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It was his screaming. The way he looked like a young boy who shouldn't have been at the base in the first place. This caught Hatchet's interest, and in a way, also his empathy.
He had planned to just kill the man after using his body as a human shield against the bullets passing by his head in the kitchen, but saw a broom closet, while making his escape. He quickly made up his mind as he opened the door and shoved the young man inside.
A cross dangled from a smooth wrist and he realized he had grabbed the site’s Chaplain, Harris-something if his intel was correct. Which it usually was. Hatchet had done his research well.
Harris couldn’t be there for the prisoners, seeing as most of them were Arabic. Was he someone the staff could talk to when they had second thoughts about torturing and maiming someone? The dark deeds they all had to conduct to keep Good Ol’ Uncle Sam safe?
The young man had quieted down and was only staring at him with big blue eyes, his chin trembling softly as he gathered his knees in his arms for comfort.
“Hey?… Hey! Look at me!” Hatchet ordered while snapping his fingers in front of Harris to get his full attention. “I'm not going to kill you. Not unless you make me.”
He knew people always reacted to him, either with respect or downright fear.
Fighting and killing always made him hard, almost being strangled didn’t help either and now he could feel his blood surging as he looked at the younger man.
Did he have time for a quicky?
Hatchet wished he would have met the chaplain somewhere else, he wished he could take his time with him. Breaking him would have been quick but if instead he coaxed him, that would be so much sweeter. He was sure Harris would crawl on all fours if he made him, and the thought shot his ego through the roof. There was always something sinfully sweet about corrupting the devout.
“H– How do I k-keep you from… k-killing m-me?” Harris stammered, licking his lips nervously and glanced up at Hatchet with his big, shiny eyes. He had thought the young man would have sounded Arabian, or at least foreign, but there were an American voice there, something he would have given more thought to at another time.
The older man squatted down, smiled and patted him on the head, moved the hand down to his cheek and caressed it. Harris felt his scalp prickle as a huge lump of ice formed in his stomach.
“No…no, no, no.”
“Oh yes.”
There was a sharp smell of cleaning supplies in the room, tacks of toilet paper stood in a corner and a stepstool was thrown on top of it. Some shelves had extra towels, a box of batteries and some rolls of duct tape already fallen to the floor as Harris had been pushed inside the room.
“Why? Why are you even here? To get Farhan? Just take him and go.”
“All in good time. I’m going to enjoy myself first.” Hatchet started to unbutton his trousers and Harris crawled backwards as he desperately stared at the door, hoping someone would burst through.
“The door isn’t bulletproof, they will shoot you, shoot us.”
“Not if you shut up.” The older man reached for a roll of silvery tape and the chaplain whimpered again.
“Please don’t!”
“Are you ever going to shut up?”
It sounded like a real queasy ion and Harris looked torn, he worried about how Hatchet would do it. If it would hurt too much, that he wouldn’t be able to stay quiet, surely? He licked his lips again, wanting to say he would; but not being confident, not even enough to lie.
In the meantime, Hatchet grabbed his legs and started to pull the nervous youngling towards him over the polished floor. He sat down on his thighs and leaned over while pulling out the tape and using his teeth to bite off a strip before pressing it against his lips, he then wrapped it around his head so it was more secure but also stuck to the Chaplain’s hair.
Harris squirmed on the hard floor, the older man was heavier than he looked and were almost feverish in temperature even though there were two layers of cloth between them.
Hatchet also taped his hands together before trying to roll him over but stopped.
“Nah, I want to see your face as I do it.”
The harsh light flickered above them. Abby was out there somewhere and what about Darren? Had he survived? It had looked bad. He had only just glimpsed Miller's body near the stove and the memory of it made him shiver. He tested the tape around his wrist, felt the cross dangle and a sort of calm spread out inside of him.
Hatchet wanted him to be scared, men like him always liked spreading fear and chaos around them.
If he could be soothing… but Hatchet yanked his pants down together with his white underwear and the cold floor against his cheeks made him shudder and muffle a protest. That calm quickly abandoned him and he began to try to reason with himself.
Hatched wasn’t ugly and he hadn’t hurt him; yet. Harris had tried anal sex once in his youth. He could do this.
He could not do this.
Hatchet was Shedim, a demon. Lord only knows how many people he had killed by hand or was one of the reasons why they were dead. Abby's husband for example. Plus, his vows…
Harris started to struggle against the large hands pawing at his body and was rewarded with a hard slap that made him freeze up and then another as if the killer tried to force his attention back to him.
“You’re making me angry, Chaplain. I'm afraid you have forgotten that I have a gun.”
The young man panicked again, he started to shiver and Hatchet’s words suddenly sounded like they were in a distance. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do this, but you did bring it upon yourself.”
The older man pulled out his gun, more showing it than actually threatening. Harris nodded frantically, felt tears sting his eyes but spread his legs even though they were shaking so badly he could hardly move them.
“There we go. What a good boy you are, Chaplain. A little more… that’s it.”
Hatchet quickly spat on one of his fingers before moving it between Harris’s thighs, the youngling tried desperately to relax but whimpered as the digit pressed against his entrance.
“While I’m still being nice, Chaplain. Let me in.”
Harris tried saying he was trying but the tape muffled it all. How had he even done this in his teen? Ah yes. It had been that time he was shitfaced.
He closed his eyes and focused on breathing in and out through his nose. Slowly, like following an imaginary square. Another finger, followed by something that made Harris tense up as he stared up at Hatchet. A large, calloused hand had enclosed his dick and was stroking him slowly. It felt good, against his wishes, damn good, and it started to stiffen as the first tear trickled towards the sides of his face. Hatchet leaned over him and lapped them up, sucking gently on the salty drops.
“There, there,” His first words were gentle, then came the hard clap “Man the fuck up, Chaplain.” The other one got back on his knees, lifted one of Harris’s legs over his shoulder and released his own organ. A massive mushroom-shaped head and a girth that made the youngling shout behind the confining tape.
“Mmnooohm! Mmeehmm! MAMHHM!”
The world blackened at the corners of his vision as Hatchet shoved it in and Harris hyperventilated so hard he passed out.
The feelings and the sounds woke him up, a wet squelching and him being rocked. Maybe the older one had realized he didn’t have the time for this distraction because he was fucked hard and fast. Hatchet shouldn't last long at this pace and he thanked god for small mercies. It burned like a hot fire poker was fucking him. His insides seemed to move, and the skin and muscles stretched as they tried to accommodate the fat dick. Harris was soft again and resisted as the older man forced him to look at him instead of into the wall.
He glared up towards him but then suddenly Hatchet shifted his angle like he was searching for something with his dick and struck something. He first thought he had to take a piss and cursed over his lack of breaks, but then–
“Mmmmhhmm, mmh!”
The other one smirked, sweat on his neck and on his forehead. And the room had started to stink of sex and bleach.
“You like that, huh? Me rubbing against this spot? Yeah I bet you do, and what if I touch you here?” Rough fingers ghosted over his frenulum and Harris buckled. The fear he felt mashed together with this pleasure was enough to make him want more, even with the situation looking like it did, and with the shame skulking in the back of his mind.
It didn’t take much effort for Hatchet to make him come before he too creamed inside of Harris with a groan.
The other fell on top of the chaplain and breathed heavily against his neck. He sucked hard on the skin and grinned as he got up. Pleased with the hickey he left behind.
“Lehitra’ot, Harris. I doubt we’ll meet again.”
He straightened his clothing with a slight smile before getting up and peering outside.
He gave the youngling one last look before leaving and closing the door behind him.