Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue

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The air was cold, the breeze strong enough to raise goosebumps on my skin. My heart was pounding in my chest, though it was slowly starting to calm down now that he was leaving. I finished putting away the camcorder with shaky hands and slung the bag over my shoulder. 

I waited for that person to be completely gone and out of sight before I rushed over to my step-brother, crouching to his level and offering a hand.

“Get up,” I said, my voice tinged with an almost manic desperation. “Get up!”

My step-brother looked up at me, eyes vacant, emotionless. My heart sank but I stayed determined, keeping my hand held out for him to grab. He wiped at his lips, ignoring the fact his hand was covered in dirt and grime, before slowly reaching out to grab my hand. I helped pull him up, trying to pull him towards me so I could hug him, but he leaned away, his body language screaming he didn't want me near. 

“I’m sorry,” I muttered, clasping his hand tightly before he could pull it away. “I’m truly sorry. I—” I swallowed thickly, my tongue feeling too big for my mouth. I didn't know what to say, I knew I had done something terrible, though I didn't quite fully understand what or why. 

“Don't.” He replied coldly, not letting me continue to stumble over my words. I closed my mouth, swallowing my protest. I didn't want to make things any worse than they already were. 

We walked back towards the car in a prickly silence, with him keeping a wide distance between us. I made sure to keep pace with him so I could keep him in my sights, not wanting him to get lost out here in the forest. The only sounds were the leaves rustling under our feet, the occasional crack of a fallen branch, and a choir of crickets chirping in the night. 

When we finally reached the car, he was still waiting for us, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. My stomach turned, a spike of fear rushing through my veins. My step-brother finally fell in step behind me. At least I was related to the person before us. 

“Father will be mad if he catches you smoking,” I said carefully, keeping my tone even. I hoped to whatever deity was out there that my voice didn't shake. “He told us not to smoke.” 

My biological brother snorted, not bothering to put out his smoke. Instead, he took a drag of the cancer stick, blowing a breath in our direction, the smoke curling and weaving in the brisk air. 

“You're lucky I didn't use this on you,” He sneered— not at me but at the man trembling behind me, ignoring my words. He waved his cigarette in his direction. “Dirty fucking bastard.” 

“Brody…” I said warningly, though there was a tremble in my voice. I was scared of him as well. We weren't super close in age and had never really gotten along. Unless you counted him forcing me to do as he pleased my whole life up to this point. But what I’d been through paled in comparison to my step-brother, who was quiet as a mouse behind me, unable to stop trembling just being near Brody. 

“Tsk, I don't know what you see in him, his mom's a pathetic whore just like him, spreading her legs for Father whenever he so desires,” Brody sneered, taking another drag of his cigarette before dropping it on the ground and twisting it under his boot to put it out. His language was as crass as usual, though I didn't always understand everything he said. But I knew it was bad.

Brody glanced at his wrist, where his new, shiny watch rested— a birthday present from this year— and clicked his tongue again. “We’d better get going so Dad doesn't ask too many questions. I don't need him on my ass about what I’m doing.” 

I wished Father would care more about that, but he was too busy keeping up appearances that we were a nice, happy, perfectly blended family, when that was far from the truth. I was old enough to know Father mistreated my step-mom and that he hardly cared about her son either, ignoring the obvious signs that Brody was tormenting him— and me. I was the second son, so he hardly spared me a care as long as I stayed out of trouble— or at least didn't get caught. That was the reason Brody got away with so much, no one important ever caught him doing anything, or if they did, they too turned a blind eye to his cruelty. 

I merely nodded at Brody's words, eager to be home and out of the cold autumn wind. While Brody got into the driver seat of his sleek dark blue sedan— this also another fancy birthday present Father had splurged on for his oldest son three years ago (I had no idea what kind of car it was, nor did I really care) — I climbed into the back seat, scooting over to make room for my step-brother. But he was hesitating by the open door, still slightly shaken, his clothes, or what remained of them, tattered and dirty. 

“Come on,” I whispered in a desperate voice, pleading with him to just get in the car so the night could be over. “Get in the car.” 

He finally slid into the car, carefully trying to avoid getting dirt on the squeaky clean seats. This car was Brody's pride and joy— it wouldn't end well if either of us made a mess of the car. As though he had read my mind, he spoke up in a cold tone.

“Don't you dare make a mess back there or you’ll be cleaning my whole car for a month.” Brody hissed, glaring at our step-brother from the rearview mirror. My step-brother shrank in on himself, making himself smaller than he already was. I bit back a response to his words that would just land me in hot water. He wasn't directing them at me, even though I was surely also a bit dirty from being out in the forest. It was strange, almost eerie, how Brody would ignore me when our step-brother was around. His whole attention and rage would only be directed at him. 

The car ride home was dead silent, save for whatever horrible music was playing from the CD Brody had put in earlier. Brody's driver side window cranked down all the way down, probably to help with the tart smell of smoke that still faintly clung to him like a long lost lover. The scent slowly dissipated the further into the drive we got, which helped me relax. I hated the smell, and I still remembered all too clearly when Brody had first started smoking about three years ago, before he had gotten his car for his birthday. The memory was so strong I could almost feel the cigarette ash warm and stinging against the palms of my hands and I could almost smell the cigarette smoke so strong, it felt like I was inhaling it myself. I’d been 9 or 10 at the time, I couldn't remember when exactly it happened. 

Too much had happened in between now and then for me to keep track. Our father had been re-married for over two years at that point, so that wasn't a new thing, but the older Brody and our step-brother got, the worse things became. Things were escalating into a territory I barely understood, and was scared to find out more about. It made me not want to grow up. I didn't want to become a rotten adult like my father or Brody. And would I? I wasn't sure, but I was damn scared of that becoming my reality. 

Would I ever be able to protect myself or my step-brother from them? From anyone? I had no idea, but I did want to try. I wanted to change my life, but at the moment I had no means, no power. I was just a child, barely even a teenager. I was useless, helpless, nothing more than an accessory to Brody's wrongdoings. I felt sick to my stomach, still processing what we had done earlier— what I had done earlier. My hands were shaky so I clenched them together to hide it. I couldn't let my step-brother or Brody see it. Brody wouldn't let it go, and my step-brother would probably feel upset if he saw it. I didn't want him to pity me for being a puppet, I could have tried to stand up to Brody, but at the same time, he was seven years older. He was an adult and I was a pathetic kid who couldn't stand up to him. 

I would have been in for the same fate as my step-brother most likely and the thought made me feel even more sick, bile rising in my throat, the burning feeling making me aware of every moment in that quiet car. Would he really have done the same to me? I couldn't say and that terrified me. It could happen in the future, I wasn't safe from him just because my step-brother was around. Because when he wasn't, I was the target. My leg started to shake with anxiety, my thoughts spiralling until I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. 

“We’re here,” my step-brother whispered softly, his voice soothing despite how rough it sounded, like he had swallowed gravel. “You should get out before Brody loses his temper again.” 

I startled but quickly nodded, knowing he was right. We both climbed out of the car, trying to act casual when I'm sure we were anything but. Who knew if Brody was done taking his emotions out on us or not. I didn't know what his problem was, but he had been like this for almost as long as I can remember. He was a monster even as a pre-teen, that I knew for certain because I remembered bits and pieces of that time. 

Brody was eyeing us as we carefully closed the doors of his sedan, probably making sure we treated his baby with the proper gentleness he demanded of us and anyone else who stepped foot in his car. I avoided his gaze, praying he would just leave and go to bed. It seemed luck was on our side because he turned away with a noise of disapproval. 

“Have a good night,” He spat out sarcastically over his shoulder, giving our step-brother a cold once-over. “On second thought,” he licked his lips slowly. “Fletcher, come to my room after you take a shower and change your clothes. I’m not done with you.” 

Horror flooded through me as I watched my step-brother’s face pale, his skin turning white as the blood drained from his face. What more could he possibly want from him at this time of night? I had an inkling but I pushed the thought away. No, that wasn't possible, I assured myself. It wasn't possible. He wouldn't do it again. Not in one night. 

“Yes, Brody.” Fletcher replied meekly, his gaze falling to the floor. I wanted to shake him and beg him not to go but that wouldn't help things. No one in this house was on his side— not even me. He was trapped in a household surrounded by people that didn't care about him, not even his own mom. 

Brody smirked in satisfaction, giving a content nod at Fletcher’s reply, before turning and leaving the garage. My step-brother gave me a sidelong glance, for a while not saying anything to break the silence that fell the instant Brody had left the room.

“Good night.” He finally said, eyes somber. My throat tightened, a devastating sadness clawing at my neck. I could hardly breathe. Everything was so wrong but all I could say was,

“Good night, Fletcher.” 

Chapter Text

Chapter One

 Bryce, thirteen years later

“Did you hear about the latest murder?” My coworker, Avon, slapped a newspaper down on my desk. “There's been another vic, it hasn't even been that long since the last one!” 

I glanced at the newspaper, slipping the newspaper from under his hand and nodding my head at his first question. 

“Yes, it does seem a bit odd,” I mused, eyes skimming the news headline about the new body that had been found the night before. “I’m a bit concerned that homicide may end up with a bunch more victims before they catch the person responsible.” 

“Whoever it is is reprehensible,” Avon spat angrily. “Targeting queer men, I mean, how vile. If anything happens to Florian, I’ll kill this murderer myself.” He paced my office, and I could picture steam pouring out his ears he was so worked up about the whole affair— and it made sense. 

Florian was Avon’s older step-brother and was openly gay and had a boyfriend. Leyton, I believed his name was. There was a chance either of them could be a target, but it was unlikely. 

“Unless your brother plans on cheating on his boyfriend, I doubt he’ll fall victim to a serial killer who targets single queer men, or any queer man who's looking for a partner, I should say.” 

Avon relaxed a little, though he still looked pissed. Understandable since there was a serial killer racking up a long list of victims and homicide had little to show in the way of progress in solving it. The homicide detectives were often being ripped into by the other departments, and I sympathized with them because that was a feeling I was all too familiar with. 

“True, and he would never do that.” He replied with conviction. His adoration for his older sibling, related or not, was admirable and something that made me quite fond of the man. But it was odd working with someone who was so close with his step-brother whereas things between me and my step-brother were…complicated. Tense, to say the least, but we still got along, I supposed. At least I’d like to believe we did. 

We talked, we saw each other in person at least once a week, so we clearly still had some form of relationship, it was just nowhere near the closeness Avon had with his brother, either of them actually, since he also had a twin brother he was super close with. The two were very different yet still were attached at the hip outside of working hours. I could never relate to having such a close, happy family. My father and step-mother acted outside of the home to portray a harmonious household but it was a sham, the whole damn thing. And people had started to question things when my brother— my biological older brother— was murdered. By the very same serial killer Avon was talking about. Though my father strongly disagreed with that idea, I knew the truth. 

My father didn't know his oldest son as well as he thought he did— or he was deeply in denial because he was so homophobic and didn't want to even consider the possibility any of his biological children could be gay. He already was insulted enough that his step-son was gay, having his son be gay would add insult to injury. My father's vitriolic hatred was why I kept my bisexuality close to my chest and had dated only women to appease him. 

He had specifically told me that I couldn't be gay, that he couldn't bear having another queer kid attached to his name, to his family. I had just quietly nodded along and assured him that I was straight. There was no telling what he would do if he found out. Probably disown me, at least. Though that would be a bad look for his reputation around town and he was quite a public figure. 

Realizing I had been quiet for too long, I spoke up, “Then don’t worry too much, Avon, hopefully homicide starts figuring stuff out. I heard through the grapevine that they had some small leads to follow up on.” 

“From your dad?” Avon said, smiling a bit weakly and nodding at my words. “Or from the others?” 

“The others,” I replied flatly. “My father and I don't talk much. I’m a complete disappointment compared to my perfect-in-every-way brother.” Who, thankfully, was no longer with us. 

“Ah,” Avon replied knowingly, likely remembering some of the things I had confided to him before. “That's right, I forgot he had ridiculously high expectations of you despite the fact that your brother…” He trailed off, receding into thought. 

“That's enough about my brother for now,” I said, wanting to drop the subject. Even when dead, my brother still found a way to torment me. “What info have they got about this murder?” 

“About the same as always. Young, shorter than average height, slim build, conventionally attractive. Seems this vic was from out of town, likely just passing through for a night or two. Got lured by the killer and sadly paid the price for it.” 

I tapped my fingers on my desk, annoyed about the whole matter. Homicide’s progress was ridiculously slow, considering the first murder had happened over a decade ago, before I was even an adult. My brother had been one of the early victims, but he didn't quite fit the typical victim profile. He was taller than average, at about six foot, and was bulkier than all of the other confirmed victims, though some of the latest ones had come close to his height and size. That had been the perfect reason for my father to deny that my brother was a victim of the serial killer and that his murder was unrelated— someone else must be responsible, he believed. After all, there was no way his precious oldest son was a queer . 

“How do you think he does it?” Avon questioned after a while of my silence. He didn't seem agitated by it, but the case was clearly weighing heavily on his mind. His amber eyes flicked up to meet mine. “I worry about you, you know.” 

Avon was more than just a coworker to me, he was one of my few and closest friends since we were close in age and had similar circumstances. He was just about the only other person who knew I liked men and women. But I huffed a breath at his concern. 

“I have a girlfriend, in case you needed reminding, and I don't seek out men, even for hookups. It's too risky. I can’t have my father finding out now, after all this time.” I replied evenly, running a hand through my hair. Avon made a noise of acknowledgement.

“Right, you never talk about her so I forgot you had one,” He gave me a knowing smile. He knew me a bit too well at this point. “How's that been going? How long have you two been together again?” 

I groaned, tilting my head back in annoyance. Not at Avon, but the subject of my girlfriend. Deana was…well, she was fine. A bit stuck up, but nice enough, and wasn't overly clingy, which I liked. I did have a feeling she was waiting for a ring and we had been together about two years. So not super long, but not super short. I unfortunately had no interest in marrying her, so the poor girl continued to be dragged along by me in my determination to appear straight as could be. 

“I think she wants a ring, but it's been about two years. We met in college.” I tapped my fingers on the desk again, needing something to do to expend the excess energy building up inside me. Apparently today was the day for a bunch of topics I didn't want to talk about. My brother, my girlfriend, my father…

Evidently, I had issues with my family. We were fucked up, but trying to put on a front to everyone else that everything was perfect, we were perfect. When the truth was so, so different. My step-mother, despite everything, did everything in her power to stay married to a man who couldn't care less about her. She paid no mind to how her step-son had been treated, ignoring him most of the time as though he didn't exist. She sided with my father on taking issue with him being gay. She acted like it was some disease that hopefully he could be cured of if he just tried hard enough. 

And my step-brother—

Avon snapped his fingers, bringing my attention back to him. I stared at him for a moment, taking in the concern creasing lines into his face. I shook my head as though that would clear the lingering thoughts trying to cling to me like cobwebs. 

“You didn't hear a word I said, did you?” Avon asked with a shake of his head. He wasn't mad, Avon rarely got mad, but he still wore a look of worry on his face. “Everything alright? Maybe things with the girlfriend aren't as great as you say?”

“Sorry man, I spaced out for a bit, and yeah, I mean, I don't want to propose to Deanna, I just don't—” I sighed in frustration, running a hand through my hair. “I don't want to propose and I worry at some point maybe she will. I don't want that, I’d feel awful because I…” 

“Oh, you have feelings for someone else?” Avon asked, though he sounded fairly sure. For as long as I had known him, he always had a sharp mind, catching onto things others would miss. This was one of the times I hated that about him, not because he caught on that I had feelings for someone, but because who I had feelings for was a deep secret I would never tell anyone. In fact, I often tricked myself, convincing myself I had feelings for someone else instead…such as my current girlfriend. When I didn’t respond right away, because he barely even waited a beat before adding, “Ah, it’s a man, isn’t it? Tough luck.” 

“I…didn't say that, I just feel bad because I don't really have feelings for her. I think I should break it off soon, because this is unfair to her…” I replied, feeling like a piece of shit. Because I was a piece of shit. At one point, I liked her a fair bit. She was beautiful, with deep brown curls that fell down her back and stunning blue eyes. She got along easily with most people, a perfect social butterfly, flitting about from person to person, always showing the right amount of interest to show she really cared about who she was talking to and what they were talking about. I wasn't sure what exactly she saw in me, but I knew that she had feelings for me. I just wasn't sure how deep they really went. 

“I sense a but in there somewhere,” Avon pried, just listening to my words with a carefully guarded expression. He was thinking about what I said, rolling it over in his mind as he often did. “What's the matter?” 

I sighed, my frustration building at the fact the conversation was dragging on. Avon, being the sharp-witted guy that he was, sensed I was growing agitated and came over, placing a friendly and calming hand on my shoulder. Before he could say anything more, I spoke up.

“This really isn't a conversation to have at work,” I said tightly, but forced myself to relax, trying not to lash out at a friend. “We can talk about it later.” 

Avon nodded, patting me on the back, his usual smirk-smile gracing his lips. 

“Alright, mate, back to it then. It was a nice reprieve from thinking about a fu- freaking serial killer.” Avon gave me a nod and walked out my office. I called a goodbye to him and he threw me a smile over his shoulder. Just like that, he was gone, and reality settled back over me. 

I glanced back at the newspaper, something heavy settling into my stomach. The latest victim reminded me too much of someone— the height, build, appearance— everything matched almost perfectly with him. I swallowed thickly, my heart rate starting to speed up. 

I was just checking in on him, it was completely normal to be concerned. He could become a possible victim as well, there was nothing unusual about this. Shoving down my nonsensical nerves and trying to calm my heart, I pulled out my phone, thumbed to my step-brother's contact and hit call. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Two

Bryce

It wasn't until my third call attempt that he bothered answering. Normally, he’d accept my call on the first or second try, so I was more tense than usual when he picked up.

“What is it?” He said shortly, but just hearing his voice made me relax. He was fine, I was just overthinking and being overprotective because of all the things that had happened in the past. But it was just that, the past. I needed to move past it, but it hung over me like a dark cloud, constantly following me. I couldn't escape it. 

“Hey, Fleet, just checking in with you to make sure you're okay. Haven't heard from you in a bit so I just wanted to confirm you're alive.” I tried, but likely failed to keep my tone light. Perhaps things were getting to me more than I first thought. Perhaps I was more worried than I even realized. 

Fletcher sighed softly, a little hint of irritation, but he didn't breathe a word of it out loud. He rarely did. 

“Is this because of the murder?” He asked, his tone becoming understanding. “I’m being careful, you know. I'm not going crazy hooking up with a bunch of strange men if that's what you're thinking.” He was teasing— to an extent. 

“I didn't think that at all,” I replied anyway, needing him to know I didn't think that of him— that he was just recklessly throwing himself at random men to get his fix. “But yes, I was worried because of the murder. I saw the picture they found of the victim before he…Anyways, he reminded me a lot of you and I was worried perhaps you were the perfect type he would want to lure out and…” 

“I appreciate your concern,” Fletcher said warmly, and I could tell he meant it, but he still was a bit detached, as he often was. “But I'm being careful. Besides, the killer’s M.O seems to have evolved, he’s been casting a wider net for his targets, it looks like.” 

“Gosh, if I didn't know any better, I’d think you were a homicide detective. At least I’m a police officer so I feel justified with my curiosity but you…” 

“I’ve done my research since I could become a victim, that's all,” Fletcher replied dismissively. “Can't be too careful. After all, plenty of men wear masks to hide the monster they truly are.” 

I could tell there was more to those words but I didn't want to broach the subject. I smiled tensely, though he could not see it. 

“Very true. And it's not just men either.” 

“Well, that is true as well, but you know what I meant.” Fletcher said curtly. I knew what he meant all too well. 

“Indeed I do.” I answered, and before the conversation could run dry and take a turn for the worse, I added, “I’m glad you're alright. Are we still on for this weekend?” We usually had plans on Sunday to meet for lunch or coffee. 

“This weekend…Ah, maybe just for coffee in the afternoon. I'm afraid I'm busy Sunday morning— and no, it's not because of church.” 

“I’d never assume so.” I replied almost reflexively. 

“I would hope so. If you didn't know me that well, I’d wonder if you paid any attention at all.” There was an edge to his voice, one that had alarm bells blaring in my head but there was little I could do about it. I couldn't fix what had already happened, I could just try to repair what was broken and hope for the best. The past continued to haunt us both, never letting us forget. 

“I'm not like the others,” I said defensively, my heart pounding in my chest. “I’m different from them, I’d like to think I take after my mother, not…not that man. I’m not like him.” 

Fletcher's long silence had my heart sinking. There was no way he thought I was like my father, or even like my brother or step-mother. I didn't ignore him, I didn't push him aside, I cared for him. 

“Perhaps now you are different.” Fletcher finally replied, voice cold, tone icy. I tried not to get angry. I didn't want to yell at him because he felt differently than I did. But his long silence hurt, his incomplete denial hurt. I wasn't like them, I wasn't. 

“What did you want me to do? Get hurt along with you? Is that what you wanted, Fleet?” I spat out in hurt and shame. I struggled to keep my emotions in check. Today was just not my day. Everywhere I turned, my sore spots were being poked and prodded, old memories being yanked out of their tightly locked drawers. “I was a child!” 

“So was I. Do you think I deserved it, Bryce? Do you think I’ve forgotten? You didn't even try to stand up for me, to stand up for yourself. I remember, Bryce, I remember all of it.” 

“I was twelve!” I cried out, not knowing what else to say. “He wouldn't hesitate to hurt me either, none of them would. I was just the second son, the only one who loved me died ages ago. I had no one, either, we were both on our own.” 

“We could have done something together, we could have gone down together. You not only watched the whole thing but—” 

“Fletcher, please! I never meant to hurt you, you know that. You trust me, don't you? We’re family, I care for you, I care for you very much. I was so worried that I called and yet here you are painting me to be some…some monster. I'm hurt beyond belief.” 

He was silent for a beat, causing my tension to rise, my distress becoming greater and greater. 

“That wasn't my intention,” he said slowly, calmly, though there was an edge to his voice. “Sorry, I just— I’m just too upset about it right now to think clearly. I didn't mean to hurt you, I shouldn't have said those things. I’ll see you Sunday afternoon. I’ll text you the time and place.” 

And before I could say another word, he hung up. And just like that, I deflated. I was still agitated, but being left alone with my thoughts had caused my anger to shrink to a low simmer. I had no real right to be mad at him, it wasn't his fault that horrible things had happened to him, it wasn't his fault I had stood idly by and even been forced to participate against my will out of fear of being hurt just the same, if not worse. At least our main tormentor was dead. Of all the serial killer's victims, my brother was the only one I was truly glad was gone. Some of the other victims had allegedly done bad things, but that was just whispered rumors at the station. Homicide tried their best to keep their investigation locked up tight within their own department so I wasn't privy to the information they had or hadn't uncovered about the victims. Regardless, that didn't mean they deserved to die— and definitely not in the brutal fashion this serial killer used. 

Now that I was off the phone with Fletcher, I turned my attention back to work with a sigh. It was Wednesday, so I’d see him in four days, no big deal. He said he had plans Sunday morning, but I wasn't concerned. The serial killer wasn't stupid enough to strike in broad daylight where anyone could catch him. No, he was much smarter than that, and that was why homicide seemed to be getting nowhere and the bodies kept stacking up, more and more frequently even. And the unease around town continued to rise, because what if he started targeting other people and not just queer men? Was he intending to target queer people in general after the men? Or just anyone he could lure out to kill given the opportunity? 

The answer was unclear, and I myself felt ill at ease about the whole situation. It was getting personal, because I didn't want to lose Fletcher. He was the only real family I had, and I would do anything to keep it that way. 

***

By the time Sunday rolled around, I felt things between me and Fletcher had settled. I doubted he was still upset about the matters we had discussed, as it was pointless to bicker about things that couldn't be changed. We should focus on the present and do what we could to make the most of it, as cliché as that sounded. I felt that we needed to bury the hatchet and let any lingering resentment go, because things were different now. I was different now. Because he was gone and we could finally have some peace for as long as my father remained aloof and uncaring— so long as I met his expectations and so long as Fletcher didn't ‘flaunt his gayness’ in his face, as he put it, whatever that meant. 

As it was, Fletcher hardly saw them. He had long since moved out of our parents’ house and into his own place. On the flip side, while I also had my own place, my father demanded to see me frequently and I often stopped by their house, even staying the night every now and then. My step-mother made sure my room was always neat and tidy when she knew I was stopping by. It wasn't that she cared about me or anything like that, it was all for appearances and to appease her husband. It was her putting on an act that she was a dutiful wife and a caring step-mom, who was kind even to her step-son. I resented her quite a bit, but I hid it well, playing along with the act because that was all I knew how to do. 

I didn't know how to go against my father or to lash out at my step-mother, I had been trained to be meek, to be obedient. I had learned to keep my head down and just go along with whatever they wanted. I had learned to act like everything was fine and to turn a blind eye to my father and brother’s wrongdoings. To take whatever pain or punishment they doled out as they pleased. 

It was no wonder Fletcher held some resentment towards me, but I wasn't like them. I wasn't. If I hadn't been so young, so weak, I’d have done so much differently, but I hadn't been able to. I couldn't have done anything differently and I needed Fletcher to know that. To understand that. 

I arrived first at the café my step-brother had picked out, one of our regular meet-up places. It was cozy, with ambient lighting and couches and tables and chairs. Soft jazzy music played on the speakers, just audible over the sound of quiet chatter from its patrons. I put in our order, deciding to pay for his coffee as a slight penance for our fight— if it even could be called that, spat? Argument? Whatever it was, I felt bad and wanted to make it up to him in some way other than just…talking about it. 

When our drinks came out and Fletcher was still nowhere in sight, I found an empty table towards the back, around where we usually sat, and set our drinks down. I took a seat, sending a text to Fletcher to let him know where to look for me. My phone quickly dinged with a response. 

Fletcher : Sorry for being late, I should have texted you earlier to push back the time 

Me : That's okay, how far out are you?

Fletcher: About 10-15 minutes. Traffic was worse than I thought considering it's not rush hour yet. 

Me: That's okay, I understand. Must have been an accident or something.

Fletcher: Yes, or something. See you soon.

Me: See you soon.

I set my phone down with a sigh, staring at the coffee I ordered for Fletcher, considering what to do with it. Guess I’d be buying him a new one, considering it was going to be completely melted by the time Fletcher got here. Sighing again, I pulled the drink towards me, took a sip, and made a face. The drink was sugary sweet, probably more syrup than coffee. While I wasn't frequently a black coffee drinker, preferring a latte or a cappuccino— with a pump or two of syrup on occasion— I much preferred a bitter coffee to an overly sweet one. I liked being able to taste the flavor profile of the coffee, which is one thing I liked about this place. Whether you got a black coffee or whatever sugary concoction Fletcher's “coffee” was made up of, you got that delicious, distinctly coffee taste. This café got it right, whether it was the beans they used or the way they processed them or the roast, they knew what they were doing and I appreciated that. Greatly. Which is why I liked meeting here. 

By the time Fletcher arrived, I was almost done with my drink, having only about a quarter of it left. So I ordered us both a coffee— again. 

“You didn't have to pay for mine,” Fletcher protested, though he didn't really care either way, something I had learned about him long ago. “I have the money.” 

“I never said you didn't.” I said back with a knowing smirk. He gave me a friendly shove on my shoulder in response to my smartass comment. 

“You never get tired of that, do you? He muttered in annoyance, but there was a playful gleam in his eyes. One that had me relaxing. Thank goodness, it seemed all well between us now. He must have just been having a moment and took it out on me since I had called when he was presumably in the middle of it. 

“Nope,” I replied, popping the p just to rub it in. “Let's grab our table again before someone else gets to it.” 

He nodded and followed me as we headed back to the corner of the café. I hoped it wasn't time for another unpleasant conversation, though my heart nearly stopped when I saw scratch marks peeking out the sleeves of his shirt. Catching my gaze, Fletcher pulled his sleeves down purposefully and cleared his throat. Ah, so he didn't want to talk about it. 

I guess I should just chalk it up to rough sex or something of the sort. I held back a sigh. I mean if it was related to his sex life, I could understand him not wanting to talk about it with me, but if it was because someone had hurt him, targeted him…My protectiveness flared up, but I forced myself to reign it in and not jump to conclusions. 

If it was important, Fletcher would tell me at some point. We were close enough he knew he could confide in me. I would never spill his secrets— any of them— because they weren't mine to tell. Not even if they involved me.

“So,” Fletcher said, meeting my gaze as we sat down at the table. “What are we going to talk about today?” 

Chapter Text

Chapter Three

Rex

The bastard had the nerve to strike twice in less than a week. I was pissed off about it. Everything was wrong, so, so wrong about it. Everything was clumsy, botched, careless. It was a miracle the guy hadn't been caught yet. He made mistake after mistake after mistake. His first mistake had been trying to copy my M.O. This pathetic little copycat couldn't do anything right. I was truly amazed this city’s homicide department couldn't put two and two together and figure out who the little fucker was so I knew who to go after. But no matter, I would figure it out myself.

I could do it, I could catch out my pathetic little copycat and squeeze the life out of him bit by little bit, make him beg to be spared, make him plead for it and then, torturously slow, kill him until the life left his body. Just thinking about it made me horny, my cock thickening in my pants. If this copycat wanted my attention he had it. Maybe, if he was attractive enough, I’d fuck him first, use his pretty little hole and make a mess of him. I could fuck his throat, make him choke on the cock of his killer, make tears well up in his eyes and—

I cut the fantasy off. I had no idea what the copycat looked like or who he was, but I definitely figured he was younger than I was. He was sloppy and his kills weren't nearly as clean as mine. I sighed, lightly stroking my cock through my pants. It’d been a while since I’d had sex, I was getting pent up and if I didn't get relief, I was going to have to kill again to settle the ache inside myself. Sex and murder were the only things that calmed me and made me a somewhat normal functioning human, as much as a serial killer could be. 

I tapped my fingers on the arm of my chair with one hand as my other continued to stroke along my half-hard dick, as I mused to myself how to get myself this imitating freak. It was obvious what his intentions were, making kills so close to mine, following my M.O. so our kills would be linked as one killer instead of two. He wanted my attention? He had it. 

And he may regret it, if what he wanted wasn't a bloodthirsty monster coming after him to end his pathetic life. I smirked to myself, eager to find out who my copycat was. Because one way or another, he was going to be mine whether he wanted to be or not. But that was something to think about later, I was aching to get off. I needed to find a parter— and I didn't have a lack of willing bodies— but I was craving a specific kind of sex. I wanted a younger, submissive partner who I could fuck the brains out of. 

Just the thought had my dick becoming fully hard, interested in the thought. My mind drifted to my fantasy from earlier, picturing a pretty young thing on his knees for me, plump lips stretched wide around my thick cock as I fucked his throat. I could picture the way his eyes would tear up, the way his throat would contract around my cock, the way he would squirm because he would be getting off on it all, trying not to cum in his pants because that would mean he would need to be punished. 

As the fantasy continued to unfold in my mind’s eye, I pulled my dick out of my pants, finally giving it the attention it deserved and craved. I slicked up my hands with some lube that I kept nearby for this exact reason— needing to take the edge off so I wouldn't do something reckless and stupid— and began stroking myself firmly in earnest, groaning at the feeling of my own hand around my cock. I returned my focus to the fantasy, picturing myself coming down the pretty little thing’s throat, watching him choke on and swallow  my thick load, opening his mouth to show me how good he was for me. I squeezed my dick tighter, stroking rougher. 

My partner would then turn himself around and present his ass to me, his hole stretched wide around a plug from earlier, keeping him nice and open for me so I could fuck him whenever the urge arose. I’d slowly tease the plug out of him, shoving it back in a few times before taking it all the way out and admiring the loose hole before me. Maybe some cum from earlier would drip out, luring me in. I’d fuck him open with my tongue, relishing in my own taste, knowing I’d staked my claim on his tight little ‘pussy’. Because he was into freaky shit like that, to having his hole referred to as a pussy, to mindless dirty talk about getting him pregnant from how much cum I would stuff in his sexy hole. 

After I’d fucked him with my tongue, I would sink my cock inside of him, owning him. I’d have one hand around his throat, the other at his hip so I could fuck his tight body onto my thick cock, moving his body for my pleasure. And he’d moan and cry and beg for more like the good little slut he was. I’d wreck him and stuff him full of even more of my cum until it was overflowing from his used pussy. I’d ride out my orgasm until I was fucking him into overstimulation, listening to his broken and desperate cries for me to stop— knowing he didn't truly want me to stop, because we had safe words in play. Because if we didn't, there would be nothing to hold me back from destroying him, from breaking him into a million pieces that would never fit back together the same way. 

“Fuck,” I moaned, the thought of ruining someone tickling something deep and dark inside of me. I really needed to find someone to fuck or I was going to need to kill, the urge was swelling strong inside of me. If I didn't satisfy my sexual urges, I was going to snap. So I let the fantasy continue as my orgasm built higher and higher. 

I’d pull out and flip him around, make him kneel again and clean the cum off my cock. Maybe I’d even get hard yet again, maybe I’d fuck his throat again, watching it bulge from the sheer size of my cock. I’d watch him desperately try to please me, to lick and suck and swallow around my dick like the obedient cockwhore he was. And this time, I’d pull out when I was close so I could cum all over his face, to satisfy an urge to claim him, all of him, as mine. Both his ass and throat were mine to take, to fuck, to cum inside. It was with that thought, that my orgasm tore through me, thick ropes of cum covering my hand, pants and shirt. 

Well, perhaps I didn't quite think that through but it was nothing too annoying to deal with. I didn't need anything fraying my nerves when I was this wound up, even after cumming once. After I cleaned up, I checked one of the hookups apps— specifically a BDSM one— for a partner for the night. I flipped through my options, humming idly. No one was quite catching my attention, but that didn't really matter. I just needed a warm body to sink into, a tight hole to spread open and fuck into oblivion. 

I chatted a few options up, the kind who seemed willing to bend to my will, seeing who would bite my hook. A few did, but I settled with the first one who suggested meeting up. I liked a desperate man who knew what he wanted— and what he wanted was a man to dominate and fuck him until he was a trembling mess. I licked my lips in anticipation, looking forward to getting a release, to taking the edge off. My little copycat was pushing me dangerously close to the edge of doing another kill. And I wasn't ready— not yet. Not unless it was that irritating bastard I was putting six feet deep. 

Besides, with his two recent kills, I didn’t want the police on high alert when I killed. I wanted to have complete peace of mind, to have no worry about them as I usually did. I set those thoughts aside for now. 

I packed a bag to bring with me to the hookup, humming to myself. I wasn’t sure how vanilla— or not— my partner was, so I brought a mix of things, some much tamer than others. I hoped he was more…experimental than some of my previous hookups, because I was still in a mood. I needed to take it out on a willing body, to let off some steam, some anger and frustration at my irritating mimic. I abhorred the thought that anyone would dare even think they were good enough to pull off kills as smooth and clean as mine— even with the amount of blood my kills normally caused.

 I let my anticipation build, but didn’t let myself have unrealistic expectations of a random partner. This was all just a temporary fix anyways, I could always find a partner that…better suited my needs. 

***

The sex was…satisfactory, it sated me enough that I felt my urges calm and a part of me relaxed, unwinding the tension I didn’t even know I was holding. We’d been at it for a while, which also helped. So did the multiple orgasms. This partner wasn’t bad, but I didn’t like repeats. I would get bored after a few times, especially if they weren’t on board with some of my more…extreme kinks.And this man seemed to fall into that category. 

He was beautiful, definitely young— most likely younger than I would typically go for, which agitated me inexplicably— and had been rather receptive to most of what I sprung on him. Oh, had he been eager to please me. It seemed that was a kink of his, to bring others pleasure, to just submit to the whims and wills of another man. 

I was preparing to leave, hopefully unnoticed, when he stirred, a sated smile crossing his lips as he looked at me. And oh, no, I knew that look. He was looking at me like I had hung the stars in the sky or something equally ridiculous. He wanted more, more than I could give. And with him likely being about 22 at oldest, nope. Nope, nope, nope. I was not having a fuck buddy almost 15 years younger than I was— assuming I was right about his age— for as much as I liked younger men, I did have a line I did not cross. And to an extent, I regretted picking him last night, but god, it had been pretty good. His crying, his begging…

I cut off those thoughts, I didn't need a boner when I was trying to make a clean cut from this man. But damn, going another round, at the least, was tempting. He was quite appealing, with his mussed hair, his plump, slightly parted lips, his adoring blue eyes…I just wanted to take him apart bit by bit, to make him scream and cry again from the pain and pleasure I could give him if I just gave in. But I couldn't, I wouldn’t. I didn't need him attached to me, that would be inconvenient, especially if I was going to kill again sooner rather than later. I didn't need any…attachments. 

“This was a one night thing,” I said gruffly, pinning him with a look. He squirmed a bit and a look of worry briefly crossed his face. “I don't do relationships— of any kind.” 

“It doesn't have to be a one time thing, it doesn't need to be a relationship,” desperation tinged his voice, and it stirred something dark in me that I had to push down. “W-whenever you want, whatever you want, I can do it. Just sex, no strings attached. If you want it to stop or end or whatever, just say the word. Please.” 

I shook my head even though the offer was quite appealing. But I didn't want to bother ruining someone so young, so inexperienced this time around. It wasn't worth the time or effort, I wanted something else— what that was, I wasn't quite sure yet. 

“One time only.” I repeated firmly. 

The man deflated but then seemed to consider something that had his face lighting up with hope. He gave me a sultry look, letting the sheets fall down to reveal his naked torso.

“Does today still count as one time?” He asked with a flirty smile. God, he was so desperate, so eager. Fuck. 

“I suppose so,” I replied, not even mad that I was giving in, because after this, it would be the end of our relationship. If I ever saw him again, I would completely ignore him like nothing ever happened. “I’ll meet you in the shower.” 

His eyes lit up, his cheeks flushed, and his smile turned from flirty to joyful like a switch had been flipped. I didn't even feel bad I was getting his hopes up, because I had already made it clear this was the end. One time. That was it. I couldn't— and wouldn't— do more. Ever. Not again. 

But for tonight, this man was mine, and mine alone…

Chapter Text

Chapter Four 

Rex

I spent the rest of my week poring over all the information I had scraped together about my copycat’s kills, looking for a pattern or some glimmer of information that would lead me to something valuable. A name, a location, a pattern so I could predict where to look. I needed to find him before the cops did, but I wasn't concerned. This town’s homicide department was a joke, much to the anger and embarrassment of the police chief. 

And speaking of him, despite the fact he tried to keep it under wraps, his being a homophobe was a small benefit because why would he care about gay men being murdered. Good riddance, right? His attitude, though again he tried to hide it, affected the rest of the cops, who scrambled to fall in line with the police chief and pray for a promotion. 

And after a good week spent searching and searching, I had a prediction, despite how erratic my copycat seemed to be. His sudden spree— no, that wasn't quite the right word, but I digress— was definitely a cry for my attention. He wanted me to find him, for whatever godforsaken reason. And find him, I would.

 He liked a particular part of the forest he used as his dumping grounds— a reason his kills were found much quicker than mine— and there did seem to be some pattern to where he put them, like he was drawing out a shape with the bodies, even after they were moved. It did pique my curiosity a bit, but I still had every intention of killing him— after torturing him first, of course. 

Now it was just a waiting game. And a guessing one, since I didn't know for sure where he was going to strike, or when, but I had an idea. There were only days between his last two kills but there hadn't been another in the week after his last. He probably had overdone it, realizing his mistake only after making it— like the fool he was. I smirked, I would enjoy toying with him before ending him. I hoped he was younger, attractive, submissive. I’d love to degrade him, to tell him how foolish he was, how desperate he was. I’d have him begging for my cock, in his throat, in his ass. 

The thought had me growing hard, but I suppressed the urge to give in. I wanted the feeling to simmer under my skin, I wanted to hold off, to let the feeling grow, to let it become an itch I couldn't wait to scratch. I wanted to unleash it all on my copycat when I finally had him right where I wanted him, in my clutches. So I waited. And waited. One week, then another.

And just when I was getting impatient, and agitated, and oh, so horny, finally the moment I had been craving arrived. And I was right where I needed to be.

***

It was probably around 1:30 in the morning and pitch black out. The forest was quiet, the silence broken only by the occasional hum of crickets or some snapping twigs or the stirring of the fallen leaves by a brief breeze. There was a slight, but manageable chill in the air. I didn't mind at all, I relished in the cold air brushing against my skin like a sweet caress. 

I heard more than saw my prey coming. The cracking of leaves and branches and the sound of something being dragged through the dirt and grass was like a gunshot in the quiet of the forest. As I suspected, he favored this particular area for some unknown reason. Whether there was a deeper meaning or not held no bearing to me, though my curiosity did occasionally flare up. Why did I have a copycat, why was someone so desperate for my attention? I would likely have the answer soon. 

I made sure to keep myself concealed in the long dark shadows as my prey drew closer, dragging his kill with him. My heart rate sped up, something that rarely happened, and excitement began to build inside of me. Finally, finally. 

He was in my view, and oh, yeah, I was going to have fun breaking him. He was gorgeous, definitely smaller, and shorter than I was. It was a miracle he was able to pull the dead weight at all with how slim he was, but even from a distance I could see the slight definition of his muscles and oh, they were delectable. I was eager to see his face from closer up, to look into his eyes, to take in his features with greedy eyes. I wanted him. I wanted him at my mercy, I wanted him crying for me, I wanted him aching for me, begging for me, pleading with me, breaking for me. 

The moonlight struck his face just right, bathing him in a silver glow that made him look ethereal. It was a surprise such a pretty boy was my mimic, but I didn't care, in fact, I was glad for it. Now I would make good on my fantasies of fucking him before getting rid of him the best way I knew how. 

I was sure he wasn't familiar to me— not a former hookup or anyone I had seen before or indulged in stupid dates with for appearance's sake. Was he closeted? Or maybe he wasn't gay at all, though that thought was unfathomable because he was…so clearly gay. I could smell it on him from here. And I couldn't wait to smell it from up close. 

I waited for him to be distracted, focused on putting the body where he wanted it, before I made my move. I crept out from my hiding spot, circling around so I was behind him before I slipped out a knife, clutching it comfortably in my left hand. Perks of being ambidextrous.

 The sounds of him positioning the body drowned out the sounds of my footsteps, whisper soft across the leaves and brush. I was already behind him when he finally seemed to notice my presence, his spine stiffening as he slowly stood to his full height, his back still to me. I stepped closer and tucked the knife under his chin.

“Why, hello there,” I murmured with an edge to my voice, talking in a low growl. “What do we have here?” 

He didn't say anything, remaining completely still like he had forgotten how to function. I pressed the knife a bit closer against his throat.

“Care to explain?” I asked, my voice taunting, provoking. “What you're doing, that is.” I added when I still got no response after a beat of silence. 

“Are…are you him?” He finally asked with a quiver in his voice, his body finally starting to shake, though I wasn't sure if it was just in fear or not. He almost seemed…hopeful? Agitated, for sure. 

“Him?” I repeated slowly, trailing the blade of the knife up and down his throat slowly. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, pretty boy.” 

“Y-you know,” he whispered, daring to turn his head the slightest bit to try and glance at me. I reflexively pressed the knife tighter to his neck and he quickly turned his head back straight and I heard him swallow. My mind immediately went to the gutter, thinking about making him swallow something other than his own saliva. “The…the serial killer.” 

“Are you saying that's not you?” I replied, playing dumb, teasing. I didn't mind playing mind games with him because I now had him where I wanted him. And god, was I going to do what I wanted with him, including stretching him out on my dick. 

“It’s not,” he said breathily and I eased up on how close I had the knife to him, giving him an inch of space to catch his breath without fear of being nicked by the blade. “Please, I need to know.” 

“Hmm, well since you said please…” I pressed myself closer to him, letting him slot against my body so my hard cock was against his ass. He stiffened but didn't— couldn't— move away. I put my lips by his ear, giving it a playful bite before continuing, “Perhaps I am, little copycat.” 

He suddenly relaxed against me, his hand grabbing my right wrist. He was moving my hand, and I let him, curious. What I wasn't expecting was him to put my hand on his dick— his half-hard dick. I puffed out a breath against his ear and he shivered, and oh, I liked that a lot. So I did it again, grinding my body against his. 

“You're…you're the only one who would call me that,” he said in a way I didn't understand, that I couldn't comprehend. “I’ve been waiting for you.” 

“Mm,” I licked along the shell of his ear, relishing the way his breath hitched, the way his dick twitched in my grasp. “Have you now, pretty boy?” 

“Y-yes,” he moaned when I squeezed his cock in my hand through his pants. “I wanted to see you, so bad.” 

“Is that so?” I mused, a smirk crossing my face, and I slowly lowered the knife and tucked it back into its sheath. The man made no move to get away, staying pressed against me where he had been. “What could you possibly want from me? Hoping I would kill someone for you, you bad, bad boy?”

I felt the shudder that ran through him in response to my words and my smirk deepened. He was so responsive and I could tell he was submissive, I could bend him to my will without much struggle, if he even put up any at all. I loved the power that rushed through me at the thought, the knowledge that I could probably do whatever I wished with him and he would likely let me. I bit my lip, letting out a quiet groan. 

“No,” he answered after a moment. “I just…you killed someone for me…” He trailed off, lost in a thought or memory, so I brought him back by thrusting my hips against his ass. He moaned like I was actually fucking him. Kinky little freak. He was perfect. “I wanted to thank you…” 

“And how were you planning to do that, pretty boy?” I murmured into his ear. “Hmm?” He leaned his head back on my shoulder but didn't try looking towards me. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes half-lidded. He was a sight to behold and I drank him in greedily, surprised at how calm and accepting he was of the situation. 

“By letting you do what you want with me,” he replied softly, his body pliant against mine as this time, he pushed back against my hard cock. “I want you to ruin me.” He murmured like a deadly promise. He was saying all the right things, everything to drive me into a frenzy. I was one second away from pushing him over and driving into him with no care in the world, even if it hurt him, even if he tore and bled. But I held onto my last bit of restraint, not giving into the urge just yet. 

“Hmm,” I hummed, slipping one hand under his shirt and running it along his torso. He trembled beautifully under my touch, his breath hitching. “You think you deserve it? After what you’ve done?” 

“What do you mean?” Confusion laced his tone as some of the lustful fog clouding his brain cleared away. “What have I done?” 

“You’ve been making things difficult for me,” I murmured while my hand found his nipple, the bud hardening immediately at my slightest touch. “I’ve been very frustrated with you, little copycat.” 

“S-sorry,” he replied breathily. “I’m sorry, so please let me make it up to you. I’ll do what you want so…Please.” His voice became more and more desperate as he spoke and he pushed back against me more insistently. 

“Well, we’ll see if you can please me,” I said teasingly, playing with his nipple while I spoke, enjoying every slight response from him as I did so. “Take off your pants.” 

His hands, shaky as they were, reached down to his waistband and slowly pushed down, revealing his ass in more detail through the thin material of his briefs. I let out a pleased sound at his immediate obedience, so very tempted to throw away my restraint and fuck him. But no, I had a different plan now. I needed to test him, to see how far he would go— if he would truly do as I said, without disobeying or betraying me. Because I couldn't just blindly trust him and get screwed because of it— not after I’d gone this long without getting caught. 

“Please,” he whispered like it was a prayer, and he repeated it like he couldn't catch his breath without saying it over and over. “Please, please…” He didn't finish his plea, didn't explain what he was begging for, but he didn't need to say it. I knew. And I wasn't going to give it to him, at least, not in the way he wanted. 

I took the initiative to slide his briefs down his thighs, enjoying the way he shivered and trembled at even an indirect touch from me. And then, much to his confusion, I nudged his knees closer together, keeping his thighs basically touching. 

“What are you…?” He started to twist and turn but I put a quick stop to that, grabbing his hips and stilling him, pressing the weight of my body against him.

“Don't question me, pretty boy,” I said in a low, grumbly voice. “I’m going to fuck your thighs, and you're going to be good and take whatever I give you.” He relaxed again at my words and I couldn't help but smirk. 

I scooted back enough away from him that I could unzip my pants and slip out my achingly hard dick from my briefs, taking a second to just give it a nice slow stroke, savoring the feeling. He had stiffened upon hearing my zipper open, but when I spread his cheeks and rubbed my cock between them, teasing it across his ass, he practically melted into a puddle of want. Interesting. 

Ever so slowly, I moved my cock from between his ass cheeks to between his thighs, lining up so that I would be rubbing against his balls with every thrust. He let out a whimper as I got into position, ready to make him wild with desire without even taking him like he wanted me to. If he was good, that would come later. But not today. 

“Are you ready, little copycat?” I murmured in his ear, my tongue flicking out to run along the shell of his ear. He started to turn his head to look back at me, so I not so gently grabbed his jaw and pushed his head back forward. “Not yet, pretty boy. You haven't earned that privilege yet.” 

He complied wordlessly, breaths coming out heavier with anticipation. 

“I’m ready,” he replied earnestly. So sweetly honest. I was ready to tear him apart and then leave him to pick up his pieces. “Please fuck me.” 

Chapter Text

Chapter Five 

Rex

God…his thighs were heaven, they were soft and warm and tight as he kept them close together for me as I thrust against him. He was all but limp, held up by my hold on him, letting me use his body as I pleased, moans tearing from his throat. My hands were pressed into his chest, my fingers playing with the sensitive buds that were his nipples. I licked at his neck, enjoying the salty but somehow sweet taste of his sweat. I wanted to mark him, to claim him as mine. Mine to fuck, to use, to control. Fuckkk, that thought got me worked up. 

But, I wasn't sure how far I wanted this to go. I was tempted to keep him around for a while, if only just to punish him for what he had done. But if he was telling the truth, he was making a tantalizing offer. To have someone who would do whatever I wanted and not just in a sexual sense was alluring. But he could fuck everything up. I would have to monitor him, keep an eye on him. And above all, I would have to trust him. And we weren't quite at that point. Which is why I planned to test him. After I finished fucking his thighs, of course. 

He was so pliant, so cooperative that I couldn't help but relish the feeling of control. He was almost too good to be true and that was just another reason I had to keep my guard up, couldn't just take things at face value that this beautiful, desperate man was begging me to use him, to do as I pleased.

I set those thoughts aside for now, just relishing in the slide between his legs, the experience more pleasurable now that his thighs were slick with my pre-cum. I enjoyed the breathy sounds that slipped from his lips, the wanton moans as he got off on it, his own cock hard and leaking, twitching whenever mine brushed against it or pressed between his balls. He was delicious, a meal served to me on a silver platter. 

“You're being so good for me, pretty boy,” I murmured low in his ear, earning a suppressed whimper in return. “And you’ll continue to be one for me and not cum, hmm?” 

“Y-yes!” he choked out between moans and something in me was satisfied watching him reach down and strangle the base of his cock to prevent an early orgasm. I smiled pleasantly, satisfied, though he could not see it. 

“Yes?” I repeated expectantly, and waited for his lust-addled mind to understand what I was prompting.

“Yes…Daddy?” he repeated, ending on a note of uncertainty. But he had hit the mark on his first try and I let out a pleased hum, nipping the back of his neck. 

“Good boy.” I purred and my thrusts grew faster, more erratic and it was pleasing watching him do his best to squeeze his thighs tightly together to give me more pleasure. So he was a pleaser, the poor thing must have lacked attention growing up and had grown accustomed to trying his best so people would appreciate or even just notice him. I shifted one hand from his chest to the hair on the back of his neck. It was fairly long, curly and smooth, soft and fluffy as well. I stroked my fingers through the curls, gently, while I continued to rock my hips, on the verge of white hot pleasure. 

“If you cum,” I muttered through grunts of both ecstasy and exertion. “I’ll have to punish you, pretty boy, and you won't like that.”

“Understood, D-Daddy,” he replied between panting breaths and delicious moans. “I won't cum, unless you tell me to.” 

“That's it, pretty boy,” I purred contentedly. “Listen to me, your pleasure belongs to me now, got it?” 

“I got it, mmmm,” he cut off with a moan as my orgasm suddenly tore through me and my cum sprayed against his thighs and cock, and god, if I didn't love that. “Daddy!” I watched him clench down on his cock to not cum and that sent a bolt of pleasure through me— at not only his obedience but the fact that my orgasm turned him on— as I rocked through my orgasm, my cock still spraying the last of my release. 

“Good,” I whispered, continuing to play with his hair. “You look so pretty covered in my cum,” and it was quite arousing as well, even though I had just cum, I could feel my cock twitching in interest. “Having something on you that marks you as mine.” 

“Yes, I’m yours…” he whispered in reply, and without prompting, he gathered some of my cum on my fingers and put them in his mouth, licking my cum off of them with a soft groan of pleasure. “I love your taste.” 

“You like that, huh?” I responded and teased my cock against his hole, rubbing my cum against it. The way he moaned in response was delicious, and I wanted to devour him. “Well, for as much as I would like to see you jerk your cock off while it's covered in my cum, I don't think you’ve earned it yet.” 

“Not yet?” He whined, squeezing his cock again. “Daddy…” he added in a strained voice. His desperation was pleasing to me, I wanted to break him apart so badly, but not yet…Though I was definitely going to start today. 

“No, and you're to be my good little slut and go home with your aching hard cock and you're going to keep your hands off it until tonight,” I told him, unable to help my smirk as I imagined his expression. “You can do that for me, right, pretty boy?” 

“Yes, Daddy…” he replied weakly, sagging back against me and my hold on him tightened. “W-What is happening tonight?” 

“Tonight, you're going to meet me at Mickey's, 8 o’clock, and you're going to come with me somewhere…more private, and I’ll let you cum as much as you possibly can until your balls are dry and nothing more can come out.” 

“You…want me to meet you at a gay bar?” He asked tentatively. 

“Are you questioning my orders, pretty boy? What's the matter, you can't be seen at one?” I said, taunting, though there was some anger in my voice that I couldn't help. Don't tell me he was some closet case…I groaned internally. 

“N-No, I’ll meet you there, Daddy,” he hastened to reply. 

“Good, be prepared to show me your worth, copycat. Wait at least 15 minutes before you leave, unless you need to finish up with him,” I nodded towards the body even though he couldn't see the motion, I could still tell he caught my drift and glanced towards the body. “See you tonight.” I murmured and I slowly let him go, causing him to slump forward. He barely caught himself but didn't dare even glance in my direction. Good. I backed away from him, keeping my eyes trained on him until I was sure I was far enough away that even if he did look, he wouldn't be able to discern anything about my features. 

Let the training begin.

***

I was at Mickey's by 7:30, waiting in my car at the parking lot, watching the coming and goings of the bargoers, many of whom I recognized. A frown fought to take over my face when I saw a familiar man enter the bar— not my copycat, no. But one of my recent flings, the clingy college age kid. Apparently, he was at least 21— or had a fake ID. Or the bouncers were turning a blind eye. But no, I had figured he was over 21, but not by much. Ideally my little copycat and I wouldn't be at the bar long enough for him to notice me. It was likely the kid would find a new partner that was better suited for him anyways, someone who could give him what I couldn't. 

I guess I had grown somewhat fond of him for some odd reason, and I didn't want to have to kill him for being too attached. So I continued observing the Sunday night life and waited for my prey to show up.

At 7:50, a vaguely familiar car— something that normally would have alarmed me in some way, but didn't— parked near the bar and there he was. His curly brown hair framed his slim, but soft face, his eyes— a warm hazel color— suited his face perfectly. From this far away, his freckles were hardly noticeable but I knew there was a light dusting of them across his nose and cheeks. His body was also just my type, though it leaned more to the muscular side than I normally went for, but I didn't mind it at all. 

I watched him approach the bar entrance, the bouncer inspecting his ID before nodding and letting him in. When the clock hit 7:55, I slowly got out of my own car, walking up to the bouncer and flashing him my driver's license. 

“Mr. Howard, it's been a while,” the bouncer, Mike was his name if memory served me right, greeted me as he let me in. I gave him a nod of acknowledgement, and a slight smile. “Go on in.” 

I entered the club, adjusting the sleeves of my shirt before my eyes swept the area for my quarry. Despite the bar being quite busy, for a Sunday night at least, my eyes landed on him fairly quickly. He was by the bar, fidgeting nervously, playing with his hands, eyes searching the space before checking his watch repeatedly. I prowled around the club, going around the dance floor until I was behind my copycat, still a few paces away. 

“Don't turn around, and don't look this way, pretty boy,” I murmured, taking a step or two closer. I saw him stiffen, his hands falling down to his sides as he kept his head straight, looking at the far side of the bar. “Are you going to come with me?” I asked, voice low and dangerous, quiet enough prying eyes and ears wouldn't be able to hear a thing, but loud enough that my copycat lost tension in his shoulders as my words registered. Interesting reaction. He really was willing and eager to submit to me so easily…had someone already trained him before? The thought soured my mood, making my stomach twist and a dark flare of possessive jealousy rise in my chest. I sure as hell wouldn't be sharing him now that I was going to make him mine, at least until I decided it was time to kill him, when he no longer served any purpose. 

“Yes, Daddy,” he breathed out the response, clearly fighting the urge to look towards me but being so good at keeping his head straight, it hardly moved from where he was looking. “Take me wherever you want to go, and I shall follow.” 

I let out a breath through my nose, keeping a tight clamp on my arousal. But it was hard to, when he was before me, looking so delicious, so seductive in his clubbing outfit that hugged his body just right. I didn't want others laying eyes on him like this, he was too eye-catching. 

I took the final step towards him, closing the distance between us and putting a firm hand around the back of his neck, lightly squeezing. 

“Walk towards the exit with me, and keep your eyes forward and down,” I whispered, shifting my hand from his neck to his waist and pulling him to my side so we just looked like a normal pair walking out the club. “We’ll walk to my car after.” 

“Yes, Daddy.” he replied softly, his gaze lowering slightly. He wouldn't be able to see much, if any, of my face like this, and it was going to stay that way for a while until I could trust him more than I currently did. Which wasn't a lot, but my copycat kept proving himself as excellent at taking and listening to orders. 

We strolled out the bar, until I brought him to a blind spot of the cameras nearby. When I stopped abruptly, it took only a moment for him to follow suit, but he didn't dare to glance at me in confusion. I reached in my pocket, pulling out the silk blindfold I had brought with me and had on me for this exact reason: to make it so he couldn't, and wouldn't, see me until I was ready for him to. 

I let go of his waist, moving back behind him so I could tie the silk blindfold over his eyes. He stood perfectly still as I secured the blindfold with a firm knot. Then I took him by the waist again and guided him over to where I had parked my car, also in a blindspot of the cameras. I opened the door, helping him into my passenger seat until he was nicely situated. 

“You know, I could be taking you somewhere to kill you, right, pretty boy?” I questioned in a low tone, after I was in the driver's seat and turning the car on. Even with the blindfold on, he stared straight ahead and didn't turn to look towards me. 

“You could have killed me last night,” he replied all too calmly. “And I don't think you have any intention of killing me yet.”

“And why do you think that is?” 

“Because you want to fuck me.” He answered, not sounding cocky but…confident. 

“I could fuck you then kill you,” I returned, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel as I shifted the gear and slowly peeled out onto the road. “What makes you think you'll survive tonight?” 

He finally looked over towards my direction, lips curling into a slight smirk that I hadn't seen from him before. 

“Because you want more. And I can give you just that.” 

Chapter Text

Chapter Six

Bryce

I could brush off Fletcher cancelling once, it happened every once and a while. Things happened, I understood that. I’d had to cancel myself or reschedule before. The second week in a row made me feel anxious and worried, but we texted throughout the week and that reassured me that he was alright. There must be something going on. But after three weeks in a row, I was losing my mind. If it wasn't for his texts— that I knew were him from the way he wrote and phrased things— I’d have barged into his house just to check with my own eyes that nothing was wrong or that he wasn't hiding something important from me. He was not only my brother, step or not, but he was my friend. Someone I cared about and wanted to protect. 

His communications waned throughout the fourth week, while mine increased rapidly, becoming more and more demanding for answers. Was he cutting me out? But why? I wouldn't allow it. I was his only real family just like he was mine. My father didn't give two shits about me and my step-mother didn't really like me either— we both mutually despised the other, though I didn't know why she disliked me so much. My older brother had pushed me around while he was alive, viewing me as nothing more than a convenient tool he could order around. 

I pushed those thoughts away, focusing back on the issue at hand. I would be seeing Fletcher this Sunday. I was not going to let him cancel again. I needed an explanation. I hadn't seen him in almost a whole month, and I knew my father and step-mother wouldn't have seen him either. He avoided them both like the plague and never visited the family home. 

If I hadn't been hearing from him, I would have already reached out to his job and checked his place. And with that thought in mind, I decided to call him on Friday after work. When he didn't pick up, I called again. And again. And again. 

After a few more tries, he answered the phone, “Bryce.” 

“Is that all you have to say to me?” I replied angrily, starting to pace around the room. “You’ve been dodging all my questions and hardly replying to me at all.” 

“I’ve been busy.” He answered shortly, as though that was a good enough explanation for everything. 

“Too busy to take a few seconds to write a text? Too busy to answer a call on Saturday and Sunday?” I retorted sharply, my anger rising. 

There was a long pause where he didn't say anything, but I could tell he was still there. 

“I’ve been seeing someone, and I’ve been focused on that,” he finally answered. “I must have not realized how…Hmm, how to say this? I didn't realize it seemed like I was ignoring you or avoiding you.” 

It sounded like bullshit, but it was better than nothing. I could press him more about it later, because my mind had hooked onto the first thing he said.

“A boyfriend?” I asked, my voice shaking. 

“It's gotten to that point, yes,” he replied. “We just clicked right away and could…give the other what they wanted. What we needed in a relationship.” 

“You could have told me,” I said sharply. “I can understand wanting to spend time with a significant other over family, especially when it's new and fresh…” My tone softened. I knew there was more to it than that, but I didn't want to push him too hard and push him further away than he felt right now. I didn't want him to hang up and sever the connection I’d finally grasped again..

There was another pause before he spoke, though this one wasn't nearly as long as the one from before.

“I’m sorry. I was inconsiderate.” There was at least some sincerity behind the sentiment. 

“How did you two meet?” I asked, things not adding up in my head. “You told me you haven't gone to the gay clubs and the like because of the serial killer. How did you meet a gay man who seemingly swept you off your feet?” 

Another pause. 

“He approached me,” Fletcher replied, his voice hitching slightly. “And he flirted with me. We agreed to go on a date, and things escalated from there.” 

“And you're not worried he might be the serial killer?” I pressed on disbelievingly.

"We’ve gone out on several public dates,” Fletcher told me. “And because of your father, a lot of people know my face. He’d be a suspect right away if something happened to me.” 

I sighed unhappily because he wasn't exactly wrong— so long as he was telling the truth.

“I got it. As long as he is treating you right, then everything's fine. I wish you would have told me sooner, because then someone would have known about him. What's his name?” 

There was a suspiciously long pause as his end went too silent. 

“Rex.” Fletcher said.

“Why did it take you so long to answer?” I asked, astonished. At the same time, something niggled in the back of my mind about that name. It somehow seemed familiar. “You don't know your boyfriend’s name?” 

“I was distracted. He’s with me now. Do you want to talk to him?” 

A part of me wanted to say yes, but a larger part of me wasn't ready yet. It was too early in the relationship to be the protective brother. Considering I was 25, the fact that he was the older one hardly mattered when it came to my being protective of him. And as a rookie cop, I had some training that would be…useful if necessary. 

“No, that's fine. I’ll see you Sunday?” I said it a bit forcefully, not wanting him to argue with me or cancel again. 

“Yes, we will catch up more then. I…have to go. Now.” He hung up before I could respond to that, but it left a bad taste in my mouth. Something still didn't feel right. But he’d promised to show up on Sunday. That was the silver lining. 

***

When Sunday finally rolled around, I was a bundle of nerves, anxiety swirling in my gut. I was still paranoid he wouldn't show. But I didn't know Fletcher to be a man who went back on his word. Yet that didn't ease the tension in my shoulders in the slightest. I was a complex mix of pissed and worried, among other things but I was primarily upset about the whole thing. If Fletcher had just been upfront with me, had told me the truth, I would have been understanding and I wouldn't be so pissed now. He could have told me, he knows I’m not homophobic like half the town is, or acts like. But at least he did confide in me, even if it was delayed. 

I couldn't sit still, pacing the front of the cafe, but the employees— who knew me as a regular— said nothing. One of them even shot me a look that was probably pity or sympathy, or maybe even both. They had seen me alone the past three times Fletcher and I were supposed to meet, because even though he had canceled, I still showed up. 

Fletcher was close to being late as the time for their meeting ticked closer and closer and every second made me feel like I was suffocating. I wouldn't be able to relax until I saw him with my own two eyes. Hearing his voice was one thing, it had partially assuaged my anxiety, but seeing him, being able to touch him was different. It would ground me, let me know for sure that he was alive and well. Nothing to worry about. 

The door jingled and I pivoted to face the door, watching as Fletcher finally walked in, his hair a bit out of place and his cheeks flushed lightly. I stared at him for a long moment, taking in his slightly disheveled appearance before taking a step towards him. He met me halfway, accepting my crushing hug without complaint. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, patting my back a few times somewhat awkwardly as we remained in a tight hug. “Things have been chaotic.” 

“We’ll talk more in a bit,” I nodded at the employees and they set out two drinks— ones they had just finished preparing, having started making them the moment Fletcher walked up to the café door. We grabbed the drinks and took up at our most regular table. “How have you been doing?” I asked gently, pressing down my anger. I was more relaxed just seeing him, here, in person. Alive. 

“I’ve been doing well,” he replied with a small smile. “I should have stayed in touch, or should have explained why I canceled.” The light flush that had still been dusting his face darkened into a deeper blush of embarrassment. 

“Yes,” I agreed firmly, ignoring his wince. “Yes, you should have. You know I’m…,” I lowered my voice, leaning towards him. “You know I’m the only one in our family that's on your side. I’m not homophobic like them.” 

“That wasn't the reason I didn't tell you,” Fletcher assured me, placing his hand over mine briefly in a reassuring gesture. “I was just…swept up in it all. He’s…” My step-brother trailed off, his eyes unfocusing as he stared into the distance at nothing in particular. 

“A charmer,” I filled in, drawing his attention back to me. He gave me a small smile and a tiny nod. “Evidently, since you're so smitten.” I said, a teasing lilt to my voice. Fletcher relaxed further, having still been visibly tense. "

"Yes, I suppose I am,” his blush was back and he cleared his throat. “It was unexpected.

“So,” I began, eyeing him over. “When do I get to meet him?” 

Fletcher's blush faded quickly, his skin turning pale. He looked at me in a way I didn't understand before quickly looking away. He tucked a stray curl behind his ear and grimaced for only a second.

“About that,” he said, sounding uncomfortable. “It's still a bit early, you know? It's still so fresh…” 

“I see.” I said, planning to say more but Fletcher continued talking. 

“And it might make him uncomfortable. He doesn't seem to mind us being out in public together but meeting a family member this soon, especially since he doesn't know anything about you, might make him uneasy.” 

I did think Fletcher had a point, but I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at his words, before both of my eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion. 

“I suppose it hasn't been long enough to talk about the family? I guess it is a complicated and unpleasant situation.” I took a sip of my drink, the smooth but bitter flavor soothing my nerves. 

“Ah, that's…yeah, I haven't wanted to bring it up with him yet. I don't want him to feel burdened because our parents are…the way they are.” Fletcher fiddled with the paper cover of his straw, before switching to stirring his straw around his icy drink. He took a small sip, a soft smile crossing his face, before he looked a bit unsettled again. 

“I understand, I won't press you about it or force you to tell him,” I lightly patted one of Fletcher's hands, which was resting on the table. He stared at it before glancing over at me, then he gave me a small smile and moved his hand under the table. “I got overeager because I was— am— happy for you. It's about time someone swept you off your feet. You're damn near thirty.” 

Fletcher groaned, hiding his face behind his drink. 

“Don't make me sound so old,” he complained. “It's not like it was easy being an outed gay man in high school and after. You know how this place is. Don't be openly gay.” 

I frowned at the reminder of what happened when Fletcher was in high school, my hands clenching into fists and my jaw grinding in anger. I knew exactly whose fault it was that my step-brother had gotten outed against his will. Thank god he didn't have the footage. A tiny voice in my head said, and I shoved that unpleasant thought deep into the back of my mind where it belonged. We didn't think about the footage, and we definitely didn't talk about the footage. I wasn't even sure he remembered about the footage, and I was going to keep it that way. 

“You should have never been outed,” I growled in anger— though I was trying to reign it in so he didn't think I was mad at him. “And the ‘proof’” I did air quotes around the word, “was utter bullshit.” 

Fletcher shrugged helplessly, not seeming to want to talk about it but he did respond, a bit forlornly.

“It didn't matter if it was bullshit or not, it was true. And even if it wasn't, no one would have cared what the truth was. If I dated a woman, it would just be a cover to them,” He played with one of his brown curls. “But forget about that, how have you been?” 

I sighed, running a hand through my hair— unlike the soft brown of Fletcher's hair, mine was a brown dark enough to appear black at first glance, and while his hair was almost long enough to reach the base of his neck, mine was kept short, not quite a buzz cut but something similar. Despite my minor displeasure about it, I let him drop the topic and change to talking about me. 

“Stressed,” I replied honestly, and it wasn't just because of Fletcher. Tensions at the PD were rising due to more victims of the serial killer being discovered out in the woods, and even though I didn't work in homicide, the tension spilled over into every department. The coffee pot was always full, that was for sure. “Everyone at the PD is getting antsy and the general public is uneasy because of what's been happening.”

Fletcher's expression softened. 

“That's understandable,” he said gently, giving me another small smile. “I’m sure people are putting pressure on every officer they see rather than just homicide. That must be hard.” 

I nodded, not really knowing what else to say. I had been a wreck not just because of that, but because of Fletcher going ghost on me. In all the years since we started doing the weekly catch-up— though, in the beginning they were closer to monthly than weekly— he had never bailed on me that many times in a row before. And if we didn't meet, we would chat over text and check in with how the other was doing. Fletcher hadn't done that. Other than telling me he was cancelling, there was no other communication that day or any other day of the week.

I wanted to confront him about it, but I also didn't want to make a scene. The employees had already seen me at some of my lowest points recently and I didn't want to get kicked out of our local meetup. This café was convenient for both of us, and the drinks were good. I didn't want to lose that. 

“Fleet,” I began in a quiet, soft voice and he shot me a look. “Don't do that to me again, you gave me quite a scare. I was seriously worried about you.” 

He pursed his lips, hands shaking under the table.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, voice almost a whisper. “I didn't mean to. I didn't realize you would get this worried so quickly. I appreciate your concern though,” And he looked like he meant it. That thought allowed me to relax. “And I’ll try not to do it again. It's just…Rex and I have been meeting a lot outside of my working hours.” 

“Thanks, and I understand you want to see him a lot, I’m not trying to get in the way of your relationship.” I said sincerely. 

“I know.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven

Rex

I was going to make sure my copycat made good on his promise, because I had a feeling he wasn’t wrong. After all, I did find him alluring– he had his appeal, and he did match my tastes quite nicely. But I didn’t let him know that, I was going to keep him on edge as I drove to the location I planned to…well, he would find out soon enough what I had planned for him, and I had a feeling he would like it. I didn’t answer him to make him feel more vulnerable than he already was, blindfolded and sitting pretty in my passenger seat as I took him to an abandoned warehouse to have a “discussion” with him. 

I peeled into the small parking lot out front of the warehouse, throwing the car into park before slipping out of the car and walking around the front of the car to the passenger side. I pulled his door open, smirking at the fact he was still looking forward despite every instinct of his probably screaming to look towards me. I unclicked his seatbelt, relishing in his slight flinch. 

“Step out of the car, I’ll make sure you don’t fall down,” I ordered, pleased when he slowly half-stood. But then he paused, and I realized why. He couldn’t step out of the car without looking my way. “It’s okay,” I purred. “I’ll give you my hand.” My hand found his as he stretched his out tentatively, his grasping mine tightly as I helped him out of the car. 

“Is it even worth asking where we are?” he asked mildly. 

“Nope,” I replied, releasing his hand and moving my arm to wrap around his shoulders and guiding him towards the entrance to the warehouse. “But I think you already knew that, pretty boy.”

 He made a sound of acknowledgement. I tightened my hold around him and led him through the front doors of the building, having already broken the lock previously. After all, I had been here before. I wasn’t going to take him to a place I wasn’t familiar with. I wouldn’t allow for anything that would put me at a disadvantage to my little copycat.  

My “captive” flinched when a blast of cold air hit him as we walked inside. I smirked, leading him deeper into the building until I reached the clearing I had set up before picking my copycat up. It was a simple setup— just a chair in the middle of the warehouse, all other clutter moved aside to create a nice wide circle of space. Once we reached the chair, I took a seat and beckoned to the floor in front of me, even though he couldn't see the gesture. 

“Kneel down, pretty boy,” I commanded, voice steady. “I’ll tell you what you're going to do once you're down on your knees for me, though you might be able to guess.” 

The man uncertainly got down on his knees before me, cocking his head in silent question. 

“Am I in the right spot,” he paused a brief moment before adding, “Daddy?”

“Yep,” I said casually, placing a hand on his cheek and titling his head up towards me. “And you look so perfect down there for me. So beautiful on your knees for me, my little copycat.” 

His nostrils flared, his thighs squeezing together, and a small moan escaped his lips. 

“Now, open your mouth for me and keep it open,” I ordered, watching him do just that for me as I reached down to my belt and began to unbuckle it. “Good boy.” 

I slowly pulled my belt out of the loops, standing up and maneuvering around the man until I was behind him. I could tell he was confused, but he kept quiet with his lips parted. I lightly grabbed his wrists, pulled them behind his back and wrapped the belt around them, keeping the belt somewhat loose. It was tight enough to prevent him from slipping out of it, and that was good enough for me. I walked back over to the chair and took a seat once more, eyes roving over the sight before me and drinking it in with satisfaction. 

“If you're good for me,” I began, popping open the button on my jeans and shimmying them and my underwear down enough to comfortably pull my thickening cock out. “I may even take the blindfold off today,” I shifted forward in the chair, simultaneously guiding him forward with a hand around the back of his neck. “You're going to do whatever I tell you without complaint if you want to live, and if you want me to fuck you without killing you afterwards. Can you do that for me, pretty boy?”

He whimpered before nodding his head repeatedly. Then he seemed to realize his mistake. 

“Yes, Daddy.” He said softly, and I wished I could see the expression on his beautiful face. But I still couldn't trust him yet. He was a foolish man who had sought out a serial killer, and he was playing with fire. Foolish, but gorgeous. 

I slowly guided him towards my cock, my tip brushing against his bottom lip. He moaned at just the slightest taste of my cock and that had a rush of arousal course through me. The feeling of his lips wrapping around my cockhead was bliss, but I needed more than that. 

“Keep your mouth open,” I demanded, my voice rough with lust. He parted his lips again for me and I smiled, pleased. “I’m going to fuck your face and you're going to take it like a good boy. And then maybe I’ll let you cum today.” 

“Yes, Daddy.” 

I grabbed the sides of his face none too gently and simultaneously pulled his head forward and pushed my cock deeper into his warm wet waiting mouth. I groaned aloud as I felt my cock slide to the back of his mouth, pressing against the front of his throat. I kept pushing until my cock slid in further until his throat was bulging from the girth of my dick. He let out some pathetic noises but didn't resist, even as I began to slowly rock my hips, fucking his mouth at a leisurely pace. His mouth felt amazing and I couldn't help but want more, and I was going to take more.

I barely let him adjust before I suddenly shifted to a brutal pace, yanking his flushed face up and down my hard cock. He whined around my dick and I knew he was hard, he had been almost the whole time— since we left the bar and I was casually talking about killing him. I had a feeling he had indeed kept his promise not to cum, and I imagined he had had some difficulty wishing his boner away so he could go about his day as normal until 8pm came around. 

His throat was tight around my cock, it felt glorious. I couldn't wait to eventually fuck his other hole if it was anything as sweet and delicious as this one was. I debated fucking him tonight. I supposed it would depend on how well he listened to me— just like I was considering taking off his blindfold if he was good.

“Cum while I fuck your throat,” I goaded him, my pace growing erratic as my own orgasm built higher and higher. “I want you to cum in your pants for me, so you can sit in your own pleasure and know that I was the one who gave it to you.” 

He moaned some sort of answer around my dick but it was unintelligible. I didn't bother pulling out to find out, instead I pushed deeper— as deep in his throat as I could reach— before pouring my cum down his throat, my load thick and continuous so I fucked his throat through the remainder of my orgasm. I could tell he had cum because he was letting out these desperate pitiful noises as I slid my cock out of his warm mouth, one last spurt of cum landing on my copycat's tongue. He swallowed without prompting, even going so far as to open his mouth to show me he had taken my seed deep inside him. 

“As I expected, you're a kinky little freak,” I said, pleased. I pressed my foot lightly against his clothed crotch. “Did you cum, pretty boy? Did you cum for me like I told you to?” 

“Yes, Daddy,” he answered breathlessly, shifting his thighs. “I was a good boy.” 

“I’ll need to check that,” I mused and got up to unstrap his wrists. He kept them behind his back, keeping still. “Hands and knees, baby boy.” 

“Yes, Daddy.” He whispered, shifting forward onto his arms, leaving me to face his clothed ass. The plump cheeks were inviting but I held back the urge to rail that cute little hole for now as I reached around to unzip his pants and pull them down to his knees before doing the same with his underwear and then—

“Holy shit,” I murmured, admiring the view in front of me. My kinky little freak had an anal plug snug in his ass. “You wanted me to fuck you, pretty boy? Hmm?” 

“I still do, Daddy,” he whined, shaking his ass for me. “Wanna be so good for you. Wanna give you what you want.” 

I spread his cheeks, watching his hole stretch around the plug deliciously, distracted from my initial task momentarily before I got a grip on myself. I checked his underwear and sure enough, my pretty boy had cum in his pants from having his throat fucked by my dick. Having confirmed that, I returned my attention to the tempting ass in front of me, playing with the plug but never fully slipping it out of him. His hole clenched tight around the toy, so perfect and inviting.

“Daddy,” he whined, voice pleading, begging for attention. “Please.” 

I slowly, teasingly pulled the toy free, admiring the way his hole stretched as I did. The plug finally slid out with a lewd pop, his ass clenching around nothing. And wasn't that a sight.

“What a greedy hole,” I murmured, rubbing his ass cheeks. “You want my cock, you little whore? Want to be my good little slut?” 

“Yes! Yes, Daddy, please fuck me, I’ll be so good for you,” he panted out. “I’ll listen to what you say, I’ll do whatever you want.” 

I had easily become hard again. My cock was aching to be inside him, to absolutely ruin him. I rubbed my hard length along his crease, enjoying the sounds he made and the way he pressed into me. He really was going to let me fuck him on the concrete floor, blindfolded and all. There was something wrong with him and I loved it. He was perfect. He would be a great pet to keep as long as he was truly loyal and didn't betray me. But I had some insurance, and I could always get more once I knew his identity. 

I slicked up my cock with some of my saliva before pressing the tip against his hole. If he wanted it so bad, he didn't need to be prepped. Besides, he’d had that plug in before 8pm, and based on how loose his hole was, I’d say it had been inside him a few hours. I pushed myself in, facing little resistance, his greedy hole swallowing my cock desperately. 

“Nngh, so big, Daddy,” he panted out, moaning as I slid in deeper. “I’m so full.” 

“You better loosen up, then, because I’m only halfway in.” I informed him with a smirk. 

“H-halfway?” he stammered, his hole clenching tight around my cock. 

“Yep,” I replied, popping the ‘p’ and forcing myself deeper inside him. He cried out, but his hole easily accepted me inside despite his fear. It spasmed around me pleasantly and I groaned. “It seems neither of your holes has any problems taking my huge dick all the way."

He didn't say anything in response, still adjusting to having my cock balls deep inside him, stretching him nice and wide around my fat cock. I let him adjust for a while before I decided to let him have it, gripping his hips tight and fucking into him with abandon. He moaned shamelessly, enjoying everything I was giving him.

“Ahhh, Daddy, so deep, feels so good!” he cried out, his hole tight like a vise around my cock. It felt heavenly, he had a good hole. He was a good hole. 

“You want my cum, whore, hm?” I asked, thrusting my hips into him nice and deep. 

“Yes, Daddy, I want your cum, want your cum deep inside me, I want Daddy to fill up my slutty ass!” He cried, pushing his hips back against me, begging for whatever I would give him. Fuck, he was so slutty, so needy, so perfect. 

“Take my load, you fucking slut,” I spat out as my orgasm hit me. My cum gushed inside his tight little hole, slicking up the slide of my cock as I rode through my orgasm. “Take it all like a good little boy.”

“Yes, Daddy!” He cried out, hole still clenching tight around my cock like he couldn't get enough. I groaned in pleasure at the feeling, relishing the last bit of my orgasm. He might just be perfect. I think I might have to keep him, and he sure seemed interested in the idea. Now, it was a matter of finding out who exactly I was dealing with. 

“What’s your name, pretty boy?” I asked as I slid out of him, hoping with his defenses lowered he would spill without me pressing him too hard about it. 

“F-Fletcher, Daddy,” He whimpered, collapsing forward onto the ground in a heap of limbs.

“Fletcher, hmm,” I tasted the name on my tongue, rolling it around in my mouth. I liked the name. It was fitting for a guy like him. “How would you like to be mine?”