Don’t Fear The Reaper

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CW: dark themes, language, sexual themes, general Monty sadism

Jessie Michels was a peculiar specimen.

To the Colonel, the man was odd, though that in and of itself did not garner his attention. No, he had experienced plenty of oddity in his extended lifetime. His life before now was filled with a vast number of strange characters, many of whom he'd allowed to tattoo him all that time ago. But Michels' eccentricity did not scream tattoo artist. It screamed fear.

Everything came back to the man's skittishness, which seemed excessive in comparison to what Alejandro considered to be an acceptable amount of fear. He was admittedly intrigued. What was Jessie Michels so afraid of?

And more importantly, how could he exploit that to his advantage?

He sent a vague message to summon he specialist to his office, intentionally choosing his words so as to leave the already skittish man on edge. He was curious to discover the source of Jessie's agitation and saw no issue with manipulating the situation for his purposes.

Of course, he did have legitimate business to discuss. There was the issue of North Sigurd and the spying Michels was supposed doing. He wanted a progress update. He wanted information, but all of that, he felt, could wait in the face of potentially gaining a unique way to control that odd little creature.

Power, control, a kill-switch was infinitely more useful in Alejandro's eyes than information about a defiant mutt.

Seeking those things was precisely the reason he was not sitting at his desk. Hell, even the lights of his office were dimmed. He stood instead out of view in the corner lying in wait for his latest prey, fully intending to frighten the man when he revealed himself.

"Jessie," he said upon the man's arrival, voice dripping with reproach as he moved forward to herd Jessie into the opposite corner of the room. There would be no escape. "You've kept me waiting, boy." He hissed the words furiously, as though a grave offense had been committed.

"What do you have to say for yourself, hm?"

Posted 05-16-2021, 04:20 PM This post was last modified: 05-16-2021, 04:21 PM by Alejandro Montes

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The call was a reason for concern; and so, Jessie felt concern; it wouldn’t be the kind that left butterflies in his stomach; neither the kind roiling his blood; it would be the kind, though, that prematurely left him on guard; even the vague wording of the message was noted, haunting like a ghost.

But come, he had to.

And so--

He did.

With a few little somethings on him, always a man prepared. A man unfortunately late--

Just a tad; the message had caught him unprepared in some sense after all, and he had sought to rectify that state with a few little additions to his get-up; when he did approach the other’s office, it would be on a note of eventually, maybe-- or inevitably, rather, for he did feel himself tense up in a sense--

He really did not want to go in--

Such a man to put the fear of god into his frame.

But Jessie braced himself; the face he put on wasn’t his brave face; it was the strong face; that cool, and calculative face as he knocked as the fucker would demand-- then opened the door in--

Immediately, he noticed the darkness; immediately he felt the creeping face of it--

Like a crawling, compelling enemy sinking out to get him--

He heard the voice and he heard so many things it promised; Jessie; like a bark, like a curse-- like something, also, oddly personal.

Not Michels, not spy, not agent--

J e s s i e

And in a way, his world tilted.

When he closed the door behind himself, it couldn’t be said he’d not noted it; he heard the click of it in his head; right through his heart; in the dead of his mind--

But Jessie was already mid-act.

He dodged out of the man’s coming, strafing ‘round around like he were a meteor he would avoid, fast and in his glib speed comfortable, and in the dimmed setting of the place he was giving him a look full of cold judging.

“Was this necessary,” he asked--

And as he backed away from the rude-ass cunt, backed away into the bowels of the office, where the desk was, he smiled--

Or maybe, twas a smirk.

He faked curtsy. He did so well, though.

“Sir?”

And the smirk widened.

He straightened out.

"Pardon my lateness. Sir. I was, uh, very... caught up. Mortals affairs. You know how it goes."

He gave a brief brow waggle.

"Anything I can help you with? ... Sir?"

Sir?

Posted 05-16-2021, 04:49 PM

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And to think the little mortal had been doing so well.

Had.

Alejandro possessed little patience for those who dared to be late on his time. It was one of the highest forms of disrespect in his eyes. What could be more important than his summons? Nothing. His anger had been festering with every moment Michels was not in his office. And now that the man was there, he found himself no less angry. The door was closed as it properly should have been -- something some seemed unable to comprehend -- but the Colonel did not care for the strange dance they fell into the moment he tried to draw closer to the spy.

There it was.

The avoidance.

The skittishness.

It was odd.

Naturally, the Colonel noticed how the man pointedly ignored his approach, backing away in fear. Oh, he could have laughed if he were not utterly offended by the evading and the smile? smirk, was it? on Michels' face as he dared to question the necessity of what the Colonel chose to do. "It was essential, Jessie." He continued to use the agent's name, seeking to act as oddly as possible to provoke the need to avoid. He was still searching for his key to power, to the trigger of this dodging and he was willing to do anything, say anything to find it.

'Sir.'

So proper, so seeming respectful and yet so late, so skittish. The perfect little curtesy was amusing if nothing else, though he could not spare a moment to chuckle as if might were he dealing with anyone other than Michels. No, Alejandro's focus was directly on the smirking man standing in front of his desk. He wondered briefly to himself if Michels was even aware of what happened there, of the power. It was so hard to tell with this one, but perhaps he would soon gain some insight.

"No." He said lowly, watching the man with clear and predatory intent, as though he were appraising a good. "You are not pardoned, Jessie." He took a curious step forward, trying to predict which way his prey would flee. "Are you not aware of how valuable my time is? Are you too plagued with arrogance? Do you need correction?" Another step forward.

"I have need of you, Jessie. I want information." Though the kind of details he wanted had very little with Michels' actual job.

No.

He wished to know where this dance of theirs would go and so he once again tried to draw close, watching again for signs of terror.

Posted 05-16-2021, 05:27 PM

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There was that name again. Jessie.

What are you doing, Jessie’s eyes asked sharply-- the smile turned sharp, too; threatening; like a wild animal flashing its teeth; you knew a fight was on.

But Jessie only narrowed his eyes-- he almost asked-- almost: why are you calling me Jessie, as the name sounded weird from the man’s lips; an abuse, an insult; the means to an end, maybe--

Whose?

My own.

Jessie felt his heart beat hard--

Fear and excitement mixed now.

And then the man took a step forward-- and Jessie tilted his head--

And indeed, but a cornered animal, observed; a cornered creature could be as inelegant in its effort to escape as it could be intelligent, and vicious.

He was intelligent, and the vicious soon roiled his blood. He narrowed his eyes; again his half-amused, half-glaring attention asked-- what are you doing, what are you trying to do here--

This seemed like bred with intent; this seemed like a plan-- the dimmed lights, the position the man had been in before he had arrived--

That vague vague message.

The summon.

And Jessie stood with his feet apart, not backing off now. Not with the last step forward--

Not with the other one…

Instead--

Jessie’s pupils banded: thrill.

“Is that so, sir.”

And then he stepped out.

Rather than back off-- for each step Alejandro had taken, Jessie matched him; his as long, as one after another--

As he killed the distance between them, as he stopped to stand a fucking foot away, hands innocently locked at his back, as he craned up to look the man in the eyes, thinking to himself--

You’re testing me. Why are you testing me.

“Now,” he cooed, his tone intentionally soothing, and yet mockingly cold--

“What information exactly may I provide, sir?” he asked with the kind of flair of a luxuriant bellydancer-- of an experienced whore--

Of a skilled killer--

Of a bad, bad person.

Of Jessie S. Michels.

What do you want, you monster?

Posted 05-16-2021, 05:43 PM

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Alejandro never liked to consider himself careless enough to miscalculate or misjudge those around him. Yet, there Michels was, stepping forward rather than away, narrowed eyes and all. Could he have been wrong? No. He refused the possibility of the very, very insulting notion. In his mind, this was merely the product of oddity, something that could never be perfectly calculated.

"It is true." He spoke calmly, too calmly, already plotting his next move.

There was definitive challenge in the space between them, in the thrill in Michels' eyes, in the very tone the agent dared to take with him. Yet, the Colonel was not convinced. He did not believe in the boldness that stood merely a foot before him. Where had that confidence been earlier? He sensed dishonesty, if only based on the way he had been pointedly dodged earlier.

He loathed dishonesty nearly as much as loathed arrogance.

All the same he intended to root it out and find what lay underneath. It was hard to tell what Michels was hiding. Foolishness? Cowardice? Something more? Something useful?. Having already made up his mind to have the truth, Alejandro smiled in that disconcerting, provocative way of his.

Oh, how he hated lies other than his own.

How he wished to punish for this offense.

How he would.

"Is it not obvious, dear Jessie? He spat. His tone was devoid of any fondness and instead was short, direct, and cold.

"What I want, boy, is the truth." He leaned forward slightly then, reaching out for Jessie's hips to pull the man closer to him as he seemed to wish for in his boldness. There was a clear lust in his eyes for the creature he was certain was hiding behind this pathetic show, for the source of what he sought to control.

His unspoken question was loud and clear: Can you truly handle this?

Posted 05-16-2021, 06:10 PM

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So he stood, waiting; anticipating; eyes narrowed; a threat posed in them, something subtle; made subtler by the dimmed situation; if darkness ruled in here, it’d be that much better; yet Jessie could not imagine himself ever stepping into a dark room with just Alejandro.

The idea was mad.

But he waited-- waited, eyes narrowing more as the man called him dear Jessie-- then a boy; the tone was something effectively useless; a waste of cold on an icy person; Jessie wanted to spite him; mock him; within him, an angry beast soared, fueled by an often denied craving.

And yet--

As the truth was demanded, meaning whatever madness that only Alejandro could read, Jessie’s eyes widened--

Surprise-- found him; as did the other’s hands-- on his hips they liked to fit, and the lust in the eyes burned him--

It came out of Jessie quickly; almost, like there had been no other way he could react. Almost.

“Absolutely not.”

Jessie moved away from the man abruptly, hastily--

Skipped right back and glowered at him offended, glaring-- mocking, before he scoffed--

“Oh, my bad, sir,” he spoke, clearly irreverent now, the tone no longer honeyed either, just a tone and words, “I didn’t know you were jonesing after some heady hole. How ‘bout I fetch you a fleshlight?” he offered kindly, jabbing a finger in the direction of-- whatever; as if a sex shop had risen off the ground at some point and could be found down the hallway, just go straight on, turn right, you cannot miss it--

And if you do, there’s a large cock affixed to the door; you miss that and you might just be a lesbian.

Anyway.

Jessie just eyed the man like he’d gone mad, like he was an idiot--

Looking at him like that.

--touching like that.

N u p e

Jessie’s lips twisted--

“Can I go now?” he asked, a bit curtly.

Posted 05-16-2021, 06:24 PM

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It was still so difficult to tell whether this rejection was caused by natural human fear or something more. That made him all the more determined to figure out what made this madman tick. Yes, madman. There was no doubt in the Colonel’s mind that Jessie Michels was insane. He had to be. Even without the lack of information he possessed on the agent’s background, the odd behavior solidified that fact in his mind. There was a value to insanity in Alejandro’s eyes, provided it could be controlled, or rather, directed.

Though Michels had refused him the full truth he desired, there was undoubtedly something there. Something that was being intentionally hidden. Alejandro craved to discover what was being concealed and that required interrogation.

But first, the irreverence had to be dealt with. Truly, he did not care either way whether or not Michels’ words were sweet or not. What he wanted would not come from words, yet all the same he refused to allow disrespect to go unaddressed. “No,” he began coldly, “You will not go until I am finished with you, Jessie.” In search of a reaction, the agent’s first name was used again.

Give me something.

“Is that what you want, Jessie?” Alejandro titled his head slightly to the side, as though he truly had to think about Michels’ words. “Do you want to please me? Be useful?” A sneer curled his lips as he rushed towards the agent, reaching out with a fast, furious hand to seize the man his shirt.

Without a word he curled his fingers tightly into the fabric, yanking suddenly to throw the man chest-first onto the ground. He moved swiftly to pin Michels on the ground by pushing one knee into his back.

His hand quickly flew to his belt, undoing the loop with practiced ease and pulling it from his waist with a fluid motion. There was no pause. There was no mercy. He wrapped the band around Michels’ throat, bracing himself against the knee pressed into the agent’s back and he pulled, seeking to choke the man beneath him for several seconds.

Then, he relieved the choking pressure, though the threat he might decide to change that remained as he kept the belt poised to cut off air again. “Tell me the truth, Jessie.” His hissed his demand. “What are you hiding?”

Posted 05-19-2021, 12:40 PM

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He had to go. He had to leave. The smell of danger was startling-- and indeed, he could smell it.

So he frowned-- grimaced, even, and then the reality of him being a specialist fled out the window like anything else; he knew this gaze; he knew this kinda expression Alejandro bestowed upon his person-- and wrongly, Jessie stared back with every bit rude, and extravagant cheek; as if silently daring the man--

C’mon, do it.

Stop me.

Can you?

And the grimace turned hard.

“Don’t use my first name.”

A demand.

Maybe spoken after the first slight; maybe, after the second unmerry time, and Jessie realized he was bristling-- that he was loathing; that he hated this cunt in here-- that he wanted to end him--

But this would not be the first time he had thought it; you need to go, he’d first considered when sighting this asshole-- a long time ago and the thought was as alive as his blood; and then, the man was coming close; then, he had just come, reminding Jessie vividly of the kind of speed North had shown-- unnatural, wicked--

World tilting.

He hit the floor with a grunt.

Twasn’t a large one-- twas still a grunt; his eyes-- cold seized the shabby, and laconic view of the floor, being that in this dimmed lighting, it had few words; being that as a floor-- it honestly had very little in the way of conversing, and offering kind, and helpful words--

But then he heard it.

Then he heard the belt--

He knew this sound.

He knew it too well.

And his heartbeat picked up, and his blood raced--

He felt himself squirming and trying to start off the floor, to find purchase in a foot firmly planted down; he didn’t care ‘bout the knee to his back; he didn’t care he was face down, he’d say that; and yet the belt and the sound it had made, and how it echoed in his head and brought back memories as livid as his blood had been then--

“No.”

When did he say it, when?

Surely before it wrapped ‘round his throat; then, reprieve, a kind of reprieve; then, his eyes rolled back, and he grunted again, and he intuitively went with the motion, contorting himself back in a bend that he had learned to master, imbuing all his muscle with a flex that allowed him this tiny motion--

Simply to pry a few fingers between the belt and his throat--

“Cunt.”

--to say that, with spite; but the panic paled, somewhat; twas good, he supposed, that as this asshole wasn’t looking to--

That he wasn’t--

He still couldn’t breathe for seconds; the vise, the pull-- the band burned into his throat, and Jessie dissociated only so-so; he couldn’t fully; reminded of that horrible, and haunting ‘it’ his heart continued to pound, his breaths-- they came out short--

Until the pressure had been released, and he coughed, and coughed-- and wheezed and yet composed himself early, the courtesy of the fingers, too, and yet the pull of the band had left them puce at the moment, the blood rushing back to the utmost phalanges and his head swimming, dizzy--

“Fuck you.”

It was a mistake. It was surely a mistake.

He didn’t care.

Anger-- fucking anger brewed fierce, and irrational within his blood; fucking pumped it throughout his frame and though he told himself, it’d be best to cooperate, I know that, I do fucking know that--

You bend the knee when the likes of Alejandro hold the reins--

He squirmed on the floor, testing the give of his position; kicking the legs out, bucking back and trying to squeeze his hands through the band, so that he could free himself-- it would have been much more logical, he knew that, to slip one hand down, take a knife (well hidden) out and severe through this belt--

And stab this cunt in the cock.

What a gorgeous thought.

“Absolutely-- fucking-- fuck you,” he panted, a smile twisting his lips-- “Your dumb-ass demands for secrets are puny, and shitty-- and you’re vague and expecting me to, what, tell you my most hidden desires?”

He giggled at that--

“Let me go. Sir.”

It was closer to a demand-- than asking.

Posted 05-19-2021, 01:13 PM

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[TW: Rape]

If there had been any doubt before about Michels’ insanity, it no longer existed in the Colonel’s mind. Perhaps if he believed in forgiveness, the agent’s flagrant disrespect might have been dismissed. The insane, after all, could rarely be held accountable for their actions…if you were anyone other than Alejandro. The Colonel possessed no mercy, nor consideration for anything other than the fact that Michels was an impudent man who dared to demand things of his Colonel as though they were remotely equals. But truly, Alejandro was incensed that he still had yet to discover anything about Michels he could control. That would not do. He would not have a loose cannon running around without knowing how to neutralize it.

The Colonel cared little about the demand from Michels. No. As laughable as making demands to him was, it was a hint. Michels didn’t like hearing first name, hm? All the more reason to continue using it. Alejandro had no intention of giving the agent any sort of reprieve. When he desired information, he intended to receive it whether the source was a madman or not. Jessie Michels was not special. Jessie Michels was simply another man who thought himself above the chain of command, above his command. The mere idea that there was someone else in this godforsaken world that thought his authority was a suggestion made his blood boil. Alejandro Montes was not a suggestion. He was to be obeyed.

It was a painful lesson the Colonel was prepared to impart on the agent beneath him and only paused because Michels surprised him.

No?

Now, he was enraged, even before Michels’ started spitting insults. He could not quell his anger long enough to make the connection between the belt and this new panic within the agent. He would not be insulted by the likes of Michels. A madman who could not hold his tongue was a dangerous one. No. He had had enough of this. No more playing around. No more mercy. Michels would learn to respect his betters or he would suffer. “No, Jessie.” He spat, beginning to pull the belt tight once again. “You’ve already told me what I want to know, but now you are going to learn some respect.” He jerked the belt back, strangling Michels as he leaned down to hiss in the agent’s ear. ”You will never speak to me in such a way again.”

But this time, Alejandro did not release the pressure. He continued to hold the belt snug against Michels’ throat.

Suffocating.

Michels needed to be disciplined dominated and the anger boiling in his stomach would not allow him to be content with simply strangling the man. No. He demanded something much more as recompense.

There was a price to pay for impudence.

The hand not holding the belt to suffocate Michels reached down to the agent’s beltline and ripped exposing Michels’ bare ass. Clothing be damned. There was a lesson to learn here. He kept intense pressure on the belt until he felt Michels’ weaken. Only then did the pressure subside, if only so he could drop the belt, get properly behind Michels and use both hands to lift the agent’s hips into the air, propped on his knees, ass up.

With far too much ease he used one hand to pull the obstructive parts of his uniform down far enough to free his hard cock. He said nothing and gave no warning as he aligned the tip of his cock with that well used hole and slammed his hips forward, forcing himself in with only one intention.

Dominance.

Posted 06-03-2021, 05:07 PM This post was last modified: 06-03-2021, 06:00 PM by Alejandro Montes

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tw: graphic sexual assault slkdfjkf

No, Jessie, he heard, and he struggled still; he wanted to be gone; that primal, or even primeval instinct within him being reborn: being fresh to this world and therefore demanding he fuck off.

And he so wanted to.

Wanted-- even when the man threatened; respect, he mentioned; and Jessie struggled-- and struggled; hissing and spitting, growling and seething--

Defending and defending-- though his sounds were quieted; and weak, and nothing, just a pure, pure fucking nothing--

--as the man’s breath hit his hair.

And the world was darker, darker still.

Darker.

Until he didn’t know, until he was gone, thirty seconds or so, up to a minute of being gone: he knew that if he didn’t die, he’d be back soon after: he knew he’d come to himself--

And yet to what.

There had been a quality-- just a quality in the other’s words that suggested he would make his return--

And yet as his world was gone: nothing if not fear would know his thoughts.

Nothing for alongside the world tuning out, the last of sounds he’d wear was of a fabric being destroyed.

And then, moments.

Moments, black, calm, and dark; and moments later, and he was slack and he was soft:

Until a pain ripped through his world.

He awoke with a scream-- with a harsh, and insulting scream: something from the bottom of his lungs, something abusing their everything: a scream of pain and shock as that something slammed into his person: as he took a second too long to realize what-- and then, he wished he hadn’t.

A cock.

Within his hole.

Inside him and his eyes were wide; he felt a bit of confusion, and coughed and it could have been the scream; it would have been the raw feeling of something choking him, the pressure since released and perhaps he noticed, perhaps he did: from the corner of his vision the belt there, neglected.

Once his ‘round his throat.

And he wept.

Wept.

Ass up, he realized.

As the awareness returned, twas a harsh wake-up call, as he realized where he was and what position he was in, what tearing he had heard:

Fabric, indeed.

His--

Gone and the ass up and out, and cheeks parted.

And within his hole, within his body, a cock there rested, uninvited.

Rape, Jessie thought.

Rape he thought it quickly--

Not again.

And he broke at the seams immediately.

“Please, no.”

He begged.

He gasped; it hurt; it hurt.

He had blood between his legs--not much, just a rivulet; or maybe, two; maybe, three; coming out of the spot of him stuffed in, the cock within; in his tissue, in his body; in Jessie.

The muscle and heat of him used but something to wear when the thought hit.

And he wept so hard.

Clawed at the floor immediately, clawed.

Sought to stand up on his arms at least, crawl himself if necessary; fingers, nails grabbing for anything within his reach, to find himself gone from this; to be away from here; as the sheer, and invading hardness of the other felt so, so mean.

So, so horrible.

… so, so good…

But so forbidden.

“Fuck you,” he cried then, wanting to twist away.

“Fuck you and your EVERYTHING.”

Hate, hate stained his words.

Not again he had cried, and yet vengeance-- hard, brimmed in his crying eyes; red-swollen and open wide, seething and loathing though he had to blink: to shut off the pain, to see the world exactly; erase the blur and imagine shapes heady--

As he crumbled, and came undone.

“Fuck YOU, YOU CUNT.

"YOU WILL NEVER TAME ME.

"NEVER. I WILL WATCH THE WORLD BURN AND YOU IN THE CENTER OF IT."

And with power, with hating, Jessie keened.

Posted 06-04-2021, 03:28 AM

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