Angry Worm

"You're just a vacuum...?" I whispered. "I'm fucking a black hole. How is this I don't even-"

The darkness took me completely. I was aloft in the abyss, like Brahma in his primordial lotus. It yawned around me, drenched with my name as it filled me. I gasped, only to breathe him in, and Death hurled against my skull like the sea.

"Mind sex like Jesus," I rasped. "Oh my god."

The darkness contorted into a robe. I was in the lap of the Reaper again. Blackness peered back at me, smirking. Terrified, I forced his hood back.

He was faceless. Black nothing. It sucked at my skin, plunging me into eternity. I saw ages in its eyes: supernovas erupted before me, in the beat of a heart we came to the edge of the world. My little lonely planet was a pipe dream, the reality I knew void.

"Existential Nietzschean lovemaking?" I gagged, stomach rolling.

The black nothing pinched my ass. I gazed at it, incredulous.

"Stop grinding into me, abyss!"

I was being humped by darkness. It was horrific.

He came a final time. It was like I'd swallowed absolute zero into my nether region. Which, circumstances considered, was just about right.

"I don't have an Antichrist in the oven, right?" I cried out, bitch-slapped by a refrigerator.

I AM BARREN. thrummed the void.

"Err, right. Good. I mean- um, that must be a touchy subject- ack!"

He laughed low in his throat, suckling my breast. It was like being stabbed by an icicle. He slipped out of me, spent, and smoke rose from his tail. With heavy breaths he gained control of his form, slipping back into the guise of the basilisk king.

We stared at each other awkwardly. He cleared his throat.

"So- ahem. Um. Tea?" Samael smiled like he had a toothache.

"Legs?" I asked.

He quirked his lips. "It is... difficult. To... transform. After, well. I am sapped of strength. Nor do I have the focus."

"Alright, Voldemort. Where are my clothes?"

He was reluctant to let me go. He sighed, hugging me. "On the bed," he grumbled. "I could just carry you you know. You are very... cute."

"You don't like that word, do you?"

He snapped his fingers and candles illuminated the room, shining from a red chandelier. Like the interior of his hearse, it was bedecked in dark woods and leather upholstery. Bookshelves lined the walls. Tomes that belonged in the Library of Congress were piled on his desk next to a half drunk shot of vodka. The bed was what I expected, four postered, red silk canopy, black sheets with used laundry, excessively large and, of course, unmade. The wine colored sheets looked like they'd been gnawed on in his sleep. Either Death was teething or a restless sleeper. My clothes were draped at its head, carved into the shape of a tree with a serpent twined around it.

"You're not going to put me down, are you?" I said begrudgingly.

"I just want to hold you, maggot." He snaked onto the mattress, spooning me. "For once, don't squirm away."

I'd been trying to do just that. "Do I really squirm that much? Like, is it noticeable?"

"Mmm," he said, slipping his fingers inside me. He played with me lazily, tail sliding between my knees. "Now you do."

"Cute. Real cute."

"I am not cute," he sneered, muffled by my hair.

"Then I'm not either! And what we just did definitely wasn't-"

"It was beautiful. You never read the book I gave you, on relations between man and immortals. We come from alien cultures, Shana, whose reproduction is as different as that of spiders and a birds."

"Spiders eat their mates."

"As do some immortals. It is the circle of life. A mantis is not barbaric for beheading her husband. If she did not, there would be no mantises." He reached deep inside me, and I squeaked. Samael laughed. "So let me have beauty with you," he whispered, lightly kissing the back of my neck.

"Well, I'm not a basilisk," I said, staring wide eyed at the stained glass window. I moaned against my will, scared but not enough to make him stop. "Ooo. Ouch. Oh my god-"

"I'm your God. Abraxas. The union of Lucifer and Samael."

"No, you're my thorn. The kind that sticks in the side and refuses to leave- ah, no! Stay. You can stay..." He covered my mouth with his free hand, then poked his tail back in.

"Urgh," he growled. "Why have I never thought of this before-"

I bit his fingers and he yelped. "Because it's bestiality!" I cried. He trapped me behind his forearm, angrily grabbing my breasts.

"Not when the upper part is human."

"Deeper," I groaned. "Holy hell."

"That's more like it, lamb," he hissed, tongue flicking over my shoulder. "Who's your Prince of Darkness? I'm king of the lower depths, of the feminine nether regions of D'aath, Choronzon sucking nectar from Babalon's primordial lotus-"

"Okay, Sam. That just ruined it- gyah! Too much!"

He stirred within me, flexing.

"Then don't provoke me!- Gehenna, it's so cramped-" I throbbed around him in response to his invasion. My eyes rolled back in my head.

"So tight," he moaned, rolling over. His tail slid out and I gasped, rolling on top of him. We lay there in a messy heap, I on his chest out of breath, him almost passed out beneath me. He moaned, sliding so his face was under me.

"No!" I yelped, grasping the bed frame. He parted me with his lips and went at it again, tongue flicking in and out.

"This is my favorite place in the world," he sighed. "All this time, I've waited. Waited and waited for you." He held me fast by my hips, massaging them. I bowed onto the pillow, unable to breathe. His hands ran up my back to trace my spine.

"My Havah, my lily. You release me." His gigantic serpent tongue snaked from between my legs to my breasts. I watched it, horrified.

"Who's the praying mantis again?" He sucked at me like a leech. I told him so, and he flung me off, scowling.

"I am not a leech," he rasped, pupils consuming his eyes. He licked his lips. "I'm just hungry." He lay there, hands crossed behind his head, deciding not to move.

I cursed, grabbing my clothes. They were soaked like they had been tossed in snow. Something hit my hips. Samael laughed.

"Stop flogging me with your TAIL, you torture monkey!"

He pursed his lips: "You are no fun," then put the pillow over his head.

I muttered darkly and slammed open his closet. A cold wind slapped my face. It was a narrow hall the stretched on into nothingness, lined with robes, suits, and leather. The left had normal clothes: Grateful Dead t-shirts, polos, jeans, but the further back I walked, I found togas, that puffy white shirt from Seinfeld, armor, everything. I shook my head, then ran back to the entrance. His Hugh Hefner-esque bathrobe hung beside it. I grabbed the burgundy fabric and attempted to make it fit.

"You're too tall, Corpseboy. And thin." It clung to my curves like a second skin, then dragged along the floor like a bridal train. I tripped on the granite into one of his coils. He muttered, knotting around me. The door slammed shut- apparently, it had been opened- and the far end of his tail brought in a tray with a tea set. I stole a scone and munched it darkly.

"My life is ridiculous."

"At least you're living, worm."