HEAVY TW: Blood and Gore. It's a blood bath here, guys. Courtesy of my messed up mind.
Morticia loathed obscenities. So much so that she all but forbade her family from speaking it. Such unattractive and crude habits had no place in her home.
But she would be lying if she said the sight of her husband in this raw, animalistic state didn't stir something deep inside her.
She supposed she shouldn't be so shocked. After all, Gomez made it clear to her exactly what he would be doing to their guest. But she didn't expect to witness such utter depravity. Goosebumps prickled along her skin, and her nipples tightened in the cool night air.
Perhaps it was the ruddy stench of the room, conjuring up memories from her youth. How they would explore the estate, often finding themselves alone and consumed in each other in the bowels of the vault. Or perhaps it was his state of undress, his naked body tense and tight as he screamed his frustrations onto the corpse.
Julien Hansen, or rather, Willliam Gordon, was a pathetic little thing now. Once a golden casanova now reduced to a lump of soiled flesh. And a small, admittedly sadistic part of her smiled at this gruesome change of events. The same part that took great pleasure in playing with her food before she ate it.
This man thought them easy prey? That he could invade her home, quite obviously she might add, and try to destroy her family with ease? Now William and his fool of a client would reap the consequences.
She watched Gomez dust the room in a fine coat of blood. Some of it seeped into the walls, while others dribbled off the furniture and streamed into a sizable pool on the floor.
She would have to clean that up, but she didn't dare stop her husband.
Flecks of stray blood began to dry on her skin, and the large wall clock chimed 12, bringing her out of her daydream. She stretched out on the soaked sheets and slid off the bed. They still had so much to do.
"Cara Mia!"
The bat fell to the floor with a wet thud, and the barbarous look in his eyes disappeared just as quickly.
What a shame.
Gomez rushed to her with apologies already on his tongue, but she silenced him with a soft smile. "It's alright darling, I'll deal with this mess later."
"Nonsense Tish. I'll have Lurch and Thing get to it at once!"
Morticia shook her head. "They've already done enough for us." She imagined she and Gomez would be dead by now if she didn't have the foresight to conduct some research yesterday. And as usual, Lurch and Thing were wonderful assistants.
"Very true." Her husband collapsed onto an upturned chaise. "Let's say we gave them a promotion!"
"Definitely."
Gomez looked absolutely delicious slumped in the seat. His torso was bathed in blood and sweat. His hair lay limp, falling over dark eyes. She licked her lips and willed herself not to mount him.
"You know, it's impolite to stare," he smirked, noting her half arousal.
"Really?" Morticia cupped the source of it in her hands. With slow deliberate moves, she stroked her thumbs across hardened peaks. "I didn't realize."
"Tish..."
"Darling, I believe you're under the impression that we're done here."
Gomez's eyes followed as she drifted over to his nightstand. She ruffled through it for a moment before finding a lighter and his vintage La Gloria Cubana cigar. Pre-cut, of course.
"A midgame celebration?"
She shrugged. "If you want to call it that, I suppose."
Gomez grinned then and patted his massive thighs. He opened them wide, nearly straddling the chair. "Well, hop on."
The suggestion was lewd at best and he knew it. But she'd never been one to balk at any of his challenges. Especially not when it made her so incredibly wet.
His grip on her waist was firm when she lay over him. Her skin shuddered as it pressed against warm streaks of blood. She let him light the cigar and take the first puff.
"So, what's the plan for our friendly next-door neighbor?" he asked, nipping at her earlobe.
She smiled and swatted at his cheek playfully. "I was thinking an ambush of sorts? We can catch him at his most vulnerable. Which I believe should be anytime between now and before dawn."
His lips were very distracting across her jawline, same for his fingers tracing patterns across her back. She almost had half a mind to stop him.
"Fantastic idea, querida," he whispered between his assaults. "In fact, I have an idea of my own that will go perfectly with yours."
His hands lingering over the swell of her behind, dangerously close to slipping between her thighs. So close, actually, that she had no choice but to part them slightly for his access.
"Oh?"
"Oh yes. It's a surprise."
His fingers slipped inside her with ease. Morticia arched her back, and below her, Gomez swelled with renewed vigor.
"Darling," she breathed. "We're supposed to be getting ready."
His pace slowed so torturously, that it made her toes curl with want. Her moan rang through the space between their mouths. A silent beg. A plea for him to finish what he started.
"Shall I stop?"
Not a chance. Using his shoulders, she pushed herself off his chest and sat astride him. The cigar fell abandoned on the floor, as Gomez scratched lines at her waist and buried his fingers deep inside her. Her mind went blank over the next few moments, gathering only enough sense to grip his jutting cock in her hands, and rock softly against his movements.
He leaned up to kiss her, his warm tongue soothing against her swollen bottom lip.
"Querida." It was his turn to beg, and it seemed to spur her on. And even through the haze of pleasure, her husband looking up at her with so much lust, there was no moan of appreciation. No suggestive quip or hushed declaration of love.
Only a question. One that had been on her mind since the night before. It was after they found out they lived next to a traitor. He'd made love to her as usual, and in the aftermath, just before she fell asleep, he made a suggestion that both enticed and concerned her.
"Gomez."
"Darling..."
She hesitated for only a second. "Did you enjoy tonight?"
Gomez smiled. "I did actually. It was better than I expected. The only thing I regret is this." He pushed her hair to the side and trailed his fingers across her bruised neck.
There was no malice in his voice. No discontent or resentment in his eyes either. Gomez wouldn't lie to her no matter what, and she loved him for that.
"Mon Amour."
She leaned in and kissed him. He slipped out of her and lifted her up, their sighs of pleasure vibrating through the room as she sank down on his cock.
Mr Womack could wait an hour.
Frigid wind nipped at the exposed skin of Phill's collar. His dining room table was stacked to the brim. Files, folders, and reports decorated the mahogany bench, rustling in the breeze. He sipped at his lukewarm coffee and ran a hand over weary eyes.
Mr Hansen hasn't lost a case yet, he knew that to be a fact. Instead, he preferred to attribute his insomnia to guilt. He wasn't stupid. He knew Mr Hansen was unpredictable by default, and he certainly had ulterior motives with Mrs Addams.
That beast of a man.
It would be his only shame. She didn't deserve that kind of faith, so he would pray for her. He might open a charity in her name later. And after the house got demolished, he might give it to her kids.
Phill hated him, to put it lightly. Mr Hansen shared much of the same repulsive traits as Gomez. But there was some respect and even a bit of gratitude for his service. Still, stripped of his expertise was the same kind of predator he saw time and time again in his courtroom.
Phill longed for the day the roles would be reversed. When the name Hansen would appear on his docket.
The doorbell rang, startling him for a moment.
"If that's..." he grumbled, padding over to the front door.
He peeped outside, expecting to see a clump of blonde hair and an obnoxious grin. Instead, he was met with total darkness. He swung it open, looking around for a moment.
How childish, he wanted to say. Just as he was about to shut the door, a disgusting coppery smell alerted him. He looked down and nearly gagged. What remained of a cardboard box sat destroyed and oozing liquid on his patio.
He clutched the nylon of his neckline to his nose, and upon closer inspection, the liquid was unmistakable. At the side of it sat a pristine white note.
'Have a heart, your honor.' it read. And if he wasn't already convinced of Mr Hansen's psychopathy, he was sure of it now. Because inside the box encased in a plastic bag sat the remnants of a human heart.
Yet even though the shock of it all. Of doing business with a man he despised, and the delivery of a human heart to his doorstep, he couldn't help but feel a bit elated.
Gomez Addams was dead.
And his weak heart was at his doorsteps. So many years of suffering and anguish over that family would end. Finally, he could rest easily.
He ran a hand through his greying hair and gasped. He almost couldn't believe this. Though this was only the beginning of the end, it allowed him to think more positively. He carefully picked up the heart and walked inside. Making sure no blood dripped onto his carpet, he couldn't help but think of all the possibilities.
It could go in a jar. He could bury it. Display it. The police would never suspect him, his options were endless.
He walked back into the dining room and screamed.
His desk was stained in a sickly pink. It dribbled along all his files, ruining them. He dropped the heart in shock and fell to his knees, clutching his chest.
"Jesus Christ!"
The features were mangled, but he still managed to see the same tufts of dirty blonde hair and dull, soulless green eyes staring back at him.
Just then a window smashed. He whipped around in time to see Gomez Addams leap through it. Before he could utter a word. Gomez grabbed him roughly. "Now Tish!"
The door opened and Morticia glided into the room
He was mortified.
Gomez forced him into a kitchen chair. But by then, he'd managed to regain his voice.
"W-What's going on?"
Gomez clapped him harshly in the back and gave a crazed laugh. One that haunted his memories. "What's going on, he says!"
Morticia smiled, dropping a bag he didn't even realize she was carrying.
Gomez began tying him up, and it was at that point he began to panic.
"No!" he shrieked. "Hel-"
Gomez laced a rough hand over his mouth, pulling out a rag and stuffing it in its place. Still, he screamed, struggling to get out of this nightmare. He grappled in the chair, pushing, clawing at Gomez in an effort to escape, but he was unmatched.
Gomez tied him up while his wife watched. He groaned against his confines, the rough rope digging into his skin.
With a look of disgust his way, Gomez turned back to his wife. He didn't hear what they said, but soon he was climbing back out the broken window.
Phill watched her as she roamed around, taking in his things. His pajamas were drenched in sweat, but still, he trembled and gasped for air behind the gag.
"I'm sorry about the mess, Mr Womack," she said so quietly that he barely heard it over the blood rushing through his ears.
"That was my husband's idea. A bit cliche, yes, but I like to indulge him at times." He shivered at her smile.
The air was so foul that he felt sick. Phill tried to mumble something, but the gag blocked any sound. Eventually, she took some pity and crossed the room to remove it.
"Please-" he coughed. "Please. Mrs Addams see reason. I have children-" he choked up.
"Really?"
"Y-Yes" he said. "Look over there. On the mantle. Those are my kids. " he pleaded.
She drifted over and picked up the frame.
"And your friend Margaret. She's my sister."
"Yes, we spoke to her about this. She has no reservations," she said. "Your children will look dreadfully morbid at the funeral."
Something ticked inside of him. A new wave of emotion rushing through. It was pure unadulterated rage.
"Have you no heart, woman," he spat.
He struggled hard against his confines, breaking the skin of his wrist even more. The chair tipped violently back and forth against his efforts. And Mrs Addams pitched him a look so pitying, it enraged him further. If Mr Hanson couldn't do it, he would wring her neck himself.
"What would your children think!"
She crossed the room in three strides. A small woman such as herself had no business with such a strong grip. But there she was, with her hand clutching his face so tight, her long nails pierced his cheeks.
He cried out at the assault but was powerless when she brought his face up to meet her cold eyes.
"It would do you well not to mention my children so lightly. After all, their absence is the only reason you're not already dead and buried."
"Tish!"
She let him go just as quickly and went to stand by the door just as Gomez came back with a large bag. "Sorry I'm late. I couldn't decide which toys to use."
"That's fine, darling." Her voice was so deceptively light. "Remind me to drop the van at the camp so the children have a ride home."
"Excellent idea, Cara. I'll do it first thing in the morning." Gomez shuffled through the bag and pulled out something glossy. He couldn't see what it was at first, but a new wave of panic rushed through him when he saw the hacksaw.
He looked up at Gomez with pleading eyes, but all he saw was hate shining back down at him.
"I thought we were friends, Phill. After all we've done for you? All the windows we've had repaired and the money we've donated to your charity? Yet look who betrayed us. Have you no shame?" He whispered the last part
Phill tried to speak. To lie. Beg and seek out Gomez's naive and nostalgic side. But Gomez shook his head at his attempts. "Turnabout is fair play, Phill. Tish, remind me again of our motto?"
The words poured out like a mantra but was drowned out as the blade slashed across his leg. Blood sprayed across the room, splattering across the glass of his Judge's Certificate.