For Love of the Dead

by Hal Bodner

  Jake released Mark’s trapped arm and whirled inwards to face him, lashing out with the knife at the same time. Hartner let go of the taller man’s abused dick and managed to deflect the thrust with his forearm, slamming into Jake so hard that his hand went numb and the knife flew off into one of the barn’s dim corners. Chests heaving, gulping for breath, and, in Jake’s case, bleeding, the two adversaries separated, each of them assuming a ready crouch.

  “Tearing you apart with my bare hands will be only a little harder for me – and a lot rougher on you.” Hartner smirked.

  Without another word, he rushed forward. With a roar of fury, Jake met him head on, their bodies slamming into each other, droplets of sweat erupting into the air as they grappled. Jake’s greater weight proved advantageous and he was able to bear Mark to the ground. But as soon as he got to his hands and knees, the smaller man twisted out from under him and sliding across his blood slicked skin, managed to slip behind. Jake felt a hard muscled arm snake around his throat, and instinctively bent forward from the waist, letting his own head slam into the floor in the process, pulling Hartner off balance. He turned and the two of them lay naked chest to naked chest, hands locked to wrists, with Hartner on top.

  Mark slammed his knee into Jake’s groin and, abandoning all sense of fair play, Jake lunged forward and sank his teeth into the meat of Mark’s shoulder.

  “I...will... kill you!” Hartner grunted.

  He brought his knees up and, pushing off from his toes, he hopped into the air and slammed both of his knees into Jake’s solar plexus. The air whooshed out of Jake’s lungs and for a moment, his vision went dark and fuzzy. By the time he could draw breath again, Hartner had retrieved the knife and was kneeling at his side with the blade poised at the base of his dick.

  Once he was sure Jake would not lose consciousness he said with an evil leer, “Look at you. Lying there naked and helpless. Just a big hunk of stupid meat. I am gonna so enjoy slicing this off. I may even keep it as a souvenir. Say bye-bye to it.”

  There was a searing agony as the blade bit in. Jake’s eyes closed and he drew breath to scream even louder than before but before he could do so, someone else’s shriek split the air.

  “You! ”

  Jake’s eyes opened and he saw Mark Hartner’s hands clutching the sides of his head and the terrified look on his face. He was staring at something Jake could not see from where he was lying on his back. For the moment, Jake didn’t care what it was so long as the knife was no longer about to cut off his dick. Seizing the respite, he slammed both his hands into Hartner’s chest, knocking him backward and scrambling out from underneath.

  He tenderly cupped his balls and examined his poor abused genitals. His testicles were swollen and bruised; he might have trouble walking for a few days, but he thought they’d recover. Though his dick was lacerated, the knife wound looked to be not much deeper than the fingernail marks. Hartner had been stopped in time. It hurt like a mother, but at least, Jake thought with relief, everything was still attached where it was supposed to be attached.

  Once he was fairly sure he had no permanent injuries, he glanced towards Mario with concern. The young Greek was unconscious and hanging like a broken puppet, but his chest rose and fell evenly. The damage Hartner had inflicted might be killing him, but it was doing so slowly. With luck, Jake had perhaps another few minutes to disarm the fiend, put him out of commission, get Mario down, summon the paramedics and—

  Damn, but it looked hopeless.

  He longed to comfort the boy, to soothe his hurts, to take him in his arms and to somehow assure him that everything would be all right. He wanted to cradle his head against his chest, stroking his bare shoulders as he sobbed, to wait with him while the ambulance was summoned, to hold his hand reassuringly during the ride to the hospital, to stand next to him while his wounds were dressed and treated. In fact, Jake realized with a start, perhaps it was the residual magic of the night they’d spent together, perhaps it was their shared ordeal, perhaps it was simply a matter of two people who were destined to be together finally meeting, but whatever the cause, he suddenly knew he wanted to be with Mario for as long as possible.

  But first, there was the matter of Mark Hartner to resolve.

  Jake turned his attention back to his lover’s torturer and was completely flummoxed by what he saw. Hartner was crouched on the floor, the muscles of his chest and arms clenched, a look of abject terror in his face, literally cowering in fear, his eyes fixed rigidly on a strange glowing light on the far side of the barn. For the life of him, Jake could not see what had Hartner so frightened. It was obviously not some natural phenomenon but, as far as Jake could tell, it was simply a ball of glowing—something. It was large, perhaps seven or eight feet in length, but it was certainly not as ominous or threatening as some of the things Jake had experienced during the past two days. Nevertheless, Mark Hartner seemed paralyzed by the sight of it.

  A moment later, the mystery resolved itself. In the center of the light, a pinpoint of something darker appeared and then, as if it were coming closer, it grew larger. Jake blinked as the brilliance intensified, and just as he was about to close his eyes against the glare, it brightened for a split second and slackened into a dimness that his eyes found more manageable.

  “We told you we would be here for you when the time was right. When you needed us.”

  “Daniel?” Jake recognized him instantly.

  The blond boy nodded, his green eyes both sad and triumphant at the same time. “Your task is not yet finished, Jake Marshall.”

  He held out his arms and in his cupped hands Jake saw the small dagger Tyler had given him. Jake could have sworn he’d shoved it into his pocket and then forgotten about it. But, by some magic, there it was, oiled and gleaming in Daniel’s hand. The razor sharp edge caught the reflection of the dim glow emanating from whatever other-worldly doorway Daniel had just come through, catching the light and intensifying it. The intricate handle, which Jake had barely noticed before, had been engraved with what looked like same weird script he had seen so recently at Tyler’s house. AS he looked at it, the letters seemed to shimmer and glow.

  “I...I can’t...” Jake stammered, but Daniel’s confident gaze never wavered. He seemed to know, even if Jake doubted, that the blue-eyed mortician had still untapped hidden reserves of strength.

  When Jake’s hand closed around the knife handle, it seemed strangely familiar, as if it had been carved specifically with his grip in mind. The instant he touched the polished wood, Hartner broke free of his paralysis and scrambled to his feet.

  “You wanna wrestle again?”

  His words were flippant but his voice wavered, uncertain. Hartner made as if to dart in and grab the knife from Jake’s hand but his body jerked, brought up short as if something was holding him back. He struggled against invisible restraints, cursing and spitting. His arms flailed, his muscles strained and, slowly, four nude figures began to coalesce around him. As soon as he saw what was happening, he railed against it, screaming imprecations, his body twisting as he sought to break free while his arms were pulled out from his sides in cruciform.

  The blaze of hatred continued to bloom in his eyes as the translucent specters became solid. The bald man who had hanged himself and the compactly built, dark-haired little gymnast had each seized one of Hartner’s legs and prevented him from walking by wrapping their arms tightly around his thighs. The exquisitely muscled, hairy blond man gripped Mark’s shoulder and stretched out his arm to the right; the surfer boy, with deceptive strength for someone so slim and youthful-looking, did the same on Hartner’s left side.

  Propped at an angle, leaning against a pile of decrepit crates and discarded rusty farm equipment, lay some old planking. Mark’s captors dragged him backward across the floor, paying no heed to his struggling and incoherent growling, and slammed him onto the boards face up. Hartner winced when the splinters dug into his back and even his cursing was interrupted by a yelp when the blond and the
surfer twisted his arms behind him, effectively pinning him in place against the wood as if he were tied to it. The other two specters – the bald man and the gymnast – seized his legs at the ankles and pulled them just far enough apart so that Mark could not maintain a firm stance and gravity forced him to lean back against the boards. Nevertheless, he strained his body forward, gnashing his teeth together and whipping his head from side to side with the effort to break free, his bare chest heaving and smeared with dust and sweat.

  The others waited dispassionately until the cursing and ranting faded. The steam of his fury released, Hartner finally collapsed onto the board, panting heavily and glowering. He lay there, partially spread-eagled and vulnerable, his naked breast exposed. A memory of an old movie he’d seen washed into Jake’s mind. In it, a young British colonial had been captured by African natives, stripped to the waist and laid out as a living sacrifice for some tribal god before he was eventually rescued in the nick of time. The picture Mark Hartner presented was very like that of the youthful English soldier facing his fate.

  “It is time,” Daniel intoned from across the room.

  Jake took a few steps forward, the knife handle slippery in his clammy palms. Mark saw it and for the first time, he seemed to make some mental connection about the knife’s intended purpose. His eyes widened with shock and a brief flash of fright, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared to be replaced with an expression of cunning.

  “You won’t, you know,” Mark whispered in the tones of a lover confiding a secret fantasy to his partner. “Look at me!”

  He arched his back slightly, bringing his beautifully sculpted chest even more prominently forward, showing off the striations of his pectorals, the sharp buds of his nipples, the ridges and slabs of muscle where his solar plexus met the top of his stomach. His hips twisted and his groin shifted forward an inch or so. His thick dick stiffened, jutting like a flagpole from a base of blond hair darkened to a rich pecan color from his sweat. Hartner clenched his stomach muscles, and as Jake watched, his dick bobbed and leapt.

  “I know you want this,” Mark crooned, making his organ twitch again. He gave Jake a slow, sly wink before continuing, “I can give it to you. And I can give you something even better as well. All you have to do is put down the dagger.”

  Jake’s eyes drank in the magnificence of Mark’s body and felt the stirring in his own groin. His fingers slackened on the knife handle.

  “I’ll tell you a secret.” Hartner’s shy smile was remarkably authentic. “I’m a virgin.” He nodded. “It’s true. Never been fucked. I’ve been...saving myself for someone worthy of the honor. And, Jake? I saw the way you looked at my ass.”

  At his words, Jake recalled the smooth unblemished bubble of Mark’s butt, the way the muscles at the tops of his thighs shifted when he walked, the tiny hairs covering it, so fine they were invisible to the eye but would be soft – oh, so soft! – brushing against a cheek. Jake’s mouth dried at the thought of running his tongue up the crack of Mark’s ass, teasing the rosebud with his lips, probing the hole and tasting the salty essence of his juices. What sweet delight it would be to drive this magnificent body insane with sensation, to press his chest against the hard flare of Mark’s back, to place his dick at the very crack of his ass, moving it around in tiny circles, not quite penetrating and with just enough pressure for Hartner to anticipate the thrusts to come.

  Jake wanted Mark to plead with him, to beg him to fuck him. And Jake would oblige but would take his own sweet time about it. He would tease and torment his hole until he could stand no more, until Hartner felt he would go insane from the built up desire and frustration. And, just when he had reached the limit, Jake would plunge in with one sure, strong stroke, unlubricated and violent. He would relish the scream ripped from Mark Hartner’s lips as he violated the pristine recesses of his perfect ass.

  He’d pull out slowly and ram his dick back in, over and over, establishing the harsh, pumping rhythm of a dynamo. Hartner’s back muscles would bunch, his hips would push against each of Jake’s thrusts as he sought to give the other man deeper penetration. His cries of pain would turn to shrieks of delight and—

  Lost in the fantasy, Jake had approached within reach of Mark’s pinioned body. In fact, he found his free hand already touching Mark’s chest, his fingers sliding in the cooling sweat as they ran across the muscled plains.

  “Kiss me, lover,” Mark murmured.

  Jake bent his head forward, his lips barely brushing Mark’s. He could smell his breath, hot and thick from their recent struggle, with the undertones of a scent that was reminiscent of burning leaves and a hint of sweet acidity, which Jake recognized as the lingering faint smell of one of the embalming chemicals he and Lucy used. Their tongues met, moist and warm. Mark’s pushed forward, his teeth gently trapping Jake’s tongue so he could better tease it with his own.

  Both of Jake’s hands rose to Mark’s chest, kneading the muscle for an instant. He shifted his grip on the knife, holding it in his palm with his thumb so his fingers could better feel the buds of Mark’s nipples grow hard and perky when he ran his fingernails lightly across their tips. Against his thigh, he could feel the push of Mark’s huge erection, pulsing and wet. Jake broke the lip lock for a second and looked down; it was not Mark’s sweat which dampened his thigh, but the almost transparent aspic of pre-come.

  “I’ve been waiting for you, Jake. Drop the knife and you can have me any way you want.” He jerked irritably against the hands holding him fast to the board, but the four dead men tightened their grip to keep him from rising.

  “I’m sorry about the boy,” Mark inclined his head towards where Mario was sagging, still bound. “I needed to do something to get your attention.” His voice became almost sweet and kindly; it was as if Hartner suddenly had begun to care about something other than himself. “I know how you feel about him. I won’t interfere. You can take me, take me as hard as you want, and toss me away when you’ve had your fill and go back to the boy. Hell, you can even set up housekeeping with Mario and keep me on the side...whenever you want. I’ll make myself available to you, I promise.” He grinned. “With Mario, you can have love. With me...” He parted his lips and licked them slowly. “You can have excitement.”

  “I don’t want excitement,” Jake said slowly.

  “Oh yes, you do!” Hartner’s head bobbed up and down and his smile broadened. “With me, you can indulge yourself. Do anything you want to me, no matter how...” He captured Jake’s eyes with his own to make his point. “No matter how dark or twisted. With me, you can share all those little secrets hidden deep in your soul. Think about it.”

  Jake kissed him again, this time slamming their mouths together so hard he felt his teeth cut the inside of his upper lip. His tongue probed deep, seeking to reach as far back as it could. And Hartner moaned deeply in his throat. Jake came up for air for only an instant and, immediately, began ravaging Mark with his mouth, nipping as his neck and throat, his fingers digging into the muscles of his chest and shoulders – hard – never remaining where they were for more than a second before moving on to another spot on Mark’s restrained body. Jake pressed their chests together as if he was trying to merge himself into Mark’s magnificent body. His hand snaked down to Mark’s dick, grabbing it and tugging it for an instant, then leaving it to fondle his balls.

  It was like the blue-eyed undertaker had developed a sudden and insatiable passion for the beautiful demon and was driven to assuage it all at once. Hartner stretched and relaxed his muscles as much as he could, languidly and erotically presenting himself to the exploration of Jake’s mouth and hands. He writhed like a whore or a porno star, moaning and panting for effect, and all the while a smile of supreme triumph was plastered on his face where Jake, busily exploring his body, failed to see it.

  “Is this what you want?” Jake panted.

  “Oh no, my blue-eyed lover, it’s what you want that’s important to me now!”

  Jake pressed his naked tor
so full length atop Mark’s. He could not help noticing that the physical fit of their bodies was close to perfect. He brought his head forward, resting it on Mark’s shoulder, and nipped gently at his earlobe before placing his lips close and whispering in a bedroom voice, “Can I tell you something?”

  “Anything, baby.”

  “You’re a monster.”

  Mark’s eyes widened. This was not what he expected.

  “I know,” he hazarded, for the first time uncertain. “You can help me get over it.”

  “No,” Jake whispered back with ineffable sadness, “I can’t.” A pause. “You have no respect for human life, no regard for anyone’s feelings and needs but your own. Your entire existence left nothing but misery behind. You took me by force, not physically but by force just the same, and made me want it. Just like you did to countless others. You killed the woman I loved like a mother. You...”

  Jake gulped. He could not allow himself to be distracted or overwhelmed by his emotion. Not now.

  “You tortured the man whom I think I may want to spend the rest of my life with. And do you want to know something else?”

  “What?” Hartner spat the word with annoyance. Things had been going so well, and now it seemed Jake was venting his spleen.

  “I forgive you.”

  The words didn’t register at first. Mark frowned and shook his head as Jake drew back, separating their bodies by a few inches.

  “What are you talking about?” Hartner allowed some of his irritation to show.

  Jake looked deeply into his smoke-grey eyes and repeated, slowly, taking a pause between the three words so as to allow Mark the full import of his meaning.

  “I...forgive...you.”

  Mark Hartner gasped and a look of horror washed across his handsome face. “Wha...wha...?” Then realization dawned.

  “Don’t you fucking dare!”

  Scant seconds later, his voice took on a new timber as his scream of outrage became a shriek of agony. He looked down at himself, saw the blood welling from the slice across the left side of his chest, and he began to gibber.