Till Death Do Us Part

The gun clatters as it slides across the uneven floorboards, coming to a rest at Daniel's right foot. He stares at it, noting how the dust motes swirl angrily around it in the light of the setting sun. It was once a beautiful weapon. He remembers walking past its display case many times and admiring its ivory handle, intricately carved with complex designs. Now the same handle, once polished till it shone brightly, is caked in drying blood - reducing this amazing piece of ornamentation into nothing more than a crude tool.

"Do it." A gruff voice says, and Daniel's hazel eyes flicker upwards from the gun to look at the man across him. The man is Ash Whitcomb - billionaire, CEO of a gargantuan multinational company, and Daniel's boss. He made his fortune in weapons manufacturing, inheriting his family business at an early age and rapidly growing it into the company it is today. Now at a young forty eight years old, he still gives off power and strength through incredibly meticulous about his appearance and fitness. Even the strands of gray on his stylishly-cut coal black hair only add a touch of class.

Even after everything, Mr. Whitcomb was still in his designer suit - the man has standards, after all. Over a week of fighting for his life and he still has standards. Even if those standards are now covered in a layer of grime, sweat, dirt, and blood. His leather shoes were scuffed and dirty, his white silk shirt showed little of its original color, and his necktie had been taken off and was tightly wrapped around his hand. Unlike the man himself, the wound on his hand was very poorly dressed, and the tie did little to staunch the blood, which refused to clot. Dark blood oozes out, and the drops fall onto the wooden floor and mingle with the dust.

Daniel's clothing reflects Mr. Whitcomb's tastes - similar designer shirt and pants. However, the brunette had long since ditched his own suit jacket, and swapped the dress shoes for a pair of rubber shoes he had found in an abandoned house a few days before. A haunted look passes over his features, and his body feels as if it belongs to a much older man, and not someone in his mid twenties.

"Just fucking do it." Mr. Whitcomb repeats again, for emphasis.

"You might be fine." Daniel whispers, barely audible. Even as he says it he knows it isn't true. He doesn't touch the gun.

The older man emits a low chuckle, containing no mirth whatsoever. "You saw how fast it happened to Geoffrey. It's going to happen. I... I can feel it crawling up my veins." He shifts his position, sitting more upright, causing the floorboards to creak underneath him. The two men are sitting in an attic of an abandoned house, with stairs that you could draw up. Convenient, and life-saving. Moving at night was more dangerous, as visibility is much lower - the men knew that it was comparatively safer to camp out somewhere and wait for daylight.

Daniel's lips tighten. Shakily, he picks up the gun. He quickly sets it down again on the ground. "I... I can't. I don't know how."

"Yes, you do."

"I... won't."

Mr. Whitcomb presses on. "You will. You'll have to."

The younger man reaches down again and lift up the gun. It's heavy in his hands. Fear mars his handsome features as shaking, he uses his thumb to cock the weapon. One monumental task done, he sits back down again across the other man, holding the gun, watching and waiting. Mr. Whitcomb groans out in pain, and Daniel's body stiffens, raising his weapon and pointing it at the older man's head.

"Oh God! It hurts." Mr. Whitcomb sweats profusely. "Do it!" he yells out. "DO IT!"

Daniel scrambles to his feet, moving closer to the other man so that his shot would not miss. One week of hell has not prepared him for killing another person - not even if his life depended on it. This was worlds apart from defending yourself against the roaming abominations. His hands shake as he positions his finger over the gun's trigger.

Mr. Whitcomb clutches his chest in agony, but looks up at Daniel. The expression of terror and sadness - the face of a dying man forever imprinting itself into the younger man's brain. He chokes out his final words. "For the record, and for what it's worth Daniel, you were great at your job, and even better in bed."

Daniel exhales and steadies himself, and looks the other man straight in the eye. "For the record Mr. Whitcomb, fuck you." He squeezes the trigger.

-

~~~~~~~~~~

-

A knock on the door causes Daniel to look up from his book. He had just settled into the modern looking but surprisingly comfortable sofa by the fireplace and was at a good part of the book, and the intrusion was less than welcome.

"Come in!" he still says cheerily, and a woman in her late thirties pokes her head inside. She's wearing the uniform that all of Mr. Whitcomb's staff wears, a combination of simple whites and blacks cut in simple but elegant shapes - some designer's take on a classic maid's outfit.

"Mr. Everett, sir, Mr. Whitcomb has sent word that he will be arriving in approximately thirty minutes." Daniel flashes the woman a smile, and she bows her head and doesn't make eye contact.

"Thank you, Dolores." he says, warmly.

"You're welcome, sir." she responds in formal tones.

Daniel sighs. Countless times he's tried to ask the staff to call him as Daniel, but they insist on being exceedingly and painfully professional with him. He believes it's probably because Mr. Whitcomb has people to check the security footage of the rooms, and the man always insisted on utter professionalism.

"Did Mr. Whitcomb request anything in particular?" Daniel asks, running a hand through his short light brown hair. He puts down his book and gets up, stretching, his white cotton shirt riding up to expose his toned abdomen.

"Mr. Whitcomb requested something simple for this evening."

Daniel nods. "Thank you. Please have someone come put out this fire." At that the woman nods and then leaves, shutting the door behind her. Daniel stretches a little bit more, then picks up his book and puts it back into the correct area on the shelf. The library was one of his favorite rooms in the large penthouse suite, a cosy nook in an otherwise stark and minimalist place, and he spent a lot of what free time he had in here.

He walks out into the hallway and down the corridor. The plush black carpet is warm and tickles his bare feet as he walks along it. The hallway is lit with small crystal chandeliers and on one side various modern artworks added splashes of color to the white walls, while the other side is a balcony looking down onto the first floor. He walks past an open pair of large heavy doors which lead to the bedroom, locate across an expansive staircase that lead to the landing of the apartment, and he catches a glimpse of Dolores and the other staff members inside the bedroom setting up. They were changing bed linens, putting on soft music, lightning candles, and other similar activities.

There was a total of 4 serving staff who rotated shifts through the large apartment. Dolores and Lynn do most of the housework and tidying. Jen is a very talented chef who manages to make lean cuisine somehow amazingly delicious, but ups her game even further when cooking for Mr. Whitcomb. And Benjamin is the butler who was present whenever Mr. Whitcomb came around to make sure the rich businessman's needs were all met. Well, most of Mr. Whitcomb's needs, anyway. Daniel himself was the 5th member of Mr. Whitcomb's staff who saw to the more carnal of the CEO's needs.

Daniel walks past the bedroom to a smaller set of doors a smaller door at the end of the hallway, and goes inside. Inside is a small marble-floored bathroom and a much larger carpeted walk-in wardrobe. Shutting the door behind him, Daniel peels his comfortable T-shirt over his head and removes his pajamas and underwear, throwing all of these to one side. He walks over to the mirror and inspects himself. He's about 5 feet 10 inches tall, with light brown hair, soft full lips, a slightly pointed jawline, and deep-set hazel eyes. He was well defined - definition showing in his chest, arms, abs, legs, and back - trim and toned as per Mr. Whitcomb's desires and expectations. On Mondays to Saturdays he either did laps at the pool or an hour and a half of yoga, and additionally on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays he worked out with a personal trainer on "problem areas", and only on Sundays was he allowed to rest, only to return to the same regime the next day.

At the sink, he picks us his electric razor and shaves, making sure his face was completely smooth. He uses a combination of clippers, scissors, and wax strips to make sure there wasn't hair in places he didn't want hair to be. It's tedious work, but he has had a lot of practice and it doesn't take all that long. He checks the time on a nearby wall-clock and goes to the nearby shower to quickly wash himself.

That done, he dries himself off with a towel, and throws that same towel into the corner where his clothes were occupying. He takes the blow-drier and dries his hair so he can perfectly style it to the fashionable hairstyle that Mr. Whitcomb had picked out for him. He moisturises his face and picks up the cologne his employer had chosen for him and uses a hint of it on his wrists and neck.

He then walks over to the walk-in wardrobe area, walking past and scanning the closed closets, having memorized their contents, till he reaches one towards the back, near a second door which leads straight into the large bedroom. He opens this closet and runs his eyes down the extensive selection of underwear. "Simple..." he mutters to himself, taking a small black jockstrap out of the closet and slipping it on, the piece flattering on his tight butt. That done, he grabs a silk robe which is on a stand near this second door and puts it on, going through the door and into the bedroom.

The staff have already finished and left, and they have shut the door behind them. Daniel breathes in the mild scent of lavender and orchids that the candles put off and listens to the soft music playing over hidden speakers.

The room is minimalist in design, with a large king sized bed in the center with soft sheets and pillows. There are a few tables around the bedside for convenience, and against a wall there is shelf containing some more interesting items that weren't to be used tonight. The large bed looks simple and elegant in design, but Daniel knows that it was custom built to look that way, but in fact has a lot of interesting features that could be employed when the mood strikes. On one of the small bedside tables was an open bottle of red wine and two wine glasses. Daniel glances at the wine bottle, noting that the bottle of wine is practically half his age. He removes his robe, stashing it out of sight. He sits at the end of the bed near the entrance to the door, legs spread slightly apart invitingly, and waits in anticipation.

"Just in time." He mutters to himself, hearing the defining clackety clack of dress shoes on the staircase.

The large doors swing open, and Mr. Whitcomb walks in, undoing his tie as he comes in. When he comes in, the doors swing shut behind him.

"Good evening, Danny."

Daniel registers that Mr. Whitcomb has to call him Danny tonight, knowing that he's expected to call him back using his first name tonight instead of a title or 'sir.'

"Evening Ash." Daniel looks up at his employer, giving him a small smile. "Come here and let me help you with those clothes, you look like you've had a rough day."

The older man walks up to Daniel at the foot of the bed, such that the brunette was eye level to Mr. Whitcomb's abdomen. Daniel looks up at the businessman, giving him a wide eyed innocent stare and biting his lip, knowing this was a major turn on for his employer, while raising both his hands up to start working on the buckle of the other man's belt.

"Not yet." Mr. Whitcomb commands, grabbing Daniel by his arm and pulling him to his feet. He pulls the younger man close, planting a bruising kiss on Daniel's lips and wrapping a possessive arm around him. Daniel melts into Mr. Whitcomb's kiss, parting his lips and tasting the expensive whisky he keeps in his car's bar on the other man's tongue while the older man grips Daniel's ass, trailing a finger along the crevasse.

In an instant, Mr. Whitcomb spins his employee around and pushes him forward onto the bed so that the younger man lands on both his hands, one knee on the bed and the other leg still attached to the floor. Sensing what his boss wanted, Daniel crawls onto all fours, perking his beautiful ass to Mr. Whitcomb, who kneels down, parting the younger man's ass cheeks with palms and pushing his face and mouth deep between those cheeks, his hot tongue searing Daniel with pleasure as it invades his asshole. Daniel moans appreciatively, truly loving the servicing he was receiving from his employer. Mr. Whitcomb is a true expert and Daniel never had the need to fake the pleasure he received from these rimjobs. The older man flicks his talented tongue in and around Daniel's asshole, sometimes rubbing his stubbled chin around to cause extra friction that Daniel loved. The brunette arches his ass backwards, trying to maximize the contact he was receiving. And too soon, it stops, and Mr. Whitcomb stands up and starts to unbutton his shirt, revealing inch by inch of hard muscle that he diligently maintained.

Daniel flips over and scoots once again to the end of the bed, hands in a flurry to unbuckle the older man's belt. Hastily, even before Mr. Whitcomb is able to remove his shirt, Daniel has the man's pants and underwear pooling around his legs, freeing his employers hard cock from its confines. With his right hand, he reaches up and wraps his eager hand around the shaft, and with a quick deep breath, brings his lips to Mr. Whitcomb's throbbing cock, and swallows it down inch by practiced inch till his nose is buried in his employer's bush. Reaching that point, he angles his eyes upwards and sees Mr. Whitcomb's eyes looking down and meeting his and his face twisted in bliss. Mr. Whitcomb lets out a loud moan, and Daniel uses that as the cue to start servicing the older gentleman, pulling his soft lips almost entirely off the head before swallowing the whole thing down again to the hilt.

"Damn Danny, I love your hot little mouth. Suck my dick, you little slut."

The brunette's skillful manipulation gets his employer riled up, and Mr. Whitcomb grabs hold of the back of Daniel's head and thrusts to the timing of the younger man's blowjob, fucking Daniel's throat without any care for the other man's comfort. Daniel doesn't mind - he knows how to suppress his gag reflex and apply suction simultaneously - not an easy feat but one he was proud of mastering. He lets his employer fuck him hard, tasting the salty tang of pre-cum in his mouth. He knows instinctively that Mr. Whitcomb is not far off.

Soon Mr. Whitcomb is pulling Daniel's head off his cock, and the younger man smirks, knowing instinctively what to do next. He lies down on the bed, lifting his legs into the air and grabbing hold of them with each hand at the crook of each knee. The jockstrap he wears gives Mr. Whitcomb complete access to the younger man's asshole in this position, and the older man quickly grabs a bottle of lubricant on one of the side tables and pours a generous helping onto his veiny shaft. Without much fanfare, he leans into Daniel, plunging his cock deep into the younger man's ass, and Daniel gasps in reaction to the intrusion.

"Oh shit, sir!" Daniel shouts.

Mr. Whitcomb sets off at a steady pace, and though Daniel truly does enjoy the sensations of his employer's hard cock pressing against his prostate, he still plays up the gasps and moans to add encouragement to his boss. Soon the pace quickens and Mr. Whitcomb grabs hold of both Daniel's legs and angles himself so his body is perpendicular to the younger man. He fucks furiously, sweat matting his hard, muscular body.

"Oh fuck me Ash, fuck me hard." Daniel starts to whimper, grabbing ahold of his own leaking dick and bringing himself close to the edge, as Mr. Whitcomb grunts in reply and picks up the pace. "Yes. Oh fuck, sir, your cock feels so fucking good. Oh my God fuck me. Yes. Yes! YES!"

With a great bellow, the businessman thrusts one last time and cums deep into Daniel. Daniel times himself well and jerks himself off at the same time, spraying his hot seed over his abs, one spurt hitting as high as his collarbone.

Panting hard, the older man sags into Daniel, putting his weight onto the younger man's body, his deflating cock slipping out of the brunette. Daniel breathes heavily as well, enjoying the post coital glow. Mr. Whitcomb, catching his breath, rolls over onto his back, and Daniel begins on another vital aspect of his duties.

"So Ash, how was your day." He says, lying back and staring at the ceiling, still covered in his own cum. He knows Mr. Whitcomb doesn't keep him around purely for the hot sex - there was many a beautiful young man who could perform deliciously dirty acts for a rich employer. Younger men, too, if Mr. Whitcomb so desired. Daniel knew that part of the reason he had lasted so long was because he was a good listener, and acted as a good sounding board to his boss' problems. Though Mr. Whitcomb would never admit it, Daniel knew that were a few key decisions that the CEO made that definitely only happened because he had discussed it in detail with the younger man.

"It was fine Danny." Mr. Whitcomb says from his position on Daniel's right side. "Up until the point that you shot me."

"W... What?" Daniel stammers, bolting upright in bed and looking to his right. Mr. Whitcomb is sitting upright, and staring at him. As Daniel stares, perplexed, a red dot appears on the older man's forehead. The red dot widens, becoming a gaping, festering bullet wound, from which blood starts to drip and splatter onto the bedsheets. Daniel can only stare in mute horror as Mr. Whitcomb's face starts to decay, as if rotting at a thousand times the speed of normal.

A low moan comes from Mr. Whitcomb and he lurches right onto Daniel, pinning him to the bed. "No! NO!" Daniel yells, struggling to free himself, but the decaying older man grabs hold of Daniel's shoulders, lowering his jaw to Daniel's neck, mouth open and drooling, preparing to take a bite.