Jekyll and Hyde fight for control, but not for long. The soundtrack for the Jekyll & Hyde musical is so good (and so thirst-inducing) that it made me write this.
Henry Jekyll lay awake, long past midnight, pondering on his current situation. Though the room was almost entirely black with night, he gazed sightlessly up at the ceiling above, trailing his fingertips across the sheets in intricate patterns as he did. Thinking of God above, he began to recite a half-formed prayer that he may be assisted by divinity to cleanse whatever evils may lurk within him. Even to God, he could not bear to admit the full truth of it. As he thought on the prayer, re-writing it in his mind, he began to feel a familiar creeping sickness wend its way through the pit of his stomach, having crawled the length of his intestines. “U-ugh…” he shuddered, making as though to turn on his side, turning his head towards the pillows as he considered burying his face deeply inside their welcoming suffocation.
“Poor fool… you are already well aware that I live inside of you…” a ragged, dark voice growled lowly from his gasping mouth. “Where exactly did you hope to hide..?” Struggling, Jekyll forced his mouth shut, in the hopes that the fiend would no longer use it as a vessel for his awful words. Raucous laughter echoed in his ears, as though there was another in the room tickled by his amateur performance. “Did you really think it would be that easy?” the voice smirked from within. Jekyll fought, anxiously wresting one wrist from the phantom grip and raising it to his ear to try to blot out any further conversation. That laughter again, a riotous scream of amusement, and his arm fell limply to the bedsheets.
“I do hope you were not thinking on prayers again, Doctor?” The voice spoke, low, dangerous. “After all, you surely know how futile such an endeavour would be at this late hour… Not to mention…” Jekyll’s breath hitched as he felt his fingers twitch to life without his permission, “we both know that your heart is hardly in it.” Those fingers walked as though possessed, making little steps along his thigh, trailing upwards. Like a warped simulacrum of the delicate touch of a lover, he grimaced as he felt one finger trace a wicked shadow in an upward line between his trembling legs. Face searing with embarrassed heat, disgusted, he felt himself twitch.
As the hand went reaching for the waistband of his trousers, he allowed the monster to do as he would. Perhaps if he didn’t fight this, there would be more strength left for him to fight the vile creature at a more vital moment. Yes. That was it. That is surely why he lay there, splayed and vulnerable, awaiting that familiar, yet unwanted caress. Heat crept up his pale sides, licking where it touched, leaving his face blush-reddened as he felt impatient fingertips grasping at his buttoned crotch. He shivered as it was flicked open, and that ravenous hand crawled inside. Before he was fully aware of what was happening, still somewhat stunned, his half-hard length was pulled free of its confines. Hissing as it met the cool air, Jekyll twisted on the spot as though to gain more friction, or to turn away from the pleasure presented to him. That sinister, booming voice echoed out once again, shaming his predicament. “Truly laughable, the state of Doctor Henry Jekyll… If only they could see you now. So desperate for the touch of my hand, so grateful. You already recognise which of us will win out in the end, don’t you? Oh, and it’s hardly worth the battle when it feels so good to submit…”
Already, his cock began straining upwards, half from fear and half from the unbearable anticipation promised by that wicked voice. The way those words echoed around his head had him feeling dazed, A sure hand thumbed across the weeping red tip of his length, cruelly pausing to thumb small circles over his slit until he mewled and heaved dry sobs. Cringing inward, Jekyll moved as though to curl desperately against his tormentor but was met with nothingness. “Mmmn” he whimpered, shuddering at the practiced teasing playing out across his flesh. Merciless and vindicated laughter echoed through his skull, pleased with the wanton image laid out on the bedspread.
Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes as he pictured the true pathetic scope of the scene: he, glasses askew, half-dressed, palming himself desperately as he argued aloud (or worse, writhed and moaned in silence) with the darkest depths of his consciousness. Suddenly, a sharp feeling pulled him from his woeful reverie as he felt the tip of a finger brush against his clenched opening and begin to probe. Startled, he made a choking gasp as he wriggled at the brand-new sensation. The finger pressed again, harder this time, asserting itself inside him. Though the tip was slick with his arousal, he was wholly unfamiliar and unpractised with this act.
“S-stop! No! I-it’s a violation!” Jekyll cried, arching his back to escape his own prying hand. Hyde did not deign to answer his outburst, though Jekyll swore he could feel the thrum of suppressed laughter rippling across the inner surface of his eardrums as he squirmed and thrashed. It burned, oh God did it burn, and Jekyll once again desperately tried to wrestle back control of his arm to pull his fingers away. Face reddening with the effort, he panted in short wretched gasps as his muscles flexed slightly but would not obey. Screaming, he could do nothing as the digit continued to breach him. Soon his throat became sore and dry, but this was nothing in comparison to the torment he felt his body was being made to endure. Deep in his chest, he felt a terrible wracking sob threaten to burst free and fought it with all his might.
Shuddering, he squirmed and tried to place himself anywhere but in his little bedroom, laid out at the mercy of his shadow. Suddenly, all at once, a brilliant sunburst exploded behind his eyes clenched so tightly shut. His finger, no, that finger had brushed up against something within him that made him see stars. “Ah! Aaagh…Mmmn… H-help… me…” Jekyll cried, then trailed off into a groaning whimper, trembling violently. “God… please, God… h- haaah!”
Perhaps enraged by the contents of his statement, a callous hand reached decisively for his throat. As it closed, firmly, he was dimly aware that he could not feel it as his own. It felt for all the world as though a loathsome stranger were atop him, leaning into him, crushing his windpipe, but it was so much worse than a stranger. It was Hyde. A stranger could possibly be reckoned with, could maybe even be begged to stop, and there might have been a chance at salvation. Struggling to breathe, the heavy pressure upon his breast increased, as though he was being pushed downwards by an unnatural force. It pressed against him bodily, pushing, as though it could tear him through the bed, through the floorboards, all the way to Hell.
Jekyll gurgled in protest, cutting off into an anguished sob as he felt the other hand grip his shaft in a forceful grasp. Realising he could feel no sensory input from either hand, not the sensation of skin against his palm nor the feeling of any warmth at his fingertips, sent him into a desperate panic. He writhed, thrashing his legs in a frenzy, as though he could fight off the cursed actuality of his very existence with one well-placed kick. The chuckling in his ears grew fainter, replaced with the static roar of his defiant blood, but he still heard the whispers of that terrible voice with startling clarity. “Dear Doctor… Does it pain you to submit to your superior? Or do you finally embrace this, having secretly longed for it ever since you brought me here?”
“H- haah… haven’t… longed… for it…” A thin voice wheezed, the pressure around his neck relenting just enough to allow him his pitiful defence. This was interspersed with faint whimpers and groans as long fingers persisted in their sinful rhythm. Jekyll, horrified, realised it was his own voice, mourning the casual mastery he had once held over his vocal cords. As he closed his eyes in dread and humiliation, feeling his face burn scarlet, he felt those same long fingers squeeze tightly again. Trying again for words, he gave a strangled squeak as the choking grip did not relent this time.
“Much as it amuses me to hear your practiced delusion… and it does… I tire of your pretences. It is my time to flourish, without you.” Delirious with panic, Jekyll jerked his head, now the only part of him where he retained any semblance of control. Brutal nails, clipped short, professional, dug into his throat with bruising strength. Dimly, he became aware of the wetness of tears flowing freely down his flushed cheeks. With them, flowed the corporeal substance of his regrets as his vision blurred and grew murky. Though he blinked furiously, it did not clear, only growing a darker vignette which ate away at the edges of what was left. Salt on his tongue, Jekyll opened and closed his mouth to gasp for the air he was so effortlessly denied as his wrist flicked harshly, administering furious pleasure to his swollen length.
Crying, mucus trailing pitifully down his face to mix with agonised tears, he came with a choked whine, spattering hot traitorous ropes over his shirt. Distantly, he felt the hand draw away from his lower half, moving upwards to wipe the residual fluid from each finger with his tie. Utterly wrecked, covered in a sheen of cold sweat and soiled with his own shameful release, Jekyll trembled violently as blackness fully claimed his vision. He felt dark fingers penetrate his mind, swirling around the confines of his thoughts in the same practiced, terrible way that the beast had wrung an orgasm from his pitiful body. As he did before, Jekyll began to construct a new prayer as he gazed into the dark. “Lord…” his thoughts wavered… He felt sick, lost. Who… Who was he, again, exactly? He thought of Hyde, only of Hyde, and could think of only one desperate word. “Please.”