Commission: Clara the Shapeshifter, Takes What's Hers

Summary: Clara, a shapeshifting assassin with a body like clay, pursues the legendary contract killer, Dean Constantine. But she may be in for more than she bargained for. Commissioned by Moneris.

If you wish to read more content like this, consider subscribing to my Patreon, starting as low as 1$ a month!

[Story Listing]

[FIRST PART]

[PREVIOUS PART]

---

Clara the Shapeshifter, Takes What's Hers

Clara had Dean Constantine within her grasp. She knew very well that it was her duty to end his life, and to send a resounding message to her own organization, as well as to their enemies, that she was the best at what she did. That she was no one to be trifled with. But simple killing wasn't enough; Dean would have to prostrate himself before her power and influence, and admit her total superiority. For her, this entire exercise was a most necessary victory lap.

"You haven't let me in on why you're parading me through the most populated part of downtown," Dean muttered.

"Why ruin the surprise?" She mused with a smug grin. "Keeping you in suspense is half the fun."

"I just figured this would make a pretty poor place to stage a killing. Unless we were French revolutionaries or something." Dean's eyes wandered to the odd stranger strolling about in the dead of night.

"Aha, if I sliced you clean in half right here, who would stop me? The police??" She guffawed haughtily, patting his cheek with a forceful grip. "There will be plenty of privacy where we're going~"

Clara had taken to the role of fawning socialite to a T as she held Dean close with an intimate, yet forceful side hug. At this late hour, there weren't many gawkers mulling about, so she let her superhuman abilities flow freely, her arms coiling around his torso in a possessive grip.

She gingerly clicked her six-inch heels as she paced along, turning as if to ensure any passerbyers around her had their eyes placed squarely on her. Dean, for his part, hadn't changed out of the suit he wore to his earlier date; Clara was insistent about ushering him along wherever she pleased.

"You look ridiculous, y'know," Dean side-eyed Clara. "It's past midnight, and you look like you're posing for the paparazzi."

"Oh, you're a stick in the mud. I feel like a million—no, ten million dollars today, and I'm nothing if not an honest, outward-facing woman!"

She tugged him into an alleyway, her excitable exclamations echoing against concrete. A pair of disheveled-looking men gawked at the eccentric woman and her elastic grip on Dean. They glanced at each other, then at their half-empty bottles of scrumpy, and opted for a more enthusiastic drink.

The pair stopped in front of a metal door with a sliding panel, one of those imposing doors meant to scare off interlopers. Clara, for her part, didn't bother knocking, instead raising her arm to slide it into the narrow viewport, her arm slithering to reach for the lock.

"Hey, what're you-"

Kchunk, creeeeeak... Clara smirked affirmatively as she wrested the door open, her arm whipping back into shape as she wiggled her fingers. With Dean in tow, she brushed past the annoyed bodyguard, flashing him a wink.

"I'll just let myself in, thank you very much Nigel!~" She giggled, tugging Dean along. Dean's eyes wandered around the place as the musk of booze and tobacco hung heavily in the air, the ambient chiming of glasses, the murmuring of a myriad underground socialites, and the antique decor that hung along the walls.

"Fancy place," he murmured. "They got a wine cellar down here?"

"Oh, they got everything! A casino, a cabaret, even a discotheque." Clara mused. "But I think I can get us the VIP booth in the back..."

"Snazzy place," Dean glanced around the club's interior. He didn't detect any malice among the attending parties. "But what's your game here, exactly?"

"Ugh, could you give that suspicious tone a break? I've been nothing but transparent with you!" Clara rolled her eyes. "I meant what I said: this will be a night of all the worldly pleasures, a suiting sendoff for the legendary Dean Constantine."

Dean paused to consider, before smirking.

"And what kind of bar are we looking at?" He mused aloud expectantly.

"Fully loaded." She reciprocated his grin. "Only the finest for the most sophisticated pallate."

"Heh. Then we ought to drink like there's no tomorrow." He placed an arm around Clara's shoulder, guiding her to the nearest booth with a knowing smirk. He flagged a server, demanding all too excitedly for the finest bottle of scotch; he had this glitter in his eye like a kid in a candy store.

Which was precisely the reaction Clara was looking for. She tented her fingers with a satisfied smile as the drink was carried out to their table. Soon Dean would be as putty in her hands, and she would extract everything from him. She would bring him such joys, before casting him to hell...

"To our health!" Dean raised his glass in a toast! Clara nodded, affirmed his words, and took a sip of her own, a pleasant warmth filling her body and her buxom...

---

What followed was an increasingly audacious night of indulgence in so many worldly and carnal pleasures. It took only a little goading on Clara's part to get Dean in on the drink, and then the dams well and truly burst. They drank deep of the finest wines offered, imported scotches and gins, and Clara took especially to the sangria.

It turned into something of a game to try and outdrink the other, and they both hit the competition with so much pride and gusto... or perhaps a carefree willingness to chase death via intoxication. They partook of the casinos as games to fuel their vices, and made up games on their own. Clara took quickly to the games, though she wasn't terribly good at them. Not to mention that her bottomless thirst seemed to affect her sound judgment.

Dean Constantine seemed a marked heavyweight when it came to holding his own liquor, but Clara, superpowered entity that she was, was no slouch either. The only point of concern was how the booze mingled with her systems. Indeed, she took the phrase "getting sloshed" pretty literally; her body quivered and rippled with every movement with even the slightest movement. She grinned drunkenly, her clay-like form integrating with the ooze. She felt its alcohol contents muuuuuch more intimately, her entire form aflush with inebriation.

This was all part of the plan, after all. But perhaps she had let herself go a little farther than she initially imagined. Dean seemed eager to have a good time, and she was happy to give him one. And as the alcohol flowed freely, so too did the good times roll.

She coiled around her booth, her torso lengthening and writhing as her flushed, hot body pressed against Dean. Her nightgown hardly left anything to the imagination now with her body stretched out as far as it was. Her eyes rolled as she pressed her head against Dean. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted other gawking patrons and servers; she moaned with delight, indulging herself in the show of exhibitionism...

"Deeeeean..." She whispered coquettishly into his ear, her hair messy and sprawling. "How d'you say we.... we go. Go somewhere discreet~"

She purred, her entire body vibrating as she licked her luscious red lips. Dean looked into her eyes with a similarly dazed look, his face turning with a knowing little grin.

"Sounds great, but... sober up woman." He commanded, before slamming his hand to his side, where her elongated ass had stretched to, slumped in a neighbouring seat. It wobbled with great undulations with the impact; she moaned, her cheeks flushing as her hands clutched at the leather, her arms slithering along the floor and wrapping around her legs. She smiled drunkenly.

"And then you can plough me, and fondle me, and stretch and squeeze me like one of your stress toys..." She cocked her head to the side, her neck bending at a disconcertingly unnatural angle.

Dean was far too drunk to even consider the notion of saying no; the state of inebriation they were both in seemed to accentuate one another's natural beauty. After throwing a couple grand at their server, they absconded to the streets, making for a luxury hotel. They didn't even bother checking in with the front desk; Clara was content to clamber up the side like a ten foot long salamander, suction cups appearing at the ends of her extraneous limbs; she clutched Dean close in a snugly taut fit of coils as he hoisted him up higher and higher above the city skyline.

Soon they reached the penthouse, its windows dark. Clara raised her palm to the door, concentrating to determine the slightest of movements, the most minute of vibrations to indicate that the room was occupied...

Then she said "fuck it" and unlocked the door herself, shlicking her forearms through the doorframe. She pulled Dean inside, the door slamming behind them.

As the lights flickered to life, the two turned to each other, their hormones getting the better of one another as their lips locked in a passionate embrace. They didn't make it farther than the living room before they tumbled to the floor. They moaned, their bodies pressing closer as they shifted on the floor, their bodies aching to minimize the space between them.

Clara was especially hungry for intimacy, moaning loudly as her body bubbled, writhed, and stretched on its own, her torso elongating to expose her bare midriff. Actually, her entire outfit for the night ebbed away on its own, their inky black colours melting into a bronze-olive hue with such a lustrous sheen. She rubbed her head against her chest as her body continued to shift, expanding to fill the room, and fill up underneath him as their bodies rose.

Dean's fingers were precise instruments of destruction; they twisted and teased at Clara's erect nipples, eliciting a moan of delight from the rapidly melting woman. She craned her neck back, slumping backwards until she crashed into a pool of her own ooze, and then rose again as if she had fallen face first. Her sultry eyes eyed his pants, tendrils emerging from her pooling mass as they rocketed towards his belt.

...Finagling with a belt loop without fingers was a pain in the ass. Dean was quickly relieved of his pants as she jerked them off unceremoniously. She bent over, lowering her head to his rapidly swelling cock, her pendulous breasts dipping into her oozing lower body with the motion. She opened her hungering lips, a twin pair of tongues welling up from her throat to coax and caress his shaft in gentle, increasingly forceful gyrations. Her inflated ass wobbled as she rocked her body back and forth, her fingers pressing against his six-pack figure.

The musty smell of sex, sweat, and smoke filled the room as they moaned, their bodies never far from one another. She adored the sensation of being massaged all over, being grabbed, fondled, caressed, her body growing softer and softer with each thrust. She moaned, licking the cum off of her lips as she hungrily dived in for another go, her body soft to the touch like quicksand.

It felt as if this had gone on for hours. Unexpectedly, Clara had met her match in this area of endurance, and she hadn't the energy to so much as raise her head. Her amorphous form splattered across the floor, stirring as they flopped against each over on the sofa, one of her breasts slowly sliding to the floor. It had gotten so steamy in that room...

"D... Dean..." Clara pursed her lips, cocking her head to the side. "That was... amazing..."

"Weren't kiddin' about pleasures..." He wheezed with a satisfied smirk. "Gah, so hot you're practically melting. Thanks..."

He leaned his head back. "What a high to go out on." He chuckled to himself. Clara blinked, her head resting on his chest. She could feel the strange palpitations of his heart beat. Was he... into her?

Well, putting aside how silly a question that was—Clara was the height of human achievement, who wouldn't adore her—she felt just a touch self-conscious. She hadn't had someone look at her in that sort of way before.

He leaned back against the bedrest, eyes staring up towards the ceiling.

"Honestly, I'm glad, in a way, that it's all going to end here." He muttered. "S'best for everyone; you get to keep your job, and I can finally get out of mine. For good."

He folded his hands in his lap. The tone in his voice was wistful; she hadn't even pressed him for all the answers. That was the point of getting him drunk! So why...

"They don't really tell you what position you're stuck in for the rest of your life. You can't just turn in a notice and walk out. Every time I tried to retire, they pulled me back in..." He scoffed bitterly. "It's isolatin' work..."

"...I... understand the feeling. Somewhat." Clara added with a careful nod. "Truthfully, I... had a pretty messed up childhood. Most of my childhood was spent in a laboratory, surrounded by machines, and injected with all sorts of things. The paperwork indicated I was an orphan, but... so much was redacted, and..."

"Tch, that's always how it goes." Dean shot her a sympathetic look. "When I started getting in too deep, they started squirreling mom and pop away into witness protection. Figured they could be a weak point for spies to target. They could be anywhere by now..."

He winced slightly as he turned away.

"Or they could be dead. Better to keep those loose ends tied up."

Clara's eyes widened as Dean considered that morbid possibility. She couldn't imagine what it was like to be separated from friends and family so finally...

She grimaced, fidgeting with her hair. "I... I would hope they're out there doing just fine. They're innocent, right?"

Dean paused with a dully pained look in his eyes as he reached over to the bedside table to pull out a single cigarette. He grasped for a light and inhaled the fumes deeply.

"Innocent doesn't mean much to anyone cutthroat enough to use 'em as hostages, or worse. As far as politics is concerned, a couple innocent yuppies can make for all the leverage in the world, just to send a message." Dean sighed. "Haven't had the displeasure of having severed digits show up in the mail, yet."

Clara frowned. She had taken to being obedient, following her own orders, not caring much for the general movement of the pieces of the geopolitical chessboard. She wondered if she had been an accessory to hurting innocent people... she was self-centered, and had an inflated ego, but she liked to think she operated under some morals.

"I... I couldn't imagine dealing with that kind of dread." She raised a hand to her chest. "I... I never had anyone looking out for me. No friends, no family... well, there's Dr. Krauss, but he keeps things strictly professional and-"

"Krauss, huh?" Dean glanced over. "Y'sure that's not confidential stuff, miss?"

"Ah! W, well it is, but-"

"But she intended to kill you here and now, so it wouldn't have mattered either way, yes?"

The two froze up as a third, unfamiliar voice interrupted the two of them. It had an indistinct, echoey quality to it, almost as if it bounced off the walls all around them. The pair scanned their surroundings, trying to make out a figure.

"Who are you? Some kind of pervert?" Dean's eyes narrowed. "When two people are getting intimate, they need privacy."

"Ohhh, Clara's never had a private moment all her life!~" The voice giggled. "We've gotten very close over the years, why break up old friends??"

A look of dread crossed Clara's face. She had finally put a name to that eerily creepy, playful voice.

"Dr. Weathers..." She muttered aloud. "She's an upstart at the lab that-"

"The lab that created you, yes." Weathers cut her off. The air shifted strangely around, the steam billowing into a thick fog. "But it appears you had a few glitches crop up in your later stages of development..."

"You can't do that!" Clara blurted. "Dr. Krauss is the head of the lab! He created me, not you!"

"Ohhhh, sweetheart..." Clara chuckled maliciously. "Dr. Krauss isn't with us anymore. He was getting in the way of still greater progress, so I... volunteered to take up his mantle, and dispose of him in an orderly fashion."

The clouds of fog swirled around, as the voice of Dr. Weather cackled around the pair. The room had gotten deathly cold. Dean remained stoic as ever, his eyebrows furrowed as he scanned, puffing his cigarette as he paid attention to the burning tip.

Suddenly, his eyes widened. There was the outline of a face in the smoke. A look of killer intent, looking squarely at...

"Clara! Nine o'clock, DUCK!"

Clara did as commanded, her body shlorping into a formless mass all at once, sliding to the floor.

THUNK!

And just in time too, thankfully. She had narrowly dodged a blade of pure, hypercooled ice piercing the bedrest, wisps of fog flowing along its bladed edge to the point. Following the length, the fog dissipated to reveal the facsimile of a woman. But where skin and bone should've been, there were rippling currents of water, the surface reflecting distortions of Dean's quizzical expression. A pair of glowing sapphire eyes sneered at the two of them.

"Pesky vermin." She growled, trying to wrest her arm from the bed rest. She glared at Dean. "Here's the deal: Clara failed in her duty, so I'll take it upon myself to deal with you. Consider it an honour!~"

Dr. Weather, her translucent body nude, busty, curvaceous, perfect, moved so casually, eager to play with her food as she shot him a smug, evil smile.

"CONSIDER THIS, YOU BITCH!"

Clara rapidly reformed at her feet, a tendril lashing out to wrap around the shaft of a tall lamp. She grasped it like a lance and thrust it forward, the lightbulb shattered into Dr. Weather's chest.

ZZZZZT! A deluge of electric sensation poured through the watery siren, her eyes bulging, her form spasming uncontrollably, collapsing to the floor as jolts of electricity coursed through her form. She shrieked in pain, wincing as she shot dirty looks at Clara, her body writhing, tendrils rapidly forming and melting away.

"Nice! Come on!" Dean shot to his feet and took Clara's hand as he charged for the door, not even bothering to pick up his clothes. For a moment, Clara was lost in Dr. Weather's look of pure hatred... feeling a pang of fear that she hadn't felt in a long time.

Her arm stretched in Dean's grasp until it stretched taut and jolted her along. With a yelp, she found her feet and, still in the nude, followed Dean outside...

[NEXT PART]