Sex is a Job Description? Ch. 09

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Galloglaich
Galloglaich
1,062 Followers

Sohm's features lost their redness and began to fade slowly back to their normal blue hue.

"What, and this isn't for any kind of report or file or record or anything. This is just a friend of his asking for his sake. What did you do to him to make him have an episode like this? I've only seen two of these before, and neither of them were this bad."

Sohm paused for a moment and read Greg's facial expressions, his breathing, the scents and odors coming from him, his pulse, everything she could sense about what he was thinking without actually touching him. Her dark eyes scanned the rims of his pupils, measuring how hard his heart was beating. If he was lying, he knew she'd know, but he was a good liar she assumed, so he could be cocky enough to lie to her and think he could get away with it. She listened to the ultrasonic thud of his heart in his chest. He didn't seem to be lying, not even from the smell coming off his body.

"I..." the slime began, biting her lip in thought. She measured her words carefully. "I thought that it would be a fun little experiment to see how much he likes to be dominated. I had already been very pleased with his performance up to that point, moreso than usual, so I wanted to do something special for him. I wrapped my arms around him and put my hands around his wrists and pinned them to the wall behind him. It wasn't hard or rough or angry, actually it was very soft and gentle because I didn't want him to feel like I was Ceria's kind of dominant."

"So did he just freak out right when that happened?"

Sohm shook her head, hair rippling all the way down her back until it merged with the rest of her fluid blue flesh. She ran her fingers around her ear and down the side of the blue cascade, a very human gesture despite a Hell-spawned creature that naturally held no form.

"No, but that is when he changed. He gave me a strange look, and I should have realized it then, but I didn't. I was too content to slake my own desires and at least try to keep him interested in another run. He started to express all the little signs of fear, his pheromones, adrenaline, his irises fluctuated, his heartbeat rose, face, shoulders tightened, everything about it I should have recognized! I did, but I thought it was just part of the fun!"

The slime's lip curled and she stroked Tom's cheek as if he were going to break if she laid any pressure on his features at all.

"And after that is when?" Greg asked.

"He started to fidget some, and then pry his way free, but I held him there and he just got worse and worse. He didn't say anything, he just fought me- and- and I thought he was just playing his part...until he really started getting upset and crying and screaming. Not like a child not getting their way, more like, well, someone being tortured. I stopped and let him go, but he didn't stop screaming and he ran straight through the sauna door. That's when he started trying to reach inside his head with his hands and claw his skin off. I called you when he started doing that."

Greg seemed to take in all of her words for a long time, his eyes never leaving the boy beneath her, his struggling slowly coming to a halt. Either the valium was working, or he was becoming exhausted. Sohm hoped dearly that it was both. She didn't know what to do about psychological disorders. They didn't make any sense, and no matter how much dopamine she pumped him with it hadn't helped. And she wasn't going near the lethal dose of any chemicals, despite their natural presence in his body.

Greg cleared his throat and swallowed hard. Sohm could see the redness in his lower eyelids and the excess moisture glittering across his eyes. "Well, I suppose the best thing we can do is tell the Department what happened and try to have him pulled from the list of agents being sent to Hell. I doubt this will change their minds though. They don't give a damn about him. Maybe the Director, but not anyone higher. They'd slit his throat in broad daylight if it meant a few more favors from someone down there," the older agent said bitterly.

"We can't tell anybody," Sohm said firmly.

Greg looked at her with disbelief. "Do you know what kind of turmoil he was in after the last two episodes? There's no way he can recover from this in three days, not to mention take a case subject before then! Do you think he is in any kind of state to do anything?"

The front door burst open and Harvey almost tripped over Sohm as he entered the living room. As soon as he saw Tom on the floor, calm and pinned by Sohm, his posture relaxed and he heaved a great sigh in relief.

"Thank God you've given him his medication," he said, grabbing a barstool from the kitchen and dragging it into the living room.

"We need to tell the Director and have Tom undergo a psyche exam like last time," Greg pushed, looking to Harvey.

"Agreed," the usually-monotone agent replied.

"Not agreed!" Sohm snorted. "Neither of you are telling anybody about this. If they know I'm here they'll use that bitch as a bodyguard for him and prevent me from ever seeing him again. No, this stays between the four of us and nobody else."

"Sohm, this is serious," Greg said, almost pleading.

The slime gave him a flat look. "I said no. And I mean not a single soul beyond the occupants of this room will know about this. Swear to me a pact of blood."

"Th-"

Sohm cut Harvey off. "NO!" she roared, balling her hands into fists. "No telling, no warning, no talking, no nothing! I said this remains a secret!"

"He could die down there!" Greg yelled, standing with his own fists balled.

Sohm laughed out loud at him. "Oh, that's very cute of you. Very cute indeed. Understand that more powerful forces are at work here than your entire race can muster. Sit down. I'm not letting him suffer injury or harm in Hell."

"What does that mean?" Greg asked, sitting now with his hands still in white-knuckled fists, as if he could truly stand any sort of chance against her in any conflict that might arise between them.

"It means Tom will have a powerful force, namely me, watching over his well-being as he descends into Hell, and there I will make sure his arrival is safe and return to mucking about in my own business from thereon in. Understand?"

"So what you're telling us is that you're going to babysit him until he gets to Hell, and then leave him alone. No returning for more...whatever you do, no favors, no nothing. No contact."

Sohm nodded. "And to take care of any after-effects of what happened earlier, I'll spend the night here mending what I can and keep him happy." After a moment, she added, "Though having copies of those psyche examinations would be most helpful in the process, if you understand what I'm saying."

"Harvey?" Greg asked, turning to the quite agent like a son would to his father for advice. For a moment, the agent said nothing, just staring at his feet mulling something over in his mind, perfectly contemplative and calm.

"We can't do anything about this. She's a slime. There's a reason they only ever lost one war," he said quietly, looking at Sohm straight in the eyes after he was done speaking.

She nodded at his pleading gaze.

"I will care for him until he reaches his destination. Then he is yours."

Greg bit his bottom lip and turned his eyes to the ceiling, contorting his face with clear dissatisfaction. "I don't like this at all," he said, making clear his position a final time. "Fuck, I'll get the documents. Harvey, you stay here and make sure she doesn't do anything stupid while he's out. I'll be back soon."

Greg pulled his keys out of his pocket and made his way quickly out the front door, slamming it hard in his wake.

"Is he always that...anal? About rules?"

"He's protective of Tom. As am I," the agent replied stoically.

"Like a mother hen who looks at me as a hungry fox."

Harvey gave her a flat look. "You're a demon. That's much worse."

"You humans confuse me. That was a joke, right?" questioned the slime.

"Only partly."

------------

Fentin placed another figurine down on the large map before him. The tiny man bearing a standard and a shield faced Fentin, dutifully awaiting orders for battle. The demon admired the figurine for a short while before picking up another one out of the box holding down one corner of the map. This one was of a man pulling a bow taut with tension.

"Tell me again, Mefur, where our archer regiments have taken positions on the escarpment. I can't seem to remember if it is a thousand paces north or south of the river crossing," the demon asked, placing the figurine down directly across from the river crossing.

"North, my lord," replied the servant, reaching into the box to retrieve two more figurines of bowmen for Fentin.

"Excellent, ahead of schedule," Fentin said, elated at the timing of his troops. He placed the three figurines north of the river crossing and then waved his hand for the box across the table. Mefur opened it and poured its contents across the map's northern portion, gathering them up in ordered groups based on their function.

Fentin surveyed the map carefully, overseeing the position of his forces compared to the two shoals that allowed for foot movement across the river. He had the southern shoal under his control, his forces awaiting the order to storm the watchtowers on the opposite side of the river. He could muster in an hour some seven thousand soldiers to storm the towers, but the promise of heavy casualties and a great deal of effort to do it dissuaded him from assaulting the towers directly, at least for the time being.

The northern shoal was still coming under his control, however. His archers were en route to their desired positions, and even ahead of schedule it would take hours before they were in position to block a crossing of the shoals to the west side of the river by the garrison at the outpost guarding the north crossing.

"Milord, our scouts have returned from their reconnaissance orders," said a servant who entered the war tent in a hurry. Fentin nodded and waved his hand toward himself twice, lazily moving a figurine from the east side of the river to the west.

"Send in Haern," the demon said, hoping for good news for once.

"Yes milord," the servant replied, bowing respectfully as he left the tent. A few moments later, Haern stepped in, pulling the rags down from around his face and throwing his torn hood back to reveal a long streak of red running from his upper lip to his wounded ear.

"Milord," he said, nodding with the respect he was willing to give, as he was a bit uncultured for having survived so many encounters with nobility and royalty in the Second Circle.

"How is the situation across the river?" Fentin asked, grabbing some of the figurines representing the opposing forces.

Haern shook his head. "The Pikes are leaving their fort and heading east. The Blades are manned by the rearguard. Some rangers are hiding in the forest, but the fort is empty or has too few men to offer a fight."

"So Pikes Den is nearly empty..." Fentin said, placing one figurine bearing a dagger inside the little fort on the map. "And the Blades hold only the rearguard of The Pikes." He placed two figurines, one with a sword and the other with a sling beside the two towers that rose from the map at the southern shoal.

"Were you able to estimate their numbers?" the demon asked, watching Haern wrap a bandage around his face, blood soaking it as he secured the knot behind his head.

"At the Den, maybe a few hundred, fewer though the longer we wait, and several hundred at least at the Blades. The rangers' numbers could be anywhere from fifty to two hundred. They gave us a good a fight as we gave them milord," the scout answered, relaxing his posture as he placed his hand on the pommel of a new blade at his hip, opposite of his shortsword.

"Losses?" Fentin followed up with, placing three figurines holding long poles two thousand paces east of Pikes Den.

"Twenty-three of my men were lost in the ambush, their range anywhere from thirteen to fifty. Probably closer to twenty or so based on what I saw." After that, Fentin waved his hand and Mefur lifted the flap for Haern to leave. The scout wasted no time leaving without so much as a bow to his lord. Fentin resolved to make the scout realize that his manners were indeed necessary when in the presence of his lord and employer.

"Mefur, please find Commander Dresdean and tell him to pack camp. We're storming Pikes Den, the Blades can wait."

"Yes, my lord," Mefur replied as he began to move toward the exit.

"Wait, find Captain Vendr too, tell him I want to see him."

"Yes, my lord." And with that, Mefur left and Fentin was alone with his map, his armor, and his tiny hard-carved figurines. He held one in his hand, no taller than the span of three fingers. It looked so insignificant and feeble compared to his hand, easily crushed, easily destroyed. He wondered briefly how such things compared to the men they represented. Tiny, insignificant against the expanse of the land they occupied.

"My lord," Captain Vendr said, bowing low with his armor clinking at the motion.

"Captain Vendr, I've been told the Pikes Den is being emptied as we speak, and being so, I believe the enemy is going to either destroy or remove their stores and supplies in the fort. I would like you to take your force and ride north across the shallows to Pikes Den and occupy it."

Vendr seemed taken aback by the orders and contemplated his task before speaking.

"My lord, if I may..."

Fentin smiled, amused. "You may."

"How are we going to occupy Pikes Den? Surely the gates will be closed when they see us, and we have no siege equipment. Hellbores can only jump so high my lord," Vendr finished, making a joke to soften his opposition.

"Then I shall accompany you with siege equipment. Will ladders be sufficient in assaulting the walls?" Fentin said, walking over to his armor stand and tossing his shirt aside. "Call in the armorers, would you?" he said to Vendr over his shoulder.

"Yes, my lord." Vendr did as he was commanded and two armorers entered, bowed, and hurried over to Fentin to assist him in suiting up for combat. Meanwhile, Vendr's disposition changed entirely.

"Forgive me, my lord, but there is no need for you to take an active role in this battle. You are far too important to be left exposed to the enemy. To think that you could be killed in a simple river crossing is-"

"So you believe I will be killed then?" Fentin interrupted. "That I am incapable of defending myself and will surely be slain if I were to draw my sword and join ranks with my men?"

Captain Vendr knelt down on one knee, casting his gaze at Fentin's feet. "No, my lord. I merely say that it is a possibility. I would not enjoy being named the greatest failure of our lifetime by allowing my lord to fall while I still draw breath."

Fentin smirked. "Then make sure your lord does not fall today and all will be well."

Vendr left to ready his troops shortly afterward. Fentin finished with his armor and remained in his tent for a while longer, estimating the distance between The Pikes and his own forces. If their retreat was slower than expected, there could be a chance they might return to the battlefield and present themselves as a formidable presence against Fentin's forces. Time was of the essence, and Fentin was not keen on waiting to make decisions when that was the case. He donned his helm and secured both blades in their scabbards.

"One of you find General Voronin. Tell him to take over here; I'm going to see how things are proceeding elsewhere," Fentin said, giving the armorers a wolfish grin from beneath his helm. The two demons left their lord after bowing again and left him completely alone. He pulled a figurine out of his pocket, the tiny man bearing two swords made of gold, each only the size of a toothpick. He placed it inside Pikes Den on the map and then made his way out of the tent to the hellbore stable, which in reality was just a collection of large stakes driven into the ground and covered with large tarps.

There, Captain Vendr and his men were preparing to ride out. Fentin approached the stable and was greeted by the company of riders kneeling in respect for their lord. Captain Vendr addressed Fentin after he rose from one knee, adjusting the straps of his paultrons.

"My lord. What brings you here so soon?"

"I have come to take my mount and gather the siege equipment and men we need to take Pikes Den," Fentin replied.

"My lord, allow us to be your vanguard and clear the way. I beg you to reconsider your decision."

Fentin frowned. "If I were to take orders from you, then you would be the lord and I the captain. And what lord of worth would send his men where he would not tread himself?"

At this, Vendr knelt until Fentin's gaze was no longer upon him, and the lord continued past his captain without another word in protest. Fentin made his way through the crowded stable to where his hellbore, Acus, lay boredly. Upon seeing his master, Acus' large ears stood on end and his head snapped up.

"Acus, up. Time to ride," Fentin said.

The beast leapt to its feet and lowered its head obediently. The demon grabbed Acus' harness and slipped it onto the beast, securing the straps one by one until it wouldn't move at all no matter which way the hellbore turned. Fentin hopped into the saddle and made his way to the large deforested area where his siege equipment was being constructed and sections of the larger engines were being prepared for transport.

He met with the siege engineers and procured six ladders and three ronx to carry them. The scaly, reptilian beasts were large, but fast enough to keep good pace with hellbores at a comfortable riding pace. Fentin and the three ronx handlers hurried on to the winding path down the escarpment Fentin's war camp was positioned on. At the bottom, gravel and sand slowed their pace, the narrow river to their right in its low cycle, exposing much of the loose material that it usually covered.

Not far ahead, Captain Vendr and his men were forming ranks, waiting for Fentin's arrival with the utmost obedience. When their lord arrived, the company set off north for the river crossing. Some distance behind them, Commander Dresdean and his large force were on their way north as well. Fentin expected Mefur was busying himself with the war camp's packing up and relocation.

An hour of riding found the cavalry company at the river crossing, supported by a company of archers trickling down the escarpment to meet with them. The captain of the archers met with Captain Vendr and Fentin, nearly out of breath and covered in a dozen nicks and cuts.

"Their rangers have spread out through the forest north of here. We managed to scatter them, but we still need to pursue them to make sure they leave," the captain said, breaking off the arrow that stuck through one of his short horns. He absentmindedly began to pick his teeth with the blunted arrowhead, as if he wasn't in the presence of his superiors.

"Good work, captain," Fentin said, clapping the demon on the shoulder with a gauntleted hand. "Now split your forces in half and come with us across the river. We're going to storm Pikes Den and raise our banner over its walls."

"Aye lord," the captain said, turning to give orders to his men. Fentin looked across the river and scanned the opposite bank for any troop movement. His second reconnaissance force should be somewhere in the trees in front of them, if they had managed to reach their position in time.

Even if they hadn't managed, he was going to cross the river anyway.

"To Pikes Den!" Fentin called, drawing a sword and raising it over his head. He was met with curious enthusiasm and shuffling hellbore paws on the sand. He wheeled Acus around and found his cavalry company nervously waiting before him.

Galloglaich
Galloglaich
1,062 Followers