37

It would have been nice to have been able to say that Sam's loyalty to Floyd and maybe even Spencer kicked in. Maybe it would have been nice to even say that it was his own survival instinct which got him on his feet so quickly. He was shaking, his only good working eye was fuzzy, and his feet felt like someone had set fire to them. He could hear the building collapsing behind him and slowly he turned to look. Then he looked back at Ambrose who seemed to have incapacitated Floyd. There was a lot of blood coming from somewhere. Sam glanced at his bow and then at Floyd's baldric of knives and it was to that that Sam walked, letting out a hiss of anger between his teeth with each step. Sam was over flowing with fury. He'd come here for a bath. That wasn't so much to ask for was it? He'd come for water and to wash the filth off and now the place had fallen down and buried the pump.

'You motherfucker!' Sam snarled. It was a rough dry sounding voice, but Ambrose heard it well. Sam spoke the words directly into Ambrose's ear as he drew one of the blades hard and deep across the bastard's throat. 'You bleeding cunt!' One knife now Sam left sticking out of the demon's throat the other he pushed into the back of his neck.

Ambrose didn't hear Sam sneak up behind him. He was too engrossed in the joy of removing Floyd's head. He was planning what he was going to do with it. Dry it out and use it as a football… kick the fucker's head around hell… that was his plan. When the knife sliced across his throat and the words were spat into his ear he couldn't quite understand what had happened. He used his free hand to reach up to where there seemed to be a dreadful amount of blood but he kept pulling on the thing around Floyd's neck. Ambrose didn't feel the knife going into the back of his neck. He didn't feel the way Sam twisted the blade and sliced through every important nerve in his neck. He did feel himself jerk backwards but if he'd done that or had been pulled he didn't know.

Something had gone wrong. Someone was interfering.

Floyd felt the tightening of the thing around his neck. It was so tight that he could feel it was nearly at the point where it was going to just slide on through his flesh. He still had fingers stuck behind it, but they were numb and at risk of serious damage… actually they were at risk of being sliced off, but if they're sliced off as your head is removed, it makes no great difference.

His head was pulled back, the lights had gone out, he had reached that stage where you are not really alive, but not quite dead yet either… that strange time where your limbs are jerking and your eyes have either bulged almost to popping point or have rolled back into your skull, or both. It was the stage where unfortunately your bladder lets go and hopefully a bright light shines down and the angels forgive you for all the fuckery you've carried out and take you home… And as he lay there under the weight of Ambrose, home was the place Floyd wanted to be. He wasn't going to beg and he wasn't going to plead, but he did have a final thought before the blood sprayed over the back of his head and the cord cut in deeper one last time… he thought that he would happily give up everything just to be able to go home again.

The cord loosened though. The dragging pulling digging sensation stopped and Floyd flopped forwards onto his front, smacking his face on the floor and putting the lights out completely for now.

Ambrose though was far from finished. He might have been confused over what had just happened and his neck might have almost been removed from his shoulders but he was not quite dead yet. He turned quickly in jerky slightly uncoordinated shudders and looked at Sam standing there behind him with a bloody knife in his hand. 'You?' Ambrose gurgled.

'You bastard.' Sam spat the words at Ambrose between his clenched teeth.

'Oh Floyd will recover, seems that poor Spencer got a bit squashed though.'

'I'm not talking about them! I don't give a fuck about them! I wanted a damned bath you shit! I wanted to wash my hair and look good again! I want to die looking like a backstreet fagging slut, not stinking like a cheap sodding zoo keeper! I just wanted to be clean!'

Ambrose sort of laughed and his head slopped back stretching the slit in his neck. Sam could see the sinews and muscles pulsing and moving around inside his throat… bubble popping and floating out of where he was now taking his breaths from. Sam stared open eyed as the smell of fresh blood wafted over him and Ambrose lifted a hand and pulled his head back into position again.

'You wanted a bath?'

Sam nodded slowly. He could see all the blood flowing down the demon's front. He would run out eventually… soon, Sam hoped.

'You are a whore.' Ambrose commented. 'Not meant as an insult. I've got stuff I can offer you. Stick a needle in your arm…'

'I wanted a fucking bath! Why couldn't you just let me have a bath, you son of a bitch!'

'You never asked.'

The rage which had gotten Sam in such a fury suddenly returned. Much in the way that Ambrose had suddenly pounced on Floyd, now Sam pounced on Ambrose. He planted the heel of his left hand under Ambrose's chin, forcing his head to drop back and weirdly rest upside down on his back… he wrapped his legs around Ambrose's waist and he punched the knife into the demon's chest where his heart should be. He pulled it out. He pushed it back in again. As Ambrose flailed backwards, Sam gave up trying to get the heart and went for the head. One hand pulled it back up again then both twisted it. He had to actually twist it around three times before he was able to jump back and pull it with him. It made an odd crunching snapping sound and then Sam was sitting on the floor with Ambrose's head sitting there staring inwards at his groin.

'Eww…' Sam groaned and pushed it away. 'Killed the fuck.' Sam muttered, then fell back and passed out in a very dramatic, back of hand on forehead, swoon.

Floyd woke up with a neckache – from hell – and a pounding face and headache to accompany it. He didn't move at first. His forehead and nose was pressed against the smooth, dark, glassy floor he was laying on. He opened his eyes and saw nothing. When he slowly moved his head to the side with a small inner scream… and a big outer moan, he at least could see, so he smiled at the thought of not being blind. It was a start. He could move his head, he could see. Life was fantastic. His head was still part of the rest of his lovely self.

He could hear crying coming from the direction he wasn't looking in, so after pulling his fingers out from behind the cord wrapped around his neck, he placed them on the ground either side of his shoulders and turned his head to look at where the crying was coming from. Sam. Of course it was Sam. Who else would cry like that? Sobbing, heartbreaking cries. Did Sam think that he was dead? Was that why he was crying. Floyd would like to think that was the reason. It made him feel all warm and happy inside to see Sam falling apart with grief. It turned Floyd's frown – upside down! He smiled and tried to say something, but his voice just came out as a dry croak. From where he was laying he glanced around. Spencer? Where the hell was Spencer? What was that pile of rocks Sam was sitting in front of, pulling bits away with each heart wrenching sob? Floyd managed with some muttering and bad language to roll over onto his back. He waved his arms around trying to get Sam's attention and finally after about five minutes or maybe ten fucking hours Sam responded and turned to look at Floyd.

I'm alive! I'm well! Everything is going to be wonderful! That at least was what Floyd tried to convey by the smile and the gesticulations. He wasn't sure that Sam got the message though. Floyd watched Sam drop a lump of rock to the side and then on his hands and knees he crawled over to Floyd. He stopped right in front of him. Dirty tears had turned the filth already on Sam's face to mud. The smell was impossible to ignore. Sam pressed his forehead against Floyd's and let out a long cry of despair.

Though it was nice to see that Sam was alive and well and hadn't been eaten by Ambrose, Floyd was now wondering what all the tears and fuss was about. He reached up and put a hand on the side of Sam's face.

'Where's Spencer?' He managed to whisper.

Sam moved back away a foot or so from Floyd. 'Is that all that worries you? I saved your life and you ask about Spencer? What about me?'

'Sam, love, tell me what happened.' He coughed up some muck and grimaced.

'Ambrose was on you so I took his head. I left the heart for you, but if you don't want it…'

'Was your kill… yours to take. Where is Spencer?'

Sam frowned and sat back on his hunkers. 'I dunno.' But his eyes drifted over to the rubble.

'He was still in there?' Floyd now managed to get onto his backside and with a fist pressing hard on each side of his head he was able to concentrate long enough to try to work this out. 'He is under the rubble?' Again Floyd's heart leapt. That was why Sam was crying and digging through it. Not only had he saved his life but now he was working on saving Spencer's. Floyd had a few seconds of warm pride filling him. At last Sam had grown up a bit… a tiny, hardly noticeable bit, but…'

'I dunno.' Sam said.

But… 'Where is Spencer?' Floyd lost that warmth and replaced it with something which might have been annoyance. 'Was he still in the building?'

'I dunno.' Sam moved back away further.

'Have you called for him? Can you sense him?'

Sam stood up and turned his back on Floyd. 'Nope. Haven't tried.'

o-o-o

There was a sound. Spencer had been laying squashed and unable to see anything or hear anything for so long that he had come to the decision that this was it. This was what he was going to have for eternity. Something was pinning his legs down, there was something else resting over his shoulders and one of his arms was caught up under him; there didn't seem to be room to move it and after a while of trying he thought that there really was no reason to move it. What would he do if he could? His other arm was stretched out in front of him and his hand was still grasping the hilt of Floyd's sword. Spencer guessed that being buried alive like this was maybe better than spending forever being cooked over a fire pit, or living (if you could class what was happening as living) for eternity being tortured. The room had been cool and almost comforting after the airless heat of the cavern, but that coolness had gone now and the heat was slowly building. There was no smell of apples or soap now, just dirt, sweat and other very manly scents. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad, but now… at last, after all that time there was a sound.

It was a grating grinding sound. The sound of rock moving on rock. Was the building going to finish its collapse and crush his aching skull like a burst melon? He didn't really mind. Spencer thought he'd saved Sam, but he had no idea what was going on with Floyd and Ambrose and if Floyd hadn't won… if Floyd was gone?

Spencer didn't want to think of that. He'd tried to live thinking that Floyd was dead before and it had sent him off in a spin of pain and more pain and Joel… He didn't want to even think about Floyd rotting out there with Sam next to him and not being able to join them. He let out a gasp of distress, but it made his chest hurt, it made his heart pound. He could feel it thumping and hammering under the hand he had caught up under himself.

There was space above his head. He knew that because nothing was pressing down on his head and bits occasionally slipped and dropped. Small bits of rock and stone, dust… even a jingling of something which sounded like a coin. He couldn't see though. Maybe he didn't want to.

More of that scraping sound and then a voice.

'Spencer? Please, if you're there let me know.' It was Floyd. A worried Floyd – an alive Floyd!

Spencer spat out a mouthful of dust and croaked back, but only a faint groan came out.

'Just do something. Knock on the rock, bang something, scrape… anything.'

But before he could, there was more noise from above him. A scraping and a groaning of rock. Something was shifting. The other sounds of the scraping had been distant; the other side of the pile he was under, but this was closer. Spencer managed to take a deep breath and call out. 'Stop!' He wasn't sure that he'd been heard. There was just more noise of shifting rocks, more dust falling and now slightly larger lumps dropping on his head and over his arm which was clutching the sword. Spencer turned his head to the side to see if calling out would be easier and something fell and caught him on the cheekbone. He yelped out in surprise. Probably louder this time. Loud enough for someone – Floyd – to hear.

'Spence! Spence is that you babes?' Again a voice which sounded like it was verging on panic.

'I'm OK.' Spencer croaked out. 'Just… just be careful.'

'Shit on a stick! I thought you were dead.'

'Things are shifting. Be careful what you move.'

'Got you babes… heard and understood. Can you cover your head?'

'No… just be careful.'

'Keep talking to me… let me know if more stuff slips. I'm not a fucking miner. Fucking up my fingernails too. You're going to owe me.'

'If you get me out of here alive, I'll pay for you to have a manicure.'

There was sudden silence. Just complete nothing. No scraping, no talking… A terrible deathly silence.

'Spencer?' Floyd suddenly spoke. The panic seemed to be gone from his voice. 'Was that a joke, Babes?'

'No… just keep digging me out of here! Don't go quiet like that. You scared me.'

'Scared myself hun. Don't make me laugh OK, I seem to be suffering from a weak bladder and I don't want to piss myself.'

Spencer smiled to himself. It was going to be all right. Everything was going to work out fine. 'Did Sam… is Sam OK?' The last Spencer could remember he'd just turfed Sam out onto the rocky floor. He hadn't even checked that he was breathing.

'Not the time to discuss Sam. We need to worry about you. He's alive, if that's what you're asking. Alive and… Well, yeah, Sam's still breathing, so you concern yourself about him no more. You know he doesn't give a flying fuck about you – don't you?'

o-o-o

Sam was laying on his front looking away from what Floyd was doing. He had a bloody nose, a split lip, a suspected broken little finger, one eye was closing fast and his shorts were laying about ten foot away. It apparently was his punishment for holding resentment about Adam. Sam knew better though. The dirty boy with the straw coloured hair made Floyd hard and made Floyd maudlin just thinking about him. Sam had hated Adam before. He hated him even more now. Floyd wasn't grateful that Sam had saved his life. He wasn't pleased that he'd taken Ambrose's head. He wasn't pleased to see him and he hadn't given him a cuddle… he'd just said that Ambrose's heart was his if he wanted… and then before he could even do that Floyd had punished him for Adam firstly and then for Bern. The others he didn't seem to care about. Sam didn't have involvement with some of them, but those two… damn… so Floyd had beaten Sam until Sam stopped moving and then used him.

Sam would go to the cops (had they not been in hell) and say that Floyd beat him up and raped him, but they cops would have laughed. You cant rape a whore. It's not possible. They would tell him to go away and stop moaning about a spiteful john. Sam spat blood out onto the ground and let out a shuddering breath.

All he wanted was a bath.

A fucking bath!

And now this shit.

o-o-o

Floyd had – lost his shit – That would be how he would have described it. He tried to say to himself that this wasn't Sam's fault. He'd not toppled a building on top of Spencer. That hadn't been his doing. He'd not lost the sword either, that had been Spencer. Sam had killed the bad guy when Floyd thought his number was up – (given him but a few more minutes and he'd have had Ambrose's arse – at least he liked to think that.)

This was, though, entirely Sam's fault. And Sam needed to be punished.

It started with a slap. Then a harder slap… a punch… some good old fashioned kicking. There'd not really been that much of a resistance. Sam knew he was in the wrong and knew that he deserved every bit of pain. Floyd was in his zone. Ambrose was dead, Spencer probably dead too and Sam was to blame for the whole load.

And so…

Floyd lost his shit.

And then maybe thought as Sam was now laying there doing nothing he might as well fuck him. Would rather it had been Spencer, but this was all that was available.

Lucky for Spencer maybe.

Unfortunate for Spencer. Depending on how you wanted to view the situation.

Floyd finished with Sam and with a parting bit of spite called him Adam. He didn't think that Sam heard, but that didn't matter. It pleased Floyd to have stuck that last little barb in.

Now he was pulling the building apart trying to find Spencer.

Thank the gods… or something, maybe no gods involved here, but thank whoever was listening that Spencer was alive under there and actually seemed quite chirpy.

The roof had originally been made up of wooden slates. They were now slices of stone which Floyd threw to the side as he attempted to clear the weight off the top of the structure, or what was left of it, first. His fingers were sore from where Ambrose had tried to slice them off along with his head and now he had cracked and broken fingernails, which annoyed Floyd more than the lump of cloth he had tied around his neck to try to stop the bleeding.

Fingernails were his main weapon, along with teeth and first and feet. You should keep them strong and sharp. Cant rip a man's balls off with quite so much pleasure if you have chopped off broken fingernails. Floyd also kept one thumb nail slightly serrated. He could cut a person's throat open with it on a good day. Today wasn't a good day though. Both thumb nails were bent back a ragged… both were bloody and fucked up.

Another lump of stone was hefted off and dropped to the side. He glanced over his shoulder to look at Sam. A lovely sight it was… but no time to amuse himself now… had to get his even greater love out from under here and then kiss him all over every inch of his bruised skin…

'Spencer?' He called out and got a faint response. 'Are you bruised?' He attempted to keep the lust out of his voice and make it sound like he was concerned. 'Bleeding?'

'A bit.' Came a muffled reply.

'Good.' Floyd allowed a smile. 'Good that it's only a bit… that's what I mean.'

Another small reply. 'Hurry up.'

'I'm hurrying! I just don't want to kill you by moving the wrong thing. Why did you go back in there anyway? You got Sam out. Why go back?'

At first there was no reply. 'To get your damned sword.' Spencer finally replied.

'Really?' Another lump of stone was moved. Floyd watched it roll away. 'Did you get it?'

'Of course.'

Floyd wanted to jump up and down and yell Hallelujah! But he didn't. Not yet anyway. Spencer was more important than the sword, but it seemed to motivate Floyd to get the rubble off his boy a bit quicker. 'Tell me when you see light.' Floyd called out as he shifted a rather large lump… a bit of wall – it had to be wrenched out and pulled away. It could possibly make the whole lot cave in… on top of his boy (sword) and damage his boy (sword). Everything was going to be great!

'Be careful!' Spencer shouted. He seemed closer. 'I can see light, but something just shifted. It's across my shoulders.'

Floyd found a hand. He found a hand! And it was attached to… (HIS LOVELY SWORD!) to Spencer. Oh great joy… wondrous joy and skippy happiness! 'Nearly there!' Floyd called out. 'So close!' He managed to prise the sword out of Spencer's hand. 'I'll take that.' He snatched it! He couldn't help himself! It was singing to him and calling to him! Here I am Floyd! Your sword is returned to you! Its beautiful voice was singing a welcome home ballad in his head.

'Floyd? You still there?' Spencer's fingers moving and wriggling.

'I'm here. Give me a second to…' To kiss my sword… to rub it against me and make mad passionate love to it. '… to put this somewhere safe…' Like up Sam's arse. 'Ahh… sweet love.' Floyd muttered.

'Floyd?'

'What? I'm here. Stop fucking nagging me will you? I'm doing my bloody best here. What do you want from me? I was nearly decapitated not more than a few hours ago.'

Silence from Spencer.

Floyd tried just dragging Spencer out by that free hand, but when Spencer started to scream he thought he'd best stop. He had to move more things first. The care he'd taken before seemed to have gone. He was pulling things off and ignoring Spencer's occasional cries or groans. Floyd was bored. Spencer wasn't dead so surely he could dig his own way out? But he'd started now. His fingernails were already buggered. Nothing he could do about that and really, getting his boy back and in a fuckable condition was a nice thought. He bent over those wriggling fingers and kissed each one of them. 'Soon.' He told Spencer and kissed them each again… then sucked on them and nibbled…

'Floyd? Get this stuff off me!'

'Ah…' Floyd replied and moved back to carry on working. Spencer was such a kill joy sometimes.