TITLE Gethsemane

RATING NC-17

PAIRING Evil!Sam/OFC

WORDCOUNT 2400ish

SUMMARY Sam gives in to his dark side.

WARNINGS Graphic sexual content and vividly graphic violence near the end. This Evil!Sam ends up with ZERO redeeming qualities, hence the evil in EVIL!SAM. You've been warned.

NOTES This fic is set after the end of season three.

"I apologize Sam, for misleading you." Odile stands naked in the hardwood doorway of the bedroom and looks to Sam where he's still laying on the bed. He stares for a moment at the pallid flesh of her hip, the curve of her bust and the easy slope her nose. She is a most profoundly tempting indulgence.

"Get out," is all he can muster. It's mid July and the air is too sticky, too muggy for any brand of comfortable. He rolls up, sits with the curve of his back to her and peels the sheet away from clammy skin.

"I'm not going to leave, I'm here for-" she hesitates trying to find the right words, but there are none, so instead she takes another step toward him.

"Get out." Sam repeats, this time with less conviction. He glances at the feather pillow bunched up at the middle of the mattress that smells like sweat and heat and cunt. He looks back at her and shuts his eyes, sends up a taciturn prayer to whoever might to listening.

"It's time to stop this show. Just because you say the words doesn't make their intent any more genuine. You don't want me to go." She tips her head, bobbing a hip for a moment before she wanders toward him. She moves with the incisive intent of a snake, slithering through lush grass with a poisonous tongue that could bring down Eden.

"What do you want from me?" Sam asks halfhearted, he no longer has faith in his own judgment. Just the tone of his voice lets her know that he's already conceded defeat. Doesn't want to fight. Doesn't have the strength for that. Justice and love and truth driven morality aren't his second nature anymore, good doesn't come as easily as the other vile feats that he refuses to admit he's developing a taste for.

"I was not sent to collect. I am a gift." She kneels before him, between his legs, pale eyes looking up to him with a wonderful artificial innocence. "Every orphan wants a family. I'm yours now Sam, and not like the rest of them. I won't abandon you like your brother. Nothing can snatch me from you, not even death."

Sam looks down at her, there is a final moment of struggle, the very last time he sees her malevolence as a flaw.

"I don't want to become something that-" Sam stops himself from verbalizing it. It's all inevitable anyway, there's no reason to make himself say it aloud.

"There's no reason to be scared. I will be with you for it all." Her eyes flash gray, not quite like the demons he's seen before, a different smoky hue that seems to float across the tempestuous surface of her eye. She drags the sheet from his lap and both their eyes fall to his half hard cock as she wraps her fingers around him and strokes gently.

"What are you?" Sam whimpers and reaches down to cup her hand as she works his dick, moves with her, so the grip is tighter. Twitches in her hand.

"I've gone by many names. I was once Arachne. When I hung myself she turned the rope to a cobweb and myself to a spider. But that's not where I began. Now I am Odile."

Sam's vaguely aware he's heard the story before but his mind is swimming and hazy, he can't get his memories to take shape. She's the ghoul haunting his every move, she's throwing new switches and unlocking doors too fast for him to take stock. His mind is sizzling with new desires and abilities. It's the operatic moment when he stops fighting and cleaves to her, suddenly the fear subsides and an affirmation that he's assuming a throne that's been his birthright, his very heritage from the beginning, at long last washes over him.

Sam pops to attention as she drops her head to his lap, runs her tongue over the head of his cock and then swallows the length of him with a muffled hiss that reverberates until his balls tingle. Sam palms the crown of her head, pushes her down hard until his cock nudges into her throat and she chokes. He holds her there, slowly, steadily pressing down, listening to the muted gurgling sounds as she gags, forced to gulp him down, little by little, inch by inch until tears stream from the corners of her eyes. The contractions of her throat pulse around him as her hands dig into the flesh of his bare thighs, eventually she gives in, breathing hard through her nose and sucking him as best she can.

Sam opens his eyes to watch her, watch her nose pressed into the crown of his pubic hair, as her saliva dribbles down onto his balls, leaking from her mouth where lips are stretched wide around the base of his cock.

For a glorious time he jabs at her with his hips, sharp upward moves that causes her to heave and retch as her eyes, blown wide and watering, gawk up to him for relief. "Stop it." He booms, a strident command that causes her whole body to fall lax again, compliant. Her eyes snap shut as she goes back to dutifully pleasuring him to the best of her abilities.

Sam grabs a fist full of her hair and yanks her up, her lips coming off him with a pop, her teeth scraping as he tugs her mouth off his dick. She sits up, her mouth wet, pink and her chin glistening slippery in the lamplight. She grins at him, Cheshire cat wide, as if he's just given her the moon instead of having fucked her wickedly pretty face.

He lays back on the bed, smashing a pillow under his head and gripping the base of his swollen prick, still damp from her tongue. She wordlessly climbs onto him, both watching as he spears into her cunt, thick cock pushing in, slick lips opening as he nudges the head into her and then pulls down her thighs until his erection is throbbing and hidden inside her.

She starts to move but Sam holds her down, all of his dick in her, so instead she rocks and squirms on him, which is more than enough for the sudden swell of carnal decadence that churns in his stomach. She's tight and snug and wet, a delicious combination that makes his balls suddenly taught.

"Please Sam, just a little, something that hurts," she implores, as Sam slides a hand up her chest, stopping a moment to pinch her puffy nipple, twisting hard and sharp before his fingers wrap around her throat and her eyes flutter shut.

"I hate you." Sam rasps, squeezes tight at her neck until her eyes go wide and then releases, his hand balling in her hair, yanking her head back so her throat is bared. She bucks extra hard, gives him a groan of approval and he imagines how eager and aroused she'd be if he broke her index finger or dislocated her shoulder. She delights in pain, something he chalked up to a fetish before he knew what she really was.

"No you don't," she tries to pull her head forward but he doesn't let her, snaps her head back even harder, twisting her hair around his fist. "You think you should hate me, but you don't. You will come to love me Sam."

Sam untangles his hand from her head and release the vice grip he has on her hip. He throws his arm over his eyes and jabs upward, she understands and fully utilizes her new full range of motion, sliding back and forth eagerly on his dick.

Sam's not as repulsed by himself as he thinks he should be. Instead he's confused and upset and so turned on he thinks he might vomit. When he picked her up in the bar, four days before, he hadn't intended on her being more than a one night distraction. But after she sunk to her knees for the first time and then later that night whispered in his ear, so poetic and hypnotizing, he couldn't get away from her. Truth be told, he didn't want to.

For a moment he thinks about lifting her up and watching her slide back down on him, only this time with his cock in her ass instead of her pussy. He reaches around to her backside with his free hand and wriggles his index and middle finger into her tight asshole, a move to which she responds favorably by moaning and twisting energetically on his cock.

He wipes the sweat away from his face, watches her watch him, those gray eyes that shouldn't belong to body as beautiful as hers, but they do. Gripping at the back of her neck he pulls down, arching up at the same time. He kisses her, gentle touch of his lips, subtle prod of his tongue before biting. He sinks his teeth into her bottom lip, sinks his teeth into the warm flesh of her mouth.

They both taste the metallic tinge of blood as she squeals, a high pitched wail into his mouth when she bucks and comes, her whole body writhing on his cock and her ass throbbing and tugging at his fingers. She thrashes almost violently but her mouth, pressed hard against his, is eager as he tongues at the torn flesh of her lip. She in turn slides her tongue hard and full against his, tasting herself, moaning and pulsing and bleeding in a brutal crescendo as her nails dig at his shoulder and her world goes white.

Sam's hyper-aware of every touch and taste as he experiences the most violent, conflicted, staggering orgasm of his life. Grunting, he shoots hard, spurting sticky and deep inside her. He's mindful of her tongue withdrawing, her hips still moving, but at a low ebb, he's well aware she won't stop until he instructs her too.

When he's had his fill and swell of his body recedes, he taps at her hip bone as if he's tapping her out of a fight. She moves up, off his dick and fingers at the same time, then lays beside him, turning her head to nuzzle at his arm, making a distinctly feline purring sound into his bicep, her lips vibrating into sweaty skin.

It's the beginning of the end. An ashen re-birth into fledgling indulgences he's only on the cusp of craving.

*

Weeks later, as Odile lovingly holds his hand, Sam looks down at the flayed body of a formerly fetching young woman who's once pristine white dress is now sodden with her own blood. He kneels to finish the job, a strange flutter in his belly urging him on.

The maiden casualty of his reign.

"More Sam, just a bit deeper" she hisses, her eyes aflame with exhilaration, as she ogles the knife he has stuck in the girl's gut. Knuckle deep in the warm, slimy innards of her eviscerated abdomen.

The girl is still alive. They've been playing with her for hours.

All he has to do to keep her in place is will it. One passing notion on his brain and he could render her helpless. But they both prefer to watch her squirm.

The victim's glassy eyes stutter between the two pairs of eyes fixed on her. She moves her mouth but no words come out, she's trying to plead for her life, but she can't and her silent appeal for her mercy amuses Odile to no end and makes Sam's heart beat terribly fast, pounding like a heaving leviathan, raging in his chest.

Odile kneels down beside him, running a hand up Sam's back, leaning to croon in his ear; "The first soul is always the sweetest, remember this."

Sam twists his wrist upward, the girl screeches louder than any human noise Sam's ever heard before. Her whole body twitches, three times and then goes from stiff to wilted as her life is ended. A nefarious throb begins to surge up Sam's spine, wrapping around to his chest until his whole body is humming like a forgotten piece of machinery that's been well oiled for the first time in a decade.

"I love it-" Odile chokes on her words, emotional, "love it when they howl," Odile chimes beside him, tears in her eyes and bursting with such pride, so much so that he can feel it, like a heat radiating from her.

"I know." Sam murmurs. He rocks back on his heels, thoughtful, thinks maybe if he tries he might be able to feel badly about this. If he really gives it some effort there could be a shred of empathy still left somewhere in him.

Instead he stands, giving one last regard to the mangled corpse. Odile prances beside him, bobbing from one leg to the other in livid excitement, the heady scent of death still spicy and thick in the air. Every conceivable sensory perception has mutated, he can smell the sweetness of her gutted veins, feel the power and appreciate the magnificence of her tortured agony.

"Oh, the things you'll do Sam," she shakes her head ardently, making a several clucking sounds, her tongue snapping loudly at the roof of her mouth. Her willowy hand snakes into his blood covered palm, lacing her fingers with his, in the slick red gore. "My darling, when the end comes, at the beginning of the new order, they will all fear you."

"I have a gift for you," Sam gazes at her adoringly, she was right from the beginning, he does love her. That is, as much as he can love anyone or anything. Her devotion is unfluctuating, endearing, but her companionship and loyalty is invaluable.

With the blink of his eye they're walking down a sunny suburban sidewalk. Both dressed the part, disgustingly average looking at they wander hand in hand to the fence of a crowed playground.

"Pick one, anyone you want." Sam promises at the shell of her ear.