TW: Sexist and otherwise very unsavoury thoughts and language towards women. I should probably add that I do not share the same views as OC just to be clear.
The drive was silent, but it was just a well. Up ahead, the Addams house looked monstrous against barren trees and a bleak sky.
Mrs Addams was waiting for them at the front door, teasing him in an inky, gossamer-thin number. She raised a delicate hand to shake, but he gripped it instead and brought her pale fingers in for a kiss. "Charmed," he said, satisfied when she returned his smile.
The inside of the house resembled a gothic museum with high ceilings, large windows, and strange artifacts. Streaks of silver and sharpened bronzed metal lining the walls were a welcoming surprise for him. It would be so easy to accidentally impale yourself on any of them.
The couple led him up the grand staircase and into a smaller lounge room.
"You will have to excuse the lack of hospitality, old man. Lurch, our butler, is out for the evening." Gomez guided his wife over to one of the plush grey couches.
"Yes, it will be just us tonight," said Morticia.
He sat on the adjacent cushioned seat. "All the better for our nightly activities."
Morticia raised a brow at his boldness but said nothing. Next to her, Gomez led the conversation over the various rules and particulars they expected in the bedroom. Truthfully, he was all for playing their little game.
When they finished, Gomez spoke swiftly about some sort of massaging oil they should use before making an abrupt exit. Morticia sat silent and still before him.
He wondered when she would resign the meek little housewife facade she put on. It was almost convincing, but he'd dealt with her kind too many times to fall for polite manners and a pleasant countenance.
She beckoned him to join her on the couch after a beat. It was his turn to raise a brow, but he relented and moved to sit next to her.
"Did you enjoy the show last night?"
"I did."
"Good," she sighed. Her move was entirely calculated when she rested a hand on his bicep. "Don Giovanni, our favorite. Gomez tries to take me to the Opera at least once a month to unwind."
"Very romantic of him." He traced a finger along the edges of her jaw and delighted at the way she shivered under him.
"Mm yes. And did you enjoy the other show?"
He would admit he was shocked at the brazen suggestion, though he did nothing to betray it. Her gaze was pitch black and trained on him, challenging him even. Deft fingers moved to graze against her throat in warning. "Which part?" he whispered, daring her to continue.
"The part where I let my husband touch me while you watched."
He grabbed her, tightening his hold on her neck and stifling her surprised gasp. He drew her to him, and under his scrutinizing gaze, it was unmistakable. She looked even more striking up close.
And for the first time in his life, he was conflicted.
She bewitched to him at the bistro, he realized, and again at the Opera house. She filled his head with softer thoughts that masked who she really was. Her beauty could never hide that she was just like the rest of those witches.
And really, he should have realized, because they were all the same. Immoral, hedonistic little creatures that preyed on weaker men like Gomez Addams. And she would never be any different.
He didn't hate witches. But he loathed their deceptive ways.
"Have you been watching me, little minx?"
She at least had the decency to look wounded. Curling her fingers around his wrist, she looked at him with wide eyes still brimming with excitement. But beneath the innocent stare, something wicked simmered.
He wanted to extinguish it.
"How could I not? You looked ready to pounce on me."
"I was."
"Tell me, Mr Hansen-"
"Julien."
"Julien. What did you like that made you look so animalistic?"
And yet, despite his disgust of her, he was conflicted because he still wanted her. He wanted to possess her. To fuck her, really, as he did to the rest of them. And he wanted nothing more than to explore the contours of her body and leave her hideous in his eyes.
And when she was all used up, he wanted to wrap his fingers back around her scarred neck and watch the life seep out of her. Just like the rest of them.
"Well, you do have a pair of lovely legs."
"Oh?"
"The longest I've ever seen. Tell me, are they strong enough to hold against a wall?"
Her breath hitched, but only slightly, and he didn't miss the way her thigh squeezed together. She wanted him as much as he wanted to claim her.
"And what else?"
His gaze dipped lower. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.
"Don't do that. That's my job." He pulled her into a kiss. Her taste was potent. Sweet yet intoxicating, and she made delicious sounds in his mouth.
His grip on her neck loosened only to anchor her chin up and glide his tongue along her fine jaw. She gave an appreciative moan, and her sharp nails dragged along his chest, past his stomach, before settling on his belt.
He gave an irritated groan and broke the kiss. "Don't tease me."
She flashed him a wicked little smirk. Her lips were pink and bruised from his touch. She ghosted a hand back up his stomach and tugged at his suit jacket, which he promptly discarded.
There was a cough in the distance.
They turned to find Gomez standing at the doorway. He flashed them an impatient look before turning on his heel and leaving.
Morticia stood up and took his hand to follow Gomez into the bedroom.
Candlelight flickered across the large room. Shades of purple and red danced across his vision but never formed a clear picture. Yet even though the dim lighting and the oppressively dark, textured walls, the room looked decadent. At the center of it all sat a beast of a bed made of iron, steel, silk, and furs.
"Hey."
They stood head to head, dark brown meeting mossy green. And even though he would never tell Gomez this, he had to admit there was something undoubtedly alluring about the Castilian man. Not necessarily handsome like himself, but magnetic. No wonder his client had such strong feelings.
"Yes, Gomez?"
"You were right. That was very attractive." He walked behind his wife and gathered her hair to one side. " But if you want this to continue, then don't do it again while I'm away." A slow unzip punctuated his words.
"Gentlemen, there's no need to fight." Morticia raised a gentle hand to her husband's cheek. Gomez kissed her palm and produced a small bottle of oil.
He should be offended, and in any other situation, he would be. But he couldn't help but find this all a bit amusing under the circumstance.
And of course, he was right all along.
"Yes, you're right," he said. With nimble fingers, he snaked an arm around Morticia's dainty waist. "In fact, Gomez, why don't you let me take care of that. So you can observe."
Gomez nodded with some hesitation and handed the cool bottle to him.
"Good. Now take her dress off all the way."
He walked over to the window and drew them to let moonlight peer through. There needed to be as many witnesses tonight as possible.
Before him stood Morticia Addams clad in lacy black underwear. He was drawn to her curves. Soft and feminine they were, with no lines or creases that marred her alabaster skin. He ran a gentle hand over her hips, her stomach, and ass. She didn't shrink back or blush under his leering gaze.
"Well, don't you look sinister."
"Thank you."
He would ruin her tonight.
Gomez made himself comfortable at the foot on the bed, so he guided her to a grey loveseat overlooking it.
He placed a soft kiss on her cheek before massaging her back and shoulders. Her skin was slick and shined under the oil. His fingers slid down her sides, playfully tugging at her bra before rubbing along her waist and hips.
"Tease," she sighed and leaned into his chest. His eyes shifted briefly to Gomez sitting on the bed and watching them. When their gazes locked, he unhooked her bra.
Morticia sucked in a quiet breath.
"Cold?" He bit at her earlobe. She arched her back slightly, so he moved to massage her front. It was methodical. His fingers would rub along her stomach before following the rise of her chest. He cupped her ample breasts in his hands, savoring every whine when he rolled her nipples between his thumb. She was being so good to him, purring like a cat being pet.
He pressed kisses along her throat. Tender at first, but designed to bruise. Morticia tipped her head back and pulled him in for a languid kiss.
"Take off her underwear."
He glanced up. Jacket long gone, the outline of Gomez's muscles were prominent through his white shirt.
"I'm already ahead of you, friend." He bunched the strip of fabric in his hand and ripped it completely off. Morticia's groan of protest turned into one of pleasure when he lifted her off his lap and kneeled to spread her legs.
She looked nearly perfect before him, completely exposed and asking to be unmade. Her body was designed to endure the weight of every punishing touch. Every graze of his teeth that sunk in a little too deep. Every flick of his tongue across overly stimulated flesh. And still, she begged for more.
Of course she did, just like the rest of them.
"Julien." Her voice was a hushed plea, but he would never reward her kind.
"Behave yourself. I'm sure you're used to this by now."
Her nails tore into his back, but he would make sure her scars ran even deeper. He bit at her neck and soothed the burn with his tongue. Her gasp rang in his ear when he trailed his tongue down her torso, between heaving breasts, and stopped just short of where she wanted him most.
"Gomez, would you look at that." He parted her lips to reveal a slick, glistening patch.
Gomez snatched himself off the bed. He took his place back on the seat while Gomez wrapped his wife's quivering thighs around him and buried his face between her legs.
Morticia howled her pleasure into his mouth. Her fingers curled and gripped his hair, and he groaned when she began unbuckling his belt. He pulled away and turned his attention to her neglected breasts. Lips wrapped around sensitive nipples, biting, tugging, and licking the brown nubs.
"Enough."
Gomez pulled away. He released her and stood up. She regarded him for a second before pulling Gomez up onto the couch. He took off his pants and boxers, revealing tanned, hairless skin, scarred from years of playing with swords. Gomez's cock, though impressive, paled in comparison to his. Yet Morticia fell to the ground before it.
He almost couldn't believe she neglected him. Little ungrateful minx. He wanted to wrap his belt around her pretty neck but instead found a better conquest.
He kneeled behind her and leaned to kiss the soft swell of her ass. It wiggled and swayed invitingly before him. One. Two fingers dripping in oil parted her lips and slid into her weeping cunt. Morticia moaned, so he added a third.
Gomez groaned his assent.
He formed a soft rhythm at first, sliding in and out of her. His tongue found purchase lashing against her clit. Her hips followed the thrusts, and her legs parted wider for his invasion. Her musky scent hung in the air, and her blissful sounds filled the room. He got more brutal, and a harsh slap on her ass made sure she always kept up. Her juices trickled down his arm and onto the carpet, and when she came, so did Gomez as well.
"Very good." She cleaned off his fingers like a good little witch.
He scooped her up into his arms and laid her on the unused bed while Gomez recovered.
"Are you ready?"
She simply gave him a sly look and rolled onto her stomach.
He grinned, tearing off his clothes, and sat at the head of the bed. She was a ruined beauty before him, defaced, marked, and defiled. Yet as she gazed up at him with those half-lidded eyes, he wanted nothing more than to consume her.
She leaned up to kiss him. She smelled used, but he kissed her back because she was his.
Breaking away, she ran her nails across his torso. "You're very handsome," she said and ran scorching kisses along his chest, fingers tangling into his fair hairs.
"Thank you."
She smirked and moved to get a condom from off the dresser, then propped herself on her elbows. He released a soft hiss when she took him in her hand.
"Faster," he gritted, and she responded by licking a brutal trail up his shaft. His grip on her hair was firm when her mouth wrapped around him.
He thinks this is how she ought to always look. Prone and laying complete worship to him. He thrust into her mouth, and her body moved with the motion.
Gomez recovered and moved behind her. He ran his tongue down the curve of her spine before entering her. Her moan vibrated around his cock, and he bucked into her mouth and took as much pleasure as he could.
Soon the room was filled with gasps, slaps, and cries of pleasure.
At some point, he stood up at the foot of the bed and drove into her while Gomez fucked her from behind. The Castillian's fiery nature clearly translated into his love life. His body was drenched in sweat, his muscles flexed, and face flushed in concentration as his hips smacked against his wife's ass.
And at that moment, he realized something about Gomez. He didn't despise the Castilian. He pitied him.
He'd met many weak men in his life, but Gomez felt different. He was confident, fit, and alluring. But more than that, he was rich and could have anyone he wanted. There was a certain charm that he also found irresistible.
Gomez had the potential to be dangerous. To be a friend to him. But here he was, under the thumb of a raven haired vixen. Sadly it was too late for him. If only they'd met when they were younger...
Gomez sped up his pace, so he did as well. Morticia writhed and clawed at the sheets and the skin of his thighs. It was an exquisite sight. And when came inside her, he made sure she swallowed every drop before releasing her.
Morticia came soon after with Gomez, and they both collapsed, entwined in each other on the mattress. Very romantic. But he wasn't necessarily done with her yet.
"Gomez. Why don't we let her mouth rest for a while?"
Gomez looked up, glowing and blissful. Not as handsome as himself, but magnetic.
"I'll let you two enjoy," he said and went to rest on the couch.
So this was it. The beginning of the end of her undoing. Looking at her posed up and waiting for him, he almost felt bad. She really could have been his new prized pet. A rare exception to the rest. But she fucked it up. Like his ex-wife. Like the rest of the whores.
He covered her body with his. Pinning her hands to the headboard, his free fingers dipped to graze against the bruises he left. He wanted to taste her first, but he decided to fill her instead.
She wrapped her legs around his waist while he pushed into her wet heat. She felt even better than he imagined.
"Let me go," she seethed, and her nails slashed across his back.
There was no mercy in his thrusts. Why would there be? After all, she took it all with gratitude. Her breath quickened, and her eyes fluttered shut. He buried his head into the crook of her neck and sped up his punishing pace.
There was a rumble.
He heard it before feeling it. Pain tore through the back of his head. He screamed and the force of the blow sent him to the ground. He tried to push himself up, but another pain exploded across the side of his head. A sick, metallic scent filled his nostrils. He grew weak, barely able to hear his own ragged breath. He mustered as much strength as he could to turn onto his back.
There. A shadow stood above him, the weapon glinting in the light and dripping in his own blood.
The coward.
He wanted to spit at them. Raise an accusatory hand, and curse their existence but he was far too weak. Instead only gargled words and blood could make it from his broken jaw.
His vision blurred, but he knew he saw his assailant tilt their head at him. 'Don't fucking pity me.' he wanted to say, but he closed his eyes instead. He just needed to rest them for a minute.
His assailant, whoever they were, was cruel to beat him while his eyes were closed. But soon enough, he couldn't even hear the sounds of bones breaking, and then he couldn't hear anything.
He felt cold. He was dying.
Woe to William.
He released a breath.