Splathouse Lore: House Call
Splathouse Lore is an ongoing series involving “Lore” Jack, a smarmy chainsmoking warlock, and his adventures. “Lore” Jack is totally unrelated to the author of this site in any way… ;)-J
He has the look of a man too angry to fail.
A cigarette burns at his lips, the cherry glowing beneath a tired face. His eyes are masked like a raccoon, save for the pupils. They bounce within their sockets with a feral, manic energy. His hair is a gray disaster, tame only for the winds that blow it. It cloys and clutches about his head-and he doesn’t seem to care at all. The black coat cinched about him tells of a slight paunch and barely contained shoulders. His jeans have holes big enough to send them flapping around his legs. He wipes his roughshod boot-clad feet right over the word welcome! On the mat, stubbing his cigarette in the process.
He lifts his head, those manic eyes settling one mine. They don’t move, they don’t stir. They just stare endless and unblinking as he speaks. His voice-it could have been anything, any sound at all-but it was just as gruff as the rest of him.
“So uh, you’re Jen’s friend right?”
“U-uh, yes. And you must be-”
“Jack,” he says. He shoves his hand forward with a fluid stab. I shrink back-I don’t mean to, but it comes all the same. I look down at the hand, and pause. Perhaps it was the gray twilight of the night, but right at the edge of his sleeve there seemed to be-
“You have to invite me in before I can get to work,” he says.
I blink, and look back at him. His face is dour, the bags under his bright eyes casting a contrast that makes my head fuzzy. I swallow, and shake my head.
“I’m sorry, I have to what?”
“Invite me in. Rules of hospitality, yadda yadda. Otherwise, I’m stuck here at the door frame. Consent? And we can solve your little problem,”
I feel the warmth in my cheeks before I can stifle it down. I pull my lips into a thin line, and cross my arms.
“How do I know you’re what you say you are? I mean, you could be like-”
“Lady, you can accept a six foot tall blue succubus, but a guy saying he’s a warlock is a stretch?” he says. He gives a sigh, and lifts a hand to his lapel. He digs inside his coat for a moment and pulls out another cigarette. He jabs it between his lips, his hand still near the end.
He snaps his fingers, and blue flames shoot in a small column from his fingertips. He takes a drag, gray plumes escaping as he shakes his hand.
It’s only then I realize he wasn’t holding a lighter.
“Look, miss. I could be home right now. But I’m not. I’m here, as a personal favor to a friend. A friend of ours, need I remind. What were you expecting? Some broken old fuddy with a staff?”
“I-okay, come in, come in,” I say with a sigh. I step to the side, and lift my arm. “But you’re not smoking in here, okay?”
Jack gives a grimmace-but tosses the cigarette to the porch. He crushes it beneath his boot, and gives a grunt as he steps over the door frame. He looms massive within it for all of a moment, a shadow the size of a mountain. The wind howls as he passes me, and I grunt as I shove the door close. I set the lock, and turn back to face him.
Only to find the hallway empty, save for his coat hung upon a peg.
@@@
“A what?”
Jack sits, legs spread, in an easy chair. His boots left prints all over the carpet, but I don’t say a word. With his coat off, I finally see his shirt. It’s black and riddled with more holes than a fable. The skin beneath is pale-except when it isn’t. At first, I thought it was a trick of the light. A fade to black, a swirl of gray. But sitting here now, I see it in full. Like his hands at the door.
The skin beneath that shirt, it’s shifting. Jack snaps his fingers, and I shake my head. I let out a loose cough, and try to meet his eyes.
“Sorry, I-”
“Everyone stares,” he says, arching his brow. “But this ain’t about me. It’s you. So tell me again. You get this-”
“Urge,” I sputter. I twist the rings on my fingers-little worry fidgets, something to keep my mind clean. Over the last month, I’d gone from one to ten. Always twisting them, always-
“An urge? That’s it? Jen sent me all the way out here for a freakin’ hormone imbalance?” Jack says. He gives a snort, rolling his eyes as he sinks back into the chair. “Look, I ain’t a doctor. I highly advise you to give yours a call, alright? This ain’t something you need my services for,”
For a moment, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to tell him I already had, that such a call had been months and perscriptions ago. I try to give my rings a twist-just to focus. But my eyes drift, lower and lower. Right until they settle upon my hands. Fingers curled into knobby little fists.
When the feeling comes-the urge-I don’t fight it back. It surges over my mind, and grips my tongue with a fervor I don’t hold in check.
“Look at you, warlock. Pathetic and fleshy as ever. A boy in his mentor’s guise, always reeling with a quip. Why don’t you put that tongue to work and fu-”
There’s a snap, and the room falls silent.
Jack sits opposite me, fingers poised. Between his thumb and index lies a wet, muscled and writhing mass. The humor from his eyes, the smarm-it’s all gone as he stares at me, and raises his other hand. Another snap, seconds away from destruction. He stares at me a long moment, the mass curling and flailing at the air.
It tries to speak, scream. But all that comes out are wet gurgles.
“Cats got your tongue love,”
He says this without a hint of inflection. Just the dull grit of stones atop one another as the sound escapes his throat. He rises from the chair and grips the hem of his shirt. It pulls free from him, and lands in a crumpled heap at his feet. I watch it’s descent, cold water filling my veins as I raise my head. The urge-what I’d come to call it-leaves as quick as it appeared.
Standing before me, ink swirling through every square inch of his pale skin, stands Jack. His eyes radiate like neon as his free hand meets his hip, the black lines hardening on his skin. Letters, numbers. Symbols like the manic scrawlings of a fever dream.
He drops my tongue atop the shirt, and snaps his fingers. The pile bursts into flames, a heady flow of smoke pouring up around his features. All the while, his eyes hold on me. Unblinking, unfeeling.
“Don’t worry, we can grow another,” he says.
For the second time, I try to scream.
@@@
“Did you have to take my tongue out?”
“Well, no. But we needed your ears more than your mouth,” he replies. He’s sitting back in the armchair now, a cigarette burning at his lips. With his coat back around him, he ashes on the floor as he gives a sigh.
He looks like someone’s exhausted uncle. It almost tells him as much-but my new tongue rolls behind my teeth, and it falls quiet. I clear my throat, giving my nose a wriggle. The smell of smoke-cooked flesh and cotton-it coats both. No amount of falsetto coughing or tissues can take it away. Jack takes a long drag, and closes his eyes as he speaks.
“So. Let me guess. We decided to play games with a ouiji board? Picked up some sage at Saphora? That it? A wild night with the tarot?”
“No, I-” I say, with a vain push against the lump in my throat. “I-it wasn’t anything like that. I uh, well-”
“Tell me, and tell me true,” he says. His eyes open once more and settle upon me. Over the soft roll of his stomach, I watch as the ink swirls and twists. One eye, two, nine. It’s a mass of them all aimed towards me. They don’t blink, twitch or shudder. Only watch. Just like his own.
“And dear? Don’t try to candy coat it,”
That lump in my throat, it only grows as those eyes stare on. I twist the rings at my thumbs, and take a deep breath. In the back of my mind, It screams. It rages against the words, but they come all the same. I have to coax them at first, but as the first passes my lips the rest come with ease.
“I-I was lonely okay? Out here, it’s not like I get a lot of company. Talking to people, being around them all the time, it’s-it’s really exhausting. I always feel like I’m going to-I don’t know, say the wrong thing? Screw up somehow, and that makes the rest-I, well-”
“Carnal desires unmet turn idle hands into play things, but an idle mind likewise,” says Jack. The eyes recess into his skin, twisting into indescernable lines. He rises from the armchair with a groan, and tosses his cigarette to the carpet. He stamps it out beneath his boot, and tilts his head upwards. As his coat slides from his shoulders, the ink surges towards his throat. Over his rounded stomach, past his soft pecs. They meet under his chin-and form a light bulb. He closes his eyes-only for them to open as radiant lines form around the bulb.
“An incubus, right? Succubi maybe?” he says.
“I mean, I-”
“I’m not here to judge,” says Jack. He steps forward, the echo of his footfalls loud as he draws closer. His hands meet his side, and I watch as the lightbulb dissolves. It cascades over his shoulders, lengthening and stretching thin. I watch as they twist and cavort, curling into thorny figures. By the time he’s close enough for me to feel his warmth, they’ve held made a clear image.
Roses. Massive, thorned things that go all the way up to his neck. He bends, his eyes level with my own. His head leans forward, and I hold back a shudder as he sniffs inches from my ear. He rises again, and crosses his arms over his stomach.
“No, not here to judge at all. That’s for the gods, if you think they care. I’m here to work. So. succubus, incubi-whatever. They got in more ways than one, didn’t they?”
My face surges with warmth as I screw my features at him. For a moment, It almost roars from my throat. I almost say it’s name even. But before I can speak, Jack raises a finger. I clap my jaw shut, and make sure my tongue is just as still.
“Let me make one thing perfectly clear. I don’t care. I don’t care what you summoned or why. It’s not my business. But in knowing, we can tame it,” he says.
I watch him for a moment, and try to ignore the pounding of my thoughts. My hands curl into fists on my knees, and I close my eyes. I breath out, and try to rid myself of the growing voice in the back of my head. It’s not mine, but it’s furious all the same.
“Fine. What do we have to do?” I say.
Jack smirks, and turns on his heel. He clasps his hands behind his back, and twists his neck. It gives an audible pop-one followed by his shoulders, arms and back. He rotates his left arm, and peers at me over my shoulder.
“Demons are a lot like strays. Feed them, and they stay. Don’t, and they’ll claw at the door until you do. Break it down if they have to. And you-you’ve not been feeding it at all, have you?”
“Well, I was. But the first time, it was just so-”
“Overwhelming?” Jack says. He turns towards me, and rests his hands in the loops of his jeans.
“…yeah. And it crawled into my mouth, and I just…I got stuck. And since, I’ve just been-”
“Ignoring it,” says Jack. He gives a nod, and takes a deep breath as he looks back at me.
“I get it. You’ve a need, so you tried everything. You got desperate, and made a choice. There’s nothing wrong with that. There’s nothing especially wrong with what you did-and there’s nothing wrong with the demon. But there is something wrong with starving it. It makes you a bad host,” he says.
The one writhing in the back of my head, it falls quiet. I uncurl my fists, and give a nod. Then I snort-I can’t help it-and look up at him.
“Wait-bad host?”
Jack nods, and says “Rules of hospitality, yadda yadda. You’ve been naughty, and it wants to give you a spanking. Standard stuff really,”
He raises a hand, pointing towards me.
“The means don’t matter. What does matter is making you both comfortable, and happy. The fell kin, they’re not so bad. Lot more like us than the feathered kind,”
I nod, and shift in my seat. There’s a spark of warmth in the pit of my stomach, one that surges up over the back of my throat. “Like Jen?”
“Aye. Like her. Nice girl, right?”
“I-I thought so. She was kind to me when I called,” I say.
Jack nods, and I watch as his hands circle towards the front of his pants. Right above the zipper. The roses on his arms-just mere buds before-begin to bloom into brilliant linework. I watch as their petals uncurl, and fall from their stems. They slide along his sides, his hips. Right into the waistband of his jeans.
“So. Demons are strays. Don’t feed them, they come knocking. But overfeed them, and-”
“Wait, are you suggesting I keep it?!” I start, only to pause as Jack raises a brow.
“Keep it? No. Not unless you want to,” he says with a controlled, even tone. “And even then, we’ve got to pull it out of y-”
“I don’t want to fucking keep it! Are you insane?!” I sputter, voice a high tenor. Jack just smirks, and gives a shrug.
“Depends on who you ask. My ex certainly seems to think so,” he says. He takes a deep breath, and stares at the ceiling. The roses, every petal gone, wash away into the depths of his skin. It surges along his waist, and in moments turns into a roiling sea. Waves cut over the brim of his pants, and lap at his belly button. “So, if you don’t want to keep it, that leaves over-feeding it. Give it enough, and it’ll slink back to whatever crack it came from,”
“By that you mean-”
“Yes. It’s precisely what it sounds like,” he says.
His eyes come to rest in a deep stare at my own. He lifts a hand and scratches his stomach as he shrugs. “And, well. I don’t mind helping. If that’s what you want,”
My cheeks radiate warmth as I cinch my legs together. The heat I feel on my face coils down over my neck, and right between my thighs. I blink a few times, then cock my head as I stare at him.
“Jack?”
“Hrm?” he answers, raising an eyebrow.
“That is by far the worst pick up line I’ve ever heard,” I say. But I do so with a smirk, one that parts into a warm laugh. For the first time since he stepped through the door, I watch as Jack gives a massive smile.
“Who said anything about hitting on you? I’m a professional miss,” he says. He gives a small chuckle, and I watch as the waves in his skin rise even higher. “But, I’m serious. If you want help, I-”
“You’re a scruffy, gross smoker,” I say, taking a breath. I look up at him, and by degrees feel my legs part from one another. “But you’re cute. In a gross way. Jen was right about that,”
I watch as his brow furrows, and he crosses his arms. He cocks his head to the side, and stares at me. His eyes narrow even tighter, the waves along his stomach growing still. “Wait a minute-just how do you know my secretary again?”
I smirk, and rise from the chair. I cross the room until I’m just a foot away from him. It’s then it hits me-the smell. It’s like I’m right at the beach, the waves rolling right against the shore. Jack’s eyes widen, and he pulls back but a few inches. Yet he doesn’t flinch as my fingers meet his waist, the tips pressing right against his skin. The waves roll and eddy away, rippling out. I giggle, and look up at him.
“Oh you know. Playing a good host,” I say.
I watch as confusion melts into understanding, then a smirk as Jack’s hand meets my own. It grips me with callused ease, and raises my hand to his lips. He kisses my fingertips gently, and takes a deep breath.
“Did she happen to mention-”
“Oh, she did. Can I see?” I say, arching my eyebrow.
Jack snorts, and pulls his hand away. He flicks the button to his jeans, and it’s then I see the roughshod denim twitch. There’s so much packed away there that the zipper pulls itself down as the writhing mass frees from the hold. The tentacles-six, ten in all-writhe and curl about me. They cup my waist, lace between the spaces of my fingers. They crawl up my leg, circling it with a warmth that makes me shudder.
One that doesn’t silence the building, pounding tone of the voice in my head.
Take it-TAKE IT the voice bellows. As the tendrils enwrap me further, I stifle a shiver and look towards Jack. His jeans hit the floor, and he steps out of them. Towards me, with his hand at my chin. His lips meet mine, and for a moment everything is burning. I go to tug at my clothes-and find I don’t have to. The tentacles have already began to pull them away, their wet muscled suckers pulling at every inch of my skin. His tongue meets mine-and the tentacles find my other lips. They roll against my clit, and I grit my jaw as I try to hold back a moan.
Jack laughs with such bass I feel it in my jaw. He pulls away, his thumb rolling over my lips. “Hey, don’t hold back. Get loud. I fucking love loud-and we’re performing for company, aren’t we?”
That’s when a tip wriggles its way inside me-and I finally let out a moan. Jack lifts me into the air as another tentacle squeezes beside the other, both pumping at their own pace. My tongue tries to form even a syllable-only to fail as Jack cups my ass. He throws my legs over his shoulder, pressing his lips to my thigh.
“Don’t hold it in-not even a little. Let every single part go,” he says as his tongue flicks against me.
So I don’t.
When I come, it’s with a force that even It couldn’t bring me to. Jack lowers me to the ground, his tentacles sliding back towards him. I sit there, shuddering as I hear his zipper. I try to think, but everything is so incredibly fuzzy. Then his arms are around me, and it’s too hard to think. Every breath is heavier than the last as my eyes flutter.
Before long, we’re both out.
@@@
I wake the next morning to the smell of coffee.
I sit up-only to find a blanket over me, and a pillow beneath my head. I blink away sleep, all of yesterday coming back in sharp flashes. I look around on the floor, and spot a simple piece of paper scrawled upon. I lift it up, and read.
Hey-being a professional, we’re paid to leave, not to stay. However, if you’ve ever any kind of problem, here’s my number. You can also just like, call me I guess. You seemed nice-I’d like to see you again. Maybe with less demonic influence. Oh yeah-that all should be gone now. And uh, if not, yeah. You know where to find me.
-J
PS: I cleaned your house by the way. Sorry about smoking indoors-I just get nervous sometimes. You shouldn’t even smell anything.
I looked up from the note, and glanced. Not a single boot print, not a single cigarette butt. Not even the sick smell of burned tongue.
But, over in the corner, over the back of a chair laid a dark, nasty, hole-riddled coat. I smirked, and rose from the floor. I walked towards the phone, and started to dial.