The Deal

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Notes: This fic was inspired by Sealink’s excellent PWP, “Geocaching,” posted elsewhere, so you can blame her. If gore, violence and semi-non-con disturb you, you might be in the wrong place. For those of you who know my work, these characters are in no way related to any others I have written. Also, italics indicate thoughts.
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At least the screaming finally stopped. Wonder if I'm the only one still alive? Prob’ly. I never knew the smell of fresh blood could be this strong. It feels thick enough to choke on, but I don't dare. They might hear me.

I wish I knew who they were. After watching a great big invisible something gut Carter like a fish, I didn't stick around to be next.

You know how in movies, people bravely stand their ground, facing down unknown horrors with just broomsticks and attitude? What a fucking joke! They don't show you what a body being laid open really looks like, they don't prepare you for the awfulness of it. Or the stink. You don't know how terrible real agony sounds. Or how loud. The metallic snick of those bizarre wristblades being released to tear into Carter will live in my nightmares forever … if I live long enough to have another nightmare, that is.

So here I am, bravely defending the underside of my bed. You know all that commando training bullshit I got, so I could lead all these guys into the jungle to find that hush-hush thing they wouldn’t tell me about? Well, I forgot everything I ever learned. I don't feel bad, though, ‘cuz when the hush-hush thing found us instead, the one I heard them call “Predator” before they all died, so did most of the commandos with way more training than I got. No matter how prepared you think you are, people panic under pressure. Some freeze, some cry. I amazed myself by doing neither, but watching Carter's fate was incredibly motivating.

As much razzing as the guys gave me for being the token female, maybe I should be proud of myself for reacting this well. But remembering their teasing faces now makes me tear up, and I can't afford to sniffle or sob.

Keep your grip, soldier!

It's hard, though, because I can't block out what happened to Carter after he was dead. I hadn't known bodies could make the snapping, squelching noises his made as his invisible killer ripped his spine out of his back. I can see it held out in midair, like it was hanging there by itself, with his skull weighing it down. The blood on it was so dark it was almost black, so thick it oozed. I dunno how I managed not to puke. Maybe I was too shocked. It didn't seem real. Doesn't yet, but my lizard brain knows it is. That's how I ended up under here.

Oh shit!

Two feet appear on the far side of my bed. They're by far the biggest feet I've ever seen. They're a grayish green color, toes tipped with deadly looking claws. They aren’t from this corner of the galaxy.

My heart is squeezing so tight in my chest it's threatening to implode, but I somehow manage not to make a sound. I keep hoping if I can just be quiet enough, it'll miss me. If I can just be quiet enough, I'll become invisible, like it was earlier. If I will myself not to be here, then it won't find me. It won't, it won't, it won't--

Without warning, those terrible wristblades came through the mattress, inches from my head. I jump and squeal, like a little girl, before I can stop myself. The blades withdraw after my cry and it becomes ominously quiet. The silence lasts for so long I about convince myself maybe the Predator is deaf and hadn't heard me. Then it speaks, dashing my hopes.

"Out," it orders in a harsh, guttural voice that doesn't seem accustomed to the word it formed.

It's male, I realize.

That makes my guts twist up into knots of cold dread. At least Carter and the others had gone fast. I might not be so lucky. No matter how I remind myself this is an alien and maybe they don't have the same sexes we do and, even if they do, maybe the pitch of voices doesn't mean the same thing on their planet as here, the knots remain. Despite their color and size, the feet in front of me are humanoid, which means the rest likely is, too. My lizard brain also knows what often happens to human females on the wrong side of a war.

You know what they say about a man's feet, it prattles, unhelpfully, a remarkably anxiety-enhancing notion.

The Predator doesn't waste the effort of speaking again. With a roar, he lifts the bed and pitches it across the room. I scramble into the farthest corner from him, so stunned I can't scream. The rest of the Predator matches his feet; he's almost big enough to bump his head on the ceiling. He isn't skinny and otherworldly-looking, like some versions of the "little gray men," but massive and powerfully built, like a wrestler on mega steroids. Under different circumstances, I might find a human male built like him attractive, because I like 'em big. However, this thing just slaughtered everybody else I was with. It's hard to feel anything other than sheer terror.

He’s dressed like some sort of tribal hunter, his body festooned with weaponry and little skulls, splashed with drying blood. His face is covered by a plain mask, which is probably a blessing, but his hair is comically like dreadlocks. Want some ganja, mon? I doubt they grow 'em this big in Jamaica, either.

One hand, clawed like his feet, is wrapped around a tall, stick-like weapon. There is a stalk attached to one of his shoulders that's topped by a little cannon. As I look at it, it whirs, swiveling towards me. Instinctively, I throw up my hands and dive out of its path, causing its owner to make a series of strange, rattling noises.

Is he laughing at me?

"That's not funny!" I shout, suddenly fearless in my anger.

The sound stops as he rears back, considering me again. I can only hope his species is less like mine than it appears, because I'm on unwilling display here. I was on the night shift and had gone to bed just before the attack came. It's so fucking hot here I sleep in as little as I can get away with. That means a clingy tank and a thong. Not much left to the imagination there. While I don't consider myself overweight, I'd probably be considered too large to be cast to play my own role in a movie of my life, but I hadn't run across too many men who seemed to care. I'd been hit on by about half the now dead guys, and I think all but the gay one would've gotten around to it if there had been more time.

"Bastard," I hiss at the Predator, feeling a pang of sorrow at their untimely deaths.

As if he knows what I said, his reaction to the word is swift and immediate. He roars, obviously pissed, and has me by the front of my tank top and hauled to my feet before I can move a muscle. His hand is so big it's pushing uncomfortably against both my breasts. This close to me, I can smell the scent of him over the blood. It's strong, but not unpleasant; mostly what I recognize is how male it is. If I ever had a question about his gender before, it's 100% gone now.

He seems to have come to a similar conclusion about me. Relaxing his hand so he can spread it out, he shifts it slightly to the right so my breast fills it. Pretty obvious what he wants. As he fondles me, he makes a strange deep trill that seems to vibrate inside me. I feel frozen, not sure what to do. His touch is disturbingly gentle.

I wonder if he’s had one of us before.

He bends down so his mask is near my face. “Fuck?” he asks, which answers my question.

I somehow manage not to faint or piss down my leg. I think about his feet, I think about his height, I think he’ll tear me in two. I shake my head vehemently, which makes him cock his head at me.

“No,” I add for good measure.

He releases my breast and I hear that metallic snick again. Those blades are suddenly under my chin, not hard against me, but close enough I feel their sharpness. “Fuck,” he repeats, “or die.”

There it is. He’s not content to just rape me. He wants me to agree it’s okay. It’s not as if I’m a virgin or anything. Lost that at twelve. I’ve had more than my fair share of men. Even tried a woman or two. And a threesome. Hell, once I woke up in a whole roomful of naked bodies and was afraid to ask. Fucking an alien, though, would certainly put me at the top of the freak heap in a ‘Can You Top This?’ pissing contest if I ever get to go to another bar.

If I live that long.

Suddenly, I know I might have a deal to make. I touch my own chest as I say, “I fuck; I not die?”

He touches my chest in turn. “Fuck and live,” he clarifies, agreeing to my terms.

If I let him fuck me, he won’t kill me. While the idea of offering my body to the thing that killed my team makes me feel kinda sick, I can’t help but be fascinated. It isn’t every day you get alien cock. And just because I let him inside me doesn’t mean I agree to like it. His hand flexes on my chest; he’s impatient for my answer.

“Okay,” I agree, nodding.

He trills again. I feel it between my legs, which freaks me a little.

You’re not going to like it, I remind myself, sternly.

Abruptly, he releases me. He must’ve flicked a control on the stick weapon, because it starts folding in on itself until it’s so compact he can clip it to his belt. Once he’s done that, he goes to fetch my discarded bed, which is leaning against the opposite wall. He lifts it like it weighs nothing, turns it over and sets it down in the center of the room.

Predators fuck in beds, I think inanely, fighting a mad urge to laugh my head off, because I doubt he’d appreciate it.

He looks expectantly down at the bed, points at it, points at me. I take a deep, shuddering breath. Despite the unwanted tingle between my legs, I’ve never been this scared before, not even when I was cowering under this same bed. I try giving myself another pep talk.

All you have to do is lay there and let him do what he wants. It won’t last forever, you know.

I’m still frozen to the spot, but the Predator hasn’t noticed. He’s busily removing his mask, which makes my stomach knot up tight again. The shape of that mask, with its protruding bottom half, makes me nervous. Does he have a muzzle like a dog? Will there be a lot of teeth? Will I find him so repulsive that I’ll want to back out of the deal? I hold my breath while I wait for him to finish.

One look at his unmasked face and my lizard brain takes charge. I almost make it out of the room before he snags me. I scream and struggle, twisting and turning in his hands, terrified all those pointy teeth will bite my defenseless flesh. I marvel at my own ability to keep him from getting a firm grip on me, until he starts laughing again. As we near the bed, I realize he's been letting me do this to distract me from the fact that he's been moving back to the center of the room. As if he can read my mind, he throws me down on the bed and pins me so tightly I realize he had the power to immobilize me at any time. He's been playing with me.

I do the embarrassing girl thing---I burst into tears. To my amazement, he lays down next to me, keeping so firm a grip on me there's no way I’m going anyplace. He puts his great, scary head on my shoulder and starts to purr. Such a soothing sound coming out of so fearsome a creature dries my tears in a fit of giggles. Luckily, he doesn't seem offended. Instead, he begins to stroke my tangled hair. His touch is calm and careful, making it difficult for me not to start relaxing.

Either his females are like ours, or he's done this kinda thing here before.

For a long time we lay like that, with me too scared to turn my head to look at him. At last, curiosity gets the best of me. The first thing I notice about the Predator aren't his teeth, but his eyes. Buried beneath an intense brow ridge, they are yellow, like a cat's, but with human depth and intelligence. His protruding teeth are actually an extension of his mouth. He has two upper ones and two lower and I realize, watching them twitch, that they must be used in communication. As scary as their waving seemed on first glance, he's prob'ly no more likely to bite me than I am to bite him. Slowly, I reach up to touch his unfamiliar face. At the feel of my fingertips, his purring intensifies. I remove my fingers as if scalded, but a faint growl from him puts them back.

What if this is something sexual?

I blush, mortified. It's not the sexual aspect I find embarrassing, but the idea I might be encouraging him. The last thing I want is for him to think I agreed to this deal for any reason other than to save my skin. His flesh under my fingertips jumps impatiently, perfectly communicating his desire for my hand to move along it. I try to concentrate on what I feel, not what he feels. His skin is rough, but not scaly, like I thought it would be. He's surprisingly warm, warmer than I am. Whatever I'm doing must feel pretty good, though, because he trills again and I realize he smells different than before.

Uh oh.

I panic before I consciously understand why, struggling to slither out from under his confining head. The Predator realizes what I’m up to even before I do. He half rises off me, his hand suddenly painful in my hair.

“No,” he says, warningly.

When I wince, he lets go of my hair, but my relief is short lived. Those wristblades sing out again, slip under my tank top and rip their way back out through the middle of it. I’m so startled it takes me a moment to realize he has peeled the halves of my ruined shirt back to bare my breasts. I feel my nipples tighten when he trills appreciatively. I’m not sure if I’m reacting to my sudden exposure or his reaction to it. I refuse to think about that.

The scrape of one of his claws across a nipple forces me to. I suck in my breath sharply as the sensation runs deliciously through my nerves. The Predator purrs approvingly and does it again. Now I’m sure he’s been with at least one human female before. He know how to provoke reactions from my body way too well.

I wonder if he’s considered some kind of pervert among his kind.

If so, I’m quite sure he doesn’t give a fuck. He seems fascinated by how sensitive my erect nipples are. He toys with them, eyes trained on my face to watch me squirm. Damn if it doesn’t feel good, despite my best efforts not to respond. Damned if he doesn’t know it. When he leans over my chest, his dreads falling all around me, I don’t realize what he’s doing until I feel his mouth on me. It’s hot and wet and, at first, pretty much indistinguishable from a human male’s. I gasp at the unfamiliar contours of his teeth, the sharpness heightening my reaction to his lengthy tongue. I close my eyes, fighting not to moan, not to give in, but the swelling between my legs makes it hard.

He’s gonna be huge, I reason. What sense is there in taking him tight and dry if I don’t have to? Besides, who’s gonna know?

I doubt I’ll be proud of myself later, but at least I might survive to deal with that if I don’t suffer major internal damage. Much more likely I won’t get hurt if I’m wet and open and put up no resistance to him.

So I stop fighting it.

The Predator seems to know I just gave myself over to him, because he shreds my thong next. The savagery of it makes me leak, I’m so wet. The flesh between my legs is so tight with blood it aches. It’s a sweet ache, a pure animal demand to be satisfied.

There is no resisting anything he does after that. His head is between my thighs, his tongue is on my clit and his purr is the best vibrator in the whole world. I come, mindlessly screaming. He holds my hips still, making it even better. I should be afraid, I know I should, when he spreads my legs wider and his teeth encircle my most tender flesh. His tongue rolls up into me, deeper than any man’s can reach. I whimper, overwhelmed, and come again. He seems to like that, teasing and toying with his teeth and tongue until I do it a third time. I’ve always been good for more than one orgasm a go, but it’s never been quite this easy before.

When his body suddenly vanishes from mine, I open my eyes to find his hands fumbling beneath his loincloth and realize we’re about to get seriously busy. I know it’s a bad idea to look at his equipment, but I can’t stop myself. His erection is magnificent, easily the biggest one I’ve ever seen. For the first time, I seriously wonder if sex can be fatal. All the fear his foreplay has dissipated is suddenly back. And it brought company.

As he approaches me, I grab his arm. “I live?” I ask uncertainly.

Anger flashes in his eyes and I’m afraid he misunderstands and thinks I think he won’t honor our deal. Then he sees where my eyes keep darting and realizes what the trouble is.

He locks eyes with me, wanting to be sure I know he’s for real. “You fuck, you live,” he enunciates.

I let him have me then. Despite the fact that I’m as relaxed and open as I can be, and his entry isn’t brutal, it hurts. He’s more patient than I expect, pausing to give my tortured flesh time to stretch. It tries its best, but dayum, he’s big. I may like ‘em big, but the Predator’s cock redefines that word for me in an intensely new way. I strive to relax, focus soothing thoughts on my vagina.

With a satisfied grunt, he starts sliding into me. He somehow gets that whole thing inside me. I hadn’t thought it was possible to be this full and not split open. His eyes are closed, his frightful mouthparts slack, his breaths shuddering in and out of him in short bursts. It’s clear he’s in ecstasy, caught up in the tight fit of me. I understand now why he wanted to fuck me, ‘cuz I’m willing to bet the girls back home aren’t as small as I am.

To my surprise, his size is starting to feel pretty good. I flex my vaginal muscles around him and enjoy the growl it forces from him. He’s holding most of his weight on his arms to keep from crushing me, which doesn’t seem like the best arrangement for us.

“I need to be on top,” I suggest, having no idea if he’ll understand me.

He looks at me sharply, uncomprehending.

“Off!” I try, pushing on him.

I feel certain he thinks I’m trying to cheat him and won’t do it, but eventually, he actually withdraws from me. His penis is slick with my juice and my blood, so I must have torn a little. Still, I know there is no reneging now until it’s over. I get up on shaky legs and make him lay on his back. His eyes brighten wickedly once he realizes what I intend to do. As soon as he’s situated, I straddle him. His eager hands grab my hips, pulling me down onto him. I feel a twinge where I’m torn now, but I concentrate on the rest of the sensations, which are incredibly good.

It’s my job to fuck him now. I do it and do it well. As I rise and fall on his length, the Predator can hardly keep still. His hands roam all over me, pulling my hair, tweaking my nipples, claws breaking the skin at my hips as he tries to hold me still so he can grind up into me. Most of the sounds he makes are like no man’s, but I recognize pleasure when I hear it. He purrs and growls and trills his way to glory, taking me there with him. By the time he roars, releasing hot torrents of sperm into me, I’m screaming along with him. As full and as stretched as I am, I didn’t think it would be possible for me to come again, yet I do. It’s no minor flicker, either, but a fat, juicy reward for all my efforts.

Once my orgasm tapers off, however, all that’s left is the pain. He seems to know it, because he lifts me off him and lays me next to him on the bed. He pulls himself into a sitting position and turns to me.

“Live,” he insists, seeming very satisfied.

Feeling pretty good myself, I’m about to laugh when his fist crashes into my skull.

Lie, I amend, feeling cheated as darkness smothers me.

******

"Is she going to live?" The question is terse, but clinical, as if I'm a lab specimen. Prob'ly military intelligence.

Live. I hear his raspy promise in my aching head and know he was true to his word. His punch had only been to knock me out, not kill me. I keep my consciousness to myself for now.

"There was a lot of blood, but most of it wasn't hers. It killed everybody else first and saved her for dessert."

It? Just one of them killed fifteen commandos by himself? We're either majorly inept or majorly outclassed.

"We cleaned her out, gave her a few stitches and shot her full of antibiotics," continues what must be the medic. “God know what kind of STDs those things might have, but it's the best we can do. Her worst injury is the concussion. It looks like he cuffed her in the head pretty good."

"Before or after?" Sick bastard.

I can picture the medic shrugging. "Since it all happened at roughly the same time, there's no way an examination can tell us in what order. You'll have to ask her when she regains consciousness. For her sake, I hope she was out cold."

"I'm surprised she didn't get ripped up worse. Those things are eight feet tall—"

Thankfully, the medic stops him before he can get into gory detail. "Women are built to deliver a baby's head, so that flesh has a lot of give.” I hear papers flipping. “Hmmm … according to this girl's file, she's up for anything. Who knows? Maybe she was conscious and wanted it. That would decrease the tearing a lot."

You sure you don't know me? I wonder, because that was exactly what I thought when I surrendered to the inevitable.

"That's disgusting," the intelligence guy blusters. "How can you even suggest that?"

"You come from a planet where men have been known to fuck sheep and you can ask me that question?"

It's all I can do not to blow my cover by howling my ass off. After a long silence where all I hear is a heart monitor, probably hooked up to me, Mr. Disgusted speaks up again. He's obviously reconsidered the issue.

"Bastard was probably packing enough to make a size queen delirious."

You're damn skippy he was! I feel a sudden, unexpected fondness for the Predator’s cock and realize I would do him again in a hot minute.

The military intelligence guy grabs my attention back, but he's far less amusing this time. "You know it's better when they die. She won't ever have a normal life now. We can't let her out anywhere where she can talk about what she saw."

I'm going to be in quarantine for the rest of my life, I translate in dismay.

The good mood I've been in since discovering I'm still alive evaporates. Making a deal with the Devil for my life might not have been the best option after all.

"Poor kid," the medic says, and there is real sympathy in his voice. "Probably just as well if she's oblivious for awhile longer."

"Yeah," the intelligence guy agrees, and even he sounds sorry. "Just let her sleep for now. Contact me when she wakes up."

I hear the door open and close, and then it's quiet except for the monitor. Now that I'm alone, I let my tears fall. It hardly seems fair that I saved my life only to lose any freedom to live it. The bitterness is such a big lump in my throat I can barely swallow around it. During a pause in my private pity party, I hear a purposeful sound. Glancing around the stark white room, I see nothing. Suddenly, there is the most wonderful purring in my ear. Hope floods me as my Predator becomes visible. He must’ve been in the room with us the whole time.

He isn't wearing his mask. "Go?" he asks, his yellow eyes seeming to mirror my hope.

My big ugly ass hero has arrived, and, boy, am I ever glad to see him.

I don't make him ask if he can save me twice.