Drug of Choice

Kimberly/Roy. NC-17. ~3600 words. Noncon (drugged victim). Object insertion. Co-authored with Ponderosa.
For weeks, he’s been careful to keep his opinion of Kimberly to himself.

The field tent is blissfully dark, the camp quiet. Not even the howl of the rangy desert wolves disturbs the cool night. Roy lifts fingers to his temples, tries in vain to massage the throbbing headache away that’s plagued him since his unit returned to base.

At least he’s alone. Roy squeezes his eyes tight as soon as he thinks it. He’s only able to enjoy solitude because Taveners is lying in the infirmary. Two weeks, they’d said. He shouldn’t be thankful that he’ll be free of the man’s chatter for that long. He shouldn’t be, but he is. His fingers curl over the edge of the bunk’s thin mattress, white-knuckled with pain, and he stares at the uneven ground. It’s hard to focus through the haze.

Minutes, hours later, he hears the rough scratch of the canvas flap as it’s pushed aside. Glossy black boots, dusted with a line of grit, pass through his line of sight, and he catches the sound of heavy material brushing skin as Kimberly crouches beside him.

Roy lifts his gaze to meet yellow eyes, Kimberly’s blurred features gradually resolving.

“How’s the headache, Flame?” he asks, chin caught between thumb and forefinger and elbows resting on his knees.

“Still trying to crack my skull open.” Roy rubs the back of a wrist across his forehead, lets out a slow, heavy breath laden with weariness.

“Doesn’t seem as sharp, though,” he adds when Kimberly doesn’t seem inclined to leave him be. Out of the desire to be alone more than any real gratitude, he mumbles a few words of thanks, and hopes it’s enough for Kimberly to move on.

A cool hand touches his forehead, and Kimberly says, “You’re welcome.” The light touch becomes a caress, long fingers stroking the slant of his cheekbone and across his lips. “You look good like this.”

Roy jerks away, head spinning from the sudden movement. “What are you talking about, Crimson,” he says, the words spilling from his lips without thought. His heart is beating too fast, the dizziness isn’t fading. He can’t say he’s surprised by the caress, it’s such a Kimberly thing to do, but it makes him uneasy. “I don’t like you touching me.”

Kimberly leans over him, a murderous hand splaying high on Roy’s chest to push him back, pin him to the mattress. “You look good flat on your back,” Kimberly says, surveying Roy’s body leisurely. “You’d look even better spread out under me.” He smiles, self-satisfied and self-congratulatory.

“You make my skin crawl,” Roy spits, a flash of panic shooting cold down his spine when he can’t push Kimberly away.

For weeks, he’s been careful to keep his opinion of Kimberly to himself. The hammering pain behind his eyes is quickly overshadowed by real fear, and the alarming sensation of not being in control of his own thoughts, his own actions.

Chilling certainty settles in the pit of his stomach. “What did you make me take?” he asks, wetting dry lips.

“Make you take?” Kimberly echoes. “You asked me to bring you some meds,” he says, clearly pleased. “Gran really should have been more careful with them.”

Fingertips stroke Roy’s throat, lazily cross the line of his collarbones and down the centre of his chest. His stomach twists, lurches, and he lifts a hand to stop Kimberly only to have it easily batted away. An easy laugh is all he earns for his trouble.

“Relax,” Kimberly whispers. “Enjoy it.”

The thin undershirt isn’t enough to mask the feel of cool hands drifting down, fingers curving over the sharp angle of his hipbones before tugging at his belt. He can’t stop the sick, horrified sound bubbling into his mouth.

“Don’t touch me.” The words are weak, strangled. Desperate, he tries to shove Kimberly away and roll to his feet.

Kimberly grabs his wrists, pins them above his head on the flat pillow. The mattress creaks as he straddles narrow hips and leans down until he and Roy are face-to-face and less than an inch from touching.

“Tell me why not,” he says, lips barely nudging Roy’s. “Tell me why I make your skin crawl.”

Roy can feel the rapid beat of Kimberly’s heart, tripping with the same revolting excitement he knows Kimberly feels sending people stumbling off to die. The light burning in tarnished yellow eyes is no different.

“Your specialty is disgusting,” he says. His fingers form useless claws, muscles too heavy to break the maddeningly loose grip. Each word makes his lips touch Kimberly’s, brush them like dry little kisses, and breathe in Kimberly’s breath. He can’t stop himself from answering. It makes his stomach clench. “You’re a psychopath… a murderer.”

“I enjoy it,” Kimberly readily admits. The tip of his tongue traces Roy’s lips, warm and slick and deliberate. “I like my work. And I like yours.”

Muscles tremble with useless rage. He jerks his head back, but Kimberly follows, toys with him as easily as a child with an insect. Frustrated, truly helpless for the first time in his life and plagued by the unnatural throbbing in his skull, Roy groans, the sound full of everything that makes Kimberly smile.

“Give me a kiss,” Kimberly whispers into his mouth.

Before he thinks, before he realises what he’s doing, Roy’s head lifts and he seals his mouth over Kimberly’s. His tongue slides past the hard line of teeth, tastes wet heat. Dark eyes fly wide, a gurgling protest echoing in his throat as he finds the strength of will to pull away.

Kimberly lets him.

“Fuck,” he hisses, still tasting Kimberly on his tongue. “Fuck. Don’t do that again, Kimberly. Don’t do that again.” Panic as sharp as knives slices along his nerves. Kimberly has no mercy.

“But it was good,” Kimberly says, lewdly licking the taste of Roy from his lips, rolling the bottom one into his mouth to suck it clean. “You can do better, though, can’t you.” He tugs open the buttons on Roy’s uniform slacks one by one. “Kiss me again.”

Roy squeezes his eyes shut, his mouth already pressed to the cruel curve of Kimberly’s. He curses himself, curses Kimberly and the drug seeping through his blood that makes his body so eager to comply. The kiss is made so much worse by Kimberly’s happiness to let him control it, flaunt that Roy’s the one kissing him.

His tongue winds deep into Kimberly’s mouth, his teeth scrape soft flesh and a low moan rises in his throat. It makes Roy shudder, cold shivers racing down his spine. The sound is too much like pleasure, the glide of his tongue against Kimberly’s not as revolting as it should be.

He wants it over, wants Kimberly’s hand on his dick and finished before he has time to slog his way through the drugged haze in his mind and find the fear that there’s some sick, twisted part of him that wants this is real.

Kimberly’s breath tingles against his lips. Too late, Roy realises he’s spoken aloud. He doesn’t know all of what he’s said, and he scrambles, trying to figure out what words have fallen free this time.

“I thought you didn’t want me to touch you,” Kimberly says with a slanted grin.

Kimberly pushes clothes aside, nails scraping through the thin, dark trail of hair until Roy feels fingertips touch slick, hot flesh. He jerks, biting back a groan and another futile plea.

“Tell the truth,” Kimberly says, inching down, taking Roy’s half-hard cock into one deadly hand. “Will you spread your legs for me, Roy?” Smirking lips brush sensitive flesh, breath warm with whispered words. “Moan like a whore while I fuck you?”

Roy’s head jerks to the side, quick, nervous denial. “I will,” he says, throat bobbing as he tries to swallow the words. He stares helplessly up at the peaked canvas ceiling of the tent, his arms left stretched above his head. Already laid out like a willing slut. He hears himself speaking, sluggish brain scrambling to censor the words pouring from his lips. “I’ll moan if you fuck me. Don’t touch me.”

“I want it,” he says, eyes closing tight against the truth. Shame burns as hot as battlefield flames. “I want you to shove your dick into me. I want you to make me your filthy whore.”

“Yes,” Kimberly hisses, giving him nothing more than a token swipe of tongue, leaving him hard, aching, slick with precome.

Rudely, Kimberly hauls Roy’s trousers off his hips, pulling them off his legs to let them carelessly dangle from the bunk. Roy prays to a god he doesn’t really believe in that it isn’t happening, that the dip and creak of the mattress isn’t Kimberly rolling between his legs, shoving them up and wide with rough, pitiless hands.

“Will you beg me?” Kimberly asks. “Beg me to stop.”

The pad of a thumb rubs wet against his hole, makes his thighs tremble and his dick leap. He tries to convince himself what he’s said are all lies, that he doesn’t want this, that it’s all the drug pulling each needy little sound from his throat.

“Beg me not to stop.”

“I can’t,” Roy gasps, shuddering as saliva dries and friction warms sensitive nerves. “I can’t beg for this from you.” He hears himself moan again, knees splaying wider, body inviting Kimberly to use him, abuse him, and the sound turns dark with self-loathing.

Kimberly slithers back, hands curving over Roy’s thighs. He pauses, fingers digging hard into flesh, intending to bruise. “Tell me why,” he says. Before Roy can answer, the words already on his tongue, Kimberly speaks again, voice dropping to a purr. “And tell me how this feels.”

The flat of Kimberly’s tongue drags over twitching muscle, saliva trailing warm and slippery between the cheeks of Roy’s ass.

“Because you’d do it,” Roy replies, trying hard, trying so very hard to keep from saying anything else. He can feel wetness leaking from the corners of his eyes, feel the ugly twist of pleasure as Kimberly’s tongue pushes into him, as his hips raise eagerly for more and he does exactly what Kimberly wants him to.

“It’s good, it feels good.” His breath catches as the sharp pressure of Kimberly’s thumb pushes against him, into him. More spit, more pressure, slick and wrong and perfect. “It’s too good,” he pants, wrenching his head to the side but still unable to keep the words from coming out, damning him over and over again. “I hate it. I want it to be your cock shoving into me.”

Kimberly moves again. Roy catches the sound of a lowering zipper, of him spitting again and groaning shamelessly as he slicks his dick wet.

“Should I make you beg for it?” Kimberly asks, voice harsh and eager. The blunt head of his cock nudges beside his thumb, wrenching another hateful moan from Roy. “Or should I fuck you just like you are, still tight.”

Roy feels Kimberly shudder, pressing forward, and his cock twitches, precome leaking slick against his belly. “Fuck me now,” he breathes, lifting an arm and pushing uselessly at Kimberly, the physical contradiction doing little to stop the pleas soft and wanton on his lips. “Fuck me now and make it hurt.” With a groan, he tries to twist away and curl in on himself, unwilling to believe that’s what he wants.

Kimberly shoves Roy’s leg tighter to his chest, lifting his ass higher into the air, and Roy knows it’s so he can watch, so he can see his dick sinking in inch by grudging inch. Kimberly tells him how good it looks, and all Roy can do is moan, moan in pain and pleasure and frustration as he’s stretched wide and forced to take it.

A slippery fingertip rubs against his hole. Kimberly’s hips snap forward. White flashes behind Roy’s eyes like a gunshot, and it’s clear, too crystal fucking clear that he wants it. His body shudders, clutching at the thick length buried in him. Kimberly grinds his dick deep, forcing low sounds from his throat.

Roy hates it, hates himself and hates Kimberly. He gives in and stops caring. It’s too late to do anything else. Kimberly can use him, fuck him raw, and he’ll take it. The next moan he makes is full of hurt, so close to broken beneath Kimberly’s brutal thrusts.

“Say it,” Kimberly hisses. “Fucking scream it.”

Roy sucks in a harsh breath, choking on it as Kimberly’s weight shifts, pushes him into the mattress, his knees bent back as flesh slaps against flesh. Between each gasp, each half-scream of razor-edged pleasure, Roy asks for more, asks for it harder.

“You want to come, you jerk yourself off,” Kimberly tells him, slowing his pace only to slam forward again. He leans close to breathe his words right in Roy’s face. “Unless you’re that much of a slut you can get off like this.”

Beneath him, Roy grunts, body arching. The sheet sticks to the thin sheen of sweat on his skin. Kimberly grinds into him. Teeth scrape his jaw, tongue following. Kimberly’s still speaking, but he can’t hear the words. He knows it won’t be long, vicious pleasure triggered past the pain curls low in his stomach, proving exactly how right Kimberly is.

“Don’t think it’s over,” Kimberly says, licking his mouth. Roy can hear the twisted smile in his voice. “How much do you think you can take?”

Kimberly’s tongue flicks over his mouth one last time as his body shudders, the relentless fucking shoving him over the edge, horrible pleasure exploding along his nerves. He gives a wordless, strangled scream, come striking his skin hot and damning. Kimberly doesn’t stop, keeps fucking him right through it, keeps forcing him to feel.

He groans miserably, voice harsh, as the bliss of orgasm quickly fades and the feeling of being used crawls like beetles over his skin. Kimberly silences him with another invasive kiss, his thrusts slowing, turning lazy.

“You’d look good riding my dick,” Kimberly says, hand curled along his jaw, thumbing his lips. “Could bend you over, watch myself fuck you.”

Roy shudders, stomach curled tight with horror, repulsed by his own pleasure as Kimberly’s hand drags down his chest, slicks come over his own cock as he slides deep again. The fucktoy of a murderer.

“Do whatever you want with me,” Roy says. There’s a low hum in the back of his mind, a mantra of hurt me, use me, fuck me, and echoing endlessly underneath it all, kill me; the desperate wish to never see death at his hands again.

He lifts his legs, wrapping them around Kimberly’s waist, and barely notices the swiftly hidden surprise in wolf-yellow eyes.

“Anything I want,” Kimberly repeats. His mouth skims over Roy’s as he reaches above his head, long fingers grabbing one of the hollow metal bars on the bunk’s headboard. A quick flash of light, the drone of channelled energy, and the bar snaps free. “Dangerous thing to tell a sociopath, don’t you think.”

Metal, cold against feverish skin, presses under Roy’s chin and cuts off most of his air. Automatically, he squirms away, freezing as light flares again. He half-expects the kiss of a blade against his throat, that Kimberly will answer the unspoken prayer and end it all.

“The truth always is,” Roy answers in a low voice, shivering as metal drags cool down his side. It takes effort to focus on it, the fading light still too bright to his eyes, and as he watches, the rough edges round out and slim down, the bar losing length in favour of gaining width.

Kimberly shoves Roy’s legs away with the bar. “Very philosophic of you,” he says, withdrawing slowly and giving his dick a few satisfied tugs as Roy watches.

Roy’s feet settle on the mattress, knees bent and chest heaving. Kimberly shifts his grip on the new toy, tracing the end along Roy’s thigh, brushing past his come-smeared and half-hard cock. His free hand holds Roy’s legs spread wide as the bar slides between them.

Kimberly grins and looks up at him. “Wet enough to take it?”

Roy’s dick twitches, stretched and well-fucked muscle contracting at the touch of cold metal. His hand rests on his chest, fingertips touching a cooling smear of come, his heart thudding against his ribs. Kimberly’s waiting for an answer.

“I think so.” He licks the taste of salt from his lips. “I don’t care,” he says, moaning shakily.

Warm spit slides over his hole, shocking contrast to the sudden chill of the bar pressing forward. Kimberly’s fingers flex, and he pauses.

“Roll over on your side,” he says. “I want to watch this.”

A hand grabs his hips, shoves him over on his side without waiting. His legs part, one settling on either side of Kimberly, and he doesn’t bother to hide the hitch in his breath as Kimberly spreads him open.

He can’t help but watch as Kimberly pushes it forward, the cruel curve of his wide mouth and the half-wild look in his eyes as he twists it, makes it press at strange angles inside him.

Kimberly’s taking his time, enjoying every whimper.

Roy pillows his head on his arms, teeth sinking into flesh to muffle the sounds of being fucked by something so hard, so unresisting. The chill seeps into his guts, makes his stomach twist and cramp. Another push, the drag of harsh metal over abused flesh, and then it vanishes.

“Would you let anyone else do this to you?” Kimberly strokes his ass, fingers him. Teases him, barely sliding the bar in before pulling it out again. “Let someone fuck you with cold iron.”

Kimberly’s eyes rake possessively over him. Roy’s face flames with humiliation, knowing how exposed he is, feeling exactly how he’s stretched, used, muscle twitching only to be forced loose again. He watches Kimberly watching him.

“No,” he says, and his voice is a weak, pitiful moan that’s half fear and half pleasure. “Only you.”

Alchemical energy flares, bringing his breath in a gasping rush as the shaft transmutes inside him, thickening, curving, adding pleasure to pressure. It rubs his prostate, jerking his cock back to life.

He shakes his head, moans useless protests that they both know aren’t real. His fingers curl in the rough blanket, his breath coming in short gasps as he drags himself up to his knees. He pauses, panting lightly, and starts to push back, fucking himself on the cruel thing.

Kimberly moans with depraved enjoyment. “That’s it,” he hisses wickedly, long fingers grabbing Roy’s cock, jerking him roughly, giving greedy encouragement. “Fuck it. Slut.”

Arms heavy, muscles shaking to hold up his weight and make him move, Roy’s head drops low, strands of hair sticking to his damp skin. He can’t stop, doesn’t want to stop. He doesn’t know anymore if it’s the drugs, or if it’s just him. He doesn’t want to know.

He bites his lip hard enough to taste blood, cries out as the curving tip of the bar brushes inside him over and over again, as ruthless as Kimberly’s cock driving into him. His arms tremble, finally give way, and he falls to his elbows, ass still high in the air. Moaning, shuddering, he begs for just a little more, to let him come.

A wordless shout echoes in his ears as Kimberly snatches it away, leaving him tortured and quivering with need. The bar clangs against the bedframe before thudding to the ground.

“You’re mine,” Kimberly murmurs, draping himself over Roy’s back, peppering his skin with harsh bitemarks. Nails scratch his skin, scrape nipples, fingers pinching and twisting too-sensitive flesh. “Whenever I want, you’re mine.”

He feels Kimberly’s hips shift, dick sliding over his hole, so close, so close it makes him sob and shake. Then Kimberly slips inside him, burning hot after the cold bar, slips in easy and deep and breaks immediately into a brutal, pounding pace.

Roy echoes Kimberly’s words, repeating them like a promise as he reaches for his cock, slippery with cooled release and fresh precome. Kimberly thrusts hard, stops with his dick buried deep, and Roy tugs desperately at his own, barely aware of the low whimper he makes as come spills hot and slick inside him.

“Wait,” he gasps, panting heavily, jerking himself off quickly while Kimberly’s weight rests on him, heavy as sin, warm breath washing over his skin. “Wait, please…” he tries hopelessly as Kimberly starts to draw back, wanting that fullness for just a little longer, needing it.

Kimberly ignores him, cruel to a fault, and leaves him empty and aching as come pours over his knuckles.

He slumps against the stained sheets as Kimberly sits back, uses a corner of it to clean himself off. “We’re in the same field unit tomorrow,” he says, brushing his mouth over Roy’s ear. “See you at dawn.”

For a brief, beautiful moment Roy feels more sickened by the thought of walking out into the pale light of morning and seeing Kimberly than by the task of pulling on his gloves.

He closes his eyes, listens to Kimberly straighten his clothes, walk to the flap and push it aside. He shivers at the touch of bitter night air.

It’s a long time before he moves.


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