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At His Service, Of Course	By : Darkrogue Category: +A through F > Brain Dead 13 Views: 9633 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Brain Dead 13 or the characters involved, and I ain’t making any money, here. Apologies to the creators for this holocaust of wrong. Here be squicky material, so be ye warned.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
Lance woke with a start to that behemoth Moose, stretching out a massive hand.
Yahh!
Frankenjock plucked him up like a weed and slung him over one shoulder.
“All right, squirt. You do what Moose say, or Moose clobber you. Bluhbluhbluh…”
Lance hung across the broad back like a rag doll as Moose carried him once more through the castle. Dumb as this stitched oaf was, he didn’t want on his bad side. Fritz was enough to handle: this one could drive him into the ground like a nail with one fist.
Moose was bellowing something, but all Lance heard was ‘gonna let me tend the rabbits, George?’ At length they came to a hot, dirty kitchen, where the big goon planted him on a stool at a wooden table.
Lance shifted on his sore ass. Now what?
That crocodile chef was hardly obliged to cater to him, but before long he swished over and deposited a steaming bowl of stew under his face.
“Food! Eat!” ordered Moose, hovering over him.
Hesitant, Lance sniffed. It didn’t smell like poison, and his famished belly tingled and gripped in response. Gratefully he devoured the provided meal, one eye always on Frankenjock. And all the while his mind turned…
He took his time, eyes scanning the kitchen’s contents and exits as he filled his belly for the first time in days. There was a high chair at the table—for Fritz? he wondered with a smirk. An ancient refrigerator hummed, pinned with juvenile ‘artwork’. A solitary spatula lay on the table, just within his reach.
Eventually the crocodile lifted the cooling stewpot from the stove and placed it on the table. He then swished from the kitchen, leaving Lance alone with Moose.
His overgrown babysitter loomed over him like a boulder.
“Er…heya there, big fella,” Lance sweetly ventured. “Any chance you might find me a glass of water?”
Frankenjock frowned. “Moose not know glass.”
Inwardly Lance sighed. “No problem. I’ll help. Should be something in the cabinet, there.” He nodded to one of the cupboards. Grunting, Moose lumbered over and ripped it open and started seizing bits of dinnerware. “Umm, that’s a plate. No, no, that’s a gravy boat. Jar of eyeballs, getting warmer.”
Lance winced as one by one Moose discarded his rejected find on the floor with a shatter. And as the goon rifled in the cabinet, dropping glassware, Lance carefully slid the spatula’s flat end under the cooling pot.
“Heads up, stitch-face!”
“Huh?” Moose turned, and Lance’s hand came down on the spatula’s handle.
That pot soared high.
Moose’s eyes followed the airborne crockery, which plummeted with a slop on his swollen head. A gooey mess of hot stew spilled down broad shoulders.
Lance sprang to his feet. Later, man! But the sight of that great bull, flailing and bellowing with a stewpot melded to his melon head quickly reduced him to whooping laughter. Lurching like a blind ox, Moose stumbled and trampled a metal pail, which clung to his massive foot and raked over a broom and a set of iron stove tools.
Bang! Clash!
“Duuurr, why, you little…!” Arms outstretched, Moose blindly lumbered and crashed into the range-top, bringing down a rack of utensils, which bounced off his head.
Clatter! Crash!
“Oh, man! Ho-ho-ho! Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha!” Lance doubled over, but as his belly ached with laughter it occurred to him that all the commotion would bring unwanted attention. Dummy! His mind screamed. Move! Run!
Pulling himself together, he whirled to flee in a dash—and came face to face with the returning crocodile. Seeing the floundering Moose and the state of his kitchen, the furious chef whipped a meat cleaver from his white apron and swung at the responsible pest.
Swish-swipe-swat!
“Yeep!” Lance ducked, swerved and bounced, turning instead to dive through a Dutch door and into a hallway.
Shouts of rage behind him, he picked himself up and sped down the corridor.
His heart raced, his bare feet pounding the floor. Exit. Find. Now.
Stark naked he streaked down the hall, skidding to a halt at an open dining room, sprinkled with stuffed taxidermy.
Creepy. He hesitated a second before darting for the opposite end. But as he approached the room’s only exit, he heard a flap and a whoosh from above.
What the…?
A large bat swooped from the ceiling and wrapped him in giant wings. Enfolding him in a tight hug, the creature leered hungrily down at him.
Lance gulped. Oh, boy…
As the maw flipped open, baring teeth, he cowered, prepared to meet his end.
Jaws closed—only to playfully and harmlessly gnaw at his crown.
Huh? Lance sighed. Captured by a bat. You’re losing it, Lance.
There came an oxlike grunt, and with dread his eyes slid back. There stood a furious Moose, soup dripping from his shoulders.
Uh-oh…
Sensing trouble, the bat released him and fled just before a mighty hand closed round his torso, promising severe—and possibly deadly—punishment.
“Grrr! You trick Moose!” Frankenjock lifted him off the ground and squeezed, and Lance felt his innards mashed. I done a bad thing! The words from that book pounded in his head. George ain’t gonna let me tend no rabbits! Terrified, he squirmed, feeling that rock-like hand squeeze the life from him when his dizzy mind registered another sound: the impish and unintelligible voice of Fritz, now in the doorway.
Setting him on the floor, Moose commenced arguing with a squawking Fritz, and as the pair quarreled, Lance crept on his toes toward the door.
In two stomps Moose seized him by an ankle and snapped him up. His world flipped.
“Whoa!”
That goon held him upside down like a dead cat. Blood rushing to his head, Lance dangled, faced inches from those frowning, stitched lips.
All he could do was offer a sheepish grin and a weak, matching laugh.
Now you’re gonna get it, Lance…
A pounding, and stars followed.
“Oh!” Lance yelped as the lash stung his exposed hide.
Back in his bonds, he strained and trembled, arms aching above him as Fritz delivered a sound thrashing: his reward for that little stunt in the kitchen.
Soon, Lance was singing under that whip.
Crack!
“Ow-ow!
Well, Lance, you’ve done it now, he thought, surprised and dismayed at how strong that dumpy ghoul really was. He’d known that fiasco would cost him if he failed, and now a single word thrummed in his head.
Regret.
For a moment he wondered how long this would last, how long Fritz would make him suffer, until another smarting stroke replaced the thought with pain.
“Ghhh!”
Fritz scowled, furious at this wretched human’s daring. His little farce had managed to anger not only Moose, but the chef—not to mention the mess he’d made of the kitchen (which he would be cleaning, by the way).
Whish-pow!
Lance jolted, his body instinctively squirming to escape the cruel strokes.
“A little…to the left…” he croaked, through strained voice. Whoosh-crack! “Ahh, that’s better!”
Seething, Fritz frowned. That smart mouth was still running! His anger channeled into his arm and propelled a powerful crack that struck squarely between shoulder blades, eliciting a surprised and distressed cry. Again he swung, harder, determined to make him suffer for his defiance, his trickery! Another blow, and Fritz snarled, delighting in the sound of his errant captive’s answering squeal.
Make him pay. Make him howl.
Pain exploded in Lance’s brain and his eyes flew wide at the whip’s shocking bite. Muscles strained against taut ropes, his body trembling under the lash. Regrettably Fritz knew just how to time and space his strokes, allowing each sting to fully bloom and register before applying another, and Lance’s shoulders, back and ass sang with pain as he awaited further punishment with dread.
Pow!
“Gyaah!” His body snapped in response, and he felt the unwanted prickle of tears swell in his eyes. No! I won’t! Won’t…
Hiss-pop!
“Aiiee!” Warm droplets sprang free and wept down his cheeks, and the room rang with the sound of his yowls.
To the music of those wails Fritz applied another spate of punishing strokes, focusing on his prisoner’s lean shoulders and butt. He watched, fascinated by how the human’s body twitched and writhed. How what little musculature the skinny frame possessed drew taut. How his back snaked and strained in vain effort to recoil from his blows. How his ass wriggled and squirmed. How he jumped and yipped at every stroke, letting Fritz know he felt it. Snarling, he devoted a series of smart pops to his ass alone.
Lance jerked, twitched. Humiliated, he felt tears soak his cheeks. But something strange happened in those next few seconds.
“Yahh!” A string of bites, deliberate and calculated, focused on his throbbing butt, and as his hips danced to escape, a tingle began to hum in his blood.
Pow!
Lance whimpered, and a different zing of pain stung his ass and blossomed to his belly and loins. With a skilled stroke, the lash’s cruel tip curled and kissed the undercurve of his buttocks. Ass twitching in response, Lance moaned. Something had clicked in him, and as his body responded to the punishment, he felt the heat of his pain melt to a tingle. A thrilling swirl throbbed in his heart, igniting a tickle in his belly. Warm agony spread over him and radiated to his groin. His fingers gripped his fetters and tugged, and something about his helplessness to escape, something about his powerlessness intensified the warm prickling thrills that flushed through his veins.
Fritz expertly applied the lash, knew just how to extract the juiciest moans.
Pow! Again the whip struck.
Ahhh! The sting in his rump trickled straight to his loins. His belly fluttered, nectar forming at the swollen tip of his frighteningly stiff sex. Lance felt his hips roll and his back arched, offering his trembling ass as if inviting and dreading more.
Pow!
He gasped. Another stroke fell.
Ohhh…
His breath grew rapid and shallow. His head felt light, giddy, and all at once an old Mellencamp tune echoed in his swirling thoughts.
Hurts so good…
What’s wrong with me? He was trembling so hard he felt weak, and his knees buckled beneath his slight weight. To his dismay and bewilderment, he felt his legs slide apart.
Curious, Fritz beheld that writhing flesh, those twisting hips, that striped and wriggling ass. The tone of his prisoner’s cries had shifted to high, crooning moans, like a symphony of pain accepted, appreciated, and he watched with wonder and delight as his captive, in clear defiance of his own will, presented his buttocks for punishment.
Happy to oblige, Fritz applied the whip harder, more vigorous, the force of his blows propelling him off his feet until he was hopping in the air with each snap, his energies channeled through his arm.
And Lance reeled, squirmed and moaned at every stroke. His mind buzzed and spun. His heart wavered and throbbed with rapture, until his thoughts dissolved to a flurry of confusion, frustration and bliss, his blood humming with sweet pain.
Yes. He’d been naughty, and this was his payment…
Fritz relished the groans and mewls filling the room, thrilled at the way that human’s form twisted and strained in an alluring dance of punishment acknowledged. He growled, an exhilarating satisfaction he’d never experienced flooding the emptiness of his existence, now filled with the splendor of having this lean and spirited creature in his power.
He’d heard of humans who thrived on pain. This one hadn’t seemed the type. But from this man he’d also learned that humans could be mysterious, unpredictable.
Fritz grinned. Well, he thrived on hurting, on dealing pain, and his energy transferred to the human in the form of that lash. His captive returned it through answering jolts and cries, weaving a current that crackled and sparked between them.
Harmony.
To a song of yelps and groans, Fritz administered a rain of strokes, watching with approval as the human’s lean body thrashed, hips rocked.
And then, quickly as his vigor had come, he tired, his whip arm exhausted.
A final whish-crack and his arm lowered, leaving his prisoner quivering in dreadful anticipation.
It was over.
Both panted in the silence that befell the room. His punishment done, Lance fell slack in his ropes, his flesh glowing hot with the whip’s lasting throb.
He swallowed, his throat dry and sore.
Fritz huffed and wheezed in chorus with the sounds of his prisoner’s ragged panting, his moans.
The monitor flickered, an unwelcome interruption.
“Fritz!”
Both henchman and prisoner jumped, startled. Dr. Neurosis hovered onscreen, his disapproving glare spilling over them.
“I tire of this diversion. I heard about this miserable human’s antics. This fool is no longer worth the trouble. The prisoner is distracting you from your duties, Fritz. It is time to end it, now.”
Lance chilled, knowing what he meant. His eyes shot to Fritz, who’d removed his whip and waddled toward him, hooks drawn. Cowering, he shrank in his ropes.
But Fritz hesitated, met his prisoner’s fearful gaze.
The imp frowned, a world of confusion in those bulging yellow eyes, wide with conflict and maybe even…sadness?
“Enough of this nonsense!” commanded the floating brain. “You’ve had your fun. Now, finish it!”
Fritz stepped forward, hooks high for the kill. Again Lance cringed—but once more the painful, murdering blow he dreaded failed to fall.
“Fritz, you imbecile! Stop dithering and terminate him!”
Slowly Lance looked up. To his surprise, Fritz faced his master’s monitor. The imp shook his head, folded hooked arms.
“Mmm-mm.”
Dr. Neurosis lurched, and Lance saw those eyes swell and narrow.
“You dare refuse my command? Kill him, I say! Kill him!”
Cautious, Lance looked on, knowing his fate—his very life—hung in the balance.
Fritz stood his ground.
“Huh-uh!”
It was the closest thing to an intelligible phrase he’d heard him utter, and through his fear Lance felt a smile.
It looked like Dr. Neurosis physically expanded, and for a moment Lance thought he might burst. But then came the inevitable tantrum.
“Fritz, you incredible fool!” The doctor’s shriek filled the chamber, making Lance wince. “You stupid, clumsy, worthless ignoramus. Where were you before you met me? You would defy me on behalf of this insignificant pest? Inconceivable! Outrageous! Preposterous! You will obey my instruction, or you will…”
While Dr. Neurosis ranted, Fritz had casually retrieved his arm cannon, snapped it on his wrist. Lance watched in amazement as he leveled and took aim—square at the computer cabinet powering the doctor’s monitor.
No way! He’s not gonna…
“Fritz! What in Hades’ name are…? By my cerebellum, if you…! Don’t you dare…”
BLAM!
Lance flinched in his bonds, hiding his face as that cabinet exploded in a spray of chips, wires, diodes and circuits.
When the smoke cleared amid settling silence, Lance warily looked up. Debris littered the floor, the monitor black.
Fritz stood facing that mess of a computer cabinet. After a moment he glanced at his cannon-arm, as if in disbelief.
Lance blinked.
He really did it. Oh, but he’s still alive, isn’t he, somewhere in this castle?
“Ha,” he sighed with a small laugh, and Fritz whirled on him. “Oh…”
Glaring, the imp stalked closer and leapt high, brandishing a single hook.
“Yeek!” Lance yelped, cowering.
Swish-slash!
Huh? Slowly Lance opened his eyes. He still felt in one piece. He glanced down at himself. No vivisection, no exposed innards. But then, he felt an easing at his wrists, a release of tension. His ropes unwound and dropped. Losing his balance, he tumbled back and landed flat on his sore butt.
Fritz waded near, and Lance cringed, shrank. Quivering, he moaned, the whip’s sting still keen on his skin, pain’s hum warm in his blood. Fritz’s hooks slipped into the binding loop wrapped round his wrists and unlaced them, freeing his hands.
Sitting there on the floor, Lance rubbed his chafed wrists and cautiously considered his jailor: this little ghoul who had enforced his imprisonment, who had violated and abused him.
Who had just spared his life…
Frowning, Fritz studied him with narrowed yellow eyes.
“So…” Lance hesitated in the awkward silence. “I still your prisoner, or…?” Lunging, Fritz pressed a cold hook to his throat, as if to say don’t get any funny ideas.
“I’ll…take that as a ‘yes’,” Lance gulped. “Alright, then. So…Fritz? Your name is Fritz? Well, let’s try again, shall we? I’m Lance.” One large, slim hand ventured out, curled tentatively round a cold hook, gave it a shake. “Umm…ha.” He offered a sheepish smile and scratched his head, suddenly feeling awkward and stupid.
As he clasped that hook, his mind briefly wondered: what must it be like not to be able to feel? To have no hands with which to touch? His eyes searched the strange creature for answers. Why had this odd little goblin done such a thing? Why had he spared him, and placed himself at risk (for surely they would both be in trouble, now)? Well, the other’s just a brain in a tank. I can deal with him. As for this little fella…
Fritz frowned, in no mood for his jabbering. Why did this clown have do be so disgustingly nice all the time? He bet that flapping jaw and wagging tongue could be put to better use…
“I wish you could talk to me,” confessed Lance, still chattering. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
A wicked grin crept across Fritz’s extended chin. He could show this man much better than he could tell…
Hush!
One hook caught him round the neck, and the human yipped in alarm as Fritz flipped him onto his hands and knees, pressing his head to the floor with a firm hook at the back of his neck.
Dizzy, Lance found himself on all fours, chest pinned, ass in air, and astonished at how quickly and easily Fritz had achieved it!
Fritz circled, studied his handiwork. The human’s lashed shoulders, back and rump bore angry colorful stripes, the skin having bruised in a place or two. Reaching out, he traced a hook’s blunt curve along reddened flesh, feeling his prisoner tense.
Lance winced, his skin quivering at the contact, the residual warmth of his whipping pulsing a tingle through his blood, and his breath quickened with the throb of lust in his belly.
Fritz felt his prisoner twitch and sigh under his touch, and to his surprise, whip-striped buttocks parted for him, his now-willing slave offering his most private nethers for abuse.
Grinning, Fritz wasted no time.
His human…
Freeing his cock, he sank inside. Tight flesh gripped him like a warm fist.
“Ohh!” His grunt a blend of pain and fulfillment, Lance tossed his mane to playfully glance over a shoulder. “Ha. Ain’t you the go-getter? Alrighty, then. I’m all yours, pal.”
Annoyed by his yap, Fritz hooked his neck, pressed his face back to the floor.
I’m all yours…
Damn right, he was.
Silenced, Lance hissed at the sweet agony and burn of that cock splitting his raw entrance. Forceful hips collided with his buttocks, igniting the smarting echo of his recent lashing. His sore ring twitched on that stiff length, the burn traveling up his spine as that cock sank deep, opening him as it touched bottom, that now-familiar ache sending tickling thrills through his stomach.
Shuddering, Lance bit his lip at the force of the entry and flipped back a coy smile, managing a quip between cringing, lustful groans.
“Oh…little fella! You sure…know how to….make a guy…feel special…”
Fritz frowned at the inane prattle. He was in the mood for fucking, not hearing this man’s lip!
Shut…up!
In one brisk motion he shifted, slapping a cloth gag in his prisoner’s mouth.
The point wasn’t missed on Lance, who uttered a muffled cry of distress when the gag filled his mouth, silencing his chatter. Once more a hook caught the back of his neck and directed his face to the floor, and with a sigh Lance acquiesced and wordlessly sank against the wood, his body rocked forward by the increasing rhythm of Fritz’s thrusts.
His blood flowed hot, fire growing in his loins, and in this position—ass high, knees spread, head pinned, cheek rubbing the floor—he could feel his aggressor more keenly, could feel each stroke deliver a punch to his prostate, could feel the smacking hips pound a glow on his stinging rump. And Lance answered Fritz’s punishing aggression with deep, throaty groans, all swallowed by that gag. But at some point, as he let his mind drift on the current that flowed between pleasure and pain, he felt the cool, smooth arch of a hook curve under one of his wrists and direct his hand to his groin.
Hmm? Foggily Lance floated back to reality. That hook nudged his hand upward to brush his own stiffness, and then he understood.
Oh! He wants me to…
Lance blushed. Oh, he’d done that before, sure. Dozens of times. Liar. More like hundreds. How often had he pleasured himself on lonely nights with no one watching? But the thought of doing it in front of another, at someone else’s command, while that someone held him pinned and speared on his cock, was at once mortifying and thrilling.
Another nudge, more insistent, prodded his hand. Through haze of passion, his digits tentatively curled around his painfully stiff length, nested in a forest of dark auburn. His cheeks flushed hot at Fritz’s purr of approval, and that hook guided his wrist to glide his fist up, down, up, down.
Fritz watched with satisfaction as Lance picked up on his cues, complied with his directives. His hand closed and he followed his prompting, his fingers obediently sliding along the length of his own hard sex. Fritz released the wrist, content as the human dutifully continued stroking and squeezing and building a steady rhythm in time with Fritz’s thrusts. That gag had done the trick; his chatter had ceased, and all that remained were his whimpers and moans, which Fritz enjoyed, and he thrust forward with a jabbing force, feeling his partner lurch as tight, hot bowels quivered around him.
The hook pinning Lance’s slim neck to the floor slid round to the front of his throat and lightly tugged, possessively pulling him up to his hands and knees. Guiding him by the throat, Fritz yanked him backward to meet his deep strokes.
Lance gulped at the sensation of steel at his Adam’s apple, pressing—not choking, but applying just enough pressure to demand compliance. Nervous, he trembled at the tickling thrill that dipped his stomach. Surrendering, he opened himself further, knees sliding apart as he rocked his hips back in time with Fritz’s thrusts, his own cock, slicked with precum, sliding up and down in his pumping fist.
Fritz grinned as those whip-slashed buttocks flexed and split for him. He felt the human’s surrender, felt hot innards submit as his prisoner spread himself to receive him, punished flesh striped with marks he had put there twitching and responding to his assault.
Lance panted, his moans muffled by the gag as his legs parted, spreading his reddened ass wide to accept his jailor’s onslaught. A chorus of sensations sang together in his dizzy head: that cock thrashing his sore passage, the smack, smack, smack of the imp’s groin spanking his smarting buttocks; his own hand, stroking and pleasuring his own throbbing cock. Trembling, Lance felt his throat fill with saliva, soaking the gag in his mouth.
Fritz soared, watching the human abandon himself, feeling his body open and yield and work in time with him. His hook applied pressure to that slim throat, and Lance gulped and groaned and rocked back, impaling his own parted buttocks on Fritz’s stiff and persistent length.
A symphony.
Together they unearthed a symbiotic accord. Somehow, they had found one another. Somehow they had come together in this dark castle, and Lance’s mind whisked to his mundane existence of staring at wires and circuits, and all of that meant suddenly nothing. This was far more thrilling than mashing buttons on a gamepad. This was real, this was raw. Everything was this, and this was all he wanted. This! Rough, wanton and terrible sex. Angry, merciless sex that left him raw and alive, sex that made him weep and scream his throat sore, sex that shattered him and made him feel he would die.
Hazily his eyes slipped to his tool bag, now covered with debris, the words still visible:
At your service!
Behind his gag he smiled with a dreamy grin.
Of course!
His hips swayed with abandon, his hand furiously massaging his cock as the imp pounded his punished flesh, battered his guts, the welcome pain of that demanding invader diving deep into his bowels. And Fritz triumphed at the human’s visible recognition of his place: on his knees, his mouth silenced, buttocks spread for him, asshole split on his cock. And Fritz intended to keep him raw and sore, to train him to spread on command, to bring him to heel and open that warm, white ass at his leisure and fuck him ragged. His snarls deepened, quickened, and his hook drew firm around his partner’s slender neck, pressing at his windpipe. That hot chute quivered and constricted around him, and Fritz growled, emptying his release into the human’s willing guts.
His airway severed, Lance whimpered, and for a moment his sight dimmed. Dizzily he felt the hot gush of his captor fill him. His belly swelled and gurgled. Thrills both radiant and terrible wound through him. His eyes rolled, his lids flickered and he sighed, welcoming the warm, spreading cramp of submission: the pain and ecstasy of surrender.
His heart fluttered and soared and his brain sparked, fireflies dancing behind his lidded eyes as his own, powerful climax spun through his trembling limbs and erupted to spill over his pumping fist. Crying out into his gag, Lance gave in to intense waves that seized and shook him until he shouted himself to exhaustion.
Spasms finally relenting, Lance slid forward on his belly and collapsed, panting, a spent Fritz draped triumphantly across his ass and back.
Fritz recovered and reluctantly withdrew his softening cock from the human’s stretched inner channel. Beneath him the man flinched and whimpered. As he reached over to pull his prisoner’s soaked gag free, Fritz expected a tide of chatter to follow. The gag unfurled and slid away. Nothing came save a grateful sigh, and then silence.
Frtiz didn’t do much thinking, but he was thinking now. What would he do with this clown he’d been ordered to kill? He was far too much fun to slaughter. Waste of tasty flesh (and ass). This mouthy, silly human was more compliant now, that was certain. He was still in need of some…obedience training. But Fritz could work on that. He possessed a riding crop accessory somewhere in the folds of his vest. That would come in handy…
Exhausted, Lance lay silent, his innards twinging with the ache of Fritz’s completion. After several minutes he glanced over a shoulder at the strange creature perched on his back and smiled. Funny little fella. Well, not so funny when he’s screwing you to the floor, Lance, but….
“So…” he ventured, gauging the goblin’s mood. “What’re we gonna do about…?” He nodded toward the shattered computer.
Scratching his head with one hook, Fritz paused, shrugged.
Lance imagined that brain, floating in his jar somewhere in the castle, screaming to an empty lair.
They’d deal with him, somehow.
What’s he going to do about it?
Lance giggled. “Good thing he’s missing a limb or four, or we’d really catch it, huh?”
Eyes narrowing, Fritz thought, and for the first time, he brightened and laughed at one of his quips.
“Ha.” Lance smiled. So, the surly little devil can lighten up, when he wants to.
“Oh!” he gasped in surprise when Fritz launched forward, pinning him down.
Lightly Fritz traced a hook along the slim back beneath him. He could always keep him here. Why not? He was his human, after all.
Yawning, he sprawled on top of the man and collapsed in a deep sleep.
Relaxing, Lance smiled, though now he faced a dilemma of his own. They’d be missing him at work, wouldn’t they? Briefly he wondered what would happen if they sent someone out to see what was keeping him. What if they found him here, like this?
Inwardly he shrugged and yawned deep, relaxing with a contented sigh.
Let them miss me. Just for now.
Eyelids heavy, he drifted beneath the weight on his back.
He could hang out here, just awhile longer...

***
He woke to the sensation of Fritz’s hooks tracing the curves of his buttocks in a manner uncharacteristically gentle. Smooth and deadly steel played over tender flesh, brushed just inside his crack.
Lance stirred.
Hmm? Fritz paused, eyes locked on his unpredictable prisoner. The man rolled over, greeted him with a goofy, sleepy grin.
“Hiya, pal!”
Fritz regarded him curiously. That cocksure spark had returned. Different, but very much present. And for once, it didn’t annoy him.
A contented docility rested in his human pet, his face loosely curtained by lazy auburn. And as Fritz watched him groan and prop his sore limbs, he somehow knew. He sensed no urgency, no trickery, no fear pulsing in the man’s blood. He was his.
His human.
Only now, they both knew it.
His human. His, to abuse and reward and pleasure and take pleasure from. His, to perform his chores and suffer his savagery and like it, channel it and return it.
The chamber echoed with Lance’s cavernous yawn. Lazily he stretched and lounged on his side, propped on one arm. Grinning, Fritz traced a hook over his hip, watching the human’s face as his curved appendage parted fleshy cheeks, prodded the soreness.
Lance winced.
“So,” he casually spoke with a silly, absent grin, twisting one of Fritz’s hat flaps in his fingers. “Whatcha got in mind?”
Uttering something unintelligible by humans, Fritz hopped back. With a devious and hungry grin he snapped open his purple vest, revealing a wicked spread of gags, whips, clamps and restraints.
“Whoa!” Lance’s eyes widened in a flash of dread before meeting Fritz’s hungry gaze in challenge.
He smirked. Brow cocking, he settled back on his propped arm.
“Sounds kinky. I’m game.”
The human’s warm, naughty smile was all the encouragement Fritz needed.
Fritz pounced.
Lance laughed, tumbling back in a toss of auburn.
And together, they made beautiful, terrible music.
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At His Service, Of Course