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The thing that had been holding Simon’s face for what felt like centuries was not a hand. It was pure pressure against a wet and yawning absence where Simon’s cheekbone used to be and where there was now nothing but a hole put there by the monster whose grasp he’d been caught in. The jelly of Simon’s left eye was weeping down into the place where his mouth might have been, if he’d ever had a mouth. What even were mouths? What were they used for? Simon struggled to remember, struggled to picture it, the opening, the closing, the teeth and the tongue and the breath and the gargled scream, the scream he wanted to scream although he couldn’t, he couldn’t, he couldn’t… until the creature let him. Until it gave him back form and body and lungs filled with air and finally Simon did scream. He screamed and screamed and screamed.
All around Simon, the creature’s presence was an undulating mess of red light. And from that light, things were growing—not tentacles, not exactly, because of course that would have been too normal, Simon giggled madly. They wrapped around Simon’s ribs, his thighs, the soft hinge of his newly remade jaw, and held. Not at all careful, but rather with a hungry possessive tightness that broke Simon’s bones and re-grafted them together and then curled throughout him and sucked out the marrow continuously, sucked out the sensations from his nerves, sucked the thoughts right out of Simon’s brain until Simon’s memories were mushy whenever he tried to think about what had been before. Before… before he’d been sent on this suicidal redemption mission. No. Not just ‘been sent on’. Before he’d succeeded with all parts of that; the suicide part and the redemption part and the grand mission itself.
A dark non-voice chuckled through his synapses following that thought. Are you sure about that? It whispered right into Simon’s brain, through his bone-marrow and then through the nerves and then through the synapses that had been so empty just a moment-decade-century ago. What suicide? You took a plea deal to avoid death in prison, little human, and thought you would die in the process, but still here you are. Alive in all the ways that matter, no? Alive and in pain. Alive and thinking. Alive as long as I want you alive. And I do. I do want. And I think I’ll continue to want it for a very long time.
Simon shuddered at the way the voice sounded when it formed the word ‘want’. It held an implication that even in his broken state he could not help but shy away from. He’d heard that tone of voice before—in prison. Back when there were still many more prisoners, back when he’d been just a kid left to rot in one of the dark-damp prison cells by himself, he’d heard it often enough, in fact. Thankfully not directed at himself, but from the other cells—most of which held two inmates at the very least, if not three or even four.
Whenever there was a new prisoner pushed into their cell block who was young, and pretty, and breakable (or so the whispers from the other cells often jeered about those newcomers), they’d be coveted by men whose voices held much the same type of hunger in the words as the creature in Simon’s head did now. ‘Here, pretty, why don’t you get on your knees, why don’t you open your mouth? Just do what we tell you and it won’t even hurt all that much, hngh?’ And what followed then often made lies out of these promises. The cell block would be filled with muffled cries and screams and begging. ‘Please, please stop, please don’t do this, anything but this! Please I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please!’
Simon mouthed the words along with with the poor bastard’s voice that was echoing from memories, but kept himself from saying them out loud. Still—that didn’t stop the creature hearing them or whatever it was that it did when it plucked things right out of Simon’s very core. He could feel it lock onto that memory, tear it apart, dissect it as though it was something that needed studying. Then it tugged on a connecting strand of memory and followed it down, like a marked trail down what little knowledge Simon had gleaned of human sexuality while he’d been imprisoned.
It was a trail of violence and tears and ragged cries. All Simon had been learned of sex in prison was that it was bodies ripping into other bodies. That it was more to do with ownership and exerting power over someone else than it had to do with the bodily closeness and comfort he’d once had very vague memories from the before times—from his time with the rebels when everyone had slept in large rooms together and there hadn’t been much caring about privacy or innocent ears or anything like that.
There’d been a few couples in the group that were married or as close to it as you could get while hiding from the Consolidation and thus not having access to any of the official rituals. Simon vaguely remembered them exchanging kisses, remembered them wrapping around each other at night, remembered them touching and holding and undulating under threadbare blankets. He felt the creature tug on that memory until it became clearer, until there was an approximation of sound and smell to go along with it, wet-messy-slick noises and little gasps broken by hushed laughter.
Simon didn’t know how to explain it, but he could feel the creatures intrigue at this melding of bodies. It didn’t seem to have experienced any of this before. Simon couldn’t help but giggle at that, half-mad with the way that he couldn’t tell anymore where he ended and the creature began. That was so much more intimate than just sex wasn’t it? More intimate than the things that had gone on in prison, certainly, but also what were those stolen moments by the couples worth when compared to being unmade by an alien consciousness that may-or-may not have turned the whole of humanity into a slurry of blood? How silly that the creature would focus on something as base and human as that. He wondered though, no, spiraled… Was there more than just this one creature out there? Did they share pleasure? Have companionship? Reproduce?
R-e-p-r-o-d-u-c-e… The creature perked up at that and again tugged at Simon’s memories. Oh I see. So one human puts a part of themselves into the other’s body and then it stays there? And it multiplies and merges until a shared creation comes alive?
Simon’s body was suddenly filled with elation that wasn’t his own. He tried to shake his head, to try and clear himself from this sudden onslaught of sensation but failed to even figure out where his head was and how to move it, so distracting was the euphoria that pulsed through his body.
I like that, whispered the creature. I like it. I think I will take some inspiration from this human way of procreation. Your are already unraveled this much, it won’t take much more to reknit you into something that can take what I want to put into you.
“Please,” Simon finally whispered, uncertain what exactly he wanted to say. Please, no? Please, yes? How could he even know if any of what he thought were still his own thoughts, so did it really matter?
He could feel things lurch and then spasm and then all physical sensation rushed back into him and he found himself back in his body, could feel it all, from his little toes to the tips of his ears and every little hair on his body was standing up in fright or excitement or… he shivered and blinked, pained, against a bright red pulsing light that in front of him and around him and everywhere else as well. The creature was still mostly light and Simon just knew if he left his eyes open for too long, he’d soon be fully blind. He whimpered and closed them. Better to be vulnerable for a moment than blind forever.
Hush, the creature said. I could give you a million eyes if I wanted to. So look, if that makes feel better.
Along with its words there came touches again. Simpler ones than before. Almost… hand-shaped ones, Simon thought, but why would it choose a form like that? But then he figured it out—the way it was touching him was a full close reconstruction of the way that the man from one of the couples in Simon’s freshly unearthed memories had touched his lover. Strong hands carded through Simon’s hair. They followed the side of his neck down to his shoulder and then to his chest where they stayed busy for a bit, kneading, rubbing, strong and almost hypnotic, until Simon’s nipples perked up under the sensation.
Simon felt torn in between seeking out more of that sensation—finally something his brain could actually wrap itself around, finally something that didn’t make him feel as though he was losing his mind—and his desire to run away, to crawl, to do whatever he could to put some distance in between him and the creature now that they were finally somewhat separated and he could think halfway clearly again.
The creature didn’t leave him enough time to decide. Its hands crept further down. They wandered across Simon’s heaving stomach and then grasped Simon’s hips tightly and then pushed him this way and that until he was splayed open, knees high up in the air, with his entire lower body exposed to the creatures further ministrations.
Simon shuddered from the sensation, eyes still tightly clenched. Then a thought came to him—did the creature have eyes? Could it see him the way a human a human could?
There was no answer to his mad thought and he remembered—right, it wasn’t in his mind right then. It had pulled back. Had closed himself into this quasi-human shell to what…? Have sex?
Another unanswered question and Simon suddenly found himself missing the earlier presence in his head. It had made things easier, he supposed. At least this kind of thing. Now he had to actually voice his thoughts if he wanted an answer.
“You’re not seriously going to…” he licked his lips, suddenly dry, and struggled for the right word. “Put part of yourself in me?” he decided to go with the creature’s earlier phrasing, because saying the word sex would have made it just far too real. “Like… physically, I mean?”
The creature rubbed a thumb-shaped appendage across Simon’s flaccid cock and then took it into his fist and jerked it a few times, carefully, but still clearly following an objective. Only when Simon’s cock started filling up a bit, manual stimulation stronger than Simon’s horror at the whole situation, did it finally answer. Why? It asked. Would you prefer a different way?
Simon couldn’t help but laugh incredulously at that. “Prefer? I’d prefer none of this had ever happened. I’d prefer to be back on the surface and not in whatever otherworldly nonsense place you’ve brought me to! There’s not even a floor here, or a ceiling or anything really, except for me and you and your sudden insane idea of… of… breeding me or whatever it is you’re planning to do.”
The creature didn’t let up on the manual stimulation and it didn’t answer Simon’s rant either. It just kept going and rubbing and then finally there was something wet that flicked across his asshole and that couldn’t have been a hand, could it? Because both of the creature's hands were on him already, one of them still masturbating him while the other rolled his tight, drawn-up balls carefully in its grasp, so no, it was something else it was something slick and hot and it slipped in almost without needing any pressure and then…
Simon.
Whited.
Out.
For a moment, when he came back to consciousness, he struggled to remember how to breathe. All his focus narrowed down to the surprise orgasm that had ripped through him. His hips jerked erratically in the creatures grasp, overstimulated to the point of almost pain. In true, overwhelmed shock, he stared at the too-bright figure of light in front of him that had just made him cum all over himself and broke just a little for what he thought might be the last time, because it certainly felt as though there was nothing left of him anymore. He didn’t care that he’d go blind, not right then, and not three minutes later when he felt the otherworldly light burn his corneas and not three minutes after that when everything went dark even though his eyes were still open.
Maybe the creature would remake him with a thousand eyes. Or maybe it had been lying. Did it matter?
Simon wasn’t sure.