Seven Deadly Sins

Chapter Five
Dream of Screams
(or Odd Men Out)


The Kid and Destroyer patrolled the corridors, searching for the enemy. They found nothing after Kid's panic and the bloody sleeve, though they continued to look for enemy activity. Destroyer watched the Kid, who seemed to be perfectly at ease. That had the older man worried. You didn't feel that confident on your first mission.

"Don't get cocky, Kid."

"M'not. Apocalypse is prowling around out here, probably following us. The best back up there is, out here."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah, she's a fucking psychopath," the Kid said, laughing. "Almost super human. She's got our six."

"You sure about that?" Destroyer asked.

"Absolutely."

Destroyer kind of wished he had a woman he could trust like that. As it was, he was the odd man out.

--

Apocalypse smiled, trailing behind the boys and out of sight. She'd given Reaper warning that Chaos had changed her orders, that she would go with Kid and Destroyer, protecting the rear. She felt her cheeks burning a little, embarrassed but flattered, at Stephen's confidence in her. It gave her kind of a thrill, which really, was just sad. She had been voted Queen of the Prostitutes, and was supposed to be as cold and unfeeling towards men as an icicle. Yet the Kid's attentions, the Kid's feelings and compliments and notions, made her heart patter in her chest like a school girl's.

We're doin' dangerous stuff, Danny-Boy.

Timon, Puumba. Great, now that we all know each other, Cally...

Get out of our pridelands! She laughed at the randomness.

Cally-Girl, have you ever wondered why all of our code phrases for "be careful" come from Disney classics?

Nope, don't really care. Be careful, though. Even though I got your six.

I will. Even though you've got my six.

Good boy.

I deserve to get laid! That made her laugh.

--

Mac leaned against the wall, watching Pinky monitor the surveillance screens and play video games on the computer. Is that what you did all day when you were stuck in a chair? Why didn’t he fucking read a book instead of playing those games?

Ah, what the hell did he care? He had better things to think about. Like a certain half-Mexican, half-French, twenty-year-old blond babe with braces and a very soft, pouty, kissable mouth. Like his beautiful daughters, only seven months old.

He pulled a small, wallet-sized photograph out of his pocket. His wife’s picture from her Senior year in high school, a year and a half ago. He stared at the full lips, painted with dark lipstick that matched the shade of her eye shadow and her silky Oriental top. In the picture she was playing with a string of black pearls he’d bought her for Christmas to wear to the ballet with a gorgeous, black velvet dress. She was so beautiful, she nearly took his breath away.

Monique. I miss you, baby. You and the girls. He slipped Mimo’s picture back into his pocket and pulled out a family picture, him and Mimo and the twins, Hikaru and Sakura, the seven-month-old girls in their little sailor outfits. Mimo was ravishingly gorgeous in her knee-length kimono-inspired dress of cream colored silk embroidered with black cranes. She wore the black pearls again. His first real gift to her.

Mac heaved a sigh, and continued staring at the picture.

--

Pinky heard Mac sigh, looked over at him. The Japanese Marine was looking at a photograph, half-smiling, eyes dreamy and far away. It was a little disturbing to see him like that, actually.

“Who’s that there in the picture?”

--

Mac looked up at Pinky and hastily shoved the photograph back into his pocket.

“C’mon, who’s in the picture?” Sighing, he replied, “My wife and two daughters.”

“Ah. Can I, uh… can I see?” Pinky asked. Mac reluctantly pulled out the photo again and gave it to the man in the cyber chair. “Beautiful wife. If you like blonds,” Pinky added, seeing the other man’s murderous look. “Cute kids. I’d say, six, seven months. Real cute.”

“Thanks.”

Mimo-chan, I need you. God, I need to get the fuck out of here and find you and hold you. This fucking military shit is drivin’ me fucking nuts. Baby, I need you, so bad!

--

Monique “Mimo” Katsuhiko jumped nearly a foot in the air when Mac’s voice echoed through her head. She dropped her katana on her foot, the hilt smashing into her toe. She didn’t catch words, but the fact that she’d heard him had surprised her. Neither she nor Mac had very strong telepathy. She instantly replied,

Shi-chan, can’t you fucking wait? You made me hurt myself! Ow!

--

Mac cringed inwardly and said, Anything broken?

My toe hurts. You better kiss it better when I get in to see your Asian ass.

That’s not all I’ll be kissing, Mimo love, trust me. He chuckled, low and deep and rumbling in his chest, and felt her shiver in reaction. I love you, baby.

Yay! Love you too. Wanna have mental sex? I’m bored. Mac grinned, but replied mournfully, Is that all I’m good for? Fucking?

I like oral sex with you, too! Mimo cried earnestly. Mac choked on a laugh.

Fine, we’ll have mental sex. But only if I get to do all the stuff we talk about later on. Is that all right?

Like what stuff? Mimo’s voice dripped with innocence.

Like me fucking you in the bed of my pick-up truck like we did the night you graduated high school. You remember that? You’d been wanting it all night, because I’d been torturing you while you were supposed to be doing your make up. God you were so wet, so fucking tight. You screamed every time.

Loved every minute, she whispered in his mind, breathless. What other stuff?

Like me spreading your legs and fucking you deep and slow until you come screaming for me. You know I love that.

Takaashi…kuso.

Mac laughed softly. He could really enjoy this part of the mission, once he gave it a chance.

--

Screamer blushed bright red when she caught a whiff of Mac’s thoughts. She hated being such a strong telepath sometimes, when she saw stuff like that. She did not want to peruse someone else’s memories of having sex with someone else. That was just down right dirty. But sometimes she couldn’t help it.

Wondering where her sister was, wondering what her father would do when she and her sister finally revealed their presence to him on Olduvai (which they’d have to do eventually), and distracted by trying to seek out Nemesis and block out Mac at the same time, she didn’t see the giant aluminum cans stacked up on the stairs. She kicked the stack, and they tumbled down the steps.

Screamer gasped, and looked up in time to see a big, burly black man with a chain machine gun staring up at her in shock.

--

Destroyer saw the girl, the woman, and froze. Every nerve ending in his body began screaming, and his heart began to pound. He was caught in her brilliant, sparkling jade green eyes, her gaze full of wonder and fear.

In an instant, he saw what she was wearing- tight, black hip-huggers, a black corset-tank-top with stiff lace on the neckline, black combat boots with steel toes, a thin, white jacket that looked like she’d raided her boyfriend’s closet for a dress shirt.

For some reason, the thought of a boyfriend made him want to cut the bastard’s throat with a razor blade, like the old Steppin’ Razor would’ve done.

“Hey….” He managed to croak. The girl took off running, her long, black braid trailing out behind her. “Hey!”

He ran after her.

--

Nemesis nearly had a hemorrhage of the frontal lobe of her brain when her sister cried in her mind, Nem! Nem! They saw me, they saw me, he’s chasing me!

Holy fuck! Who? Daddy?

The Destroyer!

The Destroyer? Oh! Oh, hell, Screamer, um… John! Panicked, knowing her sister could never outrun one of the RRTS, she called for Reaper. John! Destroyer’s chasing my sister!

Tell her to stop running or he’ll shoot her! Let him catch her! Reaper yelled in her mind, and Nemesis relayed to the other girl, Screamer, stop running! Stop right where you are! Let him catch you!

--

Screamer skidded to a halt and turned around to the face the way she’d come. She’d wait for him, then. Oh, crap, he was gonna take her to her father and she was gonna be so fucking busted, holy crap.

Aw, fuck it.

Hooking her thumbs in the waistband of her jeans, shaking her hair a little to make it messier, she cocked her hip, set her Bitch-O-Meter to Arrogant sex goddess and waited for Destroyer to come. When he came, he stopped dead in his tracks and stared at her for a long moment, and Screamer had no trouble catching what he was thinking about.

--

Destroyer stared at her hungrily for a very long moment, stared at her long legs in their black flared jeans, at her curvy hips, slender waist and rib cage, full breasts in their tight black corset tank that bared enough of her pale skin to make him want to lick her like a vanilla ice cream cone. Lick her all over.

Oh, baby doll, oh, honey, Destroyer thinks you are hot

She stared back, daring him to come to her.

“What’s your name?” He asked. “Are you all right? Who are you?”

My name is Sarra-Sofia, but most people call me Screamer. The voice was gentle and sweet, a little husky, a bedroom voice perfect for whispering about intimate pleasures of the flesh. It was echoing in his mind.

The girl was a telepath.

--

Screamer watched him set the machine gun down. He still carried a rifle slung over his shoulder, so she was still wary. He approached her slowly, asking, “Are you injured in any way?”

No.

“Mind if I check you out myself?”

No, the girl said, pushing the thought gently into his mind. I don’t mind, if it will make you feel better.

She reached out her hand, and he took it. He wasn’t wearing his gloves. He should never have touched her bare skin.

He lost it.

--

Destroyer’s mouth descended on hers with bruising force, and he stole kiss after desperate, hot, searing kiss from her sweet lips. A fire burned in his veins, seared him from the inside out. He had to quench the fire or he would die, simply die. The burning, blazing wildfire in his body would kill him if he didn’t sate it.

Why am I doing this? Why am I doing this? He asked over and over as he yanked the zipper of her black corset down and open, spilling her pale breasts in their black lace bra to the cool, open air. His battle-roughened hands cupped them, squeezed them gently, massaging the soft, white flesh.

Oh, yes, the girl moaned in his mind, and whimpered aloud. Touch them, touch me, oh, God, please, Destroyer, please, touch me.

Soulmate, he thought at her as he continued caressing. Soulmate.

Yes, she whispered. The word was so right. Oh, Destroyer, yes, yes, soulmate, yes.

Somehow he’d gotten her pants unzipped and shoved down around her calves. He pulled the scrap of black lace underwear down, too, spread her knees. The angle was awkward, but he didn’t give a damn.

Destroyer, she moaned in his mind. One thick finger pushed into her wetness, stroking and rubbing inside her until she was fucking herself on his finger, moaning, begging. More, more, Destroyer, please!

“Anything for you, baby,” he groaned, only half-aware of what he was saying. He pushed two fingers inside of her, and she cried out. “Anything,” he repeated. He pushed her up onto the railing, wrapped her hands around the cold iron bars. “Don’t let go,” he ordered. She nodded, and then screamed once when he knelt between her spread legs and began nipping and biting and licking and lapping and sucking at her very center.

“Destroyer,” she breathed. “Destroyer.”

“Yeah, baby,” he said, bit down once on the tiny jewel of pleasure, and made her come with a cry and a shudder.

“Fuck me, Destroyer. Make love to me.”

--

Screamer begged, “Fuck me, Destroyer. Make love to me.” He got to his feet, unzipped his pants. She was whimpering and keening in anticipation. “Please, please, do it, fuck me, take me. Please, take me.”

Her entire body ached to be touched, to be kissed and held. The wet, hot throbbing between her legs begged to be ended. He had to thrust inside of her, end her hunger for him.

“Take me, Destroyer,” she whispered, and pulled him to her. “Take me, fuck me, do it, make me beg, Destroyer, please!”

Shoving, pushing, stretching so wide to fit, so good, feel him pumping between her thighs, making her buck her hips against him, take him deeper.

“Baby, baby, you’re so fucking wet, oh, my God! That’s it, that’s it.” She’s moaning, begging, fucking him, her entire body shrieking for release. Iron hard maleness between her legs, in her body, pressing against sweetness, making her vision blur, making her gasp, just a lower case o, not the big one yet, fuck, fuck, Destroyer deep inside, pounding pounding pounding into the slick wetness.

“Oh, shiiiit, Destroyer!”

Slap of flesh against flesh, sweat sheening their bodies, so dark and so white, look into eyes like burning black fire and feel the pleasure of it between her legs. Driving into her, pounding, bruising ice white thighs, making her arch and press and rub and scream.

“Oh, God!” She cried.

“That’s it, baby!”

“Aaaaaaaaaahhh!”

“FUCK!”

They came together, crashing together, and Screamer collapsed into Destroyer’s arms, shaking and exhausted and a little sore. “Jesus,” he whispered. She kissed him.

--

Destroyer stared at her in amazement. Why had he just done that? Why? Now he felt so… content. He’d never felt content before in his life.

Darling love, her voice in his head. Sleep for but a moment. Goodbye.

Everything black.

--

Screamer watched Destroyer, now back to his former state of actually being dressed, then turned and walked out of sight, mind open for demons, before releasing Destroyer from the sleep. When she heard him walk away, back the way he came, she sank to the floor and sighed.

What was that? Her sister cried.

I think I just found my soulmate, Screamer whispered.