Lara Croft Slash

Satan's Fist

Rated: M

Lara flung a short leather jacket in her butler's direction as she strode through the main entryway to the mansion, all hippy swagger and bouncing boobs.

'Winston, take this please.' Sans bra, her breasts were clearly visible under a taut filmy Calvin Klein racer back tee, nipples on high-beam.

'Yes, m'lady,' he replied with a slight bow. Lara arched one perfect eyebrow. 'That will be enough of the 'lady' business, thank you. And Bryce, what are you up to?'

'Oh just a few adjustments for SIMON. He's still recovering from that incident in Monaco…'

'He is made of metal, Bryce. You carry on as if he's your next of kin.'

But that's what they were to each other. Her father gone, Lara had Winston and Bryce, the only family she needed. When she felt the urge, brief liaisons with hot gorgeous anonymous women were easy enough to come by. Pun intended. Annie, Leslie, Collette, Debra, Sarah…ah, sweet Sarah…almost fell for her, with that amazing trick she did with her tongue…one-off playmates for wild, extreme-sport sex, hotly sweet and sticky like fairground cotton candy, a fulfillment of Lara's dangerous obsession with risk-taking…what Winston considered 'promiscuity unbecoming of a lady'…

'Anyway, Lara, how did it go at Christie's? Did you meet this woman?' the butler offered Lara a drink from a silver tray.

'Vivian Regan. Yes, we met.'

Amazing body, wrapped in skin-tight green satin Vera Wang, jet black shoulder-length hair; she's a long cool drink of crème de menthe…I'd add her to my milkshake any day…

'And?' Bryce prompted.

'And, she has an interesting story, but I don't trust her. I've invited her for afternoon tea.' Lara wound up the staircase, tight-jeaned hips swaying, toned arms flexing as she reached to undo her hair clasp, tumbling a mess of auburn waves across her shoulder blades. Bryce couldn't resist an appreciative peek.

I don't approve, Lara. This isn't how I raised you! It's not your sexuality that concerns me. I know you're not my little girl anymore, you are a grown woman; I respect your choices. However, I cannot abide the promiscuity. It looks like you are actually trying to harm yourself by having intimate relations with these complete strangers…

Sarah, baby….ooooh that's so fuckin' awesome… here I come baby, I'm there…Beeeeeeep, beeeeeep….

Lara woke sweaty and disheveled, legs rigidly flexed, long fingers finishing her off. Guttural moans filled the silences between the alarm tones, creating a sound not unlike the urgent yodel of a police siren. She sat up suddenly, pitching the alarm clock, smashing a vase. Winston appeared instantly. His usually generous mouth was a tight bow of concern.

'Is everything all right?'

Lara stripped off sweaty tee and panties.

'I just woke up and hated everything.' She marched past him towards the bathroom naked, snatching the offered towel. He best not remind me how unlady-like my behavior is today…

Lara sipped her cognac.'So let me see if I understand. Your sister has been kidnapped by an underworld organization. Your dying father has been blackmailed, and they demand Satan's Fist for her safe return. Missed anything?'

'I know it sounds outrageous…they said no police or they will send bits of Carmen to Daddy in little boxes.' Her voice is catching convincingly. She's dabbing her eyes with tissues. Her left thumb flicks the nail of her ring finger.

'If I may ask, what exactly is Satan's Fist?' Winston pretended to be dusting.

'I have no idea!' Vivian scanned the room with large, wet, moon-shaped eyes veiled with uniform thick lashes. A gate-wary thoroughbred planning a barrier jump.

'Satan's Fist is an artifact that intrigued my father. A fist-shaped box made of pure obsidian. Supposedly containing a seed, whose flower can bring about an apocalypse,' Lara's voice became a whisper.

'Daddy paid a man to find it, but then he turned up dead. It's in the Chicago Museum of Natural History, the occult artifacts section. Please, Miss Croft, I'm begging you, we need you to retrieve it, for my sister!' A whine that makes birds suicide into window panes and dogs howl. Begging, eh?...

Lara looked over at the sultry young woman on the couch. Her distress and pathetically snot-smeared face somehow rendered her irresistible; she had to quell the impulse to French-kiss the mucous from those plump cheeks while reaching up her Vera Wang, wetting her just enough to finger-paint the insides of those shapely thighs…I like what I'm seeing, but she's smart, sexy and streetwise. Might know just how to play me like an outa tune piano…

Bryce was typically beside himself in the face of challenge.

'Hang on! At least one man's dead already because of this thing – I don't like it, Lara! Besides, Chicago street level is a containment area. It's under a biosecurity ozone shield. Nothing lives under the skyscrapers but mutants. It's a subterranean community of crime, poverty and desperate sickos. It's a crazy idea,' Bryce pleaded. Winston was nodding agreement, but Lara gave them both a dismissive wave.

'We'll recover Satan's Fist before it falls into the wrong hands. Winston, book us a cruise to the Chicago Cultural Biozone. Three passengers. Vivian, you're coming . Bryce, you will be our base camp here at the mansion. I'll need a bio-suit, and a replica of Satan's Fist. We leave as soon as possible.'

Bryce left for his workshop while Winston disappeared to make travel arrangements. Vivian paced nervously. She's kneading that Louis Vuitton leather clutch like a pastry chef with a knob of greasy choux.

'Relax, Vivian. We'll get the fist and save your sister. I'll drop down from the air ducts when we reach occults, replace the fist with a fake, and jet back into the ship. Simple. But there's something you're not telling me.' Lara moved up behind Vivian and touched her lightly on the shoulders. Vivian turned, lips trembling, black eyes brimming with tears, the flood held back by a fence of razor-wire eyelashes. Don't get stuck on that barb wire, Lara.

'You don't understand. It's not my sister…I'm just…I've never really been…' Their mouths locked in an urgent kiss and teeth clashed before soft, full lips joined, parting for exploring tongues. Lara pulled away.

'Vivian, you and your father are in a tight spot. I know you'd say or do anything right now. Sure, you're gorgeous, but I've had a million others like you, and there'll be a million more. Be ready to leave tomorrow.'

As Lara made her exit, Vivian snatched a phone from her purse, hurriedly texting as she left.

'Ok Lara, can you hear me? Did you find the airlock hatch yet? You want number seven, at the very end. You should drop right in front of Satan's thingo as we round the corner towards the medieval exhibit.'

'I'm positioned Bryce. I have the replica, set to go.'

'When you've made the switch, use the blast boots to catch up to us. The hatch will still be open and Bob's yer uncle.'

'Bob's your uncle, Bryce? Really. Mask is on. I'm ready. What about guards?'

'Down here? They're all outside, Lara.'

Floodlights cloaked the displays in a diseased foggy haze. Satan's Fist floated eerily in the center of the display room, a shiny disembodied Black Panther emblem. Lara moved quickly to make the switch and return to the ship.

'In the airlock Bryce. Moving back to the hatch.'

'Lara! I put a trace on Vivian's phone. She's sending texts, and they all go to a number on board - her guy is on the airship too! Be careful, Lara…'

'Oh thank God!' Vivian buried her face in Lara's neck, pressing her body close, and suddenly stiffened feeling the gun sticking into her ribs. Lara pushed Vivian away roughly.

'Ok, Vivian, let's talk about your sister Carmen. What kind of shit is she into? Stop purring over me like a cat in heat, all frocked-up in your best billionaire heiress cruise wear, and start talking. Who are you texting? Who's your contact on this ship? What's daddy really want with Satan's Fist? Start talking, dammit!'

She's dropping her façade like a melting ice-cream cone at the summer fair in a midday August swelter.

'You cold-hearted unfeeling bitch! You think you're so hot, so macho…you're just a daddy's-little-rich-girl like my sister, a sex-addicted cunt, a crazy masochistic lesbian freak …' Vivian was crying hysterically. 'I hate you!' she spat, delivered a stinging slap and locked herself in the toilet. Simultaneously the cabin door swung open, revealing a withered old man leaning on a cane.

'Hello, General Sternwood.'

Tension was thick. This man's eyes are pale as cigarette smoke and stale as road kill on route 66. Vivian sidled in to join her father.

'Put away your weapon. As you can see, Lady Croft, I'm ancient. No need for violence. Give me Satan's Fist.' He tugged feebly at his throat, picking at loose skin, finally freeing a mask and peeling it away to reveal a hideous mass of bubbling puss-filled boils with eyes and a mouth. 'It's my last chance to feel human again before I die.'

'Tell me why I care, General.'

'I need to sell this artifact to the Illuminati. The fist holds a seed from the dorstenia contrajaerva plant. When planted on the Greek island of Lesbos, the flower blooms, and planetary alignments can be reformed directly. Fruit from the plant will be used to create a serum to free me from these biological deformities. Surely you appreciate the humanitarian implications.'

'All I see is an old man and a whore. But take your statue. Good riddance. Let's go, Winston.'

The family of three, four if you count SIMON, sat around the sunny garden gazebo.

'Oh, mint tea…Winston, it hits the spot.'

'But Lara, I can't believe you gave it to him,' Bryce complained. 'He'll live forever now, the old badger.'

'I doubt it. He got what he deserved, Bryce. I gave him your lovely replica. Raise your teacups: To Satan's Fist!'