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Dead Man's Switch	By : Danzig13 Category: G through L > Lost Views: 1201 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the fandom of LOST or the character of Martin Keamy. I do not make money from this.

Chapter List
- 1-Dead Man's Switch
- 1
His eye sharpened on the scope of his suppressed MP5, as he locked onto the fleeing soldier ahead of him. The shadows of the trees where he hid gave way and the sun momentarily revealed the cold gray of his eyes, inside slitty lids, which only pronounced the sharpness of his gaze.

The bullet whistled in a silent menace that only a soldier's ears can recognize. But the target was set by the superior killer and the running soldier's attempts were futile. His knee exploded underneath him, and he was flung violently into the long grass. Before he even hit the ground, another round split his skull and bathed the grass in brain matter.

“Bullseye,” Keamy whispered through a menacing smirk.

He krept back to his cover and reloaded his automatic. His massive arms bulged with every powerful jerk of his hands on the steel as he cradled the weapon on his lap. He barked orders at his small, but lethal band of mercenaries, and they rushed to get packed up for the night's walk 'n' stalk towards their next objective – a spy hiding in a small village nearby. They were to dispense of all interference, human or not, and capture Patricia Huston unharmed. She was only to be interrogated by Colonel Wicker, Keamy's CO and a master at torture techniques. Keamy envied him the pleasure.

From the mountain crevice behind them, a gleaming object announced the presence of another party. Through the double circle of the binoculars Keamy stood head and shoulders above his men, walking among them with a predatory prowess which assured anyone who beheld him, that he was the Alpha-male. He was big. Big is good. Big makes for an easy target. This assassination would be exceedingly simple.

The mercenaries reached the village an hour later, as the dark enveloped the Amazonian valley and all the night things called out their attendance. The night was quiet and tense, more than usual, as if Nature herself feared the towering badman and his ill intentions....and so She should.

Firelight flickered all over the tiny village and the shadows of the people looked like matchstick monsters on the walls of the huts that circled the central bonfire. Patricia had been there for a while, among ex-child soldiers and their families and they accepted the trained operative as family. Keamy's boys silently circled the village and took cover, awaiting his command from his post higher up, where he could have a good vigil over his demented chess game.

From the firelight he saw a beautiful woman emerge. He adjusted his night vision to confirm her identity. She walked out of the safety of the village towards the lake behind the ridge. The moon lit the way for her and Keamy could see her clearly now.

“Stay put till I give the order,” he whispered on the communication device.

“Roger that,” came the response.

He watch her keenly as she pulled the pin on her head and dropped her curly blonde hair and let it fall over her lean collar bones. Through her white blouse, he saw her small, perky breasts and her nipples pointing upward, playing under the tips of her hair. She was tall and slender and she strode with beautiful cadence towards the water. Keamy felt a strong sense of excitement as he started down the side of the ridge towards Patricia, clutching his machine gun, like an extension of his arm. He crouched down in the shrubs close to the lake and continued watching Patricia unbutton her blouse. It fell open and Keamy eagerly awaited the moment he would see her tanned flesh. She was known among the ranks as a hot target, and it was not for her status as a wanted operative.

His eyes feasted on her bare flesh as she pulled her blouse off, revealing her taut little breasts and flat, ripped abdomen. He felt his heart beat faster as her fingers fumbled at her pants' top button, splitting in a V so he could see her shaven, smooth mound before she bent over to pull her pants down over her ankles. She stepped out and threw her pants aside.

Keamy smiled. He clasped the hard thing in his pocket as he crept softly towards her.

Her long legs melted into the surface of the calm water and the moonlight highlighted her bony hips and shoulders, her smooth skin and the silvery glow of her hair. He was quiet and quick, finally finding himself within touching distance of her. The breeze breathed her scent into his nostrils and his hand shivered on the hard thing, keeping his eyes locked on his prize.

At once a massive explosion rocked the village and Patricia spun around, right into Keamy's broad, painted chest and she screamed in panic when her eyes met the menacing gaze of the baddest bastard she ever encountered. He tightened his hand on the hard thing, pulled it out with lightning speed and shoved the point of his Bowie knife into the soft flesh under Patricia's chin. She froze. Keamy smiled coldly at her as he lifted the barrel of his gun against the warm softness of her inner thigh, roughly carressing the skin just below her pussy.

“Keamy,” she whispered in his face and he could smell her sweet breath, like peaches.

He hated peaches. He pinned her with a gaze, his eyes darting in menace inside hers and she dared not move.

Void of expression, he called upon his team to report.

“Who told you to go ahead?” he said calmly.

A shivering voice came back to his earpiece.

“Sir, it wasn't us. Repeat, it wasn't our fire!”

Keamy's eyes came to life, still staring Patricia down. She managed a frightened smile.

“Looks like someone's hunting you now, “ she uttered in mock-confidence.

It was the last thing she remembered.

Keamy back-handed her against the temple with the back of his knife handle and her naked body dropped limply into his poweful arms as he picked her up and carried her back to his hiding place on the ridge.

“Casualties,” he barked impatiently into the device.

“The entire village, sir,” the stuttering came back.

“Our casualties, you idiot,” he sneered.

“All perished....sir....I am....the only...”

His words were cut short as Keamy heard his man's throat being slit and the white noise infected his ears as the communication device was destroyed.

He looked down at the naked beauty by his feet and a hot flush of defeat crawled over his towering frame. A flush of defeat which instantly turned to rage.

He sat down next to Patricia, listening to the night quieting down once more. Keamy felt utterly alone while he listened to the crackling fire of the burning village and he wondered what manner of killer was hired to take him out. He relished the idea of a stand-off and subconsciously started playing over Patricia's long legs with his 11 inch hunting knife, dazed by the death of his company and the arrogance of the assassin on his trail.

Patricia woke from the throbbing pain on the side of her head. The moon streaked through the jungle and the crickets sounded like shrill demons in her private little hell. She was so cold. The twigs and rocks underneath her body, bruised her fragile skin and she became aware of burning on her legs. Disoriented, she managed to lift her head and looked down and the superficial scratches on her legs.

She saw Keamy sitting against a tree trunk, embracing his automatic weapon, like a gentle lover. His eyes were shut and he looked peaceful, but she knew better than to assume that he was asleep. On his left upper arm she noticed the black strap of the dead man's switch that he had fixed to him before coming to hunt her. The switch kept track of Keamy's heart beat and, should he be killed, the device would detonate, killing anyone in a 3 block radius.

The fires had died now, and she watched Keamy in the blue moonlight.

His brown brush cut hair made him look more ferocious, but it was the sheer collossal size of him that frightened her. His neck was powerful and thick under a strong jaw line, and it sank into the massive chest that resembled armour of flesh, heaving as he breathed. His jacket was open and her eyes followed the deep crevices of his abdominal muscles down towards his belt. She felt her pussy heat up and spasm just a little, the moist heat wetting the skin. Her nipples became hard as she looked at the dark bulge under his belt. Maybe she could seduce him and he would soften his opinion of her. Maybe she could find the right time to kill him while he kissed her. The idea led her eyes to his lips, thin and tense, slightly parting as he breathed. She followed his facial features and started as she looked right into his wide open eyes! The coldness of him seething deep into her frightened little mind.

Keamy lifted his arm and gave her a deceptively friendly wave and she remembered once more how she hated him.

“Oh fuck you,” she yelled, “don't you even have the decency to cover me?”

He smiled as he put his index finger over his lips.

“Ssshhh. We don't want the assassins to find us, now.”

He crept over to her and she felt her body numbing in fear. He pushed his face against hers, cocked his head slightly to the side as his gray eyes drilled into hers.....

“I'll kill you, Patricia.”

She knew he would. He savoured her shivering breath and hissed at her.

It was now or never. Patricia took Keamy's hand and placed it on her breast. Her lips played against his stubbled skin and he noticed her slightly spreading her legs. Her other hand fell on his leg and moved dangerously close to his crotch.

“Kill me later,” she surprised herself with unfounded confidence.

“Fuck me now.”

Keamy kneaded her breast in his hand and painfully pinched her nipple and she winced.

“I can help you get out of this alive, baby. All you have to do is trust me. Make love to me,” she whispered breathily into his ear.

Keamy's giant hand ran down her body to her thigh and slipped in between her legs, wetting his fingers. He smiled as she eagerly kissed him and he pushed his fingers up inside her, evoking a sweet moan that pleased him.

She pulled her lips from his, gasping in the ecstasy of his long, rugged fingers moving in and out of her. He gently pressed his face to her ear and whispered.

“Don't flatter yourself,” he grinned, pulling his hand free and throwing her back on the ground.

“I'm a fighter, not a lover,” he sneered at her as he tied her hands behind her back and did the same to secure her ankles. Patricia cursed and cussed in defeat and it sated his sadistic mind as he wandered into the trees to take a piss.

His captive's curses echoed through the quiet night as he picked a spot to urinate. Patricia became silent suddenly and before Keamy could call out to her, he felt the barrel of a 12 Gauge shoved up hard against his scrotum from below.

“Fuck,” he thought, angry that he allowed himself such a vulnerable moment.

It couldn't be the bitch. He tied her up tightly.

Keamy froze, trying to buy time to think of a plan.

A clear, feminine voice broke the silence.

“Drop your weapons.......or I'll make you sorry you ever survived the Island.”

He dropped his gun, even more puzzled at his assailant.

“Your knife, mister Keamy,” she ordered, and as Keamy disarmed himself, he felt compelled to turn around, but knew it would seal his fate.

“Thank you,” she said politely in a husky voice that felt like valium to his senses.

“Who are you?” He had to ask.

“I am your nightmare, mister Keamy. Your ferryman to the next world,” her voice swam through his soul. It prompted him to act quickly and he turned fast to face her, but an overpowering electrical jolt shot through him and he fell to the ground like a tree, slain by an axe.

In his fading vision he beheld her in the light of the moon.

She was small, but staunch. Her hair in a long brunette braid down to her ass and eyes like black brimstone. She was a soldier, like him --- camouflage pants, combat boots and a black cut-away vest that strained over large breasts. Two deep scars defiled the left side of her face and stopped short of her small, pouty mouth. Her arms sported straps with small throwing knives and her belt held a two daggers on either hip. She held the sawn-off shotgun nose down against his left knee and blew him a kiss as he was embraced by oblivion.

The blackness became a white veil of disorientation, as Keamy came to and tried to wake himself from this deathening sleep. His eyes fluttered open to a sharp light above him, suspended from the ceiling of a shack-like structure, resembling a car garage. He found himself lying on a steel table, sticky and cold and a sick realization told him it was dried blood. His wrists were tied to his ankles underneath the table that he was obviously far too tall for and it felt like his back was crushed from the strain. She came into view, approaching Keamy, dagger in hand. Something about her mesmerized him and Keamy found himself feeling something he never felt before. He felt inexplicably drawn to her for some reason and the dagger in her capable hands did not even worry him. If he was gonna die, he would want her to be the last thing he saw. He watched her breasts rocking as she moved, the mounds full and soft.

“Mister Keamy, my name is Opium,” she said in a civil manner, pushing the point of her dagger into the head of her index finger. Her mouth opened in a pout to receive the blood from her finger and Keamy felt his heart skip a beat as she suckled suggestively on it.

“Opium,” he thought,”...how fitting,” as he faded into sleep again.

Opium watched her target closely.

He was a huge hunk of man meat, strong as a bear and muscular from head to toe. His muscles were big and hard, straining his skin over the curves of his physique. On his arm she noticed a peculiar tattoo that looked like an an abstract angel of sorts.

She had removed his jacket and she noticed every little curve of his flank and obliques, all sinew and strength under soft chest hair. His belt sat far below his hips and her eyes followed the V-groove of his abdomen running from his hips, downwards towards his crotch, hiding beyond the border of his pants. He was sweating and his body gleamed in the light as he breathed, like an erotic leviathan, at her mercy. Here he was. The feared Martin Keamy at her mercy. The thought excited her beyond reason. She took the bleeding finger from her mouth and put it in his navel.

Opium smiled as she ran her finger out of the shallow hole over Keamy's rock hard lower abdomen, her fingers caressing the protruding veins that lined his skin under his pubic hair. The little hairs tickled her fingertips and she could feel him twitching slightly, as if his body acknowledged her touch. She reveled in the fact that the male anatomy is so independent from its owner and it made her sigh in delight when she deliberately fondled his penis and felt it get more rigid. Keamy groaned softly and for just a moment, Opium thought of just tugging the ol' pants down and mounting the man!

He suddenly came to and she let go of his growing manhood. She knew him so well, studied him, his every move and strategy so that she could be a more efficient killer. And now that she had him, she somehow could not kill him. Yet. She retreated into the dark for the moment.

“You can't kill me,” he rasped to her, as if reading her mind. “Dead man's switch. It'll blow y'all to hell.”

“Y'all?” she smiled in mockery as she waded through the shadows towards him, her hips like a hypnotizing pendulum that rocked Keamy's world. He could not hate her. What the fuck was wrong with him? Not only was she but an inferior merc to him, but she cost him Patricia. And he never loses a target.

“Y'all,” she repeated snidely as she came into the light and for the first time Keamy and Opium met face to face.

He was astonished by her hard, broken beauty and she felt herself drowning in his spellbinding ice blue eyes. Both of them retained their game-faces, though.

“I work alone, mister Keamy. The only y'all, was yours...and well, I wasted them each personally. So now its just you...,” she ran her fingers through his hair and brought her face to his, ”...and me.”

“And the dead man's switch,” he added.

“Yeah, good thing you took that precaution, soldier, or I'd have killed you already,” she said unconvincingly and it came across to Keamy like a psychic whisper. “I was sent to protect Patricia from you and take you out, mister Keamy, so she is free and you evil plan was thwarted. C'mon, admit it. You're impressed,” she said as she placed her dagger on the side of his face and sank it into his skin. She pushed down into the skin and cut him a nice long slit just like hers.

Keamy screamed. More in rage and frustration than pain. Her cruelty did impress him. Her merciless agenda impressed him and above all, the fact that she could capture him impressed him. Keamy realized that Opium was just like him. A rare creation that matched him. Unlike his previous women, she would not cry. She would not be afraid of him. She would not run to him for every fucking idiot who messed with her, cause she could take care of shit.

Opium was Keamy.

This revelation helped him figure out what he was feeling. Keamy had found his mate.

The blood ran down the side of his face into his hair, but he stared Opium down with his Alpha-male attitude.

“Set me free,” he ordered her in a low voice that sounded much like a warning. Much like his usual tone.

She looked amused, but somehow, inside her mind, she felt an urge to just oblige.

The dagger shifted in her hand, reluctant to do anything, but for reassurance. It dawned on her once more that he was her prisoner, at her mercy and that she could take advantage of him, should she wish to.

Opium put the knife to his throat ---- and slowly dropped her face towards his, slowly letting her braid fall forward over his chest as her lips met his in a soft, deep kiss that lasted well over a second. To her delight, Keamy responded to her affection, softly slipping the tip of his tongue inbetween her lips and gently sucking on hers. His mouth was hot as his lips folded over hers in a deep passionate kiss that left her breathless. Her eyes shut in sheer ecstasy as she listened to Keamy's deep panting and when he finally released her mouth from his, she looked up to the sinister figure standing in the doorway.

Opium's reflex tightened her hand on her knife as Patricia's voice prompted Keamy to turn his head to the door.

“You going soft, Opium?” she snapped as she pulled a pistol in a dead aim on the lady soldier, wearing the clothing Opium brought her when she freed her from Keamy.

“You look much better with your clothes on,” Keamy mocked her in an attempt to get her focus off his girl.

“Fuck you, Keamy,” she yelled.

“Nah, I don't fuck coffee tables, honey,” he retorted with his trademark tilt of the head and it drove Patricia mad with rage. She charged at Opium and shoved the cold steel barrel against her forehead.

“Fuck, I can't believe you!! You gonna fuck him while he's tied up, you depraved bitch? We hired you to take him out, not have his babies,” Patricia screamed, pushing Opium towards the door with the gun.

“You sound awfully jealous about someone you hate, Pat,” Opium replied calmly, while Keamy tried desperately to rip free of the ties. “What, you couldn't handle him fingering you without a follow-up? Yeah. I watched it all, girlfriend. I tell you what, have a go at him now, cause only when he is trussed up will you be able to fuck him!”

Patricia went insane with anger. Screaming, she pulled the trigger, but her gun jammed.

Opium obliterated her with a right hook and pulled her dagger. She threw it towards Keamy, pegging it accurately so that it cut through one of his restraints and he pulled his arm free.

Patricia was almost out cold, as she watched the giant soldier rise from the table, slowly getting to his feet, his massive shoulders and powerful chest gleaming in the light and his eyes to her, cold as steel with absolutely no intention of goodwill. He was a demon with a buzz-cut and a score to settle.

She tried to get up, but Opium's boot forced her skull to the floor and she watched Keamy's boots walk toward her and she knew between the two of them, her number was up. Keamy pulled her up by her hair and as she got to her feet, he brought down a powerful fist that sent her reeling. She was done.

Opium was secretly terrified of the newly released animal that far outdid her as a killer and she felt dreadfully uncertain about the situation as she watched Keamy strip Patricia and hang her from the ceiling by a rope around her wrists. Her dead weight caused her right shoulder to dislocate and Keamy loved the sound of it popping out of the socket. He turned her to face the interior of the room and then he turned towards Opium, who was sitting crouched up on the makeshift bed in the far corner of the room.

She tried to show no fear as Keamy swaggered towards her. His eyes pinned her down and she could not look away. Deep inside, she knew she was as good as dead. He crept onto the bed, not once losing eye contact with her, as he reached over behind her and ripped the dagger from her hand. He smiled at her as he discarded the only weapon she had and her flesh crawled as he pulled her off the bed by her arm and commanded her to strip.

Opium was reluctant to take off her clothes. She was covered in scars and stretchmarks and her body was not exactly taut and lean like Patricia's.

She saw his beautiful eyes look intently at her, but there was no threat to them. They were like blue pools of nirvana where she felt safe.

Keamy grew impatient with her and before she could remove anything but her boots, he pulled her to him. He kneeled in front of her, which made him about a head taller than she was. He wrapped his strong arms around her and pulled her chest to his face, locking his mouth over her nipple behind the material of her vest, wetting it with his saliva. Opium's head instinctively dropped back in ecstasy as she locked her hands behind his neck and pushed his head harder against her. Keamy kissed her nipples, breathing his hot breath on them until she moaned out loud. He pulled away and the wetness became cold and her nipple hardened to an almost painful point. His hands slipped under her vest and he ran his fingers up to her voluptuous breasts.

Keamy felt her softness fill out his hands and he gently kneaded them, rhythmic and slow until he could feel her rocking her hips against him and he knew she was ready. His eyes just drowned her while he pulled her vest off and he felt his erection grow harder at the sight of her D-cups and small, hard peaks.

He showered her chest and neck with a myriad of hot, deep kisses as he ran his rugged hands into her pants, down her hips and thighs, pulling her pants down in the process. Keamy picked up his soldier girl and carried her to the bed. He commanded her to kneel in front of the bed, as he undid her braid, allowing her long hair to drape over her back. He sat back, leaning on his hands and told her to undo his pants. Once again, she felt the soft little hairs on his hard body and it made her wet and tingly, anticipating what she will release soon enough. She ran her hands over his chest and abs, kissing his crevices all the way down to where she could feel his warmth with her lips.

Opium tugged at the material of his cargo pants, pulling it down, down, down, her lips still playing with his skin and her eyes shut tightly as Keamy ran his fingers through her mane in a massage-like motion. He couldn't wait to feel her hot little mouth over the head of his cock.

She felt it against her mouth, pulsating and warm and hard. Keamy pulled her head hard into him and his arrow-head penetrated her lips and slid onto her tongue, filling her entire mouth. Keamy moaned out loud and he thrusted his cock into the back of her mouth and felt the vacuum jerk him off. His fists were like two rocks against her skull as he slowly fucked her mouth, listening to her whimpers. He looked up and saw Patricia hanging from the ropes, her eyes open to observe everything and he smiled cruelly at her as he panted hard with lust at every thrust he gave Opium.

Opium sucked him hard, running her tongue over the throbbing veins of his penis and he pulled it out to position his cock into her cleavage, and she pushed her breasts together tightly for him, enfolding his throbbing member as he continued to rock his hips to and fro in a frenzy that made his body spasm in pleasure.

Keamy watched Patricia's tears run over her bruises and he pulled Opium onto his lap to face him. He spread her legs over his and slid deep into her, his hands locked on her hips and his lips finding hers again.

He pushed gently into Opium, caressing her back and buttocks, rocking her slowly as he planted kisses on her eyes. He slipped his tongue into her lips and they locked passionately, bodies hot and writhing and she felt like he split her in two.

Opium cupped Keamy's face with her hands, feeling the beard stubble scratch her palms and their eyes fused in a momentary eternity inside one another's souls.

Keamy felt a renewed strength take him and slipped his hands under Opium's ass, lifting her slightly off him. He dropped her body into his hard penis repeatedly, impaling her over and over until she screamed in pleasure. Breathing heavily and whispering commands in her ear, Keamy bounced her on his lap until her nails clawed his back in a sexual frenzy.

Opium felt Keamy's powerful hips thrusting on the inside of her thighs and she put her hands on his ass, forcing him deeper into her. Their eyes met and he smiled at her pleasure as she orgasmed, crying out his first name repeatedly, basking in his deep gaze, the ice blue melting to serenity and warmth.

“I love you,” he whispered, ignoring her disbelief, and laid back on the bed for her to ride him. Opium almost believed that Keamy loved her. His eyes were gentle and his smile was genuine and he held her hands tightly, anchoring her as she thrusted her hips forward, feeling his hardness shifting deeper into her, burying his entire shaft inside. He kissed her breasts as she felt his body jerk beneath her and they locked lips one last time, as he climaxed and held her tightly against his powerful body, whispering his love to her. Opium watched Keamy's eyes close in absolute surrender as he pulled her down with him, remaining entwined and deep inside one another once more.

Keamy lay quietly, his head on Opium's chest, caressing her stomach and the mounds of her breasts in erotic release. He listened to her heart beat as her chest lifted his head with each breath. Opium stroked his hair, the tips of her fingers just grazing his cheek where she had cut him.

He looked up at her in surreal innocence and she felt his strange vulnerability.

Keamy was hers. All of him. His power, his thrall, his rage and his sadness. Most of all, his love.

In the morning they got dressed and helped each other rig up their weapons.

Patricia had slipped in and out of consciousness.

Opium slapped her around and defiantly showed off all the hickies and marks Keamy left on her body.

“Don't be cruel,” Keamy reprimanded her, as he secured his gun.

“Why...d-didn't you ki-kil-l-l him?” Patricia uttered in pain, her arms jerking in cramps from lack of blood. Her skinny carcass shook profusely as she repeated the question over and over to Opium.

“The double-cross you masterminded, you bitch,” Opium snarled at her. “Keamy doesn't need you now, 'cause the only secret you kept, was me. I did not kill him because I... love...him,” she admitted finally, reluctantly turning to see if he heard her, but Keamy was his old self, cold and focused.

He moved Opium out of the way to get to Patricia and locked the ice cold blues onto her shivering frame, scewering her eyes with his. He tilted his head, raised his left arm and pointed to the device, strapped to him.

Then Keamy cocked his 45 and put it on Pat's left eye.

“Dead man's switch,” he reported and squeezed , “Dead man's bitch,” he smiled.

Keamy pulled the trigger.

He took Opium's hand and led her out to the jeep where he wrapped his arms around his new lover, planted a lingering kiss on the back of her head and watched the sun come up.

----------------------THE END-------------------
- 1
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Dead Man's Switch