Ash stops running as Dwight’s final scream fades away into the sky, followed quickly by the heavy, metaphysical slam of the hatch being kicked closed. He leans his shoulder briefly against a tree, huffing out a frustrated breath through his nose. He clenches his fist once, twice, then straightens and begins an unsubtle march towards the nearest gate.
The pounding of his own heart grows louder harder as he goes so he fits a cocky smirk over his mouth, swallowing the instinctive anxiety he feels twisting in his gut.
The Trapper is standing there, one trap already laid in front of the switch, one more in his hand. Ash slows and then stills, planting his feet, lifts one hand to sweep his hair back, out of his face.
“Know what? I ain’t even gonna run. How ‘bout we just make this quick, yeah?” Ash rolls his shoulders back, cocks his leg a little, and waits.
The Trapper simply stares at him for a few long moments, completely still save for the slightest rise and fall of those massive shoulders, before abruptly dropping the trap in his hand and beginning to stalk forward. Ash prepares himself for a blow from the man’s filthy cleaver, and thus is caught off guard when the Trapper hooks one foot behind his ankle and reaches up to shove his shoulder, knocking him flat on his back in the sparse grass.
Ash wheezes, breath knocked out of him from the impact. He scrabbles at the ground, trying to get his hands in position to push himself back up, and nearly chokes as the Trapper’s full weight drops onto his abdomen. His arms are yanked above his head unceremoniously and pinned to the ground, the blade of the cleaver stabbing clean through Ashy Slashy’s middle and thankfully only grazing the side of his flesh hand.
“Not cool, man. What did the puppet ever do to you, huh?”
He knows it’s useless with the behemoth of a man sitting on him, but Ash still kicks his feet and bucks his hips to try to escape, mouth set into a manly frown and definitely not a petulant pout, thank you very much. He nearly bites his tongue when one of the Trapper’s dinner plate sized hands grabs him by the jaw, thumb digging into the big splurter on the right side of his throat. He closes his eyes, sure that this is it, that the Trapper is going to strangle the life out of him, or maybe snap his neck and be done with it.
Instead of any of that, he feels the hand release him, roughly, tossing his head back into the dirt. He opens his eyes to the sight of the Trapper reaching up with both hands, gripping either side of the front of his overalls, and tearing the thick denim as if it were nothing more than a napkin.
“Oh, no. No no no, not happening. You’re not really my type, big guy.”
Ash begins to struggle, digging his heels into the dirt. He apologizes mentally to Ashy Slashy, poor guy, before he jerks his arms away from the cleaver, ripping his little friend in half and removing the pressure on the definitely-going-to-get-infected cut on his hand, smearing blood down his wrist. He lashes out, trying to jab the Trapper in the throat, but the man catches his arm before he can reach. Through the toothy gap in his mask, Ash thinks he sees the Trapper grin.
Snatching his other arm by the tattered remains of Ashy Slashy, the Trapper shoves them back into place above his head, this time giving a raspy little chuckle as he grabs up his cleaver and thrusts it down, through the center of Ash's hand.
Ash screams more out of reflex than anything else, adrenaline and anxiety and, if he's honest with himself, some twisted anticipation pumping through his body and keeping the pain at bay. The Trapper takes this time to push his torn overalls down, revealing his cock, half mast already, though inspired by his thrashing or the violence itself, Ash doesn't know.
The Trapper pushes up onto his knees, thighs bulging in the confines of his torn pants, and shuffles a little higher. Ash bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing at the visual, even though the subdued movement of his chest tugs at his impaled hand.
The dick hanging in front of his face is thick, probably the thickest he's seen outside of porn, but not too long and already a little shiny at the tip. The Trapper takes it in hand and strokes, a slow up and down, before grabbing Ash by the hair and pulling his head up. The man's cockhead bumps against Ash's lips, a shock of wet hot sensation, and that sick feeling of anticipation grows, encouraging him to loosen his jaw.
The Trapper pushes forward, angling his hips to sink into Ash's mouth with a low, rasping groan. Ash flinches as it bumps the roof of his mouth and then slides further back, stretching it wide. His teeth scrape the base and the Trapper hisses, fucking the last inch of his length in, making him gag. The heavy weight on his tongue and the convulsions of his throat make shame and arousal curl in Ash’s belly, cock beginning to swell in his shorts.
The Trapper’s thrusts are deep and hard, but not fast. He doesn’t pull out far before fucking back inside, letting the fat head of his cock sit snug against the entrance to Ash’s throat, making him gag and wheeze through his nose, and only pulling back when Ash starts to thrash. He’s surprised at how much he enjoys it, the skin silky and hot, sweaty-salty with an extra little burst of bitterness on every push forward, precome spreading over his tongue.
His jaw aches, twinging sharply, unused to the stretch; sucking dick is a very different beast to eating pussy, it turns out. It seems he likes it all the same though, cock fully hard and dripping now.
Ash moans a little on the next thrust in, tries to angle his head and only manages to pull his own hair, still held firmly in the Trapper’s hand. He wiggles his tongue on the next withdrawal, swiping over the slit, and chokes out a groan as the Trapper thrusts back in, hard and fast, pelvis squishing Ash’s nose uncomfortably. The grip on his hair loosens and then disappears, so Ash lets his head drop back onto the ground, panting.
“Thought... you wanted... quick .” The Trapper says, voice faint and rough like he doesn’t use it often, and then leans over, planting both hands on the ground on either side of where Ash’s are pinned.
Ash wants to snark back at the beast of a man, he really does, but that cock bobs above his face again, flushed dark and shiny with his own spit, so instead he opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out. The Trapper slowly slides back inside, grinding deep once he’s fully seated, and then starts to fuck his mouth like a machine, hard and fast, unrelenting. Ash gags and groans and moans, wishing his hand was free and un-impaled so he could brace himself, or maybe just to grope the man’s thick thighs and ass.
The Trapper’s orgasm comes without warning, hot jizz filling Ash’s mouth. The man pulls out immediately, sending his come spilling from Ash’s mouth, and stands on shaky legs, tucking his dick back into his torn overalls.
Ash lies there, panting, still pinned to the ground, still painfully hard in his shorts, mind a little fuzzy. He licks what he can of the Trapper’s jizz off his face, absently, curling and uncurling his toes in the confines of his shoes. He hears the snap of a bear trap being disarmed, then footsteps shuffling through the grass towards him. The Trapper leans over him, his mask as blank a slate as ever, mouth and eyes hidden by shadows, and yanks his cleaver out of Ash’s hand.
Ash watches him turn to walk away and gives only a shocked wheeze as the Entity’s tentacle bursts from the ground and tears through his ribcage.