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Everywhere they went, everyone was terrified of the boss. He was pretty big and scary. And, well, Ash wasn't. Much.
The boss was a giant of a guy, head-and-shoulders-and-chest over anyone else they'd ever met, and muscled like an animal — slabs of muscle coiled on his huge frame and then more layered on top of that. Veins traced across his skin, fat cords bubbling up along his bulky muscles, forming thick clusters on his chest and shoulders, winding down his arms, thickening down his stomach and vanishing under the chunky rim of his belt. They all glowed dim green.
He had armor strapped across the outside of his arms, dense black padding with capsules of chrome bent around his muscles. Not that he needed it — he went shirtless for a reason, and that was so everyone could see the scars: a messy line of bullet holes, from a turret gun, from his right hip diagonally up his chest all the way to his shoulder. On his back, from halfway up, there were matching exit wounds. It'd been a hell of a wound and now it was just a mess of blotchy scars: somewhere between burns and warts, circles of waxy skin layered on top of each other until they became a broadening band, rich purple-black on his dark skin. It said: people tried hard to kill me, and it didn't work.
It'd been back when they were younger, when the boss could've passed for just another lanky teenager, scrawny with huge hands and feet. Back when his blood was red. Ash couldn't remember anything about it aside from the gun: him and the boss were pinned down, some maniac on a turretgun — back when anyone had bullets to spend — peppering the wrecked van they were hiding behind, the sharp cordite smell of gunfire filling his nose. The boss charged for the turret, and the guy trained to follow. Anyone else would've gone down at the first hit, but the boss kept running. He climbed up on top, the muzzle an inch from his body, each shot sending a plume of blood mist spraying behind him. The boss slashed the guy's throat, fingers clawing under the body-armor he was wearing, and it was only when the gun started to whine down that Ash poked his head out and saw.
Anyone else should've died a few dozen times over from that. The boss spent the day writhing on the ground, bleeding more than could fit in his body, hollow sucking from his chest whenever he breathed. Some time in the night he stopped screaming and sobbing, and when Ash woke up there was bloody foam bubbling up in the holes, gross layers of green-glowing pus and murky blood and skin stretched translucent. The day after that they'd flattened out, healed over, leaving layered circles of glossy burned skin, and the day after that the boss was pockmarked, regrowing flesh pushing the spent slugs to the surface, and he clawed them out.
So it gave him a little thrill, knowing he was the only person alive — aside from the boss, of course — who knew how he'd got those scars.
His dreads framed his head like a shaggy mane, spreading across his shoulders and reaching most of the way down his back. They were pitch black, his mask a dot of white in comparison. And there was the mask. He'd never seen the boss without it, and if he hadn't then chances were no one had. Probably it hadn't been a mask to start: white plastic, vaguely face-shaped, just vague contours without any features: no eyes, no mouth, no nose. Tiny holes neatly bored through in staggered rows down, maybe a dozen across the whole thing. Maybe a few of them lined up with his eyes; Ash never cared to ask. They glowed too, dim green light lighting the back of the mask at night. His hands and feet had the same bubbling flesh as his scars, and the boss had the same thing growing up his neck, thicker clusters of scarred, burned flesh, blotchy purple and shiny. Ash figured he just didn't wanna show everyone his ugly mug.
Most people they'd met called him a monster, which Ash thought was awfully rude, and usually showed them the painful way not to be disrespectful. You had old people mostly, the ones who never stopped talking about the end of the world, call him freak or demon. Short-sighted, if you asked him.
Everyone knew about the dead spots: the places where nothing grew, or everything grew wrong. You ran through, you might be fine. You stayed too long, you got sick, probably died. But if you didn't die, something in you changed. He'd heard people talk about someone building a city down south who could spit fire, and once he'd seen someone call down lightning from the clear sky, shooting out in a flash that'd left the broken concrete sharp and glassy. There were always rumors: someone up north could heal with a touch, or there was a town a few days over that had a protector, someone who could do such-and-such or so-and-so, and maybe half of them were true, he figured. The boss was one of the ones that hadn't died.
He was just... larger than life. So you got those old folks talking about demons and the end of the world: Ash thought the boss was a god, maybe. The kind of thing that got born in the new world. And he was the lucky idiot who'd got to meet him first. So shit yeah he'd follow him, no matter where the boss went.
To the end of the world, it looked like: the last day'd brought them to the end of the broken highway, and laid out before them was the edge. There was what was left of a city, growing out into the water, and beyond that... it was just water, as far as the eye could see, brilliant blue and shining under the midday sun, so bright it hurt his eyes to look at.
"Holy fuck," was what he'd said, gawping. "Hey, boss, this where you headed?" He looked over, the boss looming beside him. He'd just shrugged, before loping forward, hand grabbing the cracked rebar at the end of the road, launching himself down to the ground below. Ash followed after, like always.
Back when they were in the mountains, last winter, he'd had to bundle up. Here and now he was wearing even less than the boss: ragged jeans, nearly more hole than fabric at this point; loose kerchief around his neck; tennis shoes; that was it. They'd gone raiding what was left of a department store, piling thermals and coats on him until he prob'ly wasn't gonna die of exposure.
But on the side there was an aisle, squashed boxes strewn all around, dark smears of powder on the floor, and Ash had gone over, knelt and looked at the boxes: photo of some long-dead model pouting, hair a color he'd never even seen before
"Hair dye," the boss said.
"Huh," he'd said. "Can I try it?"
The boss had kinda looked at him — well, probably — and then: "Sure," and that was how the next day found him stripped to his underwear in a tub of rusty water, hair lathered up with bleach paste and stinging like hell, all stubble save for the swath down the center that was usually up in a stiff mohawk.
"Like a poison frog," the boss had said, a little wry. "You touch 'em and fall over dead. So you got all the animals that blend in, and then the frogs are just right out there, all neon colors —"
"I ain't never seen a frog that wasn't green."
"Not here," the boss said, smearing more stinging paste on his head. "Down south." Then, while Ash blinked and cursed and wiped where it dripped along a cut above his ear he hadn't even realized he'd had until then: "They're sayin, I'm right here, you could eat me real easy if you wanted. But you don't wanna."
The boss had held him down, bleach burning his head, stinging when it got into his eye, and then finally dunked him under the water once it got too much, Ash rising up sputtering and spitting, eyes burning.
That was how he got his hair dyed: bright red the first time, slowly fading to a burnt orange. His scalp was red and itchy for days afterward, aching from the bleach burns. That was kinda nice though. Lots of things he liked hurt; that was how you knew it was important.
Anyway, that was why he kept some sachets of dye in his pack. Rare, and kinda useless, but it sent the right message.
The point was, his old jacket had a big gun target on it, sewn there one long night when he had nothing better to do. Right in the back; he was an easy target. He was stronger than most, but out of the two of them, he was the one who'd get popped easy. But you really didn't wanna do that.
He kinda missed that jacket.
The city was a mess. The hills down were choked with old roads, busted townhouses on either side, and when they got to the water it was even more of a wreck. Sandy silt washed up the streets, asphalt broken into dark chunks. Everything was overgrown, pavement slabs pushed near-vertical from new trees growing through what had once been cracks.
There were scattered islands out in the bay: wreckage the tallest buildings had made when they'd fallen, marshaled in places into dams and bridges, wood and pavement layered on top of the concrete and metal wreckage. A few of the smaller buildings were still intact, rooftops like hanging gardens, rope bridges spanning between a few in tight little clusters: people were living out there.
Below all that: silt and mud, fish dark squiggles, whole shoals sometimes catching the light in a silver drift. Further out, he could see coral, climbing up over the furthest buildings, wild and overgrown, organic structures climbing up the sides of buildings like huge polyps, and after that there was nothing but water.
The boss kept going along the shore, until it was just concrete worn into sandstone-rough curves by the lapping waves. The water kept moving, cresting wave after wave, smooth lulls and peaks that turned into white breakwater when it spilled up the shore.
"You gonna keep going?" Ash asked at the boss' back, looking up at the hill. The old highway had been running north; it'd shot west, so they'd followed it. If the boss wanted to keep going north, he'd have to loop back around or cut across the bay. But it wasn't really up to Ash to figure what the boss was planning.
The boss shook his head. "Find a place to stay." It was getting dark; shadows across the hills, turning the water dark. Might as well find an enclosed space sooner rather than later.
At night, lights came on out in the bay: bright white and dingy yellow-orange.
The road just ended; asphalt slowly peeling down as the water wore away at the dirt beneath. There was a long stretch of sandy silt, fist-sized asphalt chunks peeking out from the drying mud.
"The water's like, twenty feet back," Ash said, scowling at the mess. There were even high-water marks along the edge of the buildings: the water washing across wet sand at the foundations, and then above head height the dark floodwater stains. On the shore, they were standing on what'd been deep underwater the last time they came through. "What the fuck?"
"It's tides," the boss said, and Ash jerked his head up. "'cause the moon."
Ash looked up: the moon was nowhere in sight. "What?"
The boss shook his head, dreads stiff from saltwater, like porcupine spikes. "It just happens. Few hours, tide'll come in." He made a gesture, palm crashing up the knuckles of his other hand. "Phshh!"
"No shit." Ash looked out over the ocean: that was a shitload of water. "Don't wanna be standing here when that happens."
Lots of people figured the boss was dumb — figured the muscles meant he had no brain. There'd been one time when they'd been staying in some wrecked city, up in the mountains. They'd hunkered down over winter, and the local ruler'd gotten pissy about it. He'd tried to burn them out, and he even had a dumb little speech — Ash didn't bother remembering it, just that the guy's gotten the idea their frontman/muscle dynamic was all a play on Ash's part, that the boss was some braindead mutant animal Ash'd trained. He'd said all animals were scared of fire, and then lit the torches.
Ash didn't like killing people that much, but he'd laughed when the boss jumped right over his little flaming barricade and smashed his skull in one-handed. What an asshole.
So when the thugs snatched him it wasn't really a surprise what their plan was. Mostly he was pissed that they'd taken his bat and he couldn't fucking see it on the roof they'd brought him to. He liked that bat.
His wrists were bound behind his back with heavy cord. A scattering of people fanned out behind him, and the guy he figured was the leader was out in front, some other guy behind Ash: pressing a huge shiv against his neck. It'd been something like a bolt originally, a huge machine part with a spiraling tread, but it'd been shaved down to a sharp, serrated edge.
The guy postured some about how this was his land; asked some dumb questions with obvious answers — "Why you here?" "'Cause the boss wanted to come here"; "You got plans?" "I dunno"; "Who's the mutant freak with you?", which had Ash lunging forward, thinking maybe he could bite the fucker; it took two of them and more than a few blows to the face to pin him down. He spit blood to the side. "He's the boss, fuckhead." — before they got frustrated.
They'd figured the boss would come after him, and they really hadn't thought about what'd happen after that. They talked a little to each other, nervous, scared. They should be, Ash thought. But it was only a matter of time before the boss slung himself up over the building side, a grumble in his chest like a growl. Everyone else went tense: the guy's loose grasp on his shiv tightened, pulling it up sharp to Ash's neck, so high he had to look up to keep from getting cut.
"Now, we don't need to get violent here," the leader was saying. "I got a proposition for you: take your freak ass out of here and we don't have to kill your buddy here, huh?" The notched blade of the shiv pressed against Ash's neck, slowly peeling skin apart.
The boss shifted weight from one foot to the other, and just that made the guy's hand tremble. He shrugged. "Kill him 'f you wanna." Then he cracked his knuckles: "I kill all'a you."
There was a little more talking, bullshit posturing from the leader. It wasn't exactly interesting to listen to. What he was waiting for was an opening.
It came like: the guy holding the shiv wavered away from Ash's throat, because he was a dumb-ass, so Ash jerked back, the back of his head meeting the guy's nose with a crunch. Ash twisted so the slice when the guy pulled up was across his chest and shoulder instead of his neck, and then they went down. Ash made sure to fall on top of him, knee meeting the guy's neck, bearing down to make sure it caved in before he rolled off.
The boss was already next to him, the leader guy's head in his hand, body ragdoll limp: the back of his head caved in, a spiderweb bloodsplatter on the rooftop next to them. The guy who'd been hold in the shiv was on the ground thrashing, broken nose pouring blood over his mouth, clawing at his lumpy neck, trying to breathe in soundless gasps.
The boss tore the rope off Ash's wrists. Blood was sheeting down his chest; the cut wasn't that deep, or anywhere really vital, but it stung like hell, sweat pouring into the wound.
The rest of the little group were looking at them, or at the guy on the ground thrashing, hands banging the ground beside him. Didn't want to just run in.
"I got a different proposition!" Ash yelled, raising the guy's shiv in his hand. "How about y'all fuck off, and we don't gotta kill anybody else!" There was a heavy kind of pause. He tossed it onto the dying guy's chest, watching his hands blindly wrap around it, cutting up his fingers. "Now which one of you fucks is gonna gimmie my bat back?!"
So that went well.
The cut healed clean enough, a thin white line across his collar bone.
Normally whenever they took out some posturing fuckhead they were out of town before seeing just how it all shook out, but since the boss seemed content to hang around, Ash got to see just how all the pieces fell down. Leaving a power vacuum like that at the top... except, now, it seemed like everyone realized it was the boss at the top, which was smart of them.
So there were the people Ash called the Fishers, out on the islands. Mostly old folks, some kids, idealistic, constantly fucking around with old machines, trying to rebuild whatever'd been there before. The leader the boss'd crushed was some gang leader — the people Ash called the Dumb Assholes, or more charitably (and to the boss) just the Gang — getting protection supplies from them, sometimes taking the kids if they were old enough to be useful. Most of the Gang hated him, and after the boss killed him the rest of them went and killed the rest of the inner circle. Ash figured it was bloody, a night full of knives and screaming. But the first he really heard about it was when he got up one day and found some lanky kid hanging around their little shanty. He'd jumped when Ash'd called out, and scampered off down the rocks, towards the bay.
They'd been staying in some old concrete building, something like a bunker only mostly above-ground. There were some old machines in there, plastic yellow and metal rusted, circuit junk inside, and the ground was all silty. It wasn't great, but it wasn't any worse than the places they'd hidden before. It was just starting to hit Ash that for once it might be worthwhile to clean the place out; usually they moved around almost nightly, so an effort to clear everything away was just a waste.
Then again, there were a bunch better places they could be staying, so it probably still wasn't worth it.
So later that day some old woman came by to talk about all that shit, and after Ash figured she wasn't gonna try and kill them Ash let her talk and tried to remember it all so he could repeat it to the boss. But honestly, he didn't really give a shit. The part he perked up about was when she invited them out to live in one of the wrecks on the bay — Ash hadn't really gone out that far, except when he was kidnapped that one time. He meant: it was obviously to get them closer, so if anyone else came by wanting to threaten them they could pull the boss into their problems. But Ash was still kinda curious.
Ash scouted out a place: at the edge of the concrete archipelago, more than a few buildings away from any of the Fishers. Something that might've been a warehouse: three floors above water, with a lower roof that the high tide just barely touched. The high roof had a busted skylight, three stories straight down into coral-choked water, but more importantly it had something that had been an attic: big metal beams, the wreck of an elevator chamber, and huge sloped windows. A nice big, clean room. The boss liked looking out of the windows, nothing but water out in the distance forever. The end of the world. It was a nice view, he guessed, if you liked a shitload of water — and the boss apparently did, so there you go.
The Fishers, though. They kept wanting to talk. They just moved over one afternoon, swimming out and clamoring up the edge of the building, but the Fishers wanted a whole fucking party. Ash had to put his foot down somewhere, and that was absolutely fuckin' where.
Still:
"Ash!" the boss called, and the guy he'd been talking to flinched and ducked away.
Ash stuck his head inside. "Yeah boss?"
"You like it here?"
Ash had been walking in; he kinda tripped over his feet, soles scuffing the uneven floor. The boss'd never asked that before. "Yeah, I guess? ...I mean, it's quiet, and the—" he gestured out, at the endless water through the wall "—is freaky, but it's not bad. Everyone keeps talkin' about the seafood, I figure I might try to catch some fish or something." He paused, waiting, but it didn't look like the boss was gonna respond. "That all?"
"Yeah," he said, so Ash just... wandered out.
The whole thing was just really weird. He wasn't sure if he liked it at all.
"We're having a party down on Two Trees," the guy said, smiling, charismatic. Ash hated him. "You should come." He looked over at the attic hatch, smile wavering a little. "You could even, uh, bring your boss, if you want."
Ash snorted. "Nah."
"You sure? It'll be fun! I guess travelers like you don't get any chance to unwind, huh. I bet we could show you some fun." He sat down next to Ash, too close. Ash stilled his impulse to just shove the guy over, plant his knee on the guy's back, get his arm in both hands and just pull, see how big he'd be grinning with his arm out of its socket.
"I think you should fuck off," Ash said, and the guy looked put out. Not even angry, just kind of sad.
"Aw, c'mon, you should really give us a chance. Does your boss not, like, let you talk to people? It'll be—" and that was as far as he got before the boss vaulted out through the broken window, landing with a rattling thump. The guy jolted, going pale as the boss lumbered towards him.
"Don't fucking order him around," the boss said, hand crashing into the building's lip just beside the guy's face, sending chips of concrete flying. The guy looked just about ready to piss himself. The boss waited a half-second before jerking his head to the side: "Leave." and the guy took off, scrambling to his feet and running.
Maybe Ash felt a little bad, 'cause if he'd taken care of the guy the boss wouldn't have to trouble himself. But he wasn't really gonna beat himself up about it. He lay back, stretching his arms behind him, staring up at the sky. "I was thinkin' about breaking his arms, but I figured, like..." He made a face. "They're trying to be sociable." He didn't like it.
The boss stepped into view, staring down at him. "Don't let people order you around. I get to order you around."
Ash tipped his head over, looking up at the boss. "You want me t'do something?"
It was quiet for a beat, before the boss answered: "Nah", so Ash just went back to looking up at the sky.
The big problem with moving close was that everyone tried to get all friendly. They stayed clear of the warehouse attic itself, and its rooftop, since they had some sense, but the lower roof was apparently fair game. Some of the former Gang types loitered around, setting little campfires in the busted drums out front, drinking and yelling like they were the boss' crew or whatever. It was just rude, and Ash didn't really like people who were rude.
They kept hitting on him, like, that he was used to when they passed through, but here — it was the boss who'd killed the leader type anyway. They wanted an in with the boss. Ash was the less threatening one. It made sense, but it was just so rude. All of them trying to be seductive or clever or just friendly, all just for leverage.
Not a single one tried to get close to the boss. And good; it was just rude to try and act like some stranger could just slide in, act like they really knew what the boss was like. But... the boss deserved it. The boss deserved to have everyone praying him, worshiping him. Ash wouldn't like it, but at least he knew the boss would deserve it, all of them trying to get on his good side, all of them doing anything the boss wanted just with the hopes that he'd give them the gift of a favor. The boss deserved to get whatever he wanted from them — he'd saved them, after all, and them just ignoring the boss in favor Ash was downright unkind.
Some of the new people were down on the lower rooftop, two of them fucking — hand on a bare breast, lips pressed against a throat — while another three hooted and hollered, egging them on, looking about ready to collapse into a messy orgy. Ash'd passed through earlier and they'd tried to get him in: sent coy looks his way, flushed and naked; pulled him over to share their moonshine. But he had no doubt that if the boss'd crashed down on the roof they'd all scream and scatter. If the boss wanted to — they should be begging to attend to him, all of them naked, pressed up against his huge body, touching him wherever he wanted. Letting him use their bodies however he liked. The boss deserved people who'd adore him.
It was a hazy idea, a quiet little frustration, and it didn't focus until later: he'd slept, had a feverish dream: the boss sprawled in front of him, and Ash on his lap, hands wrapped around his neck, lips pressing against the scarred flesh of his throat, slowly trailing lower, kissing over his rough skin, fingers pinching the huge, fat nubs of his nipples. The boss reached for him, thick hand spanning his chest, giant thumb mirroring the motion, scraping over Ash's nipple, grinding down hard, and he moaned. The boss' mask was lit up from the inside, green glow seeping down his throat, shading the thick coils of his dreads; it was almost blinding shooting out from the holes in his mask. His seat stirred, the boss' cock thickening. It was immense under Ash's ass, heating the metal of the boss' belt to searing, straining the leather of his pants. Ash reached down, fingers splayed over the plane of the boss' stomach, heartbeat pounding, sending the glow of his blood rippling across his fingers, and Ash ground his palm against the base of the boss' cock, rocking his hips.
He woke aching and hard, rutting his cock against his palm, coming in stripes across the sheets before he really woke up and realized, oh.
It was all he could think about, when he ambled out onto the rooftop and saw the boss there. Yeah, he wanted to give him something good, something important. Show how much he cared. So he'd know that Ash'd do anything — anything — for the boss. It was a heat simmering inside him that never quite went away after that; he was half-hard the entire day and jumpy as hell.
Like, he knew the boss jerked off, he'd fuckin' heard it more than a few times. But never with anyone else, and never — it had always kind of annoyed him, like, Ash liked jerking off but it was usually nicer with someone else, some other traveller or whatever. The times they were with other people, Ash'd usually find someone he could tolerate. But the boss never...
And now he could really complete that thought: but the boss never had him do it. He had to know Ash would. Ash could make it so good for the boss; he'd do whatever the boss asked; he'd figure out everything that felt good. He wanted it so bad, doing something good like that for the boss, getting to watch him, getting to touch him so close. Why hadn't the boss asked him?!
After the realization it was all he could think about. He'd been turned on before, he knew how that felt, but this was... it was a constant churning in his gut, twisting, ebbing and surging like the tide, over and over. Like nerves, a little.
At night he chased off the fuckers who'd gotten way too close to their hangout, vaulting up the crumbling side until he was back on home ground. The busted warehouse attic loomed in front of him, front lit by the lights of the island-down behind him; busted windows flat black. He swore he could smell the boss, the heavy chemical reek of his blood and sweat. He had to do something about it. He had to.
He felt feverish as he walked in, legs wobbling, skin flushed and clammy. His pulse spiked when he saw the boss, sitting out by the far window, just a silhouette against the night sky.
"You clear them out?" the boss said, and Ash nodded, throat dry.
"Yeah," he said, wobbling forward, closer and closer until the boss' head snapped to him, green light spilling out from the edges of his mask.
"What?" the boss asked, like Ash should have something to say, and he just—
"Boss, you gotta— boss, please," Ash said, legs going out when he got close enough, kneeling right in front. "Please let me." He reached for the boss' sides, almost moaning when the boss caught his hands in one huge fist, pulling him closer. "You gotta know — you gonna know I'll whatever you want, so, please," he said, mouth moving like the words were spilling out of him without any real thought, just a broken string of pleading, shifting forward so his face pressed against the boss' skin, lips kissing his flesh as he talked.
The boss dropped his arms, spilling limp over the muscled curve of his sides, so Ash reached out, tracing over his huge cut muscles, over the corded lumps of his glowing veins. His fingers hit the buckle of his belt, metal scorching hot, and he gripped it tight, like an ember in his hands. He looked up into the boss' mask, eyes blurry. "Boss, don't you want me — I'll be good, I'll do whatever you want, just, please let me—"
The boss cut him off, a huge hand blanketing Ash's entire face, covering his mouth. "Shh."
He pushed Ash back, and he nearly sobbed, a broken noise muffled against the boss' hand, before the boss weight was on him, pinning him on his back. "You don't know what you're after," the boss said, voice a low growl, bass vibration rolling through him from all the places they were touching. Then Ash moaned, shaky and reedy, rutting up against the Boss' side, pinned cock straining against his jeans. The boss laughed, a short little chuckle, free hand feeling down Ash's body, curling over his hips, palm grinding against Ash's length, pulling out a dizzy moan.
"You wanna try? You gotta do what I say," the boss said, and of course Ash'd heard that before.
It wasn't like he had many memories from before he'd met the boss. Just vague snatches, like — a hallway with a bunch of cubbyholes in it, or a stairway, a certain door. Crying, probably. He remembered being hungry, before he really knew how to feed himself. He didn't even really remember how he met the boss, but he could bet it went something like this: him crying, just a little kid, and the boss coming to find him. Ash sniffling and wiping his running nose, looking up at the older boy, maybe offering a shy, nervous "Hi."
And the boss saying something like "You really can't take care of yourself, huh? Don't worry, I'll take take of you. You just gotta do what I say, okay?" and offering his hand, pulling Ash up from his perch on some rubble, and the both of them out into the ruined streets.
Probably the boss hadn't been that talkative even as a kid, though. You gotta do what I say, though, Ash had heard that a lot, and he always did what the boss said.
His belt clattered when the boss bowled Ash back, sprawled out on the cracked floor. The boss slavered, spit collecting at the edge of his mask and sluggishly pouring down, thick drool spilling down his stomach, its heat seeping into his flesh against the chill night air. The boss' thick thumbs caught the strap of his buckle, and he tugged, opening it up.
The creak of straining leather was loud in the air: the boss' cock fighting against his pants, metal creaking, leather straining to capacity. Ash could smell it, the heavy chemical reek of the boss' arousal, and he strained, almost whining when the boss kept him implacably pinned to the ground.
"Now's when you're gonna disobey?" The boss said, face pressed against Ash's stomach, highest holes in it staring up at him, a few dreads like heavy cords splashed up his chest.
There was a scrape when the boss shoved his mask up — not off, just... up. Askew, showing part of his jaw, the edge of one cheek, his mouth: bubbles of hard skin wrapped around the line of his jaw; lips purple-black and when he opened his mouth, glowing inside: the inner flesh of his lips, his gums, his cheeks, all glowing green. The kind of green Ash thought of as his green. The light was sharper and brighter, not muted like his veins. His tongue lolled out, black in comparison, impossibly long, practically filling his mouth as it spilled out longer and longer. Spit pooled in its folds and drooled over the sides, glowing where it gathered thickest. He leaned up, some tiny fraction of his weight bearing down on Ash's hips in a sharp, painful pressure, and he licked across Ash's neck like a cat, spit hot and greasy, leaving glowing trails in its wake.
"S-sorry, boss," Ash said, and the boss reached up, palm covering his entire head, and pushed him down, the boss' rough palms pressed against his lips, thick fingers blocking his eyes. The boss licked him again, tongue a sharp line of pressure licking down from neck to stomach, and lower. The boss' hand curled minutely tighter as he shifted down, easily enough strength there to pulp Ash's head if the boss wasn't careful. But the boss was always, always careful.
The boss' other hand ground against his dick, and Ash couldn't hold back the whine, a full-body writhe that ground his hips up against the boss' hand. The boss laughed, a short amused huff. He grabbed Ash's zipper, thick fingers taking three tries to grasp it — heavy dots of pressure across his stomach before there was the click of his zipper dragging down, cock skewing out into the open air, twitching. He whined again when the boss' tongue curled around it, sound muffled against his palm. Then he pulled back, and there was nothing but the boss' hand against his face and spit slowly cooling down his chest.
Letting him up: Ash just took the sight in. The boss in front of him, chest heaving, green glow spiking brighter with each heartbeat. Pants straining to bursting, the metal across his hips and crotch practically deforming, the leather between swollen, twitching. "C'mon," the boss said, pulling him closer: Ash's hand reaching out to balance himself and coming down right across the fat swell of his cock.
It wouldn't do to let the boss tear his pants, so Ash leaned in, tugging up on the thick buckle in the center. The metal was searing hot, almost painful to touch. He undid the latch, belt swinging to the side, and then went down and popped the rivets down his fly: each one letting a tiny sliver of his cock out, the flesh heavy and splotchy, black and purple-black, and so, so, huge. Hairless, like the rest of his body: just a messy fan of waxy, blistered skin, with thick warts growing up the base. The mess of veins down his stomach converged like branches finding the trunk, and two fat squiggles ran along his shaft, thicker than Ash's thumb.
Even with his fly open, the boss' dick was too big to spill out, folded over itself. Ash reached in, fingers curling around the heavy flesh, somehow still pliable, spongy and half-hard even though it was the biggest cock he'd ever seen. He tugged the arch, whining in his throat as the boss' cock stirred, shifting like a snake before it popped out. Wet slime spilled across Ash's hands as his mammoth cock swung out, smacking across his hip with the muted crack of flesh on flesh. It was bigger than Ash's bicep; it took both hands to cradle the head, and even that wouldn't be enough to grip the full flare of his cockhead.
The entire thing glowed, a muted green from the sheer amount of blood filling it, light ebbing and flowing as it thickened even further. His foreskin drooped forward over his head, the loose skin pebbled with stiff clusters, like the barnacles stuck to the building sides. It jerked back in ticks as the boss got fully hard, skin tighter and tighter until another fold would spill back. Ash worked it down, pillowing below his cockhead in dark folds: his revealed cockhead was purple-black, flushed a brilliant glowing green, the slit of his cock like a mouth, fringe swollen bright, each bead of pre like lips pursing, spurting strings of glowing slime across Ash's chest, dribbling down the lines his spit had outlined.
The brilliant glowing veins traced down: his balls beneath, spilling from his pants as Ash stroked him to full hardness. They were packed, skin stretched tight, each ball bigger than his fists put together, impossibly dense when Ash tugged his balls up, spilling into his lap. They were bloated and asymmetrical, lopsided, twitching and jerking as the boss' skin furrowed tighter or relaxed, churning like a living thing of its own.
"Suck it," the boss said, huge hand curling tighter around Ash's head, smearing his face against a cockhead that was just about the same size as his head.
He didn't say no to the boss, and here he didn't even want to say no; he just had the sense to know that was impossible. Still: he opened his mouth, precome chemical-sour with the thick undertone of flesh, sex, meat. Dragged his face open-mouthed up the underside of the boss' cock, catching the next spurt of pre right across his brows, like a cup of hot syrup upended on his face. The slit of the boss' cock pursed, just like lips on his, spitting pre right into his mouth, and he swallowed, throat convulsing around the burning slime. He kissed back, lips opening the slit wider, puffy skin pulsing when he licked inside, lapping the inside of his lips and then pushing deeper, shoving his tongue down into the gaping slit of boss' dick. The next gush of pre erupted like a geyser around his face, slimy strings slapping across the back of his head, across his shoulders, running down his back. He kept suckling on the boss' cockhead, fingers clamped on the ridge, the gristly band of flesh thick as his palms, flexing and flaring with each spurt.
He pulled back to catch his breath, sputtering through the filmy slime coating his face, and caught the next gush right into his face, a sluggish spurt that slapped his nose, flooding his panting mouth and spilling down his chest as he coughed, spraying most of it back across the boss' cockhead, shining in the reflection of its own glow. His own breath was loud, a desperate whimper growing in the back of his throat.
The boss pushed him back, Ash pitifully small between the boss' tree-trunk legs, cock a sledgehammer pulsing across his chest, pinning him as effectively as a girder, the hand on his neck not even necessary. "Y'all are so fragile." His cock kicked, a slap that knocked the breath from Ash's lungs. "You really want me to break you?" He rolled his hips, cock smearing a messy trail up Ash's stomach, head butting against the boss' palm where it was pressed against Ash's neck; the pressure when it pushed down was enough to make Ash's ribs creak. The boss rutted forward, pressure squeezing his lungs, making him wheeze in time with each thrust. Trails of pre poured over his sides, the thicker slime forming globby strings across his stomach and chest, webbing across the boss' hand when he lifted it up, green-white ropes glistening in the dim light.
Ash whined, wrapping his arms around the boss' cock, pumping it, mumbling a soft "Fuck" when it sprayed all across his head, a single shot of pre fountaining out bigger than any load he'd seen in his life. "Yeah, boss, please, please!" He wiggled down, knees pressed against the boss' thighs, the thing spanning almost from his waist to his neck — pressing his face against the huge head, open-mouthed dragging his face along the underside, frenetically digging for a sensitive spot when the boss groaned, cock shuddering in his hands, smearing the messy slime up his cheeks. He kissed its gaping mouth again, drooling, and it twitched, the tremor across the boss' stomach outlining his muscles in chiseled definition. His cock lurched, slapping across Ash's face and knocking him over, the heel of one hand skidding on the ground. There was another gush of pre, painting Ash's face with glowing slime, mohawk starting to dissolve as the fluid soaked into his hair.
The boss rammed Ash's head against his cockslit, mouth open to catch the next shot: cheeks bulging, sputtering and coughing, gulping down the acrid slime. Thick blobs overflowed his mouth, smearing over the mottled dome of the boss' cockhead, and he swallowed the last just in time to open again, catching the next shot full across his mouth, flooding his mouth and pouring down his face in syrupy strings, spluttering and coughing.
The boss pushed him back again: "It ain't gonna fit in your mouth," he said, hand wrapping around Ash's calf, tearing his jeans down his legs, Ash's bare ass on the concrete. The boss dragged his legs together, skinning his jeans off entirely and flipping one leg up so he could probe down the crack of Ash's ass. His tongue swayed in the air like a snake, curling and knotting around itself, lapping down to taste Ash's skin. It sent slashing lines of spit over Ash's chest. "Let's see where it'll fit."
Ash looked at the gargantuan length of the boss' cock, glistening in the dim light, sluicing with messy slime, veins pulsing. Easily bigger than both of Ash's fists put together, longer than his forearms; long enough to slap up over the boss' bellybutton when he flexed, its cannon-barrel length jerking up and hitting flesh with a crack like a solid blow. The excess flesh of his foreskin gathered under his cockhead, thick folds of dark flesh all flooded with pre, the puffy mess nearly bigger than Ash's head. He swallowed, hooking his legs over the boss' thighs, sliding into place beneath. Sharp prickling heat raced across his body: a mix of fear and eagerness, maybe. "Yeah, boss," he said, voice choked, thick from the mess of pre coating his throat.
Each one of the boss' fingers were fatter than a cock. Well, any other cock. He ground one against Ash's hole, just spit and pre slathered all across his flesh. It burned going in, the boss' warted, scarred skin moving rough through the tight ring of his asshole. Ash clenched, relaxed, as he tried to spread himself wide, pushing against the thick intrusion. The boss huffed, hips drawing back, hot flesh of his cock pressing between Ash's legs, a wet splat of pre gushing across his hand, drooling down in tendrils all over Ash's ass. The fat fingertip hit inside him, a pressure dead-on against the spot that shot pleasure through him, vision whiting-out at the edges, and Ash mewled, heels digging into the boss' thighs as he arched up, grinding back against the boss' hand, ass swallowing up his finger until his knuckles dug into the flesh of his cheek, the thick pad of his fingertip rubbing back and forth inside, coaxing shudders and gasps from Ash.
Two hurt. His hole spread when the boss pulled out, opening and closing, letting a thin smear of glowing-green precome drool down his thighs, and when the boss jammed two fingers in he couldn't help but tense, back arching, breathing coming in sharp huffs. The fingers pulled apart, hooking under the rim of his ass and tugging, pulling the flesh of his asshole back, ring puffy and spreading wider. The boss' swollen cockhead jammed between his thighs, crushing Ash's dick, other hand feeding his gaping hole a steady stream of sludge, thumb rough as he shoved messy slime between his fingers.
The boss dug into Ash's cheeks, spreading them until it hurt — pulling his hole out in a bloated red crater, reflexively straining against the boss' fingers. He dug in, jamming one finger to the knuckle, shoving the next in through the sludge. Ash started huffing when the fat fingertip of his third finger dragged over his stuffed hole, knocking against the straining muscle, but — by that time, they both knew he was going to take it eventually. The boss eased back: he wasn't in any rush. Just fucked him with two huge fingers, practically ladling slime into his bruised hole. His cock throbbed, pulsing just above Ash's stomach, spurting messy gushes of glowing-green slime over him, pooling in his hollowed stomach, pouring in syrupy lines down to his bruised, worked-open asshole. The boss pulled out, heels of his palms spreading Ash's cheeks, just letting the constant flood of pre pour into his gaping hole with a sick gurgling sound, rough fingers dragging over the swollen curve of his asshole, rasping over his skin until it was bruised, puffy, soft to the touch: bloating out when he dug in again, shooting stinging hot up Ash's spine.
The boss worked his cockhead up and down, dragging it between Ash's cheeks, painting his ass with the next pulses, green slime running in streams around his cock. He pressed his cockhead to the gaping hole, the lips of his cockslit against the swollen ring of Ash's asshole, pressing: Ash shifted, trying to pull himself down onto the boss' cock. It was slippery, gigantic, pulsing with a feverish kind of heat. His asshole gaped; the slit of the boss' cock opened its nubby lips, and the next spout of pre shot right up inside him, so sudden and so hot that he gasped, face flushed.
The boss wrapped his hands around Ash's hips, easily circling them entirely — fingertips digging into the crack of his ass, pulling his cheeks apart; thumbs pressed across his stomach, ignoring the half-hard length of Ash's dick. He pulled Ash bodily down, sharp shocks of pain making Ash squirm as he tried to jam his cock into that tight hole by sheer force. Ash gasped, sharp grunts every time the boss lurched forward, still-vainly trying to work his giant cock inside him, the slight scrape of flesh sinking deeper into him, fraction by fraction...
The boss pulled back with a jerk, huff building in his chest — Ash's asshole pouted out, a syrupy waterfall of slime drooling down, brilliantly green. He jammed three fingers in to the knuckle, Ash jerking, gasping as he fucked him roughly, squirts of ooze coating his hand. "C'mon," he said, leaning down, tongue coiling between Ash's pecs, lapping over a nipple. "You can take it."
Ash panted, asshole convulsing, suckling on the very tip of the boss' cock, spitting out messy ooze, smearing across his lower back as the pool beneath him spread. "Y-yeah, boss," he said, pushing back again, grinding his gaping asshole against the mammoth cockhead, like a bar stool jammed between his cheeks. He rose on already trembling legs, sat in the boss' lap — a tiny child, comparatively — and pushed down, hissing as his abused flesh parted even further. This was what he could give the boss, something none of those wannabe hangers-on fucks could even think about. Ash pressed his lips to the boss' chest, breathlessly kissing his scarred skin as he whimpered and gasped.
The blunt dome of the boss' cockhead kissed his asshole again, sinking deeper, and Ash strained down, huffing and gasping, body sheened with sweat. The boss petted his sides, fingers digging into his broken-open ass, trying to open it further. Ash screamed, a broken sob ripped as he lurched down a little more, asshole throbbing, a pulsing ache that only grew the more he strained. The curve of the boss' cock was stuck in him, flesh spread vastly beyond its abilities, stinging pain as pre slowly smeared between them, coating his abused flesh.
The boss rumbled, a low groan, and his cock throbbed — flexing wider, the sudden motion enough to make Ash scream, listing forward against the boss' chest, sobbing and gasping as his broken body lurched lower. Nothing as easy as it popping into him: each movement spread him that much more beyond his capacity, again and again, over and over: a continual bore pushing into him, as he sobbed and choked on his own spit, breath coming fast and pained. Heat raced through his veins — the boss' chest flushed green, shiny with sweat, getting off, using Ash to do it. The pressure of the boss' cock sinking inside him, the sheer pain of the brutal penetration, had his cock hanging soft, but — but Ash wanted to come, wanted to come around the boss' cock, screaming and sobbing.
The boss groaned again, cock flaring, and Ash screamed again at the sharp tear, muscles as taut as a bowstring, burning sweat in his eyes, mouth hanging open.
"Doing good," the boss said, and Ash groaned, huffed, strained more. His guts gurgled, flooded with spurt after spurt of pre, but that weight was nothing compared to the brutal, unending sensation of the boss' cock jamming into him. He was jarred on his perch: the boss' hand pressing against his ass, pulling back, there again; it took him a moment to catch that the boss was jerking off, hand pumping his cock, toying with the folds of his foreskin. Ash stuck on the tip like a skewered insect, half the crest of his cockhead jammed inside, spurting and fountaining. "Fuck," the boss said, and he was breathing nearly as fast as Ash, short sharp breaths, chest heaving under Ash's fingers, against his cheek.
Each tremor of their bodies sent lances of pain up Ash's spine, tearing whimpers and screams from his throat, again and again as he lurched on top of the boss' cock. The boss' strokes pressed slimy folds of foreskin against his broken flesh, a wet kiss that left them tethered together, thick scum building up into dollops of ooze, splattered across Ash's ass cheeks. His eyes stung, tears trailing down his face as his flesh parted, shaky whimpers muffled against the boss' skin.
The boss groaned, body resonating around Ash, other hand cupping his hip, pulling him down — flesh straining beyond the limit already, tearing pain through his ass as he jostled lower, wet slurps as floods of pre made their way between his broken asshole and the boss' shaft, and then — the boss roared, cock flaring — pain so sharp Ash swore he was being torn apart. The boss' cock flexed, slapping Ash bodily against his chest, sobbing and crying, howling in pain as the boss unloaded. Each pulse of come was like a knifeblade in his guts; body broken up, broken apart. The boss used him like a toy, hand clenching his waist, hips snapping up, pulse after pulse blasting through his broken asshole and pouring inside him, lurching boiling hot inside him, higher and higher until he thought he might puke, spit drooling from his open mouth.
The boss pulled him off, withdrawal almost as painful as the penetration, leaving him sprawled face-down on the floor, heaving breaths all ending in sobs. Tar-thick come drooled out of him, glow lighting the room from beneath, spilling down his thighs, sticking to his tightly-furrowed balls. Ash tried to get his breath: "Boss, did I—" broke off to take a shuddering breath, hissing when the boss prodded at his asshole again. "Was that good?"
"Not over yet," was what the boss said, fingers jammed into Ash's wrecked asshole, feeling around — sudden shocks of pain jolting up Ash's spine, the flesh of his asshole broken apart, zebra-stripe stretch marks of raw red flesh, oozing lymph. Not bleeding, or at least not much — he saw when the boss held his fingers up, slimy with come, and smeared his lips, stuck them into his mouth. The taste was painfully sour, chemical and burning; Ash suckled on them until they were clean. "Doing good."
"Good," Ash panted, gasping for breath, struggling to get his wobbling arms to support him. Ash's asshole was all but hanging from his body, ragged and torn, torn brutally wide. The boss leaned down, open mouth pressing against his wrecked flesh, greasy tongue sliding along a thick fold of flesh along his broken ring before he pushed inside. His tongue was sharp pressure lashing at his guts, forcing out more come in messy spurts, spattering across the boss' neck and chest, brilliant fluorescent green. Ash's cock was rock hard now, without the brutal pressure of the boss' cockhead inside him, droplets of pre splashing into the pool of glowing sludge spreading from his gaping asshole.
A thick finger pressed below his ass, stabbing against the root of his cock, and Ash wheezed again, cock twitching, slapping up against his belly. The boss' fingers ground from his wrecked hole to his taut balls, pressing down with bruising force, milking pre out of him with each stroke, again and again. The boss lapped at his puffy asshole, warted lips dragging over the folds, sucking the gaping rim into his mouth, holding it there for a moment, tongue smearing over the wrecked flesh. He bit down, hard, teeth gripping the flesh, digging in deep — Ash screamed, boneless body jerking up only for the boss to shove him back down, hand on his lower back. He chewed, teeth grinding across his flesh, before spitting it back out, tongue prodding the stinging spots his teeth left behind. He sucked in another messy fold of flesh, biting, chewing, slowly working all the way around Ash's asshole, each sharp chomp down making Ash's body spasm, cock drool, a pained wheeze sobbing from his throat.
The boss opened wide, sucking in folds of flesh, biting, teeth sliding against teeth with his bloated, ravaged flesh squeezed between — and Ash's entire body seized, balls pulling up so high they popped back inside his body cavity in two sharp jerks, and then he was sobbing, cock erupting, splattering his chest, the underside of his jaw, in spurt — spurt after spurt, the boss chewing on his asshole, knuckles digging into his abused flesh, Ash wheezing and sobbing as he came and came, a patter like raindrops as he kept shooting watery come into the mess below him, still spurting even as his cock went soft.
The boss didn't even stop, a kind of dispassionate examination of Ash's abused cock, huge thumb trailing from the tip of his cock down, over the empty furrowed flesh that was his sac — prodding over the lumps of his balls, still sucked up inside him, soft snorts of amused breath over his ass as Ash writhed against each crushing touch — and along the root of his cock, all the way back nearly to his asshole. And then forward again, brutally stroking him off. Even with the knowledge — the sensation of doing good, of doing what the boss wanted — flooding through him he was still surprised when he managed to get hard, body itself aching and abused. The boss kept working him over, knuckles grinding his cock until it ached, teeth grinding the flesh of his asshole between them as Ash just sobbed, facedown in the messy smears of thick glowing come under him. His cock shot off again, breath hitching, the sensation more painful than anything else, like a lightning bolt arcing through him.
His thighs burned, the strain of keeping his ass presented too much, but the boss caught his hips when he tried to roll over, lips still pressed against his ass. Like it hadn't even happened, completely disinterested in Ash's orgasm, the boss kept sucking, chewing, spitting. Working him over until the flesh of Ash's asshole was grotesquely swollen, slabs of meat drooling from his body, blood red, new stretch marks in raw stripes, torn and ground to pulp, all folded over itself in messy layers, rivulets of glowing green slime still sluggishly oozing form his gaping hole, forming rivers between the slabs of his asshole. It hung like a weight from his body, each beat of his heart making it throb angrily, its dull ache flaring to hot sparks.
The boss' voice was a low rumble, lips pressed against his spine. "Think you're open enough now?", fingers pressed up against his wrecked asshole again, three sliding in just a stretch, a rubbery tension in his swollen flesh. Ash could only groan. The boss' smallest finger dragged over the meat of his asshole, fingernail digging in, and with a sudden pressure sunk inside, his knuckles slowly straightening. The boss shoved the crest of his hand in, thumb almost forgettable comparatively, tucked beneath: his entire hand shoved into Ash's wrecked ass. Ash wheezed, breath sharp and fast, little pained whimpers bursting from him as the boss twisted his fist inside him, his knuckles four immense blocks grinding against his body, fingers grubbing against the gaping entrance to his guts. His leg twitched compulsively, some nerve pinched, muscles firing completely on their own.
"Good," the boss said, his cock drooling down Ash's thigh, other hand on his lower back, pushing down, angling his legs — legs pivoting to give the boss a fraction more room to push through his pelvis; it seemed like with just a little knock to the side he could pop them right out of their sockets from inside. Back and forth, twisting, squirts of come gushing in sudden spurts around his hand as the boss worked deeper: Ash's broken-wide asshole clamped around his wrist, his fingers scraping very nearly against bone; the muscles of his hips bruised and shredded up, pulpy as he finally squeezed the crest of his knuckles through the narrow cavity between his pelvis, flesh of his colon barely sheathed around it, twisted and pulled out of place.
Ash's gut lurched, and tilting his head he could see his stomach swell and shift, the glowing pool under him casting shadows up across his skin. His muscles bowed and strained against the push of the boss' fist, who was feeling almost curiously around inside him. "Th-thanks, boss," Ash said, voice clotted and snotty, catching in his throat. His body shuddered with sobs every time the boss' fist twisted. Every exhale made the shape sharper, details emerging from his abused flesh: lumps of single knuckles, long swells of his fingers, the hollow of his belly wrapped tight around the boss' fist, only to blur away on the inhale.
When the boss pulled out it felt like he was taking Ash's guts with it. Things high up in his belly shifted and jerked, lurching out of place. His asshole bowed out, red flesh pouting out into a crater of pulpy flesh that hung between his cheeks, still gushing glowing ooze.
The boss hadn't gone soft at all. He was still drooling come, cock ticking every few seconds as he oozed a fresh spurt, gushing cords of tar-thick sludge that clung to the length of his cock. He notched his cockhead against the wrecked furl of Ash's asshole, and this time — he did all the work, Ash just lying limply there, gasping and shuddering — there was hardly a hitch, his cockhead slamming into his pelvis, shifting, and sinking into the space between his bones. His cock fought against the spasming muscles of Ash's stomach before they lost; the shape of his cockhead rose up, swelling Ash's stomach even more than his load had.
The boss' heartbeat thundered through him, stronger and slower than Ash's rabbitlike flutter. His cock pulsed in sympathy, jerking and twitching, each motion knocking Ash's breath out from the inside, leaving him gasping for breath. The boss grabbed hold of his hips and thrust — just pulling Ash's limp body down his shaft, the broken crater of his ass swallowing up the fat, warted length of his shaft. His bulging stomach swelled further, rising up across his bruised flesh until the boss' cockhead rammed against the base of his ribcage with a smack that had Ash screaming. The boss shifted his limp body, pulling back, and slid up, the tip of his cock sliding nearly under his ribs.
Ash choked on nothing, lungs struggling to inflate — his diaphragm wrapped around the boss' cock, each gasping attempt at breath just pulling tighter. The boss groaned, cock lurching inside him; the hot jet of pre felt like hot acid splattered across his lungs, before the boss eased back a little and let Ash pull in a shuddering breath, shallow against the fat obstruction still jabbing at the base of his ribs.
Ash was sitting in the boss' lap, like a tiny kid. He wiped Ash's sweaty forehead, the motion almost platonic save for how he had solid feet worth of his cock jammed into Ash's broken frame. The boss brought him back down, groaning as Ash wheezed and silently gasped, gagging on nothing and drooling across the boss' front. His diaphragm pulsed and shuddered over the boss' cockhead, milking heavy spurts of pre before the boss let him up again, looking down at Ash's flushed, dazed face, eyes unfocused and mouth slack, skin shining with sweat and drool.
"Doing good," he said, pressing his lips to Ash's forehead, and Ash could just whine in response, body convulsing around the boss' cock. His stomach sloshed with the mess the boss had sprayed inside him; a muted green glowing through his skin.
The boss thrust into him, finally finding a rhythm with his cock nearly skewering Ash through, up and down as Ash gurgled and drooled, gasping when the boss let him breathe, his body jerking like a puppet with its strings cut, limply letting the boss pound half his cock into his broken body. The boss used his body like a toy, cockhead bloating the bruised skin just under his ribs again and again, hands clamping down on his hips and pulling, breath like a burning wind over Ash's front.
The boss grunted, cock pulsing against Ash's insides, and finally came with a roar. His cock kicked, a gush of hot slime erupting inside him, and then again, and again, the boss rutting through it, groaning as he shot over and over into Ash's wrecked body. His guts sloshed, gurgling with each new burst, the muted glow through his abused skin growing. Everything continued, on and on until it seemed like his entire existence was being jostled on the boss' cock, sheathing his erupting cock. The boss finally stilled, sinking Ash to the root, cock finally still, simply a pillar lodged inside him, and then he just... pulled Ash off. His cock emerged with a liquid slurp, tarry green-glowing come pouring out in a waterfall, stinging over his broken flesh. Ash groaned, lying on his back, just staring up as his muscles convulsed, messy bursts of come erupting from his cratered ass as the mess slowly made its way back down the folds of his wrecked guts.
He grinned up at the boss' silhouette, more than a little dazed, his aching body finally at rest. He did good.
Ash woke up in a considerable amount of pain. He rolled to the side, hissing, louder when his reflexive clench made the pulsing pain shift to a faster tempo.
Right.
He was lying on his pallet, the sheets crusted and stiff from the mess of come that'd drooled out from his wrecked ass, glowing green streaks splattered and smeared all down his legs. His stomach was heavy, bruises turning his skin purple-yellow in abstract splotches from his cock up to his ribs, huge handprint bruises he didn't even remember getting across his hips and legs.
Sure, it hurt like hell. But that was the boss's handprints marked all across him. It was good; even dizzy with the pain he couldn't stop himself from grinning.
The attic was flooded with early afternoon light, and — since his several minute struggle to just sit up hadn't attracted any attention — the boss was out. Which— normally he was over it, right, he could deal with not being with the boss at all hours. But it woulda been... nice. If the boss was around. But not like he could fault him; the boss couldn't know how long it'd take him to wake up.
Which was either half a day or a day and a half, depending. Probably half a day, but honestly, who knew. Ash shifted his weight forward, trying to stand, and just wheezed in pain, muscles he didn't even know he had screaming in protest. Somewhere worse than the time he got stabbed but not as bad as the time he got shot. He reached back, fingers probing gently at the wreck of flesh that was his asshole, puffy and aching, thickly crusted with dried come. Trying to clench — yeah, that wasn't something he'd be doing any time soon. Least he wasn't bleeding. He ran a finger over his rim, grimacing, hissing whenever he hit — teeth marks, probably. The boss bit hard.
"Stop that," the boss said, and Ash whipped his hand back.
"Sorry boss," he said, looking over: the boss coming in through the busted-open door, a thick earthenware pot full of something that smelled like food in one hand. He put it in front of Ash with a heavy clunk: fish stew, the stuff the Fishers cooked. The boss pressed a big flat spoon into his hand, and Ash looked down: "For me?"
"Gotta keep you fed," the boss said. "So you heal up."
"Yeah," Ash said, and started eating. But, slow. "You went down to the Fishers? That musta been a sight."
The boss snorted disdainfully. "Told 'em you were under the weather. Seemed happy to help. Guess they like you down there."
Ash wrinkled his nose. "I don't like them."
"But, uh—" Ash paused, looking down at the empty bowl. "I... I did good, right?"
The boss' voice was heavy in his ear, hot. "You did real good," he said, huge hand curling over Ash's bare hip, and the shot of arousal hurt, abused body grinding to life like a rusty machine. Ash groaned, half from pain, and leaned against the boss, aware of his hands between the boss' thighs, the swell of his cock stiffening against Ash's knuckles. "Careful," he said, drawing back. "Don't think you could take another round now."
"Yeah," Ash agreed. Swallowed. "But, later, again, right?"
The boss laughed. "Never figured you liked getting hurt."
"Well, I mean— when it's you..." Ash started, trailed off, and the boss let it sit.
After a while, though: "You like it here?"
Ash shrugged, or started before the ache in his back started hurting more. "Could be worse. Weird sticking around for this long."
"There's desert down south," the boss said. Weird, and not just that the boss was telling him: the boss sitting next to him, arm over Ash's back, thighs touching, all but whispering into Ash's ear. It was— he really wanted the boss to talk to him like this. "We could take off. Places there even the raiders don't go. No one else to bother us."
Ash sagged against the boss' huge frame, grinning into his skin. "Yeah," he said, muffled. "I'd like that."