Lana

The raiders first came a week ago and killed everyone but you–they never found you in the basement.  They took everything they could use, so you aren't sure why they're back, but in your gut you know it's them when you hear the tires on gravel. You make your way down to the basement again. The entry is through a closet floor and it looks like more of a crawl space until you climb down into it. You told everyone it’d be safest there, but they thought if they begged for their lives and let them take everything, the men might be reasonable. 

The short, dirty window at the top of the wall is open and their voices make your stomach turn. 

"Den's big enough, got a kitchen 'n all. Hell, wood's already chopped." They laugh and the door handle jiggles. "Locked?" 

"What? Y'all lock it when ya left?" 

"Didn't think so." 

They bust down the door. 

"So this is it," a new voice announces calmly. "The new nest." 

Someone corrects him, "That's lame, man. You don't gotta call it that when he's not around." 

"Takes this Birds of Prey shit too literally," another man agrees. 

They start showing the new guy around. 

One of the men asks, "think the big guy'll like it?" 

After a moment of silence, someone says "let's talk about the big guy. " It sounds like they're planning a coup. They agree to find somewhere in the house to hide the loot and leave one man behind to guard it overnight. They break up to look for a hiding place. 

—-

Inevitably, the door to your space opens. "Crawlspace," the new voice says.  Then he steps down.  It’s just him.  He hunches over and walks until the ceiling is higher. You're huddled in the corner under a desk.  He scuffs his boot on the ground and a huge layer of dust gets kicked up. He looks around for a minute and says  "alright, alright," to himself. You can only see his boots. Your nose tickles from the dust and you're trying to stave off a sneeze. When his boots turn back toward the door, You're relieved. But you can't keep the tickle at bay. You squeak ever so quietly into your shoulder, then the boots turn in your direction. 

Your heart goes to your throat as the man slowly crouches down. Mustache, long, dark hair, denim jacket with the sleeves rolled up.  Heavily tattooed, though you can’t make anything out.  He raises his eyebrows and his lips purse in bemusement. He clasps his large hands and says “Well hey there,” like he’s speaking to a child.

You’re silent. 

“What are ya doin’ down here?”

“It’s my house,” you say. 

He nods thoughtfully and his brows knit apologetically, but his voice doesn’t match. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he says ominously. “My friends said it’s our house, now.” He frowns exaggeratedly. 

Your eyes sting with the dusty air and you realize you’ve had your eyes wide and not blinked this entire time. 

"MILLER WHERE THE HELL ARE YA," someone yells.  

He sighs and stands up. 

“Don’t tell them,” you beg. 

“Why wouldn’t I,” he asks, still standing up, out of view.  

“I’ll do anything,” you say. 

“Anything,” he repeats, then sighs. “Wouldn’t’ve taken ya for that kinda girl. Looked like an angel to me.” 

“MILLER!!!!”

“Please,” you beg. 

“We’ll see,” he says curtly then turns around and leaves. When he gets up the stairs and opens the door, he announces he found a crawlspace that’ll work. 

—----

They unload the stuff, then someone asks, “Who’s stayin’?”

“New guy,” someone says.

“Can ya handle it, Miller?” another voice asks. “Place like this might get spooky at night.” 

The men chuckle. 

“I’m good,” Miller says. 

“That’s the spirit, Tommy boy.” 

“See ya tomorrow.”

—

Tommy starts bringing crates down, and the men get ready to leave.  They continue to talk amongst themselves upstairs on their way out. Tommy crouches down to look at you, a little closer this time, about two meters away.  He smiles at you then sits on the floor with his hands behind him, not saying anything. As the men leave, you both overhear their crude banter. Tommy looks at the window as he listens. 

"Think she's ready for more?" 

"I call back door first." Your heart drops thinking about whoever’s waiting for them back where they came from. 

"Shit, you can have it. D'ya see the lips on her?"  There’s no way she’s willingly waiting for this disgusting group of men. 

"I wanna see what Tommy boy can do to that pussy."

“Not tonight!” one says and they laugh.

"He doesn't have it in'm," another one says.  

Tommy seems to bristle at this. Then he dons a subtle smirk, looks at you, and slowly sucks in air though his teeth like he's breaking some bad news. "'m afraid I do," he nods. "Just don’t like sharin’."  He sighs.  His nose twitches and you don’t like it. He’s pensive, like he has something to prove. He says, “Hope they don’t do ya like that once they find ya.”

You hug your knees and bury your head to cry. “What do you want,” you ask. 

“Why don’t ya come on out for a start.”

You look at him. He’s not moving from his position. He nods toward the wall as though to give you permission to sit away from him.  He watches you like a hawk as you slowly crawl, still sniffling, and you sit against the wall with your legs out. 

“Good girl,” he says gently, then begins to get up.  You flinch when he stands, but he takes the chair from the desk and turns it to face you.  He sits in it, only about a meter away now.  At this distance, you can see his freckles and the sparkle in his eyes and you hate to admit it, but he’s pretty good looking.  You look at each other for a few seconds.  Apparently he’s thinking the same thing.  “Pretty, too.  Aren’t ya, angel?” 

He leans back and his chest puffs out as he takes off his denim jacket. “Too hot for this,” he mutters and throws it onto the desk. His t-shirt lets you see how strong his chest and arms are as he settles back into the chair and manspreads with his hands on his thighs. One of his hands has a fresh tattoo of a talon on it. His jeans are ripped below the one knee. “So you’ll do anything, huh,” he says contemplatively.  He smooths his hair and looks at the window, then around the room.  “Guess I’ve got all night to find out what that means.” 

You consider your options. If he really doesn’t like sharing, giving yourself to him is your best shot at staying secret from the other men.

“Can I have some water,” you ask.  

He laughs and shakes his head.  “Yeah, what else ya want? A cheeseburger?” He sighs, braces his hands on his knees, and leaves.  He doesn’t come back for hours. 

You’re tired. So tired. It’s been the worst week of your life, and that’s saying a hell of a lot. You’re too tired to fight, too tired to even care what he might do to you.  You fall asleep. 

—--------

You wake up to the sound of boots thudding down the stairs. It’s dark out now.  “Got lost, sorry,” he booms.  He’s carrying a short crate that has a lantern, a jug of water, a bottle of whiskey, and some jerky. He sets the crate down on the desk.  He puts the water jug next to your feet, and he lingers.  He squats down and caresses your cheek with his knuckle. You smell his sweat and you smell he’s been drinking. His lips part as he looks at you, and you try to ignore the sparkle in his eyes in the lamp light. He’s sweaty, and his masculine smell makes you tingle. He offers you some jerky with a little smile but you say, “no thank you.” 

“Those manners,” he whispers with a smile. His mustache twitches charmingly. He takes off his boots and sits next to you on the wall and his large hand engulfs your thigh. He wets his lips and looks at you. “What are we gonna do?” he asks softly. 

“Just tell me what you want,” you whine. 

He shakes his head no. “I wanna know what you want.” 

“I wanna live, I wanna not be gang banged, I want my family back, I want-” you start to cry. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he says. He reaches for you and you flinch, but he gets up on his knees and forces you into a consoling embrace. You cry into his shirt and he says “Shhhhh, shhhhhh.” He pats your head. “You’re not gonna get gang banged if you’re mine, I promise.” 

The most unsettling mix of relief and dread floods your upper body.  Your lower body, meanwhile, is all warmth and tingling. Oh, god. He hugs you into his hair which smells like cigarettes, campfire, and something sour. “C’mere,” he says, and uses your hair to pull your head back slightly, gently. Enough to look at your face.

----

He dips his head, and at first all you can do is watch his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallows.  But then his face drifts toward yours, and you tense in anticipation. He closes his eyes and kisses you. His lips are plush and gentle.  Your lips remain firm and still until they don’t. When his tongue brushes the seam of your lips, they let him in.  Your mouths are connected for a good thirty seconds before he breaks the kiss and looks at you.  Then he wraps his hands around your back and lifts you up onto your knees so you’re both kneeling on the cold concrete as he licks into your mouth. He wraps his arms around you tight and attacks your mouth with his again, with more fervor this time, his suction making your lips tingle. 

His cock hardens against you. He breaks the kiss and takes a deep breath against the side of your mouth. He grabs your ass and pulls you into him, pressing his hardness into you.  He sighs. 

Then he lets go of your ass and his hands come between you. He urgently unbuttons and unzips your jeans, then pulls them down.  You feel like there’s no stopping what’s about to happen, so you obediently take them off as he removes his own without taking his eyes off you. “Those too,” he nods at your panties. As you remove them, the damp cotton is cool against your inner thigh and you realize how wet you are. Warmth rushes to your face.  

----

“C’mere, angel,” he whispers, and he sits down in his boxers.  He pulls you into his lap so you’re straddling him, hovering, at first. He reaches between your legs and groans as his fingers meet your wetness.  He gazes at you with wonder in his eyes. “Beautiful girl.” He looks down and watches his hand as he slides his fingers through your folds, front and back.  His strong chest rises and falls with heavy breaths.  He pulls you by the ass, grinding your crotch into the massive tent in his boxers and the contact makes you twitch.  “Fuck,” he sighs when your loins are pressed up against each other. He makes space to get his cock out and you try not to stare. It’s thick. Suddenly, you’re salivating.  You wet your lips and he notices. 

“Lemme put it here, first,” he says softly and rubs your cunt. “Okay?” He nods for you as he positions you over his cock and notches himself for entry. He’s waiting for your go-ahead like it means something. You offer an almost imperceptible nod, then he pulls you down hard on his cock with a groan.  You gasp as his girth parts your walls.  

“Then—ohhh—then ya can suck it,” he says. He lifts his hips.  “Maybe.” He moves you on his cock. “Shit this feels good.” He holds you close and wraps an arm around you. He moves his hips forward from the wall with a sharp thrust up into you. He gets enough space to lean back a little and pull you against his chest for leverage, with enough clearance to fuck up into you. “Yeah, ohh shit.”  As your body adjusts to his girth, your eyes close in pleasure.  His thrusts are sharp and deep.  He’s strong, so strong the way he holds you. Tension knots in your gut as his girth fills you up over and over. 

“Ride it, baby. C’mere.” He sits back down flatter against the wall again and manhandles you on his cock. “C’mon, baby.” You might as well get something out of it, so you move your hips and get close enough to him to grind your clit into his pelvis. “Aww, yeah,” he breathes, “Yeahh, like that.” He reaches for your head. “So fuckin’ pretty,” he whispers, then pulls your face into his again.  His hips rock in rhythm with yours as he fills your mouth with his tongue. 

You accidentally hum “Mmm” into his mouth. 

He breaks the kiss to say “oh you like it, huh,” pounding into you a little harder. “You like this big cock.”  Each time he fills you, you’re less and less ready for this to end. “That’s good,” he rubs his nose against your temple. “gonna get a lot of it.” He holds the back of your head and reads your eyes in the dim lamp light then kisses you again. You break the kiss with a moan, feeling yourself on the edge. 

“Holy shit,” he whispers. “Shit yeah,” He puts both his hands on your ass and moves you on his cock, determined to fill you with every smidgen of him. 

You whimper at the stretch, the sheer fullness. 

“You’re there,” he says. “C’mon, baby,” his thick cock sliding in and out of you, stretching you, filling you like you thought you might never be filled, “C’mon, angel. C’mon.”  The tension snaps and you groan as your cunt spasms around his cock. “Ohhh, yeahhh, yeahhh,” Tommy says, “shit, yeah.” Your body jerks into his. “Fuckin’ beautiful."

He slows you down and sucks in a deep breath as you keep spasming. “Shit,” he sighs. He stops moving and tries to compose himself. He’s trying not to come. He pulls you off before you’re finished coming. You look at him and he’s biting his lip, his eyes are smiling,  his hand is wrapped around his cock. “Now suck it for me.” He reaches up and his huge hand engulfs the back of your head. “Now,” he says more urgently.  He pulls down and you oblige, reeling in aftershocks and shame. 

You take his tip in your mouth and his hips lift as you suck it.  He forces your head down on his cock and you gag on it. “Ohh, shit.” He pulls your head down harder then explodes against the back of your throat with a long, drawn out sigh of relief.  His hot spend paints the back of your throat.  You swallow it then let him slide out of your mouth. 

—--

Tommy catches his breath for a moment, then puts his dick away and gets up to put on his pants.  It feels abrupt, but you’re not sure what you expected.  Surely not pillow talk. He towers over you as he zips up.  You look up at him and he tilts his head, looking at you affectionately.  Then his face changes. 

“Dumb slut.” 

Your stomach drops as he walks away. 

-------

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Joel and Tommy are not in touch. When they cross paths it will have been a long time since they saw each other.

Except that 'warm mass' speaks. English. Accented English that sounds a little bit too much like your lieutenant. You're hoping it's a dream. Probably a wet dream by choice of character, you've been getting those a lot... Anyway. It doesn't feel too much like a dream when the light cuts on, and you huff.

"If you're going to sneak in my room, lieutenant, at least have the decency to keep the light off. I'm tired." You turn the light off, pulling the covers closer and closing your eyes again.

"Considering the fact that you're in my room, I beg to disagree." He turns the light back on with a similar huff, still staring you down.

You sigh again and sit up, glaring at him as best you can through a slightly drunken haze. "And considering the fact that I used my own key to get in here, I too bEg To DiFfEr." You sass before turning the light back off, curling up and facing away from this mass of audacity.

Simon sits stunned, wondering how the fuck did you get into his room if his door was locked. "That doesn't change the fact that this is my room," he argues, turning the light back on.

You grumble loudly, making sure that he knows he's being an inconvenience to you. You just shuffle deeper under the covers, blocking the light out with your hands.

"Seriously?"

"Can't hear you, I'm asleep."

"Unbelievable."

He mentally short-circuits for a moment. And not because you're in his shirt, with barely anything under it, and not because you're in his bed in said shirt, but because you don't seem to care that you're sleeping with him; but because you seem to have no problem curling up next to him, freezing-cold hands and feet and all.

Simon isn't sure how he's supposed to react when you push your feet between his thighs, bury into his side, and stuff your hands between you and him.

He's up for a while still, trying to make sense of it all, and then you climb over top of him--in your sleep-- curl up like a loafed cat on his chest, and then have the audacity to drool on him.

He doesn't know what to do with you. But it is a little nice to sleep next to someone who he trusts enough to not try and kill him in his sleep.

He'll never admit that that is the most sleep he's ever gotten, ever, nor that he was lowkuinely having an existential crisis before you curled up in bed next to him like he wasn't the Grim Reaper reincarnated-- having taken as many lives as he's had to stitch himself back together. Literally and metaphorically.

------------

By morning, that's how you learn that your door takes the same key as his. Which leads to mass inspection and realize that this is not an isolated case.

He doesn't change his lock.