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“Maybe we should go check it out,” Sam mutters, and grabs Josh’s arm. The touch hits his brain like a drug and he’s not really sure what he mumbles back. They make it up the steps and he’s not scared, but there’s still this kick of adrenaline and his mouth is dry and he can smell Sam’s shampoo. He’s disappointed when she doesn’t try to grab him again.
.
She reiterates her need for a bath (for the seventh time, and he wishes she would stop because reasons). Josh makes a point of not watching her leave, but in his head he is thinking of cameras and TV screens. Seeing her, like that, had never been the point. Or it had, but only so he could humiliate her later, the same way his sister was humiliated. Now, well…
It’s too late to change his mind, too late to do anything but move forward. He already knows he’s a sick fuck, what’s one more perversion?
The ‘seance’ goes well. It’s a little too easy to act hurt and betrayed; Josh’s voice goes thick and ragged and there’s a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead that is entirely authentic. Ashley is terrified and ashamed, which is perfect. Chris just gets this sad look, as if he’s watching a hurt animal whine. Josh has no idea what to do with that, so he storms off.
This is supposed to help, he reminds himself, but he can’t really get the thought off the ground, not when he feels more and more broken. This is supposed to teach them, and yeah, that feels right. That feels just.
.
Ashley has the grace to stumble to her knees and then the floor when he gasses her. Chris is not so lucky, and when his skull meets the tile it makes a sickening crack. Josh winces behind his mask, feels his knuckles throb where they met bone. He doesn’t know much about concussions, and the idea of really hurting Chris…
Josh almost backs out then, almost. Then he remembers his parents’ discussions about funerals and empty coffins, and there is no comparison between a concussion and losing both of his fucking sisters.
Ashley is harder to drag than he thought she would be, but he takes care to keep her head from hitting anything sharp.
.
Josh can’t actually see which way Chris pushes the lever, but with the way he’s blubbering apologies to Josh it’s not too hard to guess. Josh nearly rolls his eyes at that, unsurprised and a little unimpressed. The guy can pick Ashley over his best friend, but God forbid he ever kiss her.
Both are shrieking and wailing, and the fear is infectious, especially when he looks down to watch the blade advance. His brain can’t quite interpret what he’s seeing, and for a second he truly believes it’s his body getting chewed up, and he’s in pain, he’s dying.
Closing his eyes is a mercy, even if he has to miss the expression on Ashley’s face. She’s sobbing loud enough to drown out Dr. Hill’s whispers, which he’s oddly grateful for, and it doesn’t take long before he’s feeling smug again.
Everything is going exactly the way he wants it to.
.
It’s lucky the tub upstairs is so big, that Sam is a slow bather. He doesn’t want to push that luck. He’s still smiling when he makes it back to the basement to monitor her.
Except Sam isn’t smiling. She’s not soaking and listening to her music and enjoying herself. Instead she’s curled into as tiny a space as possible, hugging her knees to her chest and cradling her head on top. Her face is turned away from the camera, so he can’t see her crying, but her shoulders are shaking and he doesn’t think it’s from the cold. There’s just enough light to bounce off of the water that laps at her arms, and it paints her silver, leeches all of the warmth from her skin.
This is not the plan. He’d wanted her innocent and unguarded and beautiful, and she’s all of those things, but he didn’t want her crying.
At least not yet.
His logic is stuttering and unsure, and he can feel the cracks in his reality widening, but it’s not supposed to be like this. Dr. Hill is whispering again, smiling sharp enough to cut, and Sam has turned her face into her hands, just resting there as if she can’t bear to face the world.
She’s supposed to be the strong one, and now she’s breaking. Josh isn’t thinking about anything else as he heads upstairs. He forgets his mask, forgets everything but her.
.
Sam protests a little when he opens the door to the bathroom, but she doesn’t move. Her posture is already so guarded that he can’t see anything anyway, and Josh is relieved by that fact until he isn’t.
Then he’s just uncomfortable and anxious, looking everywhere but at her, and wondering what the fuck he’s supposed to do now.
“Josh?” Sam’s voice is meek and slightly clogged and it pushes him out of silence.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I - You’ve been up here for so long and - “ he can’t exactly say that he saw her crying, and the veer in his sentence is clumsy. “Chris and Ash wandered off and I was all alone and I thought - are - are you okay, Sam?”
“Josh,” she calls again, and he finally looks to see her staring, eyes wide and confused as she takes in his clothes, and soon she’ll notice the gloves, the blood on his shoes -
“Were you - crying, Sam?” is the best he can come up with, but thank fuck, it works. She looks down and away, scrubbing at her face with one hand. He takes the opportunity to lose the gloves and kick off his shoes and socks, and the floor is ice to his bare feet.
Josh approaches her warily, soft enough not to startle her but not so quiet that she won’t know where he is. Sam sighs, her shoulders slumping when he’s out of her field of vision and hovering behind her.
“Enjoying the view, perv?” The joke falls flat when he doesn’t answer; he’s too tense to banter with her, too tense to flirt. It strikes him, the realization that that’s what they’ve been doing all night.
“Talk to me,” is all he says, and of course she stays mute instead. Josh blows out a breath and scrapes a hand through his hair before he crouches down by the tub, arms on the edge and chin on arms. It should be awkward, having a conversation with someone he’s just realizing he has a crush on, while she’s naked and wet. It is awkward, but as long as she’s got her back to him, as long as she can’t see him blush and stutter -
She turns around to face him. There’s the sound of water moving; he isn’t given any kind of warning so he doesn’t look away and he sees glimpses, impressions of her legs as they lengthen and curl back under again - and his face is burning. Sam meets his eyes, and he doesn’t really know what she finds there, but her pupils dilate just a little as he watches.
“I was just…” she starts, but her voice peters out. Her fingers are gripping the lip of the tub and her chin is pressed to her knuckles, mirroring his posture. Josh can’t decide if he wants her closer or not.
“What’s wrong, Sam?” he asks, a little desperate to hear her voice, hear the strength in it.
“Lots of things,” she says, glancing around the room, “being here is..”
“Didn’t you want to come?” It’s fucking ridiculous that he feels hurt right now.
“Of course I did, I just… it’s hard being back here, you know?” She doesn’t wait for an answer and he wouldn’t give one anyway. “It’s all a little overwhelming sometimes.”
‘No shit, Sherlock’ seems a little too crude at the moment, so he doesn’t say it. Instead he lifts one hand and reaches across the distance between them, settling his fingers in her damp hair and smoothing down the strands. Somewhere between one stroke and the next, he comes to a decision, and curves his palm around the back of her neck.
None of this is planned, he didn’t even know there was a decision to make. It doesn’t matter; Sam’s lips are soft against his, he can taste chapstick and soap.
The kiss starts unhurried and gentle. He can’t bring himself to close his eyes all the way, entranced with curve of Sam’s cheek, the flutter of her eyelashes. Then she presses her tongue carefully to his and he’s anything but calm.
There’s more splashing, water soaking into his sleeves, then Sam is gripping his jaw, pulling him closer and he has to brace one hand on the tub to keep from falling in. They’re both on their knees now, and his pants are getting wet and the floor is cold, and he doesn’t care because Sam’s mouth is warm and sweet and he just wants more.
He fumbles for the buckles of his overalls, his belt, having a stupidly hard time because he doesn’t want to stop kissing Sam. She draws back a little, but doesn’t tell him to stop.
“What are you wearing, anyway?” she asks, her voice low and soft. Josh gets the overalls pushed down to his hips, shoves the belt away, and leans in for another kiss.
He mumbles “prank,” while he’s working on the buttons of his shirt.
Sam smiles a little, but doesn’t laugh, and he’s glad because he doesn’t want any part of this to be funny. He can’t remember the last time he felt this serious, this present, without the urge to escape his shitty life. She reaches up to help with his shirt, and before long they’ve pulled all the layers over his head, and he’s an idiot because it has just now occurred to him that he can reach out and grab her breasts.
He doesn’t; he’s never met a girl that really likes that. Instead he wraps an arm around her and tugs her closer to cover her mouth with his again. Sam moans, and he’s never heard her make that sound. It settles in his gut, makes him incredibly hard, and why the fuck does he still have clothes on?
Sam must be thinking the same thing because she pulls away, back into the tub, and gasps, “Get in, Josh.” He moves so fast he almost slips on the wet floor. Her eyes go a little wider at his nudity, but soon enough he’s sinking into the water and she is settling into his lap.
Josh has no desire to go slow, and it helps that Sam is urging him along, shifting her hips and making him shudder into her mouth. The skin on the inside of her thighs is probably the softest thing he’s ever touched, at least until he slides his fingers between her legs and finds her slick and hot so much softer.
This isn’t his first rodeo, so he’s not exactly a fumbling idiot, but he’s been with enough girls to know that he’s not going to immediately get it right the first time. Sam is either too worked up to be shy, or she was never shy in the first place, but she wastes no time in grabbing his wrist and guiding him. Then she is panting and moaning against his chin and mouth, riding the two fingers he has pressed inside of her, and working to spread her knees further.
Meanwhile Josh is being pulled apart with the thousands of things he wants. He wants to watch her come on his hand; he wants to find her nipple with his mouth and let her feel the press of his teeth; he wants her to scream his name; he wants to never stop kissing her. In the end, Sam decides for him and keeps his face pressed close as her kiss turns sloppy, and several short, low moans spill out of her. This is how she comes the first time, spasming around his fingers with her hand fisted in his hair and her breasts crushed against his chest, and it’s fucking perfect.
“Sam,” he says, without really meaning to, without anything to add to it, just her name scraping out of his throat. His voice is alien to him, but he doesn’t give a fuck right now. He’s still got his fingers inside her, can feel the little aftershocks of her orgasm and he thinks he might die if he doesn’t sink his dick into her soon.
Josh grabs her hip with his other hand, and the water helps him maneuver them around until she’s leaning over the edge of the tub and he’s behind her, covering her back with his chest. He wraps an arm around her, under the weight of her breasts, and nudges her knee up onto the ledge seat. He brings his leg up between hers, opening her as much as he can, and it’s not the most comfortable position but he’s not about to fucking complain.
He doesn’t pull his fingers out until he has to use them to guide his dick in, and Sam gasps at the difference. The muscles of her vagina clench and release around the head of his dick, and he gasps with her, cursing into her neck. Josh takes his time pushing into her, slowly working back and forth until he bottoms out.
He fights to keep every inch of his body that he can pressed against her, from knee to cheek, and if Sam minds she doesn’t say anything. She’s breathing as hard as he is, making these noises that are going to drive him goddamn insane, and gently circling her hips to grind into the fingers he has working at her clit.
Josh takes his time fucking her too, trying to make this last, to wring every sharp-edged bit of pleasure he can out of it. She’s tight and hot around him, unbearably good, and he knows he’ll spill if he goes any faster. So he keeps it slow, lets her adjust to being filled with him, and uses just the muscles of his ass and hips to pump into her.
He keeps the rest of his body curved around her, forehead burying into her hair and lips brushing against the nape of her neck. Every time he does something right with his fingers or his dick, she cries out and squeezes, hard to enough to almost hurt him. It spurs him on, and he doesn’t go faster, but he does fuck her harder, throwing her forward with the weight of each thrust.
This just makes Sam louder, sharp “hah!” noises that trip out every time he smacks his hips against hers. He’s being loud too, not that he really cares; he wants her to hear how good she feels to him.
This is how Josh makes her come a second time, with his dick deep inside of her and her breast filling the palm of one hand, his name stuttered and breathy on her lips. It’s fucking indescribable. As soon as she does, he speeds up, desperate to follow her, to fuck her through another orgasm and into his. He doesn’t manage that, of course, and spills seconds later. His whole body seizes so hard he thinks his skin might split as the orgasm fucking tears through him.
They don’t hold that pose very long; he can’t fight the utterly boneless feeling swamping him, so Josh slumps onto the seat and pulls Sam into his lap, and just cradles her. He nuzzles his face into her neck, idly tasting her skin while he catches his breath. She’s already starting to breathe normally again, silent and pliant against him, and he suddenly realizes just how little they’ve said during the best fuck of his life.
“Are you okay?” he whispers, with an odd need to stay quiet.
“I don’t know,” she answers softly, and the panic that jolts through him is excruciating. Josh lifts his head to look at her, finds her smiling. She’s got a strange expression, a little mischievious, a little vulnerable, a little fucked out. He could fall in love with this woman, and it doesn’t surprise him that he wants her again, hungering for her like an addict for their fix.
“I think we both know that was some amazing sex, so don’t insult me by asking if I liked it.” Sam is smiling now, petting his face carefully. “Are you okay, Josh?”
“Never better,” he says, and means it. He wants to stay longer, but Sam is starting to shiver against him and the water really is getting cold. With a sigh, Josh lets her climb off of him and out of the tub, and he follows, watching her as they both get dressed.
She shakes her head at his outfit a little later, and arches an eyebrow at him. “Must be a pretty ridiculous prank.”
He’s never actually felt his face go white before. It is not a good feeling.
.
Everything falls apart after that.
The prank is put to a grinding halt, of course, and once Mike shows up accusing Josh of hurting Jess, well, he doesn’t really have a chance at self defense. There’s screaming and it’s kind of funny until Mike starts hitting him. Then he sees the look on Sam’s face and all the protests, the justification, it just crumples.
The cracks become fissures, Dr. Hill gets louder. Before he can get a grasp on reality again, before he can process being hit and tied up and abandoned to screams in that shitty shed, he’s taken somewhere. And by then…
Well. He isn’t dead yet, but his head might as well be split open, brains spilled on the ground and scrambled for how fucked up he is.
Things only get worse.
.
Sam stares at the cop and says, “I thought we had a connection…”