Jeremy's Fall

It became a twisted pleasure to tie them off, plunge the needles into plumped veins to begin the exchange of blood for fluid. He took painstaking effort in choosing just the right fluid for the body. Appearance for Jeremy, was everything. He glowed when the families began to really comment and awe over how life like "they" appeared. Business began to pick up as families and friends spread the word about how much care and kindness and respect was given to the dearly departed and with the influx of new business, came new potential.

So it was late into the afternoon when he received notice of two bodies being brought over from the county hospital. Drowning victims. A male and a female. He was prepared for them, wondering if it had been a boating accident or involved drinking. Many drownings were alcohol related and even though he was somewhat young himself, Jeremy had already developed a deeper respect for those things which could end his life. Death, however, did not scare him. He knew it too intimately now to be frightened of it. Sometimes, though, sometimes you could see the fear of death stamped on their features. Horror, regret, surprise, disappointment and every now and then understanding, acceptance.

When his people arrived, Jeremy helped to unload their bodies into the chill of the holding room. He was anxious to see them, to know them. So fresh. He could feel his heart racing and the drying of his mouth in anticipation. Just maybe one of them would be right. He signed off on papers and wondered in the agonizing ten minutes he was required to stand around trading tasteless jokes with the drivers if he would ever get near them. Alone. Soon enough though, he was waving the guys from County off and turning back into the funeral home. Locking the door. Now nothing stood between him or his people. Now when he took his time in getting the preparation work set up, it was because he could. He took his time because the torture of not seeing them just yet and not knowing was absolute bliss. He felt himself hardening and brushed up against the edge of their tables intentionally, groaned low as the cool metal seeped through his slacks to tease the thick bulge of his eager desire.

His sickness.

He shook off the thought. He could not allow himself to acknowledge what was happening to him. He could not face that the thoughts of moral dilemma that accompanied acknowledging the truth of his actions. Grieving families should only be expected to face so much. That is why he had been so careful with him. No marks visible to their eye. But beneath the dark navy fibre's of his eternal resting suit, Jeremy knew those marks lingered. His passion. Their passion.

He turned and slid each hand into a powdered latex glove. A requirement. Though when he touched his people intimately, the latex was peeled off and that in itself became an exercise of exquisite delay. He doubted many others took as much pleasure in their works as he did. Jeremy never fully lived, unless he was here. With them.

He finally stood before the longer of the two bodies and with bated breath grasped the zipper and began leading it down and around. Denying himself even a glimpse of the boy until the bag was completely opened, he carefully folded it back and gasped. He could have been sleeping. Tanned healthy skin only just beginning to show the graying of death. Dark hair dipped over his forehead just brushed an eyebrow, his eyes parted open were bright startling blue. His face square cut, clean of hair, lips full but not to full for his face. A tall boy he'd been just hours ago in life. Six three. Lean with an athlete's underlying muscle. No identifying scars that he could make out. Nothing broken. Nothing cut save for the jagged lines where the body had been opened for the autopsy required of drowning victims. Just the faint hint of a tan where the noon day sun had warmed his skin just above swimming trunks. Oh and he was beautiful there too. Smooth. Shaven or waxed, but completely hairless. Cut. A nice size. Jeremy slid a hand down to palm the bulge that now throbbed violently inside his slacks. Perfect. He was perfect.

He dared not touch him, yet. There was still the girl and he didn't want to leave her alone inside the unforgiving dark of the body bag. Death came without grace most days and too soon she would be locked inside the dark for an eternity. He walked around the edge of the boy's table until he stood in between both, glancing back to those half opened eyes that gleamed like sapphires beneath the direct light above.

"I'll take good care of her." He promised.

He repeated the same slow measured opening of her bag, folding it even more slowly open and had to bite his lip to keep from gasping aloud. She was beautiful. As beautiful in the newness of her death as she had been posing for pictures on the boat hours earlier. She was long legged, sleek with a graceful little belly that barely swelled above the identically smooth shaven folds of her sex. Her breasts were neither small, nor large but sat upon her chest perfectly. Waiting for hands to mold to them. Pale, so pale she was. Just the hint of a rosy burn on her shoulders and a hint of peach blush on cheeks. A face he held himself back from noticing fully just yet. His gaze fell upon the necklace she wore that someone had kindly fixed so that it lay centered on her chest, her sweet body marred only by the identical lines of the autopsy cuts. The boy's class ring dangling from a fine silver chain. Class of 2002. Too big for her fingers. Long slender fingers that were tipped in pale pink nails. One broken on the middle finger of her right hand. Two on her left. Had she struggled against her death?

He kept his hands from her, though longed to trace the shapes of her body. To fix the wild mass of her hair. Deep red, the kind of red women ran to the store to buy, but that he was betting was hers by nature. Her eyebrows and lashes just a few shades darker. Mink. Her own eyes were wide open and just as lovely as the boy's. Curiously colored shades of grey touched with a hint of gold around the rim. Her lips lush, plump. He sighed.

His patience had been rewarded.

He turned half way and with each hand, extended his arms and splayed his fingers wide on their belly's. Perfect. Love blossomed within his heart. His people were perfect.

Part Three. - Jeremy's Fall

He knew their names. Knowing their names only made them that much his. Shannon and Kyle. Shannon of the Irish name and Irish coloring and Kyle the all American boy. His fingertips moved slowly over the incisions where the autopsy had lain them open, now only tacked together he would have to take care of them as they now already were beginning to...leak.

He rubbed the fine smear of their blood against his fingertips. It was deep dark red, nearly black. Dead blood. Tomorrow they'd be embalmed and they would be that much farther away from him. How he wished he had been there, to find them. To have enjoyed them in their first hour of death. To love them through the dying and take each last breath from their lips. To watch the dawning and the falling of understanding conscious from their eyes. How he longed for that.

He turned with a sigh to the boy and leaned over him, so close that his breath brushed still lips as his fingertips explored the handsome features. Cool, unmoving flesh. He nearly laid his lips atop his but hesitated, turning to her. Doing the same to the red haired girl, exploring her face with fingertips. So lovely. So smooth and graceful had her beauty been. Genetics that had gifted her with a face that people would sigh over. Cry over. Yet time ever the fickle lover, time had jealously called her back to somewhere where light and dark intermingle and beauty is possibility yet unknown. He did lay his mouth to hers and sighed against the pillowed softness, nibbled and tugged so gently with his teeth as the exploring hand swept down the curve of her throat. Closing around the fragility, wondering what it would have been like to be the cause of that last..gasp. Down further until he cupped the perfect weight of her right breast, caressing the nipple with his thumb. He begin to lose focus of what came next, what order he had already decided things should be done. His tongue swept over her lips and worked through the soft gasping part of them to find hers. Played with the tip, flickering back and forth with his own, his hand trailing further, skimming past incisions to stay along smooth unmarred flesh over that deliciously plump bare mound to explore further, fingering the small nub of her clit as a groan spilled into her breathless mouth, sliding further down to sink his middle finger into the depths of her, jamming it up deep into tight unyielding walls before tearing himself back with a gasp, panting in deep near violent bursts of breath.

He spun to the boy, his fingertips still smeared with the leaking incisions. He dried them against the boys leg and leaned to take soft deep bites of his thigh. "Oh you would have loved this, wouldn't you? Loved to see me love her. Loved to feel me using you. I know you would have my love. I know you would have."

He lifted his arm and bit the tender skin at the bend of the elbow upward. Leaving behind perfect sets of teeth marks that didn't quite break the skin. He hovered over his mouth again. Dizzied. Long moments passing until he forced himself to rise and move away from them. Missing them the moment they were out of reach, but knowing he must follow the plan.

The phone ringing startled him and it was with a shaking hand that he lifted the receiver from the wall mounted phone.

"Roseland Funeral Parlor, Jeremy Kind." He sounded normal for the most part. There was only a somewhat deeper pitch to his voice. A voice that always bordered on the softer side of masculine.

"Jeremy, it's Adam, did you get the two drowning kids in?"

Adam Billings was the owner of Roseland and of course the senior funeral director.

"Yes Sir, they just arrived. I'm cleared for the rest of this afternoon so I am going to clean them up now. They were sent over tacky, already leaking."

"Sons of bitches, you would think just once they could clean up the mess they make over there just once. Alright. I'm heading over to Washington Street for that three p.m. viewing. If you have any trouble, give me a page. Otherwise I'll see you there in the morning."

"Yes Sir, I think I should be fine. See you in the morning, Sir."

"Good work then Jeremy, you're a good reliable boy. See you tomorrow then."

"Thank you, Sir. Bye."

He hung up the phone carefully and slumped for a moment against the wall. His violently pounding heart slowly returning to a normal rhythm. He must learn to be cautious. He must control the wild tremors of his body and his voice. He was a good reliable boy. No one would ever suspect. He only had to remain..calm.

He pushed from sagging against the wall to return to the huge silver sinks to the east side of the room. He gathered big pans of hot and cool water, cloths, gloves and his staple gun with four packs of staples for each of his people. A gown and goggles and a mask. Methodically collecting and putting each onto a trolley save the gown and mask and the goggles which he put upon himself. He took deep breaths of the sterile scented air and pushed the trolley slowly across the cool tiled floor until it was stopped to the left of the boy. His gaze, dark and unblinking, roamed over his boy with slow assessing coolness. For now it was business, but he kept always in his mind now, their vanity. Their dignity. He drew his gloves on, sliding and twining his fingers together to assure a good fit of the pale yellow latex over his hands, tore open a packet of staples and loaded the gun. No sounds in the room broke the silence but his own muffled breathing, though usually he kept a radio playing on a local alternative radio station. He smiled behind the mask, remembered Trent Reznor staring down upon him from the posters in his room as he made love with him. He felt himself swelling and slid a gloved hand down, palming the ridge of tucked away hardness, shifting to allow comfort as the familiar tingle bloomed. He could hardly wait.

He closed the autopsy incisions as quickly and precisely as he could. He never enjoyed the posted bodies, but now that it was his very own people, his loves, he detested it even more. To be so violated. So disgraced. Left that way most of the time for the ride over to the funeral parlor. His jaw ticked with anger as he ran his fingertip down the neat line of staples on the boys chest, managing to use all four packets of staples before he was through and peeling away the blood and fluid tainted gloves before pulling on a new pair. Washing him would be a pleasure. A delicious treat. He was so beautiful. So well made. He dipped a cloth into the hot sudsy water and swirled it over the boys belly. Imagined if he were alive, the way it would cave in from the unexpected heat of it.

He covered his arms and legs, chest and face, washing with care, cleaned his feet which were still muddy from the lake. He picked out tiny bits of algae and debris from dark hair and with a deep breath taken in and held, moved to the task of washing his cock. He gripped him gently, sliding the soapy cloth up and down and for a moment became suspended. Imagining later when he would thread the small tube and create a hardness that would last..forever. He cleaned him slowly, deliberate in spreading open the small slit on the crown to wipe it absolutely free of any debris. Slid his hand down and cupped his sac, rolling it gently in his palm as soapy water covered him. His own cock was hard as brick, straining tautly against the confines of his tan slacks. He drew one the boys hands down from the table and held it cupped over himself.

"Rubbbb me." He whispered to him. Arched himself into the cold palm he held tight and rocked on his feet. Heel to toe. Heel to toe. Bit his lip to keep from gasping out in a guttural moan, feeling himself drip precum from the tip until it dampened his boxers. He curled his fingers tighter to the hand, forcing unfeeling fingertips to curl behind his sac and began to hump against the hand with a faster near violent motion that banged the back of his own hand covering the boys into the side of the metal table. When he could hold off no longer, he dropped his lovers hand for a split second to jerk down the zipper of his pants, worked his cock free and pumped it with his right, retaking the boys hand in his left and smearing the cool palm with clear warm glycerin as he stroked against it. He was up on his tip toes and half laid over the boy when he came. Jerking off into his palm as pleasure rolled up from his toes through his sac to gush out of the engorged head of himself. Drops of white splattered from their hands down to the tiled floor.

He stayed like that, half bent over the boy, for long moments; breath coming in hard waves. "Yea oh fuck. Oh fuck. You were so good. So good. I'm going to be soooo good to you later." He promised on a growl of breath, lifting their hands to lap and suckle his spend from both sets of fingers, licked like a puppy might at some offered treat that came only rarely.

And then he returned to business.