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While Pugsley, once he regained consciousness, had initially been shocked over his kidnapping (very obviously not expecting that from Isaac) and had been very angry over what he perceived to be an act of use and betrayal by someone he had thought was his friends, he got over it relatively quickly (outwardly that is. Isaac can practically smell the internal battle and emotional turmoil the boy was having). Isaac had expected him to turn...cold and quiet and distant and to simply ignore them, but instead what he got was the exact opposite: Pugsley had decided to act mouthy and bratty and vex him every chance he got during the short periods of time he was ungagged; poison dripping from those pretty...plush...rosebud pink lips.
fuck
It was maddening, the way the young electrokinetic inspired both frustration and desire within him.
The amused looks Francoise gave him were not helping; Tyler’s snickering didn’t help either. He wonders if they enjoy his suffering considering they make no effort to help him shut Pugsley up whenever the Addams boy starts being like that. It only got worse when after telling Pugsley to be silent, the boy simply said, with a little sass and a lot of challenge, “Then make me.” Tyler had the gall to fucking laugh while Francoise pursed her lips in a bid to not do the same, a raspy nasal sound escaping from her in the process. If he had an organic heart, Isaac would have flushed from embarrassment and irritation and that bothersome lust. As it was a clockwork one, however, the only indication of any of this was in the depths of his eyes, the set of his brow, the scowl on his lips, the scent of arousal tainting the air. In a bid to quell the smoldering fire in his belly, to put some fear and reconsideration into the brat, to get himself under control, Isaac told the Addams boy in detail exactly how he was going to use him as a power source for his machine.
Pugsley had simply smiled and leaned in — so close that Isaac had the very irrational, very annoying thought of kissing that pretty mouth...just to find out if they were as soft as they looked, of course. Scientific reasons, you understand, yes? — and whispered, “I’d love to see how you would try to shackle me to a chair with just one hand, Slurp.” Then his lids fell to half-mast even as his voice went down lower. “Just thinking about it has me excited. Although...” He gave him a sly look. “The effort might just leave you too tired to even perform.”
Isaac had wanted to choke him, to kiss him, to hurt him, to throw him down and fuck him until he couldn’t walk properly and that pussy was red and puffy and dripping with his seed.
He did none of that.
He had, instead, walked away and took a much-needed cold shower, but not before coldly reminding the boy not to call him Slurp. “I have a name. It’s Isaac. I suggest you start using it.”
(Tyler, when the Da Vinci returned from his impromptu shower, had snidely said, “Don't tell me that he's already got you worked up when he hasn't even done anything.”
Isaac hated his nephew sometimes. A lot of times, really. ...All the time, really).
⪻☆⪼
Francoise and Tyler had left. Not because they were getting cold feet or because that annoying little voice called a conscience was rearing it’s nasty little head, but rather because they “needed some fresh air” and they were “going stir crazy cooped up inside the cabin all day” — Isaac hadn’t argued against it, taken it instead as an opportunity. An opportunity to put one mouthy little brat in his place.
He waits until he’s certain Francoise and Tyler are out of earshot before he marches over to Pugsley, yanking down the gag rather roughly. The boy just looks at him, big eyes wide and innocent, his voice sickeningly sweet like the syrup Francoise would dump into her coffee during their years at Nevermore as he said, “It’s just you and me, Slurp. You gonna torture me now? I like the iron maiden the most, but maybe you’ll come up with something much more interesting — oooor maybe you’ll perform some kind of morally questionable experiment on me?”
He sounded so excited about the possibility. How very Addams, down to the fucking core.
i have so many ways to torture you. you'd beg me to stop before i was even finished.
He leaned over him, glaring down at him, scowl on his lips. “I told you to not call me that.”
“But Slurp fits you sooo much better.” He licked his lips and goddamn him but Isaac’s eyes were drawn to the movement, to the way that pretty pink tongue darted out and moistened his lips, to the way that plush rosebud mouth glistened with saliva and he wanted nothing more than to see them wrap around his dick but he forced his eyes back to Pugsley’s gaze, saw the mischief in their depths and knew that the brief glance hadn’t been missed. He felt the way the aggravation and hunger twisted his insides, pool into the fire within his aching loins; the flames were further fanned when the boy continued, an almost taunting edge to his voice, “You were a very messy, noisy eater as a fresh zombie. Wonder if that’s changed any since you’ve fully regenerated.”
Gritting his teeth, Isaac reached out and took hold of the boy’s jaw with his hand, fingers digging into his cheeks. Each word came out clipped as he said, “I swear to God if you call me Slurp even one more time…”
Pugsley met his glare head on, his doe eyes utterly unrepentant and mocking, as he replied, “Or you’ll do what…Slurp?”
And just like that, something within the Da Vinci snapped. The last of his patience, perhaps, or maybe his self-control — either way, Isaac surges forward and kisses him, deep and furious and vicious. It’s more teeth than mouth, but Pugsley’s enjoying it, if his moans were anything to go by and each one went straight to Isaac’s cock, his trousers growing tighter and uncomfortable. He slips his tongue into the other’s mouth, licking and tasting and devouring before pulling away. He sees how red and flushed Pugsley’s cheeks have become, the way his eyes have an unfocused yet wanting look to them as his breath grows heavier.
Isaac gives it no more thought. He just does, going by instinct and need. He undoes the bindings that keep Pugsley bound to the chair and then he’s grabbing the chain and all but dragging him to one of the bedrooms. He unceremoniously tossed the electrokinetic onto the bed, pulling the boy back to his senses. Pugsley looks at him and then at the bed, and then back to him, biting his lip, wide-eyed. Very obviously not expecting that from the mad scientist/evil genius, but Isaac could smell the desire from where he’s standing — and oh it smells so good. Like honeysuckle and vetiver. It makes his mouth water — and he knows his actions aren’t unwelcomed. But of course they aren’t; this has been what Pugsley has wanted all along, after all. What he’s been trying to get. Pushing all of Isaac’s buttons, teasing him, tormenting him in hopes that he’ll work the Da Vinci up enough to finally break down that tightly composure and get fucked.
Well. Isaac smirks. He can do just that.
(He sincerely hopes that Pugsley wasn’t expecting a gentle lover or even a gentle first time).
It’s not easy to hold another person down with just one hand, so he threads the chain around the bars in the headboard, loose enough to not choke the other boy, but tight enough that he can’t get away. Once Pugsley is secure, he starts working on his shorts, undoing the button and zipper so that he can pull them down. His smirk only widens when he sees the dampness at the apex of his thighs. “Why, Pugsley,” he drawls, “you’re wetter than a slut and I haven’t even touched you yet.”
Pugsley’s cheeks went from flushed to bright vermillion red, but still he retorted, “Yeah. Because you’re all talk.”
Isaac’s expression doesn’t once falter, smirk firmly in place as he reached out and rubbed his thumb up and down the omega’s wet center. In response, Pugsley shudders and his breath catches in his pretty throat. Isaac does it again, slower this time. “Tell me, Pugsley. What kind of punishment do you think a bratty omega deserves? I’ll give you two guesses to figure it out.”
“I have a better idea: why don’t you tell me what a bratty omega deserves considering you’re such an intelligent, wise, and worldly alpha?”
Isaac presses down firmly, right around where he knew the clit to be. The whine that left the younger boy’s throat was music to his ears and made his loins ache. He could practically hear how his instincts demanded he knot him, to claim him, to make him submit — but he ignored it. “I’ll give you another chance and if you answer wisely, I might consider lessening the punishment.”
Pugsley looks at him, defiantly, a challenge in his eyes, and it reminds him yet again that the other boy was an Addams down to his bone marrow and how an Addams never submits willingly, never backs down. Somehow how it makes him get even harder, throbbing with need, and he wants to fuck that look off his face. To tear off any and all articles of clothing that separated them and sheathe himself inside in one swift thrust. To hear something else coming from his pretty mouth instead of the poison he spews now. Again, however, Isaac restrains himself. Patience. Patience, he reminded himself. He’ll be able to course correct the omega soon. The thought is enticing and exhilarating. It makes his blood burn and throb within his veins in a way that’s both pleasant and heady.
The thought of putting the omega into his place, of taming him was both a stroke to his ego and a fucking turn-on.
“What, you can’t come up with any yourself?” Pugsley replied and very obviously trying to not roll his hips even though it was quite clear he was desperate to be touched.
Isaac smug, self-satisfied smirk turned into something more sinister, causing the omega to hastily squeak out I'm sorry! but it was too late. Without another word, he tore away Pugsley’s boxer shorts and tossed them aside. He ignored Pugsley’s cry of indignation and focused instead on his cunt. Perfectly formed with just the barest hint of the labia minora peeking through, and crowned gracefully by dark, well-groomed curls. He reached out and ran a finger against the electrokinetic’s folds, feeling just how wet the soft flesh was, feeling Pugsley shiver at his touch.
He parts the delicate outer lips, admiring how pink the inner set was and how it glistened with Pugsley’s arousal. Hummed appreciatively at the engorged clit. He looked at Pugsley, saying as he pulled his fingers away, “You really are...cute all over, aren’t you?”
Somehow, Pugsley’s face got even redder at that, but before he could respond, Isaac smacked his cunt — hard — ripping a yelp from him instead, the latex of his glove adding an extra sting. He smacks him again, just as hard, and Pugsley tries to jerk away, whining, but unfortunately, he can’t get very far. Isaac grins, almost maliciously, before he starts spanking in earnest. Raining down blow after blow on that pretty cunt.
He emphasized each word with a strike as he said, “This. is. what. bratty. omegas. deserves.”
Pugsley can’t respond. For a while, all he can do is moan and cry in a mix of pain and pleasure as his body responds beautifully to Isaac’s ministrations, and Isaac can’t help but feel as though he were a conductor, Pugsley his choir, and his sweet, sweet noises the music he’s directing the other boy to play — or perhaps, the Da Vinci muses, he’s more like the Phantom wringing the notes from Christine’s throat as he bids to her to sing for him.
Eventually, Pugsley manages to stutter out, “I’m...I’m sorry. I’ll...I’ll be good. I promise.”
Isaac pauses in his next strike and looks at him, expression carefully indifferent, analytical, as he looks at Pugsley. He sees his tears, his begging eyes, the way he gnaws his lip, his pitiful expression. He looks at it all and takes it in. He lowers his hand, rubbing soothingly at the raw flesh even though it has the omega mewling from how sensitive his flesh is. “Will you?”
Pugsley nodded eagerly. “I promise,” he repeats.
Isaac waits a moment and then another, putting on a considering air. It’s only when Pugsley’s eyes get that hopeful gleam that he strikes his cunt again, ripping a wail from the other boy’s throat. “Unfortunately, I don’t quite think the lesson’s sunk in yet.”
He brings his hand down again and again, pausing only for brief bursts to rub his thumb against Pugsley’s clit before resuming. The noises made from his slick glove against slicker flesh are obscene and filling the room alongside the omega’s cries, but he pays it no mind.
He doesn’t stop until Pugsley is begging, no, sobbing, “Alpha, please.”
The ache in his hand doesn’t hit him until he’s reaching up and having Pugsley remove his glove with his teeth, idly noting from how soaked it is that he’ll have to clean it. He flexes his hand once it’s free, feeling the stiffness in it, before setting the glove aside. He might have overdone it a bit — he hasn’t used his hands in such a vigorous manner in a very long time — but fuck. Just seeing how red Pugsley’s pussy has gotten is doing things to him and fills him with a sick sense of delight.
He gently caresses Pugsley’s cheek, wiping a stray tear away with his thumb. He would be lying if he said that the other boy didn’t look good like this. Red, puffy eyes, plush lips bitten raw, that tantalizing flush having creeped down his neck, teasing his collarbones. He needs more of it. Like a dying man needs water. “Such a good boy,” he praised. “Taking your punishment so well. So very, very well.” He rubs his thumb at that bottom lip begging to be kissed and he wants to. God, he wants to. “But we’re not done yet. You gotta learn, Pugs, that you can’t mouth off and expect to get away consequence-free.”
Isaac pulled away and shifted his position so that he could place his head between Pugsley’s thighs and gave a hard lick to the omega’s angry red and sensitive, slippery, dripping folds. The lingering ache from the spanking must have intensified the feel given the strangled half-whine, half-sob that just left the other’s throat, but what truly held Isaac's attention was the taste of Pugsley because oh. Oh. He was so sweet, sweeter than the Da Vinci expected. Sweeter than he smells (Isaac wonders how in the hell is that even possible). Tastes like he just got a mouthful of the sweetest honey and fuck, he thinks finally he understands why so many alphas get addicted to the taste of omegan slick, why it drives them so fucking wild. His eyes roll into the back of his skull, his plan to punish the omega momentarily forgotten, and he devours Pugsley’s pussy and juices like a starving man sat in front of a feast. He alternates between sucking at the omega’s clit and fucking his cunt with his tongue, trying to get as much slick as possible into his mouth while above him, Pugsley cries in pleasure-pain.
Fuck. Forget brains. Maybe he’ll just survive off Pugsley’s slick from now on. He thinks about it for a moment as he steadily works Pugsley towards the first of many orgasms — running through the calculations and the logistics of it in his head, considering nutritional benefits — before begrudgingly concluding that it wasn’t feasible. Not only just a matter of empty calories, but Isaac’s hunger is constant. A constant, painful void that he can never fill because the truth is that even though he walks and he talks and looks human and feels human and hungers like a human, his existence now is a half-life at best. A mockery of the living, a perversion of nature as Orloff had (rightfully) called it. No matter how many brains and organs and flesh he consumes, it is never enough. A demon it feels like, but unfortunately, he can’t pray this one away.
(Not that he ever could).
The keening wail that leaves Pugsley pulls him from his thoughts just in time to feel the omega’s body tremble and his muscles clench and oh god the gush of slick that filled his mouth had him wondering if that what heaven tasted like. Wondering if the sounds Pugsley’s making is what heaven sounds like. He’s not going there — with his track record of murder, attempted murder, and questionable experiments? Turning Orloff into a talking head in a jar? He knows for a fact he’s got a place waiting for him in the fiery inferno — but fuck, he think he’s come close to it in the here and now.
It makes him redouble his efforts, turns him into a ravenous beast and he needs more. He slides his tongue in further, as far as it can go, and moves his hand over to Pugsley’s clit so he can rub the pad of his thumb against it, alternating between gentle strokes and something firmer, grinding down on the sensitive bud. Before long, he’s pulled a second climax out of the omega. Pugsley is squirming, trying to get away as he’s pushed to overstimulation, but Isaac merely adjusts himself so that he’s snaking his other arm underneath Pugsley’s knee and drawing it close to his shoulder as best as he can, holding tight as best as he can without a hand. Throughout it all, he hasn’t once stopped, jaw working vigorously. Drinking everything Pugsley has to offer as he practically devours him. Isaac can’t help the moan that leaves his throat as he’s rewarded with more slick. So good. So, so good.
He forces a third one out of Pugsley and it still isn't enough; by the fourth, the omega is shaking and his little moans of pleasure have shifted to sobs of overstimulated agony and he’s begging, yet again, “Please, please. Let me rest. I need...I need a break. It’s too much!”
Isaac ignores his pleas, however, and doesn’t stop until he’s worked Pugsley to a fifth orgasm. He pulls away then, and only then, and swallows the last of the slick in his mouth, enjoying the taste of it, and he moans in satisfaction; Pugsley slumps against the bed, twitching from the aftershocks of his climax, trembling from the intensity and the overstimulation. All but wrung dry and panting heavily, eyes glazed over. The sight satisfies the Da Vinci.
Isaac undoes his trousers, springing his cock free. It’s red and angry and swollen and leaking pre-come profusely (Pugsley is so out of it, he doesn’t even react). He takes hold of it, hand wet with slick, and tugs at it. He alternates his strokes with twists of his wrist and a swipe of his thumbpad against the weeping tip and he’s so worked up that it doesn’t take him long at all. He moans, voice low, as he spills his seed over his hand, thick and white and sticky.
He leans forward to bring his hand to Pugsley mouth and it takes the omega a moment before he remembers where he is, who he’s with, and realizes what Isaac wants. He sucks diligently, though weakly, at Isaac’s come-stained fingers.
“Good boy,” Isaac said, breathless from the intensity of his own climax. “You clean that up and later I’ll think about giving you a reward.”
Pugsley makes a noise in his throat, a little whimper that sounded both tired and excited at the prospect.