Beautiful. Breath-taking. Mesmerizing.
Those are the words Jack would later use to describe the dead body of his lover. He walked around it in circles, stopping himself anytime he tried to move closer. It was so hard to get himself to let go of the pale, gorgeous neck and stand up. He wanted to burn the picture into his memory, because he knew that once he gets close, he won’t stop again.
His eyes were still open, the ECHOeye lit up. It had to be a glitch, because it was supposed to turn off once the user is dead; save energy, so it can keep the memory storage going for years in case it was ever recovered. The blue light made Rhys’ corpse look even more magical.
Legs thrown wide as he tried to get leverage, arms loosely around his body where Jack sat on them, neck obviously mangled by the CEO’s big hands. Rhys’ head rested on his neck at an awkward angle. Jack might have even managed to damage the spine. The trachea was definitely broken.
Jack’s pants became tight again as he remembered the act itself. Rhys thought it is the usual foreplay at first, letting himself be led into the office willingly for what he must have expected to be a quickie. He even encouraged Jack, baring his neck to him.
When he was pushed to the floor behind the great desk, he must have noticed something is different. He was still calm, though, expecting some of the wicked powerplays Jack needed once every couple weeks.
Jack let him up for air once, to show him that he loves him. Rhys coughed and sucked in an as deep breath as he could manage. He looked relieved and lovestruck when doing so, seeing it for the gesture that was intended. And he was calm when Jack squeezed his neck once more.
He didn’t let go again, not even when Rhys’ eyes widened in panic, not when he started struggling and trashing weakly, not when he stopped. Not even when the light from his right eye vanished, a confused, hurt and panicked expression smoothing out into nothing. Jack squeezed his lover’s neck until it made a sound as the trachea collapsed under the force of his thumbs; he kept pushing and pulling, making sure Rhys is really, utterly dead.
He almost came in his pants when killing Rhys, and again now, but he didn’t, because the best part was about to begin. Jack allowed himself to walk closer, falling to one knee by the corpse’s side in the next second.
The shirt had no chance of making it. He tore it to shreds and removed the shreds from Rhys’ body with a knife. Said body was heavy in his arms and rolled around uselessly when he pushed it in this direction and that.
The belt was expensive and nice, and he liked strangling Rhys with it, so he undid that normally. The pants, however, were cut too, as well as the underwear. For the sake of the dead man’s dignity, Jack took off his shoes and socks.
As expected, Rhys’ body was limp and pale. There were bruises from some of their nights and days full of lust, and also some scratches and bite marks. The newest ones only just started forming. It would be a long process, and Jack wouldn’t have the opportunity to appreciate that.
Instead, he appreciated Rhys’ cock and ass. It was a little struggle to spread the dead man’s legs and keep them that way, but when he managed to do so, he was rewarded with the view. Rhys was a little wet in the crotch – death is messy – but that couldn’t stop Jack from touching his cock, tugging at it as if he could make it hard, then more, in a way that would hurt if Rhys was awake. Alive. He squeezed his balls with the other hand, not enough to destroy, but enough to feel that he is causing damage. He imagines the pained wails and screams that would cause, the hurt and confusion in those doe eyes.
For now, Jack decides to close Rhys’ eyes. He also lifts him from the floor and places him on his desk that he cleared out previously. The upper half of Rhys’ body tries to slide down, but he holds it in place as he searches through his drawers for lube. He only needs it for his own comfort, but he pours a generous amount on Rhys’ ass anyway, making a mess.
Two fingers go in rather easily, and then the third. Maybe Rhys tears, who knows, Jack wouldn’t notice as he is already pushing his throbbing hard cock in, after barely opening his pants without tearing those too. The man under him, of course, doesn’t even grunt. His body is still warm, though, and tight. Jack doesn’t need any response from his lover; not tonight, anyway.
“Aaaah, fuck,” he groans, setting a harsh pace. He holds Rhys’ body up with one hand and uses the other to spread his cheeks. This is much better than drugging his boyfriend to sleep and taking him then. Back then, there were still some subconscious responses, and some form of consent, as he couldn’t really drug him without telling him; it would be too obvious. But now, Rhys had no idea what would happen when he stepped into the office.
Jack’s thrusts gained speed and strength, and Jack moaned openly, especially when hearing the sounds Rhys’ hole was making, and at feeling the slide of his limp body. When holding him up and fucking him became too hard, Jack unceremoniously threw him on the floor again.
The corpse slides and rolls as he fucks into it. With no power in those muscles, none at all, not even reflexes, it is truly different, and Jack comes too soon, deep in that ass. No worries, though. He will just take some engorge and continue. One round can’t satisfy him, not before he fucks that throat.
Thirty minutes later, Jack is pushing his sensitive cock down Rhys’ throat. That is not as satisfying as he thought, because he has to hold his jaw open carefully. He fucks his ass again instead and then cleans up. That means throwing out the ruined clothes, taking the leather belt and reactivating the New-U station by the office. Rhys’ body begins to dematerialise immediately, having the top priority. Any idiot that can afford New-U and died while it was deactivated and was stuck in the queue before Rhys will be permanently dead, but who cares. The CEO’s boyfriend is much more important.
The beam releases Rhys just as Jack walks out of the office, and he picks him up from the floor without effort. No-one works there anymore, so he can carry Rhys to the elevator without covering him up and only put him in pyjamas and in bed at home. He will make up a story about drinking, and then they will forget about the forgetting part.
He will do that again, probably soon. He has to. Jack can’t afford to lose Rhys, can’t hurt him. That little shit became too important to him, and so he has to protect his boyfriend from his darker self. But perhaps, next time he could keep him alive a little longer…