The Fame Monster

Daken/Bullseye. NC-17. ~2800 words. Dubious consent (Daken). Contains homophobic and misogynistic comments a la the unreliable psychopathic serial killer assassin narrator.
Sooner or later, everybody’s going to die. He’s looking forward to being the one who shoves a knife straight through one of Daken’s pretty eyes.

Bass pounds up through the asphalt. Lester keeps to the shadows as a door cut through the side of the unmarked warehouse opens for Daken to saunter on through. Neon bright enough to make his eyeballs bleed spills out into the muggy night. It doesn’t matter if it’s Norman or Logan playing at being Daken’s daddy. Like every other love-starved teenager, all he wants to do is piss them off.

The guy on the door gives Lester a slow once over but steps back without a word to let him by. The air inside is a roiling mass of noise, clogged with the stink of sweat and drugs and sex. It’s not so different from a battlefield. Sooner or later, everybody’s going to die. He’s looking forward to being the one who shoves a knife straight through one of Daken’s pretty eyes.

He spots Daken swimming through the seething crowd and heads for the twisted stairs, not caring if it’s bottles or bones crushed beneath his boots as long as he’s got that freak in his sights. A scream rises over the din as he sinks into it, swallowed whole by the cheer that follows. The music kicks back in louder, rattling his teeth in his skull. He ignores the bodies sliding against his as he pushes for the northeast corner, arrowing for the last place he saw Daken from above the throng.

Until some chick in icepick heels swings down low in front of him to peer up under his hood. Her tits aren’t bad, the widening of her gaze when it hits the scar is better, and she pushes up, shouts, “You’re somebody famous!” in his ear. She braces a hand on his chest, legs spread for balance, when the crowd roils against her back.

Seems like a waste to not slap a hand to her ass and yank her in closer. She takes that as an invitation to grind down on his dick, a little shimmy to her hips like it’s actually supposed to be dancing and not fucking with their clothes on. Nobody would notice in all this if he did her right here. They’d grind her body to a slick pulp on the floor in seconds. Her mouth falls open when she feels his cock harden and he imagines the scream that could come tearing out of it.

Her gaze jumps to the left, that wicked smile he’s painting red inside his head spreading wide. Arms slide over his shoulders from behind, thick with lean muscle, a match to the body curved against his back. It’s the smell more than the tattoo twining down Daken’s bare arm that gives him away. Norman’s expensive and still shitty cologne, Mac’s disgusting breath and snackfoods, but Daken’s always got to smell kinda good in an utterly nauseating way.

“Careful,” Daken warns, damp mouth pressed too close to Lester’s ear, pushing a shiver of disgust down his spine. He shakes off the hood barely clinging to his scalp. “She’s breakable.”

“So are you, fucking faggot.” The crowd’s keeping them too close; he’d have to do some real damage to get Daken off him. More than a few people would get in the way with how the room’s heaving, and even if Daken’s inclined to keep his claws to himself, Lester isn’t. Norman would bitch for days.

The backs of Daken’s knuckles graze the girl’s nipple. She arches into it, one long sinuous roll of her body that ends with her straddling Lester’s thigh, rocking to the beat with colour creeping across her face. She doesn’t even notice he’s stopped moving on his own. Her mouth tilts up for a kiss and she takes the push of Daken’s fingers instead like all she really wanted was something to suck on. The slow breath he draws prickles Lester’s skin. “She’s almost as wet as you are.”

“Son of a bitch,” Lester snarls, loud enough this time for the girl to hear. But she thinks it means something else entirely, and for once the insult doesn’t get Daken snarling back at him. It’s a pornstar moan slipping down his jawline instead, the slide of fingers out from between her lips and skimming down her throat, drawing Lester’s gaze to the quick beat of her pulse. She can’t see the dark pinprick of blood on Daken’s wrist. She wouldn’t know what it was if she did.

Lester grabs onto Daken’s arm, his thumb pressed to the hard ripple of claw. His breaths go short, excited. One thought could kill her. One tiny little flex of muscle.

Daken grinds against his ass and he doesn’t even fucking care. “I thought you’d like that.”

“Do it,” Lester hisses. “Do it, do it.”

“I think you should at least fuck her first.” Daken tongues a kiss at the hinge of his jaw. His lip peels back. He imagines the hot gout of blood that would soak his shirt if he slammed his elbow up into Daken’s nose. It’s such a nice thought he misses the moment Daken’s hand drops to tug down his zip. A hand cupped over his dick is a hand cupped over his dick no matter which way you slice it, but it pisses him right off that Daken’s feels good. Fucker whores around so much it’d have to.

Trying to buck him off sends the girl reeling into the couple tonguefucking behind her. She laughs, they laugh, everybody’s having a grand ol’ time of it, except he’s the one with Daken’s hand down his fucking pants. The chick comes back with her new friends in tow, wriggling in close between them with her hip rubbing up against the back of Daken’s hand.

“Feels good,” Daken says, another one of those moans digging under Lester’s skin when he starts rooting around for the slit in his boxers. His hand’s smooth as a girl’s on bare skin, damp with sweat, and from there all Lester notices is how much stronger his grip is, how much more of it there is wrapped around his dick. “Do you like that, sweetheart?”

“Cocksucker,” Lester snarls, the best he’s got when he’s still seeing the bright splash of blood down that girl’s chest. The hard twitch of his cock gets a slimy chuckle from the freak jacking it. He jams his elbow into Daken’s ribs. The grunt that explodes on his neck is almost as good as the reflexive tightening of the hand on his cock. Blood trickles hotly along his cuticles as he digs his nails between Daken’s knuckles where claws should be sliding free.

Daken’s groan rumbles through his back. “Harder,” he whispers, angling his wrist to let blood trace a new tattoo onto his skin. He picks up the pace when Lester happily obliges, and even if that’s still Daken’s dick shoved up against his ass, still Daken’s irritating fucking smile skimming his neck, at least he’s got the smell of fresh blood on his hands.

Sharp teeth graze the shell of his ear and he growls at the quick flick of tongue that follows. A half-hearted jostle gets another laugh purring through his skull. “Want me to suck you?” comes slinking after it, needling like thistles through his clothes.

“Choke on it,” Lester spits, and twists back into the heat building between them, fixing the shitty angle that’s yanking his dick to the side. The flickering lights give him a stop-motion show of Daken’s fingers dragging over the head, smearing a glistening trail back down to ease the gritty tug.

Hot breaths push against Lester’s ear in time to the slow rock of Daken’s hips. Neither one matches the frenzied writhing going on around them or the music pounding through Lester’s chest. “Don’t have much of a gag reflex,” is a damp smear down the side of his neck, teeth catching on the wing of his collarbone hard enough to wake nerves beneath two layers of cotton. Then the suicidal fuck grabs his face while he’s enjoying the jangling clash, fingers spread out wide over his mouth, and yanks his head back to suck a throbbing bruise to life on his throat. The pain flows like drugs into his blood, sinking in a red haze though the image he’s got of Daken’s last breath rattling through his chest. His head drops back as he grinds up into Daken’s fist, trying to claw his way through flesh to get at the bones he still wants to see jammed up through the girl’s skull. “I’d hate to disappoint you.”

She comes swinging back with a kiss that tastes like spun sugar. Lester bites hard at her mouth and she jerks back, smiling and laughing like she thinks it was an accident. He’s trying not to think about what he’s thinking about, blaming weeks of playing the hero without a drop of blood to wet his hands for how good the hot stink of Daken’s smearing his dick is. If the crowd wasn’t penning them in on all sides, he’d probably give the sick sack of shit exactly what he wanted right now and cram it up his ass.

“I’d like that,” Daken says, and bites at his fucking face like foreplay. He bares his teeth when Daken’s scrape over his lips, relishing the awkward clack of bone. Daken’s tongue sliding into his mouth isn’t a kiss. It’s a preview, a slick taunt slipping down his throat, an invitation to stick the fucker with more than just his dick. A shudder goes through him as he pictures the point of a blade sinking into Daken’s guts. A jolt of pleasure from Daken’s fist tightening jerks his hips forward, blood-slippery fingers skidding up Daken’s arm as he fucks up into it, legs spread wide and a dick shoved against the crack of his ass. He blows his load imagining what it’d be like to push one of those fucking arrows through Daken’s belly, nice and slow so he’d feel it slicing chill through his insides, body-hot and fletching dripping as it came out the other side. He sucks harder on Daken’s tongue and thinks about pushing it straight back through, how Daken would scream and twist and he’d have to hold the little bitch down to get it aimed right to come back out the same way it went in.

Daken nips at his jaw, moans, “Beautiful,” and Lester switches it up to shoving one down his throat halfway through, turning those screams to wet gurgles. The mess on his hand glistens in the frantic light, blood and come mixed together in a dark shadow that Daken smears up over his stomach, nails scratching hard on the way back down to give his cock a firm tug while it’s still thick and twitching.

Lester’s had an insult ready on the tip of his tongue since he spit Daken’s out of his mouth but it gets stuck there, burning hot as a coal. It crawls back down his throat, choking him, blurring his vision, and he shakes his head, grates out, “The fuck,” and can’t get any further than that. A ripple goes through the chick and spreads to the guys on either side of her as Daken’s hands shove at his jeans. “Had enough of this shit,” he snarls, but somebody else grabs onto the arm he lifts to knock her back, wrenching it down and pinning it to his side with the weight of the crowd surging behind it.

The arm Daken’s got wrapped around Lester snaps tight like he’s the one with adamantium grafted to his bones instead of his daddy. Slick fingers push up between Lester’s legs and he kicks out, manages to slam his knee into somebody’s crotch. A howl of pain rises up over the bass but the bodies pressing in on him don’t budge an inch. Hands slide over his arms, pull him into the rocking rhythm of the dance they’re all still playing at. A couple of fingers rub at his asshole, the appreciative moan Daken’s breathing into his ear telling him who they belong to. He spits a vicious curse and twists away but there’s nowhere to go with half the fucking city crushing him to Daken’s chest. Doesn’t fucking stop him from trying again when those fingers shove up inside him.

“Keep going,” Daken moans, as if the fucker honestly thinks that’s Lester riding his goddamn hand and not the crowd shoving at him. Lester shoves back in an attempt to regain his balance, heat sparking all along his nerves and twisting up through his insides when Daken moves with him, fingers crooked. Relief loosens his muscles as the burn from Daken yanking his fingers free fades. He rocks up on his toes, snarling another curse when the dickheads surrounding him shift in to claim the few pathetic inches of space he’d made. He ends up slumped partway against some guy’s shoulder, shaking with rage as Daken kicks his legs wider, spit-wet dick nudged up against his hole giving him plenty of time to think about what comes next.

He shouts, “Do it!” over the thudding beat, “do it, I’m gonna kill you, fucking kill you,” voice dropping lower until its a guttural snarl at the slow gritty push of Daken’s dick up his ass. He grunts when Daken bottoms out with the slap of skin and a lazy grind, all the air wedged out of his lungs.

“Tell me how,” Daken says. He bites at back of Lester’s neck, keeps on groaning like the faggot slut he is as he fucks back in rough and easy. “You’re as loose as a whore, Lester, tell me how you’re going to kill me.”

“Fuckin’ slowly,” Lester snarls, making a grab for some fancy sticks some chick’s got jabbed through her belt. He hooks one on the edge of his finger and loses it as Daken hauls him back, grinding in deep again, too stupid to even fuck him properly. Degenerate fucker’s had so many dicks shoved up his asshole it’s an honest to Jesus wonder he doesn’t have the first clue about how to stick it to somebody else. The longer he stays where he is, the worse the ache in Lester’s guts gets, and he can’t help trying to get free of it, twisting with the crowd when there’s the smallest sliver of space.

Daken’s hands slide down over his stomach, skim briefly over the heavy sway of his dick and the blood sticky on his thighs before skidding back up to hook on his hips. Another grunt jolts out of him when the slow roll turns to a slam, the impact thudding through him along with the steady bass line. He’s got no choice but to move with it, baring his teeth against the filthy coil of forced pleasure from Daken’s cock rubbing against his insides.

“Louder,” Daken says, slick smarmy smile seeping into his voice. Lester fucking hates that smile and he lets loose with a furious snarl, raking blunt nails down Daken’s forearms, twisting and shoving at anybody in his way and not giving one shit about Norman and his PR gangbang squad. Somebody’s fingers break in his hand, a sweet snap of bone that gets a fresh spill of come squeezing out of his cock and sends him rocking back. Daken’s hold on him flips up to hook him under the armpits, shoving him down onto an hard thrust that has Daken’s dick wedged so far up his ass he can taste it in the back of his fucking throat when the fag blows it.

The slow drag of Daken pulling out curls Lester’s lip. “I’ll be honest,” he says, hands smoothing along Lester’s body like he thinks it’ll calm the bloodlust still churning red-hot in Lester’s skull. “I’ve seen you in action, Lester. I didn’t think you’d be that good.” He makes a quiet noise, appreciative, smug, in response to an irritated growl and brushes the back of his hand along Lester’s sticky cock. “Do you suck dick as well as you ride it? I’ll let you be my boyfriend if you swallow.”

A string of sluggish insults drip like blood from Lester’s lips. His lungs are aching as bad as the rest of him, a slow burn of pain he doesn’t want to like. The crowd eases off and he sways forward, catching himself on the arm of a guy who flings him a flirty smile and keeps on dancing. His jaw gives a satisfying crunch when Lester’s fist smashes into it. Cheers go up as he tumbles into the rest of them, laughter and whistles and nobody misses a single fucking step.

The slithering creep of Daken’s smile aimed at him drags his gaze up. There’s not a stitch out of place on his uptown cocksucker getup. His eyes shine like cheap glitter as he lazily licks the curve of his thumb, the crowd parting seamlessly when he throws down one last smirk before turning around and walking away. The sheep close back in behind him, a tiny waggle of his fingers goodbye the last thing Lester sees. Lester spits curses out like busted teeth. Everybody keeps dancing.

End

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