Psychokiller Two Step

Daken/Mac/Lester. NC-17. ~3400 words. Dubious consent (Daken).
Unlike Daken, Lester doesn’t care for subtle, and somebody’s going to notice that blood pool come morning.

“You got in my fucking way!” Lester screams, blood-specked spittle clinging to his lips. He jabs a finger at the smoking ruin of what used to be a very nice car. “What the fuck was that shit supposed to be, huh? Are you blind or just fuckin’ stupid?”

“Calm down,” Daken says, simply for the pleasure of watching Lester’s eyes bug. “Most of them are still alive.”

“Osborn’s gonna blame me this went south, you shit-sucking fag,” Lester snarls. The arrow clutched in his fist snaps. “Me, because you’re too dumb to get the fuck down when somebody’s yellin’ at you to get the fuck down.”

One of the kids hunched on the sidewalk starts wailing. Karla throws them an irritated glance before going to deal with the news crew, leaving Ares and Bob to pull the surviving civilians back together. That show alone would be worth the price of admission. Except Lester’s up in his face, spitting curses, and Mac’s lurking at the edges, as wary and hungry as a coyote, desperate for the chance to shut Lester up.

“Hawkeye,” Daken says, voice pitched low for their audience’s benefit. He takes Lester by the shoulder, picture-perfect comrades-in-arms, and relishes the uneasy shadow cast over Lester’s face. “Maybe I was more concerned with you getting yourself killed.”

Disbelief flickers in Lester’s eyes, then with a tiny nudge, a guarded sort of acceptance. His head tells him one thing but thanks to the pheromones built up in his blood, his instincts are telling him something else and he’s a far more accustomed to listening to that than the speck of sanity left in his head. He mutters,”Son of a bitch,” and shrugs free, stalking off to take his earful from Norman with gritted teeth.

“Don’t look at me,” Mac says, holding his hands up placatingly when Daken’s gaze lands on his. “All I wanted was him to quit screaming. My head’s killing me.”

“You’re just hungry,” Daken says. He settles an arm around Mac’s shoulders, humming a hello under his breath as the symbiote quivers in recognition. “Let’s go do something about that, shall we?”

No grin splits Mac’s face out here where there are too many to see it, but Daken can feel the urge ripple under Mac’s slick black skin. He doesn’t bother to hold his back.

*

“You’re adorable,” Daken says, idly watching Mac gulp down the last of his late night snack. Unlike Daken, Lester doesn’t care for subtle, and somebody’s going to notice that blood pool come morning. He wonders if the hot pink pump left standing in the middle of it is a souvenir for Lester or if the synthetic leather didn’t thrill Mac’s sophisticated palette.

Perched on the edge of a dumpster, Lester sneers and says, “Oh, was that your girlfriend?”

Mac’s chuckle is a metal file grinding down bone. The hairs on Daken’s arms prickle. “Oops.”

“So,” Daken says, settling his back to the filthy brick wall, perfectly annoying lilt to his voice, “how long have you two been dating?”

“The fuck,” Lester snarls.

“All these late night trysts, a romantic dinner under the moonlight. Honestly, Lester, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Mac’s eyes narrow to tiny white slits. His tongue slithers out, thick and wet. A helpful pheromone dump reminds him Daken has more to offer than a ten minute reprieve from the hunger that’s gnawing at his insides. He thinks he doesn’t like it, or the smile Daken aims his way, but the second he reaches out over the smear of all that’s left of the hooker, claws glinting like cobalt, the symbiote starts screeching.

“Shut up, Mac.” Metal clangs as Lester jumps down, lips peeled back in a snarl. Mac hunkers back with a glower, filling the air with the musky scent of confused hunger. “Gonna run off and play tattletale? Norman’s got bigger shit to worry about than a buncha dead hookers.”

Daken shrugs, his smile edging wider. “I like watching you work. How long did it take you to learn how to bring them down quietly so he can eat them while they’re still wriggling?”

“About thirty seconds.” Lester’s grin shows every tooth in his head. “Want to see it up close and personal?”

“You’d like that. But I’m not them, Lester.” Sinking into a crouch, Daken hooks the shoe up on the tip of a claw. Dirty red drips from the heel. “If you do it right, the first time isn’t the only.” He tosses it aside with a flick of his wrist. “Too bad you don’t have the patience for it.”

“I’ve got patience,” Lester growls, oblivious to his own eager stink. “I’ll carve off chunks of you to feed him myself.”

Mac slinks behind Lester’s back, the symbiote rippling as it layers on extra mass, becomes a hulking shadow at Lester’s shoulder. Mac doesn’t have a clue what’s going on here. Daken isn’t entirely certain the symbiote understands either, but he’s in no rush. The game is interesting enough all on its own.

Daken says, “So that’s how you say you’re sorry,” and watches the savage rows of Mac’s teeth sprout in a smile.

*

“Change the fuckin’ channel,” Lester snarls.

Daken calmly turns the page of a magazine he isn’t reading. Neither one of them paid his arrival a quarter of an hour ago much attention beyond a slight tightening of Lester’s shoulders. An added twist in the air smoothed it away, and the thickening of the symbiote’s scent in response sailed on harmlessly above Mac’s head. It’s almost pathetically easy. Somehow that doesn’t sour his enjoyment.

Across the room, couch springs creak as Lester lunges for the remote. Mac slithers back, his laughter turning wet and thick as his mouth splits open and he gives the remote a toss, snapping it out of thin air with a loud crunch of teeth. Lester breaks out in a flurry of creative cursing, including several suggestions that only someone with Mac’s unique anatomy could hope to survive. The dull thud of Lester’s fist against Mac’s shoulder echoes in a shiver down Daken’s spine.

When Lester draws back, black tendrils stretch out tar-like between them, sticky and clinging. He doesn’t notice it at first. Only when it quivers to life, looping lazily around his wrist, does his gaze jerk down. He snaps, “What the fuck,” staring stupidly with more than enough time for him to jerk free before it snaps taut. But all he does is watch, eyebrows drawn tightly together as it strokes his pulse and curls higher, snaking towards his face.

Phantom sensation prickles at Daken. He wonders if Lester can feel the electric life thrumming through it. “Give it a kiss, Lester,” he says, his tone mild, only a measure of fascination leaking through to perk the symbiote’s interest. “It likes a little tongue.”

Perched on the arm of the couch, Mac grabs on to the symbiote as if he intends to yank it back. Uncertainty ripples across his face. Daken tosses the magazine aside and settles deeper into his chair, tracking their silent conversation by the shifts in Mac’s breathing, the slight bulking of his form. It took physical contact to sway Mac last time, both he and the symbiote working in tandem. This time, it knows exactly which buttons to push without him.

“Lester,” Daken says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Lester.”

Wide eyes snap to Daken’s face. Lester’s hand hovers over the tendril curling too close to his mouth. He completely misses how Mac leans closer, eyes crinkling as a smile starts to split his face. “What the fuck do you want?”

Daken drags in a slow breath, savours it. Lester stinks of confused lust and the sweet tinge of fear. “Open your mouth.”

Mac’s hand snaps out, claws half formed, and clamps to Lester’s throat. The symbiote surges up to fill his mouth when it drops open, smaller tendrils skittering up to push at his borrowed mask.

“Leave it,” Daken says, and rewards the symbiote’s instant stillness with a push of affection. It’s surprisingly as susceptible as its human host to such simple emotions.

Lester makes a choked noise around the symbiote, panic in his eyes and driven thick as smoke into the air. He claws at it uselessly, scratching up his own face as it slithers away, twining around his head to hold him in place as Mac prowls down off the couch’s arm. It’s Venom who ends up couched above him, face split in a huge and hungry grin, tongue flicking lazily against Lester’s cheek as the symbiote slinks back to join the oversized hand Mac still has on his throat, stretching his neck to the limit.

A swipe of Mac’s claws opens Lester’s uniform from shoulder to thigh. Real fear, fear that Daken is more than happy to feed, makes him strike awkwardly out, and with a quick snap Mac has his arm trapped lightly between the jagged points of his teeth. Dozens of deep red pinpricks well up, glistening in the bright overhead lights as blood trickles slowly down. Lester makes a noise Daken imagines would’ve been a scream if only he had the breath in his lungs to manage it.

“Tiny bites,” Daken says, thumb and forefinger held up about a half an inch apart. “It takes him a long time to grow back.”

“Son of a bitch,” Lester wheezes, and Mac pretends not to notice the flat look Daken gives him for allowing Lester the space to talk. “Take a chunk outta me and I’ll fuckin’ kill you in your sleep.”

“Think of it as your usual foreplay,” Daken advises. “Just without the hooker this time.”

Mac spits out Lester’s arm with a screech. “I ain’t fuckin’ him!”

Rolling his eyes, Daken props his elbow on the chair’s arm and his chin on his knuckles. Mac looks from him to Lester, who is recovering far too quickly for his liking. Mac’s sudden bouts of conscience-driven indecision aren’t nearly as intimidating as a cannibalistic alien about to eat your face. Daken bites back a sigh. “Hold him.”

Lester lets loose with another string of inventive cursing as Mac pins him down with one hand to the chest, palm spread almost the entire breadth of it. Their uncertainty sweetens the air as Daken crosses the room, a tinge of terror coiling back through it as he drags his hand lightly up Mac’s arm. The symbiote quivers eagerly, echoing Mac’s needs and amplifying them, feeding them back into the empty head it’s shackled itself to. When he catches Mac by the chin and leads him up for a kiss, there’s no resistance in him. Daken scents the surge of Lester’s disbelief and smiles, fitting his hand to the back of Mac’s head to pull him into a deeper kiss, slow and lazy with his tongue licking at Mac’s, coaxing it to follow the slide back into his own mouth. It leaves his mouth tingling with a strange tastelessness when he pulls away, and Mac sways forward, dazed. Daken slants a look down at Lester.

“No fuckin’ way,” Lester shouts, a shrill edge to it that makes the symbiote ripple in annoyance. The whites of his eyes show in a wide circle around the blown-out black of his pupils. “No fuckin’ way, cocksucker, I-”

There’s a moment of hesitation barely longer than that last slow flutter of a heart valve before Mac surges forward and yanks Lester up into a vicious imitation of Daken’s kiss. Teeth not quite human catch on Lester’s lip and he squeezes his eyes shut, jaw forced wide as he gags on the shove of Mac’s tongue. A whisper of encouragement is all it takes for Mac to tonguefuck him, his fingers scrabbling over the slickness of Mac’s skull, the distension of his throat as strangely arousing as the desperate noises gagged by the slick push of Mac’s tongue down the back of it.

Lester spits when Mac releases him, sweat-slicked chest heaving. His rattling breaths are wet and thick, a fascinating match to the useless rage beneath the tears glistening in his eyes. The air he’s breathing is clogged with a cloud of pheromones so thick Daken imagines them puffing out on his breath like moisture in the cold, but only a fraction of them are meant for him. Controlling Mac is like swinging a sledgehammer. Lester deserves a lighter touch, the slip of a scalpel between layers of skin.

Dropping to one knee beside him, Daken rubs a thumb along his bottom lip, giving his sluggish brain more than enough time to realise what’s about to happen before claiming a kiss of his own. It’s slow and soft in a deliberate counterpoint to Mac’s, a sweetness to it that freezes Lester like a child caught in the headlights of a semi. Lester tastes like flat soda and potato chips, like lust and dread. He twists away from the push of Daken’s fingers along with a tongue into his mouth, but Mac has his head again, and honestly, he isn’t really trying anymore. Mac’s eager little growls push hotly against the back of Daken’s neck.

Mouth to mouth, Daken says, “He’s going to fuck you,” and bites at the twitch of Lester’s lip. “Surprisingly he isn’t terrible at it. Now spread your legs, Lester, and let him shove his tongue up your ass.”

Lester grabs at Daken’s hair, managing to twist a few strands around his shaking fingers. Everything he tries to say is chopped to pieces halfway out of his mouth. He doesn’t understand why he hasn’t already killed them both. He’s pissed off and scared and so hard it hurts, and it looks wonderful on him. He jerks at the wet-tissue tear of heavy material beneath Mac’s claws. The tip of one hooks in the drape of the loincloth across his thigh and rips it free as Daken moves around to lean on the arm of the couch behind his head. Mac’s grating chuckle draws dark lines of fury across his brow. A hand wrapped beneath his chin tilts his gaze upside down to meet Daken’s. “I’ve always thought that suited you,” Daken says, and licks at the wrinkle of his scar. “Make it good for him, sweetheart.”

The muscles in Lester’s thigh jump. He snarls and rears up in a sloppy attempt at cracking Daken’s jaw off the top of his skull, but the pheromones soaking in his blood have made him slow, predictable. Mac grabs his leg and hooks it up over the back of the couch, grabs the other and shoves it out wide. Panic flashes across Lester’s face, a split-second of pain as razor-edged claws dig in.

“Sorry,” Mac mutters, a guilty look tossed over Lester’s head as he backs off. “Breaks easier’n you.”

Palms pressed to the sides of Lester’s face, Daken forces him to watch the slither of Mac’s tongue up his thigh. He jerks away from it, wilfully blind to the thick jut of his own cock until it slaps against his belly. A full-blown shudder takes the place of the shivers that had been skittering under his skin. He makes a wounded noise when Mac’s tongue dips between his legs, and the hitched whine that follows marks the exact moment it pushes up inside him. Shudders become panicked squirming, wordless sounds burst into snarled promises of pain broken seconds later when they sink into a ragged groan.

“Fuck him,” Daken hisses, eager for Lester’s shocked jolt as Mac drives deeper. Too eager, he knows, and loosens his grip on Lester’s face before creaking bones break. There hasn’t been a thrill as sweet as this heating his blood since the day he took his father’s mask for his own. But even that had come with disappointments. Imagining the agony tearing Logan apart on the inside was a pale shadow compared to watching those anorexic hopes crumble to dust. He presses his cheek to the side of Lester’s head and relishes the stink of defeat curling beneath the stubborn refusal to accept it.

Lester’s body rocks with the slick surge of Mac’s tongue. He grits his teeth uselessly against the noises it pushes out of him, jagged sounds of aching pleasure he doesn’t want to believe. He’s right that it’s all a lie, but what Norman’s done here has proven that lies become truths easily enough. His nails dig into Daken’s scalp, eyes flying wide when Daken says, “Stop.”

Thin bloody scratches crisscross Lester’s skin like a roadmap. Sweat trickles down the hollow of his hip. Mac’s tongue twitches with the urge to lick it up but he remains still, hungry and eager and hopeful for the chance to sink his teeth into flesh. Lester is far enough gone that he’d probably enjoy it. At least for a moment.

“More,” Daken orders, “slowly,” and Lester’s body snaps taut. Mac slinks closer, mouth gaping wide, long dagger-tipped teeth scraping delicate flesh. Daken’s breaths briefly sync to Lester’s short shallow gasps, the rippling surge of Mac’s tongue out of sight but so clearly visible in the wracking shudders overtaking him. He twitches violently at the gentle kiss Daken gives the tight corner of his mouth. “Incredible how much your fragile human body can enjoy, isn’t it. Go ahead, put a hand on your dick. I know you want to.”

Lester fights the urge stamped clear as crisp newsprint across his face. Fights it and inevitability fails, crumbling like a brick wall with the mortar rotted through. He spits hastily into his palm and jacks his cock as if he’s been waiting hours for the chance. As badly as he thinks he wants to kill Daken, if only he could hear the things slipping out of his mouth now he might actually find a way to make death stick.

The second he seizes up in the grip of orgasm, Mac lunges forward, teeth bared on an ear-splitting screech. Daken spits a curse at missing those few precious seconds of Lester broken down and vulnerable and surges up to jam his hand down the back of Mac’s throat. Searing pain shoots into his chest as teeth scrape bone. Mac rears back, dragging him along by the teeth caught between the bones of his forearm. His back hits the floor with a jarring thud.

Bloody saliva drips sluggishly onto his chest. Mac’s tongue coils along his arm down past the elbow, chasing after the darker drops of red. “Don’t even try it,” he says, backing up the warning with a prick of claws on the softer flesh of Mac’s insides.

Mac’s eyes narrow. “Said I could,” he slurs.

“And when was this?”

The tip of Mac’s tongue quivers fitfully. He slinks back with a huff, teeth disengaging as gently as possible as he settles back on his haunches, knees spread wide on either side of Daken’s hips and arms crossed. Daken tucks his good arm behind his head. “Good boy.”

“Shove it,” Mac snaps.

A wheezing laugh from the couch brings Daken’s attention swinging back to Lester. “Fuckin’ freaks of nature,” Lester says, wiping his hand off on the cushions. He sits up gingerly, wincing at more than just the mess slicking the insides of his bare thighs. “I’m gonna kill you both.”

Mac wavers between a guilty shrug and an eager hunch forward. The hold Daken has on his excuse for a will wins out in the end and he splits a grin, clawed hand coming down to pin Daken’s healing arm to the floor. It’s easier for Lester to hide what he’s thinking now that Daken isn’t concentrating on him, but he can’t conceal the reflexive twitch of interest that’s been freshly written into his blood.

Daken tugs his shirt off over his head. Mac’s focus snaps back to him like he’d lifted the top off a platter of steaming ribeyes. “Still hungry?” he asks, the wet loll of Mac’s tongue a yes he doesn’t really need. He smiles at the symbiote’s eager quiver, so much like Lester’s. Couch springs creak as Mac fits a hand to his throat, but there’s no hiss of displaced air as the door opens to follow it, no sudden drop in Lester’s scent on the air. “Give me a kiss,” his says, smile spreading like the slow creep of the symbiote around his arm. “And I’ll think about it.”

End

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