Title: Heads I Win
Fandom: Being Human
Pairing: Hal/ofc, Fergus/ofc
Spoilers: General for series 4
Warnings: Dub-con; oc deaths; blood drinking.
Disclaimer: Being Human belongs to Toby Whithouse and the BBC.
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Summary: Hal and Fergus: not quite a girl on each arm, but this is austerity Britain, and some things are in short supply.
The girl opens the bedroom door – and stops so abruptly that Hal nearly walks into her. The little bitch is going to refuse after all, and Hal's tempted to take what he wants, right there. But Fergus and he are playing a game today, and the first rule is: they have to be willing. It was easier during the war, when there was no shortage of eager bodies in the anxious, air-raid hours, or of lonely women whose husbands had been away at the front too long. But Hal enjoys a challenge.
"You can't change your mind now" – Hal can't remember the girl's name, wasn't paying attention. Then it comes to him in a flash – "Barbara. You promised."
Barbara shrinks into herself, but Hal dips his head and waits until her eyes dart up to meet his. He flashes one of his most practised smiles, and when her mouth curves upwards in a reflex response, he coaxes it into a gentle kiss. Hal dances her backwards into the room, and now he can see why she was reluctant. Patience was never Fergus's strong suit: he already has the redhead stripped to the waist, and he's making the most of those ripe young tits of hers. That's the way that Fergus likes his women; it's why he wanted that one. It would have amused Hal to take her from him, just to watch the anger war with the man's fear, but there are rules today – they tossed for it, and Fergus won – and Hal plays by the rules. When it doesn't cost him.
Maybe Barbara doesn't like watching, or maybe she doesn't like being watched; she perches on the edge of her bed with her back to the others, and picks at a loose thread on the counterpane while Hal slips out of his jacket. He hangs it on the bedpost: he just got the suit back from the cleaner's, and there's no point in letting it crease.
"You're beautiful," Hal breathes in Barbara's ear, smoothing out the pleats of her skirt and brushing a hand along her thigh. "Do you know what you're doing to me?"
Not much, so far, and it strikes him that she's going to be more trouble than she's worth. But there are worse ways to spend a rainy afternoon, and he can't let Fergus win without a fight. So he rubs an exploratory thumb across one of Barbara's nipples, and her eyes flutter closed. They startle open again when he slips her top button undone, but he hasn't lost his touch: he draws a moan from her with his lips and tongue, and he eases her out of her blouse.
A strangled groan: Fergus is propped up on the other bed. He smirks at Hal as the redhead settles onto her knees and stretches her mouth around his cock. Fergus has few talents – he's good at following orders, and he has a certain flair for violence – but he knows how to charm a woman into giving him what he wants. Barbara looks away, her cheeks blotching with crimson. Unsurprising, really: not many girls enjoy watching their sister do that. Then her eyes flick towards the door, and Hal feels a smile of pure, unfeigned pleasure warming his features. Barbara genuinely doesn't want to – to do that, to do anything – but she's not going to tell him to stop. Where her sister leads, she'll follow. She doesn't want to go further; she doesn't know how to say no.
He kisses her again, but this time he savours the way her lips tighten and only part under pressure. He runs his hands over her creamy young skin, relishing the subtle tension in her body, the tiny tremors beneath his fingers, and his own body stirs in response. Barbara only blushes deeper when he slips off her bra, but he doesn't mind that she lacks her sister's ample attractions. The blood is surging just beneath her skin, and she looks more appetising than before. He sucks enthusiastically on those little buds of flesh, and he smiles in appreciation of everything that he's about to take from her.
The breath catches in the back of Barbara's throat, but the sound is lost in an impressive string of profanities. Fergus: the other girl is wiping her lips and swallowing convulsively. Fergus pulls her up onto the bed, and the game will be over if Barbara sees what happens next. So when Fergus pins his victim, and the bed springs protest the struggle, Hal slips a hand under Barbara's skirt and up between her legs. Now it's Barbara's turn to moan, and her legs part for him as he presses her down onto the floral patchwork. She doesn't speak, but her mouth gapes in a silent invitation, and that's good enough for Hal.
He slips the cotton knickers down Barbara's thighs, and there's an awkward moment when she tries to kick them free and they tangle round her ankles. Then he teases a finger through her wetness and she grinds up against him: definitely an invitation. But a willing Barbara is a less appealing prospect than an unwilling one, so Hal shoves his trousers down and thrusts inside. She cries out but he ignores her, driving into her relentlessly, over and over, until she's clutching him closer, and the wisps of hair around her face are curling damply.
She's ready. And he's ready, so he slides a hand down her sweat-slick stomach and presses with the pad of his thumb until he finds the perfect spot. She convulses beneath him, her spine arching, offering the delicious curve of her neck. He makes it quick, makes it clean. Her body's shuddering through the last shocks of orgasm, and it takes a moment for the pain to register. Then her fists beat weakly against his shoulders, his ribs, his kidneys. He hardly feels it, not with the pleasure pumping through her veins and flooding dizzily into his mouth. And somewhere, far away, he's aware that he's coming, but he's caught up in the red rush of the blood.
Hal pulls out and rolls onto his back. The single bed is too narrow for comfort; he sends Barbara thudding onto the carpet, and she stares up at him with her dull blue eyes. Fergus is sprawled on the other bed, dabbing at the last smears of red with a discarded blouse. He waits until Hal has hoisted his trousers back up, and throws him a packet of cigarettes. Hal sucks in his first lungful and –
"Are you in there, girls?" A woman's voice. And an angry set of knuckles rapping on the door. "I've just been speaking to Mr Bancroft, and he told me that the pair of you skipped school this afternoon."
Hal stretches a kink out of his neck, and sends the smoke trickling from his nostrils. Fergus is already at the door, but he stops, poised, and raises a questioning eyebrow. The knocking turns into thumping; the voice rises.
"Open this door right now, do you hear me?"
Hal slips to his feet. "Well, do what she says, Fergus." Fergus does.
The woman has Barbara's greyish eyes, and the red hair of her eldest daughter spills out from under her headscarf. She gapes: at the bodies, at them. Her eyes are drawn to the wetness on Hal's chin, and she gulps queasily. The angry flush drains from her cheeks. She's not about to run, so Hal digs into his pocket and sends a shilling spinning into the air. He catches it and slaps it down onto the back of his hand; Fergus grins at him in anticipation.
"Heads or tails?" Hal asks.