ducking into the cave had seemed like such a good idea at the time. And when he heard the search approach his hiding place, he'd been happy to discover a tunnel at the back that he could disappear into until they moved on to the next search area.

 

But they didn't move on.

 

They'd followed him into the tunnel.

 

So he'd headed deeper into the dark with only a pen light to guide his feet.

 

Which explained the large bump growing on his forehead; he hadn't realized the roof of the tunnel had large protrusions hanging down until he'd found out the hard way - with his head. He'd actually seen stars after his sudden discovery. After that, he'd made sure to swing the light up to the ceiling regularly, allowing him to avoid further 'surprises.'

 

Now that his breathing had slowed down, he could just make out the rustling sound of those who were following him. He didn't want to think about what would happen if they caught up to him, so he didn't. Wearily, he pushed away from the wall and switched the little light back on to guide his way.

 

How in Christ's sake had he managed to get himself into this one? He wondered ruefully, pausing to rub at one of the developing goose eggs on his cranium. After everything he'd been through, he should have more sense. Silently swearing at himself, he heard the whispering sounds of his pursuers draw closer.

 

He'd just had to go for the brass ring. It was a top security installation, and he'd gotten cocky, underestimated his mark. Again, he started down the tunnel, only the flickering, small point of light to guide him.

 

The soft scuttling, whispering sounds of his followers echoed down toward the hunched man. The acoustics made them sound impossibly close. Involuntarily, he shuddered. If they caught him...He couldn't think of what would happen and also keep his fear at bay, so he concentrated only on the path ahead of him.

 

It was just too bad that he had horrible claustrophobia, and the tunnel was growing impossibly small.

 

It was just his dumb luck that the pen light chose just that moment to release its last bit of life, flaring to an almost brilliant brightness before leaving him in complete darkness.

 

Shit. Perfect.

 

Without the little light, the sounds of pursuit seemed to swell in volume. Or, they really were getting closer. He took a deep breath and tried to reign in his rampaging claustrophobia. He couldn't just stop and wait for them to catch up with him here in the dark; he had to keep moving. Putting one hand up to protect his aching forehead from further damage, he used his other hand to guide himself along the rough rock of the tunnel wall and, bent almost double, continued forward.

 

Once again, time expanded and filled the cramped darkness. And little rustling sounds surrounded him. His mouth was dry and his heartbeat pounded in his ears.

 

An unknown amount of time later, the man realized the darkness was no longer absolute. An infinitesimal amount of light drew him forward like a beacon. Before long, he realized he could see the silhouettes of the obstacles hanging from the ceiling between him and the light. His back was cramping from bending low for so long, however long it had been. He felt like Atlas holding the world up on his shoulders.

 

The tunnel grew larger as the light increased. It meandered towards the light, never giving him a glimpse of the actual source of the illumination. With the improved visibility, he was able to pick up the pace. His pursuers also seemed to be moving faster. Or were they just that much closer? He put that thought out of his mind and concentrated on getting to the light.

 

'These boots weren't made for walking, that's for sure,' he thought as he plodded on. He wished he had his running shoes on; they were so much lighter. But then, considering the unevenness of the tunnel, he'd have probably broken an ankle by now. So, it was probably better that he was wearing his favorite boots, even if they were starting to feel like lead weights.

 

Of course, a hard hat would have saved his head from all the damage from low-hanging rocks. 'Maybe I should make a miner's helmet, lamp and all, part of my regular gear from now on...' he mused. 'Naaa. A much better idea is to *never* go into a cave from now on!' he promised himself.

 

Coming around a sharp turn in the tunnel, he stopped, blinded by the light shining directly in his eyes.

 

The cave emptied out into a empty field of painfully bright white light. Blinking, the pursued tried desperately to adjust his vision. His body twisted in confused, involuntary reaction to the light, his hands up to his eyes. One of his boots slipped on the rocks at the entrance of the seemingly limitless cave. Grabbing against the stone archway, he managed to maintain his balance quickly.

 

Just as he was tentatively moving his foot outward to verify the impossible, his pursuers reached him. The whispering, scraping sounds of their footfalls began to make the final turn to the dead end where he was huddled.

 

Frantically, the shaking boot felt blindly for any purchase, any sign of solid ground at all. There was none offered.

 

As the first soldier screamed, "Halt!", he took a deep breath, pulling his black stocking cap down more firmly onto his head out of sheer nervousness.

 

And stepped into a smooth, impossibly lit void in the middle of the earth.

 

***

 

It seemed like he was both falling and hovering forever, both at once, in a kind of endless, terrifying, nausea-fest. It was like those chambers they used to train astronauts to endure weightlessness, he thought. Or that's what the government said they were used for, anyway. After his studies into NASA, he wasn't as sure as he had once been.

 

In consternation, he shook his head. He was in the middle of, quite literally, nowhere, falling in a damn unusual manner for being in the middle of a mountain, and he was thinking about conspiracies. Maybe he should think about a new occupation. After all, it wasn't unheard-of to change careers at his age.

 

The tube of white he was floating in had lit the rocks bounding it brilliantly, and through the light there were flashes of what he presumed were quartz. Jesus Mary Mother of God, he thought, now it's rocks. He clutched his head, wondering if he were going insane, and if that would be such a bad thing. His body moved with impossible slowness, ever downward.

 

Then he heard it, and his panic threatened to grow too large for his body to contain it.

 

"Hello." The modulated woman's voice reverberated the length of the cave the man was falling in. The crystals caught the pitch of her "L" sound and hummed them in endless echo.

 

Still floating slowly downwards, he jerked his head up and around to look over his shoulder, instinctively looking for the source of that voice. Somehow, that action caused him to spin and pick up speed.

 

'Uh, oh.'

 

And he landed. On his back. With a thump, but not a splat, like he'd expected. 'Well, that went better than I'd hoped....'

 

Before he had a chance to catch his breath, some sort of black sack was pulled over his head, thankfully blocking the bright light, but also preventing him from seeing. Rough hands hauled him to his feet.

 

The rustling and whispering surrounded him and echoed in the chamber. His arms pinioned behind his back, he felt more hands (at least, he hoped they were hands) tearing at his clothes. Buttons popped and seams tore as items were removed and inspected for weapons and snooping devices. Each time one was found, the whispering grew louder and then he heard a 'crack' as it was smashed against the rocks.

 

Soon, he was completely naked. His hands cuffed behind his back, there was no way he'd be able to remove the hood.

 

More hands poked and prodded and petted him all over. He tried to twist away from the hands, but they were everywhere. He shivered. He wanted to run, to hide, but there was no way he could in his present condition.

 

Gritting his teeth, he growled, "What do you want from me?"

 

The whispering stopped.

 

But the hands probed him more intimately.

 

Again, "What do you want from me?"

 

Some of the hands were very warm. Some were icy cold.

 

The woman's voice spoke. "Do not concern yourself. We will take what we want."

 

At that, his teeth began to chatter.

 

What in the hell was he going to do now? From the sound of things, he thought, assessing his situation quickly, there were several people surrounding him.

 

Something deep in the recesses of his mind said, 'Interesting, but what if they're not people?' As quickly as the thought formed, he shoved it away. In spite of his interests, at heart he was a practical man and did not like the idea of something...

 

'Formless? Ghostly?' His mind supplied unhelpfully.

 

All other musings were squelched when the hands started to make their demands more clear. Of course the cold hands had to be the ones to grab his balls, he thought, whimpering aloud.

 

The same soothing, yet detached voice spoke. "I apologize for the temperature. An unfortunate side effect of our...Well, let's just say our home."

 

Why, he wondered desperately, did the woman sound so familiar? He couldn't quite place it, yet he knew somewhere he'd...His arms released from the cuffs, only to be jerked upward and tied together again, this time with rope. Then they were pulled together above him until his toes were the only thing touching the ground, and them only barely. Too bad he wasn't still wearing his boots, he thought dimly. He might have been flat footed then, and it wouldn't have been so painful, hanging from his arms.

 

Reality was starting to seep away from him. With the recognition of experience, he knew it was shock, but he didn't struggle against it too hard. His impression was that he was going to need the psychological buffer, and soon.

 

His assessment was validated when the woman spoke again. As she spoke, the invisible hands started pinching, stroking. He jerked as one slapped his ass, stinging his flesh.

 

"They tend to get carried away. It's been a long time...For all of us." Her voice moved closer, becoming sibilant. "And we crave."

 

No, he thought. No, he had to fight against this. The hands crawled over his body, and the fingers felt like countless little insects swarming into the most intimate crevices of his body.

 

Maybe that was what was happening, he thought. He was unconscious, knocked out and on the floor, and he was covered with bugs. Oh God. As extreme his hatred of insects was, the thought was comforting.

 

But that mental ploy too was shattered when he felt her. His teeth chattered uncontrollably as the swarming hands moved slightly to allow her purchase on his body. He could feel her, pressing against him, and she was as cold as the grave. She stroked his arms, and he could feel his flesh numb where the pressure (hands they're hands they have to be, he thought) moved to.

 

Then the cold was between his legs, grasping him, sliding along his length, and he could feel himself becoming hard as if his body had no say in the matter. It was so freezing, he thought, beginning to drift from consciousness. The pressure moved downward, and an even icier suction took him in, complete with velvet sliding sensation, an obscene parody of a mouth, leeching the warmth from his bones and the strength from his body. He jerked desperately, feebly, the toes of his bare feet only sliding on the packed dirt. Even the dirt was freezing.

 

Teeth chattering and feeling like a giant popsicle, he thought it couldn't get much worse. He was wrong.

 

A frigid finger (at least he really hoped it was a finger) covered in a chilly gel began to probe the puckered little opening in his ass. Squirming only got more of the icy hands busy groping other parts of his body to hold him in place and did nothing to discourage what was happening either in front of or behind him. He thought he heard muffled giggles behind him. Cold as he was, he couldn't stop the sudden blush that turned his face and chest red with embarrassment. Glad now that his face was covered, he hoped they hadn't noticed the new color of his chest.

 

They had. Icy wetness (more mouths?) began toying with his nipples, licking and teasing, sucking even the warmth of his embarrassment from him. His mind went blank as his body went into sensory overload.

 

The mouth slacked off somewhat while the finger continued to work the icy lube deeper into his ass. Other helpful hands held his cheeks apart as a second finger joined the first in penetrating him. Another icy hand reached from behind to lift and separate his balls, rolling them gently in their sack. They felt so cold, he wouldn't have been surprised to hear them clink when they rolled together.

 

Since it looked like whatever happened was going to happen no matter what he did, he tried to relax to make it easier on his body. But it wasn't working. All the relaxation techniques in the world were not going to help as his most sensitive body parts slowly numbed from the icy attention they were getting.

 

By now, at least three fingers were stroking deep into his ass. Now he was squirming because it was actually starting to feel good, cold and all. This time, as the fingers withdrew, they turned and scraped lightly across his prostate. The frozen pleasure/pain made him cry out as it pierced what little warmth remained in his body. If he didn't explode soon, he thought he just might shatter instead.

 

He hung there, his toes scraping against the cold earth, his hips being jerked faster back and forth between the ghostly figures at work on his body. Whimpering, he simultaneously prayed for the motions to cease and never stop. The cold began to leach into his bones, lowering his core body temperature and sapping his will to even think about fighting against the enormous, building force in his body.

 

With a dull curiosity, he wondered if he would be frozen when they finished, if he would break apart like so many splinters of an icicle. Were they intent on taking the last vestiges of warmth from his most intimate core? Suddenly, even as he felt his body reach the point of no return, the bound man knew who they were.

 

However, his realization arrived too late, and he screamed, chattering and jerking helplessly as he came, still hanging from the ropes his arms were tied to.

 

Tired. So tired.

 

He hung his head while he tried to catch his breath. Although it seemed that he'd come forever, he was a realist - two minutes was probably a lot closer to the truth. He wondered if he was going to freeze to death and die, since he couldn't see any other way out of this situation.

 

Still weak in the knees, shuddering, and shivering, he suddenly realized the tone of the whispering and rustling around him had changed. Intensified. 'Now what?' Feeling the sluggishness of hypothermia setting in, he knew he'd never survive another session like the last one.

 

New hands started roaming his body. Surprised, his brain finally registered that they were actually warm and soft. He started to feel the tingle of a thaw setting in.

 

And then he heard a rattling sound. And then hissing. And then more rattling and hissing. All around him. 'Shit.'

 

His frozen body tried to respond by retracting his icy balls even further into his body for protection, but there was nowhere to hide, not for any part of him. All he could do was wait. And hope the end came quickly.

 

Unprepared for what he felt, the bound man jerked at the first contact with his stomach. And then with his butt. And his arm pit. And his knee.

 

'I probably look like a fucking marionette,' he thought as he recoiled from yet another touch. And then the physical sensations finally connected with his brain. He stopped jerking as he realized he was feeling warmth, not pain, spreading from the contacts.

 

Smooth, creamy warmth.

 

It might have even smelled good, like pine or menthol or something, but he couldn't tell for sure over the mustiness of the interior of the hood.

 

Before long, his entire body, from fingertips to toenails, was covered in a layer of warmth. It felt fantastic, whatever it was. 'I must be hallucinating. They say you feel warm when you stop shivering and slip into hypothermia. That's okay, this is the way to go...'

 

The hands left him alone in the warmth. Drowsy, he thought he'd kind of miss them when he died. He wondered if they'd miss him.

 

Startled, he jumped when he felt the sharp metal edge scrape along his stomach. The voice spoke, "It is in your own best interest to remain as still as possible. We do not wish to harm you."

 

Suddenly wide awake, he did his best imitation of a statue as more sharp edges began scraping other parts of his body, removing the smooth, creamy warmth. The air currents chilled the newly exposed areas of flesh, causing goose bumps to follow the paths of the blades.

 

He almost jerked again when another hand lifted his balls to shave them as well, but he stopped himself in time. Taking deep breaths, he tried to relax as the last vestiges of body hair were scraped off him. 'If I survive this, I'm not going to be able to go swimming or to the gym for months! Everybody will laugh at me! Have to wear turtlenecks all summer. Can't wear shorts. Shit! And if I don't survive this...Fuck.' He didn't want to think about anyone finding his lifeless, hairless body.

 

What felt like soft cloths were used to massage every inch of his body. Again, he couldn't stop his body from responding to the attention. Like a compass, his erection proudly pointed towards true north as he felt bodies on each side of him and hands wrapping around various body parts. Then he heard it,: the click and whine of cameras taking pictures.

 

He cringed in his naked hairlessness, but there was nowhere to hide. And the insistent hands refused to let his erection sag as positions were changed and exchanged. He wondered which of his enemies was behind this and where the photographs were going to turn up.

 

Finally, the photo shoot ended.

 

The sounds became louder and louder, mocking his renewed attempts to get free of the bonds which constrained him. Too much...Everything that happened was overloading his system. Finally, the high-pitched whining grew unbearably loud. When his wrists were suddenly released, his body slumped forward, unconscious.

 

***

 

"Urrghpphh." The man's head, face down on the keyboard, moved slightly. A muffled groan was his only sound. His arms hung down limply, almost touching the floor. The large black cat draped over the monitor watched the proceedings with disinterest.

 

"Is he awake yet?"

 

"No, he's still out cold." A high-topped sneaker kicked at the empty bottle. "I can't believe he can hold all this."

 

There was a snort. "He can't, that's the problem. Based upon his body weight, he shouldn't have imbibed half that." There was a sigh. "Does he even know the news?"

 

"I think I-" The man's voice sounded uncertain.

 

"Never mind. It doesn't matter now, anyway. We might as well let him sleep it off." Resignation colored the answer. "It looks like he was listening to those old surveillance tapes all night."

 

"I know, I turned them off when I came in. That old tape machine was making this high-pitched whining sound, like the tape was stuck or something. Anyway, I thought he was over her already." Puzzled tones colored his next words. "And I still don't understand why he's wearing that knit hat over his eyes while he's naked. It can't be keeping him very warm. I mean, right next to the window? He's asking to catch his death, not to mention giving the street sweepers a show."

 

"Somehow, I don't think that was bothering him. From the looks of the scotch bottle, he was feeling no pain. Who knows, maybe it's some kind of anniversary." Byers shrugged. One hand reached down to pet a large, furry animal. The dog gazed up at him adoringly, then jumped up to lick the man's bearded cheek, rough tongue scraping.

 

Langly said, "God, I hope not. I'd hate to see this every year. Well, whatever, at least Ruby was here to keep him company." He grinned down as the dog moved back to the man lying in front of the window, nosing Frohike's limp form.

 

"We can't just leave him face down on the keyboard; he'll never be able to move when he wakes up. You take that arm and we'll move him to the couch."

 

When the two men leveraged their friend up out of his chair, they discovered what his slumped form had been hiding - an enormous erection. His eyes big, Langly looked at Byers and grinned, "I always thought his feet were pretty big for a guy his size!" Byers just rolled his eyes as he shook his head.

 

As soon as they dropped him on the sofa, Frohike curled up in a ball and started snoring. Byers closed the window and Langly covered their icy, erect friend with a blanket retrieved from the bedroom.

 

Byers said, "Well, let's go. We should return your sister's dog before it gets too late." He paused. "Does she know about the implant?"

 

"Nah." Langly clapped and crouched, receiving the bundle of fur. He patted the drooling mutt's neck, smiling fondly. "What she doesn't know won't hurt her."

 

On their way out, they turned off the lights as they shut the door quietly behind them.

 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

 

-END-

 

Authors' Notes: Trick or Treat!

Did we scare ya, huh, did we, huh? Give us feedback or we'll be back!

Kate441 (kmluder@humanoid.net) and Raine (rain@isomedia.com)

 

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