Get Out The Flat

James’s fingers trembled as he yanked the boxers up his thighs, the elastic snapping against his hips with a sharp sting. The socks came next, one inside out, the other bunched at the heel, before he shoved his feet into the waiting jeans. The denim clung to his damp skin, still warm from the panic-sweat beading along his thighs. He barely registered the crumpled t-shirt as he dragged it over his head, the cotton catching on his ear before settling askew across his shoulders.

The door creaked when he eased it open, the hallway stretching before him like a slick, black tongue.

James froze mid-lace, fingers twitching against the leather tongue of his boot. The click had come from behind him, too soft to be the apartment's old pipes, too deliberate to be imagination. His breath hitched as the scent of vanilla thickened suddenly, cloying and sweet, undercut by the rubbery tang of warmed latex.

A draft licked the back of his bare neck, raising the fine hairs there. The hallway stretched before him, impossibly long now, the shadows between the doorframes pulsing like something alive. His pulse stuttered as another sound slithered through the dark, a slow, sticky shhhk of latex-clad thighs parting.

Then, a whisper.

James shuddered, it was Dan's voice, yet higher, silkier, dripping with honeyed malice. "Oh babes, running out on me? I thought we were besties."

The redhead's giggle slithered through the dark, followed by the wet shhhk of latex peeling away from slick flesh. As she pressed herself against the newly feminised Dan as they both looked at with an almost feral hunger in their crazed eyes. James's heart raced as he pulled the lace tight before quickly standing up and bolting for the front door.